- warnings/tags: established relationship, use of nicknames (sweetheart, beautiful girl, baby), fluff, suggestive content/allusions to, mentions of sex, however nothing explicit, aftercare, i think that it's!
- no use of y/n!
author's note: hi hi hi here's another eddie because it seems to be a fan favorite — lmk who you want next from my masterlist :)) !brief skim proofread!
check out my masterlist here!
w.c: 2.1k
You and Eddie have been together for about a year. You had always noticed him since the first day of high school—it was hard not too, with that eccentric personality he held.
You were never specifically disliked throughout high school, but by association with Eddie, people avoided you or teased you. Even if you weren't the doll-like girl others were, or if you were and blended in, the environment got a lot meaner when people found out you were with Eddie.
It was currently lunch time and you were a little late, having been held back in class to be talked to about a missing assignment in World History. By the time you got to the cafeteria, about 10 minutes later, the lunch line was already closed, the metal shutters pressed down against the serving window and the lunch ladies long gone on an assumed smoke break outside. You sighed and walked over to the table where Eddie and the other kids in the Hellfire club sat, also known as the "freak" table. You tossed your bag down on the floor and sat at the end of the bench on the side of the table, right by Eddie, who is sat at the end of the table in a single chair, like he always did.
"You'd think they'd leave the line open for a little longer," you spoke, everyone's gaze shifting to you.
"Where were you?" Jeff asked, sitting directly across from you.
"Mrs. Walt held me back to talk about a missing assignment. I was busy gaslighting her that I turned it in," you replied before adding on a beat later, "It's in my backpack."
They all chuckled, continuing to eat their meal. You looked around, seeing most of them had your favorite—well as much as school cafeteria food could be a 'favorite'—which only came to lunch every few weeks.
"The one time I miss they have my favorite? What the fuck, that's messed up."
The boys laugh again before Eddie pushed his tray a bit closer to you, a silent offer to have some of his food as he chewed. You glanced at him before taking a piece of the cheap and dangerously salted food.
The whole group chatted for a while, both you and Eddie picking at his lunch tray before you asked a question.
"You guys have a meeting today?" you asked, referring to their Hellfire club.
The boys nodded, before Eddie wiped his hands off on a napkin and spoke a simple 'Yeah'.
"Can I come watch? I don't wanna go home after school."
"'Course. Don't have to ask," Eddie replied back, watching the small smile form on your face.
A few hours passed and the second the bell rang you were out of the classroom and weaving your way through the packed halls towards the theater room.
You made it there just after Eddie as he was setting up the game. He glanced up as the door was pushed open, a smile forming on his face when he noticed you.
"Hey sweetheart."
"Hi," you replied softly, sitting in the foldable chair placed near Eddie's 'throne', placing your bag down next to you.
The room slowly began filling with the boys, each of them sitting in their respective seats. You often watched their game, making jokes every once in a while. But for most of the time, you focused on your sketchbook, giving you something to do while they played the game for a few hours and waited for Eddie to give you a ride to your place or his. You considered yourself to have many hobbies. Anything to keep yourself occupied—boredom is a devastating state of mind.
The boys assisted in cleaning up and putting things away before heading out. You stood against the table as you waited for Eddie to fully pack up. He smiled when he saw you waiting, dropping an arm across your shoulders and a quick kiss on top of your head. You two walked out of the school, heading to the parking lot and hopping into his van.
"You wanna come over?" He asked as he turned the key and started up the vehicle.
"Yes please."
He smiled and pulled out of the parking lot and joined the active street. You watched out the window until it grew increasingly familiar and you knew you were entering the trailer park. He pulled up by his trailer that he shared with his uncle and hopped out, waiting for you to follow.
"Wayne's home for now but he's out tonight."
"Okay," you followed, walking right behind him up to the trailer door. He opened it and held it for you, closing it behind you as you entered. Wayne was sitting on the couch reading a newspaper.
"Hey Wayne," you greeted. He looked up and nodded.
"How ya doin', girl?" He questioned; he always loved seeing you. He's ever so grateful Eddie met you, he believed you two were meant for each other.
"I'm okay. Real hungry, you guys have any leftovers of that pizza from a few nights ago?"
Wayne nodded, Eddie walking towards the kitchen already. "Saved a slice just for you."
"Awesome," you said as you sat down on a barstool at the kitchen, Eddie setting a plate with the leftover pizza slice in front of you. "Thank you."
"Mhm," he hums, pressing a kiss to your head before heading down the hall to his bedroom.
You took some time to eat and talk to Wayne as Eddie hopped in the shower. Around 10 minutes later, Wayne headed out for the rest of the evening and night, leaving you alone. Eddie got out of the shower a few minutes after he left. You leaned your head to look down the hall as he stepped out of the bathroom, a towel around his waist.
"Wayne left," you informed. He nodded and went back to his room to change. You placed your now empty plate in the sink. You made your way down the short hall and knocked on his door right before walking in, catching him as he slipped a shirt on, now fully dressed.
"Aw, I missed the show," you joked, a smile on your face as he turned around to face you, walking closer.
"Yeah you did," he replied, his hands finding either side of your jaw and leaning down to pull you into a kiss. Your arms finding themselves around his neck.
"What do you wanna do tonight?" You wondered, your faces just inches apart.
"What do I always wanna do?" He teased.
"I'll think about it. In the meantime, I meant."
"Movie? Just bought a few new ones," his hands slid down to hold your waist.
"Ooo, what'd ya get?"
"Uh...Raiders of the Lost Ark, Taxi Driver, Terminator, and...Breakfast Club."
"I've only seen Breakfast Club, you pick."
"Alright," he placed a kiss to your temple, "you wanna watch now?"
You shrug. "I'm not doing anythin'."
He let go of your body and moved past you, opening his door and leaving to go get everything set up.
You took this time to change into comfier clothes, grabbing one of Eddie's shirts and a pair of sweats you keep in his room, quickly switching into them. You walked back out and entered the living room, sitting down on the couch as Eddie placed the VCR into the TV.
"What'd you pick?" You asked, stretching across the sofa so your legs reach the other end.
"Terminator," he answered, starting the movie up. He lifted your legs and sat down on the couch, placing them back down on his lap.
"Cool."
A couple hours later, the movie ended. It was a lot darker outside now as the credits rolled, there was only the glow of the warm lamps that lit up the area. Eddie looked over at you, his hands remaining on your legs like they had the entire duration of the movie.
"Ya like it?"
"It was cool."
"Did you like it though?" He pressed, a teasing smile on his face.
"I did. I think I fell asleep for like 20 minutes though."
"Yeah? You wanna go to bed?"
"Possibly."
"C'mon, pretty girl," he said, patting your legs for you to lift them and let him get up. He held his hand out for you once he was up, helping pull you off the couch and lead you to his bedroom.
You sat on the bed, resting back against the headboard and pillows. "I'm like...tired but I don't wanna go to sleep yet."
"Anything in mind you wanna do?" He asked as he laid next to you on his stomach, propped on his parallel arms, looking up at you.
"No. But I know you do."
"I always do."
"I know."
"So...you wanna?" He added, his eyes holding some kind of sparkle.
You thought for a moment. "...I don't know."
"So no?"
"Well no—...I mean maybe." You stared at him, his eyes looking right back at you.
"Your choice, baby."
You thought. "...Yeah I want to."
"You sure?" He asked as he moved closer—he would never forgive himself if he pushed you into something you didn't want to do.
"I'm sure."
His hand trailed up from your thigh to your side before leaning in to kiss you deeply, your arms once again finding their way around his neck. "Please let me know if you want me to stop."
You were resting on top of his body, breathing heavily against the front of his shoulder, both of you stripped of your clothes. One of your hands resting on his stomach, your other arm around the side curve of his shoulder by your head.
"I should shower," you mumbled against his warm skin, his hand trailing up and down your back.
"Want me to sit with you?"
"Yes please," your voice was tired as you pushed yourself up from his body, sitting on the edge of the bed, leaning down and picking up some clothes as he did the same. All he grabbed was some sweatpants and slid them on while you grabbed everything and walked to the bathroom right by his bedroom. You turned the shower on, allowing it to warm up for a few seconds, and stepped in right before Eddie walked into the bathroom too, shutting the door behind him. He slid down the wall and sat down on the floor right by the shower, his bare back pressed against the cold wall.
Few words were exchanged, but even just knowing his presence was on the other side of the shower curtain was enough for you. You soon stepped out, grabbing a towel and wrapping it around your body. You dried your hair with a separate smaller towel, about to change into fresh clothes before looking over at Eddie still on the floor.
"Close your eyes."
"Baby we just had sex, I can't look at you?" He teased.
You glared at him. "Close your eyes," you repeated.
"Alright, sweetheart," he replied, closing his eyes, the smile remaining on his face.
You watched him as you changed, making sure he didn't peak. When you saw he squinted one of his eyes open just as you grabbed your shirt and pulled it over your head. "Pervert," you muttered.
"I just can't help but look at my beautiful girl."
He stood up, taking a few steps closer, placing his hands on your waist as he turned you to face the mirror over the sink, resting his chin on your shoulder.
"Can you help me with my hair?" You asked.
He grabbed the smaller towel from your hand and wrapped your hair up for a few seconds. "You feeling okay?" He asked, wanting to make sure it wasn't too much for you and he didn't hurt you.
"Mhm. My legs are sore though," you admitted, your hands on the edge of counter in front of you as you watched him brush out your hair and dry it as he goes.
"I wasn't too rough, was I?" He worried.
"No, it felt good, baby, just a...side effect I guess."
"Okay. I'm sorry anyway."
"You're adorable."
"I just care," he replied before pulling the towel through your hair one more time and setting it on the counter. "C'mon, let's get you to bed."
You followed him to the bedroom a few steps away, lying down in his bed a second before he does. He gets in beside you, wrapping an arm around your shoulders and holding you against him. You shift to lay more on your stomach, your face a few inches from his neck. He gently rubbed your back, pressing a few kisses to your damp hair. "You did so good."
All you do is hum in response, resting against his skin, letting out a deep sigh before drifting to sleep.
this was copied and pasted straight from my wattpad drafts! majority of what i write will be, as it's easier for me to write on that app instead of here or anywhere else.
part 2
wc: 8.9k (oof)
pairing: jack abbot x wife!reader
summary: when the doors of the pitt swing open to reveal you on the gurney, dr. jack abbot’s world shatters, forcing him to fight for two lives he didn't know were at stake.
c.warning: angst with happy ending; established relationship (married); major medical trauma; graphic depictions of injury; mentions and discussions of abortions in the past; mentions of pregnancy/pregnancy loss scare; jack abbot crashing out; mentions of car accident; near-death experience; never mind the medical accuracy or lack thereof (i tried my best but i’m still not a doctor)
a/n: this got out of control. it was supposed to be a usual 3k one-shot but then i kept writing and well here we are now. also shout out to my friend paula that helped me do all the medical research for this one so i didn’t embarrass myself with all the inaccurate doctor talk. love u girl <3
masterlist | requests
the fluorescent lights of the hospital always seem to hum a little louder when the er is quiet. it’s a sterile, buzzing vibration that grates on jack’s nerves more than the usual cacophony of sirens and shouting.
he leans against the nurse’s station, a lukewarm cup of bitter black coffee forgotten in his hand. he checks his watch. 2:14 pm. the numbers blurring slightly from sheer exhaustion. his shift was supposed to have ended hours ago, but the universe had other plans.
first, a multi-car pileup at dawn bled into a series of critical post-ops. then, every time he had tired to reach for his coat, another “one last thing” tethered him back to the floor. now, nearly ten hours into a forced double, the walls feel like they’re closing in. all he wants right now is to be through his front door, to shed the smell of antiseptic and the weight of the hospital, and to finally disappear into the quiet comfort of his home, where you were probably already waiting for him.
“it’s too quiet,” dana mutters as she organizes a stack of charts.
jack offers a ghost of a tired smile. “don’t say the ‘q’ word. you’ll jinx us.”
his mind drifts, as it often does during these rare lulls, back to you. he thinks about the way you looked when he left. half-asleep, tangled in the duvet in your hared bed, grumbling about the warmth leaving you as jack got out of the bed. he’d kissed your forehead, whispered that he’d be home by eight, in time to share breakfast with you, and headed into the belly of the beast. as he walked into the hospital, he felt a rare pang of guilt; he’d been working so many double shifts lately that your shared home felt more like a hotel.
i’ll make it up to her, he thinks. maybe he can take you out to that new sushi bar you showed him on your phone the other day. no, you’ll probably prefer thai. you’ve always loved-
the thought is cut short by the sharp, rhythmic chirp of the trauma radio. the sound like a physical blow to the silence.
“dispatch to mercy trauma, we have a level 1 activation. multiple vehicle collision, pileup on the i-579. initial reports suggest a jackknifed semi and at least six passenger vehicles. multiple red-tags. first eta is four minutes. lead bus is carrying a female, blunt force chest trauma, unstable vitals, gcs of 6.”
the er transforms in a heartbeat. the “slump” dies instantly, replaced by the practiced, frantic choreography of a trauma team who’s been through this million times.
robby, that was contrasting the lab results from one of his patients jumps into action.
“abbot, i need you in trauma. we need to get bays 1 and 2 ready. i want respiratory on standby. grab the o-neg. if this is a pileup, we’re going to be drowning in ten minutes.”
“let’s go!” jack barks, his voice dropping into that authoritative, calm register that defined him as he signals some of the residents to follow him,
the coffee is now discarded and forgotten on dana’s desk as jack pulls on a pair of gloves, the snap of latex echoing against the white, bright walls of room. here, in the chaos of trauma 1, he’s in his element. he’s dr. abbot, the man who’s used to holding the line between life and death. he feels the familiar rush of adrenaline, the narrowing of his world until only the patients matter.
“eta one minute!” someone shouts.
robby stands at the ambulance bay doors, peering through the glass. a faint rain has started. a cold, miserable drizzle that blurs the red and blue lights of the approaching sirens.
the first ambulance screeches to a halt and the back doors swing open. immediately, a paramedic jumps out, already pumping a manual respirator. “female, trapped in the driver’s side for twenty minutes. we had to use the jaws. bp is 80 over 40 and dropping. she’s trending toward traumatic arrest!”
robby’s breath catches for a fraction of a second. his eyes scan the familiar face, noticing all the blood, the cuts and bruises.
no, he thinks. please, let it not be true.
“get her to bay 1!” he orders, returning to reality as he steps forward to catch the side of the gurney as it flies past.
as robby pushes the gurney, he refuses to look at the patient’s face. but when he walks past dana’s desk, he looks devastated, and she notices. rounding her desk, she walks next to him, matching his quick step.
“i need abbot out of that room,” he says. “now.”
frowning, dana walks next to him.
“what? why?”
robby just shakes his head. “i need you to take him to trauma 2. anywhere, really. just… away from…”
but it’s already too late.
jack’s eyes are locked on the gurney, tracking the way the patient’s body jolts with every bump of the wheels, noticing the blood-soaked bandages on her chest.
“on three! one, two, three!”
the paramedics help slide the patient onto the trauma table. and it’s only then, as one of the them pulls away the oxygen mask to swap it for the hospital’s ventilator, that the world truly stops spinning.
the air leaves jack’s lungs as if he’d been punched.
“jack…” robby tries, but he doesn’t look at him. he can’t react at all.
the female with blunt force chest trauma and unstable vitals isn’t a stranger.
it’s you.
your face is ghostly pale under the smears of blood and road grime. your hair, which he’d smoothed back just hours ago in the quiet of your bedroom, is matted with glass shards. you lay limp, your chest barely moving, a hollow shell of the person he loves.
“jack?” dana’s voice comes from a distance, sharp and concerned. “jack, what are you doing? we need to intubate!”
jack abbot, the man who never flinches, who doesn’t shake under stress, no matter how hard or critical the case, now stands frozen. his hands, usually as steady as stone, are shaking so violently they seem to rattle against the metal railing of the bed.
robby glances at dana over his friend’s shoulder, shaking his head.
“no,” jack whispers, the word catching in his throat. “no, no, no…”
“okay, “robby mutters to himself. “abbot, i need you to get out. now.”
but jack still can’t react, he doesn’t even flinch when dana closes her hand around his forearm, trying to pull him out of the room.
robby pushes past him. “she’s crashing! i need a central line now! jack, get out of the way!”
robby grabs a scalpel, his movements clinical and fast. he doesn’t stop to consider who is on the table. to him, right now you are just a ‘red tag.’ he can’t allow himself to think of anything else.
right now, you can’t be the woman who has quickly become one of his closest friends, one of the main supports on his hardest days. the woman he proudly considers family, the same one he shared secrets and past anecdotes with when he came by to yours and jack’s house for dinner every month.
dana is still trying to get jack out of the room, threatening to call security on him when the attending’s weak whisper makes her stop in her tracks.
“stop,” jack rasps, his voice cracking. he lunges forward, shaking dana’s hand off, too desperate. “stop. that’s… that’s my wife.”
the room goes dead silent for a heartbeat, save for the screaming of the heart monitor. robby looks up, nothing but pity for his friend boring in them.
“jack… you can’t be in here, brother. you know the protocol.”
“i am not leaving her!” jack roars, his voice echoing off the trauma bay walls, raw and heartbroken. “my wife is dying. i am not leaving her!”
“you’re making it worse!” robby hisses back. “you’re compromised! you’re going to kill her if you don’t let us work!”
jack looks down at you. he sees the blood. he sees the way your heart rate is flickering on the screen like a dying candle. a cold, terrifying clarity suddenly washes over him. the panic doesn’t disappear, of course it doesn’t, but he forces it down into a small, dark box in the back of his mind.
he steps back slightly, chest heaving. but his hands stop shaking, the roaring in his ears slows to low hum, enough for him to hear his own thoughts again.
“fuck the protocol. i’m staying,” jack said, his voice now terrifyingly low and steady. “robby, get the chest tube. and i need 10 of epi. now!”
he doesn’t look at his colleagues as he works. he looks only at you.
“stay with me,” he whispers, so low only you could have heard it if you were awake. “don’t you dare leave me, do you hear me? stay with me.”
and so the chaos begins in the trauma bay. robby and jack, along with a couple of residents and some extra hands work together, in synchronicity.
“i need a fast exam, now!” jack’s voice cuts through the noise, steady but edged with desperation, focused on the monitors, on the jagged green lines of your heart rate, the terrifyingly low oxygen saturation. he tries not to look at you, knowing that if he did he’d see your eyes, closed and bruised, and he would shatter.
“jack, i’ve got the ultrasound,” rabby says, his voice softer now, cautious.
he moves the probe over your abdomen, eyes flicking between the small screen and your still form.
you’re so still. the woman who loves dancing in the kitchen to grainy jazz records is now buried under layers of medical plastic and blood-stained gauze.
“we’ve got internal bleeding,” robby mutters, his brow furrowing. “she’s bleeding out into her peritoneum. jack, we need to get her to or immediately.”
“wait,” jack says, eyes falling to the darkening bruise on your lower belly. “check the pelvis. i want a full sweep. if there’s a pelvic fracture we didn’t see—”
“i’m on it,” robby replies. he moves the probe lower, his movements clinical.
the room seems to go silent, though the machines are still screaming. jack watches the ultrasound screen, his mind already three steps ahead, calculating surgical approaches, estimating blood loss, praying to a god he hasn’t spoken to in years.
then, the image shifts.
robby freezes. the probe stops moving.
on the grainy, black-and-white screen, nestled deep within the shadows of your body, is a small, unmistakable flicker. a pulsing light.
jack’s breath hitched. his world, already tilted on its axis, began to spin violently.
“jack…” robby’s voice was barely a whisper. “is that…?”
“no,” jack breathes, the word a plea. “no, it can’t be.”
he grabs the probe from robby’s hand, his fingers slick with ultrasound gel. he presses it down again, his eyes wide and frantic as he searches the screen. and there it is. a gestational sac. maybe ten weeks. perhaps older. a tiny, fragile life tucked away inside the chaos of your broken body.
a life he didn’t know about. a life you hadn’t told him about.
“she’s pregnant,” robby breathes from the bedside, his hand flying to his mouth.
the realization hits jack like a physical blow to the chest. this isn’t about just you anymore. it’s about both of you. every choice he makes in the next ten minutes will not just decide the fate of his wife; it would decide the fate of their child, too.
“we can’t use the standard protocol, jack,” robby says, his voice rising in panic. “the meds we were going to use for the induction, the ct scan, the radiation…”
“i know!” jack roars, the sound raw and guttural. he drops the probe and it hits the floor with a dull thud.
the “doctor mode” he has spent years perfecting, the emotional armor he wears like a second skin, cracks wide open. the image of that tiny, flickering heartbeat burned into his retinas. he sees you then; not as a patient, not as a ‘red tag,’ but as the mother of his child, dying on a cold metal table because of a patch of ice and a moment of bad luck.
the room begins to tilt. the bright fluorescent lights turned into blinding white spots. the sound of the ventilator—hiss-click, hiss-click—is like a ticking time bomb.
“jack, look at me,” robby says, stepping into his line of sight, grabbing jack’s shoulders. “jack, you’re hyperventilating. you need to step back.”
“i… i didn’t know,” jack stammers, his legs suddenly turning to lead. “she didn’t… we couldn’t…”
he looks back at you. your face is a mask of trauma, but in his mind, he sees you the way you were hours ago when he left you cold on your shared bed. the way you smiled at him. did you know then? maybe you were waiting for dinner to tell him.
the grief and the shock collide in his chest, stealing the air from his lungs. jack’s knees buckle.
“he’s going down!” robby cries, catching him under his arms before he hits the floor.
jack doesn’t fight him. he can’t. his strength is gone, evaporated. he slumps against the wall, his head in his hands, the bloodied plastic of his blue gown crinkling as he collapses.
“get him out of here,” robby orders, his voice firm as he takes over the lead position at the bed. “now! someone, please, get him to the breakroom. i’ll take her up. i promise you, jack, i will do everything. just go!”
jack feels hands on him, a strong grip pulling him up, guiding him away from the bed. he tries to resist, tries to reach out for you, but his body simply won’t obey.
as he’s led through the swinging doors, the last thing he sees is the team swarming around you, the red light of the blood bags hanging over your head, and the ultrasound screen, displaying that tiny, flickering heart once more.
the doors click shut, leaving him in the hallway, the rapid beat of his heart a deafening roar in his ears.
he’s a doctor. he’s a husband. and now, he’s a father.
and he might lose everything before the sun went down.
jesse lets go of his arm when they arrive at the breakroom, and with a quiet “i’m sorry” and a gentle nod he leaves jack behind and returns to the room where the rest of the team is still fighting to save you.
you and the baby.
god, the mere thought raises tears to jack’s eyes.
a baby.
his baby.
biting the inside of his cheek, jack thinks of the previous times when he heard these news. of the sound of your excited, cheerful voice the first time you came up to him with a positive test.
unfortunately he also remembers your heartbroken wails as he hold you tight to his chest, both of you sitting on the bathroom floor at home. he remembers how he bit his lips, forcing himself to stay strong for you but wanting nothing more but to crumble into pieces right there.
you had stopped trying after the second miscarriage. a decision none of you wanted to made but that you needed in order to protect your own hearts and your sanity.
and now… now you’re laying on a cold, metal exam table, closer to death than you’ve ever been and jack has everything to lose.
the breakroom smells of stale coffee and industrial-strength floor cleaner. it’s a room designed for brief reprieves, for five-minute naps and hurried meals, but right now, for jack, it feel like a cage.
he seats on the edge of a vinyl chair, his elbows on his knees, staring at his hands, at dark, shiny band on his left hand.
you are pregnant. the thought keeps looping in his mind, a frantic, broken record. how could he miss it? he’s a doctor, for god’s sake. he is trained to notice the smallest shifts in physiology, the subtle cues of the human body.
he thinks back to the last few weeks; your sudden preference for tea over coffee, the way you’d been falling asleep on the couch before the 11 o’clock news. he’d chalked it up to stress, to the gray pittsburgh winter, to his own grueling schedule and the fact that he didn’t seem to have time to spare, time for you.
he closes his eyes and sees you in the kitchen three days ago, laughing at the ridiculous apron he usually wears when he cooks. you looked so vibrant, so incredibly alive. now, you have been reduced to a series of vitals on a monitor, a problem to be solved by people who don’t know the sound of your laugh or your favorite movie from your childhood.
“god, please,” he whispers into the empty room. now, jack abbot is hardly a religious man, but the silence of the hospital is demanding a sacrifice. “take me. just… don’t take them. please.”
the door creaks open and jack bolts upright, his heart hammering against his ribs. dr. robby, his best friend, his brother, stands there. he’s stripped off his bloody gown, but his scrubs are darkened with sweat. somehow, he looks older than he did twenty minutes ago.
“jack,” robby says, his voice level, cautious.
“tell me,” jack demands, his voice cracking. “please, tell me. is she… are they-”
“she’s still on the table,” robby says, stepping into the room and letting the door swing shut behind him. “we’ve stabilized the splenic bleed, and the chest tube is draining well. but jack…” robby let’s out a long, heavy sigh. “ the situation is complicated. you know the physiology as well as i do.”
jack slumps back into the chair, the “doctor” part of his brain forcing its way through the grief. he does know.
in a trauma patient, pregnancy changes everything. the blood volume increases by 50%, which means a woman can lose a massive amount of blood before her blood pressure even begins to drop. by the time you see the “crash,” it’s often too late.
“her vitals are brittle,” robby continues, leaning his back against the vending machine. “because of the pregnancy, her heart is already working overtime. and we’re struggling to keep her map high enough to perfuse the placenta without blowing out the repairs we just made.”
“and the baby?” jack asks, the word feeling foreign and heavy on his tongue.
“the fetus is roughly twelve weeks,” robby says. “at this stage, there’s no ‘saving’ the baby independently. the only way to save the pregnancy is to save the mother. but the vasopressors we’re using to keep her pressure up… they cause vasoconstriction in the uterus. we’re effectively starving the baby of oxygen to keep her brain and heart alive.”
it’s the ultimate medical catch-22. to save you, they had to risk the baby. to save the baby, they might lose you.
“the ultrasound showed some subchorionic hemorrhaging,” robby adds softly. “with the impact of the steering wheel, the placenta might be starting to detach. if that happens, she’ll bleed out from the inside faster than we can pump blood into her.”
jack buries his face in his hands. he knows the statistics. he knows that in maternal trauma, fetal demise is as high as 40-50% depending on the severity of the crash.
“i should have been there,” jack groans. “i should have driven her. she told me the brakes felt ‘soft’ last week and i told her i’d look at them on my day off. i didn’t… i didn’t look at them, robby.”
“jack, stop,” robby says firmly, walking the few steps separating him from his friend and crouching in front of him. “the police report said a semi hydroplaned across the median. it wouldn’t have mattered if she was driving a tank. don’t do this to yourself.”
jack looks up, his eyes bloodshot and raw. “how can i not?i’m the one who’s supposed to fix people. i spend twelve hours a day stitching strangers back together, and the one person who matters,” his voice breaks. “i didn’t even know she was carrying our child.”
robby sighs, his expression softening. “she’s a fighter, jack. we both know that. she’s held on this long. but i need you to stay here. if you go back in there…. i can’t worry about you too. i need to focus on them.”
“i can’t just sit here, man,” jack says, his voice rising. “i’m going crazy in this room.”
“then go to the chapel. go for a walk. or go home. but do not come back to that room,” robby warns. “i’ll send dana or jesse out when we have another update.”
as robby turns to leave, jack calls out, “wait.”
robby pauses at the door.
“the heartbeat,” jack whispers. “was it… was it still there when you left?”
robby hesitates for a fraction of a second, a beat that feels like an eternity to jack.
“it was,” robby says. “faint. but it was still there.”
and with that, the door clicks shut, leaving jack alone again.
the breakroom remains too quiet for far too long. jack paces the narrow strip of linoleum between the coffee machine and the round table, his mind a minefield of memories. he keeps seeing you in the passenger seat of his car, laughing at some stupid joke he told, the sun reflecting the stars in your eyes. he keeps thinking about the baby, whose existence had already rewritten the map of his future, even if they haven’t met yet.
then, the overhead speaker crackles. it’s a sound jack hears a dozen times a shift, a sound he usually meets with professional focus.
“code blue, trauma 1. code blue, trauma 1.”
the world doesn’t just tilt; it shatters.
trauma 1. your room.
jack is moving before his brain can even process the command. he throws open the breakroom door, the heavy wood slamming against the wall with a bang that echoes down the corridor. he doesn’t care about protocol. he doesn’t care about robby’s orders. he doesn’t care about his own career.
he runs.
the hallway feels miles long, the floor slick under his clogs. he passes a group of residents who scramble out of his way, eyes wide as they see night shift attending sprinting with a look of pure, unadulterated terror on his face.
he bursts through the double doors of the trauma bay, his lungs burning.
“jack, wait!” a nurse shouts, trying to grab his arm as he reaches the scrub sinks.
he doesn’t even look at her. he pushes the doors open with his shoulder, crashing into the room like a storm.
the scene inside is a nightmare rendered in high-definition. the rhythmic, mechanical hiss-click of the ventilator has been replaced by the frantic, high-pitched scream of the heart monitor. a flat, unwavering ekg line that slices through the air like a blade.
robby’s standing on a step-stool over your body, his hands locked, his weight throwing everything into the rhythmic compressions of your chest. crunch. crunch. the sound of ribs giving way under the pressure—a sound jack has heard a thousand times—feels like it’s his own bones that are snapping.
“jack, get out!” robby yells, not breaking his rhythm. his face is drenched in sweat, his eyes fixed on the monitor.
“what happened?” jack screams, stumbling toward the foot of the bed. “what the fuck happened?!”
“she went into v-fib, then pea,” dr. santos shouts over the noise. she was at your side, her hands pressed firmly against the left side of your abdomen, pushing your pregnant belly toward the left.
jack’s medical brain registered it instantly. in a pregnant woman in cardiac arrest, the heavy uterus compresses the inferior vena cava, blocking blood from returning to the heart. if they don’t push the baby aside, the compression robby is doing will be useless. there’s no blood to pump.
“charging to 200!” the tech shouts. “clear!”
robby jumps back. your body jolts off the table as the electricity surges through you. jack watches your hands, the same hands he loved to hold while you both were cuddling on the couch on a slow saturday, flop lifelessly back onto the sterile drape.
the line stays flat.
“again!” jack roars, stepping up to the bed, his voice raw. “increase to 300! charge it again!”
“jack, she’s lost too much blood,” robby pants, resuming compressions. “the acid-base balance is gone. her heart is too tired.”
“don’t you say that! don’t you dare say that!” jack lunges forward, grabbing the paddles from the tech’s hands. his eyes are wild, his breathing ragged. “move, robby! move!”
robby hesitates for a second, then steps aside, hands raised in surrender, letting jack take over.
jack looks down at you. this close, he can see the gray tint creeping into your skin. he can see the way the light in the room seems to be fading out of you.
“you do not leave me,” he hisses, the words a jagged prayer. “you hear me? you stay. you stay for me, and you stay for this baby. do not do this to us.”
“charged!”
“clear!” jack slams the paddles against your chest.
thump. your body arches. the monitors wail.
silence.
one second. two. three.
then, a tiny, erratic blip on the screen. then another.
“i have a rhythm!” dr. santos cries, her fingers pressed to your carotid artery. “i have a pulse! it’s weak, but it’s there!”
the room seems to exhale all at once, but the tension doesn’t break. it just shifts.
“we need to get the bleeding under control now,” robby says, his voice shaking. “jack… she can’t take another arrest. if she codes again, we won’t get her back. the fetal heart rate is in the 60s.”
robby doesn’t finish the sentence, but jack hears is loud and clear.
you’re both dying.
jack stands there, the paddles still in his hands, staring at the flickering green line of your heart. he’s covered in your blood, his gown torn, his soul laid bare in front of his entire team.
he looks at robby, and for the first time in his career, michael sees the “great jack abbot” looking utterly broken.
“save them,” jack whispers, his voice barely audible over the hum of the machines. “whatever it takes, i don’t care. just… don’t let them… save them. please.”
robby nods slowly. “we’re going to try a high-risk embolization to stop the deep pelvic bleed. it’s the only way to avoid more surgery, but the radiation… it’s dangerous for the pregnancy.”
jack looks at your stomach, then back at your face. the choice is impossible.
life or life.
“do it,” jack says, his voice hardening into a cold, desperate resolve. “save her. save my wife. we’ll deal with the rest when she wakes up.”
as they begin to prep the specialized equipment, jack doesn’t leave. he backs into the corner of the room, his back against the cold tile. he watches them work, his eyes never leaving the monitor, counting every single beat of your heart as if he could keep it moving through sheer force of will.
the icu is a different kind of purgatory than the er. in the er, death is a screaming, bloody predator you could fight with a scalpel and a shout, something loud and violent. in the icu, death is a shadow. something silent, patient, and impossible to pin down.
it’s 11:45 p.m. hours have passed since you were moved up from the er.
now you lie in the center of a web of plastic tubing and wires, the steady, rhythmic hiss-click of the ventilator the only thing keeping the room from falling into a grave-like silence. a cooling blanket draped over your legs to keep your temperature regulated, and a specialized fetal monitor strapped across your bruised abdomen, its screen showing a jagged, persistent little line
142 bpm.
jack is sitting in the hard plastic chair pulled flush against your bedside. he hasn’t changed out of his scrub bottoms, though someone forced him to put on a clean gray hoodie to cover the bloodstains on his undershirt. he looks older, tired. devastated. the harsh overhead led lights catch the new lines of exhaustion etched around his eyes.
he’s holding your hand, the only part of you that isn’t covered in bandages or sensors. your skin feels paper-thin and cold.
“i’m here,” he whispers, his voice a dry rasp. “i’m not going anywhere.”
he checks the fetal monitor. that sound, the rapid thump-thump, thump-thump of the baby’s heart, is the most beautiful and terrifying thing he has ever heard. it’s a ticking clock. every beat a miracle, but also a reminder of how much he stands to lose.
“why didn’t you tell me?” he asks softly, his thumb tracing the line of your knuckles, the stone crowning you ring finger cold and harsh against his skin.
were you scared? were you waiting for the ‘right’ moment? god, he would have given anything for that moment to have been over dinner, or in bed, or literally anywhere but on a trauma table.
he leans his forehead against the metal railing of the bed, his eyes closing.
“i went through our messages while i was waiting for you to come out of the or,” he admits, a ghost of a self-deprecating laugh escaping him. “i looked for clues. i looked for a hint. and all i found were grocery lists and you telling me to come home early because you missed me. but i didn’t come home, did i? i stayed for that extra shift. i stayed to fix people i didn’t even know while you were… you were growing a life.”
his guilt is a physical weight, a cold stone in his stomach. he’s dr. jack abbot. he’s supposed to be the one with all the answers, the one who sees the things no one else notices. but he has been blind to the most important thing in his own world.
a nurse slips into the room, her movements practiced and quiet. she checks the bags hanging from the iv pole, her eyes lingering on jack with a mixture of pity and professional concern.
“the baby’s heart rate is holding steady, dr. abbot,” she says softly, nodding toward the fetal monitor. “and her map is at 70. she’s stable for now.”
“for now,” jack repeats, the words feeling like ash. “stable is just another word for ‘waiting for the next crisis’ in this building, and you know it, claire.”
“from what i’ve heard, she’s a fighter, jack,” the nurse replies, mirroring robby’s words from earlier. “and so is the little one. i’ve seen people come back from worse.”
“not many,” jack mutters, but he squeezes your hand a little tighter.
when the nurse leaves, the silence rushes back in. jack stands up, his joints popping, and leans over you. he carefully places his hand on your stomach, right over the sensor. closing his eyes, he tries to feel through the layers of skin and muscle, trying to connect with the tiny being inside you that he had only just met through a grainy ultrasound screen.
“hey,” he whispers to your belly. “i’m your dad. i’m… i’m a bit of a mess right now, but i’m here. and i need you to do me a favor. i need you to keep fighting. i need you to give your mom a reason to wake up. because i don’t think i can do this without her. i know i can’t do this without her.”
before he can realize what’s happening, a tear escapes, tracing a hot path down his cheek and landing on the sterile white sheet.
“i’ll be better,” he promises, his voice cracking. “i’ll be home. i’ll fix the brakes. i’ll learn how to be whatever you both need me to be. just… don’t let go. please, don’t let go.”
outside, the rain continues, now heavier, fiercer. but inside the room, time remains frozen. jack abbot, the man who usually held the city’s lives in his hands, now seats back down and waits for the only life that truly matters to come back to him.
from time to time, doctors filter into the room, checking vitals, checking on jack. robby comes up from the er a couple of times to share a sympathetic smile with him, to promise that everything will be fine.
jack sighs, “i’m a doctor too, robby. you can’t lie to me.”
“and i’m your friend and i know that a bit of hope is what you need right now.”
he stays for a while, keeping jack company until his pager calls him back to action.
“shouldn’t you be home already?” jack asks. “your shift was over hours ago.”
robby only shrugs. “people need me around here.”
at that, jack’s eyes regain that teary shine. nodding, he promises robby to call him if anything changes and waves his fiend goodbye before leaning back again on the chair, his eyes fixed on the slow rise and fall of your chest.
the world doesn’t come back all at once. it returns in fragments. first, the rhythmic hiss of a machine, the smell of antiseptic, and a heavy, weighted warmth on your left hand. your eyelids feel like they had been leaded shut, but the persistent, low hum of the icu finally pulls you toward the surface of consciousness.
you groan, the sound catching in the back of your throat, dry and scratchy from the tube that has only recently been removed.
then there’s the faint scratch of a chair scraping against the floor.
“hey… hey, look at me. open your eyes, sweetheart.”
that voice. you know that voice better than your own heartbeat. it’s the same voice that whispers sweet nothings into your ear at night, the same one that you hear in your warmest dreams. except now it sounds rough, exhausted, and trembling with a hope so fragile it feels like it might shatter any moment.
you force your eyes open. the light blinding at first, a sterile white haze, but then it focuses. jack. he looks like he hasn’t slept in a week. his hair is a mess and his eyes, usually so sharp and clinical, are now swimming with tears.
“jack?” you rasp, your voice coming out as barely a breath.
“i’m here. i’m right here.” he leans over, his hand cupping your cheek with a tenderness that makes your chest ache. he kisses your forehead, his lips lingering there for a long moment as he takes a shuddering breath. “you scared the hell out of me, love.”
you try to move, but a sharp pang in your abdomen makes you wince. memories start to bleed back in. the rain, the blinding headlights, the screech of metal. you instinctively try to reach for your stomach, but your arm feels like lead.
“the… the accident… jack, i…”
“it’s over,” he whispers, his thumb stroking your temple. “you’re safe. i’ve got you.”
a few minutes pass by until the door pushes open quietly. robby walks in, followed by an ob-gyn specialist you didn’t recognize. robby looks at you, a genuine, relieved smile breaking through his professional mask.
“welcome back,” robby says, checking the monitors. “you’ve had a hell of a day, but your vitals are finally starting to behave.”
the ob-gyn, a woman with kind eyes that introduces herself as dr. pauline , steps forward. “we need to talk about why you’re feeling so much pressure in your abdomen, besides the surgical repairs.”
jack’s grip on your hand tightens. he looks at you, his expression a complicated map of wonder and fear.
“you’re pregnant, dear,” dr. pauline says softly. “about twelve weeks. the accident was severe, and the trauma to your body was significant. we had to perform some emergency procedures that were high-risk for the pregnancy, but as of twenty minutes ago, the fetal heartbeat is steady.”
the world stops right there and then.
you look from the doctor to jack, your mouth falling open. “pregnant? are you sure?”
dr. pauline nods and you have to bite your lip to keep it from trembling. jack’s grip on your hand tightens.
“it’s going to be a long road,” dr. pauline continues, her tone turning serious but encouraging. “you have a lot of healing to do. your ribs and the internal repairs, plus the blood loss. and for the baby, we’re going to have to monitor you both every hour. there’s some bruising near the placenta, so it’s going to take hard work, absolute bed rest, and a lot of time before we can say we’re completely out of the woods. but right now? right now, you’re both winning.”
“thank you, doctor,” you whisper, voice so small it makes jack’s chest squeeze. “and thank you, michael. jack told me you were the one who took care of me when i arrived.”
robby gifts you with a small, soft smile. grabbing your free hand, he gives it a squeeze.
“i’m glad i could help. but i don’t think i could’ve done it without my team. or without dr. abbot’s aid.”
that has you snapping your attention back to jack.
“you were there?” he simply nods, eyes glued to your hand, to the ring on your finger. “i thought you guys had protocols for that kind of thing.”
“we do,” says robby, nodding.
“fuck the protocol,” barks jack at the exact same time. “my wife was dying. what was i supposed to do? go home? i did what i had to.”
when your eyes finally connect with his again you see it, the utter exhaustion, but behind that there’s something more. something raw and vivid.
“i’m so sorry,” you whisper. “i’m sorry you had to see that, jack. i can’t even imagine…”
“shh…” leaning forward, jack offers you the safe space of his shoulder to cry. “what matters is that you’re alive, love. you both are.”
after the doctors finish their checks and leave the room, a heavy, comfortable silence settles over the two of you. jack doesn’t let go of your hand. he seats on the edge of the bed, staring at you as if you were a ghost that might vanish if he blinked.
“jack,” you whispered, your voice a little stronger now. but you still feel the pressure of your tears threatening to spill at any given moment.
the thought of jack having to bring you back to life, your blood covering his gloved hands… knowing that he had to find out about something you had been suspecting for a couple of weeks through a scan in a trauma room in the er…
“twelve weeks,” he says, his voice thick with his own tears. “and you didn’t… you didn’t tell me.”
there’s no accusation in his voice, only a profound, echoing confusion.
you look down at your hands, the plastic hospital bracelet stark against your skin. “i didn’t know, jack. not for sure.”
jack doesn’t speak, he holds on tight to your hand, dropping a feather like kiss on your knuckles.
“i was suspicious,” you admit, a small, tired smile tugging at the corners of your mouth. “but i told myself i was just imagining it. that my brain was playing some twisted tricks on me. but then i started feeling so tired. then there was the coffee. god, the smell of it started making me nauseous about two weeks ago. i’ve been drinking tea ever since.”
jack lets out a short, wet laugh, rubbing his face with his free hand. “i’m a doctor, i should have seen it. i should have known.”
“how could you?” you reach out, brushing a stray hair from his forehead. “we stopped looking for the signs a long time ago, jack.”
the air in the room shifts. the “last two times”, two years of hope, two positive tests that ended in heartbreak before the first trimester was even over. they were the shadows that had lived in the corners of your apartment, the reason you both had stopped talking about possible names or color palettes for the nursery. you had both quietly agreed to stop trying, to protect what was left of your hearts.
“i didn’t want to say anything until i was certain,” you whisper, tears pricking your eyes. “i couldn’t handle seeing that look on your face again if it didn’t stay. i was going to buy a test this weekend, i promise. i just… i wanted to be sure before i gave you hope again.”
jack leans down, pressing his forehead against yours. his breath hitches. “hope is all i’ve had for the last few hours, watching you on those monitors. i don’t care about the timing. i’ve got you two now. and that’s all i need.”
he moves his hand, sliding it under the hospital blanket to rest flat against your stomach. his palm is warm, steady, and large enough to cover nearly the entire area where the new life rests tucked away.
“we’re going to do the work,” he vows, his voice low. “whatever the doctors say. whatever it takes. i’m not losing either of you. we’ve fought too hard to get here.”
for the first time since the sirens started screaming hours ago, the tension in jack’s shoulders finally breaks.
you rest your head on his shoulder, the steady thump-thump of his heart syncing with yours. it isn’t the perfect, easy ending. there are months of recovery ahead and a thousand medical hurdles to jump but for now, in the quiet of the icu, the three of you are together.
“i love you,” he whispers into your hair.
“i love you too,” you breath, finally letting your eyes drift shut. “both of us.”
the transition from the icu to the step-down unit was supposed to be a victory. it has been ten days since the crash. your chest tube is out, your color is returning, and jack has finally stopped vibrating with the manic energy of a man haunted by ghosts.
but the “pitt” never let anyone relax for long.
jack is sitting in the armchair, his laptop open as he tries to catch up on charts while staying by your side. you are propped up on pillows, picking at a bowl of fruit, when a sharp, searing cramp radiates across your lower abdomen.
it isn’t like the dull ache of your healing surgical incisions. this is different. cold. deep.
“jack,” you gasp, the plastic fork clattering onto the tray.
he’s at your side before the fork hit the floor. “what is it? where’s the pain?”
“cramping. hard.” you grip his forearm, your knuckles turning white. “it feels… it feels like the last times, jack.”
the color drains from his face, but the doctor in him takes the lead before he can panic. he throws back the blankets. and there it is. a small, terrifying smear of crimson on the white sheets.
“pauline! anyone! i need a fetal doppler in here now!” jack shouts toward the hallway, his voice cracking the quiet of the ward.
minutes felt like hours. dr. pauline rushes in, her face set in a grim mask of professional focus. jack stands in the corner, his hands pressed against his mouth. unfortunately, he knows too much. he knows all the signs, just like he knows that post-traumatic subchorionic bleeds could trigger labor or a final, fatal abruption.
the room is filled with the static sound of the doppler searching.
whoosh. whoosh.
the sound of your own pulse, too fast, too frantic.
then, a silence that feels like a death sentence.
“come on,” pauline whispers, moving the probe. “come on, little one.”
thump-thump-thump-thump.
the sound burst into the room. fast, rhythmic, and stubborn.
“heart rate is 150,” pauline exhales, a visible wave of relief washing over her. “the cervix is closed. it’s a ‘threatened’ event, likely just the hematoma from the accident draining. but we are increasing your progesterone and you are on strict, absolute bed rest. no sitting up, no laptop, nothing but breathing.”
jack doesn’t move for a long time after she leaves. he just leans his head against the wall, his chest heaving. the setback lasted only ten minutes, but it had aged him a decade.
“jack,” you call his name softly, patting the free space next to you on the bed.
he walks over and sat on the edge, taking both of your hands in his. “we almost lost the light,” he whisper. “i can’t… i don’t know that i could take it if it happened again, sweetheart.”
“we didn’t lose it,” you said, pulling his hand to your cheek. “they’re still here. we’re still here.”
jack sighs with relief, nodding. he leas down to press a soft, careful kiss to your lips.
three weeks later, the air in pittsburgh finally shifts from the bitter bite of winter to the hesitant warmth of early spring.
you’re not wearing a hospital gown anymore. instead, you wear one of jack’s oversized soft hoodies and a pair of leggings, sitting in a wheelchair by the large windows of the garden pavilion. you are still weak, and your gait is a slow, painful shuffle, but today is the day the doctors, your husband included, have circled in red on the calendar.
week 14. the beginning of the second trimester. the safe zone.
jack walks into the pavilion carrying two cups of herbal tea and a small, rectangular envelope. he looks different today. he’s actually shaved, and for the first time since the night of the pileup, the haunted look in his eyes has been replaced by a quiet, steady glow.
“happy second trimester,” he says, leaning down to kiss the top of your head.
“we made it,” you breathe, looking out at the budding trees. “i honestly didn’t think we would.”
“i have something for you,” he says, sitting on the bench beside your chair. he hands you the envelope with a bright smile.
you open it with trembling fingers. inside isn’t a medical chart or a bill. it is a high-resolution 3d ultrasound from that morning’s check-up.
the image is vividly clear. you can see the curve of a tiny nose, the miniature perfection of ten fingers tucked near a chin, and the long legs that robby joked would make the kid a track star.
“look at that nose,” jack whispers, his finger tracing the print. “that’s your nose.”
“yeah. that’s your chin, though,” you laugh softly, a tear of pure, uncomplicated joy sliding down your face. “the abbot stubbornness is already visible.”
while you are still contemplating the small piece of warmth and joy that was still growing inside of you, jack reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small, velvet box. you look at him, confused.
“jack? we’re already married.”
“i know,” he says, opening the box to reveal a delicate band with a tiny, shimmering stone on top. the birthstone for the month the baby was due. “but the night of the crash, i realized i’d spent so much time being a doctor and a provider that i forgot to be a good husband. i forgot to celebrate the life we were building.”
he takes your hand, sliding the ring onto your finger next to your wedding band.
“this is a promise,” he says, his voice thick with emotion. “no more double shifts when i don’t have to. no more missed dinners. from here on out, it’s the three of us.”
you lean your head back against the headrest of the wheelchair, looking from the ring to the ultrasound, and then to the man who quite literally pulled you back from the edge of the grave.
the trauma is still there, the scars on your body and the stiffness in your limbs would be reminders for a long time, but as the sun warms your skin, the angst of the past month finally begins to dissolve.
“jack?”
“yeah?”
“i think i want thai food tonight.”
jack laughs. and it’s a real, booming abbot laugh that echoes through the garden. “you heard the boss,” he whispers to your stomach. “thai it is.”
bonus
the spare bedroom at the end of the hall had spent years as a storage space for jack’s medical journals and your half-finished art projects. it had been a room of “maybe someday,” a door you both tended to keep closed, preferring to keep the bad memories on the other side.
now, six months after the rain-slicked pavement nearly took everything, the door stands wide open and the scent of paint lingers in the air. a soft, muted sage green that jack spent three weekends perfecting because he refused to let anyone else touch the walls.
you seat in the newly assembled rocking chair, your hand resting atop the prominent, solid curve of your stomach. the baby is active today, a rhythmic tapping against your ribs that feels like a secret code. you are thirty-four weeks along, a milestone that, for a long time, felt like a destination on a map you weren’t allowed to reach.
“i think the crib is slightly crooked,” jack mutters, kneeling on the floor.
he was wearing an old pittsburgh steelers t-shirt, his hair disheveled, looking less like the formidable dr. abbot of the er and more like… like you husband, who was utterly determined to defeat a piece of furniture.
“jack, it’s perfect,” you laugh softly. “the level said it’s straight. you’ve checked it four times.”
“five,” he corrects, standing up and wiping his hands on his jeans. he walks over to the crib, shaking the railing with enough force to test a bridge. “i just… i need it to be steady. everything has to be steady.”
you reach out, taking his hand and pulling him towards you. immediately, he sinks onto the ottoman at your feet, resting his head against your knees. the fierce, protective energy he carries is a byproduct of the trauma; a lingering shadow of the man who collapsed back in that trauma room. but it was softening, replaced by a deep, quiet anticipation.
“oh. i just remembered. we haven’t opened michael’s gift yet,” you say, pointing to the changing table.
sitting atop a stack of colorful onesies is a beautifully wrapped box with a heavy silver bow. next to it is a card embossed with the university of pittsburgh medical center logo.
according to jack, robby dropped it off at the nurse’s station for him to bring home.
“he said if he had to hear me talk about ‘fetal heart rate variability’ during a trauma shift one more time, he was going to quit, so he bought this to shut me up,” he said as he lay the box on the changing table the other night.
you open the card first. in robby’s cramped, hurried physician’s handwriting, it read:
to my dear friends (and my future favorite abbot),
i’ve known you two for a long time and i truly can’t think of anyone better to take care of each other. i also know that kid will be so lucky to get to call you two mom and dad. i can’t wait to meet the little one.
congratulations on the final stretch!
— robby
inside the box is a high-tech, medical-grade infant vitals monitor, the kind that synced to a smartphone. it’s exactly the kind of gift dr. robby would give: a way to keep watch even when the lights were out. underneath the monitor was a tiny, hand-knitted sweater with a small stethoscope embroidered on the pocket.
“he’s a softie,” you whisper, running your hand over the wool.
“don’t tell him i said so, but he’s the reason we’re sitting in this room,” jack said, his voice drops into that low, honest tone he saved only for you. he looks up at you, his eyes reflecting the soft nursery light. “when i saw you on that table… i forgot how to be a doctor. i forgot how to breathe. he held the line until i could find my way back.”
jack stands up and leans over you, pressing a long, lingering kiss to your forehead before moving down to press his ear against your belly. he waits, silent and still, until the baby delivers a sharp kick right against his cheek.
“hey there,” jack whispers to the bump, a grin breaking across his face. “i hear you. we’re ready for you. everything is ready.”
he stands back, surveying the room; the crib, the sage-green walls, the gift from his brother, the man who helped save your lives, and the woman who was his entire world. the angst of the pitt, the screams of the monitors, and the cold terror of the icu feel like a lifetime ago. they are just scars now. like faded, silver lines that proved they survived the storm.
“do you think the baby will like the room?” you ask.
jack wraps his arms around you from behind, his chin resting on your shoulder as you both look out at the quiet pittsburgh street below.
“she’ll love it,” jack promises.
the sun begins to set outside the window, casting a warm, golden glow over the nursery, turning the sage walls into the color of a new spring. you’re a survivor, jack is a father, and in just a few short weeks, the pitt would be nothing more than a place where jack went to work, while his real life, his whole life, waited for him right here, at home.
summary: you make another visit to the pitt when your baby won't stop crying, and jack suggests meeting up when he's off shift
pairing: jack abbot x single mom!reader
words: 8k
tags: FLUFF, jack abbot is a flirt, jack abbot holds a baby, husband material!jack abbot, little bit of angst due to a miscommunication, mentions of small injury, mentions of blood, mentions of stitches, hurt/comfort, feelings of inadequacy as a mother
note: the pictures are just for vibes
// pt. 1 -> a mans touch
The shrieking wails of your baby girl alerted Jack to your presence before he saw the two of you. He turned around from where he was standing at the Hub, electronic chart in one hand, and saw you round the corner with your crying daughter. She was buckled into a car seat that you were carrying, her little face scrunched up as she screamed.
Jack blindly passed the chart to one of the nurses next to him and slipped out of the Hub to meet you halfway.
"I'm so sorry," You said, your voice filled with embarrassment as Jack approached. He shook his head at you in disagreement and reached down with both hands to grab the car seat and take it from you.
"No, it's no problem. I told you to come back if this happened again. I'm glad you called." Jack said, reassuring you in your decision. His words seemed to have the intended effect, your shoulders dropped down from where they'd tensed up by your ears. Jack walked you both back to the nurses station and set your daughter on the counter.
"Hey tiny girl," He said softly to her as he unbuckled her from the car seat. "You've got a good set of lungs on you." Jack slid his hands under her and lifted your baby out of the seat and up to his chest. She continued to wail for a moment as Jack got her settled in his arms, her head supported in the crook of his elbow and her small body resting on his forearm. Jack bounced on the spot and shushed your daughter quietly under his breath until her crying stopped and her chubby face relaxed where it leaned against his chest.
You let out a sigh of relief as your daughter fell quiet, save for the little whimpers she made as she calmed down. Her little eyes were locked on Jacks face as he rocked her and the sight of him calmed her down fully. He used the back of his finger to wipe the tears from her soft cheeks. You let yourself collapse into a chair behind the nursing station, your mind and body too tired to ask if that was alright.
"You okay?" Jack asked as he rotated to face you, still bouncing his knees for your baby's benefit. He plucked the soother that was clipped to your daughters onesie and guided it into her mouth. She accepted it from Jack no problem, suckling on it contently, and you tried not to be offended.
"Yeah, just tired. I thought the first visit here fixed her separation anxiety but I guess I was wrong." You answered with a yawn as you propped your elbow up on the desk and rested your chin in your hand. Jack nodded along with your answer, seeing your clear exhaustion. You were raising your daughter alone with limited support from friends and family. There was no one to switch off with in the middle of the night, no one to take over when you were sick, no one to pick up some of the physical and mental load. Your daughter crying and not letting up until Jack held her was probably extremely annoying and inconvenient for you.
"Do you need a cat nap?" Jack asked as your daughter fussed for a second, wanting Jacks focus again. He shifted his arms to hold your daughter with one arm and lifted his free hand so she could grab at his fingers, effectively distracting her as he continued to look at you.
"No, the break to sit for a bit is enough. She'll hopefully fall asleep on the car ride home and I can nap when she's napping."
"You're welcome to sit here as long as you'd like." Jack replied sincerely. He really did want to help you however he could and he knew every little bit helped.
"You sure I'm not in the way?"
"Absolutely not honey." The charge nurse Lena said, injecting herself into the conversation as she returned to the Hub and reached around Jack to give your daughters foot a playful shake. "Get the rest you need. We're more than happy to have this cute little girl brightening up our shift." She gave you a warm smile and you returned it, the knot of anxiety and tension loosening in your chest. Lena went back to her computer and you looked over at Jack holding your daughter.
They were staring at each other, her tiny hand wrapped around one of Jacks thick fingers. Jack smiled down at her and you watched your little girls face break into a big smile, the soother almost falling out of her mouth. Her smile made Jacks grow and the knot in your chest completely unraveled at the sight of her being completely at ease with Jack. You felt yourself melt back into the chair, your whole body relaxing knowing your daughter was in good hands.
