â He punishes you by pleasing himself right in front of you when you have misbehaved, not letting you touch him even for a second.
â Loves to indulge in wax play, letting the hot wax drip onto your sensitive skin, calls it 'feeling the fire of the dragon.'
â He will just edge you for a long time, bringing you close to your release and then stopping. Because he can last a while, he enjoys driving you crazy by bringing you right to the brink of orgasm and then making you wait, ensuring you climax together for a more intense experience.
â He loves to praise you when he's in one of his softer moods: 'My perfect wife,' 'That's it, stay like that for me, my sweet,' 'You're doing exactly what I wanted.'
â He's a big fan of clear instructions because what Daemon wants, Daemon gets: 'Keep your eyes on mine' 'Hold still' 'Ask properly.'
â Is addicted to the way you gasp when he wraps his hand around your throat, lightly putting pressure with the pads of his fingers.
â Groans, moans, whimpers, there's never a moment when he's quiet.
â He devours your pussy like he owns it :), like a man starved. The wet spit runs down his chin, making a beautiful mess all over your thighs.
â Daemon is obsessed with your mouth, often putting his fingers in it, not even necessarily in a sexual way. He just loves seeing how willingly you open your mouth for him, always eager to please.
â Before battles, he loves to have you bless Dark Sister. He is transfixed by how you take the hilt of her into your mouth, licking all around without breaking eye contact once.
â Afterwards he carefully inserts the hilt inside of you and fucking you with it oh so slowly, your juices coating his second favorite girl. The image imprinting itself in his mind, keeping him company even at the darkest of times.
â When he has fucked you a bit too rough and maybe got a bit carried away, he will then switch up and make love to you so gently that it has you questioning your sanity. "Avy jorrÄelan, ñuho glaeso hĆ«rus." -I love you, moon of my life.-
cw: MDNI!! dubcon (bc there's an aphrodisiac involved), oral (f!receiving), fingering, lots of dirty talk, unprotected p in v, mating press, creampie, multiple orgasms, friends to lovers!!, HUNGRY peter
masterlist, taglist, and kinktober 2025 masterlist!
you weren't sure when it became a habit to sneak into the chemistry building after hours with peter to help him work on his web fluid; all you knew was it was your turn to pay for the pizza.
it was nearing midnight as your full belly laughs echoed through the empty lab, crusts long forgotten on the table behind you, as you lost yourself in a story. peter's smile was visible through prickling tears.
he knew it was a bad idea to invite you from the start â there was no shot in hell he'd get any work done as long as you were around him. peter had figured that out by the senior year of high school: he just couldn't seem to focus on anything other than you. he began to lie and say he was finished with his homework whenever you would hang out, covering his lack of progress in your presence.
peter had been distracted by you for the last few years, yet he could never seem to resist your company anyway. he beamed as you laughed at your own joke, relishing in the alone time he got to spend with the one person who made him feel like himself.
you let out a snort, and peter was done for, tears in his own eyes as he joined you in hearty laughter. he reached down and grabbed a vial through blurry vision, adding the final touch to his web fluid 3.0.
except that, instead of a sticky web-like substance, peter was met with a bright flash of hot pink from the liquid in the beaker before a cloud of magenta powder exploded from the glass, dusting the room, and in turn, you and peter.
he was on you instantly, shielding you from the flying shards of glass before the beaker even burst, though the aerosol impact was inevitable. the reaction was quick to hit your lungs, dragging out hoarse coughs, rough and heavy in your chest as you fought to regain a sense of your surroundings.
the headache was almost immediate as peter leaned down to say something, and you winced as you looked up at him.
"what?"
"are you okay? did you get cut at all?" peter frantically examined for any tears in your sweatshirt, checking your hands for any possible nicks.
"i'm okay, reaâwoah," peter placed a hand on your jaw to inspect your face, and the touch activated something deep inside of you.
suddenly, you felt the hottest you'd ever been, and the headrush made you weak in the knees. your vision began to cloud, senses on overdrive as you felt an aching pain rising in your chest. meeting peter's gaze with panicked eyes, you began to really take in the state of the situation.
"peter, what did you just mix?"
"i-i don't know, i must've grabbed the wrong thing..." he trailed off as he turned to search through the drawers, but the movement stopped him dead in his tracks.
peter was instantly met with a rush of vertigo, the room spinning violently around him as he braced himself on the countertop. he felt like he did when he was first bitten: hypersensitive and overwhelmed. fuck, what did he mix?
amidst the rest of the world in his ears, peter picked up on the sound of your heartbeat and immediately knew something was wrong. really wrong. he took a moment to analyze you, everything moving in slow motion as he fought to figure out what the hell he mixed together, and where these symptoms were headed.
your current state didn't give him much comfort; peter quickly noticed how you were starting to sweat, your chest heaving as you struggled to catch your breath, despite not having left your chair. your full-body flush made him wonder if he looked just as disheveled.
"are you feeling okay?" peter asked, heavy with concern and guilt.
you shook your head at him, words fighting to escape your trembling lips. "i-i don't know. i feel... warm. i don't know."
and then peter felt it. his cock twitched, and he realized for the first time how painfully hard he was. he looked down in horror, hoping you hadn't yet noticed in your own haze. peter quickly sat down again to cover the evidence, praying to any god who was listening that this wasn't happening.
while successful in his concealment, the slight friction in the movement of his pants was enough to elicit a groan from his throat; he hoped you didn't hear.
but you did. because each little noise he made, conscious or not, egged on every dirty fucking thought you were having right now. and about peter. in front of peter.
"maybe we should get some... some fresh air, or something," peter says weakly.
as you nodded in response and moved to get up, it became horribly apparent to peter that he had to stand up with you, and not only would you also know just how hard he was, but the friction alone might be enough to kill him.
and then he had a thought:
are you feeling this way too?
no, don't think like that. that's your best friend, and whatever's happening, clearly neither of you was in your right mind.
but peter had always felt this way about you. this time, it was just so physically painful for some reason. what the fuck was in that beaker?
he didn't have any more time for his mind to race, as you stood from your stool and he watched your knees buckle underneath you. peter rushed to stabilize you, grabbing your shoulders and keeping you steady. it was pointless, though. somehow, the feeling of peter's hand against you knocked your breath out, far worse than falling ever would've.
you had no idea what was going on, but it was getting harder and harder to think about anything other than peter (as if that wasn't the norm anyway, bffr). but this was heightened. this was all of your wildest desires pulled to the forefront of your mind in the middle of your ochem 403 lab at 11pm on a tuesday night.
what the fuck was going on with you?
you tried to shake off the way peter's touch relieved some of the haze clouding your brain, and tried to shake off the feeling that maybe he was also feeling this way. your thighs clenched at the thought â that peter was also thinking of every possible way to take you on this counter right now.
but this was your best friend, and you needed to get your shit together long enough to handle whatever this feeling was on your own.
"woah, are y'okay?" peter slurred, your body heat under his palms radiating down to the rest of his body and nearly sending him down as well.
"i... i don't know, i think..." you stuttered out, not trusting anything coming from your mouth right now. "i-i think i have to go, i'm, i'm not feeling well."
you turned to make a run for it, hoping to get out of peter's sight before you either passed out or pounced on him. he stopped you, though, grabbing your hand with a pleading "wait!" falling from his lips.
before you could stop it, a whimper escaped from your lips at his touch, and you went bright red in seconds, hand flying up to cover the unexpected noise.
peter didn't help as he stared at you with his mouth agape, pupils blown to shit. he looked fucked out beyond belief and you'd barely even touched.
you cleared your throat, hoping to get out as coherent and PG a sentence as you could. "peter i-i feel really weird. a-and, i think i'm freaking the fuck out."
knowing you were hurting as much as he was broke his heart, and peter struggled to put all his energy into focusing on you. "i know, it's okay, bug. just take some deep breaths, a-and let's try to make it outside, yeah?"
he tried to pull you, but your legs forgot how to work, and you were frozen where you were, breath quick as everything grew downright painful.
peter's breathing picked up as he heard you hyperventilating, panicking himself as he watched you crumble in front of you. he needed to find out what was in that vile, and fast.
but all he could fucking think about was being on his knees in between your thighs.
fuck.
"p-peter, please. please, i-i, i need your help. you have to make this stop."
"fuckâ it'll be okay, i promise. i'll do whatever i need to get you better. i-i just..." he clamped his eyes shut, desperately trying to come up with a way to make an antidote of some kind without dying or ruining your friendship along the way.
"peter... iâ"
"what?" he cut you off, concern heavy in his tone.
despite his ever-growing problem, peter reached out to cup your cheek, and though not an unnatural thing to do, it was one definitely influenced by a gravity drawing him towards the feeling of your skin on his.
you stared at his lust-blown eyes, wondering if yours looked the same. wondering if he felt the same.
peter spoke your name softly, his thumb grazing your cheek softly and lingering far too closely to your lips to not mean anything.
fuck it.
you grabbed his shirt and pulled him forward, nearly headbutting him in the process as you locked onto his lips, surprised when you felt him immediately reciprocate and tangle his hands in your hair. everything about the kiss was desperate, and the feeling of peter all over you was fucking radiant.
peter was nothing but a moaning mess against you, sloppy and wet against your lips as he pleaded your name as though each time he said it, it took away the pain in his chest. truthfully, it did.
peter pulled away to take a breath, and the lack of contact brought the sharp pain immediately back, earning a whine to fall from his lips. he shook it off, grabbing the sides of your face and doing his best to refocus.
"f-fuck, should we talk about this?" peter asked relectantly.
"i-i don't know. i don't know what's happening right now, pete. all i know is that i need you to touch me. anything, please. i'm sorry. just, please make it go away."
yeah, you could talk about it later.
"nonono, hey. im so sorry, baby, this is all my fault. i'll do whatever you need, i mean it. i'll make it better, i promise."
peter pulled you back into a hungry kiss, rough hands roaming your body in a way he'd never touched you before. the feeling of your curves under his palms was only something he'd dreamed of, and peter was insufferably hard as he pulled you into him further.
there was a nag in the back of his mind, something telling him to stop before you did something you'd regret. because there was no possible way he had you, his best friend, tangled in his arms and lips heavy on his own. and yeah, peter had been smitten with you since the day you met, but he was never going to do anything about it. you didn't feel that way about him, of course. right?
cause right now, you kinda did.
no! fuck! just the chemicals! this was a one-time thing, friends helping friends.
yeah, friends helping friends.
but the pretty little moans that came out of your mouth as peter trailed his way down your neck? those sounded awfully more than just friendly. and the way you whined as he moved his hands up your waist, palming your tits through your shirt as he growled for permission in your ear? peter was never going to be able to look you in the eyes after tonight.
but right now, he was entranced as you bunched his shirt fabric in your hands and begged for it off, pulling the material over his head and immediately attacking his firm chest with a series of hickeys. you shifted your hands down towards his waistband, tugging him by his belt loops as you left a wet, hot trail of kisses down his abs. peter couldn't help but cant his hips forward into you, absolutely fucking losing his mind.
his own hands made their way around your frame, trailing down to your ass and grabbing hard. you gasped at the feeling, then lost your breath fully as peter nipped at your ear and told you to jump. he caught your thighs, shifting to set you on the lab counter and wedging his body between your legs.
everything was hot and heavy, and the effects were evolving and worsening. it was growing stronger with each touch, and though feeling each other was helping ease the pain, the need for more was growing too strong to ignore.
you pulled away from him, tears threatening to spill from your doe eyes as you stared up at peter, who didn't look much better.
"what? what is it, what do you need, baby?"
"i-i... i need you to touch me, pete."
peter went pale at your confession. it was asked so quietly, but it held so much weight. weight he'd think about after he got to find out what you tasted like.
with a deep rumble in his chest and another sloppy kiss to your neck, peter began to fumble his way around your waistband, asking you a thousand extra times if this was okay.
yeah, i fucking think so.
peter's index fingers hooked the hips of your pants; feeling his hands on your bare skin for the first time covered you in goosebumps. it was numbing the pain in your chest and igniting something in it all the same. you were so caught up in the moment, gobsmacked over peter parker, your best friend of six years, tugging your pants down, that you almost didn't notice that he'd pulled them back up.
your cheeks instantly bloomed in mortification. "fuck, i-im sorry, i-i don't know what's come over meâ"
"no! stop apologizing, please. i just..." peter took a dramatic pause, and the only thing that could be heard was the two of you heavily panting, taking in the scene unfolding before you as the pain hammered in each of your chests.
"i need to tell you something before anything else happens."
you gave him a worried look, and peter returned it with a heavy sigh.
"i don't know what the fuck is happening right now, and why i feel like im fucking going to die if you don't touch me right now, and this is all my fault and i'm so fucking sorryâ"
"peter. what's wrong?"
well, we're already in this deep.
"i don't know what fuck-ass aphrodiasic i just created, but i need you to know that the real me means this too. i can't let anything happen without you knowing that i love you, and this still means something to me. even if i'm not myself right now. a-and i'll do whatever you need me to do, and we can never talk about this again, but you don't deserve me keeping that from you."
you sat on the counter, stunned, as peter anxiously bit his lip, worried he'd just fucked up one of the best relationships that had ever happened to him. and he was still so fucking hard.
the only response you gave him was hopping off the counter and taking your bottoms off for him.
and peter was immediately on you again.
he had a hand rough in your hair as he kissed you, his other firm on your bare ass as he kneaded the soft flesh with a hunger. through his moans and downright whines, he almost missed it:
"i love you too, peter. so fucking much."
something inside of him snapped, and this time he didn't even ask you to jump, wrapping his hands around your waist and lifting you to the counter like you weighed nothing. you wrapped your legs around his hips and pulled him close, the make-out nothing short of a frenzy.
the entire time, peter was in your ear, moaning things into your mouth you only ever dreamed you'd hear:
"this. this isn't how this was supposed to happen."
"you deserve better than this, fuck. deserve better than an empty fucking chem lab, christ's sake."
he was quick to get his hands back on you, traces of mischief left behind as he massaged your thighs and stared at your lace thong with a look you'd never seen from him before. peter had been so caught up in it all, he'd almost forgotten the effects of the reaction. his actions were genuine and intentional. but as he pulled back to get a proper look at you, the pain in his chest settled back in, and his senses reheightened to a million
"fuck, i need to touch you. please, can i touch you?" peter whined.
you were breathless in response, "please peter, do whatever the fuck you want to me. just please, do something. anything."
he groaned and ran his hands up your thighs till he reached the delicate lace, teasingly tracing the hemline. "don't fucking say that. i-i don't think i can control myself right now."
"pete, i don't want you to control yourself," a shudder ran down his spine.
"please. fuck me."
peter didn't have the energy left in him to delay this any longer.
he ripped the underwear clean from your body, pulling you to the edge of the counter and dropping to his knees in front of you. he wasted no time running his tongue through your glossy folds, latching his lips over your clit.
peter was so hungry, and the mixture of the fading pain in your chest and the pleasure blooming inside of you was an insane feeling. he added a finger? oh my god. you were fucking incoherent. he added another? you were pretty sure this rivaled the time you tried molly.
you pulled at his hair, begging him (to stop or to go harder, you didn't know). it was all so overwhelming, and every time you looked down to see the source of your pleasure and remembered it was your peter parker? you were close to the edge the quickest you'd ever been.
"pete, i-i..."
"what is it, baby?" he breathed, quickly returning to your dripping cunt.
baby. jesus fucking christ. that almost did you in right then and there.
"i wanna touch you too."
peter groaned deep inside you in response, and the vibration was enough to send you over the edge. you felt your body fly over the moon as you came, peter not letting down for a second as he fucked you with his tongue so you could ride out the high, lapping up every drop you gave him.
he stood up, breathless, glistening, and a little cocky if you knew peter the way you thought you did. "how are you feeling? did that help, d-does it still hurt?"
you were panting as you came down from your high, taking a second to be aware of your body and headspace again. you couldn't help but feel emotional as you noticed the effects starting to creep back in. you shed a tear and nodded as you felt the headache thundering in the distance.
peter pulled you into a hug, and it was almost enough to sober you up again, because something about this one felt different. more weighted.
"im sorry, baby, fuck. i-i'm sorry, what can i do? how can i help?" fuck, this was all his fault.
you sniffled in his ear, but the movement of your hips against his contradicted your melancholy demeanor. "it's better when you're touching me. please, just don't stop."
between your words and you snaking your hand down to palm him softly, peter parker was a wreck, and wrapped around your finger.
he was quick to envelop you in a kiss and drink you in, and you moved to claw his shirt off of him. you pulled back to look at him, and it wasn't like you hadn't seen peter shirtless over the years, but you'd never seen him this close, in this context. it made your chest hurt in a different way.
"fuck, you're so hot," you groaned, almost as though an inside thought had slipped out.
he snickered. "me? are you kidding me right now?"
peter roughly kissed you before tugging your shirt off, absolutely elated at the discovery you'd forgone a bra under your crewneck. he stared at you like a deer in headlights, starstruck as he saw you for the first time.
"jesus christ, you're a fucking dream."
his hands were on your tits before you could even register it, but the feeling only made you crave him more. you messed with his pants, and he took over amidst your frustration. boxers and all, he sprang free in front of you, and Holy Shit Peter Parker. that's fucking obscene.
"this is your last chance to change your mind. because once i start, i dont think i'll be able to stop," he warned.
"please fuck me, peter."
he attacked your chest with his lips, hands firm on your hips as he shifted you again to the edge of the counter. you wrapped your soft fingers around his leaking cock, and he was almost done for before you'd even started.
peter moaned loudly and moved to put his large hand over yours to line himself up. you were still soaked from peter's previous meal, making it easy for him to slide his head through your slit. you were a begging mess in his ear, nails scraping down his back in anticipation.
peter nudged your entrance and pushed in easily (whether from the pollen or his ample prep, no one knows). the two of you moaned in filthy harmony, the feeling a definition beyond indescribable.
his legs were shaking immediately, and despite his inhuman strength, it became apparent that he couldn't do this standing for much longer if you felt this good.
"fuck, sweetheart," peter grabbed you roughly and pulled you towards him, pushing to the hilt and pressing hip to hip with you. he picked you up, spun you around, and laid you on the cool tile
"this isn't what you deserve, fucking you on the ground like this. fuck, baby."
and then peter was relentless.
he pounded into you with such a force, his mouth still focused on your tits and how they bounced for him. both of you could breathe again, the pain lifting and now replaced with a newly discovered pleasure that made you emotional again. you looked completely fucked out, tears streaming down your cheeks as peter lifted your thighs higher to get as deep in you as possible.
"fuck, please don't cry," he begged, though he kept drilling into you, knees now meeting your own chest. "i'm sorry, i'm so sorry."
you pulled him down, his chest pressing against the back of your thighs, and your foreheads connected as you breathed him in, exhaling a rough "i love you so much, peter".
he stuttered for a moment, eyes as wide as they were the first time he heard you say it. not for long, though, as he stayed pressed against you and picked up the pace like never before.
"oh my god, i fucking love you."
peter had you seeing stars, and you didn't know how long you'd even been in the lab. five minutes could have passed, maybe three hours. all you knew was that you didn't care, and you were close. peter knew it too.
"babe-baby, you're close. i-i can feel it, you're so fucking tight around my cock." you couldn't help but clench him in response.
"fuck, yeah-y-yes. god, squeezing me so good. god, i knew you were made for me."
it was the sentimentality of everything that sent you over this time. hearing the way he talked about you, you came around his cock, and it felt so fucking magical. but peter didn't slow down, determined to ride out your orgasm. he was quickly losing his composure, though, at the feeling of you fluttering around his cock.
"sweetheart, w-whereâ"
"inside, please."
peter didn't even have time to question the outcomes to his actions because the second he heard you, his best fucking friend, moaning for him to cum inside of her? oh fucking hell.
he let out such a guttural moan as he came, hot and thick, deep inside of you. you felt so warm and full, so much so that it triggered a third orgasm, sobbing peter's name as he just kept going. mixed arousal spilled down your thighs as he continued to fuck you, and through your fucked out haze, you could feel his cum drip down and pool around your ass.
you were barely conscious at this point, but peter kept going as he muttered "i'm sorry" over and over again.
luckily, he'd released the goddamn mating press and released your legs, allowing you to stretch out. peter was able to cover more of your body with his, lying chest to chest with you as his hips rutted into yours. the new position was so much more intimate as he leaned in to capture your lips in a kiss again.
"please. please, just one more. one more and i'll stop."
peter said that three more times that evening before he was done, and he felt like himself again.
he looked down at you in awe, though concern slipped through his fucked out eyes. "you okay, bug?"
"i can't believe you really just gassed us with an aphrodisiac."
peter laughed, a blush creeping on his cheeks at the memory of his fatal mistake. "yeah, that was, uh... that was my bad."
honestly, reader cheating on robby bc she work nights with him and robby is always shrugging of her attempts to FUCK and jacks just being a good friend by taking care of her every night >_<
this was supposed to be small. i had a lot of fun with this i got reeeally carried away. multiple positions, kinda referenced his quinn audio?? sue me. downtalking Robby, cheating obviously, Jack finished in you. fuck that Robby guy tho he canât fuck you like Jack does
venting to him one day about it between patients on like your break, âhe just..i dunno he wonât touch me anymore, i think itâs because of whatâs happening up in that head but he wonât talk about it with me either..â youâre all pouty, Jack canât help himself. âiâll talk to him slugger, you wanna catch a bite with me after work?â
a bite turns hanging out at home after work, which isnât anything crazy, because youâre all friends. known each other for years. and Jack isnât a pushy guy, but you notice the way he rubs up your knee, or how he looks at you when you change into comfy clothes.
âis robby still..dodgy?â Jack asks, rubbing at your leg thatâs slung over his thigh. your smile fades and you sigh. âyeah. i mean..i just donât know how to talk to that guy anymore. he feels so far all the time.â âand youâve been initiating, right? like we talked about?â âyes! i wear fucking sexy, expensive lingerie, i-i touch on him, rub him. nothing.â
youâre closer now, arm to arm with your body turned into his. his brows furrow, rubbing at the growing stubble on his cheek. Jack wraps his arm around you now, palming at your hip lovingly and allowing you to lie on his chest. âand toys donât..i mean is that still on the table for you?â âi use them..but it just..gets boring after a while. tiring. i wanna have sex, not just..play with myself all the time.â
the image of you with your legs spread, using a dildo or wand on yourself is front and center of his mind. he sees you whining with frustration, bucking your hips needily. jesus. âi mean is it me? did i do something, am i just not sexy anymore? youâd tell me if he told you that, right, Jack?â youâre looking at him with big, tear brimming eyes while you paw at his chest. Jack is a weak man, sweetie.
âof course iâd tell you sweetheart, heâs..Robbyâs somewhere else right now. donât blame yourself youâre..youâre so sexy. sexiest girl i know, thatâs for sure.â he gives you a gentle smile, but youâve still got that pouty, needy look on your face. âreally?â âyes really honey, robbyâs beinâ real stupidâŠâ
heâs gazing into your eyes, mind racing as he licks at his lips. âheâs being mean too.â âreal mean. iâd..never be mean to you.â he canât help himself when he closes the gap between you two, pushing his lips onto yours. you moan upon impact, fisting his shirt as he grabs at your body, rubbing down your hips before hoisting you fully onto his lap.
he feels how much you need this in the kiss, pushing your tongue in his mouth, your hands snaking up his neck and into his hair, yanking it slightly. the way your body arches into his, legs raising slightly to kiss him harder, pushing him deeper into the couch. you moan when you feel your clothed cunt drag along his bulge, brows furrowing hard before grinding down, getting a sound out of him.
âfuck.â he whispers, still messily kissing you, hands now grabbing at your warming love hands under your big shirt. your ring twists into his curls, making him wince, which makes you pull away. âare you ok??â you pull your hand away, letting him take it softly in his. âyour-your ring, got my hair.â your ring. your wedding ring.
âoh my god. Jack i..â you put your hands on his chest, scooting down off his lap, though still straddling his thighs. âi canât do this with you, oh my god..â you rub your hands down your face, the cold metal against your hot skin feels like a zap. âwha..why not?â he breaths, brows pinched with confusion as he pulls your hands away from your face.
âRobby, Jack. i..heâs my husband i canât do that to him! iâm so terrible!â you scoff, eyes wide with fear. âyouâre not terrible, whatâre you scared of? betraying him?? what the fuck has he been doing to you, then?â he pulls you back closer, so close your hands roughly land on his chest.
you pull your head from his gaze, keeping your hands down for distance, but he doesnât let you. âthatâs different Jack, heâs..disembodied right now heâs just distant..â âthatâs still neglecting his wife. shutting you out, which is the last person he should be doing that to. i never once shut out my wife. you said it yourself. heâs being mean.â
you pout, whining at the words that sting to your heart. Robby is being mean. heâs being mean to everyone, but you especially. âJack i..â you scoff, you canât even find the words, âitâs not right, i mean i love him too much.â âyou can still love him, itâs not like im some guy. you know me, sweetheart..â you donât fight when he kisses down the shell of your ear, trialing slowly down your neck in a way that makes you shiver.
your arms end up at his shoulders, eyes shutting in his touch. âi just wanna help you. been so long for you.â his stubble tickles your neck as he speaks low, almost a whisper. youâve only heard this sugary tone once before. âbeen wanting this, right? to be touched like this? kissed like this?â he moves slowly down your comfy shorts, cupping your ass as the cotton slides off at the knuckles of his huge hands.
âyeah..â it comes out more pathetic than you could control, but your heart was pounding out your chest. âyeah..â he nods, kissing back up your jaw and taking your lips in his. âi know. let me do this for you.â you raise up to let him pull off your shorts, and the heat turns up in an instant. the kiss turning passionate, moans and groans trading under tongues as you lift his shirt over his shoulder, âcanât..â you pant, eyes hooded.
âcant happen again,â your hands move faster than you can think, untying and pulling down his scrub bottoms. âonly one time. this time.â âthis time.â he repeats, and you squeak when his big hand cups your pussy over your underwear, a throaty hum exiting him as he feels how fucking wet you were.
you canât remember the last time you were so fired up to fuck. grabbing at whatever you could while he fingered you open, accidentally scratching at his biceps as your hips move greedily against him. âyouâre so fuckinâ wet sweetheart, want this real bad.â he pants, eyes locked in you as you moan into the air. âplease justâŠJack please.. need it.â it almost comes as a sob, and he couldnât ever refuse you. not like this, especially.
âlemme take it out. gonna get it sweetie, promise. gonna give it to you.â thereâs that sugary tone again, and you find yourself moving at his command without a second thought, throwing your shirt off your sweaty body and reaching for his leg. you help him pull off his boxers and then his prosthetic, hearing a sigh of relief above him as you set it down.
he moves you back over him, and your eyes widen slightly at the sight of his hung, veiny dick. âjesus youâre..so big,â and he wants to say something cocky. he really does. but he just thumbs at your hip, nodding with a small smirk. âyou can handle it.â
your eyes are big on his as you lift yourself over his cock, letting him guide you onto his tip, then his girth. he goes slow, gripping your hips as he rocks you lower and lower, drinking in the little gasps and squeals you let out. âJack youâre-fuck youâre so big, youâre so fucking big,,â you whine, shaky breaths as you squeeze your eyes shut.
âyouâre taking it.â his voice is rasped, quiet watching your pussy engulf him. âyouâre taking it baby i promise, youâre fuckinâ takinâ it. so good too, holy shit.â he wants to let all his greedy, jealousy induced thoughts out. canât believe robbyâs missing out on this, fuck. shouldâve bagged this pussy forever ago, clearly Robby wasnât putting it to good use. but it doesnât exit his mind, not wanting you to feel worse about it all.
âoh yes, oh my god yes,â you moan out, head thrown back as your hips take over, his hands guiding you ever so gently as you bounce on his cock. âfuck youâre..fuck Jack itâs so good,â he moans under you, your pleasure making the butterflies dancing in his stomach as you fuck yourself on him.
âthatâs it sweetheart, there you fuckinâ go. yâlike that? yeahhh baby, feels soo good.â his eyes roll back, hands grabbing at every curve he could before the moment was over. pawing at your tits, smacking at your ass, squeezing at your belly. youâre everything to him, sweetie.
he canât help but let himself submit to you in this time of need, in this sweet notion of helping his friend. because that what it really was. just helping his friend blow some steam, sheâs just pent up. losing the same amount of calories as if he took you boxing. nothing wrong with it. âyeah sweetie, let it all out. just like thaat, fucking god,â he feels dizzy watching you hump him. your bodyâs consumed with greed, with a mission in mind.
latching onto him, filling your house with high shaky moans. and he was doing so much for you, and more. grabbing you, holding you lovingly close to him as you ride him into the couch cushion he was leaning his back into you. letting out sweet words to you, praise, helping you through riding him. groaning loudly into the room, the sounds alone coming from him fueling you, swelling your head.
sounds Robby never made. never talked you through it unless itâd been a long time, or till he was close. barely made noise either, no matter how many times youve told him you liked it. you were jelly in Jacks touch. he was pushing you steadily over your edge, whether he touched you or not. he filled you completely, inside and out.
his left hand started shoving you down on his cock, your moans coming out in sharp, quick gasps of air, eyes wide watching yourself slam on his dick and feeling his tip kiss that sponges spot in you. his right hand sucks on his thumb, getting it nice and wet before bringing it to your puffy clit, flicking it in a way that makes you suck in a harsh breath, dragging your nails down his shoulder, a high moan exiting you as you throw your head back.
âfuck ohmygo-Jack!â your moans are bordering on pornographic. and you look fucking delicious. hips bucking up to his touch all jittery, sweat gleaming your tits as they bounce with every move. your nose is scrunched slightly as the side of your mouth sneers upturned, and your brows sitting hard and tightly pinched, so overturned with pleasure you canât control how loud you are. and Jack is straight up drinking it in.
âyouâre so good, youâre fucking me so good Jack, better than iâve ever fuckinâ felt..!â your words come up high, itâs music to his ears. to get that out of you, to know youâve been with Robby almost half a decade, and Jack barely moving his hips is the best youâve felt in that long?
âyouâre fucking me, sweetie, and youâre doinâ so good. look at you, takinâ it from me..â his eyes are hooded over your body, his soft puppy eyes working over you in your vulnerable state. âkeep using me baby, just fuckinâ take it. havenât gotten dick like this before, havenât had this in so long, right? you deserve this. say it.â
itâs barely getting through your ears honestly. your stomach is heaving, your ears are almost ringing, eyes rolling back as you fuck yourself on his thick cock like a toy. âi deserve it..â you slur in heavy pants, eyes rolling back as you feel your heated orgasm approach. âyeah you do. yeah you fuckinâ do sweetheart,â heâs quick to hold you in his grasp when you collapse into him, mushing into his shoulder while you grind lazily.
his arm wraps around you, turning in his place to keep you close, keeping his pace on your throbbing clit as you shudder against him. âthere we fuckinâ go, cmon you can do it. been talkinâ about gettinâ fucked for weeks i know you can do it. use me sweetie, use me like you fuckinâ mean it,â thereâs a rough, almost degrading tone in his words, and your body submits to him at the impact.
he fucks into you from the side, your leg coming up immediately to let him in deeper, and as he groans in your ear, your dam breaks. âohhh Jack, oh god, Jack!â itâs one big breath before youâre gasping out again, shrinking into him as your pussy flutters around his dick, stomach so tight as you practically burst under him.
âdonât stop, please donât stop im..imââ you canât even finish your words, and Jack doesnât mind a bit. nodding to your words, his mouth echoing yours, agape with his own groans as his eyes roll back. âlet it alll out baby, take it frâme itâs all yours..â you feel you leg cramp up from how hard your orgasm had hit you, your body falling limp on Jack as he continues fucking into you, removing his hand from your shaking pussy to hold your leg up.
his lashes feel weighted, glittering as he takes in the sight of you, your fucked out face as your eyes rest, down your sweaty body, to where you two met, the creamy ring around his cock glistening and cresting rather nasty strings of cum as he thrusts into you. heat builds in his chest, his cock twitches inside of you and his hips stutter. that cold sweat rolls over him, and he looks to the ceiling with an oh god before back at you.
âthatâs it baby, thatâs it, thatâs fucking it,â his praises to you turn into revelations of the immense pleasure weighing on him. hunching over you and pushing you on your back on the couch, finding the balance to slam into you. you moan in tandem at the new position, the way he lays all his unbalanced weight on your thighs heâs keeping up, slamming into you like itâs beyond his control.
with your back arched off the cushion and your hands fisting st it from the side, you watch his face as he loses his composure, bitting his lip before letting groans spill from him like a music box, eyes rolled to the ceiling as his brows flex to the hairline. âoh my god, canât even..aghh canât fucking believe you gave this pussy to Robby,â he rolls his eyes, âdid so fucking good, scratching me up and shit you-youâre fuckinâ everything..â
his mouth moves faster than his mind. poor guys lost in the sauce, chest heavy as it turns that familiar red youâve only seen a few times in the sun. âgod youâre so good, gimme a kiss sweetie, so proudaâ you,â you practically yank him down onto you, kissing so sloppily you think drool is getting everywhere because of how over the moon you guys are.
you gasp sharply, feeling his tip kiss at your cervix. you dig your nails into his neck, a high, almost pained moan exiting you through his lips. âJack youâreâJack hold on,â you mewl, though feeling him shake his head frantically. âi know sweetie i-im sorry i just-fuck i canât, icanticanticant,â he moans, and his following groans come up higher, weaker as if heâd been yelling all night (which..he probably has).
âcanât stop, fuck youâre so good, mâgonna cum, baby mâgonna cum,â he doesnât even try to kiss you anymore, âyouâre so good, doinâ so fucking good baby i..â you hear the slapping of skin from between you, feeling impossibly split open as he slams into you, groaning like he couldnât breath.
with a final loud groan he grabs at the cushion next to your head, eyes tightly screwed as his hips come to a halt, and you feel his dick twitch into you as he finishes hard, the following groans coming out as weak whines. Jack lets his body collapse over you, reaching behind himself to caress at your shaking legs, still panting into each otherâs mouths.
âdid i..hurt you?â he whispers, you feel his lashes against your crows feet. âno, no. just..was a lot. is your leg ok..?â look at you. all the more worrying. all the more caring, loving. it makes Jack chuckled breathily, shaking his head as he kisses at your cheek. âiâm ok, sweetheart. been through worse.â
he pushes himself off you, giving you a once over for any damage before pulling out, sitting upright next your body. speeding your pussy with his thumb and pointer, in the blink of an eye heâs watching his cum seep out of you and onto your ass, and almost onto the couch cushion had he not cupped his hand under the leakage, stuffing it back in you. âfuck i..i didnât mean to uh..just got carried away.â he gives you a remorseful look, that he also looks away from to gaze at your beat, puffy pussy.
âare you on birth control?â âno..i stopped a few months ago. we wanted to try for a baby.â your cheek quirked to the side before you pout a little, and Jack feels his heart break a little. âok. iâll get you plan b, then.â you nod and lift on, crawling into his lap once again, but this time, you give him a slow, gentle kiss.
âthank you..Jack..â you sigh, feeling him wrap his arms around you. âdonât gotta thank me. just wanted to help you, sweet thing. sâwhat friends are for.â he joked, making you scoff a chuckle. you nod, âyeah. what friends are for.â for fucking so hard you see stars. of course. âlemme get my foot awake, then weâll clean up.â
if youâve sent be a Pope Cody request, trust me i have it, iâm not neglecting! i pushed this forward bc i havenât formally written for Jack in sooo long, and this was so fun. thank u for the ask!
thinking of abbot!just the tip ^.^ thinking of him getting off work pent up and frustrated after a rough shit, waking u and saying he wont go all the way, but he gets teary eyed holding back until itâs tew much đ
oh god yesâŠi literally love all things concerning âjust the tipâ. iâm clocked in i have to go to work tw daddy kink and heâs kinda pathetic and gross whatever i hate him sm
âjaaack,â you push at his bicep, feeling him paw at your panties from behind. âmâso sleepy..â Jack came home and immediately rushed to you, stripping off his scrubs and cradling you in his arms for a big, squeezing hug thatâd wake you with a soft wince.
he didnât waste anytime to come behind you and wrap his arms around you, muttering about what he went through at the ptmc, but it soon fell behind him when his little friend woke up, feeling your warm, plump ass snuggle close to him. âi know baby i know..â he coos, kissing at your shoulder, âjust..wanna feel her. missed her, yknow..â heâs pushing the soft cotton down your thighs, his fingers padding up your sticky folds and down to your entrance.
âyou always miss her, but sheâs sleepy..â you say into your pillow, though Jack knows you better than that. he feels you grind against his hand as he works his fingers into you. âi know she is, sheâs also a little sticky,â he perks a brow, pulling his cock out and stroking long and slow. âi wonât wake her up too bad. just wanna give her a lil hug. is that ok momma?â
you giggle softly at the word, the word he uses when heâs really trying to goad something out of you. âmmâŠi guess. only a small hug, though. just the tip.â fuck. âokay, just the tip. you can go back to sleep baby, iâll be nice.â heâll be nice alright.
itâs only when heâs thrusting his tip inside you, soaking his cock and watching your pussy clench around him each time, that he thinks about not being nice. gripping your love handles, brows pinched and lip tucked between his teeth watching you stretch around him, even if itâs just his tip.
