summary; pope being a sweetiepie, kind of a filler chapter i suppose
warnings; curse words
a/n; tag list is fulllll!! all pics (aside from the texts itself) are from pinterest!!!
Warnings: Smut, piv, dry humping, male receiving oral, mention of porn
A/N: this is my first actual smut rather than little imagines and stuff so I hope yâall like it? If not feedback would be great đđ
Brendon Park considers himself a pretty sane man; sure, sometimes he loses his temper a little, but besides that, he's stable. That was⊠before you came along. Suddenly, he's not the same controlled man he once believed he was. Now he finds any excuse to come down to the ED; one time he was there for one thing, but stayed when he saw you had a simple closed reduction. His crush seemed to have been obvious to everyone but you.
He likes many things about you: your laugh, the way you bite your lip when you think, the way your scrubs hug your curves, but recently thereâs a new thing. You now have to wear glasses to read or look at screens. And it's driving him crazy because you look even hotter to him; you look like one of those ânerdy girlsâ in the porn he used to watch.
You and Brendon all but barrel into his condo in a flurry of hands and lips everywhere. He has a hand in your hair, the other has a bruising grip on your hip, attempting to bring you closer as his lips move fiercely from your lips to your neck and down to the swell of your breasts. You grip his bicep hard, nails digging in, leaving beautiful crescent shapes in their wake, gasping for air as he kisses you all over. Brendon canât believe heâs here with you; the speed of it happening and the smell of your perfume makes him dizzy.
He leans back, taking a deep breath as he starts to lead you to the bedroom, but itâs too far, and you want him right here right now. So, as he leads you to pass the couch, you start to push him towards it instead, roughly pushing him onto the couch and straddling his lap the second he sits down. Your glasses are slightly askew, skirt bunching at your hips as you try to subtly grind down on his very obvious erection. He grips your hips to grind harder on him; he loves the way your eyebrows knit together as you moan, head tilting back slightly.
He nips at your neck. âUse me, baby. Iâm all yours.â He whispers against your neck. You moan slightly louder, moving against him faster. You take one of his hands from your hip and move it to your throat for him to squeeze. Almost as soon as he does, you come undone. As you take a moment to breathe, you take off your top and then pull at Brendonâs to do the same. Starting from his lips, you kiss down his godlike body, happily kissing his sexy, happy trail and moving to your knees. You notice the wet patch on his jeans, looking him in the eyes, you lick at it. Watching him pant and moan your name, you lean back to unzip them. He lifts his ass up so you can pull them down, his big cock springs up with precum leaking beautifully. Gently grabbing him, you kitten lick the tip, moaning at the taste of him. He stares mesmerized by you as you take him almost fully. God, do you look good on your knees for him. He grabs your hair and helps you bob your head on his cock, moaning at how good your mouth feels. âGod, doll, you take me so well.â
You harshly suck on his dick and flick your tongue around his slit and tip. He throws his head back, moaning loudly, âGod, youâre going to be the death of me, baby.â He speaks. You pull off of him, long string of saliva connecting you still. You lean your head on his thigh, continuing to stroke his cock. You tell him, "I plan on making it worth the funeral.â He moans softly, enjoying the way youâre looking up at him. âOh, you certainly are, but better yet, why donât you come up here and show me what else you can do.â He tells you.
You stand up, he helps you out of your skirt and panties, he canât help but take a small whiff of your panties and quietly moans. You sit in his lap; he helps you notch his head at your entrance. Slowly you sink onto him, both moaning at the feeling of each other. He mutters a soft âfuckâ once youâre fully seated. Once youâve adjusted, he helps you start to bounce on his cock, his hands on the fat of your ass, gripping tightly. He slightly hopes itâll bruise; heâd love to see where his fingertips were tomorrow. âLook at you, baby, you look so pretty riding me.â He tells you as he shoves his face between your tits. You pick up the pace hearing his praise, moaning lewdly. âGod, you feel so good.â You whine, feeling him suck on one nipple while his hand works the other one, switching every once in a while.