The two of you chatted for about thirty minutes to pass the time, about nothing and everything - the weather, sports, your childhoods, your favourite music, and your daughters eating habits. You got interrupted every few minutes so a resident or intern could present a case or run a course of treatment past Jack. You watched him teach and lead with ease as he held your daughter in one arm and held the chart in his other hand. He'd encourage the staff and gently direct them to the right answer with a few careful questions, always helping them rather than just telling them what to do.
Jack was confident and assured and it was wreaking havoc on your ovaries. You did your best to remind yourself Jack was just being nice by helping you with your baby and hitting on him would be inappropriate, but then he'd shift your daughter to lift her up over his head with his hands under her armpits and she'd squeal with little giggles and you were right back to square one.
Jack kept lifting your little girl like that, the soother falling out of her mouth as he got her to laugh over and over before settling her against his chest again. The two of them were face to face and your daughter seized the opportunity to grab Jacks face with her pudgy little hands, her fingers curling over his stubbled cheeks.
"She's going to bite you." You commented with a small smile, catching Jacks attention.
"What?" Jack asked, his head turned towards you right as your daughter leaned forward, basically headbutting Jack as her wide open mouth descended on his jaw. She started to gnaw on his face but was thankfully doing no damage thanks to her lack of teeth. Jack let out a chuckle at your daughters action and tipped his head back to get away from the attack.
"Hey there! I thought we were friends tiny girl." Jack said to your daughter as she attempted to bite him again.
"I'm pretty sure she's trying to give kisses when she does that." You explained from your seat, your arms crossed. "I kiss her cheeks all the time and she's probably learned that it's a way of showing affection but she doesn't know how to pucker her lips."
"Ah," Jack hummed with a nod as he looked back at your little girl. "You tryin' to kiss me tiny girl?" Jack quickly darted his head forward and pressed a fast kiss to your daughters chubby cheek. She let out a high pitched squeal of laughter and bounced in Jacks arms. "That's how you kiss." Jack said with a smile that warmed your heart.
He played with her for a bit longer before you both noticed her eyes drooping a bit, indicting that a nap was in her near future. Jack made quick work of putting her back in the car seat.
"So I was wondering if you wanted to meet up outside my working hours." Jack proposed as he clipped your daughters seatbelt. "I thought that maybe if I saw both of you before she reached the point of uncontrollable crying, it might not happen."
"Like a preemptive visit? Sure, that sounds great!" You tried to not get too excited by the idea of seeing Jack outside of the hospital without people watching you and without him being on duty.
"Great," Jack said with a genuine smile as he passed you your daughters car seat. "I'll text you." You smiled back as you reached to take the car seat handle from him, your eyes drifting down for a moment to see what you were doing when something caught your eye and made your heart stop in your chest.
Jack was wearing a wedding ring.
You quickly took the car seat from him, the hand with the symbol of his fidelity letting go and slipping into the pocket of his cargo pants. You did your best to keep the surprise and disappointment and blinding embarrassment off of your face as you wished him a good rest of his shift and made your escape.
The knot in your chest returned, sharp and tight as you fled the Pitt with your daughter. You felt foolish, stupid, like a lovesick idiot who folded at the first sign of affection and attention from a man. He was kind to you and your daughter and you let your head and heart run wild with the idea of him being interested in you. It's not like you were looking for a boyfriend or a partner, but the attentive nature of Jack was so nice and comforting that you almost couldn't help thinking about him in a romantic light. Plus he was so damn handsome it was hard to not think of him like that.
But he was married and you were an idiot.
And you drove home feeling sick to your stomach.
Jack ended up texting you the following morning and arranged for you to meet up with him in a park on his next day off. You thought of a million excuses to use to cancel the meet up, but every time you'd start typing out a message you'd think of your little girl and her wailing screams and thought better of it. You decided you'd bring up his wife at the park and try to figure out if she knew about you. Jack didn't seem like the type to lie but you also felt a little weird bringing your daughter to a park to meet up with another womans husband.
On the day of the meet up, Jack beat you to your agreed upon location near the pond. He'd set up a large picnic blanket under the shade of a tree and had a cooler bag for food next to him. The preparedness and thoughtfulness of it had your heart singing until your brain reminded you to not read into it. He was just being nice. And he was married. He's nice and he's married.
Jack got to his feet when he saw you, meeting you halfway and taking the heavy travel bag you had slung over your shoulder from you. You'd been struggling all the way from the car, hauling the large bag filled with anything you and your daughter could possibly need for the afternoon while also carrying your daughter on your chest. You'd used a wrap to tie your baby to your chest so you could be hands free, but you always found yourself putting a hand under her butt, just in case.
Jack gave you a bright smile, sending butterflies through your stomach as he led you over to the blanket. The two of you exchanged hellos as you both got settled on the ground. It was a lovely Spring day, blue skies and warm sunshine accompanied by a light breeze. You'd opted for a short sleeved onesie with a pair of loose pants for your daughter and a floppy sunhat to protect her head.
You managed to wrangle her out of the wrap and set her down on the blanket facing Jack. She squealed in excitement when she saw him, bouncing on her bum and throwing her fat arms in the air in delight. Her happy reaction to seeing Jack always made you smile and today was no exception. Your daughter leaned forward as she reached for Jack, almost faceplanting to the ground but Jack was quicker, catching her under the armpits and lifting her into the air in one swift motion.
"Hi tiny girl! I missed you too." Jack held her against his chest, face to face. He reached up and fixed her sunhat that had gotten askew in her excitement and your baby immediately grabbed for Jacks hand.
"How are you today? Excited to be in the park?" Jack said to your baby, talking to her normally like she could respond. She answered back by babbling, making little noises that made no sense. Jack nodded along like he could understand her perfectly and you found yourself smiling again at the care and kindness he showed your little girl.
"The weather is nice today, you're right. The hat was a good idea from your Mama, same with the sunscreen." He remarked as he rubbed her cheek, spotting some sunscreen you'd missed when you were lathering your daughter up before you'd gotten in the car.
"I missed you too, by the way." Jack commented, his attention sliding back over to you. You felt your smile falter a bit at the mixed signals you were getting from him. Making a point to say he missed you felt like flirting. Was he flirting? Surely not, he was married. This was so weird.
You felt your confusion and need for answers rising in your chest like a tidal wave threatening to come pouring out of you. You didn't respond to Jack, instead looked at your daughter as he set her down onto the blanket in front of his crossed legs. Jack was stilled staring at you, watching your face for any kind of reaction to his words.
"You okay?" He asked as he blindly offered your daughter his hands so she could grab onto and inspect his fingers.
"Yeah," You said unconvincingly. "You're really great with her." You gestured at your daughter, your uncertainty twisting inside you.
"She's easy to get along with." Jack said back, his curious stare still on you, like he could tell there was something on your mind.
"Do you and your wife have kids?" You asked, trying your very hardest to be nonchalant even thought the question came bursting out of you. Jack raised an eyebrow at your lack of subtlety and gave you a small sympathetic smile, like he was finally understanding something.
"No, my wife and I never had kids. Not for a lack of trying, it just wasn't in the cards for us. Then she died." Jack said it calmly and matter-o-factly as he played with your daughter, the words coming out easily like he was discussing the weather. Your mouth dropped open before you could stop it and you covered it with your hand as your face grew hot with embarrassment.
"Oh Jack, I'm sorry I brought it up-"
"It's alright," Jack interrupted. "I still wear the ring, what else were you supposed to think?"
"I could have been more tactful with how I asked." You said, trying to make the situation better. Your stomach was turning over, making you feel positively sick for sticking your foot in your mouth. Jack just shrugged.
"That was pretty polite. Like I said, I still where the ring, of course you thought I was married. Let me guess, you were confused why a married man was-"
"Giving me so much attention?" You interjected, giving him an out. Jack didn't take it.
"Attention? Don't you mean flirting?" Jack replied as he looked back over at you, your eyes locking. You were stunned, unable to think of an answer. "Don't worry, I'm not married and I was. Flirting I mean."
The two of you stared at each other for a moment, all your previous interactions with Jack replaying in your mind as you realized this wonderful man saw you at some of your lowest points - exhausted and at your wits end - and still wanted you. The thought made your heart beat faster in your chest. You'd seen online how single mothers talked about the dating scene and how no man wanted to date single moms with kids. It was depressing and abysmal and you'd decided to focus your energy on your daughter while leaving thoughts of romance in the dust.
Maybe all those single moms should try and date older guys.
Suddenly your daughter screeched in annoyance before pulling Jacks hand to her mouth so she could chew on his fingers. Her tiny brows furrowed as she chomped on Jacks knuckle and you knew what she wanted. You grabbed the bag you brought and pulled out a small blanket.
"She's hungry." You explained as you reached for her. Jack picked her up but didn't hand her over right away. He grabbed a pillow you hadn't noticed before and propped it up against the tree you were sitting under and motioned for you to sit back against it. Once you were settled, Jack passed your daughter to you and plucked the sun hat off her head so it wouldn't get in the way, like he could read your mind.
"Speaking of hungry, you want some lunch?" Jack asked as he turned around to give you some privacy as you got your baby situated under the blanket out of view and attached to your breast to eat. Jack busied himself with setting up the picnic for you both, sandwiches and fruit and vegetables and crackers and cheese all spread out for you. He'd even brought a tiny, foldable table so the food would be up and off the ground away from bugs and tiny grabbing hands.
"Is there anything you aren't prepared for?" You asked with a lighthearted laugh as Jack also set out napkins and forks. He gave you a smile over his shoulder.
"Not much, although I get surprised from time to time." The implication of his words sat heavy between you as he stared back at you with an adoring glint in his eye. He turned back to the food without another word and began preparing a plate for you. The two of you sat in comfortable silence as your daughter had her lunch, the sunlight cutting through the tree branches.
The park was quiet today, in the middle of the week. Everyone was likely at work or on the other side of the park where the petting zoo was. You and Jack had this corner of the park all to yourselves, tucked away from any chatter or noise from the street. The breeze blew gently, making Jacks curls move slightly as the sunshine illuminated his face. His freckles and wrinkles stood out under the sunlight and you couldn't help but admire how handsome they made him look.
Jack turned to you with a plate of food and caught you staring. He didn't comment on it but smiled instead as he held out a grape to you, silently offering to feed you while you fed your daughter. Honestly you could have held her one handed and ate with your other but not having to move sounded pretty nice. You craned your neck forward to meet Jack halfway and he put the grape in your mouth for you. This continued for a minute or so, Jack hand feeding you while your daughter finished.
Once she was all done, Jack offered to burp her while you put your clothes back into place. You handed her over, grateful for the offer, and Jack snagged the cloth from your bag to cover his shoulder while he burped her. The continued offers to help were appreciated and he also helped you change her diaper after you'd straightened your clothes. It meant a lot that Jack offered to do these tasks without a second thought to give you back a moment or two. It made sense that body fluids didn't bother him, he was a doctor, but actually helping instead of standing by while you wrangled your daughter brought you comfort.
After your daughter was fed and clean, you and Jack ate the food, and took turns holding your baby. She was, as predicted, very interested in the food she could not have so you both had the fun job of keeping it out of her reach. After a little while she got frustrated and started to squawk loudly to let everyone know she was unhappy with them.
"Are we being too mean to you tiny girl?" Jack asked as he set his plate down and took custody of her again. "How dare we keep you from choking on some grapes! We're monsters!" Jack teased as he held your baby above his head and turned her from side to side playfully.
"It's so tough being small isn't it?" Jack said as he set her down in his lap, facing you. He held her in place with one large hand over her stomach and reached into your bag with his other hand to fish out a storybook made of crinkly paper that would satisfy your daughters senses. She took to the book immediately, crushing the pages in her fist to create the crinkle sound. The book had the intended effect and thoroughly distracted her.
Jack kept his hold on her as the two of you talked for the next hour, swapping stories about your lives and sharing tidbits that made the other person laugh while Jack handed your baby a new toy any time she lost interest in the old one. You threw your head back laughing at Jacks recount of the first time he met a saucy troublemaking patient named Myrna and Jack ducked his head as he laughed at your story about accidentally buying dog shampoo for your daughter when you were sleep deprived.
"There was a baby on the bottle!" You said in your defense, which made both of you laugh harder. "Sure, there was a dog on the bottle too but I was too tired to notice."
"Did you use it on her?"
"No!" You exclaimed with a big smile as you threw your napkin at him. "I noticed before I used it. But it was a close call, she was in the bath and everything." Jack wiped his eyes as his laughing subsided and you took a deep breath as your laughter faded too. There was a happy lull of silence between you, both of you smiling at the other and basking in the carefree moment. Jack looked down suddenly as your daughter leaned over and rested her head on his arm.
"Oh, I think someone's sleepy." You were snapped back into Mom mode and sat up on your knees to see your daughter over the small table between you and Jack. Your little girl had doubled over and was laying on Jacks arm with her eyes closed.
"Oh." You said, a little disappointed. You'd been having so much fun. "I guess I better get her home."
"You got somewhere to be?" Jack asked. You shook your head. "Good, I could use a nap." Jack picked your daughter up, her eyes opening for a moment before drooping closed again as Jack rested her on his chest and he moved back to sit against the tree. He tucked one of the pillows he brought under his back and stretched out to sleep, his ankles crossed.
"Did you bring a book or something with you? I have a crossword and Sudoku book in my bag if you want, or you can nap with us." You sat there a little stunned for a moment, pausing to understand that Jack was doing what he could to extend your visit.
"I have a book in my bag." You replied, moving to grab it. Jack snagged the other pillow and brought it next to him without having to get up. He leaned it against the tree trunk for you, right next to him and your daughter. By the time you got situated, both Jack and your baby girl had drifted off, Jack having placed a baseball cap you hadn't seen before over his eyes to block out the sun.
Your daughter was on her stomach but upright, her chubby cheek squished against Jacks chest and her little hand curled into a fist around his shirt. He had a good hold on her, keeping her in place as they both slept. You noticed absently that he'd moved her sunhat so it wouldn't be crushed under her head and was resting on the side of her face, shielding her from the sun whenever it came through the clouds. You couldn't help smiling to yourself as you cracked open the book that had lived in your baby bag for months that you'd never had the time to read.
What a perfect afternoon.
You and Jack ended up hanging out a lot. Park play dates turned into shopping trips together on the weekends (with Jack carrying everything for you) which turned into dinners at your place where Jack cooked for you (so you wouldn't have to drive home at night from his place or disrupt your daughters schedule) which turned into you and your baby meeting up with Jack at a restaurant near the hospital after his night shifts to have breakfast.
You were spending a lot of time with Jack, most of your time really, speaking to him every day over the phone or through text, and you were starting to wonder about his intentions with you. He'd made that flirting comment in the park and people around you already assumed you were in a relationship. Like that group of jogging elderly women on the street who cooed that you were such a beautiful family, and the waitress at the restaurant who snuck in a comment when Jack was in the bathroom about how it was nice to see a husband who was so attentive to his family.
But Jack hadn't made a move. He was available to you 24/7 and made you feel so seen and special but he hadn't asked you on a date or kissed you. Hell, he kept his hands to himself most of the time. You didn't know if it was because he was being a gentleman or because he wasn't actually interested. You were pretty sure he was interested and yet he hadn't done anything. In truth you wanted him to ask you out but you were too afraid to do it yourself. If you were wrong and he wanted to just be friends, you were worried he'd pull back and you'd lose him completely. So despite the question about how he felt about you burning in your throat every time you saw him, you stayed silent.
You finally got an answer the day you had to be admitted to the Pitt.
Your daughter had been so clingy that day, you had no clue why. Maybe she was getting sick or had a nightmare and wanted to hold onto you for comfort or maybe she was in the very beginning stages of teething and was started to feel the very faint feelings of pain. The reason didn't really matter, not when she screamed and cried every time you put her down. She was fine in your arms but the moment you put her in her playpen or in her highchair, it was tears and screaming until you picked her up again.
The crying and shrill screams were starting to break your patience and your sanity by 10pm. You hadn't been able to shower because of her need to be attached to you and every time you had to set her down to go to the bathroom or grab something to eat, she broke into a fit of screams. She also seemed opposed to going to sleep and every time you put her in the crib after rocking her to sleep she would wake up and cry.
After many failed attempts to get her down for the night and after putting off eating an actual meal for the whole day, you decided to stick her in her highchair as you made yourself a sandwich. She wailed at the top of her lungs the whole time, fat tears streaming down her face as you tried to assemble the ingredients you needed.
"Peanut, please," You begged her, your eyes on her face as you unwrapped your loaf of bread. Your nerves felt frayed and your voice broke a bit as you spoke to her. "Everything is fine, I'm right here. Please." You grabbed a bread knife and started to slice into the bread loaf that Jack had bought last weekend at the framers market for you. Your daughters screams were like a knife in their own way, burrowing into your head and your heart, driving you towards insanity.
"Baby please be quiet," You pleaded, glancing very quickly away from what you were doing to look at your crying infant. "Mommy's begging yo-FUCK!" Sharp, intense pain burst through your thumb as you accidentally sliced into it with the bread knife. The knife clattered to the cutting board as you dropped it to wrap your uninjured hand around the deep cut. Your daughter, sensing your distress, managed to scream louder at a volume you didn't think was possible while you spun around the kitchen to find something to put pressure on the wound.
You'd taken a first aid course when you were pregnant, since you were doing solo parenting, and you could also hear Jack in your head telling you to put firm, direct pressure on it. You grabbed a hand towel and wrapped it around your thumb the best you could to help with the bleeding. Your thumb throbbed with aching pain as you squeezed the towel around your finger.
As you tired to think of next steps you noticed that your uninjured hand was covered in blood from your initial attempt at stopping the bleeding and you looked around the kitchen to see drops of blood on the floor, counter, and cutting board. There was even blood splattered down the front of your shirt and pants.
Fuck.
You got down on the floor by the sink and stuck your injured hand between your knees so they could provide pressure and free up your other hand to reach into the cabinet under the sink for the First Aid Kit. Your baby kept wailing as you sat on the floor and struggled to get the kit open and the supplies out. You wanted to comfort her but you also knew she was safe where she was so you'd have to leave her to cry while you patched yourself up.
You grabbed the gauze and tape you needed with a shaky hand and had to improvise with your teeth to unravel the gauze and pull a strip of tape. With a deep, fortifying breath, you lifted the towel to look at the wound. You only allowed yourself a quick look because it was still bleeding but you saw enough to know you were more than a little screwed.
You hadn't cut your thumb exactly, more the part of your hand that connected your thumb and your index finger. The cut looked deep, deep enough to need stitches which you were unqualified to do, even if you had two working hands. With a crying baby and a hand that needed medical attention, you didn't have time to hesitate.
With another steadying breath, you lifted the towel, applied the gauze and wrapped it as best you could quickly, secured it with some tape, and wrapped the towel around it again for good measure. You got up off the floor to go straight to your daughter and bent down to be in her eye line before you kissed her tear stained cheeks in hopes of comforting her. You shushed her gently to provide some calming sounds as her cries died down, but didn't stop, and you mentally went over the checklist of things you needed to grab to leave to house. You left your baby again to grab your purse and anything else you needed, her cries increasing in volume again once you were out of sight.
With everything you need stuffed into your large purse, tucked in the crook of your elbow, you returned to your daughter and lifted her one handed and a little uncoordinated out of the highchair. She went quiet thankfully and you carried her out of the apartment to head to the Pitt.
And to Jack.
"Hey Dr. Abbot," Victoria Javadi's soft voice came from behind Jack. He was reviewing a chart for Dr. Santos, looking at the CT results.
"One second." He said, addressing Javadi without turning around. "I agree with your assessment of the mass. We'll need a biopsy to know course of treatment." Jack commented as he passed the tablet back to Santos. "Try not to freak him out about the mass, there's no reason to worry until we know more information."
"Got it Boss." Santos said with a two finger salute as she left to give her patient the findings. Jack turned around and came face to face with a very uneasy looking Javadi.
"What is it?" He asked, very familiar with Javadi's deer-in-the-headlights expressions whenever something distressing happened at work.
"Um, your friend is here, the one with the baby who comes by sometimes." Javadi explained, gesturing with her hands. "She's out in chairs and it looks like she cut herself-" Javadi didn't even get the rest of the information out before Jack was moving past her and running towards the waiting room.
He spotted you instantly, sitting in the middle of a row with your daughter in one arm and a very bloody towel bunched around your other hand. Jack moved effortlessly through the crowded waiting room, his whole focus on you as he weaved through the patients standing around waiting for their turn. You looked up as he approached, the relief in seeing him there clear on your face, while the blood on your clothes made his stomach twist with worry.
"What the hell happened?" He asked, his heart beating quickly in his chest.
"I cut my hand with a bread knife. It's pretty deep, I think I need stitches." Jack noted the way your voice wavered a bit as you spoke and he sprung into action, shifting from worry to taking charge.
"C'mon," He said as he reached for your daughter.
"She'll scream." You said with a defeated sigh, not letting him take her. "She's been screaming all day." You sounded so tired and worn out, and frankly you looked like it too. Like all your energy had been leeched out of you over the course of the day.
"All day? Why didn't you call me? I was at home."
"Because I can take care of my own daughter Jack." You snapped, your tone even and hard. He stared at you for a long second and you closed your eyes, sighing at yourself as your frustration fizzled out. "She's fine as long as I hold her." You explained, your voice much softer.
Jack recognized how frayed your patience was so he switched gears and picked up your purse and daughters car seat with one arm and guided you to stand with the other. You got up carefully with your baby and unusable hand and let Jack lead you back to the ED. He got you set up in a room, setting your stuff on a chair, and wheeled over a stool to sit down on before putting on a pair of gloves.
"I'm going to take a look, okay?" Jack asked, his hands hovering over the towel, waiting for your agreement.
"Yeah." You said in a small, resigned voice. Jack nodded once and unwrapped your handiwork carefully, taking a look at the damage.
"You were right, you'll need stitches." Jack commented as he wrapped some new gauze around the wound temporarily. "How's the pain?"
"Like a 5. It's throbbing." You replied without looking at him. You avoided his eyes and stared at your daughter who had drifted off at some point. That was one small miracle, but you were sure she'd cry if you let go of her.
Jack flagged down one of the nurses through the glass door and asked for a suture kit before turning his attention to your baby. Jack pulled off his gloves, tossing them before attempting to pick up your daughter. You jerked back away from his reaching hands.
"I told you, she'll cry if I let go of her." Your tone was a little sharper than it had been a moment ago, your eyes going directly to his. Jack could tell that you were definitely upset, probably at your wits end if your baby had been crying all day and you never got a moment to yourself, not even to go to the bathroom. Jack wanted to be respectful of your position as her mother but he also wanted to give you some reprieve.
"I know. Can I try to put her in the car seat? If she cries I'll give her back." You stared at Jack like you were facing off against him, your brow furrowed slightly and lips downturned. However you knew it was a one sided argument and relented, lifting your arm to give Jack silent permission to try and move your daughter.
While she stirred for a moment, your baby remained asleep as Jack slowly placed her in the car seat on the floor. You knew it was likely her lack of a nap today and her constant, energy draining crying that made her so sleepy, but seeing Jack move her with ease made jealous frustration rise in your chest, hot and furious. It was irrational and yet it pressed against your ribs anyways.
Jack retreated from your daughter quietly, being careful about the noise as he sat back down on the stool. The nurse returned and moved slowly when Jack pressed his index finger to his lips to tell her to be quiet. She arranged everything and left Jack to stitch you up. You stewed silently as Jack injected medication into your hand, some to stop the bleeding and some for pain, and you watched him as he prepped the suture while waiting for the medication to take effect.
Jack could sense your bad mood - if it hadn't been clear on your face, it was coming off of you in waves, so he chose to say nothing and instead focused on fixing your injury. You both sat in charged silence as Jack closed your wound with expert efficiency, your anger swirling in your chest as your thoughts raged.
Jack can move your daughter without waking her.
Jack can get her to stop crying.
Jack can fix your dumb, stupid mistake with ease.
Isn't Jack just perfect? And aren't you such a fuck up, can't do anything right. Horrible mother, horrible person.
Jack finished his work, tying off the line and cutting off the excess before covering it with a bandage. He moved the tray of medical supplies out of the way and pulled off his gloves with a snap before turning to you, his hands on his knees.
"What happened?"
"I already told you, I cut myself slicing bread." The words came out harsher than Jack deserved but you found the repetitive question annoying. Jack leveled you with a look, one that said he knew you better than that and that there must be more to what happened. Which pissed you off even more.
"That's all." You said firmly. "She's been crying all day, every time I put her down, and she wouldn't go to sleep tonight so I decided to bite the bullet and let her cry it out in her highchair while I made myself something to eat because I'd spent the whole day only eating small things like fruit and crackers because trying to use the stove or cut food while holding her felt too dangerous." You were talking fast, the overwhelming frustration you felt leeching into your words as you thought about how awful today had been, how unfair it had been, how much you blamed yourself.
"But she just screamed and screamed and I was begging her to stop because it was all she'd done all day, every time I put her down, and I looked away from the cutting board for a second, just one second-”
The echoes of your daughters screams filled your head, as did your thoughts about how much cutting yourself had been a stupid mistake and that taking care of your daughter now with an injured hand was going to make your life harder because you were doing this alone and you had no one to help you. Jacks sympathetic eyes staring at you all became too much, just a reminder that he was there for you but only sometimes, and that you were by yourself in raising your daughter and you clearly weren't doing it right. You were messing everything up for her and there was no one to blame but yourself because you were alone.
Tears filled your eyes before you had a chance to choke them back, every negative emotion from the last twenty four hours bubbling over and out of you.
"It was just a second Jack," Your voice wobbled, wet from the emotion that pushed up your throat. "It was just a second." Your face crumpled as your tears slipped over your cheeks and Jack reached out instantly, pulling you forward into his arms. You collapsed into him, your arms going around him and under his arms as his wrapped around your shoulders and back. Your hands fisted in his shirt, holding him as close as you could as you sobbed into his neck. Jack rubbed your back and murmured soothing promises into your ear as you broke down in his arms - I've got you. It'll be okay. I'm right here. Let it out baby.
You weren't sure how long the two of you sat like that, you clinging to Jack as you let all the emotions of the day come flooding out of you. No one came to bother you, everyone seemingly understanding that Jack was busy and not to be disturbed. You let yourself calm down completely in Jacks embrace, the tears stopping eventually but neither of you moving to part.
You stayed in his warm embrace for a long time, your breathing slowing and returning to normal eventually. Jack made no move to let you go, instead he kept firm pressure as you calmed down. You eventually made the first move, pulling back so you could see his face. Jack didn't let you get far though and pressed your foreheads together to keep contact. You let out a deep sigh, your eyes still closed as you leaned on Jack, his hands holding your waist.
You needed this. You needed the touch of another person, the feeling of connection through human touch. Someone to hold you, to ground you when you were spinning out of control. You needed a safety net, someone to lean on who would catch you if you fell.
You needed Jack.
Your previous questions about how he felt about you popped up in your mind again and you decided that you had to know. If Jack wanted to be with you than you both needed to be all in. If Jack was going to be your partner than he needed to be there to catch you and you needed to let yourself fall sometimes.
If he wasn't interested in you than you needed to make a clean break because you were so entangled with him you weren't sure you'd survive him turning you down. And you needed to know now.
"Jack?" You started as you pulled your head away from his, just far enough that you could look into his eyes. He hummed an acknowledgement, encouraging you to continue.
"I need to know what we're doing. Are we just friends? Or do you want to be more? Because I want to be more but I'm getting mixed signals from you." Jacks eyebrows pinched together at your words and he lifted his hand to cup your face. You couldn't help the way your head leaned into his palm, seeking comfort.
"I'm so sorry I've left you confused about how I feel. I'll be clear, I want to be more than friends." You sat up straighter, his confession helping to lift your bad mood. Jacks thumb rubbed lovingly over your cheek as he continued.
"I've wanted to be more than friends since the first night we met. But you've got a lot on your plate and I didn't want to pressure you or make your life difficult so I held back. You and Peanut are a family and I didn't want to intrude." Your hands flew up to hold his face, a smile breaking out over your lips.
"You're not pressuring me or intruding on our lives Jack. You make our lives better. And I want you too. I want this, I want us." Jack released a sigh at your words, like he'd been holding his breath, his face relaxing into a look of relief and adoration.
"I want us too." He said back as he leaned forward, capturing your lips in a tender kiss. Jack showed you how much he wanted to be with you, how he definitely wanted to be more than friends as his fingers slid to cup the back of your head, deepening the kiss. There were no mixed signals here, his intentions were clear. You sighed into his mouth, melting into his touch as you leaned closer, almost falling off the edge of the gurney in your need to kiss him back as fiercely.
Jack broke the kiss when his free hand flashed out to your hip to stop you from falling forward. You laughed breathlessly at the situation as you pushed yourself back onto the bed, both of you smiling.
"We have a lot to talk about but it's the middle of the night-"
"And you're still working." You finished for him with an understanding smile. Jack nodded and glanced over his shoulder to see your baby still asleep in the car seat.
"There's an office on this floor, it's for the Head of Emergency Medicine but Robby never uses it. It's got a couch that decently comfortable. If you want, you and Peanut can sleep here and I can drive you home in the morning. I can make us breakfast and we can talk more about us."
With how tired you were, you didn't need to think his offer over. Getting behind the wheel of your car right now would not be a good idea. You followed Jack out of the room, him carrying your purse and your daughter through the hallways until you ended up at a small office tucked away from the noise of the ED. Jack let you in and helped you get settled on the couch for the night with pillows and a blanket over your legs before lifting your daughter from the car seat and laying her on her back on your chest.
Like earlier in the night, she stirred for just a moment when Jack lifted her and put her down, but she thankfully remained asleep as you put your hands over her. Jack checked that you didn't need anything else for the night before saying goodbye.
"I'll see you in the morning." Jack bent over and pressed a soft kiss to your lips. "Sweet dreams." He whispered before shutting off the lights and leaving the room. You closed your eyes contently, much happier than you'd been an hour ago, and fell asleep with a smile on your lips.
pairing: scientist!bucky barnes x experiment!reader
warnings: 18+ NSFW, smut, daddy kink, dark!bucky, slight steve x reader, dubcon bordering noncon, stockholm syndrome, emotional manipulation, drugs, masochism and sadism, obsessive and possessive behavior, verbal abuse, mental illness, isolation, self-harm, mentions of the word "rape", angst, fingering, praise kink, innocence kink, medical malpractices, surgical inaccuracies, pet names, spanking
word count: 11.3k
main masterlist
a/n: please read the warnings listed before reading. i am not responsible for your media consumption. thank you to @danysdaughter and @iamthatonefangirl for giving me the courage to write this. clutching my shovel real close tonight ♥️
synopsis:
You are Bucky’s most prized possession. Your mind, body, and soul were crafted by his own hands—he gave you life, and he could just as easily take it away. He never imagined he’d feel threatened by his own creation, until the day you began to have desires of your own.
If you were to ask James Buchanan Barnes for the definition of ‘insanity,’ he would tell you “Insanity is a severely disordered state of the mind.”
If you were to ask him what the cause of insanity is, he would say “It’s triggered by a combination of many things. For example, if one becomes too fascinated—too fixated—on something to the point that it takes a toll on their mental health. It can shift their reality and potentially drive themselves to the very brink. It is a common denominator, I’ve noticed.”
If you were to ask him if insanity was correlated with craziness in any way, he would reply with “That’s exactly what it is.”
If you were to ask James Buchanan Barnes if he was crazy, he would say no.
Bucky never thought he was crazy—as a matter of fact, he was far from it.
From the day he found your corpse and brought you back to life through grueling experimentation, to the long months he kept you tucked away in the shadows of the hospital’s hidden basement laboratory—up until now, as he stood before you with a tray of cold hospital food in his hands.
No, he never thought he was crazy. Not then, and certainly not now.
“Darling? Daddy’s here,” Bucky murmured, knocking gently on the door.
He pressed his ear to the wood, waiting for a sound—that soft, gentle “come in!” he had taught you to say every time he arrived.
There was no sound.
Bucky smiled softly. He figured you were just asleep.
After looking around to ensure the coast was clear, as it always was, he pushed the door open quietly. As it shut softly behind him, a relieved breath escaped his lips at the sight of you.
There you were, lying on the cot on your side with your hands tucked beneath your cheek—sound asleep.
He couldn’t help his smile as he set the tray of food down on the table next to you. He sat at the edge of the cot, running his hand up and down your arm in a hauntingly slow motion. “I brought you dinner,” he whispered.
You only let out a sleepy moan. Bucky ran his hand down your hair, pushing it behind your ear. He frowned at how it felt beneath his fingertips. He had just brushed it this morning, and yet it was already a knotted, tangled mess.
“Come on, baby. Wake up. Your food’s not getting any warmer.”
He nudged you gently, but you still didn’t wake. He was beginning to grow impatient.
“Open your eyes for me,” he commanded, kneeling down as his voice rose.
When you still didn’t stir, his jaw clenched. Both hands found your shoulders, shaking you hard as he yelled in your face, “I told you to wake up!”
You jolted awake with a startled gasp, your eyes hazy with sleep as you stared back at the man in front of you. His grip on your shoulders was so tight it hurt.
He had yelled at you—what had you done wrong? Did you misplace something? Or was it simply because you had slept in?
Your master’s chest was heaving as he glared at you with wide, crazed eyes.
After finally getting your attention, Bucky’s breathing calmed slightly. Your eyes were wide with fear and your body was shaking, curling in on itself as if trying to make yourself as small as possible.
Your eyes—sunken, swollen, and bruised from his experiments a few days ago—were still prominent, and the sight of them made him feel even worse.
Slowly, he let go of your shoulders. “I… fuck,” he muttered, running a hand through his hair as he sat back on his heels. “I’m sorry, doll. I got ahead of myself.”
Your shoulders eased slightly, though not entirely.
“I just had a bad day,” Bucky went on with a sigh. “These idiots at the facility… they’re working me like a dog. They have me running all these labs, all these data sheets…” He rubbed the crease between his brows. “I’m just so tired. And all I wanted was for you to be waiting at the door to greet me.”
You felt your heart thump in your chest. You had to react carefully—otherwise, Bucky’s mood would only sour further.
“I’m sorry,” you said, pulling yourself off the short cot to meet him on the floor with a hug.
Your arms wrapped around his neck, your chest pressed against his. Bucky let out a sigh, his eyes fluttering closed in satisfaction as his large arms wrapped around you. His hands splayed across your back, pulling you in even closer as his nose nuzzled the side of your head, breathing in your scent.
Rubbing alcohol, acetonitrile, and just a slight hint of lavender. His favorite.
“That’s it,” Bucky cooed into your ear. “You can be so forgetful, but at the end of the day, you always know how to make Daddy happy.”
He pulled away slightly to look you in the face. “Look at you, your hair’s a mess.” His frown deepened again as he tucked the stray hairs away from your eyes. “What did you do all day while I was gone?”
“I’ve been reading—or… trying to read the papers you told me to read.”
Bucky smiled, reaching for the hairbrush on your bedside table. His hands found your hair, dragging the bristles through the tangled heap.
“You mean the books?”
You nodded.
He sighed wistfully. “I wish I could hear you read them out loud to me, but I haven’t had much time these days.”
“I know,” you said, sounding a little more solemn than you’d like.
Bucky heard the disappointment in your voice, and his heart broke. “Turn around for me.”
Still sitting on the floor, you scrambled around until your back faced him. His hand bunched your hair from behind as he did his best to fix the mess you created.
“Tell me more,” he prompted, encouraging you to continue.
“The words make my head hurt,” you explained, staring at the floor. “It’s all just… a jumbled mess of text. I don’t even know what half the words mean.” Your finger traced the cold, laboratory tile. “My head has been hurting a lot, and the books just make me feel worse.”
Bucky’s brush went still for a moment.
Every time the headaches came, you would start pulling and tugging at your hair, crying in frustration. You would roll around on the cot, hit your head against the wall, or yank at your own locks—anything to rid yourself of the pain. But you didn’t know that those things only made it worse. All you knew was to hurt the things that hurt you.
“Sorry, darling,” he said gently. “I need to operate on your brain to help fix this problem. Maybe this next experiment will help you remember words better—help you gain some of that reading memory back. I’ll find the time for it, I promise. I’ve just been so—”
“—busy,” you completed the sentence for him, a bitter bite in your tone. “I know.”
He paused again, and it dragged out longer this time. “Excuse me?”
“I already heard how busy you were the first time,” you mumbled. “I don’t need to hear it again.”
Bucky’s eyebrow twitched. He couldn’t believe this was happening. You were talking back to him?
He grabbed your shoulders, roughly spinning you around and making you yelp as you were forced to face him again. Before you could compose yourself, he pressed his face against yours, his hands cupping your cheeks with a hard squeeze.
“Where the fuck did this new attitude come from? Who the hell do you think you’re talking to, huh?” he seethed. “Did you forget your place? Did you forget who brought you here? Who took your sad, cold body from the grave and gave you a new life?”
You winced as he squeezed your face even harder.
“I gave you life. I made your heart beat again. I gave your brain a mind and your body a purpose. And if you disrespect me one more time, I can take it all away just as easily.”
That tone of his made your heart start to race. It was like a trauma response buried deep in your nerves he had rewired. Your vision started to blur as tears began to well up, spilling down your face before you even realized you were crying.
“I’m sorry,” you gasped, the words tumbling over each other. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it! I—I’m sorry, Bucky.”
You were apologizing profusely now, your hands hovering near his, not daring to touch him. You just wanted the pressure on your face to stop.
Bucky’s expression softened, just barely. He loosened his grip, his thumb brushing over your cheeks to wipe away the tears. He let out a long, weary sigh—the sound of a man burdened by… whatever it was you were to him.
He set the brush on the floor and pulled you back into his chest, hugging you once more.
“I’m sorry, doll,” he murmured into your hair. “I’m so sorry I had to do that. I hate when I have to talk to you like that, I really do.” He squeezed you tighter, his chin resting on the top of your head. “But I have to make sure you understand. How else am I supposed to get through to you? You know I only do it because I love you. I can’t have you forgetting who takes care of you.”
You stayed frozen in his arms, hiccuping between sobs.
When Bucky pulled back slightly to look at you, the small gap made you whine. He smiled in satisfaction. Of course—despite everything, you still needed him.
“There’s my girl,” he whispered. “Come here. Give Daddy a kiss.”
You wiped your eyes with the back of your hand, pushing yourself up from the floor just enough to press your lips to his in a soft, gentle kiss. That was all you wanted, really—just a kind gesture to remind you that Bucky cared for you as much as he claimed.
But then his hands found your face again, locking you in place before you could pull away. His lips began to explore yours hungrily. He pushed his tongue against the entrance, sliding in to dance against yours.
A moan of satisfaction vibrated in his throat, then to his lips where you felt it.
He always kissed you like he was starving. He kissed you until your lips were swollen and wet, until you were panting and your heart was racing. When he was finally satisfied, he pulled away, catching his own breath as he trailed his thumbs over your bottom lip.
“Beautiful,” he praised breathlessly. “Absolutely beautiful.”
Despite how he had treated you just seconds ago, you couldn’t help but smile. Being praised by him always made the pain worth it.
But your salvation didn’t last. Bucky pushed himself off the floor with a grunt. He extended a hand to help you up, but you remained where you were on the floor.
“W-where are you going?” you asked softly, staring up at him with wide, hopeful eyes.
He checked the watch on his wrist. “It’s getting late, doll. I need to head home and get some sleep. I’ve got a long day tomorrow—gotta be up bright and early for some projects at the facility.”
Your eyes widened. He had left you alone all day, and he was leaving already?
“No,” you protested weakly.
Bucky tilted his head. “No?”
You couldn’t imagine another night of silence. “Please,” you whispered with a voice crack. “Please don’t leave me yet. It’s so quiet and lonely here.”
Bucky’s hand paused halfway through his hair as he let out a sigh. He looked down at you, his eyes looking almost mournful. “You’re breaking my heart, darling,” he murmured. “You know I hate leaving you, but Daddy’s got to work. I do it all for you, remember?”
When he took a step away from you, that’s when panic started to flare in your weak heart and desperation took over completely.
You scrambled across the tile, your fingers digging around the fabric of his trousers as you clutched his leg.
“Don’t go!” you begged, looking up at him through another round of tears. “I’ll be good. I’ll read the books. I’ll do the experiments without crying—just stay. Please, just stay a little longer!”
Bucky froze, eyes widened in surprise. He looked down at your hands wrapped around his leg. A part of him wanted to laugh at this little attempt of yours. You were a just a weak, fragile thing. He could push you off and leave—it’d be so easy.
But instead of doing that, he just stayed put and smiled. He liked this. He liked the way you were anchored to his feet, reduced to a trembling mess at the mere thought of his absence.
Slowly, he sank back down to his knees until he was eye level with you again.
“You really don’t want me to go, do you?” he mused with a taunting purr. He reached out, tilting your chin up so you had no choice but to look at the hunger in his eyes. “You want me to stay here with you? In this cold, dark basement? Keeping you warm?”
You nodded frantically, a sob catching in your throat.
“Tell me then,” he prompted, his thumb tracing your jaw. “How bad do you want it? What are you willing to do to keep me here tonight?”
“Anything,” you admitted desperately. “I’ll do anything.”
“Oh,” Bucky’s smile grew wide. “You shouldn’t have said that.”
You tried to keep a brave face, to hold your ground, but the relief was too great.
Bucky let out a short, amused huff as he reached down, hooking his hands under your arms to haul you up from the floor. “Okay, fine. You win.”
He stood back and reached for his neck, slowly loosening the knot of his tie. You watched, mesmerized and trembling, as he pulled the silk from his collar and draped it over the back of the lone chair in the room. His fingers moved to the top button of his white shirt, then the next, and the next, until they were all unbuttoned.
Then he moved to his belt. The sounds of it making you shiver.
“I’ll stay with you,” he promised, his tone as sweet as honey—designed to make you feel safe, even when you shouldn’t.
He folded the leather belt slowly. Painfully slow, his eyes never leaving yours.
“And before I head to the facility, I’ll do a quick experiment on you tomorrow. We’ll fix those headaches and get your reading memory back on track, okay?”
With one hand still gripping the belt, he stepped closer. His free hand cupped your face, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead.
“Think of it as my way of apologizing for my little outburst earlier,” he murmured against your skin. “I just want you to be perfect. I want you to be happy.”
He wasn’t leaving.
He was going to fix you.
You leaned into his touch as a small, fragile smile broke across your face. The tears you had shed before were no longer born of frustration—they were tears of relief.
“I love you, Bucky,” you whispered.
Bucky’s hand settled behind your head, rubbing gently to soothe you—the way a master might pet a loyal dog. He nodded towards the small cot in the corner.
“Lay down, doll.”
The light in the basement was always the same—artificial and blinding through the fluorescent tubes. After several blinks, you managed to force your eyes open against the piercing white light.
You let out a garbled groan. Your limbs felt extremely heavy, as if you were trying to move through deep water.
“Easy, doll. Easy.”
A deep, gentle voice cooed nearby. The cot creaked slightly as he sat beside you. As your vision cleared, you saw Bucky. He was already back in his professional attire—white sleeves rolled up his strong forearms. The room already smelled like he had his morning coffee.
He looked refreshed, while you felt like you had been disassembled and put back together again.
Which… in a way, you had.
Your fingers drifted up to the pain that throbbed in the back of your neck. You shuddered at the feel of the surgical tape and the fresh incision.
“The experiment went perfectly,” he said gently, his fingers replacing yours to check the bandage. “Your reading should be much sharper once the grogginess fades.”
You couldn’t even find the energy to be upset about him drugging you in the middle of the night—even if you should have spent those hours cuddling instead. The only thing that mattered was that he actually stayed.
“You’re still here,” you rasped, your throat scratchy and dry. A weak, hazy smile pulled at your lips.
Bucky smiled. He reached for a glass of water on the tray, holding it to your lips so you didn’t have to lift your head.
“I told you I would stay, didn’t I? I’m a man of my word.” He watched you drink, smiling as your dried lips softened from the liquid and the delicate column of your throat bobbed as you swallowed. “I even stayed through the morning to monitor your vitals. I’m going to be a little late to the facility, but for you? My baby? It’s all worth it.”
You leaned your head against his leg with a soft, content sigh. “Thank you for staying with me.”
“Always,” he whispered back, his thumb tracing over your cheek. “I have to go now—but when I’m gone, I want you to go back to reading your books.”
Disappointment settled in your chest, but the chemically induced state you were in made it too straining to fight back.
“I’ll be back soon with your breakfast.”
You didn’t care about food. All you cared about was Bucky. He was your true sustenance.
“How long?” you rasped, blinking up at him.
“I don’t know,” he admitted. “But I’ll get back to you as soon as I can. Alright?”
He leaned down to press a kiss to your temple. The cot creaked again as he stood up, and the sudden loss of his warmth made your heart clench painfully—more painful than the throb in your head.
“I love you, baby,” Bucky said, grabbing his blazer from the chair and heading for the door. “Be a good girl while I’m gone, okay?”
You nodded, and he offered a handsome smile. Then, he pulled the door open and shut it softly. The click of the lock on the other side finalized his goodbye, leaving you alone once again.
Bucky walked quickly from the hospital’s sub-level entrance, hurrying across the grounds toward the main facility. He looked like any other dedicated researcher running late for a briefing, but every time he left you, his mind remained back in the basement.
His mind was always on you.
His fingers fumbled with the middle button of his blazer as he forced his breathing to level out. He couldn’t afford to look ruffled. He turned a sharp corner near the east wing, head down as he adjusted his cuffs, and bumped squarely into another man.
“Woah, easy there, Buck.”
Bucky didn’t need to look up to recognize the voice.
“Steve,” Bucky exhaled, finishing the last button on his blazer with a tug. “Didn’t see you there. You’re up early.”
Steve’s gaze focused on the dark circles under Bucky’s eyes. “The shift change was a while ago,” Steve explained quietly. “I tried to page your office, but you weren’t there.”
Bucky waved a hand dismissively, stepping around Steve to keep moving towards his designated workstation. “Dead battery. I stayed late last night—lost track of time in the mounting data sheets—”
Steve extended his hand, landing on Bucky’s shoulder and forcing him to halt.
“You smell like…” Steve scrunched his nose. “Rubbing alcohol? Acetonitrile? That’s some heavy duty solvent for someone just looking at paperwork.”
Bucky’s heart let out a traitorous little thump. He gave Steve a deadpan look. “It’s a research hospital, Steve. What else am I supposed to smell like?”
Steve let go, but the look he gave his friend was anything but convinced. “You look exhausted. You’ve been spending every spare second in the south wing,” he sighed. “You’re my friend—and I worry about you, is all.”
Bucky averted his gaze. He didn’t have time for small talk. He had to review the latest labs and then fetch your breakfast. The longer he stayed out here, the longer you went hungry. Especially after the surgery, you needed to eat to recover properly.
“If there’s anything I can do to help loosen your load, even just a little bit, you know I’m always here.” Steve stepped closer, his voice lowering. “‘Till the end of the line, right?”
Bucky clenched his jaw. “Thanks, Steve. But I don’t need your help. I’m perfectly fine working alone,” he said, moving past him. Without looking back, he added, “I’ll let you know if my projects call for additional assistance.”
A few hours had passed, and ever since that interaction, it felt as though the universe had cursed Bucky with a jinx.
It was supposed to be a brief meeting—a few papers to peer review, perhaps a few charts to sign off on.
Christ, you were probably starving.
He could already picture it—your stomach curling in on itself, groaning and painful. He imagined your fragile arms wrapped around your belly as you cried in hunger. With the desperation that hunger brought, you might be clawing at your own skin. And since your body wasn’t being supplied with the nutrients it needed to recover, the post surgery throbbing in your head must be unbearable.
You could be pulling your hair or banging your head against the wall at this very second—and he wasn’t there to stop you.
He stared at the man sitting across from him. His boss’s frames kept slipping down his nose. His hair had more grease than the fast food joints across the street. His grimy hands shifted through the pages slowly. Painfully slow.
Bucky sat rigid, his foot tapping impatiently against the floor. He couldn’t dismiss himself—this was his superior, for fuck’s sake. But the longer he sat there, restless and useless, the more his mind spiraled.
His eyes flickered from his boss, to the clock, to the door.
“Is something bothering you, Barnes?”
Bucky swallowed hard. “Just… need to use the restroom.”
The man’s eyes rose sluggishly to meet Bucky’s. He paused—a silence long enough for Bucky to have gone and returned already. “Make it quick.”
Bucky pushed himself out of the chair, the legs let out a loud creak. He lunged for the door. He thought about sprinting to the canteen to fetch you something, but it was all the way across the facility. He didn’t have the time.
“Fuck, fuck!” Bucky hissed to himself, pacing the hall just outside the office.
The sound of approaching footsteps echoed nearby. Then, salvation appeared.
“Bucky? You doing alright?” Steve asked, glancing up from his papers to find his friend in visible distress.
Bucky froze, his breath getting stuck in his throat. Steve. The very man who had been with him through everything. Before he even came to the facility. Before he even made you. Steve was the one person he could trust with his life.
So why not trust him with yours? Just for the time being?
“Steve,” Bucky started with a frantic voice. The words tumbled out in a breathless ramble. “I need—I need your help. I’m stuck in a meeting with that grease trap Henderson, and she’s starving. She hasn’t eaten before the procedure and I can’t leave, but if she doesn’t get nutrients now, the rejection levels will spike and I’ll lose all progress—”
Steve blinked, his brows furrowing in confusion. “Wait, what?” He shook his head. “Who are you talking about? What procedure?”
Bucky stepped closer, grabbing Steve’s forearm with a grip so tight, it made him grunt.
“The south wing, sub-levels. Level four. I have her there, Steve. A woman—” Bucky glanced over his friend’s shoulder, making sure the coast was clear before continuing. “I’ve been… helping her, fixing her. But I have her locked in for her own safety, and I can’t get to the canteen and back without Henderson noticing I’m gone.”
Steve looked at Bucky as if he were seeing a stranger instead of a friend. “Locked in? Bucky, what the hell are you talking about? There are no active patients registered in the sub-levels. If you found someone who needs medical attention, we need to report this to the board immediately—”
“No!” Bucky hissed, eyes wide and wild. “No reports, and absolutely no boards. They’ll take her away, Steve. Please. I need you to help me. You said ‘till the end of the line’, didn’t you?”
Steve stood there, frozen with the papers in his hands.
“A woman,” Steve repeated quietly. “In the basement.”
“She’s my everything,” Bucky pleaded with a vulnerability that Steve has never seen before. “Just get a tray. High protein—soft foods. Use your clearance to bypass the canteen line. She’ll try to talk to you—but don’t entertain her. Just… give her her food, make sure she didn’t hurt herself while I was gone, and then leave quietly, okay?”
Steve let out a long breath.
He looked around the hall, checking for witnesses, before turning back to Bucky with a grim, reluctant nod.
“Fine,” Steve whispered. “I’ll get the food. But Bucky… we are talking about this the second you get out of that meeting. All of it.”
“Thank you,” Bucky exhaled, a sob of relief nearly escaping him.
He quickly shoved the keys to your room in Steve’s hand.
“Thank you, Steve. I knew I could trust you.”
It had been hours since Bucky left. You were curled on the edge of the cot, arms wrapped tightly around your growling stomach, trying to breathe through the nausea of starvation.
The grumbling was unbearable. You couldn’t have slept the hunger away even if you wanted to. It felt as though your stomach were eating itself from the inside out. Had Bucky forgotten you? He had broken his promise—but he said he was a man of his word. So where was he?
The sound of keys and the lock being undone sounded like music. Your heart gave a hopeful leap. Bucky always knocked—three soft, gentle taps that signaled he was coming to take care of you.
Unless you were asleep, he always waited for you to call out “come in!” to let him know you were ready to be his good girl again.
But this time, there was only silence before the door creaked open.
You didn’t care about the lack of a knock. You were too desperate, too hungry, and too lonely. You scrambled off the cot, your legs feeling like jelly as you rushed towards the door.
“Bucky! You’re back, I—”
You stopped.
The man standing in the doorway wasn’t Bucky. But he was as tall as Bucky, dressed in a white button up similar to Bucky’s, but it wasn’t him. He held a tray of food, but the stranger’s presence made you too terrified to reach for it.
Your breath hitched, a panicked wheeze leaving your lips as you scrambled backwards. Your heels dragged against the tile floor until your back hit the corner of the wall.
“Who are you!” you gasped, your bandaged hands coming up to shield your face. “Who are you? Where is he? Where’s Bucky?”
The man froze, his blue eyes widening in horror as he took in the sight of you—the surgical tape on your neck, the oversized gown, and the way you were cowering like a wounded animal.
Steve knew he shouldn’t speak to you, that had been Bucky's direct order. But he couldn’t fight his own instincts.
“Hey, hey… easy,” Steve cooed. He stayed by the door, slowly lowering the tray to a nearby table to show his hands were empty. “I’m not going to hurt you. I promise.”
Despite the man’s kind and gentle tone, you couldn’t help the panic flaring in your heart.
“You shouldn’t be here,” you sobbed, pressing yourself harder into the corner. “He said… he said I’m not supposed to see anyone. He’s going to be so angry.”
“Bucky sent me,” Steve explained softly, taking a cautious step. “My name is Steve. I’m Bucky’s friend. He’s stuck in a meeting and he was worried about you. He told me you needed to eat.”
You sniffled. “… Worried about me?”
He reached for a piece of bread from the tray and held it out toward you, not moving any closer. “I know you’re scared. And I know you’re hurting. But you need to eat, okay? Then I’ll be on my way.”
You swallowed hard, glancing at the bread. He had spoken you so kindly, so soft and gentle, and to you, that felt like salvation in this lonely and cold room. Even if it wasn’t Bucky.
You took a hesitant step forward while Steve stayed still. He didn’t move until you approached him, treating you as if you were a stray cat. You grabbed the loaf with trembling hands, gave him a wary look, and he smiled.
“Not poisoned. Trust me.”
He tried to joke, but you didn’t laugh.
After a few seconds, you bit into the bread, letting the taste linger on your tongue.
Then, you started scarfing it down like a rabid animal.
Steve stood there, staring at you dumbfound as you ate. Without looking at him, you began to ravish everything else on the tray with your bare hands. He could only stumble back and watch in horror.
As you were occupied with the food, he took a mental note of your state. Your legs were marked with rows of stitches. Your skin was tainted with burn marks and various scars. You had bandages wrapped around your hands, wrists, ankles, and neck. Bruises decorated your body.
You looked exactly like a woman who had been plucked from the grave and brought back to life, but you were hardly living.
It didn’t take long for you to finish. When you finally looked up, you stared at Steve, waiting for him to disappear back through the door.
“I know I said I’d be on my way after you ate,” Steve explained slowly. “But Bucky also wanted me to check on your…”
He paused. He didn’t know what Bucky wanted him to check on exactly, but looking at you, it seemed as though everything needed to be checked. For now, he pointed to the freshly wrapped bandage around your neck.
“He just wanted to make sure you were okay.”
When you didn’t respond, he took it as a sign to step closer. You scrambled back immediately, and his gaze softened.
“I know this is scary for you. You haven’t seen or spoken to anyone besides Bucky, isn’t that right?”
You stayed silent.
“Have you ever been outside this room?”
Your eyes flickered to the door, then back to Steve. You slowly shook your head no.
“Well, the outside world is beautiful,” he began, speaking in a gentle tone. “There are lots of trees, flowers… animals. Like squirrels. You’d like the squirrels, they’re just like you—always scurrying around, especially in the courtyards.”
With each word, he moved closer.
Mentally, Steve was cursing himself.
He was a man of honor, yet he was currently violating his best friend’s trust while feeding a captive woman—Bucky’s woman—empty promises he wasn’t sure he could keep. He was falling back on his own medical training, using the standard practices he’d honed over years of patient care, hoping the routine would calm you as it did his other patients.
“Maybe Bucky will let you see it for yourself one day,” he lied. “But right now, your body is in no state for it. You’re fragile.”
He was close enough now to see the faint blossoming of blood staining your bandages.
“That’s why I’m here—to check on you,” he said, reaching out a hand slowly, palm up. “I just want to see how the stitches are holding up. If Bucky’s friend helps you, you’ll get stronger faster. And the stronger you get, the sooner you can go outside. Doesn’t that sound nice?”
You hesitated, your back still pressed against the cold wall.
“Bucky wouldn’t want you to touch me,” you admitted softly. “He always calls me his perfect girl—his good girl. He likes that I’m untainted and untouched by anyone else.”
Steve paused, his eyes widening slightly.
Ah. There it was.
That was how he could get through to you.
Against his better judgment and his friend’s wishes, he brought his hand up to your cheek. It was a gentle, steady touch—the kind of contact you had been waiting for all day.
“Just a quick look,” Steve whispered. “Just so I can tell Bucky you were being a perfect, good girl for him.”
You shuddered under his touch, your eyes closing slowly as you leaned into his palm.
That was all you wanted—to be Bucky’s good girl.
“Okay,” you nodded. “You can check me.”
You reached for the hem of your oversized gown and lifted it, baring yourself to Steve.