âfuck baby, feels so good..â heâd mutter into the room, hearing you sleepily whine and mewl from the side. and he wants to keep this going. doesnât want to disturb his sleepy girl, who was so kind enough to bless him with her tight pussy. but you just feel too good baby, way too good. he canât take it.
heâs wiping a tear from his eye with his shoulder, the small groans turning into needy whines, stroking the length that was left without any love from you. he leans up a little watch you face, seeing how your brows crease with the little bit of pleasure, and how youâve been playing with your clit under the cover the whole time. you probably want it too, pumpkin.
he doesnât give it much thought after that, sweeping your hair off your neck and taking a light hold of it in his hand, gripping your waist and bending you the tiniest but forward. you donât even have time to think about the action, because in the split second that it registers, heâs pushing his fat, long dick in you until he canât anymore, your eyes shooting open you as your senses are intruded upon.
âoh-hooh fuââ you canât even finish your words before youâre cutting yourself off with a pornographic moan, one thatâd make the birds flinch. he groans loudly from behind you, eyes rolling back shut and head tipping backwards. and heâs so mean. not giving you a fraction of a second before heâs pulling out and plunging deep in you at the rate of a rabbit in heat.
âfuck, fuck! Jack!?â you moan out, your arms shooting up to grab whatever you could, sheets and cover in your grip as you clench down on him, your eyes squeezing shut so fast you see the stars. his groans are ragged, tired, raspy. like heâs been screaming all damn night. and his grip on your body is even worse, thereâs probably gonna be a bruise there, pumpkin. you understand.
âi know baby, i knoww fuck,â he drawls out, biting his lip as he continued to thrust into you. âfuck youâre so good, youâre so fucking good i-i couldnât do it pumpkin..â you can barely him him over yourself, and the clapping sound from under the covers that grew louder the quicker he fucked you.
he fucked you like he was running a race. funny for someone with half a leg, right? it was hurried, eager. just how long was he thinking of burying into you like this? âyou lied, yerâ a fucking liar..â your words come out shaky, vocal cords moving in tune with the way your body jerked against the bed.
his eyes shoot open, mouth agape as he catches a look at your face: mouth agape in a frown, nose scrunched and eyes rolling to the ceiling. youâre fuckinâ lovinâ it. âi knoww baby i know, iâm sorryyy,â he whines through gritted teeth, and if you could look back youâd see the way his brows are pulled together tight and heâs giving his little puppy eyes.
âiâm sorry baby i just-â he huffs a breath, âyou just feel so good. i canât wait too long, yknow thatâŠâ his hand snakes to the front of your throat, hoisting you back against his chest as he palms at your tits, jackrabbitting his cock in you as he plants wet kisses on your shoulder.
âhad a long fuckinâ night, needed my girl, ok? i just need you baby,â he puts on that sweet, doting voice heâd usually pair with the signature puppy eyes, he knows what works. knows what has you whining and submitting to his dirty tricks, telling him something like âi love you so much jackie u can use me whenever you want :â(.â like you were doing now.
âdaddyâs sorry baby, daddyâs so sorry,â heâs huffing and puffing from behind you, groaning into your ear as he uses your cunt, stuffing you full, hips jittering as he approaches his peak quickly. âbaby i-i wanna cum, wanna cum so fucking bad i canât take it,â he pushes your head to the side, angling you just enough to catch your lips and kiss you hurriedly.
you moan upon impact, snaking your hand backwards to run your fingers through his hair. âiâll-ill fuckinâ stop if you want but i wanna cum so bad baby, can daddy cum in you? pretty please?â how can you say no to him? youâre already putty in his hands, mouth open as you moan into each others mouth.
âyou can cum daddy, mâall yours..always gonna let you use me..!â you whine, and he groans out in relief, whines getting raspy and weaker, bruising your tits in his hand as he comes in you, hips twitches while he fills you, panting over your shoulder as he runs his hand down to your stomach, caressing you lovingly.
âoh baby, youâre so fucking good. can never resist you..â he whispers, pulling his soaked cock out of you with a shudder. âwanna cum..â you whine, rolling onto your back as he lifts up. âi know honey, open your legs for me, mhm. gonna make you cum as much as you want,â us kissing down your stomach, his cum is seeping out of you onto the sheets, âpromise.â
Summary: Jack Abbot gets drunk. This is rare. This is unexpected. This is apparently also how you end up standing at your bedroom window in Pittsburgh, staring down at your husband while he recites Shakespeare on the lawn like a very handsome, very intoxicated theater kid with excellent lung capacity. He is romantic. He is committed. He is loud. You are in pajamas. The neighbors may never recover. Eventually, you get him inside, get him sitting on the edge of the bed, and attempt to help him into sweatpants while he becomes deeply concerned about your honor, your reputation, and the fact that his legs âdonât match.â Jack Abbot is steady under pressure. Drunk Jack Abbot is apparently one balcony away from a community noise complaint.
Warnings: married Jack Abbot x Reader, drunk Jack, alcohol use, established relationship, romantic comedy chaos, Shakespeare recitation, public embarrassment, Pittsburgh setting, responsible spouse caretaking, suggestive humor, changing clothes while drunk, prosthetic leg removal handled casually and respectfully, soft domestic intimacy, dramatic husband behavior.
Author's Note:
This one is for everyone who has ever wondered what would happen if Jack Abbot got drunk enough to become both romantic and theatrical. The answer is Shakespeare. Outside your window. At night. You have to retrieve your husband before the neighbors start calling in noise complaints, then get him upstairs, undressed, into sweatpants, prosthetic off, and safely into bed while he behaves like a scandalized Victorian man being compromised by his own legal wife.
He is dramatic.
He is devoted.
He is very lucky he is cute.
Xoxo, Del
You were asleep when the first little tap woke you up.
At least, you were pretty sure you had been asleep. It was the heavy kind of sleep you earned after two back-to-back shifts, a shower hot enough to steam the whole mirror, and half an episode of a show you absolutely could not remember choosing.
The bedroom was dark. The house was quiet. The sheets smelled like laundry detergent and Jackâs shampoo because he had a habit of showering, crawling into bed with damp hair, and pretending he was not actively ruining your pillowcases.
Another tap near the glass.
Tiny.
Sharp.
Distinct.
You opened one eye.
For a second, you thought it was weather. Pittsburgh did weird things at night sometimes. Wind. Branches. Rain pattering sideways against the glass.
Then a third sound.
Tap.
A pause.
Tap tap.
You stared at the ceiling.
âWhat the fuck.â you whispered to no one.
From outside, faint but unmistakable, came a manâs voice.
âBut soft.â
Your eyes widened.
Oh my god.
âBut soft,â the voice repeated, louder this time. âWhat light through yonderâyonderâfuck.â
You sat up so fast the comforter slipped to your waist.
There was a muffled shout from outside, followed by laughter. Loud, wheezing, helpless laughter.
Robby.
You threw the covers back, crossed the room, and shoved the curtain aside.
Your husband was standing in the front yard.
Jack Abbot, attending physician, homeowner, allegedly grown man, was in the grass beneath your bedroom window with his jacket half-zipped, his hair a disaster, one shoulder slightly lower than the other, as if balance were a concept he respected but did not currently possess.
One hand was braced against his chest.
The other held what looked like a fistful of gravel from the edge of the driveway.
On the sidewalk behind him stood Robby, bent almost in half, one hand planted on his own knee while he laughed hard enough to shake. He looked drunk in the reckless, sparkly-eyed way that meant he was going to make every bad decision worse on purpose.
Shen leaned against the mailbox with the loose, happy posture of a man who was buzzed enough to be philosophical and rapidly approaching drunk enough to consider himself useful.
Crus stood near the curb beside his car, arms folded, completely sober and spiritually exhausted.
Jack saw your face appear behind the glass.
Everything in him lit up.
âLady,â he said.
You blinked down at him.
Robby made a noise like a balloon losing air.
âLady?â you repeated, mostly to yourself.
Jack lifted his chin with tremendous dignity. âLady in the window.â
Crus looked up at you and mouthed, âI am so sorry.â
You unlocked the window. âJackââ
Outside, Jack was already winding up again.
You pushed the window open.
A tiny piece of driveway gravel sailed through the gap and hit you softly in the chest.
For one perfect second, no one moved.
You looked down at the pebble where it bounced off your sweatshirt and landed on the floor.
Then you looked back out the window.
Jack stood in the yard with his hand still raised, his face draining of every ounce of drunken triumph. âOh no.â
Robby slapped both hands over his mouth.
Shen went very still against the mailbox.
Crus closed his eyes like he had expected disaster, but was still disappointed by its form.
Jack took one horrified step backward. âI struck my lady.â
âYou threw a pebble,â you said.
âI struck her.â Jack turned on Robby, devastated. âWhy did you let me throw rocks at her?â
Robbyâs eyes widened. âI did not authorize the courtship rocks.â
Jack looked at Robby, confused, âThey werenât your idea?âÂ
âNo!â Robby exclaimed as if he had been accused of first-degree murder.Â
Crus pointed at Jack. âThey were your idea.â
Jack looked back up at you, appalled by himself. âI would never harm you.â
You press your lips together in an attempt to stop your smile, âI know, Jack.â
His gaze dropped to your sweatshirt.
Then his expression changed.
Just slightly. Concern stayed there. Guilt stayed there. But something else arrived.
Something drunker. Stupider.
Very much your husband.
Jack squinted. âDid that go down your shirt?â
You stared at him.
Robby inhaled sharply.
Crus shook his head.
Jack lifted one hand, very serious and very helpful. âI can get it for you.â
The sidewalk exploded.
âAbsolutely not,â Crus said.
Robby bent fully at the waist, laughing so hard he nearly folded himself in half. âChaperone! They need a chaperone! This is improper!â
Shen lifted one finger, swaying with grave importance. âA matter of decorum has presented itself.â
Jackâs face snapped from hopeful to offended. âI was being medically helpful.â
âYou were offering to put your hand up her shirt,â Crus said.
Jack looked deeply wounded. âI am a doctor.â
âYou are drunk,â Crus replied, rolling his eyes.Â
Jack frowned, as if this were technically accurate but spiritually irrelevant.
You picked the tiny pebble up from the floor and held it between two fingers. âItâs the size of a Tic Tac.â
Jackâs eyes locked onto it. His shoulders dropped in relief. Then he winced all over again.Â
âNo more rocks!â he announced.
Robby straightened just enough to salute. âEnd of an era.â
Jack looked back up at you, still guilty, still giddy, still completely obsessed. âAre you sure it didnât go down your shirt?â
âJack.â You're warned, fighting a smile.Â
Jackâs brow furrowed, âRespectfully.â
âNo.â You told him.Â
He nodded immediately, solemn as a vow. âRight. Boundaries.â
Crus pointed at him. âHands where I can see them, Romeo.â
Jack lifted both hands. One was still full of gravel.
You raised your eyebrows.
He looked at the gravel, horrified all over again, and opened his hand. The tiny rocks were scattered into the grass.Â
âThe rocks are retired,â Jack announces.Â
Shen nodded. âA noble sacrifice.â
You should have closed the window then. You should have told him to come inside. You should have reminded him that neighbors existed and that Crus looked one stern glance away from calling time of death on the evening.
Instead, your eyes drifted toward the porch.
The tiny blue light above the doorbell camera blinked steadily in the dark.
Recording.Â
Oh.
Oh, this was a gift.
You glanced toward the corner of the garage, where the driveway camera sat angled toward the front yard. Also recording. You folded your arms on the windowsill and tried very hard to make your face neutral.
âGo on, Romeo,â you called down.
Crusâs head snapped toward you. âDo not encourage him.â
Too late.
Jackâs face opened like you had handed him a sword and a reason.
Robby pointed up at you, delighted. âSheâs making him worse.â
âShe appreciates theater,â Jack said.
âYou donât know theater,â Crus said.
Jack gave him a wounded look. âI know my lady.â
Robby made a strangled sound. âYour lady?â
Jack turned on him. âYes.â
Crus stared at him. âYour wife.â
Jack froze.
Then, very slowly, he looked back up at your window. âWeâre married?â
Your smile started before you could stop it. âWe are.â
His whole face lit. Not soft, exactly. Not sad. Not even sentimental.
Just pure, stunned delight.
Like someone had woken him in the middle of the night and told him he had won the best thing in the world, then pointed to you as proof.
âFuck yeah,â Jack murmured.Â
Robby doubled over. âOh, heâs happy about it.â
Shen nodded, solemn and wobbly. âAs he should be.â
Crus rubbed a hand over his face. âHe has been happy about it for years.â
Jack ignored all of them.
He was looking up at you again, bright-eyed and entirely too pleased with himself.
âMy wife,â he said, testing it out.
You nodded, âYes.â
His grin widened. âFuck yeah.â
âJack,â Crus said, âyou cannot just keep rediscovering your marriage.â
Jack did not look away from you. âWatch me.â
Then he lifted one hand toward your window again, suddenly possessed by the urgent need to continue.
âBut soft.â
Robby wheezed. âHeâs going back in.â
Jack cleared his throat with the unearned confidence of a man about to ruin literature.
âBut soft,â he repeated. âWhat light through yonderâŠâ
He frowned.
The line had apparently vanished.
âWhat light through yonderâŠâ Jack tried again, squinting at your window like the answer might be written on the glass. âThrough yonder⊠house hole.â
Robby howled.
Crus leaned towards Jack, âWindow.â
âI know,â Jack snapped, then looked back up at you and immediately softened. âWindow.â
You leaned your chin into your hand, trying so hard not to smile too wide because every tiny bit of encouragement made him more powerful.
Jack saw anyway. Of course he did.
 His grin went crooked and giddy. âShe likes this.â
âNo, she doesnât,â Crus said.
âI do,â you called down.
Crus looked up at you. âYou are creating a monster.â
You shrugged, âHeâs already my monster.â
Jackâs mouth fell open.
Robby slapped Shenâs arm. âOh, that got him.â
Jack stared up at you, dazzled. âIâm yours?â
âYouâre mine.â You confirmed.Â
He turned toward the guys, almost vibrating with joy. âIâm hers.â
âWe know, youâre married to her. â Crus said.
Jack looked back up at you, needing it from the only source that mattered. âI am?â
You were laughing now. âYou are.â
Jack grinned, âFuck yeah.â
Then he remembered his mission.
His expression shifted back into concentration, but it was different now. Less performance for performanceâs sake and more desperate translation. Like his drunk brain had decided regular words were not enough for what you looked like in that window, wearing his sweatshirt, smiling down at him with sleep-warm eyes and messy hair.
He did not know Shakespeare.
You were sure of that.
Jack had once referred to a sonnet as âone of those fancy rectangles.â He had complained about mandatory high school English with the same tone he used for hospital printer jams. He did not casually quote old plays.
But apparently, somewhere inside him, beneath the whiskey and whatever terrible thing Robby had talked him into ordering, a few broken pieces of Romeo and Juliet had survived.
And tonight, because he was drunk and in love and staring up at you, his brain had decided those pieces were the only tools worthy of the job.
âWhat light through yonder windowâŠâ Jack paused, fought for the word, and then looked offended by his own mouth. âFucks.â
Crus sighed. âBreaks.â
Jackâs brow furrowed deeply, âThatâs what I said.âÂ
âYou said fucks.â Crus corrected.Â
Jack glared at him with a frown, âEmotionally, I said breaks.â
Shen nodded. âI understood him.â
âYou are not helping,â Crus said.
Jack ignored them, his gaze locked on you.
âWhat light through yonder window breaks,â he said again, mangled but determined. âIt is the east, and Juliet is the sun.â
He stopped. His brow furrowed. âNo.â
You tilted your head. âNo?â
Jack shook his head with deep seriousness. âNot Juliet.â
Robby made a tiny dying sound.
Jack pointed up at you, eyes bright and unfocused and absolutely full of you. âMy lady is the sun.â
Your breath caught around your laugh.
Jack looked frustrated now. Not with you. Never with you. With the words. With the fact that he had this whole impossible feeling in his chest and only scraps of half-remembered Shakespeare, curse words, and driveway gravel to work with.
âYou are,â he insisted. âYouâre the sun. And the moon isââ
He looked up, squinting into the dark sky. âThe moon is fucked.â
Crus exhaled through his nose. âThat is not Shakespeare.â
âIt is now,â Shen said.
Jack kept looking at you.
âYouâre more beautiful than the fucking moon,â he said, rough and certain. âAnd I donât know if the stupid moon knows that, but I do.â
You pressed your lips together.
There he was.
Your ridiculous husband. Your drunk, swaying, gravel-holding husband, publicly destroying Shakespeare on your lawn because he loved you so much he needed bigger words than his own and kept breaking the bigger words in half.
Robby cupped both hands around his mouth. âSay more about the moon!â
Jack whipped around. âDo not tell me how to court my lady.â
Robby gasped. âYour lady?â
Jack narrowed his eyes. âYes.â
Crus sighed. âYour wife.â
Jack immediately turned back toward the window. âWeâre married?â
You nodded. âWe are.â
That joy hit him all over again. âFuck yeah.â
Shen sighed dreamily. âEvery time, it lands.â
âIt has happened four times,â Crus muttered.
Jack was not listening. He had apparently reloaded the romance. He took one dramatic step closer to the house and nearly tripped over the landscaping.
Crus moved automatically, one hand half-raised.
Jack caught himself and pointed down, âSabotage.â
âThat is a shrub,â Crus said.
âA treacherous shrub.â Jack glared down at the shrub.Â
Robby staggered a step and caught himself on Shenâs shoulder. âThis is the best night of my life.â
âYou threw up behind the bar,â Shen reminded him.
âSecond-best night of my life.â Robby amended.
Jack cleared his throat.
The yard went quiet.
He looked up at you, full of giddy purpose.
âTell them to leave,â Jack said, without looking away from you. âIâm courting you.â
You leaned against the window frame. âYou live here.â
Jack visibly brightened. âThen let me in.â
âUse your key.â You replied.Â
Jack patted one pocket. Then the other. Then his jacket. Then his jeans again, with increasing distress.
His face fell. âI left it in the carriage.â
Shen lifted one hand. âHe means the car.â
âThe Honda,â Robby added.
Crus pointed toward the curb. âThe car he escaped from at a red light.â
âIt was stopped,â Robby said.
Crus turned to him, âAt a red light.â
âThatâs stopped,â Robby argued.Â
Jack ignored them. He was still staring up at you, wounded. âI donât have my key.â
You looked down at him, âI can see that.â
âI would like to come inside.â He said, lower lip pressing out.Â
You gestured down at the lawn. âYou were courting me.â
âI can court you indoors,â Jack replied instantly.Â
Robbyâs head snapped up. âOh,â he said.
Crus immediately said, âNo.â
Robby pointed at Jack, drunk and thrilled with his own incoming damage. âWait. If youâre courting a lady, you need a chaperone.â
Jack froze.
You covered your mouth.
Robby nodded, warming to the bit. âHistorically. Otherwise, itâs improper.â
Shen pushed off the mailbox, eyes bright with buzzed seriousness. âThere would be whispers. Her honor would be ruined amongst high society.â
Jack went completely still. Then his face changed.
Jack lifted his chin. âI will duel Shen for inferring an insult to her honor.â
Crusâs mouth tightened. âImplying.â He stepped forward. âNo one is dueling anyone.â
Jack whipped around and pointed to him, âDonât correct my vows of violence.â
âI was defending her honor,â Shen said, pressing a hand to his chest.
âYou said it could be ruined,â Jack argued.Â
Shen looked over to Robby, âBy Robbyâs fake chaperone rules.â
Robby held up both hands. âI stand by the rules.â
Crus pointed at him. âYou are not helping.â
Jack looked back up at you, devastation written all over his drunk, beloved face. âHe spoke of your honor.â
You were laughing so hard that you had to grip the window frame. âHe was being dramatic.â
âIâm being dramatic.â Jack gestured to himself. âHe was being defamatory.â
Shen turned to Crus. âIs he using legal words correctly?â
âNo,â Crus answered.Â
Robby nodded. âI think heâs doing great.â
Jack took one unsteady step toward Shen.
Crus moved fast, catching the back of Jackâs jacket in one fist. âAbsolutely not.â
Jack kept pointing. âPistols. At dawn.â
Shen straightened, solemn and swaying. âI accept.â
Crus rounded on him. âYou do not.â
âFor the ladyâs honor,â Shen said.
Jack gasped. âDo not speak of the lady.â
Shen looked up at you, then back to Jack. âYou challenged me on behalf of the lady.âÂ
âShe is myââ
Jack stopped.
His eyes widened like he had almost said something important and lost it.
Robby saw the opening.
âWife,â he supplied.
Jack turned immediately toward your window. âShe is?â
You nodded, grinning helplessly. âI am.â
The joy detonated across his face. âFuck yeah.â
Then, without missing a beat, he pointed at Shen again. âBut Iâll still duel him.â
âNo, you wonât,â Crus said.
Jack turns back to the window, âFor her.â
âJack,â you said, fighting laughter, âbaby, I donât need you to duel Shen.â
Jack looked up at you with enormous sincerity. âYou deserve to be defended.â
âI am very defended.â You assure him.Â
Jack beamed, âBy me?â
âYes.â You answer.Â
That settled him.
Some of the outrage eased from his shoulders. He looked pleased, softened by the idea that he had done something right. Then he turned back to Shen with one final warning finger. âYouâre lucky she is merciful.â
Shen bowed toward your window. âHer mercy is noted.â
Robby tried to bow too, immediately lost his balance, and grabbed Crusâs shoulder. âLong live the lady of the window.â
Crus shoved him upright. âEverybody shut up before the neighbors call the police.â
Jack looked back up at you.
âMy lady,â he said softly, then brightened again. âMy wife?â
You nodded. âYour wife.â
Jack smiled, âFuck yeah.â
You were going to save the security footage forever.
Jackâs face shifted suddenly. He had a new thought. That was never good.
He looked back up at you, deeply serious. âWait.â
âOh no,â Crus said.
Jack ignored him.
 âIf Iâm courting you,â he said carefully, âdoes that mean we canât have sex?â
The entire sidewalk exploded.
Robby made a sound like he had been shot.
Shen turned away, shoulders shaking.
Crus stared up at the sky like he was asking God why he had been assigned this shift.
You pressed your lips together. âJack.â
âWhat?â Jack demanded, offended by everyoneâs reaction. âIâm asking respectfully.â
You stared at him, âYou are yelling in the yard.â
âI need to know the rules.â Jack frowned.Â
You shook your head, âWeâre married.â
Jackâs head snapped up. âWe are?â
You stared at him for one beat.
Then you softened, because God help you, it was still so funny. Every single time.
âWe are.â
His grin came back, immediate and brilliant. âFuck yeah.â
Robby crouched on the sidewalk, laughing so hard he had one hand braced against the concrete.
Shen nodded with great emotion. âThe sacrament remains intact.â
âDo not help,â Crus said.
Jack looked back up at you, still concerned. âSo?â
âSo what?â You asked, tilting your head.Â
Jack frowned deeply, âSo what about the chaperone rules?âÂ
You leaned farther out the window. âNo chaperone rules.â
Jack looked relieved. Then pleased.Â
Then a little too pleased.
âBut no sex tonight,â you added. âYouâre drunk.â
Jackâs expression sobered instantly. Well. As much as it could.
âRight,â he said, nodding hard. âBoundaries.â
âExactly.â You agreed.Â
âI respect my lady,â Jack added.Â
You nodded, âI know.â
âMy wife?â He asks, so hopeful.Â
You smiled. âYour wife.â
âFuck yeah.â He grinned.Â
Robby booed from the sidewalk.
Jack spun so fast he almost lost his balance. Crus tightened his grip on the back of Jackâs jacket.
âDo not boo my wifeâs boundaries.â
Robby pointed at him. âYou just checked if she was your wife!â
Jack pointed right back. âAnd she said yes.â
Shen lifted one finger. âA valid argument.â
Crus muttered, âI hate all of you.â
Jack tilted his head suddenly, studying the side of the house.
Your smile faded a little. You knew that look. It was the look he got when he decided a patient was lying about taking all their antibiotics. The look he got when a vending machine stole his money. The look he got when Robby said something so stupid that Jack had to pause before answering because violence had become a real possibility.
Determination.
âOh no,â Crus said again.
Jack pointed up at you. âIâm coming up.â
You straightened immediately. âNo, you are not.â
Jack nodded enthusiastically, âI am.â
âJack.â You warned.Â
He pointed at you, âRomeo climbed.â
Robby, delighted, whispered, âDid he?â
Shen squinted at the house. âI donât think thatâs structurally sound.â
Jack ignored them. âI will climb to you.â
âNo,â you said, louder this time.
He looked wounded. âYou donât believe in me?â
âI believe you are drunk.â You replied.Â
He raised a fist in the air, âFor love.â
âFor whiskey.â You corrected.Â
Robby lifted one finger. âAnd tequila.â
âAnd tequila,â you add.
Jack nodded solemnly, accepting the record. Then he took a step toward the house.
Crus tightened his grip on the back of Jackâs jacket. âAbsolutely not.â
Jack tried to keep walking and got nowhere.
For one ridiculous second, your husband simply leaned forward, legs moving slightly, while Crus held him in place like a misbehaving golden retriever.
Robby lost what little remained of his composure.
Shen put both hands over his mouth.
You slapped a palm against the window frame. âJack Abbot, stop trying to climb the house.â
Jack looked up at you, betrayed. âIâm courting you.â
You pointed at the lawn, âYou can court me from the ground.â
âIâm too far away,â Jack said with a frown.
You sighed, âYou are twelve feet away.â
âExactly,â he said, with heartbreaking seriousness, âit is unbearable.â
And there it was.
The stupid, sweet thing under all the chaos.
You looked down at him.
At your husband, drunk and swaying and ridiculous, held in place by the back of his jacket, still staring up at you like the whole world had narrowed to your face in the window.
You sighed, mostly for show. âStay there. I am coming down to open the door.â
Jack went very still. Then his whole face lit up. âYouâre coming down?â
âYes.â You confirmed.Â
His eyes widened, âTo me?âÂ
You nodded, âYes, Jack.âÂ
He turned toward the guys, triumphant. âSheâs coming down.â
Robby wiped tears from his eyes. âYeah, Romeo. Because you tried to scale the house.â
Jack shrugged, âLove requires risk.â
Crus tightened his grip. âLove requires you not making me go into the ER on my night off.â
Shen nodded. âA noble point.â
Jack looked back up at you. âDonât rush. Iâll wait forever.â
Crus said, âYou could not wait through a red light.â
Jack did not miss a beat. âThat was different. My lady was in the house.â
Robby opened his mouth.
Jack immediately looked up at you. âWife?â
You laughed. âWife.â
Jack nodded, âFuck yeah.â
You closed the window before he could see what that did to your face. By the time you got downstairs, the front yard had only gotten louder.Â
You opened the front door just as Robby said, âI still think chaperone rules apply.â
Jack, standing at the bottom of the steps with Crusâs hand still fisted in the back of his jacket, gasped like he had been stabbed. âMy wife said no chaperone.â
âI did say that,â you confirmed.
Jack turned.
The second he saw you in the doorway, everything else disappeared from his face.
He looked at you like he had forgotten the house, the street, the guys, the gravel, the moon, the duel, and every failed line of Shakespeare.
âThere she is,â he said.
It was quiet.
Too quiet for the amount of chaos that had come before it.
Your smile softened. âHi, Romeo.â
Jack took one careful step toward you. Crus released his jacket but stayed close, ready.
Jack made it up the first porch step. Then the second.
He stopped in front of you, swaying slightly, eyes warm and unfocused and giddy all over again.
âI was wooing you.â
âI noticed.â You replied.Â
He leaned in, âDid it work?â
You looked past him at the yard.
Robby was giggling now. Shen was leaning against the mailbox again, smiling like he had witnessed something sacred. Crus stood on the walkway with the dead-eyed patience of a man who had kept three drunk medical professionals alive and received no thanks for it.
Then you looked back at your husband.
At his messy hair. His flushed cheeks. The tiny piece of gravel was still stuck to his palm. The stupid, pleased hope in his face.
âYes,â you said. âIt worked.â
Jackâs smile went bright. âFuck yeah.â
Robby groaned. âGod, marriage is disgusting.â
Jack turned just enough to glare at him. Then he paused.
Slowly, he looked back at you. âWeâre married?â
You laughed, unable to help it. âYes.â
His delight was immediate. âFuck yeah.â
Robby pointed at him. âSee? Disgusting.â
Jack turned back. âYouâre alone.â
Robby clutched his chest. âLow blow, Romeo.â
âGo home,â Jack said. âI have been received.â
Crus looked at you. âPlease take him.â
You smiled, âIâve got him. Thank you, Crus.âÂ
Jack immediately leaned toward you, pleased by the words.
You caught him with both hands against his chest. âShoes off inside. Water. Bed. No climbing anything.â
He nodded seriously. âBoundaries.â
âExactly.â You agreed.Â
Robby booed from the sidewalk again.
Jack spun so fast he had to grab the doorframe. âDo not boo my wifeâs boundaries.â
Then he glanced down at you. âMy wife?â
You patted his chest. âStill me.â
âFuck yeah.â
Shen lifted both hands. âI would never boo boundaries.â
âI still might duel you,â Jack said.
âFor defending her honor?â Shen asked.Â
Jack glared, âFor bringing it up.â
Crus hooked a hand around Robbyâs arm and started dragging him toward the car. âWeâre done.â
Robby waved at you. âSend the security footage!â
Jack froze. Slowly, he turned toward the doorbell camera.
The little blue light blinked back at him.
Then he looked at you. You smiled.
Jack narrowed his eyes. âHow long has that been recording?â
âThe whole time.â You answered.Â
His mouth opened. Nothing came out.
Robby screamed from the curb, âDirectorâs cut!â
Crus shoved him toward the car. âGet in.â
Shen bowed one more time toward you. âGoodnight, lady of the window.â
âGoodnight, Shen.â You called back.Â
Jack pointed at him. âRespectfully.â
âRespectfully,â Shen agreed.
You slipped your hand around Jackâs wrist and tugged gently. âInside.â
Jack followed immediately.
The second the door closed behind him, the night noise muffled. The laughter outside faded toward the street. Crusâs car doors opened and shut. Robby shouted something unintelligible. Shen answered with something that sounded like philosophy but was probably nonsense.
Inside, the house was warm and dim.
Jack stood in the entryway, blinking like he had crossed into another realm.
You took the last piece of gravel from his palm.
He looked down at it. âMy rock.â
âYouâre done with that.â You replied.Â
His eyes found yours, âIt worked.â
âIt hit me.â You said.Â
His face fell all over again. âI know.â
âVery gently.â You added with a smile.
Jack frowned, shaking his head. âI wounded my lady.â
âYou booped my sweatshirt with gravel.â You corrected him.
His frown deepened. âStill bad.â
You softened despite yourself and held up the pebble between you. âIâm keeping it.â
Jack stared at it. Then at you. âYou are?â
âYes.â You answered.Â
His entire expression brightened. âThe courtship rock.â
âThe courtship rock,â you agreed.
He looked very pleased with himself for about half a second.
Then he looked toward your chest again. âAre we sure it didnâtââ
âJack.â
He nodded, âRight. Boundaries.â
You shook your head, smiling despite yourself, and dropped the pebble into the small ceramic bowl where you usually kept keys.
Jack watched you do it. Then he looked at the bowl. Then at you.
âDo I live here?â
You stepped closer, unzipping his jacket. âYes, Jack.â
âWith you?â He asked.Â
You pulled the zipper free. âYes.â
His face lit again, tired and pleased and still so delighted by the answer. âFuck yeah.â
You laughed under your breath and pushed the jacket off his shoulders. âArms.â
He obeyed, but only barely. His balance was not great, and he kept watching you like he was afraid you might vanish if he looked away.
You hung his jacket over the railing.
âShoes,â you said.
Jack looked down at his feet. Then back up at you. âI have shoes on.â
âYou do.â You confirmed.Â
Jack nodded gravely, âGood.â
You guided him to sit on the bottom step.
He dropped heavily, then immediately reached for your hand. His fingers wrapped around yours, warm and clumsy. âAre you mad?â
âYou threw rocks at our window.â You replied.Â
Jack tilted his head, âCourtship rocks.â
âYou hit me with one.â You countered.Â
His face crumpled. âMy greatest shame.â
âYou tried to climb the house.â You added.Â
Jack looked at you, âFor romance.â
âYou threatened to duel Shen.â You replied.Â
Jack sighed deeply, âFor your honor.â
You huffed a laugh, âYou forgot we were married at least six times.âÂ
His thumb moved over your knuckles. âBut I asked you,â he said.
You looked down at him.
He was smiling up at you, drunk and tired and so pleased with himself for that one piece of logic.
âYou did,â you said quietly.
âYou know the true things.â He murrmed.Â
âI do?â You asked.Â
He nodded gravely. âWife things.â
You smiled and bent to untie his shoes. âWife things.â
He brightened. âMy wife?â
You looked up at him. âYes.â
His grin came back, softer now but still giddy. âFuck yeah.â
And that was the problem with Jack.
Even when he was a public menace with gravel.
Even when he mangled Shakespeare in the front yard.
Even when he almost started an honor duel with Shen, he tried to scale the siding like the house was a castle wall.
He always managed to say one thing that slipped under your ribs and stayed there.
You bent and kissed his forehead.
His eyes closed immediately. âThere,â he murmured.
You pulled back just enough to look at him. âThere?â
He nodded, eyes still closed. âMy lady.â
You softened.
Then he opened one eye. âWife?â
You nodded, âYes, Romeo. Wife.â
âFuck yeah.â He grinned.Â
You got him up the stairs with significant effort. Mostly because Jack was determined to be helpful in ways that were not helpful. He tried to remove his shoes while standing, even though you had already removed them. You stopped him. He tried to take off his shirt halfway up the stairs. You stopped that, too. He paused on the landing to tell you, very sincerely, that the moon had deserved what he said.
By the time you got him into the bedroom, Jack was mostly upright through sheer stubbornness and your hand at his waist.
âSit,â you said, guiding him toward the edge of the bed.
Jack dropped onto the mattress with a heavy sigh, then looked up at you with enormous sincerity. âWife voice.â
You paused. âWhat?â
He pointed at you, swaying slightly even while seated. âYou used the voice.â
âI used wife voice.â You confirmed.Â
His face softened immediately. âWife?â
You smiled. âWife.â
His whole expression lit. âFuck yeah.â
You knelt in front of him and reached for his belt buckle.
Jack looked down, scandalized. âMy lady.â
âIâm taking your belt off.â You replied, pulling the leather through the loops.Â
âMy love,â he said, lowering his voice like the room might be bugged by high society, âwe are alone.â
âWe live together.â You told him.Â
He gasped softly. âScandal.â
âMarriage,â you corrected, loosening one shoe.
Jack blinked. Then he looked at you, hopeful. âWeâre married?â
You nodded, âYes, baby.â
âFuck yeah.â He murmured.Â
You slipped the belt free, then set it beside the bed. Jack watched the whole process with the solemn focus of a man witnessing a ceremony.
Then his gaze dropped to his legs.
He stared for a second. His brow furrowed. âMy legs donât match.â
You pressed your lips together so you would not laugh directly in his face.
âNo,â you said gently. âThey donât.â
Jack looked up at you, eyes wide with drunk discovery. âDid you know?â
âI had noticed.â You answered.Â
He absorbed that with grave importance. Then nodded once. âGood.â
âGood?â
âYouâre observant.â His hand landed clumsily over his heart. âGood wife.â
You pointed at him. âDonât make good wife sound cute right now.â
Jack smiled, pleased and unrepentant. âMy wife.â
âYes.â You touched his prosthetic side lightly. âLeg?â
He nodded at once, all trust. âLeg.â
That was the thing that always got you.
Not the jokes. Not the ridiculous courtship act. Not even the way he kept rediscovering your marriage like it was the best news anyone had ever given him.
It was the trust.
The way he let you close without bracing for it. The way he let your hands move through a routine that had become as ordinary as turning down the sheets or setting water on the nightstand.
You knew what to do.
You had done it a hundred times.
You eased the fabric out of the way, found the release with practiced fingers, and carefully helped him out of the prosthetic, setting it where he could reach it in the morning.
Jack watched you, quieter now.
For one second, the drunk performance softened at the edges.
âThere,â you said.
He looked from the prosthetic to you. âYou take good care.â
Your chest warmed. âSo do you.â
Jack considered that. Then frowned. âI threw rocks at you.â
âTiny rocks.â You corrected him.
Jack nodded, âCourtship rocks.â
âOne courtship rock.â You replied.Â
He winced. âMy shame.â
You smiled, âYou survived it.â
âYou were merciful.â He said.Â
You nodded once, âI was.â
He reached for your hand, warm and clumsy, and squeezed your fingers. âMy lady is merciful.â
You smiled. âYour wife is tired.â
His eyes lit again. âWife?â
You lifted your left hand.
He stared at your rings, then lifted his own hand so you could see his wedding band.
âWeâre married,â you said.
