mack. she/they. this is mostly me screaming about oscar issac and pedro pascal and sometimes I write things | this blog is NOT spoiler free | masterlist | taglist | ao3 | this is an 18+ only space
a light, a song, a bluebird (Poe Dameron x f!Reader)
words: 6.4k
warnings: contains smut and difficult themes so 18+ only please; Reader has certain trauma responses that not all readers may relate to (including being touch-adverse, temporarily non-verbal, and ‘flight’ related conflict responses); intimacy related anxiety; dealing with trauma indirectly (source of trauma is never explicitly declared); assumed consent typical of a developed relationship; passing mention of having children in the future; canon typical violence; dancing; Jedi!Finn (not that it’s a warning, but it’s necessary for context)
a/n: FINALLY THE FIC I HAVE BEEN TALKING ABOUT FOR MONTHS IS HERE!!!!! I don’t really get into my trauma on here but this fic is pretty heavily based on me and the way I exist which is SUPER vulnerable and makes me very stressed but I’ve had a few requests over the years for something like this and I think I’m finally ready to post more about my experiences. We’re gonna start with this and see how it goes. It’s also a new narration style I’m trying!
I definitely could add more scenes to this thing (and I still might add to it) but I just need to post it and let it be imperfect. But if you guys like this universe, let me know? Maybe I’ll make this a little series? Not that I need another damn series
(Also if you’re interested in the playlist for this fic, it’s here)
I hope this means something to you. Writing it has definitely meant something to me.
__
Poe could have sworn you were a statue with how still you sat. Shoulders hunched near up to your ears, only a slight sway of your head gave you away: the human among life-like metal and stone.
He takes a cautious step into your workshop, head on a swivel for company and your self-designed traps. Only once had he missed a tripwire, sending a misshapen clay head—he later found out it was an attempt at a lothcat— swinging through the air and into his jaw.
He carefully navigates the stacks of artwork as he heads for your work station. As he passes though, he brushes a thin layer of ash off a carving of a Force-tree and rights a pile of tarps threatening to topple onto a half-finished clock. He never would have lingered on the timepiece, tucked under a larger depiction of a four-legged, seemingly hairy creature he doesn’t recognize, if not for the delicate gold gears set into its face. Not only were the gears golden, but you had pressed metal leaves of the same warm shade into the preserved wood of the clock’s body.
He freezes as he hears you call out, “Mr. Bey?”
You’re shocked at how quickly his head snaps around to look at you. It usually takes him a moment to respond as he feigns having the reflexes of a normal person, making it more than clear that he’s undercover, but you weren’t one to call a man out. His business was his.
And your discretion kept him coming back.
You had turned in your seat and were grinning at the handsome man, yanking your earpieces out of your head. They clatter to the tabletop. Standing, you tuck your hands into the front of your stained apron, sending your bag that was always slung over one of your shoulders swinging at your side.
Something about the softness in his eyes makes your heart flutter.
He takes a small bow, carefully tipping the grey cap he has sitting on his curls in your direction as he made his way to his feet. Something in his knee pops and you flinch on his behalf.
He coughs, surely from the thickness of the air. The volcanic island that houses your shop has experienced recent activity, sending debris and ash into the air. Given how sparse his visits were, you doubt he’s used to the air quality.
“I hope I didn’t startle you,” he says, his voice gravely. There’s something child-like about how he carries himself, like a boy in his father’s clothing.
“You didn’t,” you say with a shake of your head. Leaning around the large chunk of unworked metal that was blocking your view, your eyebrows quirk up as you notice the subject of his study. “I didn’t think a non-standard timepiece was part of the Princess’ order.”
“It wasn’t this time. But I’ll put a good word in.”
Your laugh is a gentle exhale. You rock back on your heels before turning around and pushing aside the grease-stained cloth that curtained off the underside of your table. The box he’d come for had been tucked under your workbench all day in anticipation of his arrival.
Every time your swinging legs had collided with the crate, you had seen his gentle brown eyes as clear as if he was standing before you.
You grunt as you pull it free. With a quick tap on the top of the weapons case, it begins to levitate itself. With a careful shove, you send it towards Poe. “There.” You rock back on your heels again, your head cocked. “Will that be all, Mr. Bey?”
He brushes some ash off the crate with his sleeve. “This time.” He sets the credits – more than he owed you for the weapons, if your eyes didn’t deceive you – on a squat table beside him.
The man was always careful to keep his distance from you. Though your quips were given with a smile and you seemed to take his teasing as well as you dolled it out, there were certain moments that you became timid around him.
He didn’t want to be the one to chase away your smile.
“Are you sure you don’t want to come on an adventure?” he asks, knowing your response.
He’d asked every time he’d come to pick up orders from you. It had taken you a few occurrences to figure out exactly what he’d meant. That he wasn’t just a stranger attempting to kidnap you. That he was actually asking you to come with him.
The Princess. A handsome scoundrel with a fake name. Shipments of weapons disguised as art. You didn’t need to be a genius to figure out what exactly you were assisting.
The Resistance.
Though it was a noble cause, and you couldn’t be happier to assist the General-Princess Leia Organa, you couldn’t imagine what being on a military base could offer you, other than sleepless nights and the feeling of uselessness you’d been trying to avoid since birth.
So, you shake your head. “No, thank you, Mr. Bey. You enjoy your adventure and I’ll see you soon.”
“Well, alright.” He bows again. “Take care.” He gently pushes the crate out your front door without looking back.
*
It’s weeks before Mr. Bey comes back to visit you. He’s transporting bombs, this time. Expensive ones. You’d traded a few of your best pieces for them. Things you were proud of and didn’t want to part with for anything.
Except, apparently, the fate of the galaxy.
His trip is short, as it always is, but he’s been sure to ask you: “Do you want to come on an adventure with me?”
Your answer is no, again, and he does look disappointed, but he smiles at you and leaves without pressuring you, as always. It’s like he can’t be anything other than sweet. He doesn’t know how. It simply isn’t in his programming.
You wonder what a man like that is doing in the middle of a war.
*
“Will you join me on my adventure today?” he asks softly.
Mr. Bey is wearing a long cloak this time. The thick fabric pools at his neck, failing to hide the suture tape that lines his jaw. He carries a new weight on his shoulders this time, months after you’d seen him last, his eyes sunken and hands unsteady.
You wonder idly what would happen if you were to say yes. Unfortunately, you hadn’t planned for this to be the moment you find out.
You push the crate towards him. “I’m afraid not, Mr. Bey. Who would finish this piece if I were to come with you?” You gesture to the metal sculpture in front of you before returning your hands to the strap of your bag. You worry the frayed edge with your fingers as you gaze down at your current project. It’s nowhere near finished, barely resembling the tree you could see in your mind. Two small birds, one still missing its wings, lay on their sides on your desk.
The floor begins to shake.
You move to duck under a table but Mr. Bey surges forward, holding out a hand. You take it gingerly, only because of the intensity of his gaze.
“We have to go.” He pulls you along with him as he heads for the door, abandoning the crate of weapons.
“It’s just a quake,” you try to explain, dragging your feet to slow him down. “They happen from time to time. We need to find cover…”
He opens the exterior door and swears.
The buildings surrounding the landing field burn. Two Planetary Defense ships plummet out of view, black streaks across the sky. Your lungs seize around the ashy air you drag in with your gasp.
A unit of TIE fighters close in on the Flight Tower. Two shots, and it’s set ablaze. Another, and it’s falling, falling…
Mr. Bey grips your wrist, dragging you out of the rubble’s path. The world moves in slow motion as it crumbles around you.
You clutch your bag tight to your chest and you run, hand in hand, from the building as the world explodes around you.
Two hands wave at you through the dust from the far side of the landing field. The shuttle that the person – a human, from what you could make out – is standing on hovers right at the end of the field, where flat earth drops away to sheer cliff and the rolling magma ocean below.
“Jump!” He shouts, dragging you across the gap and onto the boarding ramp of the ship.
He holds tight to your hand as you gaze down at the landing pad, watching the ships, the trading village, and your home explode and crumble into the sea below.
Mr. Bey does not let you go until the both of you are safe inside the shuttle and the doors close. As the shuttle lifts off, you scramble for purchase on the smooth, clean metal walls.
Tin can. You’re inside a tin can, flying away from your home.
“Steady, there.” The human that waved you into their shuttle sets a hand on your shoulder and you jump, gluing yourself to the wall.
“It’s okay. You’re safe.” Mr. Bey doesn’t approach you but holds out a hand. You timidly take it. He gestures to the other man. “This is Finn. He’s a friend.”
“Another code name, Mr. Bey?” you ask, still shaking.
He chuckles, the sound warming you. “I’m Poe,” he says, “Poe Dameron.”
You don’t know the family name Dameron. You’re not sure if you should. But from the way he says it, the sheer weight the name seems to carry as it rolls off his tongue, you know he’s important. His family is important. This man carries a legacy that you don’t need to know to respect.
You introduce yourself quietly, shaking his hand where he already holds yours. “I guess I’m joining you on your adventure this time, Poe Dameron,” you say. In your head, the words sound more confident than they come out, hanging awkwardly between you.
But he chuckles again. It calms something in you, and you smile too.
“It’s gonna be cramped with four people, but we’ll manage,” the man called Finn says and you shrink back against the wall.
Poe quickly lets you go, still smiling. “Come meet our pilot? She’s great. You’ll love her.”
You keep your bag clutched to your chest as he and Finn lead you through the ship. They both walk in front of you, turning back to check that you’re following occasionally but giving you space as you navigate to the cockpit.
The ship is a relic from an ancient time. The vents are clogged, and you can smell salt and sand and something definitely rotting somewhere. Despite that, you can tell the ship is very well loved.
You follow the curve of the upper deck towards the cockpit. A small brown-haired woman pokes her head out the door. “Stowaway?” she says.
Her deadpan has your gut twisting. “I—Mister—Um, Poe… Poe said I could…”
“You’re good. Rey’s kidding.” Poe introduces her to you and you carefully shake her hand.
“Welcome to the Falcon,” Rey says before taking her seat in front of the controls.
“She’s a little odd,” Poe whispers, warmth and love radiating from every word. You just nod, trying to smile.
Finn takes the seat next to her and Poe sits behind her, so you take the only remaining seat in the small cockpit for the remainder of the flight, tucking your knees to your chest and making yourself as small as possible, your bag resting over your knees.
The flight to the Resistance base is much shorter than you had expected. It makes sense, given how often Poe came to visit you for supplies, that they’d want somewhere close if they got into a jam.
If you could equate ‘a jam’ to the war raging in the galaxy.
Upon landing you’re quickly taken through a medical evaluation and then meet two members of the Resistance leadership, a taller woman with pink hair and a shorter one that seemed to carry the galaxy on her shoulders.
You can’t remember their names. It takes all of the concentration you can muster to keep from trembling. You’ll have to ask Poe later, for their names and a map of the base that quickly reveals itself to be a labyrinth. Surely he’ll be able to help. He’s been at your side since the Falcon had landed on D’Qar, providing enough smiles and kind words that you didn’t shake apart.
He walks beside you then, excitedly rambling about how well you’ll fit into the mech unit that had been stationed on base and how he’ll make sure you have enough supplies to still make some prettier things.
“You could still sell them, you know. The Resistance doesn’t exactly have that many sources of income. It would be the same work you were doing for us before!” he says.
The light in his eyes makes you want to trust him. You don’t have the heart to burst his bubble, but you know you aren’t going to fit in with the other mechanics. You don’t have the skills to contribute and you aren’t enough of a social butterfly to make a meaningful contribution to morale.
It was why you had always worked alone.
But there was no going home. So what else could you do?
Poe leads you down a quiet hallway near the back of the base, where the walls are open to the evening air and you can gaze out at the jungle. At the very end of the hallway, he opens a door.
The room is small, the furniture well-used in a way that instantly makes it cozy. A clean set of sheets has been laid on the unmade bed, which is squished into the corner against a wall of windows.
“The windows darken, if they make it feel too open for you. I noticed you cover most of the windows in your workshop…” He moves over to the panel laid into the wall next to the windows and hits a button. The glass becomes opaque, leaving you in darkness.
He giggles, letting out a small, “Oops,” as he paws at the panel, struggling to find the light. Your eyes adjust quickly to the darkness. You move towards him, hitting another one of the buttons.
The lamp in the ceiling stutters to life and you quickly back up, realizing how close you’ve gotten to Poe. He smiles, not unkindly, and says, “It’s okay. You’re going to be safe here. I promise.”
You nod. Your jaw has glued itself shut, keeping you from responding with anything more than a hum that you hope sounds encouraging.
“I’ll leave you to get settled in. We can head down to Supplies tomorrow to get you some clean clothes. There are a few shirts in the dresser. I thought you might want to sleep in something clean.” Poe points to the dresser and makes his way to the door. “Well, goodnight.” He backs out of the room, still smiling as the door closes between you, leaving you alone.
In the dresser, you find two shirts, one with long sleeves and one with the sleeves cut off. You lay your dirty clothes in one of the other empty drawers and put on the long-sleeved one. It’s worn, small holes dotting the edge of the collar where a necklace might have snagged it. But it’s warm. You dress the bed and lay down, fiddling with the hem and staring at your flickering light until sleep finds you.
*
You lean against the wall outside the cantina, clutching your cup tight in one hand. You’d brought tea in case the night got cold, but the dancing, screaming utter chaos inside the building seems to seep out, warming the night long after the sun had gone down. You watch the shadows that the people inside cast through the windows.
“Hey, Mech! Are you coming inside?” One of your favourite techs calls from the doorway. In your panic, you forget her name.
Even a year of knowing someone can’t stand up to the adrenaline spike that courses through you at someone’s eyes meeting yours.
Your open your mouth to respond but your tongue sticks to your teeth, so you shake your head, holding up the unlit stick of spice that rests between your fingers as an excuse.
She grins and yells, “Enjoy!” before heading into the building.
You wonder how long you can go using the same stick of spice as a way to get out of talking to people before someone calls you on it.
A crowd of pilots make their way up the short road between the town and the base. From their yelling, they’ve already broken into the liquor stash. A few voices stand out. Karé and Jess, more specifically. Black Squadron. Which means Poe is surely among them.
Quickly, you survey them. Poe is there, his flight suit only half on. He’s tied the arms around his waist, securing the bottom half of his jumpsuit in place and leaving him in a white undershirt that showed off his arms, shoulders, and most of his chest. Rey always says it ‘barely counted as a shirt’ and you giggle to yourself at the memory, stopping only when you realize how crazy you’ll look if someone spots you.
You tuck your knees into your chest, making yourself as small as possible so they don’t notice you.
You’re almost successful.
Poe Dameron slides down the wall beside you, waving his squadron into the cantina as he settles. “D’you need a light for that?” He gestures to the spice in your hand.
You shake your head.
“Just needed a minute by yourself?”
At that, you nod.
He grunts as he sinks back into the wall. “Cool. Me too.”
You gaze out at the jungle together. Poe can’t sit still, as hard as he tries. He begins to sway to the music that blasts from inside the cantina, humming along and tapping a rhythm line you can’t hear on his thigh.
“Do you want to dance?” He finally blurts out.
“In there?” You whisper, somehow finding your voice as you point to the door.
He shakes his head and stands up, brushing off his flight suit. “We can dance right here.” He grins down at you. Pure energy radiates from him.
You can’t disappoint him.
So you stand, pocket your spice, set down your teacup, brush yourself off, and look at him expectantly.
Poe takes your hand in his, stepping closer. He keeps enough of a distance that you don’t feel the urge to run, only making contact with you where your palms touched and where his hand rested lightly on your back to guide you. The two of you barely sway, following the bass that pounds through the walls.
“Is this usually how you dance at these parties?” You whisper, already knowing the answer. You’ve seen the way he holds onto his partners, his dark gazes, his wandering hands. This is very, very different, almost proper, and you aren’t sure what to make of it.
“No. But it’s how I used to dance when I lived on Yavin. My mom taught me,” he says, turning you slowly. “The music at these parties is always bad. But it’s not always so loud.”
“Celebrations usually are. Loud, I mean. It’s… good. I’m glad everyone has a chance to relax.”
Things on base had been tense, the silence uncomfortable and heavy, even for you. The Resistance had needed a victory. Even this little one was invigorating, like you actually had a chance against the army that had amassed in the shadow of the New Republic’s failure.
“Yes. It’s good.” He spins you again, and you settle into a rhythm.