To you, this was simply the natural sequence of events. There was no shame in your movements, only the ingrained memory of how your sessions with Bucky always concluded.
The check up was just a prelude. The intimate inspection that followed was the reward.
Steve’s breath hitched, his face turning a bright shade of red when he realized what you were doing.
“No! No, no, no. You don’t have to do that!” he stammered, wrenching his head away. “I just… I just need to see the bandages. Just the neck and wrists. Keep—keep your clothes on, please.”
He was trying so hard to be a gentleman, his movements jerky and awkward.
“Bucky always tells me to undress so he can check me properly,” you said softly.
That concerned Steve. He let out a sigh. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t seen naked patients before, but this was different. He told himself all he had to do was check your stitches and leave. Quickly.
“Fine,” Steve rasped. His eyes tried his best to stay focused on your neck—not the curve of your breasts or hips, or the innocence of your bare slit between your thighs.
He stepped closer and his fingers traced the stitches of your neck.
His eyes met yours briefly, and his heart raced.
You had such a hazy, expectant look in your eyes.
“Okay,” Steve choked out, his voice cracking as he stepped back to put a safe distance between you. “I’m done. The stitches look... they look clean. I’m going to go now.”
As he turned to grab the empty tray, you moved.
You cupped his face the way Bucky always did with yours and pressed your lips against his.
Steve froze, his eyes nearly bulging out of his skull. His hands found your shoulders, giving you gentle shove that forced you back onto the edge of the cot with a yelp.
“No,” he panted, his chest heaving as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “No, we can’t—I’m his friend, I’m not... why did you do that?”
You tilted your head, your brows furrowing in confusion.
“Because the check up isn’t finished,” you explained softly, your voice small and defensive. “Bucky says the examination isn’t over until he’s had his fill. He says that’s how I show him I'm getting better.”
“His fill?” Steve looked concerned.
“He says it’s part of the treatment,” you added, leaning forward slightly, searching Steve's face for the approval you were used to receiving. “Don’t you want to see if I’m better, Steve? Don’t you want your fill?”
The air left Steve's lungs.
His eyes traced down your body shamelessly this time—but not for the reason you expected. He took note of the faint bruises around your waist and thighs, and he felt sick.
Quickly, he crouched until he was eye level with you from where you were sitting on the cot. He clutched your shoulders, and you winced.
“Tell me,” Steve urged. “What is Bucky doing to you? Why are you in this state? How long have you been here?”
“I—I don’t—”
“Did he rape you?”
Steve expected a reaction—the typical trauma response to a word that heavy. Most victims would never confess it outright, but he could make out the answer from your reaction if you gave him one.
But all you did was blink at him as if he were speaking a foreign tongue.
“What does that mean?”
Steve didn’t know what to say. He let out a breath of exasperation and stood up. He couldn’t help you now, not with the risk of Bucky’s meeting ending at any moment.
“I have to go, but I’ll be back, okay? I’ll be back to get you the professional help you need.” Steve grabbed the tray and hurried to the door, his hand trembling on the handle. “Don’t tell Bucky what I told you. Please.”
The door shut quickly as he left.
But the lock didn’t click.
The hours following Steve’s departure were the longest of your life. You tried to do as Bucky asked—to sit on your cot and lose yourself in the pages of your books—but you couldn’t retain anything.
Your mind kept drifting back to Steve.
You liked the way he touched your cheek. He spoke of squirrels and trees and a world that Bucky never mentioned. Your gaze drifted to the door, and for the first time, it didn’t look like a shield protecting you from the world—as Bucky liked to call it.
It looked like an obstacle.
You knew you needed to stay put and wait for Bucky, but you couldn’t. You stood up and pushed through the door, moving carefully and slowly.
The hallway was bright, and as you wandered out, your bare feet felt freezing against the tiles. You didn’t know where the trees were, but you followed the hall, hoping it would lead to the courtyard Steve had mentioned.
You could already imagine it—running through the grass with Bucky, chasing the squirrels. A smile ghosted over your lips despite the tremor in your heart.
Then, a shadow fell over you.
“Going somewhere?”
You spun around at the familiar voice, a smile on your face so wide it made your cheeks hurt. “Bucky! You’re back! I was looking for the courtyard, I—”
The smile died the moment you saw his face. Bucky wasn’t happy. He had that scowl, the look you recognized whenever he was displeased, except now it was multiplied tenfold. His gaze was harsh enough to kill, and you could only imagine what he would do to you next.
His hand clamped around your upper arm, forcing you to cry out.
“Bucky, you’re hurting me!”
He hauled you back, dragging you down the hall towards where you had come from. He was breathing like an animal, his eyes darting around crazily to ensure the corridors remained empty—no witnesses.
He threw you back into the basement room, the door slamming shut as he locked it from the inside. He approached you as you collapsed onto the cot.
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” he hissed in your face, his hands tugging at his hair in frustration. “What’s this talk about a courtyard? What was the plan, huh? To just walk out? To show everyone in this facility what I’ve been doing?”
“I just wanted to see—”
“After everything I’ve done for you!” Bucky roared, lunging to grab your shoulders and shaking you once, hard. “I saved you! I rebuilt you! I spent every cent, every hour, every ounce of my goddamn soul making sure you were perfect. And you’re choosing to run? You’re choosing to escape me?”
“No, Bucky, I—”
“You’re ungrateful!” He was spiraling, his eyes glazed with paranoia. “Someone saw you. Someone must have seen you. Who was it? Did you talk to someone? Was it the security feeds? I’ll have to wipe them. I’ll have to start over.”
You flinched at his cruel words. The pain in your arm was unbearable, but his accusations hurt more.
“No one saw me—”
“You can’t be certain!” he screamed in your face.
When he saw the tears welling in your eyes, he backed off slightly. His heart was beating furiously, and he didn’t foresee his temper cooling anytime soon. He let out a heavy sigh, releasing your shoulders. He couldn’t believe Steve had forgotten to lock the door—and now, he had filled your head with stupid ideas of going outside.
“I have to operate on you again,” Bucky said, walking to his desk. He removed his blazer and began rolling up his sleeves. “It’s a shame, really. I didn’t anticipate working on you so soon after your recent experiment.” He reached for the gloves, jerking them on. “I should even lower the dosage of the drugs, just so you could feel just an ounce of the pain I felt when I found you in the hallway.”
He glanced at you quickly before looking back at his tools.
“You did this to yourself, darling.”
You quickly scrambled off the cot, rushing to him and wrapping your arms around his waist from behind. “Please! I’m so sorry—I didn’t mean to disobey you, I swear! I—”
“I’ve been gentle with you,” Bucky said, his voice flat as he reached for a needle on the tray. He didn't even turn to look at you. “Maybe even too gentle.”
You held onto him tighter, burying your face into the expanse of his back as the fabric of his shirt dampened with your tears.
“Please, Bucky, please!” you sobbed. “I missed you so much. I was being so good all day. I read the books, just like you told me. I didn’t hurt myself. But it was so cold and so lonely.. and—and you were gone for so long. I just needed you. I just wanted to find you.”
Bucky didn’t move.
The hand reaching for the syringe hovered in the air, his fingers twitching. For a long moment, the only sound in the room was your crying. He looked down at the needle, then slowly, he pulled his hand back.
“You broke my heart,” he whispered. “You think your fruitless words mean anything to me now? After I found you wandering those halls like I meant nothing to you?”
“I didn’t—”
“Actions speak louder,” he snapped, still facing away. “What will you do to make up to me?”
“Anything,” you sobbed against his shirt. “Anything, Bucky. Just don’t hurt me. Don’t operate on me—please. I’ll do anything.”
Bucky stared at the wall, then at the needle, as if contemplating. Without turning around, his hands moved to his waist, the belt buckle echoing in the room as he undid the lather strap with slow movements.
“Put your hands over the bed,” he commanded. “Bend over.”
Your breath hitched in anticipation. You wasted no time rushing to the cot, placing your hands over the edge and bending over—exactly as instructed.
Your heart fought in your chest as you heard Bucky’s footsteps approach from behind. You heard the clinking of the belt in his hands, and then the air hit your skin as he lifted your gown, baring your bottom to his gaze.
The cold leather of his belt dragged slowly across your skin, and you shuddered, bracing yourself.
“Are you scared?” he murmured from behind you.
“Yes,” you whispered, your voice trembling so much it was barely heard. “Yes, Bucky. I’m scared.”
He leaned in closer, his chest brushing your back. You could feel the warmth, the scent of his cologne. When he spoke again, his voice was a low rasp against your ear.
“Good,” he breathed. “Fear is the beginning of wisdom, darling. It means you’re finally remembering who I am to you. It means you’re remembering that the world outside is just a fantasy, and this—this room, this bed, and my hand on you—is the only reality you have.”
He paused, the leather belt going still against your thigh.
“I didn’t want to do this,” he lied, smooth and deceptive. “But you forced my hand. I have to drive those silly thoughts out of your head before they ruin you completely. Before they ruin us.”
The belt lifted away from your skin, then came down hard with a whack against your bottom, jolting you and making you yelp.
“You’re so confused now, aren’t you, darling? I have a friend—my best friend come feed you, and suddenly you think you’re free to wander about? He was a fool. And so are you.”
Another whack.
“Ow!”
“It’s disappointing, really. I thought we were further along, doll. I thought you understood that you’re far too fragile for the sun. You’d wither like a flower, my perfect girl.”
Then another, and you let out a soft and shaky moan that was more breath than sound.
He leaned over you, the belt resting lightly against the back of your thighs as he watched the way your body reacted. He was being mean—his words were supposed to make you feel small, stupid, and utterly dependent—but to you, the condescension only felt like a caress.
With every smack, every word, you were arching your back and pressing yourself into him.
“Look at you,” he whispered, his hand reaching down to tickle the inner curve of your thigh. “I’m punishing you for being a bad, ungrateful girl, and yet..”
He paused, his fingers sinking lower and brushing against the wetness between your legs. It was slick, his middle finger gliding right through the folds. You gasped as he poked his finger against the entrance, and he could already feel you clench.
“You’re soaking wet for me,” he voiced in a way that sounded like disgust. “Even when I’m hurting you, you’re begging for me. Is this what you wanted when you walked out that door? To be caught and punished by your Daddy?”
Your face warmed with embarrassment. “No! I swear, I didn’t—”
Your words were replaced by a shameless moan when you felt Bucky’s finger slip into your entrance. He was only halfway in, yet he slid into you so easily. The way you stretched to accommodate his fingers was a testament to how much you needed him.
Bucky snarled against your ear. He was disappointed. He hated your denial—especially when your own body was betraying you, your hips rocking back to sink his finger deeper into your needy cunt.
But more than that, he hated how hard he was getting. He hated how much he wanted to rip his pants down and fuck you so hard that you’d be left crying and begging for his forgiveness.
“You could have it so easy if you just told me the truth,” he taunted. “But you like the struggle, don’t you? You like the attention—whether it’s good or bad. And you especially like it when Daddy’s being mean to you.”
He withdrew his finger slowly, the loss making you whine. His hands settled at your hips, he lifted you until you were standing on your tippy toes.
“Look at how you’re leaking for me,” he mocked, his eyes dark as he examined you. “A little attention from Steve, a little walk in the hall, and you come back to me looking like this. You’re like a little animal, aren’t you? So confused, so easily worked up by the first human who shows you a bit of kindness.”
Bucky grabbed your hands, wrenching them behind your back. He worked quickly, looping the leather belt around your wrists and cinching it tight.
You winced at the pressure as he restrained you, leaving you even more helpless than you were before.
“You’re right,” you whispered, face pressed against the cot. “I’m helpless. I can’t… I can’t function without you, Bucky. Please don’t leave me again. Hurt me. Kiss me. Just do anything so I don’t feel empty.”
Bucky hummed in approval.
He took a step back, and you heard the rustle of fabric and a zipper sliding down from behind. He didn’t utter a single word as he freed himself, but the sudden change in his breathing told you everything.
He began to stroke himself slowly. The sound was agonizing—that silky friction of his palm against his shaft, the shlick shlick noises of him spreading his pre-cum over and around his tip.
Every slide of his hand made you want to turn your head to look, to witness him in this state, but you knew better than to move.
You clenched your thighs together, your cunt pulsing as it reacted to the filthy noises. You were desperate to feel him, but you remained bound and helpless—exactly where he wanted you.
“Fuck,” he cursed, his breathing labored as he jerked himself off faster. “I should just finish right now. Let it all my cum drip to the floor—leave it there for you to stare at while I walk back out that door.”
His breathing grew even heavier. His movements quickening as he fucked his fist.
“But you’re so needy, aren’t you?” he whispered. “You wouldn’t let a single drop go to waste, would you, doll? You’d fall to your knees and lick it right off the tiles like my little pet, just to have a taste of me.”
You shuddered as his footsteps neared, flinching when his hand came up to cup your chin. He forced you to arch your back, making you strain to look up at him from over your shoulder.
“Is that what you are? My little pet?” He pressed the head of his cock against the curve of your ass, subtly rocking his hips forward. “My sweet girl that only functions when I’m inside her?”
“Bucky,” you breathed, squeezing your eyes shut. “Please. I can’t take this anymore.”
“Since you wanted to wander those halls so badly, I’m going to make sure you don’t have the strength to do it again. I’m going to fuck you so hard, doll, that you won’t be able to stand on those pretty legs for a week.”
One heavy hand landed on your hip, squeezing the flesh tight to hold you steady, while the other gripped his length, positioning himself at your entrance.
Then, surprisingly slow, he began to slide in.
The sensation was overwhelming. He was big—far too big. He knew you were fragile, and despite his harsh words, he didn’t want to truly break you just yet. That would ruin all the fun.
The stretch was slow and agonizing, yet perfect. You let out a broken sob, your fingers clawing at the thin mattress of the cot as your body was forced to accommodate him. He was thick, filling every inch of you, stretching you until you felt like you might break, yet your muscles tightened around him desperately—clinging to him like a hug that refused to let go.
“God,” Bucky hissed, his face twisting in both pain and pleasure. “So tight—even after last night…”
He kept pushing until he was completely sheathed inside, his dark curls tickling the curve of your ass when his pelvis finally met your bottom. He stilled there, his chest rising and falling as he waited for your body to accommodate him.
You could feel every ridge, every pulse inside, and in that moment, you wanted to cry.
You were so happy. Moments like this made your heart feel too big for your chest—because, despite everything, you were becoming one with the man you loved so dearly.
“Look at you,” he groaned possessively. “Taking all of it. Built just to hold me. Designed to take every inch... even if it hurts.”
Bucky began to move, his hips rocking violently as he started fucking you like an animal starved—as if he had been starving for this even longer than you had.
His hips slapped vulgarly against yours, and your eyes widened at the sudden, cruel change of pace.
“Oh—my!”
The cot beneath you began to groan, the frame creaking and rattling against the floor and the wall with every thrust Bucky gave you.
He leaned forward until his chest was against your back, his hand reaching around to grip the belt binding your wrists, using it like a handle to wrench your arms higher and force your chest deeper into the flimsy mattress.
“One taste of my cock and you’ve already forgotten everything that fool Steve told you, haven’t you?”
His pace became erratic, using your body like a sex toy. You were cock drunk for him, you were being his perfect, restrained little pet, your face buried in the cot pathetically while he claimed every inch of your body.
“You’re so pathetic, sweetheart,” he whispered affectionately and cruel. “Completely helpless. You can’t even touch yourself while I do this to you. You have to just lie there and take whatever I decide to give you.”
He slammed into you again, his cock rubbing deliciously against your tight, wet walls as they squeezed him for dear life.
“Ah, fuck... maybe if you keep being a good girl, I’ll let you suck on it later. How does that sound, hm?”
You nodded desperately against the cot, and mewling was the only answer you could manage.
The mere idea of being allowed to serve him like that—to have him look at you with something other than disappointment—it was all enough to make your head spin.
Bucky laughed darkly, you could feel his stomach vibrating as he was pushed up against your back.
“That’s it,” he growled. “Good girl. Daddy loves you, baby.”
Tears of overwhelmed pleasure started to spill down your cheeks at his admission.
He loved you.
Those four words were enough to make you fall apart right then and there as his approval was far more intoxicating than the pain and pleasure.
“Really? I—I love you too! I love you so much!” you squealed. Your cunt clenched around his shaft—squeezing him tight as if your body could prove just how much you loved him back. “I love you so much, Bucky. I love you. I love you.”
Bucky drawled out a long, tortured groan at the feel of you squeezing him. Buried deep inside you, he could feel you trembling, your body wound so tight it was nearly unbearable.
“That’s it,” Bucky cooed, his pace losing its rhythm as he fucked into you harder—chasing that delicious, sweet release. “You’re never going to walk away again.”
He leaned down, his pressing against your sweaty shoulder as he poured his devotions into your ear.
“I love you. Do you hear me? I love you more than anything. I’m the only thing you need. Just me and my love. You’re never leaving me again, doll. You’re staying right here where you’re safe—where you’re mine.”
He was chanting it now, a litany of possession that made your eyes roll back as you started to see stars.
I love you.
I love you.
I love you. I love you. I love you.
I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you.
“Don’t you ever leave me,” he growled, his hand tightening on the belt and jerking your bound wrists one last time. “Tell me you’re staying! Tell me!”
You couldn’t hold back anymore. He was fucking you so thoroughly, telling you exactly how much you meant to him, and you were desperate to show him he was your entire world.
“I’m staying! I’m yours!” you sobbed before you cried out in a pleasure that was so hot—it made you dizzy. Clenching your legs together, your pussy pulsed and convulsed as you let the pleasure wash all over your body.
Your entire frame shook and trembled, but Bucky didn’t let up. Every shake and vibration from you was just a stroke to his own pleasure, and before long, he buried himself as deep as he could go, his cock painting your pussy with his cum.
It was hot. It was too much.
He stilled, remaining plunged inside as he fought for his breath. Silence consumed the room. Then, the sounds of his seed—spilling out of your abused pussy and onto the tile floors took over.
Drip. Drip. Drip.
Like a clock.
Bucky shuddered against your neck, the heat of his breath tickling you. He stayed draped over you as he slowly began to press soft kisses to your cheek, then to the curve of your jaw.
“Good girl,” he murmured, his thumb tracing your bare lower back while you warmed his cock with your body.
“My good, sweet girl. You did so well for Daddy. You always do.”
The atmosphere of the following morning was nothing like the night before.
Bucky had stayed the night with you. Again.
You were tucked over his arm, your head resting against his shoulder as you traced idle, wandering patterns across his bare chest. He was snoring peacefully, a soft sound that filled the quiet room.
Your heart felt full as you stared up at him with wide, adoring eyes.
His chest rose and fell in perfect time with his breathing, and you snuggled closer to his side.
“I love you,” you murmured, your finger tracing the outline of his abs. “I love you so much.”
Bucky slowly blinked awake, his eyelashes fluttering before he finally looked down at you. His eyes were clouded with the hazy, peaceful fog of a deep sleep he rarely ever got to enjoy.
“Morning,” he rasped.
A small, tired smile tugged at the corners of his mouth as he took you in, his eyes softening at your adoring expression. “My girl.”
He slid his arm further under your neck, hooking his hand around your shoulder to pull you in until you were pressed tight against his side. He tucked his chin over the top of your head, nuzzling into your hair with a contented groan.
“Stay right there,” he murmured, his eyes drifting shut again as he squeezed you against him. “Don’t move. Just let Daddy hold you for a minute.”
And so you did. You both lay there for a long time, soft and snuggled up in each other’s arms.
But the peace, the silence, and the comfort didn’t last long.
The door—the one Bucky always made sure to lock with such clinical precision—was suddenly eclipsed by a violent crash that you made flinch.
Bucky bolted up, his body going rigid as his eyes snapped wide to the door.
“Bucky?” you gasped in fear, clutching his side. “What… what is that?”
“Fuck! Fuck!” Bucky hissed, the panic in his voice only startling you more. He threw his arm across your chest—not in a cuddle, but as a barrier, pinning you firmly behind his large body—as if hiding you.
He turned his head to catch your eye, a look in his blue orbs that you’ve never seen before. “Don’t—don’t say anything, got it? Not even a single breath of a fucking word.”
The door was kicked open, and a blinding flood of tactical lights and shouting turned your once private sanctuary into a war zone.
“He’s here! Target identified! Get him off her!”
Men in dark tactical gear you had never seen before swarmed the room, taking over the space that had once belonged purely to you and Bucky.
Before you could even process the intrusion, several agents tackled the very man who had been protecting you. The cot creaked and groaned as he fought to stay by your side, but even his strength was useless against so many men.
“Get your hands off me! Get away from her!” he roared, his voice louder and more frantic than you had ever heard it. He was terrified. You had never seen him lose control like this.
“She’s mine! You have no right—she’s mine!”
Bucky was going insane, fighting and kicking against the restraints of the officers. Everything happened so fast as the room blurred into chaos.
All you could do was sit there on the edge of the mattress and sob, reaching out for him in a confused daze.
“Bucky—”
Before your fingers could even brush his back, Steve was already there.
He pulled you into his arms, tucking your head against his chest to shield your eyes from the sight of the agents pinning Bucky to the cold tile floor.
“Don’t look,” Steve cooed, using that same comforting tone from the very first day you met. He held you tightly, his hand cupping the back of your head as he rocked you slightly to still your trembling. “I’ve got you. I’ve got you, sweetheart. You’re safe now. I promise... he’s never going to touch you again.”
The sound of metal cuffs clicked in the room, accompanied by Bucky’s screams of your name.
“Get your fucking hands off of her!” Bucky seethed from the floor, his face pinned hard against the tile by a set of gloved hands.
“You traitor!” he roared, the word tearing raw from his throat. “You fucking traitor!”
Steve tried his best to ignore his crying friend, clutching your body tighter against his. You began to sob, your fingers clawing at Steve’s arm to let you go—to go back to him.
As the agents hauled Bucky towards the door, his feet scuffed and slid violently against the tile floor.
He twisted his head back, his hair a sweaty mess as his face was twisted in a rage that terrified you. Yet, despite the fear, his eyes stayed locked on yours until the very last second, and you couldn’t bring yourself to look away.
“Don’t listen to a thing Steve tells you, baby!” Bucky screamed, fighting against the agents. “He doesn’t know you! He doesn’t love you like I do! He’s just trying to tear us apart—”
Even with a dozen people there to ‘protect’ you, guilt settled in your chest.
Was this all your fault?
Did this happen because you wandered the halls the other day? Because you had dared to talk to Steve?
“You belong to me—only me!” Bucky continued to roar, forcing you to listen to him instead of your useless train of thought. “Stop ignoring me—say something!”
All you could do was sniffle and sob, muttering broken apologies into Steve’s chest that Bucky couldn’t even hear over everything else that was going on.
“I’ll come back for you,” Bucky promised as they dragged him out. His voice rang through the cold hallways that had once been empty, but were now teeming with strangers. “I swear it—I’ll find you!”
Bucky and the men rounded the corner, and his shouts began to fade. The basement grew quieter. Much quieter.
Everything you’ve known and loved had been stripped away from you within seconds. What were you to do now? Who was going to take care of you? You wanted to hate Steve for doing this—but he said he was protecting you. But Bucky also promised you the same thing countless of times.
You didn’t know what was real—what was right or wrong, and you don’t think you ever will.
With the sudden and unexpected loss of his presence, your mind felt… lost. But deep in your gut, a feeling you tried so hard to suppress out of fear for betraying Bucky, you felt relief.
Steve let out a shaky breath, his shoulders finally dropping.
“He’s gone,” Steve whispered, his voice partnered with a guilt he couldn’t quite hide.
He sounded like he was trying to convince himself as much as you.
“He’s gone, sweetheart. He’s never going to hurt you again.”
And for some reason, those very words only hurt you more.
The interrogation light shined directly into Bucky’s face, but he had grown so used to the glare that he no longer flinched.
Heavy cuffs bound his wrists, he only stared lifelessly at the metal biting into his skin. By now, the chains wrapped around his ankles felt as familiar as socks. His eyes were sunken into dark hollows, and his hair had grown out, lank and unkempt. You probably would have thought he looked ugly.
“James Barnes.” The man across from him sat down with a heavy huff.
His glasses were perched precariously on the bridge of his nose, and his pudgy fingers rifled through a thick stack of papers. With his greasy hair and impatient sighs, he looked exactly like Bucky’s previous boss, Henderson.
Bucky hated it.
The interrogator leaned back, watching the man across from him.
“The woman was dead before you found her,” the man began neutrally, his voice echoing off the sterile walls. “You robbed her grave, took her body, and performed several experiments on her—somehow managing to bring her back to life.”
Bucky stayed quiet.
“Where did you expect this experiment to go?” the man pressed, flipping a page in the file with a dismissive snap. “Would you have returned her to her family? To the friends she had before she passed?”
Bucky hadn’t blinked in three minutes, and hadn’t spoken for longer.
“What made you choose her, of all the other freshly buried bodies in that cemetery?”
Nothing. Not even a breath of a word.
“What was she to you?”
Bucky’s eyes remained hollow, his expression indifferent. He might as well already be dead.
“Did you love her?”
Bucky’s head tilted—just slightly.
Slowly, he lifted his eyes to meet the interrogator’s.
“More than anything,” Bucky replied.
He didn’t look away from the interrogator, but his mind was already miles outside the concrete walls of the facility.
Behind his hollow eyes, he was already calculating. He felt the metal around his wrists, but he didn’t feel trapped. He felt like a spring being pushed down, gathering all this tension until he inevitably snaps. He could see it clearly—the precise moment he would finally break free.
It had been years since has been held captive. Since everything was taken away from him.
He wondered what you were doing right now. Without him there to guide your schedule, were you lost?
He imagined you in a park somewhere. He pictured you chasing squirrels, or perhaps laying in the grass and staring at the sun until your eyes ached. Or maybe you were reading one of those books he used to leave by your bed. He hoped you were reading. It kept your mind active. The books were good for you.
He’d find you.
It wasn’t a question of if, only a matter of when. He’d knock on the door of your new home—three times. Then, like the perfect girl you always were for him, you’d reply with “come in!”
The interrogator cleared his throat, leaning in closer.
“James,” he called for him, bringing his attention back. “Would you classify yourself as ‘insane’?”
For the first time in years, Bucky’s lips quirked into a smile.
Insane?
What kind of question was that?
“No.”
anyway how writing this fic found me
if you've made it this far, as always thank you so much for taking the time to read my work. interactions are always appreciated, I love reading every bit of them!
I do not have a tag list. to get notified for fic updates, please follow @notify-superbassbuck and turn on notifications.
special: thank you bri for being my number one fan. she really do be thatonefangirl @iamthatonefangirl
⋆˚꩜｡ summary: A teasing banter over Iron Maiden and Dio quickly spirals into whiskey-soaked and reckless attraction
⋆˚꩜｡ tags/tw: explicit content (minors do not interect, you're not welcome) no y/n, she/her reader, big age gap, confident reader, smoking, alcohol consumption, praise kink, oral sex (f!receiving), dirty talk, dom!eddie, sloppy kissing, breeding kink undertone, mild cnc undertones, overstimulation, fingering, p in v, unprotected sex
⋆˚꩜｡ wordcount: 6.6k+
The bell hanging above the glass door rang as soon as he’d pushed it open, and the smell of second hand vinyl, and something that smelled an awful lot like the faint remains of a joint, hit him when he finally stepped inside the independent record shop that had just opened downtown.
Eddie took a slow look around – noticing how the dark wall at the end of the shop was covered with framed posters he was sure were original ones, the two tattered bean bags randomly thrown in the far right corner next to a listening station, the overstocked shelves with imported tapes and limited-pressed records and the rack with vintage merch he was almost sure held one or two of the shirts he’d lost along the years.
But what really caught his attention, was the display island in the dead centre of the shop – custom built from what he could see, and at least a dozen plastic crates sitting on top of it, filled with records, prints, enamel pins and whatever else he was about to waste half his free afternoon digging through.
His heavy work boots thudded onto the polished concrete floor as he stepped further into the shop, his fingers twitching to start digging through it all.
“Just holler if you need help,” a disinterested voice said from behind the register.
Eddie pulled his eyes away from crate labelled limited eds. just briefly but redirected them back onto the Danish pressing of Melissa his fingers had stalled on when he didn’t actually see anyone behind the register.
Not that he really minded anyway – his brain already short-circuiting over the surprisingly doable price tag stuck in the upper right corner.
Honestly, he was somewhat relieved whoever was behind the register didn’t seem to be one of those pushy salesmen who hovered around customers like it was their fist time stepping into a record store. He preferred being left alone with the crates in front of him – especially considering he was acting like a fucking teenager every time his eyes landed on something he could add to his already ridiculous collection.
Something unfamiliar drifted through the speakers overhead, low and moody enough to catch his attention. Good enough, too, that he made a mental note to ask whoever was behind the register what artist it was.
By the time the soft streaks of sunshine had faded into a dusky blue evening, he’d already piled an embarrassing amount of records on top of one of the crates, and was now trying to convince himself not to go digging through the rack of vintage tees too.
He walked to the rack without really thinking it through. He was already spending more than he should’ve anyway — might as well indulge a little more.
The thin, high-pitched scrape of metal against metal made him scrunch his nose as his ringed, calloused fingers pushed through the hangers, eyes scanning every faded design he flipped past.
The annoying scrape of metal faded abruptly when his fingers stalled on a pristine shirt that was, unfortunately, just a little outside his budget.
"The price is ridiculous, I know," the voice behind the counter mumbled, followed by the faint sound of movement. "But it's an original from '81."
Eddie looked over his shoulder just enough to show he was listening before his attention drifted back to the shirt in his hands.
“Took my dad forever to get that one,” you added absentmindedly.
That finally dragged Eddie’s attention away from the shirt in his hands, his brows already furrowing before he’d even fully turned around.
His dark brown eyes finally landed on you behind the register, your chin propped against your palm while you drummed a pen absentmindedly to the song playing overhead.
You couldn’t have been more than twenty years old.
Which, considering the shirt in his hands was older than you were, probably explained the comment about your dad.
“Maiden fan?” he asked, eyes flickering between you and the shirt he still held.
You deadpanned, tilting your head slightly.
“2 AM.”
Eddie furrowed his eyebrows again. “What?”
“You were about to make me name an Iron Maiden song that isn’t Fear of the Dark or The Trooper,” you said flatly, like this was far from the first time you’d had this exact conversation. “So, 2 AM. From their 1995 album The X Factor.”
Eddie stilled, blinking at you a couple times like he genuinely hadn’t expected that answer to come out of your mouth.
“I, uh… wasn’t gonna ask that,” he mumbled, his brows still faintly furrowed. “But, 2 AM, seriously? That’s a depressive pull.”
You scoffed lightly, the corner of your mouth already twitching upward.
“Yeah, well. I like the depressive stuff.”
You still had your chin propped in your hand as your eyes drifted slowly over him, taking in the curls that had escaped his messy bun, and the way his ringed fingers twitched against the preserved cotton.
But the nervous blinking was what really got you, which felt somewhat ridiculous, considering he was, what? In his late thirties, early forties?
Cute.
Eddie recovered – just slightly – from being caught off guard by the blatant way you’d checked him out, enough to squint at you jokingly.
“Alright, smartass. What’s your favourite Dio album?”
You squinted back, pushing your tongue against the inside of your cheek.
“Dio the band, or the man himself?” you murmured, slowly pushing yourself off the counter to stand a little straighter. “‘Cause I got different answers depending on what you wanna know.”
“Hit me.” He raised his brows, giving a small nod.
Dragging your gaze down for a split second, you pretended to think about it.
“How about I tell you over a drink?”
Eddie scoffed softly in disbelief, shaking his head as he dragged his eyes away from you for a second before looking back.
“Are you even old enough to get a drink?”
“I asked you out,” you shot back, “not if you could buy me a bottle while I wait around the corner.”
He didn’t say anything right away; instead, he let his eyes linger for a moment longer, noticing the soft way the warm amber lights overhead spread across your face.
He also pretended the tips of his ears didn’t heat up at the fact that someone this young was so blatantly flirting with someone nearly twice her age.
“You flirt like a menace, y’know that?”
The corner of your mouth twitched before you smiled bashfully, some of your earlier confidence slipping for just a second before you pulled it back together.
“Just with people who have good taste in music.”
By the time the bartender slid your drinks onto the table, Eddie still wasn’t sure how a twenty-something-year-old had managed to talk him into this.
You crossed your legs beneath the table as you gently pushed his neat whiskey closer to him before curling your hand around your beer.
His eyes lingered briefly on your chipped black nail polish before traveling up to the heavy silver rings wrapped around your fingers, ultimately settling on your face.
The dim lighting made you look softer than you had back at the record shop, casting a different kind of glow across your eyes.
“You always ask strange men out after arguing about Iron Maiden?” he asked as he mirrored you, curling his hand around his own glass.
“Not really,” you smiled softly, noticeably shyer than you’d been up until now. “Don’t know how you made the cut.”
Eddie looked away for a moment, biting lightly at his lip as he nodded absentmindedly, a strange self-conscious feeling slowly settling in the pit of his stomach.
It had been… a while since someone had asked him out. Not to mention someone nearly half his age – which was definitely a first.
“Holy Diver’s the obvious answer,” you started slowly after taking a sip of your beer. “But Ritchie Blackmore’s Rainbow kinda ruined my life.”
A small, disbelieving smile found its way onto Eddie’s lips.
“If Rainbow counts,” you added quickly.
“Rainbow absolutely counts,” he chuckled, raising a brow as his gaze dropped briefly to your hand, catching the faint nicotine stain between two fingers. “Lemme guess – Catch the Rainbow.”
“Look at you,” you laughed softly before wetting your lips. “You already know me so well.”
Your eyes sparkled a little too brightly beneath the dim bar lights, soft shadows settling across your face.
And suddenly, Eddie didn’t feel quite so self-conscious anymore. Not with the way you were looking at him.
“You wanna smoke?”
“Can you lose one?” you asked hesitantly before scrunching your nose. “Just ran out, and I couldn’t exactly leave the store to buy more.”
“For you? Always.”
The intimate words slipped from his mouth before he could think them through; strangely enough, though, they didn’t feel weird on his tongue.
Eddie stood first, reaching for your class before you could while you slid out of the booth beside him.
The low hum of conversations and clinking glasses faded into the background as the two of you made your way through the crowded bar, shoulders brushing once when someone stumbled past with an overly loud laugh and an apology neither one of you really paid attention to.
The soft evening breeze hit Eddie’s face the second he pushed the door open with his foot, carrying the faint smell of city streets and beer spilled somewhere along the sidewalk outside.
Most of the patio tables sat empty at this hour despite the lingering warmth of the evening, leaving the two of you to settle at one tucked near the railing beneath the weak amber glow of an overhead streetlamp.
He slid your sweating glass of beer back towards you before reaching for the slightly crumpled pack of Camels in the front pocket of his jeans. He lifted a cigarette to his lips before he pulled out another one and held it out for you.
The lighter followed almost immediately – silver and worn, in the kind of way that made it obvious he’d had it for years.
Eddie flicked it open with easy precision, lighting it and tilting it closer to you.
You slid your glass to the side and placed your hands at the edge of the seat, fingers curling around the cool wood as you leaned forward just slightly with the cigarette already between your lips. The flame reflected warmly in your eyes while you looked up at him from under your lashes before he absentmindedly brought it to his own cigarette, quietly noticing the subtle arch in your posture as you leaned closer.
He took a long, slow drag and let the smoke curl in his lungs for a moment, while he took in the sight in front of him – the way your lips closed around the brown filter, your little habit of actually swallowing down the smoke before you blew it out, the way you still hadn’t looked away from him.
“You’re pretty,” he mumbled under his breath, almost like he wasn’t actually aware he was saying it out loud.
A shy smile crept across your face as you finally broke eye contact – but only for a split second.
“You flirt like an old man,” you chuckled.
“Yeah, well, Sweetheart,” Eddie scoffed jokingly. “That’s kinda what happens when you ask out someone who’s twice your age.”
“Didn’t say I didn’t like it.”
Just six little words were enough to make his stomach twist in a way he wasn’t used to anymore – especially with the knowing smile you gave him afterward.
He knew the smart thing would be to pull away. Change the subject. Steer the conversation towards something safer than this quiet little push and the pull the two of you had slipped into.
But instead, he stayed exactly where he was, fingers curled loosely around his cigarette as his gaze followed the slow lift of your beer to your lips.
A stray drop of beer escaped from the corner of your mouth, threatening to trail down your chin before Eddie reached over and caught it with his thumb before it had the chance.
The look he gave you as he dragged his tongue across his thumb was enough to make it painfully obvious he’d done it on purpose.
Eddie watched your throat move when you swallowed.
“You keep looking at me like that,” you mumbled quietly, “and I’m gonna start thinking you want something.”
His cigarette rested forgotten between his fingers as the corner of his mouth twitched upward.
“Sweetheart,” he said lowly, “I think we’re a little past that already.”
Your gaze dropped briefly to his mouth before flicking back up again, subtle enough that most people probably wouldn’t have caught it – but Eddie did.
The corner of his mouth twitched as he leaned back in his chair, cigarette balanced loosely between his fingers while he watched you through the thin curls of smoke.
“Careful,” he murmured, finally tapping ash from his cigarette while his eyes stayed fixed on you. “Keep lookin’ at me like that and I’m gonna forget how old you are.”
“Good.” You held the smoke in your lungs for a second before exhaling slowly, teeth catching your bottom lip out of habit more than anything else. “‘Cause I already forgot yours.”
Eddie’s hand barely softened the force of your back hitting the brick wall he’d pushed you against, the heavy rings on his fingers catching against your scalp as he buried his hand in your hair and pulled.
This close, it was impossible not to notice the scent of motor oil clinging to him beneath the minty cologne, and the cigarette smoke.
And fuck, that alone was enough to ruin you a little.
His other hand found your face, thumb pressing into your cheek while the rest of his fingers spread against the other as he tilted your head and deepened the kiss.
Eddie nudged your mouth open with his, brushing his tongue against your bottom lip first – almost hesitant, like some part of him still wasn’t fully sure he should be doing this. But then he kissed you harder, and his tongue slid against yours, warm and slick, and you could still taste the lingering bite of spicy citrus of his whiskey on him.
“Please tell me you live nearby,” he murmured against your lips when he finally pulled back just slightly.
“Above the shop,” you mumbled back, voice low and still a little drunk on his kiss.
Eddie still had a tight grip on your hair and jaw when he pulled away a little more, pupils blown wide, lips slick with your spit, and his greying curls even messier than they’d been all evening.
He could feel the warmth rising beneath his fingers when he tilted his head back slightly, biting at his lip while keeping his eyes locked on yours.
“Good,” he murmured.
He kept his grip on you for a few moments longer, in no real rush to move back towards the shop despite the heat slowly settling low in his stomach, eyes fixed on the breathless look spread across your face.
A quiet fuck slipped from beneath your breath, your thoughts short-circuiting around the tight grip he still had on you and the unbearably cocky look he was giving you.
“C’mon.” He scoffed softly under his breath before tilting his head towards the buzzing street. “Before I take you right here.”
Your pulse hammered beneath his fingertips as his hands grabbed at your hips instead, pulling you away from the wall and back into him for one more quick, messy kiss before he laced his fingers through yours and guided you out the alley he’d pulled you into earlier.
He only let go of your hand once – to shrug off his jacket and drape it over your shoulders when the cold evening wind picked up around the two of you.
Every now and then he’d tug you back against him just long enough to steal another kiss beneath the amber streetlights before continuing down the sidewalk like he hadn’t just completely short-circuited your brain again with his warm, plush lips and the comforting smell of leather and smoke clinging to his jacket.
“You always this clingy after two drinks?” you teased quietly.
Eddie only snorted under his breath before glancing down at you.
“You always this distracting?”
Feeling too flustered to come up with a proper reply, you only clicked your tongue softly before letting go of his hand to dig the cluttered keychain out of your bag once the shop came back into view.
“Please don’t mind the mess,” you mumbled under your breath while unlocking the door.
Eddie barely waited for the lock to click open before one of his hands found your hip again while the other slid around your throat, firmly tilting your head back so he could kiss you again.
While one of your hands curled loosely around the forearm resting on your throat, you weakly pushed the door open with the other as Eddie pressed his chest flush against your back and shuffled the two of you into the cramped entryway.
He nudged the door shut with his foot without pulling away from you – not when the pretty, muffled whimpers slipping from your mouth were making him even harder than he already was.
His rings pressed against your throat as he kept your head tilted back, kissing deep and messily from the awkward angle he held you at while his tongue slid insistently against yours. His bottom lip brushed sloppily against your upper one, teeth knocking together every now and then while a small drop of spit slipped from the corner of your mouth.
He finally pulled away – though reluctantly – when another soft, pathetic whimper slipped from your mouth into his.
“Take me upstairs, sweetheart.”
Eddie’s pupils blew wide as he took in the dumbfounded way you were staring up at him, lips swollen and slick with his spit.
He loosened his grip on you just enough to give your ass a quick smack when you kept staring up at him instead of moving.
“C’mon now,” he muttered, a cocky little grin tugging at the corner of his lips.
You licked your lips and swallowed hard before finally nodding absentmindedly, your gaze flicking towards the stairs.
Neither of you bothered to break the thick, expectant silence as you guided him upstairs.
Kicking off your shoes once you finally got upstairs, you flicked the lights on, revealing a living room that looked like it had been pulled straight out of the seventies.
Brown couch, walls covered in posters, plants crowding nearly every surface, a funky patterned rug tying it all together – not exactly what Eddie had expected from the girl in eyeliner and a vintage Metallica shirt.
Eddie glanced around the apartment before letting out a quiet laugh under his breath.
“Jesus,” he muttered. “This place looks like my childhood.”
That pulled a soft laugh from you.
“Yeah, well,” you chuckled under your breath, “I was raised on old records and questionable interior design.”
Your face warmed a little when he kicked off his boots and drifted towards the record collection in the corner, suddenly feeling weirdly nervous about what he might think of your music taste.
“Fuck, you might have a bigger collection that I do, sweetheart,” he said distractedly. “There’s some seriously good stuff in here.”
You chuckled again, softly under your breath, as you wandered towards the kitchen and pulling two glasses from the cupboard.
“Glad you approve of my music taste,” you teased while pushing through the beaded curtain separating the kitchen from the living room. “Choose your poison: whiskey or rum?”
Eddie looked over his shoulder, his attention finally dragged away from the records when the clinking beads announced your return from the kitchen – which, considering the rest of the apartment, of course only made the drinking cart in the corner of the living room feel more fitting.
The soft metallic raps of the pour against glass filled the room alongside the warm scent of toasted oak and brown sugar from the rum you were pouring yourself.
The bottle twitched slightly in your hand when Eddie suddenly stepped in behind you, one arm wrapping loosely around your waist while he pushed a strand of hair aside to press a kiss against your neck.
“Watcha havin’?” he murmured against your skin, warm breath fanning across your neck.
You swallowed hard, feeling yourself growing flustered all over again before tilting the bottle slightly so he could see the label.
His lips stayed glued to your neck, pressing slow, messy kisses against your skin while he hummed quietly between them.
“Wanna share?” he murmured, voice muffled by the fact he still refused to let go of you.
“If you keep kissing me like that,” you mumbled breathlessly after screwing the bottle shut and setting it back down, “we’re not gonna end up drinking anything.”
His greying curls tickled your skin when he chuckled against your neck.
“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”
You looked over your shoulder, catching his mouth with yours and finally forcing him to abandon your neck long enough for you to turn properly towards him.
Your hand slid from his chest to the back of his neck before tangling into his curls and tugging hard enough to pull a rough sound from him.
You bit lightly at his bottom lip before kissing him again – messy and impatient this time – and Eddie immediately tightened his grip on your hips, pulling your body flush against his while his fingers pressed harder into your skin.
“Couch or bed?” you breathed against his lips before dragging slow kisses down the side of his neck.
A rough fuck slipped from Eddie’s mouth as he tipped his head back slightly, swallowing hard when you sucked at his skin.
“You attached to your couch?” he muttered, already steering the two of you towards it.
Finally pulling away from his mouth, you harshly pushed him back against the worn suede cushions before straddling his lap.
“I might after tonight,” you whispered teasingly as your hands slipped up around his neck, drawing him back into another messy kiss before he could even think of a reply.
You rolled your hips curiously against his, feeling the sharp twitch of his cock beneath the thick denim of his jeans before pulling away just enough to brush your lips back against his neck, catching the rapid pulse fluttering beneath his skin. Eddie’s hand tightened around your hip immediately, guiding your movements faster as he tipped his head enough to catch your earlobe between his teeth while his other hand slid down your back, under your skirt to your ass.
A rough groan slipped from him when you sucked harder against his neck – enough to leave something behind for him to remember you by later.
“Take it off,” he mumbled as he tugged impatiently at the jacket still hanging loosely from your shoulders, his movements hurried despite the softness in his voice.
You grabbed at the hem of his shirt and pulled it up over his head before catching his mouth again in another messy, wet kiss. He kissed you with fervour, tongue crashing wildly against yours while he kneaded the supple flesh, warm rings digging into your ass.
Eddie reached down and grabbed the hem of your shirt, breaking the kiss, and hurriedly peeling it up to reveal the lack of a bra on you.
He tilted his back just slightly as he groaned, sounding almost pained, at the view of your gradually hardening nipples. He threw your shirt somewhere behind you, and latched his lips against your throat. He left soft nibs and wet, messy kissed as he trailed down to catch one of your nipples in his mouth, while the hand he had on your hip slid up to pinch the other.
“You’re so fucking gorgeous,” he rasped between licks as you arched further into his touch and buckled against his hard on. “Gonna make you feel so fucking good.”
Eddie curled his lips around your nipple once more, gently biting and pulling at it, and then smoothing the sting down with his tongue before he repeated the whole thing all over again.
Slowly, he trailed his hand lower, calloused fingertips grazing along the sensitive skin of your ribs and inner thighs until he reached the lacy edge of your panties. He hooked his fingers underneath, just to snap the fabric against your skin and steal another whimper from you. He bit your nipple one more time before pulling away, looking at you from under his lashes as he drag your panties down just enough to see the mess you’d made.
“Fuck, sweetheart,” he praised huskily, ghosting his fingertips along your slit and circling your swollen clit, “all this for me?”
All you could really do was give him another pathetic whimper.
With a cocky grin, he pulled his fingers away and suddenly lifted you off him to throw you on the couch, scoffing softly at the way your breasts jiggled with the hard movement before biting his lips.
Eddie straddled you before you could react properly and pinned your wrists above your head with his ringed hand while he pulled at your lacy panties with the other.
“I’m going to absolutely ruin you,” he groaned as he ground against your pussy, not caring if it would ruin his jeans.
He finally let go of your wrists to push himself up straight and unbutton his jeans.
Your chest fell and rose erratically, eyes glued to his tattooed chest before they trailed down to his fingers pulling at the zipper. Eddie didn’t take off his jeans after that, too busy dipping his head back to your tits and trailing his tongue down from your nipple to the waist of your skirt.
“This stays on,” he groaned, looking up at you as he dipped lower and pushed your thighs apart with his hands.
“Y-you…” you trailed off breathlessly, gulping down when he licked his lips. “You don’t have to.”
“Oh, I absolutely do,” Eddie groaned back, eyes glued to your slick folds. “Can’t just ignore this pretty pussy, not when she’s begging for me.”
He lowered his head and circled your clit with the tip of tongue before sealing his lips around it, sucking greedily. His fingers dug harder into your skin as he buried his face deeper, lapping and probing your leaking slit. He pushed his tongue inside you, fucking you with it before pulling away to spit on your cunt. Eddie’s eyes flickered back to your face as he slipped one finger into your sloppy cunt, curling it to stroke along your slick walls. His lips, still shiny with you, fell open to groan when he felt you flutter around him, encouraging him to pump his finger a little faster.
“I– Fuck, Eddie.”
Gently adding another finger, he stretched you open before dipping his bead back to lap at your clit, swirling his tongue around it. Eddie thrusted his fingers faster, curling them to hit that special spot inside you to bring you closer to the edge. He relentlessly fingered your cunt open while lashing his tongue against your swollen nub, determined to wring every ounce of pleasure from your quivering body.
“You gonna come for me, sweetheart?” he moaned against you when he felt you clench around his fingers, sending vibrations down your clit. “C’mon, baby, you can do it. Give it to me.”
Eddie curled his fingers, thrusting them in and out of you, while he sucked greedily hard at you, sending electric shocks through your body. Your hips bucked against his face as he brought you closer to the brink. He flickered his eyes to yours, crooking his fingers even harder than before, finally pushing you over the edge with a few final hard sucks and thrusts of his fingers.
Your pretty groans and whimpers shattered into a high-pitched moan as you finally came on Eddie’s ringed fingers.
Eddie gave your clit one last greedy kiss, ignoring the overstimulated twitch of your thighs around his face, and pushed himself up to smash his lips onto yours. His chin and cheeks were glistening, and the taste of your slick was heavy on his tongue.
“Can’t believe you were gonna hold out on me,” he said when he broke away, and frowned down at you, dark silver curls framing his face. “Boys your age don’t ever eat you out? That why you tried to stop me?”
You breathed heavily as you blinked a few times to clear your vision from the black spots blocking his view.
Eddie brought his sticky fingers to your face, and tapped your cheeks firmly, his eyebrows still furrowed. “Answer me when I ask you a question.”
“I…” you trailed off, mind hazy from the orgasm he just gave you. “No, they don’t.”
Eddie tsked at that, his brows relaxing while the corners of his mouth pulled into a cocky grin.
“Good,” he murmured, eyes still glued on yours. “More for me.”
Capturing your lips again, he poured all his spent-up energy into the filthy embrace. His slick tongue brushed messily against yours, teeth clinking against teeth, until spit rolled from the corner of his mouth and down your chin. He broke away reluctantly and rested his sweat-dampened brow against yours.
Eddie wrapped his hands around your thighs and pulled you closer until the rough edges of his zipper rasped against your sensitive folds. He gave you a few desperate rolls of his hips before he loosened his grip on you and pulled himself off the couch.
He stood tall, right at the edge of the couch, and let his eyes travel down your body as he pushed down his jeans until they dropped around his ankles with a soft thud. He noticed the way your thighs twitched when he stepped out of it and pulled off his boxers to free his strained erection.
He looked beautiful – long, and thicker than you’d imagined, with a painfully swollen tip that already leaked with sticky beads of pre cum – with his brows furrowed as he wrapped his hand around himself, stroking his cock once, twice, eyes glued onto yours while he did so.
“How do you want me?”
“Raw,” you breathed out before forcing down a dry lump down your throat. “Please.”
Eddie’s cock twitched in his hand while he sank his knees back down onto the couch. He loosened his grip around himself and wrapped his hands around your thighs once more.
He lined the swollen tip against your leaking slit before he changed his mind, and slid his cock between your still sensitive, sticky folds instead – like he hadn’t entirely decided if you deserved to be fucked just yet.
“Careful, now,” he groaned, eyebrows furrowed again as he glued his eyes on the way you were staining his cock. “Might start thinkin’ you wanna be bred.”
Then, when he’d finally lost the rest of his restraint, he notched his leaking tip at your slit, and pushed in slowly – inch, by agonizing inch, until he was buried to the hilt.
His cock stretched you open, sharp and painfully in the best way possible.
“I– Fuck, Eddie,” you choked out, brows furrowed. “I-I don’t–”
“Yes, you can,” he scoffed, digging his fingers deeper into your thighs. “You’re already doin’ it, sweetheart.”
Eddie stilled, allowing the both of you a moment to process the overwhelming feeling. Slowly, he withdrew until just the tip remained nestled within your slick heat. Then, with torturous gentleness, he sank back in and savoured each slick inch as he claimed you completely.
The pathetic whimpers mingled with his grunts before he leaned over again and pressed open-mouthed kisses along the nape of your neck.
“See? You’re doing it,” he breathed out against your skin. “You take me so fucking well, baby.”
He let out a grow, scrunched eyebrows as he worked you open, faster and deeper with each thrust. You couldn’t help but clench around him, dizzy and stupid with the way his tip brushed against that one spot so perfectly.
You threw one of your arms around his neck while the other found a tight grip in his dark silver curls, pulling at his locks and digging your nails into his skin every time he slid his cock in and out of you.
“Oh, God–”
He only grabbed your thighs even harder, angling his head to suck harshly at your neck, desperate to mark you, to claim you as his while you whine pathetically beneath him. The pretty sounds that left your mouth made his head spin, and his cock twitched with the need to pound you into your couch.
Eddie snapped his hips into yours, desperately thrusting his cock in and out of you as he pulled embarrassing squelching sounds out of your pussy, along with your broken moans and the hard slaps of his heavy balls hitting your ass.
“P-please,” you whimpered.
“Please, what, sweetheart?” He bit at your earlobe. “Am I not giving you enough, is that it?”
He pushed your thighs up until your knees touched your breasts, leaving you splayed wide and exposed, trembling in his hold.
“Look at you,” he groaned appreciatively as he drank in the sight of his cock disappearing in your slick folds with each hard thrust he gave you. “Is this what you wanted, hm?”
You moaned louder with each sharp brush of his curly bush against your sensitive clit.
Eddie was fucking experienced, and it showed by the way he knew exactly how to pound into you and roll his hips while rearranging your guts.
“C’mon, pretty girl,” he groaned low in your ear, “wanna have you squeezing around me as you come, can you do that f’me?”
He loosened one of his hands around your thighs and brought up his ringed thumb to your bottom lip. The heavy silver bit into your chin while he forced his thumb into your mouth.
“Suck.”
Your eyebrows scrunched at his request, drunk on his words, while you followed his demand. Your tongue staining his digit with filthy strokes, before he yanked his thumb away again.
Eddie’s thumb easily found your already abused clit – and fuck, the combination of his cock dragging against your slick walls, the tight circles he drew against your clit, and the dumbfounded look he gave you were more than enough to make you clench hard around his cock.
“That’s it, baby,” he chuckled cockily. “Fucking come for me.”
That was all the encouragement you needed; your vision blackened once again while he fucked you through it, heavy thumb still working your clit even when you twitched hard with overstimulation.
You pulled hard at his hair, and treated him as an anchor as you arched your back despite the position he still had you in. Your walls fluttered, and his name you moaned out broke as you came again.
“Ed-Eddie fuckfuckfuck.”
He pressed his forehead against yours while he continuously pushed into you, seeking his own release.
“Atta girl,” he groaned loudly as he rutted deep, his body sweaty, and lips swollen from leaving pretty marks on your neck. “Where do you want me?”
“Inside. Please, Eddie.”
All he needed were those three little words – pretty, panting whispers that made him rut into you until his thrusts went erratic.
Until he gave you one last, desperate thrust, his heavy balls hitting your ass as he groaned out your name and filled you with white, warm sticky ropes. He dropped his head forwards, and bit into your neck as he rode out the last of his orgasm.
Eddie let out a breathy chuckle, his nose brushing against your skin before he finally pulled away from you. He dragged a hand through his hair, pushing the dark silver strands away from his face while he tried – and failed – to catch his breath.
“You’re fucking unbelievable,” he breathed out, licking at his lips while his mouth hung open, chest still rising unevenly.
Then he stepped back just enough for his knees to crack softly as he lowered himself onto the floor between your legs, pulling you closer to the edge of the couch until your legs dangled over his shoulders.
“W-what are you–” you breathed out, low and pathetic, while your eyes did their best to stay open.
Eddie wrapped his hands around your thighs again, holding you there while he trailed soft kisses along your skin. His rings dug deeper into you when you tried to pull away from his lips when he got too close to your overstimulated, leaking cunt.
“I-I can’t, Eddie–” you whimpered pathetically, doing your best to pull your hips away from him, but to no avail. “It’s t-too m-much.”
“Yes, you can, baby.” Your pussy twitched when he chuckled tiredly, his warm breath spreading over you just before he gave you a lingering kiss on your clit. “Just one more. You don’t wanna disappoint me, do you?”
This time, he was gentle with it – he left soft pecks on your swollen nub, slowly trailing down until his tongue lapped at your leaking slit. Eddie leaned softly into your cunt, nose bumping against your clit while he licked you clean from his cum.
You tiredly reached for his head, weakly trying to push his forehead away when overstimulated tears started rolling down.
“Ed-Eddie,” you chocked out a sob, hips twitching against his greedy face. “P-please, I can’t–”
“Shhh,” he whispered against your heat, fingers digging hard into your thighs as he pulled you even closer to his face. “Be good for me, baby.”
Your chest rose up and down erratically as you tried to catch your breath, choking on pathetic whimpers and sobs, while Eddie continued his gentle abuse on your pussy. His tongue was warm and slick against your wet, sticky folds, lapping gently at your slit as he collected everything he gave you.
The tight grip he had on your thighs didn’t stop you from twitching uncontrollably as you clenched around his tongue and came one last time. His name died on the tip of your tongue as he kept lapping at your slit for a few more times, before gently lowering your legs off his shoulders. Eddie then climbed back on you and pulled your legs up his hips.
