✿ vision board of a girl in love with a grumpy doctor - pinterest!
✿ caught looking cute during crisis response - instagram!
✿ what she'd wear to her hr meeting about flirting with langdon - style board!
er!barbie!reader is a adminstrative assistant at PTMC's emergency department. she handles paperwork, charts, phone calls, and emotional crises (most of them her own). she might not know all the medical lingo, but she does keep the er running. clueless but competent. she wears perfume with names like lucky girl syndrome and soft apocalypse. she ties satin bows in her hair on mondays, giggles at inappropriate times and talks too much during staff meetings. she is lip gloss and lace and rose quartz and workplace violations. and she tries very hard to ignore the fact that she's madly in love with the grumpiest trauma doctor in the state: frank langdon.
er!barbie!reader flirts like it's a coping mechanism. langdon says she gives him a headache. she tells him that's okay, she has ibuprofen. they bicker constantly. she makes him flustered, he makes her pout. he tries to keep his distance. but he secretly softens around her, letting her linger in the trauma bay, fixing her printer when it breaks, and walking her to her car when she works late. the sexual tension is insane.
er!barbie!reader loves forgetting her badge and using frank's swipe acess whenever she can get away with it. she loves writing in cursive and heart-dotted i's. she loves ballet flats and swishy midi skirts. she loves mismatched teacups to hold her paperflips and tiny rabbit figurines. she loves knitting hates for nicu babies and giving stickers to kids in the er and hot coffee to the overworked nurses. she loves believing everything is a sign from the universe and the power of manifestation.
er!barbie!reader hates being cold (she always is). she hates blood (sucks in her line of profession), even a nosebleed makes her woozy. she hates when someone says she's too sensitive and when she has to clarify that she's not a nurse after doing three people's emotional labor. she hates when people don't wave back. she hates when frank walks past her without looking. and also when he does look.
SOCIAL MEDIA AU COLLECTION
part I
LOOSE PAGES FROM THE ARCHIVE
smut = ✧ clean (ish) = ♡ angst = ✩
newest to oldest
✩♡ half of my heart is in your chest when you overhear a comment frank makes to mateo, you decide to back off. frank doesn't like that one bit and does everything in his power to get your attention back.
♡ a man with no stake in it it's just a skirt. it's just a comment. it's just concern. none of that explains why langdon can't seem to leave it, or you, alone.
♡ silver linings langdon thinks you're orchestrating elaborate schemes to trap him alone in your apartment. he's right.
♡ girl dinner you attempt to explain girl dinner to a very chronically offline dr. frank langdon
✩♡ dreams from bunker hill you try to protect langdon from your intensity when he returns from rehab. he refuses to be protected from you at all.
♡ public indecency is a state of mind getting dressed at work is a bad idea. getting caught half-naked by dr. langdon is worse.
♡ angels don't work the day shift a flirty white lie to escape a creep gets out of control when you grab the nearest man... unfortunately, that man is dr. frank langdon. now you're stuck pretending to date the hospital's scariest ER doctor, who plays along a little too well.
Summary: Letters to one random Folsom prisoner get you to Andrew, who needed you just as much as you need him.
Pairing: andrew "pope" cody x fem!reader
Contains: prison/s1 andrew, fluff, age gap, reader is in college, nickname "andy", dreams of domesticity, smoking (briefly), drinking mentioned, weed/drugs mentioned, touch starved reader & andrew
Word Count: 4.9k
Note: started ak recently ... expect more andrew in the near future ;)
You didn’t mean to get so attached.
Dear Andrew Cody.
It was a project for your creative writing class. Find an incarcerated person, and write them a letter of encouragement. Push your boundaries, learn how to comfort people. You mostly had done narrative writing for the class, but your professor was looking to expand horizons.
Cycling through the Folsom database, you chose Andrew on a whim, in between puffs of a joint. His mugshot was interesting. He looked angry— who wouldn’t be—, but there was a subtle sadness behind his eyes that you could catch through the black and white grain. You even joked to your friend how cute he was, that he had guard dog face.
You decided to handwrite it, thinking it would be the least effort you could put in what might be the worst written letter of your life. You wrote the usual “Stay Strong” spiel every example letter you found on the internet started with.
Throughout the letter, you found yourself trailing off, telling him meaningless information— the weather outside, what songs you listened to sounded like. You tried asking about himself without being too insistent or nosy, though you weren’t even sure if you’d hear back.
Finishing the letter unsurely, you attempted a friendly goodbye, trying not to seem like you looked down on him or pitied him in any way.
Respectfully, Yours
You didn’t expect to hear back.
Two weeks or so passed and an envelope from Folsom found its way into your mailbox. Having forgotten about the letter due to your event-heavy week, the government-style envelope scared you. Sure, you skipped Jury Duty once to go Cabo on Spring Break, but that didn’t warrant a direct summons from jail.
With the furrow of your eyebrows, you tore open the envelope and realized it was from Andrew. His handwriting was neat and meticulous, not messy and boyish like you thought it would be. The weight of the graphite, though, was heavy and strong, like it had been yelling at you.
Thanking you for the letter, he said he was surprised to hear from a stranger. He told you about his family, his mom and brothers, without any explicit details. You mentioned the beach and sunshine in your letter, and Andrew mentioned salt air in his, dropping that he’d grown up in Oceanside.
His letter was quite brief, sentences cut short and proper specificity thrown out the window. He didn’t say much about his conditions but he did end the letter with a
I hope to hear from you again soon. I don’t get many letters.
His slight vulnerability hit your heart with a pang. The honesty from him seemed like he really did need someone to talk to. You could’ve mistaken it as classic sympathy, but something tied you to him.
So, you wrote again, not as an assignment but just for you. Maybe you were lonely too, but a little letter could do no harm.
You told him how the initial letter was for a class, apologizing for formalities. You gave a neutral comment on his family, sharing about yours too.
Andrew? Isn’t that too formal? Andrew. I feel like I’m scolding you just writing it. Is Andy okay? I hope it is. I won’t use it if it isn’t.
Although he basically had your home address, you shared that you also lived in San Diego, attending the public university. You told him about your classes, your favourite simple things in life. He seemed to enjoy it when you described your scenery to him, so you did.
Writing back, he said he didn’t mind if you called him Andy. He said that no one really called him that, that his nickname back home was “Pope”— without an explanation. He shared that he didn’t finish high school, again, without an explanation, and said that you must be smart.
The letters flowed, maybe once or twice a month. Check-ins, details about your friends, things Andrew missed about the outside world, postcards, printed photos of the city, doodles of Rottweilers and Pitbulls in the margins (from you).
You even threw in a photo your friend took of you on Crystal Pier. Wide smile, eyes squinting, skin glowing, and the waves rushing down below. Quickly and dismissively, Andrew had slipped that he thought you were beautiful, which made you blush. (Strangely, this was the most action you were getting lately.)
Though he didn’t say, he pinned that photo of you up in his cell, and threatened anyone that commented or looked too close. He called you my girl, letting everyone interpret it as they would.
Eventually, it became a weekly thing.
Something about your gel pens scratching across the paper felt romantic to you. You felt like you were waiting for your husband to come back from war. Only, that wasn’t the case. On the off-chance you mentioned it, your friends never failed to remind you that you were writing to a dangerous man in his 30s that was locked up. It only thrilled you more.
Then, you started venting to him, telling him things you had a hard time saying aloud. Letters got deep, talking about your mental state and how you felt isolated. How much you loved San Diego, but was homesick half the time. How you craved proper human connection past fleeting moments at parties or networking around campus.
Andrew answered without judgement. He didn’t have much advice to give, but nonetheless offered his listening ears, or eyes. You never asked, but he told you about the bank robbery, how long they’d keep him in. Again, no details, you figured it was for safety. He told you about jail, the food, the walls, the boring days— nothing that mattered. He said he doesn’t get many visitors and how that made him feel even more lonely.
You shared how you wished you could visit, and you meant it.
You were acting like one of Andrew’s friends, and not some stranger that wrote to him for a school project. You wished him a happy birthday, as he did you. Although small, you continued sending photocards, ticket stubs to movies you saw, sometimes a lipstick stain if you were feeling cheeky. You grew so attached, yet you didn’t even know him.
One month in particular was rough. Having all your midterms condensed into two weeks drove you insane. You spent most of your time at the library, then holed up in your room if not. All your time went to studying, working, then exhaustion.
After your last midterm, your friends had mentioned Wine Wednesday and you jumped on the opportunity to go outside, only on principle.
The night was rough. Your friends had met some other people they knew at the party, and you trailed along like a beaten down horse. It was nice meeting new people, but you didn’t get comfortable. You got tipsy, though in a way that was no longer fun. When your adrenaline crashed, you decided it was time to take yourself home.
Missing your bed, you quietly toed into your apartment, locking the door behind. You thanked the gods that your roommates were on their own planets and far from your orbit. You just needed one cigarette, then to collapse and leave everything to the morning.
In your room, you reached for your light switch as you placed your keys on your table. You were mentally drafting how you’d change into your pyjamas, then head to the balcony.
As you looked up, you saw that the articles of clothing that you had thrown around in search of an outfit hours prior were neatly folded on the bed. In fact, your room was about 50% less messy than you left it. A man had been sitting on the foot of your bed, perfect posture, dark clothes, and watching you.
“Jesus fucking Christ!” You flinched as soon as you realized. Your eyebrows furrowed, more angrily than scared this time. You figured it must be a guest of your roommates, they were always bringing interesting characters over. You peered back into the common room, like you missed something, then dipped your head back to look at him. “Who the fuck—“
“You didn’t write last week.” His voice was simple yet gruff as he spoke, standing from his position. He didn’t come towards you and his arms remained at his sides, hands empty and unthreatening.
“What?” You decided you were too tired for this bullshit, sometime in between your breaths. It took you a second, but you squinted your eyes at him when you realized, “Andrew? What the hell are you doing here?”
His name on your tongue struck him harder than he thought it would. He’d lie awake some nights, attempting to give a tone and pitch to you. Were you sweet? Did you have a harsher voice? Or maybe you were loud and obnoxious (he didn’t like this one much, but decided he could live with it). He replayed what he thought your voice sounded like a billion times in his head, but it never matched up to the real thing, to this.
Andrew would read your letters to himself as if you were reading them aloud to him. Your writing led him to believe you didn’t sound dumb or obnoxious, maybe expressive, maybe relaxed at times. He never really settled on one thing, as your syntax changed day-to-day when he imagined you. What mattered wasn’t the persona he placed you in, just that it was you.
“You didn’t write last week.” He repeated.
You placed him side-by-side to his mugshot in your head. His hair was now short, untamed, choppy. His puppy dog eyes looked sweeter in person, even though there seemed to be heat behind them. The crease between his eyebrows was his most distinct tell to you, as was the flat line of his mouth that bordered on upset. He had a dimple on his left cheek, which you couldn’t see in your mental image of the photo.
“What, so you broke out of prison?” You furrowed your eyebrows with a sigh, reaching for your cigarettes and lighter on your dresser.
“I got out on parole.”
“You can’t just break into people’s houses, Andy.” You said, as if you forgot that he was a criminal.
“I wasn’t going to.” He offered, though even he knew it wasn’t true. “You’re usually home before this time.”
With a gulp, you nudged your head towards the balcony.
Sitting side-by-side in your patio chairs, Andrew told you about his good behaviour that allowed his parole, that they let him out after only 3 years. He also told you that he had just gotten back that day.
“You came to see me first?” You smiled before taking a puff of your cigarette. You looked at him, a twinkle surfacing your eyes. “I’m flattered… Even though you broke into my home.”
“It’s hardly a break-in if your balcony door is unlocked.” He stated sarcastically as you passed the cigarette to him. His tight lips had gone where yours had, and he coughed up a little since his lungs weren’t accustomed to the taste anymore.
“I’m on the third floor.” You said as he simply shrugged.
In between puffs and fingers gliding against each others’, he told you what he couldn’t say in letters. Not with visceral detail, but he told you about the guards, the isolation, the torture. There was a point in the conversation where his voice cracked and stalled, like he just might shatter in front of you.
“I did a paper on institutional abuse for my criminal justice class,” You told him quietly, “I’m not going to claim to understand, but it’s rough. I’m sorry you experienced that, Andy. You didn’t deserve it.”
He didn’t say anything, just a singular nod.
You placed a hand on his, which was resting on his thigh, “We don’t have to talk about it right now, if you don’t want to.”
Andrew’s lips quivered and his eyes hardened as he looked at you. He huffed, hand unmoving and body completely still. He wasn’t used to human touch— hell, it had been years since he'd properly seen a woman, but even before that… Genuine affection wasn’t a familiar concept. Everything, even a hug from his own mother, bore deadweight or pity.
When you had started being more than just nice in your letters— sharing how you’d thought of him throughout your day, how you anticipated each letter, how you felt connected to him—, he thought you were expecting something in return, money or whatever. Then, your letters carried on without manipulation.
It was so overwhelming how much you actually seemed to care about him that it made him lightheaded. Your words, your loopy handwriting, hearts above your i’s, was a drug to him. Hitting each syllable after the next, like it was his only escape. If your letters were a puff of a joint, then your touch was heroin.
You had cased his demeanor and observed his stillness. It was like his brain shut down, eyes vacant and looking into yours. His mouth fell from the paper-thin line he pressed it into as he tried to make sense of the situation.
He was unsure what to do, but then he realized you weren’t asking anything of him or forcing anything out of him— you were giving him grace. His wrist turned over and his fingers grasped yours gently.
“Did you mean it?” He looked into your eyes again.
“Mean what?” You tilted your head at him.
“If I could, I would visit you. I’d sit with you for as long as possible.” He recited from memory. His eyes stayed on you like a spot. “We don’t have to talk if you don’t want to, or I’d talk your ear off if you’d let me.”
Of course you meant it, but you winced when he said it, “Was that too much?”
He swore he almost smiled.
“I swear I’m not as cheesy as I come off.” You looked away. “I just like to pretend.”
“Pretend?” He furrowed his eyebrows.
It was embarrassing, the way he made you talk. Andrew made you verbalize and illustrate how you felt in ways you ordinarily weren’t able to. The letters were that escape for you, but now, face-to-face, you felt you knew him too much to have a little whimsy without feeling ridiculous.
“I don’t know,” you looked back at him and gulped, “Just that I know you differently.”
“Differently?”
With a hesitant sigh, you admitted, “Like you’re my soldier away at war, and I’m waiting for you to come home… so that we can get married and have a family together.”
“Oh.” He wasn’t mocking, just acknowledging. The way his calloused hand went limp in yours, you didn’t know how to feel. His face was a hard read, always completely still and utterly stoic. Although that was basically what he did too, he didn’t know what to say without sounding insane.
“I know… Playing a fantasy? It’s stupid.” You said dismissively, looking away.
“No.”
You looked back at him, not ready for more of your stupidly vast imagination to come to light. His thumb ran over your knuckles as you did so, gently over then back then over again, like he wanted to remember this feeling beneath his fingers. He looked down at your hand, then back at you.
Tapping on your ring finger, “Sorry, I would’ve brought a ring if that was the case,” he joked in that deadpan voice of his.
You smiled, nearly giggled like a schoolgirl then stopped yourself out of embarrassment. You couldn’t even care that he broke into your apartment and most likely went through your things while cleaning.
Usually, you’d think of what your friends would say, the questions your family would have, the looks you would get, but it all went away. The noise of this is insane was blocked out with his real voice and his tangible body.
“Do you, um…” You cleared your throat. “Do you have somewhere to stay?”
Andrew remained silent, and you figured that was an answer.
You offered him clothes, some of your old boyfriends’ from years past and a big Snoopy t-shirt you got at a blood donation drive. He raised an eyebrow when you handed them to him.
“‘S all I have.” You pursed your lips with a shrug.
While he was brushing his teeth in your bathroom, you meekly approached the door, rubbing your hands over each other.
“I, um… I have class in the morning, but we can get lunch together after.”
Looking at you through the mirror, he nodded, face still emotionless. The t-shirt that hung on his frame casually and the loose fit of the sweatpants made him look like he belonged there. Serious face with your purple towels hung behind him and your flouncy shower curtain in the distance. Even with toothpaste on his lips, you couldn’t help but beam inside. Was it weird to extend your paper fantasy to reality? Was this unethical?
You stared at his hand grasped around your extra toothbrush, the yellow Minions one you had stowed away for no reason in particular. The flex of his forearm intrigued you, and you wanted to reach out and feel it. You wanted to map places you’d take him on the freckles along his skin.
When you realized he was staring at you staring at him, you snapped out of it, nodding and heading back to bed.
Coming out of the bathroom, he was headed for the living room, presumably for the couch.
You don’t know why you said it but it came out anyway, “Can you stay here with me?”
When he remained still and didn’t say anything, you patted the mattress beside you. What gravitated you to his physical presence was beyond you, and it made him furrow his eyebrows. Maybe you were just as touch starved as him, but having him stay might’ve pushed it.
“I shouldn’t.” He said.
With a pause, you asked in a small voice, “But do you want to?”
Sharply inhaling, he found the space on the left side of your bed. The mattress dipped as he laid down on his side, facing away from you. You watched him, nearly disappointed but glad he took your offer, and got under the covers yourself.
“Goodnight, Andy.” You whispered before turning off your lamp. With a sigh, you bunched the comforter closer to your skin.
Andrew didn’t sleep until he knew you were. When your breaths slowed, he allowed his to, shutting his eyes like it was medication. It took a few minutes of forcing himself to relax, but your bed was much more comfortable than his jail cell.
At some point in the night, you had unconsciously rolled over to where Andrew was, an arm resting along his waist and your face nudging into his back. You curled up behind him, desperate to feel the heat of him on you. If you knew better and were awake, you would’ve kept to yourself. Nevertheless, his hand rested on yours.
When the sun floated by your blinds, Andrew woke up, stiff under your touch like no time had passed between last night and the morning. He realized your forehead was pressed between his shoulder blades and your hand was clutching his abdomen. He looked over his shoulder as he patted your hand with his, checking if you were awake.