âPlease, choke me, daddy.â You exclaim. Brendon, like the gentleman he is, kindly obliges. Loving the way, you gasp when he does, feeling you swallow harshly as your head tilts back. God, he feels like he could cum just from this sight of you. Youâre about to cum; he can tell by the way your pretty little cunt is squeezing him. Wait, whatâs that ringing sound? He thinks to himself
Brendon then wakes up sweating, feeling sticky down below. God damn it. He thinks to himself
risky and you hit send (smau) | brendon park x sunshine!ERdoctor!reader | pt. 5
in which you get reminded of how much empathy brendon lacks
a/n: IM SORRY IN ADVANCE i know u love these two bec they're funny and entertaining but i want to show that they're still getting to know each other and getting used to having the other in their lives! so this chapter is Needed to move the story forward <3
cw: reader makes a kms joke, brendon is rude, i mean not really but reader takes his comment personally, slight angst
pt. 4 | next
a/n2: i used a different app and will be sticking with that so im sorry for the changes! i appreciate everyone reading and loving the two, especially those who leave lovely comments and reblogs i swear they make my day :c thank you thank you!!!
summary; pool party at the cody's & pope being pope. also reader and cath are besties bc i said so
warnings; a curse word or two
a/n; pics used in this arent meant to describe the reader, just the vibe and idea i have of her!! all shapes n sizes are loved ova here!! comment to be added to the taglist <3
Summary: Reader was roommates with Trinity at univeristy, she was studying law while Trinity was studying medicine. They became very close friends and have remained that way while starting the world of work. In turn, through nights out and early morning coffee runs, she is now close friends with the other Pittlings. They all love her deeply but are concerned that she is spending too much time focused on work. Because of this they decide they need to set her up with someone - perhaps they should choose the only other workaholic they know and hope that it balances the two of them out.
A/N: Hopefully self explanatory!! I love when strong, capable women are represented in fics so I wanted to do that myself!!
Warnings: Will grow through the series probs, mentions of alcohol, will be cute and fluffy, age gap.
Part one
A/n: This is my first smau so I hope it is okay!! Brendon and reader will interact soon I promise!
summary: part two of Honeybee...Baz hires you as Lena's nanny but when you fall for Pope, Smurf takes you under her wing. Much to the annoyance of Baz
content/warnings: NSFW + MDNI! 18+ ONLY! violence towards reader, smurf, baz, murder, breeding kink, unprotected sex, thigh riding, oral sex (f receiving), pregnancy, no use of y/n, spoilers for season two of Animal Kingdom
wc: 5k
notes: Set between season one and two...sorry this took like nine million years
Smurf presses her lips together as she looks at Baz. She thought she raised him better than to put hands on a woman. But like father, like son. Now she has to clean his mess again. She pats his face before smoothing his hair.
"She was trying to steal from me, Smurf. I walked in on her finding one of my stashes," he lies.
Smurf tuts and shakes her head.
"I don't care, baby. She's all bruised up. And Lena saw it. We gotta keep her sweet now or she'll take her pretty little ass down to the police and report you for assault. And we can't have that," she cooes at her eldest boy.
Baz rolls his eyes, "A bullet between her eyes would be simpler."
Smurf slaps him, "We're not killing a girl you had on your fuckin' payroll. The people at Lena's school know her because you can't raise your own fuckin' kid. So you're gonna listen to me about your daughter."
Baz snarls and walks to the other side of the kitchen.
"This is such bullshit. Just cos Pope is all heart eyes for her? Not like you, Smurf, to get sentimental," he says.
Smurf bares her teeth like a wild animal.
"We don't kill women because we lose our temper. Get the fuck out of my house," she hisses.
Smurf finds you later, after you've brought Lena for ice cream. She pouts at the cuts on your face.
"Lena, why don't you go to the pool?" Smurf suggests as the little one runs off.
"Now, sweetheart, I can't let you go back to Baz's house. Not after what he did to you. But Lena needs someone to take care of her. I was thinking you could move in here to help me with her," she said, fixing your hair.
You frown. You don't trust Smurf. You've known so many women like her. But you also know not to get on your bad side. Thankfully Pope comes to your rescue, stepping into the kitchen. He puts an arm around your waist.
