Imagine! IMAGINE being Deran’s bsf and absolutely in love with Pope, like ever since you were a kid, you had the biggest crush on him.
Bsf!reader who watches documentaries with him instead of being out in the party with the rest
Bsf!reader who helps him clean up the whole mess
Bsf!reader who is so painfully sweet with him, he doesn’t even know what to do with him, he is not used to that, a good girl being good with him
Bsf!reader who of course sleeps with him that one night. And it’s sweet, slow, they kissed so much, and bsf!reader even cries while doing it. Tears he licks.
Bsf!reader who of course makes breakfast in the kitchen for both of us thinking that yeah, finally, after so long it finally happened.
So imagine her surprise when he tells her it was just sex, it meant nothing to him. Because he just couldn’t cope with him tainting something so sweet as her, he is not going to be the one who ruins her.
Imagine her surprise when her period does not come, and he is already dating this new girl, Amy.
of course bfs!reader was so sad and heartbroken she didn´t notice her period was late.
bfs!reader who can not lie or hide anything from Deran. They have been best friends ever since kinder fucking garden. He knew something was off cause she wasnt answering his texts nor his calls.
bfs!reader who cried the moment she opened the door and it was Deran. She couldn´t help herself and cried in his arms.
bfs!reader who confessed and told Deran she is pregnant, but refused to tell him who is the father. She makes him swear not to say anything to anyone.
bfs!reader who goes to the pool parties, not taking her shirt off, she doesn't have a belly yet but refuses to take it off anyway.
bsf!reader who tries no to cry when she sees her Andrew with her. Amy. She acts natural -as natural as she can- whenever she is near him.
bsf!reader who looks at them together and can´t help but wonder why wasn´t she enough? why does Amy have that she doesn´t? maybe he didn´t enoy the night the spend together? maybe she talks to much? is too much? is not skinny enough?
bsf!reader who is never alone because Deran is always there. Making sure she is safe and comfortable, being so clingy and uncharacteristically nice to her that it starts being suspicious.
bsf!reader who doesn´t smile as much, doesn´t yap as much and it doesn´t take a long time for Andrew to know somethin is wrong with her. He notices immediately, how could he not? when most of the time she is all he can see whenever she comes to the house.
bsf!reader who can not hate Amy, how could she hate her when she makes him so happy?
bsf!reader who refuses to tell anything about her pregnancy because she doesn´t want to ruin the little happiness Andrew is feeling right now.
bsf!reader who stays the night after a pool party and wakes up with her belly popping up. She is so sleepy and rubbing her eyes that does not notice Pope cleaning up the mess, and stopping to look at her. He just stares.
bsf!reader who freezes the moment she notices him looking at her belly. She tries to put the shirt down, she is 20 weeks and her belly is finally showing.
gosh, imagine. Just imagine his face, emotionless, his eyes widening slightly, his jaw getting tight just looking at her belly. Her belly. His baby. His. He knows.
synopsis: you met deran and craig at a party when you were twenty. flash forward three years, their eldest brother you've never met, pope, is now out of prison. the big shocker? he's hot as fuck. he also happens to be the guy you were anonymous pen pals with while he was in prison
warnings: 18+, age gap (pope is late 30s, reader is 23), cursing, pope is prob ooc sorry, craig being bullied but we still love him, baz being the weirdo creep he is
synopsis: you met deran and craig at a party when you were twenty. flash forward three years, their eldest brother you've never met, pope, is now out of prison. the big shocker? he's hot as fuck. he also happens to be the guy you were anonymous pen pals with while he was in prison
warnings: 18+, age gap (pope is late 30s, reader is 23), cursing, smurf slander, reade being a freak over pope, implied pope being a little bit of a stalker but reader fucks w it
synopsis: you met deran and craig at a party when you were twenty. flash forward three years, their eldest brother you've never met, pope, is now out of prison. the big shocker? he's hot as fuck. he also happens to be the guy you were anonymous pen pals with while he was in prison
warnings: 18+, age gap (pope is late 30s, reader is 23), cursing, one use of y/n, pope is prob ooc sorry, lowk nothing else 😭
synopsis: you met deran and craig at a party when you were twenty. flash forward three years, their eldest brother you've never met, pope, is now out of prison. the big shocker? he's hot as fuck. he also happens to be the guy you were anonymous pen pals with while he was in prison
warnings: 18+, age gap (pope is late 30s, reader is 23), cursing, baz being baz, reader being a downbad freak for pope, mention of weed, uhh i think thats it
this was actually sm fun so u guys might get the next chapter later tdy 😛
pov. pope doesn’t have regular sex with you, he’s so traumatized that he can’t. you acknowledge it and accept that’s how he’ll just be forever but when he comes to you out of nowhere and lets you fuck him, you can’t help but fuck him in the gentle ways you’ve been longing to do.
content warnings. ⸝⸝ fem reader, softdom!reader, switch!pope, praise kink, tiny bit of a size kink, tad bit of angst, no proof read, sub leaning!pope, aftercare
pope was never fully there during sex. even when his body moved right, his head was somewhere else, drowning in old blood, smurf’s voice in his ear, catherine’s face, the weight of every fucked up thing he’d done and couldn’t take back. he’d get lost mid thrust, jaw tight, eyes distant, like he was watching himself from outside his own skin.
sometimes he’d go quiet for too long, breath shaky, muscles locked up while his mind spun too fast to let him feel anything good. he fucked like a man trying to outrun something, and most nights he lost, and you were the only one who ever noticed. the only one who slowed him down instead of letting him disappear.
you’re now stretched out on smurf’s living room couch, remote in your lap, some mindless show flickering across the screen. the house is quiet for once, the sliding door scrapes open and pope steps in from the backyard, shoulders tight, that familiar restless energy rolling off him. his eyes find you immediately.
he walks over to you. “hey baby,” you say gently, voice soft like you’re approaching something skittish.
he doesn’t answer. just glances at the tv, then back to you. his jaw clenches hard, like he’s chewing on whatever storm is in his head. you can see it, the way he’s already half gone, thoughts eating him alive. “come here,” he says, low and rough.
you lift a brow and set the remote aside, starting to push yourself up, but pope’s done waiting. he moves fast, snatching you up off the couch like you weigh nothing, arms locking around you. you let out a surprised breath as he carries you down the hall toward j’s room.
“you okay?” you ask quietly, one hand resting against the side of his neck. but he doesn’t answer, just shoulders j’s door open with a shove.
j looks up from his bed, confused for half a second before he clocks pope’s face. he exchanges a quick look with you, then nods slowly and stands up without a word, slipping out past you both.
pope kicks the door shut behind him and sets you down on the edge of the bed. he’s breathing hard already, eyes dark. “fuck me,” he says, and you blink. “what?” you ask.
“you heard me.” his voice is rough, almost impatient, but there’s that raw edge underneath. he peels his shirt off in one quick motion, tossing it aside, revealing the tense lines of his chest and shoulders. he stands there in front of you, waiting, jaw tight, hands flexing at his sides like he’s fighting not to grab you again.
he needs this, needs you to take the wheel before his head drags him under.
you pause for a second, staring at him. your eyes flick over to the wide open window, the backyard and whoever might walk by completely visible. “you wanna close the window and lock the door?” you ask gently.
pope was already moving. he locked the door first with a quick twist, then crossed to the window and pulled the curtains shut tight, blocking out the rest of the world. when he turned back, you were already stripping. you pulled your clothes off piece by piece, letting them drop to the floor.
the cold air bit at your skin, raising goosebumps as you pushed your hair over into a lazy side part.
he came back to you fast, stepping right into your space, close enough that you could feel the heat rolling off his bare chest. you looked up at him, searching his face. “what’s going on with you?” you asked softly.
pope didn’t answer with words. he just leaned down and kissed you, hard and desperate, you kissed him back, brows furrowed against the intensity of it, your hands sliding up his arms. he was already shoving his jeans and boxers down, kicking them off while his mouth stayed on yours.
when he finally pulled back just enough to breathe, his forehead rested against yours. “i’m sorry,” he muttered, voice low and rough. “no,” you said, gentle but firm. “come here. tell me what’s wrong.” you said.
you took his hand and pulled him closer, guiding him as he fell over you on the bed. his weight settled between your legs, skin warm against your cold body. he kissed you again, slower this time, almost like he was hiding in it. you let him, one hand threading through his hair while the other stroked down his back.
you broke the kiss just enough to whisper against his mouth, “can i ride you while you tell me what’s wrong?” you questioned.
pope let out a shaky breath, eyes half lidded, already nodding before the words even left him. “yeah… please,” he rasped, voice cracking just a little. his hands gripped your hips like he needed something solid to hold onto, but the look in his eyes was pure surrender. “just… don’t stop touching me.” he begged.
pope stood back up slowly, like he needed a second to steady himself. he walked over to the side of j’s little bed and climbed on, settling with his back against the wall, legs stretched out, as he waited for you, chest rising and falling too fast.
you made your way to him on your knees, crawling into his lap. the size difference hit hard by the way you looked so small tucked against his broad frame, thighs spread wide over his hips, your body fitting perfectly in the space between his legs like you were made to be there.
you reached down, wrapped your hand around him, and slowly slid down, taking him inch by inch until he was buried deep inside you.
pope groaned low, head tilting back against the wall. his big hands immediately went to your sides, rubbing slow, soothing circles over your skin like he was trying to memorize the feeling of you. “tell me,” you said softly, starting to move, rolling your hips nice and slow.
“i miss you,” he breathed, voice rough and shaky. “and i need you. all the time. can’t get my head right without you.” his fingers dug into your waist a little harder, but not rough, just desperate, like he was scared you’d disappear.
you leaned forward, wrapping your arms around his neck, pulling him close as you kept slowly bouncing on his cock. your breath hitched against his ear with every roll of your hips, soft little sounds slipping out while your legs pressed tight against his sides.
you already knew you were gonna be sore after this, the stretch of him, the burn at your thighs, the way he filled you so completely, but you didn’t care. you just kept moving, gentle and steady, letting him feel every bit of you.
you leaned in and started pressing soft little peck kisses along his cheek, then slowly down the side of his throat. his skin was warm under your lips, pulse jumping every time you kissed him. “you missed me?” you asked gently.
pope nodded, quick and almost shy, eyes half closed as he swallowed hard.
you smiled against his skin and leaned up, catching his lips in a soft, sweet peck. your vanilla lip gloss transferred onto his mouth, shiny and sweet. he didn’t wipe it away, he just let it stay there, licking his bottom lip once like he was tasting you, breathing you in. “you know i love you, right?” you whispered.
pope’s arms tightened around you instantly, pulling you flush against his chest like he needed to feel your heartbeat. his voice came out low and cracked, almost broken. “yeah… i know. i love you too.” he shot back, smooth as if it was said to make you not worry. “fuck, i love you so much it scares me sometimes.” he added, voice more desperate.
you started riding him deeper, picking up the pace just a little, rolling your hips with more purpose. his cock hit that perfect spot inside you over and over, making your breath catch.
“i love you so much honey,” you murmured against his ear, voice warm and steady. “you’re doing so good for me. just keep talking to me.” you encouraged. pope let out a shaky groan, forehead pressed to your shoulder as his hands slid down to grip your ass, helping guide your movements. his hips started pushing up to meet you, needy and uncoordinated, like he couldn’t stop himself from chasing the feeling.