Poe is a good dancer. Many of the people that seemed to yearn for him would have killed to be in your place, to be so close to the Untouchable War Hero Poe Dameron. He keeps to himself, sticking with Rey and Finn (and you, when you could stand to be around people) when he wasn’t around his squad, and you saw how that angered some people on base.
Thankfully, they mostly left you alone. There were some perks to having two Jedi and the Resistance’s best pilot as your only friends. Even if they were only friends with you because Poe kept sitting with you for meals.
But that didn’t mean your ears turned off. It was safer to stay in your office or in the mech lab, where you didn’t have to be around people’s judging glances and whispers. The techs you liked kept their conversations with you brief and solely focused on work-related matters. They didn’t bring up Commander Dameron’s favouritism towards you, the extra projects he gave you so you could practice working on the Resistance’s tech, or the way he trailed behind you on your rounds when he should have been training, or the nights he spent in your room.
They also didn’t know that most of those nights ended with the two of your sprawled out on your floor, laying in the light cast by the moon through your window, with enough space between you that Rey and Finn could have fit. It wasn’t nearly the scandalous affair they all made it out to be.
But still. Poe is there. Holding you, not some other mech he could romance and whisk away before the night is over.
“Shouldn’t you join the party?” you whisper.
“I’d rather be out here with you.” His voice is as soft as the hand that rests on your lower back, drawing you closer.
“You know I won’t be going home with you,” you remind him.
He chuckles again. “Can’t I dance with a friend?”
“I guess.”
“You guess?”
“Are more of the people you dance with friends?”
“Friends of a sort.”
Your stomach rolls and you straighten up. “And what sort of friend am I?”
He doesn’t seem to notice a change in you, but his voice softens, the darkness that had edged his words disappearing. “A good one. One of the best.”
“I can’t beat Finn, I guess.” You untangle yourself from him and sit back down, taking a sip of your cold tea.
Poe stays standing, looking down at you like a lost puppy. “Did I say something wrong?”
“No, Poe,” you whisper. “You’re fine. Go enjoy your victory party.”
He shuffles his feet, looking between you and the open door.
“I’ll come back for you,” he finally says. “I’ll walk you home.”
“Sure, Poe.” You nod, trying for a smile.
You’re gone in the time it takes him to get a drink and come back to your spot against the wall.
*
“So, you haven’t hooked up with anyone since you got to D’Qar.”
You stare at Poe, trying to figure out if you’ve imagined him speaking.
“Am I wrong?” he says.
You watch his lips move.
Yeah, he’s definitely actually talking.
“How would you know?” you finally reply.
“Because you have the same routine every day and I’d notice if you deviated from it. Hell, Holdo would notice if you deviated from it.” He stares down at his feet, swinging his legs off the edge of the boarding ramp. It had gotten stuck in place, five feet off the ground, and you and Poe had been sent to fix it. Though your tools were spread out in the belly of the shuttle and you had wanted to get to work, Poe had insisted you pause to watch the sun rise ‘properly’ over the base. It’s still too early for you to be disturbed, which you’re equal parts grateful for and dreading. Though you had settled back into a normal rhythm after the Dancing Incident, you felt like you were still waiting for the other shoe to drop.
“Maybe I haven’t. What’s it to you?” you say, not looking at him.
“Most people go through the base the moment they get shipped here.”
“I’m not most people.”
“Clearly.”
His voice edges it’s way solidly into the flirty zone.
On instinct, you say, “If this is you offering, I’m not interested,” even though you know it’s a lie.
He snorts, “Oh, I figured that one out. Don’t worry.”
Your head whips around to stare at him. “What?”
He laughs, full-belly, his face tilting up towards the rising sun. “I’ve been flirting with you for ages. If you had any interest, I’m sure you would have made a move by now.”
“You flirt with everyone.”
“I do not.”
“Yes you do! You treat me the same as all the other people you take home.”
“No. I don’t.” Sudden softness. And it hurts, it aches somewhere deep in your chest because the pain in his voice is your fault, and you know it.
It’s your turn to stare down at your feet, hanging off the platform. You wonder what he’d do if you jumped off and went inside. Would he come after you? Would he give you space, find you later and apologize?
How many more times can you run from him, reject him, leave him behind, before he started to leave you?
You reach across the gap between you and take his hand. Your grip is sure, more like you’re holding a soldering iron than a human. When he moves to hold you back, you don’t flinch, even with your heart hammering against your ribs and the little voice in your head screaming at you to run.
Progress.
“I know,” you whisper. Because you do. If you’re anything at all, it’s perceptive.
Something in you aches to say more, but your tongue turns to sandpaper and you can barely swallow around it, never mind speak.
Poe squeezes your hand lightly.
The sun rises.
Finally, he whispers, “Should we get back to work?”
You nod. You stand.
You’re the first to let go.
*
Poe sits across from your work bench, dutifully holding your wrench with two hands. He hasn’t said a word since he sat down, fully becoming part of your workstation as you move around the engine mod you’ve been working on for weeks.
He’d taken to randomly showing up. It was a recent development, and you guessed it had something to do with how few missions he’d been assigned. Everyone else had been busy, taking the intel from the new scouting team and turning it into results. Which meant you had more stuff to fix.
But Poe had been kept on D’Qar, training the recent batch of recruits. And when he was off, he delivered the damage gear that got shipped back to base from wherever-the-fuck the Resistance spies had broken it so you could fix it.
He watches carefully as you replace the paneling on a blaster he had brought over from Gold squadron. Another mech steps into the workspace, takes one look at Poe, and runs out.
Your face burning, you turn on him. “Do you keep showing up here because you have something to say?”
Poe shakes his head.
“Have you taken a vow of silence?”
“No.”
“Good.”
“Good?”
“I like your voice.” You still sound grumpy (and embarrassed), but you mean it.
He just blinks at you, his lips turning up in a sheepish smile. It’s sweet, how he still gets nervous around you. Before, you’d thought that it was just the circumstances of your meetings, the high-stakes nature of smuggling weapons for the Resistance. But he still gets quiet, still blushes whenever you catch him off guard.
Before you can think too hard about it, you lean across the table and kiss him.
It’s light, just a press of your lips against his, but it sends your head hammering against your ribs anyhow.
He’s too stunned to speak for a long moment. Finally, he whispers, “What was that for?”
Your stomach drops like stone. “Did you not like it?”
The corner of his mouth quirks up. “I dunno. You ran away before I could decide.” Slowly, he rounds the table, coming to stand between your knees.
You roll your eyes but lean in again anyways. His hand gently cups the back of your head as he brings his lips to yours.
It’s nothing you were afraid of and everything you want. He’s soft, oh-so-soft, but never yielding to the way you push against him. Winding your hands in his hair, you tug him closer and swallow the little surprised sound he makes.
In an instant, he’s everywhere: his hands on your waist pulling you out of your seat, his chest pressing to yours, his arms encircling you to keep you close.
When you finally pull away, flushed and gasping for air, you ask, “How about now? Was that okay?”
Poe nods slowly, his gaze focused on your mouth. “It was perfect.”
*
After that day, Poe hardly leaves your side, to the point that Leia had to order him to return to his normal duties.
As much as you loathe the stares from everyone else, you bask in the attention from Poe. He’s so sweet to you, stealing little kisses and touches whenever he can. Though you still tense sometimes when his hands on your back or hips catch you by surprise, you’re more than comfortable the rest of the time. It’s new. Different. You hadn’t thought this would ever be possible again.
You still hadn’t talked about it. What you were to each other. What this meant. But he walked you home every night, and he brought you lunch on days he was on-world, and you were okay with the not-knowing.
Weeks later, after he had walked you home, you invite him inside.
It should be normal, him being in your room. It had happened before. You’d spent long days working in there and nights sleeping side by side, the few inches between you feeling like an entire planetary system and nothing at all.
But somehow, this feels different.
He keeps a hand on your back as you enter the room. You sit on your bed as he talks through his next mission, but you aren’t really paying attention.
The air is heavier somehow. Every shaky inhale takes more out of you.
You’re not sure how it happens. One moment, he’s talking about the caves on Jedha. The next, he’s above you. His hands tight on your waist. Yours under his shirt (just barely). His breath hot on your neck.
Everything is warm. Too warm. And he’s above you, and it should feel good, and it does, when you aren’t thinking about it. But you are thinking about it. And the walls start to close in. And you can’t get a full breath.
“P-Poe…” you whisper.
He hums into your skin, hips grinding more firmly into yours as he kisses along your jaw. It hurts, somehow exquisite and excruciating all at once.
“Poe?”
He freezes, hands leaving your waist and finding yours. “Are you okay?”
You tip your chin up to the ceiling, gasping. “I… I can’t breathe.”
Poe backs off, keeping a hold on one of your hands. “Are you sick? Can I get you something?”
You shake your head and fold in on yourself, somehow sitting up on your bed. Bent over your knees, you focus on breathing slowly. Evenly.
Poe sits on the floor at your feet, still holding your hand, rubbing small circles over your knuckles with his thumb. He kisses the back of your hand, murmuring against your skin. “It’s okay. I’m sorry. You’re okay. I’m so sorry. You’re safe.”
Slowly, you start to come down. Your eyes open enough to focus on him in the dim glow of your room.
“You didn’t do anything wrong,” you say slowly, your whole body shaking. “It’s not your fault.”
He nods, seeming to understand.
“It’s not your fault,” you say again, tears pricking your eyes.
“It’s not yours either,” he whispers, and you find he’s right.
*
Poe starts to stay the night.
It isn’t often, only when you both can afford to lose some sleep getting ‘distracted’. More and more, your bed feels empty without him in it. You begin to miss his kisses, rather than worry about when the next one might happen.
And Poe notices.
He’s more careful, after the night you had to stop him. But never timid with you. He doesn’t walk on eggshells like the others used to. He’s wrong, sometimes, but he tries. And you’re safe no matter what. And that means more than any sweet words he could whisper to you in the dark, after he thinks you’re asleep.
Because he does that. Often.
It doesn’t matter how you fall asleep, whether he’s laying on your chest or you’re tucked under his arm; he eventually starts to talk to you. Sometimes it’s stories, the ugly parts of his recent mission that he couldn’t bare to tell in the daylight or a memory from his childhood. Sometimes it’s dreams: taking you back to Yavin IV, introducing you to his dad, meeting his childhood friends, vacations on Chandrila, what your first baby’s room will look like (he’s sure to clarify: “If you want kids. We can talk about it.”), where the kids should attend flight school, how he wants to be buried beside you someday.
It’s that night that you wake as he’s saying, “I’ll die first. I have to. I don’t want to be alone.” He pauses to sniffle and cuddle into your shoulder before continuing, “I don’t want to leave you by yourself but I can’t be without you. And you won’t really be alone. You’ll have Finn and Rey. And your people in mech. You’ll be okay.”
“I won’t be,” you whisper before you’ve decided to speak.
“W-what?” He props himself up on an elbow, staring down at you in the dark.
“You were my first friend. You’re my love. I don’t want to be without you either.” You reach up, tracing over his cheek with a feather-light touch.
At once, he shudders and slots himself over you, his arms cradling you to his chest as he presses his forehead to yours.
“You have the more dangerous job,” you say, though you know it won’t help. “I could lose you any day. Any time you walk out the door…”
He presses his lips to yours, insistent. And you give in. Because he knows. And you know he knows. As much as you never talk about it, this war is more likely to steal you from each other than to spit you out the other side, hand in hand. The clock ticks, and ticks, but as long as it doesn’t stop, you have time.
And it’s time you spend, that night, wrapped in each others arms, shedding clothes, as close as two souls can be while trapped in human forms.
When you cry — and you do cry — it’s from relief. Release. Never pain.
In the aftermath, he holds you tight, and he presses kisses over your cheeks, and you realize just how much you love him.
When you tell him, he cries too. And it’s your turn to hold him.
*
Poe seems to stand taller as you walk through the base and people notice your linked pinkies.
“It’s so sweaty,” you’d said whenever he asked if he could hold your hand.
So you’d found a happy medium. He could still be physically linked to you, claim you as his for everyone to see, and you could avoid the sensory overload that accompanied having damp palms.
A few people look, more to pay respect to The Poe Dameron than to give you any attention, but even so, the stares are like pins in your neck. You flinch at a cupboard slamming in a room adjacent to the hall. Poe drops your hand to wrap an arm lightly around your waist, like he can shield you from the sudden onslaught of sights and sounds.
“Almost there,” he whispers into your hair.
You nod just enough to signal that you’ve heard him.
Poe steers you out of the base, keeping a hold on you until the two of you are on the path towards the cantina the Resistance frequented. He helps you into a booth at the back, his hands staying safe places while people could see you. Once you’re settled in, his hand finds it’s way between your thighs, squeezing gently.
He kisses your forehead and joins the conversation happening around you.
Eventually, Rose, Rey, and Finn join you, squishing you all onto the small bench. Poe checks in, making sure you’re alright, and you find that you are. Without realizing it, you’d gotten used to the casual affection that’s typical of Resistance members. Where Finn’s thigh is pressed to yours, you just feel warmth.
He and Rey talk about their daily training. You and Rose bond over your mech work, and she agrees to teach you everything she knows about the bombers. Before you know it, the night begins to wind down.
Poe helps you out of the booth, your hand securely in his. He kisses over your hair and whispers, “Thank you for coming out with me.”
quarterly reminder that if i reblog something ai-generated it is 110% and always an accident and for the love of god please tell me so i can delete it from my blog
I deadass think steve rogers ending was character assassination and conservative rhetoric (send the progressive man back to the decade epitomes with traditional values for a white picket fence life) but it was also just cruel to steve and bucky. “oh ur just mad ur ship didn’t go canon” no im mad the friendship that was the most important thing in both of their lives was tossed aside and the audience was gaslit into believing it didn’t matter despite three films proving otherwise. steve dropped the shield twice for bucky and would have died rather than live in a world where bucky didn’t remember him. bucky broke thru 70 years of brainwashing at the sound of steve’s voice. their catchphrase was essentially “til death do we part”. the fuck
There are sooo many brilliant fics in the Oscar world (some of you write them!) But sometimes, the older stories get lost in the shuffle, especially if that writer has written less for whatever life reason.
So! I am going to rec some mutuals that all OI fans should know!
(please lmk if you would like to be removed)
This will be tricky because I will inevitably leave someone out, but I don't mean to. Also, I am not the authority/gatekeeper of this info. I simply want to share the ✧ ancient wisdoms ✧ I have personally attained.
Some of these people post a lot and some don't. Some of them have thousands of followers and have been around for a long time.
Of course you all know @reallyrallyauthor and @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction - they write and post frequently, and have been around a while. Can't say enough about these sweetie pops.
@missdictatorme is around too so make sure you check her out, especially if you want the best banter, strong/sassy reader characters, humor, wit and scalding hot stories. And of course Dolli herself is hilarious
For beautiful prose and lots of yummy Poe and Santiago content, go see @campingwiththecharmings
For some incredible anguished beauty and all manner of amazing stories for OI, go see @moonknightly, who was definitely married to Marc before I was. Just read her new Santiago story and it got me good.
If you ship Rey + Poe from Star Wars, go see @virtie333. She also has a Moon Knight story (still on my list) and a Triple Frontier story (freaking amazing), probably others. There's one where Rey and Poe survive a snow storm that I'm still in awe of.
@whatthefishh - there aren't enough Rydal Keener fics in this world, but you can find them here, among others
@brandyllyn has a wide variety of stories, but lots of Poe and Santiago as well, including a story in my top 5 of all time, Alabanza.
@eyelessfaces - treasure trove of fics
@felix24601 - writes for a variety of fandoms, but has a lot of Triple Frontier stuff and some Moon Knight stuff. Amazing world builder and has some dark stories if that's your thing. Changed blogs, so message him if you need links/help
@howellatme -I consider howell the authority on Richard Muñoz, but that's not all she writes
@faretheeoscar - yes, the OI news sharing artist is also a writer!
@backp0rchpoet - everything is hottttt and i love their sick banners
I know there are more writers, I'm sorry if I missed a great one! Not all of the ones I've read have honored me with mutalism. And this is a moots list. Also, some of you may write, but I might not be aware if I couldn't find your masterlist, and believe me, I did a deep dive on a lot of people!
Please feel free to add to this list. I want to be following all the OI writers! And please lmk if you want to be removed.
x reader as a writing style is so beautiful because it’s a writing form that speaks back at you. everyone writes reader in different ways, and sometimes you’ll see trends in how you write reader, how your written reader changes depending on where you are in life. and sometimes people might relate to your reader, or fall in love with them, or see them in a completely different light than you wrote them in. and even though that reader you wrote is now separate from you, now belongs to the actual reader, there is still so much joy in seeing those reactions.