Your hair was a mess over your face, mouth ajar and body relaxed. As Andrew shifted away, you let out a disappointed hum, pawing at his stomach. Although there was a thin layer of cotton beneath your fingertips, his skin burned at the movement of your fingers.
“Five minutes,” you mumbled, morning voice hoarse and irritated.
He eased, turning over to face you. His eyes surfaced over your eyes shut tight and shoulders shrugged under your t-shirt. Your puffy cheek under the strands of hair, soft and supple, called him. His fingertips grazed over, pushing your hair out of your face and behind your ear.
Eyes fluttering open, you realized you had been clutching his middle and were now pressed against his shoulder. You inhaled sharply, sliding your hand away and onto the sheets.
“Sorry,” you mumbled, “Morning.”
You rubbed your eyes and Andrew watched how your hands came to your face and slipped down. He admired the spread of the thin fabric over your chest as you stretched your arms. He couldn’t believe this was real, that you were real.
“Did you sleep well?” Wide eyes waited for his approval after you adjusted to look at him.
He kept his lips pressed together as he nodded.
A smile spread across your face as you pulled the blanket tight to your stomach. He felt bewildered, watching the sunrays across your nose and your crinkled eyes. Andrew remembered dreaming of this moment, not exactly but waking up next to you with everyday comfort. The normalcy of your grin and your morning eyes warmed him, face turning hot as your eyes trailed his body.
“You’re beautiful.” He let slip, like his mouth had been connected to his heart.
You wanted to scoff or make some self-deprecating quip, but his honey-glazed eyes pulled you into the moment. With a soft exhale, your lips fell into a softer and more relaxed position.
Timidly, you reached your hand to his face. His eyes followed your fingers, unsure and intrigued. The pads of your fingers reached his hairline and your fingers ran through the short strands to find the back of his head.
By sheer force of will and desire, you moved closer to him, hovering and resting your arm on his chest. His eyes darted back to yours and, all of a sudden, you were only centimetres away. He held his breath in anticipation. Your lips fell into a pout as your eyes darted to the fine line of his mouth.
“Andy,” you began, voice hush yet sure, “Is it okay—”
“Yes.”
So, you leaned down and pressed your lips to his. It was less of a kiss, and more of an adjustment. His eyebrows furrowed and his eyes shut as he attempted to meet you in the middle. Your lips plush and soft against his, his chin had nudged forward, like he was kissing with his whole head and not his lips. It was like kissing a soldier’s statue, solid, strong, and unbreaking.
When you pulled away, he looked like he was trying, really trying, to please you. He hadn’t kissed anyone in awhile, and when he had, he wasn’t sure if he was doing it correctly. Eyebrows knit, he sought your approval.
“Relax for me, Andy. Please?” Your eyes went wide again, big and twinkling so you could take him in. The stress on his forehead released, as did the crease of his lips. “Open your mouth a little.” You guided, stabilizing yourself over his face.
He followed directions and you dipped your head back in. He followed your lead, allowing the muscle of your lips to guide his. This time, you felt the soft flesh of his lips. Your lips spilled into each others’ as your fingers found his jaw. Soft, testing presses became pleading sucks, then his hand found your neck, urging you towards him by the base of your skull.
Your mouth had fallen open when his grip tightened slightly, causing a noise to spill from your lips. He caught his breath when he pulled back to see you. Eyes shut with need, your mouth chased him with a heavy huff. And in this moment, Andrew discovered his passion for the art of kissing.
“Good,” You whined, eyes still closed in bliss, “Perfect, Andy.”
He nuzzled himself into you again, placing one kiss after the other, just the way you wanted.
Your fingers gripped into his hair as your body needily drifted towards him.
Before you could properly assess what you wanted, your phone buzzed on your nightstand with the voice memo speech your friend recorded while cross-faded. Andrew flinched beneath you and you ripped yourself away from him.
You groaned, “Shit.”
You rolled away and Andrew felt his skin buzz at the loss of your body. Reaching for your phone, you shut off your alarm and all the ones in 15-minute increments that followed. Placing your phone down, you turned back to him, now sitting up on your knees. He was watching you with those puppy dog eyes, consumed by how you made him feel.
“Sorry,” you laughed nervously, “I’d skip this lecture, but it’s new content.”
Face soft, he gave you a singular nod, like he’d do anything you said in that moment. He wouldn’t move until you did. He looked too good in your sheets against the morning glow, so you leaned back down, kissing him deeply again before you knew you really had to go.
Andrew ended up walking you to class, or he walked with you and you showed him around. The sun was bright against the white of the buildings and the sky was clear. He largely stayed quiet, observing the throngs of people and the breeze against his freckled skin.
In the middle of the morning foot traffic, he bluntly said he didn’t like the people on your campus, but his eyes said he was fascinated by the skateboards zipping by as you walked. You shrugged and agreed, too enthralled with his face in the sunlight.
You couldn’t help but smile at the sight of him with you. Warm skin, coated in freckles and tough lines on his face, he was more gorgeous than you ever imagined. It was embarrassing to admit, but you’d grown accustomed to daydreaming this situation. You were simply walking with Andrew and your heart felt full at the corporeal image.
Reaching your building, you pressed your hands to his chest and grinned. You hated to know you’d be away, but you loved that he’d be there when you returned.
“I’ll be done in, like, an hour.” You said, reaching your hands to the side of his neck.
“I’ll be here.” He nodded, lips threatening a smile.
“I’m glad you’re here, Andy.”
You leaned towards him, pressing a chaste kiss to his lips. He sighed into you, surfacing an arm on your shoulder. Pulling away, you smiled at him before skipping away to class.
Andrew wandered around campus, while you learned about the Weimar Republic or whatever. He matched locations to places you described in your letters— the trees under which you liked to write letters at if you weren’t home, the benches where you had an overwhelmed meltdown before a Calculus exam, the booths in the library you fell asleep on for ten minutes at a time, the fast food place that you complained had bitchy cashiers. It was all there, the life before him and now the life with him.
When class ended, you were walking out with one of your friends, talking about the last episode of whatever show you were watching. When you caught Andrew in the corner of your eye, you smiled.
Angela trailed your eyeline and gasped, hitting your abdomen with her arm.
“No fucking way.”
Andrew was exactly where you left him. He stood with his arms crossed, eyes searching for you in the crowd. She recognized him from the mugshot you showed her, when you drunkenly shared that you were sending letters to a stranger. Looking back at your face, she watched a smile grow from ear-to-ear.
Scolding your name, she groaned, “Are you fucking serious? You cannot date a criminal.”
“We’re not dating… per se…” You mumbled, shoving your hands in your pockets
“He’s dangerous.”
“You don’t know that.”
“Neither do you.”
Softly sighing to yourself, you gazed back over to Andrew, who spotted the two of you among the moving passerbys. He kept that serious stare, not exactly threatening or predatory but saying he could pounce at any moment. His eyebrow rose when you turned away.
“It was cute when it was just letters, but—”
Looking back at her, you shrugged, “You don’t know him, Ang. Not like I do.”
Before she could respond, you shook your head and started walking away. Andrew tilted his head at you when you approached. Your hand slid into his and urged him to walk away with a slight tug.
“Who’s that?” He followed you slowly, fingers loosely clasping your knuckles.
“Just a friend.” You looked over your shoulder, where Angela was still watching from feet away.
“Is she causing you trouble?” He stopped you in your tracks with a protective squeeze of your hand.
“Uh,” you looked into his eyes, searching for any sense of seriosity, “No, no. Just some gossip.”
He nodded, allowing you to continue leading him.
“Are you hungry?” You nudged his shoulder with the side of your jaw.
“Mmmhmm,” He nodded, feeling the soft breeze against him.
Andrew’s eyes softened as he watched you talk about different food places nearby. Your face amongst the cloud-streaked blue sky, green trees that weren’t withering away, and buildings that didn’t look like security walls and barbed wire. He didn’t really care where you’d take him.
When you caught him staring, you looked down at your hands then back to his face. His cheeks tensed when you smiled at him.
Summary: You're the person who has to deal with the consequences of Brendon Park's actions, which means you're the only one willing to bite his head off. You want to strangle him; he wants to kiss your feet.
A/N: nobody needs a woman to yell at him like park the shark
Word Count: 6.2k
There is exactly one sound on earth known to make Emergency Department attending physicians with decades of experience under their belt run for the hills and cower under cover – and that’s high heels.
Your high heels, specifically.
It’s not a common sound in the emergency room or the hospital as a whole; most healthcare employees are in sneakers, clogs, or boots the entire time they’re clocked in. But not you. Always dressed pristinely – today it’s high-waisted tailored slacks and a mock-neck sleeveless blouse, effortless and simple with legs that go on for miles and miles – you stalk through the hospital with a mission.
Robby spots you first, strolling in from the offices with eyeliner sharp enough to slice. As his eyes widen, he flips around, briefly touches Abbot and Park on their backs, and hisses, “Find cover, gentlemen. It’s the Viper.”
Abbot breaks into a near run toward the closest open patient room he can find. While Robby scans the area for his hiding place, Park asks, “What the hell’s going on?”
Robby hustles in the opposite direction with a shrug. “Every man for himself, Shark.”
Then a bright, clear, loud woman’s voice bowls down the ED like an oncoming storm. “Dr. Park, just the man I’ve been looking for.”
Even Al-Hashimi claps him on the back and runs off with a whispered, “Good luck.”
You join him in the next second. In your heels, which aren’t even that tall, you’re looking him square in the eyes. Smiling through lips coated in a deep maroon, you ask him, “How’s the transfer to the ED treating you, doctor?”
Arms crossed over his chest, Brendon eyes you suspiciously. “Ah, good, so far. I prefer trauma to ortho. The stakes are higher. Feels good at the end of the day. Accomplished.”
“Glad to hear it. I just need a couple minutes; I know you’re busy. Can we talk here or would you like to go to my office?”
Not noticing the way every single doctor and nurse is nervously glancing in your direction, Brendon mutters, “Here’s fine if it’s quick.”
“Great!” You unlock your briefcase on the nurse’s station and remove a binder as thick as a textbook. Voice still sweet and teasing, you tut at him, “You’ve made yourself very difficult for me to find, Brendon Park.”
“I’m usually in surgery,” he replies, confused and suspicious. He vaguely recognizes you from somewhere, but he can’t quite place it. Probably just flitting around the ED when he’s been here for consults, but it’s entirely possible you’re the hot woman on PTMC’s billboard over I-376. “What’s this about?”
You introduce yourself, shaking his massive hand with yours (blood red stiletto manicure and all), and explain, “I’m the Emergency Department’s Patient Advocate Supervisor.”
“Ah,” Park sighs, eyes raking up and down your accentuated curves, “you’re my new Kevin. He was a huge pain in my ass; I hope our relationship will be better.”
“No, Kevin is a patient advocate and a damn good one, considering he had to deal with your mountain of issues; ortho’s equivalent of me is an idiot who lets the monkeys run the circus,” you correct with harsh eyes. All pretense of pleasantness gone. Brendon looks at you like you’re speaking Klingon, so you slow down your words like he’s a child and explain, “The patient advocates give their evaluations to me. I analyze them and write reports on each and every doctor in the department.”
His brows furrow. “I thought that was Gloria’s-”
“I don’t work for the hospital,” you say, offended by the very idea. “Hospital employees are beholden to the board and the bottom line. I’m a medical malpractice lawyer that the hospital contracts from a private firm to whip their doctors into shape. I don’t care about anything but how patients get treated while they’re here in the ED. I’m more than happy to testify against you in court, recommend probations and suspensions, advocate for salary cuts, or whatever else you might need to be a little more motivated to do your fucking job.”
He lets out a defensive half-chuckle sound, not quite believing the way you’re speaking to him when he’s used to nothing but deference from his coworkers. “I do my job just fine.”
You tap the thick binder and say, “This is your disciplinary folder, Dr. Park. You cut up patients just fine – and that’s an apt description, considering your outcomes aren’t any better than the other surgeons you treat like imbeciles despite doing identical work to yours.” He scoffs and goes to argue, but you barrel ahead, “Don’t ever interrupt me and don’t ever try to correct me; I don’t say things unless I’m completely certain they’re backed up by the data.”
With wide eyes, Brendon confirms, “That’s my file?”
“Yes. You have more patient complaints than any other surgeon in the hospital. I had to switch it from a folder because it has so many entries your previous PAS didn’t go through, so now I have to deal with a two-year backlog. She didn’t do her job of keeping you in line and I won’t be repeating her mistake. Your luck has run out; I expect you in my office at five this Friday for a comprehensive review of your existing file and every Friday after that until your performance improves.”
With his mind reeling, all Brendon can get out is, “Ah, I usually head out early on Fridays. Do a long surgery in the morning and get home by three or four.”
“I know that; I have your schedule history.” With a pat to his shoulder, you smile and tell him, “I want you to spend every weekend from now on thinking about how fucking annoying it is that some bitch from legal won’t let you leave the hospital until seven – and remember that it’s your own fault for being an asshole to patients and it’ll end as soon as you try to be nice and smile for once.”
Slack-jawed, Brendon just watches as you turn on your red-soled heels and head toward your next victim. After a couple of steps, though, you turn back toward him and add, “Oh, and welcome to the Emergency Department. I’m sure you’ll fit right in.”
And all that’s left of you is a waft of warm, citrusy perfume. Park leans against the nurse’s station and breathes out slowly as the other attendings gradually reappear. Baffled, he just shakes his head and runs a hand through his hair. “What the fuck?”
Robby slaps him on the back. “A good public reaming by the Viper is a rite of passage in the Pitt; you were bound to get your first one sometime. You’re one of us now.”
Feeling dizzy and breathless, Brendon says softly but confidently, “I’m gonna marry that woman.”
Robby shakes his head and snorts out a laugh, “That’s a fucked up thing to say.”
“No, no, I can see it,” Jack cuts in, chuckling too. “You’d have the tallest, smartest, meanest children around.”
“I’m serious,” Park insists. A smile threatens his lips. “Give me six months, boys, and I’ll have a ring on that finger.”
“Not a chance in hell,” Robby replies simply. “I heard she dumped her last boyfriend because he polished her shoes with the wrong rag. She doesn’t want a man; she wants a whipping boy.”
Brendon looks between them both and sighs almost wistfully. “A girl like that? I’d let her whip me any time she wanted to, especially if I ruined her $1,000 heels.”
It’s Jack’s turn to laugh. Shaking his head as he grabs a new chart, he mutters, “Something is deeply wrong with you, man.”
That evening, Park waits around your office for you to leave, hustling behind you when you stroll past in your stylish knee-length coat, ready to brave the autumn air. You see him in the corner of your eye and hold up a hand. “Whatever it is, it can wait until morning.”
“No, no, I don’t need anything,” he assures, quickening his pace to match step with your relentless one. “I think we got off on the wrong foot back there, Ms. Viper.”
You cut him a smirk. “Based on your file, I have a sneaking suspicion that’s how things usually go for you.”
“Well, I’d like to apologize for making your life so difficult over dinner and expensive wine.”
You stop in your tracks and turn around; he nearly barrels into you as he stops short. “Are you seriously asking me out on a date right now?”
“Yeah, I absolutely am. Are you saying yes?”
“Wow, you really do have all the social grace of a baboon.” With your hand on his chest, you give him the cruelest and most effortlessly dismissive laugh he’s ever heard, like he’s a snail by your foot and not an attractive, successful doctor. It makes him shiver. “You’re punching above your weight class, Dr. Park.”
But he just gives you a hunky grin, undeterred. “I can bench almost twice what I weigh; how much bigger do I need to get to take you out?”
You chuckle and reply, “Lift a thousand pounds with one hand.”
“No problem; give me two days.”
Trying to push down how charming he is, you turn at the entrance to the parking garage and tell him simply, “I’ll see you on Friday for your review.”
“Perfect.” He nods and, like it’s an assignment, confirms, “I’ll be done by then for sure.”
Friday afternoon, right on time, Brendon knocks on your office door. He pushes it open when you call for him to and slips inside with the air of a child who knows he’s in trouble.
“Sit,” you order, nodding to the chairs on the opposite side of your desk. He does so right away, clearly waiting to hear what you have to say instead of jumping into something himself. You set the contents of his disciplinary file on the desk and gesture to the piles. “Well, your reputation certainly precedes you, Dr. Park.”
He tries out a smirk to keep some semblance of confidence. “Not the first time I’ve heard that.”
You tilt your head and narrow your eyes. “Been a bully your whole life, then?”
“I meant more that-”
“Yeah, I’m not stupid.” You show him each of the three piles of paperwork and explain, “Since you started in the ED, I’ve been sorting through the complaints against you. This tallest stack is complaints I can handle myself without your help or where your help would only make things worse.”
“What does that mean?”
You level him with a gaze so stern it makes him squirm. “Ones where the problem was your personality, basically.”
“Brutal.”
“Like you.” When he hears himself in your words, Brendon doesn’t like it. For maybe the first time in his life, he questions his own behavior. So it sounds like an opportunity when you go on, “This one is complaints that I’ll have to pass on to the review board if you refuse to help me resolve the problems.”
After pinching the bridge of his nose, he taps the smallest stack of two thick documents held together by binder clips. “And this one?”
You sigh and tell him, “These two are going to the review board no matter what.”
“Shit.”
“Yeah, turns out that-” you show him the cover page of each complaint “-pressuring parents into high-risk surgeries for their child isn’t very nice.”
“Well,” he bites back, still pushing up against his over-groomed ego, “being a good doctor isn’t about being nice.”
“You’re right.” You match his intensity. “It’s about effective patient care, which is impossible if your patients don’t trust you.”
Gesturing like he’s trying to find the right words to grab, he argues, “The kid would’ve died without the surgery.”
You let out a harsh laugh. “And when you gave a blood transfusion to a Jehovah’s Witness?”
“They came in unconscious and had no identification of their religious status.” He throws his hands up defensively. “Could not possibly be construed as misconduct.”