Jackâs grin came back, bright and helpless. âFuck yeah.â
You stood and reached for the button of his jeans.
Jackâs hand flew to his waistband. âMy lady!â
You looked up at him.
His eyes were wide and deeply, drunkenly solemn. âMy love, you must restrain yourself.â
You inhaled, âJack.â
âWe must consider your honor.â He glanced toward the closed bedroom door, as if Robby might burst in with a chaperone contract. âYour reputation.â
âJack, baby, we are married.â You reminded him.Â
He froze. Then slowly turned back to you. âWe are?â
You lifted your left hand again and wiggled your fingers.
His eyes locked on your rings. Then you took his left hand and held up his. His wedding band gleamed in the bedside lamplight.
Jack stared at it. Then at yours. Then at you.
His grin spread, slow and delighted. âFuck yeah.â
âExactly.â You patted his knee. âSo let me help you change before you fall asleep in jeans.â
He considered this. Then nodded gravely. âFor comfort.â
âFor comfort.â You agreed.
âAnd marriage.â He added.Â
You nodded, âAnd marriage.â
âAnd not dishonor.â Jack continued.Â
âNo dishonor.â You agreed.
Jack relaxed his hand from his waistband with great dignity. âProceed.â
Once you had gotten Jack successfully into his sweatpants, you got him water from the bathroom. He drank half of it, made a face like water had personally wronged him, then drank the other half because you raised your eyebrows.Â
Then you helped him under the covers.
He rolled onto his side and reached for you before you were even in bed.
âNo sex,â you said, climbing in beside him. âYouâre drunk.â
Jackâs eyes opened with sudden seriousness. âRight. Boundaries.â
âRight.â
Jack nodded gravely, âI respect my lady.â
You nodded, âI know.â
âMy wife?â He asked, bright and hopeful.Â
You smiled into the dark. âYour wife.â
âFuck yeah.â His arm settled around your waist, heavy and warm. He tucked himself closer, his face pressing into your shoulder, all that theatrical devotion quieting into simple contact.
Outside, Crusâs car finally pulled away.
The house settled again.
You stared into the dark, one hand resting over Jackâs forearm.
His breathing slowed.
Just when you thought he had fallen asleep, he mumbled, barely audible, âStill the sun.â
Your throat tightened. You covered his hand with yours. âGo to sleep, Romeo.â
A pause.
Then, soft and satisfied against your shoulder: âFuck yeah.â
The Next Day...
Jack woke up to consequences.
 The first consequence was pain. His head was splitting. His mouth tasted like old tequila and poor judgment. One of his eyes did not want to open all the way. The room was too bright despite the curtains being mostly closed, and someone had apparently replaced his bones with sandbags.
The second consequence was you.
You were sitting beside him in bed, already showered, wearing leggings and one of his old sweatshirts, sipping coffee with the kind of suspicious cheerfulness that made every instinct in his body go cold.
Jack stared at you through one open eye. âWhy are you smiling like that?â
You took a slow sip of coffee. âNo reason.â
His phone buzzed on the nightstand. Then buzzed again. Then again.
Jack closed his eye. âNo.â
Your smile widened. âJack.â
âNo.â He said instantly.Â
You raised a brow, âYou should check the group chat.â
âIâm resigning from the group chat,â Jack said.Â
You shook your head, âYou canât resign from a group chat.â
âI can resign from medicine,â Jack replied.Â
The phone buzzed again.
Jack groaned and reached for it with the despair of a man approaching his own autopsy report.
The first message was from Robby.
ROMEO ABBOT: THE DIRECTORâS CUT
Below it was a video.
The thumbnail showed Jack in the front yard, one hand raised toward the bedroom window, mouth open mid-sentence, body angled with what appeared to be tragic nobility.
Jack stared. His stomach dropped. âWhat,â he said slowly, âis that?â
You leaned closer, bright-eyed. âArt.â
He pressed play.
On the screen, his own drunk voice rang out. âBut softâwhat light through yonder house holeââ
Crusâs voice corrected, âWindow.â
Jack stopped the video. Silence.
You sipped your coffee.
Jack set the phone very carefully on the blanket. âIâm deleting Robby from my life.â
You smiled into your mug, âYou also tried to duel Shen.â
His eyes closed. âI need to be buried.â
âYou called them courtship rocks.â You added,Â
He opened one eye. âWhat?â
You pointed toward the dresser. Sitting atop it, in a tiny ceramic dish, were three pieces of driveway gravel.
Jack stared at them. âYou kept them?â
You smiled, âOf course I kept them.â
His face changed, just slightly.
Even hungover, even mortified, he softened.
Then he noticed one pebble sitting separately in the center.
His brow furrowed. âWhy is that one in the middle?â
âThatâs the one that hit me.â You answered.Â
Jack stared at you. Then at the pebble. Then back at you. âIt hit you?â
âGently.â
His face went pale. âWhere?â
You smiled over the rim of your coffee. âMy sweatshirt.â
A memory seemed to crawl through the hangover.
Jackâs eyes narrowed. Then closed. âOh god.â
âYou asked if it went down my shirt.â You said, enjoying the memory.Â
He did not move.
You pressed your lips together. âYou offered to get it.â
He pulled the blanket over his face.
From underneath it, muffled and ruined, came, âI was trying to be helpful.â
âYou were very respectful when I said no.â You told him.Â
The blanket lowered just enough for one eye to appear. âI was?â
âYou were.â You assured him.Â
That seemed to make him feel marginally better.
Then his phone buzzed again.
You picked it up before he could stop you. âOh, good. Robby sent another angle.â
Jack went still. âAnother angle?â
âWe have the doorbell camera too.â You explained.Â
His head turned very slowly toward you. âNo.â
You nodded, âOh, yes.â
âYou have security footage?â He asks.
âFrom two angles.â You replied happily.Â
âTwo?â
You nodded again, âDoorbell and driveway. I sent them to Robby.â
Jack lowered himself back onto the pillow and covered his face with both hands.
A long silence. Then, muffled, âIâm leaving.â
âYou live here.â You told him.
He peeked at you through his fingers. âWith you?â
âYes.â
He watched you for a beat, hungover and miserable and somehow still hopeful. âWeâre married?â
You smiled. âWeâre married.â
A slow grin pulled at his mouth. âFuck yeah.â
You laughed and leaned down to kiss his temple.
He accepted it with a little hum.
Then he muttered, âDid I at least do okay?â
You looked at your husband.
At the man who had jumped out of a car at a red light because he could not stand being two blocks away from you. The man who had thrown rocks at your window, accidentally hit your sweatshirt, threatened an honor duel, tried to climb the house, and rediscovered your marriage with fresh joy every single time.
You brushed your fingers through his hair. âYou wooed me.â
đ” â younger girlfriend squirting with jack abbot . 18+
you tell jack whoâs been knuckles deep inside your pussy for the past hour that something feels weirder than usual, as youâre sitting in between his legs â your back pressed against his chest with your thighs parted giving him the perfect amount of access needed to pleasure you.
âwhatâs wrong, baby?â he murmurs against your temple with a gentle kiss as his calloused digits are rhythmically plunging in and out of your hole. curling his fingers sweet into that spongey spot inside of you, itâs almost cruel the way he knows exactly how to make you lose it. âit feels weird.â you testify, eyes fixated on the recurring disappearance of your boyfriendâs fingers inside of you.
âyeah? tell me what feels weird, hm.â he hums, feeling you shift and squirm against him as he holds one of your legs open by the backside of your knee. and you can barely utter the words from your mouth, âyour fingers keep pressing against my bladder, its making me feel like i have to goâ go to the bathroom.â you bite down on your bottom lip.
every time jackâs fingers plunge back inside you, it feels as if youâre peeing yourself already. as if the motion of his fingers are forcing that specific release from you. âthat so?â you feel his chest rumble against you as he lets out a gruff chuckle, âthatâs good then. thatâs the feeling you want when it starts feeling good, sweetheart.â he reassures, as your walls pulse around his fingers.
you whine, throwing you head back against his shoulder. each drag of his digits bringing you closer, and closer towards the edge as you let out soft moans.
jack letâs out an impressed whistle once he starts to feel your hips rock into hand. âfuckâ it feels good.â you moan warm against the side of his neck, âso good i might actually pee.â which earns a low, amused groan from jack.
âmhmm, you gonna make a mess on my hand?â he lifts his thumb up, before pressing mean against your swollen clit making you jolt. âwâwait!â you stammer, throwing your hands towards jackâs forearm in attempt to halt his movements as he shakes his head in disapproval. âuh-uh, canât have you telling me to stop now.â he rasps, pressing circles around your nub as it twitches under the pad of this thumb.
âcâmon and show me how messy you can get.â his breath fans warm against your cheek, before your bodyâs involuntarily letting loose. your body is shaking, and your walls are caving in around jackâs digits as youâre whimpering. âthaatâs it, babyâ give it to me.â he groans, targeting that sweet spot inside of you, before youâre making a wet mess all over yourself.
âmmgh, jackâ jack.â youâre whimpering as slight humiliation fills your chest, though the pleasure is far too euphoric as he coaxes every last drop out of you. âatta girl.â he nudges his mouth against the side of your head to whisper in your ear. âi love nasty girls.â he groans.
Pairing: Dr. Jack Abbot x resident!reader
Warnings: fluff, pediatric patients, mention of hospital smells.
Summary: working in the ER means getting used to the clinical scent of antiseptic. Dr. Jack Abbot is a man of protocols, which is why he finds your collection of antibacterial hand gel to be a glittery distraction, until a terrified toddler refuses to cooperate.
A/N i have no idea if doctors can use this, ok? This is pure fiction
The sharp scent of isopropyl alcohol was, for Dr. Jack Abbot, the smell of job. It was efficient, it was clean and it was professional.
So, when he stepped into Trauma 2 to help his favorite resident with a pediatric intake, the sudden burst of Sweet Strawberry was enough to make him pause mid stride.
You were crouched down by the gurney, eye level with a six year old boy who looked ready to bolt. He had a nasty laceration on his forearm and eyes brimming with tears. Jack watched as you pulled a small colored bottle with a glittery silicone holder from your pocket. You clicked it open, rubbed your hands together, and then held them out playfully toward the kid.
"Does this smell like doctors?" you whispered loudly.
The boy sniffed the air, his lip stopping its tremble. "No. Smells like fruit."
"Exactly," you winked, already reaching for the gauze. "No boring hospital smells allowed at this station."
Jack waited until the patient had been stitched, pampered with a dinosaur sticker, and wheeled up to observation before he leaned against the supply cart, crossing his arms.
"Strawberry hand gel?" he asked, a faint and amused quirk to his brow. "Iâm fairly certain the hospital spends a fortune on those wall mounted industrial grade dispensers for a reason."
You didn't even look up as you charted, still radiating a faint aura of artificial berries. "The industrial ones smell horrible, Jack. Itâs intimidating for the kids."
"Itâs sanitary," he corrected gently. "The concentration in those commercial ones is sometimes lower thanâ"
"Kids hate that smell," you interrupted, finally looking up at him. Your expression was soft but completely certain. "When theyâre scared and everything hurts, the last thing they want is a doctor who smells like a chemistry lab coming at them with a needle. This? This makes them think of ice cream and summer. It lowers the heart rate faster than a sedative."
Jack went quiet, watching you tuck the tiny bottle back into your scrub pocket. He looked at the sterile dispensing unit on the wall, then back at you.
He was a man of logic and protocol, but he was also a man who appreciated the way you navigated the chaos of the ER with heart.
"Strawberry?" he asked.
"Sweet Strawberry. And another one of Watermelon Lemonade. The lemonade one is new, bought it yesterday" you corrected, holding your wrist up to his nose. "Want a hit? You look like youâve had a long shift."
Jack chuckled. He took your hand, leaning in to catch the scent. It was sugary, bright and utterly ridiculous in the middle of a trauma center.
"Itâs distracting," he murmured, his thumb grazing your palm before he let go.
"Is it working?"
He looked at you, really looked at you, and felt the tension of the last twelve hours finally start to bleed out of his shoulders.
"Regrettably," he admitted, a small smile tugging at his lips. "I think I might prefer the lemonade."
-
The trail of strawberry, lemonade or vanilla that followed you through the halls had become a quiet constant. Jackâd be mid charting and catch a whiff of sweet vanilla, and heâd know without looking that youâd just finished a consult in Peds.
This shift was a heavy one. The waiting room was at capacity, and the air in the ER felt thick with humidity.
Jack was in Exam 3, trying to calm a frantic toddler who was refusing to let anyone near her.
"I heard we have a tough customer," you said, sliding into the room with a calm energy that always seemed to settle the air around you.
Jack sighed, his shoulders tight. "Sheâs not a fan of the stethoscope. Or me, apparently."
The toddler peeked over, eyeing your blue scrub top. You didn't move toward her immediately. Instead, you caught Jackâs eye. You reached for your pocket, your fingers brushing the familiar plastic clip of your latest scent.
Before you could even pop the cap, Jack surprised himself.
He stopped arguing for the industrial sanitizer.
He didn't offer a lecture on alcohol percentages.
He simply went quiet and held out his hand, palm up.
It was a silent surrender. He didn't say a word, but the gesture spoke volumes. He was choosing your scent logic over his own rigid protocols.
A smile broke across your face. You squeezed a dollop of the antibacterial hand gel into his hand as the toddler watched closely. "Cozy vanilla almond, it's new" you whispered.
Jack rubbed his hands together, the scent immediately cutting through the exam room.
He held his hands out toward the little girl.
"Look, my hands smell funny" he asked, his voice dropping into a gentle tone.
The girl leaned forward, took his hand with a hard grip and sniffed tentatively. Her grip loosened instantly.
"Muffins," she whispered.
"Muffins it is," Jack agreed, catching your gaze.
You were wearing a look of pure I told you so.
"Don't say it," Jack warned, though there was no bite in it.
"I didn't say a word," you replied, your smile widening. "You're definitely a vanilla guy. Smells good on you."
You stayed with him until the toddler was discharged. You felt something on the air, something that made the vanilla scent feel like the best thing heâd smelled all day.
For the rest of the shift, the sweetness stayed on his skin and you caught him several times smelling his hand or asking for more even though there wasn't any sick child around.
Summary: A night out with Robby, Santos, Whitaker, Javadi, and Mel takes a turn when you get drunk, refuse to leave the bar, and start loudly demanding to know where your husband is. Santos calls Jack. Jack arrives. Unfortunately for everyone in the bar, you are drunk and do not immediately recognize him as your husband.
Warnings: alcohol use, drunk reader, suggestive jokes, reader being extremely horny for her own husband, Jack being responsible and not engaging sexually while reader is drunk, soft caretaking, lots of teasing, lots of âhell yeah.â
Author's Note:
I donât know what to tell you. Sometimes a woman gets drunk, forgets she is married, and tries to hit on her own husband in public. Sometimes that husband happens to be Jack Abbot. Sometimes he has to provide ring verification every five minutes while trying to get her to drink water.
This is love.
Xoxo, Del
By the time Santos called Jack, you had been singing for twenty-three minutes.
Not continuously.
There had been pauses.
Important pauses.
One pause to tell Robby he was doing the background vocals wrong. Another to inform Whitaker that his attempt to close the tab was âemotionally hostile.â Another to point at a man near the jukebox and announce, with deep conviction, that he was not your husband because your husband had better shoulders.
Mel had tried water.
Javadi had tried fries.
Whitaker had tried logistics.
Robby had tried joining in, which had only made everything worse.
And Santos, because she had the glare of a woman who had spent years keeping doctors from making stupid choices, and no patience left, finally pulled out her phone.
You were standing beside the booth with one hand braced on the table, swaying to the beat of a song that was no longer playing.
âBaby! Woo-hoo, where the hell is my husband? Woo-hoo! What is takin' him so long to find me? Woo-hoo!â
Robby lifted both hands as if he were conducting you. âGreat projection.â
Santos pointed at him. âStop encouraging her.â
Robby shrugged, âSheâs an artist.â
âShe is refusing to leave a bar because she thinks her husband has been misplaced,â Santos replied.Â
You turned sharply. Too sharply. Mel caught your elbow before gravity could make a compelling argument.
âHe is not misplaced,â you said.
Santos lowered the phone slightly. âNo?â
You frowned, âHe is missing.â
Javadi nodded from the end of the booth, phone in hand, filming with the calm detachment of someone documenting history. âThe distinction is important.â
Whitaker rubbed both hands over his face. âIt is not.â
You slapped one palm gently against the table. âMy husband is handsome and tall and sexy and has doctor hands.â
Robby leaned toward Mel. âDoctor's hands is specific.â
Mel nodded. âAnd accurate.â
âAnd,â you continued, because you were not finished and everyone needed to understand the scale of the emergency, âhe has very serious pecs.â
Santos closed her eyes.
Robby whispered, âHere we go.â
You pointed at him. âRespect the pecs.â
âI do,â Robby said immediately.
Whitaker slid your glass of water toward you. âCan we respect the pecs from the parking lot?â
You shake your head quickly, âNo.â
âWhy?â He groans.Â
You point towards the door, âBecause my husband is not in the parking lot.â
Santos pressed Jackâs contact and lifted the phone to her ear.
You gasped. âAre you calling him?â
She nodded, âYes.â
âNo!â You exclaimed.Â
Santos looked at you. âNo?â
You shook your head, âI donât want to call him.â
âYou have been singing for him for twenty-three minutes,â Santos said.
You rolled your eyes like it was the most obvious thing in the world, âI want him to appear.âÂ
Robby slapped the table once. âThat is marriage.â
Santos ignored him and turned slightly away as the call connected.
Jack answered on the second ring. âEverything okay?â
His voice came through low and alert, and you froze.
Santos looked at you.
You stared at her phone like it had become sacred.
âAbbot,â Santos said.
There was a small pause on the other end. âSantos?â
âYou busy?â She asks.Â
âAt home.â Jackâs voice sharpened. âIs she okay?â
You grabbed Melâs wrist and whispered very loudly, âIs that my husband?â
Mel patted your hand. âYes, honey.â
You looked down at your left hand.
Your wedding rings gleamed under the warm bar lights.
You gasped. âI have wife jewelry.â
Robby bent forward with a wheeze. âWife jewelry.â
On the phone, Jack went quiet. âWhat was that?â
Santos looked at you as you lifted your hand in front of your face and admired your rings with genuine awe.
âShe is okay,â Santos said carefully.
Jack exhaled. âDefine okay.â
You turned toward the booth again, apparently remembering your mission. âOh, baby, where the hell is my lover?â You pick up your song.
Jack went silent.
Robby threw his head back and supplied a terrible echo. âWoo-hoo!â
Santos pinched the bridge of her nose.
Jack said, âIs that her?â
âNo,â Santos said. âThat is the jukebox haunting me.â
Jack sighed, âSantos.â
âYes, thatâs her.â
âIs she hurt?â He asked.Â
âNo.â
âSick?â He continued.Â
âNo.â
Jack exhaled, âCrying?â
You pointed at a man near the pool table. âNot him. My husband has a better ass.â
Mel covered her mouth with a hand.
Santos stared at the ceiling. âNo. Not crying.â
There was a pause.
Then Jack said, dry as hell, âDid she say something about my ass?â
Robby lunged across the table, trying to get closer to the phone. âTell him she said better.â
Santos shoved his forehead back with two fingers. âShe is refusing to leave until her husband comes to collect her.â
You leaned toward Santosâs phone. âTell him to wear the gray sweatpants.â
Santos pulled the phone away from you. âAbsolutely not.â
Jack made a sound that might have been a cough. âIâm leaving now. Send me the address.â He was already moving.
In the background, Robby shouted, âTell him sheâs been reviewing his ass for twenty minutes!â
Jack went silent again.
Santos closed her eyes. âIâm hanging up now.â
You reached toward the phone. âWait, I want to talk to him.â
âNo,â Santos said, ending the call.Â
Your lower lip trembled, âBut heâs missing.â
âHeâs on his way.â She told you.Â
That stopped you. Your mouth fell open. âHeâs coming?â
Santos slid her phone into her pocket. âYes.â
You laid a hand on your chest, âTo me?â
âYes.â Trinity nodded.Â
You pressed both hands to your cheeks. âOh, fuck.â
Whitaker nodded toward the door. âGreat. Now we can go.â
âNo,â you said immediately.
His shoulders dropped. âWhy not?â
You looked at him like he had just asked the stupidest question in recorded history. âI have to be here when my husband appears.â
Robby raised one hand. âI support her.â
Santos snapped, âNo one asked you.â
You sat back down in the booth and folded your hands on the table like you were waiting for a job interview.
Mel slid the water toward you again. âDrink some water while you wait.â
You stared at the glass.
Then at Mel.
Then at Santos.
âWhat if he gets here and Iâm drinking water?â You ask.Â
Javadi tilted her head. âWould that be bad?â
You frowned, thinking hard. âNo. Hydration is sexy.â
Whitaker looked at the ceiling. âThank God.â
You picked up the glass, took one sip, and set it down with a proud nod.
Then you leaned toward Robby. âDo you think he knows heâs my husband?â
Robbyâs face lit with dangerous joy.
Santos pointed at him. âDo not.â
Robby held up both hands. âI didnât say anything.â
Her eyes narrowed, âYou were about to.â
Robby frowned deeply, âI have never done anything wrong in my life.â
Javadi looked up from her phone. âThere are videos.â
You tapped your rings against the table, watching them sparkle. âIâm going to ask him.â
Mel smiled. âAsk him what?â
âIf heâs my husband.â You answer.Â
Whitaker muttered, âThis will be efficient.â
âIt will not,â Santos said.
And it wasnât.
Because when Jack walked in seven minutes later, everything in you stopped working.
He came through the door in jeans, sneakers, and a dark hoodie under his jacket, like he had pulled on the first clothes he found and driven over without thinking about anything except getting to you. His hair was messy, his expression serious, and his eyes scanned the bar once before landing on your booth.
On you.
You stopped mid-hum.
Your hand tightened around Melâs wrist. âOh no.â
Mel followed your gaze. âWhat?â
You pointed. âThat man has pecs like my husbandâs.â
Robby twisted in his seat so fast he nearly knocked over Whitakerâs drink.
Santos sighed. âThat man is your husband.â
You shook your head slowly, eyes fixed on Jack as he crossed the bar. âNo.â
Javadi kept filming. âDenial phase.â
Jack reached the table and looked you over first, quick and clinical, because he was Jack. No visible injury. No tears. No panic. Just you, drunk and bright-eyed and staring at him like he had been sent from some divine catalog of bad ideas.
His shoulders eased. âHey, baby.â
You blinked. Then slowly turned to Santos. âHe called me baby.â
She nodded slowly, âBecause he is your husband.â
You whipped back toward him. âYou are?â
Jackâs mouth twitched.
He lifted his left hand without hesitation.
His wedding band caught the bar light.
You looked down at your own rings.
Then back at his.
Then at your rings again. âOh, my god.â
Jackâs face softened. âYeah?â
You beam. âWe match.â
âWe do.â He replied.
You looked him up and down, with a long pause at his chest. âHell yeah.â
Robby slammed both hands on the table. âAnd weâre off.â
Jack pointed at him without looking away from you. âDonât.â
You leaned toward Mel, still staring at Jack. âHe has very serious pecs.â
Jack closed his eyes for half a second.
Melâs shoulders shook. âI know, honey.â
âDo you think he works out?â You whispered to Trinity.Â
Santos answered before Jack could. âOccasionally.â
You nodded solemnly. âItâs working.â
Jack opened his eyes. âOkay. Time to go.â
You frowned. Then looked him up and down again. âHey, soldier.â
The whole booth went quiet.
Jack stared at you.
Santos slowly turned her head. âOh, my god.â
You gave Jack what you clearly thought was a seductive smile. âYou come here often?â
Jackâs mouth twitched again, despite his best efforts. âTo retrieve my drunk wife from a bar? No.â
Your eyes went wide. âWife?â
He lifted his hand again.
You looked at his ring.
Then yours.
Your whole face lit up. âHell yeah.â
Javadi, still filming, said, âThe verification system remains functional.â
Jack looked at her phone. âAre you recording?â
âYes.â She answered instantly.Â
Jack groans, âWhy?â
âDocumentation,â Victoria answered.Â
âItâs behavioral science,â Robby added.
Jack ignored all of them and reached for the water glass instead of you. âDrink.â
You froze. Then you sat up straighter, eyes suddenly sharp with drunk discovery. âHuh.â
Jack paused. âHuh?â
You pointed at him. âAttending voice.â
Robby made a delighted noise. âOh, she clocked it.â
Jack gave him a flat look. âDo not participate.â
You leaned toward Santos, whispering very loudly. âHe said drink like he was about to order labs.â
Santos nodded. âHe did.â
âI did not,â Jack said.
Mel patted your shoulder. âYou kind of did.â
Jack pushed the glass closer. âThree sips.â
Your lips parted. âOh, fuck me.â
Jack closed his eyes. âPlease just drink the water.â
You picked up the glass with both hands, still staring at him. âYouâre very bossy for a stranger.â
Jack opened his eyes. âIâm not a stranger.â
You narrowed your eyes.
Then you looked down at your rings again.
Jack lifted his hand.
You inspected his wedding band with deep seriousness.
âRight,â you said. âHusband.â
âYes,â Jack confirmed.Â
You took one sip.
Jack nodded once. âGood.â
You set the glass down too hard. âNo.â
His brow furrowed. âNo?â
âYou canât say âgoodâ with attending voice.â You frowned.Â
Robby dropped his forehead onto the table. âSheâs right.â
Jack pointed at him. âNot another word.â
You finished the water because Jack stood there with crossed arms and serious eyes, and the world had become a place where hydration was suddenly compelling.
When you set the glass down, Jack picked up your coat. âArm.â
You inhaled sharply.
Santos pointed at him. âThat one was attending voice.â
Jackâs jaw flexed. âI need her arm in the sleeve.â
You looked at him, dazed. âYou need my arm?â
Jack took a slow breath. âBaby.â
You melted back against the booth. âOh, Jackie.â
That got him. Just a little. His expression shifted, the stern line of his mouth almost breaking.
Santos saw it immediately. âDonât reward her.â
âIâm not rewarding her,â Jack said.
âYou liked Jackie,â Santos replied.Â
Jack held the coat open and looked at you. âArm.â
You stared at him. Then slid one arm into the sleeve. âBossy.â
He guided the coat around your shoulders. âOther arm.â
You looked at Mel. âHe wants the other one too.â
Mel nodded, fighting for her life. âCoats usually do.â
You gave Jack your other arm. He pulled the coat into place and zipped it halfway with careful, practical hands. You looked down at the zipper. Then up at him. âThat was hot.â
âIt was a zipper.â Jack deadpanned.Â
You sighed happily, âYou did it like a procedure.â
Robby lifted his head. âSterile field: wife edition.â
Jack did not turn around. âRobby.â
âSorry.â Robby lowered his head once more.Â
Santos stood and grabbed her bag. âWe are leaving before she proposes to him.â
You froze. Then your head turned slowly toward Jack. âI proposed?â
Jackâs expression softened at once. âNo, baby.â He lifted his left hand before you could even ask, wedding band, catching the bar light. âI proposed.â
You looked down at your rings. Then at his. Then up at him, stunned and pleased and drunk-happy. âYou wanted to marry me?â
Jackâs mouth twitched. âStill do.â
Your whole face lit up. âHell yeah.â
Robby dropped his forehead back to the table. âTheyâre disgusting.â
Jack crouched slightly in front of you and offered his hand. âStand up.â
The booth went silent. You stared at him. Then you looked at Santos. âAttending voice.â
Santos nodded. âFull attending voice.â
Jackâs eyes flicked briefly to the ceiling. âI am trying to get you upright.â
You nodded, âYouâre doing it with authority.â
âYou are drunk in public,â Jack replied.Â
You clicked your tongue, âYouâre hot in public.â
Mel made a small sound into her hand.
Jackâs ears went faintly pink.
You saw it. âOh my god,â you whispered. âJackieâs blushing.â
Jack shook his head, âI am not.â
âYou are.â You squeal with delight.Â
Jackâs hand stayed steady in front of you. âUp.â
You pressed one hand dramatically to your chest. âFuck.â
Santos stood and grabbed her bag. âWe are leaving before she discovers a military kink.â
Jackâs head snapped up. âSantos.â
She shrugged, âWhat? Sheâs halfway there.â
You tilted your head, considering. âA what?â
âNope.â Jack took your hand and helped you stand. âWeâre going home.â
For one glorious second, you were upright and triumphant.
Then the room tilted. Jack caught you by the waist.
Your entire body went still. âOh, fuck.â
âBalance,â he said.
You stared up at him. âYou said that like an order.â
âIt was an explanation,â Jack replied.Â
You smiled up at him, âDo it again.â
âNo,â Jack answered immediately.Â
Robby lifted his head. âSheâs not wrong.â
Jackâs eyes cut to him.
Robby lowered his head again. âWithdrawn.â
You touched Jackâs chest lightly with one finger. âResponsible soldier husband.â
Jack looked down at your hand. Then at your face. âDoctor husband. Former soldier.â
You nodded solemnly. âDoctor husband with command voice.â
Mel laughed into her hand.Â
Jack took a slow breath. âArm over my shoulder.â
Your eyes went wide. âJackie.â
âArm,â he repeated, then pointed to his shoulder. âHere.â
You looked at Santos. âHe pointed.â
âI saw.â She answered.Â
You licked your lips. âHe pointed and said here.â
Trinity nodded solemnly, âYouâre going to survive.â
You shook your head furiously, âYou donât know that.â
Jack guided your arm over his shoulders.
You held on to him and immediately looked delighted. âIâm touching him.â
Santos nodded. âYou are.â
âLegally?â You asked, looking to Jack, bright and hopeful.Â
Jack lifted his left hand in front of your face.
You checked his ring. Then yours. âHell yeah.â
Jack slid an arm around your waist and pulled you carefully against his side.
You went very still. Then you looked down at his arm. âOh, fuck me.â
Jack sighed. âPlease walk.â
You looked up at him, eyes wide and delighted. âCan you say it again, but like bossier?â
âNo,â Jack said.Â
âAbsolutely not,â Santos said at the same time.
Robby lifted his head just enough to gasp for air. âI canât believe it. This is foreplay with witnesses.â
Jack pointed at him without loosening his hold on you. âNot foreplay.â
You leaned into his side and whispered loudly. âBut later?â
Jack closed his eyes. âYouâre drunk.â
You nodded, âBut later, when Iâm not drunk?â
âLater,â Santos said quickly, âis between you, Jack, and God.â
Javadi nodded. âAnd possibly the HOA, depending on volume.â
You looked at Jack. âDo we have an HOA?â
He shook his head, âNo.â
You leaned closer to him, âThen later?â
Jackâs jaw tightened. âWalk.â
You inhaled sharply. âOh, that was better.â
Santos threw both hands up. âDoor. Now.â
Jack started moving.
You went with him, tucked carefully into his side, one arm over his shoulders, his arm secure around your waist, your coat half-zipped and your dignity somewhere under the booth.
You made it three steps before he said, âWatch your feet.â
You looked up at him. âAttending voice.â
âSafety voice.â He corrected.Â
You shrugged, âTheyâre cousins.â
âEyes forward,â Jack replied.Â
You sighed dramatically, âOh fuck me, that one too.â
Santos followed behind you, laughing now despite herself. âThis is the worst evacuation Iâve ever seen.â
Jack kept you tucked firmly against his side. âIt is not an evacuation.â
âYouâre using evacuation posture,â you said.
He looked down at you.
You smiled up at him, drunk and delighted. âI like it.â
Jackâs mouth twitched. âI know.â
Halfway to the door, you twisted carefully to look back at the table.
âEverybody be cool,â you announced. âIâm leaving with my husband.â
Robby raised both hands. âHell yeah, Mrs. Abbot.â
You stopped.
Jack stopped with you, patient but visibly suffering.
You looked down at your rings.
Then grabbed his left hand and checked his.
The band was still there.
You smiled, delighted all over again. âHell yeah.â
Jackâs face softened.
Then you glanced behind him one more time.Â
âAnd he has a great ass!â You cheer.
Jack immediately started walking again.
âGoodnight,â he called over his shoulder.
Santos waved. âHydrate her.â
Mel added, âText when you get home.â
Whitaker pointed at Jack. âDo not let her order fries.â
You gasped. âTraitor.â
Javadi lifted her glass. âThe record will show we tried.â
Robby cupped his hands around his mouth. âAsk him to walk bossier!â
Jack pushed the door open with his shoulder and guided you into the cool night air.
The second the air hit your face, you sighed dramatically and leaned a little more heavily into his side.
Jack adjusted his hold. âYou okay?â
You looked up at him.
The bar lights spilled behind him, catching the edge of his jaw, the tired concern in his face, the little pinch between his brows that meant he was trying to figure out if you needed water, food, sleep, or all three.
Your drunk brain, unhelpfully, sorted those options into one category.
Husband.
âJack?â You asked quietly.Â
Jack looked down at you, âYeah, baby?â
âYouâre really my husband?â You whispered the question.Â
He lifted his left hand between you before you even asked.
You looked at his ring.
Then down at yours.
Then up at him.
Your smile went soft and bright and drunk-happy. âHell yeah.â
Jack shook his head, but he was smiling now. âYeah,â he said, guiding you toward the car. âHell yeah.â
You made it halfway across the parking lot before you stopped again.
Jack looked down. âWhat?â
You stared at him very seriously. âYou came when I sang.â
His mouth twitched. âSantos called.â
âBut I sang.â You persisted.Â
Jack nodded, âYou did.â
âAnd you appeared.â You added with delight.Â
âI did,â Jack replied.Â
You nodded, deeply moved. âPowerful.â
Jack opened the passenger door and kept one hand at your back. âIn.â
You looked at the seat. Then at him. âI like it when you give directions.â
Jack almost smiled, âI have noticed.â
âCan you say âinâ again?â You asked, looking up at him.Â
His answer comes quickly, âNo.â
âMeaner?â You tried.
This answer was faster: âAbsolutely not.â
You sighed and got into the car anyway, mostly because Jackâs hand was warm at your back and he looked like that, and you were only human.
He leaned across you to buckle your seatbelt.
You went very still.
Jack paused immediately. âOkay?â
You nodded, eyes wide. âYou smell good.â
He huffed a quiet laugh and clicked the seatbelt into place. âYouâre drunk.â
âYou smell good when Iâm drunk.â You amended.Â
Jack shook his head, âThatâs not how that works.â
âIt is for me.â You replied with a happy shrug.Â
Jack braced one hand on the roof of the car and looked down at you.
His expression was amused. Tired. Fond in a way he would absolutely deny if Robby had been there to witness it. âYou need water when we get home.â
You pointed at him. âBossy.â
âYou need sleep.â He added.Â
You smiled. âOh, fuck.â
âAnd no flirting with me until you can walk in a straight line.â Jack continued.Â
Your mouth fell open. âYouâre denying your wife?â
Jack held up his left hand.
You looked at his ring automatically.
Then at yours.
The distress vanished.
You nodded, âHell yeah.â
He smiled despite himself. âAnd yes. Iâm denying my drunk wife.â
You considered that, then nodded slowly. âResponsible husband.â
He smiled softly, âTrying to be.â
You looked him up and down from your seat. âHot.â
Jack shut the door before you could say anything else. You watched him walk around the front of the car. The parking lot lights were doing very good things to him. His shoulders. His hoodie. His jeans. When he opened the driverâs side door, you were still staring.
He slid in and caught your expression immediately. âNo.â
You frowned deeply, âI didnât say anything.â
âYou were about to,â Jack commented.Â
You looked out the windshield, dignified. âI was admiring privately.â
You looked at his hands on the steering wheel. âOh, fuck.â
He closed his eyes. âBaby.â
You looked down at your rings.
Then, at his hand on the wheel, wedding band visible under the passing sweep of the parking lot light.
âYou called me baby.â You sighed happily.Â
He pulled out of the parking space. âIâm your husband.â
You smiled at his ring. âHell yeah.âÂ
The drive home was mostly quiet. Mostly.Â
You hummed under your breath until Jack, without looking away from the road, said, âNo more husband song.â
You turned your head toward him. âI like it when youâre bossy.â
âI know.â He replied.Â
You sat up straighter, âSay something else.â
âNo.â
âThat was something.â You mumbled.Â
He sighed.
You smiled out the window like you had won.
By the time he pulled into the driveway, your energy had softened around the edges. The feral husband appreciation was still there, obviously, because Jack existed and you had eyes, but it had gone warm and sleepy.
Less bar announcement.
More gravity.
Jack came around to your side and opened the door.
You looked up at him.
He looked down at you. âOut.â
Your mouth parted.
Jack pointed at you. âDo not.â
You pressed your lips together, nodding seriously. Then whispered, âAttending voice.â
He helped you out anyway.
You wobbled once on the driveway, and his hand found your waist immediately.
You leaned into him. âGood catch.â
He gave you a little grin, âGood wobble.â
You gasped. âYou praised me.â
âI should not have,â Jack replied, regretting his choice immediately.Â
You smiled up at him, âI liked it.â
Jack looked down at you, âI know.âÂ
Inside, the house was dim and quiet. Jack locked the door behind you, then turned back to find you standing in the entryway, looking down at your left hand again.