Notes: Can I interest you in parentified eldest daughter falling in love with a man with some fucking whimsy
Warnings: Exes to lovers; Whump. Lots of whump; descriptions of Reader being sick multiple times (not super explicit); mentions of pregnancy (but no actual pregnancy); reader is a workaholic; cursing; flashbacks; complicated family dynamics; reader has named sisters - no physical descriptions; canon-typical medical situations; reader's age is unspecified, but she and her sisters are all adults
Summary: John’s hands hook onto the railing of the gurney, his eyes darting to your face every few seconds as your entourage of medical professionals steers you down the hall.
“So,” He offers, “Fancy seeing you here.”
And you so don’t want to let him make you smile, but you can’t help yourself.
“This is a bit much,” He adds as you’re wheeled onto the elevator, “I mean, I told you you could call and you show up at my job instead? I appreciate the effort, but you're coming off a little desperate.”
When you propel yourself out of bed, you’re blindly guided by two things: your instinctual knowledge of where your en suite bathroom is, and your stomach violently rejecting its contents.
You drop to the floor, knees roughly smacking the cold tile as you fumble with the lid of your toilet. Your body shudders as you heave, fingers gripping the cool porcelain desperately. When the sickness finally lets up, you lean back, blinking the tears from your eyes. You swallow thickly, drawing in a deep breath, then wincing as your stomach threatens to revolt again. You lean back, closing the lid and flushing the toilet as you fight to steady your breathing.
The knocking on your door makes you jump, and you raise a shaking hand to your chest, croaking,
“Yeah?”
“You okay in there?”
You nod, though your youngest sister can’t see you, then manage,
“‘M fine.”
“Can I open the door?”
“...Yeah.”
It’s a moment before Lisa’s opening the door and peering inside, her brow furrowed at the sight of you where you’re still sitting on the floor.
“Are you okay?”
“You already asked me that.”
“Yeah, but that was before I saw you looking like…Well, this.”
“Who taught you to be so sweet?”
“You did.”
You offer a wobbly smile, huffing softly as you push yourself up. “Asshole.”
“Uh-huh.” Lisa folds her arms across her chest. “What the hell, by the way?”
“I don’t know,” You grumble, pumping soap into your hands and scrubbing up along your arms where you were leaning against the toilet. “Probably something I ate last night.”
“Could always call your doctor friend and make sure.”
The mention of him has your stomach churning again. “Ha-ha.”
“He should be getting off-shift soon,” Lisa adds as you rinse with mouth wash, “Could invite him over for a check-up.”
You swish, spit, and shoot Lisa a glare couched in a sickly sweet smile.
“Thanks for all of your help, Li.”
Lisa snorts, pushing off of the door frame as she drawls, “Fiiine. I’m gonna get ready for class.”
“You need a ride?”
“No, Joey’s gonna come pick me up—don’t.”
“Hm.”
“Don’t start.”
“I wouldn’t have to start if you weren’t making bad choices.”
“You never like my boyfriends.”
“That’s because all of your boyfriends—” You cut yourself off, raising a hand to staunch a nauseating belch, “Suck.”
When Lisa doesn’t answer right away, you figure that she’s left—but as you straighten back up, you find her watching you in the mirror with a narrowed gaze.
“Are you sure you’re gonna be okay?”
“Yeah,” You nod, turning to face her. “I’m working from home today, anyway. We’ve got rice, we’ve got broth, we’ve got saltines. Honestly, that was probably it, nothing left in the tank. I’m fine.”
Lisa hesitates before she closes the space between the two of you, raising her hand and pressing the back to your forehead. You force a poker face, doing your best not to lean into the coolness of her fingers. Her brow wrinkles, lips screwing to the side, then—
“I have no idea what your forehead is supposed to feel like.”
“Go to class and learn.”
Lisa scoffs, finally turning away and slouching back to her room. You wait until her footsteps have faded completely before reaching out, quietly pushing the bathroom door closed again. You swallow, wincing at the slight ache in your throat.
You don’t feel like you’re going to throw up again, but there’s an pain in your side, one that you hadn’t noticed when you were stumbling your way to bed. You raise your hand, rubbing slightly over a spot on your right and wincing again. Christ, that hurts. Did you bang it when you were getting down to get to the toilet? That must be it.
Of course, it couldn’t hurt to ask a professional. You didn’t block him, he said the door was still open if you ever wanted to talk, so maybe you could just send a quick little question—
No. No.
You have broth, you have rice, you have Google. You can figure this out. Besides, it probably really was just something you ate.
--
“This is John, the guy I’ve been telling you about!”
The words were half-lost on the music being pumped through your best friend’s place, and the chatter of the other people crammed into her shared 450 square foot two-bedroom apartment. You had been tempted to dip out of the party nearly an hour ago, but your friend had sworn that not only was the guy she was setting you up with going to eventually be there (even though he was running late), but he was well worth waiting for.
You turned to face the mystery man, and you were, admittedly, caught off-guard. It was a combination of things: the scrubs he was wearing, the Dunkin cup in hand, and the fact that the guy was really, really cute.
“Hi,” You said, offering your hand and your name in tandem. He took hold of your hand, dipping closer and requesting:
“One more time?”
You hesitated before leaning in and giving him your name again.
“Nice to meet you!” He smiled before glancing around. “It’s a little loud in here. You wanna get some air?”
It was cooler on your friend’s fire escape, and so much quieter. You curled your arms around yourself, toying with your little plastic cup of wine before glancing over at John.
“Can I ask,” You nodded toward the Dunkin.
“Oh—You want a sip?”
“No, no,” You shook your head. “I was wondering why you brought a…Frankly massive Dunkin iced coffee to a housewarming. Seems like an odd choice.”
“I could only stop by for a bit before I have to go to work.”
“Jeez, what time do you start work?”
“Shift starts at seven. Twelve hours.”
“Explains how big the coffee is.”
“Sure does.” He raised it again, giving it a little shake, the ice rattling against the plastic. “You sure you don’t want a sip?”
“Uh—No. Thanks.”
John just shrugged, raising the orange straw to his lips and taking a deep pull.
“You know, I was curious about you,” He offered once he’d swallowed.
“Oh?”
“Mhm. Heard a lot.”
“Good or bad?”
“Good, I think.”
“Like what?”
“Like…You’re the oldest of three sisters, really family oriented. Have your life together, have very high expectations for yourself…And that you’re a stickler for punctuality.” His teasing smile made your belly flutter. “Even more surprised that you’re still here, considering I’m late for our little set-up.”
And you could have told him that your friend had to talk you out of leaving twice, that you had nearly called it when her roommate’s sleazeball of a boyfriend tried to hit on you. All of that was true. But—
“Maybe I was curious about you, too.”
John’s bright smile made staying all the more worth it.
--
According to Google, you have food poisoning, stage 4 stomach cancer, and your period all at once.
And while you could waste your time speculating about something that’ll probably just pass, you choose instead to focus on your job. All you know for certain is that you have two reports due, three RFPs, and a presentation draft due by EoD, as well as a meeting with your manager for your annual review. All of that means only one thing:
You do not have time to spend fucking around, half-asleep in bed, or throwing up the little bit of room-temperature water that you’ve been able to get down.
But that doesn’t stop your body from revolting against you.
You manage to get bits and pieces of your work done in five to ten minute intervals, with your belly betraying any little bit of liquid, nutrients, or hope that you manage to take in. You go through your recipes, your fridge—you just manage to stop yourself from going through your trash to double check the dates on the ingredients that you used to make dinner last night. But it couldn’t really be that, could it? You’d checked all of the dates before you’d cooked, even thrown out a couple of ingredients because they were just a day past their best-by.
It’s your period, it has to be. This doesn’t feel anything like the last time you had food poisoning—at least, what you’re pretty sure was food poisoning.
--
“How ya doin’ over there, champ?”
You glared down at your phone, lips twisted into a pout. “I feel like death.”
“You’re answering me, so definitely not death.”
“I said I feel like death, not that I’m dying—ugh,” You groaned as your lower belly gurgled, shifting where you’d been sitting on your toilet for nearly ten minutes, “God.”
“What are your symptoms?”
“I really don’t want to disclose that to you.”
“Oh, c’mon,” John chuckled, “I’m a professional.”
“No!”
“Why not?”
“It’s embarrassing.”
“It can’t be anywhere near what I see in the ED on the nightly.”
“What’s the most embarrassing thing you’ve ever seen?”
“Honestly? Couple’a days ago, we had a guy came in with a Darth Vader figurine stuck up where it shouldn’t have been.”
Your jaw dropped with a stunned laugh. “Are you serious?”
“Oh yeah. He thought he’d be able to keep it from slipping in completely because the cape was triangular, but it went a little too far. He came in when he gave up reaching for the feet.”
“...Okay, this is one step below that.”
“Just one?”
The slight smile in John’s tone had a grudging one pulling at your lips. “Maybe a couple.”
“Uh-huh. Tell you what, I get off shift in twenty. I’ll swing by with a goodie bag.”
“I can’t handle goodies right now, John.”
“Not even if those goodies include animal crackers, broth, electrolytes, and pepto bismol?”
“I’m not going to be much of a conversationalist.”
“It’ll be a drive by. You buzz me up, I hand you the bag, I steal a couple of kisses, you go back inside.”
“You have a suspicious amount of this interaction planned out.”
“Well, this girl I’m dating has told me that she likes a man with a plan.”
Your smile stretched into a full-blown, lovesick grin, and you raised your hand to scrub across your eyes.
“Fine. Just…give me a five minute warning before you get here?”
“Sure. Hey, you might even find a surprise Darth Vader figurine among your goodies—”
“John!”
--
By noon, you’ve managed to polish off your notes on the RFP, but the presentation and reports have barely been touched. You message your manager reluctantly, warning that you’re a little under the weather, but still in a good place to finish everything on your plate by EoD.
And you do have every intention of finishing things off. You decide to take a half-hour nap, just give your body a little bit of a rest before getting back on the horse.
It’s a good plan in theory—but your head hasn’t been down for two minutes before you’re clambering out of bed, hardly making it to the sink before the singular sip of gatorade you’d taken twenty minutes ago is making a bid for freedom.
You groan, resting your forehead against the sink—and then whine when you hear your cell phone ringing. You straighten slowly, bracing your hand back against the wall and stepping back into your room, taking up the phone from your bedside table. Oh—god. Do you have the patience for this call right now?
You lower yourself to your bed, swiping the call acceptance and sticking it on speaker.
“What’s up, Lilah?”
“Holy fuck, Lisa wasn’t kidding. You sound like shit.”
You muster a weak smile, drawing your legs into the bed and pulling your blankets around your lap.
“Mom and dad did a hell of a job curating your manners.”
“Mm, but you’re the one who really honed them, generalissimo.”
You roll your eyes, resting your pounding head back against the wall of decorative pillows that you’ve piled up, and have been using to keep yourself upright for the last few hours. Growing up as the middle child, Lilah had always been the one raging against your de facto parental machine, where Lisa tended to push back a touch, but ultimately fell in line.
You pull in a steadying breath, catching on the sounds of school kids in the background on the other end of the phone. Must be recess.
“Whaddaya want, bean?”
“I can’t just wanna talk to my big sister?”
“Willingly? It would be a first.”
“Are you pregnant?”
The thought nearly triggers another heave.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” You snap. “Did Lisa tell you that?”
“No, but—”
“I’m on birth control, I have always used protection—”
“Those things aren’t always 100%, accidents happen—”
“And it’s been a while.”
“...If you’re sure.”
“John and I broke up months ago,” You remind her, “And even before that, we hadn’t been…” You wince. “Intimate.”
“Blegh, okay, we get it.”
“I’m just saying—”
“God forbid the two of you pushed the beds together.”
“Lilah, for godssake—”
“I still don’t understand why you broke up with that man.”
The comment stops you in your tracks, eyes unfocused on your dimming laptop screen. You’ve done your best not to think about John—your ‘how’s and ‘why’s and ‘what might’ve been’s. The closest you’ve gotten in the last few weeks is the brief flirtation with his contact in your phone that morning.
“...Okay,” Lilah finally concedes, seeming to take your silence in the spirit with which it’s meant. “Not pregnant.”
“It’s probably actually my period, anyway. You know I get queasy when I’m PMSing—and my cramps suck right now. I’ll be spotting by, like, 3pm at the latest.”
“And if you’re not, your uterus will hear about it.”
“Exactly.”
A moment of slightly tense silence, punctuated only by the odd giggle and screech of children from her end.
“Alright,” Lilah sighs, “The principal is giving me the stink eye, I should probably pay attention to the kids.”
“Lilah—!”
“Kidding! Jesus. Feel better.”
“Thanks.”
Lilah’s grunt is her only sign off before the call cuts. You reach out, drawing your laptop close and squirting at the screen for a moment before squeezing your eyes shut at the throbbing of your headache. Christ.
It isn’t as if you haven’t explained your break up to Lilah, because you have—at least twice. But you’ll tolerate her needling, her willful ignorance, it doesn’t matter. It’s not her relationship, it’s yours—was yours.
--
“I don’t think I’m gonna get Christmas off.”
“Aw, really?” You frowned, setting your planner down on the kitchen table and watching John reach for one of the two remaining Munchkins in the carton he brought over. “I thought you asked.”
“I mean, I did, but it was a little slammed when it came up—more of an informal request.” He raised his fingers to suck the powder off of them, adding through a full mouth: “I put in for it, but it’s up in the air.”
“Hmm. Well if you can’t, that’s alright. It’s just gonna be me and the girls.”
“What about your parents?”
You waved John off, shaking your head. “They’re going to be on a cruise.”
“Oof,” John sighed, slouching back in his seat, “You think you felt bad when you had food poisoning—”
“Okay.”
“Those floating buffet-laden crap shows.”
“Okay!”
“Nice scenery, though.”
You rolled your eyes, propping your chin up on your hand as you considered him.
“What’s your mom gonna do if you can’t get Christmas off?”
John’s lips pressed into a thin line, and your eyes caught on the bob of his Adam’s apple, the fidget of his fingers toying with the strings on his hoodie.
“...John?”
Another moment before he shrugged. “What she does when I usually can’t get the holidays off, I guess.”
You opened your mouth to ask, but he was sitting up before you could, shuffling his chair closer. “So what’d you get me?”
Your confusion melted to fondness, mind flashing to the smart watch you’d spent weeks researching and comparison shopping for, and you scoffed, “As if I’d tell you.”
“C’mon, gimme a hint. Is it black? Red? Lacey?”
--
Your manager only gets two minutes into your performance review before she ultimately cuts it short.
“You know what, why don’t we reschedule?”
You try to tell her that you’re fine to go through with it, but she waves you off: “I’ll throw some time on for tomorrow. Take a break.”
You manage a weak smile, an, “Okay,” and a, “Ping me if you need anything,” before you close out of the meeting. You lower the laptop lid with a sense of defeat, tears crowding your dry, tired eyes. When the urge to puke pops up again, you can’t make it all the way to the bathroom, instead lowering yourself to the floor and hunching over the trash bin by your bed.
It’s nothing but bile that devolves into dry heaves, and by the time you’re through, your pounding head is spinning. You brace your hand on the floor, trying to ground yourself, but it doesn’t hold, and there’s nothing more you can do as your world tilts.
--
The hand on your cheek, then your forehead, is so cold, and a distant, “Holy shit,” sounds so familiar. It’s chased by, “How long has she been like this,” and a frantic, “She wasn’t this bad this morning!”
You groan as you’re turned onto your back, wincing at the onslaught of bright light. It takes a moment, but the face that swims into view is comforting.
“Li-Li,” You smile, raising a hand to cup Lisa’s cheek. “How was school?”
“How long have you been on the floor?”
“Did that boy drive you?”
You hear a scoff, a grumble of, “On death’s fucking doorstep and still the captain of the morality police.”
“Lilah, shut up—”
“Bean,” You struggle to crane your neck as you look for Lilah. “Lilah, what are you—” You try to sit up, flounder, flop back and whack your head roughly on the nightstand, “What’re—”
“Christ, Lilah, call a fucking ambulance!” Lisa snaps.
“Where’s—” You raise your hand, patting along as much of your sheets as you can reach, “Where’s my work laptop?”
“Okay,” Lisa soothes, easing you to lie down fully, “Just relax, okay? We’re gonna get you help.”