“Clearly the complainant disagrees.” You sigh and lean back in your chair, fuse burning short at his constant belligerence. “Look, Brendon. Your surgical work is fine – good, even – but your bedside manner is nothing short of atrocious. You don’t spend enough time getting informed consent, you don’t listen to concerns, and you regularly exhibit disrespect to patients and other doctors. Now, I understand that surgeons receive more complaints than other specialties – less face time with patients, uncertainty about post-op results, all that. But you, doctor, are a true outlier among outliers. And if you want to keep your job at this hospital, then you need to cooperate with me in resolving these complaints.”
Your words hang heavy in the air for a minute. Brendon hates that you know exactly how to deliver a monologue that makes him feel like he’s in the time-out corner and absolutely deserves it. There’s never been a coworker – or a woman, frankly – who’s put him in his place like this. Finally sounding on the border of humble, he asks, “What the hell am I supposed to do?”
“Whatever I say.”
“In practical terms, please.”
You can’t help but let out a laugh at his pouty tone. “You’re going to take mornings off surgery for the next two weeks to meet with aggrieved former patients. You will listen, you will sincerely apologize, and you will agree with every single thing I say to convince them not to escalate.”
His eyes widen and he balks, “You seriously expect me to not do surgery?”
“My proposal has already been cleared by hospital administration and the meetings are scheduled. I’ll add them to your calendar.”
Reaching for anything to get out of what he imagines would be the worst thing on earth – trapped with a gorgeous, cruel woman who hates him and a jilted patient – Brendon mutters pathetically, “I thought we weren’t supposed to apologize to patients for fuckups.”
“That’s a myth and one that makes my life way more annoying on a regular basis.” You rifle through some papers on the cabinet behind your desk and hand him a pamphlet on malpractice, explaining, “Physician apologies cannot be used to demonstrate guilt in a court of law and they’re actually the number one reason patients agree to mediation and ultimately drop complaints.”
Brendon absently flips through the pamphlet, trying to resign himself to his fate. “What do I do, then?”
“Come to my office first thing in the morning,” you start, giving him a ‘don’t you dare’ look when he opens his mouth to crack a joke about that. “Wear a light-colored button-down and your white coat. Mousse your hair instead of gelling it so it’s soft. Practice looking like a human being in the mirror.”
Once again, his expression turns to a mix of offense and dread, scoffing, “What, like I’m a murderer trying to convince a jury I’m not a psycho? The damn Menendez brothers in their pastel fucking sweaters?”
You can’t help laughing at the irony. “Brendon, listen to yourself.”
He sighs heavily and runs his fingers through his end-of-day-loose hair. “Christ, I really am an asshole, aren’t I?”
“Acceptance is the first step in recovery,” you lilt. Then you pick up a few of the files and say, “Now, let’s go over the meetings I have lined up for Monday morning. The more prepared you are for what they’re going to say, the better we can handle it.” Watching him tentatively take the first file and read over it with furrowed brows, you go on, much softer, “I know everyone at the hospital thinks I’m a bitch – and, to be fair, I am – but it’s only because I want your patients to have a good experience with you. When your patients view you as competent and trustworthy, they’ll return to you for care, they’ll follow instructions better, and ultimately your outcomes will improve. So just work with me here and we’ll get this figured out.”
He nods slowly, guilt trickling into his veins as he actually reads over the details of the complaints for the first time. Patients who felt dismissed, who didn’t understand his decisions, who ended up with post-op complications they didn’t feel comfortable bringing up. After what feels like forever, his voice lowers and you see a flicker of humility in his eyes. “Yeah, okay. I trust you. I don’t-” He swallows hard, averts his eyes, and manages to admit, “I don’t want to be the kind of doctor people avoid. I want to be better.”
You reach across the desk and give his forearm and small, affirming squeeze. When you smile at him earnestly for the first time, it makes his heart flutter a little too embarrassingly for him to acknowledge. “That’s all I need to hear for us to work together.”
The two of you make it through reviewing the first week’s-worth of low-level complaints by seven, going back and forth to understand his perspective, the patient’s, and the advocate’s. You hate to admit it, but when Brendon actually accepts that there’s a problem and gets determined to fix it, he’s…good. He cares. He has the work ethic of an ox and you can tell he’s the kind of man who needs to right his wrongs.
It doesn’t hurt that most of the complaints against him have to do with him being hard-headed, not incompetent or malicious, usually bulldozing patients because he’s right and wants to do the best he can. Not like some of the ED doctors who have fewer complaints that are much more serious. You know he just needs to find the balance of that skill and confidence with communication and understanding. He’ll be the best of the hospital if he can do that.
Your watch beeps at seven, interrupting the flow of your conversation. You stand up first to make it clear that Brendon’s officially free, saying, “Thank you for coming in and for your understanding. You can do this.”
As you collect your things and he does the same, he ensures, “So we’re done for now?”
“Yeah, we are. You can head out.”
“Great.” He opens up your office door to let you walk through and says seriously, “Let’s circle back on that conversation we had earlier this week now that we’re off the clock. Would you like to go on a date with me?”
You laugh and shake your head. “Your biceps aren’t looking any stronger since we last went over this; sure you’re ready to lift that thousand pounds for me?”
All cocky again, he whistles and muses, “So you have noticed how big my arms are.”
You nudge him in the arm with your elbow as he falls into step next to you. “I’ve noticed your scrub tops are a size too small, yes.”
“God, you are far and away the most brutal, beautiful woman I’ve ever seen and I can tell you’d sucker punch a bear if it didn’t mind its manners,” he absolutely swoons. While you try not to smile, he goes on, looking for all the world like he’s about to break into song, “I’m smitten over here. I’ll take you somewhere nice, dress up like a gentleman, the whole damn thing. What do you say?”
“I only date doctors with a patient satisfaction score in the double digits, Brendon.”
“God, my name sounds so good in your mouth it’s like this is the first time I’m hearing it. You can make the meanest insult sound like a song. What a gift.” While you laugh and push out of the hospital’s front door toward the parking garages, he follows behind you like a puppy and goes on, “Plus, I know for a fact my patient satisfaction score is 51 because Robby was thrilled to have a doctor who scored lower than his 65. I’m proud of that.”
With an eye roll, you remind him, “You really shouldn’t be.”
“And you really should go on a date with me. I’d treat you so well; you have no idea,” he insists as you walk through the parking garage toward your reserved spot halfway down the first row. “I’d lick this garage floor right now if you’d let me open your car door for you.”
You stop next to a sexy little silver Miata and snicker, “I’ll let you do that today, but only because I have my hands full.” Brendon immediately drops to his knees and bends toward the ground with his tongue out, making you shriek out a laugh and smack him with your purse. You cover your smile with your hand and chastise, “You’re horrifying.”
“And you’re just a few more interactions from falling in love with me.” He stands up with a satisfied, goofy grin that’s far too boyishly charming for his features and opens your car door, stepping back and gesturing with a flourish. “Get home safe, beautiful.”
You slide into the front seat, settle your belongings, and tell him, “If you smile like that at your patients, you might actually have a chance with me, big guy.”
He salutes and promises, “I’ll spend the whole weekend practicing for you.”
The whole ride home, you have to keep forcibly wiping the school-girl smile from your face. You’re totally aware that Brendon Park can 1000% wear you down. Definitely not your usual type with his wolfish smile and domineering attitude, but gorgeous, broad, and just cocky enough to turn you on without intimidating you.
The problem is that his very existence is an annoyance to you. If you were going to date a doctor in the ED, it would be Abbot, who seems to actually give a shit about making your job easier and treating his patients like people and not puzzles. Shen is by far too happy and Al Hashimi is too sweet. Robby repulses you on a visceral level for more reasons than you can name.
But Brendon Park? He’s a big question mark for you. All you know about him is from his file, which doesn’t paint a particularly flattering picture. When he talks and smiles, though, you can sense a sweetness in him that he doesn’t show often. Maybe that means he can open up and be better – but you doubt it.
That flicker of hope in your gut? You aren’t sure whether to stoke it or blow it out.
You fully expect Brendon to drop his crusade to go out with you after a couple of rejections. He could have any girl he wanted with a snap of his fingers, you’re sure, so there’s no way he’d keep going for someone as off-putting and crass as you. Especially after two full weeks of morning meetings that essentially consist of you bending him over and letting patients spank him red, you’d guessed that his interest would fizzle out into something more akin to begrudging tolerance.
But no.
Brendon Park is not a man easily dissuaded.
Every time you spend two hours on Friday afternoon verbally beating the shit out of him so he’ll become a better doctor, he inevitably goes through the same routine.
“Go out with me, gorgeous, I’m begging you,” he tries again. His latest addition to the song and dance is insisting on carrying your file box and briefcase out to your car because, quote, ‘your manicure is too sexy to risk chipping.’ Sticking right by your side, he swears, “I’ll get on my knees right now if you just say yes.”
You meet his too-pretty blue eyes and insist, knowing it’s only about 40% true now, “Not in a million years.”
“No problem,” he beams, “I’ll wait a million and one just to sweep the floor in front of you so you don’t get any scuffs on those designer shoes.”
“Cute, but how about you start working on that list of calls for me instead? Give me an update the next time you see me.”
“Oh, I’m already on it,” he assures like a dog showing off a new trick and hoping for a cookie, “but if it gets me another single solitary second breathing in that perfume of yours, I’ll go double time.”
You roll your eyes and ignore it – but you’re smiling, and that’s enough for Brendon.
By the time you and Brendon are on the last week of his patient apology tour, your resolve is about as strong as a toothpick. He’s bringing you coffee and pastries every single morning, just setting them on your desk without a word while the two of you prep. He always compliments not only what you’re wearing but the little details alongside it – your perfume’s top notes, the shade of your lipstick, the way your earrings catch the light. With every ounce of his earnest affection, he can tell your resolve is wearing very, very thin, but it’s definitely still there. He can smell the blood in the water even if he isn’t quite sure when or how to make the final strike.
Brendon figures out his plan of attack because of the wisdom of one Dana Evans.
You’re working on the floor of the ED today because a nasty bug has taken out two of your patient advocates. In picking up their workload, you end up floating through Brendon’s peripheral vision all day. For everyone else, you’re the viper who might bite their neck at any turn. But, for Brendon, it’s like, well, the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen is just there for him to gaze at in between surgeries.
While going over plans with him and a few nurses, Garcia turns to him and offers, “One of my friends wants me to set her up with a doctor and I said I’d try. Park, you’re single, right? She’s funny, pretty, successful. Maybe a little nice for you, but you never know.”
Brendon smirks, glancing in your direction, and answers, “I’m single, but I’m not available.”
Princess rolls her eyes and cuts in for the sake of the gossip: “What the hell does that mean, Shark?”
“I’ve got a girl in mind,” he replies easily, voice smooth and cool as a saxophone. “Got a feeling she’s finally gonna give me a shot soon.”
Garcia faux-gasps. “You’re groveling for a girl? You know you’re, like, eight feet tall, buff, and rich, right?”
“And that means there’s nothing sexier than a woman who needs to be courted.”
“Ew.”
Absently listening to the exchange, Dana glances up at him over the rims of her glasses. “You’re cock-blocking yourself with her, Park, you know that, right?”
Princess looks between Park and Dana, beyond nose, and presses, “With who, exactly? This girl works at the hospital?”
“The Viper,” Dana explains like that’s not some top-shelf, high-value chisme. “He’s been trying to get her to go out with him for weeks now. It’s obvious.”
Garcia’s mouth falls open in horror. “You like her?!”
“Shut up,” Brendon hisses, nervous about the potential of you overhearing just a few feet over. He narrows in on Dana and demands, “What do you mean? I’ve never put more effort into trying to convince a girl to date me.”
“Kid, she likes you already. She laughs at your bad jokes and she squeezes your arm like it’s a prize tenderloin she’s thinking about buying. She wants to go out with you.” Staring him down from over her glasses, Dana explains, “But you know what’s not attractive? Being the reason she had to work overtime almost every day this month. You wanna go on a date with someone after you spend four hours defending them to angry patients and lawyers?
This isn’t some playground back in the ‘90s when we tried to convince girls it was cute for a boy to pull her pigtails or tease her. A lady like that expects better for herself. You’re clearing all these complaints for her, but, in the meantime, you’re collecting plenty of new ones. Bring her all the coffees and donuts you want, but until you’re a guy she can actually rely on to make her life better instead of worse, it’s a lost cause.”
“Damn, Evans.” Brendon lets out a long, slow breath, watching you talk with a patient using those soft eyes you don’t give to anyone else. God, you’re so beautiful it aches. The harshness of you and the softness, too. With a sharp nod, plan solidifying in his mind, Brendon claps Dana on the shoulder and says, “Heard.”
After the very last patient from the backlog of Brendon’s complaint file leaves your office, you stretch your arms above your head, down the last of your coffee, and tell him, “Congratulations, Dr. Park. You’re officially rid of me until you get a brand new complaint – so, I’m guessing I’ll see you this afternoon?”
With a shit-eating grin, he muses, “Oh, you haven’t heard?”
You raise an eyebrow. “Heard what?”
Shrugging like it’s easy and obvious, he explains, “I’m not gonna get a single complaint this month.”
You bark out a sharp laugh and start preparing for your next meeting. “For the first time in your career? Is that so?”
“Yes, ma’am,” he vows, almost somber in his conviction. “I’ve got a brand new wave of motivation.”
You lean forward and balance your chin in your hands like you’re tuning in for a gossip session. “Do tell.”
“Turns out my bad behavior has a direct negative effect on the girl I like, so I’ve gotta shape up if I want to make her mine.”
Your heart flutters and you unintentionally bite your lower lip before catching yourself and admonishing your brain for responding to something so…so…charming. As he leans in your doorway, lingering instead of leaving, you ask, “And what do you think the odds are on that?”
“Oh, they’re astronomical.” Sounding positively wistful, he gazes at you affectionately and continues, “She never gives me the time of day and she scares the shit out of me; it’s the most amazing thing that she still absolutely knocks my socks off. I’ve got no idea what the hell’s wrong with me when it comes to her.”
“Yeah, me neither,” you giggle. Fuck, you didn’t mean for it to come out as a giggle. Shaking your head and averting your eyes to your computer because the embarrassment of being caught feeling all flirty and cute is too much, you say, “Get back to the ED, Brendon; I’ve got my next meathead doctor in a few minutes.”
“No problem, gorgeous, but I’ve gotta tell you one more thing, though.”
You look back at him, careful to keep your face together and not too wooed. “What’s that?”
He steps forward and leans over your desk, hands planted on the tabletop. His eyes bore into yours. “My odds may not be good, but they’re not zero. And that minuscule chance? That keeps me going. You’ve just gotta give me a single second and you’ll fall in love for the rest of your life, I promise you that.”
A little breathless, you meet his baby blues. “Do you?”
“I’m gonna treat you so well and make your life so much easier; it’ll be impossible not to fall for me.” Then, so confident it steals whatever’s left of your breath, he cups your cheek and says, “I’m gonna fix this whole department’s patient satisfaction scores starting with my own and then I’m gonna learn how to shine your shoes just how you like. I’d do nothing but sit in your closet with a dehumidifier to make sure the humidity for your leather heels is just right if that’s what you wanted.”
You swallow hard as his touch stays on your face long after he withdraws his hand. “Sounds a little scary.”
Brendon shrugs, smiles, and backs toward the door once more, always reluctant to leave you. “Then you’ll just have to give me something else to do to make you happy. Let me change your oil; you don’t even have to be there while I do it. Or I can mow your lawn, bring over my own push mower and everything to make sure I get the stripes just right how you want them. I’ll hand wash your floors with my toothbrush. Anything.”
You shake your head and sigh tenderly, “What am I gonna do with you, Brendon?”
“Whatever you want, whenever you want. Have I not made that clear enough?” Brendon’s eyes rake over you once more like he’s memorizing the sight of you to savor for the rest of the day. “Man, even when you’re rejecting me, you’re just about the loveliest thing I’ve ever set my eyes on. The things I would do for you if you’d even brush a hair off my shoulder.”
“That would be the most action a man’s gotten from me in a very long time.”
“Yeah? How long?”
“I’ll see you later, Dr. Park.”
“See you soon, Viper.”
Brendon makes absolutely zero attempts to ask you out for the next 30 days straight. You’re honestly starting to believe he may have lost interest until he waltzes into your office at 5PM on a Friday, the last day of the month. He knocks dramatically on the door frame even though it’s propped open.
In the middle of collecting your things, you shrug on your jacket and sigh, “Can I help you with something, Dr. Park.”
Standing with his hands suspiciously bashfully behind his back, Brendon steps into the office and informs you seriously, “You should sit down for this, gorgeous.”
You lean against your desk and nudge, “Why’s that?”
“Because,” he announces, voice grand like he’s about to call an auction, “you, the Viper of the Emergency Department, are about to agree to go out with me, your humble subject, and, after your many rejections, I have to imagine that’ll be so shocking for you that you might pass out.”
With your stomach full of butterflies you can’t deny, you hop up on your desk dramatically and gesture broadly like a queen for her jester. “Alright, Sharkie, go ahead.”
Brendon’s smile only grows at your teasing. He takes a deep breath and explains, “Dana told me this morning that I had to check my mailbox because it had gotten too full. The whole time I worked in ortho, I think I checked my box maybe once. When you get served, they put the notice right in your hand, so why bother? But I go to the mailroom and she’s right; my cubby’s got a million fucking envelopes in it.” From behind his back, he hands you a stack of cards. “They’re from patients. My patients.”
He lets it hang as you inspect the papers he’s handed over. Like he said, they’re all cards and they’re all from patients. There are hand-drawn ones from kids with pictures of sharks, sentimental ones from old ladies, ones with shitty jokes from the convenience store. There have to be twenty of them here, each one telling a story of a doctor who truly made them feel seen and cared for.
The last of your resolve crumbles into dust.
Brendon steps forward, studying your expression carefully, and says softly, “Turns out that while I’ve just been trying to impress you, I actually became a better doctor for my patients. And a better man, I hope. So, first and foremost, I wanted to thank you for that.”