“feels so good… don’t stop. please don’t stop,” he whispered, voice hoarse. “i need you. been thinking about you all day… just you. only you make it quiet in my head.” he admitted. he buried his face deeper into your neck, breathing you in while you kept riding him slow and deep, your bodies pressed tight together in the quiet room.
you kept moving on him, fucking yourself deeper onto his cock with slow, purposeful rolls of your hips. every time you sank down, he hit your gspot so perfectly it made your thighs tremble around him. you stayed soft the whole time, never rushing, just taking care of him.
“that’s it, baby,” you whispered, pressing more gentle kisses along his jaw and down his neck. “you’re being so good for me. so sweet letting me take care of you like this.” your lips brushed his ear as you spoke, voice low and warm. “i’ve got you. just feel me, honey. you don’t have to think about anything else right now.”
pope whimpered softly, the sound slipping out before he could stop it. his head tipped back against the wall, eyes glassy, hands gripping your waist like you were the only thing keeping him grounded. his hips tried to chase you but he kept letting you set the pace, surrendering completely.
you rocked harder onto him, taking him deeper, grinding down so his cock rubbed right against that spot inside you again and again. your breath hitched against his ear as pleasure sparked up your spine.
“fuck… you feel so good,” you murmured, kissing the shell of his ear. “my sweet boy. you’re doing so well. love how you let me ride you like this.“ you said to him. “please… don’t stop. i need you so bad.” he breathed, voice shaky and desperate. his hands slid up your back, clinging to you as his body trembled underneath.
you smiled softly and kissed him again, slow and deep, while you kept fucking yourself onto him harder, chasing that perfect angle. one hand stayed wrapped around the back of his neck, holding him close as you whispered right against his lips between kisses.
“good boy. just like that. let me make you feel better, baby. i’ve got you.” you assured him. pope moaned quietly, completely lost in you now. you could feel him getting close, his cock twitching inside you, thighs tensing under yours, breath coming out in short, desperate little pants against your neck.
you kept riding him steady and deep, grinding down so he stayed right against your g-spot while you praised him softly. “you’re so handsome, y’know that?” you murmured, brushing your lips along his cheek. “baby, say it.” you ordered.
pope’s voice cracked, barely above a whisper, eyes squeezed shut in pleasure and embarrassment. “m’handsome.” he mumbled. “so handsome,” you repeated sweetly, kissing his cheek again, lingering there as you kept moving on him. “my pretty boy. doin’ so good for me.”
that was all it took. pope let out a broken moan, hips jerking up as he came hard inside you. you felt the warm, thick spurts of his cum flooding you, pulse after pulse, filling you up so deep and messy that it started to leak out around his cock, slick and hot, coating your thighs and dripping down onto him.
he kept cumming for what felt like forever, trembling underneath you, completely lost. even after he finished, he didn’t stop. his hands gripped your hips tighter and he kept thrusting up into you, slow and deep, pushing his cum even deeper while he panted against your skin.
“want you to cum,” he whispered, voice hoarse and needy. “please… wanna feel you cum on me. please let me make you feel good.” he begged. you smiled softly against his cheek, still rocking with him, letting him fuck his cum back into you while you held him close.
pope’s hand slid up to your throat, not squeezing hard, just resting there, warm and firm, helping guide you as you fucked yourself onto him. his hips snapping up harder to meet you, driving his cock straight into that perfect spot inside you over and over. “feel good?” he asked, voice low and rough.
your jaw dropped, a quiet moan slipping out at first before it got louder, breathier. “yes—yes!” you moaned, the sound filling the room as pleasure built fast. he gave your ass a gentle slap, not hard, just enough to make you jolt and sink down deeper on him. he fucked up into you a few more times, steady and deep, until you finally broke.
you came hard around his cock, walls pulsing and fluttering tight around him. warm, slick wetness gushed out of you, soaking his lap and mixing with his cum already inside you. your whole body shook as the orgasm rolled through you, thighs trembling, nails digging lightly into his shoulders while you clenched and dripped all over him.
you both slowly came to a stop, breathing heavy. you leaned forward and rested your forehead against his neck, trying to catch your breath. pope’s arms wrapped around you tight, one hand rubbing slow circles on your back. “you okay?” he asked quietly, voice still a little hoarse.
“mhm,” you hummed, holding onto him tighter. “i need a bath.” you mentioned, pope stayed quiet for a second, just holding you close like he didn’t want to let go. then he pressed a kiss to the top of your head. “yeah… i’ll take one with you,” he murmured, voice soft but certain.
you stayed curled against him for a minute, catching your breath. pope eventually reached for his shirt on the floor and gently pulled it over your head, covering you up. he didn’t bother with anything for himself, just scooped you up in his arms, completely naked, and carried you out of j’s room like it was the most normal thing in the world.
as soon as you stepped into the hallway, j and craig were right there. you looked over pope’s shoulder and burst out laughing. craig’s eyes went wide before he started cracking up. “jesus christ—” craig yelled, half laughing, half shocked. j immediately covered his face with both hands, groaning.
“put some shorts on dude!” craig called after you two, bursting into louder laughter. pope didn’t even flinch. he just kept walking, holding you tighter against his chest, completely unbothered as he carried you straight into the bathroom and kicked the door shut behind him.
he set you down gently on the edge of the tub, turned the water on warm, and poured in some soap until the tub started filling with bubbles. once it was ready, he helped you out of his shirt and lowered you into the water first, then climbed in behind you.
he pulled your back against his chest, arms wrapping around you under the warm water, holding you close as the heat soaked into both of you.
“you feel okay?” he asked quietly, pressing a slow kiss to your shoulder, then another to the side of your neck. his hands rubbed gentle circles over your stomach and thighs under the water, soothing the soreness already starting to settle in. you hummed, relaxing completely against him. “yeah… really good.” you replied.
he stayed quiet for a bit, just holding you, occasionally kissing wherever he could reach, your temple, your hair, the curve of your shoulder. the water lapped softly around you both while he took care of you, slow and patient, like nothing else in the world mattered right now. “stay with me a little longer,” he whispered against your skin, voice low and soft. “don’t gotta move yet.”
still thinking of knight!bucky x princess!reader where he’s your sworn guard and you’re absolutely in love with each other and you go out to a willow tree FAR away everyday with him and read and talk and muse and kiss and definitely some heavy petting and one day you find out you’re betrothed to another man and you beg bucky to run away with you everyday
Summary: Jack confronts his past when you end up in his er after a horrible incident. His old, bruised heart hopes for a second chance. (1.5k)
Warnings: based on a request, angst w happy ending, use of y/n y/l/n, pet names, medical inaccuracies, talks about Jack's previous marriage, car accident, misunderstanding, ughh idk if i like this or not, im sorry if its not good😣
It's the usual hand off until....it isn't. "Miss y/l/n, her anesthesia is slowly wearing off, but you should monitor her closely after she wakes up. She was struck by a car, crossing the road. She has 4 broken ribs, broken arm and she had an internal bleeding that required major surgery. She's stabilised now, but keep an eye on her, will ya? She's waiting for a bed to open upstairs. " Robby says but Jack can barely hear his words.
There's ringing in his ears as he looks at the face that's been invading his dreams for over a year now.
"Y/N?" Your name is a broken plea on his lips. He's been praying for an opportunity to see you again, but not like this.
It's been well over a year since you two met. You bumped into each other in a bar, and it was like a magic. You talked the whole night, only stopping when the sun started rising.
It was like an instant connection. Jack couldn't explain it then and he still can't explain it now. It was just one of the moments when you meet someone you immediately click with.
Like it really was like a magic, and Jack planned on seeing you again. You exchanged numbers, and just as you were about to leave your hand settled up on his chest, over his heart and you gave him a kiss on the cheek.
But that was the moment that fucked it all up. Your face came back all taut, and when your text came later that night, Jack knew, he fucked up.
'Hi, Jack. I had a great time tonight tonight, but I won't meet with you again. I don't take lightly being lied to and I sure as hell don't go out with married men. Bye."
You blocked him before he could explain. Explain that he wore that ring on the chain under his t-shirt to honor his wife that had passed away a while ago. That he really wasn't seeing anyone.
But he didn't get do that. Not with the blocked number. And he didn't even know your last name.
So all he had left was some sliver of hope that someday soon he might run into you, and finally get a chance to tell you the truth.
"Brother, you okay? You know her or something?" Robby clasps Jack on his shoulder, face all worried.
"Yeah, yeah. Something like that. Don't worry, we'll take a good care of her." Jack shakes the initial shock off of him and hurries Robby along to finish the hand off.
But the whole time, Jack can only think about the fact that you are hurt, stabilised, but hurt. And he could have been there for you, for many things if he told you about his wife right away. Even though he doesn't really go around telling people he only just met about that. But he wishes that he had made an exception that one time.
So you stay on his mind even during the shift. And when you wake up, Jack doesn't think seeing a man you blocked first thing after such an accident is a good idea. He sends Ellis there instead.
-
Once you stop drifting in and out of sleep, you finally take in the room around you. The pristine white walls, people in scrubs and the beeping of the machines.
"What happened?" You whisper, voice all dry as you try to move. It only results in jolt of pain.
"Hi, you are at the emergency room. You got struck by a car and your injuries required you having a surgery. But you are stabilised and in good hands now." Her words slowly settle down in your head as you look around the hospital room.
Ellis talks to you about all your injuries and you cringe as you hear them. You can't even imagine how you'll function alone at home.
But what makes you cringe even more is that that a certain silver fox doctor might be working in this very same ER.
"How long will I stay here?" You really don't want to run into him. Not when (despite your better judgement) you've been thinking about him. And then scolding yourself for it for a long while now.
"We don't know. We are waiting for a bed to open upstairs but don't worry you are in good hands." She tells you while she checks your vitals and reactions.
"How's the pain level?" She asks, giving you a sweet smile.
"It's low. It seems whatever you gave me works wonders."
"Great. I'm going to let you get some more sleep. Ring for us if you need anything." She starts to leave but you stop her.
Finally, awake enough, you have the sense to ask. "Uhm, can I ask you something? Do you have a colleague named Jack? He's married, has silver hair..." You ask as subtly as you can.
She grins at you and nods enthusiastically. "Yes, Dr. Jack Abbot. He's our attending doctor. He fits the description but he's not married. Would you prefer him to take care of you while you are here?"
You shake your head, utterly confused. You still hazed brain can't even understand that Jack does in fact work him, but he's not married? Maybe it's a different Jack. Or maybe you misunderstood...
You don't dwell long on it because exhaustion lays heavy on you and you fall asleep once again.
-
You asked about him, and Jack doesn't know what to think about it. It bothers him that things are still unexplained between you.
And even though he tells himself that you wouldn't want to see him, he can't resist a quick look. Just one stolen moment.
He finds you sleeping softly as he settles in the chair next to your bed. Colour finally came back to your pretty face and it warms his heart. Warms his heart, knowing that you'll be okay.
He's so busy studying every inch of you with his doctor eyes that he doesn't even notice you stir.
"Jack..." You wake up with his name falling softly from your lips. The word filled with so much surprise.
"Hey." Jack says uncertainly. He hopes he isn't already overstepping. He should go.
"I'm sorry. I'm gonna leave." He gets up, shaking his head. He shouldn't have come.
"No, please stay." You mumble out quietly. You are looking at him like you can't quiet believe it's really him in front of you.
Jack gives it a second, giving you the time to change your mind. But you don't so Jack sits down again.
"You aren't married?" You ask sheepishly, but bluntly. It's like the heavy painkillers have something against you being coy.
Jack slowly takes out the ring on the chain and you frown. "I was married. But she passed away. I wear the ring to honor her, honor the love we had for each other."
Your face scrunches as your eyes go glassy. You really, really fucked up. Fucked up the opportunity to get to know this handsome, beautiful hearted man.