Even in your confusion and fog, you can hear her panic, and you tut softly. “I’m okay, Li. Tell bean.”
“Lilah—”
“I’m on with the fucking operator—No, I won’t watch my language, we need a fucking ambulance here, like ten minutes ago!”
--
You do your best to answer the EMTs, but they’re only a few questions in before they’re loading you onto a stretcher, telling your sisters that you’re being taken to Pittsburgh General.
Lisa’s climbing into the back of the ambulance with you, and you only manage to request that someone grab your work laptop before the doors are being slammed shut and Lilah is out of sight.
The ride is hellish, bumpy and painful, and far longer than it should be when you wind up rerouted to PTMC.
--
“Can we talk about Thanksgiving?”
“Sure. Are we rankin’ sides?”
You shot a sidelong glance in John’s direction, eyes narrowed slightly.
“Trying to make plans, actually.”
“Ah,” He nodded. “Yeah, we can try.”
“My parents are probably going to be in town for it this year,” You shifted in your seat, trying to settle your nerves. This was normal, this was something that couples dealt with all the time. So why were you bracing yourself? “And…I mean, we’ve been together for a while, almost a year now, so I wondered if you wanted to…Meet them, finally.”
“You really think they’ll hold still long enough for me to make their acquaintance?”
And it was a fair question, but stacking that on top of your mounting nerves was nearly enough to send you over the edge.
“It’s a yes or no question, J. I mean, I know some of it will hinge on whether you can get work off or not, but—”
“If they’re the deep fried turkey type and I’m on shift, maybe you can bring them in. They can see me in action.”
You closed your eyes, taking a steadying breath in and shaking your head. “Forget it.”
“I’m kidding—”
“Not everything is a joke, John.”
--
There’s so much input at once. The ambulance was its own array of sound, but now you have doctors, nurses, EMTs chatting over you, underscored by the chatter and yelling of fellow patients—and somewhere, not far off, your sister’s panicked voice as you’re wheeled into a room.
“I'm gonna be okay, Lisa,” You mumble, but your promise is cut off by a surge of pain. You can’t help but cry out, trying to squirm away from the pressure that’s been applied to your right side.
“We’ve got rebound tenderness.”
“What’s that mean?” You hiss.
“That means,” A new voice in the room, but not a new voice to you, “That we’re looking at—”
You lift your tearing eyes to that all-too familiar face as he finally registers that it’s you in the bed, as it stops him in his tracks.
“Shen?” Someone urges, but he’s breathing out, “Shit,” eyes flitting to where Lisa is huddled nearby.
“You know each other?” That same voice presses, and John manages,
“I was—She’s my—”
“Okay,” Someone else steps up to the bed, leaning over you, “Ma’am, I’m Dr. Abbot—”
And you’re trying to listen, you are, but you’re also tracking where John is rounding over to Lisa, leaning in to ask questions, to talk, to reassure, you can’t tell—
“Do you understand?” Abbot tacks on, but no, you don’t. You didn’t catch a word, he said, so you shake your head. “Your appendix is on the verge of bursting, we need to get you up to surgery.”
“Surgery?” Lisa pipes up, “Like, now?”
“As soon as possible.”
“Where’s Lilah?” You whimper.
“Oh—Shit, she’s going to the wrong hospital!” Lisa’s out the door without a second glance, drawing her phone out of her pocket.
“Listen,” Abbot leans closer to hold your attention, “If we don’t get your appendix out, it could cause some serious problems. It’s still intact, but we need to remove it before it can rupture and cause you any more problems.”
“OR’s prepped,” Is mentioned somewhere behind you, and suddenly the bed is moving again.
“I’ll go up with her.” John’s at your side in a second, and he and Abbot are sharing a look that you don’t understand over your gurney before Abbot drops away completely. John’s hands hook onto the railing of the gurney, his eyes darting to your face every few seconds as your entourage of medical professionals steers you down the hall.
“So,” He offers, “Fancy seeing you here.”
And you so don’t want to let him make you smile, but you can’t help yourself.
“This is a bit much,” He adds as you’re wheeled onto the elevator, “I mean, I told you you could call and you show up at my job instead? I appreciate the effort, but you're coming off a little desperate.”
“John.”
“Appendix, too, you overachiever. Couldn’t you have broken your wrist, gotten a concussion, something easier?”
Your mental fog is melting to clarity, mingling with your panicked nerves, and the little laugh that leaves you makes the ache in your side twinge.
“I mean, come on,” He’s leaning against the railing now, seemingly unaware or uncaring of the looks that the nurses are giving him, “All of this, just to get my attention?”
“You’re so full of yourself.”
“And you know what you’re gonna be full of if we don’t get that appendix out? Pus.”
“Ugh,” You wrinkle your nose, closing your eyes, “Stop.”
“Better pus than Batman, though.”
You laugh again, and the pain swells, worse.
“Please stop making me laugh, it hurts,” You whimper, and he mutters, “Alright, alright,” as the elevator chimes. You pull in as deep a breath as you can, the full weight of panic weighing down your chest. You swallow roughly, mumble, “John?”
“Yeah?”
“Make sure they give me the good stuff.” When you open your eyes, take in the sweep of lights haloing him as you’re guided down another hall, you find him smiling softly.
“For you? The best,” He promises. “I’ll tell them to check on your funny bone while they’re in there.”
Your laugh turns to a muted sob, the sound half-stuck in your thickening throat as tears spill over. But he’s reaching out before one can slip to the gurney below, swiping it away.
“I’m scared,” You whisper.
“I know. But it’s gonna be okay.”
--
“I like him.”
It was the last thing you expected to come out of Lilah’s mouth. You’d already known that she was miffed at you for taking so long to introduce you to John, doubly so when she found out that Lisa had met him nearly two weeks before she had (that had been an accident, though—Lisa had come home early from what was meant to be a romantic trip with her latest boyfriend, but had crashed and burned into a fight when she found out she was the other woman).
You didn’t answer, just watched Lilah from your end of the couch as she picked her nails. When she glanced toward you, she scoffed, “What?”
“I’m waiting.”
“For?”
“The punchline.”
Lilah rolled her eyes. “No punchline. I like him.”
Your brows rose at the insistence. “That’s a first.”
“Well,” She sighed, pushing herself up, “All of your other boyfriends sucked. I’m gonna raid your fridge now.”
You watched her go, processing for a moment before you followed. “What do you mean, all of my other boyfriends sucked?”
Lilah shrugged, eyes set on the inside of your fridge, scanning the shelves lazily.
“Just what I said.”
“They were all nice guys.”
“No, they were all assholes.”
You scoffed, “They were not all assholes.”
“Fine. They were mostly dickheads, with one or two of them crossing firmly into asshole territory.”
“They were all accomplished.”
“Yeah,” Lilah laughed derisively, “Especially that dude that got nailed for insider trading. How’s his prison sentence going by the way?”
You folded your arms tightly across your chest. “He was only fined and you know it.”
“Right, right.”
“Would you close the fridge door if you’re not gonna take anything? You’re letting all the cold out.”
Lilah raised her hands in surrender, allowing the door to slowly swing shut before she turned to your cabinet.
“As I was saying,” You added, “They were not all dickheads. I prefer to surround myself with ambitious people, and they can be…Difficult.”
“If by ambitious you mean rich, then yeah, you’re usually all over ‘em.”
“That is not what I mean—”
“Hedge fund managers, healthtech douchebros, morons who insist that they’re practically liquid when their entire net worth is in crypto.”
“That was one guy!”
“You know why I like John?” Lilah leaned back to face you, bag of chips in hand. “Cause it’s like you’re not dating with mom and dad in mind for once.”
It was like a slap. It rendered you completely speechless, sending heat creeping across your face, down your neck. And you couldn’t tell if Lilah knew the effect the comment had, but she pushed on:
“John’s ambitious, sure, he’s a doctor, but he’s also, like, genuinely a nice dude, you know. And you’re not trying to be perfect for him the way that you usually do for your dates, or for mom and dad. You’re not preening or constantly fixing your hair or checking your posture with him. You’re just, like…You. It’s good. Kinda freaky, but good.” She popped a couple of chips in her mouth, chewing slowly as you both mulled that over.
“Anyway,” She shrugged, pushing off of the counter, “Only a matter of time before you fuck it up, so. Enjoy it while it lasts.”
You rolled your eyes, following her back into the living room. “Thanks for the vote of confidence, bean.”
“Anytime, generalissimo.”
--
Coming to is slow, and uncomfortable. You’re propped up in bed, the room is bright, even with your eyes closed, and the beeping monitor beside you is starting to get annoying—but can you really begrudge something that reminds you that you’re alive?
You open your eyes, wincing into the light and allowing your vision to adjust. You can see a duffel bag on the chairs across from you, spot coats laying over the back of those same chairs. And when you let yourself glance around, you find someone at your bedside.
John is seated, folded over your bed with his head pillowed on his arms. His eyes are closed, and he’s breathing steadily. You can’t tell if it’s light outside with the shades closed, so you reach your IV-laden hand out, tapping on the face of the smart watch you got him a couple of Christmases ago. The screen flashes, but not in time for you to get a good look. You’re about to tap again, but—
“Are you snooping through my messages?”
Groggy, soft, warm—there’s that sleep-roughened voice you’ve missed so much. You smile a little.
“No. Trying to see what time it is.”
“Mm,” John pushes himself to sit up and proffers his wrist, scrubbing his free hand across his eyes as you get a better look. Nearly half past eight.
“Maybe a silly question, but is it AM or PM?”
“AM,” He chuckles, lowering his wrist.
“Shouldn’t you be home?” You ask. But before he can answer, the door to your hospital room opens, and Lisa and Lilah are trailing in with cups of coffee in hand.
“You’re up!” Lisa screeches, hurrying forward so quickly that some coffee sloshes over the side of the little paper cup. Lilah’s joining her a moment later, crowding in against you with leans, hugs, and carefully placed hands. You begin to reach for them with both arms, but wince when your IV pulls slightly. Lisa steps back, allowing Lilah to lean into you more closely.
“Did you grab my phone?” You ask, “And did you call…You know?”
“We didn’t,” Lisa winces, “We weren’t sure—”
“No, no. You did the right thing,” You soothe before glancing at Lilah. Her smile is watery, thin, and she seems to be opening her mouth to start to say something, but you have to ask:
“Did you bring my work laptop?”
That watery thin smile is gone in a second, mouth flat. Her eyes seem to glaze over, hands drawing back and curling into fists at her sides.
“I—No.”
“Lilah,” You groan, “That was, like, the one thing I asked you to bring—”
You barely get it out before she’s stomping out of your hospital room, Lisa hot on her heels, swearing, “I’ll get her.”
You close your eyes, sinking back in your bed. “Shit.”
“You shouldn’t be working right now, anyway,” John warns. You peek one eye open, frowning as he rounds the bed, pouring water from a pitcher on the bedside table. “Here.”
You take the cup carefully, though John keeps a loose grasp on it as you take a sip. He sets it aside once you’re finished, offering, “You want some more?”
“Nn-nn,” You shake your head. You perk up as the door opens again, but Lilah’s sweeping in and grabbing her coat without looking at you.
“Bean, I’m sorry—Hey!” You call out as she turns away again, “I’m not mad at you!” But your protests seem to fall on deaf ears as she rounds back into the hall. You close your eyes, tipping your head back against the pillows. “Great.”
“You want me to go get her?”
“No. Lisa’s gonna try to do that, anyway. And when she’s pissed at me, Lilah needs time to just…Decompress. Trust me,” You huff a laugh, “I’ve pissed her off a lot.” You tip your head to the side, wiggling your fingers toward his hand. And you expect him to just take it and hold on, but John is climbing into bed with you, carefully nestling against you. You sigh softly, turning your head and nuzzling against his neck. Neither of you speak for a few moments, the room falling into quiet, save for the beep of the monitor beside your bed.
“...Shouldn’t you be home?” You finally ask again.
“Mm…You want me to go?”
“No.”
“Then I’m right where I should be.”
And it’s so gentle, and firm, and certain. Your eyes well with tears again, and you try to squeeze tight against them, to hold them back, but they’re slipping before you can stop them. John doesn’t tut, tell you that it’s alright, that you’re okay. He just cuddles closer, intertwining your fingers.
“When I’m, um,” You sniffle, “When I’m less of a mess, can you explain what happened? Like, properly?”
“Using all of my big brain and science-y knowledge? Sure I can. Dr. Garcia will probably come to speak with you, too.”
“Did they do the surgery?”
“No, Dr. Walsh did. Case got handed over to the day shift, though.”
“Oh.”
“...So next time you want my attention, I’m thinking a kidney stone could be the way to go.” He keeps on over your quiet giggles—“Getting rid of those is way more fun than an appendix. Hey, when’s the last time you were on a roller coaster?”
--
It’s nearly ten by the time John is leaving your room with a kiss on the forehead and a promise to check in with you over the next couple of days. Lisa is back, but the two of you are speaking little. She won’t tell you where Lilah is, or what she said when she stormed out. You fall asleep around noon.
When you wake up around two, your work laptop is sitting on top of your duffel bag, and Lilah is nowhere to be seen.
--
You can’t remember the last time Lisa played nurse maid to you like this. You try to think of it, but you’re coming up with…Well, never. On the odd occasion you’ve gotten sick, you’ve always managed it yourself—but this isn’t just getting sick.
You can get around on your own, but it’s not the most comfortable. Lisa emails her professors, lets them know what happened, gets a pass to skip a couple of her classes so that she can stay at home and look after you for a couple of days. She helps you clean and change your wound dressing so that you don’t have to twist, or look at the little laparoscopic scars any more than you have to. She even offers to help you inject the prescribed blood thinner, but you insist on doing that yourself. It’s a way of taking back just a little bit of control after you’ve spent so much of the last 72 hours feeling helpless.
Besides, you’re usually the one doing the minding, so being minded makes you feel unbalanced.
Your manager gives you the week off to heal, tells you not to worry about the presentations and reports, commends you for the work that you were able to get done, and insists that if she sees your status active on your laptop, she’s going to have IT lock you out.
You try texting Lilah a few times, and she doesn’t answer, save to react or send lone emojis. You don’t try to call, or FaceTime. You’re not sure where you’d start if you did.
So when Lisa tells you the next day that Lilah’s at the apartment, and that she’s sitting on your unit’s balcony, it’s sort of a relief.
--
You know those things are bad for you.
It sits on your tongue, but you hold it there. The fact that Lilah is there at all is a boon, so you do your best to pointedly ignore the smoke curling from the end of her cigarette.
“I thought you were gonna die, you know?”
It cracks the air open, splits you down the middle, but Lilah doesn’t stop there:
“I’d never seen you like that. My superhero of a sister, on the floor, just…Laid out. When Lisa was getting into the ambulance with you and I stayed to grab some stuff like you asked, I was just like, on autopilot. Clothes, medication, phone, keys. The important shit, you know? And then I got to the wrong hospital and Lisa called, and I was like ‘well, shit. I’m not gonna get to say goodbye.’ And then you were in surgery, and then you were out, and then you woke up,” Her voice lilts with a hysterical little laugh, “And your first question was where your fucking work laptop was, and that was when I remembered that you asked for it. And I was like ‘well fuck. I fucked up again.’” Lilah quiets as she takes another drag from the cigarette, but for all the comments buzzing against your lips, you wait.
“You know what I think?” She exhales, “What this was? God or the universe, or fucking whatever—it’s telling you to slow down.” She turns her head to look at you finally, bloodshot gaze pinning you in place. “Because your first question coming out of major surgery should be what happened, how long was I out, what are the next steps, not where your fucking work laptop is—”
“I know.”
“Like that’s psychotic. And the worst part is you can’t even blame the meds, like, you’re just like that.”
“I know.” You pull in a deep breath, just managing not to wrinkle your nose at the scent of smoke. “I’m sorry, bean. I shouldn’t have said that—and you’re right, I can’t even blame the anesthesia.” You shift your seat a little closer, nudging her knee with yours. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”
“...Well, you didn’t. Your bitch-ass appendix did.”
You snort, looping your arm around Lilah’s shoulders and drawing her in.
“I love you, bean.”
Lilah sniffles as she huddles closer, tucking her head beneath your chin.
“I love you, too, generalissimo.”
--
“Saw Lilah on the way in.”
“Yeah?” You sit against the mountain of pillows still against your headboard, watch John unpack a few things from his bag onto your bed—gloves, gauze, tape, small scissors, alcohol wipes.
“Everything okay?”
“...Fine,” You concede, “She just has a shitty sister.”
