go tell your boyfriend (that i'm your girlfriend).
☆⋆｡𖦹°‧★ pairing: fem!reader x mel king x frank langdon
☆⋆｡𖦹°‧★ summary: mel king is engaged to the ptmc’s most eligible bachelor— frank langdon. she’s comfortable in her relationship and overall very happy. but what happens when a spunky new intern walks into her life and flips it upside down?
☆⋆｡𖦹°‧★ warnings: cheating (but it’s wlw cheating so it’s chill), slight power imbalance (mel and reader are the same age but mel is an r3 and reader is an intern because of several gap years), detailed use of medical terminology, discussion of medical practice, compulsory heterosexuality, slight corruption kink, mentions of alcohol, mentions of past disordered eating, eventual smut (like lots of it), infidelity kink (reader enjoys sneaking behind franks back), canon inaccuracies, mentions of guilt about same-sex attraction, slight slut-shaming, not proofread
☆⋆｡𖦹°‧★ directory - ch. 1, ch. 2, ch. 3, ch. 4
☆⋆｡𖦹°‧★ disclaimer: tiny little baby chapter to tide us over while i work on chapter 5 which is a huge one tbh… should be coming out soon but don’t quote me!!
☆⋆｡𖦹°‧★
Chapter 4: Am I The Asshole
Mel wasn’t sure what to expect when she walked into work the following Monday.
The kiss she shared with you played in her headover and over again for the rest of the weekend. She didn’t even go home for the rest of the weekend— too afraid that Frank might still be there. When she left Dana’s she immediately got on the train to take her to the part of town where her parents old house was. She used the spare key in the mulch to get in, and she stayed locked away— putting her phone on DND. They’d left it to her and Becca in their will, and she’d used it a couple of times when she needed to be truly alone.
Well, now was one of those times.
Everything was exactly as it had been left when her parents died. Her room, the kitchen, the den where their big box television collected dust. All of her old clothes were still in her drawers, so she wore her old Pitt sweatshirt and a pair of flannel shorts to sleep and lounge in.
Mel came into work early on Monday so no one saw her looking, well, slightly disheveled. Since she hadn’t been back to her apartment all weekend, she had nothing to wear except a pair of cargo pants she’d long outgrown and an oversized t-shirt from her dad. She also had no hair ties— you had taken the one in her hair when you took out her braid— and her hair was unwashed and unbraided.
When she got to the hospital, she immediately went to her locker. She had been keeping a pair of scrubs and some other essentials— hair ties, sneakers, toothbrush— just in case she ever needed them. She’d never imagined that she would need them under the circumstances she was in.
She got dressed, braided her hair, and brushed her teeth quickly in the bathroom. When she was done, it was already almost time for shift change. She sighed as she thought of facing Frank for the first time since you guys had kissed. What was an even scarier thought was the thought of having to see you.
That kiss.
It was haunting her.
She tried to remember what was going on in her head in that moment. Tried to remember what had possessed her to kiss you like that. But all she remembered was her mind going zero and physicality taking over. She saw your face and nothing else, and she felt pulled to it like a magnet. She couldn’t help herself, it was irresistible in that moment— you were irresistible.
God, she wanted to wipe it from her memory. She wanted to forget the sound of your laugh as you tested different kinds of kisses on her lips.
Soft, deep, intense.
The way your tongue had opened her mouth so skillfully, so politely. How it felt for your hands to roam over her body. How she’d maybe wanted them to roam further. Tracing down her form to pull her close against you, your breasts on hers.
It was so wrong. It was more than wrong. But in the moment it felt so good. If she didn’t know better, she wouldn’t have ever stopped.
“Mel,” She heard someone call.
Mel looked up and realized that she had been staring off into space as she thought about the kiss again. When she looked up she saw Frank rushing towards her. She cringed internally as she thought of the secret she was hiding from him.
“I’ve been worried sick.” Frank pulled her into him and hugged her. Mel winced at the contact and didn’t hug him back. “Where have you been? I was calling you all day.”
Mel sighed, “Well, we didn’t exactly leave off of on a great note.” She came with quickly. “I just needed some space.”
She was a fraud. A huge lying and now cheating fraud.
Mel had always felt like somewhat of a performer in their relationship. Doing all the things that she thought one was supposed to do in a relationship, trying her best to be a girlfriend just because she was one. But she’d never felt like her soul was really in their relationship— it felt like mindless going through the motions. She felt that now, more than ever.
Clearly there must have been a reason beyond wine that she kissed you. Surely she had been seeking something in that kiss. Because Mel didn’t do stupid, and she didn’t do careless. And to kiss someone who wasn’t her fiancé— who also happened to be an intern—would be extremely stupid and careless.
“Yeah, about that… I’m sorry, Mel.” Frank started. “I don’t want you to feel pressured into anything. I just… I want us to want each other, that’s all.” He rubbed her shoulder.
As he pulled Mel closer, she looked away from him as though he’d know what she’d done if he saw her eyes. She gave him a nod while she looked down at her feet.
“I love you and I want to revisit this conversation after work if that’s okay.”
Mel almost groaned out loud.
Revisit after work? She thought.
Talking about desire, sex, intimacy— any of that— was the last thing on earth that she wanted to do. As if she wasn’t already being tortured about her desires or lack thereof enough, that kiss had complicated everything even more. She craved that kiss in a way she hadn’t craved anything before. It was like a primal urge, deep within her and undeniable. Something she could not fight against.
Mel wanted the conversation to end as soon as possible so she nodded to Frank and sent him on his way. Once he was gone, her mind traveled back to you.
She hadn’t even begun to consider how you may have been feeling about the kiss.
She was terrified of seeing you and how you would act towards her. She was a resident and you were an intern. Sure, you were the same age but with her being an R3 she was still your superior. She could lose her spot in the residency program. She could have this go on her record. And aside from the clear professional consequences, this could affect her work environment as well. What if you didn’t speak to her at all? Or what if you had told Samira or Trinity and they treated her weirdly as well? And worst of all, what if you told Frank?
Trinity came into work a few minutes after Frank. Mel’s heart dropped when she saw the brunette walking in through the sliding doors, headphones in and eyes confidently forward. Trinity’s gaze shifted and landed on Mel and Mel felt the hairs on her body stand up.
She was ready for it to come down from Trinity any moment. The moment when Trinity laughed in her face and teased her about the drunken makeout you and her had shared.
Mel watched as Trinity angled her body to move towards her. Out of nerves, she weakly raised her hand and waved as Trinity got closer.
“Just the person I was looking for.” Trinity started as she leaned over the work station.
Mel wanted to vomit. “Oh, why?” She tried to appear indifferent.
Trinity scanned Mel fully once, her eyes probing. Mel swallowed hard as Trinity’s eyes bore into her. She shuddered as she prepared herself for the inevitable shame she would face. Trinity stared at her a moment longer and then her eyes softened. She shrugged and spoke finally.
“I just wanted to say sorry for riding you so hard at Dana’s… I guess.” Trinity said.
Mel froze for a moment, not fully processing Trinity’s words. With everything else, she had long forgotten Trinity’s antics during Paranoia. When Trinity apologized, Mel actually felt relieved— she was just glad that you clearly hadn’t told Trinity yet at least. When she caught herself looking a little too happy at Trinity’s words, she immediately attempted to appear as somber as possible.
“Oh, it’s okay. I know you were just joking.” Mel responded.
“Yeah, but I’m still sorry.” Trinity kind of sassed back. Trinity mentioned speaking to you after the party. Mel tightened, fearing what she might say next. “She told me that you were really upset after, so I just wanted to make sure we’re good… I really didn’t mean to, you know, take it too far.”
“Really, it’s fine. I’ve already moved on, so we’re good.” Mel said with an unusual amount of confidence that visibly took Trinity by surprise.
Trinity nodded slowly and suspiciously, “Okay… well… Okay, good. I’m glad we’re okay.” Trinity said in a questioning tone.
Mel mirrored the motion of Trinity’s head with a resolute smile on her face. Trinity’s eyes narrowed again as if she was trying to look for something in Mel’s expression. When she couldn’t find anything, Mel could see the moment that Trinity surrendered.
“Okay, I’m gonna put my things away then.” Trinity concluded. Mel nodded and then Trinity went in the same direction Frank had.
Mel let out a huff that was a mix of exasperation and relief, pressing her fingers against the bridge of her nose.
She felt gross— physically and mentally. No amount of showers would wash away the shame she felt for kissing you. She felt so conflicted, wondering if it had been a one-off, absentminded kiss or something else.
Mel watched as person after person came into work, waiting for the moment you walked in. She felt like she would collapse when she finally saw you. It would be the first time she’d seen you since she ran away from you at Dana’s. She was eager to know what you must have been thinking the entire weekend about her and the moment you’d shared.
In her mind, a kiss really meant something. She hadn’t shared many of them, and aside from the one she’d shared with you, they’d all been with Frank. But the kisses she had had meant sealing a relationship of some sort, or at least signifying that the parties involved in said kiss were interested in the potential of a relationship. She didn’t know how exactly to navigate this kind of situation, but she really hoped that you weren’t expecting anything from her. Because she certainly was not expecting anything from you.
Obviously because she was with Frank.
And of course, the fact that she also wasn’t gay.
As Mel thought of the word—gay— she winced slightly. She didn’t have any problem with gay people, of course she didn’t. But she had never thought of that label as something that would apply to herself. All of this— kissing, dating, romance— was still fairly new to her. These were things that she’d always been pretty closed off to for the majority of her life. Hell, she’d only figured out that she might like men when she started dating Frank. She didn’t know how to process the potential of her being attracted to women as well.
But she kissed you!
And if she kissed you… And you were a girl… And she liked kissing you… Well, the only answer could be that all this time, deep down, she was gay.
The math was easy.
But she wasn’t gay. She didn’t feel gay. But wasn’t the only qualifier for gayness experiencing attraction to the same sex? She definitely felt drawn to you in the moment before she kissed you.
Maybe she did feel gay?
But she was with Frank. And she liked him— a lot even! She really, really liked Frank. He was nice to her and made her laugh and he listened to her. Although, he hadn’t been such a good listener lately. But she was with him and she did like him, so she couldn’t be gay.
Maybe she was just attracted to you. Maybe it didn’t have anything to do with you being a woman. It wasn’t like she was attracted to Frank just because he was a man. It was his soul and his personhood that she enjoyed. Maybe that was the case for you too. Only, everything she liked about you was so tied to your femininity— your laugh, your hair, your gentle nature. Of course, she liked your soul and stuff too, but your soul was also so undeniably feminine.
Oh, God. She thought to herself as her mind raced.
She couldn’t let herself fall down this rabbit hole, and yet there she was free-falling. How was she supposed to work when all she wanted to do was re-examine every interaction she’d ever had with a woman to investigate whether or not she was gay?
As she started to spiral again, someone pulled her out of her thoughts. She blinked out of her haze and looked up to see Dana.
“What?” She asked.
“Wake up. You’re with Doctor Mohan.” Dana tapped the desk in between the two of them.
Mel perked up, “She’s here?”
Dana looked at Mel with a matter-of-fact expression.
Mel nodded, taking the cue. Then she asked if you had come in yet.
“Oh Jesus, I don’t have time for this.” Dana groaned. “I need you in 2 now.” Dana pointed to where Mel needed to go, not answering Mel’s question about you at all.
Mel sighed and got up to go join Samira. As she did, her eyes lazily scanned the room and, as if she’d willed you to appear, her eyes landed on you as you glided from one side of the room to the other— a coy Mona Lisa smile on your face.
Your hair was in a simple half-up style today and you wore the same tiny studs you always did. Today you had traded your undershirts for a light pink cardigan. You looked at peace, unbothered even— not at all like what Mel must have looked like.
Mel started to walk in your direction. She wasn’t sure what her plan was for when she approached you, but her feet carried her faster than her mind could form thoughts. You hadn’t noticed her yet and it felt like she was moving in slow motion towards you. Your eyes finally landed on her and she took in a deep breath.
She waited for your expression to tighten, to contort into disgust. She waited for you to avert your gaze in shame like she would, or to blow her off like a one-night-stand you were embarrassed of.
Instead, your eyes lit up and your smile grew bigger. Then Mel started to worry that you had, in fact, taken the kiss as a signal that she wanted to pursue something with you. Mel nervously stopped in her tracks and began to look away frantically as you got closer, hoping that you’d take the hint that she was uncomfortable. She focused her attention on the patient board on the screen above, feeling you stop next to her.
“Hey,” You said brightly, “How was the rest of your weekend?”
Mel’s head snapped in your direction to see you with a look of genuine peace and happiness. She found herself a little confused by your demeanor, but she didn’t have time to examine it too much.
“Good,” She said in a strange tone, “How was yours?” She asked to be polite.
“So good!” You said and Mel could tell by your tone that you were being honest.
Her brows furrowed, “Really?” It slipped out as a knee-jerk reaction to your shockingly calm disposition.
“Samira and I started planning a trip to the Poconos after the new year. I finally get to go on my first hike in Pennsylvania.” You threw your head back in praise.
Mel nodded and tried to appear as normal as possible because you were as normal as possible. It was almost eerie how unaffected you seemed by what happened.
“Oh, hey, I wanted to ask you—”
Here it comes. Mel thought as you spoke.
“Trinity mentioned this ceramics class she wanted to try this weekend? I thought you might wanna tag along? Maybe grab a bite after too?” You continued.
Oh.
“And don’t say no before you actually consider it! Samira might come too! It’ll be a fun little girls day.” You tapped the pen in your hand against her shoulder lightly, startling her slightly.
Girls day? Mel was in awe.
How were you being so nonchalant about this? Why weren’t you more unsettled? Mel had fully expected the cold shoulder or for you to find her and beg her to talk about what happened at Dana’s. But there was no cold shoulder, no shifty looks from across the room, no chasing her into the stairwell and demanding a discussion. You picked up where you both left off— no before where you’d left off— like nothing had happened.
“U-uh, okay… Yeah, I-I’ll… I’ll think about it? I might be busy… with Becca.” Mel stuttered out.
Your eyebrows pressed together in concern, “Are you okay? You’re breaking into sweat, do you feel sick?”
Mel gave you a bewildered look as you tried to lean into her and she practically jumped back. “Yep! Fine! I just, I have the tendency to overheat!” She came up with quickly.
You nodded and stepped back from her. Mel gave you a plain smile and then looked at her wrist for the time, while not actually registering what time it was at all. “Oh, look at that, I should head over to Mohan.” She said as she began to walk away.
“You lucky duck. You get Samira and I’m stuck with Robby riding my ass all day.” You joked easily.
“Heard that!” Robby said as he walked by.
“You were supposed to.” You replied as you began following behind him.
Mel shook the interaction away as she headed to her assignment. She wasn’t sure what to make of the entire conversation. The way you had acted was completely unexpected and, quite honestly, threw her for a loop. She was used to people walking away and ignoring her, pretending like she didn’t exist or acting embarrassed of her. But she did not know how to respond to someone kissing her and then acting as though it didn’t happen.
She guessed it was a good thing that you weren’t treating her any differently? If you were treating it as though it never happened, then that meant she didn’t have to deal with it. She could tuck it away into the box of other things she didn’t want to acknowledge. But for some reason she didn’t feel better that you hadn’t mentioned it. She didn’t know why, she just knew that it didn’t make her feel good.
Mel blew out an anxious breath. She couldn’t deal with it right now. She had a job to do and she just needed to focus on that. Before she walked into the room with Samira, she reminded herself that you not mentioning it was better for everyone.
It’s a good thing.
It’s a good thing.
It’s a good thing.
☆⋆｡𖦹°‧★
Despite her best efforts, Mel was off the entire day.
She thought that once she cleared things up with you that she would feel like a weight had been lifted. But instead she just had more questions after she saw you in the morning.
Surely you just didn’t remember. That was the only explanation for you to not acknowledge what happened. You both had had quite a bit of wine, maybe you were drunker than you realized. She wished she didn’t remember too, that way she wouldn’t have to be the one to live with this.
She started to think maybe she should address it with you. That way she could assure that you guys were on the same page about what happened. But she wasn’t even sure what that page was. She tried to rationalize everything in her head.
I did not mean anything by the kiss.
I do not expect anything to come from the kiss.
I do not want this to affect her work or mine.
I want to move forward as friends.
She kept repeating this to herself over and over and over again.
Mel was so distracted that Samira noticed. Before they moved to their next case, Samira stopped and told her to take a break for at least ten minutes. Even though Mel refused, Samira insisted and said she needed to before she let her back on the caseload.
As Mel begrudgingly made her way to the break room, she noticed you again. This time you were by the medicine cart putting in orders for your patient. She sighed and stared at you, trying to probe your mind to see what was going on in your head.
At that point, she was starting to think she’d imagined the kiss. It had been very dreamlike. You were glowing in the lowlight of the bedroom and your features had possessed a somewhat mythical quality. Maybe she’d been dreaming and you guys hadn’t kissed after all. She just wanted a reason for you acting so strange.
Dennis came up to her, blocking her view of you. He leaned down, examining her somber expression.
“You okay?” He asked.
She looked at him and pressed her lips into a firm line, then she asked if he’d talked to you since the weekend.
Dennis shook his head, “Yeah, why? You two okay?”
“Oh yeah, we’re great! I was just checking in because I haven’t had the chance to chat with her.” She lied.
“Oh, okay.” He started. “I mean, there’s no really exciting updates honestly. I guess we all went for drinks after Dana’s but honestly I don’t remember much.” He admitted with a nervous laugh.
Mel forced a laugh back, but was stuck on the fact that you guys went for drinks after Dana’s. She was confused how you guys had the energy for drinks after the night you all had had. But she was even more confused how you could casually go for drinks after she’d kissed you. Meanwhile, she was curled up in her childhood bedroom trying not to bash her skull in.
Dennis dismissed himself and she waved him off, turning back in your direction. Now you were at the nurse’s station chatting with Trinity about something funny apparently. If she didn’t know any better, she’d think you guys were laughing at her. If this was a joke to you, then it must have been really funny to watch Mel run around confused all day about what happened. Then she convinced herself that you guys had to be laughing at her. Maybe it was the way your eyes had glanced over her slightly when you laughed. Or the way Trinity talked in a low tone. But now she fully thought that you guys were making fun of her bewilderment.
Before thinking, she marched toward the both of you. You saw Mel coming and your smile switched from teasing and mischievous to genuine and warm. You went to open your mouth to speak but Mel spoke first, causing you to jerk back slightly.
“Can I talk to you?” She asked firmly.
You blinked at Mel with surprise and Trinity froze between you both. “Yeah, sure.”
Mel gave you a satisfied nod and then began walking towards the stairwell. Before she turned, however, she saw you eye Trinity nervously.
Mel lead you into the stairwell and then turned harshly on her heel to face you, eyes closed as she tried to gather her thoughts. When she opened them, you still had a faint smile on your lips but your eyes were full of curiousity. She bit her lip as she looked at you, feeling her cheeks heat up with embarrassment. She hadn’t thought that far about what to do once she had you alone. She also was slightly nervous because of what happened the last time you guys were in an enclosed space together.
“What’s up?” You asked like nothing was wrong.
Mel tilted her head at you and hummed, “Hmm, okay, uh…. I-uh… I think we should talk about Saturday night.” She struggled to get out.
You stared at her blankly with that smile that was starting to agitate her now given that nothing could make it go away.
“You remember… right?” She questioned.
You leaned back as if you only realized what she was talking about in that very moment. Then you chuckled, “Of course I remember, Silly. I was there.” You joked.
Mel tried to laugh at that but failed at doing so.
“What about it?”
Mel’s eyes narrowed in confusion. “Uh, just like… I… I kissed you, you know?”
“You did.” You responded cheekily this time, giving Mel a little relief.
Although she felt gratified that you had shown some other emotion that indifference to the whole thing, she was still so confused by how unbothered you were. She stared at you for a moment with the most baffled face anyone had ever seen.
“I’m- I’m sorry, do you often have people kiss you out of nowhere?” She asked, completely serious in her question with no sarcasm un her tone at all.
You laughed at her question, “Mel, it’s okay.” You started. “It’s not a big deal.” You shrugged.
“What do you mean?”
You smiled as you looked directly into her eyes, “I mean we’re good. We don’t have to make it a thing.” You said kindly.
Mel looked up in thought, processing your words, “A thing…” She said as if she was meditating on what you said.
“Yeah!” You chirped.
Mel formed her mouth to speak multiple times, failing to find words. Her brain felt like it was short circuiting, unable to comprehend your level of composure.
“I’m sorry if it seems like I’m making a big deal about it, it’s just-” She cut herself off. “I just don’t think you usually kiss people who aren’t your fiancé while you’re engaged.” She tried to make light of the situation.
You stepped closer to her, taking a deep breath in. “Look, I promise it’s all good. Honestly, this isn’t the first time a friend has kissed me out of the blue like that.” You laughed momentarily and then placed a hand on her shoulder. “Friends kiss all the time and it doesn’t have to mean anything.”
Mel stared at you for a moment and then she nodded, “O-okay, I guess.”
“And if you’re worried about me telling anyone, please don’t. This can be our little secret.” You patted her and then stepped away.
Mel looked down at her shoes and then back up to you again, “Okay… and we just act like it never happened?” Her voice was high and very curious.
“Yeah!… That’s what you want, right?” You asked.
Mel’s posture straightened and she began nodding violently, “Yes- ye-yeah that’s… that’s what I want.”
You nodded, “Okay, so we’re good.” You concluded.
“Yeah… yeah, I guess we are.” She trailed off.
“Good.” You echoed.
“Great.” Mel nodded.
“Cool.”
“Fantastic.”
Silence hung between the two of you as you stared at each other— you with a slight twinkle in your eye, Mel with a dull ounce of confusion. Mel kept looking away awkwardly just to look back at you a second later, as if she had more she wanted to say only she wasn’t sure what.
You giggled almost hysterically, “What?” You dragged out, high-pitched and playful— always so playful.
The resonance and intensity of your laugh was so raw that it caused Mel to let out a chuckle she couldn’t hold back. “Nothing, nothing.” She shook her head with a tight-lipped smirk, trying to conceal her grin.
You kept laughing, just like you did when you had kissed her so experimentally. It made something twist in her even though she didn’t want to admit it. Then you began pushing your way through the door back to the ER, still facing her.
“Okay, I’ll see you back in there?” You asked.
Mel gave you a thumbs up, “Yeah! Right behind you.”
You gave Mel one last look and then you left, a smirk tugging at your lips like you just knew you were in control of this situation. Mel leaned her back against the wall and sighed because she knew that you were, in fact, in control of this situation. You truly didn’t see things the way she did, and that kiss hadn’t bothered you at all.
Seeing how you were and hearing how you felt, she felt kind of silly now that she’d played it up so much in her head. She wasn’t aware that kissing was something that friends did for fun. Although she found it to be an odd and somewhat precarious activity for friends to engage in, she supposed she’d never really had close enough friends to know what was normal or not.
Well, if that was the case, she didn’t have anything to worry about. She could move on— you both could move on and be friends like she wanted. It was good that you didn’t mind the kiss.
It’s a good thing, Mel. She emphasized to herself.
So why did she still feel so weird?
☆⋆｡𖦹°‧★
teeeeeeeensy weeeeensy chapter but i wanted to give you guys something while i write the big chapter coming up next and wanted to show some of the fallout from the kiss!
this is highkey just a filler chapter but you know what…. justice for filler chapters!! justice for a whole chapter just about mel tweaking about being gay!!
also reader is such an evil lesbian lowkey lol we all know that one femme that will be super touchy and flirty and will makeout with you and even hookup with you and then call that shit platonic….
but i digress!
get exciteddddddd next chapter is a HUGE one im so fucking excited to be writing it!!!!!
Michael Robinavitch hadn’t thought much about the daughter he left behind. Not since the day he signed away his parental rights twenty-three years ago, when her mother got married to a more reliable man. She’d been four years old; small enough to still reach for his hand, too young to understand why he stopped showing up.
Until a new nurse practitioner started at PTMC.
She was twenty-seven. Bright. Bubbly. Effortlessly kind. The kind of person who could make even the most exhausted patient smile. And when she laughed, her chocolate-brown eyes crinkled in exactly the same way the chief attending's did.
Warnings: absent biological father, abandonment, parental regret, adoption, references to addiction and recovery, divorce, emotional hurt, medical setting.
Notes: Hey guys! I'm back! Please enjoy this little Robby remembering he has a heart story. Also the dividers mean we're switching scenes or into Robby's POV.
You have been sitting in your car, parked outside Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center for exactly twelve minutes, when your mother called you a coward.
Not directly, Elizabeth Grace Daniels was far too loving to call her only daughter a coward. Let alone on the morning of her first day as emergency nurse practitioner. She merely said, “I thought you told us you were going inside.”
Which translated from mother speak, meant: You have spent twelve minutes in your car, Y/N. Stop being ridiculous.
“I am going inside,” you said, staring at the hospital’s ambulance bay, watching people in scrubs and ambulances enter the building.
“You said that about ten minutes ago,” sighed your mother. ”I’m mentally preparing.”
“You have worked in the ER for almost three years and completed your emergency fellowship at Mercy. I think you’ll be fine.”
”They’ll expect me to know things. I’m not just a nurse and this isn’t just a family medicine mother.” Your mother sighed through the speakers of your car.
You could picture her standing in the kitchen with one hand braced against the counter, already dressing for the day even though it was barely six thirty in the morning. There would be a cup of coffee beside her, cooling down as each minute passed. The aroma filling the kitchen. Your dad would be somewhere nearby in his robe and slippers, pretending not to listen, newspaper in hand and his glasses sitting low on his nose.
“You do know things,” she said, “You thrive in the hospital. It’s strange how calm you are in that place.”
“I don’t feel so calm right now,” you say, tapping your fingers on the steering wheel.
Your mother called away from the phone. “James, tell your daughter to get out of her car.” A deeper voice answering from somewhere in the background.
“Get out of the car, Birdie.” You rolled your eyes, smiling despite yourself. “One of these days you’re going to have to retire that nickname.”
“Not happening, my girl.” Your dad said with a quiet laugh. “You’ve been calling me Birdie for twenty- four years.” “And I’ll do it for another twenty-four if you’ll let me.”
The nickname came when you were three, instead of walking like a normal child, you skipped from place to place with your arms stretched out behind you, making chirping noises and pretending you could fly like a bird. You were also convinced that the birds could talk to you. What a weird toddler.
James had watched the whole thing with the kind of adoration only a father could have. One afternoon, after chasing you through the backyard while you “flew” in crooked little circles around the maple tree, he scooped you into his arms and laughed. “I’ve got to catch my little Birdie before she flies away,” causing you to go into a fit of giggles.
The name never disappeared.
James Daniels had been making you laugh your entire life, or at least as much of your life as you can remember.
He was the one who taught you how to ride a bike, placed bandaids on your scrapped knees, and was the loudest person in the crowd at every graduation ceremony. He had cried when you passed your boards, although he insisted a strong breeze had somehow entered the house and irritated both of his eyes.
The fact that James was not biologically related to you had never mattered.
There had been another man once.
Your mother had told you the truth when you were old enough to ask why your original birth certificate held a different last name. His name was Michael. He had been young, frightened, and inconsistent. He had tried to be a father for four years before deciding that signing away his rights was the best thing he could do for you.
Or the easiest.
Your mother had never said which.
James adopted you shortly after marrying her. Your last name became Daniels, and Michael became someone who existed only in a few blurred childhood memories you no longer trusted.
A man crouching to tie your shoe.
A scratchy cheek when he kissed you goodbye.
The smell of coffee.
A dark-haired figure walking through a doorway.
Sometimes you wondered whether those memories belonged to him or whether your brain had simply built a father-shaped shadow after learning one had once been there.
You did not hate him.
Hating someone required a kind of intimacy you had never shared.
You simply did not need him.
You already had a father.
“Y/N?” your mother prompted. “I’m going.” “You’re going to be wonderful.” your mother said. “You legally have to say that.” “No, legally I have to love you. Lying is optional.”
Your dad’s voice came through again. “Call us at lunch.” “I probably won’t get lunch.”
“Then call when you can.” “I will.”
You picked up the iced vanilla latte sitting in the cupholder and grabbed your tote bag from the passenger seat. “I love you.” “We love you too,” they answered together. You ended the call before either of them could give you another instruction. For a moment, you remained behind the wheel.
PTMC rose beyond the employee parking lot, all glass, concrete, and long rows of windows reflecting the early morning sky. You had completed clinical hours in busy emergency departments. You had worked through codes, combative patients, understaffed nights, and traumas that left blood drying in the grooves of your shoes.
You knew hospitals, but this was PTMC. The emergency department people whispered about in nursing-school clinical groups and praised during critical-care lectures. The place that received the patients other hospitals could not manage.
And this time, you would not be standing at the bedside waiting for someone else to make the final decision.
Your name would be attached to the assessment. Your orders. Your plan. Your mistakes.
You exhaled slowly and opened the car door. “Okay,” you whispered. “Let’s try to embarrass myself.”
The ambulance bay entrance opened directly into chaos.
A stretcher rushed past before you had fully crossed the threshold. Two paramedics spoke over one another as a nurse guided them toward a trauma room. A monitor alarmed somewhere beyond the central desk, followed by a voice calling for respiratory therapy.
You stepped instinctively out of the path.
“Good,” a woman said beside you. “At least you know not to stand in the doorway.”
You turned.
She wore grey scrubs with a white long sleeve beneath them, reading glasses pushed into her hair. Her expression held the specific weariness of a woman who had already solved six problems that morning and expected at least forty more.
“Dana Evans?” you guessed. “That depends. Are you Y/N Daniels?”
“Yes, that’s me” “Then I’m Dana.”
You shifted your coffee into your left hand and held out your right. Your tote bag promptly slipped from your shoulder. Dana caught the strap before it struck the floor. You stared at her hand. She stared at you.
“That’s a promising beginning,” she said. “Should I go back outside and try again?” Her mouth twitched. “No. We don’t have time.”
Dana moved through the department without appearing to rush, in a place where everyone else looked like they were participating in an evacuation. You tucked your bag beneath the desk and straightened your badge, quickly looking at the credentials following your name.
Y/N DANIELS, APRN, FNP-C, ENP-C
It’s amazing how much weight some letters can hold.
Dana gave you a tour of the unit. From where the supply room is, to which bathroom is the most secluded. “Trauma rooms are through there. Red pods take the sickest medical patients. Yellow is supposed to be lower acuity, although patients don’t care about color assignments. Triage is through those doors. Don’t let anyone sneak their way past you.”
Dana pointed towards a physician sitting at a workstation.
That’s Dr. Dennis Whitaker. First year resident.” Whitaker looked up at the sound of his name.
He was handsome in an unpolished sort of way, soft exhausted blue eyes, flushed cheeks, and thick brown curls that refused to stay where they belonged. There was nothing intimidating about him
Dana motioned him over. He stood quickly, caught his foot on the leg of his chair, and recovered with only a minor loss of dignity.
“Dennis, this is Y/N Daniels, our new NP.” “Hi.” He offered you his hand. “Welcome.”
“Thank you.” “Is this your first shift?” “Yes.” His entire expression brightened. “Oh, good.”
You laughed. “Why is that good?” “I’m not the newest provider anymore.” Dana looked at him. “You’re an R1. It has been a few weeks.” Dennis shrugged, “Feels like forever in here.”
You liked him immediately. There was something reassuring about his lack of polish. He did not perform with confidence he had not yet earned, and he did not seem ashamed of being new.
“What did you do before this?” he asked. “I did my emergency fellowship at Mercy, but I was a trauma nurse at Allegheny General before that.” you listed while smiling up at him. “Way more experience than I had before starting here then.”
A voice cut in from behind him.
“Whitaker still occasionally needs reminders.” A young woman approached in black scrubs, her dark hair pulled away from her face. She carried herself as though the department had been built to accommodate her.
Dennis glanced over his shoulder. “I haven’t needed a tube reminder in months.”
“I wasn’t talking about medical equipment, Huckleberry.”
You looked between them. The woman’s gaze shifted to you, swift and assessing. “New NP?”
“Y/N Daniels.” “Trinity Santos. R2.” There was pride in the title, as though she had earned every syllable. Her handshake was brief and confident.
Dana resumed walking.
Trinity followed without invitation. Dennis came too, abandoning whatever he had been doing at the workstation.
You suspected this was how the Pitt operated, people collecting into temporary groups until an emergency scattered them again.
“Mel’s an R3,” Trinity explained as you passed a physician speaking gently with an older patient. “She’s frighteningly nice, but don’t mistake that for weakness. McKay’s also an R3 and will probably talk about her lack of a love life with you.”
“Trinity,” Dana warned. “What? It’s useful information.”
“And you?” You glanced at her, “What should I know about you?”
Dennis made a small choking sound. Trinity’s eyes narrowed. You maintained an innocent expression.
After a moment, she smiled. “Very ambitious. Usually right. Occasionally underappreciated.”
“Frequently loud,” Dennis added. “Huckleberry.” “I’m only helping.”
Their bickering had the comfortable edge of familiarity. Trinity teased him because she knew exactly how far she could push; Dennis objected because that was apparently part of the routine.
A burst of laughter sounded from the opposite side of the department. Dana’s expression changed. Not quite an annoyance. Something closer to apprehension.
You followed her gaze.
A tall man in black scrubs stood beside a nurse, signing something on a tablet.
His dark hair had fallen messily across his forehead, slightly too long around his ears, and the sharp line of his jaw only made his bright blue eyes stand out more. He was lean rather than bulky, but the sleeves of his scrub top stretched around his arms when he moved, revealing just enough muscle to be distracting.
Even from across the department, there was something unfairly attractive about him. An effortless, slightly disheveled kind of handsome
He looked up. His attention found you almost immediately. The smile did not disappear. It changed.
Dennis noticed. “Oh,” he murmured. Trinity followed his gaze and rolled her eyes.
“What?” you asked. “Nothing,” Dennis said quickly. “Langdon,” Trinity answered at the same time.
The man handed back the tablet and walked toward you.
There was a slight hesitation in his stride that did not match his confident expression. You probably would not have noticed if you had not spent years watching patients pretend they were less frightened than they were.
“Dana,” he greeted. “Frank.”
His eyes moved to you. “You must be the new NP.” “Is it that obvious?”
“You still look hopeful.” You laughed and offered your hand. “Y/N Daniels.”
“Frank Langdon.”
His handshake was warm. Steady. He did not release your hand too quickly, but he did not hold it long enough to make the gesture uncomfortable.
“Welcome to the Pitt.” “Thank you.”
Trinity folded her arms. “Can you flirt somewhere that isn’t blocking the main corridor?” Frank glanced at her. “I’m welcoming a colleague.”
“You don’t smile at Whitaker like that.” Dennis looked alarmed. “Please don’t.”
Frank laughed. The sound held genuine amusement, but something vulnerable lived underneath it, almost relieved.
As though joking with coworkers was a skill he had once performed without thought and was now pleased to discover he could still do.
It piqued your curiosity. Why is everyone somewhat acting cautious around this R4? Why is he looking like he’s anticipating some snarky comment?
You expected arrogance from an R4. Instead, you found a man who seemed to be trying very hard to appear like he had always belonged there.
A nurse passed behind Frank without greeting him. He noticed.
The smile remained, but you saw the moment land. Then he looked back at you and it was gone.
“So,” he said, “first day?” “Yes.”
“Nervous?” “Horribly,” you said with a chuckle.
“Good.” You lifted an eyebrow. “That’s what Dana said.”
“We trained her well.” Dana gave him a look. Frank lowered his voice. “You’ll do fine. Nobody feels ready on the first day.”
There was no flirtation in those words. Only sincerity.
You smiled. “Thank you.”
Frank’s expression softened.
For one strangely quiet second, the chaos around you seemed to fade.
Then a man’s voice called from behind you. “Dana, has surgery called back about bed seven?”
Everyone’s attention shifted. Dr. Michael Robinavitch approached with a chart tucked beneath one arm and reading glasses hanging from his scrub collar.
You recognized him from the hospital website.
The photograph had not captured the exhaustion around his eyes.
Or the gravity.
Dr. Robinavitch was not particularly tall or physically imposing, but the department seemed to rearrange itself around him. Nurses intercepted him with questions. Residents watched for instructions. Even Frank straightened slightly, his earlier ease becoming careful.
“Not yet,” Dana answered. “I can page them again.”
“Page the attending directly.” His gaze moved over the group.
Dennis.
Trinity.
Frank.
Then you.
He stopped.
It was not recognition. You would have understood recognition. This was quieter and more confusing. His eyes stayed on your face as though some detail had disrupted a thought he could not afford to lose.
You suddenly became aware of everything about yourself. Your stiff new scrubs. The loose strand of dark hair near your cheek. The badge clipped crookedly to your chest.
“Robby,” Dana said, “this is Y/N Daniels. Our new nurse practitioner.” His gaze dropped to your identification.
Daniels.
The name meant nothing to him. You could see that much.
“Dr. Robinavitch.” You extended your hand. “It’s nice to meet you.” He looked down at it.
Then back at you. A brief, awkward pause passed before he accepted. His palm was warm, his grip gentler than expected.
“Robby,” he corrected. “Robby.”
Something moved across his face when you said it. Gone before you could understand it.
He began asking you questions about your experience, and where you went to school. Obviously trying to determine if you would survive in his ER and how much he would have to supervise you.
The questions came quickly, each one building upon the previous answer.
Frank shifted beside you. “Is this an interview?”
Robby did not look away from you. “I need to know what she can do.”
“You could also say hello.” “I did.”
“No, you told her your nickname and began an interrogation.”
You pressed your lips together to hide a smile. Robby noticed. His eyes flicked toward your mouth, then returned to your eyes.
There it was again.
That strange pause.
“Do you have a problem answering questions?” he asked. “No.”
“Good.” “You could ask whether I have any weaknesses,” you say looking up at him.
“Do you?” “Charting and authority figures with expressive eyebrows.”
Trinity choked back a laugh. Dennis stared at you as though you had just thrown yourself in front of a moving vehicle. Frank grinned.
Robby’s eyebrows lifted. You gestured toward them. “Those.”
For a moment, no one spoke.
Then the corner of Robby’s mouth moved. Barely.
“Dana will finish the tour,” he said. “You’ll start with lower-acuity patients. Present every case before ordering imaging or specialty consults.” “Understood.”
“If you don’t know something, ask.” “I will.”
“If you think you know something but aren’t completely certain, ask.” You nodded.
He glanced at Frank. “And if Langdon tells you a rule doesn’t matter, assume it matters.”
Frank placed a hand over his chest. “I’ve been back for months. How long am I going to be the cautionary tale?”
Robby’s expression changed. The humor vanished from it. “So far? Indefinitely.” The words struck more harshly than the moment deserved.
Frank’s smile remained for one extra second before slipping away.
The silence around you tightened.
Robby seemed to realize what he had done, but not quickly enough to take it back.
Frank nodded once.
“Good to know.” He turned away. “Frank,” Dana called.
“I have patients.” His response was light. He walked toward the opposite pod without looking back.
Trinity’s expression held no sympathy. If anything, something like satisfaction flickered across it. Dennis looked at the floor. You looked at Robby.
He had already closed himself off.
“Welcome to the Pitt,” he said to you. Then he followed Dana toward the charge desk. You watched him go.
“Is it always like that?” you asked quietly. Dennis rubbed the back of his neck. “No.”
“Yes,” Trinity said simultaneously. Dennis glanced at her. “It’s complicated.”
“It’s not that complicated.” “Huckleberry,” she warned herself before he could.
You looked toward Frank. He stood at a computer alone, his posture straight, expression composed as he opened a patient chart.
Someone passing him might have believed nothing had happened.
You knew better.
Robby had not thought about his daughter in months.
That was more often than the years before his breakdown, when he could go long stretches without allowing her to enter his mind at all.
He had become skilled at compartmentalization. Medicine rewarded it.
A patient died; another arrived.
A resident made a mistake; another needed teaching.
A memory surfaced; a pager sounded.
There was always something more urgent than regret.
Lately, regret has become less cooperative.
Robby remembered his daughter as a four-year-old.
Dark hair that never stayed in its ponytail. Brown eyes. A stubborn lower lip. The solemn way she colored, pressing crayons so hard they snapped between her fingers.
He did not know what she looked like now. Did not know where she lived. Did not know whether she attended college, married, had children, or ever wondered why her biological father had signed away the right to know her.
He had never searched. He told himself it was respect. It was mostly cowardice.
Y/N Daniels looked nothing like the woman that upheaved all his life plans at first glance. She had been fair-haired, green-eyed, and soft around the face.
Y/N’s hair was dark. Her eyes were chocolatey brown. Robby’s coloring.
The thought arrived without permission. He rejected it immediately.
Brown hair was common. Brown eyes were common. Pitt graduated hundreds of nurse practitioners and nurses. Daniels was an ordinary name.
Still, something about the woman had unsettled him.
Not her features. Her expressions.
The way she pressed her lips together before saying something she knew she should probably keep to herself. The laughter that reached her eyes before it escaped her mouth.
The slight tilt of her head when she challenged him. He had seen those things before. He simply could not remember where.
Dana appeared beside him at the central board.
“You were unnecessarily cruel.” Robby kept his attention on the patient list. “To whom?”
She stared at him. “Frank.” “He made a joke.”
“So did you. His stopped being funny first.” Robby’s jaw tightened.
“He knows the situation.” “He knows it better than anyone.”
“He needs accountability.”
Dana scoffed, “He has accountability. He also has a tracking agreement, mandatory meetings, random testing, a recovery program, a divorce, two children he barely sees, and half an emergency department that looks through him.”
Robby finally looked at her. Dana’s expression softened only slightly.
“You don’t have to forgive him,” she said. “But you should decide whether you want him to succeed here.”
“I do.” “Then occasionally act like it.” She walked away before he could respond.
Robby looked across the department.
Frank stood alone at a workstation.
Y/N was watching him. Then she turned and caught Robby looking.
Her eyes narrowed slightly. Questioning. Disapproving. Familiar.
Robby turned back to the board.
By the final hour of your shift, your feet hurt, your iced vanilla latte, had been replaced by a Celsius that you got from the vending machine, and the careful ponytail you arrived with was barely holding itself together.
You considered that a successful first day. You had not killed anyone. You had not cried in a supply closet. And you had only been corrected by Robby four times. Which according to Dennis, was practically a glowing performance review.
“You should’ve seen my first shift,” he told you as the two of you stood at a workstation, finishing notes before handoff. “I’m pretty sure he corrected me four times before eight in the morning.”
Trinity glanced up from the computer beside him. “And you were covered by like 4 different types of fluids.” “Santos!”
You smiled down at your chart, rereading the assessment for what had to be the sixth time.
Your last patient had been a seventy-two-year-old woman with dizziness, dehydration, and a urinary tract infection. Nothing dramatic. Nothing worthy of the trauma center reputation that had made your stomach twist that morning.
Still, you had presented the case to Robby carefully. You had explained your reasoning, anticipated his questions, and already had the answers waiting when he asked them.
He had stared at you for a moment after you finished. Then he had simply nodded.
“Good plan.”
Two words.
You had spent the following twenty minutes trying not to appear embarrassingly pleased by them.
“You know you can sign that,” Trinity said. You looked at her. “I’m checking it.”
“You’ve checked it.” “I’m making sure I didn’t miss anything.” “You didn’t.”
Dennis leaned toward you. “You’ll learn that Trinity only offers reassurance when she wants access to the computer.” “I need to finish my notes, Huckleberry.”
You signed the chart and stepped aside. Trinity immediately took your place.
The department had shifted around you as evening approached. The daylight staff moved with the tired urgency of people trying to leave before one final disaster trapped them there. Nurses gave report beside open charts. Residents hurried to finish notes. Patients continued arriving as though the hospital had not already taken everything the staff had to give.
A man in dark scrubs approached the desk, travel mug in hand.
“Jack Abbott,” he introduced himself. “Night attending.” “Y/N Daniels.”
His eyes briefly scanned your badge before he smiled. “First day?” “And hopefully not my last.”
Jack looked toward Robby. “She survive you?” “Barely,” you answered before Robby could. Jack laughed. “You’ll fit in fine.”
You gathered your bag and said goodbye, but Robby stopped you before you reached the doors. “You did well today.” Your smile appeared before you could hide it. “Thank you.”
You lifted a hand in goodbye and walked through the ambulance-bay doors into the evening air.
Robby watched until the doors closed behind you. He told himself he was evaluating a new employee. Nothing more.
But long after you had disappeared, an old memory rose with such clarity that it stole the breath from his lungs.
His daughter had been four years old, sitting on the kitchen counter while he struggled to fasten the tiny buckle on her shoe. She had been wearing a yellow dress. Her dark hair had escaped its ponytail, falling around her round cheeks as she watched him with complete seriousness.
“You’re not very good at this,” she had told him. He laughed despite himself. “I’m trying.”
Her little head tilted. Then she reached forward and pressed both hands against his cheeks, forcing him to look up at her.
“That’s okay,” she whispered. “You can try again tomorrow.”
He had promised her he would.
At twenty-three, Robby had believed tomorrow was an endless thing. There would always be another morning. Another chance to show up. Another opportunity to become the father she deserved.
Until one day, there wasn’t.
He could no longer remember what happened after that moment. Whether he finished fastening her shoe. Whether she hugged him goodbye. Whether he told her he loved her before he left.
He only remembered her smile.
Bright and sudden.
Reaching her brown eyes before it reached her mouth.
Now, staring at the doors you had disappeared through, he wondered what that little girl looked like grown.
I think it will be really interesting to explore this new dynamic, especially because we know Robby was abandoned by his own mother. Maybe part of him believed he would never be good enough for his daughter. Maybe he convinced himself that letting her be raised by her mother’s husband would protect Y/N from ever feeling the same kind of abandonment he did.
That does not make what he did right, but I think it adds another complicated layer to his choices and I am excited to dive into that.
Anywho, thank you so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed the first chapter. Hopefully, I am finally back to being active on Tumblr because I really, really want to be.
Dr. Jack Abbot x (female) reader | Dr. Jack Abbot x you
Summary: First days at work are never easy...
A/N:
(1) Her outfit for her first day
(2) I'm no longer updating the taglist because Tumblr has been glitching way too much lately. If you don't want to miss any updates, feel free to turn on notifications for my posts! <3
Link to "You stole my cart" master list (1)
Link to "You stole my cart" master list (2)
Previous chapter: Interlude: Whoa, woman, don't tempt me to commit a crime
--- --- ---
Your alarm went off at 6 a.m. You jolted awake, your hand already covering your vibrating phone, silencing it instantly. Your heart pounded against your chest and you felt a tight knot in your stomach.
The last thing you remembered was staring wide-eyed at the clock on the nightstand at 3 a.m. while Jack snored peacefully next to you, his body pressed against yours, his arm around your waist. You felt absolutely wrecked - the perfect start for your first day at work.
You turned around with a groan - and noticed that the bed was empty. The place where Jack had slept was still warm, but there was no sign of him.
You sat up, a little confused and listened. And then you could hear the faint noise of someone moving around the kitchen which made you smile. You gave yourself five more minutes of unadulterated panic then swung your legs over the edge and stood.
When you stepped into the kitchen Jack was already standing at the stove, making breakfast while wearing the cute ‘Kiss the Cook’-apron your mom had gotten him for Christmas. You sneaked up behind him and wrapped your arms around him, which made him jump.
“Jesus!” He dropped the egg he was flipping and turned around. “If you want to kill me make it less painful, okay?”
You grinned and pressed your face against his back. “No, I want to keep you for a little longer.”
He smiled. “Just because I made you coffee and breakfast?”
“Mhm.” You nodded. “You’re already completely transformed into a househusband. I kind of like it.”
“Oh, really? You like me being domestic and shit?” Jack replied in a low voice.
You let your hands travel from his waist to his stomach and his chest. “Mhm.”
“Damn. I should tell Robby I don’t just need this week off - I need a whole year. Can’t waste a chance if this is your kink.”
You started laughing. “Okay it’s way too early for this kind of talk. I’ll go take a shower and get dressed while drinking this coffee you talked about.”