He leaned one shoulder against the wall. âChecking?â
You lifted your rings toward the hall light. âStill married.â
Jack held up his left hand. His wedding band gleamed.
Your smile went loose and delighted. âHell yeah.â
He took your coat off first.
Not because you helped.
You did not help.
You got distracted halfway through by the flex of his forearm when he pulled the sleeve down your arm. âOh, fuck.â
Jack paused. âWhat?â
You didnât look up, âYour arm.â
âMy arm is removing your coat,â Jack said.Â
âYeah.â You stared at it. âThatâs the problem.â
Jack exhaled through his nose and hung your coat on the hook. âKitchen.â
You looked at him sharply. âAttending voice.â
Jack sighed, âIâm getting you water.â
âYou said kitchen like an order.â You argued.Â
Jack inhaled, âIt was a destination.â
âA hot destination.â You corrected him.Â
He pointed down the hall. âMove.â
You inhaled. âJackie.â
âNo.â He said instantly.Â
âYou donât even know what I was going to say.â You said with a whine.Â
Jack gave you a look, âI do.â
You followed him anyway, because his hand settled at the small of your back and your drunk brain apparently classified that as a life-altering event.
At the kitchen counter, he gave you more water and two crackers.
You stared at the crackers. Then up at him. âAre you feeding me?â
âI am preventing tomorrow from being worse,â Jack replied.Â
Your eyes went wide and affectionate, âYou provide.â
âI provide saltines.â Jack amended.Â
You picked one up and took a dramatic bite. âSexy.â
Jackâs mouth twitched. âChew.â
You froze. Then pointed at him with the cracker. âAttending voice.â
Jack tilted his head, âChewing is not optional.â
âOh, my god.â You fan yourself with the cracker.Â
He dragged a hand down his face. âPlease eat the cracker.â
You did, mostly because he watched you with that serious, focused Jack expression, and you had already learned at the bar that being perceived by your husband while he gave basic instructions was dangerous.
After water and crackers, he got you upstairs.
Barely.
There was a brief negotiation on the landing because you stopped to admire his butt from a lower step and whispered, âPerspective,â like you had made a scientific discovery.
Jack looked over his shoulder. âKeep walking.â
You gripped the railing. âAttending voice.â
âStairs voice.â He corrected you.
You shrugged, âSame family.â
When you finally reached the bathroom, Jack set your makeup remover, toothbrush, and face wash on the counter as if he were preparing for a procedure.
You leaned against the doorframe and watched him. âYouâre setting up supplies.â
Jack nodded, âI am.â
âLike an attending.â You add.Â
âLike a husband who knows youâll sleep in mascara if I donât help,â Jack replied.Â
You gasped and looked down at your rings.
Jack lifted his left hand immediately.
You checked. Satisfied, you nodded. âVerified.â
He handed you a makeup wipe. âFace.â
You took it, then blinked. âHuh.â
Jackâs eyebrows lifted. âWhat?â
âYou said face.â You answered.Â
Jack nodded, âI did.â
âVery direct.â You replied with a crooked smile.Â
Jack looks over your face, âYou have makeup on it.â
You touched the wipe to your cheek, still watching him. âBossy skincare husband.â
Jack leaned back against the counter and folded his arms. That was a mistake.
You stared at his chest.Â
He noticed. âFace,â he repeated.
You closed your eyes. âThat was worse.â
âMakeup off.â He tried again.Â
You threw your head back in defeat, âOh, fuck.â
He held out his hand. âGive me the wipe.â
You handed it over without thinking. Jack stepped closer and gently tipped your chin up with two fingers. The bathroom went very quiet. He wiped beneath one eye with slow, careful strokes, his other hand steady at your jaw. His face was close enough that you could see the tired fondness in his eyes.
You swallowed. âJackie.â
His thumb stilled for half a second. âYeah?â
âYouâre really good at this.â You whispered.Â
He smiled softly, âAt taking off mascara?â
âAt being mine.â You said, almost breathless.Â
His expression softened.
Then, because you were drunk and incapable of letting tenderness survive unbothered, you added, âAlso, your pecs are close.â
Jack closed his eyes. âThere she is.â
You smiled.
He finished with your makeup, then handed you your toothbrush.
âToothpaste,â he said.
You looked at the toothbrush. Then at him in the mirror. âAttending voice.â
âToothpaste voice.â
You brushed your teeth while glaring at him with exaggerated suspicion.
Jack watched you in the mirror, arms crossed, trying and failing not to smile.
When you finished, he pointed to the sink. âSpit.â
You blinked around the toothbrush. Then slowly looked at him. âJack.â
âWhat?â He asked.Â
Your eyes widened, âYou canât just say spit like that.â
His jaw tightened. Not anger. A smile he was trying to kill. âI am asking you to brush your teeth.â
âYou are issuing commands in a bathroom.â You say, mouth foamy.Â
Jack looked down at your mouth, âYou have toothpaste in your mouth.â
You pointed the toothbrush at him. âDangerous.â
âSink.â He commanded.Â
âOh, fuck.â You spat, rinsed, and accepted the towel he handed you.
âGood,â he said.
You pressed the towel to your mouth and froze.
He sighed immediately. âI forgot.â
âYou said good.â You grinned.Â
He sighed again, âI did.â
âWith the voice.â You say, eyebrows raised.Â
Jack shrugged, âIt slipped.â
You lowered the towel and pointed at him. âDangerous.â
âBed,â he said.
You stared. âJack.â
He pointed toward the bedroom. âNow.â
Your mouth dropped open. âOh, fuck me.â
Jack muttered something under his breath and guided you into the bedroom.
He found one of his old T-shirts and a pair of sleep shorts from your drawer. Then he turned back to you, clothes in hand. âCan I help?â
You looked at the shirt. Then at him. Then down at your rings.
Jack lifted his hand before you could ask. You checked his wedding band.
âOkay,â you said. âHusband verified.â
He nodded once, âGood.â
You pointed at him immediately. âYou did that on purpose.â
âI did not.â He replies innocently.Â
You pouted, âYou weaponized good.â
âI am trying to get you into pajamas,â Jack replied.Â
Your frown deepened, âDomestic warfare.â
He helped you sit on the edge of the bed. Then he crouched in front of you and touched the hem of your top. âArms up.â
You narrowed your eyes. âIs this a trick?â
He smiled, âNo.â
Your brow furrows, âBecause Iâm drunk.â
âExactly.â Jack agreed.Â
You look at him suspiciously, âYouâre not going to be weird.â
âIâm not going to be weird,â Jack promised.Â
You leaned closer, whispering with great seriousness. âI might be weird.â
His mouth twitched. âI know.â
You lifted your arms.Â
Jack changed you with the careful efficiency of a man determined not to let his drunk wife turn pajamas into a legal incident. Shirt off, sleep shirt on. No lingering. No teasing. No letting his eyes go where drunk you absolutely wanted them to go.
Which, naturally, offended you. âYouâre very respectful.â
âI try,â Jack replied.Â
You groan, âItâs annoying.â
âI know.â He said.Â
You sighed, âItâs hot.â
âI know that too.â He said with a smile.Â
He helped you step into the shorts while you held both hands on his shoulders for balance.
The second your palms settled there, you sighed. âShoulders.â
âBalance,â Jack corrected.
âShoulders.â You repeated dreamily.Â
He pulled the shorts up to your hips and patted your side once. âDone.â
You looked down at yourself. Then at him. âYou dressed me.â
Jack shrugged, âI helped.â
âYouâre like a sexy pit crew.â You say with a wink.Â
Jack stared at you.
You nodded, pleased with yourself. âFast. Focused. Good with hands.â
He stood and pointed at the bed. âLie down.â
Your eyes went wide. âAttending voice.â
He continued to point, âBed.âÂ
You looked at him desperately, âOh, Jackie.â
âDo not make bed weird.â He groaned.Â
You pouted, âYou made it weird when you pointed.â
He pulled the blanket back. âIn.â
You climbed under the covers, mostly because the single syllable nearly took you out.
Jack tucked the blanket around your waist, then set the water on the nightstand.
âYou need sleep,â he said.
You looked up at him, suddenly softer. âYouâre staying?â
His expression shifted. âYeah, baby. Iâm staying.â
You looked down at your rings one more time. Then reached for his hand.
Jack gave it to you.
You checked his wedding band, slower now, your thumb brushing over the metal.
âYou proposed?â
He sat on the edge of the bed beside you. âI proposed.â
âAnd I said yes?â You asked happily.Â
His mouth softened. âYou said yes.â
You smiled, sleepy and bright. âHell yeah.â
Jack leaned down and kissed your forehead.
âNo sex,â You murmured. âIâm drunk.â
Jack huffed a laugh against your temple, âI know, baby.âÂ
Your eyes closed. âIt sucks, though, because you have amazing pecs. And a great ass.â
He laughed quietly and brushed your hair away from your face. âGo to sleep.â
You sighed into the pillow. âAttending voice.â
âHusband voice,â he corrected, softer.
Your smile was almost gone with sleep. âJackie.â
âYeah?â He answers quietly.Â
âStill hot.â You murmur into your pillow.Â
He stayed there until your breathing evened out, his thumb moving once over your rings before he let go. Then he slipped into the bathroom, changed, came back, and climbed into bed beside you. You rolled toward him automatically, even in sleep, one hand landing against his chest like you were verifying he was still there. Jack covered your hand with his. Your rings pressed lightly against his skin.
The Next Day...
In the morning, you woke up to pain, sunlight, and consequences.
Mostly consequences.
Your head hurts. Your mouth was dry. Your body felt like it had been assembled incorrectly. For one blessed second, you remembered nothing after the second round of drinks.
Then your phone buzzed.
You opened one eye.
On the nightstand, your screen lit up with a message from Robby.
MRS. ABBOT LIVE AT THE BAR: WHERE IS MY HUSBAND TOUR
You closed your eye again. âNo.â
Beside you, Jack was already awake.
You could feel it.
You turned your head very slowly.
He was lying on his side, one arm tucked under his pillow, watching you with the calm, devastating expression of a man who knew everything.
You swallowed. âHow bad?â
Jackâs mouth twitched. âDefine bad.â
You groaned and pulled the blanket over your face.
He reached over and tugged it down just enough to see you. âYou reviewed my body in public.â
Your eyes closed. âOh, my god.â
âPecs got mentioned several times.â He added.Â
âJack.â You whined.Â
He grinned, âButt got a standing ovation.â
You covered your face with both hands. âI need to leave the country.â
âYou also called your rings' wife jewelry.â
A pause.
You peeked through your fingers. âThatâs kind of cute.â
Jack nodded, âIt was very cute.â
Your stomach softened despite the hangover.
Then he added, âYou made me show you my ring every time someone told you we were married.â
You lowered your hands. âI did?â
He lifted his left hand. His wedding band gleamed in the morning light. Your eyes flicked down to your own rings automatically.Â
Jack noticed.
A smile started at the corner of his mouth.
You pointed at him. âDo not.â
He raised both his hands, âI didnât say anything.â
âYou looked smug.â You replied, eyes narrowed.Â
Jack tilted his head, âIâm allowed.â
âYou are not.â You argued.Â
Jack smiled, âYou kept checking.â
âI was drunk.â You defend.Â
Jack looked down at his ring. âYou were thorough.â
You groaned again and rolled onto your back. âI hate myself.â
âNo, you donât,â Jack said.
You stared at the ceiling. âI hate Robby.â
âThatâs fair.â Jack agreed.Â
Your phone buzzed again.
This time, Jack picked it up before you could stop him.
âJack.â You warned.Â
He looked at the screen. Then his mouth twitched.
âNo.â You groaned.Â
He turned the phone toward you.
The video thumbnail showed you in the booth, hand dramatically raised, mouth open mid-song. At the same time, Robby performed backup vocals, and Santos looked as if she were reconsidering friendship as a concept.
You stared.
Then slowly turned to Jack. âDelete it.â
âItâs not on my phone.â He replied.Â
You groaned, âTell Robby to delete it.â
âI will,â Jack answered.Â
You narrowed your eyes.
Jackâs expression stayed too innocent. âAfter I watch it once.â
You huffed, âJack.â
He pressed play. Your own drunk voice filled the room with devastating commitment. On-screen, Robby echoed you terribly.
Then the video shifted as Santos muttered, âIâm calling Abbot.â
Your face lit up. You grabbed Melâs wrist and shouted, âTell him to wear the gray sweatpants!â
Jack paused the video. Silence. You stared at the ceiling. Jack stared at the phone.
Then he looked at you. âThe gray sweatpants?â
You pulled the blanket over your face again. âI was unwell.â
âYou were specific.â Jack corrected you.Â
âI had a medical condition.â You attempted to explain.Â
âBeing horny for your husband is not a medical condition,â Jack replied.Â
You slowly lowered the blanket.
Jackâs eyebrow lifted.
You pointed at him. âYouâre a doctor. Diagnose it.â
He laughed then. Really laughed. Warm and low and unfairly pleased.
You groaned, but you were smiling too. He set the phone aside and leaned over you, bracing one hand near your shoulder. Your eyes flicked to his arm before you could stop yourself.
Jack noticed that too. âStill?â
âShut up.â
His smile widened.
You looked down at your rings, partly because you were embarrassed and partly because the habit had apparently survived the alcohol. Then, quietly, Jack lifted his left hand beside yours.
The rings caught the same strip of morning light.
Your chest softened. âWe match,â you said, voice rough from sleep and singing and terrible decisions.
Jackâs expression went gentle. âYeah, baby,â he said. âWe match.â
You stared at the rings for a second.
Then at him.
Even hungover, even humiliated, even with video evidence waiting in the group chat, you could not help it.
summary: the new nurse in the pitt has caught jacks attention.
content: fluff, hurt/comfort, yearning, protective jack, age gap, miscommunication, slow burn, he snaps at you, descriptions of reader injury/blood, mentions of abuse (patient)
wc: 10.5k
note: this is my first fic, enjoy :))
masterlists
You desperately wanted to make a good first impression on your first shift at PTMC.Â
The universe had a different idea, with your plan actively unravelling.Â
Youâre new to Pittsburgh, and unfamiliar with the notorious unreliability of the public transport system, causing you to be 45 minutes late and frantically running from the nearest bus stop into the emergency department.
This is your worst nightmare. You picture everyone looking at you as you walk in, silently judging. Hating the feeling of eyes on you. Youâre definitely flushed red in the face, your bag being packed to the brim with items you certainly do not need weighing you down, cursing yourself for packing so heavy.
While running through the entrance of the ER, youâre barely looking where youâre going and end up colliding with a chest, solid and unmoving you almost mistake him for a wall. You stumble a little, losing your footing and almost fall backwards over your own feet.
Warm hands on your shoulder steady you, preventing the horrific embarrassment.
âOh fuck, Iâm so sorryâ I didnât even see you,â your voice is frantic and apologetic, worried youâve already made an enemy and you hadnât even started your shift.Â
A deep, gravelly voice cuts through to you, grounding your panicked state.
âHey, kidâ easy, easy. Youâre okay.â His voice is instantly calming. âYou our new nurse?â he asks gently, while his hands slip to your arms, fully stabilising you.Â
You settle down quickly, gathering yourself and finally looking up at him, nodding after a while realising he asked you a question.Â
Heâs incredibly attractive.
The first thing that you notice about him is how big he is. Heâs taller than you and so broad, forming a literal wall between you and the ER in this moment, no wonder you crashed into him. He stands so close to you that you have to lift your head to look up at him as he towers over you with a gentle, concerned look. Butterflies twist in your stomach.
You swallow thickly, nerves returning as you realise you probably fucked this impression up by remaining silent and gawking at this man.Â
Collecting yourself, âUhâ yes! Thatâs meââ you stumble over your words internally cringing, âIâm so sorry about being late, it won't happen again.â
He chuckles quietly, finding your flustered state incredibly cute, and extends a hand to you.Â
You notice the size of his arms, his veins, his handsâ oh, youâve got to stop thinking like this. Youâre so fucked.Â
âDr. Abbot, nice to meet ya, kid.â His voice is low and gravelly, stirring your stomach. âBut donât let it happen again.â His voice is firm, making your insides flip and guilt rises within you.
âNo, no of course not. I promise. Iâll be 45 minutes early every day!â Your voice is laced with guilt and you avoid his eyes, whilst shaking his hand, feeling like youâve already failed before starting.
âJesus, kid, breathe.â He chuckles, mouth twitching in amusement. âYouâre apologising like you hit me with your car.â He soothes, smirking a little at how easily his teasing had gotten to you.Â
He watches your face fall in relief, and you let out a small, shy laugh. Still holding onto your hand a second longer, it's hard for him not to notice how incredibly soft your hands are in his, how untouched by cruelty, unlike his rough, calloused hands. Something protective stirs in Jack, confusing him, but a drive to keep you safe, keep you soft takes root in him. He needs to ensure this place doesnât ruin you, doesnât cause you to burn out like he's seen time-and-time again with nurses and doctors.Â
âIâm really not usually this much of a disasterâ well, most of the time.â You laugh shakily.
You notice his intense stare, like heâs studying you, makes you squirm under his gaze. Your eyes flick down where your hands are still joined, you notice the sheer size difference, how his hand completely engulfs yours. You go to pull away, when he brings a second hand to cup your hand, completely engulfing it, before he pulls away entirely. Your breath hitches, trying to stave off any completely inappropriate thoughts,
Dr. Abbot tilts his head towards central, signalling to meet him there once youâre settled.
âOhâ and, kid?â He drawls, eying your bag as you head towards the lockers.
âWe do have supplies here, I promise.â he teases, but his voice is soft and amused, referring to your massively overpacked bag, watching heat flood your face and you nod, completely embarrassed.Â
Jack watches you scuttle away, shaking his head and chuckling to himself, but his mind is elsewhere, how you were looking at him so shyly, your wide doe eyes ingrained in his mind. Imagining your eyes after kissing you, those eyes looking up at him whenâ Fuck. This is so unlike him.
Approaching central, he sees Lena and Shen talking in hushed voices. He chooses not to entertain their shenanigans, just crossing his arms and staring up at the patient board, but he catches Lenaâs fierce stare in his periphery, alongside Shenâs smirk.
âStay away from my nurses, Abbot. Sheâs clearly a good kid.â She scolds, her tone firm and motherly. He can feel her eyes shooting daggers at him.Â
Jack doesnât look away from the board, smirking a little.
âI donât know what youâre talking about.â His voice is low and equally amused, shaking his head gently. âJust being friendly.â
Shen scoffs, âYeah? Friendly? You look like you wanted to eat her.â
Jack tenses a little going to defend himself before Lenaâs sweet voice interrupts him. She walks past Jack making her way towards you where you had emerged from the lockers and placing a protective hand on your shoulder.
âThere ya are, honey. Iâm Lena, your charge nurse. Câmon, let us give ya a tour, get a lay of the land, yeah?â
During the tour, you notice Abbot seems to never stray too far from you. Always directly behind you, his hand hovering over the small of your back whenever the halls get crowded, ready to move you if needed.
Surely it's just friendly, you tell yourself.
You hope otherwise.
âââââââ
True to your words, youâre never late again.Â
Always early to every shift, settled down and working by the time Jack clocks in. But he notices since youâre starting to be early, you get closer and closer with Robby, and it wouldnât bother him, if youâd at least show the same fondness for him.
Every shift, you avoid interacting with Dr. Abbot at all. You tell yourself it's necessary, you canât let yourself fall for an attending, despite how flustered, frankly, just warm all over, he makes you feel. You love watching him work, his competency and confidence as he works allures you. Especially in trauma cases, when he barks orders to his residents, you imagine him telling you what to do, when to do it, how to do it, guiding you.
However, during a particular trauma, you were meant to be in the background, watching and learning. But you couldnât stop watching Abbotâs hands work with such fine precision, the way they flex, the veins popping out. You get lost in your head staring at how big they are, how theyâd feel cupping your face, your neck, inside youâ
Thatâs when you decided, for your own well being, but most importantly your work, you couldnât be around him.
From then on, if you needed anything, you went to anyone and everyone, to avoid speaking to Abbot. Even if he was right there, and asking if you needed anything, youâd go quiet, and your quiet, meek voice dismisses him, âOh, uh, Iâm okay, thank you.â Before you turn and scuttle off in the complete opposite direction, towards Shen.
It bugs him.
How you avoid him, how easily you laugh and joke with Robby, or how you always go to Shen for questions or help.
Jack watches right now, as you laugh freely with Robby, gazing up at him as if youâre hanging on to every word. Gazing at him like he hung the moon. He feels an ugly feeling crawling up his throat, and doesn't want to admit jealousy. Heâs not jealous. Heâs not. He simply wishes you'd talk to him, with those wide, round doe eyes, smiling shyly and getting you to fall apart with the simplest of words and touches.Â
Heâs so lost in his own head, he doesnât notice Robby walking by ready to leave for the day.
âYou got a good one there, brother, might steal her from the dark side if youâre not careful.â Robby jokes in passing, leaving Jack completely stunned. His eye twitches and his breath stops.
No.
His gaze flickers up to you across the ER, your sweet laugh cutting through the air.
Youâre his.
âââââââ
Admittedly, youâre making it very hard to make you his.
Youâre almost too polite with him. A small, âgood evening,â greeting when he comes in, a simple, âsee you tomorrow, boss,â whenever you head out. Youâre impossible to get time alone with.
Every time he catches you walking down the hall, jogging to catch up to you, asking you how your night is, you get all quiet. You donât even look at him beyond a polite glance, your smile is tight and professional. Nodding before dipping into the closest room to get away.
He sighs, thinking you could be so focused on your work you may not want to entertain small talk. But he knows thatâs not it, seeing how you laugh every time Shen or Ellis make jokes as you walk with them in the hallway.
So he tries to talk to you when youâre not as busy, just charting.
Jackâs leaning against the counter at central, pretending to be looking at the patient board, but his eyes keep drifting over to you, thinking of ways to get you to talk to him.Â
He watches the way you pout while charting, your brows pulled tight in concentration, and has the sudden urge to smooth the crease between them with his thumb. He wants to gently scold you for mindlessly chewing at the tip of your pen whilst you work, to take his hand and brush the hair covering your face behind your earâ
His body takes him over to your desk before his mind catches up with him, a seemingly magnetic pull driving him to your side.
He slots himself beside you, a hand over the back of your chair, leaning down to look at your screen.Â
âOhâ Dr. Abbot!â you startle, being caught off guard.Â
Your mouth dries and your heart rate ticks like a rabbit, having him so close. His face is so close to yours, you donât turn your head, you canât. You can hear his breathing, can smell his cologne at this distance. Your mind reels.
He can smell you too. Caramel and vanilla.
The proximity alone has your stomach flipping, his hand behind you becoming an oddly domestic, claiming gesture. Placing a hand on your back, his voice is gentle, low when he speaks.
âThis is good stuff, kid, keep it up.â
His praise sends a jolt down your spine and your face reddens instantly. He can feel you twitch under his hand.
You dip your head, hiding your red face and mumble a quick, breathless, âUhâ thank you, Dr. Abbot.â
He watches you fidget, uncomfortable from the praise. Laughing quietly, before removing his hand.Â
Youâre so shy. Shy with him. Oh.
But then you flee, almost running in the opposite direction, and his mind reels. Maybe heâs read this all wrong.
âââââââ
He concludes after a few more nights of avoidance that maybe you just want nothing to do with him at all.Â
He keeps his distance, returning your polite greetings, but he hates it. The night shift is supposed to flow, be light and less stressful. Jack's spent so long cultivating an environment where people feel free to laugh, ask questions, not be afraid of getting things wrong.
Now youâre here and heâs all confused. He wants you to enter the stream but it feels like wading against a river trying to figure out what to do differently for you.
He decides to just ask. He approaches you during your break one night.
Youâre sat in the break room scrolling mindlessly whilst poking at your food.Â
His quiet, tired voice cuts through.Â
âSâalright if I join ya?â
Youâd been too tired, too into your phone you hadnât noticed him come in. Nodding fervently you allow him to sit opposite you, his tone of voice sounding different than it does most nights, almost resigned. You actually look at him properly, concerned.
âListen, kid. I just wanna apologise if Iâve ever done anything to make ya uncomfortable, yeah?â His eyes meet yours, intense and serious.
You pause.Â
Uncomfortable?
Fuck.Â
You were avoiding him so much he thought you didn't like him, made you uncomfortable. Your eyes widen in panic, head shaking rapidly putting your phone and fork down immediately.
âNo, god, no. Youâve neverâ thatâs not itââ Stop rambling, you tell yourself. Swallowing, taking a deep breath, you realise you need to get over yourself. âMâsorry for the way Iâve been acting. It's not you.â Your voice is quiet, avoiding his eyes.
He tilts his head down to try and meet yours again, concern on his face. His voice is so soft, when he says,
âYou sure, kid? You can tell meââ
You shake your head again, cutting him off.
âYou make me nervous.â You blurt out in one panicked breath. You squeeze your eyes shut in embarrassment and literally bring your head to the table, groaning.Â
Abbot lets out a quiet chuckle, amused.
âHoney, hey, look at me.â He coaxes trying to get you to stop wallowing in embarrassment. âPlease?âÂ
You lift your head slightly, hands covering your face, peeking at him through your fingers. Heâs smiling, like this is funny to him, like you didnât completely ruin everythingâ
âSâokay.â His expression softens, voice gentler now. âYou never gotta be nervous around me, you hear me?â
Oh.
He misunderstood, thinking you mean nervous of his authority. You can work with that, you havenât entirely humiliated yourself.
Your hands drop from your face, blush still evident on your cheeks and a shy smile creeps up. You nod in affirmation to his words letting out a deep breath.
âI want you to come to me as well, for anything. Not just Shen, Lena, or Robby. Me.â His inflection on Robbyâs name confuses you and makes you giggle a little.
The sound awakens something within Jack, without thinking, he leans over placing a hand over yours where it rests on the table.
âI mean it. Anything.â
âââââââ
He notices how you donât run from him anymore, donât push him away, let him exist within your space.Â
Youâre still nervous most of the time, but you push it away, and heâs proud. He wants you to come out of your shell with him.
One evening, Lena calls you into North 7 for a debridement, knowing how much you love mindless, repetitive tasks. It unwinds your brain, picking out thousands of tiny pieces of gravel and debris from a patient's leg, letting you let go and not have to worry about doing something wrong.
Youâre about halfway through, the only thing heard in the room is the slow hum of the patient's monitor, and Lena tidying up a cart nearby, when you hear the door open.
You frown, not enjoying having been disturbed and the loud, chaos sound of the ER filters through the door. You keep your attention laser focused onto the patient, until you hear his familiar, gentle voice, checking in.
âAll good in here?âÂ
You hesitate, stopping your motions for the first time since you started, before lifting your head up and looking at Dr. Abbot, leaning against the doorframe. Your breath hitches as you make eye contact, his focus entirely on you, not the patient. His head is tilted, and his eye contact is intense, making you nervous.
Lena scoffs to herself. Checking in, my ass.Â
âMhm.â Your sweet voice hums in affirmation, the only thing you can manage to verbalise at the moment.
Lena pauses from tidying up the cart, turning raising an eyebrow at you, oh god not you too.
âGood. Can always count on ya to keep things moving smoothly, canât I, sweetheart?â His voice is sweet, almost cooing.
Youâre starstruck. Sweetheart.Â
You blink, unable to respond, but heâs already leaving with a smug, self-assured smile like he accomplished his goal. You swallow, unable to stop the smile spreading on your face, ducking your head to hide your flushed, red face from Lena.
Walking down the hall, he recalls how much the praise got to you when he complimented your charting, and watching you now?Â
The knowledge that praise gets to you so much?
Wrecks him.Â
He feels a sense of power, knowing how much he can get you to fall apart from a few words.
âââââââ
The closer he gets, the more he observes your interactions with everyone else. Youâre just as shy and nervous with everyone too. A quiet little thing.
During shift change over one morning, a few night shift and day shift nurses and doctors are gathered gossiping about a particularly rowdy patient you had that night.Â
Youâre off to the side, included, but just about. He notices that's always the position you take, included just enough, but never in the centre, never leading, and never actively involved. He thinks maybe you just like to listen, observe, feeling more comfortable for you like that knowing how shy you are.
He frowns, because the rowdy patient theyâre on about? You were the only nurse working with him. He wasnât dangerous by any means, he was strapped to the bed. Jack would never let you in a room with a patient thatâs a danger to your safety.Â
But the group were already feeding the rumour mill, exaggerating the patients words and actions. He watches you from the corner of his eye where heâs leaning against the counter with a pen in hand, stopping his writing to watch.Â
He wants you to speak up, correct them, and join in.
He watches your eyes dart around the group, you lick your lips, breathing becoming shallower. Youâre assessing for the right time to jump in. Youâre so nervous to speak up, his heart aches.
And when you try? Youâre so quiet, no one even noticed. Immediately you were cut off.
He watches you blink, swallowing in embarrassment before collecting yourself as if you hadnât even spoken, smiling along.Â
His heart breaks.
Youâre used to this, being spoken over always happens, youâre just too quiet sometimes, better at one-on-one interactions, not groups. Though youâre a little stung, you push it away, familiar with the feeling. Sighing, you slip into your coat before silently taking your leave.Â
Just before you can head through the exit doors, he catches up with you.
âHold up, kid.â You hear him jogging slowly behind you.Â
You turn, smiling at him, he can see the tiredness and hurt in your eyes even if youâre trying to hide it.
âYou leaving without saying goodbye?â he teases lightly, his expression incredibly soft.
You dip your head shyly,Â
âDidnât think anyone would notice.â You mumble, trying to laugh it off.
His brows scrunch, a displeased look on his face, almost offended.
âI notice.â
His words are so final, so real. You just stare at him with a vulnerable expression. His words heal something deep, knowing someone cares about your presence. Youâre speechless.
He places a hand on your back guiding you outside, noticing your hesitance.
âCâmon. Let me walk ya to your bus stop, you can tell me about the rowdy patient, yeah?âÂ
You nod shyly, trying not to let your eyes well up from his care. Itâs a short distance, the sky brightening as you both walk. Heâs silent and attentive, actively listening to every word you tell him, like theyâre the most important words ever.
When you reach the stop you turn to thank him, but before you can he speaks first.
âHey. Mâproud of ya, for speaking up in there.â
You give him a little confused look shaking your head.Â
âIt didnât really feel like I did.â You laugh awkwardly, embarrassed to revisit the moment knowing he was watching.
âYou did. Iâll always listen, whatever you wanna talk about, yeah?â Your chest tightens painfully at the sincerity in his voice. You can only nod, suddenly too affected to trust your own voice.
âGânight, sweetheartâ He drapes an arm around your shoulder squeezing you before letting you board.
On the way home, your head mulls over his words, settling on one detail.
Heâs proud.
âââââââ
Being around Abbot so much recently is fucking with you, to say the least.Â
His constant praise at your actions, you begin expecting and waiting for it. Every time heâs within your vicinity, you wait for his gentle but ragged voice ushering praise.
âGood catch, sweetheart.â
âDonât know what Iâd do without ya.â
âJesus, you really make my life easier, yâknow that?â
And he always delivers.Â
Aside from the praise, heâs incredibly attentive and observant, knowing what you need exactly when you need it. Encouraging breaks any time he sees you get overwhelmed during the night, telling you to drink water, take a breather.Â
But heâs also so patient with you, like no one's ever been. With him, you begin to unlearn your fear of being judged for saying the wrong thing, acting the wrong way, because he never judges.Â
Tonight is no different.
Youâre in central 7 with Dr. Ellis, with a very panicked, frantic mother and her daughter. Her child is only around 6 years old, clearly withdrawn and quiet. Her mother explains to Dr. Ellis how sheâd been bathing her daughter that evening, when she found a large bruise on the daughterâs back and legs, suspecting her husbandâs abusing her.
You immediately make eye contact with Ellis, silently signalling that youâll call Kiara, the hospital social worker. But before you can step out to do so, a large, loud and drunk man barges through the door, angry.Â
Heâs unsteady on his feet, eyes directly narrowing onto his wife, before pushing past you and immediately going to yell at her.
âYou bitch! You have NO right bringing our daughter here without my permissionââ He yells spit flying out of his mouth, alcohol clearly on his breath
âSirââ Ellis tries to calm him down, placing a hand on his shoulder which he shrugs off.Â
âNo!â He shrugs her off
âYour permission?â The mother yells back, cutting him off in disbelief. âYouâre laying your fucking hands on my kid and you think Iâm gonna let you be near her?â Sheâs defensive, shrill, adrenaline thrumming through her.
The yelling gets to you admittedly, youâre never good whenever patients of their families raise their voices. They carry on, Ellis begging for them to keep it civil or he will be removed by security
The door opens swiftly with Dr. Abbot and a night shift security guard filtering through to de-escalate.Â
Drowning it all out, trying to not let it affect you, you turn your attention to the little girl on the bed, all hunched up scared of her parents yelling. You turn her towards you telling her to focus on you. You just try to distract her in any way possible, asking her questions about school, her friends, her hobbies. It works a little, her tiny voice whispering over her parents yells.
The father is finally removed, and the air to the room returns, silence taking over.Â
âItâs alright, youâre okay.â You comfort the girl placing a comforting hand on her shoulder, testing it beforehand to see if she pulls away.
Jack turns to you then, really looking at you. The way youâre so gentle with the girl, how your focus was on her comfort during her parents screaming match. God, he admires you. But he also picks up on your tense shoulders, the way your breathing is unsettled, your face is tighter than normal.
You step back once the mother sits by the daughterâs side comforting her, you don't realise you walk back into Jackâs hand, which now rests on the small of your back. He leans closer to you dipping down to speak into your ear,
âGo take a breather, yeah?â His voice is soft, gentle.
You look up at him to convince him youâre fine, you donât need a break. But the look in his eyes is stern, pleading: do not fight me on this.Â
âââ
Jack finds you around 5 minutes later in the stairwell, you seem to just be sitting there lost in your own head.
He approaches slowly, groaning as he sits next to you on the stairs, your shoulders touching. He speaks first,
âYou did really well there â with the girl.â He nudges your leg with his as he praises you, trying to cheer you up. You can tell heâs looking at you from the corner of your eye but you keep your eyes on your lap. Pedes cases always got to you.
âShe shouldnât have had to hear that.â Your voice is quiet, unsteady. Swallowing down the lump in your throat, but the tears build in your eyes anyways. You dip your head down further trying to hide.
âHey, sweetheart.â His voice softens, his hand settling on your knee. âTalk to me?â His voice is begging.
You lift your head to look at him, drying your eyes. âItâs stupid, really.â You shake your head quickly, trying to laugh through it. âI just donât handle yelling very well.â
âYeah. I thought so, honey.â His thumb rubs back and forth over your knee, comforting you. âThatâs not on you.â His voice is gentler now.
âI feel ridiculous.â You wipe quickly under your eyes. âI should be able to handle it better by now.â Insecurity laces your words at breaking down like this in front of an attending.
âNo.â His response is immediate, firm but gentle. âDonât start thinkinâ the answer is makinâ yourself colder.â He aches at the prospect of you removing the brightest parts of yourself, to dim your light to handle the harshness of the world. Absolutely not. He wants to shield you, be the barrier between people's cruelty and your soft, gentle heart.
Your shiny eyes meet his, vulnerability flashing through them. Without even thinking he brings his thumb to brush a stray tear from your cheek. He watches your eyes flutter close and your breath hitching at the gesture, his heart leaping.
âTake as much time as ya need. Come find me at the end of the day, Iâll take you home, yeah?â His voice grumbles, sending a jolt through you.
Your eyes open ready to protest, you canât possible accept a ride from him, thats asking too muchâ
âAh, ah, Iâm not taking no for an answer.â He smirks before standing and heading back out to the ER.
âââ
Before your shift ended that same day, you had asked Lena to show you how to work the medicine cabinet as youâd had trouble returning a vial earlier in your shift.
The day shift starts to filter through whilst Lena is describing the steps to take, making you distracted.
You see Dr. Abbot in your periphery down the hall, talking to another nurse, one you had never seen before, most likely on the day shift.
Sheâs gorgeous.
She stands tall, confident and makes him laugh. Nothing like you.Â
Your heart aches, as you stare unapologetically, completely drowning out Lenaâs voice. You watch as he also dips his head to catch her eyes, how he touches her arm, how charming he is.
It feels like your heart gave out and fell into an endless pit. Eyes flickering away slowly, realising your hope that the way he treated you was special, is just his charm. His naturally flirtatious personality.
God youâre so stupid.
Lena sighs, shaking her head before closing the cabinet and turning to you, sensing your distraction and sadness.
âHun, you donât wanna go down that route.â Her voice is firm, but motherly. Like sheâs truly trying to protect you, not wanting you to get hurt.
Your head snaps over to her wide eyed and panicked having been caught.
âOhâ no itâs not like that.â you laugh awkwardly, embarrassed but your excuse is weak and she sees through it instantly. Placing a hand on your back and directing you away from the hallway before you get in your head any longer.
âTrust me, hun. Iâve been around long enough to know, men like him donât realise the effect they have on girls like you.â
Your brows furrow at her words, girls like me? You reach the lockers before she hits the final blow.