You can feel John glancing toward you as you carefully wriggle out of your loose shirt, leaving you in a sports bra.
“Okay, let’s see what we have here.”
You hold carefully still as John peels back your wound dressing, leaning in to get a better look at the scars.
“How’s the pain been?”
“Fine, I guess. The gas pain in my shoulders sucks, though.”
“Yeah, that’s from the CO2 they use to inflate the abdominal cavity.”
“Hate the use of ‘cavity’ there.”
John’s lips quirk with a smile. “Wounds look good, no irritation or excessive redness.”
“Lisa’s been a very good nurse.”
“Mm.” John opens an alcohol wipe, carefully cleaning your wounds. “Has it been itchy at all?”
“Not really.”
“Good…A heating pad should help with those gas pains, by the way.”
“Okay.”
The two of you go quiet as he rebandages your wounds, then straightens.
“No fever, chills?”
“Nn-nn.”
“Appetite’s back?”
“Mostly.”
“Good.” John sits on the edge of the bed, removing his gloves and dropping the old dressing and alcohol wipe into the (now cleaned) bin by your bed. “When we were in the hospital, Lisa said you were sick all day. Why’d you wait so long to come in?”
“Just…” You shrug. “I thought it was my period.”
“Your cramps are that bad?”
“They can be.”
“Yeesh,” He mutters, tucking a few supplies into his bag. “When are you due back for your check-up, remind me?”
“Friday.”
“Okay.”
The two of you fall into quiet, and when you reach out for John’s hand, he slips it warmly into yours.
“...What’d your parents say?”
You focus on the press of his palm, trace the length of a vein on the back of his hand.
“I haven’t told them yet.” Your eyes flicker to his incredulous frown, and you shake your head. “It’s kinda too late now. I mean—I’ll tell them eventually. At this point they’ll just be upset that they weren’t invited.”
“Invited?” He scoffs. “It wasn’t a birthday party.”
“You know what I mean. I should’ve told them when I was on my way to the hospital, but I didn’t, and neither did the girls, so…Now this gets to be that funny story I tell them on New Year’s Eve in two year’s time, when they’re good and buzzed and less likely to get mad at me for not telling them right when it happened.”
“Sounds like you already have it all planned out.”
“I like a plan, remember?”
John smiles, thumb sweeping across the soft of your wrist. “I remember.” It’s a moment before he hedges: “Remind me, is that why we broke up? Not enough plans?”
You sigh softly, eyes dropping to your hands. “That was some of it. Other times, I just…I felt like you were making jokes of everything, all the time, or not taking things seriously. But honestly, after the whole,” You wave toward your abdomen, “You know, how chaotic it was, how scary…I kinda get it now. Why you’re so level.”
“...Doesn’t mean I should be doing it all the time. I’m sorry if I made you feel like we couldn’t just have a serious conversation.”
You smile. “I’m sorry I was so rigid. I should’ve been more understanding.”
“Hindsight’s 20/20, huh?”
“Famously.”
John gives your hand a little squeeze. “I should let you rest.”
“Okay…Can I selfishly say that I don’t want you to leave yet?”
“Yes,” He chuckles. “Tell you what. I’ll stick around for a bit, keep close. Make sure you don’t roll over in your sleep.”
“Oh yeah? You do that for all your patients, Dr. Shen?”
“Oh, all of them.”
“You really know how to make a girl feel spesh.”
John chuckles, nudging off the house shoes he’d worn inside and climbing into bed beside you, resting his hand on your hip. You tipped your head against him, relaxing into the warmth of his body as you had just a few days ago.
“Would it be selfish of me to say that I missed you a lot?” You mumbled.
“There’s that word again.”
“Hmm?”
“Selfish.” You feel John tip his head toward you. “Wanting things isn’t selfish. Neither is feeling things.”
You gnaw on your lower lip, letting your gaze drop back to his chest. He smoothes his hand over your hair, drawing you carefully closer.
“Tell you what,” He murmurs, “We’re gonna talk about this later—for now, you need your rest.”
“When are we gonna talk about it?”
“This weekend.”
“Oh?”
“Mhm. You’re gonna get clearance from Walsh to resume normal food and activity on Friday, we’re gonna get coffee and go for a nice, easy walk on Saturday—”
“I see—”
“And we’re gonna clear up all this selfish talk.”
“And then what?”
“Oh, just you wait.”
“Do I get a hint?”
John tips his head down toward you, lips brushing your forehead.
“You thought that first go-around was something? I’m gonna date the crap out of you.”
You smile. “I’d rather our dating not have anything to do with crap.”
if you guys really like a fic you should, like, actually engage with it & leave kudos & comments btw. recently on reddit someone talked about their experience in fandom after they deleted all their fics bc they felt ostracized & lonely (no one talked to them, no one commented on the fics). right after doing that, the person started getting messages on their social media profiles from different users telling them the fics meant so much, they raved about them in discord servers, etc etc.
like that guts me, you know? because writing IS kind of a lonely experience and when you share your writing you want to CONNECT with others. but if no one comments, if no one talks to you, if they make you feel like you're screaming into an empty room, of course you're gonna delete everything & leave. of course you're gonna be pissed off when suddenly out of "nowhere" others start popping up talking about how much them & their discord server loved your fic.
HAVE THOSE CONVERSATIONS OFF DISCORD. HAVE THEM WITH THE WRITER. we are fans too! like damn. can we not make people feel extra lonely or something. leave kudos. leave comments. talk to writers!!
the number of times I have posted a fic that I'd written just to stop being haunted by some extremely specific demon from my distant past, and then got comments like "this meant so much to me, thank you for this, it really resonated, screaming crying throwing up etc"
it's almost like we all have feelings we keep to ourselves out of embarrassment but we do in fact all have them, so WRITE THE FIC
okay enough of the doom and gloom. this is a post of appreciation for all the amazing people who reblog fanart and gifsets with funny and sweet comments in the tags and have been doing so for years, even for fandoms they aren't in just to support creators. you guys are genuinely the best and the reason we're all still here on this godforsaken website <333
content warnings: 18+!!!! Gets quite smutty, fluffy, jack abbot invented YEARNING, age gap!!!, no use of Y/N
notes: i know this one sounds kinda depressing but i promise its fun and funny and flirty and it’s my favorite one ive ever written!! also debating on making an ao3 account - should i?
ˏˋ°•*⁀➷
Jack Abbot was unfortunately intimately familiar with the 5 Stages of Grief. Depression, Bargaining, Anger, Denial, Acceptance.
He grieved his leg at the ripe age of 31 - courtesy of an IED in the desert of Afghanistan.
He began grieving his late wife the following year at 32 - courtesy of an arrogant, misogynistic emergency medicine resident.
At 33, he grieved the life he thought he was going to have while he started a new one. No longer a husband, but a widow. No longer an army medic, but an Emergency Room attending at Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center.
Sometimes when he would come back to the empty home he bought at 34, the ghosts of that life were louder than any silence he thought he could drown out with the police scanner.
Jack Abbot knew the 5 Stages of Grief like the back of his hand.
In hindsight, he didn’t know how he didn't realize the 5 stages in which he fell in love with her were quite similar. A mirror of his grief refracted through a lens of unconditional love.
depression
If someone would have asked Jack at the time, he wouldn't have admitted he was depressed. He truly didn't think he was.
He didn't need therapy to deal with his trauma. His wife passed away a decade ago. His leg, or lack thereof, the constant reminder of the time he gave up while he had her on this earth - was physically healed. As much as it was going to be anyways. So therefore he was mentally healed. As much as he thought he was going to ever be anyways.
He'd been running on autopilot. It carried him from but mostly to the emergency room at PTMC. It's what made him stop at the unfamiliar sight of Gloria in his ED. This is why he didn't work the day shift. He never wanted to deal with all of the bureaucratic administrative bullshit. The only business Jack Abbot was ever interested in was the one of saving lives. Gloria hadn't even opened her mouth and Jack already knew that Robby was going to owe him one.
"Dr Abbot! Wonderful timing. I have a residency interview waiting in Robby's office for you."
Now Robby really owed him one. "Doesn't Robby usually..." Jack scratched at the back of his neck, still confused as to why Gloria had involved herself, and now him, in a residency interview, "...facilitate those?"
Gloria gave a curt nod before glancing around them, as if checking to make sure they would not be overheard. She lowered her voice as she spoke, "Yes but I specifically scheduled this one when I knew you were covering. She is the best candidate we have ever had and probably ever will. I cannot risk Robby running her off."
Right. The Adamson of it all. There was a joke in there somewhere about Jack being considered the stable one in the ED. He guessed he must be. He had become fairly good at presenting an even keeled, calm front. He still had kind of felt like a mess in every other area of his life but the ED was the one place he was the furthest from one. It's where he solved the mess instead of becoming it.
She shoved a printed resume into Jack's hands before she was off. Back up to her ivory tower. He took a look as he strode over to Robby's office. Full ride to Stanford for both her undergraduate and medical degree.
For once, he agreed with Gloria. What the hell did this candidate want to do with PTMC?
He asked her as much as he sat across the desk from her, brow furrowed in genuine curiosity. Residency interviews usually went one of two ways. The candidate was either far too cocky or so nervous they barely got a complete sentence out.
She struck the balance. She was confident. More so than some of his residents who had been out on the floor. She wore a dark gray wool sweater and maxi skirt set. The monochrome was only cut by the deep maroon of her belt, tights, heels, and purse. Her long hair was slicked back into a simple pony tail and her makeup was minimal, if any.
It wasn't the typical look of a medical student on a residency interview. Still completely appropriate, but far less stuffy and much more self assured.
Jack wouldn't know good style if it had slapped him in the face but he did know what hers revealed to him about herself. It was the kind of style that someone who knew who they were had. Who had spent time getting to know what they liked. Whether it was what they were reading, listening to, watching, or doing. Her style wasn’t an afterthought but she carried it with a quiet confidence that let everyone know she was not overcompensating for anything either.
It was a demeanor and style that was derivative of having a life outside of medicine - which was quite uncommon for medical students and residents alike. It was completely foreign to Jack. It intrigued him. She intrigued him.
Her body language was relaxed but respectful. One leg crossed over the other as she leaned back into the wooden chair that was probably older than she was, hands clasped in her lap. Jack doubted her heart rate had reached over 65 the whole time she had been in there.
She took a beat to answer his question which also intrigued Jack. She was not rushing to answer just to fill space. She seemed to be comfortable with the time silence gave her to craft intentional responses. Why PTMC?
A ghost of a smile that looked like it might be haunted by one appeared on her face, "My family is here."
"That's it?"
"Do you want the practiced professional answer that every other interviewer has gotten or do you want the real one?"
Jack bit back a grin at her bluntness. Ignored the stirring in his stomach that made him feel special that she may share something about herself with him that she hadn't with anyone else. He tells himself to Get. A. Grip.
"I am sure the absolute best residencies in the country are foaming at the mouth to land you and you want to come here because of your family? Give me the real reason." He let his smirk slip through as he crossed his arms over his broad chest, "I'm a captive audience after all."
The airy laugh that he got out of her almost knocked him out of his seat. What was wrong with him? He had a feeling she didn't just hand out a laugh as ethereal as that one. That she was not the kind of woman who just giggled because it was the part of the conversation where she'd been socialized to appease the man speaking that he was funny. She seemed far too smart for that. For probably everyone in the building. For him, especially.
"I have already been away in California for eight years. I could have fifty years left with my dad and my brothers and my sister in laws and my nieces and nephews or they could be gone next week," she uncrossed and recrossed her legs before continuing. Didn't rush before speaking again, "I don't want to build an unguaranteed future alone and then have no one to share it with when I get there. I wanna spend time with them now."
Jack's adam's apple bobbed in his throat. His eyes burned as he fought to hold back tears. It must be some kind of cruel joke that right then his phantom limb pain wanted to shoot up through his thigh. Like a reminder of the time he spent wasting while he had his wife alive.
He had joined the army to become a doctor debt free. Then he had spent all of their marriage overseas, saving money for a life they never even got to spend together. He had borrowed time from the future that didn't even exist. And all he had to show for it was ironically - more money - monthly life insurance, disability, and veteran affairs checks. Oh and one and a half legs.
He blinked rapidly. He was not about to cry at work. Nevertheless while he was conducting a residency interview. He diverted the conversation away from himself, "You didn't mention your mom."
"She died. When I was a teenager, about ten years ago. After coming here actually," She coughed out a dry laugh that sounded like she dragged it up through her throat, kicking and screaming. Awfully different to the one Jack had floated out of her moments prior, "She was pregnant and they sent her away without so much as a full consultation. Just chalked her symptoms up to pregnancy and she died from an aortic dissection later that night."
Jack wanted to vomit at the almost exact recountance of how his wife had died. He was so focused on not emptying his breakfast onto Robby's desk that a tear slipped - the first in probably years.
"Oh, Dr Abbot. I didn't mean to make you emotional. I can go back to the professional answer any time you want." Another scoffed laugh, her eyes full of compassion but no tears, "Trust me - it's probably easier for both of us."
Jack really never talked about his late wife anymore. He liked to tell himself he was healed. He most definitely didn't talk about it at work. But he found himself wanting to then - with her, "No it's just - my late wife - she died the same way, about a decade ago. I was away on a stupid bachelor party trip and she didn't want to worry me so she didn't call me about it and then she, uh, never called again."
"Jesus - I am so sorry, Dr Abbot."
He noticed, appreciated, the way her head didn't tip and her eye contact didn't waver. She was not expressing her condolences out of pity or not understanding but of exactly the opposite. She knew exactly how he felt. He ignored the way his heart jumped out of his chest at the thought.
God, Robby really owed him one.
"Thank you - I am sorry about your mom. I am just impressed you still wanna work here. I could never work in the hospital that did that to my wife. The couple years after she passed - I could barely work here."
"Well, the other option was becoming one of those weirdos who swears off doctors and hospitals and science."
Jack tilted his chin at her in consideration, rubbed at the scruff there, and let out a sputtering laugh, "Are you sure that is the only other option?"
He pulled another light chuckle from her and he exhaled. Truly exhaled. For the first time in maybe ten years - like he had been underwater for so long he had forgotten what fresh air felt like.
"This is my way of letting her live on through me. To do something about what happened to her rather than using it as an excuse to sulk through life. I wanna see life as something that comes from me and not at me."
She picked at the lining of her purse that was perched in her lap. The first sign of potentially any nerves. The first time he realized that he was getting the true her. Not the front she must put up for interviews. It didn't seem much different - just a little more vulnerable.
Jack could talk. So much so he had a reputation for it in the ED. He was no stranger to being on the receiving end of a 'God do you ever shutup?' so he was a bit stunned that she had managed to shock him into silence.
He hugged his crossed arms closer to his chest as if that was even possible and just stared.
She cracked a smile, back to what was seemingly her calm and confident self, "Too esoteric for a residency interview?"
"Oh no. Not at all. I just..." Jack couldn't seem to find the right words to tell her that she had just reframed his entire outlook on his life and his grief in one sentence so he settled on, "...I uh never really thought of it that way."
"Me neither. But I have an excellent therapist."
"I will have you know, if you choose to do your residency here, I do not make it a habit of trauma dumping on my residents like I did on you today."
"I think I started that, Dr Abbot. But since I made you cry - does that mean I am in?"
That earned a genuine cackle out of Jack. A cackle. A kind of sound he wasn't even sure he was capable of making anymore but the bright, beaming smile she reciprocated made him want to do it for the rest of his life.
Maybe he owed Robby one.
Jack tried not to think about her as he got the old laptop down from his hallway closet later that night. He may never even see her again. He ignored the fact that that thought made him sick to his stomach.
Tried not to think about how Gloria had never ever personally been the residency candidate welcome committee until today while he googled 'Veteran, disabled, widower therapists near me'.
He tried not to think about how she looked the best anyone has ever looked in that emergency department as he murmured to himself, "God, that's a depressing search."
He tried not to think about how she had the most beautifully intriguing brain of anyone who had ever stepped foot into that hospital, potentially his entire life, as he booked his very first therapy appointment.
bargaining
"Remember when you told me you didn't make it a habit of trauma dumping on your residents?"
Jack didn't even have to look at her to know there was a huge smirk plastered on her face. She had been his resident for a little over a year. Although, it had taken much less time for the ribbing to start.
"Telling you about how Shen won't stop calling me 'Unc'," Jack had put air quotes around the Gen Z slang term as he continued, "is not trauma dumping."