Jack nodded. “And when you’re coming back we’re having breakfast.”
You smiled. “Sounds like a perfect plan.”
You had stood longer in front of your wardrobe than you would like to admit. Eventually you settled on a fitted moss-green blazer over a simple white blouse, dark tailored trousers and comfortable loafers. You wanted to go for professional without looking stiff. Exactly the kind of outfit that hopefully suggested you knew what you were doing even if you weren’t entirely convinced yourself.
Jack looked up as you stepped back into the kitchen. “Well…”
You glanced down at yourself. “What?”
“You look like someone who’s about to run the hospital.”
That made you chuckle. “I’m only one of the Facilities and Campus Planning Coordinators.”
“Today.” He looked you up and down, very seriously. “And tomorrow you’re going to run the hospital.”
“You’re crazy. And biased.”
“Absolutely.” He smiled. “Doesn’t make me wrong though.”
“Fine. Whatever.” You dropped yourself onto a chair, already reaching for a slice of bread.
Jack put some eggs on your plate. “Some over-hard eggs for you, just like you like it.”
You smiled, already chewing on the bread. “Thanks. But I’m not really hungry.”
“Oh, honey.” He put the pan away and put both hands on your shoulders. “Are you very nervous?”
“Um” you said with a shaky laugh, shrugging. “Yeah. I mean… yeah.”
He chuckled softly and pressed a kiss on top of your head. “I get it. But you really want to eat something before going into work. You don’t want to rely on that cafeteria.”
“What do you mean by that?” You stared at him.
“Well.” He shrugged and sat down next to you, reaching for the bread. “I had to eat a lot of MREs during my time in the army… and that was still better than whatever they serve in this cafeteria.”
Your eyes widened. “Are you serious?”
Before Jack could answer Lizzie padded sleepily into the room, wearing her little penguin pajamas, rubbing one eye with her fist. “Daddy.”
Jack glanced at his watch, then turned toward her. “Hey, good morning, bean. Why are you already awake?”
“Pancy” she whispered while she walked over to him. He lifted her onto his lap where she buried her face against his chest immediately.
“Oh, baby, we don’t have pancakes today. You can have some eggs? Or toast?” He pressed a kiss on top of her head.
She shook her head, still leaning against his chest. “No. Pancy!”
You chuckled softly. “Well, this seems like a great start to your day” you said in a low voice.
Jack winked at you. “We won’t let our lack of pancakes ruin the first day of our father-daughter-bonding week. Right, bean?”
She grabbed his shirt a little harder, shaking her head. “PANCY!”
You couldn’t quite hide your amusement. “Lizzie, do you want to come sit on my lap, having some of my toast?”
She shook her head again. “No. Daddy.”
“Seriously?” You blinked.
“DADDY!” She turned to look at you, her fist still grabbing Jack’s apron, her lower lip wobbling suspiciously. “PANCY!”
“Okay, wow, Lizzie, that’s a very emotional reaction to not having pancakes” Jack said with a chuckle.
But Lizzie wasn’t in the mood for joking. Her whole body started trembling as she started sobbing. Loudly. Jack cradled the back of her head, cooing softly at her, holding her tight. You finished your eggs and your bread, downed your coffee and stood.
“Okay, I’m going to get ready. You two okay here?”
Jack glanced down at the still sobbing Lizzie, nodding slowly. “Yeah, I think so. I’m her father, right? I can handle a couple of tears.”
Your face softened. “I think so, yeah.” You leaned down and kissed him, then gently stroked Lizzie's cheek.
It felt oddly unfamiliar to stand in front of the bathroom mirror, applying foundation and mascara with practiced movements that had once been part of your daily routine. Somewhere between pregnancy, maternity leave and spending most days with Lizzie, makeup had become something reserved for special occasions. And now you were putting it on because you were going to work. Because for the next month you would leave the apartment every morning and spend nine hours somewhere else.
It wasn’t that you wanted to work full-time - but you had agreed to work full-time for the first month while you were being trained before switching to mornings only. It still felt… enormous. Almost impossible. How had you ever done this before?
For almost two years your days had revolved around naps, meals and play dates. Now they would revolve around meetings, floor plans and construction schedules.
The thought alone made you feel dizzy.
You stood in the hallway, packing your bag - phone, wallet, keys, lunch (Jack had prepared some for you), water bottle. Then you checked it. And checked it again. Just to make sure.
Jack walked in, Lizzie on his hip. She had stopped crying but was now looking like she had been through hell. Her eyes were puffy and red, her hair stuck in every direction and her pajama was stained with something that looked like blueberries and peanut butter.
“You okay, sweetheart?” Jack gave you a reassuring smile.
“Mhm.” You checked your bag again. “I keep feeling like I’ve forgotten something.”
“You have.”
Your eyes widened. “What?”
He walked over and kissed you softly. “You forgot to breathe.”
You let out a laugh. “Wow, that was terrible.”
“But it worked.” He looked a little smug.
“Mhm. And you tamed the beast? The p-a-n-c-a-k-e-s incident was resolved?” You smiled then stroked Lizzie’s hair. “Want to cuddle mommy before she needs to go to work?”
Lizzie glanced at you for a moment, then pressed her face against Jacks shoulder again. “No.”
Your eyebrows shot up. “Okay. That was clear.”
Jack chuckled. “I think she’s in quite the mood today. But she’ll feel better once we’re getting ready to go to the Play Paradise thingy.”
“You’re really going to an indoor playground?” You let out a chuckle. “You have no idea what you’re getting yourself into.”
“Why?” He tilted his head. “I thought we could probably get some breakfast beforehand, you know, maybe some p-a-n-k-y - and then a couple of hours playing and then…” He shrugged. “See where the day will take us.”
“Probably right into hospital because those places are nasty as hell.” You laughed. “Dozens of children drooling and sneezing and coughing while touching everything.”
Jack stared at you. “But… but Donnie told me his kid loves it.”
“Of course his kid loves it. Kids do. It’s fun for them - a lot of sugar, bright colours, other kids… what’s not to love for them? For parents? Completely other story.”
Horror dawned on his face. “Why?”
You grinned and kissed his cheek. “You’ll see. Maybe I’m just looking on the dark side. Maybe you’ll have fun.”
“Mhm.” He lifted Lizzie higher on his hip. “You’re heading out?”
“Yeah.” You reached for your coat and the nervousness returned in full force. “Don’t want to be late on my first day.”
“Yeah.” Jack nodded, reaching for your hand. “And don’t forget - don’t park on Deck C.”
“Why?”
“Trust me. Don’t.”
You raised your eyebrow. “Um. Okay.”
“Park on Deck A or the roof.” He nodded along. “And the best coffee is just around the corner at YINZ Coffee. Try the oatmeal latte, I think you’ll love it.” He paused for a moment. “And probably get yourself some bagels too. They’re pretty good - and far better than anything you’ll get in the cafeteria. And try not to trip on the sidewalk, okay? It’s pretty uneven and-”
“Jack.” You chuckled softly, squeezing his hand. “I’ll be okay. But the coffee thing is very useful. Thanks. I’ll try it.”
He smiled. “Okay. And text me if you can, okay? I want to know how your day is going. And tonight we’re going to order Indian food.”
Your face lit up. “Really?”
“Really.” You smiled at each other for a moment. “Are you excited?”
You thought about it. Under all the nervousness and the guilt and the feeling of looming doom… there was a flicker of something. “Yes. Yes. I am.”
He squeezed your hand again. “Good.” Then glanced down at Lizzie. “Wanna say goodbye to Mommy, Bean?”
She shook her head, not even looking up. “No.”
“Wow.” You knew she was a toddler with unpredictable mood swings - and still, it hurt a little. You leaned down and pressed a couple of kisses on top of her head. “I love you, Lizzie. Have fun with Daddy today, okay? I’ll be back in time for dinner.”
She didn’t reply, just pressed her face more into Jack’s shoulder. He looked at you apologetic. “She’ll be fine.”
“Yeah, I know.” You grabbed your bag and the car keys. “Okay, I’m out. Have fun today, husband. I love you.”
He kissed you - probably a little longer than he usually would. “I love you too. And honey?”
“Hm?” You tilted your head. “What is it?”
“I’m so proud of you.”
You started smiling. The nervousness didn’t disappear. But suddenly it didn’t feel quite so heavy anymore.
The morning disappeared beneath introductions, paperwork, getting set up with IT hardware and passwords and being handed your very own badge. You couldn’t quite believe it - but now you were an official employee at the PTMC.
Your colleagues were friendly - giving you a tour of the campus, showing you your office and getting you up to speed with all the do’s and don’ts of the department.
Your head buzzed with all the new information but you also felt a glimmer of your old self coming through. Not the wife, not the mother - just you. It felt still strangely unfamiliar - and exhilarating.
Around ten-thirty someone knocked softly against your open office door. You looked up from the paperwork you were trying to familiarize your self with and saw a woman around your age, smiling at you. If you remembered correctly her name was Charlotte.
“Hey! I’m here to steal you for some coffee if you want to?”
You glanced around. “I’d love to - but am I allowed to?”
“I won’t tell if you won’t tell” she replied in a conspiring voice.
You laughed. “Good answer.”
Five minutes later you were sitting together in the cafeteria, holding two coffee cups.
“So…” She smiled. “How is your first day going?”
You hesitated. “It’s really good, just… unfamiliar. I think I need a couple of days to build routines.”
She nodded slowly. “Yeah, that’s quite normal. Especially after coming back from maternity leave. You have a daughter, right?”
“Yeah.” You smiled, your heart aching for a moment. “She’s eighteen months now.”
“Awww.” Charlotte smiled. “That’s such a lovely age.”
“It depends. This morning she didn’t want to say goodbye because her dad didn’t make her pancakes for breakfast.”
She laughed. “Been there.”
“You have kids too?”
“Yeah, I’ve got twins. They are four years old now. And my daughter will be two next month.”
You stared at her. “How are you still alive and how do you manage to look so put-together?”
Charlotte grinned. “I do what every mother does.” She shrugged. “I pretend.”
You erupted into laughter. Here was a woman - a successful woman, a mother, a colleague - who seemed to be managing it quite well. The knot in your stomach loosened another little bit.
“You know… I felt guilty all morning. I kept thinking maybe I should have stayed home.”
She simply nodded. “Yeah. But trust me - it gets better.”
You swallowed hard. “Yeah?”
“Yeah. You know - when I found out I was pregnant with my daughter I honestly thought my career was over. I loved my job. I loved my kids. They finally went to daycare and were happy with it. And I just couldn’t imagine how another child would fit into this picture.” She took another sip of coffee. “Turns out - it fit perfectly. I mean - don’t get me wrong. The PTMC isn’t perfect. Meetings still get scheduled at terrible times. People - often men - still forget daycare closes at five. My kids still get sick when I have deadlines.”
You laughed.
“But I’ve never once been made to feel like I had to choose between being a mom and having a career.”
You quietly stared into your coffee, taking a long breath. “Thanks. I… I needed to hear that.”
She reached over and squeezed your hand. “I know.”
--- --- ---
You wanna keep reading? - Next part is coming soon, I promise.
Summary: Your twin sister, the person you should be the closest with out of everyone you know, is the person you avoid the most. Despite you both looking the exact same, you were the complete opposite. One night, at your joint birthday dinner, she meets everyone you work with, including Jack Abbot. The same Jack who’s your closest friend, who you are in love with, the same Jack who doesn’t know you love him, and the same Jack who falls in love with her. You thought of why he loves her. What was so special about her? Because you worked with Jack every night. And both of their personalities couldn’t be more opposite. You know it’s not right to be jealous of her, of them even. But you do anyway. On their wedding morning, Jack finds a positive pregnancy test. The wedding doesn’t go ahead because Jack won’t marry a cheater.
And one day, your sister takes you out for a coffee to make amends, have a rant or God knows why. Abbot then receives a call to say the twins are in the ER. One is dead and the other one is alive.
Brain dump here
TW/Tags: Death, cheating, abortion, plot twist, reader has nickname: bug
Word count: 8.3k
Notes: I started writing this years ago as a book, wrote thousands and thousands of words with completely different characters, and I eventually gave up because who am I kidding about writing a damn book lmao
I’m so happy this idea is finally published, even if it’s a little mix of blurbs ❤️
@lacy1986 @peeekabo0 @all-my-faves-here
The family gathering
You arrive at your family’s estate for the annual family gathering and pull up just as Jack is getting out of his car.
“You’re early” he says teasingly, “you’re never early for family gatherings.”
“You’re the only one who knows I don’t like my family… please let’s keep this as our secret…”
“You feeling okay about this?”
“Me? Of course I am!” Tonight would be the night Jack and Megan would announce their engagement. “I can’t wait to celebrate the two of you.”
“Thank you, for being so supportive.” he gives you one of his soft smiles, the ones you adore but trying to hate, so you can move on.
You hum as you nod. He gestures for you to walk in first, and you miss the days where he would swing one arm over your shoulder without thinking. You miss Jack, your friend, who was always there for you.
“Ah, the love birds!” A loud exclaim from your grandpa gets everyone’s attention.
“Nope, wrong twin grandpa. It’s not Meg”
“You two look so alike.”
“Yeah… we’ve been told.” Looks like grandpa might need a memory check. “I’m gonna say hi to everyone.”
The sound of chatter and laughter fills the manor, and it gets even louder when the engagement is announced. Champagne starts flowing quicker than a waterfall, and before you know it everyone is drunk and dancing. Including you. Regardless of your sad and broken feelings, you are still happy because they are happy.
Hours of talking, eating and celebrating, you slip away quietly from everyone and walk out of the manor, down a path leading to the gardens. Your grandpa had built you a tree house when you were younger and it was your favourite spot. Still is. You and your bottle of wine climb up carefully, sitting just on the edge dangling your legs down. It was you and the crickets, and the sound of leaves rustling in the wind. You lose track of time, and you find yourself crying when you hear the sound of laughing and music spreading all across the gardens.
“HEY!” Someone below you was waving at you. You turn the light on in the treehouse and Jack was at the bottom of the treehouse.
“What are you doing here??” You quickly wipe your tears away, hoping he doesn’t notice.
“It got… a bit too much. Can I come up?”
“Yeah, just be careful of your leg, please.”
You watch as he climbs up carefully, and you help him steady himself as he steps onto the treehouse, holding onto his biceps. “This is beautiful” he says as he looks around.
“Grandpa made it. Again, what are you doing here? You should be celebrating.” You don’t want him here; that would be the correct and logical feeling, but you’re happy he is here with you.
“It got a bit much. Asking about the wedding and the talk of having babies and…”
“Sorry…” you murmur quietly, “what did Megan say?”
“She said kids will naturally come when they do… she can’t exactly say Jack is infertile now can she?”
“I mean that would end the conversation..” You were always brutal wth your words, and you told Jack his response about having kids should always be rude and awkward, so they learn their lesson and never ask again. “Does Meg know you’re here?”
“Told her I needed fresh air.”
You sit on the edge of the tree house in silence, looking at the dark grounds in front of you. You turn over to him, “are you happy, Jack?”
Jack is content and had convinced himself he is happy. Because Jack never thought he will find anyone that will love him, given all his darkness and demons, and hell, even marry him, knowing full well he can never promise them a child.
“I am yes.” You know he is lying but there is nothing you can do about it. You’ve seen Jack happy. You miss that sparkle in his eye. It had nothing to do with Meg, you hoped, but he didn’t seem ecstatic. He seemed content, but not happy.
“So what are you doing here?” he nudges you teasingly.
“Oh I keep getting asked when I’m getting married or I keep getting congratulated by mistake. So I escaped.”
“I’m glad I found you here.” Jack says softly, “I miss us”
“I’m still here, Jack. Still me.” You changed the moment they got together. You took a step back, from being around him out of respect to Megan. It felt like cheating — being in love with him when she also is.
“It’s just different now…”
“It’s only gonna get better! You’re officially gonna be family and if anything, we will be closer than ever.” A huge, terrible lie. You are gonna be even more distant now, so you can focus on moving on from this. From him.
He turns to face you, and that sparkle in his eye is back, “I hope so, bug, I hope so.”
“Maybe drop the nickname… after you get married.. you don’t want anyone saying anything inappropriate.”
“What I can’t use your nickname now? Seriously?”
You giggle at him, “just kidding. You keep calling me bug and I’ll keep calling you bunny.”
“Promise?”
“Of course”
“You’re lying to me”
“I’ll make you a promise on the wishing tree.”
“The wishing tree?”
You point at the tree trunk, that sat in the middle of the tree house, and Jack sees all sorts of drawings carved on it. There are names, initials, many hearts and much more. He gets up slowly and carefully, walks over to it. He runs his fingers alone all the drawings then picks out a card from his wallet and carves b&b on the tree. “We’re on the wishing tree, so no breaking us now.”
You let out a sad laugh, holding onto that promise like a lifeline, “Never, bunny, never.”
The rehearsal dinner
“If I get congratulated one more time I am going to scream.” You murmur to yourself, no thinking that anyone was next to you.
“And if I get asked one more time if we’re rushing this wedding because Meg is pregnant then I will also scream.” Jack stands by your side, looking at the crowd ahead. “Congratulations by the way.”
“Shut up Jack.” You nudge him playfully, “Congratulations to you too on the pregnancy, apparently. Where’s Meg?”
“Talking to her friends.” He points at the group of friends all sat around the table. ”I have a feeling they don’t like me.”
“Why the hell not?” You don’t know anyone that doesn’t like Jack.
“They keep joking about Meg and Charlie getting together and it’s.. not funny.”
“It’s childish. But that’s uh.. Meg’s friends for you.”
“Are they always that bad?”
“They’re rich kids who didn’t need to work a day in their life, and they’re not even grateful for it. Yeah it’s that bad.”
Jack chuckles, “what about you?”
“I moved in with grandma when I was sixteen so I have worked a day in my life actually. And I also don’t say inappropriate jokes so you can say…I am better than them.”
Jack tips his head back and laughs out loud and you join him too. You loved his laugh more than anything in this world, and you missed hearing it.
The wedding planner walks over to the two of you, with a big smile on her face, “it’s time to practice speeches, you love birds ready?”
“Oh I-“
Jack cuts in for you and saves you the trouble for having to explain yourself once again. “Wrong twin.”
She apologises and embarrassingly runs away to find the correct twin after Jack points at Meg who was sat awfully close to Charlie.
“I should dye my hair or something…” you murmur.
“Please don’t. I love your hair.”
You think to yourself, the more reason to dye or cut it.
It was another late night of drinking champagne for everyone else, except for you, because you were eager to get back to your apartment away from everyone once dinner ends. Just as everyone was wrapping up, you quickly said bye to your family and rushed out of the restaurant but Meg followed. “Hey wait up!”
“You okay?”
“It’s Jack” She says bluntly.
“W-What about him? Is he okay?”
“He isn’t feeling too great, do you think you can take him home?”
“Why.. why can’t you take him home?”
“My friends are all still here… and Charlie wants to go out after this so we’re all gonna head to a bar.”
You try not to look too angry but say bitterly, “Where’s Jack?”
You rush over to the toilet, push through the doors and start yelling his name. You feel a mix of panic and anger, expecting the worse.
“In here” a weak voice. “Door’s open.”
You slowly open the cubicle, not entirely certain of what state you were going to find him in. He's sat on the seat, his prosthetic is off, and his stump was red and raw. His eyes are half shut, with damp sitting on the edge of his hairline.
You slap one hand over your mouth and feel yourself get nauseous over how hurt he looks.
“Jack, I’m here; it’s gonna be okay.” You crouch down to his level and examine his stump. “How bad is it?”
“I’ve not taken it off uhh once… today. I had too much to drink and I can’t take my pain meds and uh..” he was slurring his words and not because he was drunk. You have seen him reach this stage, and he was in agonising pain more than anything.
“Let’s get you home. Okay? Do you think you can walk with the prosthetic just until we get to the car? I’ll hold you, I promise.”
He nods slowly. You help him put it back on, then slowly lift him up, slipping both of your hands under his armpits to steady him.
“Thank you bug” he whispers, “I’m sorry”
“Nothing to be sorry about, c’mon I’ll get you home.” With every step, he winces more and more in pain and your heart breaks for him. You feel that familiar nauseous feeling bubbling up in your stomach at how broken he looks.
Once you’re back at their house, you grab him the spare wheelchair and help him sit in it carefully. You carefully take the prosthetic off, watching his face as it relaxes a bit, “Let’s get you pain meds, then change and go to sleep. Hmm? I'll grab you some water."
You don't make it too far away before you start violently gagging, and you have to steady yourself on the counter so you don't collapse.
Jack mumbles, "you okay?"
"Yep" you give him a thumbs up, and freeze in position. One wrong move and you'd be throwing up all over the marble floors.
"Bug what's wrong?"
"Jack, give me a minute. I ate something bad at dinner." You let out a shaky exhale and focus on taking a deep breath in, hoping it'd calm the heat in your chest.
“I’m sorry” Jack murmurs, “I’m sorry you have to do this.”
“What are you talking about! That’s what friends are for!” That’s what wives are fore, actually. In sickness and in health, isn’t it? “I’ll always be there for you, Jack.”
“I’m sorry for everything”
“Jack what even are you talking about!”
“I just…”
“Let’s get you to bed." You walk back to him, forcing a smile, holding down nausea, "And more importantly, pain meds. You need to stay in bed all day tomorrow because when Sunday comes, you need to be able to stand for a long time, walk and dance, got it?”
You push the wheelchair to the bedroom, then slide two hands under his armpits and help him onto the bed. “Can you take your clothes off please, I’ll come back with pain meds and pyjamas.”
“I don’t deserve your help” Jack whispers, not looking at you, but instead he's staring down at his hands.
“Jack what even are you talking about!”
“You! What I did to you!”
“You didn’t do anything what are you even saying?”
“I know"
“You’re drunk and you need sleep. We’ll talk in the morning.”
“It all clicked in. Right this second. Fuck!"
“About what Jack.” You bite back.
“I know that you love me”
Silence follows for what felt like hours, but it was only a second or two. You feel stabbing pain in your heart — an awful feeling you don’t wish upon anyone. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I’m sorry I didn’t realise it earlier.”
“Jack stop!” You don’t mean to raise your voice but this conversation was ripping your heart to shreds. “Just go to sleep! Please!” Just- fuck!” You storm out of the bedroom, fighting for a breath that doesn’t come. Your hands on your mouth don’t silence the loud sobs that escape your lips. He knows. He fucking knows.
Jack stares at the carpets as he start taking of his shirt, then his trousers. By the time you return with a bottle of water and his pain meds, he’s still in the same exact spot.
“Meds. Drink.”
He doesn’t look at you once as he does what you ask of him. You grab him a fresh pair of pyjamas, and gently place it on the bed next to him. “Can you manage?”
“Uh yeah.. I should be fine.”
“I’ll be in the spare bedroom. Call me if you need me and your phone is next to you. Crutches are nearby too.” He notices how shaky and broken your voice is. Jack is well aware he has fucked up, terribly.
“I’m sorry again”
“I don’t need an apology Jack” you hate how vulnerable you look in front of him, “I need to know how you know.”
Jack eventually meets your eyes, and his are also tearing up. “You once told me that if you love someone so much, the thought of them getting hurt makes you physically sick. Like when you lost your grandma, you kept throwing up.”
“Shit.” You know exactly where he is going with this.
“And then when the bullet grazed my vest that day with SWAT and you helped clean up the wound… you-“
“I vomited yeah” the moment you saw him injured you vomited into an emesis bag and told him you had a stomach bug.
“For two days straight, all you did was vomit repeatedly.” He came over with meds and to check on you. And he didn’t leave your side. “And for two days straight I believed you. And you didn't eat anything bad at dinner. That's a lie.”
Fuck.
“I couldn’t tell you Jack. I’d be destroying your life and Meg’s.”
“I messed up” Jack whispers as he looks at you and cries quietly, “I really really messed up.”
“We- we can’t okay? We can’t talk about this. Not like this and not now.”
“Bug wait please-“
You ignore him as you run out of the bedroom, calling Meg to tell her she needs to get home and take care of her husband to be. You had your own crisis to deal with, which was getting through the wedding day so you can come up with an escape plan, that doesn’t involve being here, near him.
The wedding day
Jack woke up in the manor, in a bedroom he was assigned so him and Meg separate the night before the wedding. He was nervous, excited, happy but also sad for you having to go through this. You’ve ignored his calls and texts, and eventually he respected your wishes by leaving you alone. He blocked out any thoughts of what ifs and focused on him and Meg. Because that’s the right thing to do, isn’t it?
You, Meg and her best friend who was also the maid of honour were up from early hours getting ready in your own suite. “Champagne?” One of the butlers ask. You politely decline and to your surprise Meg declines it too.
“You feeling alright, Meg?” She doesn’t seem like herself; for someone who is getting married, you’d think she would at least smile. But instead, she looks like she was about to run away.
“Just tired, and nervous.” One thing about her was she was not a nervous person. You have seen her in difficult situations, and she was always so confident.
“Why don’t you give Jack a call? Maybe that’ll help ease your nerves?”
“God no” she chuckles nervously and you frown at how bitter she sounds.
A while later, Jack pops over to his and Meg’s suite to grab the wedding scent Meg had picked out for him. He already texted you to make sure that she’s nowhere to be seen so he doesn’t see her before the ceremony. He walks into the bathroom, opens the drawers trying to find this so called perfume but it’s nowhere to be seen. But he does see something.
Something he never thought he’d ever see.
He thought his eyes were betraying him at first. Maybe it was the tiredness or the nerves.
He grabs a clean tissue and leans into the bin, picking up a pregnancy test that’s been wrapped in plenty of tissues.
He holds the positive pregnant stick in his hand.
No one else had stayed in this room but Meg. No one.
“What the fuck is this!” Jack storms into the suite where Meg was getting ready.
“Jack” you run toward him, trying to push him out of the room. “Get out you can’t see her!”
He yells loud enough for the entire manor to hear, “answer me!”
“What’s going on?” You say cluelessly, looking back at her.
Jack waves the stick in the air, his face is red and his lips are trembling. He wants to be wrong, wants to be told that it’s someone else’s. But his gut feeling is never wrong, and guilt is all over her face, “congratulations, you’re gonna be an aunt.”
“Meg…?” You say quietly as you look at her, “please say something.”
But her silence told you everything you both needed to know.
The aftermath
“Jack can you get up please” you’re standing by the spare bedroom door at your apartment, “we’re going out for the day.”
“No we’re not” He mumbles sleepily.
“Yes, we are.” You say firmly, “and you’re gonna get your ass out of bed, right this second.”
“Just leave, please”
“GET UP!” You yell, “right now! I’m sick of whatever this phase is!”
“It’s called being sad” he bites back, “have some sympathy”
“Fuck you, Jack” you spit out, you’ve been nothing but supportive. “It’s been weeks of you just moping around and staying in bed all day and night. I’ve done nothing but give you sympathy!” You yell loudly, “so this next phase is being called tough love, get the fuck up! Now!”
He doesn’t respond, instead he pulls the duvet over himself and sinks deeper into the bed. “Fine then. You have 48 hours until you move out. Go live with someone else.”
You close the door behind you loud enough for the bed to shake, and storm into the kitchen. In an attempt to make a calming hot drink, in a rush and angry, you break the mug and it shatters all over the kitchen sink. “Great. Just wonderful” you say sarcastically as you look at the glass. In another attempt pick the glass up, you cut your finger open.
“What happened!” Jack opens the door quickly, with cutches supporting him on either side, “did you hurt yourself?”
“Why the hell do you even care?” You’re now crying, and not because you’ve cut yourself. You’re crying because you need your friend back.
He says a bit more firmly now, “did you hurt yourself?”
“Fuck off Abbot.”
“I’m sorry” he doesn’t sound sympathetic enough.
“Not good enough! I’m trying to help you but you’re being an asshole! And now I broke a mug and it’s all your fault!”
“I don't know how to move on from this”
“And I am trying to help you but instead you’re biting back like a snake! And not even a cute one!”
He moves over to your side, looking at the cut on your finger. “I forgot you think snakes are cute. Here, let me take a look.”
“Are you seriously trying to lighten up the mood right now?” You groan, “get your ass dressed we’re going out for the day!”
“Where to?”
“To look at apartments for you. It’s time for you to move out.”
“Okay but first can I look at the cut?”
“Fine” you huff and he reaches for your hand, looking at the very superficial cut.
“I’ll get you a plaster, then we’re going out for the day.” He smiles softly, “it’s time for me to make it up to you.”
You feel a tiny flutter in your chest and you hope that this might be the beginning of rebuilding your friendship. With your Jack, the happy Jack.
Families and feelings
To say things were awkward between the family members, Meg and you were an understatement. Everyone sat around the large table, awkwardly tapping, waiting for someone to say something. There was no need for you to be here, but your mom insisted you’d come along.
Your dad begins calmly speaking, “we need to talk about want happened. We can’t all pretended that everything is okay. You threw your life away for who — someone like Charlie?”
“Don’t talk about him that way!” Megan bites back, “he loves me!”
“Are you stupid!” Your mom is now yelling, “are you seriously trying to defend him? You got knocked up - what are you 15?!!”
“I got rid of it” she whispers.
Your jaw drops wide open as does everyone else’s.
“You did what?” Your dad is now nowhere near calm. “You got rid of it!”
“Yes I did!” She cries out, “let me do what I want!”
“I think we should all calm down…” you say quietly, “it’s her decision at the end of the day.”
“Who are you to say anything!” Your mom snaps and your dad ushers for her to calm down. “You’re still friends with Jack!”
“He did nothing wrong” you hiss back, “and he was my friend before any of you ruined it!”
“The question is why are you still friends with him?” She says rudely.
“He’s my friend and my colleague. And may I remind you again that he did nothing wrong. It was your daughter that cheated on him!”
“Stop being a bitch” Meg cries out, “you should be on my side”
“The fuck would I do that for?” You push off the chair, and decide that this meeting along with everyone else can simply go to hell. Not even a few minutes in, and they’ve dragged you into it. You’ve done nothing wrong — if anything you’ve been nothing but supportive to everyone including Megan. You hear them yell your name but you want nothing to do with them, for a long, long, time.
You drive back to your apartment, feeling more heartbroken than anything at how messed up this situation is. Meg ruined everything for you, and not in a way anyone would expect. Jack on the other hand was being way too nice to you, because he’s still crashing in your spare bedroom. Spirit wise, he was doing somewhat okay.
But it doesn’t help that you’re still madly in love with him, and your love doesn’t seem to be going anywhere. You decide that today will be the day you finalise your escape plan.
You walk into the apartment, your angry mood was too obvious to ignore.
“How bad was it?”
You don’t say a word as you sit next to him the sofa.
“Bug?”
“I got called a bitch”
“What the hell for!”
“For being your friend.” You whisper.
He doesn’t reply; instead, he pulls you toward him, wrapping himself around you as you sob against his chest.
“Hey,” he murmurs, voice warm against your hair. “Breathe with me, Bug. In… and out. That’s it.” He doesn’t let go, even when your tears soak through his shirt. Instead, he moves slightly so you’re tucked more comfortably against him.
Minutes pass, and eventually your cries turn into tiny hiccups, and Jack moves back, just enough to look at you. "You didn’t deserve any of that." His thumb brushes against your cheek, wiping your tears away. "You're the only one who's had my back these past few weeks..."
"You’re the one whose life got turned upside down. I’m just… here."
"You're not just here," he replies firmly, "I don't know what I would have done without you."
"I'm sorry you're having to take care of me now. I should be the one-"
He cuts you off gently, hugging you closer. “We take care of each other. That’s what we do.”
You close your eyes and breathe him in, pretending that the line between your friendship and something more isn't a dangerous line to cross.
He presses a soft, completely innocent kiss to the top of your head, “Get some rest if you need to. I’ve got you.”
And you do. You let yourself melt into him and fall into deep sleep.
The accident
“Ready to go home bug?” Jack stepped on the roof and found you in his spot. Hit spot has now become your spot, just like everything else in your life. He’s become the only person you talk to, and care about. Meg on the other hand was constantly on your case, wanting to speak with you. You can’t forgive her, not yet. Not for what she did to your friend.
'“Uhh yeah I think so” you say quietly, looking at the sunrise in the horizon. “Im meeting Meg later today, Jack. She’s the last person I ever want to see.”
“If I forgave her then you can too.”
“I’m not ready for that…” you whisper, “I’m not ready for anything.”
Jack puts one hand on your back, and you hate how loved you feel just by a simple touch. “I think I want a break, for all of this.”
“Like a sabbatical leave?” He asks, hoping you don’t say what he thinks you’re about to say.
“No, as in leave somewhere far away.”
“Away from me?”
You chuckle bitterly at how broken he sounds. You can’t keep trying to fix him, and breaking yourself in the process. “I need to heal”
“To get over me, you mean.”
You weren’t sure if you would be able to get over him, even if you cross continents and oceans.
“What if I leave instead?”
“What? Are you mad Abbot?”
“I might be the problem to all your issues. So I’ll simply go if you want me to.”
You shake your head quickly and wipe the tears away, “let’s talk about this later. I’ve gotta go home change and meet her.”
“Bug please-“ Jack says softly, “I’m sorry for everything. For what I did and for dragging you into this. I’ve been so selfish — not grateful in the slightest.”
”It’s okay Jack” you mutter. Your love for him has clouded every decision you needed to make these last few months.
“But it’s not okay. I’ve been a terrible friend. An awful one actually. But from today onward, I will make it up to you. I promise.”
You give him a small smile and a nod. He has been making it up to you, but showing you just how much he truly cares about you. But it didn’t help that the more he did, the more love you felt for him. He swings one arm around you as he leads the way home.
Meg picks you up 45 minutes later than planned, without a single caring though about him, especially since she knows you’ve just worked a 14-hour shift.
She was angry from the start, ranting about the family arguments and Charlie of course. You truly couldn’t care less of what she had to say, but one thing you cared about was her frantic driving.
“Stop the car, we’re swapping”
“No!” She yells like the spoilt brat she is.
“Stop the fucking car!” You yell louder, feeling yourself panic at how crazy she was driving. You let out a scream just as she swerves the car aggressively, and eventually she stops abruptly in the road. “You’re driving like a manic, Meg!” You step out of the car and walk over to her side. “Get out!”
She huffs in anger and eventually agrees to swap with you. She then tells you that she had started antidepressants and they were making her drowsy, and was advised not to drive. She talks more about Charlie, who is now wanting to break up with her. Your patience was running low, and you had no more fucks to give.
“You’re an idiot.” You mumble, “what the fuck were you thinking getting behind the wheel!”
“Don’t be a bitch.” She bites back, “I wasn't thinking. I never think, apparently!”
“Yes that’s right Meg. You only think of yourself.” You shake your head in disappointment and focus on the road ahead. “You need to start therapy, focus on yourself and moving forward from this. Got it?”
You don’t react quick enough when she reaches over to you and pushes your head to the side. “Don’t tell me what to do!”
You yell at her to stop. “Meg stop! You’re gonna get us killed!”
“Let me out!” She yells as she tries to open the locked door.
You try and hold onto her hands, trying to calm her erratic behaviour down and your immediate thought is she’s got to be going through a psychotic episode. She fights you back and you truly try your best not to crash but there was no stopping the car from heading onto oncoming traffic as she grabs onto the wheel.
Jack receives a call that he never once thought that he will ever receive. A phone call from Dana, telling him to get over to PTMC as quickly and safely as possible. “There’s been a crash” she says, trying to steady her voice but Jack is familiar with this exact tone of voice.
“Who! Which one!”
“They were both in the car, Abbot.”
He doesn’t ask for any more details as he rushes over to PTMC, forcing himself not to feel a singular emotion until he sees you, safe and sound. You have to be safe, right? Because it was a simple car ride with your sister. What could go wrong?
Not even fifteen minutes later, he charges through the ambulance bay doors, looking somewhat composed. He pushes down the nauseating feeling that’s bubbling up in his chest. “Where is she?” He rushes over to Robby, “Robby where the hell is she!”
“Meg’s in trauma one”
“Not her! I couldn’t care less about her!”
“She-“ Robby chokes on his words, “Jack it was a bad accident”
“No” he shakes his head frantically, looking at all the sad faces staring back at him, “no, it can’t be. Right? She went out for a coffee with Meg! Where is she!”
“Jack, she didn’t make it.”
Jack’s POV
The family gathering
Jack looks around the crowded room, looking for you. He saw your uncle do something incredibly funny and was desperate to tell you about it. He told Meg what happened, but she frowned and told him to stop being silly. He wished she had the same sense of humour as him.
The buffet food was your worst nightmare; Jack knew that you’d be too anxious to eat finger foods in a crowded room. So he filled his plate up, and another one, picking multiple of the same dish, then sat next to you at the table. Meg was nowhere to be seen, of course.
“Wow you’re hungry.”
Jack chuckled at the way you pulled both plates toward you, “Meg told me to watch my figure.”
“Fuck off seriously?”
Jack shrugged; Meg was a bit bossy. “They're both for you, a bit of everything. I know how anxious you get.”
“Why do rich people always insist on the smallest portions? I don’t need a burger the size of a cherry tomato. Then people judge you when you pick two of everything.”
“That’s why I grabbed five tiny ones.”
“What would I do without you bunny?”
“Go hungry by the looks of it.”
Jack's catch-up with you didn't last very long before he got pulled away for more champagne toasting. When he looked back at you, you were already gone.
He cut many of the conversations short so he can get out of the room. It was getting too claustrophobic, and the talk of having children was too inappropriate and heartbreaking. So he eventually escaped and walked down a path in the gardens until he saw a familiar figure sitting in a tree house.
He didn’t realise how much he was smiling when he realised it was you. For the first time that evening, he felt like he could breathe and be himself. Jack knew that you had been crying, but he didn't question it, instead he sat with you on the treehouse until he heard you laugh and felt you relax.
And when he made that wish on the wishing tree, about not separating the two of you, he also wished that you’d find your happy ending and never have to be upset ever again.
The rehearsal dinner
Jack sat in a toilet cubicle, fighting off the dizziness that has now literally knocked him off his feet. He’d taken the prosthetic off, which gave him no relief.
He was reminded once again how lonely his pain and this part of him were.
That no one is coming here to help him, and despite the alarm bells ringing in his head on why his future wife isn’t bothering to help, he ignored it.
He called Robby for help but he didn’t pick up. He wanted to call you, but he reminded himself that he wasn’t your responsibility. Only Meg’s.
And when he heard your voice in the bathroom, he felt a tiny flicker of hope in his heart that someone out there cared about him.
He found comfort in your touch when you helped him to the car, helped him sit in, drove home with no complaints and took his prosthetic off. Because all Jack wanted was to be reminded that someone out there cares about him, and all of him, including his disability.
He then saw something. He noticed how you held down a wave of nausea, and something inside of him flickered.
He had seen you like this before, once. He remembered what you told him, about losing someone you love very much. He knew that you loved him as a friend, but he didn’t think you were in love with him until he saw the look of fear in your eyes. The same one when you attended to his gunshot wound.
Jack then knew that he deserved the pain because of the pain he had been causing you. Being here, taking care of him, marrying your twin sister.
It was too late, because even Jack knew that there was no backing out of this marriage now. Jack convinced himself he was happy.
But when Meg returned home later that night after you called her, and helped Jack settle in bed, Jack found himself missing you and your touch and no one else in the world.
Jack hated himself for how he felt.
The wedding day
After Jack confronted Meg about the pregnancy test, she yelled and cried like the brat she was and told him it was Charlie's.
He wasn't sure how to feel -- was he sad? angry? anxious? Dare he say, relieved?
But Jack was all the above. He threw the test on the floor right in front of her feet, and stormed out. Less than half an hour later, he packed his car and hoped he never have to see this manor again.
“Come back to my apartment.” He turned around and saw you run out to him.
“No” Jack wanted to be far away from you, because you had your own issues to deal with. “I need- I need to leave.”
“Jack please don’t leave. Me. Don’t leave me!”
It broke his heart how you pleaded and cried as he got in the car about to drive off.
"Please don't. You're my friend. Where are you even going!"
He took your house keys and drove there as quick as he could. He was only doing this for you, and only you.
You follow an hour later, with two pizzas in hand and a pack of beer.
Jack’s world may have fallen apart, but you sitting next to him, force-feeding him pizza, watching yet another action movie that you didn't understand the plot of, made everything a tiny bit easier.
Jack went to bed that night, knowing that he had you to wake up to the next morning.
He didn’t care that you looked just like her.
Because you were you.
You were his friend.
And you were here with him, safe. And that was all he wanted.
The aftermath
Jack woke up every morning after the wedding-day-that-didn't-go-ahead and reminded himself that he was an idiot. He should have never believed that someone like him would deserve love and happiness from someone like Meg, or anyone for that matter.
He fell into a sinkhole that he couldn't climb out of, despite your help, pleas, and begs. He spent most of his days and nights in his bedroom, tossing and turning, trying to understand the complexity of everything he was feeling. He was sad that he wasn't a married man, confused why he was sad because he realised how little Meg loved him, understandably angry for what she did but also somewhat relieved. He was relieved that Jack could finally go back to his old, simple, lonely life.
It was only when you threatened him to move out that he got out of bed. Because losing you meant losing the last part of himself that lived, and he would never do that to you. So he promised himself that he was going to swallow his sad feelings and do better for you.
Families and feelings
Jack wanted to set the world on fire, along with the people who hurt you. Because having you in his arms like this, crying when you did nothing wrong, was excruciating. He wished he could take revenge on them, right this moment, but that meant more trouble for you.
So he kept you in his arms that night and every night. Whatever you asked of him, he did it. He never felt like he was good enough for you, so he tried to do better every day.
He promised himself that until the day he died, he was going to worship the ground you walked on because only you mattered. The person that loved him from the start, who supported him through thick and thin, and the person who always showed up.
Jack decided that he did not want to label how he felt for you except this: you were his person, and his whole heart.
The accident
“Fuck off” Jack shakes his head again and a nervous smile breaks across his face, “you can’t be serious right now?”
“The car caught fire almost instantly and-“
“Where is she!” He pushes Robby out of his way and runs over to the trauma rooms, still hoping you’d be in one of them, alive and safe.
“Trauma two” Robby follows. “Jack, they both have extensive facial injuries, including burns, just be prepared-“
He stops listening to Robby the moment he walks into the room. The body on the bed was unrecognisable.
“No” he repeats to himself as he walks over to the body, “you can’t be- no she can’t be! Robby she can’t be dead!”
“Jack it was pronounced on the scene”
“Maybe it’s Meg. Maybe this one is Meg. They look the same and dress the same and you can’t tell who it is!” He looks at the body, hands shaking as he takes the hand in his.
“Jack we ran some tests, we did everything we could-“
“No!” Jack cries out, “she can’t be dead Robby! She was with me this morning! She was with me, at home she was safe and she was okay!”
“I’m so sorry”
He takes the hand in his, and starts whispering to himself, in complete shock and denial, “I’m here bug, I’m right here. Okay? I’m never leaving you. Ever”
“Jack…”
“You can’t leave me, not yet, I was supposed to go first not you” Jack says softly, leaning over the body, “this is just a nightmare and it’s all gonna be over soon, okay?”
“Abbot please-“ Robby cries as he puts one hand on his shoulder to move him away, “let’s get some air”
“This can’t be happening” Jack shakes his head, convinced that this was just another nightmare, and that his best friend was not dead.
“I’m really sorry Jack I know how close you two were and-“
“I want to see Meg” he spits out, gently placing the hand back on the bed. “I want to see her now”
"They're still working on here and-"
He changes out of the room, opening the doors into trauma one. “You fucking bitch!”
Santos, Langdon and Perla are all looking at him with shocked expressions on their faces — they have never see Abbot behave like this. “it should be you that’s dead! You don’t get to live!”
Robby attempts to pull him out of the room but no amount of power was going to stop Jack and his broken heart from leaving this room calmly, “it’s not fucking fair! None of this is fair!”
“Calm down!” Robby yells back, “she’s not doing too good either!”
“I hope the bitch dies” he spits out, looking at the unrecognisable body on the bed, “She deserves hell for everything she did to us. Hell!”
The panic attack comes on strong for Jack, the worst one he’s ever had. Once reality hits him that he will never be able to speak to you, that the body in trauma two will never wake up, that he will never hold you or love you, he crashes. Everyone’s faces in the room suddenly go blurry, and he feels incredibly small compared for them. He tries to fight for a breath but it doesn’t come. Robby says something to him but he brushes him off. He doesn’t remember the minutes that follow, but he finds himself sitting on the ground outside the hospital staring at traffic. Robby finds him eventually, but he doesn’t say anything; instead, he sits next to him on the ground and puts one arm around him. His loud sobs echo all across Pittsburgh. He had his heart broken too many times, but this one… this one he will not survive.
The unsaid
Jack sits by the ICU bed, staring at the body on the bed that’s covered up in bandages from head to toe. He hates that he’s in this room. Hates that he’s feeling sorry for Meg. Hates that he should be grieving you, instead he’s here with her. The person who took you away from him, made him fall in love with her then broke his heart.
Jack hates his life and there was no coming back from this feeling.
“I have so many things I want to tell you” Jack says quietly, “and they’re not very nice things I can assure you that. You broke my heart once, and I didn’t think you’d do it again.”
“You took her away from me. My best friend and the only person who ever truly cared about me. You took her away from me, and that’s something you will live with for the rest of your life!”
He closes his eyes and tries to calm himself down, reminding himself this is still a hospital and he should act caring, otherwise he’d get kicked out. “There’s a very fine line, almost invisible to the eye, between love and hate. I thought I loved you, but I am so wrong. You pushed me over that line so easily, and I will hate you for the rest of my life.”
A few minutes of silence, then he continues,
“Bug loved me for who I am, and I am so stupid for not seeing it earlier. I’ve been so stupid this whole time, falling for someone like you. When it should have been her. It was always her.”
He leaves the room, back to your apartment and doesn’t return for another days.
He had nowhere else to live, so he stayed here and took over the lease. He couldn’t let your space go, or all of your things. He slept in your bed and cried himself to sleep every single night.
He spent days of wanting to call you but you were never going to pick up the phone.
Days of planning revenge on Meg, but that doesn’t last long because Jack isn’t a bad man. He’s a sad and broken one.
He eventually returns to the ICU room, this time promising himself that he will not get angry. The nurse in the room tells him the good news, that she’s making progress. He forces a smile, but deep down he couldn’t care less. He wasn’t sure why he keeps coming back here, but he has so many things unsaid that needed to come out, otherwise it was going to eat him alive.
“I miss my best friend, Meg. I miss bug. I miss talking to her, I miss having her at work. I miss our rants to each other. Her smile and her soft giggle. I miss our breakfasts together. I miss the way she’d boss me around, telling me when to take a break when I should have been the one to tell her that.” He continues, his broken voice filling the room, “I decided that one day I might forgive you, but not yet. Not so soon. The funerals been arranged for her, and I have to attend, to say my final goodbyes.” He smiles nervously again, “your mom planned it all and I just know she hates everything about it…”
He feels himself starting to get angry again so he tries to slow the hammering of his heart down, but he fails. He wants to be angry, because he doesn’t want to feel any other emotions. He doesn’t want to be sad, because sadness won’t bring his best friend back.
“I keep telling you how much I hate you but now I’m going to tell you how much I love bug. Oh I’m so stupid for not telling her sooner. We would have been so happy, but I fell under your charm like an idiot. I love her so incredibly much and it took for her to die for me to realise it. I wish you could hear me because what I’m about to say won’t ever be repeated. If I had a time machine, Meg, I would have refused to meet you. I would have told bug that she’s the only person I ever need in my life. Her and only her. Even if she doesn’t want me to be more than just a friend, I’d still be there for her. I love her with all my heart, and I wish I had told her sooner. ”
Jack moves up from the chair slowly, “when you’re awake, we will talk. And I’m not going to be nice I can assure you that. You’re going to live the rest of your life feeling nothing but guilt!”
The nurses outside the rooms can now hear Jack yell, and security is instantly called in.