But Jack can't see into your mind. He only sees your quick reaction and his doctor brain does the rest of the thinking. "Hey, hey, hey. What is it? Are you in pain?"
You shake your head. "I fucked up. I'm sorry."
Oh.
Oh.
Jack blows out a breath of relief. "You had no way of knowing. I don't blame you for coming up to that conclusion."
"I'm still sorry. I could have let you explain." Your unbroken hand inches closer to Jack's that's holding onto the bed.
"It doesn't matter know. I'm sure you have long moved on from that one night of ours." He gives you a small smile, showing you exactly that he hasn't moved on from it.
You shake your head again. "No boyfriend, no anyone."
Jack just gapes at you. Surely he heard wrong. Or maybe he's just dreaming.
"Why?"
"Because there was this handsome doctor I met at a bar, and he left a mess in my head. I couldn't stop thinking about him even when I shouldn't." It's definitely the drugs talking because there's no way you'd be this bold.
And some invisible string inside Jack's chest snaps as his hand curls around yours. "He couldn't stop thinking about you either, sweetheart."
"I'm sorry again. I shouldn't have blocked you right away."
"No, no, it was the right thing to do. But do you think..." Jack starts hesitantly. "Do you think you could unblock me?"
"Will you take me out on a date if I do even if I fucked up?" There's still small scowl on your lips, and Jack quietly laughs.
"Yes. As soon as you are recovered, I'll take you on any date you want." Jack states gently, his thumb doing circles over the soft skin of your hand. Jack still can't believe this is happening. That you really are here and talking to him.
"Promise?" You ask hopefully, eyes drooping a little.
"Promise."
And with that word, you let your eyes close and you fall asleep again, clutching Jack's hand like it's your lifeline.
you know what I’m thinking about in hour 6 of my 12 hours at work today?
avenger!reader x Bucky and they’re sneaking around because they want their relationship to stay theirs in their little bubble just a little more, which leads to
bucky being almost purposefully bad at keeping quiet. the mf moans and dirty talks for DAYS so when people walk past his room late at night they hear him moan they think Bucky is tugging one out, when in reality you have him in your mouth and you’ve been bratty at him for the last 45 minutes
bucky sneaking into your room and the next day it’s lazy morning sex with him on top and he’s got you folded like a pretzel and he does not stop when Sam knocks on the door to wake you up to go for a run, which makes it really hard to keep your voice even
or when a random obscure little restaurant gets brought up and both of you give the same answer about a dish and the team looks at you like “how the fuck did you get a table? wait… how did YOU?”
don’t get me started on how bucky would spend hours between your legs, with his mouth on you, and yelena would be calling you to go get snacks or do whatever plan you guys had going on and he’s relentless and won’t let you out of bed but you still have to answer
DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT — non-con, degradation, humiliation, blood and injury, violence, forced orgasm, spitting, choking, coercion, masturbation, creampie
it’s filthy, disgusting
you’re too kind. gosh, you are. so willing to help strangers. especially the ones bleeding and broken. you just wanted to help. you really did. so now you’re on your own couch with your own panties shoved into your mouth, spread open beneath the man you patched up, while he fucks into your cunt like he owns it.
“see, that’s the problem with good girls like you.” his voice rasps against your ear, rough as gravel and just as cold. “you never check if the stray dog bites. you just open your door and roll out the bandages. real trusting.”
blood drips from his split lip onto your cheek. another drop, warmer, rolls from a wound on his side down your waist. you try to turn your head, but he catches your jaw, forcing you to look at him. his thumb brushes your tears away, smearing them across your skin like he's painting something. “i’m just paying you back for helping me.” he says it like a promise. mocking you. “next time, sweetheart, maybe check who you’re saving before you offer your couch.” then he slams into you deeper, and you muffle a scream against the cloth in your mouth.
he buries his face in your neck, kisses and bites until you’ll have bruises you can’t explain. your legs shake. you’ve lost count of how many times he’s made you come. one more gathers in your gut, hot and humiliating. you clench around him against your will. you turn your head away, face pressed into the couch cushion, but he fists your hair and yanks you back.
“if you scream, i’m going to make this night a lot longer for you. understand?” his tongue traces the shell of your ear before he pulls the panties from your mouth.
you don't scream. you sob. “p-please… I don’t like this- ”
“yeah?” he tugs your hair harder. “tell me how much you hate it. how disgusting i am. go on, pretty girl.”
“i fucking hate you- get off me- please-” the words come out broken, swallowed by tears. he laughs, low and dark. then he shoves your face into the cushion again, arches your back, and drives himself deeper. “i’m disgusting, baby? that’s what i am?”
“disgusting- you’re so fucking-” you gasp as he hits that spot. the one you hate and the one that betrays you every time. “disgusting- mmh…”
“yeah? am i?” his rhythm stutters. his breathless whisper made your cunt clench around him. you hated how your skin prickled, every hair standing up. he comes inside you, hot and thick.
“no- no, get off!” you beat your fists against his chest, slap his face, but he just laughs. the blood from his lips smears across your cheek as he catches both your wrists in one hand, grip bruising. with the other, he squeezes your cheeks, forces your mouth open, and spits. a thick gob of bloody saliva lands on your tongue. copper. salt. filth. you gag, try to spit it out. but he shoves his gloved fingers into your throat, pushing it down. you choke, kick, but he’s got you pinned. helpless.
but then,
a sharp knock at the door.
your eyes fly open. the fantasy shatters like glass.
you’re alone in your living room. legs spread wide on the couch. fingers buried knuckle-deep in your soaking cunt. panting hard. your panties are shoved halfway down your thighs, clinging to your skin, slick with shame. on the cushion beside you lies the blue mask. still damp and warm from your grip. the mask that you took that night he saved you, but you never saw his face. you wanted his face, his name, anything. the mask lay by your foot, warm with sweat and blood. you took it because you couldn’t let him vanish without a trace. you needed to have something of him. so you stole it, stuffed it in your pocket, and ran. cowardly? yes. you couldn’t let go of the only piece of a man who gave you nothing else. but you’ve put it to good use, haven’t you? good fucking use.
another knock. louder.
you yank your hand free. heart hammering, you scramble to pull up your panties, wipe your slick fingers on your thigh. you toss the mask onto the coffee table, smooth your hair, straighten your shirt. your legs shake as you force them to carry you to the door.
you open it.
tony stands there, holding a toolbox. your quiet neighbor with mysterious way of living. “tony?” your voice comes out raw, still thick from the moans you were biting back seconds ago.
“you said you needed help fixing your bed.” he smiles. small. easy. but his eyes flick past you for half a second, scanning your living room. something in the way he moves makes your stomach twist.
“right… yes. yes, of course. come in.” you struggled a bit. then he steps forward. the space between you shrinks. you catch his scent. sweat, something metallic, and somehow a strong perfume. something that makes your freshly-used cunt clench again. it’s like the same scent that clung to the mask. the same copper tang that filled your mouth in that filthy fantasy you had. you push it away. stupid. he’s just tony. a nice guy who fixes things. nothing like the man in your head. you’re just being too disgusting.
you turn and walk fast toward your bedroom, rambling about screws and measurements you don’t understand. nervous chatter to fill the silence. behind you, tony stays quiet. too quiet. his eyes are still moving. when you finally glance back, he’s stopped. standing by the coffee table. looking down.
at the mask. damp. spit-slick. a smear of something glossy on the fabric.
WORDS: 3.6K
SUMMARY: Left with no explanation for Andrew's sudden disappearance, three years having come and gone, raising your daughter as a single parent. That is, until coming home after a long day, seeing the love of your life sitting on the steps of your new home. Finally knowing what happened all those years ago, and for him to finally meet his daughter.
WARNINGS/TAGS: Established Relationship, Abandonment, Unplanned Pregnancy, Mpreg if you squint, Gender-Neutral Reader-Insert, Single Parents, Crying, Returning Home, sad reunion, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Fluff and Angst, Sobbing, Kissing, Andrew being a Dad, Mornings, Pregnancy, Happy Ending, Sad with a Happy Ending, Happily Ever After, Slice of Life
A/N: 5K Follower Celebration Fanfiction! THANK YOU ALL SO MUCH!!! I'm crying see just how many people enjoy my work enough to follow me! I love seeing notifications pop up, knowing my writing, no matter how old, is still enjoyed! This platform has given me a space to strengthen my writing, and all the love I receive only pushes me to keep writing even when I felt like giving up at points. SO I LOVE YOU SOOO MUCH!! NOW HERE IS OUR BABY BOY ANDREW!!!
Slamming the car door, rushing up the driveway, spotting Andrew's car, bringing you some relief. Ears rushing with adrenaline, unable to hear the near ocean, only the faint sound of keys jingling in your hand.
Days left with nothing but radio silence from your boyfriend, even his brothers refusing to talk to you when finding them. Picking the familiar key from the rings without looking, hand rising to the front door's lock, attempting to stick it in, only for it to stop halfway. Removing it, pushing it into the lock again with no new results. Pulling back again, looking to the key, second guessing your muscle memory.
Seeing at the top of your vision the door open, looking up, expecting to see Andrew's sweet, freckled face. Hope dissipating, met with the sight of Smurf, looking the same as always, bright blonde bob, sunglasses as big as her ego, and power over her boys.
"Is Andrew here?" you ask, bluntly, not wanting, nor needing to speak with her for any longer.
"Pope's not here," she answers, tone just as flat and bothered.
"Then where?" you ask, causing the old lady to sigh.
"He's staying with me now, no visitors," she states.
"And what he didn't tell me?" you question, witnessing her pout a lip, shrugging a shoulder.
"You know how Pope is. That's how all my boys are. Leaving Mommy to pick up their shit," she says, mockingly.
"That's bullshit, Smurf," you say, head shaking, astounded at her hollow words.
Watching as she leans down, grabbing something off the side, lifting its heavy weight. Shoving a duffle bag through the open door, tossing it at your feet.
"What's this?" you ask, feeling the weight of it on your feet.
"Your things. I'm selling the house, so don't try that old key again, it'll ruin the new locks," she answered, smirk pulling at the sharp corners of her lips.
"You can't sell his house," you argue, only making her smirk grow.
"Yes, I can. Who do you think co-signed on it?" she asks, to which you don't answer, left stunned at the doorstep of a house you no longer belong in.
"Then let me talk to Andrew," you demand, feeding the smirk on her face.
"No," she says, slightly leaning before slamming the door in your face.
Cheeks flushed, heart racing, mind and body perplexed on what to do with what's rushing within it. Staring at the front door, anger bubbling up in your throat, wanting nothing more than to curse her out, not only for ripping Andrew out of your arms, but for proving to your deepest insecurity that she could.
Proving every plan for the future whispered, gazing into Andrew's soft hazel eyes, every ounce of hope in escaping this town, escaping her, had been all for nothing. Always having her in the back of your mind, reminding you that your everything was temporary.
Nothing but a whine of defeat squeezes from your vocal cords, tears burning in your eyes, cursing in the little breath your lungs have. Picking up the duffle bag, nothing to remind you of Andrew would be in it.
Walking back to your car, glancing at Andrew's car, needing it to be the last thing to remember of him, not his mother. Throwing the bag into your passenger seat, reversing in the driveway, planning how you'd break back in, taking all of your things. Having taken notes of all the times Andrew would break into gas stations or small shops with you in tow, sometimes being stupid enough at times to fuck right next to the register.
Not letting more than a few days pass before going back, plans stunted before they could even come to fruition, spotting Craig in or out of the house. Only stopping once you saw the moving truck and the "FOR SALE" sign.