"You seem pretty traumatized by it. You've only brought it up 85 times this shift."
"And to think - I was gonna ask you to a research breakfast after this." Jack nudged his shoulder gently with hers, tried his best to stave off the grin that played on his lips.
"And to think! You're going to anyway, old man." She nudged him right back, a little less gentle causing him to turn his shoulders and gaze towards her, feigning shock and offense.
That got the exact reaction he was fishing for - a big bright smile, loud laugh, and a second or so more of eye contact that he wouldn't have had a reason to justify otherwise.
What can he say? When it came to her - he was greedy.
"You two! I would prefer to get the hand off completed before you're both back on shift tonight. I swear you're like young and dumb medical students after shift sometimes." Dana chastised them but not without a hint of a smile.
Dana had known Jack for over ten years at this point. Seen him in a lot of different moods; but never as happy as this.
"Well, I'm young." She emphasized the 'I' with a smirk and pointed the finger that she had aimed at herself over at Jack, "He is just being dumb."
Jack barked a laugh. A sound that was no longer so foreign to him. No longer so foreign to everyone else in the ED.
He didn't miss the knowing glance Dana shot his way, a grin fighting to appear on both of their faces. He did his best to give Dana a look that said that he wasn't hopelessly infatuated with his resident. That he enjoyed spending time with each of his residents equally. He was not entirely sure he convinced Dana. He wasn't even good at convincing himself.
He could take her to breakfast if it was to help her with her research. It was most definitely not to see how many times he could pull a laugh from her. Bonus points if he got a nose scrunch or an accidental spit take of the orange juice that was already half way down her throat.
He could bring her a coffee every shift if it was to ensure his best resident was energized for her shift. It was not because of the way she looked up at him with her bright, big eyes through her lashes and said "Thank you, Dr Abbot!" like it was some sort of melody. If he started buying coffee for Dr Ellis and Dr Shen as well to make his affection less obvious - what was the difference?
He could let her do a pericardiocentesis way before anyone else her year probably should have if it was to improve her education. And because she truly was ready. He'd have bet his entire career that she was better at it than all of the surgical residents upstairs. Which meant it wasn't so totally obvious that he was staring at her in awe all of the time. Because when she was doing shit like that - everyone was. Being able to guide her hands through a procedure was just a bonus. Even if there were latex gloves between them.
He could bring extra food to shift, knowing she was going to eat half of it, if it was because he wanted to ensure his best resident was properly fueled and empowered to do her job to the best of her ability. He kept it to himself that he drove to a grocery store thirty minutes out of his way to get the specific kind of candy he knew she liked.
He could drive her home if it was to ensure his smartest resident got home safe. It was totally not because he got to spend more time with her. He definitely didn't take the long way to her apartment and he went exactly the speed limit because that was what was safe. Not because it meant extra time with her. No one else needed to know that he went at least fifteen over when she wasn't in his passenger seat.
No one also needed to know that he bought an aux cord just for her because he loved to hear what kinds of songs she liked. He definitely didn't have a playlist compiled of them all that he listened to at home now instead of his police scanner.
denial
She had been his resident for a bit over two years now and the ED was Q word tonight. No one had said it but the combined time they had all spent fucking around at the Hub proved it.
Shen was on his fifth tiktok trend of the night. He thought he was being inconspicuous in the amount of time he had been spending with Javadi but his new found interest in the social media app gave him away. Jack couldn't really say anything to his new junior attending about the dangers of falling for someone that you were the superior to without blowing up his own soft spot for a certain resident.
So Shen was on his fifth tiktok trend of the night and he had roped her in.
Jack thought he knew all of her secret talents by now but he watched from behind her, amused and hands tugging at his stethoscope looped behind his neck, as Shen played various Britney Spears songs to see how quickly she could guess them.
She hadn't needed more than 3 seconds for any of them.
Then they were busy for an hour or so. A couple drunk twenty somethings with some concussions and laceration repairs - nothing too crazy. And then they were back at central. The quiet was interrupted by a gasp from Dr Shen. Which was quickly followed by Dr Ellis looking over his shoulder at his phone and then both of them dying laughing.
"I don't even want to know." Jack threw his hands up in surrender.
"Oh, yes you do! You're going viral for being hot!" Shen exclaimed.
"I don't know what viral means if it’s not to do with an infection and I already know that I’m hot thank you very much." Jack didn't even glance up from his charting as he spoke.
“For being hot and being hopelessly in love.” Ellis clarified.
That got Jack's attention. He got up, snatched Shen's phone out of his hand as he muttered, “I am not hopelessly -" he didn't even want to give the accusation a real denial to validate it, "-let me see that.” He pressed play.
It was ironic that he had been telling himself he needed to start schooling his expressions when it came to her when the same dopey smile and enamored eyes he had going in the video were on his face as he watched the video.
He knew Shen and Ellis were monitoring his reaction closely but he couldn't help but let out a laugh at the part of the video where he had guessed the song 'Lucky' before she had.
She had whipped around in the spinning chair so fast - her hair had stuck to her glossed lips, "How the hell do you know that?!" she asked surprised, a wide smile taking over her face.
Jack shuffled around in his wide stance, large hands going from the ends of his stethoscope to clasped behind his back, his chin tilted up at her as he spoke with a drawl, "I let you play your music when I drive you home, don’t I?”
In the moment, Jack had missed what was caught on camera - the knowing smirk Dr Ellis had leveled at Dr Shen off camera as she said, “Oh, I’m sure you do.”
Jack's rebuttal hadn't even had a chance to leave his mouth before Shen and Ellis were reading the comments aloud, taking turns as they went.
"WHOOOO DAT IN THE BACK!?"
"Paging Doctor biceps in the back"
"Close enough. Welcome back Lexie grey and mark sloan"
"What in the greys anatomy"
"Do the two doctor sexys know that age gap august is upon us"
"If she doesn’t wanna bite on his biceps I will"
"Does that girl know she has 45mins to claim that man before I do"
"He does not play about her!"
"A man who YEARNS is a man who EARNS"
"Dr sexy is down bad for the other doctor sexy"
"Where is this emergency room at … for research purposes"
"I want Doctor sexy to look at me like that"
"Okay, I don’t look at her like anything!" Jack hissed low in a whisper, hoping to a god he did not believe in that she was still busy with the drunk college kids and was not hearing any of this.
"Well, you definitely don’t look at me like that." Shen laughed, sucking on his Dunkin straw even though nothing had been left in his cup for hours.
"I look at you all the same." Jack deadpanned. He sat back down at his computer. An attempt to get back to charting. But not before taking a sweep of the ED and making sure she was nowhere within earshot. Not that Shen and Ellis were making it easy with their hysterics.
"Bro - if you looked at me like that I would call HR. She's just into it."
“Into what?" She asked monotonically, not even looking up from her iPad as she approached the rest of the night shift crew at the hub.
“Nothing!” Jack barely got out, grumbling and exasperatedly running a hand through his silver curls as he got up from his computer and went to chairs.
He didn't miss the raise in her brows as she looked at Shen and Ellis, silently asking 'What the hell is up with him?'.
He couldn't tell you the last time he voluntarily went out to chairs but he was hoping his fair Irish skin would be finished betraying him with the pinkness in his cheeks, ears, and neck by the time he made his way back to central.
He knew it was only a matter of time before Shen and Ellis showed her the video and he did not want to be there when they did.
So he missed the flush in her cheeks, ears, and neck that had been identical to his.
And her slightly embarrassed, definitely exaggerated, "You guys stop - he is literally our boss."
"But you're not not into it?" Ellis had pushed. If anyone was getting it out of her, it was Ellis. They had been attached at the hip since their residency began.
"It doesn't matter if I'm into it. He is our boss! He is not into it."
"God, for someone so smart you are so stupid sometimes."
Jack had waved Shen off when Shen had come out to chairs to tell him about that interaction, practically vibrating with excitement. Or maybe that was the caffeine. Jack had parroted her, tried to make a joke of it all. Said something along the lines of, "I know you guys like to pretend otherwise but I am your boss."
But once Jack was home, black out shades drawn and snug in his bed, he couldn't wipe the huge, stupid grin off of his face.
anger
Jack was not an angry man. Never had been. Very few things on this earth made him genuinely angry - one of them being the annual hospital gala. Every year they were trotted out as show ponies to raise money that the ED would never even see. You can't save patients with empty compliments and an open bar.
He had managed to avoid it the past couple years - always worked instead. So when he saw he wasn't scheduled to work the night of this year's gala, he printed out the schedule and marched right over to Robby's workstation to rectify what was surely a mistake.
"Why am I not scheduled to work tomorrow? I didn't even check the schedule until now because I just assumed that my friend would do me a solid because he owes me one-"
"-Because you have to go to the gala, man." Robby interrupted Jack's rambling.
"What part of 'you owe me one' did you not understand?"
"Did you happen to see who else is not scheduled?"
Neither of them had to say anything for them both to know who's name Jack was scanning that piece of paper for.
Robby clapped him on the back, satisfied with a smile on his face as he walked away, "Go home and rest, Romeo. You got a big date tomorrow night - you’re welcome!"
ˏˋ°•*⁀➷
So again, Jack was not an angry man. Never had been. But he had decided to add a new line item to the short list of things that made his blood absolutely boil. The thing being every single young, conventionally attractive, rich, tall surgeon working in his hospital hitting on his resident at this stupid fucking gala.
They hadn't even made it to dinner yet and he was sure she'd been approached over ten times. Jack had to step away after the most recent one - under the guise of getting a drink.
Jack unfortunately was very familiar with this particular suitor of hers. She was well into her last year of her residency and it had not been an uncommon occurrence for Dr Harvard from cardio thoracic surgery to make any and every excuse to come down and consult when she was on shift.
Jack made a conscious effort to forget his name. Shen and Ellis loved to remind him of it.
They'd tease him about it. They'd say that there was a plus side to it all. They never had to wait long on a cardiac surgery consultation anymore. But selfishly, Jack would wait fucking years if it meant he was chatting her ear off instead of Mr Harvard.
Jack wasn't naive. She was practically glowing. She always was. She always looked beautiful. Before tonight, he basically only ever saw her with no makeup on, hair a mess, wearing hospital issued scrubs and he still thought she was the most gorgeous person alive.
But tonight. Tonight, Jack was surprised he did not end up as a patient in his ED the first moment he had laid eyes on her. Her hair was carefully curled, framing her perfect face that was painted with just the right amount of makeup. Her lashes were more prominent than usual, her cheeks more flushed and her lips a bit more pink and a lot more glossy.
And then her dress. That damn dress. It was vintage because of course it was. Of course, she found time to vintage shop on top of the grueling hours she put in at the ED. Even in her last year of residency, she had never lost sight of being her own person both in and outside of work.
The dress reminded Jack of something from the prohibition era - celebratory. He was trying not to be so obvious in his celebration of how the structured seams of the powder blue silk created a corset shape that wasn't too tight for a work function but definitely was tight enough to have his imagination wandering.
With delicate lace panels towards the bottom of her dress and the swooping off the shoulder neckline with draped cap sleeves - Jack was being a sap but she looked like she had stepped out of a romance movie. Or off of a runway.
It was the kind of dress that reminded him of when they first met. He loved getting glimpses of her like this. Of who she was outside of the ED.
She had said she found the dress at a second hand shop on consignment. After that he had spent most of their evening dreaming about what it would be like to hold her hand and watch her shop.
Get to see the process of how she selected what she liked. Get to bring her hand up to his lips and kiss it - knowing that he was one of those things that she liked. Maybe even loved. And of course, buy everything her gaze lingered on even when she insisted not to. Especially then.
So Jack was not naive. He knew she was absolutely, positively stunning. He knew even beyond that - she was kind and funny and fucking whip smart. Smarter than anyone he had ever met and in so many different ways. If he could move into her brain - he would. So he was not naive enough to think other men wouldn't flirt with her. They would be fools not to. He just wished he could be the reason they wouldn't.
He sipped his old fashioned and did his best to pretend like he was looking anywhere but at her and Mr Harvard. He can't imagine that he was very successful. A ding from his phone took him out of his misery.
From Shen: Yo - i know you hate that gala shit. Kinda bogus robby made you go. Thought you guys were friends. Anyway, can you come help? Ellis has got a hot date. Or so she says
Jack had never been more thankful to receive a weird text from Shen in his life. He replied with a quick 'On my way' before taking one last glance over at her.
He sighed at the sight of her digging through her purse for something. He couldn’t see her expression but he sure could see Mr Harvard's. Dude couldn’t wipe the grin off of his face. Jack wished he could do it for him.
Okay chill, he reminded himself. As much as he wanted to, he figured it would be rude to interrupt her to say goodbye. She probably didn’t want her old attending cock blocking her anyways.
Jack set his half finished drink on the bar counter along with a $20 tip and turned on his good heel. He had his hands on the cold metal of the event venue's door when he heard his favorite voice behind him.
"Where the hell do you think you're going?"
Jack turned to see her and the sight made him melt. Arms crossed over her chest, brow furrowed, and lips in a stern line that was slowly slipping into a pout.
"Shen and Ellis need a cover."
"And when were you planning on telling me?" Her hands moved to her hips. Jack's hands flexed at his sides. All he wanted to do was kiss the sass out of her. But he couldn't. She was still his resident. And probably not even interested in him.
"You seemed busy. We haven’t even eaten dinner yet." Jack's response earned an eye roll out of her.
Before he could even blink, her arm threaded under his own - grabbing his bicep, "I'm coming with you."
Who was Jack to argue with that?
"How'd you get out of your conversation with Mr Harvard?"
Another dramatic eye roll. He loved it. Then the prettiest little smile he had ever seen.
"Told him my mean, scary boss said we had to leave."
He couldn't decide his opinion regarding the short walk to his SUV in handicapped parking. One part of him was thankful. He wouldn't be shocked if he had burnt holes in his suit jacket from the way his skin had heated up under her feather light touch. The blush was sure to creep up into his cheeks any moment now.
On the other hand, he could walk for miles if it meant she was touching him the whole way. She stopped at his passenger car door and turned to look at him.
"Mean, scary boss huh?" was all Jack could get out while he was under her gaze. It sounded like he had dragged his words through gravel on their way out. But with the way her eyes still shone in the moonlight and the fact that they were solely trained on his own - he was lucky he managed to get any words out at all.
"The scariest." she winked. She fucking winked. Jack had never been more thankful that he had metal for a leg because if he didn't - his legs were sure to have wobbled out from beneath him right then.
His hands were stuffed into his slack pockets. He didn't trust himself for them to be anywhere else. Her hands had given him a moment of reprieve. No longer lightly squeezing his bicep. But now they trailed up his chest, stopping to pretend to fix his tie even though Jack knew it was perfect. Military habit. Didn't matter - she could do whatever the hell she wanted if it involved touching him.
His breath hitched at her touch. He hoped she didn't notice.
"He cleans up nice though - makes up for all the mean and scary."
"Did your mean, scary boss mention you look beautiful tonight." Jack kept his hands in his pockets but took an experimental step forward. Was this really happening? Was she really hitting on him?
It was almost as if she had heard his inner monologue. Wanted to make her intentions clear as she looped her arms around Jack's neck and absentmindedly threaded her fingers through the curls at the nape there.
Ever since she had started fiddling with his suit, her eyes had dropped to anywhere but his face. Typical Jack would have dipped his head, forced eye contact but Jack right now was just trying to stand up right.
Her gaze snapped to him and this time he hadn't even tried to hide the palpitation in his heart or his breathing, "No." was all she said. Barely a whisper but Jack heard her loud and clear.
His hands immediately fell to her hips. He filed away the way she seemed to sink into his grip. Exhaled a little. Like it was muscle memory from a past life.
Her fingers circled their way higher up onto his head, fully tugging on his curls and lightly scratching at his scalp. Jack had to bite back a groan as he squeezed at her hips and pressed her fully back onto his unopened car door.
"Jack." She murmured out low somewhere between a moan and an airy breath, head tilted back in pleasure at the pressure of his fingers on her hips. Jack was fucked now that he knew what his name sounded like falling off her lips without inhibition.
The expanse of her neck now available to him was like a siren song. The past four years had felt like a siren song and he couldn't help himself any longer. One of his hands found the back of her head, gently cradling it back up for her to look at him. His other hand rubbed at her jaw in sweeping strokes of his thumb.
Neither of them could rip their gaze from the others' lips - their panting chests just a mere centimeter apart. He was finally going to do it. He was finally going to kiss her.
Until he wasn't.