One of his hands let go of your calf and grabbed at your face instead, pulling your cheeks together until your mouth hang open for him. The corner of his mouth pulled into a smirk right before he opened his lips and spat his cum on your tongue.
You looked absolutely pathetic – eyebrows furrowed and slightly raised, and teary eyes looking tiredly up at him while he still had a tight grip on your cheeks. Goosebumps spread over your body when he leaned down and caught a milky, rolling drop of cum from your chin and gave it back to you when he smashed his lips back onto yours. A desperate uhmpf! slipped from the back of your throat when his cum-tainted tongue brushed against yours in urgent strokes as he let you taste the mixture of both of you.
Eddie’s cock never had a chance to soften – not when your messy cunt tasted so good with his milky release and your tears wet the fingers still digging deep into your cheeks. He twitched against you, swallowing your broken whimpers while he moved his swollen lips against yours.
“I–”
“Don’t worry, sweetheart,” he whispered against your lips, licking at your bottom lip before he gave you another peck. “I’ll let you rest for now.”
Eddie pulled away just enough to look at you – really look at you – and grinned knowingly.
“Unless you got something better going on tonight?”
⋆˚꩜｡ a/n: i have nothing to say, i'll just... put myself in time out
summary: when steve gets hurt in the upside down, the party doesn't know who to call — thankfully, he remembers someone he always had a crush on in high school with larger than life aspirations to become a nurse.
pairing: nursing student!reader x season four steve
content/warnings: mentions of wound care and cuts, scars, bruising, etc, all of steve's injuries are in reference to when he gets attacked by demobats in s4, eddie is alive bc i fucking said so, no nancy slander on my watch, i know absolutely nothing about medical care so i probably got some stuff wrong, slight references to steve's trauma (shitty parents, his king steve era, feeling unloved), major hurt comfort, happy ending!!
word count: 4k
The day Nancy Wheeler calls your apartment to tell you about demogorgons and the Upside Down, you think she's playing a cruel, uncharacteristic prank on you.
You're not sure why she'd do that — you graduated high school a year and a half ago and were currently gearing up to return to Hawkins for Spring Break, because where else would you want to spend it? At first, your initial response is to sputter, and then laugh uncomfortably into the receiver of your plastic phone.
You're not even sure how she got your landline number; you live in a shitty off-campus loft and Nancy would probably only know to reach you via your parents' house, where they — and you, up until graduation — have lived their entire lives.
When you ask her that, she pauses, then avoids the question. This clearly isn't the goody two-shoes Nancy Wheeler you remember from high school.
What you do remember, however, is that she got into some hot water when she started dating Steve "The Hair" Harrington — god, what a douche he was — but last you heard, they'd broken up over some stupid misogynistic shit he pulled and she'd moved onto Jonathan Byers. You thought it was an odd pairing, but it wasn't much of your business.
"Anyway, you're in school for nursing, right?" Nancy steers the conversation effortlessly away from your questioning, and you swallow, bumping your hip against the ugly floral wallpaper that decorates the kitchen walls.
Again, you have no clue how she remembers that. You and Nancy were a year apart in school, and you were friends when you were younger, but you'd drifted apart in middle school.
"You there?" she asks.
You clear your throat. "Yeah, I'm a sophomore. Why does any of this matter, Nancy? You're not answering any of my questions, and honestly, you sound like you're on drugs or like you're having some kind of psychotic break—"
Suddenly, you're cut off by some shuffling on the other end, and you think you hear some yelling — a mix of older teenagers and prepubescent ones, then painful groaning. Your eyebrows furrow in concern.
"Nancy? Nancy, are you alright?"
"This isn't Nancy," a male voice croons on the other end. Your eyes widen. "Hi sweetheart, my name's Eddie. You might remember me, I've been a senior for like, four years. Anyway, good ol' Wheeler isn't on drugs and she isn't having a psychotic break, that I can promise. What she's telling you sounds totally bonkers, I know, because I was you a few weeks ago, but she's telling the truth. I promise."
The image in your brain only gets foggier. Was Eddie Munson on the other line? In what weird, fucked up world is Nancy Wheeler hanging out with Eddie Munson?
"So, all that aside, the reason why we're calling is because we need someone trustworthy with medical skills. Is that you? It kinda has to be, because you already know all the nitty gritty details, and we'll have to kill you if you say no."
You fumble. "Um. I- I don't know. I'm only a sophomore."
"Do you know how to take care of wounds?"
"It, um, depends on how bad they are."
"Let's say they're... moderately bad. From an animal. Hypothetically supernatural. Of the bat kind."
"What?"
"How about stitches?" Eddie continues, "Because, listen, I'm no doc, but I'm pre-tty sure Harrington could use a few."
"Harrington?" you echo, "Wait, this is about Steve Harrington?"
In the background, you hear a child's loud voice: "You said you wouldn't tell her!"
"Eddie," you say slowly, "Are there... kids there?"
"Listen, don't worry about that," he says, and it's far too nonchalant for your worrisome nature to take, "Are you able to help or not?"
You glance at your packed dufflebag on the bed. The one that was ready to spend the week at your parents' house before Nancy Wheeler called 30 minutes ago.
"Yeah," you say, grabbing your keys from the hook next to the front door. "Give me a second to grab a pen and paper, I just need the address."
Up until today, you've never been to the Harrington's house before.
In high school, you were never invited to Steve's infamous parties, but you always heard about them at school on Monday — about someone doing keg stands, about some couple, together or not, having sex, about someone jumping in the pool naked... teenage debauchery you were never part of, yet, for some reason, you yearned to experience.
The house is dark from the outside, and somehow, it feels even colder on the inside. A girl with short hair answers the door — someone you faintly recognize — and she immediately seems more down to earth, but more high-strung than Nancy.
"Hey," she greets in a tone that feels kind and familiar, and a part of you wishes you had that effect on people, "Steve's laying down in the living room. Nancy and Eddie took the kids home."
You nod as you follow her through the expansive house, all marble and tacky and wealth expressed in ways that feel frigid.
"I'm Robin, by the way," she says, "Nance said you were someone we could trust?"
You shrug. "To be honest, I'm not sure why. We were friends growing up but we grew apart... I don't even know how she got my number."
Robin waves her off, "That was all Eddie and Dustin. Don't be surprised if they hack your stuff one day."
You can't tell if she's joking or not.
In the living room, Steve Harrington — who you think you may have spoken to once when you were both juniors, and that's it — is laying shirtless on the couch, his eyes lazily half-closed while The Golden Girls play on TV. You want to snort at that, but you're more concerned about the red, bloody lashings and cuts that cover his side and throat. You swallow at the sight.
"I know Nancy kind of gave you a rundown about the whole monster thing but it's probably a little more gnarly in person," Robin says softly. She kneels down by Steve's head and presses a hand to his shoulder, shaking him gently. "Hey dingus, we brought someone to help clean you up since we're all no help."
"What did you guys do for him?" you ask, willing your nerves to fade. There's something different about working on someone you knew in high school — the attractive jock all-star everyone had a crush on, that is — instead of some random person you're practicing on.
"Um, Nance made him a tourniquet to stop the bleeding. And we're not sure if he's concussed or anything, but we've been keeping him awake... gave him water and something to eat and some ibuprofen for the pain. That's it, really... we didn't know what else, and we couldn't bring him to the hospital. He looks like he got mauled by a bear."
"Yeah," you agree humorlessly, opening your first aid kit on the floor. You pull your pen light out and bite your lip. "Do you think we can get him to sit up?"
"Sure, if you help me."
You nod, each of you taking one of Steve's arms.
"Hey Steve, we're gonna help you up a little, alright?" you say gently, tactfully pulling him up into a seating position against the couch cushions. You're surprised that he goes easily, his head flopping back as he groans. "Can you hold your head up for me? I remember you had really bitchin' hair in high school. Do you still have it?"
"'f course I do," Steve mutters, his hazel eyes languidly glazing over you. You flick your pen light on to look at his pupils. "Hey, 'member you."
"Hm?" you ask, distracted by the task at hand. He's clearly exhausted and might have been injected by some... supernatural venom, but he's not concussed, which is a win in your book. You decide to move on to cleaning the cuts on his face.
"I said I 'member you," he repeats, hissing when the alcohol cloth makes contact with the bloodied slices on his skin. "We went to school together."
"We did," you murmur, smiling softly. "We were in the same class."
"Uh-huh. Class of '85, baby!" Steve attempts to pump his fist in the air but quickly retracts in, a zip of pain ripping through his shoulder. This time, you do snort with laugher. "You're pretty when you laugh."
"Looks like you haven't changed a bit, Harrington," you say as you finish tending to the wounds on his face. "Let's take care of this thing on your neck, huh? What happened here?"
Steve shrugs nonchalantly. "Demobat tried to strangle me."
"Right," you mutter, assessing the damage. "Looks like you might have some scarring. You'll need to keep an eye on this and make sure it doesn't get infected. Do you trust anyone enough to stay here and do that?"
You look to where you thought Robin was sitting behind you, but it seems as if she's long gone.
"Don' really wanna bother anyone with it," he replies. "I can do it. 'm a big boy."
You furrow your eyebrows. "Steve, you're in seriously rough shape. Someone should be taking care of you."
He pouts. You hate to admit that it's adorable.
"Don' like asking for help."
You sigh. "It doesn't look like you need stitches or anything crazy, but let me stay the night to keep an eye on you, alright? I don't think you should be alone right now."
Steve, wide-eyed and boyish, looks to you like you just hung the moon for him.
He doesn't fight you as you continue to clean and check his wounds.
Steve sleeps for the next day.
You don't bother trying to move him to his bedroom. He's clearly comfortable, snoring away on the couch, and it sounds like he hasn't gotten enough sleep in the past month. So, you let him.
In the meantime, you don't do much. Robin left her phone number behind, so you call her periodically with updates, not that there are many. You don't know where Steve's parents are, but you remember them being quite sparse in high school, so you're unsurprised that the pattern's unbroken almost two years later.
You live out of your duffelbag and call your own parents to let them know that you got caught up with something at school and you'll hopefully be home in a few days. In the meantime, you occupy yourself with reading books that you brought along from your apartment, and when that gets boring, you watch TV and wait for Steve to wake up.
Eventually, that evening, he does.
You brace yourself. You're not sure what for — in the few hours you've spent watching doctors and nurses treat patients, you've seen some people wake up distraught, some angry, others confused and upset, but Steve does... none of those things.
His eyes blink at you blearily, craning his neck and stretching it against the arm of the couch. He lets out a low groan, one that makes your stomach flip, and you swallow, taking slow steps towards him with your first aid kit in hand.
"Hey," you greet delicately, "How are you feeling?"
Steve looks at you as you scan over the angry red marks on his throat. He has on a shirt on, but you'll need to peel back the fabric to assess the wounds on his stomach, too.
"Shitty," he croaks, his eyes widening some at the crack in his voice, "Went through puberty again, too, I guess."
You smile bemusedly before lowering to your knees and sitting back on your ankles. At eye level, Steve looks far less exhausted than he did 24 hours ago.
"You look better," you say, eyeing the cuts on his cheek. "You should eat something and drink some water. Shower, maybe."
"You saying I smell?"
"Well, if you and all your friends really aren't fucking around about all this demoshit, I would assume they can't smell great."
Steve attempts to shrug. "I've smelled worse. Like Dustin Henderson after demolishing multiple roast beef sandwiches."
You wrinkle your nose, popping open your kit to begin the process of cleaning his cuts and replacing the bandaids.
"Is there a reason why you all hang out with freshmen? Or is Nancy's brother just, like, really attached to her?"
Steve winces when the cold alcohol cloth touches his skin. You murmur out a halfhearted apology.
"'s a long story," he mutters. "I kinda... accidentally got myself involved in this and... now I'm here."
"And now you're here," you echo softly. "Barely walking with a random nurse-in-training tending to your supernatural bat wounds."
"Psshhhh," Steve turns his neck to face you, cocking his eyebrows. "'Random'? I told Nance to call you."
You pause, a mess of used, bloodied alcohol swabs on the ground beside you.
"How on earth did you know I was a nursing student?" you ask, reaching for the stack of bandaids. "We barely talked in high school. I don't even think we signed each other's yearbooks at graduation."
"Um, yes, we did," Steve says pointedly. You arch an eyebrow at him in disbelief. "Go upstairs to my room. Hawkins Class of '85, the yearbook is on my shelf."
"I'll pass for now," you smirk.
"Anyway," he huffs dramatically. "We were lab partners spring semester junior year. You were always really good at science and I vividly remember asking you why you liked that stuff so much — you're the only reason why I even passed anatomy, and you said you wanted to be a nurse."
"You remember that?"
He shrugs. Like it's insignificant. Like you're surprised anyone can even recall your name instead of just passing over your face like a mushy blob.
"I just thought it was cool," Steve continues. "No one I knew at the time had any idea what they wanted to do, and you were so set already. Even when I was a senior, I had no clue. I was just gonna hang around Hawkins and work for my dad and... I just thought, maybe I could be like you, y'know?"
Your face warms, so you busy yourself with tidying the mess you've made on the ground. It feels silly to be so awestruck by Steve Harrington and yet... how couldn't you be?
"That's really nice, Steve. Thank you." you say softly. His face melts, matching the sweet smile on your face, and he almost looks relieved.
"Thank you for coming here," he mumbles. "I know it's not, like... your typical situation."
"I'm happy to help," you reach out hesitantly and place your hand against his, giving it a gentle squeeze. "Let me make you something to eat, alright?"
You don't anticipate staying another night at Steve's, but it just... happens.
You make dinner for the two of you while the local news plays lowly in the living room, the TV flashing against Steve's tired face. Together, you eat grilled cheese sandwiches in silence. You hand him a glass of water between bites and then offer him a Gatorade.
After dinner, you run a shower for him in the ensuite bathroom of his bedroom. You lay towels out for him and slowly help him up the stairs, just like he's any other patient, and not the boy who could make any girl, teenager, or woman in Hawkins fall to their knees just with a flick of his eyes. You tell him to shout if he needs you, but you secretly hope he doesn't. You're not sure if you could spare yourself the embarrassment of helped a naked, wet, injured Steve Harrington.
While he showers, you make his bed and prep your supplies so you can tend to his cuts and wounds when he gets out. It's a repetitive but necessary process to prevent any infections, and Steve's lucky he didn't need stitches or anything worse. You're fumbling with your collection of travel-sized bottles of topical antibiotics when Steve emerges from the steamy bathroom in a pair of gym shorts and an old Hawkins High School shirt.
You look up, your polite greeting suddenly lost in your throat at the sight of his wet hair and tired eyes. There's something devastating and boy-like about his appearance, and your heart twists in your chest. You try to shove it down.
"That was exhausting," Steve mumbles, his posture slightly slumped. He eyes his bed, then where you sit on the carpeted floor. "Oh— did you— are you leaving?"
"I hadn't really thought about it," you admit. "I just thought it might be more comfortable for you to sleep in your own bed instead of the couch. And I have to redo all your bandages and stuff."
Steve nods. "Where do you want me, doc?"
"On the bed is fine."
By this point, you and Steve have familiarized yourself with this process, and with each gentle clean and touch, his wounds get a little bit better. You assume he'll be able to do this for himself at some point in the near future, but there's a part of you — the caretaker, nurse part of you, you assume — that really likes doing it for him.
He lifts his shirt, twisting slightly to showcase the bruising and sores on his side.
"Can you stay another night?"
For a moment, you pause. Glance up at him, but his eyes are focused on the Hawkins basketball team pendent tacked up on the wall. You continue adhering the band-aid to his skin.
"I can do that," you say softly. "You're healing up well, though. I can teach Robin or Nancy, or whoever you want, to do this, if you'd like."
Steve doesn't immediately reply. Not when you gently pull down the material of his worn sleep shirt and help him back into a sitting position, and not when he runs a hand through his damp hair.
"Will you grab the yearbook off the shelf?"
Your eyes follow to where he's pointing and you nod, standing from your spot on the bed. You retrieve it and hand it to him, watching as he flips to the back pages. It doesn't take him long to find the masses of autographs — not to mention, a couple of lipstick marks and more than a few phone numbers.
"Looks like you had quite a few admirers." you joke.
"Yeah, and none of them cared once high school wasn't real anymore," he snorts humorlessly. It's a second more before he points to your messy handwriting, shoving the yearbook into your lap. Sure enough, your signature is there, followed by a short message. "Read it and weep, doc."
You roll your eyes. "So? Everyone signs each other's yearbooks at the end of the year. It's a whole nostalgia thing."
"Read it."
"To Steve," you read aloud, "It's been great going to school with you all these years. Excited to see where you land. Wishing you the best of luck."
You look up at him expectedly. He shoots you a look.
"Keep going."
Below your handwriting is someone's unfamiliar penmanship. It takes you a few seconds to decipher it, but when you do, your stomach flips.
Coolest girl in Hawkins. Super smart. Wants to be a nurse. If she ever comes back to this loser town, it's a sign I have to ask her out.
"Who wrote that?"
Steve puffs out a breathy laugh. "Who do you think?"
"You thought that about me?"
"Of course." he says it like it's the easiest answer in the world. "I still do."
You can't help it when a loud laugh bubbles up out of you. Steve grins, wide and toothy, and you think it's the cutest thing you've ever seen in the world.
"I think you're delusional, Harrington. Maybe you are concussed."
"You said I wasn't, and you've been a damn good nurse so far."
You laugh again, shaking your head at the boy before you. You feel unbelievably giddy, like you just found out your middle school crush likes you back.
And maybe, really, that's exactly what it is — even if you're hesitant to admit it to yourself.
With a swallow, Steve gently shuts the hard covered yearbook before pushing it to the side, as if closing it will put some kind of finality to the ridiculousness of everything that was Hawkins High.
You remember Steve having a rough go of it his senior year. You don't know the details, but you heard rumors. No college acceptances, Nancy Wheeler drunkenly breaking up with him at a Halloween party that fall. It had been a long freefall for King Steve — one that had twisted up your insides at the time, even if the extent of your interactions were longing glances in the hallways.
"Stay," Steve suddenly says, and this time, his ask is breathier, quieter than it was 20 minutes ago.
You look at him. Allow your eyes to wash over the golden boy sitting in front of you, who's no longer such a golden boy at all, but bruised and beaten down and cut up by supernatural forces that you still don't quite understand. He's been swallowed up and spit out by Hawkins and young adulthood and Scoops Ahoy and Nancy Wheeler and Tommy Hagan and Mr. and Mrs. Harrington and even his latest venture at Family Video, where he works with Robin but regularly gets yelled at by teens trying to rent R-rated movies.
(He swears it's not that bad, but his eyes all but twitched at the mention of his boss, who apparently has a dictator-like approach to running the store.)
"I already told you I'll stay." you reply softly, hand pressing into the soft mattress. Your fingers make an indentation in the foam, and Steve's mouth parts. Carefully, he reaches out, his larger palm covering yours. Your breath hitches in your throat and you feel like the biggest loser alive, your gaze remaining low on your now-joined fingers.
"No... I mean, stay here. In my bed. If you're comfortable." Steve amends. He almost sounds nervous, and it finally makes you look up. When you do, his eyes are wide, and you realize you're right.
You nod. "Do you want the TV on?"
He thinks for a moment. The past few nights, you've been sleeping to the sounds of the local news and late night re-runs of sitcoms. You don't ask why and Steve's grateful for it.
"No, 's fine," he decides, trying to shift into a more comfortable position against the pillows.
"Don't strain yourself," you scold. "I'll help you move if you need it."
Steve snorts lowly as you round the bed, clicking the lamp off. His bedroom, now bathed in the inky blue of 1 1 pm, feels less intimidating this way.
You climb in on the other side, pulling his comforter over your body.
"Are you comfortable?" he asks as you move onto your side.
"Shouldn't I be asking you that?"
"Shush."
You smile. Steve doesn't miss it.
He wishes he could face you, but he can't with the wounds on his side. Instead, he lays on his back, his arm splayed out between you two, his hand palm face up. It's quiet for the first few minutes as you both listen to each other's breathing.
Steve's not sure if you're sleeping when he says it.
"Can I ask you something?"
You open your eyes. "Hm?"
"Sorry. Did I wake you up?"
"No," you answer honestly. "I was drifting a little, but I'm awake. What'd you wanna ask?"
He pauses. Promises himself he won't lose his nerve.
"When I'm a little better... Maybe before you head back to school, or maybe in the summer when you come back, like after the semester's over... can I take you on that date?"
Steve stretches his neck to look at you. Even with his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he can't quite make out your facial expression, with the way you're biting your lip and smiling at him. He can't figure out if you're looking at him with pity or if you're excited, but either way, he can't recall the last time he was this nervous to ask someone out.
And then, he feels your hand slide into his, and it's like all of his worries never even existed at all.
"I would really, really love that, Steve." you murmur, intertwining your fingers with his.
You both grin at each other in the dark like fools.
summary: jack has been trying to get the pretty pediatric caseworker from upstairs to fall in love with him for weeks now. the only problem is, you have no idea that he's even into you. (4k)
characters: jack abbot / fem!reader, michael robinavitch, dana evans
contents: sunshine!reader, slightly ditzy!reader, friends to lovers, mutual pining, idiots in love, humor, fluff, not proofread :P
FIC #4 / 20 FOR 20
( NAVIGATION ) | ( MASTERLIST ) | ( AO3 )
PEDES CONSULT — CENTRAL 14.
The message scrolls across your pager on the elevator ride down to the bottom floor, where the chaos of the E.D. hits you before the doors have even opened. A monitor wails from somewhere inside the trauma bay. A nurse rushes by with a crash cart rattling violently against the tile. Someone in triage is crying; someone else is swearing. A thousand conversations fill the air until they turn into a dull roaring in your ears.
You enter like a sliver of sunlight breaking through storm clouds, weaving through the chaos with a practiced sort of ease. A pale blue cable-knit sweater bunches around your wrist, while a flowing ivory skirt patterned with delicate forget-me-nots sways around the tops of your sneakers with each step. You’re made of much softer stuff than the sterile brightness of the E.R. — like springtime washing over a war zone.
Robby and Jack stand together outside the closed door of Central 14. Exhaustion sits heavily in the former’s bearded face, weighed down with the regret of not clocking out an hour ago like he should’ve when he had the chance. The latter flips through the chart in his pale hands, scruffy features screwed in concentration until you enter into his eyeline.
He straightens almost instantly, hardly able to stay casual when it comes to you. “Little Miss Sunshine…” he greets with a cool grin, tucking the clipboard under his strong arm.
Your polite smile widens a little at the nickname. “You paged?”
“We’ve got a three-year-old girl. Suspected meningitis,” Robby briefs in a monotone, each word coated in a thick layer of fatigue. “High fever, lethargy, neck stiffness— labs are ugly, too.”
Your features soften instantly. “Oh, poor baby…”
Your eyes dart to the window. You catch only a sliver of the family through the edge of the curtain — young parents, likely in their early twenties, faking teary smiles for their sick baby, who sits in a too-big bed in a too-big hospital gown patterned with so many cartoon puppies.
“Parents are freaking out, obviously,” Jack adds gently, never once taking his eyes off of you. “We thought you could walk them through the admission process before we take her upstairs.”
“Of course,” you nod, with a voice as gentle as you look.
Jack passes the clipboard over to you and allows his calloused fingers to brush your softer ones for a beat longer than probably necessary. Though if you notice it, you make no mention of it as you flip through the thin pages and follow behind Robby into the dim room.
The chaos outside muffles when the door clicks shut behind you.
A young mother — Nia, the form tells you — sits in a chair beside the bed with a wadded tissue clutched in her trembling hands. Her husband, Malcolm, sits on the edge of the hospital bed, wearing the long day all over, as his daughter curls lazily into his side. Ruby Turner is clammy with fever; her round eyes are heavy with it, too. And beneath her chubby arm, is a stuffed animal wearing a lab coat and a stethoscope around its long neck.
“Hi, there…” you greet in a gentle lilt, crouching beside the bed until you’re eye level with the toddler, who eyes your warm smile with a weary suspicion. “I have to say, that is a very serious giraffe you’ve got there, Miss Ruby.”
The girl blinks back at you with sleep-weary eyes; the same dark brown as her mother’s. “Pickles,” is all she can make out through her hoarse throat. The words came out like dry gravel, which rattles harshly in her chest when she coughs hard a second later.
Her dad pats her gently on the back with a wide hand and flashes you a tired smile. “She named him Pickles,” he clarifies.
“Pickles?” you gasp. “I had a dog named Pickles when I was growing up— He looked a little like that one there.”
You motion to the shaggy white dog on her hospital gown. The girl tilts her curly head down and begins pointing at each puppy herself, aptly naming each of them Pickles. It’s the first time the child has been moderately alert, or otherwise has been willing to engage, since she arrived some hours ago. Watching you work feels a little like watching a magic trick.
“Sorry. Hi. I should probably introduce myself,” you laugh warmly and rise to full height again, shaking both of the parents’ hands. “I’m one of the pediatric caseworkers upstairs— My job is basically helping families know what’s happening next. You know, all the boring insurance details, and making sure you guys aren’t going through things alone.”
The mother nods, wiping her nose with the crumbled tissue in her fist. “So what happens now?” she asks, voice teary and trembling.
You nod with a polite smile. “Yeah, so the pediatric unit is gonna start preparing a room for her upstairs, so our doctors can give her the full evaluation she needs— They’ll probably monitor her over the next few nights, too, just to make sure everything’s okay. And you’ll be able to go with her once transport comes, of course, we’ll just need to get everything squared away with insurance while she’s getting tested.”
“So she’s gonna be okay?” the father presses, half-strangled.
You never lie to families. Not ever. It was, as you saw it, the golden rule in any hospital. Jack noticed that about you, too — because he couldn’t help but notice everything about you. But he saw how hopeful you were without ever being dishonest, without ever making promises you knew you could not keep.
“She’s exactly where she needs to be,” you answer carefully. “And she has the best doctors I know taking care of her now. You guys made a great decision by bringing her when you did.”
The mother beside you sniffles. Her exhale leaves her mouth in a quiet sob, which she buries behind her hands before her daughter can see her crying. It’s not quite sad — certainly not as much as it had been earlier that day — but rather it’s a cry of distant relief; the first time all day she hasn’t felt like the worst mother on the planet.
Robby exhales quietly through his mouth behind you — scruffy cheeks puffing, obviously eager to leave. Jack, however, just keeps on staring at you, as you turn back toward the little girl with your voice now lowered in a feigned sort of seriousness.
“Now, Miss Ruby, I’m gonna need your professional opinion on this, okay?”
The girl blinks slowly back at you.
“…Do you think Mr. Pickles needs his own hospital bracelet, too?”
Jack sees the young girl laugh for the first time all day when you’re helping her wrap a plastic arm band around the giraffe’s stuffed leg. It’s basically your superpower, the way you make all the terrifying things feel halfway manageable. By the time you’re stepping back out into the hallway, with Jack and Robby at your side, the family is a little bit steadier than they were before you arrived.
Jack eyes you up and down for a moment, before leaning in to nudge your shoulder with his broader one. Your soft sweater grazes his bare arm, and he gets a faint whiff of your pretty perfume before he leans away again.
“When did you get so good at that, huh?”
Your head whips to the side. You blink like an owl up at him “…At talking?”
“Sure, yeah,” he laughs. “At talking people off the ledge.”
“Oh.” You bounce a shoulder in a lazy shrug, then reach to pull the neck of your sweater back up again when it slips off your collarbone. “I don’t know, I just… try not to sound like a hospital brochure, I guess.”
“Hear that, brother?” Jack quips, reaching behind you to clap Robby on the shoulder. “Try not to sound like a hospital brochure next time, yeah?”
The older man says nothing. He just lifts his hand and scratches at his temple with his middle finger, discreetly flipping him off.
You laugh under your breath and head back towards the elevator, pretty skirt swishing around your ankles. “Try not to traumatize anyone while I’m gone, alright?”
“Can’t make promises like that down here, Sunshine,” Robby calls back. “You know that.”
“Yeah, I’m starting to think we should just keep you down here permanently,” Jack says with a lazy shrug. His freckled biceps flex slightly when he crosses them over his broad chest, swaying back and forth on his feet. “You know, just— bring you into every room before the doctors go in. We’ll call you the Emotional Support Coordinator.”
“Oh, would you?” you scoff a faint laugh and hit the button for the upper floor.
The doors part with a soft ding a second later. You step in through the threshold and turn to face him once more, giving him a much better view of the smile on your face.
“I mean, it’d certainly make me feel better,” he jokes.
“Well, you’re not the patient, Dr. Abbot,” you retort with a devilish grin. “I’m pretty sure you’ve got a few more years before your geriatric assessment, right?”
“A few,” he echoes sarcastically, light eyes squinted. “My opinion still counts, though.”
You shake your head at him despite the soft grin still dancing on the edges of your mouth. “You’re funny, Dr. Abbot,” is all you say, as you press the panel on the inside of the lift. The doors whir when they slide shut; your grin remains visible between them until hatch closes just ahead of you.
Jack drops his head with a chest-deflating huff when you’re gone.
Robby tries and fails to choke back his laughter.
“You are officially 0 for 6, brother,” the man jokes. He claps Jack on the shoulder, hard, as his dark eyes squint under the weight of his smiling. “It’s honestly getting a little painful now.”
Jack turns to flash him a deadpanned look. “Shouldn’t you be clocking out now?” he wonders in a monotone.
“Not anymore,” Robby scoffs. “It’s just starting to get fun.”
The pediatric floor was quieter in the mornings, you found, after switching to the day shift some weeks back. It was never truly silent, exactly, but it was still a little bit softer, as the panic from the overnight patients faded into a calmer sort of quiet.
Cartoon reruns play quietly behind closed doors, while lively children’s music can be heard from further in the main area, down the hall to your right. A softer set of lullabies, meanwhile, plays more distantly from the nursery behind the double doors to your left. And, somewhere within the soft sanctuary of it all, a wailing baby is fighting a losing battle against taking their liquid medicine.
It’s all confetti to you, really, from where you sit behind the reception desk with three different charts open on the monitors ahead of you.
There’s a highlighter in your hand, a pen behind your ear, a paper cup of cooling coffee between your teeth, and approximately fourteen unfinished tasks glaring at you from the computer screen.
You have not yet properly woken up — the same way the sun has not quite yet risen over the horizon. Your hair has been haphazardly dealt with, for one. Your cherry-colored sweater is bunched awkwardly at your waist, for another, while the white button-up you wear beneath it sticks out over top of your plaid-patterned bottoms. You vaguely noticed that your socks were mismatched when you slid into your scarlet flats, but were much too tired to bring yourself to care.
You don’t even flinch when the phone rings beside you. You reach for it with your free hand without looking, missing twice before finally plucking the plastic from the hook.
“PTMC—” You falter when you realize you still have the paper cup between your teeth. You scramble to set it back on the desk with the hand not holding the phone. You clear your throat and try again. “PTMC Pediatrics— How can I help you?”
“Morning, Sunshine.”
Jack’s low voice crackles from the other line. You can practically picture him downstairs in the E.D. just now — leaning against the workstation with a computer glowing before him; with his messy silver curls, and his tired blue-green eyes, and that stupidly handsome half-smile he gets every time he talks to you.
You’re smiling at the thought alone before you even realize it.
“Dr. Abbot?” you answer. “Do you need something? What didn’t you just page me—”
“Weren’t you the one who said I can call just to say hi before you switched to the dark side?”
(The day shift, he means.)
You scoff quietly and lean back in your swivel chair. “Well, I guess, that is preferable to getting paged about sick babies, so… I’ll take it.”
“Wow…” Jack croons drily. “You always say the sweetest things to me, you know that?”
“Well, what can I say? I’m very charming before seven A.M.”
“I think you’re very charming all the time, Sunshine.”
You falter for a brief moment, unable to tell if he’s flirting with you or if he’s just being nice and you’re the weirdo for thinking otherwise. So you shake the thought from your head and change the subject entirely.
“You sound tired, old man— Isn’t it almost bedtime for you?”
“Almost…” His sigh crackles through the faint static of the landline. “But unfortunately, there’s this case manager upstairs who won’t stop distracting me…”
You exhale a frustrated huff, utterly oblivious as you begin to gossip with him under your breath. “Is Hastings bothering you, too? Because she’s been hounding me about clearing beds up here since I came in an hour ago.”
There’s a long beat of silence on the other line, filled by the sound of distant chatter from the E.D.
“…I’m talking about you, Sunshine,” Jack clarifies.
“Oh…” you trail off, face burning hot. Your brain scrambles further when the light starts flashing on your desk, another call waiting. “That’s, uh— Sorry. There’s— There’s just someone on the other line.”
“Oh.”
You tuck the phone between your shoulder and cheek, fingers whizzing across the keyboard as you type with practiced (only now slightly anxious) hands. “So if you wanna have a conversation, you’re gonna have to trek all the way up to pedes, unfortunately.”
“Damn…”
“Yep…” you hum absentmindedly. “It’s a real difficult journey. Very treacherous elevator ride.”
“Well, you’re making a pret-ty compelling argument here, Sunshine.”
“Goodbye, Jack,” you lilt with a big dumb grin on your face, that you hope isn’t as audible in your voice.
“See you soon, Sunshine.”
You think nothing of his words when you decline his call and take another. You hardly expect to see him now, not when he’s still wrapping up the long night and briefing the day shift that’s trickling slowly in downstairs. He’s about half an hour shy of going home and collapsing face-first into his mattress — and you’re hardly special enough to lose sleep over.
Jack, however, respectfully disagrees.
And so does Dana, who saunters into the workstation to start her morning, only to find the man hanging up the desk phone with a lazy grin hinting at the edges of his mouth.
“What’s that look for, huh?” she croons in place of a greeting, shrugging off the jean jacket she arrived in and spreading it on the back of her chair before her.
Jack looks up from where he’s shoving the phone back into its cradle. “What look?” he scoffs. “I don’t have a look.”
“Oh, you most certainly have a look,” she argues.
“I have a face, Dana.”
“Uh-huh,” the older woman deadpans, half-distracted, as she logs into the monitor ahead of her, with her glasses sitting low on her nose. “And right now, that face looks like you’re the main character at the climax of a Nora Ephron movie.”
“…What’s a Nora Ephron?” Jack wonders with furrowed brows.
The corner of Dana’s mouth lifts in a crooked half-smile as she peers at him over the top of her clear frames. “Go ask Little Miss Sunshine about it. She’ll tell ya.”
Jack’s light eyes narrow in a smug sort of look as he strolls slowly past her. “Thanks for giving me an excuse to go up there, Evans,” he quips.
“Oh, please,” she scoffs. “You were already on your way.”
There’s a newfound skip in his step, along with a faint limp in his prosthetic from the long shift, as he makes the elevator ride up to the pediatric floor — where he’s greeted instantly by soothing lullabies, children’s laughter, and reruns of old cartoons.
He’s swaddled instantly by the dim lighting and the soft warmth — both of which are rare to find in the cold, sterile chaos of the unrelenting E.D. just a few floors down. It’s like entering a whole new world when he steps out of the elevator.
Jack hears your voice, distant at first, but growing louder the further he treks down the hall. “No, I understand the policy, sir. You don’t have to explain it to me again—”
You exhale an annoyed sigh when the man on the other line prattles on, anyway, talking in a slow monotone as if you hadn’t understood him the first time. Despite your irritation, you perk instantly when Jack enters your vision, still in his black scrubs from the night shift, with a new exhaustion etched across his scruffy face.
He greets you with a tight-lipped smile anyway.
Your chest swells with a funny feeling accordingly.
“Sorry,” you mouth apologetically. “Just— one second.”
Jack waves a hand in your direction. “You’re fine,” he mumbles and turns away, idling awkwardly some feet away with his hands in his pockets, pretending not to hover. He marvels at the paintings on the walls, vivid scribbles from children of all ages, as he shifts on his weight — trying to relieve the distant pressure in his artificial limb.
You return to your phone call some feet behind him: “Yes, I get that. But this is a six-year-old going through extensive leukemia treatment— Delaying authorization for inpatient care would—”
You grumble an annoyed breath and drop your head into your hand when the man on the other line speaks over you once more. Jack glances over his shoulder at you, features softening instantly.
“—No, why should his parents waste their time fighting insurance, which should already be in place, by the way, when they could be spending it with their son? How is that fair?” you continue, obviously angry, but still so soft in your way. There’s a few seconds of silence as the person on the other line responds. You nod wordlessly to yourself at whatever they’re saying. “Yes, I will absolutely call back when your supervisor comes in— and every day until this is handled. Alright? Great. Bye…”
You set the telephone back on the hook with a huff.
“…Asshole,” you grumble around your breath, then get all sheepish again when your eyes find Jack’s. You cower under his softened stare. “Sorry… This insurance company’s trying to deny extended coverage for one of our oncology kids— because apparently compassion is illegal now, so…”
Jack musters a weak smile as he closes the distance between you. “I’m sure it’ll all work out.”
“Hopefully…” you sigh, a little embarrassed now, as you shrink further in your swivel chair. “So, uh... H-How was your shift?”
“Better now,” the older man croons, folding his arms along the countertop ahead of you, and leaning in until you can smell the cologne lingering on his skin — a mixture of leather and sandalwood.
“You’re such a suck-up, Dr. Abbot,” you say with squinted eyes.
His face twists into a look of faux-offense. “Well, that’s not a very nice thing to say to someone trying to invite you out for lunch, now is it?”
You brighten instantly. “Wait, really? That sounds so fun! Are Shen and Ellis coming, too— I haven’t seen them in ages!”
Jack’s smile falters slightly at the edges. “Well… Well, no, ‘cause I.. I thought, you know, it’d be just us. You know, you and me. Like a date.”
You blink owlishly back at him. “Oh…”
“Unless— Unless you don’t want to—” Jack stammers, quickly losing his ground.
“Of course I want to!” you blurt, a little louder and a far quicker than you mean to. “I just… I didn’t— I didn’t realize that you, you know, that you… liked me.”
His brows lower in confusion because, to him, it couldn’t have been more obvious that he was into you. He’d spent months tripping over himself to get your attention, including the time he ran into a crash cart ‘cause he was too busy staring at you to notice that it was in his way.
A chuckle sputters suddenly from his mouth accordingly. “I’ve been flirting with you for weeks! I mean, I’ve been calling up here just to talk to you since you changed shifts!”
“I thought you just liked bothering me!” you giggle in return, face burning hot.
“Yeah, well,” Jack tilts his silver head. “I do like bothering you, actually.”
“I like when you bother me, too…” you murmur sheepishly, struggling to meet the man’s unwavering stare as you swivel anxiously back and forth in your chair. You catch yourself smiling wider than you realize when you tell him, “And lunch sounds great, by the way.”
“Great…” Jack exhales a breath he didn’t know that he was holding, that he feels like he’s been holding in for weeks now. “‘Cause Robby’s kinda been threatening to ask you out for me if I didn’t do it myself, so… Happy to save myself the embarrassment.”
Your eyes widen with a girlish sort of horror. “Wait— Robby knew?”
“Sunshine,” Jack grins. “I’m pretty sure the entire hospital knew.”
Summary: A chance encounter at a bar gives Jack the perfect opportunity to finally get to see the piercings he’s been fantasising about since he caught a glimpse of them three weeks ago, and now that he had his hands on you he wasn’t going to give it up.
Tags: (MDNI 18+), Jack Abbot x reader, Female!reader, Resident!reader, Age Gap (reader is 29), Explicit Content, Breast Play, Thigh Riding, Oral, Penetration, Unprotected Sex, Dirty Talk,Jack Abbot is a tits guy
Word Count: 4.4K
A/N: I would like it to be known that I wrote this instead of cleaning my room, and have just had to awkwardly stand in it and apologise for the mess whilst a surveyor came in and did his checks. Oh the joys of buying a house (I already live in it, my housemate is just buying it off their dad). I did realise half way through writing this that my version of Jack is like an over excited Labrador jumping around at the front door because you said ‘walkies’. I’m kind of here for it. Give me more over enthusiastic Jack Abbot who is just so excited about the idea of sleeping with reader. Also someone please tell me why a one shot has me googling the legal limit in Pennsylvania and if two beers is over it. No one can ever claim my fics aren’t realistic.
Part 1 | Part 2
It was like all of Jack’s dreams had come true at once, and if he’s being honest he has had a fair few of them since you came into the ED three weeks ago. His hands had barely fluttered over the hard metal beneath your shirt before they had been disturbed and his hands were retreating, but already Jack knew this was going to be better than anything his brain could conjure up. He couldn’t bear to let you go now that he had you, even if you were currently standing talking to your roommate whilst he mouthed at your neck. Jack was exactly where he wanted to be, you’d turn your attention back to him in a moment. Jack could be patient, he had been patient for over a year.
“Let me make sure she gets in a cab okay.” You pressed your lips to his ear, Jack couldn’t help the shiver that ran through him at the contact. “And then how about you take me home with you and I’ll let you see these for real.”
What happened next resulted in you letting out a squeak that Jack would catalogue and saviour for the rest of his life. Before your mouth had retreated back from beside his face his hands were on your waist again, spinning both you and himself around so that his back was now against the wall and you were firmly held against his front, ass to crotch. His arms snaked around you, landing on your stomach as he mouthed again at that little spot beneath your ear.
”I can wait.” He breathed. His eyes flicked up to your roommate who was waiting by the curb for her cab. Jack wished the damn thing would just hurry up already, then he could get you back home. He was already half hard in his jeans, and was certain you could feel him when he felt the minuscule way you rubbed your ass against him. Faint, barely there, like you hadn’t even really meant to do it. Your body reacting without your mind's consent. It almost tugged a groan from his throat and his hands gripped harder at the soft skin on your waist.
Finally the car pulled up and Jack was almost vibrating with excitement. Arguably it had only been two minutes since your friend had ordered the Uber, but by god those were the longest two minutes of his entire life. Jack was polite, he was nothing if not a gentleman, so he did the gentlemanly thing and waited for the car to pull away from the curb before he spun you in his arms and pulled your hips flush with his.
“Do I get to take you home now?” He flashed you a sly grin.
—————————————
You could almost see the countdown ticking away in Jack’s head, and you weren’t even facing him. He waited the exact amount of seconds it was considered polite before he spun you and pulled you close again, his hand gravitating back to your chest as he asked if he could take you home with what could only be described as a shit eating grin plastered across his face.
”Don’t you need to tell your SWAT buddies you’re leaving?” You teased.
“They’ll figure it out.” He kissed your jaw line. “I’m a big boy, I don’t need permission to leave.” He spun you around again, he really needed to stop doing that, you were getting dizzy and everytime he did it sent a wave of electricity through you. His hand interlinked with yours as he pushed off the wall and set off walking, practically pulling you down the street towards his car.
”Slow down.” You giggle. “What’s the rush?” You’d reached his car, an obnoxious oversized truck you will absolutely be bullying him about owning in the morning. He pushed you against it, closing the space between you once again. Jack’s lips meet yours and you realise that despite everything that has already happened this is the first time he’s actually kissing you. You practically melt. His lips are plush against yours, his stubble tickling your chin ever so slightly. The feeling is intoxicating and exhilarating, a soft moan escapes your lips. Jack pulls away, but only far enough to press his forehead against yours.
”You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do this.” He breathes and it feels like a confession. Something so juxtaposingly tender compared to what you had just been doing.
”Oh yeah?” You smirk, tilting your head just a little to nudge his nose with your own. Your fingers had looped into the belt loops of his jeans, needing something to hold onto.
”Yeah. Since you transferred over to the night shift last year.” He nods, his breath fanning out against your face.
”I win then.” You giggle. Because even now you can’t help but tease.
”What?”
”My first night shift rotation intern year. The night you talked me through my first lower extremity fasciotomy. It was the way you were standing over my shoulder talking in my ear, I was gone from that moment on.” You chuckled and Jack dove in to kiss you again, bruising. His mouth pressed against yours with as much force as he could muster.
”Get in the car.” His voice was low, as he pulled the door open beside you.
~~~
It was almost amusing to you the way Jack couldn’t keep his hands to himself. That one simple request of ‘can I?’ outside of the bar seemed to have opened the floodgates. His hand is on your thigh the entire drive back to his, gently caressing up and down the entire time. A few times, when you’d hit a red light his hand would trail higher, not enough to give you any satisfaction just enough to tease you. It was driving you insane. Eventually his car turned onto a quiet neighborhood street and Jack pulled up outside of a modest single story home.
You suddenly became quite nervous. This was actually happening. You were outside of Jack’s house, about to go inside. When you pulled Jack out of the bar to stand with you whilst you had a smoke you had no idea that this was where the night could lead. Yet here you were, and realisation was just now sinking in. Jack gave your thigh a small squeeze.
”You coming in then?” He smiled. He still had that shit eating grin on his face, the cat that got the cream, and well how could you say no to that?
”Uh huh.” You hummed sliding out the door. As you walked to the door you felt him squeeze your ass, it made you jump just a little. The chuckle that rumbled out of him was worth the embarrassment.
—————————————
His restraint in the car had honestly been miraculous. Somebody had ought to make him a saint just for that, for the way he managed to never let his fingers trail too high up your leg. Never close enough to where he wanted to get to that it would distract him from driving all together. Even if he so desperately wanted to throw caution to the wind and slip a finger inside of you the whole way back, just to know what you felt like.
You looked down right sinful in that skirt as you walked ahead of him towards his home. He hadn’t paid it much mind earlier, too preoccupied with what lay above the waist, but now he was kicking himself for not noticing the way it accentuated the curve of your ass beautifully. So forgive him if he reached out to give it a squeeze as you walked, and forgive him if his heart fluttered at the way it made you jump.
Jack had barely closed the door before he was pushing you against it, slotting himself between your legs. Now that he had tasted your lips he wasn’t sure he’d be able to live without them. He was like a man starving as he ran his tongue across your lower lip, begging for entrance, for something more. You granted him access, and he dove straight in. A groan he couldn’t stifle bubbled up his throat and into your mouth. You were delicious, and all Jack wanted to do was take. His hips rolled against yours and you let out the most beautiful little gasp he’d ever heard, breaking the kiss. Jack pulled you away from the door, walking you backwards across the hall towards the living room, peppering your lips with kisses as he went. He could take you straight to his bedroom, but it felt so far away now, the living room was closer. He pushed you through the open doorway, flicking the light on without turning his attention away from you, and guided you towards the couch. In one fell swoop he was sitting down and pulling you with him to straddle his legs.
”Hi.” You breathed as you situated yourself on his lap, his hands caressing your back.
”You doing okay?” He raised an eyebrow. He wanted to make sure you weren’t second guessing this. As much as he wanted it, he had to make sure you were right there with him.
”Yeah.” You smiled, catching his lips as you rolled your hips. He was fully hard now, the cotton of your underwear dragging across the bulge in his jeans. He left kiss after kiss across your lips, cheek, jaw, before making it back to your neck nipping at the delicate skin there. The way you gasped and hissed was like music to his ears. Jack’s hands were on your waist, playing with the hem of your top. He knew what he wanted. What he’d craved for the past three weeks, and it was right in front of him now ready to be unwrapped like a Christmas present.
”Let’s take this off, yeah?” He rubbed the hemline between his fingers, itching to lift it up and over your head. The nod you gave him was the only confirmation he needed.
It was like Christmas and his birthday all rolled into one. The way your boobs bounced in front of him from the movement of stripping your top off. If he was twenty years younger he could have cum just from that sight alone.
”Jesus christ, you’re beautiful.” Jack was awe struck. Nothing he could have ever imagined compared to the sight in front of him now. The way your nipples pebbled from the cool air hitting them, and the silver bars jutting through each one. He would be seeing that in his sleep for weeks. His thumb caressed over the pink nub.
”What’s the verdict Dr Abbot?” Jack won’t comment on the way his dick twitched in his pants at you calling him doctor outside of the hospital. “Are they everything you hoped they would be?” He didn’t have words. In lew of a response he leant forward and attached his mouth to one instead, sucking your nipple and the piercing between his teeth. Letting a moan ripple out and vibrate around you. The metallic taste in his mouth was addictive as he sucked and grazed his teeth against you. The sounds you were making were downright delicious.
————————————-
You don’t think you have ever been this wet in your life. You were sure you had soaked through your underwear, and if you moved right now there was sure to be a wet patch on the front of Jack’s jeans. You had never met somebody so obsessed with your piercings before. Sure, they always got a good reaction from the people you slept with. You hadn’t met anybody yet who had turned their nose up at them, but Jack revelled in them like you just presented him with his last meal on death row. You were sure he would be content to stay here all night just doing this. You weren’t opposed to the idea either. The way he licked and sucked and dragged his teeth across them, you were starting to wonder if you could cum just from this alone. He removed himself from your boob with a slight pop before diving straight in for the other one which was met with your breathy inhale as your hands came to grasp at his hair. Digging your fingers into the curls by the nape of his neck he let out another groan. It vibrated through your chest and made your hips roll against him again. Just from feel alone you could tell he was going to be big, and that only served to make you wetter.
”Please.” You gasped, you weren’t sure for what but Jack did. He unlatched himself from your tit to look at you. His hands were back on your waist.
”Come here sweetheart.” He crooned, shifting you so that you were positioned on one leg instead of staddling his waist. “I’m going to play with these for a little while longer, Yeah? You just sit here looking pretty and ride my thigh. Can you do that for me?” You didn’t answer for a second, so Jack took the initiative and pulled your hips forward. The drag of his jeans against your pussy was heavenly. The gasp shot out of you without warning. “There you go. That’s what you needed.” His mouth went back to your tit. The hand on your waist guiding you back and forth along his thigh whilst the other came up to squeeze the tit he had left unoccupied. The feeling was heavenly.
You weren’t sure if you could cum from just this alone, but it honestly felt worth it. It all felt so good to the point it was dizzying. You stayed like this, grinding down on his thigh whilst he lavished your boobs with attention, for a few minutes before you found your voice again.
”Jack please.” You gasped. “More, please.” You needed something, anything. You were so turned on, you needed him to touch you. Reluctantly he removed his mouth from you.
”Okay baby, okay. I know.” He cooed, cupping a hand under your jaw and swiping his thumb across your cheek. “Let me take care of you.” He smiled. Then before you could even register it he was flipping you, laying you out on the couch and settling between your legs.
Your skirt had ridden up to around your waist now and you couldn’t help the giggle that came out.
“What’s so funny sweetheart?” Jack looked up at you from where he was pressing kisses into your thighs.
“If I’d have known this was where my night was going to go, I’d have worn nicer underwear.” You chuckle, looking down at the plain cotton panties you were wearing. Jack didn’t dignify that thought with a response straight away, choosing instead to bite at your inner thigh. He kissed over the top of your clit and it sent shockwaves through your core, your back arching ever so slightly at the contact.
“Well if you don’t like them, how about we just get rid of them all together?” He looked up at you from between your legs. You nodded slowly, never breaking eye contact with him and watched as the grin spread across his face. He hooked his fingers into the waistband and tugged, shifting as he went to get them off your feet. Once they were off he tucked them into the back pocket of his jeans without giving it a second though. It was almost incredulous.
“Are you planning on keeping those?” You raise your eyebrows at him.
“Souvenir.” He shrugged. You tipped your head back and laughed at the audacity of it. The laugh was short lived though, quickly turning into a gasp as Jack licked a long stripe along your cunt.
“Fuck.” You groaned, the muscles in your stomach contracting at the sensation. Jack just hummed and licked again, saviouring the taste of you. One hand gripping your inner thigh, the other settled against your lower stomach.
It wasn’t fair. You were beginning to believe there truly wasn’t anything Jack Abbot wasn’t good at. You were seeing stars as he sucked your clit like a man starved. Your fingers were curled in his hair, holding on for dear life, and every time you dared to look down you could see the way he was rutting against the couch. If his devilish tongue wasn’t sending you over the edge then the sight of that alone would. You were practically writhing beneath him and then he decided to nudge a finger into your hole. All of the air in your lungs escaped at once, your back arching off of the couch as you let out a long moan. He barely gave you a moment before a second one was joining the first. His fingers were incredible. The perfect balance of long and thick, reaching places inside of you that you’d never explored as he pumped in and out at a nailbitingly slow pace.
“You gonna cum for me sweetheart?” He asked when he came up for air. Your juices slick across his chin and lips.
“Kiss.” You breathed out, winded. “Please.” And well who was he to deny you that? His fingers still inside you, Jack moved up your body to catch your lips with his own. The taste of his mouth and your arousal causing you to clench down around him.
“You like being able to taste yourself?” His voice was gravelly, a little hoarse from eating you out. At the same time he crooked his fingers, prodding at that velvety spot inside of you that made you see stars. You gasped and pushed his head back down, back to where you needed him the most. He dutifully obliged, attaching his mouth back onto your clit and sucking hard.
“Jack.” You panted.
“Gonna need you to cum for me before I can do anything else.” He said. It wasn’t a request, more an incentive. He blew cold air over your sensitive nub, the sensation making you full body shiver, before going back to the task at hand. His fingers had picked up pace now and you were barrelling towards your own release at a terrifying pace.
“I’m close. So close.” You could feel it pooling in your stomach. The elastic band wound tight, right on the precipice of snapping. He curled his fingers again and sucked hard. Your orgasm flooded your body. Your thighs snapped close around his head, your fingers a death grip in his hair. Jack let out a guttural groan as the sensation washed over you, stomach constricting and releasing over and over again as he brought you through it, fingers gently pushing in and out, tongue lapping over you serenely. You think you might have forgotten how to breathe as you gasped for air beneath him.
“You okay?” He asked, looking up at you once you’d release his head from your iron grip.
“Holy shit.” It was almost a giggle. If you had the energy left in your body to giggle.
“Oh, I’m not through with you yet baby.” He wiggled his eyebrows. How did he have this much stamina? You felt like you’d just run a marathon. You guess that Jack must have seen the exhaustion written on your face, because before you’d even had the chance to respond he was picking you up bridal style and walking you back out of the living room, down the hall and to his bedroom. You didn’t have the energy to argue with him about carrying you.
———————————
There were many things in life Jack was, a quitter was not one of them. His cock sat heavy and throbbing in his jeans, but there wasn’t a chance in hell he was going to fuck you before you’d cum at least once. And god what a blessing it was to be able to experience it. Being suffocated between your thighs, you hands clenched so hard in his hair he thinks he might wake up with a bald patch, the way your cunt clenched and pulsed around his fingers. It didn’t matter if he died then and there. Jack was exactly where he wanted to be. Nothing in the world could have pulled him away from that.
You looked entirely blissed out on that couch, but Jack knew the main event was still to come. He had to be inside you, now. So he did the polite thing and carried you through to his bedroom, instead of making you walk. Depositing you down on the bed as he made quick work of removing his shirt before sitting on the bed to take his leg off before his pants. He felt the way the bed dipped as you crawled over to him, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and planting feather light kisses along his shoulders and the back of his neck. It was so delicate and tender, it sent a shiver through his body.
“Are you enjoying yourself?” He asked. You had dropped your head onto his shoulder now, arms wrapped around his chest, just holding him as he tried to wiggle free of his jeans.
“Uh huh.” You hummed, content. Oh, what Jack would give to have you like this everyday for the rest of his life.
“You might want to find that second wind, because I’m not done yet.” He was being smug, he knew that. But who in hell would not be smug after making you cum? He turned where he sat and flipped you backwards, laying you out on the bed for him. It was like a switch flipped behind your eyes. The ones that had been content and sleepy only a moment ago were now looking at him like he was something to eat.
“You sure you can keep up, old man?” You challenged, and yeah that was definitely a challenge he wanted to take. He rolled his hips against your core. The only barrier between you being his boxers. His restraint was wearing thin.
“Those are some bold words for someone who was almost falling asleep on me thirty seconds ago.” He smirked, hovering over you now.
“Are you always this mouthy? Trying to distract me whilst you get it up?” There was an evil glint in your eye. Two could play at that game. He dropped his head down beside your ear.
“I think you know well enough what my mouth can do, don’t you sweetheart?” He dragged his clothed erection against you again, moving his head down to get his mouth around you tit once more, pulling a gasp from your lips.
“Would you just hurry up and fuck me.” You pout. You looked downright edible, he couldn’t deny you any longer if he tried.
Jack didn’t even give himself enough time to properly discard himself of his underwear, just shoved them down to below his balls as he fished his dick out. He watches as your eyes expand when you see him. It was enough to make him preen. Jack knew he was relatively well endowed, but the look on your face was enough to send anyone’s ego through the roof.
“Don’t worry. I’ll go slow.” He shrugged, teasing. You just rolled your eyes and huffed. You were so easy to rile up.
He pressed the tip of himself against your slit, rubbing it back and forth between your folds to gather up your slick and use it as lubricant. You felt amazing and he hadn’t even put it in yet. His eyes flicked up to you as you hummed and wiggled your hips, enticing him in. Slowly he pressed the head inside, both of you gasping in sync at the feeling. As he slid in slowly he could feel you stretching around him. Your walls hot and slick, trapping him in your velvety heat.