The only memory of Andrew you had left was the cash he'd stashed at your place, not having the stomach to dig it up yet, instead spiraling over days. Calling Andrew's phone until the service had been cut off, leaving you to run over Smurf's final words, still not believing them.
Thinking of other reasons for Andrew's disappearance, from him being hidden in Mexico to getting sick at the thought that he was dead. Until one day, staring down at two red lines, finding a bit of hope that Andrew, even a piece of him, would finally be out of Smurf's reach.
Standing waiting at the front door, having knocked, hearing a faint shuffling over the sound of a TV. Smiling as the door opens, seeing your daughter, her eyes closed shut, head resting upon the shoulder of the babysitter, who hands you her small backpack.
"How'd she do?" you ask, causing the little girl's eyes to open, immediately hearing her start to cry.
Hands reaching out for you, gladly taking her from the babysitter's arms, holding her at your hip. Resting your head atop hers, while digging into your pocket with the hand holding the backpack, finally fishing out a small wad of cash, handing the weekly payment to your babysitter.
"Thank you, I'll see you Monday," you say, receiving the same gratitude. Turning, walking down the yard of the house, exiting the small metal fence. Walking down the sidewalk, illuminated by the starting sunset, parking a little farther than usual, though not minding, knowing the ocean air will only knock her out more.
"Did you have fun today?" you ask, putting on one strap of the backpack, freeing a hand to caress up and down her back.
Hearing a small "Yeah" come from her, making you smile.
"Good, I bet you're ready for bed," you say, feeling as she nods against your cheek.
Arriving at the car, opening the backseat door, bending down and in, hand holding the back of her head. Setting your daughter in her seat, eyes refusing to open even as you dig under her for the other piece to the seat belt. Bucking her in, planting a kiss to her cheek, hearing her groan, pushing you away with her little hand.
Laughing, standing back up, softly closing the door. Walking around the car, checking the street both ways before going to the driver's door. Getting in, starting the car as quietly as you could, looking back through the rearview mirror. Breathing a sigh at her closed eyes, head unmoved from being squished against her car seat.
Every passing day, she looked more like him, keeping the memory of Andrew's face fresh in your mind even without pictures. Or the ones that showed his face, always looking away when you snap a picture, hating it being taken. Going as far as to hide a small camera within your nightstand, sneaking rare pictures of Andrew sleeping soundly next to you. Cherishing the memories of those pictures even more over the years, wishing you still had the box they were kept in.
Now all you have is her face to remember him by, bittersweetly loving the older she gets, the more you see him in her hazel eyes and reddish brown hair, messy from the long day of playing and napping. Finally putting the key into the ignition, starting the car.
Maneuvering out of the spot, driving down the road, missing the suburbs of Oceanside, the streets parked with cars holding surfboards, the smell of salt in the air, being only a few blocks from the coast. Even if this new town was a carbon copy, it wasn't the same.
Moving with Andrew's stash, far from that beautiful town, settling near a coastal town, one that hopefully Smurf would overlook if she'd ever gotten a whiff of another grandchild being born. Though having to keep the same car for a year, saving up for the one you have now, driving to the house, you had enough to buy near the water. Just like her father, needing the sound of crashing waves to fall asleep.
Slowing down once seeing the driveway of home, pulling into the small parking spot next to the stairs leading up to the porch, turning off the car. Forgetting the rearview mirror, turning to look at your daughter who's still passed out in the back seat.
Smiling at the sight, grabbing your bag from the passenger seat, popping open the driver's door. Gravel crunching underneath your feet, sliding the bag onto your shoulder, walking around the car, only to stop dead in your tracks. Staring down at the man sitting on the bottom of your long porch stairs.
Lungs unable to find air, eyes flickering over the man, watching as he stands up, the same tears building within his eyes. Seeing Andrew's lip starting to quiver, forcing your shoulder to deflate. Noticing through blurred vision as Andrew steps cautiously forward, not knowing how much unconditional love and care you still have for him. Rushing off your feet, closing the gap between you without another thought, arms wrapping around the soft man you never stopped loving.
"Where were you? Where were you?" you repeatedly cry into his shoulder, voice becoming strained with every word, leaving them to be nothing more than incoherent whines.
Tears soaking into both your shirts, shoulders shaking as your bodies fight to regulate against the years of abandonment. Threading your fingers through his short hair, getting an inhale through your nose before it clogs, crying harder as he smelled just the same, mind whirling with how everything and nothing changed.
"You left me," you whine, sounding nothing more than a squeezed breath.
Slightly pulling away, needing to see the face your mind fails to recreate every night in your dream. Cupping Andrew's freckled cheeks, thumbs wiping away the tears that come rolling at them. Gazing into the same eyes of your daughter, forcing a sob from your lips.
"She wouldn't tell me," he states, through wet lips, holding you tighter, fingers gripping your work clothes. "Smurf wouldn't tell me where you were," he clarifies, swallowing a sob.
"Where were you?" You ask, fighting to make words clear with your weak voice. Hands dropping from his face, resting at the sides of Andrew's neck, feeling his throat bob. "You disappeared on me when you promised-" the words cut off, no longer having the strength.
"I wouldn't leave you," he attempts to address, but you cut the man off.
"You did! You left me! I tried to find you, to call you! I went to your house, Smurf was there, she said you were staying with her and was selling your house." You argue, letting the words hang in the air, seeing as his face turns with realization. "I didn't fucking believe her, but I couldn't find you," you finish, taking a big breath.
Silence stung between you, witnessing his eyes flicker over your face, gears turning in his skull. "Me and Baz hit a bank that day, he drove off before I could finish. I ran, but the cops got me," he says, causing your heart to sink, eyes closing at the new information, punching yourself mentally for not thinking prison was a possibility. "I got out early yesterday," he says, bringing your lips to quiver, eyes giving what tears they could muster.
Leaning into Andrew again, resting your forehead onto his shoulder, feeling his arms squeeze around you. Whispering apologies into his shoulder, removing your hands from his neck, moving around the man in another tight hug.
"I couldn't find you at your old place, and Smurf wouldn't tell me where you lived," he explains, voice sounding nothing more than a whimper. "I had to get it out of Baz," he mumbles, making you smile, imagining how that went down.
Breaking the embrace once again, using only one hand to cup his cheek, looking into his teary eyes. "I'm just glad you found us," you say, causing Andrew to smile, then his brows to furrow, thinking on your word choice. "There's someone you should meet," you say, hand dropping from his cheek, walking out of his reach toward the car.
Opening the backseat, seeing your daughter just as passed out as you left her. Gently unbuckling the seatbelt on her chest, walking her in the process, watching as she rubs her eyes as you carefully pick her up. Sitting her on your hip, grabbing her backpack with the hand holding the keys, turning to look at Andrew.
Witnessing his throat bob, swallowing down questions, eyes flickering between you and her. Kissing her cheek before closing the car door, walking to Andrew, stopping a few feet away. Introducing your daughter, watching with difficulty as his lip quivers again, eyes never leaving his daughter's face.
"Remember when I said Papa would come home someday?" you ask, close to her ear. Nodding at your words, looking up at you, then back at Andrew. "He's home," you whisper, kissing her cheek, seeing Andrew's face as he heard it too.
Hesitating to move closer, not wanting the rejection of his own flesh and blood. Staring right at her dad, making no moves, her brain processing, connecting the man you've told her about many times to the man in front of her.
"Let's go inside and talk more," you say, walking toward the steps, taking each one slowly. Hearing Andrew follow behind, seeing from the corner of your eye your daughter looking back at her dad.
Getting to the porch, stopping at the front door, putting the house key into the lock. Opening it to your home, quickly turning on the lights, throwing the keys into a deep bowl, trusting Andrew to close the door. Walking shortly through the living room to the kitchen, turning on the light hanging over the small island, opening the fridge, getting a bottle of water, then moving to the cabinet above the bottle warmer you use on sleepless nights.
Hearing Andrew stop two steps into the room, watching you take out a bottle and formula with one hand. Continuing to give her formula into her toddler years, wanting her to get whatever nutrients it has as well as to have her full belly before bed. Sensing the many things that eat away at him in that moment, unable to ask, only able to wait until you find the words.
"I found out I was pregnant two weeks after you were arrested," you start, having to pause at the end, adding the new information to your life story.
"I got out of Oceanside after that, took the money you stashed at my place and ran. " You continue, opening the formula, putting a scoop in the bottle. "I stuck near the coast, wanting her to have some part of you and to see where she comes from, as I wasn't given any picture of you or us," you say, chest tightening, remembering the weight of the duffel bag on your feet.
Picking up the bottle of water, pouring an eye measured amount. Putting the top of the bottle on, turning to Andrew, whose eyes are still on his daughter in your arms. Shaking the bottle with a finger atop the nipple, quickly mixing the contents inside.
"How old is she?" He finally speaks, bringing a smile to your face.
"Two. Her birthday was three months ago," you state, finally handing her the bottle, kissing her cheek as she quickly starts drinking the bottle down.
Seeing her small free hand reach out toward her dad, lightly bouncing her on your hip, smiling, glancing toward Andrew. Walking toward him, leaving just enough space for him to meet her halfway, letting the two look closely at one another.
"Do you want to hold her?" you ask, gaining his eyes.
Nodding at the offer, carefully handing her off into his arms. Stiffly holding her close, both turned, looking at each other. Witnessing her little hand touch the side of his jaw, traveling up his cheek.
"She looks so much like you," you say, causing a sad smile to line his lips.
"She does," he says, shakily, glancing at you with a proud smile, then looking back to her, watching her with adoring eyes.
Reaching out to Andrew's cheek, feeling the warm surface of his face again, melting your heart. Thumb caressing the freckled skin, remembering each one, having kissed them all once.
"Andrew," you call, pulling his eyes away from her. Taking a breath, hoping with an aching heart, he gives the right answer. "Stay with us," you say, watching him nod, not having heard all of it. "No Smurf, no going back to Oceanside, only the three of us here," you state, watching as his smile slightly straightens, mind running with the life decision as your mind had once done three years ago.
"I know it's a lot, but it's the only way we can do this to give her a chance at a normal life, then the one that was given to you," you finish, feeling him lean into your hand.
"I'll stay," he confirms, nodding.
Breathing a sigh, tears burning in your eyes again, heart fluttering, impulsively leaning in, kissing Andrew's lips. Quickly kissing you back, cheeks flushing, eyes closed, mind erasing the pain of the past three years, though only for a moment.
Zipping up the second cold lunchbox, having added your sweet notes to them before they were taken off the counter. Setting them off to the side, moving on to the two drink cups, one coffee, the other juice, making sure both lids were on tight, not needing another car spill.
"You two are going to be late," you say, not having looked at the clock, needing only to rush the two out of the house. Grabbing the handle of your hot mug, taking the moment to sip the contents within it.
Hearing a set of heavy footsteps approaching, peering up from your mug, seeing the two loves of your life. Andrew, holding your daughter, who's getting too old for her dad's aging back. Setting down the mug with a smile, following them both as Andrew comes around the island.
"Sorry, we were picking between jackets," he says, prompting your eyes to your twelve-year-old, who's sitting on the forearm of her dad, looking away playfully guilty.
"I'll give you a pass today since it's your first day of seventh grade, but you need to plan your outfits the night before," you say, reaching out, tickling her side, making her squirm and giggle.
Turning back to Andrew, feeling his hand atop the bump of your belly, causing the baby within you to swim. Placing his hand over hers but turning toward the lunch boxes and drinks, picking them up.
"Your lunches," you announce, handing them out to their free hands, then the drinks.
"Are there chips in mine?" Your daughter asks, looking at her, realizing it had been directed at you.