Until a loud bang of the door opening broke them apart. A slew of hospital administrators spilled out behind it looking for their next smoke break. Had Jack mentioned that he fucking hated the annual hospital gala?
They flew off each other at what would have been a rather impressive speed if it hadn't felt so agonizing. What was Jack thinking? That he could make out with his resident against his car like they were a horny teenage couple while all of the people in the building a few feet away from them could have her fired for it in a heartbeat? He had to be better. At least until her residency was over with.
He had to get it together - for the both of them it seemed like. Jack cleared his throat and ran a hand over his stubble to hide the smile threatening to take over his face at the realization that she had wanted to kiss him. The way she had said his name with so much...want. Need, even. Maybe this thing wasn't so one sided after all.
He got out of his own head just in time to stop her closing of the passenger door. He wrapped his hand around the top of the door, held it open and waited for her to look up at him after she had buckled up. But the buckle clicked and her gaze stayed trained on her lap.
"Hey." He whispered softly. They both knew the eye contact he was seeking. She slowly turned her head in his direction, gazing up at where he was standing in front of her.
"You look absolutely breathtaking. You always do."
She sucked in a breath and then there she was - big bright smile, shoulders no longer slumped, no more fiddling with her purse strings just to avoid the space between them. She was back to herself.
"Just for that I'll order pizza to the hospital." His favorite.
"Thank you." He probably should have shut the door by now. Should have probably already been on their way to the hospital. But he couldn't stop fucking staring at her. What's new?
"Don't thank me. I still have your card in my DoorDash account." She giggled and all Jack could get out was good before he shut her door.
ˏˋ°•*⁀➷
They ate their pizza in their gown and tux at the hub with Ellis and Shen.
Ellis raised the polaroid camera that Dana kept at the hub desk and signaled for them to get together for a photo. Jack hooked two fingers under her rolling stool and tugged her over into his side.
"Woah! Old man still has moves!"
Jack ignored Shen as he wrapped his arm over her collarbone from behind her, pulling her closer. Her head instinctively leaned toward his and her fingers delicately held his wrist as they smiled for Ellis's camera.
Jack didn't miss the look Ellis had given her. Maybe he was delusional or maybe she had gotten her best friend Ellis's advice on making a move on her attending at the gala and now Ellis was checking in on the results.
Jack also didn't miss the way her cheeks heated up and the subtle shake of her head at Ellis. As if to signal that they would talk about it later. Probably, when Jack was out of earshot.
Shen tried to get them to pose like they were going to prom. When they both refused citing unprofessionalism, Shen threw a bit of a hissy fit. Mumbling something along the lines of "Oh, now we are being professional!"
Ellis settled on writing ‘Gala Girlies' as the caption for their polaroid before taping it onto the hub counter with the rest of the pictures that had accumulated over the years. This one was definitely Jack's new favorite.
He knew exactly what Robby was going to say when he saw it tomorrow morning, “You owe me one, brother."
He was so fucked.
acceptance
Jack was bored. He never thought he'd say that but this hospital without her was straight up boring with a capital B. He worked here without her for ten years and now - the ten days of PTO she had taken before her first day as a junior attending - felt like the longest of his life. And he was only on day 6.
He wasn't even supposed to be there right now. He had come in after a Tactical EMS job gone bad. His buddy had already gone up to surgery. Before Jack could leave, Robby had roped Jack into joining him on the new day shift attending, Dr Al-Hashimi's, welcome tour.
He was waiting on a text from her. She was spending the day with her family and then she and Jack were supposed to go watch the fireworks together - alone. It was the Fourth of July after all. He had it all planned. He had practiced how he was going to profess his feelings to her in the mirror like a dork more times than he cared to admit. He had long accepted that he was in love with his resident. Now his colleague. He could work with that.
He checked his phone again. No luck. He ignored Robby's inquisitive glance. Jack had never been so interested in his phone like he had been today.
They stood at the hub as Robby droned on and on about day shift procedures that Jack was so thankful not to have to know too much about. Jack just admired the polaroids on the desk in front of them. He was still plotting a way to inconspicuously steal the one of him and her from the gala for his wallet but it had become a fan favorite in the past few months.
Dr Al-Hashimi directed her next question to Jack, pulling him out of his thoughts. She held up his second favorite polaroid with a raised brow, "Am I going to have the pleasure of meeting..." Dr Al-Hashimi squinted to read the writing below the picture, "...Abbot's Angels?"
Jack couldn't help but laugh. The photo had been taken over a year ago. Shen had begged him to take it. Handed the camera over to Jack as he maneuvered himself between the two girls. Both her and Ellis's backs to Shen. All three of them holding up finger guns to their lips with faux serious expressions.
As if her ears were ringing, Dr Ellis appeared behind Jack at the hub. Clapping him on the shoulder and extending a hand out to greet Dr Al-Hashimi, "Don't bring it up to him. He is going through withdrawals because his favorite is still out on PTO."
"Parker - I do not have favorites. You guys aren't even my residents anymore." Jack muttered in defense as he checked his phone again.
Dr Al-Hashimi clocked him, "Dr Abbot - I am good to go here and I am sure I will be seeing you. You should go. It's your day off and a holiday. I am sure you have plans."
"Yeah, what are your plans, Dr Abbot?" Ellis teased. She must have known her best friend's plans were with him for the night. Ellis was enjoying herself. Jack shot her a glare.
"I think his plans just showed up!" Robby clapped his hands together, sputtered out a laugh at the coincidence.
"Brother - I am not taking another case! I am leav-" Jack looked up from unscrewing his water bottle to follow Robby's gaze.
He spotted her mid sip and he genuinely choked on his water in a way he thought only happened in cartoons. He was ready to send Ellis out to chairs when she patted his back like she was burping a baby and suggested that there was a cooling room in North 5 if he needed it.
She was simply glowing. Wavy hair, bright eyes, sun kissed skin donning a short jean skirt and a white halter tank top that accentuated the tan lines over her collarbones left by her bikini.
"Well if it isn’t the prodigal princess of the pitt herself!" Robby goaded, grabbing a clip board and rounding the hub.
The man she was pushing in the wheelchair piped up at that, "You guys actually call her that? Seriously? I thought she was making that up. Please stop - her ego is big enough as it is."
"What do you got?" Robby asked. Jack was still staring. Who the fuck was this guy?
"Idiot male. 37 years old. Broke his ankle trying to relive his glory days coaching youth soccer practice," She was leaned over, pushing the wheelchair with all her might, "and could stand to lose a few pounds."
That pulls an almost relieved huff from Jack. Whoever this guy was - she must've not been that fond of him.
"Hey -" the man reached behind him and tugged on her hair "-my arms still work!"
Oh hell no, Jack thought. Ellis must have noticed he was about to step in and she stopped him before he could, "At ease, soldier. That is her brother."
"Well your brain clearly doesn't" she whacked him right upside the head.
Her brother imitated her, high pitched while she made a show of dramatically handing over his wheelchair to Robby so he could take him away for X-rays.
She thanked Robby as she made her way over to the hub, introducing herself to Dr Al-Hashimi and grabbing the bag of candy that Jack was offering out to her.
She looked him up and down and nodded her head at his camouflage pants, "Really? What is with the GI Jack get up? I thought you were gonna get a hobby.”
"And I thought you said you were gonna stop stealing my food."
"And I thought you said you were gonna stop buying t-shirts one size too small."
"From Walmart." Dr Ellis added.
"You guys, I told you - I do not shop at Walmart."
She giggled and gently nudged her shoulder into Ellis's, "Oh yeah Parker, how could we forget? He shops at Costco!"
"They send good coupons in the mail!" Jack defended himself
"Bro - you're a disabled, widowed veteran who makes more than half a million dollars a year. I think you can afford real clothes." Ellis deadpanned.
“Any other comments from the fashion police about my outfit?”
“Don’t threaten us with a good time.”
Jack cocked his head towards her, smirk widening. He couldn't hide how happy he was to see her. It had been a long couple of days, "And to think I was just starting to miss you."
"Just starting to!?" She raised her eyebrows in challenge, feigning offense while her eyes practically sparkled up at him. He could feel the weight of Ellis's knowing smile on them. He didn't care.
He was debating how obvious it would be for him to pull her into a hug until Dana beat him to it.
"Dr Al, you have just met one of our finest," Dana squeezed her harder, "Except you probably won't see her much because Abbot is always hogging her on nights."
She was released from Dana's grip just enough to clap a light hand on Jack's shoulder, giving him a squeeze, "He needs someone to keep him sharp in his old age."
Jack grimaced the second her hand had made contact with his shoulder and dread washed over her face. Dana fully released her now. Letting her turn all of her attention onto Jack.
“Jack…”
“I’m fine.” He avoided her probing stare and that was exactly how she knew he was not fine.
“Really?” She asked - not buying what he was selling.
“Yes!" She applied light pressure on his shoulder again and he wriggled out of her grasp with a sharp and hissed, "- ah!”
“The room right there is open. Go patch him up.” Dana pointed to the room across the hall. Shooing them in there before Jack had a chance to protest.
Jack sat on the bed as she shut the door and pulled the curtain. Her back was still turned to him as she said, "Take off your shirt."
"At least let me take you to dinner first." Jack tried to pull a laugh from her. It didn't go over well.
"Jack." She warned. Now turned toward him with her arms crossed, “What happened?”
“I was intubating in open fire and a bullet grazed my vest. I’m fine.” He shrugged as he pulled off his shirt. As if what he just said was a completely normal and frequent occurrence.
“You were shot!?” She hurried over to him, standing in between his legs as he sat on the bed.
“Shot…at."
She tilted her head at him in annoyance. Pausing her opening of the various utensils she was preparing to clean his wound.
“What?” He asked.
“Can’t you just take up tennis or golf or literally anything else? Like a normal person?”
“What fun would that be?” Jack insisted upon keeping it light. She shouldn't ever have to worry about him. That was his job.
She lathered some kind of ointment onto his open wound that was on the front of his chest, right above his collar bone. Jack was too distracted by how close they were to care and see what kind.
“There is nothing fun about me coming to work one day and finding out you’re dead because you wanted an adrenaline rush.”
“That isn’t gonna happen.”
“You don’t know that. You think you’re invincible and you’re not.”
“Is that an old joke?”
“Jack-“ her voice cracked and Jack was immediately on his feet, cupping her face in his hands.
“Woah, woah honey okay - I thought we were kidding. I’m fine.” He cooed, one hand stroked her cheek bone making sure not one tear fell while the other steadied her at her hip as she stood between his legs.
“Look at me." He tilted his chin down while he tilted hers up, holding her gaze with his own, "I’m fine. And I’m not going anywhere."
“I won’t survive you dying, Jack. I can't.” Her voice sounded wrecked as her chin wobbled. Jack felt horribly responsible. She wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him into a tight hug.
He wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her closer. Naturally, like they had been in this position a million times before. He murmured into the side of her hair, “Okay forget the SWAT thing. Although, you should’ve seen me earlier in my full uniform I looked pretty sick”
Jack huffed a sigh of relief as he felt her laugh vibrate through him. He pulled her back with his hands on her shoulders to get another good look at her, "There's my girl."
She wiped a sniffle with the back of her hand and lightly pushed him back down to a seat. His hands never left her. Just slid down her body until he rested them on the outsides of her upper thighs - a safe distance away from the hem of her jean skirt.
She worked in silence for a moment until Jack piped back up, “I’ll pick up tennis or golf like a normal person. I promise.”
“You don’t have to do that, Jack. I just want you to have a little more regard for your life okay? Can you please just do that for me?”
“I can’t think of anything I wouldn’t do for you.” Jack didn't even think that was an exaggeration.
“Except for wearing the correct size shirt.”
He teasingly pinched her leg and she swatted at his good shoulder, laughing. She was done helping him but they hadn't moved. Neither of them really wanted to.
“That’s for you too. Don’t think I don’t see you staring at my biceps.”
Her eyebrows rose in faux surprise as she dragged a hand down his freckled arm.
“Oh you wanna talk about staring? I must have picked that up from someone.”
“This is a teaching hospital.”
“Could’ve mistaken it for a staring one.”
“Come on - you’re always performing medical miracles while looking like that. I can’t help it. Cut a guy some slack.” Jack's hands felt like they were on fire, practically kneading her thighs. God, she really had to wear this skirt today of all days.
“You’re a flirt, you know that?”
“Only with you.”
They had about a second to jump apart at the sound of a knock on the door before the curtain was pulled back to reveal Dr Al-Hashimi.
Jack rubbed at the back of his neck. Both him and her were looking anywhere but each other. Jack wasn't planning on getting excited but he was thankful he had placed his shirt over his lap to cover himself now that they were no longer alone.
Dr Al-Hashimi cleared her throat, obviously picking up on the fact that she had interrupted something, "Sorry to uh, interrupt. But my number, Dr Abbot. Like we discussed. For that date.”
Dr Al-Hashimi handed Jack a piece of paper and then turned to her, "You have a visitor from cardio thoracic surgery outside."
Jack groaned. Could Mr Harvard have any worse timing? She shot Jack a glare and stepped outside. Jack could see the shadow of Mr Harvard who he knew was down here pretending he'd have something to do with her brother's ankle surgery just to flirt.
He caught the end of her dismissing Mr Harvard's valiant attempt at being her knight in shining armor. Jack smiled to himself as he made his way back to the hub to catch up with her. He was explaining a procedure to Whitaker as he walked, "You're gonna have to start with your finger. And then slowly over a few minutes as the wetness gathers, go deeper. All the way to the back of the knuckle."
Whitaker nodded in understanding and was on his merry way. She turned right on Jack the second he was in her vicinity.
"What the hell is your problem?!"
"Problem?" Jack asked, genuinely perplexed.
Her voice pitched down, she whispered, "Why do you have to say everything so unnecessarily slutty? You wanna ask Whitaker out too!?"
Now that - Jack was not expecting. He quirked his eyebrow up in surprise. Also in confusion.
"Ask Whitaker out? What are you-"
He was cut off by a little girl screaming her name and running right into her arms, "Look! Look! Your work is on my new soccer jersey!"
The girl couldn't be older than five. Jack recognized the little girl as her niece from photos she had shown him. He noticed who must have been her sister in law a few feet away, talking to Robby presumably about discharge instructions for her brother as he awaited surgery that he would probably have next week once the swelling went down.
"What are you talking about? Lemme see that." She plucked the jersey from her niece and examined the PTMC logo on it.
Jack knew his cheeks were ruby red. He could see the gears in her head putting it all together as she stared at the small jersey with the ironed on PTMC ED patch. A couple weeks ago, she had told him offhandedly that her niece's soccer league was going to get cancelled since they had no sponsor. So Jack called up the park district and paid for it himself. Under the guise it was the PTMC ED. It was no big deal. If her niece was happy, she was happy.
She put her niece down next to her on the ground as her eyes looked up to Jack, softening, "We don't have the budget for this."
"I know. But I do."
She opened her mouth to say something but her niece cut her off, climbing into her dad's lap on his wheelchair as he, her sister in law, and Robby joined them at the hub, "Auntie, is this Dr Sexy?"
Jack's lips immediatley preened, quirking up into an amused smirk, Dr Ellis and Robby doubled over in laughter.
"No baby - this is Dr Abbot." She tried to recover, her eyes blown wide, mouth agape and her cheeks beet red. She couldn't even look at Jack.
"But you always call him Dr Sexy when you are talking to mommy. What does sexy mean?"
"OKAY-" she said loudly, still looking anywhere but at Jack. She turned her gaze on her brother as she clapped her hands together, "-it is time for you all to leave."
"Only if Dr Sexy walks us out." Her brother teased.
She groaned, putting her head in her hands as Jack wrapped an arm around her shoulders. She hid in the crook of his neck, "I am getting a new job."
"Oh no you're not."
ˏˋ°•*⁀➷
Jack met her at her car after he helped her family to theirs. “Dr Sexy, huh?”
“Shut up. I'm trying to be annoyed with you and you’re making it damn hard”
“Why are you annoyed with me?” Jack steadied himself with a wide stance, crossed his arms over his chest as she turned to look at him, leaning against her car door.
“Seriously?"
Jack just raised his eyebrows back at her in question.
She mirrored his stance, crossed arms over chest, "So you go on dates now?”
“What are you talking about? Is this about tonight? If you don't want to go anymore we don't have to-”
She imitated him and Dr Al-Hashimi from earlier, "Sorry to uh, interrupt. But my number, Dr Abbot. Like we discussed. For that date.” She emphasized the word.