“I love her and I don’t want to live a day without her! I shouldn’t be here and either should you. She should be the only one that’s happy, because she deserves to be happy. Deserved. Past tense because she’s dead Megan! She’s fucking dead!” He cries out, “You should have never been driving. It was there on your fucking chart! You deserve hell and I hope you find it, in this life and next!”
Security grabs hold of Jack and pulls him out of the room. He’s mumbling gibberish at them, trying to fight them off, but he immediately goes still.
Jack doesn’t want to fight anymore. Jack’s too tired for any of it. Because why would he fight? Who is he fighting for?
He brushes everyone off him and leaves the ICU, with one intention in his mind. If you’re not here then he shouldn’t be here. It’s as simple as that.
He finds his favourite spot on the roof, the same spot you stood at not even a week ago. The same spot you two first opened up to each other after a bad shift.
The first shift he admired you. The first shift he asked you if you wanted breakfast after work.
The same spot he came back to after a bad shift, and you followed to check in on him.
He cries because he’s fucked up. He fell in love with the wrong person but was he truly in love? What was he feeling? Jack doesn’t know what he was feeling and he doesn’t care anymore.
His phone buzzes in his pocket many, many times and he doesn’t bother to pick it up. Whoever was calling had nothing important to say. If it wasn’t you calling then it doesn’t matter.
He wonders if it’s fucked up that he stands in the same exact spot where your friendship started, and his earthly love for you will end.
He hopes and prays that wherever he goes to next, he’d het to see your beautiful smile once more.
His phone rings one more time and he angrily picks it up, “Robby not now!”
“Jack” Robby’s voice is shaky, “where are you?”
“I’m busy we’ll talk later-“
“Jack listen to me there’s- fuck.” … “There’s been a mistake.”
Oh.
Oh.
“What are you talking about?”
“She’s awake, she’s asking for you.”
“I don’t care-“
“Bug’s asking for you, mumbling something about a wishing tree.”
A / N ౨ৎ I saw you guys rlly liked my other frank one,,,so here you guys go..ill be making another dennis one too cuz his lowk flopped,,, and im actually writing something so 👀👀👀 stay tuned,,
C / W ౨ৎ frank being down bad, small written part (WC: 211), r being sassy, slight spoilers for langdon's story line, hella flirting between r and langdon, mentions of robby, santos, and mel, implied black reader but can be read as anything u want <3, intentional misspelled words in texts (r), a little tiny tiny bit of angst (?), r and frank have a moment <333
enjoy sexcs <3
Frank sighed as he finally came home, opening the door and slipping off his shoes hastily as his little girl, Penny, barrels into his knee.
“Papa! You're home !” she squealed in delight. Like she wasn't just giving her mom a hard time about not wanting to get into the bath.
“Yes penpen, im home. Were you being good for–”
“No, she wasn't being good for mommy.” you interrupted him as you turned the corner from the hallway with water all over your shirt.
“Oh no…what did she do?” “refusing to take a bath. She was being good alllll day.. Then bathtime rolled around and she started pitching a fit.” you sighed as you adjusted your little boy, tanner, on your hip.
“Well. daddy’s home and that means.. You’re getting a bath stinky.” “nooooo!!” Penny shrieked as Frank picked her up and flipped her upside down and carried her to the bathroom as Tanner giggled at the sight.
“Welp. we gotta make dinner huh, tanner?” You said with a smirk as you walked to the kitchen to start up dinner so it could be ready by the time Penny was done with her bath.
You loved this little life you and Frank built. You and Frank wouldn't trade it for the world.
Bio: Tensions rise between you and Frank. The thin line between casual and love is pushed.
— Cheating! Read at own risk. 18+!!!. Read part ONE and TWO. On-going series.
It’s not like you plan it.
When you keep finding yourself in empty wings, backseats or quiet stairwells, you tell yourself it’s an accident. You don’t assess when the chairs grow quieter on occasion in the afternoon and make a loud exit to the unused floor of the hospital. You don’t make eye contact with Frank when you go. You don’t press your back against the wall waiting for him to meet you with baited breaths.
You certainly don’t sit in your car an extra ten, fifteen, thirty minutes each night, knowing that he’ll arrive eventually. Knowing that you’d parked in the dankest, darkest corner for the garage.
You don’t writhe, and pant, and groan against the cave of his ear. Biting your tongue around words like ‘yours’, ‘mine’, ‘ours.’ You don’t because that would turn what you guys were doing into an affair.
You tell yourself for almost a full month that it’s the last time and chance encounters. But you know better. You do all those things. You do them with no critical thought for survival.
You know that the second it turns into texting plans, and secondary locations that you have to acknowledge there’s something inside you for Frank that isn’t just about fucking. That sometimes knowing you’ll see him for twenty minutes alone makes going to work easier. That you think about waking up next to him more nights than you don’t.
Everytime, you do it, he leaves a little part of himself with you. A chaste kiss on lips before taking off in different directions– perfunctory and mindless. Or talking about the day like old lovers.
It makes it harder to let go. But you’re not in love. And you’re not having an affair. Not in the traditional sense. Frank doesn’t promise to leave his family for you. He’s never seen the inside of your apartment. He wouldn’t hold your hand at a meal with Robby and claim you as his own.
And yet. There he is. Smiling at you, the best part of the day.
You watch him. In the ED. When you’re meant to be liaising and making phone calls. He’ll catch your eye for a fraction of a second, smile with knowing eyes and turn back to his patient. It steals breath. It’s there and then it’s gone. Just like him.
“This day won’t end.” Samira groans next to you. “Robby’s still on my ass about this ‘slow-no’ thing. I’m behind on charting. And we don’t get the new interns for a month. We’re drowning.”
You’re only half listening. Eyes trained on the friendship bracelet on Franks wrist. The way it remains there like an extra limb. Unforgiving in what it represents.
You’re possessed. You can’t remember a time someone held this much power over you.
You hum back at her.
“And I know he’s a great doctor and generally a good boss, but I don’t feel supported right now.” She’s still rambling. Fingers hitting keyboard with bruising aggression.
This pulls you back. You snort knowingly. “God. That is my heart song, girl.”
Robby was not someone you would seek emotional comfort from. He was good for the practical. If you had a question about patient care. Or a household complaint. He was as supportive a dad, as he was a boss.
You turn a little to look at her. There’s a small wince in her usually kind eyes. “Sorry.” She smiles. “Almost forgot who I was talking to.”
You wave her off like it’s no big deal. And it wasn’t. You had nothing else to say on the matter. You knew who he was. It hadn’t ever been any different.
“I sometimes forget he’s my dad too.” You mutter, finishing off a signature on a patient care form. “Take him for what he is and you’ll never feel disappointed.”
“That’s sad.”
You just shrug easily. “At least I’m not sad and disappointed.”
A loud tapping pulls you up to find Mateo drumming away at the desk, pulling attention.
“Ladies.” He preens. “Almost quitting time. Can I expect to see you for drinks tonight?”
You want to groan. There’s nothing you want less than to be hot, over stimulated and drunk. The day was long, the patients were hard and summer had not yet broke, even as August arrived.
“Are we?” Samira quizzes looking over to you expectantly.
“Cas wants to, but I’m really tired.” You’re softening the fall for a polite thanks, but no thanks.
“Well. I’m not taking no for an answer.” Mateo grins devilishly. “It’s not good to stay wound up like this. You gotta let loose once in a while.”
You bite back an urge to tell him you let loose plenty. You’re living a double life. How many of these people can say they’re having a secret dalliance with a married doctor. And then you remember it’s nothing to be proud of.
“What are we talking about?” You know his voice without having sight of him approaching. He must have came in from your blind spot.
Frank is stood so close behind your chair that you can smell him. If you weren’t trapped in the never ending one night stand, you could lean back and press your head into his warmth.
“My need to let loose.” You grumble, glaring at Mateo.
“Little Robby is wild.” Frank’s quips, squeezing the back of your neck. It’s casual enough. Maybe brotherly if seen by an unknowing eye. But you feel it travel through you like electricity. “Didn’t Dana tell you about her whole ‘girl, interrupted’ act in high school.”
“What?” Samira laughs, turning to look at you in brief shock.
“Dana exaggerates,” you bite, slapping Franks side gently.
Mateo doesn’t buy it, he presses forward on his elbows to stare down at you. “Have you been holding out on us?”
“Apparently,” Frank sing-songs coming around to sit on the desk next to you, “she would go out all hours of the night, sneak into frat parties, get caught skinny dipping in neighbours pools. I heard tell of squad car drop-offs.”
The look you give Frank is downright murderous. Some of the information he had got from you. The frat party stories and sneaking out. But you know that Dana had loose-lipped the rest. None of it was a lie, that was fair. But it wasn’t a priding point for you. You mostly just wanted Robby to notice you were there.
“That is…” Samira shakes her head wordlessly at you. Almost impressed you think. “I can’t even imagine that.”
“It was a weird time.” You confess uneasily, suddenly blocking the black-outs and drunken hurls away from your memory.
“Well, in any case, you should come to the bar tonight.” Mateo whistles. “I’m sure you’ll behave.”
“You weren’t coming?” Frank asks, eyebrows pulling down.
“And you are?” You didn’t see him as the type to ditch the kids on a Thursday night for staff drinks.
“I was planning on it.” He grins wolfishly. “I get like four good nights a year without the kids.”
You feel almost stupid for feeling hopeful that it was because he thought you’d be there. But of course, he’s an over-worked parent who wants to unwind.
“Guys,” you whine pathetically. “I have a day off tomorrow. I don’t want to spend it hungover.”
You already know you’re going. All the protest was a show at this point. You want to see him in an out of work environment. You hate yourself for it.
“It’s settled then.” Mateo smiles before pushing off to work.
—
You have a vague twenty minutes to try and find a nice outfit to wear. There was no time to fix work makeup– the sparse amount you wear to work will have to do.
It’s been a while since you felt confident enough to go out drinking. You’re reformed. It’s not that you had a problem. A lot of the people around you did though. You make it out or you don’t. It isn’t unless you see past the fun, and into the dark that you realise all that glitters ain’t gold.
It’s not that you don’t still do it on occasion. It’s just that you like to have 7-10 business days to prepare. Physically and mentally. The minute you stopped binge drinking and losing yourself to days of partying, it was as if your body gave in. Now you have a couple glasses of wine and feel like you’ve been hit with a semi.
Then there was the Frank of it all. Do you dress nice? Pretend it’s a pseudo-date. Or do you play it cool. Like you couldn’t care less anyway.
Jeans and a nice top seem safe. But boring. Heels and a skirt– too much. It feels like riddles. Cas and Samira said they were doing casual. But what is casual to them. Hoodies? Leggings?
You let the time run out and decide to wear the jeans and fancy top you’re left wearing the second you need to leave to not be late.
It feels like the first right decision you’ve made that day when you realise they’d had the same thought.
Cas is sipping her virgin cocktail at the bar when you arrive. You realise you’re not anxious. As soon as you see the group lounging across a booth, it registers as safe. No one ruckus or drunk. Just sipping and chatting. It’s miles from the type of nights you used to have.
You make eyes at Frank. Subtle and friendly. Just so he’ll know you’re there.
There was no way anything would happen tonight. Too many people. Too much risk. But the first drink tastes like making a mistake. So does the way his fingers brush over the outside of your thigh every ten minutes, too precise to be an accident.
Maybe it would’ve happened. Some kind of alleyway fuck, had you paced yourself. But it had been long since you drank spirits in a bar. Three drinks see you tipsy. Four, drunk. Five. Five and Samira is dragging you up for karaoke that you’re too drunk to preform.
You know your limits now. You know as soon as the song ends that you have little time before you’re falling asleep on your feet. And anything else to drink, you’d be barfing up the sandwich you’d choked down before leaving your place.
Cassie knows you’re calling it when you slump into the booth next to her. Everyone else is at the bar.
“I’m gonna throw up if I smell another drink.” You hiccup. “How are they doing it? I’ve had five drinks and I feel like I have to hold on to stay upright.”
She snorts slightly. “Been a while. Plus, they’re all drunker than you. Except maybe Frank. You’d see it better if you were sober and boring like me.”
You take little solace that you’re not making a fool of yourself. Just tip your head side-ways to rest on her shoulder.
“Someone’s ready for bed, I see.”
You look up to find Frank standing above the two of you. It isn’t suggestive. Cassie doesn’t take it that way at least.
“I drank too much.” You confirm. “I have officially hung up my party girl pumps.”
Cassie’s laugh ricochets you a pinch.
“Cmon,” Frank motions. “I’ll walk you back. Gotta get home to Abby before dawn.”
“It’s midnight.” Cassie presses. She isn’t suspicious, you think. But it is weird he’s cutting his night short to get you back. He’d just bought a drink and everything.
“And she’s Robby’s kid. Precious cargo.” He smirks. “I’m not looking to find the sharp end of his scalpel.”
There’s nothing said back. Except the exchange of hugs and goodbyes to the rest of the group. It isn’t lost on you as you push out into the finally cold of the night that you weren’t being shy. Like hiding in plain sight. If anyone ever found it, they’d all make sense of it. A penny dropping. But for now, it’s too bold to be believable.
“You really don’t need to walk me back, you know?” You moan, considering ditching the heels you’d opted for with your jeans. “I live like a block over. Less than five minutes.”
Frank regards you a little. Almost tender. Mostly shocked. “Do you really think I’d let you walk home alone when you’re drunk. Besides the fact that I’m a little more than fond of you, I wasn’t kidding when I said Robby would kill me.”
You barely hear what he said. All you notice is that he’s fond of you. It reverbs around your head. A looping goofy grin paints on your lips.
He raises an eyebrow and looks down at you. “Why’re you looking at me like that?”
“You’re fond of me?” You grin.
He puffs out air, like its annoyance. But you see right through it. He’s more than amused. “Shut up, loser.”
You guys walk out of eyeline of the bar, and his arm finds its way over your shoulder. He’s caging you under it like it’s always been there. For a second it feels like he’s not Abby’s husband. He’s just Frank, the cute resident you’re seeing. It makes you curse the sight of your front door steps.
“This is me.” You point lazily. You don’t want him to go. But he has to. There’s someone waiting for him at home.
“Are you gonna let me up?” He asks.
You freeze a little in your steps. You hadn’t considered that a possibility. Not a bit. You’re too drunk to do anything sexy or fun. You had plans to strip yourself naked, chug a glass of ice-cold water and pass out.
“You’re not getting laid.” You state bluntly.
He mocks insult. “How presumptuous. Can’t a guy want to see where you live?”
You halt at the door and cross your arms sardonically. “You wanna see my house? That’s it?”
He holds firm in your eye-line; not flinching or explaining further. Just steadying the point home.
You don’t push him on it. Just shrug like he’s won and let you both up the stairs to your modest apartment.
It’s a one-bed. Lit mostly by orange light, furnished with mismatched seating and tables. You didn’t have time to decorate intricately. It’s a randoms stuff you’ve collected over the years. Some plants that survived the move. More candles than you know what to do with.
You want to warn him that he’ll find this boring. Especially when he runs a hand along the tatty multicoloured throw on the sofa. He stops at the photos on the bookshelf behind it. Friends from home, your mom and one of you and Robby: it’s the only one you have. Polaroid framed of him much younger and you toothless covered in Nutella.
“You were cute.” He smiles.
“Were?” You kid, dumping your purse on the coffee table.
The movement from outdoor to indoor has sobered you up marginally. You’re still exhausted though. Your work is much less physically gruelling than his and yet he appears to be light on his feet. Energised and unbound. It was beyond you how he did it.
“Still are.” He corrects kicking off his shoes, like he was settling in for a longer stay. “Do you mind if I hang out here a while?”
You’re stifling a yawn– pretending your heart doesn’t skip a beat that he wants to keep your company.
“If you don’t mind watching me fall asleep.” You motion to the bedroom.
“Do you even have to ask?” He smiles and follows you back to the room still littered with discarded outfits. “Geez, did you set off a bomb before you left?”
He helps you clear and fold the pile which you don’t thank him for. The words get caught in your throat, somewhere around shame.
“I couldn’t decide what to wear.” You clarify. “Casual means different things to different people.”
You say the words before you even realise how they sound. The double meaning under. The way Frank side-eyes you as they digest. You didn’t intend to fill the air with explicable tension. It doesn’t make them any less true. What you guys had sleeping together in cars and not speaking for the rest of a day is casual. It’s as non-committal as it is degrading. What was happening now was not.
You were stripping yourself down to nothing, just shy of his field of vision. Shrugging on baseball shorts and an old t-shirt. There’s nothing sexy about the way you scrub your make-up off. Or the way he folds you into his chest when you lay down together. But it’s more intimate than any of the times he’s been inside you.
You chose not to examine the way you feel immediately better being held in his grip with no indication of sex. Just like you don’t think about the way he nuzzles his nose into the top of your head and sniffing a bit. Like he was making sure you smelt like you.
“How are you feeling now?” You hear him ask.
You could sleep, but you want to hold on to the moment a while longer.
“Much better.” You simper. “Can’t handle my booze anymore, I guess.”
His chest shakes a little with a laugh. “I couldn’t imagine you being a crazy drunk. I know I joke about it, but you’re so solid.”
You open your eyes a little and think long about how you respond to that. You don’t think you need to divulge all your deepest and darkest thoughts to him. But there’s a part of you that wants to.
“I used to be not so solid,” you whisper looking up at him. He’s already looking down, like he had been a while. “I had a shitty boyfriend for a couple years. Kinda dragged me down a path I wasn’t prepared for.”
The words tumble out of you from a place that you had locked up years ago. It’s where you keep the things you don’t feel like sharing. Not with anyone.
“What’d he do?” He asks softly, nestling further down so he was closer.
You’re sighing slightly, looking for the abbreviated version. “He just wasn’t that nice to me, I guess? He had some problems with drinking. An addict sort of thing.” Franks throat bobs in a gulp. “It just got so… I don’t even know. I didn’t trust him when he said he was sober; he didn’t like that much. I lost a lot of people to the lifestyle. And I decided to survive. He didn’t.”
You don’t know what it is about what you said that seems to set a shudder across his prone form. You wonder if you’ve said too much before he presses a kiss into your forehead. A soothing gesture.
“Do you ever talk to him still?” He asks finally. Without a hint of jealousy or judgement. Like he wonders how much you’d allow before you walked for real.
You hadn’t talked to mark since the day you left him. Not even to check-in. He got mean near the end.
You shake your head. “I thought we were gonna get married and have kids. Instead, I watched him destroy our lives. I just don’t think there’s anything left to say.”
What you were saying was true. There was a point where there could never be anyone else. You had planned a future you could never have. It’s not like you were fit for kids at that point either. But it was nice to play pretend for a while. You’re sure with Robby as your dad, you’ll never be good as someone’s wife or mother.
Franks eyebrows jump in surprise. He mustn’t have seen you as settle down type. Maybe you’re not.
“You still think about marriage and kids?”
“Not in a while.” You mumble; trying to act as though you haven’t imagined what a hybrid baby of you and Frank might look like. A very uncasual thought for the mistress. “I dunno if I’m marriage material.”
He shakes his head a little and folds as smoothing stroke across your head. “I bet you’d make the right guy so happy one day.”
The right guy. The words hit like pipe bombs. He means well. You can tell in the sincerity of his tired eyes.
“You would know.” You mumble sleepily. “You’re the wife guy.”
He chuckles a little. “The wife guy seems like a not good qualifier.”
There’s an air of uncomfortablity in the way his torso goes rigid. You guys don’t talk about Abby when you’re together. It’s a reminder neither of you want.
“How old were you when you got married, Frank?”
He stops short of the languid stroke he was in the middle of. Like he has to think harder than he should.
He clears his throat a little. “Younger than you are now.”
You whistle lowly as an only response. It’s the only thing you can think to do. You can’t even imagine being that settled at even the age you are now. Everything would feel like dress up. You get imposter syndrome going into work in a shirt at the ripe age of twenty-six.
“Make you feel old?” You joke, jabbing a finger into his side. You’re mostly kidding. There was barely six years between you guys.
He rolls you over to peck at your face almost aggressively.
“No, you asshole.” He snips between kisses, blocking your open-mouthed giggles. When he lets you up for air, there’s a patter of deepened breath. He’s deep in thought for a second before he rolls you back into the previous position.
You’re almost half asleep as soon as your head hits his chest. It’s at a point where you’re ready to give in.
“I wish I’d thought more about marriage before I did it.” He murmurs distantly. You stiffen up. You don’t want to feel hopes rise. But this was the first you’d heard of anything that sounded like a promise to leave.
“What do you mean?”
There’s no moving now. You’re not even opening your eyes to speak. Intending to talk until you fall way to sleep.
“It’s legally binding. More than kids. We love them, so we’ll never abandon them. If we got divorced, it’s not like…” he’s wording things gently. “If I get in debt, she’s in debt. If she totals our car, both of our insurance tanks. There’s no simple way out. It makes it harder to know what is staying for love, and what’s staying for convenience.”
You’re drifting somewhere far away. “Sounds complicated.”
“It is.” He confirms. “You’re falling asleep, pretty girl.”
You’re nodding against his chest almost gone. “Will you stay a bit after I do?”
The kiss on your lips is chaste. Like a promise. “Of course. You let me talk your ear off half asleep, I owe you one.”
“S’nothing.”
“I never talk to anyone like this.” He whispers.
Your heart quickens.
“Must be special then.” It’s barely words.
There’s silence, just long enough that you drop off entirely. Faintly you hear the mumble, “yeah, you are.”
—
You sleep like a rock. No dreams, no 4am pees. Just darkness and content. You could’ve slept longer if it weren’t the incessant buzzing emanating from the bedside drawer. It can’t be an alarm. You don’t have work today. You’re vaguely awake enough to smash your hand into it but instead you find solid and warmth below.
The leap you make upward is jolting. Like being puppeteered by something else. Frank is beside you, fully clothed and arm thrown over the width on your hips.
He didn’t leave.
The first instinct you have is to feel joy that the daydreams you have of waking up in his arms have come true. But then the dawning reality pulls you back. Frank was a married man with kids– who hadn’t come home. He was also an R4 with a shift today. They probably think he’s dead.
You shake him wildly, rousing him from a deep sleep. The light creeping in from the edge of your curtains tells you two things. It’s later than 6am and you have a headache– hangover in the post.
“Frank!” You shove more aggressively. “Dude, you slept over. Your phones ringing.”
Almost as though the words had sparked him from sound asleep to wide-awake, he’s leaping up in urgent haste.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck.” He pants, running a hand through uncharacteristically messy hair. He drags his now quiet phone to him. 7.02. Only two minutes late.
You feel panic for him. Second hand waves of stress and anxiety shaking your hungover body.
“Is it Abby?” You find your voice uneven on delivery. Forming around her name like it was poisonous.
He sighs in relief. “She assumed I crashed at the hospital after the bar. She texted. It’s your dad calling.”
The news was good for him. Less enjoyable for you knowing that the intruder of your peaceful morning was the only other person who can’t know what’s going on here.
“You’re late.” You grumble.
He’s sighing blearily and standing. “I’m gonna call him back, where’s the bathroom?”
You point it out to him but remain folded in bed– planning to bask in your day off glow. It was not often you get a full day to yourself. No paperwork or grieving parents. You almost wish Frank could stay too. It surprises you because there’s nothing you usually enjoy more than a day alone.
When he pushes back into the room, he already has his discarded shoes from last night on. He looks disheveled. You’ve never seen him less put together. He’s also pushing a fist into his lower back like he was mad at it.
“Are you okay?” You ask carefully, not wanting to over-step in case he was mad that he fell asleep because you asked for him to hold off leaving.
He’s wincing. “I hurt my back a couple months ago helping my parents move house. Never really healed. I think I fell asleep wrong.”
Your brows furrow and standing to rub the area he’s been poking at. You don’t miss the sigh of relief he lets out.
“Do you need tylenol?”
He’s pushing a little bit forward to allow you better access so when he doesn’t immediately reply you assume he didn’t hear. But after a few moments, he’s groans back. “Nah, I’ll be okay.”
“I’m sorry you fell asleep sitting up. I shouldn’t have asked for you to hang out longer.” The words sound so small out of your mouth they barely feel like they belong to you.
He spins round to face you, all loose limbed and soft. You’re surprised he’s being so laidback about the whole thing. “I’m not sorry. I liked waking up next to you.”
It could mean nothing. It could also mean exactly how it sounds. Which is that what you have is not stolen moments in the dark. There was no sex last night. No reason to be there except to talk and hold. You hate yourself for reading so much into every little thing. But it’s almost impossible not to with him.
He wraps two arms around, dragging you into the hug with squeezing certainty. Your muscles relax into it, face rubbing the soft cotton of his top.
“What did Robby say?”
Frank chuckles above you. “That hangovers aren’t a good reason to be late. I’ve been given the ‘get here before 8’ or I’ll have my ass handed to me.”
You roll your eyes a little knowing damn well Robby would never be mean to his golden boy. Not even if he was late.
“You better get going then, Doctor.” You tease, pulling back to look up at him.
“I just want to enjoy you for a couple minutes before today.” He whispers. “No eighth wing meetings today.”
It’s suggestive, and borderline cruel that he brings it up right before leaving. Especially because there was no sex last night.
“Don’t be mean.” You push a little.
The kiss he pulls you up in is dirty. Open mouthed and biting. You chase it when he breaks away. Desperate for more. Anything.
“I could probably stop in before I drive home tonight.”
There it was. The final marker in the affair timeline. No forward planning. If you agree; you accept that you’re emotionally involved. You’re in it so deep that you make plans to fuck, or cuddle or just talk. It’s the steps to falling in love. You’re not even sure you could say you didn’t already feel it with any conviction.
But then there’s the ache in your chest at not seeing him again today. Not seeing him until tomorrow for a quick fifteen minutes in the dark. It’s too much to bear.
“Will you bring food?” You ask.
“Whatever you want, baby.” He vows.
—
Two weeks pass bringing new meaning to Frank. You set up shop in your apartment now. Instead of backseat gropes, you spend an hour fucking in a bed. You eat food together. Watch movies. Or just talk.
Sometimes there’s no sex at all. Sometimes it’s not even on the cards. He still visits when you’re on a period. But he never stays over.
The last sleepover was the first one. The one unintentional. Unearned. Now you quiver and ache for him to sleep beside you. It’s slow but sure to you that you can’t bear not to have all of him. It never feels enough.
Every second you’re not with him, you’re thinking about him. If you’re not thinking about him, you’re texting him. Which is as good as. It’s nothing anyone could find and question. But it’s domestic. Day updates, inside jokes, bids of good morning and night. It’s confusing. You’re single. You can sleep with whoever you want. But it doesn’t feel that way.
You’re so narrowed in on him that you’ve stopped noticing other men all together. If a man’s flirting, you hardly realise now. You assume Franks still sleeping with Abby, although you try your best to imagine otherwise. The question of your fidelity never came up.
He never asked if there was anyone else. But you doubt you’d even have the time. Not with the Frank shaped hole in your life. Monopolising time, energy and thoughts.
People have noticed too. Both Samira and Cassie had asked if you were dating someone. Something about a glow. Dana had been eyeing you suspiciously all week. And Robby.
Robby had you clocked. He knew exactly where your head was at.
“So,” your dad starts nonchalantly in the break room you’re stealing coffee from. “Who is it?”
You stall your pouring motion. Every time he says something cryptic like this, your mind immediately leaps to him knowing. You knew you were getting too comfortable with the arrangement because you never worried about getting caught really. It’s only in the brief probings like this.
“What do you mean?” You twist around, coffee cup burning the palms of your hands. Grounding you to the earth.
He smiles knowingly. It’s infuriating how perceptive he can be. “Who’s the guy?”
You play coy. Prancing to the table with little to no effect. “Oh no, you’re going senile early. How tragic.”
He hums unimpressed. “You’re smiling all the time, humming while you work. I’m no idiot, kid.”
You mock insult. “Can’t I be chirpy?”
It was unlikely. You were sullen by nature. Melancholy inherited by genetics you assume. He knows that, just as he knows himself. He was your dad after all. As much as you all forget it.
“Dana says she’s certain of it.” Robby thumbs through his phone, not looking up. “Something about you being giddy like a teenager.”
You flush now. It burns the apples of your cheeks. Giddy like a teenager over someone’s husband is humiliating.
“Just acclimating to your staff's sunny disposition.” You joke.
He huffs a little but presses a squeeze to your shoulder on his way out the room. “Now I know you’re lying. Whenever you want to tell me, I’d love to meet him.”
The interaction should set you on edge. But you’re too high on the thought of seeing Frank later to care. You’re practically floating around your shift. All soft eyed and smiley. Soon, you would need to give it all up. The minute your body allows you to escape the denial, it’ll all come crashing down. But for now, it was exactly what it was.
You were in love. Head over heels in love.
—
Wednesday morning you get asked out on a date.
You don’t just get asked out. You get accosted by one of the orderlies you’d had brief but pleasant chats with other the past month. In front of the whole department no less.
It had caught you by surprise. Taylor was handsome and nice enough, but you hadn’t read any of your interactions as flirty. You worry you’ve given him the wrong idea. But as he stands in you holding a handful of yellow roses, you cast your mind back and find no evidence of this.
You can feel the eyes of the nursing staff and a couple of the doctors watching you guys at the trauma bay.
All you’d done was come out for fresh air, next thing you know this guy is shoving flowers in your face wearing a goofy grin.
“I thought they might be your favourite. I saw them in your basket when I bumped into you at the store.”
You’re too stunned to speak beyond taking them from his grasp, not wanting to be impolite. You guys had bumped into each other a couple weeks ago. It was brief. A chance encounter that you guess he’d internalised more than you. But then again there was no space for much else with Frank in there.
“Wow. They’re…” they’re not your favourite. They’re just what was on sale that day. But the gesture is no less kind. Plus, peonies (your actual favourite) aren’t in season. “Lovely. Thank you.”
You don’t know where to look. It’s rude to stare away from his earnest eyes but you don’t want to reject him so obviously.
“I don’t suppose you’d be free for a dinner?” He practically vibrates the words out.
You want to close your eyes and look away, but the force of the day keeps your eyes locked into the soft petals of the bouquet. You were within your right to say yes. But you also don’t want to. You want Frank to do this for you. You want to be in the position that he can give you flowers in public— instead of sending them by delivery with notes attached.
“Can I get back to you?” You finally choke out. The hurt registers in his eyes immediately. “I’m just, so busy right now.”
It sounds like the lie it was. He knows you're not being honest. He’s sweet enough not to call you out. Instead, he nods respectfully and says he’ll be waiting. You feel like scum when you approach the nurse's desk and see everyone scramble to pretend they weren’t watching. You don’t miss that Frank is also there, jaw tight and twitching.
Dana ushers you round the desk to look at the flowers you’re still clutching. “What did you say?”
Princess and Perlah are watching you like pretty hawks. Ready to keep the gossip in the back pocket. Everyone else had dispersed for the most part. You wish Samira or Cassie had lingered. Anyone would’ve been better staying than Frank, who had not moved an inch.
“I said I’d get back to him.” You groan. You’re mortified for both of you. Poor guy.
You hear a tablet being dropped into their holder with a clatter. It’s Frank looking rigidly back at you. Like you’d kicked him in the face.
Dana pulls her brows down in surprise. “I thought you said you weren’t seeing anyone? He’s cute. And he brought you flowers. How nice is that? They’re roses too. Ain’t they your favourite?”
The ease of on sale roses must make everyone think you love them more than you do. They are always in your house. You sigh a little trying to find the words to explain. But there is none. There’s no explanation other than the one thing you’re not allowed to say.
“They’re not her favourite.” You hear the mumble from behind you.
You twist found to see Frank not even looking up at you guys. He’s reading a chart like it’s a thrilling novel.
Dana snorts a little. “Oh yeah? And you know that for sure, Frankie? It was a sweet gesture.”
He looks up with intensity that takes you by surprise. It’s too much for the relationship people are supposed to think you have. You want to tell him to cool off. You twitch your scowl to warn him.
“Her favourite flowers are peonies.” He says like it’s as simple as the sky being blue. “I’m just saying.” He’s all grumbles and sour faced when he storms off to trauma.
When you turn back to Dana, she suddenly seems to be seeing things clearly. You shrink down a little; attempting to make yourself smaller. It’s an admittance no words could give.
“What was that about?” She’s asking but you think she knows the answer.
“How would I know?” You’re walking away before you can let the lie hit.
You make it hours avoiding Dana. And Frank for that matter. But when you’re eventually shoved into an old supply closet almost never used you know he’d had it with the silence.
“Christ, frank.” You gasp in shock. “Don’t do that.”
He’s pissed off. You can feel it falling off of his usually springy demeanour.
“You told him you’d think about it?” He accuses jaggily. “What is there to think about?”
You know he’s jealous, however irrational that may be. The two minds you have on it collapse into each other trying to pull a coherent thought. The part of you that is happy to know he feels enough about you to care. And the part that knows it’s cruel he wants to keep you tied to him, when he belonged to someone else.
You think of Dana’s sharp eyes undressing the interaction you and Frank had earlier. The way it felt like she looked through all the layers of you, to the soft centre that aches for him. The judgement in her usually maternal features. She knows, you’re sure. Just as you know that Frank doesn’t get to micromanage your private life.
The scoff is automatic. Almost robotic. “I really don’t know that it’s any of your business.”
The way he looks at you feels dangerous. Not volatile but razor edged. You’re treading landlines so as not to be torn through like collateral.
“It is my business. It’s my business if you decide to start fucking other people.” He insists.
“You fuck Abby.” You bark back.
His usually soft mouth contorts into something harsh. “That’s different and you know it.”
You’re laughing but it’s not funny. There’s nothing amusing about this feeling. The way your hands shake, and your chest burns.
“Direct quote: ‘I’ll never leave her.’” You push back trying to put space between the two of you. “That means this has an expiration date. We can’t do it forever. So maybe I won’t go on a date with this guy. But one day I’ll want to. You have to know that?”
He walks forward to cage you between him and the wall, eyes holding focus on yours. You’re sure he can feel the way your heart thumps against his chest. Anticipating what will happen next.
“I don’t want you to date other people.” His words fan breath on your warm face. He’s wedging his leg between your thighs. Angling and pressing against what was becoming a clenching muscle.
The shudder you let out is accidental but you hold firm– not allowing yourself to give in to urge of closing your eyes.
“I don’t want you to be married.”
It’s final. In another scenario it would sound like love. But this was about possession. About the idea of sharing and the way it makes your skin crawl.
“I can’t do anything about that.” Frank chokes out, still swimming in the aggression he’d had before.
“Then I guess I’ll get tired of that one day.” You whine, attempting to grind a little into the firmness of his thigh. “Taylor told me he’d be waiting. One of these nights, when you’re not around, maybe I’ll get lonely enough. And you won’t be ther—”
The words are smothered with his biting kiss. It’s violent. More than you guys have ever been. He kisses like he wants to make you feel what’s inside him. Telepathically giving you what you want to hear. It’s enough at this exact moment. But it was true that it wouldn’t always be.
You let him yank at your work pants, barely giving you time to think before he’s pressing his hand into your underwear. He swallows the gasp you let out. He pulls back to drag the material hiding your shame down, barely past mid-thigh. He’s feral. Panting, red, angry.
He doesn’t push in gently with one to test the water, he shoves up with two fingers– curling and twisting against your depths. Your mouth falls open to moan, but it dies in your throat, too transfixed by how good it already feels.
“You don’t feel lonely.” He bites out, hithering against the spot that blinds your vision. “All spread out and wet for me when I haven’t barely touched you. Like you belong to me.”
You whine roughly, high in the base of your throat. His movements aren’t to make you cum. He wants you to know he can get you going and, on the edge, before you’ve even started. It’s humiliating. And like nothing you’ve ever felt before.
“Turn around.” He instructs, like he wasn’t already moving your hips for you. Pressing your face into the cold of the wall. “I’d love to see Taylor knowing you well enough to fuck you in a supply closet. To want you so bad he’d risk his whole life.”
You almost crying a little at the wait for feeling the head of his cock against your wanton walls. He parts your thighs a tad and lines up. You’re working on touch not sight when he presses halfway in with no warning. His hand comes up to wrap around your mouth from behind to steal the scream from the air.
“He could never have you like this.” Frank croaks brokenly when he bottoms out. You’re beyond the words now, eyes rolled up to the back of your head trying to stabilise the shake in your knees. It’s useless because he’s already pulling back to slam in. “Never feel your pretty pussy squeezing around him like this because you want to be caught. You want me to ruin my life for you.”
You feel one stray tear fall at the sheer intensity of the pulse you feel at your core. You’re clenched so hard that you feel like you’ll fall apart at any second. Even more knowing someone could just walk in.
Franks thumb rubs the tear away, smudging it below your eye. “Aw, poor baby. Too much?” He thrusts forward deeper than you thought he ever could, kissing places of you undiscovered. “This is what you wanted? You wanted me mad and jealous. You fucking got it.”
The convulse is taking over, building to places too high not to fall from. When the pressure drops, you’re vibrating, trying to dig nails into walls. His hand is capturing the sobs you’re choking through when the orgasm steals your sense.
“Fuck, that was a big one.” He coos, not slowing up his thrusts. “Gonna cum inside you. Make you walk around all day with a little piece of me right here.” He’s pressing his palm against your sensitive abdomen.
“That’s what you want?” He presses harshly causing you to wail openly. All you can bare to do is nod wildly, willing the over-sensation to pass.
His hips buck for two, three fractured pumps before he tips forward to release into you. Chest shaking over your spent spine.
It’s quiet for a couple minutes as the after-glow fades. But the rattle of hospital beds on floor reminds you where you are. You’re pulling blindly at the work trousers you have on, wincing as he pulls out.
You’ve still got a couple hours left and now you’re broken. Full of him and doubt. You’ve never had sex like that. Not with him. Not with anyone for that matter. Too brutal to be love making. But too intense to not be bred from there.
“Are you okay?” He finally asks, voice hoarse.
You regard him fixing his scrubs and gulping back air like he’d lost all of his in the final moments of whatever that was.
“I guess.” You whisper.
His face crumples and when he pulls you into him to be held in his arms, the tears fall without you knowing they’re even there.
“I’m sorry.” He mumbles into the dome of your head. Swaying you both to the beat of nothing but distant hospital chatter. “I’m so sorry. The thought of you ending this to be someone else makes me feel crazy. I just lost it.”
You’re nodding a little, trying to place what it is that was upsetting you. You wanted to have sex, it wasn’t that. It was that he fucked you instead of saying he’d think of leaving her. You said you’d get lonely when he wasn’t around, and he fucked you to prove you didn’t need to be.
It was a small but clear message. It’ll always be her.
“Please don’t go out with him.” Frank says, hand winding through your hair to hold gently.
You’re quiet. But only to make him suffer a moment. Never anything more. Never enough to really hurt him the way he hurts you.
“This time I won’t. But Frank?” You look up at him; through tears trying to make a brave face. “One day I really will move on.”
summary: in the wake of jack's defense, you struggle to accept a few things, scared that if you give in, javadi's harsh words would become true. jack is there to make sure that the only person you need to believe is him.
tags: jack abbot x reader, reader struggles with acceptance, basically just pure smut (bathtub fingering, oral!fem!receiving, daddy kink [it's justified], praise kink, piv-unprotected sex, oral fixation, dumbification, creampie, slight cockwarming), NSFW 18+ MDNI
notes: well....yall are welcome for not keeping you all too long for this part two. lowkey should have done it all in one part, but I like when people beg 😈, anywho, I guess people don't have to read part one, but it helps set the scene, MY TAGLIST IS SADLY CLOSED I'M SORRY, please enjoy!
word count: 4.9k
read part one here
The warm smell of vanilla, courtesy of the first candle Jack let you buy for his house, greeted you upon entry. Your chest expanded deeply as you sucked in the smell, all tension melting away because home somehow did that. The saying was "there's no place like home," and you were a firm believer.
"Go start a bath, sweetheart," Jack said as he toed off his one shoe before reaching down to tug the other one off his prosthesis. "I'll get dinner warmed up, and I'll bring it in when it's done."
You eyed his leg wearily. "Are you sure?"
He looked up at you through his lashes, torso still bent downward. "I'm sure. After today, you deserve to be looked after, okay?"
Desperately you wanted to agree, but the small ugly feeling bubbled deeply in your gut.
Talk about daddy issues. You shouldn't be making Jack do all this especially with his leg. It should be you making dinner and looking after him.
Stupidstupidstupid.
When you failed to start walking towards the bedroom where the deep tub lay waiting in the bathroom, Jack straightened and spotted the absent expression you wore and frowned.
"Hey," he said, a little louder than necessary, but he needed to get you out of your head. "Bath. Now. I know you can take care of yourself; but you have me to help. I'll be in there soon."
Jerkily you nodded, body finally moving. It didn't take long for you to reach the carpeted bedroom floor, toes gripping the plush threads. The warm bathroom lights flickered on while you began to push your scrubs off. Your fingers curled around the hem of your scrub top and undershirt, pulling upward to get them both over your head, leaving you in just a bra. Next, your scrub pants joined them on the tiled flooring. A chill raced up your bare skin, and goosebumps rose along your arms and legs.
You reached over the tub and twisted the hot water knob. Like a balm, the instant steam and rushing sound of water quieted any thoughts that tried to push through. Without waiting for the tub to be filled, you peeled off the rest of your bra and underwear and dipped your first foot in, the second joining a breath later. After being seated, you added a small bit of bubble bath, and the room filled with the expensive scent of honey and jasmine.
Jack had been the one to buy it along with a complete set that he kept stocked for moments like these. The bubbles added a slickness to the water, but not enough for you to still feel dirty after getting out. Your hair would need to be washed, but that would have to wait until after dinner had been made. You reached a hand out and turned off the faucet and allowed your eyes to flutter shut as you rested your head on the small bath pillow.
It couldn't have been more than ten minutes before Jack walked through the bathroom door, tray of food in hand. He quietly set it down in order to pull up a spare chair he kept in the bathroom. The legs scraped across the title, and your eyes opened in time to see him sit down.
"Hi," you breathed, and Jack could tell that the bath was working its wonders.
Your skin held a healthy flush from the hot water, and you looked a bit more alive on the outside. He loved every version of you, but this one had to be his favorite: you looking so relaxed and sleepy in his presence. He couldn't help but smile while he picked the food up to place along the bath tray.
Dinner smelled divine, and instead of pulling your hands out to dry them, Jack insisted on feeding you bite by bite. Your stomach fluttered and your thighs tightened with every good girl and proud of you for eating he sent your way, and soon, you emptied your plate with rapid speed.
Jack moved the plate and tray away and scooted closer. That had you leaning up, brows slightly furrowed.
"What about you? Did you eat?" you asked, definitely not seeing another dish for him.
"I ate while I fixed up your food; promise," he said while reaching for your shampoo. "Now sit up for me."
Without much thought, you followed his direction, torso rising to the point your shoulders and breasts showed over the bubbles. Jack's hazel eyes darkened at your naked body, but he ignored his own needs. You were his priority, and he already had plans that he could act on after he got your hair washed.
His thick fingers slid through your silky strands, and you couldn't help but moan softly at the feeling, eyes fluttering back shut. Your sound sent a shockwave right through Jack's chest all the way down to his chubbing cock. His thighs squeezed together when he was able to draw a louder one out by gently tugging at your roots.
"Fuck, sweetheart, wait till we get you cleaned," he teased while using the hand-held shower extension to rinse out the conditioner.
All you could respond with was a breathy sigh of content.
Jack didn't even grab your loofah to wash your body, choosing to squirt the body wash right into his palms to run them down your body in fluid motions. You could always exfoliate later after he was done with you, but his self-control was waning.
He softly ran his hands down your front, fingers cupping your breasts and squeezing gently, drawing another moan from your chest. His fingers circled around your nipples and formed them into soft peaks, the buds perking under his ministrations. He leaned forward and attached his lips to the closest one and sucked, your skin and flesh pulling deep into his mouth. He alternated between sucking, licking, and pinching.
"Jack," you whimpered, eyes now open as you watched him fondle you without such care.
"Yes, sweetheart?" he asked, barely pulling away to answer before biting down gently.
"Need you."
"Need me?" He cocked an eyebrow, and you met his half-lidded eyes near your breast. "Need me? Want me to make you feel good before I can even get you into bed?"
You nodded, but Jack tsked his tongue against his teeth.
"You know how to ask." He pinched your nipples and tugged, drawing another low moan from your lips.
"Please," you squeaked out, chest pushing out into his hands. "Please touch me and make me feel good."
"Good girl," he cooed, giving your breasts one more grip and placing another kiss to one before trailing his fingers down your stomach and deeper into the water, back hunched over the tub to reach.
You arched slightly at the first brush of his fingertips along your folds, the sensitive skin already slick with the cooling bathwater and initial arousal. Your hips pushed your core up slightly for him to dip lower. With practiced ease, he slowly circled his pointer around your clit, rough skin of his fingertip giving delicious pressure and stimulation to the nerve endings. The moans you gave were music to his ears, and Jack craved to get you louder.
With one skilled twist, he angled his wrist and forearm to allow him to push a thick middle finger into your fluttering hole while his thumb continued to fiddle with your clit. The reaction in your body was instant, and a high-pitched whine pulled deep from your throat.
"Sound so good, baby," Jack groaned. "You make the prettiest sounds for me."
Even without the heated water, a warmth rushed up from your middle to your cheeks at his praise.
"Thank you," you panted, chest heaving as he added his ring finger right next to his middle. The initial stretch to accommodate the two made your core throb and clench before your walls eased around the digits.
Your thighs spread wider to give him more room, and the movement made a small wave splashing over the side of the tub. But neither of you cared, not when Jack was stretching his fingers to reach deep up into you. With a curl upwards, his fingertips expertly brushed against the softened spot of your walls, and your innermost muscles contracted to keep him there.
"Jack!" you yelped as your hips rocked into his hand. "Fuck! Feels good shiitttt! Please, please, please!" You weren't too sure what you were begging for at this point, but the need to please held your reins tight.
Jack quietly cooed. "Don't need to beg me, baby. I'm riiightt here," he drew out while pressing his fingers against the same spot. "Can you feel me this deep? Can't wait to get my cock inside you."
You nodded with an open jaw and silent moan at the overwhelming feeling. By now, all the bubbles had disappeared into the bathwater, giving Jack a murky view of his hand deep inside you. He could tell you were close by the way your hips started to stutter and the way you slightly held your breath to concentrate on the pure ecstasy your body was thrumming through your veins.
But he didn't speed up; he kept his fingers exactly where they needed to be while his thumb played with your clit in circular back and forth motions.
Your core clenched rhythmically as white-hot pleasure built at your navel.
"Yeah, I know," he consoled, making sure to stretch his fingers out inside you. "I want you to come for me, sweetheart. Want you to cum right in your bath around my fingers."
Jack wanted to keep talking over the slosh of the water, but he bit his tongue. A certain name settled on the tip of his tongue, and he wasn't sure if it'd be accepted after what happened. But Jack was a curious man who knew how to put you back together. He leaned in closer, stomach pushing into the edge of the tub, and licked a hot stripe up your pulse point to your ear.
"Gonna cum, Jack—shit, pleasepleasepleaseplease!"
"Cum for me, sweetheart," he whispered, hot breath puffing into your ear. "Cum for daddy."
Your pleasure fell over the crest at the name, instantly stretching through every cell in your body. Your legs snapped together, trapping his hand between your thighs as you rode your high in stuttering motions while your inner muscles clamped around his finger. Jack could feel the way your clit throbbed against his thumb, and if he were any weaker than he already was, he could have cum from the feeling and noises pushing past your lips.
"Good girl," he said. "My perfect girl for listening to me. Doing so so well."
His praise added to you high, turning your brain into straight sticky syrup. However, tears pricked your eyes, and once the endorphins settled and ebbed, you choked on a sob. Jack's expression dropped, face drooping the moment your cries hit his ears. He quickly withdrew his hand and placed both on your cheeks to tilt your face in his direction.