When he doesn’t launch into another attempt to ask you out immediately, you let the silence linger for a moment. Thumbing through the cards, you make your mind up once and for all. You meet his baby blue eyes, let a small smile part your lips, and reply, “Okay.”
His eyebrows go up. “Okay?”
You nod and sigh out, “I’ll go on a date with you.”
He fist pumps the air in a way so dorky and adorable you almost back out and lets out a dramatic whoop, “Fuck, yes! Jesus, I really didn’t think that would work.”
You roll your eyes at him even though it’s become physically impossible to suppress your delighted smile that matches his. “Alright, slugger, calm down. I’m just a woman.”
Brendon shakes his head and scoffs, “Au contraire. You aren’t ‘just’ anything.”
“Well, regardless, you win.” You take a Post-It from your desk, scribble your phone numbers on it, and hand it over to him. “Text me your address. Make me dinner tomorrow night.”
“Make you dinner? You know I could get us a table at any restaurant you wanted.”
You cross your arms over your chest and challenge, “And I want you to cook for me. It’s the perfect test for a man.”
Staring down at your phone number in your swoopy handwriting like it’s made of diamonds, Brendon absently asks, “Yeah? Why’s that?”
“It means one of the three things.” You explain seriously, “He can already cook, which is a green flag. He can follow a recipe, which means he’s teachable, or he utterly fails and that means he can handle being humbled, which is sexy.”
“It’s sexy when a man gets humbled?”
“What exactly do you think has been going on between us?”
“Honestly, I haven’t heard a single word since you agreed to date me.”
In lieu of my ko-fi, please consider donating to my mother's long-term dementia care fund.
tags: andrew "pope" cody x fem!reader, !!!possible spoilers for the animal kingdom finale!!!, near-death experience, hurt andrew, canon typical violence, mentions of death, blood, non-descriptive injuries, andrew gets his happy ending, 18+ MDNI
notes: I saw that one Shawn interview where he spoke about how different he'd make Pope's ending, and I couldn't help but want to write it into existence in my own way. I hope you all enjoy this, if you'd like to join my permanent master list, please comment here! enjoy! and if you'd like to join my permanent master list, please comment here!
word count: 4.5k
Andrew’s bleeding body and betrayed soul burned almost as hot as the house behind him.
Flames threw heat against his back with every staggering step he took. His large hand pressed against the wounds littering his torso, his shirt squishing wetly under his palm. Each inhale and exhale caused spurts of blood to continue soaking the fabric. Exhaustion dragged him down like a ball and chain; he was so tired.
He wondered if this was it, if he was about to just give up in the house that started it all. Surely someone had already called about the fire; surely cops and other federal officers were on their way. But even with those thoughts, Andrew couldn’t help but worry about everyone but himself.
The pool lapped in crashing, rhythmic waves against the concrete side, a calm sound compared to the raging chaos around him. With a grunt, he lowered himself to sit on the edge, boots coming to rest on the first stair, the fabric instantly soaking in the chlorine scented water. His body ached, ached, ached, and his mind reeled with the last hour where everything went so horribly wrong.
His betraying nephew, his lost and probably injured baby brothers, his fading life; Andrew wasn’t sure which one hurt the most.
With shaking hands, he pulled out two items from his back pocket: his phone and a small photo. The corners of his mouth failed to turn at the sight of his younger self and his sweet-looking twin that he had failed so many years ago; J had made sure that his failure to protect her sank deeper and hurt more than his wounds. A small sob pushed out in one puff of air, and a singular tear made its way across his cheeks, mixing with the blood trickling from a cut near his eye.
Andrew placed the photo down carefully and looked at his phone second. Behind him, the fire continued to roar on, leaving no part of the famous Cody house untouched. His attention should have been on getting out of there, on finding Deran and Craig, but all he could think about was the phone call he had to make. For a split second, he hesitated, thumb frozen over the contact, before he touched the screen.
You picked up in two rings. “Andy?” you breathed, voice already filled with a panic that made his heart clench. “Andy, what’s going on. I saw—you were being transferred, but—the news, I don’t know what’s happening.”
He pinched his eyes shut, allowing more tears to squeeze their way out of his tear ducts. “I’m sorry,” he said first. “I’m so sorry.” He could almost envision your pinched, worried face if he thought hard enough. “You need to listen to me.”
“What’s going on?” you repeated. “Talk to me.”
Iron-tanged saliva pooled around his tongue. “Everything went south. J talked; Craig and Deran are gone but—” He inhaled sharply. “I don’t know if they’re going to make it.”
He couldn’t stand the sound of your shaking breathing on the other line, the one you made when you worried on his behalf.
“Andy—”
“There’s money,” he interrupted, so awfully aware of the growing heat behind him. “In your name. You’re gonna be taken care of, I made sure of it. You’ll never have to worry about anything, understand?”
“Money? What? What are you saying, Andy?”
He looked down and over at the photo then down to his pool-soaked boots. “I think this is it for me,” he whispered, heart breaking right into two at the thought of leaving you alone in this world. “Cops are comin’; the house . . . I took care of it.”
“You’re at the house?” you questioned, and Andrew could hear the tell tail sound of your keys jingling on that keychain he always told you would mess with the ignition.
He mentally cursed himself for the slip up, not wanting you to come after him and possibly find what he left behind. “Stay home,” he ordered. “Don’t-don’t come here; it’s not safe.”
“But—”
“Promise,” he stated, hand reaching to pick up the photo again. “Promise you won’t come here.” Each word hurt to get out.
“I’m not going to leave you to die, Andrew,” you argued. “Not when I can do something about it.”
“No,” he moaned, sides protesting with the word, body tensing with fear at the thought of you driving over. “Sweetheart, don’t come.”
Your keys stopped jingling, and he quietly sighed in relief. However, his heart sunk down to his toes when the sound of your car humming to life filled the speaker. The tires squealed.
“Just,” you started, pausing when words failed. “Wait for me. Please, Andy, wait for me. I’ll be there soon; you know this. You don’t get to die on me, Andrew Cody.” Your voice rose with each sentence.
Andrew sat there for another moment before his world slowly tipped to the side. His bones protested at the change, and his shoulder screamed when it came to rest on the concrete. Like sticky molasses, he shifted slowly until his hands dipped into cool water, photo of him and Julia quickly becoming soaked. His chest heaved in heavy, labored breathing. His poor auburn curls flattened under the weight of his head against the brick outline.
“Andy?” you whimpered. “Are you there?”
It took him a minute to gather the strength to speak. “Yeah,” he croaked. “’M here.”
“Do you remember what you told me the first time you walked me home?”
This time, Andrew’s lips quirked upward for a millisecond at the memory. “Yeah.”
“You said—” He heard you thickly swallow. “You said that no matter what, you wouldn’t leave me behind.”
He closed his eyes.
“A-and if-if—” It was almost like you couldn’t even speak the idea of him dying into existence in fear that it’d happen. “That’s breaking your promise.”
Andrew stayed silent as sirens wailed in the distance to the point that he thought that you could probably hear them through your phone. He didn’t want you mixed up in any of this; he had tried his damn hardest to keep you as far away from his family activity as possible.
“I’m almost there, okay? I’m coming.”
He didn’t know how much time had passed between your sentences, the world becoming blurry and sounds reaching his brain through cotton. He had lost a hold on the picture minutes ago, and it had slowly drifted out of reach, close to being so waterlogged that it threatened to dip below the surface and sink to the bottom. The only thing he kept a firm grip on—even if his strength was quickly waning—was the phone, his one lifeline to you.
Dark black spots danced in his vision, and his breathing stuttered and slowed.
“Almost there,” you kept repeated, like saying that would grant you the power of teleportation. “I’m almost there, and then, I’m going to get you all patched up. You’re going to be just fine. We’ll move somewhere safe, start a future together, just like we talked about yeah?”
Andrew’s chest heaved. “Yeah.”
“Tell me what you see, Andrew. What do you want our future to look like; keep talking to me.”
The next few words hurt, but he wasn’t just going to leave you without saying anything else. “A house.”
He heard a large sniff, followed by a watery exhale. “Yeah? What kind of house.”
“Big. Safe. Warm.”
“It sounds so nice.”
“Full.” He closed his eyes. “Full house.”
“You always did want four kids,” you tried, but the attempt to lift spirits fell flat. “What else?”
“All girls,” he muttered, his energy almost draining each time his mouth opened. “First one, then twins, and one baby.”
A small laugh crackled through the speaker. “Sounds like a dream. You’re going to be such a good dad, Andy.”
He hated the way you continued to speak like he was going to make it out alive. He knew you were still on the way, and the sirens were slowly growing louder even through his cotton (blood)-filled ears. His fingers loosened, and the phone dropped onto the ground with a thunk.
“Andrew? What was that?”
He thought he responded, but really, the words were all jumbled in his mouth. He dragged his cheek across the rough concrete to get his mouth closer to the dropped phone. The black spots had grown significantly as blood continued to pour from his body.
With one last large breath, he said, “I love you.”
His mind went quiet soon after, despite your yelling across the line for him to hold on. All fight left his body in a single moment, frame deflating under the weight of what was about to happen. Andrew Cody was close to death, and for the first time since meeting you, he felt truly at peace. Every blink of his eyes slowed; he didn’t know which one was going to be the last, but when his eyelids finally settled, and he couldn’t find the strength to open them again, he fully welcomed the darkness.
_______________________
You didn’t know what to expect to find when your car squealed into the fully-flame-engulfed Cody house’s driveway.
Andrew had gone silent on his end almost two minutes ago, and your heart thundered against your sternum. You didn’t even pull the keys out of the ignition before your door swung open. Your feet hit the ground, and you dashed around the corner to the side fence entrance. It took your shaking hands two tries before the latch gave way. Flames roared in your ears as you pushed through the gate, but all you could focus on was the Andrew-sized lump lying unmoving at the pool’s edge.
A cry of pure anguish tore through your throat. You didn’t stop running until your knees hit the pool’s ledge. You didn’t have time to dwell on the pain of your joints.
“Andrew?” you questioned, hands reaching to roll him over on his back. His body swayed under the motion, completely boneless. “Andrew?” Your hand curled into a fist and rubbed erratically against his sternum, just like you’d seen on TV. “Come on; come on!” Tears began streaming steadily down your face. “Andy, Baby, come on! Don’t do this to me!”
When he failed to make any signs of waking up, you quickly dug two fingers into the side of his neck and held your breath, waiting—hoping to feel something, anything below his skin. When you felt a dull pulse, you pulled your fingers away with a gasp of relief.
“You stay with me, Andrew Cody,” you grunted as your hands slipped under his arms, back straining under his dead weight.
Really, you hadn’t thought anything through; Andrew was almost double your weight, but the adrenaline coursing through your body was somehow enough for you to start dragging him across the backyard.
Almost back to the fence, you stumbled, ass falling down to the grass with Andrew pressing down on your front. Almost on the next street over, the sirens were getting dangerously close. If you didn’t move in the next few moments, they’d either drag you away and shoot Andrew on the spot as a convicted and escaped murderer or they’d drag you away and leave him to burn along with the house. You couldn’t let that happen; you’d rather die than let that happen.
So, with all the strength you could muster, you stood back up and kept yanking. Andrew stayed unconscious as his body bumped along the grass and then dragged across the small bit of driveway. A deep groan from the house had your head whipping up in time for you to witness the integrity give way under the flames. Plumes of smoak wafted high, but Andrew was already put in the passenger seat with the back all the way down for him to lie against. If you happened to pass officers on the way out, they’d only see you, Andrew being covered by the door.
Just like when you pulled in, your tires squealed on the way out. Your left hand gripped the steering wheel with white knuckles while the other held onto Andrew’s limp hand, thumb brushing against his split knuckles. Through the air, your phone rang a few times before a voice answered on the other line.
“Deran?” you called out.
He answered with your name in a saddened tone. “Yeah?”
“Where are you? Is Craig with you?”
A sobbed choke followed. “Craig’s . . . Craig’s—fuck!”
You bit down on your bottom lip to stop it from wavering, and your hand gripped Andrew’s just a tad bit tighter, knowing he was about to meet the same fate.
“Please,” Deran said, not waiting for you to say anything else. “Please tell me you’ve heard from Pope. He went back to the house to go after J; he said he’d find us, but—” He shakily exhaled. “But it sounded like he was saying goodbye instead.”
Your eyes drifted from the road down to Andrew, who still remained unconscious. “I have him, but Deran—” You looked back toward the road, blinking rapidly to rid your eyes of tears. “It’s bad. There’s so much blood. I—” You sniffed loudly. “I have to get him to a safe place. Is there anywhere you can think of?”
The line went silent for a few moments. “Smurf had a house . . . in Encinitas. I can meet you there, but . . . do you think he’ll last that long?”
“He’ll have to. Or I’ll bring him back just to kill him myself,” you muttered, spinning the steering wheel under your palm to take the closest exit. “Send me the address, and Deran?”
He sighed heavily. “Yeah?”
“Stay safe, okay? I’ll see you there.”
You hung up without another word, and the address came through not even a breath later. Your thumb continued to run across Andrew’s knuckles the entire 13.4-mile drive, hand never once letting go of his. The only thing that kept you from losing hope entirely was the slow up and down movement of his chest. Oh how you prayed for his hazel eyes to open, but even with your muttering and begging, they stayed closed.
Every so often, you’d look over your shoulder or stare right through the rearview mirror, heart thudding in awful anticipation of possibly seeing any battalion of police cars following you. But as your car stuttered to a halt in front of a non-descript house, the fear of being found was slowly overtaken by the fear of truly losing Andrew.
You exhaled slowly, forehead coming to rest against the wheel for just a moment, giving yourself a small chance to breath before you got out of the car. You quickly rounded the hood and opened the passenger door. Deran was nowhere in sight, and you didn’t want to wait for him to get there to help you transfer Andrew indoors. He needed to get inside as quickly as possible.
So, for the second time in thirty minutes, you shoved your arms under his and pulled with all your might. His feet hit the ground hard, but it was at least better than his full body. Your feet scuffled along, sandals definitely not the best choice for lugging your almost-dead fugitive boyfriend into a safehouse.
His weight pressed against you as you tried to get through the door, mentally thanking whoever last stayed there for stupidly forgetting to lock it. With one hand, you twisted the knob, and a wave of heat washed over you once you got through the threshold. You didn’t dare stop until you lugged Andrew onto the closest couch.
You all but collapsed next to him, shoulder pressed against his arm that had fallen over the side. Without thinking, you reached up and gingerly brushed a curl away from his face. He didn’t move one inch, and that terrified you.
You weren’t a doctor. You weren’t certified to give him any medical attention. However, that didn’t stop you from ripping his shirt off, finally laying eyes on his multiple wounds and bruising that almost swallowed his skin. Your hands hovered over his torso, mind not knowing where to even begin.
The sound of the door creaking open, though, had you grabbing the gun from his waistband and pointing it toward the front. Your finger shook against the trigger, but when the door opened fully and reveal an exhausted Deran, a sigh of relief wheezed from your lungs.
“Deran,” you sobbed, pushing up from the ground and speed walking over to his open arms. He smelled of thick sweat and blood, but the solidness of his arms around your shoulders was enough to make you feel safe. “P-please; I don’t know-know what to do.”
Deran took one look over your shoulder, and his breath hitched of his older brother looking closer to death than he’d ever seen. His arm slipped from your body as he walked over in small, hesitant steps. “He—” He sucked in a breath. “He’s not dead, right?”
“No,” you breathed out almost instantly. “He’s still holding on. But with all the blood loss, it’s going to take him a long time to wake up.” Your arms wrapped around your middle. “But he has to-has to wake up.”
You watched Deran lean down and press his forehead against Andrew’s before withdrawing. Recovery was going to be long, and the moment he woke up, you’d have to move him quickly to someplace safer. But all you could do for now was join Deran at the couch and stand like guard dogs, watching over Andrew as he slept.
_______________________
Andrew tensed the moment he became cognitive enough to know that he wasn’t dead.
His hands clenched at his sides before taking fistfuls of plush couch cushion. His bones ached as he lied there, unknowing exactly there was. If he’d been caught by police, a couch would be the last place they’d put him. And if he actually died, he wondered if God was playing a trick on his mind, putting him someplace comfortable before he’d be judged for his sins. Neither idea though seemed to stick while he pushed himself in an upward position. He blinked rapidly, and the scene before him came into a sharp, vivid image.
Bloodied rags and bottles of alcohol covered the spans of the small table that seemed to have been haphazardly pushed out of the way. Lines of drying, brown blood made a small path from his couch to the front door, and Andrew could only guess it all belonged to him. He kept a hold of the cushion in a grounding fashion. The last thing he remembered was your scared voice begging him to keep talking.
Flashes of pain raked through his soul, and panic began to bubble under his skin.
He’d been taken from his burning grave. He didn’t know where you were or if you had even made it to the Cody house. The idea of you pulling up, running inside just to not find his body had him itching to stand. But his knees buckled the moment he tried to get up, and a low groan pushed from his chest.
The sound must have echoed, because a thunder of footsteps followed almost instantly. Andrew tensed again, mind running with the possibility of who had actually taken him away. His hand reached for the gun he knew he had tucked in his waistband, but all he grabbed onto was an empty space.
His hands would have to be enough. They curled into fists and rose in front of his chest; however, they immediately fell back to his sides when you and Deran came around the corner into view, both pausing when you noticed who exactly had made the large thump.
You gasped loudly before continuing to rush toward him. Only sobs spilled from your mouth while you kneeled in front of him, hands gently coming to rest on his naked shoulders. You tucked your face into the crook of his neck, and your left hand quickly buried itself into the curls at his nape.
Andrew, almost frozen in disbelief, shakily placed his hands on the small of your back.
“You-you’re awake,” you stuttered, pulling your face back to look him in his hazel eyes. “You woke up.” You softly swiped you thumbs across the skin under his slowly blinking eyes. “You came back.”
Andrew closed his eyes fully. “You told me to wait.”
Wanting to be closer, you leaned forward until your forehead touched his, your eyes also fluttering shut as the two of you held each other. It wasn’t until Deran shifted that you parted. Andrew’s eyes opened and looked over your shoulder at his brother, and his eyebrows pinched when he wondered what was wrong with the picture.