"She's moving in with me, Smurf," he says in a tone that doesn't leave room for argument.
"And what about Lena?" Smurf asks. "Baz clearly can't take care of his own daughter."
You shake your head, "No. I'll still nanny for her. I just won't be a live in nanny. I...maybe I could take her instead of Baz's? If that's not overstepping. She just loves being with you Smurf. She is always talking about you and the pool!"
Smurf smiles at you, her eyes narrowing for a moment. She's not an idiot. But she'll allow it. You're making Andrew happy.
"Of course, sweetheart," she says softly. "You can sleep here with Lena when Baz isn't around. I think that's for the best."
You smile and nod your head, "Of course, I think that would be perfect. She needs a strong woman in her life now that her mother is...gone."
Later as you sit in Pope's truck, you look at him, "Are you sure you want me to move in with you?"
He sniffs, "Where else are you gonna go? Not back to Baz."
You roll your eyes, "Ain't you romantic?"
But you like living with Pope. He always makes you breakfast in the morning, telling you that you need to start your day with food rather than running on coffee for hours. He likes having you here as well. Pope can't sleep. But with the weight of you on his chest, he sleeps like a baby. Although on the nights he can't, he can wake you up with rough hands and soft kisses.
You adore that as well. Pope could spend hours eating you out, just drowning in your pussy. He makes you cum over and over and over. Until you have to pull him up and away from you. And he'll look at you with his eyes almost black. If he's not between your legs, he's at your tits, kissing and palming at them for hours on end. You don't even think it's sexual anymore, it's like a comfort for him. A soother... And if that's what Andrew needs you give it to him.
But you adore when he's inside you. Hard and deep, slamming his hips against yours. He manhandles you, having you in breeding press, kissing you desperately. Or he'll flip you onto your stomach, you love how he fucks you prone bone. Sometimes he'll hook his thick bicep around your neck, making your eyes roll back on your head. You love riding him on the couch after a long day.
When you stay at Smurf's you tell him sex is off the table. You know she's listening. But Pope can't keep his hands off of you. And Smurf isn't an idiot, she sees how Pope hangs on your every word. So after a few months of you living between her home and Pope's, she does some digging into your background.
You're folding laundry in the kitchen when Smurf approaches you.
"Hey baby," she coos, calling you the name she reserves for her sons and grandson. "Where did you say you grew up?"
You look up at her and smile.
"I didn't, Smurf. But I grew up the other side of San Diego. But I haven't been back since I was eighteen. I started applying for au pair jobs in my senior year of high school," you explain. "So I left a few days after graduation."
Smurf hums, "And no one cared about your time in juvenile detention?"
You freeze and look up at her.
"My records were sealed after I turned eighteen," you tell her. "So no one needs to know."
"I have my people...and my people found that you did 18 months for robbery and breaking and entering," she says with a hum. "Must have been tough for your foster family."
You twist your mouth in annoyance. You hate talking about your past.
"Yes, Smurf. I grew up in foster care. CPS took me away when I was eight. I was still cute then, got a nice foster family," you say with a shrug. "But then they got pregnant. Triplets! And I was thirteen and starting to act out. So I went back to foster care. Bounced around families for a while. You know how many foster dads are creeps?"
You scrub your hand over your face.
"So I learned how to pickpocket. I just wanted enough money so I could get an apartment. I made friends with a few of the rich kids in the area. And I'd case their places when they weren't around. One of their parents found me. I thought they were on a trip...Her dad was a lawyer so I was screwed."
You look at Smurf, "Is that a problem?"
Smurf smiles at you and pulls you in for a hug.
"Oh baby, you're perfect."
You're not stupid. You are very aware how to Cody family get their money. You're not there for the meetings or the jobs, of course. And you like to play dumb for Smurf, although you're sure she can see through you. But both of you play this game, pretending you don't know what the other one knows. And she likes you like this. Still pliant to her.