”You feel incredible, just sucking me in.” He groaned, unable to stop himself. As he bottomed out he had to pause to catch his breath, if he wasn’t careful he was going to finish too soon and be unable to savor this.
”You're not all talk now, are you big guy?” You were still being bratty. He had no idea where this energy had come from but he loved it. He pulled back and snapped his hips forward harshly. The whine you let out sung in his ears. So that was the pace he set. Sharp deep thrusts over and over again as his head fell onto your shoulder. His hand was back on your tit, squeezing and rolling your nipple between his thumb and finger as he punched into you. You were like putty beneath him and he wanted to keep you like this until the end of time.
”Oh, baby I’m close.” He groaned against your sweaty neck. The salt of your skin on his lips.
”Come in me.” You whined in that high lilt. “Come in me, please.” Jack didn’t think he’d be able to pull out if he tried.
”Yeah? Yeah.” He nodded frantically as his balls began to tighten. Just a few more seconds. His hips stuttered and his teeth clamped around your shoulder muffling the frankly embarrassing whimper he let out as he spilled inside of you. There were a few more lazy thrusts as he milked the last few drops out, your pussy pulsing around him helping the process along before he was collapsing on top of you.
—————————
The sound of your phone ringing woke you up early the next morning. It was still dark outside, making in an ungodly hour. You groaned as you rolled over. Who on earth was trying to call you on your morning off? You fumbled on the nightstand trying to find the phone without opening your eyes. Finally you found it and answered the phone, bringing the device to your ear.
”Hello?” You asked, voice still groggy.
”Who is this?” The voice of Dr Ellis came through the phone.
”What do you mean? Ellis, it’s me.” You were thoroughly confused now. “You called me?”
”Oh, my god.” She gasped. “Tiger, I called Jack sweetie.” You pulled the phone away to look at it. This wasn’t your phone.
”Oh.” Was all you could get out.
”Shen!” You heard her shout away from the phone, her voice slightly muffled now. “Yo! Jack finally grew a pair.” You let out a groan. This was going to be all over the ED within the hour.
”I can say with no uncertainty that there is no growing needed in that department.” You huffed and Ellis wretched on the opposite end of the line. Good, if they were going to try and embarrass you then you were going to make them all uncomfortable. Jack rolled over, awake now, and nuzzled against your bare chest.
”Who was that?” He asked, his voice sleepy.
”Ellis. It was for you.” You sighed and placed his phone back down. He just burrowed deeper against your boobs.
SUMMARY: When an angry patient attacks you at work, you do everything in your power to hide how bad it is from Jack. Unfortunately for you, his dog, Buddy, knows best, and is quick to alert him to how bad things are as soon as he gets home.
NOTES: Aggressive patient, physical injury, Jack has a retired military dog, the dog is very protective of reader, hurt/comfort, established relationship.
NAVIGATION | PITT MASTERLIST | KO-FI
a/n — technically a part two to dog’s best friend, but can absolutely be read as a standalone !
“I just need you to stay seated for a second, alright?” you say, voice soft, even, the same tone you use with every difficult situation, steady and careful without ever sounding condescending.
The patient doesn’t like it. You see it in the way her shoulders tense, the sharp turn of her head, the flicker of something reactive and unpredictable behind her eyes.
“Don’t tell me what to do.”
“I’m not,” you reassure gently, hands visible, posture open. “I’m just trying to help you, ma’am.”
The metal tray is already in her hand before you fully register it.
“Hey!”. It’s Samira’s voice, a sharp warning from somewhere behind you, but it comes a second too late.
The patient swings. Not hard enough to seriously injure on its own. But combined with the shove that comes with it, it’s enough. The impact glances off your shoulder, but the force of the push sends you stumbling backwards, your foot catching awkwardly on the edge of the trolley behind you.
There’s a split second where you try to correct it. Your balance almost rights itself. Then, your heel slips.
You go down hard.
Your hip hits first, the shock of it jolting up your side before your shoulder follows, and then your head clips the edge of the cabinet behind you with a dull, sickening crack that makes your vision flare white.
The world tilts. Sound distorts.
You suck in a breath too fast and it catches halfway, your ribs protesting sharply as pain blooms deep along your side, spreading outwards in a way that feels heavy and wrong.
“Shit!”
“Hold her back!”
“Move!”
Hands are on you immediately. Too many. Too fast.
“Don’t move,” Dana says firmly, already crouched at your side, one hand braced against your shoulder to keep you grounded.
“I’m fine,” you manage automatically, even as your voice comes out thinner than you want it to. “I just slipped—”
“You didn’t slip,” Samira cuts in, sharper than usual, already scanning you quickly. “She shoved you.”
“I’m fine,” you repeat, trying to push yourself up.
Your body protests instantly. A sharp, deep pain lances through your ribs and your breath hitches before you can stop it.
Dana presses you back down without hesitation.
“No, you’re not getting up yet.”
“I’m okay,” you insist, though your hand has already moved instinctively to your side, fingers pressing there like you can contain the ache if you just hold it still.
“Yeah,” Langdon mutters, crouching on your other side, one brow raised. “You look fantastic.”
You glare weakly. “I am—”
“You’re wincing,” Mel says gently from behind them. “Just stay down a second.”
Across the bay, Robby steps in, taking in the scene quickly, his expression tightening slightly as he looks between you and the now-restrained patient.
“What happened?”
“They got knocked,” Dana says, not taking her eyes off you. “Hit their head on the way down.”
“I’m fine,” you say again, the words automatic now, like muscle memory.
Robby’s gaze lingers on you a moment longer than you’d like. Assessing. Weighing.
Then, “Get them checked,” he says. “No arguments.”
You open your mouth to argue anyway. Close it again.
The check is quick. Too quick.
Vitals steady. Pupils reactive. A few questions you answer without thinking, even as your head still feels slightly off and your ribs ache every time you breathe too deeply.
“Probably just bruised,” Langdon says, though there’s hesitation there. “Keep an eye on it.”
“I will,” you say.
You go back to work. Of course you do. It’s slower now. More careful. Every movement measured so you don’t aggravate the pain blooming along your side, every breath kept shallow enough to avoid the sharpest edge of it.
You don’t let anyone make a fuss. You don’t give them the chance.
By the time shift change creeps in, you’re running on stubbornness more than anything else.
Your body feels heavy. Your head dull. Your ribs worse. But you’re still standing. That counts for something.
You see Jack the second he walks in.
It’s instinct, the way something in you softens at the sight of him, even through the ache, even through the exhaustion.
He sees you just as quickly, and immediately, his expression changes. “What happened?”
No hello. No lead-in. Just that.
You blink. Too slow. “…nothing.”
His eyes narrow slightly.
You can see him clocking it, the stiffness in your posture, the way you’re holding yourself like you’re trying not to move too much, the faint mark forming near your hairline.
“Don’t do that,” he says quietly.
“Do what?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Lie to me.”
You huff a small breath, trying for normal. “I’m not lying. I just got knocked a bit. It’s fine.”
“Knocked how?”
“Patient,” you say quickly. “It happens.”
His jaw tightens. “You hit your head.”
“I’m fine.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“You didn’t ask a question.”
Jack steps closer, his hand coming up instinctively, hovering for a second before brushing lightly near your temple, careful.
You flinch. Just slightly. Jack notices anyway.
“Hey,” he says, softer now. “Talk to me.”
“I am,” you insist, forcing a small smile. “It’s nothing, Jack. Just a bruise.”
“You don’t look like it’s nothing.”
“I’m just tired.”
“That’s not what this is.”
You don’t let him push further. You can’t, because if you stop holding it together now, you’re not sure you’ll be able to start again.
“I promise I’m okay,” you say, gentler now, stepping into his space, your hand brushing his arm. “I’m just going to go home, sleep it off.”
Jack searches your face. Longer than you’re comfortable with. “…yeah?”
You nod. “I promise.”
You kiss him before he can argue again. Soft. Quick. A distraction more than anything.
“I’ll text you,” you add.
He doesn’t look convinced. But he lets you go.
You don’t realise how much you’ve been holding in until you get home.
The door shuts behind you. Your bag slips from your shoulder. Everything collapses.
The pain hits first. Sharp. Deep. Your ribs screaming the second you stop forcing yourself to breathe carefully around it. Your head throbbing dully where it connected earlier. Your whole body suddenly too aware of itself.
Then the tears. They come fast. Uncontrolled. Your hands come up to your face as your shoulders shake, the sound breaking out of you before you can stop it.
“It hurts,” you whisper, voice cracking.
Soft paws hit the floor behind you. Buddy is there instantly.
No hesitation. No distance. Just straight to you, pressing in close, whining low as his nose nudges at your hands, your face, your shoulder, anywhere he can reach.
“Hey, Buddy…” Your voice wobbles as you drop one hand to him, fingers tangling in his fur. “I’m okay,” you murmur, even as you cry. “I’m okay—”
He doesn’t believe you. He licks at your cheek, catching tears, pressing closer until you sink down with him, your body folding as he crowds in, solid and warm and there.
Buddy doesn’t leave your side once. Not when you get up slowly. Not when you change. Not when you ease yourself into bed with a quiet, pained breath.
He jumps up beside you without hesitation. Circles once. Then presses himself along your back, heavy and grounding, his head resting near your shoulder like he’s keeping watch.
You fall asleep like that. Hurting. Exhausted. But not alone.
Jack knows something is wrong before he even gets the door fully open.
It isn’t logical at first. There’s no noise, no obvious sign of anything being off, but the second the latch clicks and the door gives, the silence hits him wrong, too heavy, too still, like something’s settled where it shouldn’t.
Then, there’s movement. Fast. Low.
A sharp bark that cuts straight through the quiet.
Buddy is there instantly, planted between Jack and the hallway like a barrier, body rigid, ears forward, a low, warning growl vibrating through his chest in a way Jack has never heard directed at him before.
“Hey, Buddy…” Jack stills, hands lifting slightly in reflex, not defensive, just careful. “Buddy.”
The dog doesn’t move.
If anything, he braces harder, stance widening, blocking the path to the bedroom completely like he’s guarding something.
Another bark. Sharper this time. Urgent.
Jack’s chest tightens. “Alright,” he murmurs, voice dropping instinctively, steady, controlled. “Talk to me, what’s going on?”
Buddy huffs, pacing a tight step forward, then back, torn between holding his ground and needing Jack to follow.
It clicks immediately. Not aggression. Protection.
Jack’s stomach drops. “…where are they?”
Buddy barks again. Turns. Looks back. Then looks at him.
Jack doesn’t hesitate. “Okay,” he says quietly. “Okay, I’m coming.”
Buddy doesn’t fully relax, but he shifts just enough to allow it, moving ahead of him down the hall, glancing back every few steps like he’s making sure Jack is still there. Still following. Still paying attention.
The bedroom door is half open. The light is off.
Jack pushes it gently. “Sweetheart?”
No answer.
His chest tightens further as he steps inside.
You’re there. Curled on your side, exactly where he expects you to be, and somehow still wrong. Too still. Too tense even in sleep, your body drawn in slightly like you’re protecting something.
“Hey,” he says again, softer now, stepping closer.
Buddy is already at the side of the bed, whining low, tail flicking anxiously, nose nudging lightly at your arm.
You don’t wake straight away.
Jack reaches you in two steps, sitting carefully on the edge of the bed, his hand hovering for just a second before resting lightly on your shoulder.
“Hey, sweetheart.”
You stir at that. Just slightly. A small sound leaving you, somewhere between a breath and a soft groan as you shift without meaning to.
The movement pulls a reaction out of you immediately. A sharp inhale. A wince. Your hand tightening instinctively at your side.
Jack stills. “There it is,” he murmurs quietly.
Your eyes open slowly, heavy with sleep, disoriented for a second before they land on him.
“…Jack?” Your voice is rough. Small.
“Hey,” Jack exhales softly, relief flickering across his face for just a second before it’s replaced with something more focused. “Yeah, it’s me.”
Buddy immediately pushes closer the second you’re awake, nose nudging your cheek, then your shoulder, then settling half across you like he’s making sure you stay put.
“What…” you start, blinking. “What time is it?”
“Too early for you to pretend you’re fine,” he replies gently.
You try to smile. It doesn’t quite work.
“I am fine.”
Jack doesn’t even entertain that.
“Mhm,” he hums, eyes already scanning you properly now, taking in the way you’re holding yourself, the tightness in your posture, the faint shadow of bruising starting to show along your side where your shirt has shifted. “What actually happened?”
“Nothing,” you say automatically. Too quickly.
His gaze flicks up to yours. Flat. Unimpressed.
“Try again.”
You hesitate. Just for a second. It’s enough.
“A patient knocked me,” you admit finally, quieter now. “It’s not a big deal.”
Jack’s jaw tightens immediately. “Knocked you how? You can’t just leave it at that, baby.”
“I fell,” you say. “It’s just a bruise.”
Buddy lets out a soft, unhappy whine. Jack glances at him briefly, then back at you.
“Yeah,” he says quietly. “He doesn’t seem to think so either.”
You huff a weak breath. “He’s dramatic.”
“Yeah,” Jack repeats. “Funny. So are you.”
You try to push yourself up. Bad idea. The movement pulls a sharp, involuntary sound out of you before you can stop it, your hand flying back to your ribs as pain flares hot and immediate.
Jack’s hand is there instantly, steadying you before you can even properly lose balance.
“Hey, easy, easy.”
“I’m fine,” you insist again, breath uneven now.
“No, you’re not,” Jack says, still calm but firmer now, his other hand coming up to gently guide you back down against the pillows. “Lie back.”
You don’t argue this time. You don’t have the energy.
Buddy shifts with you immediately, repositioning so he’s still pressed against your side, careful, oddly careful for his size, like he knows exactly where not to put weight.
Jack notices. Files it away.
“Where?” he asks quietly, his hand hovering just above your ribs. “Show me.”
You hesitate. Then, slowly, you move your hand just enough to indicate the worst of it. His touch is light when it comes, fingers pressing gently along the area, assessing. You flinch. Harder this time.
“Shit, okay,” Jack murmurs, more to himself than you. “Yeah, that’s not nothing.”
“It’s just bruised,” you say weakly.
“Maybe,” he replies. “Maybe not.”
You look at him. A flicker of worry finally breaking through everything else.
“It’s not broken. I got checked out. Ask Robby.” He doesn’t answer straight away. Which is answer enough. “Jack, please.”
“Hey,” he says softly, immediately, his hand coming up to your face instead, thumb brushing lightly under your eye where tears are starting to gather again. “Don’t get upset about it. Not your fault.”
“I didn’t want to make a fuss,” you admit, voice cracking slightly. “It wasn’t that bad at work, I just—”
“You came home and cried,” he says quietly.
You freeze. “How did you—”
He glances at Buddy. Buddy, who is currently pressed against you like a guard dog with a personal vendetta.
“Right,” you mutter weakly.
Jack’s expression softens. A lot. “You should’ve told me,” he says, not accusing, just honest.
“I didn’t want you to worry,” you whisper.
He huffs a quiet breath. Too late for that. “You don’t get to decide that for me,” he says gently.
Your throat tightens. “I know.”
There’s a pause. Soft. Then, “Alright,” he says, shifting slightly. “We’re going to fix you up, okay?”
You blink. “We?”
“Yeah,” he says. “Me and him. You know we can’t leave him out of anything.”
Buddy lifts his head slightly at that, like he’s been formally acknowledged.
Despite everything, you almost laugh.
Jack doesn’t rush you. That’s the first thing you notice. Even with the tension sitting tight in his shoulders, even with the way his eyes keep flicking back to your ribs like he’s already running through worst-case scenarios in his head, he keeps everything slow. Measured. Like if he moves too fast, you’ll bolt or break or both.
“Alright,” he murmurs, shifting off the bed briefly. “Stay there.”
You don’t have the energy to do anything else. Buddy does. The second Jack steps away, Buddy’s head lifts, ears pricking forward, a low, suspicious rumble building in his chest again like he’s not entirely convinced this is still safe.
“Hey,” Jack says without looking at him, already grabbing what he needs. “Pack it in.”
Buddy huffs. Doesn’t move. Doesn’t relax. You reach down weakly, fingers brushing through his fur.
“It’s okay, Buddy,” you murmur softly. “He’s helping.”
Buddy’s attention flicks to you immediately. That’s all that matters.
Jack comes back with a small kit, nothing dramatic, just basics, but it’s the way he carries it that tells you everything. Familiar. Practised. Focused.
He sits beside you again, closer this time. Close enough that your knees brush when he shifts.
“Can I?” he asks quietly, his hand hovering near the hem of your shirt.
You nod.
He moves carefully. Slowly lifting the fabric just enough to expose your side. The bruise is worse than either of you expected. Dark already. Spreading. Angry under the skin, the kind of deep, blooming discolouration that makes your stomach twist just looking at it.
“Fuck,” Jack exhales quietly. Not surprised. Not pleased either.
“It looks worse than it feels,” you say automatically.
It’s a lie. A weak one.
Jack glances at you. Doesn’t call it out. Doesn’t need to.
“Does it hurt to breathe?” he asks instead.
“A bit.”
“How much is a bit?”
You hesitate. “More than a bit.”
He nods slightly, like he expected that. “Any sharp pain when you move?”
“Yes.”
“Dizziness? Nausea?”
“No.”
“Headache?”
“A little.”
He takes that in, nodding with a frown. Then his hand comes back to your side, touch light, deliberate, pressing just enough to assess without making it worse. You tense immediately. A sharp inhale slipping out before you can stop it.
“Sorry, honey,” he murmurs, instantly easing off.
“It’s okay,” you whisper, even as your eyes sting again.
“No,” he says quietly. “It’s not.”
That lands. Heavier than anything else has. Your lip wobbles slightly before you can stop it. You look away.
“I really thought it was fine,” you admit, voice small now. “At work it didn’t feel this bad.”
“Adrenaline,” he says simply.
You huff a weak breath. “Yeah.”
There’s a pause. Then, “Hey.”
You look back at Jack. His hand comes up to your face again, thumb brushing lightly under your eye where tears have started slipping free again without you realising.
“You’re alright,” he murmurs. “It looks bad, but you’re okay.”
“I feel stupid,” you whisper.
His expression tightens. Not at you. At the word.
“Don’t,” he says softly.
“I should’ve just stopped. Let them check it properly. Told you—”
“You got through your shift,” he cuts in gently. “That’s what you were focused on.”
“That doesn’t make it smart.”
“No,” he agrees quietly. “But it makes it understandable. I know what you’re like.”
You swallow. Your chest tightens.
“I didn’t want to make a big deal out of it,” you say, barely above a whisper now.
“You don’t get to decide that it’s not a big deal,” he replies, not harsh, just steady. “Not when it’s you.”
You don’t argue. You can’t.
Buddy shifts slightly, pushing his head more firmly into your lap like he’s trying to insert himself into the conversation. You let your hand fall to him automatically, fingers threading through his fur.
Jack watches it for a second. Then, “Alright,” he says, softer now. “We’re going to assume bad bruising, maybe a cracked rib. No heroics for a few days.”
You let out a quiet breath. “Okay. I can live with that.”
“I’ll grab some ice,” he adds.
Buddy immediately lifts his head again. Watching. Tracking. Jack pauses. Looks at him.
“I’m coming back,” he says dryly.
Buddy blinks. Considers it. Then settles again, barely. You laugh softly despite yourself. It hurts. You do it anyway.
By the time Jack comes back, you’re more settled. Not better, but calmer.
He helps you adjust carefully, guiding you so you’re propped slightly, a pillow tucked behind your back to keep pressure off your ribs. Every movement is slow. Considered. His hands never far from you.
“Gonna be cold, sorry,” he warns quietly, pressing the ice pack gently against your side.
You flinch. Then relax. “That’s actually nice,” you admit after a second.
“Yeah,” he murmurs. “Usually is.”
The quiet settles again. Different now. Softer.
You’re watching Jack without meaning to.
The focus in his expression. The care in every movement. The way he keeps checking in without making it obvious.
“You’re not mad?” you ask after a while.
He looks up. Brows drawing together slightly. “Mad?”
“That I didn’t tell you.”
There’s a pause. Then, “No,” he says.
You blink. “Really?”
“I mean, I’m not thrilled,” he adds honestly. “But I’m not mad at you, sweetheart.”
That eases something in your chest. You didn’t even realise it was there.
“I just didn’t want to worry you,” you repeat softly.
“You don’t get to make that call,” he says again, gentler this time. “You tell me, I worry. That’s the deal.”
Your lips twitch slightly. “That’s not a very fair deal.”
“No,” he agrees. “Works for me, though.”
You laugh quietly. It pulls at your ribs. You wince.
His hand is there instantly. “Easy.”
“I’m okay,” you murmur. “Stop being funny.”
“I know. I’ll try,” he says.
Buddy shifts again, this time climbing more deliberately across the bed until he wedges himself firmly between you and Jack, his body pressed along your side, his head settling heavily across your lap like he’s decided his position is now permanent.
Jack stares at him. “Really?”
Buddy doesn’t move. Doesn’t even acknowledge him. You smile softly, your hand resting automatically on Buddy’s head.
“He’s just making sure I’m okay.”
“Yeah,” Jack mutters. “I can see that.”
There’s a pause. Then, carefully, deliberately, Jack shifts closer anyway. Working around the dog rather than moving him. His arm slides gently behind your back, pulling you just slightly closer so you’re supported without putting pressure on your ribs.
Buddy allows it. Barely.
You melt into it. Exhaustion catching up all over again now that everything else has settled. Your head tips lightly against Jack’s shoulder. Your hand still resting on Buddy.
“I’m really tired,” you mumble.
“Yeah,” Jack murmurs softly. “I know.”
Your eyes slip closed. Between them, you’re completely boxed in, warmth at your back, solid weight at your front, hands anchoring you in place like nothing is going to let you fall apart again.
“Stay,” you whisper, barely conscious now.
Jack’s arm tightens slightly around you. “I’ve got you.”
Buddy huffs softly. Settling deeper. And for the first time since it happened, you actually relax. Sleep comes easy after that.
All three of you tangled together in the quiet.
— COME AND JOIN MY TAGLISTS !
ALL PITT: @shawnhatosysrightbicep @goldfishenthusiast67 @snake-in-a-flower-crown @aureliacalista @sheridamn
ALL PITT MEN: @malindacath
JACK ABBOT: @moonlitblossomsofthesun @nebuleuseeeeee @nyxmoretti @oliviarw3
Pairing: Taxi/Cab Driver!Bucky Barnes x Passenger!Female Reader
Summary: You’re Bucky’s favorite passenger. He knows your schedule by heart. The same day, time, and location. You’re kind. You talk to him like he’s more than just the man behind the wheel. You always tip well.
He can’t help but fall for you.
But he’s just a cab driver. You deserve better than that. Better than him. So, he keeps things professional… until you lean on him one fateful night when the world feels too heavy.
He doesn’t just want to drive you home anymore.
He wants to be someone you can come home to.
Word Count: Over 12.2k
Warnings: Pining, mutual pining, slow(ish) burn, a bit of idiots in love, hurt/comfort, angst with comfort, slight jealousy, flirting, emotional breakdown, crying, insecurities, sick family member, Bucky Barnes (his POV and he's a warning, okay?)
A/N: @tavners suggested Bucky as a cab driver ages ago and the Barbie Dreamhouse helped bring him to life. Huge thanks to @miraclediviner for putting it together and for being patient and letting me submit this late and @stantastic-association for letting me participate. ❤️ Beta read by the lovely @mumbles411, but any and all mistakes are my own. Dividers by the talented @saradika-graphics. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!
The city sky was still light as Bucky pulled onto your street, a smile touching his lips briefly. Every week for the last three months he picked you up to take you to your brother’s apartment. Same time, same day without fail. He knew the route by heart. Could do it in his sleep.
Thursday had become his favorite day of the week thanks to you.
His favorite passenger.
Someone bright and soft during his long shifts and rough nights.
He came to a stop in front of your building, making sure he adjusted the heat so you wouldn’t be too cold. There was a blanket in the back just in case it wasn’t enough. He also changed the radio station to something he knew you’d enjoy but kept it low enough in case you wanted to talk.
He liked it when you talked to him.
“Do I look okay?” he asked himself, checking his hair in the mirror before he chuckled.
Bucky didn’t dress up a lot since he drove a cab for a living, but he tried to take a bit of pride in his appearance. Clean clothes and a subtle amount of cologne. Beard and hair kept neat, too, even with the bit of gray showing more in his chestnut strands these days.
He liked to think it gave him a refined look.
Something you might notice.
The steady hum of the engine grounded him as he looked at the door, his breath catching when you stepped outside. You paused on the top step, your gaze sweeping along the street as you adjusted the bag on your shoulder. Something warm bloomed in his chest when you spotted him and gave him that familiar soft wave and smile. He wanted to believe that smile was reserved just for him.
Get it together. You’re just her driver. Nothing more.
It didn’t stop him from hoping.
He straightened up when you made your way to the car and opened the door.
“Happy Friday Eve, Buck,” you said, sliding into the backseat.
The corner of his lips twitched at the familiar greeting. Not “driver” or “sir” or anything like that. Just Buck. Steve was the only other person who called him that.
It sounded right coming from you.
“You mean Friday Junior,” he teased, trying hard not to make a show of breathing in your scent.
There were plenty of passengers who practically bathed themselves in colognes and perfumes. It was enough to choke on before he aired out the cab. But not you. You always smelled so nice. So sweet.
Jesus fucking Christ. Get a grip.
“Same thing,” you teased back, slipping your shoes off and tucking your legs beneath you.
The first time you asked if it was okay for you to take your shoes off, he almost laughed. It surprised him more than anything that you cared enough to ask. Like you cared about his space and him. He didn’t mind as long as you were comfortable.
He always wanted you to feel comfortable and safe in his presence.
“We made it through another day,” you sighed.
“And your prize for making it through another day is spending time with me,” he joked.
You laughed, a soft sound like music to his ears. “Lucky me,” you said without a hint of sarcasm.
He cleared his throat, his heart skipping a beat. “Blanket back there and the heat’s on.”
“Thanks,” you said, adding above a whisper, “You’re so good to me.”
Bucky opened his mouth and closed it. “Just doing my job,” he said, the words bittersweet on his tongue.
“Well, I appreciate it.” You hummed a little as you dug through your bag. “And… I got something for you.”
He already knew what it was.
“Protein bar?”
“Protein bar,” you confirmed.
He made an offhand comment in the beginning about his favorite brand.
You surprised him by giving one the following week, and you have brought him one every week since then.
Part of him wanted to save the wrappers, but Sam shut that down by saying it was serial killer behavior.
Your fingers brushed his when he reached back to grab, a jolt running through his body and settling deep in his chest. “I think you’re too good to me,” he said.
It was a thoughtful thing for you to do.
“Just being a good passenger,” you said casually, but he caught the hint of affection there.
Something soft… and real.
Bucky glanced at you in the mirror, his gaze lingering longer than it should’ve when you covered yourself with the blanket and settled into the leather with a sigh. His chest puffed out a little, a sense of pride filling him since you used the blanket. He picked the softest and warmest one he had.
You looked completely at ease, like you belonged there.
“Heading to your brother’s place, or you gonna switch it up on me?”
“Same trip as always,” you replied.
Of course.
A visit to your older brother’s place on the other side of the city. Dinner. Helping your sister-in-law with some chores. Spending quality time with your niece and nephew.
Every Thursday.
He knew about your routine more than he probably should, but he couldn’t help but pay attention. It was nice knowing that you had family close by. Nice that you got to spend time with them.
Some nights though, you looked a little worn down by the time he brought you home.
He carefully pulled away from the curb and glanced in the mirror again, catching your eye. “How was your day?”
Bucky was polite to his passengers, but didn’t typically initiate small talk. It wasn’t that he didn’t care about the people he transported. He did. But his job was to get people where they needed to go, not force them into conversations to fill the silence. If he sensed that they wanted to talk, he’d engage. Most were glued to their phones anyway. But not you.
Never you.
You groaned, your head falling back against the seat. “Work was a pain today. Short-staffed. Didn’t really get a full break. You know how that goes.”
He hummed sympathetically. “Sorry you had to deal with that.”
“Don’t be. Not your fault,” you said with a small shrug. “On the plus side, we’re close to the weekend, and I can relax once I get home.”
“Glad you can still see the bright side,” he said.
It wasn’t always easy to do that.
“I try.” You lifted your head with a soft smile. “How are you?”
He swallowed hard. It was nice to have someone outside of his normal circle ask him sincerely how he was doing. “Not too bad. Some guy tried to correct my driving.”
You sat up straighter. “Are you kidding me? You’re the best driver in the city.”
Warmth bloomed in his chest from how fiercely you defended him. You stated it like it was a fact. He wasn’t one to brag, but he was an excellent driver.
“I want his name,” you added, narrowing your eyes. “I’ll handle him.”
He laughed. “Oh, you’ll handle him, huh?” he asked, turning his blinker on.
“Oh, yeah,” you answered, his heart racing faster.
“I appreciate that,” he said above a whisper.
You really were something.
“And if I can’t, Alpine can scratch him up for me,” you mused lightly.
A wide smile broke out on his face. “Al’d make sure he never messed with anyone ever again.”
Alpine, his beautiful white cat. He found her in an alley when she was just a kitten, trying to stay warm on a chilly day. One look in her blue eyes and he knew he couldn’t leave her there.
“My place isn’t much,” he warned her when he crouched down. “But it’s warm and I have milk.”
She curled right in his arms and tried to burrow her face in his leather jacket.
She became his partner-in-crime from that day forward.
The feline flourished in his apartment, making herself right at home and sticking by his side whenever he was around. He admittedly spoiled her with toys and such, but she deserved it. She was also protective of him, quick to hiss at anyone who got too close, and could imitate his grumpy stare well. He knew she’d adore you.
He certainly talked about you enough to her.
He talked about you with his younger sister, too.
“Becca messaged me a bit ago, too,” he said, smiling a little. “You know how she likes to check in and make sure I’m not living off just protein bars and stubbornness.”
Becca didn’t live as close as your brother did, but he visited when he could. She visited, too, between work and her new boyfriend. She seemed happy, and that made him happy.
“And here I am giving you protein bars. I hope she doesn’t mind.”
“Not at all,” he promised. “She knows one extra bar a week won’t hurt.”
You smiled softly. “She cares a lot about you, doesn’t she?”
“Yeah,” he said warmly. “She does.”
And she liked that he had someone like you who cared, even when he tried to argue that you were just being nice.
“She isn’t just being nice, big brother. She cares.”
He liked to think so.
“Hey!” you said suddenly, leaning forward in your seat. “You know what I just realized?”
“What?”
“This is the thirteenth Thursday that you’ve driven me around.”
“Is that right?” he asked softly, knowing full well exactly how many Thursdays he had seen you.
Because he had been counting.
“That is right.” You settled back into your seat with a smile. “Feels like ages… and not long at all.”
It seemed like only yesterday to him.
He remembered the exact shade of blue you wore on the first ride, something pleasant against the harsh city lights. How you shivered when you slid into the car, and the smile you gave him when he turned the heat on. You were so beautiful. And kind.
The kindest passenger he had that day.
“Thanks for getting me here safely, Bucky! Happy Friday Eve!”
“Friday Junior,” he’d called after you like an idiot.
“Same thing!”
He was a goner.
Every week his crush grew stronger.
But every week he told himself he was just your cab driver and nothing more.
“Thirteen Thursdays,” he said. “That why you look so nice today?”
Your gaze flickered to your lap, smiling. “You think I look nice?” you asked gently.
His heart hammered in his chest. “Yeah. You always do,” he said honestly, willing himself to concentrate on the road.
Don’t make it weird. Don’t make her uncomfortable.
“Thanks, Buck,” you whispered.
He should’ve left it at that, but he didn’t.
“You sure I’m taking you to your brother’s and not some date?” he blurted out.
The air thickened in the cab, his grip tightening on the steering wheel. Something uncomfortable twisted in his gut. He paid enough attention to know that there wasn’t a ring on your finger, and you hadn’t mentioned having a boyfriend.
Not once.
But what if there was someone? What if one day you dressed up for someone else? What if you gave some other man that soft smile you always gave him?
His jaw clenched and he was thankful you couldn’t see his expression.
I have no reason to be jealous. She isn’t my girl. She can see whoever she wants.
I just wish it was me.
“A date?” Your laughter made its way to his ears. “Please. I’m very single.”
For a moment, all Bucky could hear was the sound of his heart slowing to a steady rhythm, effectively blocking out the moving vehicles around him. His next breath was easier, his grip loosening. It shouldn’t have been such a relief to hear that, but it was.
Single. Good. That’s good. Stay single. Stay away from bad guys. Stay… here. With me.
…I’m in deep.
“Haven’t dated in months,” you added.
That made him pause.
“Months?” he repeated. “I find that hard to believe.”
“Well, it’s true,” you said, quieter than before and gazing out the window. “Guess I haven’t caught anyone’s eye.”
Your words wiped out his relief. You didn’t have to say out loud that you were lonely. He sensed it. Recognized it.
It just didn’t make sense to him that you were alone. You were a catch. How were guys not lining up down the block to ask you out?
Your words also weren’t true. Because he was there and he saw you. Wanted you.
“Or… maybe you have,” he said carefully. “And they just haven’t said anything yet.”
A beat passed. “Maybe,” you said.
He tapped the wheel when he stopped at a red light.
Say it. Tell her. Tell her that she caught my eye. Tell her that she’s…
He sighed to himself, the cab feeling smaller than usual. He wanted to admit how he felt, but he couldn’t like this. It wasn’t right when he was in the driver’s seat and you were back there.
“And what about you?” you asked, turning away from the window. “You seeing anyone?”
He huffed out a laugh. “No.”
Women weren’t exactly fighting to date a cab driver.
“My ‘date’ nights are me, a book or a movie, and Al,” he told you. “That or kicking the guys out of my place once the pizza and beer are gone.”
You smiled. “Those sound like good nights to me.”
“They’re not bad,” he said casually.
As if the idea of a date night with you wasn’t painting a picture in his mind.
“You know,” you said, snuggling into the blanket more. “If you ever need anyone to critique your book or movie choices, I’m available.”
He didn’t think it was possible for his heart to trip over itself, but it did. “Yeah?” he asked, keeping his voice even.
“Yeah,” you said casually, but your eyes flicked to the mirror. “I mean, I’m sure you have great taste, but it doesn’t hurt to get my own confirmation.”
Bucky swallowed hard. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
You smiled. “You better.”
The cab fell into a comfortable silence after that, but something shifted. You had given him an opening that would’ve been easy to take. But maybe you were just being nice. Maybe it didn’t mean anything at all.
Or it might mean everything.
He eased the car to a stop at your brother’s building minutes later. “Here we are.”
You slipped your shoes on and folded the blanket as best as you could. “Thanks,” you said, holding out the cash for him.
He reached back automatically to grab it, feeling that spark again when your fingers touched. He didn’t need to count it to know it was all there, along with a nice tip. You were generous.
Always.
“Anytime.”
You lingered when you opened the door. “Hey, Buck?”
“Yeah?”
“You look nice today, too,” you said.
It was a simple compliment, but it hit him square in the chest.
“Yeah?” he managed to ask.
“Yeah,” you said, smiling softly. “You always do.”
It was an echo of his own words to you.
Before he could respond, you slipped out and tapped the roof twice. “See you later. Drive safe.”
“See ya,” he whispered.
He didn’t leave right away. He watched as you made your way inside safely, his hand still clutching the cash. Glancing at the protein bar on the seat beside him, he exhaled.
You said he looked nice. Offered to watch a movie with him. Kind of.
But he was just your driver.
Nothing more.
“I’m in trouble,” he muttered.
By the time Bucky pulled back up to your brother’s building later that night, things felt quieter. But his mind didn’t. It was too busy racing with thoughts of you and wondering how long he could keep his line drawn in the sand.
You waved to him when you stepped outside, your steps a little slower. Your smile wasn’t as bright as earlier, but it was still soft and easy. It made sense. Family time after a long work day was tiring, even if it was nice.
“Hey,” he said once you got in.
“Hey,” you echoed, settling in.
“Good night?” he asked, easing back into the road.
“It was,” you replied, laughing a little. “But those kids wear me out.”
He smiled to himself. No way they didn’t adore spending time with you. “Sounds about right.”
“Did you have a good night?”
It was the best night because he got to see you again.
“Not too bad,” he answered.
You checked something on your phone and put it away. “Random, but I have a few extra dollars in my account, so I may do takeout for dinner tomorrow as an end of the week treat for myself.”
You could have takeout with me.
“Get those noodles from the place you like on 5th,” he suggested instead. “The number seven, right?”
Why did I say that?
“That’s right.” You giggled. “Am I that predictable?”
He almost said, “I notice everything about you.”
“You’re not predictable,” he replied instead, easing his foot off the gas. “I just… pay attention.”
Because you’re… you.
It was quiet for the rest of the ride.
He glanced back a few times and saw that your eyes were heavy. He hoped you were able to relax more when you got back to your place. You deserved the rest.
A pang of disappointment hit him when he got to your place, the drive seeming quicker than normal. “Here we are.”
You stifled a yawn. “Thanks.”
“Anytime.”
“Oh. I almost forgot.” You sat up, seemingly more awake now. “I have something for you.”
He raised an eyebrow. “You already gave me a protein bar.”
“Well, this isn’t from me,” you said, handing him a folded piece of construction paper along with the cash. “It’s from my niece and nephew.”
He opened it carefully, his heart melting on the spot.
A drawing of a car stretched across the sheet. It was lopsided with uneven wheels and windows that were too big. There were two stick figures inside. One in the back with a large smile that was clearly you. And one in the front with brown hair, blue eyes, and a small smile.
It was him.
There was a message in crooked letters above the car, surrounded by glitter glue.
BUCKY DRIVING AUNTIE! YAY!
His throat tightened unexpectedly. “That’s us?” he asked with a hint of disbelief.
You mentioned him to your family?
“That’s us,” you said affectionately, making him wonder if that was for him or your niece and nephew. “They wanted to thank you for always getting me there and back every week.”
He swallowed, his throat dry. “You… talk about me?”
“Of course, I do,” you said like it was obvious. “You’re part of my week.”
He folded it back up like it was something fragile, your words slowly sinking in.
You talked about him. Your family knew he existed. Your niece and nephew had never met him, but still made him a card like he mattered.
His heart felt full.
And he didn’t know what to do with that feeling.
“Tell ‘em I said thanks,” he said quietly. “Really.”
“I will,” you promised, hesitating when you reached for the door handle.
You waited long enough for him to look at you over his shoulder. Long enough that his heart thudded. Hope flickered deep within.
She feels something, right? It can’t just be me.
Your fingers tightened around the strap of your bag, but your eyes were soft. “I…” Your gaze flickered down before looking back at him, sighing a little. “I’ll see you next week, Buck.”
He exhaled, trying not to let disappointment show. Something passed between you. He felt it. It was real.
Or… maybe he just imagined it.
“Yeah,” he said, offering you a small smile. “Next week.”
“Good night.”
“Good night,” he repeated. “And thanks again for the card and tip.”
You smiled softly before you got out.
He leaned against his seat and once again stayed to make sure you got inside safely. You didn’t rush inside when you got to the door. You paused instead and glanced over your shoulder at the door, like you were waiting for him. It was an opening. Maybe.
But he didn’t take it.
He kept that line drawn.
You waved before you went inside, and he closed his eyes, the quiet surrounding him once again.
His fingers brushed the construction paper in his lap.
Steve and Sam would flip when he told them about it. Hell, they already did whenever he talked about you. He could practically hear them now once he gave them the recap of tonight’s events.
Sam shaking his head and saying, “She gives you protein bars, offers to watch movies with you, her family knows about you, her niece and nephew made you a card, and you didn’t ask for her number?”
Steve, a little quieter but no less insistent, with, “Buck… you’re allowed to want something.”
Bucky’s jaw clenched. They acted like it was simple, like he could just ask and it wouldn’t change a thing. It would change everything.
He didn’t want to risk losing you or holding you back when he didn’t have you to begin with.
For now, he’d continue driving you where you needed to go and leave it at that.
Coward. Life’s too short.
He set the card aside and took one last look at your building.
“Yeah,” he sighed. “I’m in big trouble.”
Bucky arrived a couple of minutes early the following Thursday.
He told himself it was habit. Being mindful of traffic. Not because he was eagerly waiting for you.
Not at all.
And you also weren’t the reason he spent ten extra minutes picking out a shirt.
Just because she said I look nice…
He made a mistake of checking the group chat he had with Steve and Sam while he waited.
Sam: “Be a man and get her number.”
He gritted his teeth, quickly typing. He almost regretted confiding in them about you. It would’ve been easier to keep his mouth shut.
“Fuck off, Samuel. I am a man.”
The dots appeared with both of his friends writing something back.
Sam: “OOH. Samuel. My full name. Hit a sore spot, huh?”
Maybe he did.
Stevie: “Just go at your pace, jerk. We got your back.”
Some of the tension left his shoulders.
“Thanks, punk.”
He put his phone away and smiled just a little. They were good guys. Had been with him through thick and thin. Brothers.
Sam definitely acted like an annoying brother in the most supportive way.
And as much as he adored Becca, he didn’t want to bother his little sister with his lack-of-relationship woes. She had enough on her plate. He’d be just fine.
Eventually.
His attention snapped in your direction when you left your building and everything else faded away.
There you were again.
The same familiar sweep of your eyes along the street before you found him. The soft smile. The small wave. How you always looked incredible no matter if you dressed up or down.
Like tonight, you had on the same soft sweater you wore last month. It reminded him of comfort. It also made you look gentle in a way that made him want to take care of you.
The instinct hit him harder than before.
Yeah. I’m royally fucked.
He straightened up as you walked closer, his brows furrowing. You were still smiling at him, but your steps didn’t look as light as normal. There was tension in your shoulders.
“Happy Friday Eve, Buck,” you said, unfolding the blanket with extra care.
There was a touch of weariness in your tone under the warmth.
It would’ve been easy to miss if he wasn’t paying attention.
“You mean Friday Junior,” he said automatically.
“Same thing,” you murmured.
“Your brother’s place?” he asked gently.
“Same trip as always,” you replied just as gently.
He looked at you in the mirror after pulling away from the curb. You were already gazing out the window, relaxed but not completely. His chest tightened when he spotted the slightest frown on your face.
It didn’t belong there.
Is she okay? Was work extra rough?
He waited a couple of blocks before he asked, “Long day?”
Bucky didn’t want to push if you didn’t want to talk, but he did want to make sure you were okay. If something upset you, he wanted to fix it. If someone upset you, he wanted to handle it.
Let me help however I can.
“Yeah,” you replied after a second. “Long week, actually.”
“Those are the worst.” He tapped a finger on the wheel. “Becca always tells me to take a breath and not let the week eat me alive.”
“That’s good advice.” Something soft and a little sad flickered in your eyes. He didn’t know if his words triggered a memory, but it felt important. “Especially coming from a sibling.”
“It is,” he replied. “Siblings just get it some days.”
You hummed in agreement, but didn’t say anything else.
He bit his tongue. It was times like this when he wished he wasn’t driving. He wanted to turn around and give you his attention. You deserved it.
“Would it make you feel any better if I said you look nice today?” he asked, hoping he didn’t sound as desperate as he felt.
That brought a smile to your face. “It does make me feel better,” you said, your tone almost back to normal. “Thank you.”
He smiled back gently, the sound of the engine and low music filling the space for a moment. It didn’t fix your long week, but he was glad the compliment helped. He’d consider that a win.
“You look nice, too.” You craned your head to look at him. “I really like that color on you.”
His pulse jumped. The usual ease was coming back, the cab lighter. And you noticed his shirt.
I chose well.
“Oh, this old thing?” he teased, like it wasn’t a big deal. “Really brings out my eyes.”
You giggled. “It sure does.”
He stole another glance at you when you looked out the window again. You were tired, but you were okay. Still warm. Still you.
He felt like he could breathe again.
“Hey,” he said after another block, reaching into the console. “I, uh… made you a list.”
“A list?” Your eyebrows went up. “What kind of list?”
“Movies. Some I like. Some I think you’d like,” he clarified, passing it back to you before he could change his mind. “You did offer to critique them.”
“And you’re taking me up on it?” You gasped, putting a hand to your chest. “I’m both shocked and flattered.”
“You should be,” he deadpanned before grinning.
You smiled, a little tired but genuine. “The first title has a star next to it.”
“Because it’s my favorite and a good one to start with.”
“Did you get Steve and Sam’s seal of approval?”
He scoffed. “They’d like it. Enough oldies for Steve, and Sam has somewhat decent taste in recent stuff… but he’ll never know I said that.” He coughed into his hand and added, “They’ve heard about you.”
You smiled. “Is that right?”
“Yeah, I talk about more than I probably should.” He shrugged, but his left foot lightly tapped. “You’re a good passenger.”
And I’m just your driver.
Your smile faltered, just for a second, before you smoothed it over with a laugh. “And you’re a good driver.” You scanned the small piece of paper once more. “You put a lot of thought into this, didn’t you?”
Warmth rushed to his cheeks. “You should see the book list I’m making for you,” he muttered.
He valued your opinion, and the lists were a way for you to think of him between rides. A way to keep you two connected. Maybe it was selfish that he wanted you to have him on your mind.
But maybe it wasn’t.
“You’re making me a book list, too? Oh, I can’t wait for that.” You folded it neatly and put it in your bag. “I’ll watch the first movie tomorrow night.”
Another Friday night with no date? I wish I could man up and change that.
“I expect a full report next week,” he teased.
“You got it, Sarge,” you teased back.
His breath caught. “Sarge?” he repeated. “You remember my military ranking?”
Sergeant Barnes.
It was mentioned only once, just like the protein bars. A passing comment and nothing more. But you listened.
You remembered.
“Of course, I do.”
The same thing you said about mentioning him to your family.
He blinked rapidly, trying to steady the emotions stirring inside him as he drove. You continued to surprise him with your soft words and smiles, making him feel special in your eyes. You undid him in ways nothing or no one else could.
“Here we are,” he said minutes later.
“Thanks, Buck.” You gathered your things before you stopped, your inhale sharp. “Oh… you kept it.”
He followed your gaze to the dashboard. Your niece and nephew’s card was proudly on display. It was a beautiful reminder of you.
“Of course, I did,” he said, trying to play it cool. “It’s a nice drawing.”
“That’s really sweet, Buck.”
He shrugged a little, but heat crept up his neck. “It deserved a front and center spot.”
Your gaze softened more. “They’ll think you’re the coolest guy ever when I tell them.”
They made him feel cool by giving him the card.
“Guess I’ll have to try to live up to that.”
“You already are,” you said without missing a beat, passing him a protein bar with the cash.
His heart pounded in his chest. Another thoughtful gesture. More words that made him feel good.
Say something. Do something.
But he didn’t.
There was a small pause before you sighed and got out, the door gently closing behind you. Tap. Tap. The familiar rhythm against the roof should’ve felt normal and comforting.
But why did it feel like you were disappointed?
“See you later,” you said. “Drive safe.”
“See ya,” he exhaled.
He watched until you went inside, half tempted to hit the dashboard since he chickened out. He held himself back. There was no sense in taking his frustration out on the car. He could hit a punching bag later.
Maybe he could knock some sense into himself, too, and man up.
“Should’ve said something,” he muttered, running a hand through his hair.
Some of the frustration at himself faded when he looked at the card. He imagined your niece and nephew were the kind of kids who loved when the garbage men came by every week or drivers dropped off packages. They’d probably have a blast riding around in his cab, cheering him on for driving you around. If Becca ever had kids, they’d likely be the same way.
He wondered, briefly, if you’d ever meet her, and the thought didn’t scare him the way it should.
But what would your brother think of me? Would he think I’m good enough?
At the end of the day, didn’t it matter only what you thought and saw in him?
His phone buzzed.
Sam: “Well??? We’re waiting.”
Bucky stared at the message before typing back. “Dropped her off. Didn’t ask.”
Three dots appeared immediately. He didn’t want to look. Didn’t need the additional salt on the open wound of his self-doubt.
But he looked since he was a glutton for punishment.
Sam: “Man, if we can even call you that, you're killing me! I’m gonna lose the bet.”
Bet? What fucking bet?
Stevie: “There’s no bet. You’ll do it when it’s right.”
Sam: “Don’t make me get Becca and Sarah involved. I’ll do it.”
He tucked his phone away and shook his head. Tough and gentle love. He needed both.
And he needed just a little more time to convince himself to erase the line he had drawn.
The next passenger he picked up, a man complaining about the state of the economy, didn’t shift his focus fully away from you. The restaurant he dropped him at seemed like a nice one to take you to, something quiet and romantic. A couple of women he drove after that mentioned an acoustic concert in the park, which made him picture you leaning your head on his shoulder while listening to music together. Every passenger was like that, managing to tie something back to you.
He still got everyone where they needed to go safely since that was the job.
He just couldn’t stop thinking about you.
By the time he arrived to pick you up again, the city lights had taken over the streets. He spotted you immediately, your arms wrapped around yourself to keep warm. You looked about the same as when you went in. A little more tired, but okay.
And you still gave him a smile when you got in.
Smiling like she’s happy to see me.
“Hey.”
“Hey,” he replied, double checking the heat. “Kids wear you out again?”
“You know it. They had so much energy tonight, and I almost stepped on a lego when I was chasing them around.”
“Occupational hazard of being a great aunt.”
“You know it.” You laughed a little. “They were also thrilled that you have their card up.”
That warmed his heart. “So, they think I’m cool?”
“The coolest.”
He smiled at the sincerity. He believed that they believed that. It was a feeling he needed to lean into more.
“Did you have a good night?”
“Yep. Just driving. Getting everyone where they need to go,” he answered.
And thinking of you. Always thinking about you.
He turned the radio up a notch after that instead of trying to fill the silence, letting you relax. For a moment, he pictured swaying with you. Minus the quick brush of your fingers, he hadn’t touched you in any way.
To hold you would be a gift.
“Hey, Buck?” you asked once he pulled up to your place.
“Yeah?”
You bit your lip. “I wanted to give you something.”
“Yeah?” he asked, his chest tightening in anticipation as you reached into your bag.
You hesitated before you nodded. “Yeah.”
Your hand shook a little when you passed him a small slip of paper with the cash. He unfolded it, blinking hard to make sure he was reading it correctly. He turned it over, too.
It was your handwriting. Your name. Your number.
You gave him your phone number.
His heart forgot how to beat before it thundered. He imagined this scenario for weeks, but he hadn’t prepared himself for the reality of it. He didn’t think the universe would be that kind to him.
“I just figured, this way you don’t have to wait until next week for my report on the movie. You could just text me and see what I think,” you explained, trying to play it off casually. “Or if you ever want to send me pictures of Alpine. Or you’re just… bored.”
His pulse roared in his ears. You wanted to hear from him. You gave him another opening while he kept mentally blocking the door with his foot.
You trusted him enough to want a connection outside of the cab and the rules he internally created and enforced.
“But you don’t have to,” you added quickly, reaching for the door handle. “I can wait until next week to talk to you and-”
“Wait,” he begged, trying not to panic. The last thing he wanted was for you to think he didn’t want to reach out. “I’ll, um… give you mine, too.”
You met his gaze in the mirror. He wanted to memorize how you looked at this moment. Hopeful. Beautiful.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah,” he whispered.
He found a pen and a receipt, making sure his writing was legible as he jotted it down. Your smile when he handed it over soothed his nerves. The smooth thing to do would’ve been to put his phone number on the movie list when he gave it to you earlier. But this was better.
This felt more right.
“Thanks.” You tucked it away like it was something sacred. “I’ll text you.”
He nodded, his throat tight. “I’d like that.”
You stepped out into the cool air, glancing back at him. The tension was almost completely gone from your shoulders. The glow from the street lamps made your eyes sparkle.
He couldn’t look away from you if he tried.
“Good night, Buck.”
“Good night.”
Once you were inside, he glanced at your number again, reading it until the numbers ran together. He reached for the phone to message the guys and Becca before deciding against it. Sam would lose his mind. Steve would tell him not to overthink it. Becca would be somewhere in the middle. He didn’t need that tonight.
He wanted to hang onto this just a little longer and let it sink in that it was real.
Besides, it was just an exchange of phone numbers. You didn’t ask him out. He didn’t ask you out. He was still being professional.
But he did check his phone immediately when a new message popped up.
“Happy fourteenth Thursday. Thanks again for the ride.”
Still counting like me.
“Anytime. Get some rest. And let me know when you watch the first movie.”
A neutral message. Polite. Professional.
“I’m still in trouble.”
And he grinned like an idiot because of it.
You messaged him on Friday night.
He saved you under his contacts as MFP, my favorite passenger.
MFP: “Halfway through the movie.”
His fingers hovered over the screen. If he typed back too quickly, he’d look desperate. If he waited too long, he’d look aloof.
A full minute was enough time.
“And?”
He winced at himself. That was too short. Too blunt.
MFP: “They switched part of what happened in the book. Trying to reserve my judgement until the end.”
A sense of awe filled him. You read the book. Of course, you did. That made him want you even more.
But he couldn’t say that.
“I didn’t like the switch at first either, but keep watching. Trust me.”
MFP: “I trust you.”
That made his breath catch.
He scratched behind Alpine’s ear, smiling when she purred. “She’s watching it and texting me. That’s good, right?”
She meowed happily.
He put the movie on, too, in the hopes that he wouldn’t keep checking his phone.
You messaged him again an hour later.
MFP: “My score: 8/10. Adventurous, heartwarming, and visually stunning. I see why it’s your favorite.”
He smiled, typing out, “Dinner and tell me more?”
He deleted it and started over.
“8/10? I’ll take it. What didn’t you like besides the book switch?”
MFP: “A one point deduction was for the book switch. Another deduction for the bad wig. I mean, a huge budget like that and they couldn’t give the lead some good hair? Tragic.”
Bucky chuckled. “You make a good point. It was pretty bad.”
MFP: “But movie wise? So far, so good for your taste.”
That was a win in his book.
You didn’t message him again until Saturday night.
MFP: “Is brinner an acceptable choice on a Saturday night?”
He smiled immediately.
“Brinner is an acceptable choice every night.”
MFP: “I knew you’d understand. I can eat while I watch the second movie on the list.”
“I bet you’ll give it a 7/10.”
MFP: “We’ll see if you’re right. Hope you're having a good weekend.”
He reread that statement twice. It felt measured. Careful.
“You, too.”
He read the message again after sending it.
Maybe it was another message that was too short.
And it was too late to erase it.
You sent him a photo of a white cat on Sunday.
MFP: “Is this Alpine’s doppelganger?”
He chuckled. The image wasn’t too far off but Alpine was prettier. He was a bit biased when it came to his feline.
“There’s no cat like Al.”
MFP: “I believe it. And you were right, but the way. 7/10. I deducted two points for the one terrible accent.”
He tilted his head and laughed again. He had almost forgotten about the bad accent. It was amazing how one actor or actress could throw off an entire scene.
“Much deserved deduction. Al would approve.”
MFP: “I’m honored.”
He didn’t hear from you for the rest of the day.
It was his turn to message you first.
“Hope you have water and caffeine to get you through Monday.”
He stared at it after sending. Maybe that too personal. Maybe it wasn’t enough.
MFP: “Do I have to have water?”
He laughed, picturing you scrunching up your face.
“Need you to stay hydrated.”
Because he cared.
MFP: “But what if I try to live on stubbornness like you?”
You’re too good to live on stubbornness.
“Still need water.”
MFP: “Yes, Sarge.”
Oh, that did something to him.
MFP: “But only if you drink some water, too.”
“I will.”
He would for you.
He didn’t hear from you on Tuesday.
That was fine. You were busy. You had a life outside of him. And he didn’t want to bother you.
But he checked his phone more than he should have.
You messaged him first thing on Wednesday.
MFP: “Is it Friday Eve yet?”
Relief hit him faster than he expected.
“Almost. You surviving?”
There was a delay this time. Long enough for him to notice.
MFP: “Barely, but I’m trying.”
He frowned a little.
“Hang in there.”
He hesitated before adding another message.
“I’ll see you tomorrow.”
There was another pause.
MFP: “Yeah. See you tomorrow.”
He stared at it longer than he meant to.
Something about it felt different. Quieter. He could’ve been imagining it.
He sent one more message before he could stop himself.
“Can’t wait.”
He meant it.
Even if something told him tomorrow would feel different.
Bucky waited at the curb as patiently as he could, checking his hair three times. Just like every week before, he looked forward to seeing you. But this felt different because the texts had been good overall. Almost effortless.
Almost.
Tonight could be a turning point.
Bucky checked his phone again, even though he told himself he wouldn’t.
Sam: “You better not fumble this now that you got her number.”
Stevie: “Ignore him. Just be yourself.”
He huffed under his breath, locking the screen.
Like it’s that easy.
He turned his attention back to your building, his heart sinking the moment you stepped outside.