"No, baby, don't cry. What's the matter?," he asked, scared out of his mind that he'd gone way too far. "Was it the name? I won't ever say that again. I don't know what I was thinking. I shouldn't have—"
"But I liked it," you wailed, tears streaming down your cheeks and into his palms.
Jack tilted his head. "Then what wrong, sweetheart? You don't have to be ashamed of liking it."
"B-but if I like it, then what Javadi said is . . ." you trailed off into another cry as your eyes pinched shut, and Jack's chest clenched tightly.
"No, no, no, oh, sweetheart. Baby, look at me," he said. "Please, look at me."
It took you a moment to settle before finally cracking your eyes open enough to see Jack's sad face.
"I'm only going to say this once, so listen to me," he started, "I know her words are going to stick with you for a long time, but I need you to know that there's nothing wrong with you. Do you know how happy it makes me to see you preen under my praise? Do you know how nice it is to take care of you? I get to wake up to such an amazing woman by my side most mornings, and I'm so incredibly thankful that I get to call her mine."
Your face drooped slightly as you took in his words and glossy eyes.
"I love you, and that includes whatever you throw my way." He chuckled softly and reached for your hand, grasping it and pulling it toward between his legs.
You gasped at the feeling of how hard he was, and Jack stuttered out a moan.
"You don't know how fucking close I was to cumming in my pants like a damn teenager because you came so hard around my fingers. Baby, you could call me literally anything in the bedroom, and it won't change a thing."
"Jack—" you tried, but he shook his head.
"But please understand that it's okay to like . . . it. Calling me daddy doesn't mean you automatically have daddy issues. Trust me, I've met your dad, and he is far from being absent in your life."
You giggled softly and stared lovingly into his hazel hues. "I love you so much."
Jack smirked. "And I love you so much more."
Your face tilted as you leaned in to place your lips on his, taking him a bit off guard by how fast you moved, but he quickly reciprocated in soft mouthing kisses. While he stayed pressed against your face, his right hand sipped from your cheek and back down to your breast. Your mouth parted in a gasp when he took the whole thing and curled his fingers around the flesh while he pushed his tongue between your teeth. His hot muscle licked around yours in slick, languid motions. After he pulled back, you followed slightly, chest once again quickly rising and falling.
"Let's get you out of here and into bed, sweetheart," he muttered before going back in for one more kiss. "I want to make you cum one more on my tongue before I get my cock in you."
His big hands grabbed onto your upper sides, almost right under your armpits, and tugged upward as he stood from the chair, bringing you with him. Water dripped from your skin, and your knees almost buckled in the effects of your first orgasm. But Jack was right there. His hands tightened, and he stepped forward, catching you slightly and supporting as you took a shaky step over the tub. Your hands curled around his biceps, and the minute you were fully out, damp skin already chilling slightly, he walked you right back into the bedroom.
"Jack, the bed is going to get wet," you grumbled after he pushed you down into the soft, pillowing comforter. "Let me just dry off—" You tried to push back up, but one of Jack's hands planted in the middle of your chest and sent you backwards.
"Stay there," he ordered, hands gripping at the hem of his shirt to pull it over his head.
You couldn't help but swallow thickly at the sight of his bare chest, bulging pecs, the thatches of hair nestled between them, the pudge of his stomach with his unshaved happy trail dipping below his scrub pants. Jack's head tilted slightly, and in the next moment, he reached out and thumbed at your lip.
"Already drooling for me, sweetheart?" Jack muttered, hazel eyes blazing with lust. "I bet you're just drooly everywhere, yeah?" He placed both hands on the tops of your knees and spread them, revealing your more than glistening center. He whistled lowly while settling his knees onto the edge of the mattress for more support. "Look at her; so wet; so needy."
At his words, you keened loudly, not caring if it probably carried outside the walls.
He bent lower until his face was mere inches away. "Such a drooly pussy for me." His tongue darted out and kitten licked your clit. His tongue was hot against your skin in such a contrast to the cool air of the bedroom, heightening the sensation. "Such a good girl for being this way." He leaned in and ran his nose through your slick, inhaling deeply. "Can't wait to eat you dry, but I bet she's just going to weep for me. Isn't that right, sweetheart?"
"Jaaaaack," you whined.
He smacked the side of your thigh, and you yelped at the sting.
"Be a good girl and ask for what you want. Tell daddy where you want him."
"Your tongue."
"Where?"
Heat rushed into your cheeks as you looked down your stomach, meeting Jack's lifted eyes as he waited to hear you tell him exactly what you wanted. He'd give it to you eventually, but nothing got him off more than hearing dirty things drip from your mouth. One of his hands dragged through the comforter and swiped from your hole to your throbbing bundle of nerves.
"Come on," he murmured, his lips brushing against your outer folds. "Tell me like a good girl."
"Y-your tongue on-on my pussy."
Jack hummed in approval. "Anything else? Already gave you my fingers in the bath."
"Wha-want them again," you stammered, heat crawling to the base of your neck. "I-inside."
"So proud of you, baby," Jack groaned, hips bucking into the mattress.
In less than a breath later, he indulged your wishes and dragged his tongue along your folds before dipping between them and up the most sensitive line. Your clit caught at the tip, and he languidly lapped at it, wetly coating the nerves with his spit. The filthy noises coming from his mouth as he sucked and slurped sent you reeling with your head pressing backwards into the bed. Your hips tried to rise to meet his mouth, but a quick hand splayed across your belly and held you in place with added pressure.
To keep him against you, your fingers slid and dug into his salt and pepper curls, and Jack groaned when you pulled the strands. The low noise sent vibrations scurrying up your core.
"You taste so wonderful like always, sweet girl," he said while bringing his unoccupied hand to join his lips, this time slipping two fingers in at first. He dragged them slowly along the lower portion of your sopping hole, hooking them slightly at your entrance to stretch you further. "She's opening up perfectly for me. Gonna get her all happy with my fingers again, and then I'll reward you both. Sound good?"
"Uh huh," you barely breathed out, too focused on the feeling of his plunging fingers and his tongue. "Good."
Jack gazed up at you over your stomach and smirked at your already dazed look. You were teetering on the edge of how he wanted: pliant and barely able to gather thoughts other than the pleasure he was providing.
"Already looking fucked out up there, sweetheart," he said before suckling your clit deep between his lips. "We can stop if it's too much—"
"Nooooo," you dragged out, thighs clenching together around his head. "Please no."
He chuckled against your core. "Okay, baby, okay."
His fingers picked up the pace slightly to the point that wet squelches danced with the free flowing moans from your lips. He continued to lick and nibble at anything available. When he tongued right at the top of your hole, right where his fingers were disappearing into, you chocked.
"Fuh-close!"
"Close? But we just started," Jack said, lips all in a pout. "But I guess that's okay for my sensitive girl. I guess I just know exactly what you need."
"Need," you echoed with a dropped jaw. "Need to—"
"You gonna cum for me again? Gonna make a mess on the clean sheets?"
You nodded dumbly against the comforter, but Jack wasn't too concerned with the lack of response, not when you were so close to that comfy, fuzzy feeling that was already licking at the edges of your brain. He doubled down to tip you right over the edge. Your fingers tightened in his hair, and he finally let your hips start to rock against his face.
"There we go, sweetheart; use my face to get off. Use daddy's face to make you feel good. My girl knows exactly what she needs. Smart, smart girl. Daddy's perfect girl."
Jack kept his eyes trained on your pinched face, brows all furrowed, eyes closed in concentration, mouth wide open as you sucked down gulps of air. While he had you distracted, the hand across your belly pressed downwards right as he puckered around your throbbing clit and finally stuck three fingers deep inside, his fingertips curling right into your sweet spot.
You came almost instantly with a prolonged moan that made Jack wonder if you'd pass out from lack of air. He continued lapping profusely as your walls clenched rhythmically around his thick digits, arousal jetting out between the gaps and right into his mouth. This wasn't the first time he'd been able to make you squirt, but he was in awe every time it happened.
He tried his best to prolong your high for as long as he could, but when your thighs began to shake from overstimulation, he slowly pulled his fingers out and pressed one last kiss to your clit before crawling over your heaving chest while leaving open-mouthed kisses in a trail from your navel to your mouth.
All you could do was breathe into him, mind reeling and struggling to catch up with anything but pleasure. Jack tried not to coo as he stared into your glossed-over, unfocused eyes. He patted gently against your cheek until your eyes focused slightly on his face.
"There she is," he whispered. "Hi, baby."
"Hi," you panted. If you'd been a cartoon, your pupils would have been heart shaped as you looked up at Jack. Your face leaned into his palm just as your eyes fluttered shut.
"Can't go to sleep yet, sweet girl," Jack said, already rolling off you to get his prosthesis off. He swallowed a sigh of relief as the pressure released around his limb, fingers rubbing at the remaining soreness. He leaned the leg against the bedside table. "Gotta turn that brain off all the way, and then you can sleep all you want."
You grumbled in response. He chuckled while he hooked two thumbs at his waist line and pulled his pants and boxers off in one go. This time he couldn't hold back the groan that ripped from his throat when the tip of his cock bobbed against his lower stomach. He gripped it tightly, just to ease some of the already building pressure, before letting go in order to turn back over to face you.
Jack patted your ass softly, and your eyes flew back open.
"Still awake," you tried to clearly say, but your words were slurred. "I'm awake."
"Sure you are," Jack replied. "Shift up the bed for me and roll over."
Lazily, you wriggled up the bed and settled with your head on the pillow, facing the wall. Jack curled around you, stomach pressing and fitting just right into the curve of your spine. The two of you moaned softly as he shifted his cock to fit between your legs and draw it back and forth through your slick, the head nudging your sensitive clit.
Your head tilted back until the base of your skull met the crook of his neck. Jack squeezed his eyes shut as he drew his hips back far enough to catch the tip of his dick right at your entrance. He used his unoccupied hand to bring your left leg up and back to hook around his hip, knee resting against his bone.
"Ready, baby?" he asked softly.
You nodded against him. "Please . . . daddy."
"Fuck," he hissed, cock not even inside you but already pulsing just at you finally giving into calling him that. Without waiting much longer, he slowly fed his length into your core, your walls stretching nicely around the intrusion like you were made for it. "That's it; there we gooooo."
You sobbed at the overly full and stuffed feeling that currently overwhelmed your lower half. "Feels hnnngggg!"
Once he was fully sheathed, he paused and took the minute to concentrate on not blowing his load before he could even fuck you stupid. However, you seemed insatiable because you began moving against him in earnest motions, desperately looking for friction.
"Daddy," you whined.
Jack gripped your thigh a bit tighter. "Okay, okay, I hear you, baby."
He slowly drew his hips back, enough to leave just the tip in before he pushed all the way back in with a snap, pushing a punched out moan from your lungs. You could only lie there and take what he gave you.
His hand uncurled from your thigh and draped over your hip, splaying against your navel.
"Can you feel me there, sweetheart?" he grunted out after feeling the movement of his cock through your stomach against his palm. "You're sucking me in so deep. It's like you're just made to perfectly take me." He curled into you more and began to kiss and bite at your shoulder as your inner walls clamped down on his length with each thrust. "Tell me—fucking shit—tell me who makes you feel this good, baby."
"Youuuuu," you mewled between the head hitting your spot and drawing out enough to stretch your entrance.
"Uh-uh-uh," he tutted, punctuating with three forceful thrusts that had your toes curling and belly filling with a tightness. "That's not my name. Now, like I told you, who makes you feel this good?"
"DADDY!" you screeched before the word twisted into a high-pitched moan.
"That's damn fucking right." Jack's head returned to nuzzle against the side of your face. He nipped at your earlobe before licking a hot stripe along your neck. "You're being such a good girl for me. Taking exactly what I give you. Probably can't even think about anything else but my cock in your soaked pussy, yeah? What do you have to say about that?"
The hand that was on your stomach trailed down further until his fingertips found your clit once more. He timed his circular motions to match his thrusts, and he knew it wouldn't be long until you finished.
"C’mon, baby. Talk to me? I wanna hear my sweet girl's voice."
You blinked rapidly, mouth going dry at the mere thought of having to form actual sentences for him. Still, you tried your best, but all you could manage was a slurred mess of moans and babbles. The corners of Jack's mouth stretched into a wild grin as he listened to what he believed to be you trying to obey him, but you were too far gone to actually string together eligible words.
He hushed you softly. "I'm proud of you for trying, sweetheart. You listen so well for me. Can't believe I got someone so perfect."
Your moans grew louder as your stomach tightened beyond belief, body begging for release for the third time that night.
"Daddy puhleaseee," you drawled wetly, drool leaking from your open lips that failed to really close the entire time Jack thrusted into you. "Wannacuh—"
From between your shoulder and your bed, Jack suddenly pushed two fingers deep into your mouth, the moan muffling around the digits.
Like acting on some deep instinctive need, you began sucking, tongue curling around his fingertips. He kept them right in the middle of your tongue, careful not to push any deeper so you wouldn’t gag. Now with the added intrusion in your mouth, the rest of your whimpers and whines sputtered around his knuckles as you tried to swallow his fingers down.
“Keep my fingers in your mouth, honey,” he said, keeping you from taking them any deeper. “Don’t want you choking right now. Maybe tomorrow, I’ll let you take them as deep as you want to, but right now, I want you to focus on my cock inside your pussy and my fingers down hereee–” With his other hand, he circled your clit faster until his fingers started to burn from over extension, but he'd be damned if he stopped before you could cum.
"If you wanna cum, then just cum for me, baby. Daddy's—fuck—got you. I wanna feel you cum around me, and once you do, I'm gonna fill you up so much." His hips started to stutter in their motion as his own pleasure warmed his belly.
It only took three more angled thrusts to hit that deepest spot before you came, body tensing, lungs heaving, and eyes tearing at the sheer pleasure that washed over you at once. Your moans couldn't be contained as Jack continued to move inside you.
Just as your body started to relax, a high-pitched whine tore up Jack's throat as his stomach clenched and cock throbbed deep inside before he started cumming too, tip spurting his release and adding to the wet pooling between your thighs. He held you tightly against him and didn't dare pull out even after he finished. His chest heaved against your back while he placed soft kisses along your shoulder, whispering nothing but praise into your skin.
"Did so well for me, my perfect girl. Wouldn't want anyone else. Thank you for letting me take care of you. I love you so, so much."
You didn't move much as he spoke, mind still too numb to catch up much. But what you could understand was that, while lying there and feeling the safest you've ever been in Jack's arms, he was telling the only truth you ever needed to believe.
Summary: part three of the loml series. In this chapter you’re incredibly drunk at the bar after making some unfortunate phone calls to Abbot and Robby. Luckily, the two men come to your rescue. Unluckily however, a big misunderstanding stops your attendings from getting you home safely.
Word Count: 3.7k
Note: reader is named Reid.
Your vision began to blur as the bar swayed. Was the wooden bar swaying or was the stool you sat on swaying?
Or was it you?
You didn’t know. All you knew was that you felt nauseous, the liquid in your belly threatening to make a reappearance.
Your fingers tapped on your fifth empty glass as you heard the light tinkling of bells behind you, indicating the door opening.
You barely registered the sound, because not even five seconds later, you suddenly felt a warm hand on your waist, and a low voice in your ear.
“Hey, sweetheart.”
You knew that voice.
The warm hand on your hip was steadying, and you vaguely realized that if that hand hadn’t been there, you would have fallen off your stool.
Your stomach did a funny little flip.
You slowly turned to face the owner of the voice and hand.
He looked just as beautiful as he always did. Soft silver curls, gorgeous hazel green eyes, small lines around his eyes. The ensuing smile that lit up his features made his eyes crinkle further.
You frowned.
“No.” You said simply.
“No?” He echoed, his smile dropping.
“You…you’re not supposed to be here.” You told him, slurring slightly.
“Trust me, I know.” He said sadly, squeezing your hip slightly.
You pulled your phone out with one hand, pointing to the device with your other. “You were supposed to be in there.” You furrowed your brows.
He let out a small chuckle, understanding what your drunk brain was talking about.
“I was in there. But now I’m here. With you.” His free hand booped you on the nose and you blinked two seconds too late. Your brain seemed to be even slower than your reactions.
“Oh.”
He chuckled again then pointed at the stool next to you.
“Can I sit?” He asked with a raised brow.
You shrugged. “I dunno. Can you?” You snickered.
He took a seat beside you, but kept one hand on you. You didn’t know why.
“God, sweetheart, you really are drunk.”
You tried to wink, but it came off as more of a too long blink.
“What was that? An early sign of a stroke?” He teased.
You gave him another strange wink.
He laughed again, and the sound did things to your lower belly.
Then he looked over your shoulder at something behind you. His face darkened.
You followed his line of sight, spying Robby. You frowned.
“What is he doing here?” You tried to whisper to Jack, but your voice was loud enough for people eight feet away to hear clearly.
“Hey, Reid. Glad to see you too.” He greeted.
You looked between the two men.
“You both came.” You said, pointing at them.
Robby shrugged. Jack spoke for the both of them.
“You called.”
You furrowed your brows again, pouting. Nothing was making sense in your brain.
You looked down at your empty glasses, swallowing. “I thought…I thought you didn’t want to see me anymore.”
Jack looked like you’d physically hit him.
“Is that why you called Robby first?”
“I called Robby to tell him how much I hate him.” You said simply, the words slurred.
The answering silence was painful.
You strangely felt like you’d said something very wrong. You almost wished you could unsay them. But that didn’t make sense.
You did hate Robby.
Didn’t you?
“I need another drink. Bartender!” You raised your hand to signal the man who was serving another girl.
Robby’s hand quickly slid over yours, lowering it.
“I think you’ve had enough.” He murmured.
“Yeah, well. We’re all entitled to our opinions aren’t we?” You slurred.
“We are, but-“
“I need another drink.” You snapped, ripping your hand out from under his.
“No, you don’t, Reid. I’m cutting you off.”
You let out a harsh laugh. “How fitting. Doctor Robinavich is telling me what I can’t have.”
He drew back like you’d slapped him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
You narrowed your eyes. “You know exactly what it means.”
Hurt flashed in his brown eyes.
You lifted your arm again to signal the bartender. Robby caught it again, gripping your wrist.
“You may hate me for this now, but trust me, in time, you will come to thank me for this.” His grip tightened on your wrist. It wasn’t painful, just forcing you to listen.
“No, I don’t think I will ever come to thank you for what you’ve done.” You sneered, trying to rip your arm back, but he held strong.
“Whatever. I don’t care what you think. I’m willing to be the bad guy for the sake of your future.” He finally released your wrist.
“You’re always the bad guy.” You grumbled.
“That’s enough.” Jack finally spoke, loud enough that you stopped speaking.
You’d kind of forgotten he was there to be honest.
You could feel him watching you, his expression unreadable. You folded your arms across your chest.
“I’m not leaving.” You swore.
“Why not?” Jack asked.
“I don’t want to.” You said stubbornly.
“Why not?” Jack repeated.
“Because I don’t want to.” You said petulantly with all the dignity of a toddler throwing a tantrum.
“I know that. But why don’t you want to go home? And how did you even get here? Your car wasn’t in the parking lot.” Jack tried softly.
“I walked.”
“Oh. Well that answers that question. And the other?”
You took a moment.
“I…I- my apartment was so…empty. And I…couldn’t stop thinking about…you. So I went for a walk.” You licked your lips.
Neither man spoke.
“I just- I just needed my brain to be quiet. If it was quiet, it didn’t hurt as much,” you admitted.
You couldn’t face either man, choosing instead to look at the bar counter.
Jack's hand began a soothing motion on your hip, sliding up and down.
You looked at him, your own gaze watery.
“Come on, sweetheart. Sitting here at this bar, drinking, isn’t going to help anything. It’ll only give you a killer hangover tomorrow on top of what you’re already feeling.” Jack said sadly.
“How do-“ you were interrupted by a hiccup- “you know?”
You felt inclined to disagree with him, wanting to tell him that you were perfectly content right where you were, but Robby was already on your other side, his big hand clamped around your upper arm.
He was already pulling you off your bar stool.
You slapped at his hand. “Hey!”
“Let’s go, Reid. You’re so drunk, I think I’m getting tipsy just by smelling your breath.” Robby insisted.
“Robby! I said no! I don’t want to leave!” You argued, slurring even as you fought.
“You’re a sad drunk, Reid. I’m not letting you stay and wallow like this. Once again, I’ll be the bad guy for your benefit, even if you hate me.” Robby fought, hand still on your arm.
You looked to Jack for help.
He didn’t interject.
He just frowned at you, as if the sight of you, drunk and a mess because of him, physically hurt him.
You knew then that you must have looked just as pathetic as you felt. But your head spun and your knees wobbled as you let Robby drag you from the stool.
Then you heard a vaguely familiar voice from behind you.
“Hey, bro. Are you deaf? She said she doesn’t want to leave.”
You spun to look over your shoulder, almost falling over in the process. God, you didn’t think you’d ever been this drunk before. If it weren’t for Robby’s hand on your arm holding you up, you would have fallen on the floor.
It took a moment of you blinking before the owner of the voice came into focus.
It was the guy from earlier. The one who’d tried to buy you a drink. The one you’d scared off.
Oh shit.
Except this time he wasn’t watching you. No, his bright gaze was focused solely on Robby and the hand he held on your arm.
Your head lolled, suddenly too heavy for your shoulders.
“I know what she said, but she’s my coworker,” Robby told him calmly.
“And?” The guy asked, his expression hardening. “That doesn’t explain why she’s saying no and you’re still not backing off.”
You opened your mouth, but nothing came out. You felt grateful for this stranger. Clearly, he was a good guy, just looking out for drunk off their ass women like you. But you didn’t need his help.
You just couldn’t seem to communicate that.
“Trust me, man, I’m looking out for her too. She’s just drunk and upset, and we’re trying to get her out of here so she can sober up.” Robby held out a placating hand.
“I can tell she’s drunk, but she clearly doesn’t want to go with you.” The stranger looked at you, “do you?”
You bit your lip, shaking your head. Your drunk brain didn’t even think of lying to this Good Samaritan.
“Okay. That’s settled then. She’s not going anywhere with you two.” The man stepped closer to you protectively.
Robby sighed, his hand reaching up to scrub his face. “Listen, this is not what this looks like. I’m not-“
“Not what? Preying on this poor girl? Trying to get a drunk girl to come home with you? Because from where I’m standing, she’s drunk, she’s clearly upset, she’s saying she doesn’t want to leave, and you’re forcing her to come with you anyway.” This whole thing was becoming a huge misunderstanding but you couldn’t seem to find the words to diffuse the situation. Your head was spinning and your knees were weak.
Your stomach churned and your head was beginning to get loud again.
You looked at Jack, finding his eyes only on you. Pain and something like…something like sympathy warred in his eyes. But that couldn’t be right. He never looked at you like that. Like you were something to feel sorry about.
The stranger stepped even closer, trying to draw your attention to him.
“Hey, you don’t have to go anywhere you don’t want to, okay?”
Robby stepped up closer to the man, his hand still keeping you upright.
“She isn’t going anywhere she doesn’t want to go. She would want to come with us. Sober her would, anyway. Trust me, man, I appreciate everything you’re doing here, but it’s unnecessary.” Robby argued, beginning to laugh humorlessly.
“That’s no excuse, man.” The stranger stayed strong in his resolve.
On any other day, you would appreciate his valiant effort.
“I wasn’t-“ Robby started.
“Let the girl speak for herself!” A woman behind the stranger yelled.
That’s when you noticed how much of an audience you’d gathered. Now, everyone in the bar was watching this ordeal unfold. People were watching with bated breath, ready to defend you from your big bad attendings.
You giggled at the ridiculousness.
Fortunately for you, Jack seemed to notice the crowd gathering at the same time you did. That’s when he finally stepped up.
His face was concerned, barely a hint of amusement shining through.
His free hand came up to palm your cheek. You leaned into the touch involuntarily.
“Sweetheart.”
God, you loved it when he called you that. You hoped you remembered him calling you that tomorrow.
You blinked dumbly up at him.
“Can you tell him you’re okay?”
You bit your lip, then giggled. “Okay? Okay? After what happened yesterday?” You suddenly found what he’d said very funny.
The stranger still watched, his eyes flicking between you and Jack, then between you and Robby. You knew you must have been a sight to behold. Jack with a hand on your hip, the other on your cheek. Robby, with his hand on your arm. You, giggling like a maniac, barely able to stand.
You didn’t even know what you looked like.
Robby must have realized how bad this looked. “Listen, it’s complicated, all right?”
“I see.” The man said.
Jack dropped his hand from your face.
“She called me,” Robby said, unwilling to leave you.
The man directed his gaze at you. “Did you ask him to come?”
You thought for a moment.
You remembered what you’d said.
How much you hated him.
How much you had protested at the idea of him coming to get you.
“Not exactly.” You hiccuped.
Jack swore, shaking his head.
“Then why are you here, trying to take her home with you?” The man raised a manicured eyebrow.
“Listen, I- she- she’s not making sense at the moment.” Robby stammered, growing flustered and frustrated with your antics.
“No, buddy, I think you’re the one that needs to listen. She doesn’t look like she wants to leave. Especially not with you.”
Robby’s jaw clenched.
Jack kept watching the interaction closely.
Robby rolled his eyes, scoffing. “I really cannot deal with this right now. I’ve had a long day. I just need to get her home safely, alright? That’s all I’m trying to do.”
You hiccuped loudly, the sound not helping your case.
Jack sighed dramatically, closing his eyes, pressing his hand to his forehead.
“I really don’t like your tone, old man.” Another man stepped up beside the stranger. Great. Now you had two good samaritans trying to save you when you really didn’t need saving.
You tried to open your mouth, you really did, but all that bubbled out was laughter.
“Old man?” Jack echoed, finally stepping up.
The new stranger stepped up to meet Jack’s gaze.
“You heard me. What are you to her? Because to me, you both look old enough to be her father.” The new stranger snapped, and that’s when you really lost it. You couldn’t control your laughter at the way Jack’s brows furrowed, the way Robby’s lips thinned.
“That’s none of your concern,” Robby snapped.
Both strangers' eyes widened.
You finally managed to locate your tongue in your mouth, moving closer to the strangers. You could at least explain who they were to you.
You pointed at Jack. “He’s the one that thinks I’m- I’m stupid and nai- naibe? Naive! Remember? I told you about him being one of my boyfriends.” You slurred, hoping that would remind the stranger of your earlier conversation.
Recognition dawned in the man’s eyes.
Then you pointed at Robby. “And he’s the one that thinks I’m a whore!” You yelled excitedly.
You had remembered briefly telling the stranger about your problems with men earlier.
You felt like you deserved a medal. You’d saved the day. Or so you’d thought.
Robby and Jack’s jaws were wide open, staring at you like you’d grown a new head. Scratch that. Two heads.
“What-“ they both sputtered at the exact same time.
You only laughed, swaying. “What? It’s true! And that’s what I told the nice man when he tried to buy me a drink.” You explained dumbly.
The strangers watched you like you were insane.
Everyone seemed to be stunned into silence.
Robby looked at you like you’d just punched him.
Jack looked absolutely devastated.
Your laughter faded. “What?” You hiccuped.
The strangers' expressions became even more concerned.
“He called you a whore?” The first man asked.
Robby spoke immediately. “No. I absolutely didn’t. I would never.”
You frowned. “I mean…not exactly.” But you knew how he’d looked at you.
“Oh, for Christ's sake-“ Robby swore, his eyes closing.
“He in-inplied it. Implied it!” You said, pointing at Robby.
“I did not!” Robby argued.
You pointed at Robby, your finger wobbling. “He suspended me because I got caught fooling around with him.” Your finger moved to point at Jack. You began to laugh again. “And do you want to hear the best part? They’re both my boss!”
The room fell silent, the music in the background the only source of sound.
“What the fuck?” You heard someone far back yell.
You must have looked like more of a train wreck than you felt.
You turned back around to face the bartender. Even he was staring in shock, a glass frozen in his hand.
“What? Did I say something?” You asked innocently.
Jack rubbed a tired hand over his face, sighing.
“Swee- Reid-“ Jack began.
“What?” A sinking feeling began to form in your gut. “That’s what you said. That’s what happened.”
“I never said-“ Jack started.
“You did.” You argued.
“I said you were-“
“You said I was-was naive.” Your eyelids were beginning to get impossibly heavy.
“I said that there was a power imbalance-“
“There!” You yelled.
The first stranger just kept looking between you all, like he was regretting even getting into this mess in the first place.
The second stranger was less regretful. His blue eyes were hard as he looked at Robby.
“So, you think she’s a whore-“
“I do not!” Robby protested.
“-and the other one clearly has… unresolved business with her.” He looked at Jack.
Jack closed his eyes.
The first stranger spoke again, finishing the other man’s sentiment. “And she’s your…employee?”
“Resident,” you corrected unhelpfully.
Robby lifted his hands in a mock surrender. “I know what this sounds like.”
The strangers scoffed.
“Listen, she’s clearly very drunk. She’s had a really rough couple of days. She called me tonight. I came to make sure she got home safely, because as much as she hates me, I care about her.” Robby said evenly.
The words didn’t penetrate the layer of alcohol currently surrounding your brain.
“I didn’t ask you to come.” You grumbled.
Robby gave you a look, as if to say now was not the time.
“I know.” He relented.
“I called you to tell you I hate you.”
“I know.”
“I didn’t want you here.” You muttered.
His grip wavered slightly on your arm. “I know.”
The second stranger folded his arms across his broad chest. “So why are you still trying to take her with you, man?”
Robby’s jaw clenched. “Because. She can’t even walk on her own, she’s that drunk.”
As if on cue, your knees wobbled.
Robby’s grip on you only tightened. He raised his dark brows at the men, as if to say ‘see?’
You slapped lightly at Robby’s hand. He held firm.
“Reid.” Jack grabbed your slapping hand.
You tried to yank it out of his grip to no avail. “No.” You whined.
Your head swam as you suddenly saw four strangers in front of you, when there were only two.
“Quit struggling, baby. We’re just trying to get you outta here so you can sober up.” Jack mumbled quietly into your ear.
But you didn’t want to sober up.
Being sober meant being sad.
Being sober meant your head was loud.
You wanted it all to be quiet.
“But I don’t want to go.” You complained.
The second stranger, the one with an heir of arrogance around him, stepped up so that he was only a foot away from Robby.
“You heard her. Leave.”
Robby groaned, huffing in frustration.
“Just get out of here, bro, go find a nice girl your own age and let her go.” The man’s heart was in the right place, you could tell, but you couldn’t currently understand that in the state you were in.
“If I let go of her right now, she’ll fall over, and I’ll have to add a concussion to her list of bad things that happened to her this week.” Robby sighed.
“I’ll hold her up then. Make sure she gets home safe.” The first stranger said, stepping up so that he was face to face with you.
At the hand the man extended in your direction, Jack snapped into action.
He quickly stood in front of you, not allowing the stranger's hand anywhere near you. Now both men were slightly in front of you, and you knew just how bad this looked.
“I really don’t have the energy for this.” Robby sighed, pushing the stranger slightly in the chest to move him. Robby dragged you along with him. You had no choice but to follow along.
Except now the audience you had gathered was really working against you.
Now a new man stood in front of Robby, just as you reached the doorway. And this man was big. His shoulders were wide, his nose looked like it had been broken at least twice, and he had a beard that you were sure reached his belly button.
“That’s funny.” He spoke. “You’ve clearly got plenty of energy to drag around this drunk girl.”
Robby looked like he was about two seconds away from an aneurysm.
“God, you have no idea how insane this sounds right now. You have no idea how ironic this is.” Robby sighed. “If she was sober, she’d be having a field day right about now.”
Robby moved to navigate around the burly man, Jack hot on your heels, but the big man stepped aside, blocking your path.
“Move.” Robby snapped, his patience clearly gone.
The man didn’t budge. “No.”
The entire bar was deathly quiet.
Your feet felt like they didn’t even belong to your body anymore.
Robby once again tried to move around the mountain of a man. “Move!”
The man shoved Robby in the chest, faster than you could blink. Robby stumbled backwards, slightly, but still held onto you.
Jack moved faster than you’d ever seen him move. He immediately placed himself between Robby and the man. The move seemed almost instinctive. Jack was so clearly protecting Robby, your heart melted slightly. Could your heart melt? You pondered that for a moment while you watched everything unfold.
“No means no, buddy,” the man spoke. “Or didn’t your father ever teach you that?” The man taunted.
You could tell that was the moment Robby’s eyes glazed over.
“Hey! How about we just calm down!” Jack yelled, clearly privy to why that comment was so over the line for Robby.
The man shoved at Jack, pushing him backwards slightly. You instinctively tried to move forward, but Robby held you back.
“Listen, buddy-“ Jack held up his hands.
“Don’t ‘buddy’ me, asshole!” The man snarled, his arm swinging back.
Everything happened so fast you barely registered it.
All you knew was that one moment, the man was toe to toe with Jack. Then the big man swung his arm back, his fist clenched.
But Jack had seen the move coming.
And he’d ducked.
Meaning that Robby, who’d been standing right behind Jack’s protective body, hadn’t seen the blow coming.
You heard the resounding smack, and you then saw Robby’s head snap to the side as the punch landed squarely in his face.
A/N: let me know if you guys would like to be tagged in part four!!
SUMMARY: It is no secret that Jack thinks the absolute world of you and your beautiful daughter, Juliet. You’ve been trying to plan a sleepover for the longest time to integrate Jack more into Juliet’s life, but his night shift schedule makes this near enough impossible. But, when you take a nasty hit at work, Jack is there to make sure you’re well looked after for the night, bringing about the sleepover in a way you didn’t quite expect.
NOTES: Aggressive patient, physical injury (head trauma), medical settings, writer doesn’t know medical terms but is trying her best, mild worry over childcare, implied single mother reader, established relationship, existing relationship between Juliet + Jack but not to point of him moving in etc.
REQUESTED BY: Anonymous.
NAVIGATION | PITT MASTERLIST | KO-FI
It had happened in a split second during a frantic influx of patients from a multi-car pile-up on the bridge. A disoriented, highly combative patient had panicked, thrashing wildly as you tried to secure him to the gurney. His arm had swung out with terrifying, desperate force, catching you squarely across the jaw and sending you stumbling backward into a heavy metal crash cart.
The impact of the steel against your back was painful, but it was the sharp, sickening crack of your head whipping against the corner of the monitor mount that ended your shift. The world tilted violently on its axis, a loud, high-pitched ringing filling your ears as your knees buckled and your vision splintered into static.
When you finally opened your eyes, the frantic noise of the trauma bay had been replaced by the quiet, steady hum of an observation room. The lights had been dimmed to a merciful, soft glow, but even that felt like needles pressing into your brain.
The thudding behind your temples was monumental, a heavy, sickening pulse that made you close your eyes again with a soft, miserable whimper. Almost immediately, a warm, calloused hand slipped into yours, squeezing gently. You didn’t even need to open your eyes to know who it was; Jack’s touch was instantly recognisable.
"Hey, easy now. Don't try to sit up just yet," Jack murmured, his voice incredibly quiet and gentle. He leaned closer to the bed, his free hand reaching up to carefully brush a stray lock of hair away from your damp forehead, mindful of the heavy, throbbing bruise forming near your hairline.
"Jack..." you whispered, your throat feeling dry and scratchy as you struggled to focus on his face. "What happened? Everything hurts."
"You took a really nasty hit, sweetheart," Jack explained softly, his thumb tracing soothing circles over the back of your hand. "A patient clipped you, and you hit your head on the crash cart. Javadi checked you over, and you've got a pretty significant concussion."
You groaned, trying to shift your weight, but a wave of nausea washed over you. "I need to get up. My shift—"
"Your shift is over, nurse," Jack interrupted with a warm, teasing smile, though his eyes remained deeply concerned. "Robby wants you to stay here for observation for at least twelve hours, just to be absolutely sure there's no delayed swelling. You're strictly off-duty."
The word observation hit you like a bucket of ice water, instantly slicing through the thick, pain-filled fog of your brain. Your heart rate spiked, the monitor beside the bed letting out a series of rapid, high-pitched beeps that made Jack's brow furrow in concern.
You tried to push yourself up on your elbows, panic rising in your chest. "No, no, I can't stay! Jack, I have to go. Juliet finishes at the after-school club in less than an hour. I need to pick her up. Jack, I can't just leave her there!"
"Hey, look at me. Breathe, sweetheart, just breathe," Jack coaxed, his hand moving to your shoulder, applying a firm but incredibly tender pressure to keep you still. "Don't work yourself up. You're going to make your head hurt worse."
"You don't understand, she'll be so scared if I'm not the one at the gates," you pleaded, tears of frustration and pain leaking from the corners of your eyes. "I don't have anyone else to call. Maybe the neighbour, but she works late, and—"
"Hey, stop. Take a breath for me," Jack cut in softly, squeezing your hand tight. He leaned in close, pressing a gentle kiss to your temple, avoiding the bruise. "Do you really think I'd let Jules sit there worrying? Or let you stress yourself into a migraine?"
You stared up at him, your vision slightly blurry. "What do you mean?"
"I'm going to go pick her up," Jack said, his voice steady, carrying an absolute certainty that immediately made the tight knot in your chest loosen. "I'll drive over right now, collect her from the club, and bring her back here."
"But... your shift tonight?" you whispered, looking at him in confusion. "You can't just leave, Jack. It's chaos out there."
"I've already spoken to the Chief, and I'm taking the night off. My leg's been giving me a bit of grief anyway, so they were happy to let me off," Jack lied smoothly, giving you a reassuring wink. "Besides, looking after my girl and our little Jules is much more important than this ER."
The words ‘our little Jules’ made your heart swell with a warmth that completely eclipsed the dull ache in your head. For the past few weeks, the two of you had been tentatively discussing the idea of trial sleepovers, taking the slow, careful steps toward moving in together and truly becoming a family.
"Are you sure?" you asked, your voice cracking with emotion. "She can be a bit of a handful when she's tired, Jack. And she might be confused seeing you instead of me."
"I'm absolutely sure," Jack promised, offering you a bright, confident smile. "Jules and I are best friends, remember? She loves my stories. I'll explain to her that you had a little bump at work and need to rest your eyes for a bit."
"You're too good to us," you murmured, letting your head sink back into the pillows as a wave of relief washed over you.
"Don’t be silly. I'm just looking after you," Jack whispered, leaning down to press a soft, lingering kiss to your lips. He lingered there for a moment, letting you feel his warmth and stability. "Now, I want you to close those eyes and try to get some sleep. No worrying. I've got everything covered."
"Okay," you breathed, already feeling the heavy pull of exhaustion now that the panic had subsided. "Be safe. Tell her I love her."
"I will, sweetheart. I'll be back before you know it," Jack said softly. He gave your hand one final, reassuring squeeze before quietly slipping out of the room, leaving you to finally let the darkness take you over.
By the time the heavy doors of the ER family room swung open, Juliet was perched high on Jack’s shoulders, her tiny hands gripped firmly in his thick, curly hair as she giggled. She was a bright, energetic five-year-old, and the moment Jack had picked her up from her after-school club, her initial confusion about seeing him instead of you had vanished into pure, unadulterated excitement. To her, Jack was the tall, gentle giant who told the best stories, and getting a piggyback ride through the hospital corridors was the ultimate adventure.
"Look, Robby! I'm taller than the ceiling! I'm taller than Jack!" Jules chirped, pointing a finger triumphantly toward the ceiling tiles as Jack carefully navigated the doorframe, lowering his head slightly to make sure she didn't actually bump into anything.
"Whoa, easy there, giant," Robby said, immediately abandoning a stack of charts on the table with a wide, welcoming grin. He knelt down on the linoleum floor so he was at eye level with her as Jack gently slid her down his front. "You might be taller than the ceiling, Jules, but are you talented enough to beat me in a colouring contest?”
Within minutes, the sterile family room was transformed into a chaotic, makeshift sanctuary of warmth and crayon wax. The Pitt staff, fiercely protective of you and incredibly fond of your little girl, took it in shifts to slip away from the bustling department just to keep her entertained and distracted from the medical equipment hums outside. Samira popped in between treating patients, carrying a plastic tray from the staff room containing a tiny cup of apple juice and a packet of chocolate biscuits she had raided from someone’s snack stash.
"She has her mother's eyes, Jack," Dana murmured softly, standing near the doorway and watching Jules furiously colour the tail of a dinosaur while Dennis dramatically pretended to struggle with his own drawing. She turned her gaze to Jack, her voice dropping to a quiet, professional register. "How is she doing? Our patient, I mean."
"She's resting. The head CT was completely clear, thank god, but the concussion is still making her groggy and nauseous," Jack replied, resting his hand on his hip. "I want to get her home the very second you clear her. Jules is going to want to be right by her side, and I need to make sure we handle that transition gently."
"We'll keep the little helper thoroughly occupied here until the final discharge papers are printed and signed," Dana promised, offering a warm, reassuring squeeze to his shoulder. "Go sit with her for a bit, Jack. Don't worry about Jules for a single second. We've got her covered."
True to her word, the Pitt crew kept Jules thoroughly entertained, turning the observation wing's quiet corner into a revolving door of affection. When Dennis had to run off to assist with a trauma incoming from the ambulance bay, Trinity slid seamlessly into his spot. She sat cross-legged on the floor, her usual sarcastic edge melting away entirely as she let Jules paint her fingernails with a washable, neon-pink felt-tip marker.
"You have to stay very still, or it goes outside the lines," Jules instructed with immense gravity, holding Trinity’s hand with her tiny fingers.
"My hands are like steel. They will not move," Trinity replied, her tone dry but her eyes sparkling with rare tenderness as she let the little girl scribble over her cuticles. "But if you get this on my scrubs, I'm telling your mom you did it."
Jack watched the scene from the doorway for a long moment, a quiet, profound sense of gratitude washing over him. This hospital could be a brutal, exhausting place, but the people in it were a family, and they were protecting his. When Dana finally walked down the corridor with the signed discharge papers in hand, Jack quietly thanked the staff, scooped up Jules in one strong arm, and went to retrieve you.
Supporting you was a delicate process. You were still incredibly drained, your balance thoroughly compromised by the vertigo. You leaned heavily against his side, your head tucked against his shoulder to shield your eyes from the corridor lights as he guided you out to his car. Jules walked right beside him, holding onto Jack's trousers with a sudden, quiet solemnity, sensing that something wasn't quite right with you.
The drive back to your apartment was blissfully quiet, the rhythmic, low hum of the engine and the gentle rain pattering against the windscreen soothing your pounding head. When Jack finally unlocked the front door, the familiar, comforting scent of lavender and clean laundry made you let out a long, shaky breath of relief.
Jack led you straight to the bedroom, his arm securely around your waist as he helped you sit on the edge of the mattress. He was incredibly gentle, kneeling down to slide your shoes off and pulling back the heavy duvet so you could finally rest.
"I want to stay with Mommy!" Jules's voice suddenly cut through the quiet room, trembling and fragile. She stood in the doorway, her little face crumpling as big, silent tears began to spill down her cheeks. "I want to look after her! I don't want to go to my room, Jack. Please, let me stay!"
"Oh, sweetheart, come here," you whispered weakly, your heart breaking at the sight of her tears. You reached out a trembling arm, though the sudden movement made your head spin.
Jules didn't hesitate as she scrambled onto the mattress, throwing her little arms around your neck and burying her face in your chest, crying quietly. You wrapped your arms around her, kissing the top of her soft hair, whispering quiet reassurances that you were okay, just a little tired. Jack stood by the bed, his chest tightening at the sheer vulnerability of the two people who had completely rewritten his universe.
"Tell you what, Jules," Jack said softly, sitting down on the edge of the bed so he was close to both of you. He reached out, his large hand gently stroking the back of Jules's head. "How about we have a sleepover tonight? Right here. We can all stay together, and we can keep a very close eye on mommy to make sure she gets better."
Jules sniffled, lifting her tear-streaked face from your shoulder to look at him. "A real sleepover? Like we talked about?"
"Exactly like we talked about," Jack murmured, his voice dripping with absolute affection. "But to do that, we need to make sure mommy has plenty of room to rest her head. If I tuck you in right on this side, will you promise to be very quiet and gentle?"
The little girl nodded eagerly, wiping her nose with the sleeve of her jumper. "I promise. I'll be quiet, Jack."
"That's my girl," Jack whispered.
With practiced, gentle care, Jack helped tuck the two of you in, ensuring you had enough pillows to keep your head slightly elevated to ease the throbbing pressure, and making sure Jules was nestled safely and snugly against your side. The bedroom was dark and quiet, the only light coming from the amber glow of the streetlamps filtering through the curtains.
Before climbing into the bed himself, Jack sat down on the small wooden chair in the corner of the room. He reached down, unlatching his prosthetic with a quiet, metallic click. He set it carefully against the wall, stretching with a faint sigh of relief as the pressure of the day was finally released.
Using the bedpost for balance, he hopped the short distance over to the empty side of the double bed, sliding beneath the heavy covers. The mattress shifted slightly under his weight, and almost instantly, you drifted closer to his warmth.
Jack reached out, his strong, protective arm draping over both of you, drawing you and Jules secure against his chest. Your head found the familiar, comfortable hollow of his collarbone, and Jules let out a soft, sleepy sigh, her little hand resting on Jack's forearm.
"I've got you both," Jack whispered into the quiet dark, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your temple, and then another to the top of Jules’s head. "Robby and the day shift guys looked after us today, but I've got the night shift now. Go to sleep. I'm right here."
Summary: A hot doctor rescues you from a creep outside of your gym and it turns out you have a lot more in common than your choice of workout venue.
Or, the D/s universe getting together fic I've been yapping about for months!
Story Tags/Notes: girly!sub!reader, dom!brendon, reader is a kids' ballet teacher, brendon is a trauma surgeon in the ED, getting together fic, slow-ish burn, kink dynamic/relationship negotiation, communication porn, sugaring/spoiling/gifts, reader is mentioned as not shaving body hair, full aftercare
NSFW Tags/Notes: its a lengthy smut so, panty sniffing, teasing, face slapping, light punishment, black nitrile gloves, inspection kink, breast play, pain play, biting, marks, fingering (f), fisting (f), squirting, multiple orgasms (f), dacryphilia, scent/armpit/musk/sweat kinks, one single line of degradation, lots and lots of praise/affirmation/pet names, choking/breath play, piv (unprotected, discussion is implied), creampie
Content: sexual harassment/intimidation, broken wrist
A/N: everyone say a sloppy slutty thank you to @honestlystop for their generous donation to my birthday fundraiser which led to this being completed! and a personal thank you for always being so lovely and supportive
Word Count: 18.3k
Brendon Park’s noticed you at his gym before, of course. It’s hard not to. You always wear pastel pink sets with tiny little tennis skirts that barely cover your ass or those partially sheer pilates outfits with the waist-emphasizing tie. Like most of the guys at the gym, much as he hates to be lumped in with them, Brendon’s eyes drift up when your evening yoga or pilates or barre or pole class gets out, watching the sea of sweaty women in tight outfits flitting past with satisfied giggles.
Unlike an unfortunate number of the other men there, though, Brendon is at the gym to work out, not try to get a girlfriend, so he’s never interacted with you more than the occasional ‘good workout?’ when you’ve passed each other going into the locker rooms at the same time.
Tonight changes that.
It’s a 24-hour gym, but it’s usually dead this late. Brendon’s used to being one of maybe three guys who always work insane schedules getting in his last arm curls before crashing for eighteen hours straight. For some reason, though, you’re here. It looks like you’ve had a long day – you’re in a cropped baby pink sweatshirt and matching sweatpants, cute but definitely not aiming for sexy the way you usually do – but you’re still committed to your daily gym time the way Brendon is. He has to admit he admires the dedication; it’s not a common trait these days. He gives you one of those hunky smiles on his way past as he goes to the locker room, nodding and wishing you a good night.
But, once he’s showered and changed, beyond ready to go home and flop into bed after downing 12,000 calories of leftovers, he sees you hurriedly trying to collect your things as one of the few other guys in the gym hits on you. And he’s not being casual or subtle. In fact, he’s got one arm lording over you as you bend down to shove things into your bag, completely ignoring him.