Jack rubbed his hand over his face, stopping at his scruff and trying to mask the smirk that was threatening to take over his face, “Are you…jealous?”
She scoffed, trying to sound nonchalant but Jack knew her too well for that, “Me? Jealous? No, Jack I just think it’s wildly inappropriate. This is our workplace.”
“Well that’s a damn shame because I didn’t ask Dr Al on a date. I’m setting her up on one. With my army buddy actually."
Her lips formed a barely there oh, "Well…now I just feel like a bitch."
Jack laughed and stepped closer, shaking his head in refute to her statement. He let his hands find purchase on her car, caging her in.
His voice came out far more groveled than expected, "But I’ve been wanting to ask you on a date for going on, oh I don’t know almost five years now, but if you thinks it’s so wildly inappropri-"
“I don’t!”
“You dont? But I thought-“
He earned himself an eyeroll and a stern, “Jack.”
“You just said-" He couldn't help the huge grin spreading across his face.
“I know what I said.”
“So - let me get this straight - it’s only wildly inappropriate if it’s a date with anyone but you? Is that stated somewhere in the HR handbook or-”
"God, do you ever shutup?" And then her lips were on his.
His whole body felt like it was on fire. Her hands on each side of his face, his squeezing at her hips and pressing her up against the car. Just like that night at the gala. Except this time he actually got to kiss her. He was kissing her.
His head spun at the way her fingers circled around to the nape of his neck, tugging at his curls. He cradled her jaw in one strong hand and grabbed her waist with the other, hand pushing up the white tank she had on to make contact with her bare skin. They couldn't possible get any closer but it still didn't feel close enough.
Jack didn't want to ever stop the exploration of his hands along her body. He grabbed at the flesh on the outside of her upper thigh, hiking it up slightly around his hips. She ground herself down onto his bulge and the gasp she let out was heavenly. Jack took the chance to swipe his tongue into her mouth, as she ground down again, slower this time. Jack couldn't keep his moan from tumbling out.
He pulled back ever so slightly, their lips still practically touching as their chests heaved, "Baby, where are your keys?"
"My keys? That is what you care about right now?" She went to grind on him again but Jack's hands grabbed her hips, halting her.
"If you keep doing that I am going to come in my pants in the hospital parking garage and I would much rather come somewhere else in the comfort of my own home. I've been thinking about this for a long time. I want to take my time with you."
"How long?" She asked as she slipped her keys into Jack's front pocket.
"Inappropriatley long. Now get in the car so Dr Sexy can drive us home."
"I am never gonna live that down, am I?"
"Absolutely not."
"I hate you."
Jack grabbed her chin and peppered her face with kisses, ending with one on her lips as she giggled. Kissing her hard because he could do that now, "Somehow, I am not convinced."
ˏˋ°•*⁀➷
Jack's left hand flexed hard on her steering wheel. His right hand preoccupied with a steady grip on her upper thigh. Her left hand played with his curls as he drove.
"What are you thinking about?"
"How after the gala last year I went home and touched myself. Imagined my fingers were yours." Jack choked on nothing at her words.
"Jesus Christ - I am trying not to cause a mass casualty event, honey. Can you please just wait till we get home."
She groaned his name in frustration and squeezed his fingers between her thighs, trying to find friction anyway she could.
"You're that needy?"
"Yes, Jack."
"Show me then." His voice was gritty and low as he knocked her knees apart. He batted down the sun visor on her side, sliding the mirror cover up and aiming it perfectly to reflect her lap.
She whined at the loss of contact as both of his hands now gripped the steering wheel. Her eyes screwed shut and her chest lifted, breathing heavy. The way her hard nipples were peaking through her tank top was enough to make Jack scared he was going to crash the car.
"Show me how you touch yourself when you think about me. You think you can handle that for me, baby?"
His words seemed to hit her all at once. Demanding in the way it was when he was ordering people around the ED. The tone went straight to her core as she hiked her jean skirt up over her hips and slid her small lacy black thong down her legs. She stuffed it in one of the pockets of Jack's camo pants, lightly squeezing his bulge as she did. All Jack could murmur out was a hissed fuck as she angled her center to the mirror above her, giving him a perfect view of her absolutely soaked core.
"I asked you a question."
"Yes, yes I can handle it. I promise." She rushed her words out in one run on sentence, out of breath as her chest heaved.
"Good girl, baby. Show me how you touch yourself."
She nodded as she began to rub her clit, her voice shakey as she spoke, "I start like this and I think about everything you said to me that day. When you tell me good job after a prodecure or how you order everyone around or how-"
A tumbled moan falls from her lips, cutting herself off.
"Do you play with these pretty tits?" Jack reached over and gripped the nape of her neck, tugging at the string of her halter top and letting it fall. He pulled it down, her tits spilling out as he tweaked a nipple, kneading it after with his palm.
He thought she squeaked out a soft uh huh with a nod that trailed into a moan as her right hand slipped two fingers into her center. The sound was obscene as she pushed in and out, her head falling back and her chest pushing forward into Jack's hand.
"Jack!" She was getting louder now, the pace of her fingers moving quicker. The tone of her voice filled with unabashed need.
"What else, baby?"
All she could do was babble in response. Jack's hand fell from her nipples to her pussy, giving it a slap before grabbing her chin and forcing her to look at herself in the mirror, "Do you see how pretty your pussy is? What was that you said earlier? That I say everything so slutty? Look who's the slut now."
They both saw the way her pussy contracted around her two fingers at his words. The way her already dripping core somehow managed to get even more wet at the filth he was spilling.
"Oh you like when I am a little mean, don't you?"
She could barely nod, her chest hitting her chin as her breathing became more rapid the closer she inched towards her finish line.
"You wanna come for me?"
"Please." She panted. Jack smirked to himself as he grabbed her wrist, pulled her hand from her center before she could even think about finishing, and pressed her fingers into his mouth - licking them clean.
Her head lolled against the seat, she groaned his name. A mix of frustration and want as she dazedly stared at him.
"I've waited almost five years to taste you, honey. You can wait five more minutes till we are home, yeah?"
She huffed out an, "I hate you."
"Somehow, I am not convinced." He chuckled as he placed a soft kiss on the back of her hand.
ˏˋ°•*⁀➷
Jack held her hand gently as he tugged her into his house. She was practically bouncing on her heels behind him. "I'm gonna shower first and then-"
"Like hell you are." She snipped. Now she was pulling him. Through his foyer and straight to his couch where she perched herself on his lap, bracketing his hips with her thighs and grinding down on his bulge that was dying to spring out of his pants.
He pushed her skirt back up her hips and rubbed her upper thighs as she rocked her bare pussy down on him, her hands steadying herself on his neck as she leaned into press her mouth to his.
Jack's chest was heaving, "Baby, I'm all sweaty and gross from TEMS."
"I couldn't care less, Jack. You might be patient enough to wait five years but I sure as hell am not. Please touch me."
"Like this?" His fingers rubbed her clit, her head falling back in relief at him finally touching her where she needed him most.
"God, you were dripping all over your car and now you're soaking my couch? Who's got you so worked up?" She gasped as Jack entered two thick fingers in her, kissing up her neck as he did. Nipping at her jaw line as he pulled her tank top down so he could swirl his mouth around one of her sensitive nipples.
She pulled his shirt off over his head, flashing him a mischevious smirk before, "Dr Harvard from cardiac surgery."
Jack's fingers stopped immediatley. She whined and writhed in his lap at the loss of contact. Jack wrapped his other hand around her neck, squeezing slightly, "I thought you were gonna be good for me?"
"I will, I will. I am." She begged. Jack didn't know what he did in a past life to get her begging like this in his lap but he was not going to look a gift horse in the mouth.
"Atta girl." He cooed, adding a third finger and plunging back into her tight core, "I am gonna ask you again - what's got you so worked up?"
"You, Jack! Your voice and your arms and your curls and these stupid fucking pants."
"Oh my girl likes my uniform, yeah? Is that what had you so bratty today? Want me to fuck you in it?"
"Please." she huffed. Sweat beading at the top of her forehead as she began to rock her hips, riding his fingers.
"Come for me first."
"Yeah, thats it." Jack hissed, trying hard not to imagine what it would feel like to have his cock where his fingers were. That would surely lead to an early curtain call, "That's it. My good girl."
"Fuck, Jack" She let out a shakey laugh as she came down from her orgasm, riding it out on Jack's fingers as she threaded her fingers in his hair.
"The uniform really does it for you, huh?"
She kissed him hard, "You do it for me. The uniform is just a bonus."
Jack readjusted her in his lap, pushing her legs open further over the expanse of his thick thighs. She whined at the stretch, "Come here, baby. you're doing so good for me. Wanna take my time with you."
"You can take your time with me later. I need you to fuck me now."
"Yeah? That needy, huh?"
"Yes, Jack please." She murmured as she undid the belt on his camo pants.
"You're the boss." Jack winked. He may have been her boss at work. She may have liked him bossing her around in bed. But she was the boss in every other sense of the word.
"Funny."
"Glad you think so." Jack hissed as she wrapped her hand around his hard length, preening with pre cum at the tip. She pushed his pants and his boxers down in one go, his erection immediatley slapping up against his stomach.
Jack's head fell back onto the couch as he let out a moan, her fingers rubbing the precum from his tip down his shaft and back up again. She spit into her hand and repeated the same movement. Jack thought he might come right then and there.
"Wanna ride you, please. I'm clean and on birth control. Need to feel you."
Jack couldn’t even get words out. He was too busy trying not to come from a handjob like a horned up teenager, "Same. Mm clean, too" He managed to get out, eyes fluttering shut as another wave of pleasure wracked his body, "Fuck, baby."
She sunk down on him in an instant, relishing the stretch and sending them both into a fit of whimpered moans. Jack used one hand on her hip to guide her motions, the other rubbing up and down her back, eventually landing in her hair as he tugged her forward into a blistering kiss. Now that he knew what her lips felt like he was never gonna go long without kissing them.
"Fuck!" She rocked down hard on him again, "You feel fucking phenomenal. So tight, So. Perfect." He emphasized his praise with kisses, "Taking me so well. Like you were fucking made for me."
He took the hand from her hair and placed it on her clit, rubbing it as she started to rock quicker. He could tell she was close again. He was in danger of spilling over at any second, "You have no business being so good at this. Fuck, I'm not gonna last long baby. Fuck, look at you." Jack brought the hand from her hip up to her mouth, pushing his thumb into her mouth, moaning as she immediatley began to suck on it.
"All these years. Had a feeling you'd get off on praise. Knew you'd wanna be so good for me. Knew you'd be such a good slut just for me, yeah?"
"Yeah, please. Just for you, I promise." Jack didn't know how he had managed to keep himself from finishing with the way she was riding him. She steadied herself on his shoulders, brought herself all the way up and then slowly rocked herself back down, taking all of him and making sure he felt every fucking inch of her velvety walls.
"If you keep doing that I am not gonna last long." He managed to grunt out.
"Then don't. Come in me, please. Want you to fill me up."
Those words alone did it for Jack as he spilled his warm release into her, continuing to rub her clit. "Give me another one baby. I know you can do it. You can do anything. You're fucking brilliant. Your brilliant fucking brain. C'mon, I feel you clenching. Let go. Come on my cock, please."
She tugged hard on his hair, mixing her own release with his as she came. Panting into Jack's mouth as he whispered, "Good girl."
Jack cradled her cheek as she rode out her orgasm on his cock, whispering praise as she did. He swiped two fingers through the mix of their arousals and brought them to her mouth.
Jacks eyes watched, mesmerized, blown out with arousal as she sucked on his fingers, released them with a pop and then, "The second I saw you in that uniform I wanted to drop to my knees in the middle of the hub and suck the soul out of you."
She wrapped her arms around his neck, laying her bare chest over his and nuzzling into his neck, peppering kisses there as he scratched her back. His laugh vibrated through her, "Jesus Christ - you can't say shit like that when I'm still inside of you."
ˏˋ°•*⁀➷
He eventually gently cleaned her up. Once she agreed to finally get off of him. He had to bribe her with kisses. He didn't mind one bit. He dragged her to the shower which lead to him having to clean her up again. Again, he didn't mind one bit.
He was at the stove now. Donning only a pair of gray sweatpants as he cooked dinner and watched her pad around his kitchen in only his tshirt and some basketball shorts with probably the dopiest smile of all time on his face.
She wrapped her arms around his waist, tucking herself into his side. He used his free hand to wrap his arm around her shoulders and tugged her closer, pressing kisses into her hair. She behaved for a moment until he felt a pair of soft lips pressing kisses across the side of his chest that was accessible to her.
He turned the burner down, dropped the spoon he had been using to stir the pasta on the counter and then grabbed her hips, trapping her against his kitchen island, "You're going to make me burn dinner."
She put her finger to her lips, pretended to think about what he had to say and then with a quick kiss to his lips she muttered against them, "Mmmm, don't care!"
He dug into his pocket, unlocked his phone and put it in her hands, "Put on music. It is already hooked up to the speaker system,"
He picked her up by her hips, causing the cutest squeal he had ever heard, and plopped her down onto his counter. He rubbed a gentle thumb against her cheek, the other against her hip as he stood between her legs, "You need to eat, baby."
She grumbled a fine. She knew when it came to taking care of her - Jack would not budge. She scrolled through his Spotify - she wanted to find something both of them would like but first she was gonna stalk what he already listened to. Of course her curiosity was gonna get the better of her.
A quiet gasp fell from her lips - causing Jack to look over from his spot in front of the stove, "What?"
She turned his phone screen to him, already spotting the flush creeping up on his chest. He recognized the playlist almost immediatley. Made up of all the songs she had played while he drove her home these past couple years - simply titled with her name. There was hundreds of songs on there.
"Did you make this? Do you listen to it?"
Jack figured now was as good a time as ever to lay out all his cards onto the table. Even if he was so embarrassed he couldn't even look up from the dinner he was cooking. He spoke fast, "Would you be entirely creeped out if I told you I replaced the police scanner with it?"
"Would you be entirely creeped out if I told you I am so beyond in love with you?"
Jack's head snapped up from the dinner. He'd never moved so quickly in his life. He was back to standing in between her legs, holding her face - just staring at her with a huge smile. The same expression was being mirrored back to him. It made his heart soar.
"You do? I mean, you are?"
She laughed, "Where have you been the past couple years?”
"Waiting for you to realize that I've been hopelessly in love with you."
"Are we the dumbest smart people alive?"
"Potentially. But doesn't matter. Nothing matters. Only you. Only us." He kissed her now. Slotted his lips over hers like the perfect final piece of a puzzle. His stomach fluttered at the sensation of her fingers finding their home in his curls. He couldn't believe that this was real. That she loved him. He already knew that the astronomical amount he loved her was very, very real.
"God, I love you." Kiss, "So much." Another kiss.
"Say it again." Jack whispered against her lips, smiling like a little kid.
"I love you, Jack."
He pulled back just a bit. Just enough to murmur how much he loved her and get a good look at her face, "Remember when you were so jealous earlier?" He teased.
"I was not-" She began to deny it but Jack leveled a look at her, "I hate you!" she giggled, swatting at his shoulder that was not bandaged up.
"Somehow, I am not convinced." He preened.
"Mmmm, good." She was kissing him again. He could do this forever. He will do this forever - if he has anything to say about it.
The ding of her phone was what made him pull away. But not by much. They both looked at the cause of the disruption, Jack planting kisses up and down her neck, jaw, and chest as she unlocked her phone.
From Robby: Doing scheduling. Can you pick up a shift next Tuesday night please? Shen needs off. You'll get to see your doctor sexy🤪
They both let out a cackle. Jack took her phone and took a selfie with his middle finger up. He sent it to Robby along with a message that read, 'Stop texting my girlfriend.'
"Girlfriend, huh?"
Jack rubbed up and down her thighs as he spoke, "Figured you might think I was insane if I said wife after just one day but trust me that is part of the plan."
"What else is in the plan?”
“Maybe a kid or two? Or four? Or zero. Really as many or as little as you’ll give me. I’m just happy to be here.”
She chuckled, kissed him while lovingly stroking his face, “I like that plan.”
“Yeah?” He asked, brimming with hope.
She nodded as her phone went off again, a message from Robby flashing across the screen. Jack kissed each of her cheeks, her forehead, and then her lips before reading it out loud - sending them both into a fit of giggles.
sorry but someone assuming you have "left a fandom" when you don't post about it a lot anymore feels like bilbo coming home to the sackville bagginses having him presumed dead and selling all his stuff. girl i was just on a little quest????
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