âYouâre young, go on dates. Donât pine over old men like him, youâll only get hurt.â
She walks off, leaving you speechless. You gather your things, mulling over her words. Is she right? Have you been misreading everything, pining over a man whoâs naturally charming and kind to everyone?Â
Youâd completely forgotten Dr. Abbots offer to take you home by the time youâre walking out of the doors. Your mind is only repeating her words and reevaluating all of Abbotâs actions towards you, trying to search for when youâd started to misinterpret things.
Jack frowns watching your hunched up form walking out of the ER from where he stands and talks to Ruby. He excuses himself from the conversation, trying to catch up with you before you leave, but youâre already down the street by the time heâs at the door.
âââââââ
Just as he thought he was making progress, the rug is pulled from under him, and youâre colder than ever.Â
Youâre distant with everyone, clipped greetings and polite words the only things you mutter during your shifts. He watches how you avoid groups, but more importantly, how much harder youâve been working.
Youâve doubled your workload, trying to forget your feelings by distracting yourself. Always with a patient, never sitting down and charting, avoiding your colleagues asking you whatâs wrong. Or, avoiding where Dr. Abbot could find you and make you fall for him all over again.Â
He notices how youâre no longer early to your shifts, just right on time, jumping straight into cases. Whenever he tries to coax you into slowing down and taking breaks, you brush him off, refusing to admit you need them. But he notices the bags under your eyes, youâre pushing yourself too much and he hates it, he canât help and itâs hurting him.
But he also notices how late you stay. As you no longer chart during the day, you spend 3 to 4 hours overtime during the day shift charting. Robby allows it, sensing something going on with you but doesnât want to overstep. Occasionally, you ask to work doubles, staying to around 1-3pm during the day shifts. Itâs completely wrecking your body, but you donât want to think about anything else except work.
One evening, during shift change before you got to work, Robby pulls Jack aside.
âHey, brother, I gotta ask.â Robby glances over his shoulder towards the door, checking you hadnât arrived yet, before lowering his voice. âSomethinâ going on with her lately?â
Jackâs brows furrow instantly, worry clenching at his heart. âWhy?â
âSheâs running herself into the ground, to put it mildly.â Robby sighs, rubbing the back of his neck. âSheâs working through till the afternoon, then coming back to do it all again at night. Girl canât be getting more than a couple hours of sleep.â His expression tightens. âMâworried about her.â
Jack goes still, his stomach dropping.
He noticed, of course he noticed. He just hadnât realised how bad itâd gotten.
His jaw tightens, hand dragging tiredly across it as he sighs.
âFuck.â The word leaves him quietly.
âIâll talk to her.â
âââ
Later that night, Jack came to find you during a particularly quiet lull around 11pm. He assumes youâd be with a patient, checking with Lena before heading towards south 16. Heâs rehearsing his speech to you, over and over.
When he approaches the room, his body stops. He hears you laugh. Itâs beautiful, and he doesnât realise how much it hurt him not hearing you laugh recently.
Rounding the corner he sees you through the glass stitching up a manâs forehead, and youâre blushing. You have that bashed, shy smile as you work, the type that was reserved for Jack. You're standing close to the man from where he sits on the edge of the bed, and heâs looking up at you with desire in his eyes, clearly flirting with you. Â
He shouldnât feel jealous, but he does, insecurity clawing at his heart. The man youâre stitching up, heâs definitely closer in age to you than Jack is. He hates the way that fact digs under his skin, the sudden awareness of the years between you two. Youâre still soft, bright, and untouched by the world in ways he hasnât been for too long. He canât take his eyes off the easy smile you give the man, bitterness twisting low in his chest.
He knows he should leave, but he canât bring himself to move. Which is why when you turn, putting down the sutures, you see him outside watching you, and your body stills. He watches your face fall, and it hurts him how youâre no longer happy to be around him.
Jack sighs ready to turn and leave, but you excuse yourself from your patient and head outside to catch him.
âHeyââ Your voice is gentle and cautious, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear nervously at Abbotâs expression. âDid you need something?âÂ
Jackâs jaw tightens as he hears your voice, trying to steady himself. This is the first time youâve chosen to speak to him in ages, and he hates how relieved and conflicted he is right now.Â
His eyes flicker behind you, to the man in the room sprawled out on the bed scrolling through his phone, and his chest tightens. Possessiveness and insecurity battle within his heart, and he doesnât even think when he blurts out a cold comment to you.
âDidnât realise we were entertaininâ patients now.â His voice is clipped, and he regrets it as soon as he says it.
He watches your face fall. Fuck.Â
Your head shakes rapidly, apologetically.Â
âI-Iâm sorryââ Your voice is meek, he canât bear that he caused this.
âJust donât let it happen again.â Jackâs voice is firm, as he walks off. He needs to leave, clearly not in his right mind, heâs hurting you and heâs completely out of line.
âââ
The way he spoke to you eats him all night, distracting him. Heâs completely unfocused during cases, Shen telling him to take a breather during a trauma, get his head right. How is he supposed to make sure youâre okay if heâs also driving you away.
He decides to start small. Around 1am he watches you exit a patient's room, pausing outside leaning against the wall. He can tell youâre exhausted by the way you hold yourself.
He slows as he approaches you, wanting to get you to slow down, take a break. Up close he can see the way your shoulders sag like the weight of the wall is the only thing keeping you together, your undereyes heavy with exhaustion. He canât remember the last time you sat down.
âHeyâ hold up.â His tone is softer, contrasting the way he spoke to you earlier. âYou eaten yet?
Your eyes flick towards him briefly, before looking away again.Â
âMâfine.â Youâre short, a little dismissive.
Jack nods awkwardly, he knows he doesnât deserve your kindness right now.
âItâs quiet, you should take your breakââ He tries but you cut him off.
âI said Iâm okay.â Though your tone has little real bite behind it, itâs still harsher than heâs ever heard it.Â
He stills, letting out a deep sigh. The silence between you both hangs in the air thickly. You wonât look at him.
Jack nods, accepting his defeat watching you walk off.Â
What he doesnât see is the guilt flooding your face.
âââ
You need to apologise. Heâs your attending and it was extremely unprofessional of you, a nurse, to speak to him that way. Guilt is clawing at your throat and you canât get rid of it.
You decide that after you finish organising the supply room with Lena, youâll find him. Explain yourself.Â
Youâre standing on a stepping stool as Lena passes you supplies to restock the shelves with.
âThat guyâ from earlier? He was a real hottie, hun.â She says while passing you a box of nitrile gloves. Your face scrunches in amusement as you let out a breathy laugh
âThat guy who got his head smashed with a beer bottle? Yeah, right. Like I need that kind of trouble in my life right now.â You joke back with Lena about the flirty guy.
âCâmon, youâre young. Live a little! Heâs insanely hot, god knows if I was 20 years younger Iâd jump his bonesââ you cut her off with a real, chesty laugh.
âLena! Youâre married!â You turn towards her with a wide smile.Â
âI can appreciate beauty when I see it, hun.â She smirks before continuing. âWhatâs the harm? Heâs still here isnât he? Go get his number, go on dates, have mind blowing sexâ just do something to get you outta this slump, yâhear me?âÂ
You sigh whilst organising the top shelf. You donât want that guy. You want Abbot.Â
What you didnât realise was Jack was walking past and heard snippets of the conversation, well, particularly Lenaâs grand speech about having mind-blowing sex with the man. He falters in his steps, realising who sheâs talking to, who sheâs talking about. The ugly, possessive feeling rears within him again. He peeks through the door, watching your face. Youâre smiling, like youâre considering it. He canât handle it. He storms off, childishly slamming the door of the next room he enters, blaming it on the draft.
You jolt at the sudden noise and frown before continuing. âI dunno, Lena.â Your voice is almost sad. âHeâs not who I want.â
âYouâre still hung up on him, arenât you, honey?â Her voice is soft, pitying. She watches your sad smile when you nod in affirmation. âMâsorry, hun. Itâll pass, I promise.â
You donât want it to pass.Â
âââ
You canât seem to find Abbot for the rest of the night, until a trauma comes in around 5:30am forcing you both into the room together.
The EMTs roll the patient in on a gurney as you jog over to Trauma 1, reading off his vitals. Fuck, itâs a kid.
âPediatric MVC, eight-year-old male, unrestrained passenger. Vehicle rolled twice after being T-boned at a high speed. Drunk driver.â The EMT scoffs.
You begin to glove up as you walk alongside the stretcher, Jack on the other side, his eyes land on you as he actively listens to the EMT, his gaze feels as if he was assessing you.Â
âInitial GCS was 10 on scene, refrained from intubation. BP 80/52, heart rate 145, satting 92 percent on non-rebreather.â
You watch Abbot nod, cutting through the patient's clothes as Ellis and Shen check current vitals and assess internal injuries. You end up stationed directly behind him, ready to hand him what he needs. But him in action is making you nervous, like he doesnât want you here.
The EMT cuts in. âFather pronounced dead on scene, mother inbound, no obvious injuries.âÂ
âDecreased breath sounds on the left side, significant bruising across the abdomen and chest. Patient increasingly lethargic.â Abbot begins his assessment. But is being drowned out by an increasingly loud scream from the floor outside the room, his mother arriving.Â
She rushes to the doors, doctors encourage her to wait outside but she barges in regardless. Her sobs and yells for the doctors to save her son cut through the room, loud and distracting. You take a deep breath at the sound trying to focus, remain unaffected by the scene, present.
Abbotâs jaw tightens as the room erupts around him. The motherâs wailing to his right, monitors beeping rapidly as the boy gets worse, the blood coating his gloves as he presses harder against the kidâs abdomen.
âPressureâs dropping.â
âBP 78/40.â
âWeâre losing him, Abbot.â
Fuck. Each sound and sensation cramming for dominance within his skull, overriding his focus.
And then he glances behind at you, where the station is set up ready for you to hand him things. But youâre spaced out, wide-eyed and pale, clearly overwhelmed by the sounds of the boy crying in pain and grief for his father, the motherâs wailing. Jackâs chest twitches violently. One thing at a time. Save the boy.
âGet her out!â He yells across the room, his voice loud and booming, a couple nurses urge for the mother to wait outside.
But he canât focus with you standing there looking wrecked, your hands shaking. His focus should be on the boy, not you.
âGauze.â He commands, a hand outstretched towards you.
Nothing.
The gauze finally hits his hand, a few seconds delayed.
His pulse spikes, the room suddenly feeling too loud. Your presence pressing against the back of his skull.
He snaps.
âI canât afford hesitation right now.â Jackâs voice cuts sharply across the room, eyes snapping to yours. âIf you canât keep up, leave.âÂ
You feel like youâve stopped breathing. The room goes painfully quiet, heat rushing to your face instantly at the humiliation.
Your chest feels like itâs caving, shame burning beneath your skin. You swallow hard, blinking rapidly, staving off tears.
You nod once, unable to trust your voice, before stripping off your gloves with trembling fingers backing away from the table.
Another nurse takes over flawlessly, the room continuing like normal around you. You exit the room, tears burning your eyes and threatening to fall.
Lena sees your shaken state from across the room, beginning to make her way over to you. But you duck, scuttling away to lock yourself in the toilet. Needing to break down in private.
You sink against the wall, sliding down until your head rests on your knees.
You know heâs right, you shouldnât have hesitated. Your throat tightens.
The boy couldâve died because you froze. He still might. For what? Because Abbot didnât want you near him anymore? Because the sounds of the boysâ mother screaming cracked something open inside of you?
Abbotâs words replay over and over in your head as self-punishment, as you sob into your hands.
 âââ
Jack regrets the words as soon as they leave his mouth.Â
He watches your face crumple in devastation and it almost knocks the breath from his lungs.
Your teary eyes flicker away, avoiding his fiery gaze. He hates that heâs the one who put those tears there, made you cry. He never wants to be the reason for your pain.Â
He watches you nod, so meekly it hurts his heart, the tremble in your hands when you pull off your gloves. Every instinct in him screams to go after you. He canât. He turns back to the table, continuing to work on the boy even more distracted than he was before.
âââ
You manage to gather yourself not long after, exiting the bathroom and ignoring Lenaâs concerned looks, just searching for a simple case to get your mind off what happened. You can hear the chaos continuing in Trauma 1, still working on the boy.
Lena assigns you to a wound debridement, a simple task to recalibrate and gather your thoughts.Â
You set up your tool table beside you, and youâre lucky your patient isnât a chatty one. His arm rests on the bed, skin burnt red and white.Â
Youâre utterly exhausted, emotionally spent. Too in your own head to notice how cramped your fingers get around the scalpel.
You try to reposition your grip, but the blade unexpectedly slips from your grasp, falling and slicing a clean gash from your hand down your arm. Pain slices hot and immediate.Â
âShitââ
The scalpel clatters into the tray as blood begins to well. Your vision blurs for half a second, before you jerk back sharply, hissing from the sudden pain
âOh shit you okay, lady?â You hear the patient ask, but youâre already halfway out the room, asking Matteo to finish your case before entering an empty room to sort yourself out.
âGod fucking damn it, piece of shitââ You curse violently, voice breaking, trying to hold back tears yet again, whilst setting up the equipment you need to clean your cut.
Your heart beats violently, embarrassed at fucking up yet another thing. Abbot cannot know, he cannot have another thing to chew you out over.
Youâre not that lucky.
âHey, listen, I wanted to say thatâ what the fuck?â Jackâs voice is shocked when he glances down at your bleeding arm from where he stands at the door.
Your head whips around immediately, eyes wide and panicked but you donât speak or move. Fear wraps around your heart knowing youâre going to get scolded for being distracted, getting yourself hurt, or creating unnecessary paperwork for the hospital.
The sight of your bleeding arm disturbs him. But what hurts more is the way you look at him, wrecked and terrified, like a child that just got caught for doing something wrong, more worried about his reaction than the fact youâre hurt. He shakes his head stepping inside fully making his way to you.
âSit.â He commands, his voice tight, clipped.
Your breath hitches at his tone, interpreting it as annoyance for having to deal with this, but you do as he says, not wanting to make things worse.
âYou donât have toââ You attempt to say youâre fine, you donât need help, itâs a small cut. But when you look into his eyes, you pause, thereâs something softer behind them, concern.Â
âYeah. I do.â His voice is gentle and strained like it pains him youâre trying to hide your hurt.
You watch his face as he washes out your cut and stops the bleeding. You canât read him. He avoids your eyes, focusing solely on your injury, you watch as he clenches his jaw and swallows.
He canât look into your eyes again, the broken teary look youâre adorning right now would completely break him. He feels your pulse thrumming from where he holds your wrist, shaky breaths like youâre trying not to cry in front of him.
âThisâll stingââ He warns gently before bringing a cold disinfectant wipe to your cut. He cleans it so gently, so carefully, you realise how much youâve missed him. His touch, his care, his smell.
You hiss slightly at the alcohol stinging, and he quickly retracts, gaze flicking to meet yours worried.
âIâve got you.â He coos, rubbing a thumb back and forth against your hand, avoiding your injury. âYouâre alright, sweetheart.â
His soft tone breaks the flood gate, tears flowing freely and you sob. Hard.
âMâso sorry.â Your voice breaks, blurting out apologies, as you try to catch your breath. âIâm sorry, pleaseââ
His heart shatters at the sound, immediately setting the wipes down and cupping your face.
âHeyâ No. No, honey. Donât.â His warm hands ground you, wiping the tears as they fall. He canât stand the sight of you falling apart in front of him.
You shake your head. âI keep fucking upââ you whisper brokenly, your expression apologetic.
âGod, câmere.â He coos bringing your head to his chest rubbing his hand on your back. âYou got nothinâ to apologise for, yâhear me?Â
His chest aches at your cries, knowing he led you to this, knowing he hurt such a sweet girl. His sweet girl.Â
âI shoulda never yelled at ya, it werenât right.â His voice vibrates through your body against him, sniffling into his chest. âYou get that? You did nothing wrong, baby.â
Baby.
He pulls back cupping your face again, eyes intense and searching. Searching for something in your eyes that tells him you understand him, that you know you didnât do anything wrong.
âIs heâ is the kidââ You choke out, genuinely terrified that your slip-up had cost the kid his life, and had cost the mother losing both loves of her lives on the same night.
Jack shakes his head quickly, dismissing your worry. âHeâs good, heâs stable. Dontcha worry about that. I let shit get to me, yeah? Not on you.â
You sniffle, breathing jagged as you settle down. The kid will be okay. Abbot isnât mad at you. His hand lifts from your cheek to smooth down your hair on your forehead, tucking it backwards. Looking at you like you're precious.Â
Unexpectedly, he brings his forehead to rest on yours, whispering:
âI never wanna make you feel like that.â His voice wavers slightly, but you notice. âNever again.â
You stop breathing at his proximity. Realisation crashing down at how stupid youâd been to avoid him all this time, to let insecurity overrun your thoughts. His lips are so close to yours.
âJackââ You practically whimper his name.Â
His breath hitches, searching your eyes before leaning in slowly.Â
He presses a small kiss to the corner of your mouth, testing.
Instinctively, you turn your head towards his lips.
You both pause, staring at each other and breathing heavily. He watches as you dart your tongue out, licking your lips nervously, and he breaks.
He crashes his lips to yours.
Itâs hungry, full of apology, and devotion. He brings a hand to cup the back of your head, deepening the kiss. Electric sparks fly down your spine, your mind turning to mush. The emotional toll of the day mixing with the high of finally kissing Jack, you melt.Â
He finally pulls away, after needing to catch his breath, not because he wants to stop kissing you. Heâd kiss you for the rest of the night, if he could.Â
He takes in your flushed state, catching your breath and looking at him with so much trust. Your red cheeks, dazed and glossy eyes, and plump red lips and he lets a sound akin to a growl out. The look wrecks him.Â
He shakes his head, pressing a short, quick kiss to your hair before physically stepping back before going too far with you.Â
âI didnâtâ I convinced myself you didnât want me like that.â Your whisper breaks the silence. âI couldnât be around you, it hurt too much.âÂ
Oh.Â
He swallows the lump in his throat before nodding. He understands. Why you avoided him all this time, you must have been going crazy. Hell, youâd affected him so much tonight he snapped. He canât imagine what living like that for so long would do to you.
âYou donât gotta explain, sweetheart.â He brings the chair to sit in front of you on the bed, and he takes your hands in his, bringing a small kiss to your knuckles. âBut you scared me, doll. You gotta take care of yourself.âÂ
Your gaze flickers downwards a little embarrassed, nodding
He turns your injured hand over in his, nodding his head towards it before gently asking.
âHowâd this happen?â He refocuses on cleaning and assessing if itâs deep enough for a bandage or stitches.Â
âWasnâtââ You pause, recalling how he scolded you last time for being distracted, shaking off your fear, you continue. âWasnât paying attention, cutting off patients' dead skin. Hand cramped nâ tried to fix it, blade slipped.â
He takes in a deep breath hearing your shaky explanation.Â
âWhy didnât ya tell someone, hmm?â He speaks softly, his attention focused on placing small little butterfly bandages along the cut.
You shrug. âWasnât thinking straight. Was overwhelmed, on the verge of crying again. Just needed to be alone.âÂ
Crying, again. He hates the recollection that he made you cry that night. That after you had left the trauma room, youâd broken down alone.
He places the last bandage on, setting down the equipment and turning to you once more, placing a hand on your thigh.
âYou always come to me when youâre hurting, yeah? I hate that I didnât know, baby. Hate you were hurt and you tried to deal with this alone.â He begs, squeezing your thigh.Â
He sighs in relief as he sees your small nod. âGood.âÂ
He places a small, gentle kiss over your cut. âThere we go, all fixed up, my sweet girl.âÂ
You flush red, a shy smile taking over your face before you can stop it, letting out a small laugh of disbelief.
âThere she is.â He coos at your smile.
âââââââ
After a few months of dating, Jack took a sabbatical, and asked you to go with him.
It was his way of an apology, for snapping at his sweet girl, taking you away from the place that youâd been running yourself into the ground for.
He didnât tell you much, just to pack your cutest dresses. You obeyed mindlessly, trusting him completely. Truthfully, he couldnât get enough of seeing you in sundresses after one particular picnic date where he couldnât keep his eyes off you, or hands. Needless to say, the date ended early, with Jack driving you back to his place to tear off the sundress.
Youâre leaning against Jack in his truck as he drives through the country. He had specifically chosen to bring this truck due to its bench seats, needing a hand on you at all times.Â
The warm breeze filters through the truck windows, and you hum gently along to the faint country rock playing through the truck radio, Jack tapping his fingers against the wheel along with the beat.Â
Everything felt perfect, domestic, calm.
Until you get deeper into country backroads.Â
You frown the first time you drive by a small animal on the side of the road, clearly roadkill. It disturbs something in your stomach, seeing the bloody mangled animal alone. You try to push it down, focus on Jack, the trip.
Until you seem to keep passing more animals.Â
Deer.
Squirrels.
Rabbits.
Foxes.
Every animal seems to twist your heart more and more, saddening you so deeply, wishing you could protect the babies that died alone.Â
Jack, observant as he is, feels you go quiet against his shoulder. No longer humming or drumming your feet with the music, just looking straight ahead into the dashboard, stiff. Something had set his girl off. He brings his hand that rested on the gear stick onto your thigh, giving it a firm squeeze, checking in on you.Â
His hand is warm where it rests on your thigh, grounding, as he coos, âTalk to me, sweetheart.â He glances over briefly before looking back at the road. âWhatâs got my pretty girl all quiet, hmm?â he says, softly.
Your stomach flips, of course he notices. Heâs so in tune with your tells by now, you couldnât even hide it if you tried. You whine a little embarrassed, turning to hide your face into his side.Â
His heart aches at the small, sweet noise you make and his grip tightens protectively on your thigh. Sensing your shyness, his thumb starts rubbing back and forth on your leg.Â
âDonât hide from me, my sweet girl,â his voice is gentle and sweet, the tone he uses when he knows something is bothering you. Gentle fingers tip your chin upwards to meet his eyes momentarily, your stomach twisting as he brushes the hair behind your ear, a silent plea: tell me.
Hesitating, feeling shy and not wanting to ruin the trip you tell him, âItâs nothing, really, Itâs the animalsââ, your breath hitches as Jack drives by another dead deer on the side of the road. Your voice breaks before continuing, âIt hurtsâ, you whisper sadly whilst immediately ducking your head to not look out the window for too long, the scene disturbing you.
Oh. Realisation floods Jackâs face and his heart clenches, oh, his sweet, sensitive baby.Â
You hear Jack breathe out a small sigh, before dipping his head and placing a small gentle kiss to your forehead.
âYeah? Thatâs whatâs gotten my girl all upset?â his voice soothing and rubs his hand up and down your thigh in comfort. Your stomach twists at his sigh, unsure if heâs silently judging.
âThey might have had family or friends waiting for them!ââ your voice is whiny, desperate for him to understand as deeply as you do why youâre upset. You sniffle a little, trying not to let tears fall.Â
Jack blinks, trying not to laugh at his sensitive girl, knowing itâll upset you more. He doesnât mean to find it amusing, but your true devastation over deer and squirrels having family and friends, he canât help but let out a low chuckle.
âYouâre right baby, mâsure theyâre sat around the dinner table, waiting for âim to come home.â He teases gently a smirk playing at his lips.Â
âJaaaaack! Itâs not funny,â you pout petulantly, hurt. You shift away from his side, scooting over to the other side of the truck, feeling dismissed.Â
Jack shushes you quickly, grabbing you by your shoulders before you move away, hating the way you curl in on yourself so easily. He pulls you back into his side, coaxing an apology.Â
âMâsorry, baby, câmere.â Heâs still smirking a little, but knowing he may have teased too much in your sensitive state, he needs to calm you down.
You feel him pepper quick kisses to your forehead, whilst rubbing the back of your neck gently. Your body relaxes instantly at the touch.Â
You sniffle a little calming down, wrapping your arms around his middle.
âShh, baby, I know, I know.â He says, his voice softer now, before continuing. âI was so mean for teasing my delicate girl, yeah?â His inflection rises at the end of his question, like he was comforting a small kitten.
Sniffling, you nod at his comfort. âYou know I love how my sweet baby feels everything deeply.â he croons, and you feel him run his fingers at the nape of your neck into your hair, petting you.
âYou just keep your eyes on me, yeah? Focus on me for the rest of the trip.â He commands gently, shielding you away from the hurt of the world.
The low music continues to hum in the car, yours and Jackâs breathing matching as you sit quietly soaking the evening breeze.
Gravel crunches as you pull up to the cabin, you notice he doesnât make a move to exit the truck yet. You frown, worried, is something wrong? Before you can even ask him, Jack breaks the silence, with such a soft tone it's unexpected.
âSâwhy youâre my favourite nurse, babyâ. You falter, his words stirring something in your stomach, his praise making you shy. You feel him draping his arm around your waist and tugging you into his lap, straddling him.
Unable to avoid his intense eye contact, you duck your head shyly, quietly asking, âWhat is?â
For the life of you, you canât figure out what he means. He ducks his head following yours to look into your eyes, cupping your face.
His voice is low, serious, when he speaks. âYour sensitivity, compassion, empathy.âÂ
You swallow the lump in your throat, uneasy by the intensity of his praise. Tucking your head into his neck to hide your shyness, you quipâ âItâs not the sex?â
You hear him chuckle, the vibration running through your body.
âYou were my favourite before the sex smartassâ no, you have a big heart, biggest Iâve ever known, you care deeply.â You feel him guide your head out of his neck, needing to see your face, his thumbs brush against your cheeks as he watches your wide, doe eyes trying to accept the praise.
âPlenty of other nurses and doctors are empathetic.â You begin shyly, trying to brush the compliment off, uneasy by how seen he was making you feel. Always having been told your sensitivity is a curse, especially in this field, and itâll wear you down.Â
Jack immediately interjects, not enjoying how quick you are to self deprecate, diminish yourself.
âNot like you, baby.â His voice is stern, as are his hands gripping your face. Desperate for you to see yourself the way he does.Â
Those three simple words cut deep, your eyes watering from so much care. He wipes the tears before they fall and watches a shy smile tugging at your lips, hitting him like a punch to the chest.Â
âYou hear me, baby? Hmm?â he coos gently while pressing a kiss against your temple. You nod in his hold, cheeks flushed from receiving so much affection, never having been treated so carefully before.
âYouâre mâfavourite attending.â You mumble shyly fidgeting with your hands in your lap.
Jack laughs deeply, he knows, of course he knows. He just hadnât expected that to be what you said. He finds your tone so cute, like you're too shy to admit it.
âOh yeah? Sânot Robby?â He teases, pushing a strand of hair behind your ear, laughing again at your scrunched up face, like the idea is ridiculous to you.
âI know, sweetheart.â He calms you, presses a final, soft kiss to your temple and brings you closer to his embrace.
Outside, the sun sets as crickets chirp around you, the air gets cooler but neither of you rushes to leave the car yet, this moment meaning something so deep to the both of you.
â
Jack is setting down the last of the bags in the bedroom when he hears you yelp from the bathroom. Before he can even ask if youâre okay, you call out for him, your voice startled and afraid.
âJack!â
His heart jumps, and his mind immediately rushes to the worst idea, that youâre hurt somehow.Â
Jack runs to the bathroom panicked, âBaby, whatâsââ he calls out in fear, until he enters the room, and pauses, blinking.Â
Youâre crouching on the toilet seat like the floor is lava, with one shoe off, in your hand, looking around the floor terrified. You meet his eyes, genuine fear behind them,
âI swear, it's taunting me! It looked me right in the eyes!â you whisper urgently pointing at the small bug in the corner of the room.
Jack laughs for real this time, tilting his head affectionately, âbaby, what are you doing?â
You screech as you watch the tiny dark bug scuttle along the bathroom floor and chuck your shoe at it, completely missing it.
âPleaseâ kill it, quick!â you beg himÂ
He smirks at you from where he leans against the bathroom door frame, crossing his arms, and taunts you, âWhat if his family is waiting for him to come home, hmm?â
You groan as Jack points out your hypocrisy, squealing again as you watch it come towards you. âJack, I swear to godââ
He hangs his head in, a shit-eating grin spreading across his face before he walks over and stomps on it. He picks you up into his arms and mumbles into your hair.
âYeah, youâre not lasting ten minutes out here, sweetheart.â
warnings: 18+, dbf!brett richards (yahoooo!), age gap, first meeting, conversation filled with innuendos, sexual tension, smut, pet names (baby, kid), penetrative sex (p in v), coming inside (yippee), cum mentions
requested by: @bookbombshell
authors note: babe this is my favourite one and i saved it to be posted on my actual birthday, I was giggling and twirling my hair while writing it. this fic was requested from my birthday event! the fic is inspired by the song that was chosen.
Woah. When did Brett Richards get hot?
Youâd never actually met him, his presence in your life was through the stories your father would tell about his days in the fire academy and through the pictures hung around your house. In the picture frames the Brett you knew was young, in his late twenties and early thirties, baby faced with freckles and auburn curls. He always smiled at the camera with a big boyish grin, his arm typically slung over your fatherâs shoulders.
The man across the lawn at the barbecue was definitely not baby faced. Brett was much older now, pushing fifty, with laugh lines and grey hair to prove it. His face had thinned out while the rest of him seemed to have grown - chest, arms, thighs. Looking at Brett now you understood what people meant when they said some people are made to be middle aged. Brett had been a pretty boy and now he was a sexy man, totally a silver fox.
You chewed on your lower lip as you crossed the lawn towards him, a heat swirling in your belly that had nothing to do with the July weather. It had been so long since youâd been with someone, let alone interested in anyone, that you almost didnât recognize what the feeling was. Watching the way Brett expertly flipped the burgers on the grill with a flick of his wrist, his forearm muscles bulging, you knew exactly what you wanted.
You wanted to fuck Brett Richards.
You weaved through the crowd of people who had gathered for Edgewaters annual Fourth of July barbecue and came up to stand next to your dadâs best friend, who was delightfully alone.
âHi,â You said, clasping your hands behind your back to avoid accidentally reaching out and touching his bicep like your fingers were itching to do. âI havenât seen you in Edgewater before.â Brett gave you a friendly smile as he closed the grill and your knees shook at how handsome he looked when he smiled, with wrinkles in the corner of his eyes. You wanted to kiss his crows feet.
âI just got here a few weeks go.â
âOh, me too! I just moved back.â You commented, giving him a beautiful smile back. You saw how his eyes flickered down to your mouth for just a moment and your heart soared in triumph.
âWhyâd you move away?â Brett asked, mirroring your stance with his hands behind his back as he turned to face you fully. You knew that stance well, it was one firefighters did when they were standing at attention. You licked your lips as your eyes raked over his chest and broad shoulders before you replied.
âFor school.â You said, your eyes moving back to his face and seeing amusement in his features. He caught you staring and you didnât mind one bit. âBut I came back because my grandmother is recovering from hip surgery and she needs some help. My job is remote so I can be here with her.â Another small smile crept onto Brettâs face as he nodded at your explanation. You could tell he was impressed by your decision to drop everything and return home to help your family.
âAnd youâre a firefighter?â You asked playfully, your eyes shining with mischief as Brett chuckled.
âWhat gave it away?â
âOh, just your arms and your hands.â You said with an innocent shrug. Brett narrowed his eyes a fraction, thrown by your answer. He was sure youâd point out the t-shirt he was wearing with the fire department logo on it.
âMy arms and hands?â He asked, tilting his head towards you in confusion. You nodded and held out your hand for him to give you his. He gave you a quizzical look but complied, unclasping his hands to give you his arm. You stepped unnecessarily close as you took his hand in both of yours, turning it over as you spoke.
âYou clearly work with your hands, you have callouses and tiny scars,â You ran the tip of your finger over the palm of his hand, following the lines like you were telling his fortune. His fingers twitched like they wanted to grab your hand but they stayed flat for you.
âAnd your muscles show lots of strength,â Your fingers trailed across his wrist and up his forearm, sliding over the corded muscles under his skin. âProbably from swinging an axe and youâre too clean shaven to be a lumberjack.â You looked up at him then and saw his face was flushed a shade of pink it hadnât been before. You bit your bottom lip and tilted your head at him.
âAm I right?â You watched Brett swallow, the muscles of his throat working as he stared at you with darkened eyes. He nodded, his eyes locked on your lips. You smiled and stepped back, hoping heâd chase you, which he did until a voice broke through the crowd.
âOh you two met already!â Your mom appeared next to you, giving you a quick side hug as she beamed at her husbands old friend. âYour dad will be so pleased you recognized Brett, honey.â She said to you, completely oblivious to the charged energy between her daughter and her husbands best friend.
Brett stood there slack jawed as you conversed with your mom. Heâd spent the last few minutes basking in the attention you gave him, his eyes greedily looking at the tops of your breasts peaking out of the neckline of your summer dress and imagining sliding his hands up your thighs and under the skirt of the dress. But you werenât some random young woman flirting with him at the barbecue, you were his best friends daughter! He suddenly felt like a dirty old man, lusting after you like that.
You didnât seem to mind, casting Brett glance that told him you wanted to eat him alive. His cock jumped at the look in your eyes, his imagination running wild with all the positions he could fuck you in.
Your mom broke Brettâs train of thought when she had to bid farewell suddenly to go help with some dispute at the raffle table. Alone with you once again, Brett tried to deflect.
âIf youâre waiting on a burger theyâre almost done.â
âThatâs not what Iâm hungry for.â You commented, your words heavy with innuendo.
âYouâre playing with fire kid.â Brett warned, trying to hold onto his last shred of morality.
âGood thing thatâs your specialty Deputy Chief Richards.â You said with a flirtatious smile.
âWe canât.â Brett whispered back.
âWhy not?â
âYour dad-â
âWill never know.â You cut him off, squashing his worry. âCâmon Brett, youâre not gonna leave me all cold and alone tonight, are you?â You asked coyly, batting your eyelashes at him. Brett swallowed thickly, half his brain shouting this was a bad idea and the other half chanting âdo it!â again and again.
That half of his brain and his cock won out and soon he was leaving the function about two steps behind you. Your dad stopped you both, none the wiser to what was about to happen, and you lied to him effortlessly when he asked where you were going.
âBrett offered to come over and fix that leaking pipe my landlord has been ignoring.â
âThanks for helping Brett!â Your dad commended his friend as he slapped him on the back while you all walked to Brettâs truck before your dad started heading back to the party. âI know youâll take good care of my girl.â
And take âgood careâ he did, alllllll night long.
âFuck, fuck, you feel so good baby.â Brett groaned as his cock thrust into you over and over, his hips slapping against yours as he pressed you into your mattress. You moaned in response, your legs wrapped around him as you clung to his body for dear life. The room was hot and humid, partially from the July heat and partially from the marathon sex you were having with Brett. Your bodies were covered in a sheen of sweat, your breaths hot and quick as Brett fucked you.
He knew this was wrong, you were his best friends daughter. Hell, his own daughter was only a few years older than you. But Brett couldnât deny how good this felt, plunging his cock deep inside you, watching your face scrunch up at the pleasure he gave you. He wanted to get lost inside you, forever nestled between your perfect thighs.
âYouâre doing so good baby, takinâ me so well.â Brett grunted, his forehead pressed against yours as his hot breath fanned over your face. Your nails dragged down his back as you whined, your pleasure nearing its peak.
âYou gonna come?â You nodded frantically in response, a whimpered âmm hmâ sounding from your throat.
âYeah, yeah, come on my cock baby. Be good for me kid, come on my cock like the good girl you are.â Brett cooed softly, sending you over the edge. You came, your back arching as much as it could under his weight as you screamed his name. Brett fucked you through it, not letting up for a second. As your pussy fluttered with aftershocks around his cock, Brett muttered praises against your skin.
âGood job kid, you did so well. âM so proud of you.â Your pussy clamped down on his cock at his praising words as another whine was pulled from your throat. Your whole body shifted on the mattress from the force of Brettâs thrusts as he chased his own orgasm, the bed creaking in rhythm.
âLook at me baby.â He ordered. âEyes on me when I come in you.â Your whole body grew hot at his words and you forced your eyes open so he could stare at you.
âYeah, yeah, just like that. So good for me. Fuck, Iâm gonna come."
"Please Brett," You begged, your ankles locking across his ass and pulling him impossibly closer.
"Yes, oh fuck yes, oh fuck baby Iâm gonna come! I'm gonna come!â Brett panted, his hips slamming into yours frantically as he came, his hot cum spilling inside you. Brett sighed contently as his hips slowed to a stop, his cock buried fully inside you before he collapsed on top of you, his weight like a comforting blanket. He pressed his face into the crook of your neck, heaving breaths against your skin, hot and fast. Your hands rubbed over his back as you tried to catch your breath too, your whole body tired and satisfied from the sex. It had been a long while since someone ravished you like this, you were practically floating.
âYouâre amazing baby.â Brett sighed happily and you giggled with the little energy you had left.
âWorth it then?â You asked. Brett peppered kisses over your neck, trailing upwards to your lips. He kissed you soundly, his tongue sliding over yours.