The usual sweep of your gaze didn’t happen since you were looking at your feet. You hardly seem to notice or care that your bag slipped from your shoulder. When you finally lifted your gaze, you looked worn out in a way he had never seen before.
It was like someone took the light inside you and dialed it down.
Everyone had bad days. That was a normal part of life. But this was you.
It didn’t sit right with him at all.
“Happy Friday Eve,” you stated with a dim smile, hugging the blanket against your chest like a pillow. Your fingers trembled just enough that he spotted it.
“Friday Junior,” he said because that’s what he was supposed to say.
Same thing.
You didn’t say it.
You looked out the window, your jaw tight enough that he could see the tension in your neck. There was no teasing either as he drove. No references to any of the messages between you, like brinner or the bad wig or accent from the movies. No jokes about staying hydrated or calling him Sarge.
There were no comments on anything.
Just the kind of silence that for the first time felt off between you two.
Something was wrong.
I fucked this up, didn’t I?
He thought back to every message he sent like he could figure out the exact moment things flipped.
He responded in a timely manner. He initiated at times so it wouldn’t all fall on you. They weren’t overly flirty but they weren’t cold either.
Maybe you expected more and he let you down.
Or maybe he leaned in too far with the “can’t wait” message and now you were pulling back.
“Hey, um…” He cleared his throat, his grip shifting on the wheel. “If I said something wrong, or if I upset you with one of my texts…”
“What?” Your head snapped toward him, your brows pinching. “Buck, no.”
He blinked, surprised at how quickly you shut that down when his mind was screaming at him. “You sure?” He bit the inside of his cheek. “You just seem off, and I didn’t want it to be because of me.”
He was sure he could handle just about anything but that.
He didn’t want to lose the one bright part of his week because he misread a moment or sent the wrong text.
“Buck,” you said, even gentler this time. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”
His shoulders dropped. “Really?” he pressed, needing to be absolutely certain.
“Really. I like talking with you… a lot,” you promised, a shallow breath leaving your lungs. “I swear, it isn’t you.”
The weight in his chest eased enough for him to breathe but not enough to feel okay since your voice cracked. You liked talking to him, which was good. Better than good. But if he wasn’t the issue, it was something else. Something you weren’t telling him.
It worried him.
“Can I ask you something?” you asked softly.
“Yeah. Anything,” he said honestly.
“I don’t think I’ve ever asked you this.” You paused to consider your words. “Why do you drive?”
He inhaled. It wasn’t unusual for you to ask about him. But most people didn’t care enough to ask why he did this job.
You weren’t most people there, were you?
Your gaze was back on him instead of looking out the window, waiting patiently for his answer because you wanted to know.
Like Becca said… you care.
“I guess the easy answer is having a flexible schedule, getting decent money on the right nights, and it beats being in an office with some boss hounding me.”
You gave him a knowing, very small smile. “And what’s the real answer?”
He took a breath. “You remember I served in the army.” You nodded in acknowledgement. “When I got out… there was no clear objective. No structure.” His voice stayed even, but quieter. “It was just… a lot of noise.”
He stared at the taillights in front of him, lost for a moment.
His smile had been wrong for days when he got out. Everything seemed like too much or not enough. And the world didn’t slow down just because people couldn’t keep up.
“I had my friends. My sister. I wasn’t alone,” he said like it mattered because it did. Not everyone had that support. “But it still felt like I was supposed to be doing something… and I didn’t know what that was.”
You didn’t interrupt or rush him, so he continued.
“But this?” He gestured around the cab. “It gave me something again.”
A sense of purpose. A mission.
“I have an objective… orders,” he explained, tapping the dashboard. “I pick a passenger up and I get them from point A to point B. That’s the job.”
You nodded slowly. “That makes sense.”
“And how I get you there? That’s on me.” He tapped his chest. “If the weather’s bad, I take it into account. If there’s awful traffic, I adjust. If my usual route is blocked, I find another way.”
“So, it gives you a sense of control,” you mused. “You know what you have to do, but you choose how you execute it.”
He nodded. You seemed to understand. Not everyone did.
“It’s simple in a good way. Discipline and structure with adaptability.” He ran a hand along the wheel, smiling to himself. “I know what I’m supposed to do. I know I can do it well.”
He glanced at you in the mirror, vulnerability shining in his eyes.
“And at the end of the ride… I get someone where they need to go. Safely.”
He paused, the sounds of honking horns and engines surrounding him. It was strangely comforting. But the most comforting thing was your presence and tender expression.
“And sometimes… that’s enough,” he finished.
“It is. It matters,” you insisted, gently but firmly. “More than you think.”
You make me feel like I matter.
“I do my best.” The words came out nonchalantly but he meant it. “I can’t control what others do when they’re on the road, just like they can’t control me. But if something does happen, I fix it.”
Your expression shifted. “And if there’s a time that you can’t fix it? You can’t control what’s happening?”
Bucky stilled before he realized it. That didn’t sound like you were talking about driving. He had a good read on people, but he couldn’t read between the lines of this. Couldn’t figure out why you were asking that.
What needs fixing?
“I just keep driving,” he finally answered. “Like Steve always says… We have to move forward.”
You shifted in your seat. “I guess it’s all we can do,” you said more to yourself than him. “And for what it’s worth, you really are doing a great job,” you added.
He inhaled sharply. “Yeah?”
“Yeah. You help people every time you drive. You don’t just drive well. You do it safely, like you said,” you pointed out, giving him a small smile. “I always feel safe when I’m with you.”
Those words landed in the middle of his doubt in himself, threatening to tear it apart. There was trust within your compliment. It was pure in an impure world.
“Good.” He had to swallow to keep his voice steady. “I’m glad you feel that way.”
You smiled again, but it didn’t reach your eyes.
His chest ached. Every smile seemed to take more effort than it should, like you were chipping away little pieces of yourself. He hated that.
He hated that he couldn’t shoulder the weight still pushing you down, even just a little.
“Here we are,” he said once he stopped, quieter than before.
“Thanks, Buck,” you said, handing over a protein bar with the cash. “And I’m sorry if I made you think that you upset me.”
“Don’t apologize,” he said quickly, turning around as best as he could so he could see you. “You don’t have to do that with me.”
There was no reason for you to apologize when he was the one overthinking.
“But are you sure you’re alright?” he asked, searching your face for the answer your lips may not say.
Lean on me if you aren’t.
Something passed in your eyes and then it was gone. “I will be,” you assured him.
His stomach dropped when you took the blanket with you, like you forgot you were holding it. You clutched it like a lifeline as you walked away from the cab. He watched you go, reaching for the door handle. You disappeared into the building before he could follow, which he had never done before.
You weren’t okay.
For the first time since he met you, he had no idea how to fix it.
But something told him he was about to find out.
By the time he came back, he was tense. He told himself you just needed time with your family tonight. That whatever was on your mind eased with some laughter and familiar warmth.
It had to have helped.
…Right?
His heart didn’t sink when he saw you.
It cracked.
You had the blanket around your shoulders, trying to hold yourself together as you put one foot in front of the other. The look of sadness on your face wasn’t fleeting or light. It was the kind that settled in your bones.
What the hell happened?
You forced a smile when you met his eye and it twisted something inside him painfully.
Don’t do that. Please, don’t do that.
“Hey.”
“Hey,” you replied, your voice thin.
He didn’t drive off right away, giving you a moment to get your bearings.
But you didn’t.
You didn’t slip your shoes off or tuck yourself in. The blanket stayed around your shoulders like an afterthought. Your breaths were too measured. Too careful.
He held the wheel so tight that his fingers ached.
You were a heartbeat away from unraveling.
“Ready?”
“Yeah.”
The city bustled around like normal, but nothing inside the cab felt the same.
The air felt even heavier than earlier. The silence was too loud.. Louder than any word you ever spoke.
And you simply stared ahead like you were bracing yourself for impact.
His teeth snapped together, trying hard to keep himself in check. His job was to get you home safely. If you wanted to confide in him, he’d listen. But you didn’t have to lean on him.
He was just…
Your breath hitched on the next turn.
He made it three more blocks before he couldn’t take it anymore.
Fuck this. I’m not just your driver.
He switched lanes and turned down a road he had never taken on your route before. It was familiar to him, of course. Away from some of the noise. It had a soothing view, too.
Exhaling through his nose, he stopped the car and turned to look at you.
He recognized pain when he saw it. Had lived through it. He couldn’t recall ever seeing you look so fragile.
It’s okay to break with me.
“Hey,” he said carefully because you needed something gentle. “I know you said you’ll be alright… but you’re not.”
“I will be,” you said quickly, your lower lip trembling. “I have to be.”
“Hey…” he whispered again.
You don’t need to be strong tonight.
You shook your head automatically, your next breath shaky. “I don’t want to dump this on you.”
“You’re not dumping anything on me,” he promised, needing you to believe him. “You’re hurting.”
Your eyes filled and you tried to blink the moisture away.
He didn’t think when he got out of the cab, his body moving on instinct at the sight of your tears. He got in the back with you, leaving you enough space so you wouldn’t feel cornered. His hands rested on his knees, making sure not to touch you since he didn’t know if that would help or make things worse.
But he wanted to be there for you.
“Please, let me help,” he begged, his voice thick. “Even just a little.”
That did it.
A sob burst from your chest, your hand coming up to cover your mouth and failing to keep it in.
His heart stopped, his fingers curling to hold himself back from hauling you into his arms.
You hastily wiped your tears away that fell, like it would hide them. Your shoulders shook the more you tried to hold them in. Another broken sound escaped, the threads inside you slowly pulling apart.
“He’s sick,” you whimpered. “My brother…”
Your words were like a punch to the gut.
Oh, no…
“He has been for a while. They thought he was getting better, but the last couple of weeks have been bad,” you admitted, your face crumbling. “He barely made it through dinner tonight before he had to lay down.”
His jaw tightened in that helpless way when grief felt too close and overpowering.
“And the kids… They don’t get why their dad is so tired or why their mom looks so sad when she thinks no one’s looking.” You hiccuped, the sound raw. “And I’m trying to help when I can. I’m trying to be strong for everyone, but I’m scared and… I can’t fix this.”
His throat went tight.
“And if there’s a time that you can’t fix it? You can’t control what’s happening?”
It all made sense now.
The nights where you looked a little worn down. Your smiles that didn’t reach your eyes. Your light dimming. The talk earlier tonight.
While he had been overanalyzing his interactions with you, you were carrying this.
Alone.
And he couldn’t fix it for you.
“I help cook, clean, make the kids smile, but I don’t know what to do anymore,” you whimpered, looking at him with teary eyes. “It hurt for me to smile tonight.”
Trying to smile through pain was one of the hardest things a person could do.
“I’ve been holding this in and I… can’t anymore.”
Bucky couldn’t keep staying behind the line he drew.
Not anymore.
His arms went around you without another thought, strong and steady, pulling you in like it was the most natural thing in the world. You clung to him, your fingers curling in his shirt as you sobbed painfully into his neck. He closed his eyes, willing whatever being was watching over them to feed some of your pain into him.
Don’t do this to her. Give it to me. I can take it.
“I’ve got you,” he murmured, cradling the back of your head as your cries continued. “I’ve got you.”
He didn’t say it was okay because it wasn’t. But he was there. Solid and real. Nothing else mattered except you.
“He’s my big brother. He’s a good guy. He’s supposed to be okay,” you choked out between sobs. “But he isn’t, and I can’t make it any better.”
He pressed his cheek to your temple. He knew how afraid Becca had been when he served and how relieved she was when he came back. If he were to get sick now… If anything happened to him…
“You just need to love him,” he whispered against your ear. “And you do. You have such a big heart.”
You cried harder, making him hold you closer.
“Just let it out,” he urged, rubbing your shaking back.
Minutes passed before your cries eventually slowed to small sniffles. Your body slumped against his, the tears wearing you out. And he held you through it all, letting you feel his warmth and comfort.
You lifted your head slowly, your cheeks wet. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner.”
“Don’t you dare apologize for that,” he said, wiping a stray tear away with his thumb. “Sometimes saying it out loud makes it more real and it opens up the floodgates before you’re ready.”
Like me being a coward about my feelings for you.
You leaned into his touch briefly. “I didn’t want to be a burden,” you said, your voice wrecked.
“You’re not.” He pulled back enough to really look at you. “You never could be.”
You searched his face, your lip trembling again. “Am I doing enough?”
Your grief already cut open his heart, but your question made him feel the blade all over again.
“You’re doing more than enough. You’re showing up for everyone. That matters,” he swore to you, echoing some of your earlier words as he held you tighter. “More than you know.”
Your eyes shimmered again, but the tears didn’t fall.
“And you can lean on me whenever you need to,” he added, giving you a tender smile. “You don’t have to do this alone.”
You smiled back faintly. “Thanks, Buck.”
“Yeah,” he whispered. “Anytime.”
You let go of his shirt, but didn’t make an effort to move out of his arms. He didn’t move either, taking a second to breathe with you and memorize how it felt to hold you. He’d keep you in his embrace all night if he could.
“Can I just...” You glanced down, your fingers absentmindedly tracing a pattern on your thigh. “Can I say something?”
“Anything,” he answered, adjusting the blanket around your shoulders.
Say whatever you need to. I got you.
“Seeing you… talking to you,” you began. “I always look forward to it.”
You lifted your gaze, somehow more exposed and vulnerable than your earlier tears.
“It’s the best part of my week,” you admitted.
Bucky froze completely.
You exhaled shakily, like you said too much.
“I didn’t want to fall apart in front of you,” you went on while his brain was scrambling to catch up. “But everything felt heavy and I just… I felt safe enough that I could. So… thank you. For that.”
He didn’t speak. He couldn’t. Your words flowed through him, filing every crack he couldn’t seal shut himself.
I’m the best part of your week?
Not work, your friends, or even your family?
Me?
Since the beginning, he told himself to stay in his lane and keep things simple. To be professional. Driver and passenger. That was it.
But you were here in his arms, trusting him enough with something so raw and admitting that he was the one thing that made your week a little lighter.
Him.
And he was still acting as if there was a line he shouldn’t cross?
His thumb brushed your shoulder. You looked to him for comfort tonight. You needed him in a way.
Maybe you wanted him, too.
If that were true, what the hell was he waiting for?
Don’t rush her. Don’t make this about me.
“I appreciate you telling me that,” he whispered once he found his voice. “Let’s get you home, okay?”
You nodded, your energy spent as you shifted from his hold. He felt the loss immediately, the cab feeling colder. But he didn’t linger, as much as he wanted to.
He moved back to the driver seat grudgingly and started the engine.
You weren’t too far from your place, but he drove a bit slower and checked the mirror more than he needed to. You had your legs curled up now, your eyes heavy but open. Not distant or shut down. Just tired.
You had a good reason to feel tired.
But you also gave him a smile when you caught him looking the last time. A small, real one. Because you felt safe.
You’re safe with me.
The lights didn’t seem as harsh when he turned onto your street. The breeze wasn’t as strong. The world seemed to realize you needed little wins after breaking down.
Neither of you moved right away when he parked.
“Hey.” He turned slightly in his seat, your expression glassy but more clear when you handed him the money. “I’m gonna walk you to your building tonight.”
It wasn’t a question or suggestion.
Should’ve been doing that since the first night.
“I’d like that,” you uttered.
“And you can take the blanket,” he offered when you started to fold it. “If you want.”
“Really?” Your eyes widened in realization. “Oh, my God. I took it with me earlier. I’m so sorry.”
Bucky had to smile at the way you looked genuinely distressed, like you had done something unforgivable.
“It’s okay,” he said gently. “You had a lot on your mind.”
You hesitated, but didn’t set it down. “Are you sure I can take it with me?”
“Yeah.” His gaze softened. “I put it back there so you’d be comfortable, and it kinda defeats the purpose if you don’t use it.”
He wouldn’t be there to hold you tonight if you cried again, so the blanket would have to do. It was a small piece of comfort. A small piece of him.
Warmth filled your eyes. “Thank you.”
“Anytime,” he replied, meaning it in more ways than one.
He stepped out first, going to your door to open it. He didn’t rush you as you gathered your things, letting you go at your pace. He understood how the body lagged sometimes after everything spilled over.
And his hand was already outstretched to help you out if you wanted it.
You took it.
Instead of the usual spark when your fingers touched, something steadier and grounding moved between you both.
It felt like your hand belonged with his.
It feels right.
He helped you out and fell in step beside you, matching your pace without thinking. Your thumb brushed his skin, making his grip tighten a fraction when he glanced at you. Faint exhaustion lingered in your body, but you weren’t as tense. Your breathing had evened out.
The hurt was still there, but you were safe.
You made it to the door, the light above it casting a glow over you, but you didn’t reach for the handle or let go of his hand.
The soft good nights usually happened at the car, but not tonight.
“Thank you for tonight,” you said above a whisper.
He nodded, everything from the last few weeks pressing into his mind.
Sam on one shoulder. “Be a man and get her number.
Steve on the other. “You’re allowed to want something.”
The teasing. The smiles. The protein bars. The card your niece and nephew made. The movie list.
How you quietly gave him your number. The careful texts. The deeper talks.
The way you trusted him and broke in his arms tonight.
The way you said he’s the best part of your week.
The way he was done pretending that there wasn’t something there between you.
Time to erase the line for good.
He kept your hand in his, refusing to retreat into neutral territory. “I, uh…” He rubbed the back of his neck and exhaled. “I was thinking.”
You gazed at him expectantly.
“I know things are… a lot right now,” he said, trying to be careful and not add pressure when you had so much on your mind. “With your brother and everything.”
Your grip tightened on the blanket, but you nodded for him to continue.
“And I’m not trying to…” He huffed a little, almost frustrated with himself. “I’m not trying to make things harder for you.”
That was the last thing he wanted to do.
“You’re not,” you said, stepping closer. “You never could.”
That gave him just enough courage to keep going, taking one last deep breath.
Just say it.
“I just… I don’t want to keep pretending that I’m just your cab driver anymore. Not after tonight,” he said, his forehead almost touching yours. “Because you’re the best part of my week, too.”
Your breath caught enough that he felt it.
“So. When things feel less heavy, or you just need a break…” His heart was pounding now. “Would you like to have dinner with me?”
He didn’t breathe as the question hung in the air.
Opening up and asking you out wasn’t going to magically erase the pain or worry you felt. It wouldn’t fix what was happening with your brother. But you didn’t need to go it alone.
You stared at him, almost like you were afraid he’d take the offer back. “Dinner?” you echoed.
“Yeah. Dinner. With me,” he said, his voice low. “No meter running or route. Just… us.”
Just the two of you enjoying each other’s company.
“Because I want to see you outside of the cab.” His thumb brushed your knuckles. “I want to critique movies and books with you and eat pizza or noodles or brinner and just talk. I want Al to finally see my favorite passenger in person.”
A small laugh escaped you, the sound like sunlight appearing after a storm.
“But only if you want, and only when you’re ready.”
You stared at him for a long moment before you smiled, one that reached your eyes for the first time tonight.
“I’d like that,” you said
The rush of relief hit him so fast it almost made him lightheaded. You wanted to have dinner with him. You wanted to see him outside of the weekly routine.
“Yeah?” he asked, just to be sure.
“Yeah,” you replied, tender and certain. “Is… tomorrow too soon?”
Bucky blinked, genuinely thinking he misheard you.
Tomorrow?
His heart stuttered. He expected an offer to check your schedule or something weeks down the line. But not this.
“Tomorrow?” he repeated breathlessly.
You nodded, a tad shy. “Yeah. I mean, if you’re free… and it’s not too fast or anything?”
Too fast?
I’ve been waiting fifteen Thursdays now for this.
“It’s not too fast.” He shook his head, a faint, disbelieving smile tugging at his lips. “It’s actually kinda perfect.”
“It is?”
“It is,” he said, more certain. “Tomorrow’s great.”
Tomorrow meant you wanted this. Not just someday down the line, but now. Even with everything going on.
“We can keep it easy,” he said, his thumb moving over your knuckles again. “Whatever you’re up for.”
“Movie?” you suggested, a small hint of your usual warmth slipping back in. “And noodles?”
He laughed. “Number seven?”
“Number seven,” you confirmed, your smile widening.
“Alright. Noodles and a movie at my place.”
“It’s a date,” you whispered.
A date.
You were still standing close. Close enough that if he leaned in just a fraction… God, he wanted to kiss you. More than anything.
The two of you took an important step. He finally stopped being a coward. You didn’t hold everything in.
But he didn’t kiss you.
Tonight wasn’t about that.
His forehead, however, did intentionally brush yours this time.
“I’ll text you,” he murmured.
“I’ll be waiting.”
And I’ll be counting down the minutes.
You squeezed his hand before finally stepping back, his blanket tucked against your chest. “Good night, Buck.”
He memorized the way you gazed at him, basking in that glow. “Good night.”
You slipped inside, the door clicking shut behind you. There was no drop in his stomach. No nerves.
He didn’t have to wait for another Thursday to see you again.
He finally turned back toward the cab, running a hand through his hair like he was trying to physically process what just happened.
Dinner and a movie.
You wanted to spend time with him.
“Jesus,” he muttered happily under his breath as he slid back into the driver’s seat.
His gaze drifted to the backseat, landing on the empty space where you had been curled up just minutes ago, his blanket wrapped around you, trusting him with something rough and fragile.
When he picked you up tomorrow, you could sit in the front beside him.
His phone buzzed, his heart picking up before he even saw your message.
Of course, it was you.
MFP: “Curled up on the couch with your blanket. Thanks again. For everything.”
It gave him peace of mind knowing you made it into your place safe and sound since he only walked you to the building door.
“Thanks for letting me help.”
He made a difference tonight.
He almost set the phone down when another message popped up.
MFP: “My brother was awake when I reached out.”
He held his breath. Was he okay? Did something happen?
“Yeah?”
Three dots appeared long enough that he sat up straighter.
MFP: “I told him we’re having dinner tomorrow, and he said he’s looking forward to meeting the guy who keeps me safe every week.”
He reread the message until the screen went dark.
Your brother, the one you were terrified for, wanted to meet him.
Becca would want to meet you.
He rubbed a hand over his mouth, trying to ground himself. Something earnest and dangerously close to overwhelming spread from his chest, the card on the dashboard staring at him. It brought a smile to his face.
“I’d be honored to meet him. I’ll have to make a good first impression.”
As a big brother, Bucky sensed and respected that he would be a bit protective of you.
MFP: “You already have.”
The additional layer of assurance did wonders.
MFP: “Get some rest tonight, okay? Happy Friday Eve.”
There it was.
Soft, familiar, and you.
“You, too. And it’s Friday Junior.”
MFP: “Same thing. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow,” he whispered, happiness filling him to the point where he thought he’d float away.
He shot off a quick message to the guys and Becca. “Got a date tomorrow night. I’ll let you know how it goes.”
With a smile, he put the phone away. He could already see Sam losing his mind and Steve would try and fail to act subtle about it. Becca would demand every detail after. He’d wait until later to see and hear their stunned reactions.
For now, he was going to drive and get a few more people where they needed to go.
But not before taking one last look at your building and picturing you curled up with his blanket.
Fifteen Thursdays.
Fifteen weeks of watching you slip into his cab with tired eyes, soft smiles, and sweetness that made a difference in his day. Fifteen weeks of falling for you in steady increments. Fifteen weeks of chances he almost let slip by because it took him some time to feel brave.
And tonight he erased the line he drew in the sand for good because you mattered more.
You let him see you and it was a beautiful thing.
“Tomorrow,” he said again like a promise, starting the car and pulling away from the curb.
Tomorrow there wouldn’t be a meter running or rearview mirror glances. No pretending it was just another ride. It would just be you and him.
He was counting down the minutes.
And for once, he didn’t feel like he needed to second guess any of it.
Whew! Did we make it? This isn't the end for these two. It's very much a beginning. Would love to hear your thoughts!
PAIRING: the winter soldier x ditzy!reader
SUMMARY: the winter soldier infiltrates a college halloween party to follow the pretty girl with bunny ears who collided into him on the sidewalk.
WARNINGS: she/her pronouns for reader; ditzy & clueless!reader; reader is mentioned to have hair & wears a skimpy bunny costume; size difference (he's beefy and taller than reader); original characters; mention of punishment and violence (suck dick, hydra); mention of alcohol & weed (they're not the ones intoxicated); mention of murder; bucky mainly speaks russian (it's english in cursive because I don't speak russian + I don't trust google translate when I don't have a basic knowledge of a language) and a little broken english; he asks reader to call him soldat; touch starved bucky; slightly dark & possessive!bucky; light fluff & angst; smut (there is no explicit consent but both of them want it); feral behavior; big dick bucky organization (🙂↕️); oral (f receiving); spanking & pussy spanking; pussy pronouns; nipple play; a little bit of degradation; sex in the woods; unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it pls); primal and rough sex; multiple orgasms; creampie; panty sniffing & stealing.
WORD COUNT: 8.5k
A/N: I posted this last october if I'm not wrong, and honestly this is still one of my favorite one-shots lol. the reader's behavior and personality was heavily inspired by karen from mean girls and rose from the golden girls (a line in particular comes from one of the episodes 🥸). hope you'll enjoy it!
“I can already smell the weed from here. It’s only eleven, for fuck’s sake.” Sarah grimaces as she gets out of the driver’s seat of her Nissan Versa.
“It’s a college party, were you expecting tea and cookies?” Nicole sighs, bent over as she reties the straps of her shoes for the umpteenth time.
The huge mansion sits among the bare trees like a sore thumb. Strings of fake cobwebs dangle from the balconies in tangled clumps, lazily swaying in the cold October breeze. The projectors wash the building in a ghostly glow and pumpkins with bizarre carved faces line the porch, their flickering candles warping the jagged smiles into something unsettling.
The front steps are already crowded with masked people smoking, drinking and laughing too loudly. Sarah snorts out loud as one of the few latecomers nearly trips over a fake gravestone planted in the lawn beside a massive steaming cauldron that reeks faintly of dry ice.
“At least this year Ethan and his minions put some effort into decorating. Do you remember last Halloween?” Nicole turns towards the house with Sarah beside her, but then glances back to find you still standing by the car window, adjusting the corset of your costume.
“Jesus,” Sarah huffs exasperated, planting a hand on her hip. “Stop fussing, you look good!”
“Just a sec…” You mumble absently, turning sideways to check your back.
This year, the three of you agreed to not pick a group costume. Last Halloween had been a disaster from start to finish, mainly because Nicole wanted to go as Cher, Tai and Dionne from Clueless, while you suggested Sam, Clover and Alex from Totally Spies. Sarah was too busy with her now ex-boyfriend to care either way, and a few days before the party she ditched both of you to dress up as Princess Peach and Super Mario with him.
Naturally, you and Nicole still managed to clash over something as simple as matching outfits: she pushed for Harley Quinn and Poison Ivy, but you barely knew who they were, so you argued for Daphne and Velma instead. Long story short, neither of you had time to buy decent costumes and ended up throwing together the easiest thing possible: a devil and an angel.
Just like at least thirty other girls at the party.
That same night, Sarah caught her dear Super Mario kissing Princess Daisy—her cousin—in one of the upstairs bathrooms of this exact mansion, and from that moment on, she swore off group costumes forever.
One year later, in front of the Nissan, a Kim Possible looks pretty much done with life, while a Cher from Clueless sits on the curb smoking her first cigarette of the night. And you, a bunny in a very revealing outfit, tap your lips to even out the glittery gloss.
You thought the ears were a little too big when you bought them, but now, paired with the sheer corset and the short skirt, they look perfect.
“Okay,” you tug the skirt down out of instinct, though the snug fabric barely moves against your thighs. “I’m ready!”
“Fucking finally.” Nicole mumbles, lifting herself from the sidewalk with a groan.
“Hey—”
Sarah’s warning comes too late. Your body is already colliding with something solid, hard as steel. A startled yelp escapes you as a large hand instantly clamps around your bare arm to keep you from stumbling backward. You realize your eyes have squeezed shut reflexively only when they flutter open at once, landing directly on a broad chest covered by what looks like a black tactical vest. Your gaze slowly drifts up, along a strong neck, until it catches on a pair of blue eyes staring down at you. The lower half of the stranger’s face is hidden behind a black mask, yet you are instantly fascinated.
“Oh, hi!” You beam, tilting your head slightly, fully aware of how much guys usually love it when you do that.
The bulky stranger simply looks at you, expression barely changing. There’s a faint furrow between his brows that makes it impossible to tell whether he’s assessing you or debating scolding you for nearly knocking yourself flat against him.
A beat of silence passes between you, in which you let your curious eyes roam shamelessly on his face, before dropping to his impossibly large shoulders. Heat tingles low in your stomach, before a hint of embarrassment curls through you at how obvious you must look beneath his unwavering stare.
Someone clears their throat behind you, but you can’t look away. You don’t want to.
“Honey, let the gentleman go, c’mon.” Sarah grabs your wrist while wrapping her other arm around your waist to gently steer you away.
The long fingers around your forearm jump back as if your skin burned him.
“Nice costume, man. Looks expensive.” Nicole nods at the strange guy, still standing rigidly in the same spot. Only his eyes move, tracking you carefully as your friends lead you toward the entrance at an unhurried pace.
Something about him feels off and Sarah has no interest in provoking some potentially dangerous individual. After all, nights like these are full of creeps looking to take advantage of crowded parties and drunk girls.
Still, you glance back twice.
Each time, you catch him still looking at you.
Before fully crossing the threshold and navigating the sea of intoxicated students, your head turns one last time. The stranger is now facing the house with his shoulders squared beneath his dark clothes, and a stupid little thrill runs through your veins at the thought that maybe he might be here for the party as well.
Years without being touched by anything except harsh hands and cold medical equipment, and what unravels the Winter Soldier is a sweet-looking girl wearing bunny ears and clothes so tight he could almost trace the shape of her nipples.
He can’t remember the last time he felt such a delicate thing brush against him.
Because you are soft. Too soft. Too pretty. He could snap your bones with one twist of his wrist, yet you looked at him like you wanted to be swallowed whole.
His heartbeat has not slowed down since the moment his hand closed around your arm. And as much as he wanted to glare at your friend the moment she took you away from him, he had taken the chance to study your body properly: from the luscious curve of your hips straining against that pathetic excuse for a skirt, to the way your tits threatened to spill from the indecent corset that looked almost painted onto your torso. The fishnet stockings bit into your flesh with every step you took, the tiny bows stitched along the hems probably meant to make the costume cute, but to the Soldier, they only made it filthier.
But the thing that truly made him swallow thickly was the puffy, white cotton tail sewn to the back of your skirt, right at the top of your ass.
Fake.
Such a shame.
He could picture it so clearly: grabbing it between his fingers and tugging until you made that sweet little sound again for him.
It makes his jaw clench beneath the mask.
With a sharp shake of his head, the Soldier forces the intrusive thoughts away.
You weren’t supposed to be here. Nobody was.
The orders had been clear: break in, eliminate everyone inside, then wait at the nearest safe house for extraction.
No witnesses.
The target is a former HYDRA scientist who’d escaped over a decade ago. He’d covered his tracks well, moving states almost yearly, changing names often enough to become little more than smoke in old files. The Soldier vaguely wonders if the man had worked on the Winter Soldier project at some point, even if there would be no way to know. The face in the mission folder had looked painfully ordinary. Like all the others.
The wife and son were to be eliminated too, if present.
HYDRA had enforced the no witness rule brutally during his earlier missions. Back when he still hesitated. Back when stray civilians had managed to survive because he’d been too uncertain.
He can almost feel the scars across his back throb faintly at the memory—a lesson carved into flesh.
However, this situation is entirely new for the Asset.
For starters, the black SUV belonging to the scientist is missing from its usual spot in the driveway. And considering the mansion now resembles a nightclub overflowing with sweaty college students in cheap costumes, the target is clearly elsewhere.
He can’t proceed with the mission.
HYDRA hasn’t contacted him with further instructions either, which means he’s expected to wait at the designated safe house until retrieval. That could mean tomorrow. Or next week.
The Soldier looks back at the house spilling laughter and obnoxious music into the cold night air, then glances down at his gloved hand, slowly flexing his fingers.
Your warmth still seems trapped against his palm.
With a quiet exhale, barely audible beneath the pounding bass, he starts walking toward the door.
Inside, it’s pure chaos.
The bass from the speakers had already been rattling the lawn outside, but in here it practically punches through your rib cage. You roll your eyes at the umpteenth awful EDM remix of some new pop song you don’t even know the lyrics to. Personally, you’d rather dance to early 2000s hits—preferably ones not butchered by a DJ with a SoundCloud account and too much confidence.
People spill through every hallway of the mansion. The improvised dance floor is packed shoulder to shoulder with students clumsily grinding against each other beneath flashing purple lights, while smaller groups cling to the walls, shouting over the music with red cups clenched in their hands.
The smell hits the second you step inside: a mix of cheap perfume, spilled beer soaked into hardwood floors, and sweat that makes your nose wrinkle—all layered beneath the sickeningly sweet scent of vape smoke. Laughter ricochets off the high ceilings, blending with shrill screams every time the DJ blasts the fog machine over the crowd.
A staggering vampire bumps hard into your shoulder, nearly sending you wobbling off your pumps, but Sarah promptly catches your elbow before you can stumble. She immediately sends his back a glare, before shooting a look of utter disgust toward a group of visibly wasted frat boys gathered around the kitchen island.
“I hate college.” She gags dramatically, scowling as they loudly dare each other to shotgun whatever neon-colored concoction the host is pouring into their plastic cups.
You grin at her because, honestly, Sarah would rather be home wrapped in a blanket watching some obscure slasher movie marathon. But after the stunt she pulled last Halloween, you and Nicole practically dragged her here by force. Ever since her cheating ex, she’d shut men out entirely, and a small part of you hopes tonight might finally loosen her up enough to flirt with some attractive masked stranger for a few hours.
Your attention drifts toward the windows lining the far wall. Beyond the glass, the quiet street stretches through the chilly night, washed in pale streetlights.
The strange man is nowhere to be seen.
Almost immediately, your eyes flick toward the front door, scanning person after person as they wander in and out. Vampires. Cheerleaders. Devils. Witches. Cowboys.
No sign of the hot, tall man in black tactical gear.
Disappointment settles strangely heavy in your chest. With a small, dejected sigh, you turn back toward your friends, who are currently debating whether it’s worth risking the kitchen—where there’s at least a seventy percent chance of walking in on some couple making out—for drinks, or staying in the living room to dance instead.
Adjusting your bunny ears with a small smile, you vote for alcohol.
“Hey, Nic!”
All three of you turn at the sound of a familiar voice.
Jacob, captain of the basketball team, jogs toward your group, stopping directly in front of Nicole with an easy grin plastered across his face.
“Hey, girls. Nice costumes.” He grins, wiggling his fingers at you and Sarah in greeting. She gives him a flat nod in return.
“Hi, Jacob! You too!” You smile politely, before leaning closer to your friend. “Is that a... basketball uniform?” You mumble into her ear.
“Of course.” She raises both eyebrows, pressing her lips together as she fights a chuckle at the sight of your college team’s uniform.
Jacob isn’t a bad guy. Just a little painfully self-absorbed. And maybe slightly too obsessed with basketball—to the point where being team captain has somehow become his entire personality. Nicole went on one date with him last semester and came back with a migraine after listening to him talk about playoff rankings for nearly two hours straight.
She’d tried letting him down gently afterward, but he insisted on staying friends. Now he trails after her like an overgrown golden retriever.
“Which player did he dress up as?” You ask quietly.
Sarah’s face goes completely blank. She stares at you for a full second, mouth opening and closing once before she gives up entirely and decides eavesdropping on their conversation is more worthwhile.
“I need a teammate for beer pong,” he mentions offhandedly, pointing toward the long folding table at the far end of the living room, where rows of red cups are already set up beneath flashing lights.
Nicole grimaces slightly. “I don’t know. Maybe later? I’m with my friends right now.”
“Don’t worry about us, Nic.” You interrupt immediately, grabbing Sarah’s arm before she can object. “We’re getting drinks, then we’ll come find you, right?”
Sarah smirks at Jacob’s instantly hopeful expression and nods once.
“See?” He spreads his arms dramatically. “C’mon, we’re gonna crush them. Don’t you remember? You’ve got a winning streak to defend.”
Nicole laughs—a sharp, bright sound that somehow cuts through the pounding music.
“Okay, fine.” She sighs, sending you a half-smile.
As she steps beside him, someone near the table suddenly shouts her name. Then another voice joins in. Within seconds, half the group is chanting Nicole! loud enough to rival a halftime show.
Throwing her arms into the air, she pumps her fists along with the cheers like she’s entering a stadium instead of a living room.
Sarah shakes her head before nudging you toward the kitchen. “C’mon, Lola Bunny. Let’s get a drink.”
If his handlers found out about this, he isn’t sure he would get away with something as mild as hair pulling and a few lashes on his back.
“Cool outfit, dude!”
A guy dressed up as a banana—only his face visible through the costume—shouts after him. The Soldier glances at him briefly, expression unreadable, before continuing to run a silent scan of the room, re-evaluating the night’s target. His enhanced senses catch everything at once, unfortunately: from the humid press of bodies, to the sour-sweet spill of rum beside the DJ booth. Sweat and perfume and alcohol mingle into something thick and suffocating.
“Shit, man. That’s a nice costume you got there.” Someone slurs behind him. “Looks like real metal—” Before the hand can even reach his wrist, instincts detonate and his fingers clutch the guy’s forearm.
Hard.
“Ow ow ow—sorry sorry! Y—You’re crushing my bones, dude!”
The man wearing a cheap Jack Sparrow costume goes pale beneath the eyeliner, features twisting in pain as the Asset looms over him, a silent threat carved into posture alone.
At some point, he registers a small cluster of students turning towards them, whispering with curiosity blooming into something sharper.
Exhaling, the Soldier ultimately decides to release his grip. The pirate stumbles back into his friend, who immediately starts scolding him about consent and personal space.
Satisfied with the clear warning, the Soldier turns around, moving again through the crowd.
He raises an eyebrow, scanning the sea of people with his keen eyes. Finally, he catches a familiar pair of bunny ears excitedly turning left and right.
He walks to a dark corner of the living room with deliberate ease, folding his arms across his chest and leisurely resting back against the wall.
And he waits.
Nicole’s yellow and navy-blue plaid jacket is neatly draped across Sarah’s arm as she rolls up the sleeves of her shirt, a cocky grin spreading across her face.
“Watch and learn, losers.” She snaps, reaching for a ping-pong ball.
From the sidelines, Sarah offers a shout of encouragement, her voice already a little hoarse from all the previous screaming as Nicole sank those balls one right after the other in the rival team’s cups with brutal consistency. You lean into her slightly, eyes tracking the table from one end to the other as a red cup still full of peach vodka sits loosely in your hand, mostly forgotten as you watch the game unfold.
Nicole lines up her shot with practiced ease, wrist flicking at just the right angle. The ball arcs, drops, and sinks cleanly into the last cup with a satisfying splash.
The crowd erupts, chants of her name break out from multiple directions as you and Sarah cheer, briefly pulling Nicole into a tight, celebratory hug. Jacob throws himself at her, and she shrieks as his muscled arms lift her body from the ground, parading your friend around like he would do with the player scoring at the last minute of an important game. Nicole blows a kiss at the losing team, and once her feet touch the floor again, she bows before the intoxicated crowd surrounding the table.
You dart forward to hug her again, while Sarah claps behind you, still laughing.
“God, you were amazing. That was a really Tour de France!” You beam excitedly, but Nicole just stares at you deadpan for a second, before bursting out laughing, too tipsy to deal with your clueless ass.
“Thank you, bunny.”
“Also, Jacob is still very much smitten with you.” Your eyebrows wriggle up and down and Nicole is already sighing half-amused, lips parting to say something, but Sarah’s voice cuts through the moment, sharp.
“Are you fucking kidding me?”
Her expression tightens, focus snapping in place as she leans closer to you and Nicole, lowering her voice.
“Tactical guy is here.”
“Who?”
“The weird guy you bumped into outside. Black gear and blue eyes. Tactical guy.” She explains as if her choice of the nickname should be obvious.
He’s easy to spot because he doesn’t belong here—not in movement, not in stillness, not in anything about the way he stands. He towers above the crowd in matte black, posture too controlled and a judging frown permanently etched on his features.
The people around him are too inebriated to notice him, yet he doesn’t even spare a mere glance to anyone who isn’t you, not even the girl in a lingerie-level costume strutting up and down the room, hoping to catch the attention of his icy eyes.
She doesn’t know he’s busy admiring a much better view that is making his pants tighter and tighter the more he studies it.
“Holy shit,” Nicole gasps. “He’s staring at you.”
Your stomach does a weird flip at her confirmation. At least you aren’t imagining it.
“Yeah, and it’s creepy as hell. He hasn’t blinked once in the past five minutes.” Sarah frowns, goosebumps running up and down her arms. Nicole just smirks, eyes flicking between him and your parted lips.
“Go talk to him!”
“What? No way!” Sarah retorts, her head snapping towards the other. “He looks like he eats people like her for breakfast.”
“Duh, that’s exactly her type!” Nicole chuckles, nudging you forward as she gently takes the cup of vodka from your hand. “C’mon, put on that pretty smile of yours and he’ll be asking you to go upstairs before the next song starts.”
Across the room, his steady gaze still hasn’t moved.
Sarah grabs your right arm again. “Seriously, something’s off about him.”
“Boring!” Nicole says in a singsong voice, rolling her eyes to the sky. “We’re literally right here if anything happens.” She touches your left elbow, subtly pushing you forward.
If this were a cartoon, they’d be the angel and devil arguing over your shoulders.
You grin as usual, even if your heart is pounding so fast you are sure it’s going to come out of your chest any moment now.
With a small nod, you leave your two bickering friends behind and slowly make your way through the bodies swaying to the beat of Candy Shop. Your heels click against the sticky floor, until they stop short in front of the brooding man.
“Hey.” You smile, shouting over the music. “You look kinda lonely. It’s okay if you don’t know anyone, first parties are totally the worst. At my first college party, I ended up throwing up on my crush’s shoes after kissing him.” He doesn’t answer, but a deep line forms between his eyebrows.
“You’re very quiet, but that’s fine. My friend Sarah says I talk enough for two people. Or a whole group, depends on how much caffeine I’ve had.” You shrug.
Still nothing.
“So, um… what’s your name?” You tilt your head, this time expecting at least a reluctant answer, but the guy just keeps staring down at you with an unreadable expression.
“You’re the silent type, hm?” You muse, your amused chuckle soft. “That’s okay. You’re like those spy movie protagonists who never smile until the very end, and then make everyone swoon the second they do.”
He blinks once. Slowly. Maybe a little confused?
“Anyway,” your manicured fingers adjust your bunny headband as you introduce yourself. “I don’t know if you remember but I actually ran into you earlier outside. Sorry again about that. I’m a little clumsy.” You clear your throat, taking a step forward.
“You really are a good listener, by the way!” You sigh dreamily. “Most guys just check their phones halfway through our conversation.”
“So,” You lean closer, slightly standing on the tip of your toes. “Do you want to dance? You look like you need to loosen up a little.” Your eyes immediately fall down to his torso, following the sculpted muscles hidden under those heavy clothes. It’s honestly a miracle slick doesn’t start running down your thighs the moment you realize he could literally pin you to the ground and have his wicked way with you right here in the middle of the party.
Well, you spoke too fast.
The flimsy pair of panties you chose tonight to avoid the outline to be seen through the fit skirt, is getting damper. The thought of this beefy man fucking you until you pass out tickles the back of your brain for a second too long, and suddenly your thighs are clenching against each other in a way you are certain went unnoticed.
It didn’t. But you couldn’t know that the man in front of you is an enhanced individual who could probably track you from a single sniff of your pussy.
The pungent scent of something inherently you teases his nostrils even through the thick black mask. Yet he hesitates, as though he’s trying to determine whether ignoring you would make this conversation end faster. The problem is, he isn’t entirely sure he wants it to end. On one hand, he doubts he can keep himself together much longer if you continue speaking to him in that sweet voice, especially while standing this close to his starved body.
On the other… he doesn’t want to leave you.
But then you slip your hand into his left one, and his body stiffens.
“Wow, your hands are freezing!” You mention casually, squeezing his palm once. It’s indeed cold and weirdly smooth. Before his brain can fully process the alarming ease with which you’ve intertwined your fingers with the most dangerous weapon he possesses, you are unknowingly leading the fucking Winter Soldier straight onto a dance floor packed with sweaty college students—him silent and tense behind you, you practically glowing with excitement.
Yet, he doesn’t dare to stop you.
Why would he do that? A gorgeous girl with soft hands and even softer eyes has been watching him like he embodies all her prohibited wet fantasies. He would be a cruel bastard to deny this pretty thing anything.
The dance floor is a chaos of flashing lights and flailing arms that makes the Soldier’s breath hitch, but you don’t give up, and lead him right into the middle of it.
“Okay!” You yell over the music—far too close—and raise a finger. “Rule number one: just move! Don’t think too much about it or you’ll get self-conscious. I’m talking from experience.” Then raise a second one. “Rule number two: have fun!”
He just stands there—stiff as a marble statue—blue eyes darting back and forth, as if he can’t decide whether to scan the crowd like he’s on guard duty or watch the angel swaying her sinful hips right in front of him.
“See? It’s easy! Just let the music guide you.”
You smile anyway at his lack of response, peering up at him through your eyelashes. “You know, you look so cool. You’ve got this very brooding bodyguard vibe going on, like I’m some rich, dangerous man’s daughter and you’re protecting me from his enemies trying to harm me.”
Another confused blink.
“Maybe I read too many fanfics.” You ponder under your breath, before you reprise your little tantalizing moves, giggling as your fingers barely wrap around both of his wrists to coax him to move with you.
Somewhere at the edge of the improvised dance floor, Nicole is whooping, bouncing on her feet like an overexcited puppy as she takes a sip of your drink. Beside her, Sarah observes the scene appalled.
“Shit.” She mutters, tiredly dragging a hand down her face.
“I like your company. You don’t talk much, but that’s okay. Also, you’re kind of scary—but like, in a cute way.” You chuckle, twirling once and nearly bumping into him again.
That’s when it happens.
A slow, careful shift of his shoulders, but it still is something. His movements are stiff, precise, like his body is negotiating with itself about whether it’s allowed to respond at all. But it’s enough to make you smile satisfied.
The heavy bass pulses hard through your bones, and for a moment, it’s easy to forget he isn’t even really dancing, yet his presence feels like gravity: solid, unshakable, dragging attention toward him without trying.
You turn once again, this time giving him your back. His hand accidentally brushes your hip, causing you to shiver at the faintest twitch of his fingers. They jump back at his side, flexing once like he’s fighting the urge to touch you.
You tilt your head up at him, eyelashes lowered just enough to make it feel deliberate. “Are you having fun, big guy?”
You don’t expect an answer, obviously, but the way his gaze sharpens, intensely following the movement of your lips, is enough for you. It’s not unsettling. On the contrary, it feels… focused. And you already love being the centre of his undivided attention.
The music slows into a deeper beat, couples around you melting closer together, so you get bolder. Initially it’s your back simply brushing against his chest. And then, you unexpectedly find yourself gasping as his right arm circles your waist, keeping you firmly to his front. His jaw locks as you rub yourself against his solid body, your ass inevitably grinding against his bulge. For a second, you really think he might actually say something. Instead, his chest moves behind you with a slow exhale.
“You are so beautiful.” He murmurs against your neck, almost too quiet to hear. As a matter of fact, you don’t catch that, the words being swallowed by the loud song and the thick mask.
“Not so bad, right?” You bite your bottom lip, turning your face back enough to glance at him.
But your lips accidentally brush his mask and the last thread keeping his brain anchored to sanity rips in half.
“Oh!” A loud squeal erupts from your lips as the man spins you around and takes you into his arms. Suddenly, the world is hanging upside down.
Well, no. You are.
He throws your squirming body on his shoulder with an ease that should scare you, yet your stomach twists in excitement as you are kept completely still into his strong arms. You can feel several eyes burn through you as he struts towards the front door, an abrupt gust of cold wind sending a shiver down your spine as you realize he’s taking you somewhere outside.
“Oh my Gosh!” You giggle, feeling the urge to kick your legs like a teenage girl gushing about her crush.
He’s taking you to the woods. This is really happening!
Inside, Nicole freezes mid-sip. “What the—is he taking her away?”
“I told you! Fuck, Nicole! I told you!” Sarah shrieks, running to the door with her friend in tow. They both stop on the porch, eyes frantically searching into the darkness, until they see you waving at them from his shoulder, grinning ear to ear.
“Don’t wait up!” Nicole bursts out laughing, astonished.
“Holy shit, look at her, she’s loving it!”
Sarah groans in response, pressing a hand to her forehead, her chest heaving with quick, short breaths. “She’s giggling. She’s actually giggling. Why is she giggling?”
Nicole simply shrugs. “If a quiet, huge masked man with those gorgeous eyes picked me up like that to fuck me in the woods, I’d giggle too.”
They observe in silence as you get smaller and smaller, until you completely disappear amongst the dense trees. Nicole sighs, placing her hands on her hips.
“Well, you heard her, don’t need to wait up.” She claps once, skipping down the front steps.
“Where the fuck are you going? Of course we’re gonna wait for her to come back.” Nicole stops at the bottom of the stoop, throwing Sarah a deadpan look.
“You really think she’s coming back here? They will probably go at it like bunnies—pun not intended—all night, and then he’s going to take her home tomorrow morning.” She climbs two steps, grasping her friend’s wrist. “Like any adult having fun on Halloween.” She tugs at it, until Sarah reluctantly complies, hesitatingly following her to the Nissan.
“I don’t know, Nic. There’s something wrong about him—”
“So what if the guy is quiet? Maybe he just wants to stay in character.” She huffs, raising both her eyebrows expectantly.
“Mmh... that makes sense.” Sarah mutters, frowning at the trees. “Where are we going, by the way?”
“Home. And we are watching the new The Conjuring. You look miserable here.”
“Well thanks, you asshole.”
“You still haven’t told me your name.” You breathe out, yet to be released. After a few seconds of silence, you huff out a laugh. “You really don’t talk much, do you? By the way, that exit was so dramatic. I loved it!” He grunts in reply, shaking his head. It’s a deep sound that makes your legs shake a little, and you hope you’ll hear it again when he pounds you against a tree.
The walk feels endless as you dangle upside down, forced to watch the ground without anyone to talk to. Finally, he stops in a rather secluded place, and from the looks of it, you must be quite far from Ethan’s house.
Good. You don’t need some wandering drunk couple ruining your night.
As soon as your heels touch the crouching leaves scattered on the damp land, you shriek in surprise, finding yourself pinned to a tree as the man’s hands eagerly explore the sides of your body.
“O—oh! That—that feels nice.” You gasp when his palms squeeze your tits, his thumbs roughly stroking your nipples. The Asset’s eyes don’t know where to focus, torn between your hazy eyes staring up at him pleadingly and the outline of your turgid nubs pressing insistently against the fabric of your top.
“I need to kiss you.” He mumbles, the tip of your nose brushing against his mask. The hoarseness in his voice makes you flinch. It feels like he hasn’t spoken in a while... A long while.
“I don’t understand you.” You complain, clinging onto his vest to keep him close. He sighs, abruptly leaving your chest to cradle your face with a certain rudeness that twists your insides with arousal.
“Kiss. But you close… eyes…” He utters tentatively, staring right into your sparkling eyes. “Don’t look.”
The implications of seeing his face are several and dire. First and foremost, he doesn’t even remember the last time he saw his reflection, and his heart wouldn’t bear a potential rejection. What HYDRA forces him to do is repulsive, but of course you don’t know who he is—and you don’t need to. His face could reflect that repulsiveness though, and be in the worst conditions known to mankind. At that point, why would someone as lovely as you allow him to taint your body with his touch?
Plus, recognizing him would mean putting a target as large as a skyscraper on your back. If anyone were to ever find out about this, you would be in serious danger with both legal and illegal organizations.
The less you know, the better.
Your eager nod momentarily sets his worries, your hands immediately shooting up to cover your face. The Soldier’s mouth twists into what should be a small smile, but probably looks more like a grimace after years of his features knowing only pain and anger. His trembling fingers reach for the side of the mask, stopping there briefly to take you in. He waits, just enough to make sure you are actually following his order. Then, the device is tossed to the side with an uncaring flick of his hand, falling on the ground with a dull thud.
His fingers shake as they wrap around each of your wrists, waiting.
“Kiss, but… don’t look.” He repeats, his voice coming out in a rough, agitated whisper.
“My eyes are closed.” You swear, giving him a resolute nod. The Soldier lowers your hands with great care, until he can see your pinched expression as you keep your eyes squeezed shut.
And then, your lips finally meet. From the way he was treating you a second ago, you would think he was going to kiss you just as softly, like a doll made of glass.
Wrong.
The kiss is feral. His teeth clash against yours, biting and tasting you as if he has been waiting for you his whole life, his tongue frantically searching yours as his hands keep your jaw firmly open, allowing him to do whatever he wants with you.
And you can’t help a needy whimper from clawing out of your throat.
The Soldier pulls you closer to his chest, his metal arm now wrapping around your waist as the other hand traces a slow path down your body, from the side of your breast to your exposed thigh, leaving behind a trail of goosebumps.
He knows he just crossed an inviolable line he won’t easily come back from. He was ruined the moment he decided to look for you inside that chaotic mansion instead of following HYDRA’s orders. Yet, that stinging guilt rapidly crumbles the more he kisses this sweet creature.
He has yearned for something warm for so long. Something soft, and pretty, and nice. Something that is completely and utterly his. And now, it is time to finally collect what he is owed.
The sloppy kiss is met with eagerness from your part, your hands urgently tugging at his vest to keep him pressed against your squirming form. You need more. You need to feel him too.
He reaches for the corset first, pulling both cups down until your breasts spill free from their confines. Once his lips leave yours to focus on your neck, you let out a gasp at how dizzy you feel—your head has been spinning all along because of the intensity radiating off him.
Your moans are still pretty restrained, and the Asset doesn’t like that at all. He wants to hear you whimper for him, beg him to paint your insides white, scream his name over and over again in that sweet voice of yours.
His name.
He doesn’t own a name.
Maybe you could give him one. You sound like a creative girl, with all your silly little anecdotes.
When his mouth finally reaches the swell of your chest, the sight of your soft, bare tits makes him grunt appreciatively. His lips immediately latch onto one of your nipples, while his capable fingers flick and tug at the other. Your whimpers echo through the small clearing as he uses his teeth to lightly pull at your sensitive nub, moaning as he feels it hardening in his mouth. The way he kneads and sucks at your soft skin reminds you of a starving man being offered food after a week without eating.
The Soldier has never seen a more beautiful pair of breasts in his entire life. Well, he doesn’t remember ever looking at a woman’s chest before, but if he did, he is sure it wouldn’t even get close to yours.
The hickeys that now mark the tender skin of your tits are burning, causing you to flinch each time the Soldier’s tongue worships them softly.
“What—oh shit—what’s your name?” You utter between your own wanton noises, eyes still closed as your head falls back against the bark of the tree. Your bare back keeps brushing against it as your body jerks in time with his tongue stroking your nipples. They are so sore, tingling whenever he leaves one exposed to the chilly October air to give the other some love. Still, the scratches on your back are already burning as the coarse surface cruelly scrapes your skin, and you’re certain they are going to hurt so bad in the following days.
The Asset momentarily leaves your nub with a wet pop, frowning up at your parted lips. He grips your jaw with one hand, keeping your mouth open while rising to his full height. He gathers a bit of saliva, before letting it fall gently onto your tongue. Your breath hitches at the unexpected, lewd act.
“Swallow.” His cock twitches at the way you obey at once.
“Soldat.” His voice is authoritative, leaving no space for questions and doubts, before going back to lavish your nipples. Your eyebrows momentarily knit in confusion, not understanding what it means.
Is it a video game character? Is that why he’s all geared up like some sort of spy?
Your brain doesn’t have the time to elaborate a sensible question, as a twist of your poor, abused peaks draws a loud cry out of your throat.
The scent coming from between your legs is now too much for his straining cock. He needs to taste all of you: your mouth is sweet, your breasts are sweet... but the Soldier is certain your pussy is even sweeter.
With an annoyed huff at the realization he has to leave your tits, he makes quick work of removing his tactical vest, tossing it on the ground. You squeal as you are once again lifted in the air; still, you keep your eyes firmly shut and that makes his expression soften a little.
“You’re such a good girl for me, sweetheart.” With a small peck, he takes you away from the poor tree that has already witnessed enough for one night, manhandling you down on your knees and guiding your hands on the ground to make you understand he wants you on all four.
“Stay.” The order growled right into your ear, along with his hands squeezing your hips, makes you whimper and nod quickly as a reflex.
Now that he’s behind you, you deem the situation safe enough for you to slowly open your eyes. Black spots soon materialize out of nowhere, yet you notice immediately the rough fabric underneath you.
“Oh,” you blink at it. “Thank you, Soldat.”