"I don't know, your Dad packed them," you say, tucking a hair strand behind her ear.
"There is," he answers, getting a small victorious "Yes" from her.
Following the two as they turn, walking toward the front door, taking the opportunity to quickly zip the open part of her backpack that hangs from Andrew's shoulder.
Opening the door, then setting your daughter down, handing her the backpack. Moving around her dad, wrapping her arms around you, cheek pressing against your big bump. Leaning down, kissing the crown of her head, patting it down. Looking at Andrew, allowing him to lean in, getting a kiss on the lips.
Pulling away, petting your daughter's head once more, glancing at her bag, making sure everything was put together. Feeling her kiss her kicking sibling, cupping her cheek, prompting her hazel eyes to look up at you, smiling.
"Alright, have fun today, but don't go crazy, please. I can't leave the house while your brother is in my stomach," you advise her.
"No promises," she says, releasing you, dashing out the open front door.
Stealing another kiss from your husband's lips, as his hand caresses your belly. Breaking away, allowing him to bend down, kissing the hill of your pregnant belly. Fingers threading through his curls, noticing their long length. Loving the graying strands that pepper throughout it, complementing the wrinkles that start to establish themselves near his eyes.
"You need a trim," you mention, closing access to his scalp as he stands back up. "I'll cut it tonight after dinner," you say, getting a smile out of him, adoring your doting.
"Okay," he accepts, leaning in for one more kiss goodbye.
"Come on!" Hearing your daughter shout from the driveway. Laughing, breaking the kiss, playfully shoving the man toward the door. Walking out to the porch, raising a hand to your brow, blocking the morning sun from your eyes.
Watching as Andrew walks down the long staircase, meeting your daughter at the bottom, opening the car door for her. Seeing as she gets a step up, holding onto the car door, waving at you. Waving back, she finally gets in, allowing Andrew to close the door, looking at you, giving you the same wave.
Waving back just the same, seeing as Andrew disappears, walking to his side of the car. Watching as the car turns on, reverses out of the driveway, with both giving you one last wave before heading off to school and work.
Standing there even after losing sight of the car, holding your stomach, palm absorbing the kicks of the anticipated addition to your perfect family, you and Andrew worked hard to keep it together.
Breathing in, finally relaxing, all the worries and insecurities sinking into the void, no longer having a hold on you. Possessing more than everything to wake up to, loving them every second of every day, far from what you had on that front doorstep twelve years ago, having nothing.
Forgot this was supposed to be fluff halfway through writing it... whoops
Hello, I hope you enjoyed if there is any grammar mistakes or misspellings sorry about that feel free to let me know in the comments, have a great day/afternoon/night!
♥ mx-pastelwriting does not consent to their fanfiction being copied, copied & credited, translated, used in videos and/or audios, screenshotted, used in AI.
synopsis: micro twitter celebrity, yn, moves to Oceanside and meets Andrew "Pope" Cody at the bar. She's too trusting for her own good and Pope finds her demeanor hard to ignore.
warnings: mention of age gap. reader just turned 25, and is brunette. she has a popular twitter account where she tweets out her unfiltered thoughts. reader has kinks/ fetishes she talks about on her account. she is a virgin, he is not. pope is kinda vanilla but not due to the trauma from his mother (praise kink). will be slightly angsty in the future.
one | three
context: this all happens during pope’s breakdown in season three, ep 13. note that a lot of things that will happen will jump around from the actual show. pope is mentally unstable, and reader is slipping. also, ignore the dates.
tag list here .. @desperatecatgiirl @1dhoe93 @aniaphrodite @cowboylover2000 @sta4bunny
synopsis: micro twitter celebrity, yn, moves to Oceanside and meets Andrew “Pope” Cody at the bar. She’s too trusting for her own good and Pope finds her demeanor hard to ignore.
warnings: mention of age gap. reader just turned 25, and is brunette. she has a popular twitter account where she tweets out her unfiltered thoughts. reader has kinks/fetishes she talks about on her account. she is a virgin, he is not. pope is kinda vanilla but not due to the trauma from his mother (praise kink). will be slightly angsty in the future.
two
this story was in my drafts. time to let it see light!
anyways, i rlly wanted to make reader be clingy and a bit hyper. she will struggle with anxiety and attachment issues (basically the complete opposite of my jack abbot reader) and have a problem with trusting too much. Since she hasn’t done anything wrong to Pope, he keeps replying because he’s intrigued by the sudden but innocent normalcy ..
imagine you and jack are having sex; he’s fucking you nice and deep, making your toes curl, and when you’re both close to cumming, he grabs your hips and guides his fat cock against that one hypersensitive spot inside you and asks "gonna cum for me sweetheart?"
but you shake your head rapidly and say “no ,hmph”
jack thinks he’s misheard, so he asks again “come on baby , i can feel how close you are ,cum for me ,cum for jackie” but all he gets in return are your tear-filled eyes, a pouting mouth and another shake of the head.
and it’s all because a few minutes earlier he was being mean and teased you, so now you’re determined to upset him, and jack gives in straight away.
he pulls you close to his massive body and whispers into your hair how sorry he is and that "daddy will never do that again" , while his cock assaults your puffy and overstimulated pussy, making you squirt within seconds...oh i'm so wet
summary: working at the hospital morgue didn't exactly endear you to the emergency room staff, especially when you're always cracking jokes. you think Jack might be warming up to you, but are quickly proven wrong when he berates you in front of the department after an ill-timed joke.
tags/warnings: sfw just a steamy kiss, big time angst, morgue technician!reader, socially awkward reader, discussions of death and grief (seriously, a lot of talk about death and grieving), mean Jack :(, age gap (not specified, but i wrote her as being between 28-30), mean girl nurses, medical inaccuracies probably
wc: 8.9k
a/n: baby's first request!!! feeling very nervy about this one as its my first time writing angst so please be kind <3 it turned into much more of a meditation on death than i expected but i hope you enjoy the jack angst!! also please go read @nightpitt's take on this request!!! it was incredible <3 (and in the future please don't send me requests that you've sent to multiple other authors, it makes me uncomfy)
credits: gif credits to @vanillarot <3
Majorie Deacons, 83. Survived by her husband, Harold, of 62 years, her three children–Mary, Thomas, and Steven–and 10 grandchildren. Worked as a paralegal for 48 years before retiring to the Poconos with Harold. Moved back to Pittsburgh when she got sick. Died from sepsis as a result of her cancer-weakened immune system.
That was all you knew of the woman laying in front of you, her skin pale and body unnaturally still. You thought about her life as you removed her engagement and wedding ring, the crucifix pendant around her neck, the diamond bracelet around her frail wrist–all logged securely for the family to pick up at their convenience.
You thought about her life, about the 83 years she spent on this earth. Where did she grow up? Was Harold her high-school sweetheart, or did they meet in college, or a bar? Did they travel? What sights did they see, how many sunsets did they share? Did she remember exactly where she was when Kennedy was assassinated, like most older folks did? Did she like red lipstick or pink? When did her hair turn white–did she hate it or did she embrace it?
Did she feel welcomed by death, or did she fight it kicking and screaming?
83 years, such a long life and yet still not long enough for the people who loved her.
You spent a lot of time grieving people you’d never met before as a morgue technician. It was a tough job–one spent with people on the worst days of their lives. Sure, you weren’t the one responsible for saving lives–didn’t have a relationship with the patient while they were living–but sometimes you thought maybe it was worse in a way. You learned about these people from their families, from the people so deeply grieving their loved one that often all you felt was gut-wrenching sadness for the hole that now lived in these people’s hearts. You didn’t get the benefit of seeing them interact with their loved ones, didn’t get to know their personality or see their quirks. All you experienced was the grief their loss wrought, not the joy their life had created.
You liked being there for people, though. Death is not something Americans are accustomed to talking about openly, the aftermath of losing a loved one often impersonal and shrouded in mystery. Especially at the hospital, it often felt more clinical than anything else, with procedure and policy often taking center stage over the deceased.
You liked bringing a sense of humanity to the process; liked to have the families reminisce about their loved ones, liked getting to know them through the people who cherished them the most despite the deep ache it sometimes left in your chest.
You learned about Marjorie upstairs, from the family as you collected the body, and you’re looking forward to learning more about her when the family comes to collect her effects. You found that getting people to talk about the person they lost made it easier to discuss funeral and transport arrangements. You didn’t want them to feel like they were just another box to check off your to-do list.
A knock on the door pulled you from your thoughts.
“Hey, we got another one upstairs. Transport’s been taking forever tonight,” Elise, your boss, said, rolling her eyes. “They have one job: get the body from point A to point B. What gives?”
You shrugged, sighing as you finished cataloging all of Marjorie's effects. “I’ll be back soon,” you said, squeezing her hand gently before making your way to the elevators, up to the emergency department.
Transport was supposed to, well, transport the body. But they were often backed up for one reason or another, and delays in moving the body meant a valuable room remained occupied when it could otherwise be used for another patient. So, more often than not, Elise sent you up to grab the body and bring it back down for processing. It was faster that way, and often gave the family some peace knowing that their loved one wasn’t just sitting in the emergency room.
You didn’t mind, exactly. As much as you enjoyed the quiet and solitude of the mortuary, you liked peaking your head up in the ED and seeing the hustle and bustle there, the way it teemed with life as well as death, even at night.
And it didn’t hurt that the senior night shift attending was perhaps the most handsome man you’d ever laid eyes on. You’d had a crush on him since you met him, your introduction being maybe one of the most embarrassing moments of your life.
It was your first time up in the emergency department, the incessant beeping and constant chatter a stark difference to the quiet morgue–if people were talking down there, something was seriously wrong.
You’d been taken on a brief tour by the charge nurse, Lena, who gave you a rundown of the transport procedure. You met a few of the residents, Dr. Ellis and Dr. Crus, and a handful of nurses, all of whom seemed nice enough.
But you almost stopped dead in your tracks when you met the kind hazel eyes of the graying, curly-haired man standing at the nurses station.
“And this is Dr. Abbot, senior night shift attending. You’ll need his or Dr. Shen’s signature whenever you transport a body,” Lena introduced you, “Dr. Abbot, this is the new morgue technician. She graciously offered to help with transport.”
You held your hand out, brain nearly turning to mush when he shook it. His palm was rough, calloused from many years of working with his hands, and unbelievably warm. His hand also dwarfed yours, which sent a tingle down your spine.
“New morgue technician?” he asked, “Well, no offense, but I hope we don’t see you too much around here,” he joked with an easy smile on his face.
“I guess that remains to be seen,” you said, and followed it up with a ‘ba dum tss’ sound effect and finger guns. Yes, you really did that.
The joke didn’t land; they never did. Jack cocked his head to the side, an almost-smile gracing his lips, and shot you an inquisitive look, like he was trying to figure you out.
His intense stare made your cheeks heat and your tummy swirl. You weren’t sure if you were aroused or uncomfortable, or some combination of both.
You couldn’t get out of there sooner.
It felt like you could never get your foot out of your mouth when Jack Abbot was around. And so the cycle began: get called up to retrieve a body, make an ill-timed joke, embarrass the hell out of yourself, and return back to the safety of the morgue as quickly as possible.
You never made jokes in front of patients or families; you knew that it was something strictly reserved for your peers, people you thought understood the challenges you all face in healthcare–and deathcare.
You weren’t sure why it seemed physically impossible for you not to use humor as a defense mechanism. Part of it was the nature of your job–gallows humor was a coping mechanism you latched onto and couldn’t seem to shake off. It was the same way some people laughed when they were nervous or panicked–a reaction to pent up emotions and stress that manifested as humor instead of as tears.