The hairs on the back of Brendon’s neck bristle as you push past the guy into the night – and the fucker follows you. Brendon’s moving before he can even think, much less overthink. He’d do the same for anyone. Of course he would. He only has to hear a few words out of the bastard’s mouth – c’mon, baby, you know you want a real man – before he decides he has to get involved.
“Hey, man, leave her alone,” Brendon barks. You whip around with gratitude already written on your features, taking over the fear and annoyance that had been there a split second ago. He grabs the guy’s elbow and tugs him away from you. “How about you head home and then change your gym schedule?”
The asshole rolls his eyes and squares up against Brendon, chest to chest, as you shrink back toward the sidewalk. “What are you, her boyfriend?”
Brendon scoffs back, “Just a guy with a moral compass. Fuck off before I make you.”
Then he tries to maneuver his body between yours and your harasser – but the guy grabs you so that he can’t. His bruising grip wraps around your forearm and he tugs you toward him. You realize for the first time that you can smell liquor on his breath, sharp and aggressive. Had he wandered into the gym from a bar just to get to you? Did he drink so much he’s always drunk? Your mind races around the possibilities as he baits Brendon with a laugh, “You really wanna play knight in shining armor, pretty boy?”
Brendon rolls his shoulders.
The first time he’d been told he had to get his temper under control, he was in the fifth grade. A boy a few grades up from him threw pebbles at his sister on the walk back from the bus after they went to daily summer camp together. His sister told him to leave it alone, but he couldn’t. He managed to simmer on it for three whole days before he broke the kid’s jaw and two of his ribs. The boy was too embarrassed to admit he’d had his ass handed to him by an eleven-year-old, so all Brendon got was a lecture from his mother when his sister ratted him out.
In high school, he joined football and wrestling to get his aggression out. Every time his shoulder collided with someone else, every time he slammed a body on the mat, it let him clear his head of all the frustration and indignation and anxiety and everything. Of course, he still earned a handful of suspensions when he couldn’t keep it under control, the occasional fit knocking into someone’s orbital if they wouldn’t leave his skinnier friend alone or refused to back down when he defended a cheerleader.
Through college and med school, he learned that control was just as good as acting out. Professionally, being at the top of his class gave him the same ego high. He kept his thoughts in line with a rigorous workout schedule and even more demanding academic schedule. Personally, he found kink. The holy catharsis of someone giving themselves over to him completely. Trusting that he could handle them and himself at once. Of course, surgery is the best outlet he’s ever found. Just him, his subordinates, his orders, his hands. The world narrows into a set of problems with clear, measured solutions that only he knows. He gets to be god in the OR.
But the kid who couldn’t handle watching his sister get hurt? He’s still very much there.
So, tonight, Brenton launches one of his half-million-dollar hands into the face of the guy who’s just grabbed you, aiming to avoid cracking any of the bones while inflicting maximum pain and shock.
As the guy’s grip falters from staggering backward, you wrench out of his grasp and fall to the ground with a shriek, catching your weight squarely on one palm. Sharp pain cracks through your wrist. It reverberates up your arm and across your entire body. You’re so wrapped up in the pain that you barely register Brendon flagging down the gym’s security guard to come out and take the asshole away, telling him what happened as he shakes out his hand from the punch.
Once it’s just the two of you, Brendon kneels down and reaches out, careful not to scare you, like you’re a rabbit who might dart. “C’mon, let me see that wrist; I’m a doctor.”
With shiny eyes and a sniffly nose, you ask, “You’re a doctor?”
“Trauma surgeon,” he confirms as you gingerly present your swollen wrist, already darkening and swelling around the impact point. He’s so careful as he examines it, but you still wince with every motion. He hates himself for noticing just how pretty you are when you cry. Sighing, he tells you, “This looks like a break to me. You’ll need some imaging done and you’ll probably need a hard cast. Is there someone I can call to come get you?”
Swiping your tears away with your uninjured hand – more fall anyway – you ask with so much hope in your eyes he knows he’s going to fold no matter what, “Can you drive me? You can bring me back to my car after, promise.”
Brendon rewrites his entire night in a split second. What is he doing? His brows furrow. He’s not nice. He’s not helpful. Certainly not to strangers who could be serial killers as far as he knows. But, looking at your wobbly lip and twitching chin, he can’t help nodding and saying, “Yeah, sure. Of course.”
Brendon helps guide you to your feet, one hand on your waist and the other clasping your free hand as you cradle your broken wrist to your chest. His hands are really big. Maybe it’s the adrenaline making you woozy, but he does look a hell of a lot like a knight in shining armor leading you down the street toward his car with one hand on your back and a posture like he’ll kill anyone who approaches.
You’re not much of a car person yourself, but you are a luxury person, so you can spot a Corvette Stingray from a mile away. When you realize that Brendon’s leading you toward a gorgeous cherry red one with the top down that you’d admired before arriving at the gym, your jaw drops. “This is your car?”
“Like I said, I’m a surgeon.” He chuckles as he takes out the keys and unlocks it. “They pay me too much not to drive some sexy sports car, right?”
“Sexy is right,” you whistle, taking a second to admire the sleek Corvette’s cream leather interior as he opens up the passenger side door for you. “You’re a spoiled brat, huh?”
“I only drive her during the summer,” he tells you seriously as he helps you into the front seat, his arm protective around you as you get settled. Your stomach flutters as he reaches across your body and clicks your seatbelt into place, one of those large hands brushing over your bare abdomen and the other bracing his balance on your headrest, his bicep ginormous, still pumped from his workout. It’s painfully mortifying how good his sweat smells. He touches the back of your neck sweetly and checks, “You comfortable? Want the seat warmer on or anything?”
“It’s eighty degrees out.”
“Right.” He closes your door, drums his fingers on the side, and sighs, “Sorry, I’m not used to…”
With a teasing smirk, you suggest as he trails off, “Human interaction?”
“Yeah, that about covers it, actually.” He shakes his head and hops over the driver’s side door like a real asshole before sliding easily behind the wheel. As the quiet engine hums to life, he adds, “I spend eight hours a day in surgery; the only real speaking I do is to give orders.”
“That’s hot.”
Something twitches inside of him. You’re joking, but there’s a shade of truth in it, clearly. Interesting.
“Ow ow ow,” you keen pathetically as he pulls into traffic, the slightest movement jostling your wrist. With tears welling up again, you plead, “Distract me. Tell me about your other car.”
He scoffs, “That’s your ideal distraction? Not my cool job or our shared interests or-” Your adorable mean glare cuts him off. “Okay, okay. Promise you won’t make fun of me first.” You shake your head ‘no’ as tears slip over your cheeks. He laughs and concedes, “Fine, you can make fun of me until your arm’s patched up. It’s a G-Series.”
“God, you’re even worse than I thought,” you force yourself to laugh as you cringe again. “You’ll have to take me for a drive sometime. I’ve never been in one.”
“It drives like a dream,” he replies, giving a concerned glance as he tries to placate you with the distraction. Thank fuck he goes to the gym closest to the hospital. “Do you like actually driving or just going for drives?”
With a grimace as the convertible pulls into a reserved space close to the Emergency Department doors, you tell him, “Definitely a passenger princess. I like sightseeing.”
“I figured,” he teases lightly as he rounds the car again to help you out. “That’s good, though; I like doing the driving. You can focus on enjoying all the features.”
Outright crying now, you ask, “Does it have the heated cupholders for coffee?”
“Yeah, it does,” he half-laughs, “and cooling if you have water or something, too.”
Voice wobbling, you reply weakly, pain radiating through your whole arm, “That’s so luxurious.”
Brendon has to bite back the urge to laugh. You’re painfully cute in this state, fighting hard to stay calm but clearly completely unable to. “It really is. Great car.”
With your pink gym bag over his shoulder, Brendon walks you into the ED, shooting glares at every single one of his coworkers who dares to cut him even a curious glance, much less a surprised one or one laden with gossip. He gets you checked in quickly and efficiently as the space buzzes around him; you get the sense that his presence makes everyone…maybe not nervous, necessarily, but alert. There’s an expectation that he’s going to take charge of every conversation. He always talks first to someone who’s completely prepared to listen and jump at his marching orders.
The whole time, you shrink next to him. You’ve always hated hospitals. The smells, the bright lights, the mix of groans and wails and heavy silence. It makes your skin crawl. Brendon can tell; unconsciously, he rubs your back between your shoulder blades, fingers soothing down your spine, occasionally resting at the small of your back where your skin is bare. He’s not even thinking about it, just following his instincts and letting himself bend to your needs without questioning it.
Once you’re comfortably settled in a room, Brendon oversees the creation of your chart and then bends down to meet your eyes. He brushes your tear-stained cheek with his thumb and starts to explain, “Someone’ll come in and take you up to get an X-ray soon. Do you want me to stay or-”
“Don’t leave,” you whimper, catching his forearm. When you touch him, his heart pounds in a way it hasn’t in a long time. It’s the way those shiny eyes look to him so effortlessly. Needy. You’re pretty when you cry. Your voice drops to an embarrassed whisper as you admit, “I really, really hate hospitals. I’m scared shitless. Please stay.”
The shame on your face that only he can soothe is too delicious to deny. He holds your unharmed hand and sits down on the stool next to you. Rubbing the back of your hand, he assures you gently, more gently than any of the nurses or doctors here have ever heard, “I’m right here. I’ve got you; I don’t have anywhere to be.”
“Promise? I’m not, like, ruining your whole night or anything?”
Your eyes are so damn wide and innocent. Completely irresistible to a deep, prickly part of his brain. He’s quick to shake his head and assure, “I’m off tomorrow. I was gonna go home and sleep in. I’m a big boy; I can push my bedtime back by a few hours.”
With a soft, teary smile, you squeeze his hand. “Thank you.”
Faster than you can believe, you’re pumped full of painkillers and in for X-Rays, certain that Brendon is pulling strings for you without making a show of it. Once the imaging has confirmed a break, another doctor joins you, tall and gruff with kind eyes and crows’ feet. Very handsome. You glance at his badge as he goes to introduce himself, but he’s taken aback when he sees Brendon behind you. “What’s going on, Park? You’re not on the schedule tonight.”
Brendon attempts to sum up the night: “Ah, no, but this one took a tumble right outside of my gym.”
“Can’t resist a damsel in distress. Got it.” Before Brendon can intervene on that line of thought, the doctor turns to you with a warm smile. “Hi, I’m Dr. Robinavitch, but you can call me Robby. I’m gonna be applying your hard cast, okay?”
Perhaps a tad loopy on the painkillers, you tap on the badge clipped to his chest with your manicured nail, amused by the satisfying clicking. “Attending Physician. You seem kinda important to be doing my cast.”
Robby shrugs and chuckles, “The Shark calls, I answer.”
“The Shark?” You grin wide and stare at Brendon. “They call you that here?”
Brendon grimaces. “Ah, yeah. It rhymes.”
“Obviously it rhymes,” you giggle, turning your attention back to Robby, “but why do you guys call him that? Is he super duper scary when he’s at work?”
“Something like that,” Robby snorts as the nurse prepping his station also stifles a laugh. When Brendon absolutely glares, Robby clears his throat and straightens up. “Alright, let’s get down to business about that wrist. I just had a look at your X-Rays and you’ve got what’s called a Colles’ fracture, a minor break that happens when you fall on an outstretched hand. We treat about a million of these a week down here, so you’ll be out of the joint in no time, but you’re looking at six to eight weeks in a hard cast.”
“Shoot,” you sigh. Lip pouted and voice grumpy (so cute Park almost blacks out), you check, “Can I at least get a pink one?”
“Absolutely, you can,” Dr. Robby laughs and opens up the box of fiberglass tape options. “I’ve got Flamingo Fuchsia-” he shows you a classic neon pink cast color, then a paler option “-or Bubblegum Blast.”
You smile and confirm, “Bubblegum, definitely.”
He flashes you a charming smile. “I had a feeling, Barbie.”
Brendon interrupts gruffly, “Keep it in your pants, Michael.”
Heat crawls up your neck at how protective his voice sounds. Dr. Robby’s eyes flick between the two of you, clearly amused at seeing his coworker in a new light. “My apologies; I didn’t know Park the Shark had a girlfriend.”
Voice all teasing and lilting, you reply, “Oh, he’s not my boyfriend, Dr. Robby.”
“Seems like maybe he wants to be,” Robby snorts as he carefully preps your arm. While methodically applying your cast, he tries to distract you from the pain of your wrist being handled breaking through the IV by offering up, “What kind of dog do you have? I can see the hair on your pants.”
You wince anyway, jumping a bit from the pain. Brendon slings his arm around your shoulders and rubs your back gently. With a deep breath, you tell him, “I have a Cane Corso. Big black mastiff. If he’d been with me tonight like he is when I go running, you’d be amputating the other guy’s arm right about now.”
Brendon straightens up with a laugh, imagining your sweet, bubbly, girly self with a giant, mean-looking dog. “Seriously? Don’t those things weigh, like, 100 pounds?”
“Duke weighs 120,” you reply with a sheepish smile. Whenever anyone finds out about your dog, they look at you differently. And it does stop you from focusing on the pain to talk about him, so you explain further, “My big brother used to live in the city and spend lots of time with me. He’s always been really protective, so when he was getting ready to move away, he wanted to make sure I’d be safe. We went on a roadtrip to get him as a puppy and worked with a trainer here so he’s, like, the perfect protection dog. We’re AWDA certified for bite work and everything.” With your free hand, you take your phone out and click it to life to show off the background photo, you and Duke wearing matching Louis Vuitton fleeces while posing in the snow. Sighing affectionately, you tell them, “I mean, don’t get me wrong, he’s a total softie when I tell him he can trust someone, but he’d rip a guy’s throat out if they tried to attack me.”
“I like him already,” Brendon says as he admires the massive dog on your phone. With his eyes once again locked on your wrist, he sharply chastises, “Watch the angle on that, Robinavitch, you want her arm to heal as crooked as your teeth?”
“I didn’t wear braces for five years to deal with your bullshit, Brendon,” Robby bites back. He leans back and admires his own work, remarking, “Straight as a damn arrow. That’s textbook work. What do you think, Barbie, up to your standards?”
You examine it as if you’d even know what to look for, trying to suppress the loopy little giggles that threaten. Being your friendly self, you squeeze Robby’s forearm and tell him, “Thank you so much; it looks really good.”
Something ugly and new tightens up in Brendon’s chest when he sees your hand on Robby’s arm. Not new, actually. Familiar but forgotten.
Robby just smiles and says, “You sat like a champ; it should heal up no problem. You need to sit tight here for about half an hour so it can harden. Someone’ll come in with your discharge paperwork and hopefully this’ll be the last time you have to see my ugly mug.”
“Awww no, stop,” you pout, patting Robby on his scruffy cheek, “you’re so handsome, doctor.”
Brendon nearly growls.
Robby laughs at his obvious displeasure and gives you an earnest smile. “You take care, okay? Sorry in advance that you’re gonna have to deal with Park’s insane physical therapy schedule. I have to imagine he’ll be twice as bad when it comes to his girlfriend.”
You cover your smile as Brendon sets his jaw. “Mike, I’ve already thrown one punch tonight; let’s not make it two.”
As Robby leaves the room, shaking his head and chuckling to himself, you whip toward Brendon with a horrified realization on your face. “I forgot about your hand! Is it okay? Is it bruised? Oh god, you’re a surgeon. Did I ruin your hand? Is someone gonna not get their heart fixed because of me?”
“Woah there,” Brendon laughs, “it’s alright, I promise. I know how to tuck my thumb and everything.” He flexes his fingers in front of you for good measure. There’s some light bruising along his two center knuckles and tears once again brim at your waterline. “I’ll be good as new after some leftovers.”
“Promise?”
“Promise. Plus, I mostly do bones, not hearts.” Then he lies that he has to run to the bathroom, assuring that he’ll be right back, and beelines to the hub as he rummages around his pockets. Brendon surreptitiously leans over the counter with his heavy black card dangling from his fingers. Keeping his voice low, he mutters, “I’ll cover the patient in two, alright?”
Perlah narrows her eyes at him. “You’re not her doctor, are you?”
“No, I’m not.”
She raises an eyebrow and pulls up your paperwork. “You know she has shit insurance?”
“It’s America.”
“The bill’s over four grand.”
“Like I said. And?”
“Alright, then.” Perlah takes the card and runs it, letting out a long breath. “She must be something special.”
“I barely know her.”
“Whatever you say, Shark.”
You watch Brendon through the glass next to the exam room door, knowing exactly what he must be doing. Eyeing him up, you take out your phone and open Tinder, letting it refresh for a second to load new options. Then you go to your settings and switch the distance to the closest possible. After swiping through a couple of faces, you see exactly what you’d been hoping for: A beefy set of biceps in a pair of dark scrubs. No face because of course not.
Park. 35. Private. Dom. Check out my Fet to see if we’re a good match: hammerhead.md
You have to suppress a squeal.
Game, set, match.
It’s a couple of days before Brendon sees you again. Even if it’s not surprising that you skip a few gym sessions with a broken arm, or even if you changed gyms altogether after that guy bothered you, he still finds himself strangely disappointed at the lack of you. So, when you skip into the ED the following Monday morning with a big smile and a fresh manicure, Brendon lets out a sigh of what feels weirdly like relief. He’d chastise himself for already getting attached if he didn’t like seeing you smile so much.
With a quick nod to the hub to check that he can take a minute, Brendon slips away toward you, meeting you in a quiet corner off the main lobby. You’re wrapping him in a hug before his mouth is even open, careful not to knock him in the head with your hard cast as you do. Once you let go – he lets it linger for longer than he probably should – in lieu of a greeting, he furrows his brow and takes your cast in his hands, examining it carefully. “How’s this feeling? Nice and stable but not too tight?”
“Feels totally fine,” you assure him. “You don’t have to kill your doctor friend for me, I promise.”
“You’re only knocking off one of many reasons to kill him, gorgeous.” Not even realizing he’s said it, much less the swooning heart eyes you give him in response, Brendon smiles at your heavily signed cast. With a grin, he says, “I see you’ve got lots of friends on the playground.”
“I teach at a ballet school,” you giggle as you show off the myriad of names in silver sharpie, most of them haphazard. “I have five- to seven-year-olds now, so they thought the cast was just about the coolest thing in the entire world.”
“You’re welcome, then. I’ll stop feeling so bad about it.”
You nudge him in the shoulder and glare, ultra stern, so cute it makes him want to vomit. “You don’t have anything to feel bad about.”
He sighs sharply as he remembers the sight of you crying on the cement. “If I’d stepped in about ten seconds sooner, or if I hadn’t been so aggressive with the guy, then-”
“Don’t, Bren. Seriously. If you hadn’t been there, I don’t even want to think about what might’ve happened,” you cut him off. You open your large purse, dig around for a moment, and present him with a small box. “Make it up to me by very graciously accepting the gift I got you to say thanks without being all stupid about it.”
“I’m actually not allowed to accept gifts from patients.”
Only shoving it further into his grip, you insist, “I’m not a patient; you weren’t doing any doctoring. I’m just your friend from the gym.”
“My friend, huh?”
“Well, yeah, you took such good care of me.” Your choice of phrase makes Brendon’s head spin in a long-forgotten way. It’s been a long time since he had someone to take care of properly. When he doesn’t immediately open the box, you nudge him and insist, “C’mon, I picked it out special.”
With a sigh and a playful eye roll, he opens the hinged box to reveal a golden-edge watch mounted on a navy leather band with a soft brown interior. He drops his act as he admires the luxurious but understated piece. It suits him. Admiring it, he croons, “Jesus, this is gorgeous. You have a good eye.”
Glittering under the praise – it’s your favorite kind of compliment – you reply, “I’m sure you already have something much fancier to wear when you’re out in the real world with your Corvette and your surgeon money, but you should still have something nice-ish for the gym and work.”
Brendon shakes his head and closes the box simply to resist temptation. “I appreciate the gesture, really, but I can’t accept a gift I know cost an arm and a leg.”
“Well,” you go in, arms crossed over your chest (revealing eye-popping cleavage) to make it clear you have no intentions on taking it back, “the arm alone cost a few thousand dollars and I caught you paying for it already, so you’d better take the leg.” He purses his lips and relents, checking out the pretty piece again with a soft smile. Dropping your voice somewhere tender and secretive, you murmur, “You didn’t have to do that.”
He shrugs simply. “I wanted to.”
You poke him in the chest. “I have my own money.”
“You teach ballet to toddlers. I don’t mean that disrespectfully at all – in fact, I think that’s awesome; I’ve watched you in pilates and I bet you’re a fantastic dancer to-”
A huge, pink-glossed smile splits across your face. “You’ve watched me in pilates?”
“The studio has a glass wall,” he almost stammers out. His cheeks tinge pink. Caught. Then he swallows hard and redirects, “I just mean that I didn’t expect you to have four grand easily lying around.”
With a pout, you tell him, “I could’ve covered it just fine, so keep the watch.”
“How?”
“I have my secrets.”
“Promise me that secret isn’t credit card debt?”
“Promise.” You lift up your pinky, a clear challenge to him: To indulge or not to indulge. Wiggling it as an invitation, you add, “Not a penny of debt to my name.”
Brendon rolls his eyes, checks over his shoulder, and then links his pinkie with yours. “Good girl.”
Your breath catches in your throat for a moment before you clear it. Flustered at how those two words go right between your legs and up your spine, you squeak out, “I should get back to the studio. I just, um, wanted to say thank you so much for looking out for me.”
“I’d do it for anyone.”
“No you wouldn’t.”
His eyes bore into yours. There’s a beat of charged silence as he decides how to acknowledge the truth of your observation. There’s a sharpness to your soft, feminine expression that he doesn’t miss. At last, before he can come up with anything to say, he takes his prescription pad from his pocket, scribbles something on it, and hands the note over.
It’s his number. After another moment or two, curiously observing the way you smirk at his digits like you’ve earned them, he says, “Someone needs to teach you to defend yourself when you don’t have Duke around. I box for half my workouts; I’ll show you some moves once your arm’s better.”
Swaying gently, you ask, “Does that mean I have to wait six weeks to see you again?”
He’s studying you so carefully it makes you squirm. It almost feels like an interview, the way he’s looking at you. “Not necessarily.”
You’re head over heels for Brendon by the time the tension between you actually reaches a boiling point. He’s been going on runs with you until you can get back in the gym, both of you talking and joking around as you jog around the park across from the hospital early in the morning before each of you heads off to your job. He tells you about his surgeries, his students, his countless responsibilities. You tell him about your students (much cuter and less frustrating), your dog, your passions. All of it comes out during the slower parts of your time together when you catch your breath in the misty fountain closest to the entrance to the hospital.
On the handful of days where you’re both off, the jogs turn into walks around the city. You live in the same neighborhood, you in an okay-enough garden apartment and he in a bona fide luxury penthouse only two blocks down. Your mind always supplies just how convenient it would be if you did go out with each other. Despite the obvious disparity in your lifestyles – his money, his education, his intensity – you never get the sense that Brendon sees you as less than. He doesn’t intimidate you the way he does other people. To you, he’s like Duke, your protection dog. Big and strong and scary but secretly craving good company and a pat on the head.
As soon as your cast is off – Brendon makes a point of personally overseeing the orthopedic resident who removes it – he’s quick to get you back in the gym, specifically in the boxing ring. It’s your third time trying out some self-defense movies with him when the damn finally breaks.
Firstly, all this boxing has resulted in a hell of a lot more touching than Brendon anticipated. Part of him wonders if he’s self-sabotaging, dangling a carrot stick in front of himself for some unconscious reason he’s not privy to. Secondly, you swish into the gym wearing a skin-tight, tiny baby-pink singlet, yet another one of your outfits designed to drive him insane. Watching you peel off the matching cropped sweater once you’re in the gym has him swallowing hard as he tries to focus on the task ahead of him. It’s the way your nipples nudge the fabric, he thinks, that’s the worst of all. The most torturous. Or maybe it’s the slope of your waist into your hips. Or maybe it’s-
“Bren!” You launch yourself into his arms hard enough to knock half the wind from him. He holds you tight as you tell him, “I have, like, the most amazing news in the history of the world.”
He lets out a laugh as he pretends for his own sake that he can’t feel your tits pressing against his bare chest. Letting his hand linger on your lower back, he checks, “Yeah? What would that be?”
“My class got picked to be the Polichinelles in The Nutcracker for the Pittsburgh Ballet Theatre this winter!” You hug him again, like the excitement is just too much for you to bear, and this time you jump up and down, too. He wants to spin you around and kiss you hard just to taste an ounce of that enthusiasm for himself. You’re still smiley when you go on, “Obviously, a lot of the city’s ballet schools get to send dancers for different performances and everything, but getting picked is a huge honor for me and it’ll be so special for all the girls to get to feel what it’s like to be on a real stage in front of a big audience and it’ll be my first time getting to teach and direct and choreograph at that level and-”
“Take a breath, sweetheart,” Brendon interrupts with a chuckle. He melts under the glow of your smile for a second as you giggle at yourself, fanning your face. He hasn’t been that excited about something in, Jesus, maybe forever. It’s infectious. Inadvertently still cupping your cheek with one hand and holding you with the other, he confirms, “That means your students will be the little kids who come out from under the big lady’s skirt?”
“Yes!” You squeal, “You’ve seen The Nutcracker?!”
“Of course I have; I’m not some uncultured jock,” he scoffs. (In fact, he’d watched it on his laptop for the first time – the one where Macaulay Culkin is the prince – after you told him you were submitting your class for the part in the ballet a few weeks back, hoping he’d be able to impress you with it if it ever came up.) Realizing that he’s standing like he’s about to make out with you, he takes a step back and clears his throat before saying, “That’s really great; congratulations. Hope I can manage to score a ticket.”
You pout out your lower lip as your eyes get watery. “You’d come to my kids’ ballet?”
He looks down at his feet and shrugs modestly. “I’m sure my mother would love to go for Christmas or something.”
“That’s so sweet, Brendon, thank you.” And there’s one more hug. Of course there is. This time, he notices the sweet floral scent of your shimmery body spray, the one you spritz on before morning gym sessions to justify putting off your shower until after the workout. He wants to lean into it, to breathe deeper, to fall into the gentle edges of your life where your biggest news is making little girls’ dreams come true. Everything good in you is everything missing in him. When you pull back, you give him a determined nod and offer, “Ready to get started? Today’s the day I pin you, big boy.”
He grins and lifts the rope for you to step into the ring. “I seriously doubt that.”
But he can’t resist how damn determined and serious you look as you jab him with punches, some of them even landing correctly after a few sessions of training. A few times, he gets so distracted with watching you that he forgets to defend himself and you really manage to get him in the ribs. You get this proud expression that’s bright and sweet whenever you do something right. So he maybe, just a little, to indulge himself more than anything, lets you pin him.
When he sees you breathing heavily above him with a big smile, seated on his chest, hands on his shoulders, it’s definitely worth it for the brutal teasing he has to endure the rest of the morning. He touches your waist gently and praises, “Good job. That was a really great strike – getting me off balance. That was good work.”
You erupt into a fit of self-satisfied giggles as you watch him catch his breath and tease, “You left your tummy wide open.”
He cracks up at that, throwing his arm over his forehead. “My tummy?”
God, his sweat smells good. You’ll go insane if you stay on top of him any longer. You finally stand up, stretch out your arms, and reply, “Occupational hazard of working with kids. It’s all tummies and bottoms and magic toes.”
Brendon does a full kip up back to his feet because he’s an asshole and too sexy to take your eyes off of for even a second. As he stretches himself out, too, he snickers, “Magic toes?”
“Tendu,” you explain, extending your leg out in a neat line, “and glissé.” You glide your pointed bare foot along the boxing mat floor, the delicate gesture out of place and eye-catching compared to Brendon’s bulk and grit. His eyes lock on the extension of your thigh, the flex in your calves, the sleek lines you easily craft after a lifetime of practice. He can’t help imagining how lovely you’d be in your proper ballet attire. Catching him watching a little too closely, you nudge him in the knee with your foot and say, “Those are ‘magic toes.’ Some of the foundations you have to master to do any movements, but they’re a little young to always nail it en français.”
As the two of you exit the ring and grab your waters and towels, he says ever-so-casually, “I’d like to see you dance for real sometime.”
Your heart flutters. “Yeah?”
He nods, drinking from his water as an excuse to avoid elaborating on the truth of how much he loves to watch your body move no matter what you’re doing. His adam’s apple bobs tortuously in his throat. You try not to ogle him too much, but it’s fundamentally unavoidable when he leans back against the wall and lets out a deep breath, his chest and shoulders and abs all moving with his lungs.
“So,” you begin, slow and absent, like you’re about to compare schedules with him, “are you really gonna make me ask you out? Because I think it should be the other way around.”
He chokes on his water and sputters a bit, making you laugh at having caught him off guard. After a second of coughing, all he can muster is, “What?”
You roll your eyes, nudge his pec, and explain, “It’s so obvious we’re supposed to go out with each other, Bren. Hell, we’re practically dating already. I mean, c’mon, the meet-cute where you rescued me from danger, the rising action of you helping to heal my broken arm, the climax of you letting me pin you while we’re both half-naked.”
“I didn’t let you-” At your adorable glare, Brendon lifts his hands in defeat. After letting himself think for long enough to make you nervous, he says,“Alright, alright. I wanted to build your confidence; sue me.” He runs a hand through his sweat-wavy hair. Procrastinating. “Look, I like you a lot – you’re beautiful, you make me laugh, you’re easy to be around – but the thing is,” he sighs, a certain darkness taking over his voice, “I don’t do normal relationships.”
You stare him down just to torture him by dragging it out, not wanting to show your hand too early. You’ve been waiting to play it too long to reveal your cards a moment too soon. As if innocently, you ask him, “What do you mean?”
He chews on the words for a minute before awkwardly deciding on, “I have certain…needs, I guess, that typical relationships don’t satisfy. That sounds stupid. I’m not sure how to say this.”
You give him a ‘just you wait’ look, hustle over to your gym bag, and take your phone out. Then you walk back, open up your photos, and present a screenshot of his own FetLife page – specifically your favorite photo of him sweating through a cut-up tank top after a workout, which you’d saved for…reference. His eyebrows raise, amused and suspicious, as you poke him in the chest and inform him with a self-satisfied sing-song voice, “You’re not as mysterious as you think. So let me be clear here: I think you should take me out.”
A smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth. “You’re not surprised, are you?”
“Of course not,” you reply. “Even the first night you stayed with me at the hospital, I could practically smell it on you. The way you barked orders and protected me. Made me feel safe because you knew I was scared.” His gaze has gone intense now. You’d expected him to look caught and embarrassed the way he usually does when you tease him for flirting, but suddenly he’s snapped into his element and it’s making you nervous. You remember what his colleague called him. Shark. He looks like he’s hunting you as you admit quietly, “When you’re like me, it’s easy to notice.”
He takes a step closer and lowers his voice. You’ve got him now and you both know it. “Like you?”
You give him a bashful smile and avert your eyes. “You really couldn’t tell?”
Brendon studies you carefully for a minute. Your fluttery lashes when you’re nervous. Your softly parted lips when you gaze up at him. The way your tears are nothing short of angelic and your smiles nothing short of honeyed perfection. He steps forward, closing the space between you, glances around the empty gym, and lifts his large hand to your neck. No pressure, no grabbing. But you gasp anyway. Your pupils dilate. And he knows. He pushes his hand up your neck until it’s right beneath your jaw, his pinky and his thumb able to encompass the whole width of your throat.
As he releases you, suddenly seeming twice as tall and broad and confident as usual, Brendon offers, “Let’s go out, then. Dinner tonight? So we can talk things through properly.”
Struggling to ignore the throbbing between your legs, you tell him, “I’m done at the studio at four.”
“Text me your address. I’ll pick you up at six.” He checks his watch and shoulders his bag, touching your lower back to guide you toward the locker room, and instructs, “And as soon as you get home this afternoon, send me some options for what you want to wear. I’ll choose for you.”
You’re about due for a cold shower.
you: you didn’t give me a dress code for dinner so i picked out a variety…even some non-pink, non-girly options if you want me to be all sophisticated. let me know what you like 😇
you: and jsyk I treat first dates with potential play partners more like job interviews. too many fake doms out there. too many bad experiences.
brendon (hot gym guy): I have nothing but respect for that approach. More than happy to show how seriously I take my sub’s safety and well-being. I hope I can pass all your tests.
you: vice versa. you’re too sexy to miss out on.
brendon (hot gym guy): Mutual.
you: yeah?
brendon (hot gym guy): Don’t bait me.
you: never.
brendon (hot gym guy): Wear the pink. I like how girly you are.
you: thank you!! i will 💕💕
you: okay I need to get ready now if I’m gonna be all cute in an hour and a half. see you soon!! don’t be late
brendon (hot gym guy): I never am.
you: that’s hot.
Getting ready for your first date with Brendon Park is nerve wracking in the best way. The butterflies in your stomach are less a cute fluttery array and more an absolute swarm overtaking the meadow of your consciousness. Even though he picked your gingham-style pastel pink dress, you still have to arrange a pristine makeup look and accessories. You land on fairly simple makeup for you – sheer foundation, a delicate lip tint a few shades pinker than your natural lips, soft dewy blush, generous tinted highlighter that brings out your undertones, light glittery shadow packed at your eyes’ inner corners to brighten every smile – wanting to let your features shine without having to excuse yourself to reapply gloss every other bite.
Once you’ve got your makeup set, you style your hair just-a-bit-but-not-too-much fancier than you usually would for ballet class and add a few accessories. A layered pearl necklace that should draw his eye to your chest, matching earrings, and, ugh, shoes. You have no idea which shoes are right.
Feeling perhaps a little mischievous, you decide to ask for Brendon’s input by sending him a couple pictures. It’s by pure coincidence that you’re still getting ready, wearing only cheeky underwear and a cropped old tee. And it’s simply practical to take the photo over your shoulder in your floor length mirror so he can get a good view of your ass the heels.
you: which shoes do you like better?
brendon (hot gym guy): Fuck.
brendon (hot gym guy): Processing. Recalibrating. Remembering language.
you: sorry bren i didn’t mean to distract you 😇
brendon (hot gym guy): Like hell you didn’t.
brendon (hot gym guy): The ones with the bow.
you: you really do like my girly stuff huh?
brendon (hot gym guy): Guilty. I like the contrast.
you: because you’re such a big mean masculine beefcake?
brendon (hot gym guy): 🙄
brendong (hot gym guy): Something like that.
you: omg did you just use an emoji
you: im already making progress on you
brendon (hot gym guy): You’re lucky this is a first date or you’d be getting bent over my knee tonight.
you: don’t threaten me with a good time 😘🍑
brendon (hot gym guy): Is the peach supposed to be your ass?
you: oh my god. yes grandpa
you: you’re so lucky you have me
brendon (hot gym guy): I am, actually.
brendon (hot gym guy): See you soon, gorgeous.
Brendon picks you up in that ridiculous, gorgeous Corvette exactly when he told you to expect, ringing your doorbell at 5:58. He’s in a suit. Navy blazer and slacks perfectly tailored to his every muscle, no tie to leave the top few buttons of his shirt undone, soft pink check pocket square – to match your dress, you realize dreamily as he extends a hand to guide you out of the doorway. Having only seen him in scrubs and gym clothes, you’re pretty damn impressed.
Right there on your building’s front stoop, he grabs you by the hips and stares you down like he’s already canceled your reservation so he can eat you for dinner instead. He spins you around slowly, devouring every slope of your body hugged by the sweet feminine dress. His hands are on your stomach, your lower back, your hips, as he turns you like you’re a piece of furniture he might buy.
Under his breath, a secret just for you, Brendon murmurs, “You’re beautiful.”
Not ‘you look beautiful.’ No, you are beautiful.
“Thank you.” Toying with his shirt collar, you reply, “You’re not so bad yourself, stud. Can’t believe you clean up so nice.”
He chuckles and shakes his head and threads his fingers with yours. It occurs to you that he might be a little bit nervous; you know he hasn’t been with anyone in a while, so maybe he’s as stupidly giddy as you are, just in his strong, stoic way of his. The two of you are awkward in that sweet first date way on the drive to the restaurant, accidentally interrupting each other and laughing and making too much eye contact. His hand is on your thigh, almost jittery, thumb absently rubbing the fabric like a grounding device.
By the time you arrive at the swanky place in a low-lit brick building, though, Brendon seems to have shaken out his nerves while yours are still a live wire. He’s in his element with eyes on him, hand on your lower back, giving a charming smile to the manager who leads you to a cozy, more private table by the open screen windows that join the patio to the restaurant, a gentle warm breeze uniting the spaces.
Brendon pulls your chair out, his fingers skating between your shoulder blades as you sit down, making you shiver despite the perfect temperature in the restaurant.
Once Brendon’s seated across from you, the manager says, “It’s good to see you here again, Dr. Park; I’ll be taking care of you personally tonight.”
Just as he’s about to hand you both menus, Brendon stops him. “I already know what we’ll be having, thank you.”
“Perfect; go right ahead.”
“We’ll start with the heron point crab toast paired with that pino grigio from Medici. The 2012, if you have it, if not the ‘22. Add the ossetra, too. Then I’ll do the roasted garlic rack of lamb and she-” he eyes you carefully, savoring the awestruck look on your face “-will have the ahi tuna with the spring onion dashi. And we’ll finish with the pistachio Basque cheesecake.”
The waiter finishes scribbling in his pad and confirms, “Excellent choices, Dr. Park. I’ll be right out with your wine and appetizer.”
The moment you’re alone again, you click your tongue while Brendon looks at you expectantly, his eyes giving you a shit-eating grin even as his lips stay flat. You observe, “You just ordered for me.”
He tilts his head ever so slightly. “Is that a problem?”
After a beat, cheeks burning from the truth, you let yourself admit, “It was really hot, actually. Nobody’s ever done that to me. I always thought it was kinda chauvinistic, but you made it…simple, I guess. Like you’ll do the thinking for me.”
“That’s the idea. It’s a high-risk move,” he replies, all amused and satisfied with himself, “but it was worth it to see you make that face.
“What face?”
“Your eyes wide and your lips parted,” he muses, running a finger along the condensation on his water glass. Your eyes lock to the easy, tiny gesture. Then he reaches across the table and touches your chin, holding it between his thumb and forefinger, forcing your gaze upward to meet his as he purrs, “Like you’re about to drop to your knees and sit pretty for me.”
You blink maybe a thousand times as your brain stutters over his words. When did his voice get so sexy? He touches the pad of his thumb to your lower lip, watching with a sadistic kind of glee as you gasp in softly. You both realize at the same moment that you’d suck on his fingers right then and there if he asked you to.
Which means he doesn’t. He’d never abuse the trust you’re already starting to give him in small pieces. Brushing your cheek a moment, just letting himself indulge in the softness of your cheek’s delicate peach fuzz, Brendon pulls back with eyes so warm you’re melting beneath them.
Your appetizer arrives and Brendon takes care to prepare a perfect half for you, spreading the warm crab salad over crisp buttery sourdough and adding dollops of caviar. When you take your first bite, it’s borderline orgasmic. You have to fight to suppress a moan as your eyes roll back, the mix of mild almost sweet crab alongside something nutty and savory in its sauce and the salty tang of caviar working together in a harmonious symphony. Brendon sucks in a deep breath as he watches your tongue dart out to chase a bead of sauce at the corner of your mouth. When he doesn’t drop his eyes after your second bite, you tease him,“You’re staring at me.”
Unbothered, Brendon shrugs. He never loses that familiar almost-cocky smirk as he replies, “I am. I like staring at you.”
“Yeah? Why’s that?”
“You’re beautiful and you’re on a date with me. Do I need a better reason?”
“I guess I’ll allow it. You should know, though, that I don’t play on the first date,” you tell him, “so if you’re going out with me to tie someone up and get off for the night, you should leave before the expensive entrees get here.”
“In that case, you’re perfectly safe to stay with me through dessert,” he chuckles fondly, reaching across the table to take your hand in his. He lowers his voice and meets your eyes sincerely. “I’m not just looking for some plaything. I date to keep. And what I keep, I take care of. That’s why it’s taken me so long to go out with you; I wanted to wait until I was certain.”
You flutter your lashes and tease, “So you must really, really like me.”
“Yes, I do.”
“Good. Now that we’ve had a little wine, shall we get down to business?”
He straightens up and grins at just how serious you look while still being so damn cutesy. “Absolutely.”
You reach into your bag and remove a glitter pen and the little pastel purple Moleskine notebook you always carry around. First, you tear out a page and hand it over to him. “That’s a list of my limits. You can look over that on your own time and text me any questions.”
Brendon glances over it, tucks it into his blazer’s interior pocket, and laughs, “Christ, I’ve finally met my Type A match. You just have to keep being perfect, don’t you?”
“Yep,” you answer with a sweet giggle. Pen poised, you prompt him, “I wanna know what you expect from a sub. I know you’re looking for something serious, something that’s not just in the bedroom, so I want all the dirty details.”
Brendon leans back a bit and considers it. Really considers it, as if he hadn’t been rehearsing how to explain himself the whole time he got ready to see you. “I want obedience, first and foremost. Make my life better, not worse. Don’t be another problem for me; I already have too many. I don’t tolerate brattiness. I want my girl to sit pretty and obey and be good.”
Writing some half-sensical notes just to make him sweat, you ask, “And what do I get out of it?”
That one comes easy to him. As your entrees arrive, he thanks the waiter earnestly (hot) and then turns back to you with warmth and honesty all over his expression. “Everything you need and anything you want.”
You cut into your mouthwatering dinner and push, “Details, Brendon.”
“I don’t like to worry about what’s mine,” he explains. The way he cuts his food and eats is pornographic. Is there a sub-genre of porn that’s just well-dressed, attractive men having dinner while communicating about needs and boundaries? You might have to create one. Bringing your attention back to his words, Brendon goes on, “Once you’re certain about me, I’ll ask you to put your rent and all your bills on my accounts. That way you can save your money. Hopefully it goes without saying, but I’d add you to the accounts so it still builds your credit and you maintain financial freedom. I don’t want to trap you; I want you to choose to give yourself over to me completely.”
He expects you to push back, to challenge, to not understand. But you just hum and nod and write it down in your notebook with that damn pink glitter pen with its feathery end. Fuck, he wants to shove his cock down your throat right then and there.
Brendon rolls his shoulders and goes on, “I’ll always make sure you’re taken care of in every way. You’ll be safe and secure, pampered and protected. Your own car, a new place in a better building, designer shopping sprees, meal services or private chefs or- Anything, truly. I have too many resources for one man and they’ll all be yours. What I want in return is eager, complete submission. I want to be a guide, a protector, a leader. The person you look to when you need help or safety or, y’know, orgasm after orgasm after orgasm,” he finishes, lightening his tone as he gets a bit insecure listening to himself and how intense he knows he sounds. So he turns inward, to his own worry that he’s going to blow this, and presses, “Your turn, then. What do you need in a dynamic?”
Breathless and lightheaded because it’s like he’s reading your mind, you take a long pause and whisper, “You, I think.”
He glances down at the table to hide the silly smile that parts his lips, innocent and boyish relative to what you’re discussing. You feel his foot lock with yours beneath the table, a silent reassurance. Then he lifts his gaze and needles, “Details, pretty girl. Details.”
After a few more bites that Brendon intently watches you take, you sip your water and tell him, almost coy about it, “I need a dom who doesn’t just make me feel safe but is safe. I never want to doubt them for a second – and if I do, I want them to be self-aware enough to analyze their behavior and apologize and adjust. All I want is to trust someone enough that I can turn my brain off and not worry about all the stupid things that distract me from being happy and carefree. That means they have to respect me as an equal, too, because my limits and boundaries are sacred to me. I’m not going to let someone push them just because of a title.” Finally, you give him the sweetest flirtatious smile and cheekily add, “And, if I have the right dom, the forever one, I want a very pretty and subtle and expensive day collar.”
“I think we’re on the same page here, then.” Brendon lifts his wine glass and says, “To something new and something real.”
You roll your eyes but clink your glass with his anyway, smiling ear to ear at the idea that you might’ve found what you really want. Brendon’s thinking the same. You’re exactly what he needs: Thorough, disciplined, self-confident. Not some girl in over her head. A woman, sure and steady, who wants to fulfill her role with knowledge of what it truly means. No doubts, just enthusiasm. He won’t have to teach you or turn you the way he has with past partners who never quite clicked. You know your limits and your needs and your wants. You’re certain. That, to Brendon, is the sexiest thing a woman can be.
When he asks to kiss you at the end of the date, you say no. Instead, you press your lips to his cheek and murmur, “If I let myself kiss you now, I’m going to break my own rule about playing on a first date.”
Brendon drags his hand down your neck and then places it on your waist, pressing you against your apartment’s front door, his eyebrows pinched together with want. He presses a slow, soft kiss to your forehead and murmurs, “The second one will be very, very soon if I have anything to do with it.”
The next morning, still high on your date with Brendon, you waltz into the ballet studio – and nearly fall over when you see what’s in front of you. The whole lobby is covered in flowers, bouquets of roses and carnations in whites and pale pinks, each wrapped in sheer lace-patterned paper and secured with a baby pink chinoiserie-style ribbon. There are so many that every flat surface is full.
Georgia, the receptionist, raises her eyebrows suspiciously at you as she explains, “Someone donated a bouquet for every single one of our students for good luck at their recital this weekend.” Toying with a folded white note from the florist, sealed by another pink ribbon, she asks, “Totally unrelated, obviously, how did your date with that uber-rich surgeon go last night?”
You snatch the note from her hand and read it greedily. Thank you for a lovely evening. Be at my place at 5:30. Eat dinner and feed Duke beforehand. The concierge will let you in and give you a key to keep. Make yourself comfortable and I should be home by seven at the latest. B. As a slow grin spreads over your features, heart thundering eagerly in your chest, you tell her, “It went really well.”
She squeals with you, “I figured it was that or he’d royally screwed up and these were apology flowers. Glad it’s the former.”
“No, no, he’s…a prince, apparently.” Then you bite your lip and narrow your eyes as you look over the spectacular display, “You don’t think this is love-bomby, do you?”
“It’s intense,” she concedes, then reasons, “but you’ve got a good head on your shoulders. Your frontal lobe is done cooking. And you’ve gotten to know him pretty well, right? Plus, you pursued him first, didn’t you?”
“Yes and yes,” you reply, finally letting the thoughtfulness of the gesture actually take over your body, making you feel loose and sweet and floaty. “God, he’s so good, you have no idea.”
She waves her arms around dramatically. “Clearly I have some idea.”
“Yeah, fair point.” Taking the largest bouquet meant for you, already planning where it’ll go in your apartment once you’re home, you tell her, “Make sure all the parents get their bouquets, alright? I don’t want any of my kids feeling left out.”
“On it, boss.”
“You know I hate it when you call me that.”
She just shrugs, gives you a teasing smile, and, just to be annoying, salutes you before returning to her computer and ringing phone. And you laugh instead of rolling your eyes because you’re too smitten and delighted to pretend to be irritated.
you: most people would’ve texted
bren: Did you want ‘most people’?
you: definitely not 🥰 this is so sweet. the girls are all gonna be so excited for their first show bouquets. and carnations are my favorite!!!
bren: Should I pretend I somehow figured that out in a very roman-tic way or should I admit it was a lucky guess?
you: lucky guess is just as cute. thank you thank you thank you!!
bren: I wish I could’ve seen your face when you saw them.
you: ill do a really good recreation for you tonight
you: I can’t wait to see you 💕💕💕
bren: Me too, beautiful.
bren: And don’t bother wearing something fancy. I’m going to take your clothes off as soon as I’m inside.
you: that a promise?
bren: Yes.
you: good. I have to go get changed and get ready for class. thank you again!!
bren: Text me when you have lunch. I’ll be in surgery until about two, but I want to know you’re taking care of yourself during the day.
you: yes sir
bren: Careful.
you: rarely 😘
Stepping into the lobby of Brendon’s swanky highrise, you immediately feel out of place, wishing you’d worn something cute and designer instead of something comfy like Brendon suggested. But you swallow hard, square your shoulders, and approach the concierge’s desk like you belong there – because you do. To be an independent woman is to assert your worth, as your ballet instructor from your teenage years would often say.