There might be a feral beast clawing at his chest, challenging him to take you right there right now, over and over again, but he doesn’t want the rough ground to scratch your knees and palms. The softness in your voice makes him tense up, enough to feel an unfamiliar sting behind his eyes. His name—his title—said with so much gentleness stokes the flames in his lower belly until he feels a damn blaze licking at his insides.
You barely catch the black glove being discarded to the side as his calloused hands grope your hips, pushing you back against his crotch. You gasp at the ferocity he puts into his thrusts as he starts rutting your ass, grunting and panting with the effort of not coming in his pants like a fucking virgin seeing a pretty girl half-naked for the first time.
“This is what you’ve done to me.” He groans under his breath.
“Soldat…” You hum, one arm reaching behind to caress a strong thigh. “Don’t tell me you’re going to come like this, humping me like an animal.” The little airy giggle you let out makes him swallow, a shiver running down his back at those mocking words that should make him recoil. Instead, the fire grows, and before he can regain control of his body, his hips stop abruptly.
His nimble fingers don’t waste any more time, lifting the hem of your skirt until your ass is completely at his mercy.
“Yes, yes!” You encourage him, gently rocking back. The heady scent is stronger now, but it’s still not enough. The flimsy panties leave you with a sad ripping noise and a feral growl rumbling in his chest. A gasp falls from your lips at the sudden bareness of your core, giggling when you hear him inhale deeply. Is he smelling your underwear? Fuck, you want to turn around so bad and enjoy the show.
The Soldier almost drools when your scent clings to his nose, along with your slick soiling the delicate fabric. He clumsily stuffs your panties into his pocket, shifting around until he’s lying right beneath the lower half of your body.
“C’mere, bunny.” His digits sink into the skin of your thighs, forcing you down until you are fully sitting on his face. “It’s time to eat.”
“Wait! Oh, fuck!” Your lips part pathetically around a breathy moan as his tongue looks for your clit, pulling your knees apart until you’re completely spread open for him. Tears form at the corners of your eyes as your hips uncontrollably buckle down, clawing at the vest when the tip of his tongue leisurely flicks your throbbing nub.
A loud moan escapes your lips when he finally breaches your hole, eating and sucking as if he’s savoring the most exquisite delicacy he’s ever had the chance to taste. Your body squirms at the unforgiving stimulation, still, you’re covering his face like a fucking oxygen mask and you’re far too worried he’s not breathing at all.
“S—Soldat, wait! You can’t brea—AH!” A smacking sound echoes through the air as his palm leaves his mark on your asscheek. “Fuck, please! Do it again.” You beg, hips grinding down without restraint as slick shamelessly falls into his waiting mouth.
Finally.
The Asset internally preens at your enthusiastic reaction to something he did so spontaneously. Unprompted. Human.
Because you are not treating him like a ruthless weapon. A lethal killer that acts in the shadow. An ugly experiment with no dignity left.
But like a man.
So he does it again. And again.
“Taste so good, my pretty bunny.” He rasps out, returning to your clit, two of his fingers curling inside you in the meantime. You yelp, the knot in your belly getting closer and closer to snapping. Your asscheeks are burning, yet you don’t stop his punishing palm, instead arching up into his hand every time it comes down on your tender skin.
“I’m gonna come.” You mumble deliriously, sobbing when in response his metal palm smacks your ass before meanly grabbing the tender flesh, and a third finger joins the other two, pounding against that sweet spot of yours before your orgasm hits you out of nowhere.
“Fuck fuck—Soldat!”
He wonders what he’s going to do from now on when he hears that word. It would be impossible to not get hard as your delightful whines resound through his mind.
Your hole clenches desperately as he nurses on your throbbing clit one last time, panting heavily once he lifts your shaky thighs up.
“Holy shit.” He whispers surprised, licking his lips clean. His lower face is completely damp with your arousal, and in that moment he decides he’s not going to wash his face until the scent disappears on its own.
The Soldier takes a good, long look at your trembling body, now back on his knees behind you. His palms gently caress your raw skin, pulling a shiver out of you as one of his two palms is colder than the other, yet the sensation is soothing against your burning cheeks.
He would really love to kiss the sensitive spots until you fall asleep, but he can’t stop now, not when his cock is painfully craving to be inside you, his imposing bulge pushing forcefully against his pants.
The rustling sounds behind you are loud but you can’t find it in yourself to focus, still dizzy after the violent orgasm Soldat drew out of you mercilessly. You are not inexperienced by any means, yet you’ve never come this hard and fast in your life. You wonder if it’s the whole situation influencing you—being half-naked in the woods while a feral, beefy stranger eats your pussy as if it’s his last day on Earth—or if he’s just that good.
Maybe it’s a mix of both, maybe it’s something else. You don’t care. You just want him to rearrange your insides. Now.
You seem to share the same sentiment as your eyes widen at his cock obstinate at your wet folds. Your gasp soon morphs into a startled moan when the tip slides inside. The way he feeds you his length is far from careful, and without warning, your hole is tightening around all of him.
The Soldier needs to take a deep breath, the muscles in his abdomen clenching to prevent himself from disappointing you by spilling his cum at once.
When was the last time he was intimate with someone? When was the last time he felt something other than fear?
He doesn’t hold back, gradually pulling back, before lust takes over him and your trembling arms give up under you. You fall forward with a whimper, resting your cheek on his vest as his grip on your hips becomes brutal, and barely catching the foreign words being muttered under his breath.
You are delirious with pleasure, the stretch of his thick girth burning so good you can’t breath—for a second you truly fear your hole is going to tear apart.
It’s almost humiliating how it takes only a big cock and a pair of broad shoulders to reduce you to a shaky mess of moans and whimpers.
“Beautiful, sweet creature... you’re so lovely.” The obscene, sloppy noises of your pussy swallowing every inch of him drives him insane. You’re like heaven incarnate wrapped around him, and he refuses to leave, his hips barely pulling back as he clumsily humps you from behind.
“Mine, mine, mine.” You whisper the name he gave you, lying helpless with your eyes rolled into oblivion and drool soaking the dark fabric under you. It’s a miracle how the bunny headband still survives on your head as his harsh thrusts push your body back and forth, your fingers weakly holding onto the same ruined vest that your nipples brush against, now rubbed raw and sensitive.
“That’s a good girl. She’s squeezing me so tight, baby. I can’t let you go now that I found you, need to keep you forever here around my cock.” He grits out, head falling back as he feels his orgasm dangerously close, yet he’s ready to deny himself over and over again until he can feel you come around him again.
“Bet you’d like that... be my little cumdump until you are too full it starts spilling down your thighs. But I’ll just fuck more into you and then everyone will know you are fucking mine.” That’s when, with his mind clouded by pure pleasure, he reaches between your wet thighs, experimentally spanking your clit.
“Fuck!” Your squeal pulls a smirk on his lips, prompting him to do that again, his thrusts still frantic and erratic.
“Take it, my sweet little bunny. That’s it.”
Your nub throbs as the man fucking you like an animal smacks it repeatedly, and you’re certain he’s enjoying himself so much watching you jolt each time, panting like a dog the louder you whimper. His tip relentlessly taps your sweet spot, and it’s just a matter of time before you let out a delirious moan, walls tightening as your second climax washes over you—this time leaving you stiff and crying as wave after wave of bliss settle deep in your bones.
“Got… you.” The Asset grits out breathless as he buries his cock deep into you with a hard, final thrust, succumbing to the overwhelming sensation of your hole squeezing him. He falls over the edge with a guttural groan. Thick, hot ropes of cum flood your insides at once—there’s so much of it you almost choke at the unfamiliar yet pleasant sensation of being stuffed full.
You shiver under him, exhausted but sated, yet the Soldier doesn’t seem to want to budge, still hugging you tight as his thighs shakes at every little twitch of his cock.
It feels too much.
His dick snug inside your tight heat, your body held with care by the same hands soiled with innocents’ blood, the sudden emptiness in his chest after such a heavenly experience... Should he cry? He feels like crying. He’s almost certain of it, though he doesn’t understand why. He just had the best night of his entire life with the most beautiful woman he has ever seen.
Still, the weird sensation sits somewhere deep in his chest, heavy and unfamiliar, pressing against ribs that only know obedience and survival.
He knows he’ll have to move eventually, reality catching up to him the moment he steps too far from this strange warmth you keep offering so freely.
But he doesn’t want to let you go yet.
Honestly, he isn’t sure he can.
“Soldat, my back hurts.” Your voice is feeble yet tinted with amusement. Still, he scrambles on his knees, pulling out carefully in fear of hurting you. You wheeze softly at the sudden loss, your weak arms barely moving at your sides as you try to get yourself into an upright position, but the man behind you has other plans. You find yourself facing him at once, gently led down until your back is touching the vest.
With your mind too foggy with exhaustion, it is hard to remember the only rule he gave you. And shock flashes across your face the moment you can finally see Soldat’s handsome features clearly.
Your lips part, a compliment already rising to the surface, but it never makes it out. His hands come up instead, cradling your face with surprising tenderness before guiding you into a slow, lingering kiss. There’s no urgency in his actions this time, no hunger sharpened by desperation. Just some deep and achingly careful adoration that makes your heart clench painfully all the same. The kind of kiss that feels dangerously close to a goodbye. Like he’s trying to memorize you through touch alone.
He kisses you until your lungs are begging for oxygen, and when he finally pulls away, neither of you can move. His blue eyes simply observe you, urgently tracing your features with a spark of veneration glinting in his gaze.
You look like the personification of debauchery with your smudged mascara and lips swollen from kissing and biting, the poor bunny ears hanging crookedly from your hair after being fucked so crudely.
Yet, the Winter Soldier thinks he has never seen anything prettier.
“I looked at you.” You whisper softly, your dazed eyes dancing over his face with sleepy fascination, utterly devoid of remorse.
His right thumb lovingly strokes your cheek, and somewhere beneath the Soldier, beneath HYDRA’s cruelty, something human finally smiles back at you.
description: you’re Nancy Wheeler’s twin sister, and you couldn’t be more different. while she’s wrapped up in late-night “study sessions” with Steve Harrington, you’re escaping out the window with a book, a cigarette, and zero interest in third-wheeling. the plan is simple: disappear for a few hours. that is, until Eddie finds you first.
pairing: eddie x you (fem!reader)
tags: eddie x fem!reader, no y/n, strangers to lovers, twin sister of nancy, late night meet cute, fluff but like make it silly-goofy, secretly soft eddie (only for you, duh), smart but chaotic, sneaking out, steve sneaking in (constantly), sexual tension go brrrr, flirty banter, eddie making up excuses to talk to you, mike wheeler is suffering, chaos siblings, clumsy smut
TW: NSFW (18+) minors do NOT interact!!, PiV, unprotected (i'm sorry im a raw sex girlie, SUE me), smoking, alcohol, excessive hickeys
WC: 10.2k
A/N: I AM SO FUCKING OBSESSED WITH THIS CONCEPT OKAY?!?!?! me plotting how & when to make a series of everything I write because I fall in love with the characters & dynamics. sorry! not! sorry! reblogs are always appreciated <3!! let me know how you all like this one:)
You and Nancy sit on your respective beds, her voice filling the room while you try, desperately, to focus on reading The Feminine Mystique for the Advanced Lit paper due on Monday.
“Ohhh my god—”
“Oh. my. GOD. Nance, seriously? You can have this conversation literally anywhere else.”
She pauses, lowering the phone and covering it with her palm. “And you can read anywhere else.”
You huff a loud, dramatic breath before lifting the book back to your face, desperately trying to cover the loudest eye roll you’ve ever done.
She carries on gossiping, giggling about Steve and his impending rise to Varsity basketball captain. That is, if Billy Hargrove doesn’t bulldoze his way into it first. Not that you care about Hawkins High’s sacred basketball throne.
You exhale another long sigh and place the book down in your lap, seconds away from giving her another comment, before a tap at your window stills both of you.
Both of your heads snap to see Steve, arms resting on the outside of the sill, cheeky grin plastered across his face.
“I’ll uh—I’ll call you later,” Nancy says before placing the phone in the holster, giddily walking over to the window.
“Steve!” she hisses, though there’s no real threat behind it. “You can’t be here, what if my parents—”
“Isn’t Ted already asleep? And isn’t it your mom’s Friday night bubblebath and chardonnay routine?”
She giggles, glancing over her shoulder at you. You sigh, already standing to grab your jacket from the back of the door and your shoes from the closet.
“You sure you don’t mind?” She asks, as if it really makes a difference. Either way, you suffer.
If you say “yes, Nancy, as a matter of fact, I do mind,” she will pout the second he leaves, and you have to listen to her bitching and moaning about how she misses him.
And if you say “No Nancy, it’s okay!” you’ll have to sit through Steve and her pawing at each other while you’re “not paying attention.”
Either way, all signs point to a graceful exit, going to the one place you always find solace in: the town park.
Specifically, the town park after dark. No kids, no noise, just you, your book, and a cigarette with your name on it. Perfect bliss; quiet, dark, and entirely yours.
You wave in Steve and exchange places with him, waving a final dramatic gesture before you scale down the trellis.
The grass is still a little damp from the afternoon rain, soaking faintly through the soles of your sneakers as you cut across the park.
Hawkins at night always feels like something softer, like the whole town is holding its breath instead of buzzing the way it does in daylight. You prefer it this way.
You find your usual bench tucked beneath the old oak, the one far enough from the streetlamps that it feels almost private, but not so hidden that it’s unsettling.
Your bag drops beside you with a soft thud, and you settle in, pulling your book back out like you never left it. The Feminine Mystique falls open easily, spine already bending to your will from overuse.
You smooth a hand over the page, but before you start reading, you reach into your jacket pocket, pulling out a cigarette and your lighter.
A practiced flick, a small flame, and the quiet inhale.
You let the smoke sit in your lungs for a second before exhaling slowly, watching it curl into the night air. It feels like exhaling everything else, too.
Nancy’s voice, Steve’s stupid grin, the constant feeling of being just slightly out of place in your own house.
From your bag, you pull the small flask, unscrewing the cap with a faint metallic click.
Cheap wine, stolen from the back of your mom's not-so-secret "secret stash" in the back of the kitchen cabinet. You take a quick sip, nose scrunching slightly at the bite, then settle back against the bench.
Book in one hand. A cigarette in the other. Flask resting against your thigh. Perfect.
You actually managed to get through a paragraph this time before—
“Well, shit.”
Your head lifts immediately, eyes narrowing just slightly as you turn toward the voice. He’s leaning against the tree like he’s been there the whole time.
Or like he just appeared.
Leather jacket. Chains catching what little light there is. That messy halo of curls that somehow looks intentional even when it definitely isn’t. And his eyes, wide for a split second, like he didn’t expect to actually see you.
Eddie pushes himself off the tree slowly, hands coming up like he’s been caught doing something he probably shouldn’t be.
“Didn’t mean to—uh,” he gestures vaguely between you, the bench, the cigarette, the whole scene. “Interrupt your… whole vibe you’ve got going on here.”
You stare at him for a second, then another.
Because, yeah, you know him. Everyone knows him. The freak, the drug dealer, the guy parents warn their kids about, like he’s some kind of urban legend. Hellfire Club. Lunch table speeches. The whole thing.
But up close? He’s different. And annoyingly attractive.
You take another slow drag from your cigarette, eyes still on him as you exhale.
“Were you just lurking in the shadows, or is that a new hobby you’re trying out?”
There’s a flicker of something like surprise across his face. Then a grin, crooked and immediate.
“Hey, I prefer the term mysteriously existing,” he says, stepping a little closer but still keeping his distance, like there’s an invisible line he’s not sure he’s allowed to cross. “Lurking sounds way creepier.”
“Debatable.”
He huffs out a quiet laugh, rubbing the back of his neck.
“I didn’t think anyone else came out here this late,” he admits, glancing around the empty park before looking back at you.
“Usually just me and my incredibly profound thoughts about, you know, life. And stuff.”
“‘And stuff’, sounds deep,” you deadpan.
“Thank you, I work very hard on my intellectual image.”
Your lips twitch despite yourself.
His eyes flick down briefly, to the book in your hand, the cigarette, the flask, and then back up to your face.
“…You’re Wheeler’s sister.” It’s not a question.
You raise a brow. “Observant.”
He winces, just a little. “Yeah, that came out way less cool than it sounded in my head.”
That pulls a small laugh out of you, quicker than you expect. His expression softens at the sound, like he’s quietly relieved.
“I, uh—I’ve seen you around,” he adds, more careful now. “You’re not… like, Nancy.”
You tilt your head slightly. “That obvious?”
He shrugs, a little sheepish. “Not in a bad way. Just—different. You don’t look like you’d survive a pep rally without committing a felony.”
“Bold of you to assume I haven’t.”
That earns you a full laugh this time, loud enough it echoes faintly through the empty park.
“Jesus,” he mutters, grinning. “Okay. Didn’t expect that.”
“Yeah?” you say, taking another sip from your flask, then holding it up slightly. “What did you expect?”
He hesitates, like actually hesitates. Like he’s weighing whether he should say it.
“Honestly?” he says finally, softer now. “I thought you’d be more like Nancy. You are Wheelers, after all.”
You glance away for a second, watching the smoke drift instead of looking at him.
“Funny,” you murmur. “I’ve spent most of my life feeling like the extra Wheeler.”
When you look back at him, something in his expression has changed again.
“Well,” he says, after a beat, shifting his weight as he gestures toward the empty space beside you on the bench, “for what it’s worth… I think the extra Wheeler is way more interesting.”
You hold his gaze for a second longer than necessary. Then you tilt your head slightly toward the empty space beside you.
“Sit,” you say simply.
There’s a flicker of surprise across Eddie’s face, like he wasn’t entirely convinced you’d invite him at all. But he recovers quickly, pushing off the tree and making his way over.
Careful, though; always a little careful. Like he’s still expecting you to change your mind halfway through.
He drops onto the bench, leaving just enough space between you to be polite. You take another drag from your cigarette, then glance at him from the corner of your eye.
“May I?” he asks, nodding toward it. Polite, unexpectedly so.
You raise a brow, studying him for half a second before handing it over without a word.
He takes it carefully, like it’s something more valuable than it is, bringing it to his lips and inhaling. When he exhales, the smoke curls around him, catching in the low light like something almost cinematic.
“Didn’t peg you as the sharing type,” he says, glancing over.
“I’m full of surprises.”
“I’m starting to see that.”
You take a sip from your flask, letting the silence sit comfortably for a moment before…
“I thought you’d be mean,” you admit, eyes forward.
He chokes on a quiet laugh, turning toward you. “Mean?”
“And scary,” you add, finally looking at him. “You know. Cult leader. Devil worship. Sacrificial rituals behind the gym.”
“Ah, yeah, Wednesdays at five,” he nods seriously. “You just missed it.”
Your lips twitch.
“But no,” you continue, softer now, “people talk.”
He shrugs, passing the cigarette back to you.
“People love to talk,” he says. “Usually about shit they don’t understand.”
You take it from him, bringing it back to your lips.
“I thought you were mean too,” he adds after a beat.
That makes you pause. “Me?”
He nods, a little sheepish but not backing down. “Yeah. Thought you’d be one of those—” he gestures vaguely, searching for the word, “intimidating, untouchable types.”
You let out a quiet laugh, shaking your head.
“Untouchable,” you repeat, like the word tastes strange.
“Hey, don’t look at me like that,” he says quickly, grinning. “You’ve got the whole thing going on. The hair, the attitude, the—” he motions toward your book, “—mysterious intellectual vibe.”
“Mysterious intellectual vibe,” you echo. “That’s new.”
“I’m workshopping it.”
You glance at him, immediately starting to see beyond the facade. The way he talks with his hands.
The way his eyes flick to you and then away, like he’s trying not to stare too long. The way he’s trying, even when he pretends not to.
“And here I thought you’d be something terrifying,” you say lightly.
“Oh, I am,” he shoots back immediately. “Just not, like… evil terrifying. More… misunderstood terrifying.”
“Tragic,” you murmur.
“Deeply.”
He leans back against the bench, one arm draped along the backrest behind you, not quite touching, but close enough that you feel it.
“You read that stuff for fun?” he asks, nodding toward your book again.
“For a paper,” you say. “But I don’t hate it.”
“Yeah?” he hums. “What’s it about?”
You glance down at the worn cover, then back at him.
“Women being miserable in their perfectly curated suburban lives.”
He snorts. “Sounds familiar.”
You raise a brow. “Oh?”
He gestures vaguely toward the direction of your house. “Big houses, nice lawns, picket fences… everyone pretending they’re not losing their minds.”
You smile, slow and knowing. Your knee shifts just slightly, brushing his for a split second before settling again. Neither of you moves away.
After a moment, he tilts his head toward you, studying you in that not-subtle way of his.
“So,” Eddie starts, voice light, “what’re you doing out here, anyway?”
You hum softly, like you have to think about it, even though you don’t.
“Escaping,” you say, taking a small sip from your flask. “Mrs. Perfect and Mr. Perfect are busy ‘studying’ for chemistry.”
He lets out a quiet snort, already catching on.
“Right,” he nods. “Studying. Very academic of them.”
“Extremely,” you deadpan. “I’m sure there are flashcards involved.”
He grins at that, shaking his head.
“Didn’t he fail chemistry?” he asks, glancing at you.
You turn your head slowly, eyes narrowing just a touch. “Didn’t you?”
His hand flies to his chest like you’ve just mortally wounded him.
“Wow,” he breathes, dramatically offended. “Okay. First of all—rude.”
“Second of all?” you prompt.
“Second of all, I didn’t fail,” he insists. “I simply have a complicated relationship with the American education system.”
“Mhm.”
“It’s mutual,” he adds. “They don’t understand me, I don’t understand them. Very tragic.”
You laugh softly, shaking your head as you look back out toward the empty park.
“Sounds like you just didn’t do the work.”
“Wow,” he repeats, pointing at you now. “You’re really coming for me tonight.”
“You started it.”
“I asked a simple question!”
“And got a simple answer.”
He huffs out a laugh, leaning back again, that crooked smile tugging at his lips.
“You know,” he says, glancing over at you, “you’re actually a lot meaner than your sister.”
“Good.”
That catches him off guard for a split second, then his grin widens.
“Yeah,” he says, a little quieter now. “Yeah, I think I like that.”
You glance at him, just briefly, before looking away again, but there’s a hint of something warmer sitting in your expression now.
Just the two of you, sitting a little closer than before, the space between you shrinking without either of you really acknowledging it.
“You always ditch them like that?” he asks after a moment.
“Pretty much,” you shrug. “I’ve learned my lesson.”
“Which is?”
“That I’m not sticking around to be the accidental third wheel in someone else’s soft-core, soft-porn romance.”
He chokes on a laugh at that, actually coughing a little. “Jesus, okay—yeah, that’s fair.”
You smirk slightly, bringing the flask back to your lips. “Figured you’d understand.”
“Oh, I definitely understand,” he says. “I’ve spent most of high school watching people make terrible decisions in dimly lit rooms.”
“Observation or participation?”
He grins, all teeth this time. “Observation,” he says. “Mostly.”
“Mostly,” you repeat, skeptical.
“Hey,” he lifts his hands in surrender, “I’m a gentleman.”
“Debatable.”
“Wow,” he says again, but he’s laughing now, shaking his head. “You really had me pegged all wrong, huh?”
You glance at him, eyes flicking over his face, the way his hair falls, the way he’s still half-guarded even when he’s joking.
“Maybe,” you admit. Then, softer, “Or maybe I just never actually looked.”
He doesn’t joke this time. Just watches you for a second longer than usual, something a little more thoughtful settling in.
“Well,” he says, after a beat, voice quieter but still warm, “kinda glad you are now.”
“You know,” he says, glancing at you with that crooked grin, “for someone who ditched a perfectly good ‘study session,’ you seem pretty content out here.”
“Perfectly good is generous,” you murmur. “I’m sure they’re doing very rigorous academic work.”
“Yeah,” he nods. “Real hands-on learning.”
You snort softly, shaking your head. “Jealous?” you tease.
“Of Harrington?” he scoffs. “Please. I’ve got way better hair.”
You turn, eyeing him deliberately, letting your gaze drag just enough to make your point.
“…Debatable.”
He freezes for half a second, then laughs under his breath.
“Wow. You wound me.”
“I’m just saying,” you shrug lightly, lips twitching. “The competition’s stiff.”
“Oh, I’m aware,” he says, leaning in just slightly, voice dropping like it’s suddenly just for you. “But I’ve got my strengths.”
Your stomach does something annoying at that.
“Yeah?” you say, lifting a brow.
“Yeah.” He doesn’t elaborate.
You take another sip from your flask, then pause. Tilt it again, nothing. You frown slightly, giving it a little shake like that’s going to magically fix the situation.
“Jesus,” you mutter, squinting into it. “I think I’m drunk.”
You tip it upside down for emphasis; empty, completely.
Eddie watches this unfold, trying very hard not to laugh.
“Yeah,” he says carefully, “I was gonna say, you’ve been hitting that thing like it personally offended you.”
You glance at him, unimpressed. “It did.”
“Of course it did.”
You huff, leaning back again, head tipping slightly toward the sky. The world doesn’t spin, exactly, but it’s looser. You’re also more aware of him next to you in a way that’s hard to ignore.
“C’mon,” he says after a second, gentler now. “I’ll walk you home.”
You turn your head toward him, narrowing your eyes just slightly. “I can walk.”
“I’m sure you can,” he says easily. “But you might end up in, like, Illinois.”
“Tempting.”
“Yeah, but I feel like your sister would hunt me down, and I’m trying to avoid that whole situation.”
“Fine.”
He stands with you immediately, like he was already planning to.
The walk is quiet at first. Your shoulder brushes his once, then again. Halfway down the block, you shiver slightly, the night air finally cutting through.
Without a word, he shrugs off his jacket and drapes it over your shoulders before you can argue.
It’s warm. Smells faintly like smoke and something distinctly him. You pull it a little tighter around yourself, glancing up at him.
“Thanks.”
“Don’t mention it.”
You walk a little closer after that.
When you reach your house, the lights are low, the whole place quiet in that heavy, late-night way. You hesitate on the lawn for half a second.
“Guess this is me,” you say.
“Guess it is.”
Neither of you moves right away.
“I’ll see you around?” he asks, trying for casual and almost pulling it off.
You look at him, almost astonished at the soft porch light catching in his hair, in his eyes.
“Yeah,” you say. “You will.”
That’s enough for him. He steps back, giving you just enough space to climb back up the trellis, watching until you make it to the window safely.
Inside, it’s dim, quiet. You land softly on the floor, slipping your shoes off immediately. And then—You freeze. Because there they are.
Nancy and Steve, asleep.
You stare at them for a long, unimpressed moment. Nancy curled up against him, Steve half-sprawled like he owned the place.
You blink once, twice. Then you walk over and smack his leg, hard enough to wake him.
“Hey,” you whisper sharply. “Romeo.”
He jolts awake, blinking up at you in confusion. “Jesus—what—?”
“Get out.”
He squints at you, still half-asleep. “What?”
“You heard me,” you say, already moving to pull your jacket off. “Out.”
Nancy stirs beside him, mumbling something incoherent. You glance at her, your expression softening for just a second, then back to Steve.
“Go home,” you tell him, quieter now but no less firm. “Before my dad wakes up and kills you.”
He groans, pushing himself up carefully, trying not to wake Nancy fully.
“Okay, okay,” he mutters. “Hostile environment…”
“Extremely.”
He shoots you a look, but there’s no real bite behind it as he climbs back out the window. You wait until he’s gone before turning back.
Nancy shifts again, pulling the blanket closer. You sigh softly, grabbing it and tugging it up properly around her shoulders.
You stand there for a second, watching her. Then shake your head, muttering under your breath as you grab your things.
“Unbelievable.” But there’s no real heat in it, just habit. And maybe, somewhere underneath it, care.
Monday mornings at Hawkins High always feel louder than they should.
Lockers slam. Someone’s laughing too hard down the hall. The fluorescent lights hum overhead like they’ve got something against you personally. It’s all a little too much, a little too bright, a little too on.
You lean against the row of lockers, shoulder pressed beside Nancy’s as she twists the dial on hers, already mid-conversation with Steve.
“I’m just saying,” Steve is going on, running a hand through his hair like he’s in a shampoo commercial, “if Coach sees the way I’ve been playing lately, captain is basically a done deal.”
Nancy hums, halfway listening, pulling out a notebook. “Unless Billy—”
“—is overrated,” Steve cuts in quickly. “Thank you, Nance, glad you agree.” She gives him a look.
You hum faintly, not really listening, flipping open your book more for something to do than anything else.
“Hey, Wheeler.”
Your stomach drops just slightly, and you look up. Eddie stands a few feet away, trying for casual and only half pulling it off.
His eyes find yours immediately, like they knew exactly where to look.
You straighten just a little. “Munson.”
He nods once, stepping closer, hand coming out of his jacket pocket.
“You, uh… forgot something on Friday,” he says, holding it out.
A ring, one hundred percent one of his. A small smile forms as you look between his face and the ring. You don’t hesitate.
“Right,” you say, like it makes perfect sense, reaching out and taking it from him. “I was wondering where that went.”
There’s the smallest flicker of surprise in his eyes, then he’s grinning.
“Yeah?” he says, playing along instantly. “Figured you might miss it.”
“Sentimental value,” you shrug, slipping it onto your finger like it belongs there. “Can’t just lose things like this.” Your fingers brush his for a second longer than necessary.
Steve is staring. Nancy is staring. Eddie notices.
“Good thing I found it, then,” he says, voice dipping just slightly, something more intentional in it now.
“Good thing,” you echo.
There’s a beat where neither of you looks away. Then he leans back just a fraction, like he’s remembering where he is.
“I’ll, uh, see you around,” he adds, a little softer.
You nod, maybe a little too quickly. “Yeah,” you say. “See you.”
He lingers for half a second longer, then turns, disappearing back into the hallway like he was never there. Except he very much was.
The second he’s out of earshot, “Okay,” Steve says slowly. “What was that?”
You open your book again like nothing happened. “Nothing.”
Nancy doesn’t say anything right away, which is how you know it’s bad.
“…You’re blushing.”
You freeze. “I’m not—”
“You are,” she says, turning fully toward you now, eyes narrowed in disbelief. “Oh, my god.”
“I am not blushing.”
“Your face is totally red.”
“It’s warm in here.”
“It is not warm in here.”
Steve leans in, squinting at you like he’s inspecting evidence. “…You are kind of red.”
You snap your book shut, shooting them both a look. “Can you both relax?”
Nancy crosses her arms, clearly not letting this go. “Since when are you and Eddie Munson—”
“We’re not,” you cut in quickly.
She raises a brow. “Is that not his ring?”
You glance down at your hand. Right. The ring.
“It’s mine,” you say.
Nancy stares at you. Then lets out a short, incredulous laugh.
“You’re lying.”
“I’m not—”
“You’re so lying.”
Steve, for once, looks entertained instead of confused. You groan, dragging a hand over your face.
“It’s not a thing.”
“Mhmm.”
“It’s not.”
Nancy just smiles, slow and knowing in a way that makes your stomach twist. “Sure,” she says lightly. “Whatever you say.”
You look back down at your book, trying very hard to focus on the words in front of you. But all you can think about is the way he looked at you. And the fact that, yeah, you were definitely blushing.
By the end of the day, you feel like this day has wrung you out. The halls are quieter now, lockers hanging open, scraps of conversation echoing as people trickle out.
You lean against your car in the parking lot, keys dangling from your fingers, watching the last of the crowd filter out like you’re waiting for something. Or someone.
You don’t let yourself think too hard about that part.
“Hey.”
You glance over to see Nancy jogging up to you, bag slung over her shoulder, hair slightly windblown like she’s been rushing.
“Hey.”
She slows when she reaches you, giving you a look, that look, that she’s been giving you all day.
You sigh immediately. “Don’t.”
“I didn’t even say anything.”
“You didn’t have to.”
She smiles, just a little too pleased with herself.
“Anyway,” she says, shifting her bag, “I’m going with Steve. We have… somewhere to be.”
You stare at her for a second. “Somewhere,” you repeat flatly.
“Don’t start.”
“I’m not starting anything,” you shrug. “I’m just deeply intrigued by this mysterious commitment you both seem to have.”
She rolls her eyes, nudging your arm. “Very funny.”
“Thank you.”
“Can you drive Mike home?”
You blink. “From where?”
“Hellfire.”
You let out a slow breath, already knowing where this is going. “Of course he’s at Hellfire.”
“He needs a ride,” she says, like that explains everything. “And Mom thinks I’m taking him home.”
You turn your head slowly, narrowing your eyes at her. “So you’re not taking him.”
She winces, just slightly. “I would,” she says quickly, “but Steve and I—”
“—have somewhere to be,” you finish for her.
“Exactly.”
You stare at her, and she smiles. You sigh, long and dramatic, pushing yourself off the car.
“Fine.”
“Thank you,” she says immediately, relief washing over her face.
“You owe me.”
“I know.”
“And if Mom asks, I drove him.”
“Obviously.”
“Hey, Nance?”
She turns back.
“Try actually studying this time.”
She scoffs, cheeks pinkening just slightly. “Shut up.”
You grin, walking towards the school. “Have fun.”
She shakes her head, but she’s smiling as she heads off, already spotting Steve walking towards his car.
The drama wing is quieter than the rest of the school, tucked far enough away that the noise fades into something distant and dull.
You’re stretched out across one of the benches in the hallway, legs dangling off the side, book resting against your chest.
One arm hangs lazily over your stomach, the other holding your place on the page as you read. Or pretend to read, rather.
The fluorescent lights buzz overhead, and every now and then, you catch the rise and fall of voices behind the closed drama room doors. Dice clatter. Someone shouts. A chorus of groans follows.
Eventually, the door bursts open.
Noise floods the hallway all at once as a cluster of boys spills out, mid-argument, mid-laugh, mid-everything. Backpacks slung over shoulders, voices overlapping, the energy loud and chaotic in a way that feels entirely contained to them.
“—I’m telling you, that was a terrible move—”
“It was strategic!”
“It got us killed!”
Your eyes don’t lift from the page. Not right away.
“…Holy shit.”
The voice is quieter than the rest. Closer. Your lips twitch faintly as a shadow falls over you.
You don’t move. Don’t look. Not until—
“What are you doing out here, Wheeler?” comes that familiar voice, hovering somewhere just above you.
You tilt your head back slightly, and there he is.
Eddie is leaning over you, hands braced on the bench on either side of your shoulders, curls falling forward just enough to frame his face as he looks down at you.
Upside down, and way too close for it to be casual. Your heart does something annoying. You close your book slowly, using it to nudge lightly against his chest.
“Waiting for my brother,” you say.
His brow lifts. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
“You always wait like this?” he asks, glancing down at the way you’re sprawled across the bench.
“Comfortably?”
“Dramatically.”
You hum, considering. “Depends who I’m trying to impress.”
A grin pulls at his mouth, slow and crooked. “Well,” he says, leaning just a fraction closer, “it’s working.”
Your breath catches, just for a second. Then you recover, lifting a brow. “Good.”
Behind him, the rest of the group has mostly filtered out, except for one very familiar voice.
“…Oh my god.”
Mike is standing a few feet away, staring at the two of you like he’s just witnessed something deeply disturbing.
“What are you doing here?” he demands.
You don’t break eye contact with Eddie. “Picking you up.”
Mike makes a face. “Why are you—” he gestures vaguely between the two of you, “—like that?”
Eddie glances back over his shoulder, then down at you again, clearly amused.
“Like what?” he asks innocently.
“Like that,” Mike repeats, horrified. “Can you not—like—hover over my sister?”
You finally sit up a little, just enough to ease the situation, not that you really want to.
“Relax, Mike.”
“I am relaxed,” he says immediately. “I just don’t like this. It’s like, gross.”
Eddie straightens, but he doesn’t step far. Still close, still in your space in a way that feels intentional now.
“Your sister’s cool,” he says, like that’s supposed to help.
Mike groans. “Great. Awesome. That makes it worse.”
You snort softly, slipping your book back into your bag as you stand. “Ready to go?” you ask him.
“Yes,” he says quickly. “Right now. Immediately.”
You glance back at Eddie, just for a second. He’s already looking at you, naturally.
“I’ll see you around,” he says, a little quieter now.
You tilt your head, a small smile pulling at your lips.
“Yeah,” you reply. “You will.”
Mike makes another deeply pained noise behind you. “Can we please go?”
You roll your eyes, wrapping your arm around his shoulder as you head down the hall.
The house is quiet in that familiar, late-night way. Floorboards creak if you step in the wrong spot. The hallway light hums faintly. Somewhere downstairs, the TV is still on low, your dad having inevitably fallen asleep in his chair.
You’re in bed: book open, lamp on, and not reading a single word. Because your attention keeps drifting to the window. You don’t know why you’re expecting anything. You just are.
A soft tap finally comes, barely there, like whoever’s outside isn’t entirely sure they should be. Your head lifts immediately. You sit up, already moving toward the window, pushing the curtain aside, and then you blink.
Because it’s not who you expected.
Steve is perched outside your window like he owns the place, one arm braced on the sill, looking far too comfortable for someone breaking in.
He grins the second he sees you. “Hey.”
You just stare at him. “…You’ve got the wrong Wheeler.”
He laughs quietly. “Yeah, I know. Nancy said to come around back, but the window was closer.”
“Shocking,” you deadpan. “Truly.”
He glances past you into the room. “Is she awake?”
You jerk your thumb toward the hallway. “Bathroom.”
“Perfect.”
He starts to climb in, and then another voice cuts in from below.
“…You’ve gotta be kidding me.”
Both of you freeze. You lean out slightly, looking down, and there he is.
Eddie, halfway hidden in the shadows near the base of the trellis, looks up with a mix of disbelief and something that looks a lot like irritation.
Steve squints down at him. “…Munson?”
Eddie gestures vaguely upward. “Yeah. Hi. Didn’t realize there was, like, a schedule.”
You press your lips together, fighting the urge to laugh.
Steve, meanwhile, straightens slightly, fully committing to the bit.
“Occupied,” he says, nodding toward the window like he’s guarding it.
Eddie blinks. “Occupied,” he repeats flatly.
“Occupied,” Steve confirms.
Eddie lets out a short laugh, shaking his head. “Wow. Okay. That’s—yeah. That’s great.”
You lean further out the window now, resting your elbows on the sill.
“You gonna stand down there all night, or…?”
His eyes flick up to you immediately, expression shifting the second he sees you.
“Depends,” he says. “You planning on making this a double booking situation?”
Steve scoffs. “Absolutely not.”
You roll your eyes, pushing yourself back from the window. “Hold on.”
Steve looks at you. “What are you—”
“Don’t fall,” you say dryly, already heading for your door.
You slip into the hallway, quiet and quick, knocking once on the bathroom door.
Nancy’s voice comes through, muffled. “What?”
“Your boyfriend’s here,” you hiss.
“Just let him in!”
“Gladly.”
You head back, swinging your window open wider. “Alright, Romeo,” you say, gesturing Steve inside. “You’re clear for entry.”
He grins, climbing in as he’s done a hundred times before.
“Much appreciated.”
You glance out the window again, and Eddie’s still there. You hold his gaze for a second, then tilt your head, just slightly. Meet me.
His mouth quirks immediately, like he gets it without you saying a word.
You slip out of your room, quieter this time, grabbing your jacket on the way and easing down the stairs. The back door clicks softly behind you as you step out into the night.
He’s already there when you round the corner of the house, leaning against his van.
“Didn’t realize I had competition,” he says as you approach.
“Relax,” you reply. “He’s here for Nancy.”
“Yeah, I figured,” he mutters. “Still rude.”
You laugh softly, pulling your jacket tighter around you. “What were you even doing here?”
He shrugs. “Drove by. Thought I’d see if the mysterious, intellectual, ring-stealing Wheeler was around.”
You smirk slightly. “Lucky you.”
“Very,” he says, pushing off the van and stepping closer.
“Wanna get outta here?” he asks.
You glance back at the house once, lights low, everything quiet, then back at him.
“…Yeah.”
His grin spreads, quick and bright. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
That’s all it takes. He moves around to the passenger side, pulling the door open for you like it’s second nature.
You climb in, settling onto the worn seat, the familiar smell of smoke and leather wrapping around you again.
“Where to?” you ask.
He glances over at you as he starts the engine. “My place,” he says. “If you’re not too scared.”
You lean back, a small smile tugging at your lips. “I think I’ll survive.”
Eddie’s van crunches to a stop in front of his place, engine ticking as it cools. You don’t move right away, and neither does he.
Then he glances over, a small grin pulling at his mouth. “Home sweet home.”
You look out the window, taking it in. “Cute,” you say lightly.
He snorts. “Wow. Brutal.”
“I mean it,” you add, pushing the door open. “It has character.”
“Yeah,” he mutters, climbing out on his side. “That’s what people say when they’re trying to be nice.”
You round the front of the van, bumping the door shut with your hip. “I’m always nice.”
“Liar.” You smile.
Inside, his room is exactly what you expected, and not, all at once.
Dim lighting, a clutter of tapes and records, a guitar leaned against the wall, posters layered over each other like they’ve been there forever. It smells faintly like smoke, like him.
“Make yourself at home,” he says, tossing his keys down somewhere without looking.
You do, dropping onto his bed like you’ve been here before, shrugging off his jacket but not moving it too far from you.
He notices, and there’s a moment where he just… looks at you. Then he shakes himself out of it, moving toward the small table, rummaging around before pulling out a joint and a lighter.
He glances back over his shoulder. “You smoke?”
You lift a brow. “You’ve seen me smoke.”
“Yeah, cigarettes,” he says, holding it up. “This is different.”
You tilt your head, considering for half a second before, “Depends,” you say. “You offering?”
His grin comes back immediately. “Always.”
He crosses the space between you, dropping down onto the bed beside you. Not too close, but definitely closer than before. Close enough that your knees almost brush.
He lights it, takes the first drag, then passes it over. Your fingers brush again. It seems to be becoming a pattern.
You bring it to your lips, inhaling slowly, the smoke harsher, heavier than what you’re used to. You cough a little on the exhale, turning your head away slightly.
He laughs softly. “Easy, Wheeler.”
“Shut up,” you mutter, though there’s no bite to it, handing it back.
“I warned you.”
“You did not.”
“I implied.”
“Poorly.”
He grins, taking another drag. The room settles into something slower after that, quieter. You lean back onto his bed, head tipping slightly as you watch him from the side.
“What?” he asks, catching you.
“Nothing.”
“Uh-huh.”
“You’re just…” You trail off, like you’re not sure you want to say it.
“Just what?”
You shrug, lips twitching. “Not what I expected.”
“Yeah?” he says, echoing you from earlier, a little softer now.
“Yeah.”
He studies you for a second, then leans back too, mirroring you without realizing it. “Can I ask you something?” he says.
“Depends.”
“Are you and Nancy, like…” he gestures vaguely between his own face, “identical twins?”
You choke. Actually choke this time, coughing hard as the smoke catches in your throat.
“Oh my—are you serious?” you manage between coughs.
He’s already laughing, hand coming up instinctively like he might help, then stopping himself.
“What? It’s a valid question!”
“It’s not,” you insist, wiping under your eye. “Have you seen us?”
“I have!” he says defensively. “You look similar!”
“Barely!”
“Okay, not identical identical,” he amends quickly. “But like close enough that I had to check.”
You shake your head, laughing despite yourself. “God, no. We’re just twins.”
“Fraternal,” he says, nodding like he’s learned something important.
“Congratulations.”
“Thank you, I try.”
“You’re definitely the cooler one,” he adds.
You glance at him. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
“Don’t let her hear you say that.”
“Oh, I absolutely won’t,” he says. “I value my life.”
You laugh again, softer this time, the sound lingering between you. The joint passes back and forth, slower now. Your shoulders brush, then stay. Neither of you moves away.
At some point, your hand ends up resting on the space of the mattress between you, and his is already there. Fingers close enough to touch, but not quite.
“You know,” he says quietly, eyes flicking down to your hand, then back up, “you’re not what I expected either.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.” His voice has changed.
You turn toward him fully now, closer than before, without really deciding to be.
“What did you expect?” you ask.
He hesitates, not in a joking way, but in a real way.
“Like… I shouldn’t even bother.”
That does something to you; something warm and a little dangerous. You shift just slightly closer, your knee brushing his, staying there.
“Maybe you should’ve,” you say, just as quietly. His breath catches; you can see it. Hell, you can feel it.
The space between you shrinks without either of you naming it. His eyes flick to your lips, then back up. Like he’s asking. Like he’s not sure.
But you don’t pull away. You don’t say anything. You just stay, gaze meeting his. That’s all the permission he needs. He leans in slowly, giving you time to stop him. You don’t.
The kiss is soft at first, careful. Like he’s still half convinced you might disappear if he moves too fast.
Your hand lifts without thinking, brushing against his jaw, steadying him as you kiss him back, just as gentle, just as unsure for a split second.
Then less unsure, then not unsure at all. His hand finds your waist, light, grounding. The room feels smaller, warmer. Everything else fades out a little.
When you pull back, it’s not far. Foreheads almost touching, breath still uneven.
“…Not scary,” you murmur.
He huffs a soft laugh, eyes still on yours. “Told you.”
You smile, just barely. “Maybe I was wrong about you.”
“Maybe,” he says, just as softly. But he doesn’t move away, and neither do you. Instead, he lifts your chin and brings your lips to his again.
The kiss lingers, softer than you expected, but it quickly turns deeper. Eddie’s hand stays at your waist, fingers pressing in like he’s grounding himself.
You shift closer on the bed, one leg sliding over his, and the old mattress groans loudly under you both. He laughs against your mouth, the sound low and rough.
“Fuckin’ bed,” he mutters, not pulling away. “Always cockblocking me.”
You snort, nipping at his bottom lip. “Then shut up and do something about it.”
His eyes darken. “Bossy. I like it.”
Clothes come off in that messy, uncoordinated way that makes everything feel more real.
Your shirt catches on your earring; Eddie curses under his breath and helps untangle it, nearly elbowing you in the face in the process.
When you tug his Hellfire shirt over his head, his hair gets caught in the collar, and he has to shake it free like a wet dog.
You both end up laughing quietly, but the laughter dies fast when your hands slide over his bare chest, tracing the tattoos on his chest and the line of hair disappearing into his jeans.
Eddie pushes you back onto the pillows, mouth trailing hot and wet down your neck. He’s not gentle exactly, he sucks a mark just below your collarbone that’ll definitely be there tomorrow.
But there’s a hesitation in the way his hands move, like he’s still half-waiting for you to tell him to fuck off.
When he finally gets your jeans and underwear down, they snag around one ankle. He yanks a little too hard, and you nearly knee him in the shoulder.
“Shit—sorry,” he mumbles, tossing them somewhere toward the floor.
He settles between your thighs, broad shoulders spreading you open. For a second, he just looks, pupils blown, then glances up at you with that signature smirk. “You good?”
You nod, breath already uneven. “Yeah. Just… don’t overthink it.”
He huffs a laugh. “Me? Overthink? Never.”
Then his mouth is on you.
The first lick is experimental, a little too broad, but when your hips twitch, and you let out a shaky breath, he figures it out quickly.
He gets messier and more eager, tongue dragging through your folds, circling your clit with sloppy enthusiasm.
One hand grips your thigh hard enough to leave marks, the other presses flat on your stomach, holding you down when you start to squirm.
Every time you moan, he hums against you like he’s proud of himself, the vibration shooting straight through your core.
“Shit, you taste good,” he mumbles, pulling back just enough to speak, lips brushing your folds. “Thinking about me often?”
You tug his hair, hips rolling against his face. “Nope,” but the breathy moan you just exhaled gives you away instantly.
Eddie chuckles darkly, the sound muffled against your pussy. “Liar. You’re soaked. I can feel how bad you want it.”
He licks a slow stripe up your center, then sucks your clit into his mouth, tongue flicking in tight circles that make your back arch off the bed.
You’re panting now, one hand fisted in his messy curls, the other twisted in the sheets.
He slides two fingers into you without warning, curling them just right, and the sudden stretch pulls a louder moan from your throat.
“That’s it,” he groans, voice rough. “Make those pretty sounds for me.”
He picks up the pace, fingers thrusting deep and steady while his mouth works your clit relentlessly.
He’s completely lost in it, groaning and cursing softly against your skin like eating you out is the best thing that’s ever happened to him.
You can feel yourself getting close, thighs starting to tremble around his head. Every time your hips jerk, he presses you down harder, refusing to let you escape the overwhelming pleasure.
“Eddie—” you gasp, voice breaking.
He pulls back just enough to look up at you, eyes dark and mouth slick. His fingers keep moving, slow and deep, dragging it out on purpose. “Yeah? You close already? Let me taste you, sweetheart.”
The filthy words in that smug voice push you right to the edge. You nod frantically, tugging his hair harder.
“Then do it,” he says, voice dropping lower. “Come for me.”
He dives back in, sucking your clit hard while his fingers curl against that perfect spot inside you. The orgasm hits you hard: thighs clamping around his head, back bowing off the bed as you moan his name, hips grinding against his face.
Eddie doesn’t stop, licking you through every pulse and aftershock, groaning like he’s the one coming.
Only when you start twitching and weakly pushing at his head does he finally ease off, kissing the inside of your thigh softly before crawling back up your body.
His mouth finds yours in a messy, desperate kiss, letting you taste yourself on his tongue. He’s rock hard against your thigh, still trapped in his jeans, grinding down once without thinking.
“Fuck,” he breathes against your lips, voice hoarse. “You’re dangerous.”
You reach between you, palming him through the denim, and he hisses, hips jerking into your touch. “Then take these off already, or I’m doing it for you.”
Eddie laughs, low and ragged, sitting back on his knees to fumble with his belt. His cock springs free, flushed dark and leaking at the tip. He strokes himself once, eyes locked on you with that hungry, slightly dazed look.
He leans back over you, one hand braced beside your head, the other guiding himself between your legs. The head of his cock nudges hot and blunt against your entrance, and he pauses, breathing hard, forehead pressed to yours.
“You sure?” he asks, voice rough but surprisingly gentle underneath the usual bravado. “We can stop if—”
You wrap your legs around his waist and pull him closer. “I said take them off, not talk me out of it. Fuck me already, Eddie.”
That’s all the permission he needs. He pushes in slowly, both of you groaning at the stretch. He’s not small, and you’re still sensitive from coming, body shaking under him.
He pushes in slowly, both of you groaning at the stretch. He’s thick, and you’re still sensitive—he rocks his hips in shallow little thrusts until he’s fully seated, hips flush against yours. For a moment, he just stays there, panting against your neck.
“Shit… you feel incredible,” he mutters.
Then he starts moving, slow, deep rolls of his hips at first, like he’s savoring it. The old bed creaks with every thrust, but he quickly finds a steady rhythm, pulling almost all the way out before sinking back in.
He lasts longer than you expected, changing pace whenever he feels himself getting too close, slowing down, grinding deep, sometimes just holding still inside you while he kisses your neck and catches his breath.
One hand slides between you, thumb rubbing messy circles over your clit. His mouth stays on your skin, sucking marks along your collarbone and the top of your breast, murmuring rough, broken praise between kisses.
“Taking me so fucking well… look at you,” he groans, hips snapping harder for a moment before he forces himself to slow again. “You’re gonna kill me, Wheeler.”
You come again with his thumb on your clit and his cock dragging perfectly inside you, clenching tight around him.
Eddie curses, hips stuttering, but he doesn’t let himself go yet. He fucks you through it, slower now, drawing it out until your breathing evens.
Only when you’re boneless and trembling does he finally let go. His thrusts deepen, a little erratic, his grip tightening on your hip.
“Fuck—gonna come,” he warns, voice strained. You hum in approval, locking your lips around his neck to send him over the edge.
He thrusts deep a few more times and comes with a low, guttural groan, hips pressed tight against yours as he spills into you, pulsing hot and deep.
He rides it out with lazy little rocks until he finally collapses half on top of you, both of you slick with sweat and breathing hard.
For a long moment, there’s just the sound of your breathing.
Eddie eventually lifts his head, hair sticking to his sweaty forehead, and gives you a lazy, satisfied grin.
He presses a soft kiss to your shoulder, then shifts so he’s not crushing you, though he stays buried inside you for a little longer, like he doesn’t want to pull out yet.
His eyes drift over your neck and chest, and his expression shifts, something between smug and sheepish.
“Shit…” he mutters, thumb gently brushing over one of the darker marks he left on your collarbone.
“I, uh… got a little carried away with the hickies. Sorry about that.” He winces, but there’s a soft laugh in his voice. “You’re gonna look like you got attacked by a vampire. Nancy’s gonna kill me if she sees these.”
You snort, still catching your breath, and run your fingers through his messy curls. “You didn’t exactly hold back.”
“I know, I know.” He leans in and kisses the worst of the marks gently, almost apologetically, then rests his forehead against yours.
“They look kinda hot on you, though. Like… property of Eddie Munson or something.”
He pauses, realizing how that sounded, and his cheeks flush a little. “Okay, that was fucking stupid. Ignore me, please.”
You laugh softly, the sound warm between you, and tug him down for a slow, lazy kiss. He melts into it immediately, one hand cupping your face like you’re something precious.
When you pull back, you smirk. “You’re such a dork.”
For a while, neither of you says anything. The air in the trailer is warm, heavy, quiet except for the sound of your breathing slowly evening out.
Eddie shifts slightly, careful this time, easing his weight so he’s not crushing you, but he doesn’t go far.
Doesn’t want to. He stays close, really close, one arm draped loosely over your waist like it just belongs there now.
Your fingers are still tangled in his hair, lazily combing through the damp curls at the nape of his neck.
He lets out a soft breath at that, eyes fluttering shut for a second like he didn’t realize how much he needed it.
“…You trying to put me to sleep?” he mumbles.
“Maybe,” you murmur back. “You seem like you could use it.”
“Rude,” he says automatically, but there’s no bite to it. “I was performing.”
You huff out a quiet laugh, thumb brushing over his cheek. “Yeah, Munson. Stellar performance.”
“Thank you,” he says, voice a little smug now. “I aim to please.”
You roll your eyes, but your hand doesn’t leave him. He tilts his head slightly, looking up at you properly now, softer than before.
“You okay?” he asks, quieter.
You nod, just as softly. “Yeah.”
There’s a moment where he just studies your face, like he’s making sure you mean it. Then his expression shifts again, lighter this time, a crooked smile pulling at his mouth.
“Good,” he says. “Would’ve hated for my big moment to be a total disaster.”
“Your big moment?” you echo.
“Yeah,” he nods seriously. “Gonna go down in Hawkins history.”
“Oh, absolutely,” you deadpan. “I’m sure there’ll be a plaque.”
“Hey,” he points at you lazily, “you’re laughing. That means I did something right.”
You are laughing. You shift slightly, tucking yourself a little closer into him without thinking. Your leg hooks loosely over his, your head finding a spot against his shoulder that feels easy.
He stills for half a second, then relaxes into it. Like he’s trying not to make a big deal out of the fact that you chose to fuck him and stay.
His fingers trace slow, absent patterns along your side, not pushing, not rushing anything.
“You always like this after?” he asks after a minute, voice quieter again.
“Like what?”
“Cute. Cozy. No ‘tude?”
You glance up at him. There’s a hint of something real under that question. You shrug slightly, fingers still playing with his hair.
“Depends who I’m with.”
That earns you a small smile. “Guess I’m lucky, then.”
“Don’t let it go to your head.”
“Too late.”
You both fall quiet again. Eventually, you let out a soft breath and sit up, stretching slightly as reality starts to creep back in.
“I should go,” you say, glancing toward the clock like you already know it’s late.
Eddie groans quietly, flopping back against the mattress.
“Or,” he offers, “you could not do that.”
“Tempting,” you admit, sliding off the bed to gather your clothes. “But I’d like to survive the rest of the week.”
“Fair.”
He props himself up on his elbows, watching you as you get dressed, not even trying to hide it.
“Eyes up here.”
“No promises.”
“Eddie.”
He grins, completely unashamed. “Worth a shot.”
You shake your head, but you’re smiling. By the time you’re ready, he’s pulled on his jeans, grabbing his jacket again like it’s second nature.
“I’ll take you,” he says.
“You don’t have to.”
“I know.”
The ride back is quieter than before, but not in a bad way. Your hand rests between the seats, and at some point, his fingers brush yours, then they stay.
When he pulls up outside your house, the engine idles for a second longer than necessary.
“You good?” he asks again.
You nod. “Yeah.”
“I’ll see you around?”
You glance at him, a small smile tugging at your lips.
“Yeah,” you say. “You will.”
You open the door, then pause, shooting him one last look, debating your actions. Then, you tilt your head back, landing a soft kiss on his cheek.
He turns his head down to face you, stunned, then that usual smirk grows once more.
“Yeah, I’m definitely seeing you again.”
“You’re an idiot.”
Inside, the room is not quiet. You barely close the window before Nancy’s voice cuts through your soul.
“Oh, my god, finally.”
You freeze and slowly turn.