You know when the boys are doing a job because Smurf will give you the day off. She'll keep Lena in the house. And you will wait patiently for Pope to come home. It is always a variant on the same theme when he finally walks in the door of your now shared home. Sometimes he will take you desperately, needing to be buried inside you. He'll push you onto hands and knees or press you into the couch and just bury his weeping cock in you with rough, angry thrusts. Other times, you can see the tears threatening to fall from his eyes and he'll kiss you desperately. He'll slowly rock his hips against yours, hiding his face in your neck as you can feel soft sobs rack his body. Sometimes, rarely, he's happy. It's gone well, and sex is soft and smooth and gentle.
One day you're fixing Lena's hair and you overhear Baz talking to Smurf.
"People who have nannies have money," he tells her. "You said she used to do this shit. Why can't she scope out a few places for us? Even just fuckin' job interviews. I don't know. Babysitting gigs so it's not too permenant."
You can hear Smurf take a sharp intake of breath, "We only do jobs with people in the family."
You can practically hear Baz's eyeroll at that.
"She's not doing the job she's just-"
Pope cuts him off, "We're not involving her in this. She doesn't need to be a part of this shit."
"What Pope?" Baz suddenly snaps causing Lena to flinch next to you. "You think you can just run off with her into the sunset? You're sick in the head, man. And soon she'll fuckin' see that. She's gonna drain your wallet and then leave you."
On the drive home, you can tell that Pope is withdrawn. You can see the gears in his head working overtime. You hate that Baz can get to him like that. You reach out and run your fingers through his curls but he flinches away from you. You try not to let it affect you. You know it's Baz and his family who have worked their way under his skin. But still, Pope has never been upset with something you've done.
You make him dinner in silence. Pope likes the quiet but when he finally looks up at you, he sees the hurt etched across your face.
"I'm sorry," he gruffs out. "I just...Baz always says shit like that. Says how I'm weird and I'm not weird."
"No baby, you're not weird," you soothe, stroking his knuckle with your thumb.
"I just...You know...With my family, it's hard. I don't know Smurf was never a proper mother to us. First time I saw someone die I was six. She used have sex with these men in front of me and Julia. And we just thought all o' that was normal. And she likes...She likes when I'm angry. I know she wants to keep me angry. But I don't want to be angry. I want a normal life."
He take a deep breath, "But I don't know how to be normal. I wanna be normal for you. I really do. I don't wanna be Smurf's muscle or Baz's fuckin' punchline."
You look at him, watching the tears roll down his freckled cheeks. You brush each away with soft kisses to his flushed skin. You just want to take him away from this, from his family, from Oceanside.
"Baz thinks no one would wanna be with me. That you'll leave. He thinks no one will settle down and have a baby with me," he sobs.
This makes you pause.
"I wanna have a baby with you, Andrew," you tell him ever so gently.
His eyes flick up to yours as if assessing the situation. Were you being serious? A baby...with him?
"You wanna have a baby with me?" he echoes.
You nod your head, pulling him in for a desperate and messy kiss. You moan against his lips which is enough to have Andrew Cody gripping your hips and lifting you onto his lap. Your hips work on their own rolling against his thick thigh, your skirt bunching up around your waist as as your grind on him. Your clit bumps over the rough fabric of his jeans under the cotton of your panties. But Pope never breaks this kiss.
"Put a baby in me, Andrew, please," you beg desperately.
"You needa cum first," he responds.
It's like you can do it on command because after a handful more rocks of your hips you're soaking his thigh. He grunts out in appreciation and then grips the meat of your ass to lift you onto the table.
He falls to his knees, pulling your panties down your legs. His eyes zero in on your sopping wet cunt that is clenching around the air desperate for him. He doesn't give you a second before he starts eating you out. Pope loves giving you head, could (and has) spent hours between your legs. But today he is on a mission. He zeros in on your clit, sucking and slurping desperately. He knows exactly how to pull you apart and he does in record time. You come undone over his tongue to his satisification. He moans out into your cunt. He could cum from this as well, but he can't. Not when you've asked him so sweetly to put a baby in you.
Finally he stands, unbuckling his belt so he can push his jeans and boxers his thick cock finally free. It rests heavy against his black t-shirt that he still hasn't taken off. But he's desperate for you. And getting you pregnant is his number one priority. He presses inside you in one fluid motion. He doesn't let you adjust. He just splits you open. He's worked you over so well, he slips in without an issue. And then he's off to the races.