“Craig?” he asked, tone all gravely with an ever too present underlying pain.
Deran shut his eyes and shook his head, silently telling Andrew everything he needed to know.
He all but crumbled back into your arms, thick hands finding a strong hold on your sides as he finally allowed himself to grieve; grieve for the life he had, for the life he lost, for Craig, for J’s betrayal, for Cath, for Julia.
But the tears also healed.
They signified that he was alive, breathing, and in your arms.
His sobs sputtered to a slow stop until he quieted. You stayed still through it all, wanting Andrew to be done only when he was ready. Your hands continued to pet and run through his blood-matted curls while he stayed buried in your front. Your lips gently placed intermittent kisses against his temple, and Andrew lightly hummed at the feeling.
He didn’t know where the two of you were supposed to go from there. You and he would have to flee California while he knew Deran would want to stay, lie low, and find Adrian at some point. Andrew knew that time was ticking down, that it was only a matter of time before the cops started looking for him and Deran. But all he could care about in that moment was the rise and fall of your chest under his ear and the feeling of having his arms wrapped around your middle.
_______________________
For one split second four years ago, you didn’t think the life you always wanted was possible.
But as you stood in front of the small, farmhouse that seemed to glow against the sunset, you took a large inhale of air. Well, as much air as you could with two developing babies currently pressing upward against your lungs and all your other important organs. Your stomach stretched far, and you ran a hand down the swelled bump.
A squeal from the front yard had caught your attention, which was how you found yourself standing on the wrap-around porch, baby bump held between your hands. Your cheeks warmed with a smile as you watched Andrew carry your almost 4-year-old daughter through the tall grass where the lightning bugs were just starting to twinkle.
Your shoulder rested against one of the pillars, and the cool breeze of April settled against your cheeks in soft and fleeting puffs that carried the smell of approaching spring and rainwater. You knew that if you walked down the steps and into the grass, the ground would squish softly between your toes.
“Mama!” Julie yelled from where Andrew was currently holding her out like she was flying. “Do you see! Do you see da glow bugs!”
“I see!” you called out in response, not even trying to fight the smile that pretty much never failed to stretch your face since you found this small part of paradise.
“Daddy! Put down! I wanna see Mama!” she squealed right into Andrew’s ear.
You watched as Andrew contemplated setting her down before he flipped her face up and pretending to bite at her tummy, the sound of his playful growl mixing so wonderfully with the sound of Julie’s giggles. He took large steps in your direction, deciding to just carry his daughter instead of having her walk through the soft and slightly muddy yard; his nicely cleaned and polished floors would thank him later.
The sound of her pitter patters up the steps caused your heart to flutter; it was a noise you’d never get over hearing.
“Be careful,” Andrew warned when he noticed Julie coming at you with a bit more speed than your poor knees could probably handle. “Remember to be gentle with Mama.”
Julie all but screeched to a halt before continuing on at a much slower speed. Her small arms wrapped around your left leg, and your left hand trailed through the mop of auburn curls. She was, in all aspect of her tiny life, Andrew’s twin. And you were more than fine with it, even if you’d grown her for nine months just for her to come out with a frown that matched her daddy’s to a tee.
“Go wash your hands; dinner’s almost ready,” you said, giving her one last pat on the head.
She squeezed your leg one last time before dashing into the house, squealing her entire way in. You couldn’t help chuckle at the noise.
It hadn’t taken long for Julie to be on her way after you and Andrew found this small piece of land. The house had needed fixing, but it was something you could envision your family growing in. And just five weeks into renovations, you’d shown him three tests with double lines so dark they almost looked black. Andrew had cried openly after dropping to his knees in order to rest his forehead against your then flat stomach. For the next nine months, he panicked, prepared, cried some more, and panicked again. But the moment Julie was placed in his arms, you knew exactly then that Andrew Cody was meant to be a father.
His hand sliding across your belly brought you out of your reverie. “They being good?” he asked, leaning down to press a kiss to your bump before straightening to kiss you.
He was answered by a few kicks to his palm that sent flutters thought your body.
“They want out,” you muttered against his lips before pressing back into him. “Can’t believe you called it. First Julie, now A and B. You think you’re gonna be correct with the last?”
Andrew pulled back and smirked. “Definitely. Like I said, sweetheart, all girls.”
Your eyes gently raked across his face, taking in each and every freckle that dotted his face like constellations you could see on a clear summer’s night. You caressed his cheek with your fingers, and his eyes fluttered as he leaned into your hand.
“Thank you,” you whispered. “For staying.”
“Thank you,” he echoed. “For never giving up.”
The two of you stood there, enjoying each other’s company, until Julie called for you deep in the house.
“Duty calls,” Andrew muttered, curling an arm around your waist.
“Yes,” you mused. “Yes, she does.”
The rest of the evening went in warm touches and moments you never wanted to end. And like many nights before, you went to bed surrounded by your small family with a large smile each time Andrew tugged you in a bit tighter in his sleep, knowing that everything would continue to be exactly as it should be.
Pairing: Dr. Jack Abbot x resident!reader
Warnings: none, fluff and comfort, slight nervousness/panic.
Summary: When a fever leaves you completely exhausted, Abbot steps in to take care of you; unbeknownst to you, entirely validating a hospital wide betting pool on his secret crush.
Disclaimer: This story is pure fiction and written solely for entertainment purposes.
A/N I had an idea in mind but I feel it didn't turn out well, like when you plan an outfit and then the clothes don't match lol but anyway, I hope you enjoy it!!!
🎀 based on this request 🎀
The ER was always noisy, but tonight it felt like a physical burden. Going back to work after four days with a fever meant being completely exhausted after five hour. At a certain point, exhaustion stops being a feeling and becomes a physical ache in your bones.
You leaned against the central nurse station, staring blankly at a patient chart on the monitor. A tear of fatigue slipped down your cheek.
You quickly wiped it away, hoping no one saw.
But of course, he did.
Across the desk, Lena caught your eye. But she looked at you with the expression of someone watching a romantic tragedy unfold in real time. She nudged the resident next to her, who glanced up, saw you, and immediately checked his watch.
"Any minute now," Lena murmured softly.
"What happens at any minute?" you asked, your voice raspy.
Before Lena could answer, Dr. Jack Abbot walked out from a trauma bay. The second his eyes scanned the floor and landed on you, he stopped dead in his tracks.
The entire nursing station went quiet.
You didn't notice.
You just thought everyone was as tired as you were.
Jack handed the papers he had on his hands to a passing intern without looking and detoured straight toward you.
"Hey," he said. "You look like you're about to collapse into the desk."
"I'm fine, Dr. Abbot," you breathed. "Just trying to finish up a discharge."
Jack looked at the dark circles under your eyes, the slight tremble in your hand, and the absolute exhaustion radiating from you.
A protective frown line appeared between his brows.
"Lena," Jack said, his eyes never leaving your face. "Who is covering the east wing for the next hour?"
"Dr. Langdon’s doing night shift today," Lena replied instantly, a small smirk playing on her lips. "And I can handle the paperwork. Go ahead, Abbot."
"Great. You're off the clock for sixty minutes," Jack told you, his tone leaving no room for argument. "Breakroom. Now."
You blinked, panic instantly cutting through your fatigue. You stood up on shaky legs, your heart hammering against your ribs as you followed him down the hallway.
Behind your back, Lena silently handed a five dollar bill to a nurse. “Told you he’d break protocol to get her off her feet before 2 AM,” she whispered.
Unaware of the betting pool you were currently central to, you walked into the breakroom. He closed the door behind you.
"Dr. Abbot, if I made a mistake on the trauma intake—"
"Oh, no, no," Jack interrupted gently, putting a hand out to stop you. "You didn't make a mistake. You've been on your feet for five hours, non stop, after days of fever. This is an intervention."
He reached into the cupboard and pulled out a protein bar along with a bottle of water, and placed them on the table.
"Take a break," he commanded softly.
You took the food and sank down onto the sofa; the relief of finally sitting up was so intense it made your head spin. Jack stepped out for a second and returned with a jacket in his hand. Without a word, he placed it on your lap. It was warm and smelled of his cologne.
"Jack, I can't sleep, I have patients," you whispered, using his first name only because the walls of the room felt like a safe haven. "It looks bad. The other residents..."
Jack chuckled and sat down in one of the chairs, elbows resting on his knees. "Let them talk. I’m the attending. If anyone has a problem with me making sure my best resident doesn't faint on a patient, they should talk to me."
Jack's gaze was entirely focused on you. He wanted to reach out, to pull you against him and tell you that he’d carry the weight of the whole hospital if it meant you could rest.
But he didn't. He kept his hands to himself, clamping down on the feelings he'd been harboring for months. You were his resident; there were lines he couldn't cross, no matter how much his chest ached every time he saw you smile or, worse, saw you cry.
"Eat. Drink. Rest for an hour at least," Jack said, his voice a low, soothing anchor. "I'll be out there handling everything. Nobody is going to disturb you."
"Thank you, Jack," you murmured, tearing open the wrapper with clumsy fingers. You looked up at him. "You're a really amazing mentor. I don't know what I'd do without you."
Jack's heart did a painful twist. Mentor.
He offered you a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "Just doing my job. Get some rest."
He left the room and crossed paths with Frank as he reached the central desk. Frank glanced at him sideways, letting out a sigh.
"You've got it bad, Abbot," Frank whispered. "You know the entire night shift is currently running a pool on when you're actually going to tell her, right?"
Jack’s jaw tightened, his cheeks flushing slightly. "She's exhausted Leave it alone, Langdon."
"I'm just saying, the girl is brilliant, but she’s medically blind to the fact that you look at her like she hung the moon," Frank countered with a smirk. "You're going to have to spell it out for her. Preferably after she graduates residency."
"She needs to focus on her career. She doesn't need the complication of an attending crossing lines," Jack said. "And right now, she just needs a safe place to rest. That’s all I’m giving her."
Frank stared at him for a second. He patted Jack on the shoulder. "You're a good man, Jack. A miserable, pining man, but a good one. I'll cover her for the next hour."
"Thanks," Jack muttered.
At 7:30 AM, you were waiting for the day shift to finish taking report. You reached into your scrubs pocket for a pen, only to realize you were wearing Jack’s jacket. You smiled faintly, the scent of him clinging to the fabric.
"Alright, pay up," a loud whisper hissed from around the corner of the desk.
You paused, your hand still on the zipper of the jacket.
Lena was holding her palm out toward Mateo. He was grumbling under his breath as he fished a ten dollar bill out of his wallet and slapped it into her hand.
"I still say it’s cheating," Mateo complained. "You had inside information."
"I didn't have inside information, I have eyes and know how to bet," Lena countered smoothly, pocketing the cash. "He didn't just give her a nap break; he gave her his jacket."
You blinked, standing entirely still. His jacket?
Slowly, you stepped around the corner. "Is there a problem with Dr. Abbot''s jacket?"
Both Lena and Mateo froze. Mateo immediately looked down at the clipboard, suddenly fascinated by a trauma intake form.
"I definitely didn't say anything about a bet." Lena said. "Aren't you leaving? It's 7:30 already."
"Lena," you said, your eyebrows knitting together as you looked between her and the dollar bill sticking out of her pocket. "What bet? Were you guys betting on this jacket?"
"Oh, honey. Not just the jacket," Lena said, leaning her elbows on the counter and looking at you with a mixture of affection and disbelief. "We’ve been betting on the entire ecosystem of your life for the last four months."
"My life? Why?"
Lena let out a laugh. She looked at Mateo. "She’s serious. She really doesn't know."
"Know what?" you asked, a sudden spike of anxiety hitting your stomach. "Did I do something? Is there a rumor about me?"
Lena’s expression softened instantly. Seeing your genuine panic, she reached across the desk and gently patted your arm. "Hey, no. It’s not a bad rumor. It’s just... sweetie, how can someone so brilliant in the trauma bay be so blind?"
You stared at her, completely lost. "Blind to what?"
Lena sighed, shaking her head. "To Dr. Abbot, darling. To Jack."
The name made your heart skip a beat, though you tried to keep your face completely neutral. "What about Dr. Abbot? He’s a great attending. He’s incredibly supportive of my residency—"
"He is completely wrapped around your finger," Lena interrupted bluntly.
Your jaw tightened slightly. "What? No, he’s not. He’s just a mentor. He does things for everyone."
"Oh, really?" Mateo chimed in, unable to keep quiet any longer. "He didn't bring me a specific brand of protein bar last week just because I said I liked it."
"And the jacket," Lena pointed to the one you were currently wearing. "Jack Abbot is very serious when it comes to his personal stuff. I once saw a medical student accidentally knock a smoothie onto that exact jacket, and Jack looked like he was going to perform an unanesthetized appendectomy on the kid. And tonight he literally tucked you in with it."
You looked down at the jacket, your mind racing, replaying a dozen different interactions over the last few months.
The way he always happened to be near the desk when your shift ended.
The way his voice grew remarkably quiet and gentle whenever he spoke to you, completely different from his sharp and commanding attending persona.
The way he’d look at you when he thought you weren't paying attention.
"Everyone knows," Lena said softly. "Nurses, residents, security staff. We actually have a timeline. Langdon put twenty bucks on 'After Graduation,' but I’m rooting for you two to figure it out by the end of the month."
"He... he has a crush on me?" you breathed, the words feeling entirely surreal on your tongue.
"Crush is a word for teenagers, sweetie," Lena said, looking at you with a gentle smile. "What Jack Abbot has for you is a profound case of being completely gone. He’s just too much of a gentleman, and too worried about crossing professional lines, to tell you himself."
Your hands gripped the edge of Jack's jacket, the warmth of it suddenly feeling entirely different. It felt like a protective shield of a man who was desperately trying to take care of you from a distance.
--
For days, you were a walking disaster of nervous energy and Jack noticed every single second of it.
Whenever he walked into a room, you suddenly found a patient chart that desperately needed your attention across the floor.
When you handed him a suture kit in the trauma bay, your fingers brushed, and you jumped as if you’d been zapped by a defibrillator.
You couldn't look him in the eye for more than two seconds without your face turning red.
A week later, the tension was unbearable. Jack was quietly losing his mind, convinced he had somehow crossed a line or made you uncomfortable during your shift.
Needing air, Jack retreated to the roof, the only place in the hospital where the noise couldn't reach him. The cool wind whipped at his scrub shirt as he leaned against the metal railing, his mind completely consumed by thoughts of you.
The door to the roof groaned open.
Jack turned, his breath catching when he saw you step out. You were holding his jacket tightly against your chest.
"Hey," Jack said softly. He took a step toward you, his eyes scanning your face, filled with worry.
"Lena said you came up here," you breathed, the wind catching your hair.
Jack stopped a few feet away, his hands shoved deep into his pockets to keep from reaching out to you. "Look, we need to talk. You’ve been... avoiding me? For days. If I did something to upset you, or if I made you uncomfortable by putting my jacket on you the other night, I need you to tell me. I’ll back off. I swear I will. Just please tell me what’s wrong between us."
The panic in his eyes broke the dam. You gripped his jacket tighter, took a sharp breath, and the words just tumbled out of you.
"It makes me nervous being around you because you like me and I like you and they have a bet about you with me, did you know that?"
Jack froze. He stared at you, his brain completely stalling out as he tried to process the words that had just exploded from your mouth.
"I... what?" Jack stammered.
"The nurses! And residents! And even security!" you blurted out, your face burning so hot it made your cheeks hurt. "They bet on what time you’d kick me out of the floor to take a break, they bet on when you’d give me your jacket, and they told me you bought a specific protein bar for me, and Langdon has twenty dollars on us figuring it out after I graduate!"
You stopped to gasp for air. "I didn't know, Jack. I swear. But now I do, and every time you look at me I forget how to read a lab report, and it just makes me so nervous because I do like you, and I didn't think you liked me back, and now I know everyone in the whole hospital is watching us and can't even look at you without blushing."
Silence fell over the roof, save for the sound of traffic below.
You squeezed your eyes shut, suddenly wishing the roof would open up and swallow you whole.
Great.
You just broke the professional boundary.
And sounded like a lunatic doing it.
Then, you heard him.
You opened your eyes. Jack was smiling. He let out a disbelieving laugh, his frown completely vanishing. What Langdon said the other day, "preferably after she graduates", kept echoing in his head for a couple of days.
"Frank put twenty on it?" Jack asked.
"That’s the part you’re focusing on?!" you wailed, hiding your burning face into his jacket.
Jack closed the distance between you. He grasped your wrists, pulling your hands away from your face. You looked up and his soft eyes made your knees weak.
"No," Jack whispered, his thumbs softly tracing the inside of your wrists, his gaze dropping to your lips before locking back onto your eyes. "That’s not the part I’m focusing on."
He took a deep breath, stepping even closer.
"You like me?" he asked, as if he needed to hear the words clearly just to believe they were real.
"Yes," you whispered, feeling nervous and a little dizzy. "I like you, Jack."
"Good," Jack murmured, his hands sliding up from your wrists to cup your face, his palms warm against your cheeks. "I like you, too. Langdon was right. I am completely gone over you. I’ve been trying to be the responsible attending, keeping my distance because I didn't want to complicate your residency. But it has been absolute torture."
"So... you're not mad about the betting pool?" you asked softly, staring into his eyes.
Jack laughed softly, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he leaned down, his forehead gently resting against yours.
"Oh, I'm furious!" Jack joked, his warm breath against your skin. "Especially because Frank made a bet about not having the guts to tell you I like you before you graduate. We're going downstairs, I'm going to kiss you right in front of them and make sure Lena gets all the credit."
You let out a soft laughter, the tension completely evaporating into the cool night air.
"Wait," you murmured, your hands finding their way to the lapels of his scrub shirt. "If you kiss me in front of them now, Frank loses his twenty bucks, sure, but Lena wins. And as much as I love her, she's been smug about this for days. Want her to suffer a little bit."
Jack paused, a spark lit up his dark eyes. "You want to see Lena loose her mind? You're evil," Jack whispered. "An absolute menace."