Nancy’s sitting up in bed, wide awake. And Steve is right beside her, looking way too present for someone who was definitely supposed to leave hours ago.
You stare at them. They stare at you.
“…Hi,” you say.
Nancy’s eyes narrow immediately. “You were gone for a while.”
You sink a little, then immediately point at Steve, “Yeah, and he’s supposed to be gone. It’s 1 a.m!”
“You just got back,” she retorts.
“I live here. He does not.”
Steve leans forward, squinting at you. “…Whoa.”
You blink. “What?”
He points. “Your neck.”
Your hand flies up instinctively. Nancy’s eyes follow the movement, and then widen.
“Oh my god,” she breathes. “Are those—”
“No,” you say immediately.
“They are,” Steve cuts in, already grinning.
“They are not.”
“They are so hickeys,” he says, delighted.
Nancy scrambles off the bed, grabbing your arm and pulling you toward the mirror. “Let me see—”
“Nancy—”
“Oh my god,” she laughs, covering her mouth. “You’re covered!”
“I am not covered.”
“You absolutely are,” Steve calls from behind you. “Munson really went for it, huh?”
You whip around. “Shut up.”
He holds his hands up, still grinning. “Hey, I’m just saying, respect.”
Nancy is still staring at you like she’s just unlocked the biggest secret in Hawkins.
“You and Eddie Munson?” she says, half shocked, half impressed. “You’re the one blushing earlier and now this—”
“I was not blushing.”
“You were.”
“You’re deflecting,” Steve adds helpfully.
You groan, dragging your hands down your face. “Can you both not do this right now?”
“Nope,” Nancy says immediately.
“Absolutely not,” Steve agrees.
You look between them, already exhausted. “…I hate both of you.”
Nancy just smiles. “Yeah,” she says lightly. “But you had fun.”
You pause, just for a second, and that’s all they need.
“Oh my god,” Steve says. “She did.”
“I’m going to bed,” you announce, already moving to shove him toward the window.
“Hey—hey!” Steve protests, laughing.
“Out,” you snap, pointing. “Now.”
Nancy is still smiling as she climbs under the covers. “This is not over.”
“It is for tonight.”
Steve pauses halfway out, shooting you one last grin.
“Munson, huh? Didn’t see that coming.”
“Goodnight, Steve.”
Morning comes too fast. You’re awake before the alarm. Not because you want to be, but because your brain won’t shut the fuck up.
You’re flat on your back, staring at the ceiling, one arm tucked behind your head, the other resting over your stomach like you’re trying to physically hold yourself still. It doesn’t work, by the way.
Because every time you close your eyes, it’s him.
The way he looked at you. The way he laughed. The way his hands felt, the way his voice dropped when he got quiet, the way his face looked between your thighs…It’s annoying. Deeply.
You groan softly, dragging a hand over your face.
“You’re thinking so loud right now.”
Your head turns. Nancy is propped up on her elbow, watching you like she’s been awake for a while.
“You can’t hear thinking,” you mutter.
“I can when it’s this dramatic.”
You roll your eyes, staring back up at the ceiling. “Go back to sleep.”
“No,” she says simply. “Tell me what’s going on.”
“Nothing’s going on.”
“Mhmm.”
Silence stretches for exactly three seconds.
“…It’s Eddie.”
You immediately regret saying it.
Nancy’s face lights up. “I knew it.”
“You didn’t know it.”
“I absolutely knew it.”
You turn your head, narrowing your eyes at her. “You didn’t know anything.”
“You were blushing at your locker.”
“I was not—”
“You had hickeys.” You freeze.
She raises a brow. “…Continue.”
“Shut up.” You say, but there’s no real bite to it.
“Okay, okay,” she says, still grinning. “So what? You hooked up. That doesn’t mean you have to—”
“It’s not just that,” you cut in, quieter now.
That makes her pause. “…Then what is it?”
You hesitate, picking at a loose thread on your blanket. “I don’t know,” you admit finally. “He’s just not what I expected.”
Nancy softens, just a little. “Different?”
“Yeah.”
“How?”
You exhale, frustrated with yourself.
“He’s not trying to impress anyone. He’s not pretending. He just is.” You shake your head slightly. “And it’s… kind of hot. But, I dunno. You know what people say about him."
Then Nancy smiles. “Then go for it.”
You blink at her. “What?”
“Go for it,” she repeats. “He obviously likes you.”
You scoff automatically. “You don’t know that.”
She just looks at you.
“You don’t bring someone home, give them your jacket, and then show up at their locker with a fake excuse to talk to them if you don’t like them. And, the hickeys are like, a dead giveaway.”
You hesitate. “…Okay, yeah. Maybe.”
“Maybe,” she echoes.
“Fine,” you sigh. “He does.”
“Then what’s the problem?”
You don’t answer because you don’t have one.
Nancy nudges your leg with her foot. “You don’t have to marry him,” she says, softer now. “Just… try.”
You sit with that. Long enough that it starts to feel like a decision instead of a suggestion. Then you swing your legs over the side of the bed.
Nancy’s brows lift immediately. “…What are you doing?”
“I don’t know,” you say, already standing. “Something impulsive.”
“That checks out.”
You move to your side of the closet, pulling it open and immediately frowning.
“Why do I have nothing to wear?”
Nancy snorts. “You have everything to wear.”
“I have nothing appropriate.”
“For what?” she asks.
You pause. “…I don’t know yet.”
She gets up, walking over and pushing past you to start flipping through your clothes.
“Okay, not that,” she mutters. “Definitely not that. Oh—wait—this.”
She pulls something out and holds it up. You eye it.
“…Really?”
“Yes, really,” she says. “It’s still you, just… slightly less chaotic.”
“I’m not chaotic.”
“You’re curated chaos.”
“Same thing.”
“Not even close.”
You take it anyway. You get dressed faster than you want to admit, checking yourself in the mirror once, then again, adjusting something small that didn’t need adjusting.
Nancy watches the whole thing. “You’re nervous,” she says.
“I’m not nervous.”
“You’ve fixed your hair four times.”
“I always fix my hair.”
“You’re doing it again.”
“…Stop looking at me.”
She smiles, stepping closer. “For what it’s worth,” she says, softer now, “he’d be an idiot not to like you.”
“…Thanks.”
She nods once. “Go!”
You grab your jacket and leave before you can overthink it. The drive feels shorter than it should. Or maybe you’re just not paying attention.
Before you know it, you’re pulling up to the trailer, engine idling as you stare at the door.
You could leave. You could absolutely just turn around and pretend this never happened, but you don’t. You exhale, pushing the car door open and stepping out before you can change your mind.
The gravel crunches under your shoes as you walk up, each step louder than the last. You knock once, twice.
A pause, then the door swings open, and there he is.
Eddie, hair a mess, shirt halfway on like he just dragged it over his head, eyes still heavy with sleep, and then he sees you. And freezes.
“…Wheeler?”
You don’t give yourself time to think. You tilt your head slightly, a small, confident smile pulling at your lips.
“Come on, Munson,” you say.
His brows knit together, still catching up. “What?”
“You’re taking me on a date.”
IM SO OBSESSED WITH THIS OKAY!?!? IM SORRY HELLO???
anyways....let me know if you want more, yk me and how I love making everything into a series LMAO
𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: Everyone is born unable to see color, only seeing the world in black and white. Until you meet your soulmate. But what are you to do when your soulmate rejects you in favor of someone else?
𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐬: soulmate au (with a twist), modern au, slow burn, strangers to friends to lovers, angst, fluff, rejection (not from Eddie, you’ll see), grief, healing, artist!reader, rockstar!eddie, background Ronance, some Cheerscoops (Steve x Chrissy), a little bit of fuckboy Eddie, pansexual Eddie, reader uses she/her pronouns, reader is in her mid-20s
𝐂𝐮𝐫𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 34.3k (not including bonus content)
Each chapter will contain its own warnings.
There is no taglist for this series.
𝐀𝐎𝟑
𝐌𝐨𝐨𝐝𝐛𝐨𝐚𝐫𝐝
𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐏𝐥𝐚𝐲𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭: to be listened to in order
𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐈 - 5.4k
𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐈𝐈 - 8.1k
𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐈𝐈𝐈 - 12.3k
𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐈𝐕 - 8.2k
𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐕 - TBD, but soon
𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐕𝐈 - TBD
And more to come…(total chapter count unknown)
𝐄𝐩𝐢𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐮𝐞 - TBD
+ 𝐁𝐨𝐧𝐮𝐬 𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭: We Can’t Return, We Can Only Look Behind (prequel/chrissy pov)
on a night back in hawkins, you decide to drop by an old not-haunt just to see how your old not-friend eddie is doing.
what’s the harm in that?
18+ MDNI┃7.2k
cw: fluff-fest with angsty undertones. reserved/wallflower reader feat. some deep-seated insecurity (they say write what you know, y’know?) and flashbacks to a shitty first kiss that is for sure most definitely not ripped directly from sarah lore 👀
eddie is the Flirtmaster Supreme, I made him too smooth for his own good, truly. r wears a dress, uses she/her pronouns, drinks alcohol, and smokes weed (badly).
You might have guessed Eddie Munson would wind up running the Hideout.
He’d worked there throughout high school, possibly even before then. It had only added to the shroud of mystery and intrigue surrounding him—a source of endless fascination for you and the rest of your former classmates.
Well, okay, maybe that was just you.
Back then he was a lowly barback, bobbing and weaving around the same group of drunks every night, clearing empties and wiping down sticky tables, attempting the Sisyphean task of keeping the bathrooms clean in exchange for his band being allowed up on their so-called stage.
Now he was acting manager and in the process of buying out the original owner so she could retire. He made a lot of changes already—not that you’d ever dared set foot in here during your tenure at Hawkins High back in the day. But you (rightfully) assumed it was your average hole in the wall, with barely any light coming through the dirt-streaked windows; all the walls papered so thoroughly with stickers and graffiti you couldn’t guess what color they were; furniture so rickety and shoddily built it fell apart if you so much as looked at it wrong.
The space was still divey, but he’d changed up some of the decor and added some light fixtures over the bar so people could actually see what they were drinking. He’d swapped out the older standing tables for black vinyl booths that lined the walls, leaving the middle open for shows.
He’d also managed to construct an honest-to-god stage in the corner with lights, and a sound system and everything. At present it was empty, but according to the fliers tacked up on the door quite a few bands were slated to play there over the next couple of weeks. His own included.
And it seemed the interior wasn’t the only thing that had been updated.
His height still afforded him the same gangly frame you remembered from high-school, but he’d filled out slightly with more muscle and a bit of softness around his formerly bony hips—which you were most definitely not checking out as he spun a bar key on his middle finger and slipped it smoothly into the back pocket of his black jeans.
You had fully been expecting just to slide onto one of the newly refurbished stools that ran along the side of the bar and drink in relative anonymity. Instead, you were stunned to find recognition in Eddie’s eyes as he turned to greet you and your name fell easily from his lips.
Like he’d been saying it for years.
“This is a surprise,” he said, leaning casually on his side of the bar.
Your mouth dropped open, but not to speak. You just blinked back at him in silent stupor.
His arms were turned out, his sleeveless tank showing off the sinewy muscles wrapped around them and the same tattoos you must have wasted hours of class time staring at. He’d cut it off at the bottom,its curled hem barely skimming the top of his handcuff belt, and your mouth watered at the thought of him reaching for something over his head to reveal a sliver of his pale stomach and the tantalizing patch of sparse hair that swirled just below his navel.
“You know me?” you asked, still blanched with confusion.
“‘Course I do.” He gave you a warm smile, deep dimples forming on either side of it. “I think I only passed Old McDonnel’s class because you let me copy your notes every morning.”
He paused and took a long moment to let his eyes wander appreciatively up and down your form. You felt your thighs press, grateful for the oak shield that hid your reaction from his view.
“Don’t you know me?” he purred.
Jesus. You thought you might slide right off the freshly re-upholstered seat under you.
“Oh– I…um,” you cleared your throat, “Yeah, of c-course I do. You’re Eddie. Eddie Munson.”
“Ding ding,” he grinned. “Remembering my name gets you a drink on the house. Whad’you like?”
He pushed off the bar and tipped his head at the rows of bottles lined up behind him, never taking his eyes off yours. They glinted like shards of onyx under the warm glow of the pendant lights.
“A rum and ginger?” you replied sheepishly, praying he didn’t think you were too lame for not going with the typical whisky. But Eddie just shot you a wink as he reached for a clean glass.
“Mm, something sweet with a little bite? Sounds about right for you.”
You’re glad to have a moment to collect yourself when he looks down to scoop some ice out of the bin, because you were not remotely prepared for this onslaught of charm. You also weren’t sure where he got the idea that there was any bite to you at all, but the implication alone makes your body buzz watching him pour out the liquor and then spray in your mixer with the soda gun.
He placed the drink down in front of you, bubbles effervescing as he set a lime on the rim and juices dribbled down its side. He then waited, expectant smile on his lips as he watched you take your first sip. Only when you had, giving an encouraging nod and a quiet thanks, did Eddie finally tear his eyes away, seemingly remembering the rest of the people in the bar existed.
In a flash, he’d done a quick check with the scant number of other patrons, closing out one’s tab and replenishing another’s drink before he returned to his spot in front of you.
“So, what brings you in?” he asked. “You moved, right? Haven’t seen you around.”
“Y-yeah, I left for school and just…stayed away,” you chuckled. “I’m here for my dad’s birthday.”
Eddie plucked a maraschino cherry from a jar he produced seemingly out of thin air and dropped it into your drink, giving you another smile as he licked sticky red juice from his thumb.
“Sounds festive,” he hummed, veins in his hand bulging as he screwed the lid back on the jar.
Fucking christ on a cracker.
Was he trying to kill you?
“Well, I guess…” you cringed inwardly at the words before they even left your mouth, “I guess it’s sort of my birthday too? They’re a couple days apart, but we always mash ‘em together.”
“Oh, shit. Way to bury the lede, sweetheart!”
Eddie leaned on the bar again, folding his arms under his chest this time so his eyeline was level with yours and he could lean a little further forward, edging his way into your space.
“It’s not a big deal,” you insisted. “I don’t really celebrate it.”
“Well, that’s no good.” He shook his head. “You’re definitely worth celebrating.”
Pure fire rose in your cheeks at his leading tone, and you felt your brain whirring trying to think of a response. Thankfully, a rumbly and disgruntled voice from the end of the bar called out for some attention and saved you from yourself. Eddie’s expression soured and his eyes rolled as he straightened up to full height.
“Wha-a-at?!” he brayed loudly, shooting you a sly wink when he caught your wide-eyed gaze.
Your panic turned out to be unfounded, the owner of the voice giving up a wry chuckle, evidently not phased in the slightest by this outburst. The older man huddled against the wall simply smirked and snarked about how he needed to ‘quit flirting long enough to serve some drinks.’
“Bah! You’re just jealous, Ray,” Eddie scoffed, flapping a hand at him that turned into a warning finger. “And I better not catch you trying to sneak her out from under me, alright? She’s mine.”
This time, it wasn’t just your cheeks that caught on fire. Your entire body was searing, engulfed by flames, tingling as if you’d been dunked in a vat of magma. And your mind was blank—devoid of any thought aside from those two words flashing like a neon sign on a loop in your head:
She’s mine. She’s mine. She’s mine.
It had to be a bit. Just an off-handed comment he threw around without giving any thought to who it was being prescribed to. Even so, you allowed yourself to bask briefly in the satisfaction.
It made something stir deep within your gut. Some slumbering giant who had lain dormant for so long you were certain it had fallen into legend. A creature you tended from a young age, only to seal it away in a cavernous tomb before it could grow too large to contain—strong enough to decimate whole villages in a single strike.
But now it was awake. And making itself known by the ache at the crux of your thighs.
“Can’t believe you weren’t going to tell me it was your birthday,” Eddie chuckled as he came back to you with a teasing smile. “You’re really racking up the free drinks tonight, huh?”
You sputtered on the sip you’d just taken of the cocktail in front of you.
“Oh, no, you don’t have to—”
He held a hand up to stop you, the other reaching blindly behind him to grab a bottle of rye he used to top off Ray’s drink. “Nope, uh-uh, don’t wanna hear it,” Eddie insisted. “It’s actually illegal for me to charge for a birthday drink. Unless, of course, you wanna see me in handcuffs?”
He leaned into your space again, lowering his voice for that last part.
His brow lifted in a suggestive arch, disappearing behind his scraggly bangs, and you felt like you might rip off a hunk of your stool you were gripping the seat so tight.
Was this real life?
Was Eddie Musnon…flirting with you?
The thought alone sets off a second heartbeat between your legs, practically throbbing.
Absolutely not, you answered yourself. He is a bartender and you’re at his bar. All he’s interested in is a good tip. Don’t be that guy at the strip club who thinks a lap dance ‘means something.’
“N…no,” you answered him meekly (also lying), “wouldn’t want that.”
Eddie nodded, still smiling as he grabbed a glass and started to dry it with a towel. Conveniently, remaining in the same spot in front of you.
“So, how’s the visit so far?” he asked.
“It’s good, um…just kind of strange being back,” you hemmed, hands wringing in your lap.
Eddie pulled his lower lip back with his teeth. A look you couldn’t quite name flickered in his dark eyes and he shrugged, his chin dropping to his chest as he watched his hands dry another glass.
“Yeah, well. You took off so fast after graduation I’m surprised you didn’t break the sound barrier.”
He kept his head bent, focused on his task, but he couldn’t stop his gaze darting up to watch you through the fan of his thick lashes. You felt your breath catch when your eyes met, and promptly looked away. You took another sip of your drink, mostly sucking air through your straw while you stared at the ice, and couldn’t help but wonder if he was thinking of the same thing you were…
Graduation night. The bonfire in the woods. The rows of trucks and cars parked haphazardly along the edge of the forest with their headlights shining into the treeline as the class of ‘86 reveled in the bacchanalia of their newly minted freedom.
The last high-school party any of you would ever attend.
You couldn’t say what ultimately possessed you to go. Maybe you’d been emboldened by the fact that it was most likely the last time you’d ever see any of these people again. Maybe it was just good timing that your friend from yearbook had offered you a ride seconds after you overheard some jock confirm with Eddie that he’d be there selling that night. Maybe you wanted, for once in your entire high school career, to do something a little bit reckless and decidedly un-like yourself.
Or maybe it was just the pure, unbridled hope you might run into him there.
Eddie’s lips parted to speak again, but he was cut off by a group of younger guys who had come in and immediately started asking him about drinks and where the darts were for the dartboards.
And while he dealt with them, you found yourself drifting back into the memory of that night…
Clutching the ringed hand he offered as you clumsily tried to navigate the roots that sprawled on the forest floor; making your way towards the outermost edge of the party. Still close enough to the blaze to be scantly lit, but far enough that no one would notice you with The Freak, standing behind the thick trunk of a tall, imposing oak.
You leaned back against it, the rough bark biting into your bare back and snagging slightly on the gauzy material of your sundress. You had talked yourself into buying the revealing garment by reasoning that no one would ever even see the spaghetti straps and the nakedness of your arms and shoulders and collar bones under the bulky cover of your emerald green robe.
But now, with Eddie’s gaze drinking in the sight of all your gloriously exposed skin, you were oddly pleased you hadn’t had enough time to change in between coming home from the dinner with your parents and rushing back out the door when you spotted your friend’s car pulling into the driveway.
The firelight flickered, reflecting in his eyes that were as black as the shadowy woods at his back, and you literally felt every thought in your head being obliterated. You tried to will yourself to speak but couldn’t manage so much as a squeak, having used up all your boldness to approach him at the fire and ask if he had anything to smoke. Stomach tying itself into knots with every word.
With a slow smile, Eddie pushed back the curtain of his long hair and revealed the joint he’d tucked behind his ear. He held it out in a quiet offering, but you made no move to take it from him.
“I, um…I don’t know h-how,” you admitted, heart thumping relentlessly against your ribcage.
“That’s okay,” he said before placing the joint in between his lips instead. God, his lips…
Your pulse jumped, temples throbbing so hard you could scarcely breathe while he dug around in his jacket pocket looking for a lighter. He took a couple short, shallow puffs to get it going and a cloud of its earthy smell imbued your senses, blending with the sharper scent of the bonfire.
He then pinched it in the middle and held up the smaller end to your mouth.
“Just…take it slow,” he murmured, heavy-lidded gaze transfixed somewhere on the lower half of your face. “Don’t inhale too hard.”
You nodded, even though you barely registered the words he was saying you were still so deeply distracted by his lips, and the fact that your own were now so close to his fingers. Trembling like a leaf and desperately trying not to look like you were, you touched your mouth to the paper.
Oh fuck, mother bitch, that burned—
Tears immediately sprang in your eyes and you sputtered, trying to smother the cough as it burst forth and failing. It came out in a relentless string of dry hacks, your nose stinging and your throat tightening as you whipped your head sideways to avoid spraying spittle directly in Eddie’s face.
“You’re okay, you’re okay,” he soothed, the tiny smile he was trying to hide coming through in his voice as he rubbed his hand across your back in a wide circle, coaxing you through your fit.
Not that you could even enjoy the sensation of his warm palm on your bare skin.
He kept it up, though, until you were able to catch your breath and stand up (somewhat) straight.
“So-sorry,” you wheezed, giving your chest a solid thwap trying to clear your throat.
“Nah,” Eddie waved off your apology, grinding the lit end of the joint into the bark of the tree before he placed it back behind his ear. “It’s really fine. Happens to the best of us. Honest.”
You felt yourself slump against the trunk in an attempt to hold yourself up. It was tough to say if the dizzy, floating feeling in your head was due to the singular hit you’d taken off that joint, or just a reaction to Eddie’s very presence. He’d stopped rubbing your back, but hadn’t yet moved away from you. Still standing close enough you were breathing in the smell of his cologne.
Slowly, his hand came up to the side of your face and he pressed the pad of his thumb to the skin just beneath your lashes, swiping away a stray tear that leaked from the corner of your eye.
In that moment, everything had seemed to slow practically to a standstill. No more breeze rustling the tree branches overhead, no more drunken teenagers stumbling into one another, no more beers sloshing out of plastic cups and splattering on the soft earth. The scope of the entire world had narrowed down to you and Eddie and the negligible number of inches between you.
“You want, uh…water? Or anything?” he asked, his thumb still idly stroking your cheekbone.
Your head shook slowly, barely conscious of the moment, your eyes never leaving his. He gazed back at you, soft and endearing, the corner of his mouth crooked up. Looking at you almost like he knew all the things you’d been thinking as you laid in your bed at night. Like he’d seen you touch your fingers to your lips in the softest, barely-there brush, imagining it was his mouth.
His shoulder shifted and you felt his other hand on your hip, gripping you purposely. Deliberately.
All at once, it was too much. The heavy pounding of your heart in your chest too rapid, turning from anticipation to terror. You felt like you were behind the wheel of a racecar whose speed had climbed too high without you noticing, teetering on the verge of spinning out of control.
Almost hearing the screech of tires, you slammed down on the brakes.
“I-I have to go.”
With the ghost of his hand’s warmth still on your cheek, you slipped out of the space in between the tree and his body. In short, uneven strides you stumbled back to the party and gripped your friend’s forearm as hard as you could when you found her, insisting ‘we need to leave.’
And seeing the wild, panicked look in your eyes, she didn’t dare argue.
You wished he kissed you that night. You thought about it for weeks afterward, reliving every step in your head, pinpointing every humiliating second.
It was a fool’s errand, honestly. From the moment you approached him, you should’ve known.
Eddie Munson had plenty of girls to kiss. Plenty of girls whose pits didn’t sweat and whose knees didn’t buckle at the thought of someone getting close to them. Who didn’t tremble with full-body shakes like a neurotic chihuahua when someone put a hand on their hip.
You and he weren’t even friends. You’d never had so much as a real conversation.
The best you could muster was a timid ‘you’re welcome’ whenever he’d returned your notes after copying them, or a small wave when your eyes unwittingly met his across the cafeteria.
He talked, sure. But he could talk to anybody. He could debate a brick wall if the occasion arose. Any time he’d spent making idle chatter with you was surely just an attempt to fritter away a couple hours of class time. And you’d hung on his every word, barely offering a pittance in return.
“Sorry about that,” Eddie grumbled.
He slid back into his place in front of you just as the door behind you smacked closed. The group of guys who came in left just as quickly, evidently unimpressed with his selection of Scotch.
Truthfully, you couldn’t say you were sad to see them go.
“You okay?” he asked, his head dipping to catch your eye. “You want water, or…”
Your eyes flicked up to meet his as he trailed off, his face clouding with some strange expression as his fingers drummed on the surface of the bar. His gaze was suddenly distant, almost as though he too was recalling the last time he’d asked you that. Impossible as that was.
“N…no,” you exhaled the sharp breath you were holding. “I’m alright.”
Eddie nodded, his head bobbing longer than was necessary as if to a song that only he could hear before he grabbed a pint glass and filled it with water anyway, setting it down in front of you.
Even without that group of guys to deal with, Eddie got annoyingly busy after that. Annoying to him, at least. He grimaced every time somebody called him away either for a refill or to order.
The bar wasn’t crowded, by any means, but there was a consistent flow of people who needed him, demanding the attention he seemed antsy to direct somewhere else.
You got down to the last of your drink, and just as you were debating whether you should commit to another, a new one had appeared in front of you, delivered with a wink and a smirk from a dark-haired blur as he moved past you on his way down to the other end of the bar.
Smiling around the straw, you snuck a glance at Eddie and found him already looking back at you while he counted out l change. Your neck twinged with the urge to turn away, embarrassed at being caught, until you remembered he was the one who’d been caught looking at you.
And he didn’t seem embarrassed at all.
The small rush petered out and Eddie came back to you, letting out an exaggerated ‘whew!’ as he dragged the back of his hand across his brow.
“That almost felt like work,” he groaned.
Maybe it was the rum going to your head, but you couldn’t help giggling at the terrible joke, a hand coming up to cover your face when a soft snort unwittingly escaped through your nose.
Your eyes met his again, twin pools of espresso just about twinkling at the sound.
The bar was much emptier now, and quieter too. It wasn’t like it had been loud before, but now its silence felt sort of daunting. The kind of silence that made you feel anxious about how to fill it.
Thankfully, Eddie was adept as ever at defeating awkward pauses.
“You know…there’s a bunch of stuff I never knew about you,” he said after a few minutes.
“Really?” you scoffed. “Like what?”
“I don’t know, lots of things,” he chuckled. “What about, like…your first kiss?”
Your fingers tensed around your glass. And you thought if you were a little stronger, it might have cracked open against your palm when every muscle in your face went still as stone.
You hated thinking about your first kiss.
Simply put, it was a mess. Brought on by a lethal mix of green apple vodka and your self-esteem at a record low. Sloppy and clumsy and too-quick. Over before you even had your bearings.
He just…attacked you. Pushed his face into yours, barely aiming. Like he was in a hurry to get it over with. Like you could’ve been anybody with a mouth and it wouldn’t make any difference.
It was a guy who was sort of friends with (and sort of wanted to fuck) your roommate. One you’d go with to parties or out to the bars. But he’d only ever engaged with you after he’d been drinking. Sober, you were lucky to get so much as a cursory greeting—assuming he got your name right.
The night it happened, you'd gone out with a big group and he’d been pestering you.
Not flirting, not as far as you could tell, just irking. Stealing sips of your drink, reaching behind you to pick up the hood of your sweatshirt and pull it up over your head, tugging on your sleeves, poking you, reaching behind his friend sitting in the middle seat of the cab to tickle your ear.
Then you got home and he started texting, asking for—no, telling—you to come over.
And to your credit, you tried to discourage it.
Begging him off with next time, some other time, another time. Because maybe if he could muster some of this enthusiasm when he was sober, you might find yourself a little more amenable to the idea. But then he hit you with the words you had no idea would still haunt you even years later:
honestly, it’s now or never.
You’d panicked. It had taken this long to find someone who was even willing to kiss you—who knew how long it would be before you could find another? Before you’d ever have another chance. So…you did it. Told him to meet you outside your dorm, and kissed him. And then he left. Because of course he didn’t just want to make out. But at least you had enough sense to shut that down.
You shook your head, mouth dry and your throat suddenly too tight for your words to get out.
“It, um…it was nothing to write home about.” you answered, staring at your lap.
Eddie, mercifully, either didn’t notice the immediate shift in your demeanor, or he simply elected to ignore it. “Okay, screw your first kiss,” he said daringly. “Tell me about your best one.”
Your fingers traced the edge of your glass, running down the ridges of the facets, freezing at his question. All ofthe air in your chest rushed out, leaving the cavity constricting as you struggled to breathe normally. The molten brown of Eddie’s eyes scanned over your expression, his features wrinkling with concern when he saw the pained look that came over your face.
“I don’t wanna do that,” you said quietly.
Something in your tone made Eddie’s gaze soften. He dropped down to his elbows, leaning in a bit closer and lowering his voice to a murmur. Something just for you to hear.
“How come?” he asked.
“Because I…” Your throat tightened in a thick, dry swallow and you had to take a swig of your drink before you could go on, “...because I’ve never really had a good one.”
The admission hangs in what little space there is between your faces. As soon as the words left your lips, you wished you could take them back. Suck them back into your lungs and rewind the whole evening until your feet carried you back out to the parking lot and over the gravel where your car was parked, back to your room at your parents house where you belonged.
“Never?” Eddie frowned.
And you can’t say if it’s the softness in his voice or the confusion in his eyes, but you keep going. Trying to shrug it off, trying not to sound so sad and pathetic. Broken and weary.
“They always kinda rushed it,” you said. “I didn’t get a chance to breathe or think, they just—”
“No drumroll,” Eddie finished for you.
His expression seemed to curdle like he’d just smelled something sour, his jaw ticking in a hard set frown. The veins in his arms stood out slightly as his grip tightened on the bar towel he’d been using to dry some glassware while you talked.
“That’s awfully disappointing,” he sighed, twirling the towel between his hands and then snapping it lightly against the edge of the bar with a soft tap. “Sometimes the lead-in is the best part.”
“Yeah, well,” you shrugged and swept the back of your hand across your cheek just to be sure you weren’t crying. “Clearly, I pick a lot of winners.”
Eddie chortled at that, his chest rising in a short puff. “Any of ‘em still live ‘round here?” he asked. “Gimme some names, I’ll take care of the rest.”
“Oh, no,” you shook your head rapidly, “this was in college. I never—”
You winced, cringing inwardly at what you’d been about to reveal: that you had gone most of your adolescent life without kissing anyone. That the thing most people had knocked out by the time they were pre-teens, you hadn’t managed until you were well into your twenties. And even when you did, it was always so dissatisfying. Lacking.
You let out a joyless laugh, glancing down at the drink in front of you. “I mean, nobody around here was ever interested, so—”
“Bullshit.”
“Huh?”
“I’m calling bullshit, sweetheart,” Eddie echoed himself, the sing-song words laced with a leading tone. “I know for a fact someone liked you.”
“Oh, really?” you scoffed in disbelief as you went to take another sip. “Like who?”
That devilish smile twisted up the corner of his lips again, and he tilted his head. “Me, for one.”
Your sinuses erupted with pain as you nearly shot ginger ale out of your nose. You blinked furiously and your hand shot up to cover your face.
“Yo—you what?” you sputtered, still half-choking.
“Always thought you were cute,” he shrugged. “Got a thing for smart girls.”
You felt your stomach drop, plummeting to the dingy floor underneath your feet.
Jesus. Were you really so pathetic that Eddie Munson had to dream up some imaginary crush just to make you feel better? This was a level of rock bottom you’d never imagined hitting. With a trembling hand, you reached for a napkin at the same time Eddie offered you one, your fingers meeting briefly when you took it, static crackling in the air and tingling where you’d touched.
You dabbed under your nose, still burning from the threat of fizzy ginger ale shooting through it.
“I wasn’t that smart,” you muttered, mostly to yourself. “Trust me.”
Eddie’s mouth popped open to respond, but he didn't get the chance. From the same spot he had not moved from all night, Ray’s voice cut through the low music playing over the sound system.
He said something about his chariot being on the way and having to cash out—assuming that Eddie actually wanted to get paid that night. The pair of them traded a few more friendly barbs you were starting to glean were par for the course for these two, and as Ray settles up it dawns on you.
Aside from him, you’re the only one left in the bar.
While you were distracted with Eddie, everybody else had steadily filtered out until it was down to just the three of you. And once Ray was gone, it would be just you and him. All alone.
Once he’d paid, Ray slid off of his stool and Eddie came out from behind the bar to help him over to the door. The two of them chuckled together as Eddie held it open for him and then pulled it firmly shut once they said their goodbyes.
But then, instead of returning to his side of the bar, he sidled up next to you instead.
You fought the instinct to jump when Eddie appeared at your side, the closest he’d been to you all night. His scent was even stronger, sweat and musk mingling with the aromas of bitters and liquor. It made you feel woozy, swaying on your stool like you’d taken a shot of 100-proof him.
“I need a break,” he said, nodding in the direction of the back door then tapping the pack of smokes rolled into his shirt sleeve that sat on his shoulder.
You blinked back at him mutely.
Was that your cue to get lost? If you weren’t here, would he be able to close up and go home? If he genuinely wasn’t going to charge you for your drinks, you had no tab to settle.
You could just tip him and go. Get out of his hair. God, his hair. His beautiful, beautiful hair.
“Oh…kay,” you said slowly, mentally flogging yourself for remaining in your seat when he was so clearly trying to get rid of you. But you couldn’t find the will to stand—not when you were being pinned down by his devilishly handsome smile and his penetrating, all-consuming stare.
He chuckled, letting his head fall to rest his cheek on his shoulder, his eyes shining as he smiled at you and then nodded at the back door again.
“Come keep me company, sweetheart.”
The back of the Hideout wasn’t all that different from the front.
Aside from the dumpsters and the wooden crates stacked next to them, it was nearly identical. And rather of an assortment of cars parked across the gravel lot, it was Eddie’s van pulled up next to the loading door, alongside the cinderblock structure.
A single flood light shone down on the two of you as he pushed the door open, brandishing his free arm with a flourish as though he was escorting you into a castle rather than an alley.
You giggled at the display, recalling how he used to do the exact same thing when you were leaving the one class you had in common—hanging back after the bell had rung so you and he were walking out at the same time, then scurrying ahead of you to grab the door and hold it before it closed.
Hugging yourself despite the balmy night air, your eyes darted about nervously, looking anywhere but at him, already mentally preparing an excuse for not taking a cigarette when he offered one.
Except Eddie didn’t even reach for his pack.
“So…” he said, spinning abruptly to face you, “I’ve been thinking about something.”
“Really?” you asked. “What’s that?”
“I just…” he sighed and tipped his head back, exhaling up to the sky. He brought his eyes back down and you swore tiny pieces of the moon had landed in them. “I think you deserve a good kiss.”
You stared back at him, speechless as you’d been when he recognized you the moment you came into the bar. Beneath you, your legs had started to tremble and you felt your breathing get heavier. Your shoulders tensed, thinking any minute you’d be hearing the blare of your alarm clock.
“Oh,” was all you could say.
Eddie licked his lips thoughtfully, taking a careful step closer to you. “And I,” he started with a thick swallow, “would really like to give you one.”
You felt your eyes widen, about ready to pop out of their sockets. The ‘YES’ you wanted to scream gets lodged so tight in your throat you think you might actually choke, mouth dropping open.
“Is that…okay?” he asked, tilting his head at you as he parsed your expression. It was more than okay. It sounded like a dream come true.
You took the deepest breath you could manage, chest shuddering with the effort, and nodded
“Okay,” Eddie said, letting out a breath of his own, as if he had been holding it. “Good.”
He took your hand in his and carefully brought it up to the nape of his neck. He helped you thread your fingers into his hair and encouraged you to grasp his curls firmly at the root. Your breathing hitched as his touch trailed over your knuckles and down your forearm to your elbow.
“Don’t be scared to hold on tight,” he burred low in your ear. “I like it when it hurts a little.”
Your grip tensed as his hands settled on your hips, squeezing gently as he backed you up to the brick wall. It felt gritty and cold against your back, but you couldn’t find it in you to care one bit.
Eddie’s hands squeezed again, sliding them up a little higher to your waist.
“Fuck, are you beautiful…” he murmured, his eyes flitting wherever they were able at such close proximity. The slope of your nose, the curve of your jaw, the graceful lines of your neck.
His voice was so soft, so adoring, you felt your knees liquifying. You wanted nothing more than to believe him implicitly, but you couldn't stop the little seed of doubt deep in your gut that quivered beneath the earth from peeking out through the undergrowth until it had sprouted.
“Really?” you whispered, hating how mousey you sounded. How timid and unsure.
He brought one of his hands up to cradle the side of your face. Your eyes fluttered closed, leaning in to the warmth of his palm, interrupted only by the cool bite of his rings that dissipated when they warmed to the temperature of your skin.
Still, you couldn't help but shiver when your eyes opened to find Eddie's gaze focused so intently on yours, squinting in a bemused sort of way.
“Do you honestly not know?” he asked you with a slow grin. “You really don’t see it?”
All you could do was shrug. You didn't think you were, like, hideous or anything. But you had never been particularly impressed by your looks. And no one had ever looked at you or acted like you were some ethereal being who'd fallen to earth just to grace these mere mortals with your face.
Well, at least not until now.
“Eddie, you…”
He shook his head, stopping your words on their way out of your mouth. Like somehow he’d heard the ‘don’t have to do this’ you’d been thinking.
“I know,” he whispered, close enough that his breath hit your skin in a soft puff. “I want to.”
He took a long moment, letting the edge of his thumb brush along the high points of your cheek. His gaze only grew more intense, his face inching closer as his eyes began to flutter closed. You felt your foot hovering over that imaginary brake pad, threatening to slam down on it just like it had all those years ago. But it never does.
You don’t let it.
His nose touched your face before his lips, its rounded tip pressing into the apple of your cheek before your mouth melds with his. It’s the softest, slowest, most tender kiss you ever experienced. He lets you have all the time in the world to think about it, to notice the ways his movements ebb and flow, his jaw and mouth all working together.
To feel the way his chest expands, taking the deepest breath of you he can and holding it inside his lungs like he can’t stand the idea of losing whatever part of you he just inhaled.
You have all this time to think, but your head has never been so empty. No, not empty. Quiet.
It’s as if sound itself ceases to exist. Not even your own rapid heartbeat pounding in your ears is enough to break through the pure peace of finally, finally getting to kiss Eddie Munson.
There’s no more cars whizzing past, speeding down the two-lane highway. There’s no more hum of the exhaust fan or relentless buzz of the bare bulb flickering over the back door.
There’s just…nothing.
Nothing but the feel of Eddie’s mouth tenaciously exploring yours, dragging every second out into a minute and savoring like it’s something precious—something he’s scared he’ll never get again.
He doesn’t dare pull back when your lips part with a quiet click, just stays right there with his face close to yours and his shaky breath expelling. It’s only as the world slowly leaks back into focus that you realize his fingers are trembling against your waist and his bottom lip is quivering.
“That was…wow.”
You can’t help but laugh gently at his words, dizzy with the elation that went straight to your head. His eyes flit across your face, his brows lifting in a silent request for more.
Your nod is shaky, but lacks no enthusiasm. And it’s all the permission he needs to dive back in.
He takes you faster this time, clutching you harder to pull you tighter against him. There’s a latent strength in his arms, a tension coiled in his corded muscles he’s working so hard to restrain.
Don’t, you wanted to scream at him. Don’t stop, don’t hold back, I want it all—
God, you wished you could will the words to leave your throat. They sat there, lodged firmly in your esophagus, practically cutting off air supply.
Eddie moved his hands upwards to cup your face, squishing your cheeks just a little as he cradled them tenderly in his calloused palms.
You hummed into his mouth, excited and anxious all at once, and Eddie sucks in a breath through his nose. Like he’s not gonna let something stupid like breathing get in the way of this.
You break apart just shy of your lungs bursting, the both of you panting heavily into one another’s mouths, trying to catch your breath. He blinks heavily, dazed and delirious as he asks,
“When’s your birthday?”
“Wh…huh?”
“Your birthday,” he repeated, still panting, “was it today?”
You tried to think—a Herculean sort of effort when you could still taste Eddie’s lips on yours—and finally sifted something from the primordial ooze he’d turned your brain into.
“N-no. It’s, uhh…” It took you a second to remember what day it even was. “It’s tomorrow.”
“Thank god,” Eddie grinned and breathed out in relief. “I want to take you out.”
“Out?” You blinked a couple times, brow pinching together. “Out…where?”
“Like for a date, out,” he couldn’t help but snicker. “Movie. Dinner. General revelry?”
Warmth exploded in the middle of your chest. “You…you’re not working?”
“Peg’ll cover for me,” he said assuredly. “If it’s for something important.”
“And I’m…” you looked back at him, hope shining in your gaze, “...important?”
He smiled at you again, eyes all peaceful and dreamy as he reached up to trace the side of your face, sweeping the tips of his fingers from your temple to the bottom of your chin.
“If you even have to ask,” he sighed and shook his head, “I didn’t do my job right.”
And then his mouth is on yours again, his hand sliding back to cup the nape of your neck, holding you in place as he kisses you deeply. It’s not, not a sweet kiss, but it’s not just sweet. There’s a little something more to it this time. Something dizzying and breath-stealing and…hot.
You feel his body press up against yours fully before he remembers himself, but the loss of heat and pressure makes you mewl pitifully into his mouth. No. Don’t. Stay, you want to beg.
Your hands moved out of their own volition and grasped fistfuls of his shirt, tugging him back into you. His laugh rumbles low in his throat and you can feel him smiling into your next kiss.
A smile that doesn’t dim one bit when you part.
“Should we, um…” you heard your own giggle, the twitterpated reaction semialien to your dazed and dopamine-addled brain. “Should we go back in?”
Eddie let out a tiny noise that sounded dangerous close to a whine. “What for?” he asked.
“I don’t know,” you tittered, “just to be sure you’re not being robbed blind or something?”
You glanced at the door, imagining the bar filled with big disgruntled men ransacking the liquor on the other side, descending into chaos with no one to stop them. Eddie’s teeth flashed in a grin, dark chuckle stuttering in his chest, a mischievous edge to the sound you remembered well.
Normally hearing it right before he did something particularly devious.
“Oh, sweetheart,” he exhaled, letting his forehead rest against yours, “the door’s been locked and the sign’s been off since Ray left.”
big time snuggles for reading my lil indulgence 😌 this one is for the bad-kiss-havers, we deserve a re-do. love you, mean it!
You and Jack had been dancing around each other for months, playing a game that neither of you would label. But then you took that leap, pushed the boundaries, and Jack had to confront just how much he cared about you. He just wished it hadn't been like this.
∙ Speaking in Plurals
When Jack met you, his world shifted. He began to speak in plurals, in groups of three. It was him, and then it was you, and then it was Penny. He’d do anything for his girls, and he wanted to make that clear. Official. Concrete with titles and questions and the ring he kept mulling over. And then life happened.
∙ Permissions
Jack overhears your daughter calling him dad, and his world seems to widen, to make sense. But there are always some bumps in the road when starting a new family, reassurances to be made.
∙ Disciplinary Action
It’s a bad day—Robby’s worse than most. He takes it out on you. Jack’s not exactly okay with that.
∙ Unknown Etiology
You pass out at work. Jack already knew that was going to happen. Still scares the shit out of him.
a/n: I wrote this because my writing brain is broken 😔 please enjoy ily dearly 😔❤️
Masterlist
~~
The day was awful. For everyone.
The air conditioning in the lower levels of the hospital gave out, slowly wheezing to a tragic end that made way for grouchy patients and overheating staff. The ambulance bay doors were propped open to allow some airflow, which then also allowed a flock of birds to terrorize the Pitt and crack the glass door in south 15. And then Gloria came by with wonderful news that there was still no resolution for the nurse’s strike at Presby, and many of their patients were being rerouted to PTMC to alleviate the burden there.
It was great. Everything was great. Your shift was almost over, and your underscrubs were clinging to the back of your neck, and everything was great. You wished—silently and greedily—that Jack would call out for the night so you could bask in your woes as he held you and spoon-fed you ice cream, but the Pitt needed Jack tonight, desperately, so you couldn’t ask him to baby you.
Well, you could ask, but he would probably say yes, and you liked the night shift staff too much to do that to them.
“What the hell happened in here?” you heard Ellis ask, her backpack slung over her shoulder with casual air. You envied her rested face. “Why’s it so damn hot?”
You grimaced, the expression making your head hurt. “What didn’t happen here?”
“That bad, huh?”
“I mean, I’m sure there’s been worse days. Not sure when those would have happened. Maybe before electricity and the discovery of germ theory.”
Ellis leaned her forearms on the counter by your computer, raising a brow. “Germ theory bad? Damn.”
You finished your blessed last note and slammed the key to lock your account. “Just—maybe screen some patients for bird flu if they’ve been here all day. All I’ll say.”
Ellis blew out a breath as you leaned back in your chair and pressed a hand to your forehead. You needed to drink about a gallon of water to abate the headache permeating along your temples—or maybe three. Jack liked to keep those gross electrolyte packets at your place for days like these, and while you usually had to choke them down and beg him to leave you alone, the sour peach flavor was calling your name.
And so was about 14 hours of sleep wrapped in that hoodie Jack got from some national park you couldn’t remember the name of.
“Let me know when you’re ready to do handoffs,” you called as residents and trickled in, your face in your hand and your eyes barely open. “I’ll be here.”
“And don’t you just look so excited?”
Jack’s voice sent a tiny jolt of energy through you—a really tiny, almost neuron-firing-level of energy. You cracked an eye wider and saw your boyfriend standing where Ellis once was, his expression far fonder and far less filled with disgruntled trepidation.
“I’m thrilled,” you droned out, fighting off the smile working onto your face.
“Yeah, I can tell.” Jack rounded the nurse’s station and leaned over your shoulder, pressing his lips to your temple in a chaste kiss that jostled you around. “Are you good to drive home, or do you need me to have Shen take over for the first half hour?”
“I can drive home,” you scoffed. “I’m tired, not incapacitated.”
Jack hummed by your ear, spinning your chair and touching your forehead with the back of his fingers. “We should get an ice pack on the back of your neck before you head out.”
You swatted at his hand with a breathy laugh, rolling away from his assessment. “You should go get ready for report. Sooner you do that, the sooner I can leave.”
“You told me the AC went out nine hours ago. When’s the last time you drank water?”
“Will you leave me alone?” you exasperated, still laughing, still the happiest you’d been all shift. “Go find Robby. He’s in an awful mood, and if he’s distracted, I can slip out and take care of myself, Dr. Overbearing.”
Jack knocked his head to the side as he looked at you, the fondness still open on his face. He reached into the side pocket of his bag and tossed you his water bottle, giving you a pointed look as he backed away and headed to the lockers.
The day was awful, but as you took a large sip of that damn electrolyte water and thought about the way Jack always looked at you, it felt a little less awful.
Until Robby burst through the elevators with a vendetta.
His ambush started on an uneven playing field. You had a clipboard in hand as you rattled off the vitals of a woman presenting with a kidney infection, the eager intern beside you nodding intently. The air had kicked on about five minutes into your rounds, and you silently cursed it for working just as you were leaving.
“Another hour of observation and she should be good to go. Needs a ride due to the morphine dose,” you rattled off.
“Got it,” the resident relayed back. “For the fracture in north 12, did you say—”
Robby’s voice interrupted the flow of your rounds.
Your name was a harsh strike through the air, and you jumped at his curt shout, your clipboard rattling. The intern stared at you with wide eyes as you waited for the telltale signs of Robby’s approach, but they never came. He wanted you to go to him. That wasn’t great. You’d also never heard him say your name with so much vitriol before, and you couldn’t pinpoint anything throughout the day that would have warranted such a call.
“Um,” you paused. You shot your gaze to the side and considered pretending that you hadn’t heard him, but the entire room had paused when he shouted, so there was really no pretending. “Why don’t you catch up with Dr. King’s handoffs? I only had a few left.”
The intern looked like she wanted to say more, maybe offer encouragement as you went off on your final mission in life, but she only nodded and scurried away, leaving you to parade yourself awkwardly into the hall.
Robby did not look patient or kind or understanding when you got there. He had his hands on top of his head and was staring at the ceiling, his weight bouncing on his toes until the door to the Pitt closed, and you were alone with his frustration. He took in a large breath and looked at you, brows raised.
The silence dragged.
“You know I don’t treat you differently just because of your relationship with Jack,” Robby started, kissing his teeth. “I told you that when you started dating.”
You blinked, unsure where the conversation was heading. You weren’t even sure if half the staff at PTMC knew you were dating Jack; special treatment was not an expectation nor a perk, and you had only recently become more lax in keeping your relationship private.
“What? Robby, I know that. I would never—”
He was already shaking his head, the quickness of his words overpowering your rebuttal. “You fucked up. You fucked up, and I can’t make concessions for you just because of your relationship with an attending. I told Jack that if you were going to make your relationship public, you had to be perfect. If you weren’t perfect, it would—”
“Wait—you told Jack? Why are you talking to him about my career? And you never told me that I needed to be perfect. I didn’t realize my relationship suddenly gave me unreachable contingencies.”
Robby shrugged. “It makes sense. If you make mistakes, it looks bad on him. If you aren’t disciplined properly, it looks like favoritism.”
“Disciplined? What have I done to warrant being disciplined?”
Your body was heating up despite the air feeling cooler than it had all day. Your hands clenched into fists as you ran through the decisions you made throughout the shift, all the patients you’d treated and discharged. Nothing was alarming. It had been the environment, not the caseload, that made this day so chaotic.
“You tell me,” Robby posed, and his nonchalance was starting to piss you off.
An entire day of everything going wrong, and you kept a positive attitude. You had led the interns and taken the grunt work, and you had only eaten about half of a granola bar throughout your shift because of it. You could only recall one major trauma from the day, and you’d been pulled from the hall to assist with it. You hadn’t been part of the intake or the transfer. Everything else had been run-of-the-mill injuries and angry, sweaty patients.
You opened your mouth and closed it a few times. “I—I have absolutely no idea.”
Robby nodded, and you could tell from the redness working up his neck that he was about to blow. He’d been a ticking time bomb all day, something—maybe the heat or the multiple shifts—eating away at him. And you, alone in the hall, were about to be the victim of that repression.
It all blew up at once. Robby was jutting his hands out as he yelled about improperly ordered labs and a missed CT. Then there was something about an incident in the hall with the same patient and letting a med student perform a procedure you shouldn’t have. He paused for a moment when your eyes became glassy, but started up again with a shake of his head because you were a doctor. You needed to know when to take criticism.
He threw his hands up when he shouted about legal action and pressed his tongue into his cheek when you couldn’t answer a question about charting. He didn’t let you get a word in to answer him, but there was also the issue that the case wasn’t yours. You distinctly remembered Santos complaining about the situation earlier in the shift, med student intervention and all, but apparently, Robby was just getting word about it. And you had been incorrectly tied to each mistake.
Silent tears were running down your cheeks as he made the final blow.
“You know, maybe this isn’t where you should be. You’re sloppy now—distracted by your personal life. That’s not what a doctor is. Figure. It. out. Or I’m recommending a transfer because I can’t run my ED with an incompetent—”
“Hey, whoa!” Jack was quickly jogging down the hall, and you blinked at the ground to steady yourself. More tears fell. He stepped in front of you, fingers tenting against Robby’s chest and pushing slightly. You hadn’t realized how close he had gotten while he yelled. “Wanna tell me why the hell you’re talking to her like that?”
Robby laughed—a mean laugh. “Fuck, how ironic. You come to her rescue when she can’t handle it? She messed up, Jack. Multiple times. She deserves to hear it.”
You saw Jack’s shoulders tense through your blurry gaze.
“What the fuck are you talking about? We don’t talk to any of our doctors like that. Calling her incompetent—what’s going on with you?”
“She missed basic signs. Didn’t run the tests she was supposed to and couldn’t figure out how to teach the med students the fundamentals. She’s been too busy cozying up at your apartment to—”
“Watch yourself,” Jack snapped in a low tone. “This is about the medicine, but it could pretty quickly be about something else.”
You let out a shaky breath, begging the tears to stop, but it was like a dam had cracked from the stress of the day, and being yelled at for several minutes was not something your nervous system could regulate. You clutched your scrub top in your fists and counted your breaths, feeling pathetic and angry in each of your movements.
“Can’t seem to separate them with her,” Robby accused. “Even now. I can’t teach my senior resident without her boyfriend getting in the way.”
“That wasn’t teaching. You were berating her in the hallway. She never cries, and she hasn’t stopped since I got here, so, Robby, you need to back the hell up and reassess.”
There was more silence, the two men staring each other down, and then Robby slapped his hands against his thighs and shot out a quick “find me when she’s ready to take accountability,” before harshly pushing his way back into the Pitt. Your tears had finally begun to slow as the heat in the hallway dissipated, but you felt them well up again when Jack turned to you and hushed out a gentle sound.
“C’mere, it’s alright,” he muttered, yanking you against his chest. You pressed your face into his shirt and tried again to calm your breath, latching onto the soap and detergent and the feel of his body against yours. He held you for a moment and then spoke close to your ear. “The hell was that about?”
You gripped the material along his back. “Wasn’t even my case,” you hiccuped, words uneven. “I don’t know why I’m crying.”
“Probably because you had the shift from hell and then got screamed at.”
You felt Jack tuck your hair back from the stickiness of your face and kiss you where his touch lingered. Your eyes fluttered shut. “Maybe I deserved it.”
Jack pulled away, a frown etched on his face. “You just said it wasn’t yours.”
“It wasn’t.” You bit into your lip and looked down at his sure hands along your waist. “But maybe he was right, and I’m distracted by our relationship—being a bad doctor and not working how I’m supposed to. I mean, you’re here, comforting me, and anyone else would have had to take what Robby said and get over it.”
“Robby wouldn’t have had that argument to use against anyone else,” Jack countered, palms running flat along your head until they cradled the back of your neck. “He’s pissed about something else, not you. You’re a damn good doctor. If workplace relationships jeopardized that, he would be an issue too.” Jack’s jaw flexed, and he muttered a quiet, “Hypocrite,” to the air beside him.
You were vaguely aware that Robby hooked up with a nurse from admin. Some of your anger flickered back to life at the reminder of his distracting relationships, but your head was pounding, and Jack kept scanning your face for any sign of happiness, his brows furrowed and his face wincing, so you sighed and tried to play along. When the twitch of your smile was mirrored on Jack’s face, it felt worth it to try and forget.
“Are you comparing me to Robby’s late-night hookups?”
“Never,” Jack whispered, pulling you closer and slotting his mouth against yours. “You’re my whole world, baby.”
You huffed, clutching his wrists. “Yeah, well, your whole world has a puffy face and just got reamed out by your best friend, so I need a couple of minutes before I can finish my handoff report.”
“Want to sit in my truck for a while?”
“Do you still have the gushers I left in there?”
“Why do you think I offered?”
You sat in Jack’s truck for approximately ten minutes, eating every last one of the gushers in the oversized bag Jack bought you on a road trip a couple of weeks ago. The air conditioning blasted the heat from your face, and you downed an entire water bottle he had left for you in the door. And while you recalibrated, Jack found Robby.
“Got a sec?” Jack barely asked, sweeping past Robby to meet back up in the hall. He crossed his arms over his chest and waited for his friend to let the door swing behind him.
“Look—” Robby started. “I get that she’s your girl, and it can be difficult to—”
“Wasn’t her case,” Jack interrupted, expression as neutral as he could get it. “It was Santos’. She wasn’t going to tell you that, but I will.”
Robby paused, nodding jerkily. “Okay. Okay, my bad. I’ll talk to her.”
“You will.”
Robby eyed Jack. “But my point still stands. She needs to be able to take whatever this ED throws at her. She can’t have you swooping in to protect her.”
Jack pursed his lips, nodding back at Robby to make the space feel equal. “Robby, I respect you. A lot. You’re one of the few people left that I’ve cared about for most of my life.” He took a step closer. “But I’ll protect her from what she needs protecting from.”
The air between them was heavy and uncomfortable, and Jack couldn’t remember a time it had ever felt like that. Maybe a few months after his wife died and he lashed out. Maybe when Robby wouldn’t ask for help and Jack forced it a little too hard. Or maybe it had never felt like this—with Jack on the offensive, unwilling to let anything slide.
Robby must have felt it too. “Heard,” he affirmed.
“Good.” Jack went to leave the hall, patting Robby’s shoulder as he went. But he felt there was more to say, so Jack paused, looking at the wall behind Robby’s head. In a matter-of-fact tone, he said, “And if you ever make her cry like that again, I will beat the shit out of you.”
Robby’s head turned to look at his friend fully, and Jack met him there. He lifted the side of his mouth in a fleeting smile, patted him on the shoulder once more, and then left Robby in the hall.
Robby did not have a hard time believing him.
missmediocre 🫶 @missmediocre - Tumblr Blog | Tumgag