He hooks your knees over his forearms, spreading you wide and he slams into you. His heavy balls slam against your ass as he fucks you.
"Gonna put a baby in ya. Gonna see you so fuckin' full. And I ain't ever gonna let you leave," he grunts in your ear.
His words go straight to your cunt and you honestly don't know how many times you cum over his cock until he stutters to a stop. Thick walls of cum coat your walls. But he doesn't pull out. He just presses his weight on you for a few minutes. Your chests heaving in time with one another.
When he eventually moves, he presses two thick fingers inside you.
"Can't waste it. Not when I gotta get you pregnant."
And Pope takes his job very seriously. Every morning and every night he's inside you. If you're free in the afternoon, he pounces. If the two of you are alone he's fucking you. And you love it.
"Is Pope tryna eat you?" Deran asks as you sit by the pool in a bikini that showcases all the hickies Pope has left on your body. There are bruises in the shape of his fingers as well around your hips, ass and even the hint of them on your neck.
You roll your eyes at him.
"Don't be jealous cos you're hard up," you say before jumping in the pool and splashing him.
Out of all of Pope's family, you like Deran the best. If Pope's not around, you usually cling to him. He also has a short fuse for Baz's bullshit. Which is ongoing in the kitchen right now.
"Are we still paying her?" he snaps at Smurf who is counting out cash.
Smurf's eyes flick up, "You hired her because you couldn't take care of your daughter. So yes. We are."
"Well she's not doing a good job is she."
Pope grabs a beer from the fridge, "Lena's at school. You'd know if you spent any time with your kid."
He storms out to the backyard with Baz hot on his heels.
"You think you're a big man now cos you're getting your dick wet?" Baz snarls.
Pope doesn't respond as he watches you in the water.
"I mean, it looks like she'll spread her legs for any of us. Number three is right there," Baz says, nodding to where you and Deran are in the pool.
This catches Pope's attention. He turns and looks at Baz then.
"What's that supposed to mean?" his growls, his whole face darkening.
"You think she was living in my house, with me and not givin' it up? Come on. I'm a hot blooded man! You were always obsessed with my sloppy seconds. Ri-"
But Baz doesn't get to finish his sentence before Pope lunges. Pope is on top of him, landing punch after punch. But Baz is sly and digs him in the ribs. Smurf hears the commotion and comes to watch by the door. You're jumping out of the pool immediately.
Smurf sees you and sighs, "That's enough boys."
Usually her word is law but they're too caught up in the fight to hear anything.
"Andrew, that's enough," you bark.
Pope slams Baz onto the concrete once more before hauling himself off him. He reaches for your hand and drags you back to his car. You can get your stuff later, he grumbles. Smurf's eyes narrow as she watches you. It looks like you have your claws in her eldest boy deeper than she thought.
Of course, Smurf doesn't do anything right away. But she'll have to get Andrew away from you. She thought you simply calmed him down. But if he listens to you over her that's not good.
You can sense that something has shifted with Smurf. But you're not dumb enough to delve into that. No you play dumb. Act like nothing has happened.
"When's you're birthday, Smurf?" you ask her one evening as you help her with dinner. "I doubt your boys ever spoil you. And you do so much for them. They should bring you out for dinner."
Smurf smiles, "That's sweet but I like cooking for them."
You sigh as you watch J, Deran and Craig outside.
"I hope I'm half the mother you are. I mean, Pope talks about you all the time. How you worked so hard for him and Julia as a single mother. And in the seventies, that can't have been easy," you coo.
Smurf freezes for a millisecond, too quick to even notice. Unless you're watching...and you are.
"Does Pope talk about his sister?" she asks tightly.
You nod your head as you throw cherry tomatoes in the salad.
"Oh yes, all the time. Such a beautiful name. Maybe if I'm ever blessed with a girl I'll call her Julia. Maybe Julia Janine...JJ! So sweet," you say before carrying the salad out to the table.
Smurf stabs her knife into the cutting board. Oh she fucking hates you.
In the months that follow, you can feel the tension rising in the house. Not just between you and Smurf. But something has happened between her and Baz. You're not sure what and you're not stupid enough to ask.