"I learned from the best attending in the hospital," you countered softly.
"Alright," Jack agreed, his hands sliding from your cheeks down to your waist, pulling you against him. "We keep it a secret a few days. No hand holding, no extra protein bars, and absolute professionalism in front of them."
"Deal," you smiled. "But, can you kiss me now? There aren't any cameras up here."
"No, there aren't." He didn't hesitate and leaned down, putting one of his hand on your chin to capture your lips. His hands held you firmly, securely, as if he were making sure you wouldn't walk away from him. You melted into him, your fingers tangling in the hair at the back of his neck, completely lost in him.
When he pulled back, his breathing was shallow, and your eyes were shining. He pressed one last kiss to your lips before pulling away.
"Keep the jacket," Jack murmured, as he looked down at the jacket still clutched between your chests. "Looks good on you, baby."
You blushed and bit your lip as you walked back towards the rooftop door, Jack's fingers intertwined with yours for a moment, before he let go and took a step back to let you through the door first.
𝐌𝐘 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓. 𐙚⋆°🦢.⋆ᥫ᭡ — writing, works to be added soon.
𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐎𝐅 𝐌𝐘 𝐅𝐀𝐕𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐄 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐒. 𐙚⋆°🦢.⋆ᥫ᭡ — please give all of these incredible writers the love and support. 🍯 all in random fandom & character order, 18+ only please. — part one, part two, part three, part four, part five, part six, part seven,
☆ SUMMARY: The one (1) time Jack Abbot snapped at you, and the four (4) times you made him pay for it.
☆ CONTAINS: Younger, fem!reader, Jack is chronically offline in this one, unrealistic state of calmness in the ED. Mentions of an intubation.
☆AUTHORS NOTE: Felt like writing something light hearted, since I am incapable of writing anything that isn’t angst. It’s in my blood, okay? Hope you enjoy it<333
☆ PAGE DIVIDERS BY: @angeliicide
-1
“No, I am your attending and you listen to me!” Jack bellows, his voice bouncing between the confined walls of the trauma room.
You freeze, warmth creeping up your neck in humiliation. Putting the intubation tube back down on the tray, you step away from the patient. The monitors are beeping, a series of noises alerting you of the patient’s ever-decreasing vitals.
The room doesn’t stop when you do— instead, Jack takes over from where you were standing, and you’re promptly brushed aside as everyone continues to work around you.
Wordlessly, you rip your gown and gloves off, throwing them harshly into the trash before shoving the doors open, disregarding the curious looks at the sight of a doctor storming out of the department.
You don’t stop until you’ve reached the ambulance bay, only then letting out the breath you didn’t realize you were holding in.
It had been a simple procedure– a fucking intubation. You had done hundreds of them, only this time something had gone wrong and the patient had been put in jeopardy. All because you had panicked like a damn intern on their first day.
As a senior resident you had more authority than the people that had been in the room with you at the time, and it had been your call. You could admit that you messed up– you should have done better, not made rookie mistakes at such a critical time.
Still, Jack had never pulled rank on you– not like that, and especially not in front of others.
You know it’s silly, being this affected by a simple scolding. Had it been a med-student and you were the one supervising, you would have done the same.
But coming from him?
It stung a lot worse than you thought it would.
The automated doors in the bay slide open, and you can hear the slightly uneven steps, already knowing who it is before turning to face him.
Jack stands a couple feet away, hands crossed over his chest and looking slightly more regretful than when you had last seen him.
Yeah, when he had yelled at you–
Shaking your head to get rid of the bitter thoughts, you clear your throat– a tense smile etched onto your face.
“I was just getting some air,” you explain, though you doubt he actually cares.
Jack nods, running a hand through his locks before they land on each end of the stethoscope wrapped around his neck.
“Yeah, no– that's fine,” he mutters, and another moment of silence follows.
Your lips part like you’re about to speak, anything to fill the awkward pause that had ensued, but Jack beats you to it.
“Look, I’m sorry for snapping at you in there,” he sighs out, “...I shouldn’t have done that in front of everyone,”
You purse your lips at his apology, still feeling that small fire in the bottom of your stomach from the verbal lashing you had gotten.
…Sorry?
Yeah, he will be.
“It’s really fine, Doctor Abbot,”
Jack’s head jerks up at that, and you force your face to remain passive, despite the urge to smirk growing stronger at his reaction. He exhales, slow and measured, like he’s actively choosing not to react. His hands drop from where they were earlier now settling on his hips instead.
“...I understand if you’re still upset–”
“I’m not upset,” you cut him off, voice bright and the expression on your face seems unbothered– but for some reason, it still feels…
Off.
“Oh. That’s– yeah– uh, that's good. But I mean, if you were–”
“I’m not,” you once again don’t let him finish his sentence.
Jack nods, a flash of what you can identify as irritation crossing his face, but it’s gone as soon as it comes.
“Good. Great– just…head inside when you’re ready then–”
You instantly straighten up, eyes widening as soon as he says the last word.
“Oh of course, Doctor Abbot. You’re the boss!” you say compliantly, giving him a final smile before heading back into the emergency department.
“No, I didn’t mean–” Jack’s words die on his tongue as he watches your retreating frame making its way back inside the building. “...right away,” he sighs out, rubbing his face as he groans.
He had a bad feeling about this.
1.
The sound of your melodious laughter echoes in the otherwise calm central station. The sky had fallen, the chairs were manageable, and for once, there were even some empty beds, ready to be occupied if necessary.
Jack had treated himself to some cafeteria coffee instead of his usual cup from the shared breakroom down here, and when he returned, the sight of his residents and fellow attending surrounding the hub greets him.
There, right in the center of attention is you, hands waving frantically as you share a story about god knows what. Just from watching, Jack could tell it must’ve been something dramatic, that stuck in your head. Or not. You had a habit of making things up in the name of a good story.
And a good story it must be, since there isn’t a single pair of eyes aren’t on you. Shen is leaning across the counter, that trademark orange straw in his mouth as he sips on his watered down Dunkin’ Donuts coffee. Parker is sitting in a chair, elbows resting on her knees as she laughs at something you’re saying. At least Crus is pretending to work, standing by the computer and typing one word per minute, listening more than he’s charting, and Nazely…well, she’s just staring at you.
Jack doesn’t think twice of it when he comes to a halt by the rest of the nightcrawlers, pretending to look at some labs on a spare ipad.
Only that it goes completely silent when he does.
Jack glances up from the ipad, his eyebrow quirking up when the noise suddenly disappears– like someone hitting the mute button on a television.
Huh, he thinks to himself– then, he’s distracted by the fact that he grabbed the wrong ipad. Turning around, Jack makes it about ten feet away, before the laughter and storytelling is back.
He stops, turns around and stares towards the direction of the ruckus.
Walking back to the hub, the commotion stops. Jack feels his eye twitch when he watches it happen again– like clockwork— whenever he steps just far enough.
One step closer– silence.
Three steps back, and the laughter is back in full force.
Jack just stands there for a second, staring at linoleum floors, wondering if years of PTSD has finally made him lose his mind.
“…The fuck?” he mutters under his breath. Finally, he exhales, shaking his head once. “No,”
He walks back to the hub, picks the ipad up again, even though he doesn’t look at it.
“What are we talking about!” he exclaims forcefully, and watches as five pairs of eyes land on him. Just as Shen is about to say something, you frown, suddenly looking down at your wrist watch.
“Crap, I forgot to run those labs I ordered–” you huff, not sparing him a glance as you walk past him.
Parker stifles a laugh behind a weak cough, and Jack whirls around to glare at her.
“What’s so funny?” he sneers, straightening up as his narrowed gaze flits between his residents.
A hush falls over the area.
“…Sorry man, you’re on your own,” Crus gives him a regretful smile, patting his shoulder before leaving.
“There’s something going on with her,”
Parker Ellis flinches, nearly dropping her tub of leftover chinese food as she stands by the microwave in the breakroom.
“Holy shit–”
Jack stands in the doorway, arms crossed and gaze unyielding— like he hadn’t just nearly scared the life out of her.
“I mean– you saw that, right?” he scoffs, following Parker as she sets her steaming lunch box onto the table. Pulling out a chair, her face twists up in disbelief when Jack slumps into the seat. Her hands shoot up in exasperation, barely able to hold back the irritation growing at sight her aloof attending.
“Sure, yeah– join me, why don't you?” she mutters under her breath, already pulling out a second chair and sitting down in it.
Jack ignores it, because he has bigger problems at hand. Like why you’re suddenly nowhere to be found, when just a day ago, he couldn’t get you to leave his side.
“She just left as soon as I joined you guys to what– run labs? We don’t run labs!”
Parker thought the mandated thirty-minute break was to rejuvenate them, so that they to would be able to provide the best care they possibly could for the patients– not to help her fifty year old boss figure out why his crush was avoiding him. She sighs, shaking her head as she stabs the single piece of broccoli in her chow mein, blowing at the steaming vegetable, far too hungry and tired to think about what she’s saying.
“I mean, you did kinda rip her a new one in front of half the staff,”
Jack stills in his chair, before spluttering a flustered breath.
“I’ve scolded you plenty of times too,”
“Uh-huh, yeah, no– not like that. Besides, you know how she gets when it comes to you,” Parker rolls her eyes, wincing as the broccoli burns the roof of her mouth.
Jack's interest piqued at that and suddenly he’s sitting straighter, chest puffing out slightly at the words.
“What do you mean?”
“You know what I mean–” she says while chewing her food.
“Parker,” Jack warns, and the night-shift resident groans, putting her utensils down.
“She like, idolizes you, Abbot,” Parker begins, holding the older man's gaze while she speaks.
“...She does?” he asks, his chest swelling with pride and doing a terrible job at hiding it.
Parker resists the urge to roll her eyes once again at how easy men are.
“Mhm,” she confirms, before sighing loudly, shaking her head dramatically. “I just feel bad for her, man,”
“Why?” the attending leans closer, practically falling out of his chair in suspense.
He had to know what you thought of him.
“Well…she did say thought it would be better if she switched to the day shift for a couple of weeks, you know– to not make you feel uncomfortable because you dislike her.”
The words are registered in slow motion, Jack’s ears starting to ring. He’s so dumbfounded by the sudden revelation that he misses the way Parker smirks at his reaction to her words.
Hook, line and sinker.
2.
“Shen, I need you to do something for me,”
Jack finds him sitting on a rolling chair by the nurses station, loudly slurping the drops of coffee left in the plastic cup. Glancing up from his phone, the younger male grimaces, already planning his escape.
“Uh, actually I forgot about this one thing I need to–”
“You do this for me and I’ll pretend I didn't see you on ‘flip-flop, instead of charting,” he says, pulling his own phone out as he squints at the screen, pressing some buttons with his index finger.
John gapes, then closes his mouth again– trying to gauge whether he was being messed with or this was actually real life.
“...Tik-Tok,” he says slowly, as if he’s speaking to a child.
Jack grunts, peering up from his phone momentarily to try and understand the nonsense he was spouting.
“What?” he barks, before going back to his phone.
“It’s called Tik-Tok,”
Jack waves a hand dismissively, not even looking up.
“Yeah, whatever– Kick-Flip. Listen,”
John stares at him, eyebrows furrowing as he whispers to himself in disbelief at his aloofness. Jack was not that old.
“…That’s not even close,”
“Shen,”
John straightens in his chair immediately, shoving his phone into his pocket and finally accepting defeat.
“What do you need,” he sighs.
Jack glances around the nurses’ station, making sure you’re not anywhere nearby, before pushing his phone into John’s hands.
John blinks when he’s met with the Dunkin' Donuts website, orange and pink hues blessing his eyes.
“What is this?” he asks apprehensively– was this some kind of trap?
Jack sighs, good leg bouncing impatiently.
“What do you mean what is this, it’s that shitty coffee place you like so much,” he retorts sarcastically, rolling his eyes.
John leans back in his seat, giving Jack a head-to-toe scan to see if he can pinpoint any sudden illnesses in his boss. When he’s unable to find anything out of the ordinary, except maybe an extra sour mood, he relaxes.
“You want to order some ‘Dunkies?”
Jack gives him a disappointed look– Dunkin Donuts did not need an even worse nickname.
“I’m trying to make up for something, alright? I know you know her order, so just do this for me,”
The puppy dog eyes John gives him makes him shiver in discomfort, and has him rubbing his eyes tiredly, waving a hand in defeat. Anything to stop him from looking at him like that.
“...Order something for yourself as well,”
In hindsight, Jack should have known better than to leave his phone, which has his wallet automatically linked already, unattended in John Shen’s hands.
Because the station was now buzzing with nightshift staff, nurses and doctors alike– every single one of them giving him a “thanks”, paired with a pat on the back as they grab a donut and a coffee– not just regular, but iced ones as well, some with extra shots, some with oat milk, others with various amounts of syrups– from the cart that had magically appeared when not one, but two Postmates drivers walked in through the ambulance bay.
“Is there no more 'glazed’?” someone calls out, and Jack physically has to bite his tongue. There were at least a dozen boxes of donuts currently residing in the emergency department.
“We got chocolate ones in the breakroom!” Shen confirms so confidently you’d think he’s calling out codes. Which they should be doing.
Because it's a hospital.
You return after a brief check on your patients in triage, eyes widening at the sight before you.
Shen spots you before you even have the chance to ask what the hell is going on. He grabs a cup from the cart– your cup, of course.
“I believe this is yours,” he says, holding it out.
The tired smile you were sporting earlier, now turns into something more genuine at the sight of your favorite drink. Your entire face brightens, and Jack makes a mental note to have Shen text him your order before he leaves in the morning.
After seeing your smile, he doesn’t even remember what he was mad about in the first place.
3.
The coffee had done its job in making you feel better, but it wasn’t like you knew Jack had bought it for you– in contrast, Jack had been forced to watch as you gave Shen a hug for, quote: “...Getting me my favorite”.
And for a moment, it was great. You were caffeinated, the patients had been dealt with and everyone had a bed.
Until it was time to chart. The computer was acting up, and the hospital's supposed 24/7 on-call engineer was in fact not working 24/7– forcing you to use outdated, medieval, inefficient methods.
Writing them by hand.
You sigh for the nth time, dropping the pen in your hand and flexing it as you try to prevent a cramp from forming. Behind you, footsteps approach, but you’re too busy feeling sorry for yourself to notice.
Jack stops beside your chair, glancing down at the mess of handwritten notes, the stack of half-filled charts and the pen you’ve started glaring at.
“Is the computer still not working?”
“I’m about to develop carpal tunnel and will be forced to stop practicing medicine, meaning my student debt will be for nothing,” you mutter dramatically, face scrunching in discomfort as you press into a particularly sore spot on your palm.
He’ll take that as a yes.
Jack watches the way you bite your lip the next time your digits dig into your palm, before deciding he can’t just stand there.
Pulling up a chair, he sits down beside you, holding his hand out to you.
“Let me see,”
You blink at him, head tilting slightly.
“...What?”
“Your hand,” he responds immediately, thick fingers wrapping around your wrist as he pulls it into his warm palm. He applies steady pressure along your palm, thumb digging into your tendons.
Your eyes flicker across his face, taking in the way his eyebrows furrow as he concentrates, the way his jaw clenches slightly.
It shouldn’t feel as good as it does– it really shouldn’t.
You swallow, forcing your stare away, instead of at him.
His thumb travels over the wide expanse of your palm, each finger straightened by it, before it presses over your wrist. Jack feels your pulse throb under his touch.
Eventually, his fingers slow their motions, before they finally still completely. It still takes a while until Jack lets go of your hand, placing it back in your lap.
“Take a break,” he says, voice deeper than it had been earlier. You look up, eyes locking with his hazel ones.
Wordlessly, you nod, unable to find your voice and disregard his directive.
When you return a couple minutes later, your desk is free of the stack of charts that had earlier been occupying the space.
4.
By some miracle, you manage to slip away to the roof to watch the sunrise on the horizon. The city is half-asleep beneath you, the proof being in empty streets and lack of on-coming traffic being heard. Looking straight ahead, the first light, a line of orange, breaks through the endless dark blue that had occupied the sky at night.
You rest your hands on the railing, letting the cool metal ground you as you take a deep breath of the fresh air– the first of the new day.
Deciding that you’ve been slacking off enough, you turn back to head into the hospital again and finish the last of your shift.
Though when you turn around, you’re met with the sight of Jack leaning against the wall, eyes already locked in on you.
You halt for a moment, before walking up to him slowly.
“Didn’t hear you come up,” you say quietly, slightly embarrassed at being caught in such a vulnerable state.
“I haven’t been here that long” he says, though his amused gaze betrays his words.
You hold back a smile, shaking your head instead. A soft breeze can be felt, tousling your tresses before you firmly tuck some behind your ear. Still, the wind is relentless in its pursuit of messing up your hair.
Jack watches the action, only to finally reach out himself and brush the stray strand out of your face properly.
You’re suddenly aware of the close proximity you’ve ended up in, and you blame the early hour and the pretty sunrise for being the reason you've let your guard down.
“Parker told me you’re asking to be moved to day-shift?” he says quietly, his hand dropping back to his side. “I just wanted to say that, you know…”
He clears his throat, suddenly feeling incredibly silly for having such a hard time talking to you when you had a sunrise behind you. “If it’s because of me, then–”
His sentence trails off when he hears a soft giggle bubble past your lips.
Not because he forgets what he was saying, but because he hears you laugh– that same, soft melodious laughter he had been denied all night.
Beautiful, but completely the wrong timing for whatever serious point he was trying to make.
His eyes narrow slightly, flitting across your face warily.
“What?”
You shake your head quickly, still smiling like you’re trying to hide it and failing miserably.
“Jack–”
Jack isn't completely settled, but nonetheless exhales through his nose, already regretting thinking about this moment all night, when your idea of the heart-to-heart you’re about to have clearly wasn’t on par with his.
“I’m serious,” he says, not listening to you “If you’re switching to day-shift because of–”
You laugh again, interrupting his apology.