“I’m here for Brendon Park,” you tell the woman in a severe black skirt suit behind the desk, swallowing nervously. “Um, he’s in 2600.”
“Of course,” she hums, tapping on her computer and confirming your name. She disappears into the small administrative room behind a frosted glass partition and reemerges with a keyring holding a fob, a delicate enamel ballet slipper keychain, and a pink key. “His assistant dropped these off for you. You’ll need to use the fob in the elevator to access both Dr. Park’s floor and the amenities on the roof level if you’d like to use them while you’re here.”
Turning over the keys in your hand – and processing the idea that Brendon has a personal assistant who knows about you already – you ask, “What sort of amenities are there?”
“There’s an indoor and an outdoor pool, hot tub inside, along with a bar and cafe open 24 hours a day. Full-service gym with fitness classes, wood-burning sauna, game room. You should definitely check it all out for yourself when you have some free time.”
“A full gym?” You chuckle almost to yourself, “We met because we go to the same gym.”
She nods like that makes perfect sense. “Dr. Park is a very private man; he doesn’t do much mingling with the neighbors.”
Another person approaches the desk, then, so you excuse yourself toward the elevators. Inside, you have to press the fob to a small panel, which lights up the button for his floor: 26. The ride up is so fast and high that your ears pop. You’ve always loved luxury and elegance, but it’s always been a treat. You work hard to splurge on the occasional designer piece. Brendon’s life is drowning in details that could only ever be on the periphery of yours. It’s intimidating, to say the least.
The elevator opens directly into his condo, which takes up the entire 26th floor. With the sun slowly setting, the space is genuinely breathtaking. While it’s definitely not your style – you’re soft and cozy and pastel, not black and woods and stone – you can absolutely admire the intentionality that went into the place. It’s easy to imagine Brendon with all his masculine angles and sharp barbs reclining in the oversized suede couch as he reads or leaning against the expansive kitchen island while he sips coffee. You’d bet good money he hired a designer. It’s all sleek and modern, floor-to-ceiling windows ringing the open-concept living space.
You slowly spin around and let out a low whistle. “Jesus fucking Christ, Bren.”
Making your way tentatively into the condo, you realize that lights slowly come on as you move through, following your steps. You manage to resist the urge to snoop more than feels appropriate for being here alone, noticing the details that he chooses to display. Everything is unique and tasteful, hand-crafted, no Ikea crap or mass-produced decor. There’s even a black and white work by Robert Motherwell that you realize with something that blends both horror and glee is an original.
Yeah, you definitely can’t process that kind of money right now.
Deep breaths.
In the kitchen, there’s a curated care package at the center of the island in the form of a large bag from Saks Fifth Avenue. Your throat goes dry when you see your name on a small envelope pinned to it. Inside, there’s a handwritten note. Seriously, make yourself comfortable. I mean it. I’ll be there soon.
Hardly able to breathe, you unpack the bag to find a flat box from Kiki de Montparnasse and a shoebox from Balenciaga alongside a few smaller goodies. Opening the flat box first, you find a stunning baby blue silk robe with lace details that would hit on your upper thigh, ultra soft and fluttery. The fabric is as smooth and rich as butter. In the shoe box, you’re greeted with cloud-fluffy slippers in the same color.
Once again, you mutter to yourself, “Jesus fucking Christ.”
The last few things in the bag are clearly a suggestion for how to spend the hour or so before Brendon arrives home: Bergamot bubble bath, L’Occitane almond lotion, and a couple other self-care offerings. You take your haul through the apartment toward what you assume is the primary suite given the imposing double doors. It’s marginally softer in there, at least. Just as militantly neat and tidy, but there are books laden with tabs sticking out, an oversized plush chair with a permanent Brendon-sized indent, and other signs of life that make it different from a showroom.
In the en suite bathroom, across from the massive walk-in closet, there’s a huge tub with a telephone-style faucet built into the floor, literally the size of a jacuzzi. He’s even left a handwritten note explaining how to use the jets on the wall-mounted control panel.
Comfortable, indeed.
One more time: “Jesus fucking Christ.”
You take one of those baths so delicious that you feel like a different person afterwards, losing track of time and space and being until you’re in a happy dreamy fog. Once you’ve dried off and slipped back into your bra and panties, you wrap yourself in the slinky robe, not tying it, and walk back into Brendon’s adjacent bedroom. Perched on the end of his bed, you work the divine lotion into your feet and legs until you’re so relaxed you debate flopping down onto the California king and calling it a night.
While you’re tending to your skin, you hear the elevator ding, followed by Brendon’s long deep sigh as his day starts to simmer off. Then you listen with growing anticipation as his footsteps trail through the kitchen, stopping briefly to notice your presence, and then speed up to the bedroom door. You sit up straight on the bed, legs slightly parted, the robe framing out your darling matching bra and panties set, nothing crazy but enough to make you feel sexy.
When Brendon pushes open the bedroom door, his heart nearly stops. His heavy hospital bag falls from his hand and thuds to the floor. Running a hand through his hair, he groans with outright relief, “Yeah, I could definitely get used to coming home to this.” He stalks across the room until he’s right in front of you. But he doesn’t touch you. Not yet. The smell of harsh hospital overtakes the room. While he’s objectively sexy in his scrubs, you can tell he’s beyond ready to get them off. He confirms it by cupping your cheek and telling you, “I’m going to go take the fastest shower in human history and be right back for you, okay? Don’t miss me.”
“Too late.”
Brendon sighs, completely overloaded with desire. Only the sight of your nose wrinkling ever so slightly when the surgical scent hits you convinces him to hold his willpower and clean himself off before he eats you alive. He makes good on his word, at least. In the space of seven minutes, he showers, shaves his face, and does his skincare routine.
And the first words out of his mouth when he emerges from the bathroom with a towel wrapped low around his waist are, “Give me your panties, baby.” When you don’t immediately move, he snaps his fingers and extends his arm. “You don’t wear any when you’re at my place; I need to be able to have you when I want you.”
Your eyes widen at the total authority in his voice.
You’re in the shark’s den now.
Standing up right away as your brain recalibrates, you step out of your underwear and place them into his outstretched hand, beyond embarrassed at how hot it is that he’s so immediately his dominant self. There’s no small talk, no mask. Just you and Brendon. He lifts your panties to his face, inhales deeply through his nose, eyes rolling back, and then tosses them into his nearby hamper.
“Much better,” he tuts once he can see your neatly trimmed, inviting bush. He closes the space between you and skims the silky robe off your shoulders. It falls to the floor, a total afterthought. When he realizes that you’ve chosen a front-clasp bra, his eyes burn with lust. He doesn’t waste time teasing; you’re naked in the next breath. As your chest rises and falls quickly, Brendon takes a step back and rakes his eyes all over you, quietly admiring, “Fucking perfect. Every inch of you.”
Eyes trained on your pedicure, you quietly reply, “Thank you.”
Brendon’s having none of it. He takes your jaw in one hand and pushes your face upward, his expression dark and amused. “So coy all of a sudden. Just have to get you naked and all your attitude goes away?”
You give a tiny nod. “Pretty much.”
“Mmm. That works for me.” For a moment, Brendon steps away from you, disappearing into the closet. He returns in a pair of gray sweats presumably designed to send you into cardiac arrest; even soft, even after a shower, you can tell his dick is something to write home about. You stay quiet, but the change in your breathing is obvious and amusing to him. He drags his first two fingers down the center column of your throat, over your sternum between your breasts, and then along your stomach before he settles both hands on your waist. “Tell me your safe words and gestures.”
“Stoplight system for basics,” you answer easily, “and if I can’t talk, I’ll snap once to slow down and twice to stop.”
“That’s right,” he praises with a wolfish smile – an expression you didn’t fully understand until now. “How are you feeling? Comfortable?”
You almost laugh because, god, can he not read your mind and see that you’re soaked? It certainly feels like he can read your mind with how much he turns you on. “Neon fucking green.”
And he slaps you. It’s light, you can tell, meant to test and not to punish. Not really. But it still makes you gasp as your cheek stings ever so slightly. “Good girls don’t swear. It’s an ugly habit and you’re too pretty to do it.”
Memorizing the new rule immediately, you reply, “Thank you for telling me. I won’t do it again. Promise.”
He kisses your forehead tenderly and praises, “So obedient already. You’re going to make such a good pet, aren’t you?”
You nod eagerly, shifting your weight gently from side to side as you await more attention, more sensation, more. “I’ll always do my best for you.”
“That’s all I can ask.”
And, finally, he kisses you. He’s so soft at first, cradling your cheeks in his hands, letting you learn the way his mouth feels against yours. The moment he hears your breath catch, he deepens it, pressing his hand to your lower back to draw you tight against his body. He touches you without any rush. Every curve of your back and plane of your arms bristle beneath his adoring fingertips until you’ve forgotten how to kiss at all. So you just follow his lead. His tongue claiming yours. His teeth on your lower lip. His breathy, low groan infecting your synapses. You let out a genuinely embarrassingly loud moan when he grips at the nape of your neck, where your scruff would be if you were a kitten, the tiny grab so dominant it weakens your knees.
When he breaks the kiss, Brendon chuckles to himself at your responsiveness and curses under his breath. Despite your opinion, he must not fancy himself pretty enough to keep his vocabulary clean. While you reel from how tingly and perfect your lips still feel, he goes to his hospital bag, rummages around a moment, and removes a pair of black nitrile gloves. He snaps each of them on with tactile precision. At your curious eyes, he smirks and explains, “If I’m going to inspect my new toy, I’m going to do it right.”
You whimper.
He laughs.
Again.
Bastard.
“Lie back on the bed, against the pillows, over toward one side. Arms above your head.”
You maneuver yourself into position, making sure you’re actually comfortable so that you can be fully present with him. Then he manhandles you to be exactly how he wants, arms straighter, wrists crossed over each other, knees bent upward. Your skin burns under his complete, total focus. He lifts his hands as if to touch you but then seems to think better of it. After a moment of thought, he tells you, “This is our first time together, so I promise I won’t do anything that at all pushes your limits or we haven’t talked about you wanting already. I just wanna build trust with you and make you feel good tonight. Same page?”
Breathless and exposed, you agree, “Absolutely.”
So he gets to work.
First, Brendon touches you everywhere – except where you want. It’s not so much sensual as it is clinical, which makes it a thousand times more intimate. Especially with the gloves creating an infuriating, erotic barrier between your bare skin and his, you feel like one of his patients. One of his absolutely drenched, fast-breathing, hot-cheeked patients, yes, but still. He holds your arm in one hand as the other draws along your goosebumps. He kisses each of your fingers, each knuckle, even, and then your palms and wrists for good measure. His tongue plays across your chest, along your collarbone, and he presses a kiss over your pulse.
Then he buries his nose in your armpit and breathes deeply. You squeal out a surprised laugh and squirm a bit, but he’s unphased by it. He holds you down easily – your wriggling only makes him fantasize about restraining you – and observes, “You don’t shave.”
“I have sensitive skin and I don’t perform anymore,” you reply. “You never noticed?”
He shakes his head. “Too busy staring at your gorgeous tits and ass to notice your armpits.”
As he resumes touching you, now running up and down your waist, you ask, “Is that a problem?”
It’s his turn to laugh. Almost a bark, surprised and bright. “Sweetheart, there is absolutely nothing on your entire body I would categorize as a problem.” He takes your breasts in each of his hands, expression dreamy and warm, and opines, “I wouldn’t be much of a man if I couldn’t handle a grown woman having hair wherever it grows.”
Before your quickly melting brain has to come up with something clever, Brendon slaps one of your tits, testing, and tilts his head to one side when you barely react. So he gives you another, this one much harder, and gets the reward of a sharp gasp and an arched back. When he gets the same on the other side, he murmurs, “There we go. Just gotta learn how much you like to take.” Another set of slaps to each side. Much, much harder. You realize with a zing of delectable fear that he’s nowhere near his full strength even as tears well in your eyes and you let out a completely involuntary shriek. “And how much you’re capable of taking. That’s a good girl.”
After a deep breath, you manage to tell him, “Thank you.”
And you earn a slap across your face. You suck in a sharp breath as he presses seriously, “Thank you what?”
Your eyes glow with fuzzy delight; it’s been way too long since you let someone have you like this. Like you crave down to your core. “Thank you, sir.”
“That’s right. Perfect.” Brendon cups your tits, then, and rubs his thumbs over your nipples in careful circles as he checks, “How about here, though?” He massages gently, all the while studying every single twitch of your face as you dip deeper toward that submissive headspace he yearns to get you to. “More than that, right?” The pressure increases until your toes curl into the sheets. He keeps it there for a minute, precise, controlled, twisting back and forth, pinching side to side. When your brows are pushed together hard, every wrinkle in your forehead tight from pleasure and want, he purrs to himself, “Yeah, that’s about it, I think. That’s your favorite. But I bet you’ll take more if I want you to.”
He lowers his head, holds you down at your hip, and bites on your breast. You cry out as his teeth bully your nipple. On the other side, the tips of his forefinger and thumb come together to match the mean, sharp sensation. Electricity sings from your tits to your core, sparking life between your legs, making your stomach contract, turning your thighs tight.
Right before you know he’ll draw blood if he continues, you break and gasp, “Yellow.”
And he eases up. Immediately. Licks your nipples so fucking gently. Kisses them with a prayerful reverence. He raises his mouth to yours and kisses you. Soft. Sure. You whimper into him and he places small kisses all over your face. Then he breathes cool air onto your swollen nipples to soothe them and affirms, “Good job, kitten. I always want you to use your safe words when you need them. That’s the only way I can make sure I have you right where you really, really love. Do you need a break?”
“No, I’m good,” you assure him. “So, so good. All I need is more.”
Brendon nods and kisses you again. He starts at your lips but gradually drags his mouth away from yours and further down. His tongue lathes along your jaw and throat, chasing a bead of sweat down your sternum. He nibbles along your sides and stomach. Some of the gentle bites turn into mouthfuls, teeth digging in, earning his workplace moniker. But you never call yellow through it and, frankly, he’s fucking impressed by the time he’s ready to spread your legs. He’s left all kinds of nasty bites and bruises over your torso and you’ve moaned through each one, begging for more, an altar for him to feast upon.
Finally joining you on the bed, Brendon pushes your knees apart. A sharp breath parts his lips and you have to avert your eyes because you know exactly what he’s reacting to. You can feel the mess between your thighs like honey, a tangible reveal of precisely how much he’s affecting you no matter how bashful you might act. “You’re gorgeous, baby.” He bends down and kisses each of your thighs, lazy and open-mouthed, before murmuring, “Just need a little taste of you or I won’t be able to focus the rest of the night.”
Your legs are twitching with anticipation as he nestles between your legs, bringing your knees over his strong shoulders, and wraps his arms around your hips. He’s got you completely pinned and spread with his broad body. You couldn’t move if you wanted to – and you definitely don’t. He laps up your wine and gets drunk with just one sip. It’s not for your pleasure, really, the way he’s purely and simply tasting you. The fact that he has you trembling and whining is secondary to the way your tangy pussy coats his tongue.
Brendon’s fingers dig into your hips as he pulls away from your cunt. He looks almost on the verge of grief as he resists the part of his mind that just wants to eat you out for the next hour. He laments, “How am I supposed to function knowing this pussy’s all mine? How am I ever gonna get any work done again?”
You cover your eyes and giggle, “I dunno.”
“I’ve already got you stupid,” he chuckles as he straightens up again, sitting between your legs instead of laying. Rubbing your thighs with his thumbs, he sighs happily, “You’re so easy.”
“Just for you.”
“That so?”
“Mhmm.” You grind down toward him, craving anything he’ll give, and admit with a pathetic whimper, “Want you so bad. Wanna be good for you. Be your girl.”
He moves and kisses just beneath your ear, at the hollow of your jaw, and promises, “You’re being so good. I’m gonna see how much this pretty pussy can take now, okay? You just breathe and let me know if it’s too much. Sound good?”
You wiggle playfully and beam, “Sounds so good, sir.”
“God, you’re cute,” he muses as he opens up his bedside table and removes one of several different bottles of lube. “I’m gonna start with two of my fingers and then give you more when I can tell you’re ready. Trust me.”
“I do.”
“Good.” With a kiss to your cheek, he teases, “Usually I’d tie you up for this so you wouldn’t squirm and annoy me, but I’m being gentle tonight.”
Your head spins with how much you want him to tie you up. Still, Brendon’s two gloved fingers are bliss. You’re so slick and aroused that they slide in easily, no resistance at all, and he lets out a shaky groan the same time as you do. He thrusts them in and out patiently, letting you get acquainted with the way he touches you, and brings his other hand to rest above your clit, thumb just hovering, waiting for the right moment to join. His palm adds pressure to the part of you he’s curling back against, where you feel so full already you can hardly imagine how much more he’s going to give you.
Your body’s overcome with pleasure when he does touch your clit, having already endured so much touch with so little relief. The brilliant agony of thorough foreplay. When he feels you beginning to clench up, your pussy not just adjusted to him but really into it now, he drives in his third finger. That stretch is easily as much as being fucked. Your toes curl into his back and you instinctively grab his forearm – not to push him away or pull him in but just to- to- to have something in your hands. Something to keep you rooted as desire starts to make your body smolder and wind up.
Stupid little sounds escape your lips as he massages right against the perfect spot inside of you. Your eyelids are heavy. Your abs twitch and flutter. Your thighs begin to tremble. And, suddenly, almost out of nowhere, the words are tumbling off your bitten lips before Brendon can even instruct you to say them, “Can I cum, sir? I’m really close but I- I can try to-”
“Already asking for my permission. Good fucking girl. So good, baby.” He slows his fingers to work the orgasm out methodically. You tighten around him, slow and constant, until he orders plainly, sternly, like it’s the only thing tethering him to the planet, “Cum for me. Show me how good it feels.”
Your cunt grabs him hard at the peak of pleasure. You turn from sparks to bonfire in a split second, heat crackling through you. The pressure is enormous, his palm pushing down against you and his thumb insistent on your bud and his fingers unrelenting. While you’re still pulsing and moaning and tensing, Brendon begins to flatten out his fingers instead of holding them together in your stretched cunt. He’s spreading you as wide as you’ve ever been and you whine out, “Bren, it’s so- so much.”
“Don’t complain,” he grunts back. Simple. He’s completely stern, ready to punish. “You can take more; I can tell. She’s nice and wet and relaxed; you’re just in your head.”
Tears prickle at your eyes as you admit, “I don’t- I don’t know if I can. So much.”
He slows down and lifts his thumb from your clit. He reaches up and touches your chin so you’ll look at him. “Do you need to use your safewords, kitten? Being honest is being good.”
You take a second to think, to breathe, and tell him, “N-No. I don’t think so.”
“And does it still feel good?”
You whimper pathetically and nod through the tears.
“Then shut the fuck up and take it like a big girl.” He pulls his hand back from your face, takes the lube, and dribbles a few cold droplets onto your hot pussy. You whine at the contrast and he instructs, “Now say sorry for questioning me.”
You sniffle back the tears and blink them away and promise, “I’m sorry, sir.”
“That’s better.” He can’t believe how pretty you are with those wet lashes and tear streaks down your cheeks. He’s never seen something more beautiful and it makes him soften. As he once again flattens his fingers, stretching and scissoring them while toying with your clit, he lowers his voice to a possessive purr and praises, “You’re almost there, kitten, I know you can do it. You’ve already got all four fingers. Just a little more and you’ll have everything I can give you.”
Your eyes find his. You give a wobbly little smile when you see how dark his baby blues have gone, almost no color left. He really loves seeing you like this, completely vulnerable and at his mercy. “You really think I can do it?”
“I do,” he confirms with a tender and warm voice. Seeing your need for his words, his encouragement, plain as day, he goes on, “You’re such a good girl. Being so brave. So fucking pretty, too, taking me like this. I know you can do it.”
You sniffle again and nod and, more determined, reply, “Keep going. I’m ready.”
“Poor little thing just needs some more encouragement,” he sighs lovingly. Nudging the very tip of his thumb into your cunt, he urges, “Show me how much you can take. Show me what a good girl you can be. I’m so fucking proud of you, baby, you’re doing it. Gonna take all of me. Nobody’s ever done that before, you know?”
Brendon feels your pussy spasm around his hand at the praise. You sound so damn adorably proud of yourself as you check, “Really? You mean that?”
“Really, princess,” he swears. You imagine him sounding like this in the OR, completely certain, guiding, a teacher who knows everything including his student’s potential. While he slowly, slowly works his thumb upward with the rest of his fingers, he goes on, “You’re my best girl. So obedient. Listening to me and listening to your body. I can’t believe I’m getting to do this; you’re perfect. You’re gorgeous. I’m gonna make you cum so hard so soon, baby, I promise. It’s gonna be the best thing you’ve ever felt when I finally get you there.”
When you take the first knuckle of his thumb, you let out the dumbest sound he’s ever heard, a crooked high-pitched moan that makes his cock twitch. Brendon ruts against the bed a bit to chase any modicum of relief, sure he’s going to ruin these sweatpants if you keep sounding like that. You don’t stop, every single breath and moan so broken and divine he can hardly stand it.
“There it is,” he croons, clearly proud of himself and you, as your cunt finally lets in the bottom knuckle of his thumb, the widest part of his hand inside of you. “How’s that feeling, baby?”
“So much,” you whimper. Your chin wobbles and your breaths are ragged and your neurons are bright and alive. Struggling to even speak with how good and how much and how perfect it all is, you cry out, “Feel so full.”
“That’s right. You’re fucking stuffed. So goddamn pretty. Prettiest thing I’ve ever seen.” He snatches his phone and takes a picture of his four fingers spread in your wide cunt, your juices and the lube making the whole black glove shiny in the bedroom’s low light. Tossing it aside again, he turns all his attention back to you and instructs, “Now, I’m gonna make you cum again, and you’re gonna squirt all over my bed while you do. Got it?”
“I- I’ll try.”
“No.” His voice is lethal. No room for questions. “You’re going to do it. I don’t care how long it takes. You’re not leaving this spot until you cum.” His hand starts to move again, twisting and thrusting, keeping your muscles so taut that it’s like a real workout. Your forehead is dewy with sweat as he goes on, “I can tell it’s gonna be a big one, too, baby. So overstimulated, so aching, so swollen, so much, right? All that pressure building up, needing somewhere to go.”
He presses down on your bladder as his thumb strums your clit and you genuinely, earnestly weep, “Brendon, oh my god, fuck!”
That earns you a cruel slap straight to your already throbbing clit. Pain and pleasure rocket through you in equal parts. A sob rips out of you and you’re trying to squirm away from the intensity, not even intentionally because it does feel so good, but your body just fights for control while Brendon’s trying to force it to let go.
“No, no, no,” Brendon admonishes like you’re a disobedient dog. His thumb is on your clit, hard, unforgiving, unrelenting. He shoves forward, his muscular torso looking massive, pressing you back against the bed frame. With you on the bring of supernova, he commands like a servant, “don’t you dare hold back with me, you useless fucking slut. Never, ever hold back from your dom. Don’t resist it or I’ll make it so much harder for you.”
You’re half-thrashing back and forth, feeling your brain fighting to stop your cunt from simmering and boiling and steaming into pleasure. It’s all so pent up and tight, begging for something to rend it apart and let in some relief. You’re using muscles you’ve never even felt before as Brendon recklessly defuses the bomb of your body. There’s always going to be a version of you that exists before this moment and a version that exists after. It’s the moment when Brendon Park makes you his. When you give over completely, unafraid and unabashed, to his control.
His voice.
The universe narrows into the pinprick of his voice.
“Cum. Now. That’s an order.”
You snap. You’re a live electrical wire in a thunderstorm, struck by lightning, breaking into splinters and whipping out with pure force. You don’t even realize that you’re grabbing his forearm, his shoulders, his hair, literally anything you can, clawing with full force as all your muscles turn from steel to smoke in a matter of seconds. There’s nothing to see or hear or taste or smell. There’s only him.
When you start to resurface somewhere close to personhood, it’s only because Brendon’s withdrawing his fingers, leaving you gasping and gasping as the muscles that make up your cunt knit back together from being pushed to their limit.
Then his tongue is on your slit, not touching your clit so that you can begin to relax. You’re on fire to the point that his mouth feels cold against your flesh. Satisfied that he's lapped up as much of your release as possible, Brendon mouths at your thighs, nuzzles at your hips, kisses your stomach.
Kicking out of his sweats, Brendon slots himself between your legs. His agonizingly hard cock rests heavy against your lower belly as he strokes your cheek. Your eyes drift lazily up to his. His thumb crosses briefly over your lips and you catch it and suck. His cock throbs as your blissed-out lids close and you swirl your tongue around his skin. Choking on his own words a second because of how damn pretty you are, he murmurs, “You still with me, baby? I know that was a lot.”
With totally empty eyes – empty like a clear blue sky, empty like a blank page full of potential, empty like your mouth when you’ve finished tasting a perfect bite – you lilt, “Feel so good. Just want you, daddy.”
Brendon softens despite himself. It’s not his usual moniker – he’s always seen himself as hard and stern, not soft and guiding, sir and master – but it slips so easily from your lips that it suddenly suits him. He bends forward and kisses you, pressing his forehead to yours as he makes sure, “Color?”
“Green as spring,” you reply sweetly, kissing the pink apple of his cheek. You bury your forehead in the crook of his neck and ask him sheepishly, “Can you fuck me now?”
“Don’t hide from me, princess,” he says, voice low and tender as he turns you to face him again. “Are you just saying that to make me happy or do you really want it? Because it’s okay if you’re done.”
“I know it is,” you reply. Your voice has never sounded so effortless and breathy with him; it’s like he’s seeing the real you for the first time. The self that nobody else gets. You twine your fingers in his damp hair, wrapping a curl around your pointer, and tell him softly, truthfully, “I wanna make you feel as good as I feel right now. Show me how you like it. Take me however you need.” You meet his eyes and hope he can see the want in yours. “Please, daddy. Let me be your good girl a little longer.”
“You’re my good girl no matter what,” he murmurs against your ear, “but I’ve been dreaming about that perfect pussy for weeks, so who am I to deny her if that’s what she really wants?”
“All I want,” you reply, eyes shiny with lingering tears that threaten again. Wrapping your arms around the back of his neck, you beg, “Give me your cock, Bren. Need it so bad.”
Brendon’s fully aware that he’s not going to give his best performance the moment he feels how slippery and swollen your entrance is on his tip. If he’s not careful, he’ll cum before he’s even all the way inside of you. Especially with you constantly keening beneath him, acting like every nerve ending is raw, each inch of his cock met with a shudder or a sob. Brendon hangs his head and tries to take a deep breath as he bottoms out inside of you. He grips the headboard like it owes him money as a full-body shiver runs down his spine. “Fuck, baby. Shit. Oh my god.”
Feeling full and floaty, you hum something vaguely like a question.
He bends down and clutches you close, hand on the back of your head, holding your bodies flush against each other. Shaky and rough, he tells you, “Not gonna last, angel, been waiting too long for this.”
“So don’t last,” you reply simply, “just be with me. Just use my pussy to feel good and late you can use it again or take my mouth or whatever the fuck you-”
His hand crashes across your face. The pain feels so good you want more of it. Dropping his hand to your throat, he chastises, “Just because your pussy feels incredible doesn’t mean you can get away with that.”
You totally unapologetically say, “Sorry, daddy.”
Hunger flickers in his eyes. He flexes the hand that had been resting casually on your neck, fingers pressing into your pulse. “Remember what I said about brattiness?”
You shake your head with a smirk on your lips. “Uh-uh.”
“I don’t tolerate it,” he warns. He gives you a sharp thrust that reminds you just how overwhelmed your whole body is and you realize you’re in for it now. He’s got something to think about besides how perfect your cunt is, which means he can drag this out. As he starts to fuck you slowly, he gives you one chance: “You wanna apologize for real now, princess? Or am I gonna have to choke it out of you?”
Biting your lip, mischief takes over your expression and you shake your head again.
His grip tightens around your throat, stealing your ability to breathe. With how amped you’ve been since he started playing with you, it doesn’t take long for your vision to swim and your head to spin. The lack of oxygen goes right to your pleasure centers as your brain pumps in happy chemicals to combat it. Brendon’s cock speeds up, punching through you in a way that would steal your breath if he’d let you have it in the first place. You’re a match burning down toward darkness.
He lets up for a split second, just enough to let you gasp in a breath, and then starts back up again. His other hand goes down to your clit, which cries out for mercy. The ecstasy claiming your entire body won’t let up and it’s become borderline excruciating. Not painful so much as overwhelming and overpowering. Watching your eyes roll back as your back starts to arch and your thighs tremble, Brendon growls, “Ready to sorry yet?”
Still, you shake your head. This game is too fun for you.
But Brendon has the upper hand. He works your clit hard and fast, about to give you one of those brutally not-enough orgasms, edging you all the way to the top of it. Then he releases your neck, lets you breath, and pinches your clit to kill all the pleasure at once.
He fucks you like he’d fuck a doll, chasing his own high, treating you like a piece of meat, holding your consciousness in the palm of his hand. And you realize you’ve never felt safer with a partner. Because Brendon is studying you every second that he’s choking you. His medical knowledge and his respect for you and his true care all mean he can bring you to the brink of losing vision without you feeling an ounce of true fear. He trusts that you’ll snap to stop him if you need to and you trust that he’ll listen if you do. Which means you don’t have to. You’ve never had such an intense dump of emotion during sex.
So you start to cry. Really cry. The tears break and you try to sob but it comes out choked since he won’t let you get any air in. Your cunt starts to tighten up and he grins at the feeling, knowing it’ll be impossible for you until he lets you breathe.
Holding you tight, he stares you down with sadistic glee in his blown-black eyes. “You can cum if you say you’re sorry. You understand?”
You nod hard as spots dance in your vision.
“If the very first words out of your mouth are anything but ‘I’m sorry,’ it’s going to get so much worse. Got it?”
You nod again, clawing at his hand and forearm now. Your stomach is turning as your organs spasm with desperation for air.
Brendon circles your clit harder, slower, yanking you up to the plateau of the orgasm he has complete and total control over. “I’m gonna let go now. Be good. Three, two-”
Air rushes into your lungs and you’re weeping and sputtering and cumming and wailing, “I’m sorry! God, oh god, daddy, daddy, please, I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m- Ah, ah, thank you, Brendon, thank you, thank you.” And you babble off into sobs as your cunt tenses around his cock, holding on for dear life. He’s licking the salty tears from your cheeks and kissing them back into your mouth as he lets you breathe and breathe and breathe, his cock pounding into you without any attempts at holding off anymore.
In the final few moments after you cum, breaths hard and fast as you cling to him, as you adore him, as you mold to him, Brendon fucks you like aftercare. His hips roll close against you, keeping his cock inside of you, thrusts short, wanting to soak in every millisecond of your pleasure. His orgasm breaks through him in a shudder, reviving something long-forgotten in his soul. His lips lock onto yours and tears bite at his own eyes, too, and he’s never felt that before. Nothing’s ever felt so right as his cum coating you both as he collapses on top of you, spent, trying hard not to crush you under his weight.
Time stretches long and slow. All that exists is your shared breathing. Both of you on your sides. His lips to your forehead, kissing your sweat. Your leg over his hip. His soft cock slipping out of you as your bodies relax. You’re completely without thought. After a lifetime of anxiety, that’s Elysiam. To be serene as a sea on a windless day, your body an extension of someone else’s, your minds drifting together.
Brendon whispers something soft and soothing that you half-catch in your ear. Then he stands up and leaves the room for only a few moments, returning with a tall glass of water. He sets it on the bedside table. For a moment, he gently rubs your arm, encouraging you to come back to reality fully. Helping you sit upright, Brendon takes your hand and wraps it around the cup. “Drink half of this. Nice and slow.”
You nod obediently. He has to hold the glass with you because your limbs are so weak and shaky; he does so happily, watching you drink the water the way a hummingbird might, tiny sips coating your now-dry throat. It takes a minute, but you get down as much as he wants you to.
“Good job, baby.” He kisses your cheek as he takes the glass for himself. Brendon finishes the second half in a couple large gulps. Cupping your cheek in one large hand, he soothes, “God, you’re a fucking angel.” When you just burnish your cheek against his hand, not a word on your tongue, he chuckles, “You don’t even know your name right now, do you?”
You give him a lovey-dovey, hazy smile that turns into an innocent giggle. With your chin in his palm, you say like you’re reminding him, “You know it for me.”
“That’s right, baby,” he purrs as he kisses your forehead. “No thoughts for you anymore, huh?”
You shake your head and bury yourself in the crook of his neck, smiley and spent. “Thank you for taking care of me, daddy.”
“That’s my job, princess,” he replies. You’re certain that this is a version of him nobody else sees, blushed and marked and sweet. “Let me get you cleaned up, princess.”
You shake your head and counter, “Cuddle.”
“We’ll cuddle after,” he offers. “I can’t let my girl get a UTI, can I? Not when I’m a doctor; it would just be bad form.”
Nodding reluctantly, you try to stand up but wobble on your legs like a foal. Brendon chuckles as he quickly stands and tugs you to his body. “Hop up here; I’ve got you.”
That perks you up. You stand on your toes and give a tiny jump for him to catch you, arms under your ass, guiding your legs around his hips. This way, you can keep resting on his shoulder as he carries you off to the bathroom. He sets you on the toilet, moving your body around like you weigh nothing, and says, “I’m gonna grab you something of mine for pajamas, okay? I’ll be right back for you.”
A minute later, Brendon returns in a pair of maroon boxers, holding something for you. He dresses you carefully in one of his old college shirts, soft and well-worn. He doesn’t give you anything for underwear and you don’t ask. You’d love for him to wake you up by playing with your pussy, anyway, so there’s no point. Once you’re mostly covered, he tugs you into his arms and kisses your temple over and over.
“You were so good for me, sweetheart,” he coos against your ear. “Was anything too much? Anything hurting more than it should?”
You pull back just enough to kiss him, your eyelids barely cooperating with being awake as you lazily remember his mouth with yours. Into the kiss, you promise, “Everything’s perfect for me; how about you?”
“I’m happier than I’ve been in years,” he says honestly. Nipping a few kisses up your neck, he asks, “Do you need anything to eat? A warmer sweater, fuzzy blanket, anything?”
Leaning against his chest, you sleepily murmur, “Maybe a snack before bed.”
He strokes your back. “Seems like that might not be far off, sleepyhead.”
“Mmm.”
“That’s a really compelling point.” He takes your hand in his and leads you out of the bathroom. “Come on, I’ll make us some tea and something sweet to snack on before bedtime. Then we’ll get your teeth brushed and we can snuggle all you want. That sound good to you?”
“Sounds like a dream to me.” In the kitchen, you lean against the island while he puts on a pot of water and takes out a box of assorted pastries from a local bakery. Right away, you tease, “Did you get these just for me?”
“I stop by the bakery before my shifts in the morning anyway. I like to get a box of something for the night shift,” he explains with a shrug, presenting a handful of goodies arranged on a nice plate. “Figured I should have something to eat here if I was going to fuck you to the point of needing replenishment.”
You laugh as your stomach rumbles as if on command, your body finally normal enough to feel its hunger cues, “You definitely did.”
After nabbing a cheese danish and taking a few borderline ravenous bites, you stretch your arms above your head to loosen the muscles. Brendon’s tee rides up enough to show the soft curve of your stomach, where he catches a glimpse of some dark spots the shape of his mouth.
“You look good in my clothes,” he observes with a warm smile that he can’t contain. “Really, really good.”
“Yeah?” You do a half-teasing little spin for him, letting him admire the pretty curve of your ass and your supple thighs. “I might steal this shirt; it’s extremely comfy.”
“It’s yours if you want it.”
“You did say ‘anything I want,’ didn’t you?”
“And I meant it.”
When you smile, he swears he could look at you forever.
In lieu of my ko-fi, please consider donating to my mother's long-term dementia care fund
Pairing: Ex!Langdon x Reader
Description: You're ashamed to admit the number of times you crawl back to him on this island
Warnings: It's frank guys..., also i haven't written in such a long time due to a current fixation on harry potter that i've neglected the pitt smh
Golden rays glimmered across the sand, its warmth settling on the soles of your feet as you wrapped your towel around your body. The island had many beauties, but you found yourself constantly straying to the coolness of the water to combat the summer heat. There was no certainty of why you had been invited to this wedding, not when you had no real connection to the bride or groom other than being passing coworkers, however you would give just about anything for a free holiday.
You shivered in the breeze, folding the corner of the towel in the fabric already covering you in an attempt to keep it up. The warmth of the sun was minimal against your goosebump littered skin even as you stayed cozied up in your towel. Reaching for your bag, you let out a soft sigh, ready to brave the rocky climb up to the hotel. It wouldn't be too hard, simply annoying with the absence of good shoes; however, you were glad you were yet to trek up the mountain for the actual ceremony. Who knows how badly your feet would ache after that.
A pair of warm eyes seemed to burn into your back, tracing each mole and freckle it could find as if it had seen them time and time again. Langdon had seen more of your skin than this, yet it seemed to feel like a distant memory. Each time you spoke was more clinical than the last, except for the night of the bachelorette party.
The two of you had shared more than just hushed words and soft kisses, but rather tender moments of intimacy shrouded in the light of the moon on this very beach. Hands rushed to claim what was once theirs, lips chasing that missing warmth. He shook away the thoughts. Everyone knew of his betrayal to you. The promise he broke one year ago when word spread of his substance abuse within the ER. You were unfortunate enough to find out on the night shift after passing Robby, his disappointed and furious aura had you second guessing clocking in. After growing up around a family that struggled with addiction, you could not see your lover fail to recognise his own patterns and so you left.
Yet, here you both were.
Your eyes locked as you turned, a sudden hitch of breath caught in your throat beneath a vomit of words. "Langdon..." You hummed his name as if it was something you had done your whole life, gentle and sweet like honey. For a moment it felt like nothing had changed, especially when that comfortable smile spread across his face. And, in this moment, you wanted nothing more than for it to be the way it was.
He spoke your name with a comfort you had not felt in months. His steps left prints of his sandaled feet reaching you. Langdon reached a calloused hand out, the warmth of his palm kissing your cheek as his thumb brushed your lips. You went to speak but words failed when you needed them most.
"Don't. I don't need to hear your disappointment and shame." Frank spoke with a certain calm sternness that sent a shiver down your spine. "I know my faults, I know you can't forgive me and I'm not asking you to forget forever... But just for the week." Those damned eyes that held you like a chain. How could you even think of denying him when he looked so pathetic, grovelling for you as if he didn't have you all to himself mere nights ago.
"Frank, we can't keep doing this." your voice sounded desperate. A plea for survival beneath his puppy dog eyes. Here you were, thinking once more about the consequences of your actions. They never truly felt like consequences when you both always got what you wanted in the end. After mulling it over in your mind momentarily you sighed, giving a slight nod. "One last time and that is it.." you spoke firmly, although you both knew you were bound to give in again and again.
pairing: frank langdon x resident!reader
wc: 2.8k (this was supposed to be a blurb but i'm a yapper)
the pitt masterlist
summary: your first sleepover at frank's
contains: broken bed (not like that you perv), frank gets a boner, intense yearning
a/n: i hope you enjoy! be sure to check out my y(2k) sleepover event (link at the bottom of this piece) and place your own request! | dividers from @diviniyae
In the overmasking soundscape of the Pitt — beeping monitors, rushing footsteps, and the occasional cry of pain— you somehow manage to take a phone call without having to step outside. Frank watches you from the workstation beside yours, where he pokes at the keyboard in an attempt to type out his notes on his last patient, with little success.
It's nearly ten o'clock, and you're the last two day shift doctors around —besides Robby, of course, captain going down with the ship and all that. An especially long trauma right at seven kept the both of you here past quitting time, which meant that the last hour has been spent in the throes of charting.
Frank's bones feel like they're weighed down by sandbags, and he's only capable of thinking in fragments. Plus, the promise of his empty, divorced dad apartment isn't much of a motivator.
He catches pieces of your phone conversation, mostly frustrated comments on your end. "This is ridiculous, I paid for a room already," you mutter, then ask to speak to a manager.
After another couple of minutes, you hang up the phone and slam it face-down on the workstation.
Frank grimaces. Anyone with half a brain knows not to test you when you're wearing the same exact expression you have now: locked, tight frown, deflated posture, and a sharp crease in your brows.
"What's going on?" he asks after a moment, peering over the top of the divider to find you cradling your head in your hands.
A sharp inhale shoots you ramrod straight.
"Nothing," your insistence comes suspiciously fast as you school your frown into a tight, neutral line. "I'm fine, let's just get the hell out of here, huh?"
"Okay, Karen," Frank teases without thinking about it, shifting his gaze back to the computer, where all the words swirl together. He blinks long and slow. There's a possibility he's reached a semi-delirious point of exhaustion.
"Excuse me?" Your nostrils flare out. Frank swears there's steam shooting out of your ears. "Did you just call me a Karen?"
Blue eyes widen, the reaction more pointed under the harsh hospital lights. "I just mean because you asked for the manager," he gulps, holding up two hands in defense.
You narrow your eyes at him.
"The hotel I'm staying at tonight just called to say they gave my room away," you nearly growl, your intonation making it seem like it's his fault.
"Why are you staying in a hotel room?" he asks.
He's been to your apartment once, months ago, crammed shoulder-to-shoulder with half the day shift for a movie night. You'd somehow wrangled everyone into watching Jurassic Park because Whitaker and Javadi said during a shift that they'd never seen it.
You're hard for Frank to pin down. Half the time you scare the shit out of him. The other half you're hosting movie nights, bringing in banana bread, or showing the med students a procedure with gentle, practiced hands.
It wasn't like he made himself easy to get a read on, either. Between the divorce, the kids, and sprinting upstairs after trauma just to make his drug test before the lab closed, most days he'd barely managed to keep his own head above water.
It took a while, but somewhere over the last few months, his conversations with you started getting longer. Less about patients, more about whatever happened to come up between charts.
"My apartment is being fumigated," you slump back into your seat, locking your hands atop your head. Frank has never seen you so… despondent. It's unnerving. "I told the hotel I'd have a late check-in, but they still gave my room away."
After a moment's thought, Frank realizes the bind you're in. You moved to Pittsburgh for your residency. You don't have any friends or family here. If your hotel screwed you over this late in the evening, then you're up shit's creek.
If he's being honest, he's also seeing something in you that he sees in himself, nearly every time he catches his reflection in the mirror.
Loneliness.
His leg jiggles restlessly under his desk. "You can…" he swallows when your inscrutable eyes meet his. "You can sleep at my place, if you want to."
You furrow your brow. "I wasn't asking—"
"I know," Frank cuts in, saving the chart he's working on, then exits out of it. "But I'm offering."
Frank sees the gears turning in your head. You'd rather gnash your teeth and suffer through the plot of Armageddon than ask for help. You nibble on your bottom lip —an expression Frank has only ever seen you make during a complicated intubation. He never noticed how adorable it is until now.
"I don't want to be an imposition," you say, a little quieter.
"You wouldn't be," he shakes his head. "I don't have the kids tonight. They still don't have beds yet, but I've got a sofa. It's yours if you want it."
"Yeah, okay," his heart gives a little flip when you finally relent, a tight, forced smile stretching across your lips. "Thank you."
Langdon flips the light switch once you're inside, illuminating the apartment in a familliar fluorescent glow.
He drops his backpack by the door, then waves a hand at the small, sparsely furnished space.
"This is it," he says.
"It's nice," you nod at the space, noting the distinct lack of anything particularly Langdon.
"No, it's not," he snorts. "But I appreciate the sentiment."
He's right in assuming you're just being polite. A laminate island divides the kitchen from the gray-walled living room. A sofa faces the television mounted opposite it, and a small table with three chairs fills the remaining space. Functional instead of homey.
If someone told you this was a furnished rental, you'd believe them.
The only evidence of anyone actually living here is the little toy kitchen in the corner, decked out in primary colors. A small plastic chest sits beside it, dotted with yellow stars and two names hand-painted on the side.
Tanner & Penny
Your lip quirks up at this.
"Your kids'?" You ask as you lean against the edge of the island, hooking your thumb towards the playset.
"Yeah," he smiles in familiarity, then steps around you to get to the fridge. He pops a photo out from under a magnet, and slides it across the island to you.
You've never seen photos of Langdon's kids before, but they are, without a doubt, his.
"That's Penny," he points to the little girl with a dimple in her chin. "And Tanner," he says of the slightly larger boy with eyes that are bright, clear water blue.
"They're cute," you nod. "They look a lot like you."
Langdon's thin smile lingers, then he clears his throat. "I can get the sofa set up for you, if you want to hop in the shower," he offers. "Or, did you want to get something to eat? I have a pizza in the freezer, but not much else."
"Pizza's good," you reply, then stifle a yawn. Your body aches with the kind of exhaustion that should knock you out cold, but your brain refuses to follow suit. "I might go ahead and take a shower, if that's okay with you?"
He nods.
Frank grabs you a clean towel and shows you how to work the faucet.
The whole thing feels strangely intimate. His razor on the sink. His shampoo in the shower. The towel he'd pulled from his own linen closet. All of it is closer than you've ever thought you'd be with a man who is, technically speaking, your boss.
You skip washing your hair, leaving it up in a clip as you cleanse your body of the day's grime.
While you towel off, you catch the faint hint of something, then realize that Langdon buys fabric softener. It takes a moment for that fact to digest.
You change into your pajamas —a ratty t-shirt and a holey pair of sweatpants. A little embarrassing, but you packed for a secluded hotel room, not Frank Langdon's dad-chelor pad.
When you emerge from the bathroom, there's a distinct smell of pizza in the air. You pad out in too-big socks to find cushions scattered about the living room and Frank hunched over the sofa, yanking at a steel frame. His cheeks have gone red, manipulating the frame with no success.
"I didn't realize it's a…" you lose the word as you join him, tugging at the opposite side of the frame.
"Pull out," Langdon spews, exasperated and cranky.
"I'm trying!" You say as you try from a different angle.
"No," he huffs, out of breath as he stands up straight. His hands fly to his hips. "It's a pull-out couch."
"Then why isn't it pulling out?" You snap in response, peering into the mechanism.
There's no way to tell why, exactly, the mattress isn't extending like it should, so you try pushing it back in.
It creaks in stubborn response, but doesn't budge.
"It's not going back in," you grumble. Langdon grabs his end and also tries to shove the frame back in. Nothing, save for a distinct click. As though the metal decides to lock in place.
"Sssssshit," Langdon drags out the word, staring at the sofa like he might chuck it through the curtainless window. He scrubs his hand over his face, so hard he leaves white fingerprints over reddened skin.
You chew on the inside of your cheek, unsure of what to say. Do you apologize for possibly making it worse? Do you just leave?
"I'm so sorry," he bounces on his heels, shaking his hands, expelling all his nervous energy at once. "You can sleep in my bed. I'll take the floor."
"What? No, that's… that's way too much from what you've already offered," you bluster, then hook your thumb towards the door. "I'll just find a hotel, Langdon, seriously. Not a big deal."
You turn on your heel, but a large hand catches your shoulder.
"No, it's way too late for that. You'll end up in some piece-of-shit motel," he says as you spin around. You glance down to where his fingers splay across your shoulder. "And then you'll get murdered, and I'll feel just terrible about it." You roll your eyes, but he presses on. "Please, just… take me up on it?"
He looks so tired, you realize, gazing up into cloudy blue eyes.
The timer on the oven cuts through the moment in a shrill, incessant beep.
Langdon glances down at his hand, then slowly draws it back. As he wanders past you into the kitchen, you brush your fingertips over the spot, catching the residual heat.
He takes the pizza out of the oven, the pan tudding on the kitchen island. Your mouth waters at the sight of steaming, gooey cheese and pepperoni.
Langdon follows your gaze to the pizza, then smiles at you. "Will you stay?"