One evening you're sitting by the pool on Pope's lap. You're nursing a Coke after dinner wondering when you can go home.
"Baby, do you want a real drink?" Smurf asks you as she sips on her vodka cranberry. It's rare she doesn't have one in her hand.
You flush at the question ducking your head before shaking it quickly. Pope is grinning ear from ear.
"Smurf, I can't," you say as Pope presses a thick hand over your stomach.
A few weeks ago, you had woken up feeling...well...like shit. You pulled up your calendar and realised that you were late. Your period was due almost a fortnight ago. But yours was nowhere to be seen. You immediately ran (literally) to the store. You shoulda bought pregnancy tests but you didn't wanna jinx it.
When Pope found you almost an hour later crying tears of joy as you looked at the two little lines on the stick, he couldn't stop himself from crying. You both had your own worries and didn't want to share until you were over the first trimester. But now, at almost fourteen weeks pregnant you decided to share with the rest of the Cody family.
You could see Smurf's face immediately brighten. Yea, she didn't like how you had gotten your claws into her baby boy. But a baby? Well, Smurf loved babies. So she rushed over to kiss both you and Pope.
"You should move back in here, baby," she cooed at Pope.
He shook his head, "Not with the parties, Smurf. A baby needs sleep and not to get into Craig's coke stash."
Craig frowned, but he couldn't argue.
The only person who wasn't happy was Baz. Which you expected. He was rarely at the house these days. And when he was it usually ended in a fight between him and Smurf. J had become a little lap dog for Baz. And you hated that. But it wasn't your place to get involved.
Since announcing your pregnancy, things between you and Smurf thawed. She brought you shopping for baby stuff. Even though you didn't want to be in her debt. But sometimes you liked to be mothered...it had been so long. So you let her brush your hair when you were too tired and make you herbal tea and even slept over when Pope was away on jobs.
You sit, cradling your now swollen stomach, as Smurf tells you about Julia. How she couldn't take care of her when she was pregnant with J. Everyone who talks about Julia tells you a different story. Pope talks about her like she hung the moon, J speaks about a sad, ghost of a woman outcast from her family and Smurf? Well, Smurf talks about a problem child. A bad apple intent on spoiling the bunch.
You're not sure if it's not just the tree that is poison.
But you let Smurf dote on you because you're not stupid. You want to keep her on side. Not like Baz...Baz has seemingly been outcast from the family. Lena is always with Smurf and her father is spending less and less time here.
Pope tells you one night in bed as he strokes your growing belly that he has a mistress in Mexico. That he plans on taking Lena and going to start a new life down there.
"With whose money?" you ask, your eyes flicking up to Pope.
Has Baz been stealing from Smurf? You don't doubt that he has enough money of his own. But you always know that Smurf has a majority of the funds.
They have enough to live very comfortably on. But nothing too crazy. But you don't argue about that.
One night, Pope is out with Craig and Deran. It's not like him, but you tell him to spend more time with his brothers. It's okay. You know he doesn't like parties or loud spaces. But sometimes they just drink in the back of Deran's bar. And you want him to have that connection again. Especially after losing Baz.
Even though you don't know good of a friend and brother Baz was to him. Pope tells you about Baz and Julia's relationship. How he could be J's father. How he fell for Cath when they were teenagers but Baz took her too. How he didn't want to lose anything else to Baz.
"You won't lose me or the baby to him. I promise," you whisper.
So when you hear the door to the house open you presume it's Pope. You hum, shifting in your bed to give him room to join you. But Pope's footsteps are almost silent and these? Well, these are not. You try not to move, hoping whoever it is will just steal some shit and go. They won't try the bedrooms.
But you recognise those footsteps as they come closer and closer. You know it's Baz. And he's not here for petty theft. You lean across the bed to Pope's side and pull open the drawer of his bedside locker. You're trying not to make noise as you fumble in the dark for what you're looking for.
But it doesn't matter because Barry Blackwell has been in Pope's shitty little beachfront condo before. He knows where the bedroom is and he knows where he'll find Pope's girl. He's known that Pope killed Cath. Even though he knows that Smurf put him up to it, it was Pope who did it. And now he can do the same to Pope.