But you’d also always been like this, trying to diffuse uncomfortable situations with humor instead of meeting them head on, or making a joke at your own expense before someone else could. It hurt less that way, if you could subvert something painful into something lighthearted.
You’d always been admonished for it, by your parents, friends, partners. Had been told that it was inappropriate and that you were too crass, too loud, too much. Which was probably true. It confused you, though, how some people did bond over humor, in the occasional callousness of it, when you were criticized for it. That was something you’d never been able to work out, how it was always wrong when you did it; why you’d never been able to bond with people the same way others did. Well, there was a reason you worked the night shift at a morgue, after all.
You pushed those thoughts away and instead tried to talk yourself up as you stood in the elevator, willing yourself not to be weird.
“Hey, Lena, heard you got another customer for me?” you grinned at her, leaning against the nurses station.
“Sure do, sweets. Her name is Cary West,” she replied with a soft smile. Lena, at least, seemed to like you. Beggars couldn’t be choosers.
She pointed you to the correct room, where Mateo was cleaning up the body. You stood silently as he finished, taking a moment to honor the person they were and the people they’re leaving behind. These moments always felt weird–liminal, in a way. No longer a patient, but not yet ready for the funeral home–they were entrusted in your care in the meantime.
There was no family in the room, which wasn’t abnormal for night shift. Folks had gone home, to sleep or cry or do whatever else one does to process the grief. You always hope you’ll meet the family of the deceased, but you’re not holding on hope on this one. It was 4am, the family would likely be back during the day to take care of funeral arrangements and Ms. West would be long gone by then. Still, though, you thought about her life, her wants, her dreams–tried to insert some humanity where it had been lost.
“Sorry you had to come back up so soon, I know you just got down there with Ms. Deacons,” Mateo said quietly, pulling the sheet over her head.
“Oh no worries, I don’t mind. It's not like she’s gonna talk my ear off.”
He just shook his head at your joke, unimpressed and unamused.
“Looks like Dr. Abbot is at the nurses station. C’mon, and we’ll get the transfer paperwork signed,” he said, holding the door open for you to push the gurney through.
Dr. Abbot looked worn out. His eyes were tired, and the kind smile he usually sported was replaced by a slight frown and a furrow between his brows. His shoulders were drawn up tight, the tension built up there almost looking painful. It must have been a rough night.
You greeted him with a soft smile, and handed over the clipboard for his signature, which he promptly filled out.
He handed you the clipboard before turning his attention back to the gurney. His jaw was clenched tight, a pained look on his face as he squeezed Ms. West’s hand peeking out from the blanket.
“Treat her well for us, please,” he said, voice hoarse.
“Always do, I wouldn’t want to know what the reaper-cussions would be if I didn’t,” you joked before you could think better of it, cringing internally at your lack of tact.
There was a split second of silence, the tension simmering hotly before fully boiling over.
“Jesus fucking christ, can you be serious for one fucking second? This is a hospital, not a fucking comedy club. There are people grieving here. You need to learn to be an adult and keep your fucknig mouth shut,” he boomed, his face red and chest heaving.
He was looming over you now as he spit out, “get the fuck out of my ED.”
Your ears were ringing. You weren’t sure if the department had actually fallen silent or if you’d just temporarily lost the ability to hear.
You couldn’t breathe, oxygen not flowing properly into your lungs. It felt like you’d been punched in the gut, all the air sucked out and replaced with lead.
“S-sorry,” you stuttered out, cheeks burning and throat closing in on itself. Tears were building up quickly in your eyes, but you weren’t going to cry in front of these people; you weren’t going to give them the satisfaction.
You gripped the edge of the gurney and pushed ahead, desperate to get out of there as fast as humanly possible. No one stopped you, no one offered any apologies or sympathies, just watched your humiliated form disappear into the elevator.
The minute the elevator doors closed the tears fell, the hot trails burning your face as you tried to conceal your sobs.
“I’m s-sorry, Ms. West, I shouldn’t be crying like this. I don’t really have much to be upset about in comparison,” you apologized to the corpse, feeling guilty for being so upset when you were literally transporting a dead woman.
You managed to calm yourself down before you reached the morgue. You didn’t want to explain what happened to Elise, didn’t want to recount every embarrassing detail that was already replaying in your head.
You soothed yourself with routine, with the repetitive motions of logging personal effects, filling out reports, and contacting the funeral home to make arrangements.
By the time 7AM rolled around, you were more than ready to get the hell out of there.
The sun is blinding against your puffy eyes. The past two days were a blur, mostly spent crying and replaying the incident over and over. You called out of work, citing a stomach bug. Which wasn’t all that untrue–the thought of encountering anyone in the hospital did make you feel violently ill.
You had already put in for a transfer to day shift, feigning some excuse about your school schedule changing. You couldn’t wait to finish your studies and officially become a mortician. You’d leave the hospital and start your own business, helping people through the grieving and burial process in your own way.
And maybe you’d never have to see Jack Abbot ever again. The thought was as relieving as it was devastating, because you liked him. And you were starting to think maybe he liked you too–at least as a friend or acquaintance.
It was a slow night, which you were thankful for. It meant there weren’t any bodies in the morgue–that there weren’t any deaths so far tonight. So you weren’t too bent out of shape when you got shipped up to the ED to collect a body.
You found Dr. Abbot quickly, signed the necessary paperwork, and wheeled the body out to central.
“Thanks for picking up, I don’t know what the hell’s going on with transpo tonight,” he said.
“Don’t worry about it, we’re actually empty right now. There’s no body there,” you said, a cheeky grin crossing your lips.
And Jack laughed. A full-on, deep-throated laugh. It was one of the most beautiful sounds you’d ever heard. Your chest swelled with pride, and all you could think about was making him do it again.
He shook his head at you, smile still lingering on his face, “what makes a girl like you want to work night shift at the morgue?”
“Girl like me?” you asked coyly, raising your eyebrow at him.
He assessed you, eyes flitting over your face, “yeah, young, smart… pretty.”
You flushed at that, your body getting all warm and tingly, “well, I’m not a mourning person, for one,” you joked, earning another laugh from Jack.
“I, uh, I’m in school for mortuary science,” you continued, giving him a real answer, “I want to be a mortician when I’m done.”
“That’s… admirable,” he said, “you don’t get the glory of saving lives but you do get all the dirty work. Good for you.”
Jack’s attention made you feel like you were on fire–like a white hot ball of flame that would spread given the littlest bit of ammunition. His stare was brazen, unapologetic–you couldn’t look away if you tried.
You cleared your throat, breaking some of the tension, “I guess I should probably get him downstairs,” you said, gesturing to the gurney in front of you.
“I’ll walk you to the elevator,” Jack said, moving to stand by your side. He rested his hand on the small of your back as he guided you to the elevators. The touch was electrifying–you could feel the warmth radiating from him through the layers of scrubs. He was close enough now that you could smell the warm amber of his cologne mixed with his own musky scent. You felt dizzy, and all you wanted to do was press yourself against him, to nestle yourself in the crook of his neck and inhale.
He pressed the button for the elevator when you arrived and helped you wheel the gurney in.
“It was good seein’ you, pretty girl,” he said, and just as the elevator doors were closing, he winked at you.
You were surprised you didn’t turn into a puddle right then and there.
Your chest twisted at the memory. Maybe that’s why his words hurt so much–why they’d sunk into the marrow of your bones, confirming that he thought as lowly of you as you already thought of yourself. He’d given you hope, shown you kindness where no one else in the ED had.
It was stupid, anyway. Thinking that a man like Jack Abbot could feel anything other than disdain for someone like you. Of course the hot, older, accomplished attending wouldn’t want anything to do with the awkward morgue technician.
Every time you thought about it, your heart ached, a dull pang ringing through your chest and reverberating through your body. Tears pooled in your eyes at the mere thought of the incident. It felt like you were back in high school, asking Alex Williams to the school dance just to have him laugh in your face and say he wasn’t going to go with a freak.
You couldn’t dwell on it, though. You had a job to do, bills to pay. You could only hope that day shift was better, or that you could whip yourself into shape and keep your comments to yourself.
“Jesus, why is the body in north 2 still there?” Jack asked, eyes trained on the board ahead of him. Wait times were astronomical and chairs was full to the brim–the sooner they moved the deceased out, the sooner they could move a new patient in.
“Not sure, I called transpo an hour ago, but you know how concerned they are with being timely,” Lena responded.
“What about the morgue? Why haven’t they sent anyone to collect the body?”
Lena looked at him over the top of her glasses, an unimpressed look on her face.
“Oh, you mean that sweet girl who helps us out by transporting bodies when transpo is dicking around? The one you screamed at in front of the entire department? Gosh, I can’t think of a reason she’s not chomping at the bit to come up here,” she deadpanned, fixing Jack with a glare. “Last I heard she switched to day shift. Said she had some personal schedule conflicts, but I think we both know that’s not true.”
Jack winced, guilt coursing through him. He hadn’t meant to make such a scene, to be so cruel. It had just been such a monumentally horrible day, his chest wound so tight and hackles raised that your little joke set him off. It was stupid, too, because Jack had easily made far worse jokes at far more inappropriate times.
It could have easily been anyone else that he snapped at, would have been, if you weren’t there. But you were, and so you bore the brunt of his wrath.
He’d be lying if he said he hadn’t been replaying the look on your face, the way it crumpled and tears welled up in your pretty eyes. He remembered how your breath hitched, how you shrunk in on yourself and ran away as fast as you could.
It made his chest ache to think about. He wanted to find you, to apologize, but he thought he might just make it worse. And selfishly, he wasn’t sure he was ready for the conversation that would ensue. He assumed he’d see you up here at some point, where he could take you aside and beg for forgiveness–he didn’t think you’d rearrange your entire work schedule just to avoid seeing him.
He wasn’t sure why he acted so indifferently toward you. Or rather, he did–he just didn’t want to acknowledge the way you made him feel. You made him feel giddy–made his face warm and his heart race, like a teenage boy flirting with a pretty girl for the first time. He briefly tried flirting with you, but he was pretty sure you were oblivious to it–either that or you didn’t feel the same. He was hoping for the former.
He hadn’t felt this way about someone since he started dating his wife. Frankly, it made him uncomfortable to think about, made him feel like he was betraying her in some way. He knew that wasn’t true, knew that his wife would want him to be happy, but he just couldn’t shake the feeling.
He’d been talking about it with his therapist, trying to cope with these feelings–trying to get up the courage to ask you out.
And the kicker was he was going to, he was getting bolder, complimenting you and finding any excuse to, respectfully, put his hands on you. And now he’s fucked it all up.
“Shit,” he muttered, scrubbing his hands down his face.
“Yeah, shit. I suggest you take your ass down there and apologize. Properly.”
“Yeah, yeah, I’ll handle it,” he said absent-mindedly, already wracking his brain for the right words to say to you.
The change to day shift was brutal. Your body wasn’t used to waking up when you were supposed to be going to bed, and vice versa. You were also working less hours to accommodate your school schedule, which was the reason you were on night shift to begin with. But you took it in stride the best you could. Lemonade out of lemons, and all that.
You’d been up to the ED a couple times since the incident, feeling as awkward as ever even though most of them weren’t on shift when Dr. Abbot berated you. You covered day shift a few times, so you weren’t completely unfamiliar with the staff. Dr. Robby seemed nice enough, though you never stuck around long enough to build rapport. It was in and out from now on, speaking as little as you could before you retreated back to the morgue.