âVery worth it. And if Iâm already going to Hell, I might as well have some fun.â Brett kissed back down your jaw, pulling himself back until he was slipping out of you along with gush of his cum. Brett kissed down between your breasts, his intended destination clear. Your hands found their way to his grey curls and followed his head down between your legs as Brett showed you just how much he liked you all night long.
summary: good things happen to those who are found crying in the supply closet by their hot, older, maybe flirty boss-slash-mentor.
wc: 14.5k (i have no idea how that happened)
tags/tropes: age gap (duh), slow burn with an insane amount of tension, lowkey very emotionally rife, hurt/comfort, not-so-unrealistic amounts of crying, langdonmel in the background if you squint (you donât have to squint very hard i love them so much guys im sorry) vaguely referenced but not subtlety implied bad childhood, gratuitous and frankly ridiculous medical inaccuracies because i took a lot of creative liberty, reader is an ode to Matilda by Harry Styles and Youâre Gonna Go Far by Noah Kahan, Pitt Crew becomes readerâs family :)
a/n: this was supposed to be a sort-of drabble for @leeknowpegger. idk what happened. pegger iâm sorry iâve been so dead recently (always) will you take this as an apology. If youâd like more cohesive tags, more context, extra details, and more in depth warnings, this fic has been cross-posted on ao3, and will be linked below :]
NOT-SO-FRIENDLY-PSA: Any comments asking me to write more, post another chapter, or anything of the sort will be deleted. Please do not send an ask into my inbox either. Screaming in my inbox (not about wanting more, general screaming) is totally fine though!
You have been the perfect day shift intern for five months. Five freaking months of listening to mostly constructive criticism, five months of adapting and learning on the go with not a single complaint voiced, five months of diligent note-taking, studying, and practice. Five months of weaseling your way into the list of interns-slash-young-doctors that your residents actually respect. Five months of grueling shifts, hard losses, and never saying no when someone needs you to do something.
Five months of being the untouchable, âperfectâ intern. Robbyâs newest addition to his growing list of âwork-wards.â
Five months of unflinching effort and dedication and it took four hours of your third night-shift to reduce you to a miserable, snotty mess on the supply closet floor. Tucked into the space between the two shelves, just the toes of your blood and snot and god knows what else covered shoes peeking out, the rest of you obscured.
Five months, four hours, and back to back fuck-ups that escalated into Dr. Jack Abbot, the man you may or may not have had the hugest crush on since beginning your intern year, removing you from a case. Five months, four hours, and two parents screaming at Dr. Abbot, telling him that youâre not fit to be a doctor.
Tonight isnât the first night a patient has yelled at you. Tonight isnât even the first time youâve been removed from a case. Itâs not the first time Dr. Abbot has had to correct you, and itâs certainly not the first time youâve made a mistake.
Youâre an intern. Itâs your job to fuck up, learn from it, and keep going. Thatâs what Dr. Mohan said to one of the other interns awhile back. Theyâd ended up flunking out, but oh well. It was good advice. It wasnât meant for you, but hell if you donât say it to yourself every night like a prayer.
But right now, the usual calming mantra is doing absolutely nothing. Youâre stifling ugly sobs into the tops of your knees, arms wrapped around and squeezing as tight as you can, your chest shaking and shuddering with the force of your complete and total freak-out.
The patient isnât dead. Despite your mistakes, they didnât die. Thereâs really nothing to cry about. Nothing to hide in the supply closet for.
And yet, here you are.
Your first mistake wasnât terrible, but it was ridiculously stupid and incredibly embarrassing. Triage room, emergency measures being taken. And you, tired and off kilter from being so used to the day-shift, broke the sterile field. Like some dumb medical student, not a fairly seasoned intern whoâs drilled sterile protocol into her head until itâs muscle memory.
For a scalpel. You dropped a scalpel. Arguably the worst thing to drop. And then, like an idiot, you picked it back up.
And, well. Thereâs no time to re-scrub, so there wasnât a need for you in the triage room anymore.
Your second mistake was equally stupid and avoidable, if youâd focused more. Dr. Garcia was kind enough to let you scrub in on an emergency appendectomy.
It was a test. Not your first.
And you ripped the fucking purse strings.
Once again, you were unceremoniously booted from the room (being kicked out of an OR feels a hell of a lot worse than being kicked out of a triage room) and sent back to the pit. Dr. Abbot immediately caught wind of it and demoted you to scut work until âyou get your head back in the game.â
And, well. You tried really hard to devote yourself to your new task, but you had to keep blinking tears out of your eyes every five seconds and you absolutely refuse to cry in front of literally any of your coworkers, lest they think you some weak-willed weak-stomached intern who canât handle some criticism and correction. Youâre a hard worker. Youâre good at this. You have to be.
So yeah. Crying in the supply closet.
Youâve always been a frustrated cryer, which is annoying on a good day and downright awful on a bad one (case in point.)
Youâre just so upset with yourself. Youâre better than this. You know you are. Youâve proven that you are. You donât drop scalpels. You donât break the sterile field. You donât rip purse strings.
But you did tonight. And maybe one day youâll laugh, but today is not that day.
You just donât get it. Day shift? Incredible. Manageable. Youâre on top of things, put together, and worthy of Dr. Robbyâs respect.
But tonight? Quite literally the exact opposite.
You canât be burning out, right? Thatâs not how burn out works. Thereâs like, signs, and you start to feel terrible and awful and exhausted and sure you definitely feel all of those things, but thatâs because you work in medicine. And youâre an intern. Youâre supposed to feel terrible and awful and exhausted. But maybe youâre not? You do enjoy your work, and itâs exhilarating, especially when you try something for the first time and execute it well, because you always do, you always get things right on the first try, obviously, so that means that this canât be burn out. You donât burn out. Thatâs not you. Right? No. Of course not.
You gasp a particularly rough sob into your knees, air feeling like knives as you inhale, making you cough horrendously. You must be quite a sight.
Unfortunately, due to your alternating hacking coughs and dramatic crying, you donât quite hear the door open.
You do, however, hear the quiet âOh.â thatâs mumbled a few moments later.
Of-fucking-course.
You scramble upright, aggressively wiping at your face and attempting to make it look like you werenât just crying on the ground.
âDr. Abbot! Iâm so sorry, this is very unprofessional and I know you have me on scut work but I promise Iâm still working on itââ
He holds up a hand, and you slam your jaw shut with an audible click.
âJust needed some four by fours, kid.â
Always one to be helpful (especially to the guy you have a crush on who also happens to be your boss, aka the same person who professionally told you to get your shit together about forty minutes ago) you reach beside yourself and hand him the package of gauze, an awkward smile fixed on your face.
ââŠThose are three by threes.â
Bitch. Motherfucker. Fuck your life.
âRight,â You mumble, dragging your hand down your face. âIâll just get out of your way. Sorry.â
You turn to walk past him, attempting to go quick enough that he might not notice the new tears shining in your eyes before a hand lands on your shoulder.
âLook,â Dr. Abbot starts. âYouâre one of Robbyâs adopted interns, right? Robby-Junior?â
âThat is one of the rumors Santos has been spreading, yes.â
His hand is on your shoulder. His hand is on your shoulder. (!!!)
You donât know what to do. Heâs looking at you. Your boss doesnât fluster you. Youâre chill. Youâre normal. Youâre cool as a cucumber, yep yep yep.
âRobby doesnât adopt interns lightly. Donât let one bad shift mess you up. It happens to everyone.â
You purse your lips. You should let it go. Take his advice. Thank him.
The all-consuming-guilt and ever-present-need to prove yourself itches too painfully to ignore.
Dr. Abbot seems to notice, and he catches your gaze again.
âWhat, it doesnât happen to you?â
A jolt of panic stabs your chest. âNo! Of course it happens to me, I didnât mean to imply that Iâm like, above making mistakes or having bad shifts at allââ
Genuinely what is wrong with you. Why the fuck does he do this you. Youâre a smart, confident woman who apparently chucks her brain into the garbage bin whenever her boss is around.
Dr. Abbot, probably picking up on a pattern of behavior by now, levels you with another look that shuts you up fairly quickly. Heâs got a sort of impish grin on his face, and it shouldnât be hot, but heâs got his hand on your shoulder and youâre having a ridiculously shitty night. Does anything matter anymore?
âUsually, we try to mix up interns schedules so you donât get into a rhythm on one specific shift so that when you inevitably switch, the change doesnât mess up your flow. But I'm sure your knack for keeping your head down and doing good work let you fall through the cracks.â
He takes his hand off your shoulder and shoves it into his pocket, but you almost donât notice because he said you do good work.
Abbot gives you another grin. âAnd I didnât stick you on scut as a punishment. Mindless work tends to be calming, which in turn helps focus your mind.â
âBut I ripped the purse strings,â You blurt like a Catholic school girl in a particularly rife confessional, âLike an idiot.â
âYou ripped them like an intern doing something for the first time.â
âI practiced hundreds of times to make sure it didnât happen!â
He tilts his head, almost cat-like. âDid you also practice on a live person in a higher stakes situation while your body is messed up from a sudden and huge sleep schedule change?â
ââŠNo?â
He snorts. âExactly. Dr. Garcia probably wonât hold it against you. Sheâll give you shit for it, but itâs not like sheâs never going to give you another chance.â
You wipe the last bit of wetness of your cheeks with the back of your hand, embarrassment heating your face. Despite the awfulness of being caught crying in the supply closet, the beginnings of pleasant warmth is spreading through your chest, Dr. Abbotâs reassurances echoing in your head.
âThank you, Dr. Abbot. Um. Sorry about the crying. I promise I donât usually do that.â
Dr. Abbot snorts as he saunters towards the door. âWouldnât judge you if you did, kid.â
â
Dr. Jack Abbot is bored.
He has his work, which is great. He became a doctor after being discharged because heâs always been the kind of man that needs something to do. Something to mind, something to watch, something to fix. Robby and him and much the same in this way.
Working at the ED was enough for a while. There was a certain challenge to it, an unpredictability that itch sated, kept him sane. And, well. Now heâs an attending. Night shift lead.
He started to get restless again.
He thought a pet might work. He was going to get a dog, but it didnât sit right with him to get an animal built for companionship and then leave it at home for over twelve hours a day. Then he thought a cat might do the trick. He looked online first, saw beautiful, well bred felines that could probably compete and win for best in show for whatever the cat equivalent is for the Westminster Dog Show.
And then he made the mistake of going to the shelter and seeing an old, one eared tuxedo cat that stared at him with something in between fear and spite and its eyes. And well. The shelter attendants assured him that the cat in question prefers being left alone and having its own space, but might warm up eventually, and he brought him home that day.
And then it was just Jack, occasionally Robby, and now his asshole cat who might not love him back.
That also worked for a while. Having Charlie was fun. It was nice having another living creature in his house that wasnât him. Even if he did have a habit of chewing on power cords when left unattended and eventually progressed into attempting to destroy Jackâs stethoscope if he left it anywhere he could find.
Minding the cat gave him something to do that wasnât tedious, and it was a special sort of bonus to wake up every now and then and see the cat sprawled at the foot of the bed, snoring away. He didnât actually know cats could snore like that.
Around the time that the itch came back and Jack was considering adopting a second cat from the shelter (well on his path to becoming a crazy cat lady, as Robby said in the park over beers) he met you for the first time.
Sometimes Jack slips quietly into the ED and watches the chaos of day shiftâs conclusions. Heâs picked up a very special language of gauging what heâs getting into based on the body language and behavior of the rest of the hospital staff. Robby had told him about the latest internâ a motivated, stubborn sort of girl that frequently went toe-to-toe with Santos but without any of the pushback when receiving correction or criticism. Heâd heard that you were smart, capable, and well on your way of becoming a great doctor.
Robby failed to mention that you were pretty.
Heâd watch you, comparing notes with Mohan with a certain intense focus on your face, worrying your lip between your teeth and repeatedly tucking a piece of hair behind your ear because itâd fallen out of your disheveled pony tail he thinks âOh.â
And then, a few months later, he finds you crying in a closet, subtly confessing fears of failure and falling short of expectations, and then he thinks âWell, thereâs something to do.â
Jack tries not to think about you, at first. You, looking up at him with red-rimmed eyes, bottom lip jutted out just a bit, hugging your knees. He tries not to think about how youâd looked at him when heâd assured you that you did good work, the awkward thank you, and the way that for the rest of the shift, all the annoying menial tasks that get forgotten in the chaos were all mysteriously taken care of.
He tells himself that heâs just going to keep an eye on you. For Robbyâs sake. Heâd do the same for Whitaker.
The next time you have a night shift, youâre clearly more prepared for the exhaustion, and when he finally sees you in true, proper action, he understands immediately why Robby likes you and Mohan frequently attaches you to her cases. Skill, patience, and focus.
When he watches you trach a patient with a certain ease that only comes from practicing hundreds of times, Ellis shoots him a knowing look. Raised eyebrows and smirk. When she passes him in the hall a few hours later, she jabs her thumb behind her shoulder at where youâre diligently filling out a chart.
âThat one yours, then?â
Jack shakes his head. âItâs not like that. You make me sound like a creep.â
Another raised eyebrow. âSure it isnât.â
âSheâs Robbyâs intern.â
âMhm.â
âSheâs way too young.â
Parker shrugs. âSheâs good.â
âShe is.â
The senior resident cuts a glance back to you. âThink sheâll burn out?â
âMaybe.â
Parker crosses his arms. âAre you gonna let it happen?â
âSheâs not my intern.â
Up to three Parker Ellis looks and counting.
âItâs an HR nightmare.â
Parker shrugs. âYou just said sheâs not your intern.â
He narrows his eyes. âYou know what I meant.â
âDo I? Itâs been awhile, Jack. No one would really judge you for having some fun.â
âParker.â
âJack.â
He shakes his head, walks towards the boards. âYouâre the worst.â
Parker just laughs. âSure I am.â
To your credit, he doesnât find you crying in a supply closet again to see evidence of you doing so for a solid few weeks. But, like most things in the ED, the peace doesnât last.
You came into work soaking wet, which is odd, considering the fact that he knows you drive, and the walk to the parking lot isnât far enough to account how youâre shivering in your freshly changed scrubs. He brushes it off, chalks it up to freakish Pittsburg weather.
Some night shifts are relatively slow and mild. Tonight is not one of those shifts. Patients are extra irritable at late hours, which is to be expected, but what heâs not expecting is to walk by South 15 and see a 50-something year old man slap you.
Jack blinks, and in the next second heâs in the room, standing in between you and the patient.
âExcuse me, what the fuck is going on here?â
Gloria will probably give him shit for his language later, but right now all he can think about is the startled look on your face and the echo that the contact made.
âI said I want a real doctor, not this fuckingââ
âGet the fuck out of my hospital.â
Shen peaks his head in. âSecurityâs on their way.â
Jack reaches behind him to where youâre still standing, your hand covering your cheek, and gently pushes you towards Shen, towards the door. You stumble over your feet a bit, but truly, Jackâs never been more thankful for his residents because then Parker is right there, ushering you out the door with a hand on your shoulder. Jack resolutely ignores your mumbled âIâm fine, really, he just surprised me.â
Thankfully, security doesnât take that long to get to the room, and the second Jack is finished explaining, heâs out the door and scanning the ED for your face. Nurse Young jerks her head towards the break room, and he thinks he manages to give her what he hopes is a thankful smile before heâs beelining for it.
When he opens the door, youâre sitting on the floor again, holding an ice pack to your cheek with one hand and dabbing at your lip with a paper towel. Like youâve never heard of medical protocol in your entire life.
âWhat the fuck are you doing?â
You jerk your head up, a kid caught with its hand in the cookie jar.
âDr. Abbot!â
Lowering himself to the ground is awkward, physically. Prosthetics donât lend to much mobility and heâs too old to be doing this, but he just. There are little beads of blood collecting and then sliding down your chin, dripping onto the leg of your scrubs. At the same angle of the split in your lip, thereâs a little cut he can see peaking out from under the ice pack.
He reaches forward, fingers itching towards the deep scarlet dripping steadily. He pauses, remembering things like words and questions and sees the wild look in your eyes.
âCan IâŠ?â Jackâs voice trails off, the words clunky and useless in this bubble thatâs seemed to form around the two of you, on the probably disgusting floor of the ED break room.
You slowly drop the napkin, let the ice pack lower to your lap and nod.
âHe had a ring on. I guess it caught me. I didnât really notice until I got here.â
âParker and Shen didnât notice?â
You look at your lap. âI told them I was fine⊠And covered it with my hand. There are other patients. Itâs just a little cut.â
Jackâs fingers finally reach your face, and he almost takes them back when you flinch on the initial contact, shaking ever so slightly.
But then, with noticeable effort, you relax into his palm, his fingers curling around the side of your jaw. He should grab gloves. He should get up, take his hand off your face.
Anyone could walk in right now and call Gloria on his ass.
His thumb sweeps across your cheekbone, just below the cut, which does have some faint bruising around it. And truthfully, the split in your lip doesnât look that bad either.
But thereâs still little dots and trails of scarlet and he doesnât think heâs going to be able to calm down until he fixes it. He needs to fix something.
âIf I leave you here so I can get supplies,â He starts, voice a little rough, âCan I trust that youâll stay here and not do anything stupid?â
âUh, yes? Should I move to a real chair though?â
Jack huffs as he hauls himself to his feet. âThatâd be preferable.â
Later, when heâs at home in his bed, heâll assure himself that the night shift wasnât truly that busy and he trusts his residents to handle things while heâs busy.
No one stops him on his way to the medical supply closet (the irony of the location is not lost on him) and he makes it back without interruption. Upon opening the door, you have in fact moved to a chair, and it seems the bleeding slowed in his absence.
What he should do is sit down in the chair opposite of you and handle this situation like a professional, like the Dr. Abbot, night shift attending, not Jack whoâs got a thing for fixing.
He does try to remove his emotions and feelings from the situation, he really does. Itâs something heâs generally very good at âwhich is where he and Robby differ; Robby would prefer to feel too much and Jack would prefer to feel nothing at allâ but youâre looking up at him and thereâs something really dangerous in the air and it mustâve gotten into your blood stream or something cause itâs swimming in your eyes and he realizes that removing his feelings is not going to be possible.
He decides he could at least tone it down. Youâre an intern. Robbyâs intern. So what if youâre bleeding all over the break room? Jackâs just doing his job as the attending to look after the doctors and nurses under his jurisdiction or whatever. Thatâs all.
âTilt your head up.â
He sets to work cleaning up the cut and split as detached and clinically as possible, even puts on gloves so thereâs no skin to skin contact, just protocol, but he can feel the warmth of your skin through the latex and you keep sucking in these tiny little breathes when something stings and he canât get the sound of the slap out of his head and itâs all just kind of a lot.
He readjusts his hand on the side of your face, sort of holding your forehead now to have better access and control over the cut on your cheek and wow. Your skin is really warm. It kind of feels like youâre burning up.
Jack tosses the piece of gauze he was using and rests the back of his hand against your forehead. Shit, you are burning up.
He thinks back to you, walking in today, soaked to the bone.
âDid you walk to work today?â
You wince. âMy car kind of died? On the way here? I was only a mile away. But I called a towing company, so I didnât just leave my car in the middle of the road.â
He blinks.
âYour car died, so you had it towed and walked a mile to work, in the rain, late at night, and didnât tell anybody?â
You just keep staring at him, brows furrowed.
âYeah? I carry a knife and Iâve taken self defense classes, and my car was just towed back to my place, so. I had a shift to work.â
Thereâs⊠a lot to unpack in your answer.
âKid,â He starts, wondering why Robby never thought to give him a heads up before you started working more night shifts, âWhat was your plan to get home?â
âWalk, probably. I was thinking about taking the bus. Dr. King knows the bus schedule, so Iâm probably going to text her.â
Jack decides to just finish cleaning you up, before he does something stupid like shake you by your shoulders and ask why you didnât think to let your boss know that your car broke down and youâd be walking home in the rain. Or that when a patient slapped you in the face, his ring cut your face and lip open.
God.
âItâs really fine though,â You say, gesticulating animatedly with your hands. âMy place isnât that far, and itâs not the first time my carâs died. The batteryâs kind of shot, but I guess my car has a weird battery, and itâs like, crazy expensive to get a new one, so. Besides, I like walking. Iâve been meaning to catch up on my audiobooks.â
He wishes youâd stop talking so heâd stop hearing things that make him want to do things he canât and shouldnât do. Like find out what car you drive so he can buy you a new battery. Or buy you a new car all together.
Christ, you have him wrapped around your fucking finger.
âIâll drive you home. If youâre fine with that.â
Jack has to fight a grin at how comically wide your eyes grow at his suggestion.
âOh no, you really donât have to. I promise Iâmââ
âPlease stop saying you're fine,â He begs, âYou donât have a working car, a patient slapped you in the face, and I think youâre coming down with something.â
The smile thatâs seemed permanently fixed on your face since he came into the break room falters, for a bit.
âWell,â You grimace, hands fisting the hem of your scrub top, âThings certainly arenât⊠great, but Iâll survive. Iâm not like, incapable, or anything.â
Jacks quiet for a bit, not just mulling over your words but the way you said them; the cadence and tone.
He hums. âIs that what you think? That I or someone else here will think youâre not competent or that youâre weak if you take a break or ask for help?â
Your face falters again. âNo, no, of course not I just⊠I donât know. Iâm an intern. Itâs my job, supposedly, to mess up and have to be looked after in case I accidentally kill someone and stuff like that. I just donât want to be someone that people think they have to worry about. I needâ internships are competitive. Theyâre competitions, really. And I want to win.â
Jack Abbot knows what itâs like to want to win. That need to prove yourself, prove that youâre capable and strong and unfailing.
So Jack also knows how quickly that can all go south.
âYouâre a smart kid,â He says, voice ever so slightly soft in the quiet tension of the break room, empty except for the two of you, âAnd youâre going to make a great resident, and one day, a damn good attending. But none of that means shit if you burn out or get run yourself into the ground before you get there.â
He avoids eye-contact while he carefully applies the bandage to your cheek. âThis industry will chew you up and spit you back out if you donât take care of yourself. I get it. Weâre doctors. We make the worst patients. But you got slapped in the face during a shitty day. Itâs okay to⊠not be okay for a minute.â
You huff a watery laugh. âIsnât that what energy drinks are for?â
He shakes his head. âWhat, trying to die faster?â
âAnything to shake those student loans. Canât be in debt if youâre dead.â
âDonât they just pass it to your family? Next of kin or whatever?â
âI donât think they can give student loans to a cactus. I mean, I consider her my daughter, but I hardly think itâll hold up in court.â
Jack mentally files that information away for later. What later is, he isnât sure.
He stands, pulls off his gloves and tosses all the used gauze and shit in the trash can.
âI gotta get back out there,â He jams his thumb towards the door, âBut feel free to take five. No oneâs judging you. Matter of fact, as your boss, Iâm telling you to take a break.â
You roll your eyes. âWhatever you say, Dr. Abbot. But thank you. For theâŠâ
You gesture to your bandaged cheek and lip. ââŠAnd for the advice.â
He shrugs, like taking care of you hasnât become a persona fantasy he may or may not fall asleep imagining most nights. Like it doesnât matter, like heâs just doing his job.
âOffer for the rideâs still open. Just let me know by the end of shift.â
And with that, heâs out the door.
Itâs the end of shift, and youâre staring at the double doors that lead to the outside world, and beyond that, absolutely fucking miserable weather for walking, a dead car, and cold as shit apartment.
Youâre not exactly rushing out the door.
Youâre clutching at the strap of your bag, regular clothes on, still damp despite the fact that itâs been over thirteen hours since you originally took them off, begging the universe to strike you down where you stand. Spontaneous lightning bolts happen indoors too, right?
The doors just stare back at you, unchanging in their miserable-ness, and after a solid ten minutes of staring, you feel rather than see Jack sidle up next to you.
âStill raining out there?â
âYep. Looks worse now.â
âNot great weather to walk in. Especially considering the low-grade fever.â
âMhm.â
âDid you text Dr. King for the bus schedule?â
âNo. I didnât want to wake her up.â
Jack huffs a breath, then jerks his head towards the doors that lead to the employee parking lot.
âCome on, kid.â
The ride is quiet and awkward. Well. Dr. Abbot probably doesnât think itâs awkward, because he seems like the kind of man not to be bothered by long stretches of silence. Or silence at all.
Heâd been kind enough to turn the heat on full blast (you started shivering the moment you stepped outside) and the radio is softly playing, and itâs only thanks to Sabrina Carpenterâs voice that you donât feel like completely freaking out.
You mouth along to the lyrics, quietly humming the chorus under your breath.
ââI get wet at the thought of you being a responsible guyââ
ââTreating me like youâre supposed to do, tears run down my thighsââ
By the time youâve realized that perhaps this isnât the best song choice to sing along to, considering the situation and whoâs car youâre currently riding in, the words âI get wetâ have already left your mouth so thereâs no real point in stopping.
On a completely unrelated note, Dr. Abbot starts smiling a little bit when you hum.
Pittsburgh traffic is terrible, so the drive kind of drags on. The radio is playing Chappell Roan now. Casual specifically. Youâre considering changing the radio station because god.
âSo,â You start, just to say anything that drowns out âknee-deep in the passenger seat and youâre eating me out, is it casual now?â, âDid you⊠have a good shift?â
That was a terrible question. Jesus. What the hell is wrong with you? How did you get through medical school?
Dr. Abbot snorts. âShouldnât I be asking you that question?â
Ah. Right. The Incident.
âI told you Iâmââ
âDidnât I tell you to stop saying that?â
Your lap has never looked more interesting. Wow, is that a loose thread on your sweats?
He continues. âFine or not, a patient assaulted you. Even if he didnât leave a mark, thatâs still shitty.â
âHave you been hit by a patient before?â
He huffs. âHell yeah. It happens to everyone eventually. Itâll happen again. You get better at keeping your cool.â
âSorry you had to step in. Iâve been hit by a patient before and I was fine.â
âOh yeah?â
You nod. âIt was during my Pedes rotation, actually. Iâve always known working with kids probably wasnât going to be for me, but, well. Kid came in for intussusception, and she was screaming and writhing in pain, and I failed to restrain her properly.â
âWhat, did she slap you too?â
âNope. Kicked me in the chin. Ended up biting almost clean through my tongue.â
âFucking hell, kid. Whatâd you do?â
You shrug. âKept my blood in my mouth until we finished sedating the patient. Ended up with three stitches.â
Dr. Abbot lets out a low whistle. âAlways the patients you least expect.â
âThe importance of proper patient restraint was thoroughly impressed upon me, I assure you.â
The silence after your short conversation is slightly more comfortable, and thankfully the radio station has decided to play less pointed music.
Between the warmth of the car, the smell permeating the seats that smells distinctly like Dr. Abbot, and the drumming of rain outside, it doesnât take long for drowsiness to begin to overtake you.
Your last thought before falling asleep is that you donât remember if you gave Dr. Abbot your address or not.
Someone is gently shaking your shoulder, and you feel like shit.
âWhat?â You attempt to say, but the side of your mouth is pressed against the seatbelt and your shoulder so it comes out sounding like: âWhamfgh?â
Opening your eyes is a herculean task, like someone sewed miniature weights to your eyelids while you were asleep. Youâre absolutely freezing, despite the steady hum of the car's heat, still on high, and you vaguely recognize the street the car is currently parked on.
Oh right, your apartment.
âOh,â You yawn, hauling yourself semi-upright, aiming for woman who has it together, and less disheveled swooning woman in a Baroque painting.
Dr. Abbot is staring at you with equal parts humor and concern.
You rub at your eyes. âHow long have I been asleep?â
âLittle over forty minutes. You looked like you needed it.â
âIt doesnât take that long to drive to my place, even with traffic.â
Your brain is moving like molasses, so it takes you a second to catch up with the implication of his statement.
âDid you just⊠park in front of my house? So I could keep sleeping?â
He just shrugs. âLike I said. You looked like you needed it.â
Embarrassment and a touch of something else floods through your body, hot and cold at the same time.
âSorry. You didnât have to wait.â
âIf I didnât want to, I wouldnât have.â
Still moving slowly, you gather up your bag from where it partially spilled on the floor all over your feet, shoving old receipts and pads and chapstick back in with the reckless abandon of a person who isnât nearly aware enough of social cues to be in a car alone with their hot boss.
Whilst you're grabbing and shoving, Dr. Abbot reaches into his back seat, rifles around for a bit, and then drops something rather unceremoniously over your head and shoulders. After a quiet âheyâ you pull it into your lap, and then that hot feeling is back in full force.
Itâs a rain jacket. Clearly Dr. Abbotâs. You can see his name written on the inside pocket. Itâs nice too. Definitely not the kind of rain jacket you could afford on an internâs budget.
âFor the next time your car dies,â He clarifies, as if the jacketâs purpose is the thing thatâs stupefied you, not the fact that heâs the one giving it to you, âIn case of rain.â
âYou really donât have to,â your words are rushed and clunky in your mouth, tumbling over each other in your haste to say something, anything, âI mean, I can just buy my ownââ
âFirst of all,â He cuts you off, voice smooth and rough at the same time, âDo I seem to be the kind of guy in the habit of doing things I donât want to? And second of allâŠâ
He tilts his head, gaze sharp. âAre you really going to buy one for yourself?â
Your mouth goes dry.
âI was planning on looking onlineââ
Dr. Abbot interrupts you. âNow you donât have to.â
Like itâs that easy. Does he want it to be?
âDr. Abbot, Iââ
âJack.â
His grin goes from mild to shit-eating as you stare at him, obviously radiating confusion.
âJack,â you start, testing out the name in your mouth, hearing how it sounds in the air. âI can take care of myself. You donât need to give me your jacket. Iâve been doing just fine on my own.â
âKidââ
The prickling of perceived weakness makes anger spark in your chest.
âDonât call me kid like Iâm stupid.â
Dr. Abbâ Jack seems simultaneously impressed that you interrupted him for a change and vaguely put out.
He holds up a finger, effectively silencing anything else you were thinking of saying.
âI donât call you kid because I think youâre stupid. I donât think youâre stupid. Youâd know if I thought you were stupid, because I would tell you. âKidâ is aâŠâ He trails off, free hand tapping thoughtful rhythms on the steering wheel, ââŠNickname. Term of endearment. Whatever you want to call it, but itâs not derogatory.â
Jack holds up a second finger.
âYou have not been taking care of yourself. If you were, you wouldnât have a low grade fever, and you wouldâve called me as your boss or one of your friends to drive you instead of walking after your car died. Youâve been surviving. Thereâs a difference.â
Shame burns white hot through youâ all your recent failings laid out by the person you want least to notice them. Clearly, he has.
Possibly out of pity in response to your no doubt miserable expression, Jack continues.
âDonât beat yourself up about it. Itâd be an honest-to-god miracle if any intern managed to properly take care of themself. Hell, residents donât do it either, and neither do attendings. Does Robby strike you as the kind of man who takes perfect care of himself?â
âThat depends. Is my answer going to make it back to him?â
Jack huffs a quiet laugh. âExactly. Doctors make the worst patients, in and out of a hospital setting. Knowing better doesnât actually make us all that inclined to do better. Terrible misconception.â
He nudges the jacket on your lap. âSo just take the jacket. One less thing to worry about.â
Emboldened by his recent streak of kindness towards you and the flush of fever running through your veins, you look over to him.
âYou worry about me?â
Something dances in his eyes for a split second, gone before you can blink.
âI worry about all the interns and residents on my service, but especially the ones my best friend has taken a liking to.â
Right. Of course. He only cares because of Robby. And Robby only cares so he can add another doctor to the already short-staffed PTMC. Itâs not like Jack actually likes you or anything.
You clutch the jacket to your stomach, finally finding the energy to get out of the car. Jackâs car.
âWell. Thanks for the ride, Dr. Abbot. And the jacket.â
âNo problem, kid.â
And if later on that evening, in the safety of your tiny apartment, you take in the deep, fresh, almost spicy smell that makes up Jack, lingering on the jacket, thatâs no oneâs business but yours.
â
From that night on, it feels like Jack Abbot is everywhere.
Whether itâs something heâs doing on purpose or youâve just developed a heightened sense to his whereaboutsâ it doesnât matter. Sometimes itâs a whiff of his cologne (eerily similar to Dior Sauvage, which makes you shudder. Certainly he didnât choose a cologne similar to the number one male manipulator scent on purpose?) or seeing his handwriting on a whiteboard or his notes in a chart, heâs there.
Youâre being scheduled for night shifts fairly regularly now, in addition to the 24-hour shifts you have the pleasure of being put on as an intern.
Working a double isnât horrific, really. Exhausting, sure, but Robby and Jackâs solid presence makes the shifts more bearable. Plus, youâre quickly becoming friends with the fresher residents, Whitaker and Santos, plus some of the older residents like Mohan and King. Even Dr. Langdon gives pretty solid advice and mentorship, despite the tension in the air whenever he happens to be working with or near Robby.
Normally, 24 hour shifts are grueling, but not impossible. Somewhere around the 15 or 16 hour mark, the sleep deprivation hits, and you can just coast on stress-induced inertia and a healthy does of energy drinks and mania.
Today, though, has been particularly fucking awful. Maybe itâs the fact that the fever never really went away, or the fact that you started your period the day before (being sick on your period should be illegal.) Itâs probably both of those things.
But there isnât really anything to do but grin and bear it. The day will pass, and you have the next two days off anyways. Just survive the next however-many hours of the shift and then you can go home, dress in exclusively fluffy clothes, and binge watch tv whilst eating heart-stopping junk food.
Youâre distracted from your charting, propped up on the counter at the nurses station by a light tap on your shoulder and someone saying your name.
Dr. Langdon has sidled up next you, voice hushed.
âHey, uh. I just wanted to let you know that you seem to have⊠bled through.â
If a spontaneous earthquake could open a chasm beneath your feet and swallow you whole, now would be the time.
âFuck fuck-ity fuck fuck,â You mumble, wiping your hands down your face. âRight. Yeah. Of course. Thank you for letting me know.â
In a moment that is as mortifying as it is kind of sweet, Langdon passes you a hoodie that is clearly his.
âTo tie around your waist,â He clarifies, holding the object out across the meager space between the two of you, voice a bit awkward and stilted, like you might decide to spit in his face or something.
You donât actually know what it is that Dr. Langdon did before your arrival that makes the break room go quiet when he walks in (unless Dr. King is there) but you donât particularly care. If it was truly something horrific that you should be worried about, he wouldnât be working here. Robby wouldnât let that kind of thing slide.
So you take the offered hoodie with a strained smile (can this shift just be over) and speed-walk to the break room, praying no one decides to snag you on the way there.
What you should do is go to your locker where your stash of pads, tampons, spare underwear, and extra scrubs are, and then probably the bathroom to get changed, so you can keep on going but you also just saw Dr. King go into the break room and you just really need a hit of her specific brand of optimism.
The woman in question perks up when she notices your arrival, hastily eating the same snack she always eats around this timeâ a tiny bag of pretzels.
She watches as you collapse into the chair across from her, letting your head thunk onto the table.
âBad shift?â
âBad life,â You grumble. âDr. Langdon had to give me his hoodie to tie around my waist because I bled through onto my scrubs. Like a middle schooler who doesnât know what pad sizes are for.â
Dr. King nods thoughtfully. âHe asked me if it would be weird of him to let you know and offer his hoodie. To which I replied that periods are a normal bodily function and heâs a doctor.â
âHere here,â You half-heartedly cheer, any actual cheer or enthusiasm severely lacking in your voice. âHow did you survive your intern year, Dr. King?â
âWeâve been working together for awhile, you can call me Mel,â
She pops another pretzel in her mouth before answering. âBut to answer your question, I mostly just kept telling myself that failing wasnât an option. Which. Probably isnât helpful, or good advice, but it worked for me. Something thatâs nice is if you have a fellow intern or doctor that you enjoy working with. I know the other two interns who matched into the PTMC dropped out of the course, so itâs just you, but you have Dr. Robby, right?â
You nod, picking absently at a spot on the table and ignoring the way that it wasnât Robby who popped into your head, but Jack.
Your teeny, ignorable crush on him has become a full-blown thing, with semi-weekly dreams about him in various⊠situations, and casual daydreams at all hours of the day of what it would be like to just be with him, or hear him, in any capacity that couldnât be qualified as work or a boss checking on his employee. Intern. Whatever.
Hormonal and fever-ish, you suddenly feel like youâre going to explode and die if you donât have someone to confide in right this very second. You havenât heard Mel really talk about anyone you work with outside of professional doctor-to-doctor conversation, not even about Dr. Langdon, who she seems almost suspiciously close with.
âMel,â You start, voice a little too thick and watery to just be talking about your stupid, annoying, one-sided workplace crush, âCan I tell you a secret?â
She seems to consider the pros and cons first, and looks fairly caught off guard, but she answers. âUm. Sure?â
âHave you ever had a crush on a coworker before? Or like, a boss or mentor?â
Mel sets down her bag of pretzels. âIs this about Dr.ââ
âI have the biggest crush on Dr. Abbot and I think itâs ruining my life.â
The words burst out of you all at once, and Melâs expression goes from shocked, to confused, before finally settling in abject amusement.