“Jack, I’m not switching to days,”
His head lifts so fast you’re afraid he’ll get whiplash. His eyebrows furrow in confusion, recalling what Parker had said in the breakroom just a few hours ago.
You can’t stop the wide smile forming on your face, feeling guilty at the confused look on his face, but so incredibly content that you had pulled it off for an entire shift.
“I’m so sorry, Jack–” you manage to get out through your fit of giggles.
Just then, something clicks in his mind.
The color drains from his face, his eyes widening in disbelief.
No–no way– Jack refused to believe he had been tricked.
“Oh, oh you’re a sick, twisted person–” he begins, spluttering in bewilderment. “You did all this because I scolded you?”
You let out another laugh– still riding the relief of it all, the ridiculousness of the entire night finally catching up in full force.
“Nuh-uh, not because you scolded me,” you correct, still smiling as you step closer. “You yelled at me, Abbot,”
Jack is stunned.
“...I bought the entire department coffee,”
“Okay, that was on Shen, not me–” you retort, still smiling.
“I wrote all your charts by hand!” he exclaims, crowding you until you’re pressed against the door.
“...That one might be on me,” you admit reluctantly, though you don’t look regretful in the slightest. You smile again, entirely unbothered, even as the door presses lightly into your back and he’s very much in your space now– blocking any way exit, not that you’re concerned with finding one.
“But I didn’t make you do the charts,” you add cheekily.
“I thought you were about to quit,” he huffs, though not actually upset– his mouth twitching like he’s fighting a reaction he doesn’t want to give you.
Despite being happy with the outcome of your plan, you can’t help but feel slightly bad for him.
So just this once, you’ll make it up to him.
Pushing yourself onto your toes, you press a single, gentle kiss to his cheek, lingering for a moment just to hear his breath hitch.
“I’m not that easy to get rid of,” you say quietly against his cheek.
Then, you’re pulling away and giving him a cheeky grin, before finally turning on your heels and walking back into the hospital to finish the last of your shift.
The door closes behind you, leaving him alone on the roof, and for once, not for a bad reason.
He presses a hand briefly to the spot on his cheek like he can still feel the aftermath of your lips against it, then he shakes his head, unable to hold back the smile forming on his face.
“Fuck me,” he mutters breathlessly, before finally following you back inside.
☆END NOTE: This really was fun to write, also because I write better when there’s no pressure from people waiting. Like, no one asked me to do this, therefore no one will be disappointed! Also guys, I’m lowkey a one-shot warrior– I always choke on the follow up fics. Still, your comments and kind words on my other fics really mean a lot to me— I literally read every single one of them a hundred times each. Thank you so much<333
☆ SUMMARY: In a final and desperate attempt to try and revive your love life, you turn to a dating app– only to have every attempt sabotaged by your boss.
☆ CONTAINS: Younger, fem!reader, touch starved reader, a down bad, jealous Jack and a patient that can’t take a hint.
☆AUTHORS NOTE: I guess I have one more Sabrina Carpenter titled fanfic in me…No, I'm just kidding, I’m so thankful that you guys like the fics. Anyways, here’s to manifesting away the bums in your life and getting an actual man/woman/other that respects you!
☆ PAGE DIVIDERS BY: @angeliicide
01:27 AM
You were tired of the dry spell you had been going through and as embarrassing as it was to admit, you needed to get laid.
So yes, you’d caved, and downloaded Hinge once again.
Unfortunately, being on your phone at work meant you had to be sneaky– which you had clearly failed at, since John and Parker were currently crowding you as you scrolled through the app.
“Okay, what about him?” you say, turning the screen towards them. Two equally disturbed looks are sent your way and you wordlessly swipe left.
“I’m never getting laid at this point,” you whine, letting John take your phone as he starts swiping for you.
Parker sighs, leaning back in her chair as she crosses her arms, giving you a perplexed look– like it's your fault nothing is happening in the romance sector of your life.
“Quit moaning– see, this is why you should date women,” she shrugs, as if you hadn’t thought of that either.
“Don’t you think I would if I could?” you retort, feeling less hopeful with each piece of advice given to you from your colleagues.
Parker raises her hands in defeat, though you don’t miss the amused smirk on her face, clearly finding entertainment in your despair.
“Yeah, these guys ain't it– everyone is either a republican or holding a fish in their pictures–” John finally speaks up, grimacing in disgust, “Also, this guy is thirty, who can’t use ‘there, their and they're’ at that age?
Just as he’s about to hand your phone back, someone intercepts the action.
“Is there a reason three of my residents are huddled around like a football team instead of, you know, actually working?”
Jack quirks an eyebrow, glancing between the three of you, looking like you were caught with your hands in the cookie jar.
Squinting down at the screen of the phone, he’s confused when he’s met with the picture of a man, standing shirtless on what seems to be a fishing boat.
He glances up at John, before humming in surprise.
“Didn’t know you swung that way Shen– but hey, all the power to you. I’m, uh– what’s it called? Right– an ally!””
“It’s not mine!” John exclaims, though you suspect he’s more offended over the fact that Jack thought he was into guys that fish, rather than assuming he's gay.
You hold back a laugh, shaking your head as you stretch your hand out towards Jack.
“It’s mine,” you say weakly, embarrassed that your boss caught you in such a vulnerable, degrading state.
Actively trying to score a date.
Jack’s expression shifts, not in a dramatic way, but you catch it– that flicker of surprise that later turns to interest.
“Oh,” he says, looking back down at the phone in his hand, then back at you. “Didn’t peg you for the fishing-boat type,”
“I’m not,” you deadpan, reaching a little more insistently for your phone. “That’s why he was getting rejected,”
He doesn’t hand it back right away, instead tilting the screen again, eyes darting across like he’s assessing injuries on a patient.
You can feel the judgement radiating off him.
“Okay, enough about my non-existent love life– can I have that back?”
“Doesn’t seem that non-existent from here,” Jack mutters, tongue prodding the inside of his cheek as he turns to show you the DM section– filled with messages you hadn’t bothered replying to.
Oh, so he can’t figure out how to lower the brightness on his phone, but he can work the Hinge DM’s?
“Hey, that’s private!” you blurt, making another grab for it, but Jack just lifts it slightly out of reach, the corner of his mouth twitching like he’s enjoying this far too much. “Give it back, Abbot–”
“No, I think I’ll be keeping this actually,” he muses, promptly putting your phone into his pocket.
You blink, looking at Parker and John for help, but when you turn around, their chairs are empty.
Traitors.
Whirling back, you turn around just in time to see his retreating figure making its way towards the medicine dispenser.
“Are you serious right now?” you call after him, already moving to follow.
Jack doesn’t even slow down, only stopping to press his pincode into the tiny screen on the automated medicine cabinet.
“You can’t be tindering’ while on the clock–”
“It was Hinge, and I’m on my break!” you counter, annoyance growing at the way he won’t even look at you. Stepping between the cabinet and his frame, you cross your arms, hardening your gaze as much as you possibly could. “Do you want me to end up alone forever?”
Jack rolls his eyes at your hyperbole before glancing back at you. You’re close– close enough that he can see the leftover from your lunch on the side of your mouth. Without thinking, he reaches up, wiping the corner of your lips with his thumb, then stepping back as if nothing had happened.
“I doubt that’s going to happen.” he mutters dryly, his large hands landing on your shoulders as he gently pulls you out of the way. “You can have it back once you’ve assessed at least three patients in triage,”
Your brain short-circuits as his thumb brushes the corner of your mouth, the stroke quick, almost absentminded, followed by the warmth of his hands touching your body– and fuck, you just realized how touch starved you actually are.
Because your boss being…well, himself, should not have this effect on you.
“Three patients?” you confirm, breaking out of your spiraling thoughts.
You’d rather run the entire ER completely by yourself on Christmas, than to try and figure out why you were having fanny flutters after a glorified shove from your attending.
02:45 AM
Jack stands in the breakroom, pouring himself his third cup of coffee for the night when it vibrates again.
He tries to ignore, he really does– that insistent buzzing in the right pocket of his scrubs. It’s almost 3 AM– who in their right mind is texting at this time?
He knows it’s not his phone, no one texts him. Well, besides Robby, his psychologist, and at times, the pharmacy with a reminder for him to pick up his prescriptions.
Still, his curiosity gets the best of him, and before he knows it, he’s making sure the coast is clear and quickly digging your phone out of his pocket.
Just as he expected– several messages on your lock screen and all of them from Hinge. Jack’s eyes dart across the screen, each message sending him further reeling.
“R u up?”
“Ur sooo hot,”
“Did it hurt when you–”
Yeah, okay, that's enough. Jesus, who are these douchebags in your phone?
Jack shakes his head, going to stuff your phone back into his pocket and try to ignore the weird pit that formed in his stomach at the thought of you actually giving any of these guys a chance.
Or anyone in general, his mind echoes, but he shakes the thoughts before they can take any actual form.
Instead, he’s staring at the influx of shitty pickup-lines and decides to do you a favor. His thumb swipes over the screen, deleting the first message.
“He was short anyways,” Jack grumbles quietly to himself.
Deciding that he liked the feeling of “helping” you, he keeps going and only stops when he’s content– which coincidentally happens when your lockscreen is clear again.
Holding back a smug grin, he takes a long sip of his coffee leaning back against the countertop.
Oops.
03:18 AM
Parker Ellis does a double take when she finds you ducking behind the counter by the hub. She leans over it, peering down at you suspiciously.
“…Why are you crouching on the floor?”
You flinch in surprise, only relaxing when you look up and see that it’s just her.
“Shit, you scared me. I…” you huff, hesitating as you look over your shoulder before answering. “I’m hiding from a patient,”
Parker hums, not as fazed as you expected her to be at the revelation.
“Yeah, been there, done that,” she reminisces, before looking at you incredulously. “But you don’t do that, so spill,”
Deciding against having to pay orthopedics a visit, you stand up straight again, still eyeing the surrounding area warily.
“Well…there’s this one patient that–”
“There you are, doc!”
In an almost comedic timing, a voice loudly interrupts.
You stiffen, squeezing your eyes shut. Maybe if you pretend not to hear him he’ll leave you alone?
“Doc!” the voice calls again, closer this time. “Been lookin’ for you everywhere!”
That clearly did not work. You inhale slowly through your nose, taking a deep breath and forcing a smile onto your face as you turn around.
“Mr. Williams–”
“Hey, I told you to just call me Henry,” he smirks, sauntering up to the counter and leaning against it– awfully confident for a man currently dressed in a hospital gown. “Anyways– you left before we could pick a day that works for you,”
You laugh awkwardly, briefly glancing at Parker, as to signal help with your gaze.
“Uh– I would, I just– I think Dr. Ellis here needed a second opinion–”
“Oh, no, that’s fine. By all means, go ahead and finish up here!” she chirps, stifling a delighted grin, as she looks between you and Henry expectantly.
You make a mental note of her betrayal, vowing to never cover her shifts again.
Henry perks up immediately, sending you what you can only assume is meant to be a sexy smolder.
…It’s not.
Henry leans in a little more, like he’s expecting you to meet him halfway, biting his lip, and you have to stop yourself from physically recoiling.
“I’m pretty flexible,” he adds, lowering his voice like it’s supposed to be charming. “You just tell me when you’re free, and I’ll make it work,”
You laugh again and it comes out strained this time.
Fuck, is this the life you’re doomed to live? At this rate you’re going to end up alone. Maybe you should just suck it up and say yes–
“Is there a problem here?”
Your saving grace appears in the form of Jack Abbot, and you have never been more relieved to hear his voice.
Parker— the snake— chooses right now as her moment to chime in, placing a firm hand on Henry’s shoulder.
“Come on, Henry, let me take you back to your bed,”
“Wait a minute, I still need to–”
Henry’s protests fade away as Parker leads him back to his room, thankfully in the west and furthest wing of the department.
Sighing in relief, you turn to Jack with a bright smile, about to thank him, when he decides to speak up.
“Seriously? I take your phone and you pounce on the first patient your age?”
Your smile drops instantly, an offended expression forming.
“What? I was not–”
“Well, you sure as hell didn’t shut it down, did you?” he grunts, eyebrows raised and a cynical look in his eyes.
Your mouth snaps shut, a sheepish look crossing your face, because yes, you did have a slight moment of weakness and debated hooking up with a patient.
A girl’s gotta eat, though!
“Robby’s always nagging about patient satisfaction scores anyways,” you joke, but it falls flat, Jack’s unamused face making you have second thoughts.
“That was a joke,” you clarify, thinking it was just the late hour getting to him.
“It wasn’t very funny,” he counters, rolling his eyes.
Jesus Christ, he's sassy tonight–
Sighing, you dig the heel of your palms into your eyes while you speak up, voice laced in exasperation.
You’d fight this battle another time.
“Sure, whatever– I’ve cleared three patients, can I have my phone back now?”
Jack purses his lips, and you’re confused about what the hold up is about. When he still doesn’t reach into his pocket, you speak up again, face scrunching up in confusion.
“Okay, have I done something?” you ask, eyes flitting across his hardened face and closed off body language. Everything screams annoyed and you have no clue why he would be angry with you.
“No, I just think you have terrible taste in men” Jack mumbles, pointedly avoiding your gaze.
“Really?” you scoff, face twisting in disbelief. “This is about my dating choices?”
“It’s about you bringing it to work when you should be clearing beds–”
“We have like, five rooms empty–” you retort easily, which only seems to further agitate Jack.
“Well, we should have more– we would have more, if you would just focus and get to work!” he barks, before turning away and storming off.
You stand in the middle of the ER, mouth slightly ajar as you try to understand what just happened.
And despite everything that had just transpired, you realize you still haven’t gotten your phone back.
03:36 AM
Jack regrets it as soon as he says it, but it's too late by then– he’s already stormed off and turning back and apologizing would probably reveal what he’s doing a terrible job of trying to hide.
He doesn’t understand it, why someone as brilliant, beautiful and kind as you would settle for those…disappointments.
You needed someone who would take care of you– to make sure you ate something proper during work, an actual hearty meal, instead of those protein bars you claimed sustained you.
Someone who could understand where you were coming from when you complained about work and your patients– not an insecure idiot who would whine about the late hours you worked— saving lives daily.
You definitely needed someone who would spoil you.
Maybe pick you up and drop you off at work, someone to wine and dine you, run you baths after a particularly grueling shift, to sit by the tub and rub your damp shoulders and neck, before slipping further and–
Jack shakes his head, swallowing hard. Fuck, he was getting out of hand.
“Get it together, man” he mutters under his breath. A passing nurse gives him a quick glance, and Jack quickly sends her a charming smile, like he wasn’t just staring into nothing, thinking about you.
04:30 AM
You stretch your arms up, suppressing a yawn as you settle down in front of an available computer, tapping your ID badge on the card reader and logging in to finally start charting.
The screen flickers alive and for a moment, you just stare at the blank page, thinking about the events that had unfolded.
Jack took your phone. Then he cockblocked a potential hookup. Then he yelled at you, and even though you’d cleared more than three patients, you still hadn't gotten your phone back, which was throwing you completely off your game.
You hadn’t even been able to do your five-minute doomscroll while on the toilet earlier.
A cup lands on your desk, stopping your train of thoughts. Blinking, your eyes snap towards the culprit.
Jack is already looking at you, before his gaze shifts to the empty screen in front of you.
“...You looked like you needed some caffeine,” he mumbles and lingers, despite his action being complete.
In your tired, barely conscious state of mind— a snort slips past your lips.
You cover your mouth in horror.
Jack’s eyebrows raise in surprise, unable to resist the smile forming on his face. He points at you, and you wish the ground would open up and swallow you whole.
“What was that?” he wheezes out through breathy laughter.
“What was what–” you say, voice unusually high pitched as you feign ignorance, though the way your cheeks turn red betray your words.
“That– you just– did you just snort?”
It’s not loud, he’s clearly trying to keep it contained for your sake, but it breaks through anyway– a sharp, surprised laugh that he clearly didn’t plan on letting out.
Your cheeks redden further and you huff, standing up and quickly logging out of the computer.
“I’m leaving!”
Jack moves before his mind registers what he's doing, his hand shooting out and grabbing your wrist. You freeze at the touch, stiffening just a bit.
He’s not too bothered about it, having a sudden surge of confidence, which was evident in the way he tugs you closer to him.
“Hey– it was cute,” he says softly, a teasing glint in his eyes that makes your heart pound faster in your chest and your hands grow clammy.
“You’re just making fun of me,” you shake your head, muttering weakly, though a bashful expression still sweeps over your face.
“I’m not,” he says and it comes out too fast. Then, like he hears himself and doesn’t like how insincere it sounded, he tries to soften it. “I’m not making fun of you,”
Reluctantly, Jack lets go of your wrist and grabs the coffee cup he brought you earlier. He easily identifies the look on your face as hesitation, motioning towards the cup in his hand with his chin.
“You know, you laugh at everything when you’re tired,” he says, biting his lip as he holds back another grin.
When you don’t take it, he takes your hand and forces you to grab onto it.
You reluctantly let your fingers wrap around it, peeking into it.
“We’re still not friends,” you huff petulantly.
“Maybe I don’t want to be your friend,” he says, eyes lingering just a moment too long— before turning around at the sound of his name being called.
At his departure, you to overthink every decision you’ve ever made in your life— the ones that have led you here.
To a reality where Jack Abbot flirts with you, then leaves like it’s nothing.
06:00 AM
You’ve spent the last hour and a half of your shift avoiding Jack, going as far to write your charts on the other end of the ER.
It’s your own fault, really. Clearly being deprived of love and affection has left you overthinking everything– as if there’s any actual chance that Jack Abbot has been flirting with you.
No– there’s no way.
If you knew, you’d have done something about it way sooner, not wasted your time on dating apps, entertaining guys that eventually end up calling their exes when wasted, and ruining any chance they had with you.
All the good guys were either deceased or taken, and the only exception to that could not be your boss.
Because if there was something there– anything real, anything intentional– you would’ve seen it.
You’re not oblivious, you’ve dated enough men, survived enough disappointments to know what actual interest looks like.
And Jack?
Jack is just…
Your fingers hover over the keyboard, because the list that comes to mind doesn’t help your argument.