You wished you could flat out refuse to go up there, but you didn’t want to punish innocent people just waiting for a bed. The sooner you got the bodies to the morgue, the sooner someone else could be seen by a doctor.
Right now, though, you were sat at your desk, filling out log reports and finishing up paperwork before you inevitably got another body. It was monotonous work, yes, but calming in a way. The mindless action gave your brain a break between decedents–gave you a chance to mourn the person and compartmentalize it away before it ate away at you.
You faintly heard the door at the end of the hall open and close, and assumed Elise was taking her lunch break.
That is, until you heard a painfully familiar voice call out, “Hello? Anybody in here?”
Oh no, why is he here? Attendings rarely visited the morgue–usually only if there was a particularly complex cause of death that they wanted to further examine. But there were no such cases right now, the only bodies currently in custody being a run of the mill STEMI and a GSW to the head–both pretty self-explanatory.
And the night shift hadn’t started yet, the clock reading 5:34pm. There’s no plausible reason for Jack Abbot to be down here right now.
His steps were getting louder–he was almost at your office now.
You panicked. That is the only explanation you have for scrambling up from your desk and darting into the small storage closet to your left. You pressed yourself against the wall to the side, out of view of the frosted glass window. Was this the mature course of action? Absolutely not. But you weren’t sure you could handle seeing him right now. You hadn’t seen him since the incident, had done everything in your power to avoid any and all interactions.
He called out again, and you could see his silhouette standing in the doorway of your office.
Eyes closed, you took deep breaths to try and calm your rapidly beating heart. Hopefully he’d see the empty room and take his leave quickly.
It was quiet, and for a moment you thought he’d left until–knock knock.
“I could be crazy, but I’m pretty sure I heard someone stumble into this closet and slam the door shut,” he said, a hint of amusement in his tone.
You didn’t answer, hoping maybe you could convince him he was crazy.
The doorknob rattled, and you instinctively grabbed it, pulling it with all the force you could muster to keep it closed. You weren’t sure why–surely he was much stronger than you and could rip the door open if he really wanted to. And god, why was thinking about how strong he was making you flustered?
It’s not that you were scared of him, you were just… woefully unprepared for this conversation. Despite ruminating over the incident itself, you hadn’t actually pictured a scenario where you’d ever speak to him again. Hadn’t had time to go over it a million times in your head, coming up with the best comeback and constructing the perfect barb to lodge in his soft underbelly, the way he’d done to you.
He sighed, resting his forehead against the glass. “Look, I just wanted to apologize for the other day, if you’ll give me the chance.”
You chewed on the inside of your cheek, considering. You’re not sure that an apology will do much for you, not sure that it’ll quell the pit in your stomach that’s opened and doesn’t show any sign of closing.
You nodded to yourself anyway, letting out a quiet, “go ahead.”
He chucked lightly, “face-to-face, if you don’t mind.”
Damn him, you groaned internally. Taking a deep breath, you slowly opened the door. Jack stood opposite you, hands tucked into the pockets of his scrubs. You crossed your arms and fixed your gaze on your scuffed up shoes, the thought of looking him in the eye daunting and exciting at the same time.
He let out a deep breath, “I’m really sorry for how I acted the other night. It was an exceptionally shitty night, and it wasn’t your fault but I took it out on you when I shouldn’t have.”
You nodded, appreciated the effort it took to come down here and apologize. It did little to soothe your bruised heart, though. There was still a painful twinge in your chest, his words having already wormed their way into your brain and confirmed every worst thought you had about yourself.
“Thank you, Dr. Abbot, apology accepted,” you said curtly, moving past him to get back to your desk.
He stopped you, his hand resting on the bare skin just above your elbow. Goosebumps prickled against your skin from the roughness of his palm. You hated how your body craved more, how you wanted him to slide his hand up to your neck, tilt your head back and kiss you. Traitor.
He sighed, rubbing a hand over his jaw, “that woman that night, the one you picked up, she died of ovarian cancer,” he said. He looked conflicted, eyes flinty and mouth twisted to the side like he was warring with himself as he bit out the next words, “that’s how–my wife–she died of ovarian cancer.”
Oh. You didn’t know that, didn’t even know he had a wife. Your eyes drifted to his left hand and saw the slightly lighter patch of skin there. Your heart ached and your defenses softened just a tad at the revelation. You could only imagine what it would feel like to lose a patient in the same manner you lost the person closest to you, could imagine the ugly emotions it would pull out of you. It didn’t make what he said okay, but you understood the circumstances that led him to say it.
“And before that we had a kid who died from drowning, and a couple close calls, and a bunch of Dr. Google bullshit. And your joke was just… the straw that broke the camel’s back. But I shouldn’t have taken it out on you, not like that and not in front of everybody. That wasn’t fair to you, and I’m truly sorry,” he said, and you could feel the sincerity dripping from his words. His eyes were soft and pleading as he looked at you, and once again you found yourself unable to look away.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t know that–about your wife,” you said softly, not wanting to make it any more painful than it already was, “and I’m sorry about the joke. I know it’s not appropriate, and I’ve been trying to stop, but you know how hard it is to quit unhealthy coping mechanisms,” a small smile lifting the corner of your lips.
He shook his head, “please don’t, you have nothing to apologize for. Gallows humor is how we all get by; I can’t tell you how many off-color jokes I’ve told in my day. It was really the pot calling the kettle black, if I'm being honest,” he said, “If it wasn’t you who set me off, it would’ve been Ellis or Shen, or some other unsuspecting person. I promise you it had so much more to do with me than it did with you.”
You nodded, accepting his explanation. You felt a little lighter, a little less burdened by his words.
“I’d like to make it up to you, if you’ll let me,” he said, “maybe coffee or dinner, if you’re up for it?”
You shook your head, “That’s really not necessary, Dr. Abbot. I meant it, I accept your apology, you don’t have to do anything else.”
He nodded at that, looking a little deflated but otherwise satisfied that you’d accepted his apology.
Jack felt the need to make it up to you anyway.
It started with coffee after his shift ended. The first time, he brought you the most insane coffee order you’d ever seen–a mocha cappuccino with 5 extra shots of espresso, pistachio syrup, vanilla cold foam, caramel AND white mocha drizzle, and salted caramel topping–a monstrosity borne from a recommendation from the woman ahead of him in line. You’re not sure how you didn’t immediately get cavities in all of your teeth.
You couldn’t lie, though, the fact that he made the effort to go out and get coffee after his 12 hour shift was endearing, and once you gave him your coffee order, he got it right each and every time.
It became routine over the next month for Jack to bring you coffee, and even though you didn’t have much time to talk in the morning, you began looking forward to the 10-15 minutes of conversation you shared with him each morning. You never discussed what this was, if it meant anything or if it was just a kind gesture between friends. You certainly hoped it meant something, but you weren’t going to get your hopes up.
You were catching up on paperwork when his text came through.
Jack: Can’t make it for coffee this morning, sweetheart, how about I bring you lunch later?
Your cheeks heated at the pet name. He hadn’t called you that before, and you hoped you weren’t reading into it.
You: sounds great, see you later :)
You spend the morning counting down the minutes until Jack showed up. It only slightly hindered your progress on your paperwork, your mind only occasionally wandering off to think about his pretty pink lips.
It’s noon before you know it, and someone’s rapping their knuckles on the door frame to your office.
“Knock, knock,” Jack said, shooting you a smile as he walked over to your desk. He set down a truly alarming amount of food. You laughed as he took out container after container, the sack resembling a clown car more than a fast food bag.
“I wasn’t sure what you liked, so I got a variety,” he said, a little bashfully, “you can take home whatever’s left for dinner or lunch tomorrow.”
You selected what you wanted from the smorgasbord he presented you with, and settled into the chair next to him.
It was a little awkward at first. Most of the conversations you’d had with him up to this point were pretty surface level. Even your coffee chats were light-hearted affairs that didn’t really go deeper than what you did over the weekend.
But Jack didn’t let it stay awkward for long, as if he knew that once you started talking, he’d be hard-pressed to get you to stop.
“So, I realized that despite our coffee talks, I don’t really know that much about you. How long have you been a mortuary tech?”
“About a year and a half. I got the job after I started school for mortuary science. Before that I taught for a little bit, but I didn’t really like it and I don’t think I was much good at it. I was a bartender for a long time too.”
“So what made you make the jump to mortuary school?”
“I studied anthropology in college and death culture always really fascinated me, especially the way different cultures deal with grief and the burial process. America is so sanitized, so averse to looking at death straight on. We think death needs to be palatable, that the deceased need to look exactly as they did in life to avoid accepting the fact that our bodies are fundamentally different after death–that they are on their way to being absorbed back into the earth.
“I think the way we treat people in death is just as important as how we treat them in life. To some people, that person on the table is just an assemblage of bones and flesh, but to others that was a friend, a mother or daughter, father or son. And I figured as a mortician, I’d be in a position to offer families the kind of support that helps them work through their grief, not just hide it behind pretty floral arrangements.”
You felt a little shy at the rapt expression on Jack’s face. He was giving you his undivided attention, listening intently to every word that came out of your mouth. You’re not sure any man has ever listened to you as attentively as he was now. Yes, the bar was in hell, but it didn’t make it any less hot.
“Sorry, that was a lot, I didn’t mean to info dump on you,” you said sheepishly.
He shook his head, “Please info dump, I could listen to you talk all day,” he said honestly, “do you want to continue working at the hospital when you’re done or do you want to start your own practice?”
“I don’t think I’ll stay here. I mean, I like helping people through the immediate grief, but I think I just want to help grieving families lay their loved ones to rest in a way that honors the life they lived. I don’t care about selling fancy caskets or high-dollar cemetery plots, I just want to narrow it down to what really matters to preserving and celebrating the individual that was lost.”
Jack nodded, “I don’t remember a lot about planning my wife’s funeral–Robby helped a lot with that–but I do remember it being really… almost commercial, in a way? Like, ‘do you want cedar or oak for the coffin? Do you want the casket lined in silk or velvet?’” he said, laughing bitterly, “like it was a fashion show or something, not the vessel my wife was going to be buried in. I couldn’t give less of a fuck what the damn thing was lined in.”
You laid your hand on top of his, giving it a comforting squeeze as he continued. It made your heart swell that he felt comfortable enough to talk about his wife with you.
“I mean, they were very compassionate, but it always felt like a business–which I get, we’re a capitalist society, but that’s not exactly what you want to feel when you’re burying someone,”
You nodded, “that’s probably the thing that bothers me the most about this industry. Sometimes it seems like profit is the priority, and the real, hurting people come second.”
Jack just looked at you with soft eyes, the wrinkles around his eyes crinkling as he smiled at you. He turned your hand over in his, tracing the lines of your palm with his thumb.
“I think you’re going to be an amazing mortician,” he said, without an ounce of amusement or teasing, just pure honesty. “I think you’re exactly the kind of person that people want around them when they're going through the worst days of their lives.”
You couldn’t help the tears that pricked at the corners of your eyes. It was the kindest thing someone had said to you about your career path, except maybe Elise. And it was nice to shed happy tears over something Jack Abbot said instead of embarrassed ones.
You talked long after your lunch break was over, but Elise was out and you didn’t have any pressing work to get to at the moment, so you figured there was no harm, no foul.
But eventually he had to leave to get ready for his shift, and you did have work to do, though you’d gladly forsake it for a few more minutes with him.
You got up to dispose of your trash and walked him to the door.
“Lunch was really nice,” he murmured, resting his hand on your arm, right above your elbow.
Your breath hitched at the contact and goosebumps prickled up and down your arms. You gaze was locked on his, unable to look away, “yeah, I really enjoyed it,” you said breathily, your heart already racing.