âAh,â She says, sliding the pretzels across to you. âUm. Well I personally donât have a crush on Dr. Abbot, but I think I understand the sentiment.â
You bury your face into your hands and groan. âItâs awful. Itâs so cliche. Itâs so fucking Greyâs Anatomy.â
âIâve never actually seen that show. Becca likes it though.â
Mel allows you a few moments of wallowing and pretzel eating before she speaks again.
âHave you⊠acted on it?â
âNo!â You snap your head up. âI mean. No, I havenât. Iâm not naive enough to think that he would reciprocate. Heâs an attending and Iâm an intern.â
She leans in. âButâŠ?â
âBut sometimes⊠I wonder? I donât know. Iâm probably crazy. He drove me home the other day, cause my car died, and it was raining, and I got slapped by a patient, and that was when I first came down with this stupid fever, and like, thatâs normal, right?â
Mel nods. âFrâ Langdon drives me to work when we share shifts, and sometimes when we donât. I think Dr. Santos and Dr. Whitaker carpool too. So maybe?â
âRight. Yeah.â
She takes the pretzel bag back. âIs there more evidence that makes you feel crazy?â
Your skin flushes hot at the memory alone.
âHe gave me his rain jacket. To keep.â
âOh.â
âYeah.â
Mel once again takes a few minutes, and the rest of her pretzels before responding.
âIâm honestly not the best person to ask for advice about this. Iâve been told I can be⊠dense when it comes to romantic endeavors.â
You shrug. âYouâre a great listener, and you havenât steered me wrong in the past.â
She brightens. âThatâs good! I think my advice would be to talk to Dr. Mohan. She has experience with your⊠particular situation.â
Mel tosses the empty pretzel bag and heads toward the door. âIâll let Robby know youâre taking ten, so donât worry about someone looking for you while youâre changing.â
âYouâre the best. I love you.â
The resident flushes at your gratitude, and then ducks out the door, leaving you alone to stew on her advice.
â
Talking to Dr. Mohan proves difficult, at first. How exactly do you start that conversation? âHey, I heard you had advice on having a world-ending crush on your boss, got any tips?â
Additionally, sheâs kind of hard to track down. You greatly respect Dr. Mohanâs work ethic and truly aspire to her unflinching devotion to patient care at the PTMC.
After a few days (which turns into a few weeks, because you are an emotional coward) of trying (and failing) to find a moment to talk, Dr. Mohan actually ends up finding you.
âHey!â She jogs up to you as youâre walking to your car, a too-bright smile on her face for the fact that you both just got off a fourteen hour shift.
âSorry to be that annoying coworker who talks to you in the parking lot, but I wanted to catch you before you left. Mel said you wanted to talk to me?â
âRight!â You stammer, slightly mortified. You admire Dr. Mohan so much and really want her to think youâre capable but you really need some advice on Jack Abbot as a whole, and it sounds like sheâs the only expert around. âYes. That. Itâs a really normal question, you know.â
Dr. Mohan just nods, a smile still fixed on her face, like this is a totally normal conversation. âUh, sure?â
Thereâs a beat of silence where you both stare at each other, and then she gasps.
âThis is about Abbot, isnât it?â
You groan, throwing your head back in defeat. âAm I that obvious?â
She laughs goodnaturedly. âNo. Probably not. Youâre just the only intern in the ED right now so I try to make it a habit to keep an eye on you. Plus, Mel is literally the only person in the world who knows about my now-dead crush on him, so. I just connected the dots.â
âHeâs so hot, Dr. Mohan. I feel like Iâm dying.â
She makes a noise of sympathy. âHe is. Itâs fucking annoying, at a certain point.â
âThank you!â You shout, âLike itâs just so there. It should be illegal to just walk around and look like that. I should be focusing on like, studying and learning, but instead Iâm just harboring this stupid crush on an attending.â
âHave you ever seen Greyâsââ
âYes. I know. I canât be Meredith. Meredith was like, always a mess. Am I a mess?â
Mohan purses her lips. âWell. You did just say you felt like you were dying.â
âI know,â You sigh. âIt makes me feel⊠shallow. I like being a doctor. I was so excited to get matched into the PTMC, and this stupid crush is throwing me off my game.â
âIt canât be that bad.â
âOn my first night shift rotation I dropped a scalpel, picked it back up, and then ripped the purse strings on my first appendectomy.â
She winces. âOh. Thatâs not⊠great.â
Your hand finds its way to your comfort necklace. âHe found me crying in the supply closet like some medical student, and then he comforted me. It was terrible.â
Mohan starts ambling towards the direction you assume her car is in. âWell, if itâs any consolation, Iâve been caught crying in the supply closet several times. I think itâs a right of passage. And as for that second partâŠâ
She shrugs. âAbbot gives credit where credit is due, but he wonât coddle you. If he actually offered real comfort or advice or whatever, then he meant it.â
âThatâs what he said. It just didnât really help the whole crush-on-him part. And then there was the slapping incident, and he drove me home, and now I have his rain jacket in my backseat in case my car dies again.â
Mohan actually looks taken back.
âOkay. It sounds to me like this is a situation that is in serious need of wine. Do you drink?â
âWhenever I have a spare twenty dollars.â
She grins. âI happen to have a couple bottles at home that might do the trick. Follow me back to my place?â
âYes please.â
Wine and, eventually, takeout at Samiraâs is much more enjoyable than you expectedâ considering the fact that youâre an intern and sheâs a resident. She confides that she doesnât have very many friends outside of the ED and was excited at the opportunity to have âreal girl-timeâ.
She shares how she weathered her own seemingly life-ending crush on Jack, gasps and screams at the appropriate times when you tell her about the slapping, the events that occurred in the break room afterwards, the drive home, and the jacket.
You leave her apartment feeling lighter than ever. Like life might be worth living. Like you could survive your intern year.
Maybe everything will be okay.
â
Everything is not okay.
Youâre now two full weeks into a never-ending fever, you keep getting stuck with shitty shifts (how many times a month can one person possibly be scheduled to work a double?) and top it all off, youâve been pissed on not once, but twice in the same fucking shift.
Santos snorts when she sees you go by in your third set of scrubs for the day.
You shoot her a look. âSupportive as ever, Dr. Santos.â
âI try.â
You sink into the chair next to hers, taking a moment to press the heels of your hands into your eyes and maybe, like, take a thirty second nap.
It doesnât help much.
Thereâs a particular misery in watching the day-shift rotation handoff with the night shift and not being able to join in the process. Because youâre still there. And will be, until you see them again for your handoff, in twelve fucking hours.
Patients tend to get bitchier the later it gets, and itâs one of those nights where every patient bleeds into the next in a never-ending sea of complaints, pain, and fixing.
The fixing is fine. You like the fixing.
Youâre just⊠having a hard time keeping up with everything while the fever perpetually runs you down. Itâs the kind of thing where no amount of sleep can help you. Unless it was for 48 hours straight and then you got another 48 hours off after that to relax while youâre awake, and then another 48 hours to be productive.
A vacation. A week off. Youâre describing taking a week off work. Itâs comical, actually. Imagine requesting a week off from work. Gloria or whoever it is would never grant that. Not as an intern.
You notice Jack lingering around your general vicinity, which is fairly normal on a night like tonight. Technically, as the only intern on shift, youâre the only liability he has to really worry about.
Somewhere around the eighteen hour mark, he slides into the chair next to you while youâre charting.
âYouâre flagging.â
Your eyes burn as you tap information into the tablet, then check on the computer in front of you. âIâm fine. I just need a Redbull or something.â
He slides the tablet out of your hands. âPart of being a good doctor is knowing when to take a break. Canât be a good doctor if youâre falling asleep during the exam, right?â
âI would never fall asleep during an exam.â
He shrugs. âIâve seen it happen.â
Jack jerks his head towards the break room. âTake five. Get an energy drink or whatever. Then I want you on chairs for at least an hour.â
âYes sir.â
He rolls his eyes. âGet going.â
Chairs don't prove to be as uneventful as you (and probably Jack) hoped it would be. You get vomited on by a teenage girl, who apologizes profusely when she finally manages to stop throwing up, narrowly avoid a swing from a patient that quickly becomes a behavioral case, and become an unwilling participant in another patientâs doctor fantasy.
Security had to get involved with that last one. It was. Something.
Your shift ends with little fanfare. Itâs honestly a miracle you survived. Youâre exhausted, achey, and still feverish. The only thing you can think about is crawling into your bed, indulging in a rare expense of turning your heat up, and sleeping until your next shift.
Walking into your apartment ends up being a slap in the face. First of all, itâs fucking freezing. As if you left every single window open while you were gone. Secondly, itâs dark. Like, not even the clock on the microwave is on.
âFuck,â you mumble under your breath, tears beginning to burn with unshed tears digging through your bag and fumbling with your phone, about to text your landlord when you see that heâs already texted.
Eric (Landlord): Power and AC is down. Might take some time to fix. Power should be back on by tonight.
And thatâs just the last straw, really.
You slam the door behind you, not even bothering to go inside your apartment at all, chest tight and face hot, you race down the stairs, trying to find Samiraâs contact through blurry eyes. When you think youâve found it you click call, collapsing on the curb with your body doubled over, crying like a crazy person into your knees, at something like nine in the morning.
The phone rings for a bit, and youâre about to give up when the line finally stops and somebody picks up.
âHello?â
Itâs not Samira who answers. Itâs Jack.
You sniffle. âWhy are you answering Samiraâs phone?â
âI didnât. I answered my phone. Because you called me. Are you okay?â
âOh,â You decide to ignore his question, âI meant to call Samira. Sorry.â
âWait,â Jackâs voice comes out all rough and tinny through the speaker, but even distorted through a phone, you could listen to it for hours, âAnswer the question. Are you okay?â
Your bottom lip wobbles dangerously.
âThe powerâs out in my building. And the heating went out too. My landlord said the power wonât be on until tonight, and I just wanted to go to sleep, but itâs cold and I'm tired and this stupid fever wonât go away.â
âDo you have a place to stay?â
Always a man of action, Jack is.
You shrug, then make a non-committal noise when you remember he canât see it. âI was supposed to call Samira and see if sheâd let me sleep on her couch.â
âI have a guest bedroom.â
The statement hangs in the crisp morning air. You think of Jackâs encouraging advice, Jackâs steady presence, Jackâs warm car and his nice smelling rain- jacket. Jack, Jack, Jack.
âJack?â
âYes?â
âWhatâs your address?â
The drive over involves bawling your eyes out to Vienna by Billy Joel. Itâs just that kind of day.
You have no problems finding parking (miraculously) and no one stops you as you head up to Jackâs apartment as directed.
Itâs⊠fancy. Like, polished floor lobby, lounge area adjacent to the front desk fancy.
The actual building itself isnât very tall, nothing like a skyscraper, so itâs not exactly surprising that Jackâs apartment is the penthouse. Itâs just suddenly very awkward standing in front of the door, in the same sweatshirt youâve had since high school, sweats that have seen better years, looking exactly like the kind of girl who sobbed on the ride over to Billy Joel.
Jack opens the door almost immediately after you knock, and.
If seeing him in scrubs was bad, it doesnât hold a fucking candle to him in a tight, army green shirt and grey sweatpants. Grey sweatpants. That couldnât have been intentional, right? Is he online enough to know these things? God.
His features soften when he takes in your tear-streaked face and disheveled appearance.
He makes a low noise in his throat.
âOh, you poor thing. Come here,â
Jack had actually been gesturing to the apartment, saying âcome insideâ but the dam breaks the moment he says âpoor thingâ and you donât have the wherewithal to think anything more complex than âJack=Comfort and Safety".
Your bag drops with a dull thud onto the ground and then youâre crashing into him, face pressed into his chest and arms wrapped around his middle. You can barely find it within yourself to be embarrassed.
Jack doesnât react at first, going completely stiff in your hold, and you think maybe youâve gone and fucked this up too, like everything good in your life, but right when you move to pull away a hand finds its way to the back of your head, and another rubs circles on your back.
âPoor girl,â he murmurs, voice a soothing rumble with your ear close to his chest, âThey been running you ragged?â
You nod uselessly, feeling raw and cut openâ like youâve been smashed against a rock and everything you keep tucked inside is spilling out and you canât stop it.
âIâm so tired.â You half-mumble-half-sob into him, a sentiment that feels too light to convey everything thatâs happened since you became an intern at the PTMC, and everything else you donât talk about that happened before.
âI know sweetheart, I know,â Jack is solid beneath your cheek and arms, a lifeboat in a storm. âHow about we get you inside and get you warm, huh? That sound nice?â
At the promise of warmth you finally detach from him, shame burning through you when you eye the wet spot on his shirt.
âSorry,â You say, voice barely above a whisper. âI think I got snot on your shirt.â
âTrust me kid, itâs seen worse.â
He grabs your bag before you can even make a move for it, and you trail behind him into his apartment, attempting to ground yourself by looking around his apartment.
Itâs nice. Lived in, not sterile. It doesnât, actually, look the inside of a dentistâs office, like you were half expecting. Most new apartments have that doctorâs office lobby feel. Not exactly comfortable when youâre a doctor and the goal of home is to not remind you of your job.
Jack hangs your bag on a hook by the door, right next to his own. Something twinges in your chest at the sight.
Thereâs a feeling under your skin you canât place as you shuffle into his apartment, something warm and skittish that aches for this to not be a one time thing, to be able to compare the pale morning light youâre watching now to late afternoon sun. To know where he keeps his mugs, what drawer the silverware is in, if heâs got a junk drawer with random shit in it, and what the random shit is. What it feels like to be in his kitchen, shoulders brushing.
But thatâs a lot of complicated things to name or voice just past the threshold of the foyer, so you wrap your arms around yourself and toe your shoes off, then pad quietly after him.
Jack isâ inviting, or maybe enticing; all those words that beckon the skittish thing closer and it feels just on the tip of danger to obediently sit on the couch he ushers you to.
âBy the way,â Jack says somewhere behind you, maybe in the kitchen? âI have a cat. His name is Charlie. He probably wonât come near you, but be warned, heâs an asshole when he wants to be.â
âOh, thatâs fine. I like cats. Especially the asshole ones.â
âThat explains a lot of things.â
His statement is kind of loaded, chock full of subtext you donât care to parse through at the moment.
âUm,â You start, feeling a bit unsteady, âIsâ Do you mind if I shower? I kind of smell gross probably, and I feel⊠grimy. Your apartment seems clean and Iâd hate to get my hospital grime on anything.â
Jack just chuckles. âOne, I wouldnât care if you got âhospital grimeâ on anything because that would be a very hypocritical thing to care about, and two, of course you can shower. Do you have spare clothes?â
âI mightâve forgotten to grab those.â
Another huffy laugh. âThatâs fine. You can borrow some of mine. Iâll leave them on the bed.â
Thatâs like. Wow. Yeah. Youâre just gonna borrow some clothes from him. From Jack. Youâre going to shower in Jackâs shower and use whatever bodywash he has (hopefully not 5-in-one) and then put on his clothes and you are totally capable of being Completely Normal about these things.
âI already started on dinner when you said you were coming over. Should be done by the time you get out of the shower. Chicken noodle okay?â
Damn Jack Abbot and damn your shitty emotional regulation and damn your life for putting you in these situations.
âYeah,â You croak, thinking about things like soup and family and being cold and strong and alone, âYeah thatâs fine. Thank you.â
Jack politely does not comment on the fact that soup is reducing you to a tangled heap of emotions and tears, and instead directs you to where his shower is and says to use whatever you want and take however long you want. He says want, not need. Youâre not sure if thereâs an intention behind the word choice.
Once in the shower, you allow yourself time to cry, to feel awful and self-pitying and all those things that are terrible to go through in front of another person. His shower is expensive and the water is warm and he does not have 5-in-one. Thereâs a litter box nestled next to the toilet, and itâs not funny, but it kind of is, because Jack would be the kind of guy to look at a litter box and put it right next to the toilet. Everything in its place.
Maybe thatâs your problem. You havenât felt like anything is in the right place in years.
You want to stay in the shower, in the bubble of protection it provides, but the idea of running up Jackâs water bill is enough to guilt you into getting out. You shiver, dry, aggressively attempt to make yourself look less like a wreck at the sink, and then tip-toe into the attached bedroom and carefully pull on the clothes Jack left for you on the bed; a faded, oversized college shirt, and a comfy pair of sweatpants.
They smell like him. You smell like him, like his body wash. The house smells like him. Everything you take in is a pleasant assault of Jack, Jack, Jack.
Enough guilt to fuel an entire room of ex-Catholicâs is the only thing keeping you from snooping around his room. The idea of stumbling upon something private or hidden away makes you feel slimy and gross, so you exit the bedroom and pretend like you donât feel like a foster dog on its first night home from the shelter.
(Do shelter dogs miss the shelter? Do they miss its familiarity? Do dogs miss anything at all?)
The apartment smells of more spices and good smelling food than you privately thought Jack capable of. Youâd read him as the kind of guy to subsist on takeout and maybe like, protein bars. But heâs dutifully stirring a metal pot with all the diligence of the military man that he once was.
Quietly, as if he might throw the wooden spoon heâs stirring with if you make too much noise or take up too much space, you carefully pull out a barstool in front of his kitchen island, the one closest to the door, and haul yourself onto it.
He gives you an examining glance over his shoulder, turns a knob on the stove, then rests his forearms on the island counter across from you. His rather delicious looking forearms, you might add.
âFeeling better after your shower?â
You hum an affirmation, folding your arms and resting your chin on them.
âIsnât it kind of weird to make soup for breakfast?â
He shrugs. âItâs dinner for us. Or, well, me. Iâm not sure your body knows what meal it is.â
He taps a pointer finger rhythmically on the counter. âAny word from your landlord?â
âNo. Sorry for⊠all of this. I know youâre tired.â
âI wish youâd stop apologizing for things I donât mind doing for you.â
You donât really know how to respond to that, or what to do with how it makes you feel, so you elect to save it for later. Good at compartmentalizing, ED doctors are.
You clear your throat. âI can call Samira whenever. Sheâd probably be excited to have girl time. So you know. Donât feel likeâ I have other options. If or when you want me to leave.â
âDo you want to leave?â
You wish heâd stop asking questions you donât want to answer.
You try to play it off, smother your fear and exhaustion with humor. Robbyâs kid, through and through.
âWell, I canât have you getting sick of me. Youâre the only person I know who has a very rob-able house if this whole internship doesnât pan out.â
Jack straightens, shoulders pulling and flexing. âWho said Iâd get sick of you? Maybe I like the idea of you in my house.â
âDo you?â
You ask the question before youâre aware of how terrified you are of the answer. But youâve already said it, and it feels nice to be the one asking the hard question instead.
Jack, likely experienced in this sort of thing, doesnât look outwardly bothered by it, but he gets a sort-of-sad look on his face, almost like heâs disappointed that you had to ask.
âHave I given you any reason to think otherwise?â
âI donât know,â You look down, picking at a hangnail to avoid his expression and his eyes and his everything, âI donât want to assume anything.â
âYouâve already assumed quite a bit.â
You scrunch your face. âThatâs different. Those are safe assumptions.â
âAre they?â
âObviously, itâs safer to assume that you donât want me to stay here, or at least not for very long, because if I assume that I do Iâll bother you and I want you toââ
You cut yourself off, jaw shutting with a firm click, but the end of the sentence hangs in the air unspoken anyways. Itâs not hard to figure out what you were going to say.
I want you to like me.
Jack sighs, and alarm blares are going off in your head and your chest starts to feel tight and cold despite the warmth of his apartment, and then heâs rounding the island and you turn your body to follow him ânever turn you back, never let your guard downâ and then heâs standing in front of you, over you, and youâre not sure if you want to run or metaphorically curl up at his feet, tail tucked.
Itâs pathetic. Itâs embarrassing. Itâs impossible to ignore.
(What does a shelter dog think, on that first night? Do they hope? Do dogs hope?)
He raises a hand, slowly, giving you a chance to lean away, and when you donât, it comes to rest on the side of your face, his thumb swiping at the barely-there wetness from earlier tears.
Itâs cleaning the cut from the slap, itâs a kindness you can curl into, and it might be a threat. Might be bad, might turn harsh and painful, might leave without a word.
Unlike that day in the break room, thereâs no fluorescent lights to suck any heat out of the room and no gloves as a barrier; as a reminder of who he is, of what you are, of how things work.
Itâs just you and Jack, in Jackâs apartment, wearing Jackâs clothes, and pretty soon youâre going to eat food that Jack made. Just for you.
And you think maybe, possibly, if he stops here you could kind of hold onto this moment for the rest of your life and it would get you through being alive and strong and alone, and youâd make it through this, whatever this is, if he stops here.
He doesnât. He starts talking.
âI like knowing that youâre safe. That youâre taken care of. I like knowing with certainty that these things are true because Iâm the one making sure of it.â
Your breath hitches in your chest.
âThatâs kind of a lot of work, though.â
He hums. âIt is. Luckily, I just so happen to be a pretty hard worker.â
Everything about the current situation is a lot and your nerves are over-taxed and dialed up to hundred, so itâs not surprising that you start crying again.
Jack brings up a second hand to the other side of your face and gently wipes away the tears as they come. It feels sort of like the physical version of everything heâs been doing for you since that day in the supply closet.
âYou donât have to do anything, or say anything, or make any kind of decision right now, okay? We can do whatever you want. Iâll do whatever you want.â
Thereâs the word choice again; want, not need. Is there a difference? What does the difference mean to him? What does he mean? Why is he doing any of this?
Jack's phone goes off in his pocket, and he steps back, drops his hands, and goes back to the stove.
Jack said you donât have to make a decision right now, but you kind of feel like if you donât do something youâre going to be sick with everything thatâs swirling and clawing inside you, threatening to burst. Like the very essence of you is going to explode, and your soul will be painted on Jackâs perfectly decorated walls.
That would be something, wouldnât it.
You stay seated at the island, turning to stare at Jackâs back while he adds the final touches to the soup. He doesnât talk anymore, but he keeps looking back every few minutes, like heâs making sure youâre still there.
Eventually Jack turns the stove off, dishes up a bowl of soup for you, and sets it gently in front of you. He uses his pinky to cushion the placing of the bowl, so thereâs no loud clinking noise when he sets the bowl down.
Thereâs a tiny sprig of parsley on top of the soup, right in the center. Like a Panera ad for soup in September.
You start crying again, in earnest.
âIâm sorry,â You gasp, pressing the heels of your hands into your eyes. âIâm sorry, I donât know why Iâmâ I donât know. I donât know.â
Youâre hoping the last sentence encompasses an entire lifetime of events, accidents, mistakes, and memories that have never been able to find a place in your head except dead center, at the forefront of your mind at all times, stamped on your forehead for anyone with eyes to see.
Your life hasnât been wants or choices for a very long time. And here Jack is, giving you an array of both, and saying things like he wants you to want.
âIâll do whatever you want.â
âHey, hey hey hey, shhh,â Strong arms wrap around you, tucking your head into a warm chest, effectively shutting off all sensory input that isnât Jack. âYouâre okay, youâre safe, youâre okay, I got you.â
He rubs circles into your back, then switches to tracing shapes, and he lets you cry into him again and he doesnât tell you to stop, or to calm down, or youâre being too much too fast.
âYouâre okay, youâre gonna be okay sweetheart. Take your time. Iâm not going anywhere.â
âIâm not going anywhere.â
â
You, embarrassingly, fall asleep right there, sitting at the kitchen island over a bowl of soup and twenty-something years of holding up your life with hands that never quite seemed big enough to do it.
You wake up in Jackâs bed, his comforter pulled up to your chin and the clock at the bedside table reading 8:17 p.m. Thereâs the muffled sound of several voices coming from beyond the door.
Holy shit. What the fuck.
Deciding to ignore the implication that Jack carried you to bed, you mentally take stock of whatâs around you.
In front of the clock is your phone (plugged in to charge), a glass of water, and a note with Jackâs handwriting on it.
Kid-
Iâll probably be in the ED for the night shift by the time you wake up. I called Mohan (who called Mel, who was with Langdon, for reasons unknown) to go to your place and grab you some things. There may be people in the apartment when you wake up. You are in no way obligated to interact with them. They have to leave eventually.
Charlie is in the room with you because he hates strangers, but he probably wonât leave the bathroom. Probably. Drink water and eat something, if you can. Text me if you need anything.
The voices beyond the door are, more than likely, the aforementioned individuals who have now seen the glorified closet you call home. Itâs not ideal, but youâre wrung out and donât have the energy to really care. Besides, Samira and Mel are too nice to judge you that hard (you hope) and from what youâve heard, Langdon isnât really in a place to say anything.
On one hand, going out there requires socializing. Which, ew. On the other hand, Samira and Mel are the best. Langdon is maybe okay.
Before you can talk yourself out of it, you shuffle out of bed and then continue shuffling to the door, hoping that whatever you look like isnât too terribly awful.
Samira, Mel, and Langdon are standing around the kitchen island, various takeout containers and bottles of alcohol littering the space. For some reason, Trinity, Dennis, and Robby are also present.
Samira and Langdon are engaged in what looks to be a rather animated discussion-slash-argument, and Mel is standing just a little closer to Langdon than what could be considered normal for friends. Trinity is very obviously ignoring Langdonâs general existence, bickering with Dennis on the couch, and Robby is seated in the armchair by the window, nursing a beer and watching both conversations unfold.
You sniff aggressively, and all heads snap to you.
âThere are more of you here then thereâs supposed to be,â You grumble, scrubbing at your face. âWhy are you all here?â
Mel is the first to speak.
âIt was Frank actually!â Trinity rolls her eyes, and part of you wants to share the sentiment, âHe figured Trinity would be upset that something happened to you and he knew and didnât tell her, so Trinity decided that me and Samira would get your stuff while everyone else stayed here in case you woke up before we came back!â
Wow, okay, thatâs. A Lot.
You squint. âThat doesnât explain why youâre all here. I mean it does, but only like, why youâre here physically.â
Robby frowns. âWe heard that you were going through a rough time and you had to stay with Jack, so we came.â
Trinity snorts on the couch and Dennis, next to her, looks like heâs about to have an aneurysm.
Robby shoots her a look, but continues. âWe care about you. Weâ I donât want you to feel like you have to do everything on your own. In or out of the ED.â
Trinity blows out a loud sigh and low whistle. âJee-zus Robby, give the woman some time to wake up before trying to induce tears again.â
Robby does look a little apologetic, maybe a teensy bit chastised (and annoyed that Trinity was the one doing the chastising) and turns his deep brown eyes back to you.
"Sorry. Can't help these Dad tendencies, you know."
Your face gets hot, maybe a tiny, wet prickle behind your eyes forms while Robby smiles, and the tension leaves the room all in one go, and you start to think that maybe things are in the right place.
â
At the ED, Jack Abbot, who's been checking his phone whenever he gets a free moment like a highschooler with a crush, opens the first text that pops up on his screen after hours of waiting.
It's a picture from Robby. You, with your head thrown back in a cackle of a laugh, not a single bit of stress evident in any of the lines of your body. There's one text accompanying the picture:
Please don't make me give you a shovel talk. I think you already know what's at stake here.
Jack snorts and pockets his phone, because yeah, he does.
â
When Jack finally gets back to his apartment, he's half-expecting to see the kind of mess that a large grouping of obnoxious people leave behind. Trash, maybe a few red solo cups, empty takeout containers, someone asleep on his couch, someone passed out on the floor.
He's not expecting to see a clean space. The only evidence that people were there at all is some rearranged pillows, a half-empty bottle of wine on the counter, and some new takeout menus on his fridge.
And then there's you. You're lying on the couch, eyes glued to the TV, watching a show he doesn't really recognize. There's a well-loved backpack on the floor, just under the coffee table. The shocking bit is Charlie, his resident asshole, is 'loafing' right on your chest, purring away.
You lift your head when you hear the jingle of his keys, a smile immediately brightening your face. He mentally takes a picture, right there, so he can remember this exact moment forever.
"What'd you bribe him with?" Jack says instead of something much more neurotic, like 'You don't have to go back to your place when the power comes back on.'
You shrug, unaware of his emotional and romantic pain. "You were right. He came out from under the bed after everybody left. He kind of growled at me for a little bit, but once I settled down here he just kind of... came right up."
You plant a little kiss to the top of his head, right in between furry ears. Great, now Jack's jealous of a senior cat with one ear who licks his own butt. "How could I resist this face? I see why you brought him home."
Jack rounds the end of the couch, shuffling by, and Charlie opens his eyes just enough to shoot him a look that Jack takes to mean: If you make her get up and move me, I will kill you in your sleep.
Jack does not disturb his cat as he sits down on the couch. There's a moment when things almost get hairy- you pull your legs back when he goes to sit, slightly jostling The Asshole, who pins his only ear back in annoyance.
Jack solves this problem by taking your legs, clad in some soft flannel pajama pants and pink fuzzy socks, and lays them across his lap. There. Problem solved.
The warmth of your legs on his lap and the look on your face is reward enough for him. He can't think of a way he'd rather spend his time.
Jack, in a rare show of mercy, does not tease you, and decides that you've probably had enough excitement for one day.
"So," He says instead, looking up at the TV and grimacing at the mutilated corpse on the screen, "What are we watching?"
He watches you shrink into yourself. He hates it when you do that. He hates that you feel like you have to.
"Uh, Bones. I can turn it off, though. I'm sure you don't want to watch this."
He doesn't answer the question you've not-subtly voiced, instead choosing to redirect the conversation.
"Why did you put it on?"
You start chewing on your lower lip. Your signature 'I don't want to answer this question so I'm going to think really hard about it' move.
"It's kind of my comfort show? I don't know. I watched it a lot growing up. We didn't have cable, but the hotels I stayed at sometimes did. I'd wait until my dad fell asleep and then I'd turn on the TV and watch from the sci-fi or drama channels. Watched a lot of Bones. Supernatural too, and sometimes Doctor Who, if it was on. But Bones was my favorite."
The characters on the screen are involved in some sort of car chase now, police siren flashing on a black SUV. Jack isn't paying attention to that at all, because this is the first time since the day you walked into the PTMC and introduced yourself that he's ever heard you talk about your childhood.
"How come?"
"I don't know. I've always liked procedural shows. Had a huge House MD phase. Death and bones and corpses and stuff has never really grossed me out, which is part of the reason I became a doctor. But also..."
You point to the male character. "You see him? That's Booth. Seeley Booth. They all have kind of crazy names. He's an FBI agent, and his partner is that woman there. Temperance Brennan. Booth calls her Bones."
"She doesn't look like an FBI agent."
You smile. "She's not. She's a forensic anthropologist, but she consults on murder cases and stuff like that because she's kind of a genius. She's smart, strong, and capable. She and Booth don't always get along, because they both can be headstrong and stubborn. But he respects and trusts her, implicitly. No matter what. They love each other."
Your throat bobs, but your voice is steady when you speak.
"And when Brennan needs him, if she's in trouble or she needs him by her side, even if she doesn't know she does, he's always there. He always saves her."
Jack can picture it, in his mind. You, small and alone, watching these characters on some shitty hotel TV and getting it into your head that this kind of thing only exists in TV shows. He pictures you dreaming of having a Booth, of having someone to be there for you, to pick you up when you fall. He thinks of you crying in the supply closet and how quietly you'd done it. Almost silent.
He thinks of what happens to a person to make them learn how to cry without making a sound.
He rests a hand on your ankle, fingers instinctively drifting towards the pulse point there- posterior tibial. He keeps two fingers on it, even though he can't feel it through your fuzzy socks. With his thumb he makes circles, because he's seen how you lean into Robby's shoulder grabs, how you preen at physical and verbal praise, how you'd slumped like a marionette with its strings cut into his arms just yesterday.
"Jack?" Your voice is tentative, unsure.
"Hmm?"
"Am I..." You start chewing your lip again, "Are youâ I don't to assume anything. So if I fuck this up and make you uncomfortableâ"
"I want to kiss you."
Jack has learned how to speak fluent you. He knows how to stop an incoming spiral, how to soothe old wounds rearing their heads.
He continues when you don't speak.
"I want you to wear my clothes. I want to take care of you. I want you, in whatever way you'll let me."
"Oh."
"I was laying it on pretty thick, kid."
You look away from him, and this is another moment he'd like to keep forever.
"I thought I was just reading into things!"
"Do you think I call every intern sweetheart?"
Jack is positive Charlie's presence on your stomach is the only thing keeping you from actively squirming in place.
"I thought maybe you were just one of those guys. Samira said it was possible!"
He rolls his eyes. "You can't ask Mohan for romantic advice. She's you in a different font."
"I'm going to take that as a compliment."
You turn back to your show, losing yourself in the plot for a while. When the murderer has been caught and the credits are playing, you look at him again.
"We don't. Um. Can we just keep doing this? For now?"
For the first time since meeting you, Jack gets to say exactly what he's thinking.
"We can do this forever. We can do whatever you want."
the artemis ii mission reminds me why i love humanity so much. they play pink pony club for the astronauts. they have issues with microsoft outlook. one of the astronauts named a moon crater after his late wife. a jar of nutella just flew by. they make 67 memes because theyâre big nerds with huge hearts who say that we look beautiful from there. they call dibs on sleeping arrangements and the mission specialist likes sleeping like a bat. the pilotâs daughter shows her dad off on her social media.
dunno just sometimes helps to think that we can do things like that.
Summary- When you find out you ex and his new gf are attending the same event as you, your anxiety reaches a new panic with the only thing you wanting is your secret boyfriend Jacob...
Notes- Starting to write for people who I adore and make me happy... and when I tell you this man is my dreammmmmm!!! Hope you all enjoy! L xx
The limousine glides through the Los Angeles streets like a sleek shadow, and you watch the city lights blur past the tinted windows, your heart doing that familiar flutter it's been doing for the past eleven months whenever you think about him. Jacob. Your Jacob. Though the world doesn't know that yet.
You smooth down the fabric of your custom Valentino gownâa stunning deep emerald that your stylist promised would photograph beautifullyâand check your reflection in the compact mirror one more time. The memory of this afternoon makes you smile: Jacob's hands on your waist as you stood in your shared hotel suite, his lips brushing your temple as he whispered, "You're going to be the most beautiful person there." You'd turned in his arms, straightening his bow tie, and replied, "Second most beautiful. Have you seen yourself?"
That's how it's been between you two. Easy. Natural. Like coming home.
The plan was simple, rehearsed a dozen times with your respective teams. Arrive separately. Sit in different sections. Maybe exchange a polite greeting if your paths crossed, the kind of casual acknowledgment that fellow actors give each other at these events. No one could know. Not yet. You both valued your privacy too fiercely, and the relationship was still so new, so precious. You wanted to protect it from the harsh glare of public scrutiny for as long as possible.
Your phone buzzes. A text from Jacob: Already here. Missing you. Can't wait to see you in that dress properly. Love you.
You type back quickly: Five minutes away. Love you more.
Impossible, comes his immediate response, and you're grinning like a teenager as the limo slows.
"We're approaching the drop-off point," your driver announces, and you can already hear itâthe roar of the crowd, the shouting of photographers, the controlled chaos that is a major awards ceremony red carpet.
Your publicist, Maya, is scrolling through her phone in the seat across from you, her face illuminated by the blue light. Suddenly, her expression changes. Her lips press into a thin line.
"What?" you ask, knowing that look. "What's wrong?"
Maya hesitates, which is never a good sign. She's normally unflappable. "It's nothing. Don't worry about it."
"Maya."
She sighs, turning her phone toward you reluctantly. "They're here. Both of them."
Your stomach drops.
The screen shows a photo from just minutes ago: your ex-boyfriend, Derek, and his new girlfriend, Sienna, posing together on the very red carpet you're about to walk. She's wearing a dress that's trying way too hard, and he's got that smug smile you once thought was charming but now recognize as arrogance.
For weeksâweeksâthey've been subtly dragging you online. Never anything direct enough to be called out, but pointed enough that everyone knew. Sienna's "cryptic" Instagram stories about "upgrading" and "finally being with a real man." Derek's liked tweets about "toxic exes" and "dodging bullets." Their friends piling on with comments that their followers screen-shotted and spread across social media like wildfire.
You'd wanted to respond. God, you'd wanted to. But you'd held back, taking the high road, refusing to engage. And Jacobâprotective, fierce Jacobâhad been ready to say something a dozen times. You'd stopped him every time, your hand on his chest, reminding him that responding would only feed the narrative, would only make things worse.
"Stay private," you'd told him. "They'll get bored eventually."
But seeing them now, knowing you're about to face them, knowing they'll probably find a way to make some snide comment or pose for a photo that will inevitably be compared to ones of you and Derek from when you were together...
Your chest tightens.
"I can handle it," you say, but your voice sounds far away, even to your own ears.
The limo stops. You can see the flash of cameras through the tinted windows, an endless strobe of light. The door is right there. Your handler is probably already reaching for it.
But you can't breathe.
Your chest is constricting, like someone's wrapped steel bands around your ribcage and is pulling them tighter, tighter, tighter. The air in the limo suddenly feels thick, suffocating. Your vision starts to tunnel at the edges.
"I can'tâ" you gasp, and your hand flies to your chest, clutching at the fabric there. "I can'tâ"
"Hey, hey," Maya is moving, sliding across to sit beside you, her phone forgotten. "What's happening? Talk to me."