An eye for an eye.
The baby is just the cherry on top of the cake. Baz should care that by killing you, he'll also be ending the life of his brother's unborn child. But he doesn't really care. He slams the door open making you jump.
"Pope isn't here," you tell him, feigning ignorance.
You blink, pretending that you've just woken up.
"That's okay. He doesn't need to be," Baz says as he stands in the door frame. "You know, Lena loves you. She loves when you take her to the beach and that you've taught her how to swim. Craig's got her her own surfboard now."
You smile and nod, sitting up in the bed. You stroke your baby bump, showing it off to Baz as if to remind him that you're just a woman. A pregnant woman. A soon-to-be mother.
"So it's really going to hurt her feelings when she finds out her uncle murdered you," he tuts.
You freeze at this. He's going to frame Pope?
Of course, he is. Pope already has a violent record. The police won't even question it when Baz calls it in. Because he will. He's an upstanding citizen. And when Lena's nanny who got involved with his mentally unwell brother doesn't show up for work, he'll get worried. He'll call the cops. He might even cry.
Smurf'll be pissed but hell, he might kill her too while he's at it. Pope went on a spree. How fun!
"Don't do this," you beg through tears.
Baz shrugs as he takes a step forward. You try to stay brave, strong. But fuck you're scared. But you look at the man who has only ever made your life worse since he came into it in the eyes as you pull Pope's gun from under the covers. You point it straight at his face.
He gives you that shit eating grin. That pretty boy bullshit smile. He thinks he can get away with this. But he can't. He won't.
And you pull the trigger.
You don't expect it to be so loud. Your neighbours definitely heard. You don't expect the blood spray either. It's messy. But you had no choice. You couldn't fight him hand to hand.
You get out of bed, wiping down the gun with your nightie and immediately getting in the shower. You wash off all evidence of Baz from you and change into Pope's t-shirt and a pair of shorts. You drive to the bar you know the Cody brothers are at. You smile at the patrons and pat your stomach.
But when Pope sees you, he knows something is wrong. He soothes you, tells you that you did everything right. Deran and Craig stand behind him as they look at their older brother's now dead body. You know they all loved him. But he was a monster.
"I took Lena's father away," you whisper. "But he was gonna kill me. He was gonna kill us."
Pope presses a hand to your stomach.
"Take her somewhere," he tells Deran. "We need to clean this up."
Deran brings you to his place, to his boyfriend (although you have to pretend he's just a friend), Adrian. He tells him that someone tried to break in and you're freaked out.
"Why not bring her to Smurf?" Adrian asks as you sit looking at the blank wall.
Deran just shakes his head before leaving.
You don't know when Pope comes to get you. But you go home with him. He gets you into the bath, soothing out your muscles.
"I've never done that before," you finally confess.
"And you won't have to do it again, baby," he promises as he massages your neck.
"We're gonna go. We're gonna leave Oceanside. Craig went to Baz's place and found where he's stashed Smurf's money. We're gonna take our share and go. With Lena," he promises.
"She won't let us," you respond.
Pope presses kisses into your hair.
"She doesn't have a choice," he responds gently.
Smurf believes Pope when he tells her that Baz has run off to Mexico.
"And left Lena?" she tuts and shakes her head. "Typical."
She knew it was his plan so why would she look into it any further? What she doesn't expect however, is less than a month later is to wake up and find Lena's bedroom empty.
She rushes to call you. But the phoneline is disconnected. Pope's is too. She calls Deran and Craig who shrug. They don't know where you've gone.
And while they know that you were leaving. Helped you get everything in order, you never told them where you were going.
"Where are we going, Uncle Pope?" Lena asks from the backseat of a car you jacked.
"Somewhere safe," is all he responds, as he rests his hand on your blossoming stomach.
a/n: thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed! any and all feedback appreciated. requests open
Reader getting hurt and Simon being her knight in shining military gear
A/N: @pixiu-palindrome this is the second ask you requested! And yes this is absolutely inspired by the fact that my dying fire alarm kept beeping last night and kept me awake...ALSO I barely edited this lol so plss let me know if you spot something like grammar or spelling or whatever!!