He’s attentive. Annoyingly so, at times.
Well, he has to be, he’s the attending, you reason with yourself. It still doesn’t settle your thoughts, though.
But then you think back to the coffee he brought you, exactly the way you liked it and under the pretense in which he had brought it over. He noticed that you were tired– that you laugh at things that aren’t even funny, when that’s the case.
Also, your phone.
When he eventually gave it back, you had no notifications. Not that you’re that popular anywhere, but you specifically remember there being some texts you were purposefully ignoring, from some sleazy guys on Hinge.
Did he delete them because he…
You sit up straighter, now racking your brain for every interaction you’ve ever had with the older male.
When he first realized it was your phone, the one opened and active on dating apps.
Henry– the way he was unreasonably upset after that whole fiasco, snapping at you then storming off like a child, throwing a temper tantrum.
The brief, casual touches, like it’s second nature to him to take care of you.
The final nail in the coffin is when you decide to look up, searching for him– just to end this once and for all, to convince yourself that the sleep deprivation was getting to you– when you lock eyes with him from across the department.
He blushes— actually blushes— before fumbling with the ipad in his hands, and then just…takes off, leaving you to stare at the spot he had just occupied, mouth slightly parted in disbelief.
Holy shit.
Jack Abbot liked you.
06:57 AM
The last few minutes of a shift are always the worst ones. It’s like time moves in slow motion, wanting to prolong the suffering for as long as possible.
Your phone buzzes, and you don’t think about it when you dig it out of your pocket, blinking sluggishly as you try to read the notice.
Huh, guess there’s a warning for heavy rain–
“Are you serious right now?”
You flinch at the sharp tone of voice that’s suddenly directed at you.
Jack stands at the opening of the locker room, jaw clenched and hands on his hips as he takes in the sight of you on your damn phone, yet again.
“It’s not even seven yet, and you’re still entertaining those…losers?”
Now that you knew what his annoyance stemmed from, you could have some fun. You shrug, grabbing your jacket from the locker, and zipping it up as you speak.
“What? It’s the perfect time to go on a breakfast date–”
“You’re not going on a fucking breakfast date,” he scoffs, walking towards you.
You smile innocently, tilting your head slightly as you blink up at him.
“Give me a better offer, then,”
Jack falters, stopping just a few feet away, annoyance slowly fading at your words.
You don’t back down, looking at him expectantly.
“Well? If you’re going to reject everyone for me, then you might as well take me out as well,”
He gapes, eyes widening in realisation.
You knew.
He clears his throat, shoving his hands into his pockets, then taking them out again and crossing his arms.
Come on, man– you're fidgeting like a dork!
“I– yeah, sure,” he splutters out, wincing at how he sounds.
“That doesn't sound very convincing, Jack,” you tease, enjoying the fact that he was a blushing mess because of you, far too much.
“Go out for breakfast with me,” he says instantly, voice breathless and hands falling to his sides, like he's ready to reach out and stop you if you try to leave now. “Please,” he adds quickly.
The last bit of control he’s been holding onto all night slips, and Jack was ninety percent sure he would beg if you asked him to.
Luckily enough, you don’t. Instead, you smile at him– that radiant smile that makes his stomach flutter with what can only be described as butterflies– just to walk right past him.
He feels his heart drop, closing his eyes as he curses internally.
Of course you were only messing with him–
“Are you coming or not?” you call out from where you’re leaning against the doorway, still sporting that same smile.
Waiting for him.
Jack has never walked faster in his life.
In the parking lot, he opens the passenger side door of his car for you, only to stop before he shuts it– searching your gaze.
“...You’ve deleted your account, right?”
☆END NOTE: “A boy who’s jack-ed and kind” haha, get it…? Also, this could’ve been great smut, but I’m just not there yet. “Even though you bought the Quinn subscription to hear Shawn Hatosy moan in your ears–” WHO said that?
𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐇𝐎𝐍𝐄𝐘’𝐒 𝐅𝐀𝐕𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐄 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐒. 𐙚⋆°🦢.⋆ᥫ᭡ — please give all of these incredible writers the love and support. 🍯 random fandom & character order, 18+ only please.
— part one, part two, part three, part four, part five, part six, part seven,
Baby Mine, 𝐌.𝐑, @lovebugism
Riding, 𝐌.𝐑, @cinnxmxngxrl
Say Yes To Heaven, 𝐌.𝐑, @robinavitchgf
I’m Okay, 𝐌.𝐑, @dolloebaby
Sweet Treat, 𝐉.𝐀, @pearlessance
My Loss Is Yours To Keep, 𝐌.𝐑, @burgundysnow
Don’t Call Me Kid, 𝐉.𝐀, @bloodiedskirtts
Express Yourself, 𝐌.𝐑, @fhrlclln
You’ve Ruined My Life, 𝐉.𝐀, @pencil-n-pen
Not Clinically Significant, 𝐌.𝐑, @dr-robbys
When Did You Get So Hot, 𝐀.𝐏.𝐂, @sleepingbeautiiies
%%%% a collection of random texts with social worker!reader
%%%% warnings— this is not a spoiler free story! lewd talks and behaviors, drug abuse, fem!reader, corny jokes, human behavior that will make you side eye. will add more as the story progresses
𐔌 ﹒ ⋆ forced to work as a cashier at a family owned grocery store, you believe your life is over. until a hot older guy with a staring problem comes in once. and then, never again. not for three years. suddenly, he’s back. and you’ll make sure you never lose him again.
── warnings . . . not canon whatsoever. completely different universe with some of the same plot. cannot reiterate enough, this is completely big AU. lewd talks, curse words, bad jokes, sorta obsessive and stalker-ish!reader. will add more as the story progresses
── pairing . . . fem!reader x andrew “pope” cody
── note . . . this is me coping from that end. have to make a cute little smau
When Did You Get So Hot? - Animal Kingdom SMAU - PT. 13
+18 MDNI
pt. 12 / pt. 14
summary: pope invites reader over after the selfie debacle
content: pope cody x fem!reader, age gap (reader is around deran's age), lewd conversations, SMUT, oral (fem receiving), fingering, ANGST, deran once again being traumatized, but deran also being a supportive bestie, pope being stupid and kinda mean ngl.
a/n: WE’VE GOT ANOTHER BEEFY CHAPTER HERE FOLKS!!!!!! this one is text convos AND regular writing. we’ve got more angst after this too (IM SORRY (but also not actually? bc i love angst? 💀😭))
Standing in front of the Cody house, you’re rereading your texts with Pope. God… why did you even agree to come after the whole ‘semi nude selfie’ nightmare?
You’re so fucking confused. Most of the time when you hang out, it just feels like two friends. But then there’s EVERYTHING else: him constantly wanting to be around you, getting territorial over you, always buying you things, all those clothes… and having you model them for him, the bikini you’ve currently got on that's “just for him”.
But then you send a half naked picture and throw yourself at him, and he’s completely uninterested?
You know you should just ask him what “this” is but every time you get even a little bit of confidence, the moment you meet his eyes, your brain goes brrrrrrrrrr.
You’re trying to decide if you still have time to leave, when Pope opens the front door.
Of course he’s shirtless…
“What are you doing?” Pope looks at you expectantly.
“Nothing! I was just checking my phone…” you fidget, pulling at the hem of your sundress coverup.
“Come on.” he turns and heads towards the back of the house.
He doesn’t give you the chance to argue, so you follow behind him. You can’t help but ogle his freckled, muscular back.
This fucking guy. No man has the right to be that hot.
Pope beckons you towards the open sliding glass door, standing aside, so you can head out first.
“Try not to slam into it this time.”
Unable to tell if he’s making fun of you or if he’s actually worried you’ll slam face first again, you let out a deeply unattractive laugh, that's somehow both a cackle and a snort. God help you.
Making your way out, you head towards one of the loungers by the pool and take a seat. Slowly toeing off your sandals, you debate sending an SOS to Deran when you hear a splash.
You look up to see that Pope’s already in the pool and swimming out to the deep end. Turning to where you’re seated, he gives you a confused look.
“Are you getting in?”
“Uh, ye-yes!.” you cringe at how your voice cracks.
Standing up on shaky legs, you close your eyes and slowly lift your sundress up and over your head.
Dropping drop it to the ground, you wrap your arms around your exposed stomach. You’ve been in a bikini a million times around Pope over the years, but something about this feels so much more… intimate.
Heading over to the edge of the pool, you’re about to dip in when Pope’s voice stops you.
“Spin around.”
Oh dear god, it’s that fuck ass “fashion show” all over again. Please, you barely survived the first time.
You chew on your lip, meeting his eyes briefly, before doing as you're told. Doing an awkward little turn. When you face him again, his eyes are still glued to where your bottoms had been riding up your ass.
Before he can request anything else of you, you quickly head into the pool.
Swimming out only halfway to him, you clear your throat.
“Water feels nice.” you say, bobbing your head.
Pope doesn’t say anything, just swims towards you. You don’t let him get too close though, unintentionally setting up a game of cat and mouse between the two of you. After circling each other for a while, you can tell he’s getting frustrated.
You float over to the pool wall, gripping the edge for stability. It doesn’t take him long to make his way over to you and invade your space. Desperate to cut the tension that's developed, you try distracting him with inane chatter.
“Soooooo… you wanna play mermaids this time?” you say, your voice coming out strained.
“I still don’t know what that means.”
“Oh my god, Pope. We pretend to be mermaids!” you playfully roll your eyes, before giving him a pointed look. “You know, there's this thing called ‘imagination’... might want to try using it sometime.”
Pope lets out a huff, corners of his mouth twitching upward.
“Maybe later.”
“Sooooo… anyway, uh… did Craig tell you about the weird ass bug he saw the other day?”
You can’t tell what’s worse; the silence from before or your attempts at small talk.
“I don’t wanna talk about Craig.” Pope grunts, swimming closer. Hands on either side of you, boxing you against the pool wall.
You let out a squeak, now feeling the tent in his swim trunks prod at the cheek of your ass.
“Is this okay?” he mutters, voice cracking.
All you manage is a small “mhm”, your voice failing you. You move your hips backward, grinding your ass lightly along the hardness of his cock.
Pope lets out a strangled noise, hands shooting out to halt your movements.
“Let’s go inside.” he pulls away abruptly, lifting himself up and out of the pool.
The moment gives you whiplash, leaving you speechless and your brain fuzzy. You swim to the ladder, climbing up, when Pope grabs you by your arms and pulls you up the rest of the way. It takes your breath away and sends a pang between your legs.
“Thank you.” your voice comes out so small, you’re not even sure he heard you.
Pope takes you by the hand and leads you to one of the loungers, grabbing a towel. Wrapping it around your shoulders, he starts to dry you off.
Feeling the way he caresses you through the towel makes the ache between your legs grow. Jesus… he’s barely touched you and you’re already dripping. You needed some space… and maybe a cold shower.
“I’m gonna go change…” you say before grabbing your things and quickly heading back into the house.
────﹒♡﹒────
You close yourself in the bathroom, bracing against the door.
Taking a much needed deep breath, you try to pull yourself together. His body language and (very) obvious hard-on tell you he’s interested, but you can’t shake his previous refusal from your mind. You’re tempted to text Deran, but think better of it. You can’t deal with his teasing right now.
Stripping out of your bikini, you hop in the shower to give yourself a quick rinse. Your mind can’t help but wander to the feeling of Pope’s body pressed against yours. The way his thick, firm biceps flexed as he manhandled you. The way his cock felt prodding at the swell of your ass-
Okay nope! Not about to start flicking the ol’ bean right now. Not happening!
PULL. YOURSELF. TOGETHER.
Stepping out of the shower, you realize you didn’t bring anything other than your flimsy sundress coverup to change into. Fuck. You probably have spare clothes in Deran’s room, you just have to-
“What’re you doing in there?” Pope’s gruff voice calls from the other side of the door, causing you to let out a shriek.
“Uh… I’ll be out in a sec!” you call back.
Quickly throwing on your coverup, you briefly consider putting your bikini back on. The thought of wearing your wet swimsuit sounds less than appealing, so you’ll just have to go commando.
It’ll be okay, you doubt Pope’ll even be able to tell. You hope he won’t be able to tell…
Pope’s waiting right outside the door when you finally emerge.
“Pope, you scared the shit out of me.” you chuckle weakly.
“Sorry.”
“It-its okay.” you clear your throat, staring down at your feet.
You chance a look up at him, finding him already staring at you. His pupils are blown and he’s got a slight flush to his cheeks. You can feel your nipples harden under his gaze. You bite your lip, trying to smother a whimper.
“Let’s go to my room.” he says, taking you by the hand and leading you down the hall.
His hand was so rough and warm. It gave you butterflies.
────﹒♡﹒────
Pope's sitting on his bed, staring you down. He pats the empty space beside him.
“Sit.”
You try to speak, but it seems your voice has left you. All you can do is nod, and place yourself next to him. Your thigh brushing his. You pick at your nails, unsure of what to do with yourself. Pope stops you, grabbing your hand and holding it in his.
You sit like that for a while, neither of you speaking. The warmth of his body against yours is making your head swim. You’re about to ask him what “this” is when he presses a chaste kiss to your lips. It really isn’t anything special; there’s no tongue or fiery passion behind it, but you feel sparks all the same.
Eyes fluttering closed, you try to deepen the kiss but Pope pulls away.
“Lay back on the bed.” he breathlessly commands
You should say no. It’s not a good idea to escalate this… situationship? Not without a proper conversation. But you're thinking fully with your vagina at this point, so you do as he asks.
You nod and scoot back on the bed, laying your head on one of his pillows. You spread your legs slightly, giving him a peak at your bare pussy.
Pope lets out a growl and follows after you, slotting himself between your open legs. He pulls your dress up over your hips, his lips delivering feather light kisses along your inner thighs, stopping briefly to deliver a bite now and then. You know there'll be marks later.
Moaning out, you feel your pussy ache with need.
Pope looks up at you briefly, a ghost of a smile on his lips, before his gaze lands on your glistening folds. He looks positively entranced.
You whine, letting your thighs fall open even wider.
“Can I taste you?” you feel his breath fan over your pulsing heat.
“Please Andrew, need you.” you moan out, running a hand through his hair.
He tenses slightly, before gripping your thighs firmly and diving in.
Pope licks along your folds, savoring your taste, before sticking his tongue inside you. You let out a high pitched moan, as he begins thrusting his tongue into your needy cunt. You feel him bring his fingers up to your clit; rubbing tight, fast circles.
“Fu-uuuck Andy.” you whimper out, grip on his curls tightening. Pope lets out a groan, the vibrations adding to the intense pleasure.
He drags his tongue from your clenching hole, replacing it with his thick fingers. Pumping in and out of you, curling up to find that spongy spot inside you that takes your breath away. His tongue finding your swollen clit next, licking at it feverishly.
“Ungh, fu-uck Andy just like that.” You grip his hair tightly, grinding yourself against his face.
Hearing the squelching sounds as he bullies his fingers deep inside, you feel your arousal coat your inner thighs, your lower stomach, and his face. You can even feel yourself dripping onto the bed. He’s making a complete mess of you.
Pope continues his assault on your puffy cunt, rocking the bed with how hard he’s finger fucking you. He alternates between furiously licking at your swollen bud, to wrapping his lips around it and sucking, hard. You know you're close, by the way the coil in your belly tightens.
“An-Andy, gonna- ungh oh fu-uck, gonna cum.”
Just as you feel the dam about to burst, Pope curls his fingers up, hitting the spongy spot inside once more.
You let out a high pitched yell, body seizing. Your vision goes white and you're pretty sure your body would arch off the bed completely, if Pope weren’t grounding you. You hold on tightly to the back of his head, riding out the most intense orgasm you’ve ever had in your life.
When you come back down to earth, your eyes land on him. He’s resting his head against your thigh, mouth covered in your slick.
“Holy. Shit.” you laugh out tiredly, finally releasing his hair from your grip. You smile at him dreamily, biting your lip.
“Did I make you feel good?”
“Mmhm” you laugh breathlessly, basking in your post orgasm haze.
“Wanna taste you now, Andy.” You say with hooded eyes, licking your lips
“No.” Pope grunts out, pulling away from you abruptly. The loss of his body heat makes you shiver as the cold air hits your half naked body.
“Oh… okay. Are you alright?” you sit up and put your hand on his shoulder. He shrugs you off, moving from the bed quickly.
“Andrew…? Is something wrong?” You’re kinda freaking out now, what the fuck just happened?
He won’t meet your eye, his body tenser than you've ever seen it. He looks almost… pissed off?
“Leave me alone.” he grumbles. Storming off into the bathroom, he slams the door behind him, making you jump.
You lay there for a minute, shocked and hurt. Did you do something wrong?
I feel your face burn with shame and your eyes start to water. You’re not sure when he’ll be back out, but you don’t think you can face him after… that.
Rising from the bed quickly, you pull down your dress. Cringing at the feeling of your slick covered thighs rubbing together. You slip on your sandals and grab your phone, needing to get the fuck out of there.
You have a million thoughts going through your head as you make your way out of Pope’s room and to the front door. Quickly making your way through and out of the house, you practically sprint to your car. Getting in and pulling out of the Cody driveway as fast as possible.
Driving home, your mind is reeling from what just happened. You truly did not know what you did wrong and it was killing you inside to think you did something to make him so upset. You know you should’ve waited and had a talk with him after but you just couldn’t look at him. Not without bursting into tears.
He looked… you don’t know. Angry? Disgusted?
Maybe he regretted it? Or you tasted weird? Was the way you came off-putting to him in some way? Maybe you’ve got a really ugly orgasm face.
You make it back home, now completely mortified. And maybe more than a little heartbroken.
Pope ate you out, gave you the most intense orgasm of your life, and then wanted absolutely nothing to do with you after.
Sitting in your car, you look down at your phone. It had been going off like crazy on the drive back. You know it’s probably him. As much as you’d rather hurl yourself into oncoming traffic than talk to him right now, it's probably better to just rip the bandaid off before he sends a search party. Or worse, shows up at your apartment.
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