But you can't talk. You can't breathe. The panic is rising like a tidal wave, crashing over you, pulling you under. Your hands are shaking. Everything is shaking. The walls of the limo feel like they're closing in.
Somewhere in the distance, you hear Maya talking urgently to someoneâyour driver, maybe, or your handler outside. There are voices, concerned and confused, but they sound like they're coming from underwater.
Your mind is spiraling. They're out there. They're going to see you. Everyone is going to see you. The cameras will catch every moment, every angle. They'll compare you to Sienna. They'll write articles about your body language, your expression, whether you look jealous or hurt or bitter. Derek will probably find a way to make sure you're in the background of one of his photos, just to twist the knife a little deeper.
And you'll have to smile through it all. Pretend you're fine. Pretend it doesn't hurt.
But it does hurt. It hurts so much.
"I needâ" you try to say, but the words won't come. Your throat is closing up.
"What do you need?" Maya asks, her hand on your shoulder. "Tell me what you need."
There's only one thing you need. Only one person who can pull you back from this edge.
"Jacob," you whisper, so quietly you're not sure she even hears it.
But she does. Maya's eyes widen in understandingâshe's one of the few people who knows, who's helped coordinate your secret meetings and separate arrivals. She doesn't hesitate.
"Stay here," she commands, already moving toward the door. "Don't go anywhere. I'm getting him."
Then she's gone, and you're alone in the limo, drowning in panic, your carefully applied makeup probably running with the tears you can't seem to stop.
Outside, the red carpet is a circus of controlled chaos. Jacob stands in front of a backdrop covered in sponsor logos, his hands in his pockets, that easy smile on his face as photographers shout his name.
"Jacob! Over here!"
"To your left!"
"Give us a smile!"
He obliges, turning this way and that, years of practice making it second nature. He looks good and he knows itâthe custom black tuxedo fits him perfectly, tailored to his 6'7" frame. But his mind isn't really on the photos. He's thinking about you, wondering if you've arrived yet, wishing he could be the one to escort you down this carpet instead of having to pretend you're just colleagues.
Soon, he tells himself. Once things settle, once you're both ready, you'll go public. And then he'll never have to hide how much he loves you again.
He's just finishing up with one group of photographers when he notices a commotion near the arrival area. Security guards are blocking someone, voices raised. He can't quite see what's happening, but something about it makes him pause.
Then he sees her. Maya. Your publicist. She's arguing with security, trying to push past them, and even from here he can see the panic on her face.
His stomach drops.
Something's wrong.
He doesn't think. He just moves, striding away from the photo area, ignoring the confused calls of the photographers. His long legs eat up the distance quickly, and he's at the security checkpoint in seconds.
"Maya," he says, and she spins toward him, relief flooding her features.
"Jacob, thank God. She needs you. She'sâ" Maya's voice cracks slightly. "She's having a panic attack in the limo and I don't know what to do. She asked for you."
He doesn't wait to hear more. He's already moving, pushing past security with an authority that makes them step aside. Maya is right behind him, explaining rapidly to the guards that yes, he's supposed to be here, no, don't try to stop him.
The arrival area is a maze of limousines and SUVs, but Maya guides him to the right one. He can see it now, the door still closed, the windows tinted. You're in there. You're in there and you're hurting and he's not with you.
He reaches the door and pulls it open, ducking his head to look inside.
The sight breaks his heart.
You're curled in on yourself in the corner of the seat, your arms wrapped around your middle, your breathing rapid and shallow. Your face is streaked with tears, your carefully styled hair falling out of its elegant updo. You look so small, so vulnerable, and every protective instinct he has roars to life.
"Everyone out," he says, his voice leaving no room for argument. "Now."
Your driver and handler, who had been hovering uncertainly, scramble to exit. Maya starts to follow, but Jacob catches her eye.
"Give us ten minutes," he says quietly. "And make sure no one comes near this car."
She nods and closes the door behind her, leaving you alone with him.
Jacob slides into the limo, his tall frame filling the space. He doesn't crowd you, doesn't touch you yet. He just sits there, his presence solid and steady.
"Hey," he says softly. "Hey, baby, I'm here. I'm right here."
Your eyes find his, and the relief in them is palpable. But you still can't breathe, still can't speak.
"It's okay," he continues, his voice low and soothing. "You're okay. I've got you. Just focus on me, alright? Just look at me."
He reaches out slowly, telegraphing his movements, and takes your hand. It's ice cold and trembling, but you grip his fingers like a lifeline.
"That's it," he encourages. "Now breathe with me. In through your nose." He demonstrates, taking a slow, deep breath. "And out through your mouth."
You try to follow, but your breath hitches, catching in your throat.
"That's alright, we'll try again. You're doing great. In through your nose..." He breathes with you, his thumb rubbing gentle circles on the back of your hand. "And out through your mouth."
This time, you manage it, though it's shaky.
"Perfect. Again. In... and out."
Slowly, gradually, your breathing starts to even out. The panic is still there, still clawing at the edges, but Jacob's presence is an anchor, pulling you back to reality.
"There you are," he murmurs when your eyes finally focus properly on his face. "There's my girl."
"Jacob," you manage, your voice hoarse. "I'm sorry, Iâ"
"Don't," he interrupts gently. "Don't apologize. Never apologize for this."
He shifts closer, and you immediately lean into him, burying your face in his chest. His arms come around you, strong and secure, and you breathe in his cologneâsomething woody and expensive that you've come to associate with safety.
"They're out there," you whisper against his shirt. "Derek and Sienna. I saw the photos and I just... I couldn't..."
"I know," he says, his hand stroking your back. "Maya told me."
"I ruined everything. My makeup is destroyed, and everyone's waiting, andâ"
"Hey." He pulls back just enough to tilt your chin up, making you look at him. His blue eyes are intense, focused entirely on you. "You didn't ruin anything. This isn't your fault."
"Butâ"
"Listen to me." His voice is firm but gentle. "Those people out there? They don't matter. Not compared to you. Not compared to how you're feeling right now."
You want to argue, to say that it does matter, that this is your job, that you have obligations. But the words won't come.
Jacob seems to read your mind. "I'm going to give you two options, okay? And whatever you choose, I'm with you. No judgment."
You nod, waiting.
"Option one: we forget about this whole thing. We go back to the hotel right now, order room service, and spend the night watching terrible movies and cuddling. You don't have to face anyone or anything. We just... exist together."
The offer is tempting. So tempting. The thought of hiding away in the safety of your hotel room, wrapped in Jacob's arms, away from the cameras and the judgment and Derek and Sienna...
"Or," Jacob continues, "option two: we walk in there together. Not separately, like we planned. Together. We show themâshow everyoneâthat you're not alone. That you have someone who loves you and supports you and will stand beside you through anything."
Your breath catches. "Jacob, that would meanâ"
"Going public. I know." He cups your face in his hands, his thumbs brushing away the remnants of your tears. "And I know we wanted to wait. I know we wanted to keep this private. But baby, I can't stand the thought of you walking in there alone, feeling like you have to face them by yourself."
"But you wanted privacy too," you protest weakly. "You saidâ"
"I said I wanted to protect what we have. And I do. But I also want to protect you." His expression softens, and when he speaks again, his voice is thick with emotion. "I'm sorry someone got to your heart before me and damaged it. I'm sorry that asshole hurt you and made you doubt yourself. But I'm here now, and I'm not going anywhere. I'm here to make sure nothing like that ever happens to you again."
The tears come again, but these are different. These aren't panic or fear. These are relief and love and overwhelming gratitude that somehow, impossibly, you found this man.
"You mean that?" you whisper.
"Every word." He leans forward, pressing his forehead to yours. "I love you. I'm in love with you. And I'm tired of hiding it. But only if you're ready. This is your choice. I'll support whatever you decide."
You close your eyes, weighing the options. Part of you still wants to run, to hide, to avoid the inevitable media frenzy that will come from going public. But a larger partâthe part that's been aching to hold Jacob's hand in public, to kiss him without looking over your shoulder, to simply exist as a couple without secrecyâthat part is screaming yes.
And more than that, you don't want to let Derek and Sienna win. You don't want to give them the satisfaction of seeing you scared or alone. You want to walk in there with your head high, with the man you love by your side, and show them that you've moved on to something infinitely better.
"Together," you say, opening your eyes to meet his. "Let's go in together."
Jacob's smile is brilliant, lighting up his entire face. "Yeah?"
"Yeah." You manage a small smile of your own. "But Jacob, I look like a mess. My makeupâ"
He pulls back to assess you, and then he starts to laugh. Not cruelly, but with genuine affection. "Okay, so you look like a beautiful raccoon right now. But we can fix that."
"A raccoon?" You swat at his chest, but you're laughing too, the tension finally breaking.
"A very beautiful, very elegant raccoon," he amends, grinning. "The most stunning raccoon to ever grace a red carpet."
"You're ridiculous."
"You love it."
"I do," you admit. "I really do."
He reaches into his jacket pocket and pulls out a handkerchiefâbecause of course he has a handkerchief, he's that kind of gentlemanâand gently starts wiping away the smudged mascara under your eyes.
"We'll get Maya," he says as he works. "She'll have your makeup artist fix you up. We'll take our time. There's no rush."
You nod, letting him care for you, marveling at how steady his hands are, how focused he is on this simple task. This is what love looks like, you think. Not grand gestures or public declarations, but this: someone wiping away your tears and calling you a beautiful raccoon and meaning it.
When he's done the best he can with the handkerchief, he taps on the window. Maya appears immediately, her face anxious.
"We need the makeup artist," Jacob tells her. "And then we're going in. Together."
Maya's eyes widen. "Together? You meanâ"
"We're going public," you confirm, and saying it out loud makes it real. Terrifying, but real.
Maya's professional mask slips for just a moment, and she grins. "It's about damn time. I'll get Sarah. Give me five minutes."
True to her word, your makeup artist appears with her kit, squeezing into the limo and immediately assessing the damage.
"Oh honey," Sarah says, but there's no judgment in her voice, only sympathy. "Let's get you fixed up."
Jacob moves to give her room, but you grab his hand. "Stay."
So he does, holding your hand while Sarah works her magic, repairing your makeup with practiced efficiency. She doesn't ask questions, doesn't pry, just focuses on making you look camera-ready again.
"There," she says finally, sitting back to admire her work. "Good as new. Better, even."
You check your reflection in your compact. She's right. Somehow, you look even better than you did beforeâyour eyes are brighter, your skin glowing. Maybe it's the makeup. Or maybe it's the fact that you're about to walk into that ceremony with Jacob by your side, no more hiding, no more pretending.
"Thank you, Sarah," you say sincerely.
She pats your shoulder. "Go knock 'em dead, sweetheart."
Then it's just you and Jacob again. He's watching you with such tenderness that it makes your chest ache in the best way.
"Ready?" he asks.
You take a deep breath. "Ready."
He steps out of the limo first, and you hear the immediate reactionâthe surge of camera clicks, the shouts of his name. Then he turns back, extending his hand to you.
This is it. The moment everything changes.
You place your hand in his and let him help you out of the limo.
The reaction is instantaneous and deafening. The camera clicks increase to a roar, and you can hear the confusion in the photographers' voices as they try to make sense of what they're seeing.
"Is thatâ"
"Are they together?"
"Jacob! Are you two dating?"
But Jacob ignores them all. He's looking only at you, his hand firm in yours, his other hand coming to rest on the small of your back.
"You okay?" he murmurs, low enough that only you can hear.
You nod, and you realize you mean it. Yes, your heart is racing. Yes, this is terrifying. But with Jacob beside you, you feel like you can handle anything.
"Then let's do this," he says, and guides you toward the red carpet.
You walk together, and it feels like the most natural thing in the world. His height makes you feel protected rather than overshadowed, and the way he looks at youâlike you're the only person in the world who mattersâmakes every camera flash worth it.
The photographers are going wild, shouting questions, begging for poses. Jacob handles it like a pro, positioning you both for photos, his arm around your waist, pulling you close. At one point, he leans down to whisper in your ear, "You're doing amazing," and the cameras capture the intimate moment, the way you smile up at him in response.
You do the interviews together too. The reporters are clearly dying to ask about your relationship, but they're professional enough to stick to questions about the ceremony, your projects, your outfits. Jacob fields them with charm and ease, and when appropriate, he defers to you, making sure you're not overshadowed.
"You look stunning tonight," one reporter says to you. "Can you tell us about your dress?"
"It's Valentino," you reply, finding your footing, remembering how to do this. "Custom made. I fell in love with the color."
"It's perfect on her," Jacob adds, and the way he says itâwith such genuine admirationâmakes the reporter smile.
You're halfway through the carpet when you see them. Derek and Sienna, standing off to the side, watching. Derek's smug smile has vanished, replaced by something that looks like shock. Sienna's expression is harder to read, but there's definitely surprise there, and maybe a hint of jealousy.
You feel Jacob tense beside youâhe's seen them too. His hand tightens on your waist, protective.
But you don't need protection from them anymore. Not really. Because standing here, with Jacob, you realize that they have no power over you. Derek is your past, a chapter that's closed. Jacob is your present and your future, and the difference between the two men is stark.
You lift your chin and keep walking, and if your smile gets a little brighter, a little more genuine, well, that's just a happy coincidence.
Inside the ceremony, you and Jacob are seated togetherâMaya somehow worked her magic to rearrange the seating chart. You're tucked into the back of the auditorium, which is perfect. Less scrutiny, more privacy to simply enjoy the evening.
Jacob keeps his hand in yours throughout the ceremony, his thumb tracing absent patterns on your skin. When a particularly boring speech drags on, he leans over to whisper jokes in your ear, making you stifle laughter. When one of your friends wins an award, he cheers loudly, genuinely happy for them.
This is what it should be like, you think. Easy. Fun. Supportive.
During one of the commercial breaks, Jacob stands. "I'm going to run to the bathroom," he says. "You good?"
"I'm perfect," you assure him, and you mean it.
He drops a kiss on your foreheadânot caring who seesâand heads up the aisle.
You're checking your phone, scrolling through the already-exploding social media reactions to your red carpet appearance with Jacob (the consensus seems to be overwhelmingly positive, with lots of "THEY'RE SO CUTE" and "POWER COUPLE" comments), when a shadow falls over you.
You look up, and your stomach sinks.
Derek and Sienna are standing in the aisle, blocking your row. Derek has that fake-friendly expression on his face, the one he always used when he was about to say something cutting disguised as a joke.
"Well, well," he says, his voice carrying that condescending tone you'd forgotten you hated. "Look who decided to show up. And with a date, no less. That's new for you."
Sienna giggles, a sound like nails on a chalkboard. "We were so surprised to see you on the carpet. With Jacob Elordi, of all people. How did you manage that?"
The implication is clear: how did someone like you land someone like him?
You feel the old instinct to shrink, to make yourself smaller, to apologize for taking up space. But then you remember Jacob's words: I'm here now to make sure nothing like that ever happens to you again.
"Derek. Sienna." You keep your voice level, polite. "Enjoying the ceremony?"
"Oh, we're having a wonderful time," Sienna says, her hand possessively on Derek's arm. "Aren't we, babe?"
"The best," Derek agrees. He's looking at you with that assessing gaze, the one that used to make you second-guess every outfit choice, every word. "So, you and Elordi. How long has that been going on? Seems pretty sudden."
"Not that it's any of your business," you reply, "but we've been together for almost a year."
Derek's eyebrows shoot up. "A year? Really? And you kept it quiet this whole time?" He laughs, but there's an edge to it. "That's not like you. You always loved attention."
The accusation stings because it's so unfair, so completely backwards. Derek was the one who always wanted to be photographed, who orchestrated paparazzi shots, who treated your relationship like a PR opportunity.
"Things change," you say simply. "People change."
"Clearly," Sienna mutters, looking you up and down in a way that's meant to be insulting.
You're about to respond when you feel itâa shift in the air, a presence behind you. You don't have to turn around to know who it is.
Jacob has returned.
He slides into the row, and the space suddenly feels much smaller. At 6'7", Jacob is an imposing figure under any circumstances, but right now, standing at his full height, his expression cool and assessing as he looks at Derek and Sienna, he's downright intimidating.
"Is there a problem here?" Jacob asks, his voice pleasant but with an undercurrent of steel.
Derek's eyes widen slightly as he takes in Jacob's full height. He has to tilt his head back to meet Jacob's gaze, and you can see the moment he realizes he's outmatchedâphysically, certainly, but also in every other way that matters.
"No problem," Derek says quickly, his bravado deflating. "We were just saying hello."
"Were you." It's not a question. Jacob's hand finds your shoulder, a gentle, possessive touch. "Because from where I'm standing, it looked like you were bothering my girlfriend."
The wordâgirlfriendâsaid so casually, so publicly, makes your heart soar.
Sienna's eyes narrow. "We were just catching up. We're old friends."
"Is that what we're calling it?" you say before you can stop yourself, and Jacob's hand squeezes your shoulder in support.
"I think," Jacob says, his voice dropping lower, more dangerous, "that you two should move along. Find your seats. Enjoy the rest of the ceremony. Somewhere else."
It's not a suggestion. It's a command.
Derek opens his mouth like he wants to argue, but one look at Jacob's faceâat the protective fury barely contained thereâand he thinks better of it.
"Whatever," Derek mutters. "Come on, Sienna. Let's go."
They slink away, and you can hear Sienna's whispered complaints as they go, but you don't care. You're too busy watching Jacob, who's still staring after them with that intense expression.
"Jacob," you say softly, and he immediately turns to you, his expression softening.
"Sorry," he says, sliding back into his seat. "I know you can handle yourself. But I saw them standing over you and I justâ"
"Thank you," you interrupt. "For having my back."
He takes your hand again, lacing your fingers together. "Always. That's the deal, remember? I'm here to make sure nothing happens to you again."
"I love you," you say, not caring that you're in the middle of a crowded auditorium, not caring who might overhear.
"I love you too," he replies, and then he kisses you, soft and sweet and perfect.
When you pull apart, you're both smiling.
"So," you say, settling back into your seat, feeling lighter than you have in weeks. "We're really doing this. We're public now."
"We're really doing this," Jacob confirms. "How do you feel about it?"
You consider the question. Your phone is probably exploding with notifications. Tomorrow, you'll be on the cover of every entertainment website and magazine. There will be think pieces and speculation and probably some negativity mixed in with the support.
But right now, sitting here with Jacob's hand in yours, you feel...
"Free," you say finally. "I feel free."
Jacob's smile is radiant. "Good. That's exactly how you should feel."
The ceremony resumes, and you settle in to watch, but you're not really paying attention to the stage. You're too aware of Jacob beside you, solid and real and yours. You're thinking about how you got here, about the panic attack in the limo that somehow led to this moment of perfect clarity.
Sometimes, you think, the worst moments lead to the best decisions.
Your phone buzzes. A text from Maya: You two are trending worldwide. #JacobAndYN is the number one topic on Twitter. How are you holding up?
You type back: Never better.
And you mean it.
As the ceremony continues, you catch glimpses of Derek and Sienna several rows ahead. They're sitting stiffly, not touching, and you realize with a start that they look miserable. Whatever they have, it's not real. It's performance, all surface and no substance.
What you have with Jacob is the opposite. It's real and deep and built on actual love and respect. And now the world knows it.
"What are you thinking about?" Jacob murmurs, noticing your distraction.
"Just that I'm really glad I whispered your name in that limo," you admit. "I'm glad Maya found you. I'm glad you came."
"I'll always come when you need me," he says seriously. "No matter what. No matter where. You call, I'm there."
"Even if I look like a beautiful raccoon?"
He grins. "Especially then. You're my favorite raccoon."
You laugh, and it feels good. It feels right.
The ceremony ends eventually, and you face the gauntlet of after-parties and press lines together. Everyone wants to know about your relationship, and you and Jacob navigate the questions with practiced ease, revealing just enough to satisfy curiosity without giving away everything.
"We've been together for almost a year," Jacob tells one reporter. "We wanted to keep it private at first, but tonight felt like the right time to share our happiness with everyone."
"He's been incredibly supportive," you add, smiling up at him. "I'm very lucky."
"I'm the lucky one," Jacob counters, and the reporter practically swoons.
By the time you make it back to your hotel room, it's nearly three in the morning. You're exhausted but exhilarated, your feet aching from your heels, your face tired from smiling.
Jacob closes the door behind you and immediately pulls you into his arms.
"We did it," he says into your hair. "We survived."
"We did more than survive," you reply, wrapping your arms around his waist. "We thrived."
He pulls back to look at you, his hands framing your face. "I'm so proud of you. You know that, right? The way you handled everything tonightâthe panic attack, the red carpet, Derek and Siennaâyou were incredible."
"I had help," you point out. "I had you."
"You've always had me," he says. "From the moment I met you, you've had me. I'm not going anywhere."
You kiss him then, pouring everything you feel into itâgratitude and love and relief and joy. He responds in kind, his arms tightening around you, lifting you slightly off your feet.
When you finally break apart, you're both breathless.
"So," Jacob says, his forehead resting against yours. "What do you want to do now? We could order room service, watch a movie, just decompress."
"That sounds perfect," you say. "But first, I need to get out of this dress. As beautiful as it is, I've been wearing it for about eight hours and I'm ready to be comfortable."
"Need help with the zipper?" he offers with a grin.
"Always."
He helps you out of the dress with gentle hands, hanging it carefully in the closet while you change into soft pajamas. He does the same, trading his tuxedo for sweatpants and a t-shirt, and then you're both curled up on the bed, room service menus spread out between you.
"What are you in the mood for?" Jacob asks, scrolling through the options on his phone.
"Everything," you admit. "I barely ate today because I was so nervous."
"Then everything it is."
He orders an absurd amount of foodâburgers and fries and pasta and dessertâand while you wait for it to arrive, you finally allow yourself to check social media properly.
The response is overwhelming. Photos of you and Jacob on the red carpet are everywhere, and the comments are almost universally positive. People are calling you "couple goals" and "the cutest thing ever." There are already fan accounts dedicated to your relationship, compilation videos of every moment from the evening.
"Look at this," you say, showing Jacob a particularly sweet tweet: The way Jacob looks at her... I'm not crying, you're crying.
He looks at the accompanying photoâa candid shot of him gazing at you on the red carpet, his expression soft and adoringâand smiles. "Well, they're not wrong. That is how I look at you."
"You're going to make me cry again," you warn. "And I've done enough of that today."
"Happy tears are allowed," he says, kissing your temple.
The food arrives, and you spread it out on the bed, eating directly from the containers and feeding each other bites. It's messy and informal and perfect.
"Can I tell you something?" you say between bites of the best burger you've ever tasted.
"Anything."
"When I was with Derek, I never felt like I could just... be. Everything was always about appearances, about how things looked from the outside. I was always performing, always trying to be the version of myself that he wanted."
Jacob's expression darkens slightly at the mention of your ex, but he stays quiet, letting you continue.
"But with you, I don't have to perform. I can have a panic attack in a limo and look like a raccoon and eat burgers in bed at three in the morning, and you don't judge me. You just... love me. All of me. Even the messy parts."
"Especially the messy parts," Jacob corrects gently. "That's what love is, isn't it? Seeing all of someoneâthe good, the bad, the beautiful, the brokenâand choosing them anyway. Choosing them every single day."
"When did you get so wise?" you ask, your voice thick with emotion.
"I've always been wise. You just didn't notice because you were too busy staring at my face."
You laugh and throw a fry at him, which he catches and eats with a triumphant grin.
"But seriously," he continues, his tone softening. "I meant what I said earlier. I'm sorry someone hurt you before I could love you the way you deserve. But I'm here now, and I'm going to spend every day making sure you know how valued and cherished and absolutely extraordinary you are."
The tears come then, but they're happy tears, just like he said. He pulls you into his arms, and you cry into his chest while he holds you, one hand stroking your hair, murmuring soft reassurances.
"I love you so much," you manage between sobs. "So, so much."
"I love you too," he replies. "My beautiful, strong, incredible raccoon."
That makes you laugh through your tears, and soon you're both laughing, the emotional weight of the evening finally lifting.
You finish your food and clean up the containers, then settle back into bed. Jacob finds a movie on TVâsomething mindless and funnyâand you curl into his side, your head on his chest, his arm around you.
"Hey," you say drowsily as the opening credits roll. "Thank you for today. For coming to get me. For walking in with me. For standing up to Derek. For everything."
"You don't have to thank me for loving you," Jacob says, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. "That's the easiest thing I've ever done."
You fall asleep like that, safe and warm and loved, and when you wake up the next morning to a flood of notifications and interview requests and congratulations from friends, you face it all with Jacob by your side.
Because that's what you do now. You face things together.
And somehow, that makes everythingâeven the scary parts, even the hard partsâfeel manageable.
Later that week, you're doing a joint interview for a major magazine. The journalist asks you about the moment you decided to go public.
You and Jacob exchange a look, a whole conversation happening in that glance.
"I had a moment of panic," you admit. "Right before we were supposed to walk the red carpet separately. And Jacob came and reminded me that I don't have to face things alone anymore."
"She's stuck with me now," Jacob adds with a grin, taking your hand. "For better or worse."
"Sounds like a wedding vow," the journalist observes with a smile.
"Maybe someday," Jacob says, and the way he looks at you makes your heart skip a beat.
The interview continues, but you're barely paying attention. You're too busy thinking about the future, about all the possibilities that have opened up now that you're not hiding anymore.
It won't always be easy. You know that. There will be challenges and scrutiny and probably more moments of doubt. But you'll face them together, just like you faced that red carpet.
And that makes all the difference.
That night, back in your shared apartment (because yes, you've been living together for months, another secret that's now public knowledge), Jacob pulls you onto the couch and into his arms.
"No regrets?" he asks, even though he already knows the answer.
"Not a single one," you reply, tilting your face up for a kiss.
He obliges, and as his lips meet yours, you think about how far you've come. From that panic attack in the limo to this moment of perfect peace. From hiding your love to shouting it from the rooftops.
It's been a journey, but you wouldn't change a thing.
Because every step, every struggle, every moment of fear led you here. To Jacob. To love. To home.
Hii!! I saw you were taking some Jacob as himself requests. Maybe something where heâs shooting for a movie late and reader tried to stay awake til he got home but fell asleep on the couch? When he comes home he just admires reader and wakes her up sweetly?? Just fluffy cuteness!! I know youâll conjure something amazing up!! đđ€
god yes. heâs so sweet and precious and would 100% feel guilty and want to just hold you. akshdjwksldh here u goooo
âââ ê° á§à·á§ ê± âââ
(cw: none. just boyfriend!jacob with sleepy fem reader fluffiness <3 no mentions of y/n. sfw. heâs annoyingly obsessed with you even when youâre eepy)
âwhat time did yâsay?â jacob asked one of the makeup artists who had just helped him out and given him some remover, the bit of powder on his face uncomfortable after being reapplied twelve times the last four hours.
he had finally completed shooting for the day, a coffee in his large hand as he sat in his own clothes now, utterly exhausted but unable to fight the growing excitement of the work he had done today. he loved it. every bit of the hard work and grueling hours if it meant he could keep living in the surreal dream that was somehow his life now.
âthree fifty, jacob,â his assistant replied instead, already helping someone grab his belongings in the makeup trailer he was in. jacob nodded, taking a sip of coffee and quietly enjoying the way his feet felt in his own shoes instead of the stiff boots he had to wear on set. he was used to being on set for long periods of time that led to early morning.
but then it hit him when he rubbed his tired eyes: you. oh god, you had been texting him earlier during a break heâd had, on and off. sweetly telling him you were going to wait up on him so he could tell you all about shooting. jacob was often energetic after shooting, even after long days like this one. and you would always listen and ask all sorts of questions, eager to hear every word about something he was passionate about. but lately, the shooting for this film had been going for longer and he usually came back to the air bnb youâd been staying at to stay close to him and find you asleep, rarely getting to see him for even an hour before he had to get up again and go back to set.
you never complained though, but jacob did. only to you. because he wanted you to know how hard it was to be away from you at all. jacob was very serious about his work, acting a priority and being worthy of the task to build a character through himself was important to him. and despite wanting to beg you to come with him to set so he could keep you close and feel utterly warmed by your presence, he was afraid heâd get distracted or nervous for you to watch him, even if it was silly to think.
âshit,â jacob mumbled, immediately searching the pockets of his jeans for his phone, unlocking it and seeing that it was indeed now three fifty-one in the morning and heâd missed a call from you an hour and a half ago. his chest ached as he wondered if you were upset and not expecting shooting to last this long, even if heâd already warned you it would again.
moments later, he was in the backseat of a car, being driven back to the air bnb and trying to ring you again. your sweet voice only came through as a voicemail, making jacob tap his foot impatiently against the floorboard, assuming youâd missed each other again and would have to settle for mid-morning goodbyes all over again instead of actually spending time together.
when the car finally arrived, jacob politely thanked the driver like he always did, grabbing his bag and practically jumping out of the vehicle to run up the path to the house. youâd kept the door unlocked for him, which made something warm bloom through his chest and a hint of guilt ring through him. he ducked beneath the doorway to get inside when he pushed the door open, dropping his bag and looking around. his brown eyes scanned the space, a modern lamp in the corner of the room on and casting a warm light across the well decorated space.
he called your name as he kicked off his shoes, but was met with no answer, his fingers tapping against his jeans as he stepped into the living space.
and thatâs where he found you, still in a sweater and pair of jeans, curled up on the couch and snoring softly. a grin broke out onto his face at the sight, his tall frame growing warm as he carefully stepped over to you, making sure not to cause too much noise so you wouldnât wake.
you were so perfect. hair a mess against the couch cushions, lips parted to make way for your soft snores. he spotted your phone next to your face on the cushion, making him let out a quiet breath of guilt as he crouched down beside you. it was only worse when he saw two glasses set up on the side table beneath a lamp, the novel youâd been reading that heâd recommended beside the glasses and what looked to be some sort of bottle of wine.
âchrist,â he sighed quietly, biting his lip as he returned his gaze to your sleeping face. he slowly reach one of his hands up, gently tucking strands of hair that had fallen across your face during sleep behind your ear. you didnât stir, still dreaming and snoring. jacob couldnât help himself, utterly enamored by you as always and feeling guilt for the way youâd probably been waiting hours for him. so sweet and thoughtful that it made him melt.
he whispered your name once, his deep, australian voice as quiet as he could make it as he leaned his face closer to where yours was resting on the couch cushion. his long, slender fingers traced your cheek, feeling the warmth beneath his fingertips as he admired you silently for another moment. he couldnât take it, even if he knew you were probably just as exhausted as he was, he needed to be close to you right now.
jacob then leaned closer and pressed his lips to your forehead. and then your cheek. and then your nose. before finally kissing your parted lips and only leaning back slightly when you stirred.
âhm?â you murmured, your eyes fluttering as your hands moved to rub one eye before opening it, âjacob? oh. youâre home.â
you smiled at him sleepily and he grinned again, cupping your cheek against his warm palm as he kept his face close to yours, tall frame still crouched as much as he could beside the couch where you lay and closed your eyes again.
âdo yâknow how bloody precious you are?â he whispered, leaning in again to nuzzle his nose against your own, hearing you yawn before he felt your hand reach for his cheek as well. his eyes were closed as he felt your touch, immediately feeling ten times more relaxed. like just having you close made him breathe easier.
your eyes were still shut, though a small, sleepy smile graced your lips now, your hand just rested against his cheek as he kept his face forward and his tall frame crouched close. âyouâŠgot wine,â he smiled, a sound of thoughtful amusement leaving his lips.
âmhm,â you hummed, obviously not very awake, but still acknowledging the gesture. jacob pulled his hand from your face to grab yours, pulling it from his own face slightly to press a kiss to your wrist, seeing your sleepy eyes flutter from the feeling of his lips on your pulse point.
he sighed, biting his lip for a beat and debating just pulling away to let you rest or at least getting you to move from the couch and into bed to sleep comfortably. truthfully, he wanted you up, no matter how tired you both were. but jacob was too considerate to disturb you too much, so instead, he placed another kiss to your wrist before he spoke.
âscoot over, love,â he whispered, gently laying your hand back down on the soft cushion. you complied, even in your barely conscious state, and it made his whole body warm and chest tighten with pride. he absolutely adored you. through and through. and the thought of you automatically wanting him close, even in sleep, made him want to wrap you in his arms and never let you go.
jacob found himself trying to crawl onto the couch beside you, trying his best to fit his long limbs on the couch by your warm, sleepy frame. he eventually settled on resting one long leg off the couch, turning his top half slightly to curl into you. he found himself smiling, one hand placed on your back, gently rubbing your skin beneath your sweater with his fingers as he pressed his face into your hair, inhaling deeply.
âmâsorryâŠabout tonight,â he whispered, deep voice almost reverent and slightly guilty as he leaned his face back to watch your sleeping one, taking in the small part in your lips as you breathed and the way your brows slightly furrowed. to his surprise, you seemed to register his words slightly as you hummed again.
jacob bit his lip again, finding you too incredibly cute and trying his best to not be selfish and to just let you rest after you tried to wait for him. but, alas, heâd never been very good at not wanting your attention.
âcomeâŠcome to bed with me,â he whispered, blinking down at your still closed eyes. when you didnât seem to wake or acknowledge his quiet offer, he bit his lip again, his hand still moving beneath your jumper.
he said your name, a bit louder than a whisper and you cracked one eye open again, lashes fluttering. you raised your arm up and stretched it before settling it around his lean upper half.
jacob hated to be selfish but he couldnât help but disturb your peaceful rest. after all, he was there with you now and only had five hours before heâd be expected on set once more. he felt restless, his stomach fluttering and the leg that was hanging off the couch shook.
âcome on, lovely. wake up, yeah? please? need to spend time with mâfavorite person.â
god, he knew he was being a pest, but how could he not want you up? he grinned when your brows furrowed as he tapped your cheek with the fingertip of his index finger gently, leaning back down to repeatedly press his lips to the tip of your adorable nose that was now scrunching up.
âjacob,â you murmured, voice a bit rough from your peaceful slumber he was disrupting, âwhat? w-what? mâup. iâm up. iâm awake.â
âbarely,â he snickered, watching as you refused to open your eyes, obviously preferring sleep at the moment than giving him the attention he was craving. he felt guilty, not just from trying to rouse you from what looked to be a comfy sleep, but from the fact that he wasnât there like youâd wished earlier. that production had run late and you probably couldnât keep your eyes open any longer, even though youâd wished to see him and waited all that time.
âletâs go to bed,â he offered again, his deep voice not as soft so hopefully youâd wake up fully, âiâll⊠i canât leave you here, love. letâs justâdonât fall back asleep. come on now. wake up fâme. you know yâwant to. fuuuck, youâre killing me⊠really. mâsorry, darlâlove, come on. please? pleeaaassse?â
he was being the absolute worst, but you opened your eyes then and his smile grew. best of all, you sleepily pressed a kiss to his jaw, missing his lips entirely and adorably.
âiâm up, iâm up,â you murmured against his face.
âyouâre so fuckinâ cute,â he grinned, opting to lean down again to kiss all over your face, eager and happy that you were trying to wake up for him, âletâs go cuddle up, yeah?â
moments later, his tall body was wrapped around your tired one as you tried to walk through the air bnb, barely awake. his long arms were around you, his body leaned down a bit to stay glued to you, long legs right behind your shorter ones. he felt every warm feeling that always vibrated through him in your presence, unable to resist staying close and placing his chin on your shoulder as you both slowly shuffled to the expensively furnished bedroom.
âlove you,â he whispered, squeezing you more in his arms as he kept his face in the crook of your neck, the warmth of him almost overwhelming as you sleepily walked to the bed, âlove you love you love you lovââ
you hopped into the soft surface and jacob practically tackled you, breathing in your scent deeply before moving his body off of your own to curl into you from behind. âyouâre the loveliest person,â he murmured into your shoulder, his hands running up and down the side of your body, âsweet angel, you are. i⊠i shouldve tried to shoot through quicker. fuckâmâsorry.â
âitâs okay,â you breathed, eyes already fluttering closed as you felt yourself struggling to stay awake, especially with jacob behind you and holding you so close to him, âdonât be sorry for something thatâs not your fault.â you yawned again.
âi⊠iâm still sorry for keeping you waiting,â he whispered then, his face in your hair and his arms wrapped around your middle, keeping you as close as possible and practically drowning in the feeling of having you pressed against him. he reach a hand up from your waist as he leaned up some on the mattress, his brown eyes scanning your already closed eyes and relaxed expression as he gently ran his fingers through your hair. he licked his lips, watching with quiet amusement as you nuzzled into the soft pillow beneath you. he laid back down and fell asleep soundly beside youâhis favorite place to be.
heâd bring you with him tomorrow to set, even if you were tired from trying to stay up for him and would spend the day napping in his dressing room. he would just wake you up periodically for kisses anyway, making sure you were tucked in or letting you share his coffee when you woke up fully.
hai!! hope this was cute. cuz it felt cute. i havenât written jus fluff b4 cuz im a little disgusting freak but eh, i can picture bf!jacob so clearly. gunna fill some more requests so check back to my masterlist here. <3 ok, love u bye
dividers by: @uzmacchiato !!
Rachel's Picks @rachelspicks - Tumblr Blog | Tumgag