Every logical piece of you screams to grab your backpack and leave, but you suppose you're too damn tired for all that. "Sure," you whisper.
The pizza disappears within fifteen minutes of leaving the oven, no evidence it ever existed apart from a crumb-scattered pan. Frank changes the sheets on his bed, and tells you goodnight.
Relieved for the shower he's desperately craved, Frank follows a delicious, floral scent to the bathroom, the source of which he quickly finds on the sink.
Rose & Pearl is the scent of your body gel, though Frank's not sure where the pearl part comes into play as he sniffs the open bottle.
He catches himself in the mirror, then slowly sets the bottle back down.
Pervert, he scolds himself. Didn't even realize he picked up the damn thing.
When he steps out of the bathroom later, a trail of steam billowing behind, he exhales at the sight of the closed bedroom door. You're in there, leaving that rosy scent all over his pillowcases. His sheets.
In attempt to distract himself, he plucks his phone off the kitchen counter, only to realize it's nearly dead. "Shit," he murmurs. His eyes dart to the closed bedroom door.
He takes a deep breath before knocking.
"Yeah?" You don't sound groggy, so any potential guilt about waking you vanishes from the queue.
"Can I come in for a sec?" Frank asks.
"Yeah," you reply. The door creaks as it opens.
"Forgot my phone charger," he gestures apologetically to the nightstand on the side of the bed opposite from where you sit, propped up against the headboard.
In his bed. With your hair down, spilling around your shoulders in glossy waves. Always so put together in the ED, Frank's never seen you so… cozy.
"It's okay," you force a thin smile.
You crane your neck when Frank rounds the bed, frowning at his setup on the living room floor. Beside the broken couch lays Tanner's Paw Patrol pillow and Penny's Disney Princess blanket. A bright contrast against the drab, gray carpet. "That doesn't look very comfortable," you assess.
"It's alright," he waves off your concern. As he plucks his phone charger from behind the nightstand, he feels the weight of your eyes lingering on him. Frank turns, and finds you boring a hole through his head with your stare.
"Why don't we share?" You ask, exhaling long through your nose.
"Huh?"
"Langdon," your voice borders on an exasperated mumble as you pat the empty space on the bed. "Just lay down. It's already midnight, we're both exhausted. I don't care. It's fine."
Frank's eyes dart from you to the shoddy setup in the living room, and back. He really doesn't want to sleep on the floor.
Jesus Christ. He gives an appreciative nod. He grabs the blanket off the living room floor, and against all his better judgment, climbs into bed with you.
You turn off the lamp on your side of the bed, leaving the room mostly dark, save for the streetlight peeking in from the blinds.
The mattress is a queen, large enough for the both of you, but the space between your bodies is limited. Frank's nose is clogged with the sweet smell of your body wash. Your heat mixes with his.
Get a grip and go to sleep, Langdon, he thinks.
"Goodnight," you murmur from somewhere beside him. Frank's stomach rolls around in his gut.
"Goodnight," he whispers back. He adjusts so he's on his side, facing away from you.
A strong pair of arms looped through yours radiates warmth. Four legs all tangled up like dock knots, and a nose nudging into your hair. Your hand rests over top of the one on your hip. And somewhere between the small of your back and the curve of your rear, a firm length smushes up against you.
You whine at the feeling, not quite conscious, not quite asleep, and roll over. Your bones feel like lead, but the feeling quickly melts when that hardness rubs against your core. Pleasure shoots up through your veins.
You slowly blink awake to see the snoring figure of Frank Langdon. Your eyes widen.
Fuck, you think. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.
You freeze, unsure of how, exactly, to disentangle yourself without waking him up.
He's definitely asleep. You can tell by the slow thud of his heartbreat, and the soft, lazy snoring that rumbles through his throat. Morning light stretches through the slats of the blinds, striking the top of his softly mussed hair.
So peaceful. You blink as the word crosses your mind — peaceful. Something you don't think you've felt since you moved to Pittsbrugh almost a year ago.
It's been lonely, you can admit that, especially since you have no family here, no real friends besides the ones you've made at work. Princess and Perlah, Samira. Mel. Jesse. Langdon.
Langdon, whose dick is pressed right up against your ass.
Shit. You peel away from him, starting with your legs, then roll out of the bed. Somehow he remains dead asleep, pawing at the empty space you left behind. Something self-indulgent inside of you keeps your feet glued to the ground for a moment.
His face is half-squished into the pillow, his t-shirt partially riding up to reveal a slightly hairy tummy. You can appreciate a nice figure, right? Doesn't have anything to do with the safety you felt blanketing your entire body when he touched you.
No, you insist, as you pad quietly towards the bathroom. Doesn't have anything to do with anything.
When you return about ten minutes later, teeth brushed and changed into jeans and a sweatshirt, you find Langdon sat up in the bed. Eyes glued to his phone. Pillow placed over his lap.
"Morning," he inhales upon sight of you, a smile stretching across his face so tight you know it's forced. "Sleep okay?"
"Yep," you chirp, forcing a stretched smile of your own. "Like a log."
jamie's y(2k) sleepover - requests for this event are open
Interlude: Whoa, woman, don’t tempt me to commit a crime
Dr. Jack Abbot x (female) reader | Dr. Jack Abbot x you
Summary: New Year's Eve with Robby and Mara...
A/N:
(1) That's what I envisioned for Robbys NYE outfit
(2) I'm no longer updating the taglist because Tumblr has been glitching way too much lately. If you don't want to miss any updates, feel free to turn on notifications for my posts! <3
Link to "You stole my cart" master list (1)
Link to "You stole my cart" master list (2)
Previous chapter: Part 138: Mommy's fine, Bean. She just needs a cuddle
--- --- ---
December 31st:
“Hey, can I buy you a drink?”
Mara smiled politely and shook her head. “No, thanks. I’m waiting for someone.”
The guy smirked. “Well, I could make your waiting time even sweeter. What do you think?”
She let her eyes drift over the guy - at least ten, if not fifteen years younger than her, dressed in a flashy suit, expensive watch on display, slicked back hair - then sighed. “Look, puppy, I’m not here to play or to help you get potty-trained. So, please leave me alone. And next time a woman says ‘no’ to you, take it seriously and fuck off without another reminder. Yeah?”
The guy’s smile vanished instantly. He shot her a look, turned around and disappeared back into the crowd, mumbling something that sounded like an insult.
She smiled. “Yeah, fuck you too, asshole.”
She let her gaze wander across the rooftop. Il Tetto had definitely dressed up for New Year’s Eve. Warm fairy lights crisscrossed the ceiling above the covered terrace, their golden glow reflecting in the floor-to-ceiling windows. Outside guests gathered beneath patio heaters with drinks in their hands, bundled in coats as they admired the glittering Pittsburgh skyline. Music drifted through the room while bartenders worked almost nonstop, shaking cocktails.
It was beautiful.
And just romantic enough to make her wonder whose stupid idea this had been.
She took another sip of her cocktail, then glanced at her watch. 9:12 p.m. She pulled out her phone. No new message. She closed her eyes.
If Robby had stood her up, she would delete his number, get drunk as hell - and probably egg his apartment on her way home.
“Hey! Sorry for being late!” Suddenly Robby stood in front of her, rubbing the back of his neck, looking incredibly guilty.
She looked him up and down - and frowned. He looked annoyingly good. A navy blazer hugged his broad shoulders, paired with a white shirt with the collar casually open and light blue jeans that somehow made the whole outfit look effortlessly put together instead of overdressed. His hair was still slightly damp, but looked as though he’d actually spent a minute styling it before leaving the apartment.
It wasn’t flashy. It wasn’t even fashionable. It was… simply him. Comfortable. Surprisingly handsome.
She tilted her head. “Jesus, Robinavitch, did you come here straight out of the shower?”
He narrowed his eyes for a second, then smiled. “If I recall correctly that was your order, right? Me taking a shower before coming here?”
“Yeah.” Mara nodded slowly, taking another sip of her drink to calm her nerves. “Just because you spent twelve hours in a place where you need to disinfect your hands every twelve seconds so you don’t catch anything.”
Robby chuckled. “I try not to be too offended by your view of my emergency department.”
She tilted her head. “Right. I sometimes forget you’re the boss there. It’s hard to imagine you as someone who’s actually in charge.”
“Okay, wow.” Robby laughed, then turned toward the bar. “If you keep going like that I definitely need a drink.”
Mara grinned, then downed the rest of hers. “Good call. What are you drinking?”
“Probably beer?” Robby scanned the menu. “You can do nothing wrong with a good cold IC.”
She made a face. “Okay, you stick to your old-man lager and I’m going for another martini.”
“Old-man lager? Ouch.” He shook his head and ordered the drinks.
Mara watched him with a small smile. That could be a very nice evening indeed.
By the time Mara finished her third martini she had completely forgotten she had been nervous. Chatting with Robby was effortless - he listened when she spoke, he asked genuine follow-up questions and tried not too hard to be charming.
“... and then this IT guy actually asked me ‘Have you tried turning it off and on again?’ Like I was some child with no common sense.”
Robby chuckled.
“And then he had the audacity to say ‘You know, I don’t try to be condescending, but women just don't get that stuff.’”
“He said that to your face?”
“I swear.”
He shook his head slowly. “I think I speak for all men when I say ‘I’m sorry you had to encounter such a douche’. We all want to apologize.”
Mara grinned. “Thank you. I’d also graciously accept a very generous gift card to heal my emotional damage.”
Robby laughed in his beer. “I bet.”
For a while they simply watched the crowd. Couples drifted across the dance floor while others leaned against the window overlooking the city.
The music changed and a familiar trumpet filled the room. Mara’s head snapped up. “OH!”
Robby glanced at her. “What?”
“I love this song.”
He listened for a second, then shook his head slowly.
She stared at him. “That’s Sway by Michael Buble, you uneducated simp.” She was already climbing off her barstool. “Come on.”
“What are you doing?”
“We’re going dancing.” She held out her hand.
“Um… no.”
She blinked. “What do you mean - no?”
“I don’t dance.” He took another sip of his beer and shrugged.
“That’s unfortunate.” She grabbed his hand. “But you do tonight.”
“... Mara, please, I really don’t dance.”
She looked at him. “One dance? For me?”
He hesitated for another moment, then sighed the sigh of a man who knew resistance was entirely pointless. “I regret accepting this invitation.”
“Welcome to the club, Robert” she replied with a smile, dragging him onto the dance floor.
Once there she lifted both hands dramatically over her head for a moment before letting them fall again and simply moved with the music, hips swaying, shoulders relaxed, singing the lyrics under her breath.
Robby stood opposite her, shifting his weight awkwardly from one foot to the other, looking incredibly uncomfortable.
Mara glanced at him and chuckled. “Oh my God, you really don’t dance.”
“I told you” he replied with a shrug.
“I thought you were exaggerating.” She stepped closer. “Just loosen up.”
“I can’t.”
She reached for both of his hands. “Just follow me.”
For a few moments they shuffled back and forth in something that could generously be described as dancing.
Then Robby stopped and looked up. “May I?”
She frowned. “May you what?”
Instead of answering he held out his hand. She tilted her head and put her hand into it, still visibly confused. He chuckled softly. “Wrong hand.”
“Wrong hand for what?”
He took her right hand and smiled. “There.”
His fingers closed around hers with surprising certainty. Then he guided her left hand onto his shoulder, before his own hand settled lightly against her waist.
Mara’s breath caught. “You learned ballroom?”
He shrugged and gave her a playful smile. “Yeah, as a teenager. My grandmother insisted.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. I had lessons for eight years straight.”
“Eight years?!”
“I was an obedient child” he replied with another grin.
Her stomach tightened. “Shame it didn’t travel into your adult years” she said with a hoarse voice.
“You have no idea.” His voice was low and she shuddered involuntarily. “You ready?”
“For what?”
Instead of answering he took a step forward - and without thinking she stepped back. Then sideways. Then forward again.
Her eyes narrowed. “You’re leading.”
“That’s usually how this works” he said with a chuckle.
“I’m not a follower. I’m a leader.”
Robby grinned. “Yeah? Not today, I’m afraid.”
“Oh, shut up.” She blushed.
Robby guided her across the dance floor with a quiet confidence she hadn’t expected. There was nothing flashy about it - no spins, no dramatic flourishes, just his hand resting lightly against her waist and tiny movements that somehow steered her exactly where she needed to go.
Every time she hesitated he adjusted before anyone else could have noticed, making her feel like she was keeping up when she knew perfectly well she wasn’t.
Somewhere between the music, the fairy lights and the city glittering beyond the windows she stopped trying to remember what little she’d learned about ballroom dancing as a teenager and simply followed.
Trusting him came far more naturally than she’d expected. Another thing she hadn’t expected was just how ridiculously attractive that calm, understated confidence would turn out to be.
At one point she looked up. “When exactly were you planning on telling me you could do this?”
“I wasn’t.”
“Why?”
He shrugged slightly, his movements never faltering. “It’s not exactly a panty-dropper topic.”
This made her laugh out loud. “Oh, trust me, this is more of a panty-dropper than anything else you ever said to me.”
He stopped mid-step, stared at her for a moment before resuming dancing. “If my grandma would have told me that I’d have gone to those ballroom dance lessons far more motivated.”
“Grandma set you up with useful skills and a knowing smile” Mara replied with a grin.
His laugh rumbled softly between them.
Mara swallowed hard. Somewhere between teasing him about his beer and letting him lead her across the dance floor she had stopped thinking about whether this was a date.
And started hoping it was.
The rest of the evening disappeared surprisingly quickly. Conversations blurred together. A drink became another, then another. At one point they wandered out onto the terrace despite the cold, leaning against the railing overlooking the city.
After a moment Robby nodded toward a brightly lit tower across the Allegheny River. “See that building over there?”
Mara followed his gaze. “The tall one?”
“Yeah.” He smiled faintly. “That’s my hospital.”
She looked back at him. “Really? You own the whole hospital?”
“Wisecracker.” He laughed. “It’s where I work.”
She looked back toward the building. “Honestly? I still can’t believe you’re a doctor.”
“Really? Why is that?” He looked at her curiously.
She shrugged. “I can’t imagine you being… all serious and responsible.”
Another laugh. “Well, but that’s how I am when I’m in there. But I do hope you never see me as a doctor.”
She frowned. “Why?”
He looked back toward the hospital. “Because I like the thought of you being healthy enough never to need my services.”
For a moment she simply looked at him. “That’s actually a really sweet thing to say.”
He shrugged, almost looking embarrassed.
She smiled before nudging his shoulder. “Still.”
“Hm?”
“I’d kind of like to see you there.”
He lifted his eyebrows. “In the emergency department?”
“No.” She laughed. “In your respectable doctor outfit.”
He stared at her. “What the hell do you mean by doctor outfit?”
“You know. The white coat and all that.”
“Oh.” He laughed. “Sorry to be the bearer of bad news but I never wear one.”
“You don’t?!”
“Nope. It’s not a very practical thing to wear.”
“Oh.” A pause. “So, what do you wear then?”
“Scrubs” he said with a shrug. “Or a hoodie. Or whatever I happen to pull out of my wardrobe at six in the morning.”
“Okay, that sounds… significantly less sexy.” She took another sip of her drink, mock-pouting at him.
He chuckled. “Maybe I can steal a coat from some of the doctors upstairs?”
Mara looked at him, grinning. “I’d love to see that.”
“Whoa, woman, don’t tempt me to commit a crime.”
“I’d never.”
He looked at her for a beat, then smiled. “Liar.”
She laughed and held his gaze for a moment, before turning back toward the shimmering skyline, her heart beating way too fast.
And then - suddenly - it was midnight.
The lights in the bar dimmed. A countdown appeared on a giant screen above the bar. People started moving closer together. Couples found each other.
Someone behind them yelled “WHERE’S MY WIFE?!” Another voice answered with a dry “Probably hiding from you”, which made the whole room laugh.
Mara accepted a glass of champagne from one of the waiters. Robby did the same.
“So…”
“So.”
Mara smiled. “I remember a similar situation last year.”
“Yeah.” Robby scoffed. “And your best friend ruined what was supposed to be the perfect New Year’s Eve tradition.”
“It was still a pretty good kiss.”
Robby gulped. “Don’t make me think about it.”
TEN.
“I bet you thought about this often, huh?”
NINE.
“No comment.”
EIGHT.
“I thought about it a lot.”
SEVEN.
“Really?” He looked at her.
SIX.
“Yeah. And how it would have been different with you.”
FIVE.
“Really?” Without thinking his hand found hers.
FOUR.
She intertwined their fingers. “Really.”
THREE.
He took one tiny step closer. “I like that.”
TWO.
“Me too.”
ONE.
She smiled. “Probably a little too much.”
HAPPY NEW YEAR.
The rooftop erupted. Fireworks burst across the skyline. People shouted.
“Happy New Year, Michael.”
“Happy New Year, Mara.”
For a moment they just looked at each other. Then Mara leaned in first.
The kiss was soft, tentative, curious, gentle. It was a kiss that made Mara’s stomach tighten, warmth spreading through her chest. She started to smile halfway through.
When they pulled apart, they simply looked at each other, smiling. Mara raised her glass of champagne. “To very exciting opportunities.”
Robby raised his own glass. “Cheers.”
She took a sip - and realized she was still holding his hand. And she didn’t intend to let go.
— — —
January 1st:
Robby:
I’m still confused by that kiss.
Mara:
Why? It was a nice kiss.
Robby:
It was the best goddamn New Year’s kiss I’ve ever gotten.
But that’s not the point.
What does that mean? For us?
Mara:
Honestly?
Robby:
Always.
Mara:
I don’t know. I’m a little confused too.
Robby:
Okay.
Mara:
Sorry.
Robby:
Wanna be confused together?
:)
Mara:
I’d love to.
--- --- ---
You wanna keep reading? - Next part is coming soon, I promise.
summary: The world as you know it is over - and you're looking to make a quiet exit on your own terms. Fate decides to intervene, forcing you to give life another chance. The road to the North is long and dangerous - but at least you're not alone anymore.
pairing: Dr. Jack Abbot x fem!reader/afab!reader
tags: apocalypse!AU (please don't ask me how the world ended, I literally do not know lmao), emotionally exhausted reader, no use of y/n (sorry, I hate it), protective Jack Abbot, unrequited (not actually) crush, age-gap (reader is about 20 years younger than Jack, he's in his late 40s), hurt/comfort, domestic fluff, some light humor, forced proximity, explicit smut
warnings: apocalyptic/dystopian setting, possessive behavior, some very light body dysmorphia/references to insecurities related to weight etc, cussing, kissing, smut (mdni!), dom/sub dynamic, heavy dirty talk, praise kink, oral sex (f receiving), fingering, overstimulation, hair pulling, bigdick!Jack Abbot, rough sex, emotional sex, unprotected sex (sort of), creampie, aftercare
word count: 5.2k
dividers: 1 / 2
fic playlist: 🛣️
ao3 account: 🍂
a/n: Y'all... don't look at me 🥴 I kept giggling like a maniac while writing this and it just kept getting longer and longer... (pun VERY much intended lol). Anyway, here's the smut, enjoy!
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The sky has grown angry by the time you finally reach the (thankfully untouched) cabin.
Gloomy purple and eerie blue blotch out what little light is left from the afternoon, the wind picking up in intensity and carrying the scent of ozone and petrichor.
Jack pushes the bike into the shed in the back, then joins your side as you stare up at the single-story building.
Dark logs. White windows, paint chipping off the weathered wood. A modest porch with a bench swing covered in leaves. Nothing but vibrant forest and boundless hills around you.
“It’s not much, I know,” Jack says after a while. “Should do for a few nights though.”
You roll your eyes at his modesty. “Are you kidding? I love it. Might have to move in permanently and realize my retirement plans after all.”
He chuckles. “I knew you were just after me for my real estate.”
“Hey!” You swat his arm. “I resent that statement - I happen to like your hair as well. Terrific genetic makeup.”
Jack quirks a brow. “Good to know you’ve thought about what I bring to the table.”
Foot, meet mouth.
Thankfully, he doesn’t dig any deeper, kicking at one of the stones that line the gravel path leading up to the cabin and revealing a ziplock bag with a key inside. Tossing it to you, he jabs a thumb in the direction of the shed.
“I’ll go start up the generator and get the bags.”
“Do you need help?”
Jack waves you off. “What I need is for you to go inside and make yourself at home. Storm’s going to be here soon.”
He disappears behind the cabin again, giving you a moment of respite as you take the flight of steps up the porch to unlock the door.
Dust and faint traces of woodsmoke linger in the stale air of the cabin. You move to open a few windows before taking in the rustic interior: the practical kitchen and the cozy living room are separated by a single island.
Most of the back wall is taken up by a fireplace, landscape pictures resting on the mantle. A couch and a leather armchair sit on a plush rug.
It’s homey – and intimate. Enough for you to panic a little.
The fact that Jack is sharing this piece of himself with you is giving you false hope – which is something you’ve been desperately trying to avoid since this morning.
You don’t want to push him into a role he hasn’t asked for – it’s bad enough that he has to put up with you for an extended amount of time now.
As if on cue, thunder rolls overhead.
You flinch, relieved to see Jack stepping inside soon after. Dropping the bags at the door, he casts a brief glance around the room.
“Strange to be back here - like a memory from a different life.” He sighs. “I couldn’t convince Robby to make the trip. He wanted to stay in Pittsburgh and look for his ex-wife and stepson.”
You instinctively reach for his hand at his sad tone. “I’m sorry he didn’t make it, Jack. And that you were alone when you had to bury him.”
“He could be such a stubborn asshole. But Robby was like family - the annoying brother you can’t help but love.” A wistful smile pulls at the corners of his mouth. “He’d be glad to know that we found each other, you know? Though he always told me that your talents were wasted on the night shift.”
“But I liked the night shift. We had the craziest cases. And your huddles – which I kinda miss, to be honest.”
Jack huffs out a laugh. “Hoo-rah.”
“Hoo-rah,” you repeat quietly, squeezing his fingers.
The next minutes are spent in comfortable silence. You clean up months of dust from the furniture and Jack lights a few oil lanterns in addition to the tall floor lamp in the living room.
“Generator should be good for tonight, but it made a lot of noise once I got it running. I’ll take a look tomorrow.” The former attending nods towards the hallway. “If you want, you can go ahead and take a shower though. The AWG looked fine from what I could tell.”
“A shower?” you squawk, unreasonably excited.
“A warm shower,” he emphasizes, nearly stumbling back when you press an exuberant kiss to his scratchy cheek.
“I’ll take that as a yes,” he laughs. “Let me get you a change of clothes. We should probably do some laundry while we’re here.”
The bathroom is small, but just as cozy as the rest of the cabin. Rough stone and aged ceramic meld together perfectly. You clutch the flannel and the boxers Jack had given you to your chest, fighting the urge to jump for joy.
The hot water feels like a literal blessing on your skin. Months of stress, simply gurgling down the drain – a far cry from having to bathe in rivers or puddles for a year. Creature comforts are damn hard to come by in the apocalypse.
Your shoulders droop a little when you return to the living room, swimming in Jack’s clothes and smelling of the woodsy body wash he had stored in the caddy.
He’s rummaging around in the kitchen, a pot steaming heavily on the gas stove.
“Tomato soup okay?” he asks absentmindedly, reaching for the spice rack.
“Of course.” You lean your back against the counter. “I can take over, if you want. Give you a chance to shower too.”
Jack looks up and freezes, knuckles going white around the salt shaker he’s holding. His eyes rake down your body, lingering here and there.
“What?”
“Nothing,” he rasps, pushing away from the stove. “A shower sounds good. I’ll be right back. Left your stuff in the guest room, if you’re wondering.”
You nod, mildly confused by his hasty exit. Humming to yourself, you continue cooking, adding dried basil and a generous sprinkle of chili flakes to the pot.
When the soup is seasoned to your liking, you collect two bowls from one of the cabinets above the sink. The soft patpatpat of rain hitting the roof and the far-off thunder are almost soothing now.
Enclosed in the bubble of peace that the cabin provides, the end of the world seems like nothing but a bad dream; an abstraction with no real meaning.
“Food ready?”
You turn to look at Jack, biting the inside of your cheek at the sight: flannel pants riding low on his hips, gray curls still dripping water onto his black shirt and appearing far more relaxed than he had a few minutes ago.
“Almost.”
You both eat at the counter, dipping crackers into your bowls and sipping tea with way too much honey stirred into it.
“This was the best thing I’ve ever eaten,” you declare through a final mouthful, sighing contentedly.
“It’s just canned soup that has been sitting in the pantry for too long,” Jack grins. “What I really miss is steak. A nice burger. And Dana’s homemade meatloaf.”
“That is such a typically male opinion,” you deadpan, placing the empty bowls in the sink. “I’m disappointed, Dr. Abbot.”
“Alright, smartass, what do you miss the most?”
“Chocolate,” you say after a bit of thinking. “Ice cream. Greasy pizza after a long shift.”
You pause briefly, voice wavering when you finally continue. “But what I miss the most is this. Not having to run or fight for the next day. Normalcy, I guess.”
Hands tight around the edge of the counter, you stare out into the dark forest and Jack shifts closer to pull your back against his chest, tracing nonsensical patterns over the folds of your shirt.
“Me too.”
You close your eyes and let the fragile moment linger.
Lightning flashes across the dark ceiling of your room, followed by a crack of thunder, loud enough to sound like the sky is being split apart.
The howling wind rips through the forest like a destructive deity, droves of wet leaves hitting the window from time to time.
You can’t sleep.
Not because of the storm. Not because you don’t like the bed.
You love it, actually. The mattress is just right, the duvet plush and the pillow has the perfect height.
You’re warm, clean and your belly isn’t aching from hunger.
And yet you still cannot drift off. Wakefulness scrapes at the inside of your head like a caged animal - too similar to how most of your nights have felt since the fall of humanity.
The reason hovers at the forefront of your mind, waiting for you to see reason, but you refuse to engage with it.
Stop. Don’t make this harder on yourself.
Frustrated, you sit up and kick the blankets off.
The weathered floor boards creak under your bare feet as you stand and move to the door, quietly slipping into the hallway and back to the living room.
Jack had left the oil lamps burning and the dim glow casts flickering shadows on the wall.
You observe the odd dance, sipping on a cold glass of water. You stare out the window, watching the eldritch shapes of the trees get illuminated by the storm. You wander over to the couch to sit, only to immediately stand back up.
Even though it’s clear that sleep isn’t going to come tonight, you decide to give your bed another chance.
Just as you reach for the doorknob, the room opposite of yours opens.
Jack lingers at the threshold, reading glasses on his nose and wearing a tentative expression.
His curls are messy, as if he’d been tearing at them.
Rooted to the spot, you try to swallow the sudden dryness in your throat. “Hi.”
“Hi.” Jack gives a small, tired smile that toes the edge of self-deprecating. “Can’t sleep either?”
“No,” you whisper. “I tried, but…”
Silence falls like a heavy curtain, leaving only the thunder and the rain and the sound of your breath.
Then, Jack steps to the side.
A clear invitation, one that accelerates your pulse immediately.
You watch him carefully, how the lamp on his nightstand illuminates his back, half of his face cast in twilight.
There will be no going back after, you’re acutely aware of that. If you cross this final boundary – if you let yourself have this – you won’t ever be able to make it through another night without him.
And despite all the reasons opposing it, the decision is laughably easy.
Jack closes the door behind you, the click echoing through the room.
The first thing you notice is the bed. It’s bigger than yours and much more inviting as well – mostly because of the knowledge that he had just gotten out of it.
The book he’d been reading is on the floor, probably tossed after an unsuccessful attempt at making sense of its contents.
“Questioning your choice in literature?” you ask meekly.
“Please don’t talk right now.”
You whip around at the rough demand – and the all-consuming intensity in his gaze nearly knocks the wind out of you.
Jack tears off his glasses, tossing them in the general direction of the tall bookshelf in the corner.
“...Why?” you breathe, heat unfurling low in your stomach.
“Why?” he repeats through clenched teeth. “Because I’m trying to be respectful, that’s why. Because I’m too fucking consumed by you to think clearly. Does that answer your question?”
Oh. Oh.
“I don’t want you to be respectful.” Your admission is immediate.
Pleading.
Jack shakes his head. “You don’t know what you’re asking for.”
“I know exactly what I’m asking for.”
“No. I’m responsible for your safety, your wellbeing. And I’m not going to weaponize your vulnerability for my own selfish needs.”
“Jack.”
The muscles in his jaw twitch at the sound of his name and you step closer, raising both of your hands to settle them on the warm expanse of his chest. Adam’s apple bobbing, he stares at your lips, leaning in just a fraction.
“You’re not taking anything – I’m giving it to you.” The promise turns his expression hopeful, one of his palms landing heavily on your waist.
Melting into the touch, you continue: “Not because of some misplaced sense of obligation, but because I’ve wanted you for a long time. I realized that I had a hopeless crush on you in my second week with the night shift – and after a year it had turned into far more than that.”
His free hand winds into the fabric of your – his – shirt, dragging you closer, enough for him to lean down. Your noses brush, every shallow breath shared.
“We shouldn’t,” he groans, closing his eyes. “God, sweetheart, we really shouldn’t.”
“Please.” You’re not above begging at this point, unshed tears sticking to your lashes. “Jack, please.”
The thread snaps.
Jack bridges the remaining distance with a fury, hands flying up to cup your jaw as he kisses you like he’s been starving for it, like it’s vital to his existence.
Nothing about the kiss is gentle. He licks into your mouth and sucks on your tongue with single-minded focus and soon your head is spinning from the lack of oxygen.
Your back hits the bed only moments later and Jack pulls away just enough to attach his mouth to your neck, marking the skin. The scratch of his stubble mingles deliciously with the sensation, drawing a choked whimper from you.
“Do you have any idea” – he nips the sensitive spot right beneath your ear – “how badly I’ve wanted this? You, squirming in my bed?”
Arching against him, you try to look for an answer in the cotton-candy bliss suffusing your brain and come up woefully short.
Jack doesn’t seem to mind and shifts to kiss you again, incisors sinking into your bottom lip briefly before letting his darkened eyes trail down your slack body.
“Using my bodywash, wearing my goddamn clothes,” he growls. ”Fuck, baby, the things I thought about when you walked into the kitchen like this…”
The endearment makes you shiver, giving you away immediately.
Jack toys with the buttons of your flannel, wearing a knowing half-smile. “Had to fuck my hand in the shower, baby. Needed to take the edge off, or I would have bent you over the counter and taken you right there.”
Your mouth, already kissed raw by him, parts at the filthy admission.
The small movement catches his attention and he reaches out to cup your chin, calloused thumb tracing your lips reverently. Drawing him into your mouth, you suck softly, the tip of your tongue following the shape of the digit.
Jack stills above you, pupils blown wide as he watches. His thumb presses down ever so slightly, pinning your tongue. You let him, sighing appreciatively.
The boxers he had given you stick to the apex of your thighs, hips shifting just enough for him to take notice.
“Fucking hell,” he bites out. “Need something, baby?”
It almost doesn’t occur to you that he’s actually expecting a response, but when the realization hits, the room tilts on its axis.
Head dipping to the side, you hide your face in the bedding and the sound that rises in your chest is pained, forlorn.
“Jack…”
“Look at me.”
You do as he asks, inhaling sharply when his hands drift down to your thighs, mapping the trembling skin.
“You have to tell me what you want.” Jack leans in for another heated kiss, as if to underline his demand. “Let me hear it, sweet girl. C’mon.”
You chase his lips, but he stays just out of reach, electing to nose your jawline instead.
“I need you to touch me,” you gasp.
“I am touching you.” He squeezes your thighs, the smile in his voice evident.
“That’s not– “ A featherlight brush on the inside of your knee cuts you short, stealing the air from your lungs.
“Higher?” Jack coos.
“Please.” The plea is barely more than a whisper, but it’s enough for him to take pity on you.
Or perhaps he’s just as overcome, because Jack doesn’t bother wasting any more time. His entire hand slides to the damp, warm space between your legs, cupping you roughly.
A fractured groan tears from somewhere deep inside his chest and he presses his forehead to yours, staring at you like you’re the answer to every question he’s ever had.
“Christ, sweetheart, you’re making a mess.” He lets all four of his fingers sink between your folds, as much as the fabric allows. “Fucking soaked. Is that for me?”
You sob your assent, seeking for purchase in the sheets. “Yes, it’s for you-”
“Yeah?” Jack presses. “I make you this wet? Enough to ruin the clothes I put you in? Maybe I should take them off, hm?”
The second he finds the waistband of your boxers, you lift your hips and he wrenches them down your legs, immediately moving on to the flannel once they’re off your ankles. Buttons go flying and skitter across the bed, hitting the floor like a mimicry of the rain outside.
Jack parts the fabric, letting it fall beside your ribs. Lightning flashes across your feverish skin, contrasting sharply with the soft glow of the lamp on his nightstand.
Your first instinct is to cover yourself.
The end of the world hasn’t been kind to anyone, but even with the frequent lack of food and water, your body had retained some of the flaws you couldn’t help but focus on every time you looked in a mirror:
Prominent hips dips.
A plush weight at your thighs that never quite went away.
Stretch marks from your teenage growth spurts.
Every blemish laid bare for him to see. It’d been difficult enough to mask your insecurities in previous relationships. Some you had left with entirely new ones.
And it’s worse with Jack somehow. Because he’s older. Because he had already lived through two decades before you were even a concept in your parent’s minds – and you’re keenly aware that his preferences have been shaped by his experience.
Your forearms only make it a few inches of the bed before he pushes them back down.
“No,” Jack croaks. “No. Don’t hide from me.”
The faintest band of hazel remains around his widened pupils, hungry and heavy as his gaze sweeps over your prone form.
When he notices your wary expression, he softens, leaning down to capture your mouth in a lingering kiss that deepens when your nipples brush against his shirt.
Jack’s hands climb the ladder of your ribs, closing around your breasts in a firm squeeze, thumbs circling the stiffened peaks.
“That feel good, baby?” he murmurs. “You gonna let me do more?”
“Anything,” you breathe. “Whatever you want.”
“Is that right?” Jack inches down, kissing along your collarbone. “So you’ll let me spread this beautiful body over every single surface in this cabin? You’ll let me taste you?”
You want to protest, but he closes his mouth over one of your nipples, suckling with a rumbling moan. One of your hands tangles in shorter curls at the back of his head, the salt-and-pepper your singular anchor.
Jack releases you with a soft pop, warm breath fanning over the damp peak before switching to the other.
You’re a wreck by the time he’s had his fill: shaking all over, the wetness between your legs almost uncomfortable, nipples red and sensitive.
Satisfied, Jack pushes himself to his knees and reaches over his shoulder, dragging the collar of his shirt over his head. It hits the floor with a muffled thud and the golden lamplight finally coats his skin.
Broad shoulders that taper into thick biceps. A dusting of hair on his equally imposing chest, continuing down a stomach that had softened somewhat with the years.
Every inch of his skin is dusted in freckles and other marks that represent a lifetime of battles:
A long stitch right across his ribs. A healed burn on the ball of his left shoulder. A circular wound above his heart.
That one draws your attention the most, your index and pointer finger mapping the raised tissue tenderly. Jack catches your hand with his own, looking at you with a mix of barely restrained fondness and want.
“You’re perfect,” he rasps. “Perfect and mine.”
Jack settles back in the cradle of your legs, lower this time, silver stubble scraping over your hipbones. The bright burn is delicious, lingering in the wake of his indulgent kisses.
You’re well aware of his intention, but you still don’t expect it when his mouth descends upon your clit, tongue drawing a slow, experimental circle before sucking in earnest.
Spine arching off the mattress, you whine, already on the edge of shattering into a million pieces. Jack stretches his right arm over your stomach and hauls you back down, redoubling his efforts. Two thick fingers push inside you without warning, starting an unyielding rhythm.
Wet sounds echo through the bedroom, mingling with your heavy breathing and Jack’s gratified moans.
When you whimper his name, he curls the digits to drag them along your clenching walls, once, twice–
Blood rushes in your ears and stardust bursts behind your eyelids, hips thrashing in Jack’s iron hold. He tongues your pussy, lapping at the wetness like a starving man.
The pleasure mounts and falls, sweat coating your skin in a thin, glistening layer. Above you, the ceiling spins and wavers, the motion far away and very close at the same time.
Jack offers a brief moment of reprieve, then rolls his tongue back over your swollen clit, circling the sensitive nub.
You frantically shake your head and fumble for his curls, nails scraping at the roots.
“No. You can give me another,” he pants, eyes glazed and blackened.
“Jack-”
“Doing so well, baby. Such a good girl for me.”
Descending once more, he mouths at you, flicking and taking and taking.
The words unravel you at the seams, a soundless cry rising in your throat as a rush of wetness spills between your legs. Jack drinks you down greedily, easing the pleasure with gentle thrusts and murmured praise.
His stubble glistens with your release when your pulse returns to an acceptable baseline and he’s wearing a self-satisfied smirk that shouldn’t be as handsome as it is.
“You okay there, champ?” he croons, moving to nuzzle your damp cheek.
Words and sense still feel a bit disconnected, so you lean in for a kiss and loop your arms around his neck. You can taste yourself on his tongue and the knowledge sends a fresh bolt of heat to your core, renewing the still very much present need to have him closer.
Jack hums, yielding to your embrace willingly – until your fingers run through the happy trail above the waistband of his pants. He freezes, grabbing your wrist to stop you from going further.
Your expression falls and he immediately nudges your chin to keep your attention on him.
“Baby, I want to,” he says quietly. “Trust me, I’d love nothing more. But I’m not exactly… prepared for this situation.”
It doesn’t take long for you to catch on, relief replacing the sting of confusion. Guiding his hand to your left bicep, you let him feel the matchstick-sized rod that sits beneath the skin.
“I’m good for another two years,” you reveal, sliding a knee along his firm thigh.
He searches your face, knuckles cracking in the bedding beside you as the implication starts to dawn on him.
Swallowing heavily, he releases your wrist and tangles his fingers in your hair instead, pulling just enough to coax a light mewl from you.
“Ask me then,” Jack urges, tone gravelly and laden with meaning. “Use your big girl words and tell me exactly what you need me to do to you.”
“I…” Shaken, you scrape your teeth over your puffy bottom lip. “I want you to fuck me.”
A coarse sound falls from him, jaw muscles locking tight.
“Yeah?” Jack leans in, the heat of his breath fanning the delicate hairs at your temple. “You want me to fill up that drooling pussy of yours?”
Rolling his hips, he lets you feel the hard length of him, still concealed by a layer of time-worn flannel that quickly dampens with your arousal.
“Yes,” you whimper. “Want you close. Jack, I-”
The words disappear into the ether, leaving you with nothing but desperation and a famine that has nothing to do with actual sustenance. He presses his forehead to yours, grounding you both.
“I know, baby. Need you too. So fucking badly, you understand?”
Your mouths seal together again, limbs tangling in the saturated sheets. Jack blindly reaches for the waistband of his pants, yanking at the elastic until it gives, sliding to his brawny thighs.
He’s thick – thicker and bigger than anything you’ve ever taken, that’s for sure. Curving slightly towards his stomach, his cock twitches, a bead of precome leaking from the flushed tip.
Jack sucks in a harsh breath, circling the base with his fingers, squeezing lightly at the prominent veins wrapped around the shaft. He feels even heavier when you mirror his grip, the skin hot and silky.
He doesn’t let you explore very far, pinning your arms to the pillows when you thumb the slick head.
“Another time,” he grates out. “Not what I need right now, sweetheart.”
Seizing the back of your knees, Jack hauls you closer, shifting his weight on the mattress.
His prosthetic.
You find his cheek, chasing the splinters of light catching in the gray scruff there. “What about your– ”
“Don’t care,” Jack mutters, bracing himself above you. “It can wait until later.”
He takes a wrecking ball to the rest of your arguments with another kiss, the drag of his tongue filthy, messy and full of promise. You part only to fill your lungs, a shiny string of saliva stretching between you.
The blunt head of his cock slides through your folds, wetness mingling and spreading everywhere, the lazy up-and-down motion torturous. His control is on the brink of snapping completely, a feverish glint in his eyes as he slowly guides himself into you.
Your head tips back at the stretch, but Jack snags your throat with his free hand, holding it loosely and framing your jaw with his fingers.
“Eyes on me,” he instructs, voice cutting. “I want to watch your pretty face while you take it.”
He feeds you another inch, the pace close to agonizing. You’re too wet for it to hurt, but you haven’t been with another person since your final year as an intern – and after starting your residency at the PTMC and the rapid evolution of your crush, it hadn’t even crossed your mind to seek out someone else.
Jack draws his thumb over your clit, easing the next few rolls of his hips. Inch after inch, stretching you open for him until he’s bottomed out, your knees almost even with the mattress.
“Oh, fuck-” He groans, the broad line of his shoulders trembling as he stares down to where you’re connected, at the ring of wetness gathering at the base of him. “So goddamn tight, baby, Christ-”
Pinned as you are, there’s no hiding from the pressure, from the shimmery bliss flooding every nerve. You say his name and the word comes out barely coherent, thoughts scattering when Jack shifts back, only to immediately push back in.
“Good girl,” he growls. “Good fucking girl. Taking me so well, taking my cock like you were made for it.”
The rhythm he sets is steady but unrelenting. Jack refuses to let you move, arching both of your wrists above your head with one hand and forcing the burning pleasure into your body with each thrust.
His free hand finds the softest part of your stomach and presses down, right above where he’s moving inside you. You jolt at the foreign sensation, sobbing into the kiss he steals from you, ankles locking behind his back.
“That’s it, baby.” Jack pushes his face into your neck, teeth grazing your pulse point. “Waited so long to have you. Thought I’d lost you after the Collapse, thought I’d never get to make you mine–”
A tear disappears into your hairline, but you hardly notice. At this point, you can’t tell where you begin and where Jack ends, sticky sweat fusing your chests together and a cadence of wet slaps echoing through the bedroom.
Angling his hips, he adjusts the pace until he hits that spongy spot inside you, harder and harder, your walls clenching around his cock.
Letting go of your wrists, he slides one of his hands between the mattress and the small of your back, then lower and lower to cup your ass. Squeezing the pliant flesh, Jack mouths at your neck and grinds his pelvis into your clit, the friction merciless.
Digging your nails into the corded muscles beneath his shoulder blades, you moan. “C-close– I’m gonna–”
A gutteral, throaty whine tears from him. “Do it, baby, come for me, I got you, I’m right here–”
You shake apart in his arms, color streaking across the ceiling as your pussy clamps around his cock and you carve red lines into his shoulders. Jack works you through it, ignoring the sting, but it doesn’t take long for the feeling to drag him over the edge, his body seizing above you.
He spills into you with a strangled, broken sound – hot, thick, every pulse of your walls milking more from him. Pulling you into the disjointed rhythm, he fucks his come into you as far as it goes and some of it overflows, dripping onto the messy sheets.
Eventually, Jack slows, shuddering with his final thrusts before losing the fight against gravity, the weight of him collapsing onto you. Ragged exhales hit the curve of your jaw, followed by sluggish, open-mouthed kisses.
You smooth the damp curls sticking to the back of his neck, Jack’s hammering heartbeat leading you back to the present.
Outside, the storm is still raging, but neither of you pay it any mind.
The breathless silence between you feels hallowed, earned. Too good to cut short.
It doesn’t take long for exhaustion to set in, your lashes fluttering shut.
Consciousness retakes you the moment Jack lifts himself off, mindful of your sensitive pussy as he pulls out. His come flows from you in a warm dribble, and he hums appreciatively at the sight.
You squirm and gasp when he catches the trickle and pushes it back in.
“Keep that safe for me, sweetheart,” he murmurs, kissing your cheekbone and rolling off the mattress.
You watch him leave the room, drowsy and comfortable, listening to him pat around the cabin. Jack returns with a glass of water and a washcloth, and the thoughtful gesture makes your eyes sting. Your limbs feel like molasses, but you sit up anyway.
He passes the cool glass to you, cleaning your body carefully as you drink, dabbing at the sweat and the remaining stickiness between your thighs.
Affection wells up in you, all-consuming, and you crawl into Jack’s arms as soon as he’s done with removing his prosthetic and tossing the washcloth into the hamper by the door.
Tucked safely under the covers, the two of you melt into each other again, your head resting on his shoulder – much like it had yesterday in the tent.
Jack brushes his lips over your forehead, sighing contentedly at your fingers running idly through his chest hair.
There’s no more residual restlessness when you finally succumb to sleep, comforted by the knowledge that you’ll wake up safe and sound, that he will be right there to keep the worst of dreams at bay.
Jack’s arm tightens around your waist and you let yourself fall into oblivion with a smile.
a/n²: Is this very self-indulgent? Maybe. Did pictures of shirtless Shawn Hatosy help with the writing process? Also maybe 👀
The next chapter might take a little longer since I start working again next week, but I'll do my best to update as soon as possible. Toodles! 👋
summary: victoria javadi is a lot of things, and being mindful of what she says is not one of them. when her voice carries a little too far, and you hear exactly what she thinks of you and your coworkers, jack is left to pick up your shattered pieces and try to put you back together.
tags: jack abbot x reader, angst, sooo much angst, I'd say this is ooc, but if I heard someone calling me a time bomb or the angriest person she's ever met, I'd call her them for it too, hurt/lots of comfort, medical/medschool inaccuracies, reader struggles with depression and self worth, suicidal ideations (nothing ever comes of these), mentions of jack's ptsd, age gap (non specific), apologizing but sorry really is a bandaid over a gaping wound, 18+ MDNI
notes: after the success of my last angst-filled fic, I decided I wanted to write another. I will be making a smut-filled part two, so just heads up for that one! I am currently in the process of moving, so forgive me for my absence! my requests are open, and my tag list is sadly closed! please enjoy!
word count: 4.5k
You thought that you were one of the easier residents to work with.
Each harder case to come through the front doors went right over to your eager hands without any arguments, you taking the tablet with a nod and steeled nerves. Robby knew you could handle anything that got thrown at you, and his trust meant a lot, his nods and compliments healing something deep in your chest.
With you, patient satisfaction scores came up, much to the appeal of your seniors. And again, that little twanging flutter made you push to feel it more often. It made you want to be someone that everyone could count on to be there.
In the Pitt, friendships and comradery were two things that got everyone through shifts; whether they were easy going ones where the worst case through the doors happened to be a broken leg, or they ended with death and loss over and over in a seemingly never-ending cycle. Everyone needed someone, and you always wanted to be the person that others could come to when they needed a hug or a shoulder to cry on. A smile always seemed to be on your face, and even through the worst traumas, you rarely cried, needing to at least be one strong person in a room full of broken souls.
However, that meant that sometimes, people forgot that you were able to break too.
You hadn’t meant to eavesdrop after what seemed like the longest 4th of July shift you’ve ever experienced while working at PTMC. The hours were filled with an abandoned baby, two new med students, obnoxious assholes, your boyfriend coming in with a bullet wound to the back, a brand-new attending and her AI charting system, the cyber-attack taking away said AI charting system, and probably most draining, Robby acting like he wasn’t going to come back after his three-month sabbatical, putting everyone on edge and making it seem like they had to walk on egg shells. Even you, after many suggestions of trying to talk him into staying local from multiple different people, weren’t able to get a clear answer from him, and that made it all worse somehow.
Since dating Jack, you’d weirdly been able to form a closer friendship with the older chief attending that ran farther than a normal boss-coworker relationship. Trying to count the times he came over to Jack’s for dinner or a late-night Steeler’s game would be impossible. You got to see another friendlier and more open version of the man that had only ever been reserved for his closest confidant. So, to not be able to know if he’d come back safely, had your heart racing the entire day.
Add on everything else (still backtracking to Jack getting shot at—he made sure to tell you that there was indeed a difference), you were closer to a breaking point than you’d been in a long while.
“Here you go, hun. I think this is the last one before you can get outta here,” Dana sighed as she handed over a paper chart. “To think that we started out the day with robots taking over the chart, and we end it with writing each one individually.”