He moved closer, settling his hands on your waist, and backed you up slowly until the back of your knees hit your desk.
You leaned back against your desk, widening your stance to allow Jack to step between your legs. His body was warm against you, his hands running up and down your sides soothingly.
“Is this okay, sweetheart?” he asked, his hand coming up to cradle your jaw. You could feel his breath against your lips, so close but still so far away.
You nodded, a pathetic mewl leaving your lips without permission. It was embarrassing how badly you wanted to kiss this man.
He pressed closer, his lips just barely grazing yours, his nose slightly bumping your cheek. You wrapped your arms loosely around his neck, eyes fluttering shut as you moved to close the miniscule distance between your lips–
CLANG!
The door down the hall slammed shut, and hurried footsteps approached your office.
You nearly jumped out of your skin and stumbled back onto the desk, out of Jack’s grasp. He seemed just as shocked, his hand clutching his chest in surprise.
A second later Elise came rushing into the room, saying something about a mass casualty event and how you needed to make as much room down here as you could to prepare for the inevitable. You nodded, turning to Jack to apologize, but he beat you to it.
“Shit, I gotta go, sweetheart, they’re probably gonna call all-hands-on-deck,” he said, a genuinely mournful look on his face.
“Yeah, of course. I hope it’s not too bad,” you said, equally as disappointed, but understanding. Duty calls.
He wrapped you up in a tight hug, your cheek resting against his firm chest. You closed your eyes and allowed yourself to savor his embrace for a moment before he had to go.
“We’ll finish this later, yeah?” he asked against your hair, his hand rubbing circles on your back.
You smiled against his chest and nodded, “yes, please.”
He pulled away and planted a chaste kiss to your cheek before heading out.
“What was that all about?” Elise questioned, raising her eyebrows at you.
You didn’t say anything–your hot cheeks and dopey grin were worth a thousand words.
You were called up to the ED several times, each time worse than the last by the looks of the staff. It still felt a little awkward being in the emergency department. Even though most of the people here weren’t on shift when Jack yelled at you, it still felt like the department went still when you walked in, people stopping and staring like you were some sideshow circus freak.
You were back up here collecting yet another soul, waiting for someone to sign off on the transfer. It seemed like things had calmed down, the worst of it over now. You were lost in thought at the nurses station, picking at the skin around your nails anxiously.
You hoped Jack would be the one to come over and sign the paperwork–hoped you’d catch another glimpse of him before your shift was over. All you could think about all day was that almost-kiss you shared with him. You couldn’t help the smile that made its way onto your face every time you thought about it, which meant you basically had a permanent grin affixed to your face.
You’re only pulled out of your thoughts by the sound of hushed voices to your left. You glanced over and saw two nurses you didn’t recognize taking a break and engaging in some friendly workplace gossip. Or so you thought.
“–so happy about?” a nurse whispered incredulously.
“Probably daydreaming about Dr. Abbot,” another said, her tone most likely accompanied by an eye roll.
“God, when is she going to get a grip? Her fawning over him is not cute.”
“Yeah, I think he just doesn’t know how to let her down… I mean when he yelled at her she changed her whole schedule, he probably feels guilty.”
“True. Maybe she’ll realize how embarrassing it is to be so down bad for a man she has no chance with.”
You stopped listening after that, crestfallen and heartbroken all over again. The illusion of the past month shattered and the feelings from before came roaring back full force.
Your chest twisted painfully–like someone had grabbed ahold of your heart and squeezed, the squishy flesh bulging between their fingers. Your throat ached, tears surely not far behind.
You knew you shouldn’t put too much stock in what these two random nurses were saying. You knew that they likely had no idea what they were talking about, that they were just mean girls blowing off steam and you seemed to be the target of it–like always.
But there was the little gremlin in the back of your brain, the one that told you everything they said was true. That Jack just felt guilty, that he was making himself feel better for the way he treated you. Insecurity wrapped itself around you like a vise, squeezing around you like a boa constrictor, until it was the only thing you could feel.
And that almost-kiss? Well, he was a man, after all. Maybe he was just overcome with the physical urge to kiss you, get in your pants if he could. But he wasn’t that kind of man, was he? You didn’t want to think so, but all rational thought was obscured by the hurt blooming in your chest that you couldn’t be sure.
You startled at the hand on your shoulder. You looked up to see Dr. Robby standing there, brows furrowed in concern. Squeaking out an apology, you handed him the transfer paperwork.
“I called your name three times, you okay?” he asked, flipping through the pages and signing where appropriate.
“Fine,” you smiled, not trusting your voice not to break.
He looked skeptical, but didn’t push.
“Alright, all done. Hopefully that’ll be it, at least from the mass cas,” he said, handing back the paperwork. “We have a trauma counsellor available if you need to talk to someone,” he said before backing away to move onto the next patient.
You chuckled at that. Of course he thought you were troubled by the amount of death that occurred today. But no, here you were, post mass casualty, and you were more concerned about a man than you were about the people that had died tonight. How fucked up were you?
Jack showed up with coffee the next morning like usual, setting the paper cup down on your desk, “here you go, sweetheart.”
“Thank you,” you said without looking up from your paperwork. You tasted acid in your throat, the words from the nurses station echoing in your head in an ugly cacophony. You’d memorized them by heart over the past 12 hours, twisting and turning in bed as they invaded your mind against your will.
He just doesn’t know how to let her down.
He probably feels guilty.
Her fawning over him is not cute.
You cleared your throat, “you really don’t have to do this anymore, you know,” you said nonchalantly, like it wasn’t tearing your heart out to say.
He was quiet for a moment. “I know… I do it because I want to, because I like spending time with you,” he said, head cocked and brow furrowed.
“Sure,” you muttered under your breath.
“What was that?”
You sighed and set your pen down, shifting your full attention to him, “I’m just saying you don’t have to prostrate yourself in front of me because you feel guilty, Jack. You’ve done your penance, if that’s all this is. You’re forgiven, no hard feelings.”
Your throat was tight, but your voice didn’t waver. You blinked back tears furiously as he stared at you, mouth agape. He looked a little more disheveled than usual, his eyes tired and the lines on his face a little more pronounced, like he’d been frowning all night. Obviously, he worked like 16 hours last night. You felt another wave of guilt rush over you–he was wasting his much needed rest time to come placate you.
He crossed his arms, shaking his head in confusion, “What the hell are you talking about? Where is this coming from?”
You stood up and started behind your desk, feeling restless and hurt and foolish.
“You just–you don’t have to hang around me because you feel bad or something,” you said, “you’ve more than apologized. I just wish you didn’t make me feel like–like…” you trailed off, ragged breaths tearing through your chest. It was getting harder to force the words out, tears falling down your cheeks in earnest now.
“Like what?”
“Like this means something!” you choked out. God, you felt so silly. Aw, is someone upset that their crush doesn’t like them back?
He looked at you in disbelief, “It does mean something,” he said, rounding your desk and stopping in front of you–effectively ceasing your pacing.
“Please don’t lie to me,” you hiccuped, your bottom lip trembling violently, “I know I’m too much, I know no one at the Pitt likes me–you don’t have to pretend you do.” You fixed your gaze to the floor–you didn’t think you could handle the pitying look that was undoubtedly in his eyes.
“Hey, hey, look at me,” he said, cupping your face between his large hands. You tried to wiggle away, but his grip was unwavering–he wasn’t going to let you look away from him. He brushed away your tears, “I don’t know what ideas you’ve gotten into that pretty little head of yours, but if you think I’m anything but smitten with you, you’re dead wrong.”
You laughed weakly, “who’s making bad jokes now?”
He didn’t take the bait, didn’t let you deflect from the topic at hand. He pinned you with his eyes, his gaze steady as he delivered his next words.
“I’m serious. I need you to know that I’m being honest with you when I say this: I’ve been scared for a long time to make a move on you, and I’m not letting anything–not even you–get in the way now, okay?
“I’ve liked you for a while now, pretty girl. You’re the best part of my day, the only thing keepin’ me going some days. I love your smile, your laugh, the way your face lights up when you talk about something you’re passionate about. I love the way you care about people, alive and dead, and I love your jokes, even if they can be a little off color.
“And I can’t tell you how much I regret how I treated you. The only silver lining is that it kicked my ass into gear, made me realize I’ve been an idiot for waiting so long to make you mine. You’re not too much, and even if you were, I’d want more–I want everything you’re willing to give me.”
You almost couldn’t comprehend the words coming out of his mouth, but he was nothing but sincere. His eyes pleaded with you to believe him, to give him a chance–and you desperately wanted to.
“You mean that?” you asked, gnawing at your lip anxiously. You didn’t want to get your hopes up just to have them crushed again.
“With all my heart,” he said, grabbing your hand and placing it over his heart. It was racing just as fast as yours was. “This is how I feel every time I see you, sweetheart. Feel like I should be hooked up to a monitor sometimes,” he joked.
“I…I like you too. I have since the day I met you. But I’m scared,” you swallowed thickly, voice small as you finished, “I don’t want to get hurt.”
“I know, sweetheart, I am too. It’s been a long time since I’ve done this–haven’t since my wife–and I don’t want to fuck it up. We’re in this together, as long as you’ll have me,”
“I want you,” you whispered, placing your hand on the side of his neck tentatively.
He grabbed your waist and backed you up against your desk, replicating your previous position from yesterday.
“Can I kiss you now, sweetheart? Haven’t been able to stop thinking about it since we were interrupted,” he asked, thumb stroking your cheek.
You nodded, “me either,” you said, heart pounding as he leaned in.
His lips were soft when they met yours. It was tentative–just a slow, gentle press of his lips against yours, like he was trying to maintain some level of decorum.
He started to pull back, and you whined at the loss of contact. You fisted your hands in his scrub top and pulled him back in, your mouths meeting in an uncoordinated mash of teeth. He chuckled against you, “greedy girl,” he murmured, steadying your head in his hands and deepening the kiss.
He tamped down your eagerness but didn’t erase any of the heat building between you–just kept you right where he wanted you. His tongue swiped across your bottom lip and you readily opened your mouth for him, desperate to taste him. He licked into your mouth, tongue hot as it tangled with yours. You were greedy, sucking and lapping and nipping at his tongue and lips, getting messy with it and thoroughly forgetting where you were and how inappropriate a setting this was.
You were like horny teenagers, hands grabbing at whatever bits of flesh they could reach, tangling in each other’s hair, and moaning louder than was appropriate.
When you finally pulled back, you were both gasping for air, chests heaving against each other. Jack rested his forehead against yours as he caught his breath. You didn’t want to waste another moment not kissing him, though, so you began peppering his face with kisses–to his nose, cheeks, chin, wherever you could reach.
He laughed at the onslaught, craning his head to the side to give you access to his neck, which you happily latched onto, “you’re insatiable, aren’t you?”
“I guess you’ll have to find out,” you replied as you pulled away, biting your lip and batting your eyelashes at him.
He shook his head fondly at you, “Now, as much as I’d like to do very, very inappropriate things to you right now, I came here this morning planning to ask you out to dinner. Would you allow me to ask you out properly now, sweetheart? Let me be a gentleman?” he asked, thumbs stroking your jaw.
You nodded, still dizzy from his kiss–still reeling from the fact that Jack actually liked you.
“Would you please make me the happiest man in the world, and accompany me to dinner at Altius tomorrow night at 7?”
“I’d love to,” you grinned, pulling him in for another kiss.
“And after, we'll see just how insatiable you are.”
A/N: shoutout to my fellow anthropology majors lol glad that my degree is coming in handy for something cause its certainly not a job
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