Your hand cramped at the thought of writing another chart, but you took it from her anyway. “Remind me to keep a hand brace in my locker at all times,” you groaned. “I think my fingers are withering away.”
“Shocking Abbot doesn’t have on in that go-bag of his.”
“He has an emergency trach kit but not a measly brace.” You rolled your shoulders, the muscles tight and thickened with nerves and tension. “I’m taking his card after this and booking us both massages.”
“Amen, sista,” Dana muttered, eyes transfixed on her hand-written nurses board. “At least he’s good for something.”
You snorted, the sound unfamiliar for the day. “Don’t tell him that, or he’ll want to come with us. I made a monster the last time I brought him with me for a facial, and now he insists to join me every single time.”
“Uh, Dr. (L/n)?” Dennis asked, his voice carrying over your shoulder in a nervous tone.
Your neck twisted, and you winced slightly at the pop it gave. “Yes, Whitaker? Still haven’t found your badge?”
His lips pursed. “No; still haven’t found it, but I actually had a question for you.”
“Shoot.”
“Not to throw her under the bus, but Trinity might have mentioned you had an extra energy drink?” he said as more of a question than a statement, and it made your lips curve at his nervous nature. “A-and I was maybe wondering if—”
“If you could have it?” you finished. “Sure. It’s in the fridge with my name on a sticky note.”
Dennis smiled largely, and his chest fell with a big exhale. “Thank you so much. I swear I’ll pay you back.”
“Don’t worry about it.” You waved a hand through the air. “Can’t have you falling asleep here during the last leg.”
When you turned back to Dana after Dennis left in the direction of the breakroom, she already had a knowing look on her face, eyebrows cocked and grey eyes trained on you over her glasses. Heat rushed to your cheeks.
“What?” you asked, doing your best not to meet her gaze. “I wasn’t going to drink it anyway.”
“Sure you weren’t. It’s not like I heard you tell Abbot earlier about how much you were looking forward to drinking it.”
You glanced over your shoulder. “He obviously needs it more than I do. Plus, he has other things like his bills to worry about. If a can of Monster gets him through the evening, then I’ll let him take mine.”
Because your eyes had gone back down to the chart midway, you missed the downcast of Dana’s expression. “You still have to worry about bills too, hun. Until you’re Jack’s age, they’re going to forever be a pain in your ass.”
You huffed. “One Monster isn’t going to make me go broke.” You paused. “Plus, Jack bought it, so his loss really.”
She tapped her pen on the counter twice. “Then you can take it up with him after you finish that chart. But don’t go too hard, Lord knows you’re one of the hardest working ones here. Abbot better get you the nicest Uber home.”
A warmth bloomed in your chest, matching the heat rising in your cheeks, always one to get a reaction out of the simplest of words. Dana could tell you that you did a good job tying your shoelaces, and her praise would mean more than anything else.
In response, you only shook your head before clicking a pen open to start writing in the chart. The words came easily enough, your fingers actually cooperating with you to make the lettering legible enough that someone could easily transfer your notes once the systems were fully back on. To your right, you heard a crisp crack and chuckled.
Dennis certainly wasn’t one to wait when a cold Monster dropped right into his hands.
Almost to the halfway point in the chart was when you heard both Dennis’s and Victoria’s voices carry over the loud ED. You tried your best to concentrate; once you were finished, you got to kiss Jack goodbye and then go back to your shared home where you knew your bed and dinner were waiting for you. You could almost imagine it: the post-work bath, the warmed up left overs, then drifting right off to sleep only to wake up twelve hours later in Jack’s arms, something that only happened when you both had the day off, and July 5th happened to be just that.
“Did you ever find your ID badge?” Victoria asked Dennis, and you couldn’t help but frown; the poor kid had been looking for it all day.
“Uh, no,” Dennis answered after taking a sip from the can. “So, you any closer to deciding what’s next for you?”
“Uh, yeah. I’m seriously considering law school.”
Your brow quirked. Law school? Well, she was young enough to switch everything if she wanted to.
Dennis choked on a swallow. “What? What are you talking about? You’re going to be a great doctor.”
She scoffed lowly. “I mean, no offense, but look what this place does to you.”
Your pen stopped against the page, and your stomach tightened. By now, you were listening with purpose, unable to quit even if you knew better than to eavesdrop in on their conversation. Yet, they were talking rather loudly in the middle of the hub, so you probably weren’t the only one who caught their words.
Victoria continued. “Langdon’s an addict.”
You blanched. What?
Dennis was quick to correct her. “Is a person with substance use disorder.”
“McKay was on house arrest,” she continued, not heading his words at all. “Dana’s a time bomb.”
A frown took over your mouth, and an ugly feeling roared its head in your center. If there was one person who wasn’t a time bomb, they’d be Dana, the charge nurse who had seemingly never-ending patience, a caregiver who rushed into danger moments after hearing Hula Hoop!, a woman who pushed herself up and worked through a mass casualty after a man abused her in the ambulance bay. Through it all, Dana had persevered, and Victoria had the audacity to call her a time bomb. Your fingers curled white-knuckled around the pen, and you had half a mind to turn around and speak up, but you stayed silent, wanting to hear what she had to say about your coworkers.
“Santos is one of the angriest people you are ever going to meet.”
“Woah. Sarcastic, yes. Cynical, definitely. I don’t know if she’s, you know—”
“Mel?” she interrupted before pausing like she couldn’t come up with something vicious for a the most innocent of your colleges. “Samira has no life. Abbot’s an adrenaline junkie who gets shot at for fun.”
Now, anger roared its head and bubbled under your skin. What does she fucking know about Jack’s need to keep going because he feels like if he stops, he’ll quit living. You’d been there to hold him through the bad days, through all of his deepest darkest fears and doubts that if he didn’t have a purpose, no one would want him. You swallowed thickly, and when you blinked, the chart suddenly became blurry through glossy eyes.
“Robby’s got, like PTSD or something way fucking worse.”
Your breath hitched high in your throat. For more years than Victoria had even been alive, Robby had seen the worst of the world. You knew he’d been abandoned at a young age, but everyone else knew he had to make the decision to take his mentor off life support in hopes to give a younger life a fighting chance, only for them both to end up six feet under. He carried the responsibility of every single employee on his shoulders even if they didn’t want him to. He was tired, he was scared, he was angry, and all she could say was that he is basically fucked mentally. You shifted your weight, ready to turn around and speak your mind, but like self-torture, your name was next on her list, and this time, the ER went silent to hear it all.
“And don’t get me started on Dr. (L/n). The poor girl has an obvious case of validation addiction and depression, plus, dating a senior attending? Talk about daddy issues.”
It was as if all the breath was stolen from your lungs, and inhaling became immensely difficult. You tried your best to take in deep inhales, but your chest refused to cooperate with your brain’s need for oxygen. A high-pitched ringing overtook your hearing, fogging up and overpowering anything that followed. Slowly, you looked up from where your eyes had stayed glued to the chart, and your stomach dropped even further when you met not only Dana’s eyes, but what felt like the whole departments’ including Jack’s, who had just managed to make it in before Victoria had even said your name.
He had been there for all of it. He'd heard her.
Your jaw dropped, and your shoulders hunched in jerky motions as you tried to say something—anything, but she had managed to rendered you speechless in three measly sentences and make you feel the most vulnerable you’d ever been. Everyone who was looking at you now knew something you’d tried to hide through consistent smiles and a small dosage of Lexapro to get you through the day. But now, with your soul bared wide open by someone who didn’t understand what loving an ER did to a person, nothing seemed to make it all feel better.
You shakily looked around the room, pen dropping from your hand as you began to back up from the counter. For a split second, you met Victoria’s dark eyes and guilt-ridden expression, but it was too late for her to take anything back. In a shuddering breath, you turned and hastily walked in the direction of the stairwell, failing to meet Jack’s eyes after brushing right past him and Robby, taking two steps at a time to get somewhere with air once you got to the stairs.
And you had only one place in mind with enough air to last a lifetime: the roof.
· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·
Jack’s jaw clenched to the point his teeth hurt as the med student’s words rang through his head.
He could probably piece together that you weren’t the only one she talked loudly about, but in that moment, you were the only one that mattered. His hand tightened around the strap of his bag. He left Robby standing there with his arms crossed against his chest and walked over to where she and Whitaker were standing.
By the time he reached her, the Pitt had delved back into quiet motion, however, that didn't mean a few had stuck around to possibly hear what Jack was about to say or see what he was about to do.
Loudly placing his bag down in a thunk that echoed through the hub, the room still reeling with the too-loud ill-thought words thrown at you, one of their most trustworthy residents they’d ever had. Jack made sure to square his shoulders to be as intimidating as he hoped he could come across. His hazel eyes burned with an unfiltered rage as he looked down.
“I don’t know what led you to this little . . . gossip name-calling session at the end of your shift, but what you have just said is completely inappropriate and absolutely disrespectful to one of your superiors,” he stated lowly, voice close to a growl. “And frankly, I don’t care if you’re tired, or if this is a slip up of not thinking straight. You have just made a very strong accusation about my partner. And once her name came out of your mouth, all bets of me reprimanding you as an attending flew off the table.”
Javadi felt the blood drain from her face. “Dr. Abbot, I didn’t mean—”
“But you did,” he cut her off. “You’re only backtracking now because we all heard you—she heard you. Do you know exactly what you’ve done?”
When she failed to answer, Jack scoffed.
“Fine, I will tell you what you’ve done so that it can sit with you for the rest of your weekend. Dr. (L/n) works her ass off to be approachable. She never complains, never staggers under pressure, and is one of the best fucking people within these walls, and you have just belittled everything she does for this damn hospital. She gets praised because she’s great, not because she’s a little attention seeking med student,” he cracked, not holding back at all. “You should know a bit about that. You graduated and went to college at what? Sixteen?”
Jack knew he lowballed it just for her to quietly correct him with a meek thirteen. He clicked his tongue loudly against his cheek.
“What do they call you kids these days too? Nepo-babies? Your mom works upstairs, and you’re down here desperately trying to hide away from her and make a name for yourself. Well, let me tell you something, kid, this—” He gestured to her and then around the hub with a flick of his wrist. “—this is not the way to go about things. You don’t get to loudly judge others and expect there to not be reprimand and get away with it.”
He leaned against the counter and tilted his chin back. “You’re studying to be a doctor, for fucks sake. What if you’d been saying this shit about a patient, and their family overheard you? Your scores would tank, and then you might have to repeat a whole year because you couldn’t find the dignity to keep your thoughts to yourself. This is not the standard of care we’d give to patients and certainly not one we give to coworkers who have never given us, and especially you, grief for anything.”
Taking a deep breath, Jack tried to relax, but just remembering the devastation on your face kept the fire rolling.
“My relationship with Dr. (L/n) is and will always be no one’s business. If she wants to date an older guy, one who happens to be me, it doesn’t automatically mean someone has daddy issues,” he spat, the words curdling in his mouth. “It means that she was comfortable enough to go for someone who knows the right way to treat a woman, and I will not stand here and let you think for one more second that she is not capable of carrying for herself.”
Jack pushed off the counter and really looked into her eyes one more time, making sure everything really stuck. “Most of the superiors in here have been working in medicine longer than you’ve been alive. I’ve had to live with the repercussions of war far longer than you’ve been alive. Once you’ve gotten a true taste of what this world can do to a person, come find me, and we’ll have a real discussion about how adults find ways to cope with it all without killing ourselves every night.”
He turned around without a second thought, leaving behind a more than embarrassed med student and a hub full of coworkers who understood every word he had said deeper than they’d like to admit. But he couldn’t think of any of them now, not with you and the roof on his mind. He hated the way his stomach flipped and twisted as he rode the elevator upwards, leg not able to handle the stairs so early into putting his prosthesis back on after working the few hours after the SWAT raid he manage to do plus little sleep in time to kiss you goodbye after your shift.
Jack was never one for religion, but he prayed that he’d find you behind the railing instead of in front of it. Hell, he’d rather you be on the other side than not even on the roof anymore. His fingers curled into fists at his sides as he willed the machine to go faster. He didn’t dare breathe even when it finally dinged open, body rushing forward through the familiar motion of the journey to the roof, one he’d taken way too many times to count.
When he pushed open the heavy door to reveal the roof being swallowed in the setting sun, the tension in his body bled out only slightly at the sight of you standing there, closer to the edge than he first hoped. His steps crunched into the gravel, and he guessed that you knew he was there even if you refused to turn around.
“Hey, sweetheart,” he said carefully but not like talking to a spooked animal. Jack knew better than to treat you like that, or he’d be going against everything he just said downstairs. “Mind if I stand here with you?”
You sniffed loudly, and Jack watched the way your one hand rose to rub a hand at your face, indicating that you were crying. Your neck bent as you looked down at the road below and all the glowing ant-sized cars and people, mind running with the thought of how long it’d take to get down to the bottom.
“I don’t know exactly what you’re thinking,” Jack started again, taking a full step forward to be closer to you. “But I know you, and I can take big guess that you’re telling yourself that she’s right.”
The smallest nod of your head sent Jack’s heart down to his toes.
“Cause she is,” you warbled, voice thick with emotions too big to keep inside. “She is right. I-I thought I did a better job at hiding, but she read me like a damn book.”
“No,” he responded. “No, she didn’t. She’s far from right, and I hate that you think she is, because how she described you is nothing like how I or anyone else sees you, baby. You’re strong; you don’t have a validation addiction. Fucking everyone loves a compliment, and in our line of work those are few and far between. So, when you get one, it’s special.”
You sobbed a bit harder at his attempt to make you seem normal . . . at least what normal meant in your mind.
“And who gives a shit if you do like them more than others; just means you’re more in-tuned with what you know you like. I, for one, am grateful for that because instead of telling me to fuck off, old man—” He spoke in a higher pitch that wasn’t anywhere near your voice to speak.
You gave him a small giggle as a reward, and Jack smiled.
“You let me take you to dinner; you let me, a tired, grumpy old man who’s still wears his wedding ring because he’s scared of forgetting and being forgotten, love you.”
That finally got you to turn around, and the glare you tried to send his way was a bit more pitiful than you were probably trying for, but his heart fluttered as your personality slowly peaked through the sadness.
“You’re not that old . . . or grumpy,” you muttered before holding your hand out.
Jack took it without hesitation, fingers curling around yours, arm holding up your weight while you stepped over the railing. He wasted no time in tugging your hand once your two feet were planted to wrap you in a hug. He felt you sigh heavily against him, body dropping into his chest as everything drained out of you. Jack pressed a small kiss to your temple.
“Baby, I’m fifty. If that’s not old, I’m scared of what old feels like in twenty years.”
You laughed softly before going quiet. “I don’t know why I came up here. I shouldn’t have run away like that.”
Jack huffed. “You needed to get out and get some air; that’s not running away. I’m actually proud that you came up here.”
"I'll make sure not to take your spot." Your cheek shifted until the top of your head tucked beneath his chin. “I want to go home, but I don’t want to face any of them.”
“Can always sneak you down the outside stairs.”
“But then I won’t get to say goodbye to Robby.” You inhaled sharply. “God, I hope he didn’t hear what she said about him,” you whimpered, suddenly overwhelmed with the weight of Victoria’s words.
"Mike's a big boy. If he couldn't take a few harsh words, he would have quit a long time ago." Jack squeezed you a bit tighter. “But, I talked to him, and he’s going to stay in the area for a bit longer. Still needs that vacation, but he owes us at least one more movie night. We’ll walk down together and get you home.”
You pulled back enough to look him in the face. “Your shift?”
“I don’t care about my shift right now. Plus, with the fireworks, I don’t think I’ll be able to concentrate as well as I could. John’ll cover if I bribe him with free Dunkin' for a month.”
"Maybe I'll add in to make it two," you muttered, sighing at the end. "Let's go back down the normal way."
Jack's brows pinched tightly together. "Sweetheart, we don't have to—"
"It'll be better for me to rip the Band-Aid off than worry about this for the rest of the weekend." Your eyes cast downward to your feet. "It's not like she can say anything worse."
"If she even tries—"
"Which she probably won't," you gently said in attempts to placate him, hand rubbing gently rubbing at his chest. "I just want to go home . . . please."
His heart melted just at bit, the please resonating in his soul, quenching the fire to replace it with the need to provide for you. So, instead of fighting, he nodded.
"We'll get you home, sweetheart."
Without waiting, you pulled on his hand, leading him back toward the door. Unlike the first elevator ride up, Jack was less anxious, however, he disliked the way you seemed to be moving with nerves, hand shaking, body swaying. Confrontation had never been your strong suit, and he never hesitated to step in if you needed.
He heard the shaky breath you sucked in right as the elevator doors opened. His hand kept a tight hold on yours while he led you back through to the lockers, keeping a watchful eye out for anyone. Thankfully though, the hallway was empty, and it took you no time to put your code in, grab your stuff, and slide your hand back into his.
You were almost home free, the side door in sight that led to the employee parking, when a shout of your name behind had you freezing, eyes widened as the voice computed in your brain, the one that would now be etched forever with venom dripping from her lips.
"You don't have to turn around," Jack muttered, but you had already started twisting.
"Yes, Javadi?" you asked softly, not being able to ignore her even if you tried.
Her hands wrung together as she looked at you with big eyes. She looked like she was about to say something before she halted.
"I just . . ." she trailed, obviously not ready to say what she wanted. "I want to apologize for what I said in there. I have no excuse, and I wanted to say sorry before you left. So, I'm sorry."
Your tongue ran across your lips, but your mouth was left dry. Your mind ran with so many things to respond with, but nothing would form enough for you to actually speak them.
"It's fine," you settled on the familiar excuse.
Jack tensed at your side. "It's not fine—" He stopped when your hand squeezed his a bit tighter, silently telling him to drop it.
You pursed your lips. "Have a nice rest of your weekend."
Jack finally took that moment to turn you back around and lead you out the door, leaving Victoria in the empty hallway. The sight of Jack's truck felt like heaven opening up with an angel chorus.
One small trip, and then you'd be home, and Jack had a whole evening to prove that you were more than demeaning gossip. And he'd make sure by the end of the night, you'd be nothing but mindless enough to agree with everything he told you.
Dr. Jack Abbot x (female) reader | Dr. Jack Abbot x you
Summary: Some Christmas surprises are planned. Others... not so much.
A/N: That wooden puzzle with the ambulance on it is real... and I laughed way too much about that sluttly little smile.
A/N: I'm no longer updating the taglist because Tumblr has been glitching way too much lately. If you don't want to miss any updates, feel free to turn on notifications for my posts! <3
Link to "You stole my cart" master list (1)
Link to "You stole my cart" master list (2)
Previous chapter: Bonus Chapter: Faking your own death would be a little dramatic, right?
--- --- ---
Jack was standing at the kitchen counter in an apron, sifting flour, baking powder, sugar and salt in a bowl. Lizzie stood next to him on a chair, watching him with big eyes.
“Daddy, no.” She shook her head and reached for the whisk.
Jack raised an eyebrow, smiling. “I don’t think I’m taking advice from someone who can’t even make a sand pie.”
“DADDY!” Her voice rose and Jack was, once again, stunned how loud his little toddler daughter could be. Her eyes welled up. “IZZIE!”
He watched her for another moment and before she could commit to a full breakdown lifted her up and handed her the whisk. Her eyes lit up and she went to work with the determination of a small terminator. She whisked so hard that a cloud of flour rose from the bowl, making Jack cough violently.
“Okay, okay” he managed between breaths. “That’s enough. If someone lights a match in here, we’re not gonna survive, bean.”
She shrieked with laughter. He had to physically wrestle the whisk out of her hand to stop her. He lowered her down onto the chair again, looking at her. “Elizabeth, I have no idea where you get these tiny terrorist tendencies from but I suppose it’s daycare. You don’t have to verify, just nod once.”
She stared at him, blinking. Then she nodded slowly, her thumb in her mouth.
“I knew it” Jack said while adding milk, butter and the egg. “It’s always the place you’d least expect.”
Lizzie stood on her tiptoes, watching him mix the ingredients into a smooth dough, nodding along.
“You know, bean, the most important thing is - never get caught, okay?” Jack continued while whisking. “Committing a crime is easy. Not getting caught takes brains.”
You came into the kitchen, dressed in bright red Christmas pajamas and furrowed your brows when you heard Jack’s last sentence. “Um. What are you guys talking about?”
Lizzie turned around and squealed when she saw you. Her arms reached for you instantly. “Mommy! PANKY!”
You lifted her onto your hip, kissed her on the cheek and snuggled her close. “Yeah, I see - Daddy makes pancakes, huh? That’s what losers do.”
“Lose’” Lizzie repeated seriously, her thumb already in her mouth again.
Jack narrowed his eyes. “I prefer Daddy, you know?”
You snorted. “Well, that’s new then. I can recall a very specific situation where you asked me not to call you that anymore.”
“That was different.” He blushed and turned around, putting the bowl back on the counter and grabbing a pan.
You tucked a loose strand of hair behind Lizzie’s ear then yawned.
“The Coffee’s ready too, honey” Jack said while oiling the pan.
You smiled. “Thanks. But do you know what’s missing?”
Jack looked up, confused. “What?”
You walked over to the radio and turned it on. Christmas music filled the room immediately. Lizzie shrieked and started clapping.
“This.” You stepped closer to Jack, giving him a kiss. “Merry Christmas, husband.”
He turned toward you, pulling you in a careful hug because Lizzie was still attached to your hip. “Merry Christmas, wife” he whispered into your ear so that Lizzie couldn’t hear him. “Stop making me horny or you’ll see what happens to naughty girls on Christmas.”
You snorted again. “Apparently they get pancakes because they lied about the Hallmark movie yesterday. I’ve watched it before.”
Jack gasped and clutched his chest mockingly. “The whole thing was rigged? I never stood a chance.”
You tilted your head, smiling. “Exactly.”
Jack shook his head and turned back to the stove. The first pancake hit the hot pan with a satisfying sizzle and within seconds the kitchen filled with the warm smell of butter.
“You know Lizzie - your mommy is actually a super criminal with slightly sociopathic tendencies. She committed the perfect crime with that Hallmark bet and got away with it. But then she returned to the scene of the crime and let me know because that’s her jam.”
You started laughing. Lizzie watched Jack while absently playing with your hair, perfectly content on your hip. “Mommy” she whispered.
You hugged her. “I’m not a sociopath, Lizzie” you said seriously. “I just don’t like it when my husband forgets how much more intelligent I am than he is.”
Jack gave you a grin over his shoulder. “Trust me, baby, I know.” He turned back. “... believe me I know.”
Twenty minutes later there was a knock on the door. When Jack opened it Robby stood there bundled up against the sharp December cold, balancing a bunch of wrapped presents and a paper bag in his hands.
“Merry Christmas!” He held up the bag. “I brought bagels.”
Jack stared, then glanced at his watch. “It’s way too early.”
Robby shrugged. “I was awake. And I do smell pancakes so you were up anyway.”
He pushed past Jack into the hallway, putting the presents on the dresser and shrugging off his coat. After kicking off his shoes he pulled Jack in a short hug - just a bump of shoulders, a small pat on the back - and turned around.
“So, where’s my favorite goddaughter?”
Jack rolled his eyes. “She’s your only goddaughter.”
“Doesn’t matter.” He shrugged. Before he could say anything small footsteps were audible. Small, very fast footsteps. Lizzie came bouncing out of the kitchen, her face and hands sticky with maple syrup, making a beeline for Robby.
“RARA!” She shrieked delightedly and stopped in front of him, reaching up. “UNC RARA!”
Jack furrowed his brows. “Maybe you should-”
Robby smiled and lifted her onto his arms without another thought. He realized his mistakes a moment later when she planted her gooey hands right in his face. You could practically see the light in his eyes go out. He turned toward Jack, holding Lizzie with outstretched arms, which only made her shriek louder.
“Do I want to know what’s so sticky?” His voice was unnaturally strangled.
Jack grinned. “Relax. It’s only maple syrup. At least I’m eighty percent sure it is.”
Robby closed his eyes. “If it happens to be the other twenty percent I’m going to kill myself.”
Jack laughed. “That’s what it takes? Good to know. And now stop being so melodramatic. You can hand her over and clean up if you want to.”
Robby shook his head. “Nah, I’ll clean both of us up. I guess you’ve got more pancakes to flip, hm?” Robby walked toward the bathroom, still holding Lizzie away from him. She kicked her legs enthusiastically, shrieking and giggling like this was the best game ever.
“Be careful” Jack yelled after him. “She got a new tooth and she kind of likes the taste of human flesh.”
Robby shrugged it off. “I expect a fresh coffee and at least five pancakes when I come back” he replied before closing the bathroom door behind them.
“Well.” Jack let out a breath, before walking back into the kitchen. “I guess we really are kind of married. Huh. Who would’ve thought.”
So a while later you all huddled around the coffee table which now served as a makeshift breakfast table. There was a lot of food - not only pancakes or the bagels Robby had brought, but also monkey bread, lots of bacon and smoked salmon, some fruit (more out of a guilty conscience) and more. You were sitting on the sofa, nursing your coffee working your way through it while watching Robby helping Lizzie unwrapping her gifts.
Or… he tried to.
He took one of the boxes and shook it lightly. “Look, Elizabeth, that’s for you.”
She stared at him, her eyes wide and starstruck. She reached out - and immediately grabbed the shiny bow attached to it. She ripped it off and planted a kiss on it. “IZZIE!”
Then she toddled away to sit under the Christmas tree, staring at the bow, giggling to herself.
Robby looked at you. “There’s a children doctor kit in there” he said confused. “Why doesn’t she want to see it?”
You stifled a laugh. “Michael, she doesn’t know what’s inside. I think that concept might be a little too abstract for her.”
Robby thought about it for a moment, then took another, smaller present. He held it up and shook it. “Look, Lizzie-lizzie-lizzie” he cooed, shaking it again. “Hey, girl, look - do you wanna know what’s inside? Huh? Do you wanna know?”
She stared at him, the bow forgotten. Then she crawled toward him.
“Ha, yes, come here, Lizzie-lizzie-lizzie, yeah, pst-pst-pst, such a good girl.”
You nearly choked on your coffee hearing that. Robby looked up, caught your expression and immediately realized what he’d just done. He shot you a deeply disgusted look. Jack, who leaned against the doorframe, started laughing.
Lizzie crawled into his lap and reached for the box. Robby tugged on a loose corner of the wrapping paper. She grabbed it and made an excited little squeal when she heard the satisfying ripping noise. A second later she turned into a tiny shredder - wrapping paper flew everywhere. And when she unwrapped the box she moved to sit between the pieces of wrapping paper, tearing it into even smaller pieces, looking absolutely delighted.
Robby blinked. “Um, Elizabeth, do you wanna open your gift?” He shook the box again.
She glanced up and shook her head. “No.”
Jack tilted his head and sat beside them (groaning a little too loudly when his joints cracked), still holding his mug. “Bean, wanna come sit with daddy and have a look at all the gifts you got?”
Lizzie stared at him for a moment then tore another piece of paper without breaking eye contact. “No.”
He shot you a look. “Why do we even bother buying stuff for her?”
“I think it’s great she’s discovering her own hobbies” you replied dryly. “Maybe she’s going into the shredding business.”
Jack let out a sigh, reaching for his daughter. “Baby, come her, huh? Let’s open some gifts. We don’t want Robby to cry, right?”
Lizzie’s head snapped up. “Rara cry?” she echoed, her eyes suddenly widening. She stood up with all the dignity of a eighteen-month-old toddler and wobbled over to Robby. She planted both her hands on his knees, looking at him. “Cry?”
Robby stared at her for a moment, then glanced at Jack. “I guess we’re guilt tripping your daughter into opening her Christmas presents” he whispered. “Is that something we should do?”
Lizzie climbed into his lap, stroking his chin gently and planting a kiss on it. “Izzie pet.”
You took another sip of coffee. “Do you need any help redirecting her or are you good?”
Robby pulled Lizzie into a hug, kissing the top of her head. “I’m fine” he said. “But thanks, Lizzie, that was very helpful. I won’t cry anymore.”
She squealed then wriggled free, sitting down onto his lap, facing the gifts. Then she reached for the box.
“That’s from your favorite uncle and godfather” Robby said, helping her open it and reaching inside.
He held out a shimmering ice-blue princess dress with a glittering tulle skirt, sheer sleeves and tiny silver snowflakes scattered across the bodice. It also included a sparkling cape.
You blinked at it. “Oh, um, wow.”
Lizzie stared at it. “ESSA!”
Jack blinked. “Um, is that something I should know?”
“Abbot!” Robby stared at him, deeply offended. “That’s from your daughters favorite movie. You need to know that.”
“She doesn’t have a favorite movie yet” you chimed in, but Robby still looked determined.
“We watched Frozen like three times the last time she stayed over at mine. She was completely captivated. And she told me she wanted to be Elsa.”
“Okay.” You took a deep breath. “My little daughter, who isn’t even able to form a coherent sentence, told you that she wanted to be that specific Disney princess?”
Robby shrugged and was already helping Lizzie into the new dress. “She didn’t tell me so much with words but with her eyes.”
“You’re completely overprojecting.” Jack laughed. “You’re spoiling our child worse than we do.”
“And I don’t care. It’s my duty as her godfather.” He zipped the dress shut and Lizzie started jumping up and down joyfully. “And she’s happy.”
You let out an overdramatic sigh and reached for another bagel while both men were cooing over how cute Lizzie looked. You had just taken the first bite when your phone started ringing. You glanced at the screen - it was a FaceTime request from your mom.
“Lizzie, it’s Grandma” you announced before taking the call. Your mom’s face filled the screen. “Merry Christmas, mom!”
“Merry Christmas, darling!” she replied with a wide smile. “I am not too late to watch Lizzie open her presents, right?”
“No, we just started. Perfect timing.” You switched to the back camera so it now showed the living room.
Jack smiled. “Hey, Merry Christmas!”
Robby looked up and waved toward the camera. “Merry Christmas!”
“Merry Christmas!” Your mom’s face lit up. “My two favorite men and my favorite girl! Now don’t let me distract you” she continued. “Go on, sweetheart, open the next one.”
Lizzie glanced up at the sound of her voice then immediately reached for another brightly wrapped present while Robby enthusiastically slid it closer to her.
“I think she got the hang of it” he said while watching her rip off the paper.
“Oh.” Your mom laughed softly. “Look at them.”
You rolled your eyes - what she couldn’t see because the camera was facing away from your face. “Mom…”
“No, seriously, he’s so adorable with her.”
“I know” you said with a sigh.
She shushed you. You gave Jack a look but he chose to hide his smile behind his coffee mug.
They unwrapped the present together. Robby reached inside and pulled out a wooden puzzle with an ambulance on it.
“That’s from grandma, Lizzie” your mom cooed.
Lizzie shrieked and clapped her hands.
“Thank you grandma” Jack said, smiling into the camera.
Robby put the puzzle on the ground and Lizzie immediately reached for the first piece, just to shove it straight into her mouth. Your mom laughed.
“That ambulance looks like it has seen things” you said dryly after looking at the puzzle.
Jack snorted. “It’s giving serial killer vibes.”
“No wonder it looks like that if people are shoving gurneys up their-”
“Kids!” your mother intervened, her voice firm. “There are children present.”
“Children? Plural? Are you counting Robby?” you asked with a grin.
“Stop tormenting poor Michael” your mom scolded. “He’s such a good man.”
“Mom…”
“And he spends so much time with your daughter.”
“Mom…”
“Even when he has this very demanding job with these ridiculous hours the still chooses to spend Christmas morning with his goddaughter. That’s just so nice of him. You should honor that more. He’s such a good person.”
“Oh my God, please, can we stop talking about Robby for five minutes?” you said with a groan.
Jack started laughing and Robby looked incredibly smug. You tried to switch to the front camera again and flipped Robby off with your free hand.
You just weren’t fast enough.
The gasp your mom let out was loud. “What is that?”
You frowned. “What do you mean?”
“Show me your hand.”
You looked down at your hand - and froze. “Um.” You shifted the phone and reached out your right hand. “Why do you want to see my hand?” you asked, trying really hard to control your voice.
“The other hand, missy.” Her voice was firm and you immediately noticed that she wasn’t in the mood for joking anymore.
Jack and Robby shared a look. One of them mumbled a “Fuck!” and you couldn’t agree more.
You took the phone in your right hand again - and reluctantly held out your left hand.
The hand with the gold band resting on your ring finger.
The silence that followed was heavy. Long enough to make your stomach twist.
Eventually your mom spoke again. “Correct me if I’m wrong but this looks like a wedding ring.”
You closed your eyes for a second. Jack stood with surprising agility, crossed the room with a couple of steps and sat down next to you, his arm around your shoulders.
“We can explain” he said with a nod. “It’s-”
“Oh, I really, really hope you can explain that, Jack.” Her voice was icy. “If that really is a wedding ring I have a lot of questions I’d like answered.”
You swallowed hard, glancing at Robby who was very immersed in the ambulance puzzle while Lizzie continued to drool over every single piece. “... and that’s where the patients come to the hospital your favorite godfather is working, you see, they only come in via ambulance when they’re really sick - like having an MI, a myocardial infarction, or a stroke or an MVA, that’s short for motor vehicle accident, and…”
It threw you off for a moment then you shook your head slightly and focused back on your mom. “Mom.” You bit your lip. “I’ll tell you the whole story but please, you’re not allowed to yell. Okay?”
She narrowed her eyes and nodded once. “I’m waiting.”
“So, yeah, okay, yes, Jack and I got married.” Jack squeezed your thigh supportively but kept quiet. “We didn’t want to have a lot of additional paperwork for Lizzie’s daycare… and honestly we didn’t want to wait until next year. So… it was kind of a spur-of-the-moment decision.”
Your mom stared at you. “Lizzie started daycare almost three months ago.”
Jacks eyes widened. You opened your mouth and closed it again before shrugging a little helplessly. “Um, yeah. Exactly.”
“Are you telling me that you’ve been married for three months now?” Her voice was calm. Too calm. You knew that voice. It was reserved for major fuck ups. The last time you’d heard that voice was when you’d told her you’d gotten back together with Hunter.
You nodded miserably, your throat tight. “Yeah… kind of.”
“And neither of you thought it would be a good idea to tell me?”
Jack pulled you a little closer. “We didn’t tell anyone.”
She stared at him. “Why?”
You glanced at Jack. “We didn’t want to make a big deal out of it. It should just be… us.”
Your mom didn’t say anything for a long while. Then she cleared her throat. “I’m calling you back in a minute.”
And with that the line went dead.
You stared at the screen. Jack stared at you.
Robby stared at both of you. “Well, fuck. She is not happy” he said in a low voice, before turning back to Lizzie.
“No shit, Sherlock” Jack replied flatly then pulled you in a proper hug. “Sweetheart, are you okay?”
Your mind was racing and you felt bad. Like… awful. You pressed your face against his shoulder and shrugged. “No?” Your voice was barely audible. “I guess she hates me now.”
He started stroking your hair soothingly, pressing a kiss on top of your head. “She doesn’t hate you. She’s surprised. And I think that’s fair, yeah?”
You shrugged, pressing yourself closer against him, feeling his warmth and the reassuring beat of his heart. It wasn’t enough to ease the guilt in your chest but at least it was something.
Lizzie took the soiled puzzle piece out of her mouth and looked at you. “Mommy cry?”
Then she stood up and toddled over to you, holding out the puzzle piece toward you. “Mommy, no cry.” She shook her head and poked you with the piece. “Mommy.”
You couldn’t bring yourself to look up.
Jack stroked her hair. “Mommy’s fine, Bean. She just needs a cuddle.”
“Cuddly?” She asked with big eyes, then climbed on the sofa next to you, throwing her chubby toddler arms around you and pressing herself onto you. “Mommy cuddly.”
“Thanks, Bean, that’s really sweet of you” Jack said, smiling at her. Then he glanced down at you. “You should thank your daughter too” he whispered.
You nodded slowly, then looked up. “Thanks, Lizzie. Mommy is already feeling better.”
Robby stood up and stretched. “I’m making another round of coffee” he announced. “Or something stronger? Irish coffee? Or a cheeky mimosa?”
You let out a shaky laugh. “No, thanks. Coffee is great. Thanks, Michael.”
“Uh-oh.” Robby stared at you. “You’re calling me Michael. Your mom really broke you.”
You narrowed your eyes.
He held up his hands. “Okay, yeah, sorry, too early.” Then he walked into the kitchen.
Jack looked at you. “Let’s open some more gifts, hm? That’ll probably make you feel better?”
You wrinkled your nose. “I doubt it. Maybe I should call her and-”
You couldn’t even finish the sentence because the phone in your hand started buzzing. Your heart stopped for a moment as you glanced down the screen, seeing your mom’s Face Time call.
“Oh fuck” you whispered. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”
Jack squeezed your shoulder. “Come on, sweetheart, we’ll get through this. Together. Okay?”
“Fuck” Lizzie whispered reverently and nodded. “Fuck.”
Jack stared at her. “Okay, fuck, that’s something we need to take care of before she’s going back to daycare, but… okay, one problem at a time.” Then he looked at Lizzie. “Bean, you wanna go help Robby make coffee?”
Lizzie tilted her head, then smiled. “CAFFE!” She shrieked delightedly then scrambled from the sofa, running toward the kitchen.
“You good?” he asked you.
You nodded once, throat tight, hands clammy, and answered the call. The screen lit up again - but this time your mom wasn’t alone. She was sitting in the living room now, surrounded by relatives, each balancing paper plates on their knees, waving into the camera.
Your stomach dropped. “Mom?”
She looked straight at you. “Okay. Please repeat what you just told me.”
You swallowed. “Mom…”
“No.” Her voice was still calm. “Repeat it.”
You looked helplessly at Jack, who gave you a reassuring nod - probably while simultaneously dying inside and thanking God it wasn’t his family.
You sighed. “Jack and I got married in September.”
Your mom tilted her head. “Darling, I don’t think everybody heard that.”
“Mom…”
She folded her arms. “A little louder, sweetheart.”
You closed your eyes for a brief second, then took a deep breath. “JACK AND I GOT MARRIED IN SEPTEMBER!”
That was met with complete silence… which didn’t last very long. Then the room nearly exploded.
“YOU WHAT?!”
“... you got married?”
“Since September?”
“Oh my God!”
“Wait, what?!”
One of your aunts gasped dramatically, clutching her chest.
Eventually your mom sighed. “Thank you.” She looked around the room. “Now everyone understands why I’m upset, right? Even you, Myrtle? Or do you need another special explanation why my face looked like that after I JUST HEARD THAT MY ONLY DAUGHTER GOT MARRIED WITHOUT TELLING ME… hm? … No?... You do understand it now? … Good. Then keep your opinion to yourself next time, okay? … Yeah? … Good. Yeah, Merry Christmas to you too.” She turned towards the screen again, looking at you. “See, I’m not upset you two got married.” A pause. “I’m upset because my daughter has apparently been married for three months and I found out because she’s so rude, she had to flip off poor Michael while FaceTiming me.”
“I’m sorry, mom” you whispered, your face crumbling. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”
She let out a sigh. “It becomes kind of a tradition, right?”
You looked at her, suddenly puzzled. “What do you mean?”
“First your engagement, then the wedding… if you’re hiding your next child from me like that I’m going to disown you.”
Jack and you shared a glance. You haven’t told her about the fact that there wouldn’t be any more grandchildren in her future thanks to the vasectomy - and Jack nearly pleaded with his eyes that this stayed a topic your mom had no idea about.
“If we ever have another child you’re the first one to know” you said eventually, smiling, trying to suppress the giggle bubbling up in your chest.
“Thank you.” She sighed again. “You know, I would’ve liked the chance to be happy for you, you know?”
You swallowed hard. “I’m sorry.”
“I’m sorry too” Jack said. “But if you want to - we can send pictures?”
Your mother’s face lit up. “Yes! Yes, I’d love that! Send them to Uncle Zach's phone - he has one of those new phones with a bigger screen, then we can all look.”
Jack blinked. “Um, you mean - I should send it now?”
“Of course, now.” She clicked her tongue. “What else? Next week? Or to Easter? I already wasted three months so…”
He sat straighter immediately. He nearly saluted. Then he grabbed his phone and scanned through his pictures.
Robby appeared with Lizzie clutching onto his leg, holding a tray with four mugs, setting it back on the coffee table. “Two black coffees, one latte and one hot chocolate with extra marshmallows for our little Elsa here” he announced.
“No Essa. Izzie!” she declared, patting her own chest, then climbed onto your lap.
“Oh, hey Lizzie, my sweet girl” your mom cooed immediately, waving while the other relatives leaned in to have a closer look. “You look so beautiful. Did mommy buy you that?”
“No, Robby bought it” you said with a small smile.
Robby puffed out his chest, then sat down next to you, holding his mug. “Every woman deserves to feel like a princess, right?”
You rolled your eyes.
“Oh, Michael!” Your mom on the other hand looked delighted. “You’re so right. I’m so happy you’re Lizzie’s godfather.”
Jack looked up from his phone. “I sent a couple of pictures.”
Her head snapped towards her right. “Zach, did you get the pictures? … Huh?... What pictures? … The wedding pictures … Jack sent them… yeah, on your phone… yeah, come on have a look I wanna see my daughter wearing a dress… oh come on, move your backside over here!”
Zach appeared and sat down next to your mother, holding his phone like he was diffusing a bomb. It seemed like every single relative hovered closer to get a look.
Jack started to smile, pressing a kiss on your temple. “See? Everything’s okay” he whispered.
You nodded and watched your family coo over your wedding pictures.
“Oh my God, darling you looked so beautiful! That dress is stunning!” Your mother dabbed her eyes with a tissue. “And Lizzie in her sweet little dress - just like an angel.”
You smiled, watching Zach swipe to the next picture.
Your mother looked - and paused. She looked closer, then glanced at the screen toward you, narrowing her eyes.
“Michael.”
Robby’s head snapped up and he spilled some coffee onto his trousers. “Yes, Ma’am?”
“You knew?”
His eyes widened in panic. “Um.”
“Don’t try to deny it. I can see you in this picture here.” Your mom pointed at the phone in Zach’s hand.
“Ummmm.”
“You knew and you didn’t tell me?”
Robby swallowed. “I… I… I wasn’t allowed to.”
“Michael - I expected better from you. I thought we were close.” Your mom was genuinely upset.
You glanced at Jack. “Close?” you mouthed, frowning. “What the fuck?”
Robby looked heartbroken. “I’M SO SORRY!” He pointed accusingly at Jack. “He made me promise.”
“Whoa.” Jack raised both hands. “Easy, tiger.”
Lizzie started giggling and raised both arms too. You smiled and guided them gently down again. “Wrong timing, Lizzie.”
Your mom looked at Robby’s face, that was half in frame. Then she sighed dramatically. “I suppose I’ll forgive all of you. But we’re still celebrating your wedding in May, right?”
Jack immediately straightened and nodded. “Yes, of course, Ma’am. We just booked the venue.”
“Good.” Your mom looked a little appeased. “And I want to have a say in the seating plan. No way you’re sitting me next to Myrtle. Or Bernie.”
Your eyes widened in horror. “Mom… neither of them are invited.”
She stared at you for a moment then started grinning. “Oh, that’s much better. Darling, I call you back in a couple of minutes, okay? Still want to see my grandchild unwrap the rest of her presents. But first I need to have a lovely chat with some people.” You could only watch while her finger tapped on her screen. The last thing you heard was her yelling “MYRTLE I NEED TO TELL YOU SOMETHING RIGHT NOW!”
Silence followed.
You all shared a glance before bursting into laughter.
“Oh my God.” You put your phone on the table, then pulled Lizzie closer. “Oh my God, she’s insane. Actually insane.”
Robby grinned toward you. “Yeah. I guess that runs in the family, huh?”
--- --- ---
You wanna keep reading? - Next part is coming soon, I promise.
Bonus Chapter: Faking your own death could be a little dramatic, right?
Dr. Jack Abbot x (female) reader | Dr. Jack Abbot x you
Summary: Just a couple of texts...
A/N: I'm no longer updating the taglist because Tumblr has been glitching way too much lately. If you don't want to miss any updates, feel free to turn on notifications for my posts! <3
Link to "You stole my cart" master list (1)
Link to "You stole my cart" master list (2)
Previous chapter: Part 137: You're not even in the funny category of being an idiot.
--- --- ---
December 24th
You:
Jack told me about the job interview.
Robert Robinavitch:
Ooooooookay.
And?
You:
We’ve established you’re both idiots.
Robert Robinavitch:
That doesn’t seem fair. I only tried to help my oldest friend.
You:
That’s not helping, that’s co-dependency.
Robert Robinavitch:
Do you even know what that means?
You:
Sure. I’m the wife of a doctor. I know all the medical lingo.
Robert Robinavitch:
That’s not how this works.
You:
Don’t care.
Robert Robinavitch:
I’m still coming over tomorrow morning.
You:
I think nothing could stop you from that, right?
Right?
(That’s a - please tell me what would stop you and I’ll make this happen.)
Robert Robinavitch:
Ha.
Ha.
(That’s me laughing very, very slowly at your “joke”.)
You:
Honestly? I’ll take it.
Robert Robinavitch:
Just for the record - you’re not mad, right?
You:
A little bit, but… you guys meant well. It’s hard to be mad at pure stupidity.
Robert Robinavitch:
Okay, good. I didn’t have time today to buy you a bigger Christmas gift, so… that’s good.
You:
Ha.
Ha.
Robert Robinavitch:
Anyone else coming tomorrow?
You:
Why? Hoping someone in particular will be there?
Robby:
No. Just making small talk.
You:
No, honestly - who else would you expect? Santa? You’re the only stray we’re taking in tomorrow.
Robert Robinavitch:
Meow.
I was just asking, woman.
—
You:
I think Robert just tried to ask me in a roundabout way if you were coming over tomorrow.
Mara:
Uh, no, I’m sorry, but I’m going to my cousin for Christmas - she invited me a couple of weeks ago and couldn’t find a reason to say no.
And now I’m thinking about faking an illness or my death to come over to you instead.
You:
Faking your own death could be a little dramatic, right?
Mara:
Wouldn’t be the first time. Knowing my family it wouldn’t be the last time either.
You:
You’re joking, right?
Mara:
Maybe. Maybe not. We’ll never know.
But he seriously asked about me?
You:
Well, as subtle as Robert gets.
Mara:
Robert does subtle?
You:
Yeah, I know. Hard to imagine.
Mara:
I’d really love to see him again.
(And you guys, of course.)
But tomorrow doesn’t work out. I’m really, really sorry.
You:
I’m sorry I didn’t invite you sooner. I really didn’t think about it.
Mara:
It’s fine. I think it’ll be fun with my cousin, her three kids and two incontinent male dogs.
You:
She has two incontinent dogs?!
Mara:
I can’t prove it but I think the second one is just tagging along with the peeing thing. You know like a co-dependency thing.
You:
Are their names Jack and Michael?
Just asking.
Mara:
Well, I hope not because they’re spending all day humping each other.
…
Forget it. I see it now.
— — —
Mara:
You free on NYE?
Michael Robinavitch:
No “hello”, no “how are you?” Straight to the point?
I like it.
And yes - I’ve got dayshift but I should be free around 8 p.m
Why are you asking?
Mara:
I really want to go to the rooftop party at Il Tetto and you just volunteered.
Michael Robinavitch:
Is this a nice way of telling me I’m your fill-in?
Mara:
NO! I honestly didn’t plan anything. I didn’t get ditched. Nothing happened. Just wanted to spend an evening with you. God knows why.
Michael Robinavitch:
Because I’m charming and handsome and you know I’ll buy all your drinks all night long.
Mara:
I didn’t know I still qualified for a sugardaddy at forty-four but who am I to question this?
So - see you on NYE at 8 p.m.
No - 9 p.m
Please shower beforehand.
Michael Robinavitch:
That’s very specific but yeah, sure. Sounds good. Looking forward to it.
Merry Christmas, Mara.
Mara:
Happy Christmas, Robert.
Michael Robinavitch:
… sigh…
--- --- ---
You wanna keep reading? - Mommy's fine, Bean. She just needs a cuddle