@nbdblogger @tigerchud
Part 1 part 2 part 3 part 4
Part 5
Simon was awake at 2 o clock in the morning because he was getting ready to go on deployment. Base was an hour away and he was supposed to be there at 7am but he couldn't sleep in his apartment knowing that he had was just hours away from flying out to some wasteland, possibly for months. He was planning on getting there stupidly early and busying himself by running around base, helping Price with plans, paperwork, something like that.
You were awake at 2 o clock in the morning because the stupid fire alarm on your bedroom ceiling had a dying bettery and let out a loud shriek every two minutes. Right when you started to drift off, it would beep again and wake you up. The person living in the apartment right above you had hit his floor (your ceiling) with the handle of a sweeping brush at least four times already, each harder and more aggressive than the last.
You couldn't just not do anything about it. Not only could you not sleep but the beeping was keeping other people awake, too.
So, you got out of bed.
You could have gotten a sturdier chair from the kitchen. But it was late. You didn't care. You just wanted that contant beeping to shut the hell up. You're desk chair would do. The one that swivels, rolls, and can lean back completely flat.
Simon was passing the door to your apartment, on his way to the stairwell to leave the apartment building for the next few months. He hadn't told you. He didn't know if you would care. Maybe he would send you a text or something just before he got on the plane or helicopter or whatever mode of transportation Price and Laswell had chosen.
Thats when he heard a loud crash. Not a small crash like you dropped something or fell out of bed, but one of those sounds that makes your stomach drop because you just know someone got hurt.
Inside the apartment you were laying on the floor, ankle already starting to go purple and swell. You made the mistake of standing on your tip-toes for added height because you just couldn't reach. You lost your balance and put your hand on the back of the chair to try stabilize yourself. Of course that triggered the little mechanism to make the back lay down flat, completely knocking you off balance again. You tipped backwards, the wheels on the bottom of the chair did the rest. The chair rolled out from underneath you and tipped over with the force of the fall. The automatic reaction to try fall on your feet was your unltimate demise. You landed wrong on your left foot, twisted it or broke it or something like that, you weren't sure. You just knew that it hurt like hell.
Simon knocked on the door. No, he didn't. Actually, he banged on the door so hard you were surprised the thing didn't come off its hinges.
"Love?! You alrigh'?!"
You sat on your bedroom floor, biting you knuckles to stop yourself from crying or screaming, eyes shut tight. Your ankle felt hot and stiff, like your brain wouldn't let you move it even if you tried.
Simon called for you again, his voice heavy with worry. "Answer me! Are you okay?!" His banging on the door was so loud now that you're sure the whole building could hear it.
You obviously needed help. You were insanely lucky that Simon was passing by right as you fell but you still needed to unlock the door and let him in lest he break your door down.
So, gritting your teeth, you braced your hands on your bed and pulled yourself up, standing only on your right foot, your left slightly elevated off the ground. You couldn't bring yourself to call out for him. It was like your brain could only focus on the pain. You were sure no sound would come out if you tried to talk.
That's when you heard the much louder bangs on the door. Not knocks. Kicks. The door was weak enough as is. All it took was two kicks to have it fly open, hitting the wall, damaging the hinges and sending a huge split down the wood by the handle.
He was by your side in just a few seconds, calming down once he realized that your injuries were in fact not very serious or life threatening. Maybe he even felt a bit guilty about kicking down your door when it wasn't necessary at all. In his defense, you weren't responding to him. It was his military training that kicked in. No response equals get there quick.
A quick glance around the room told him enough. Chair on the floor, bed unmade, you in your pajamas, and a very timely beep from the fire alarm that he noticed you rolled your eyes at in annoyance despite your current predicament. He looked back at you, a scowl of pain on your face, foot completely elevated off the floor, skin rosy pink with embarrassment. With a gentle but firm grip on your arm he guided you to sit on the edge of your bed.
"I'm gonna take a look, alrigh'?" He got down on his knees and gently took your calf in his hand to extend your leg forwards. Your ankle was swollen and red in a way that you could just tell it would be purple in an hour.
Simon, with his free hand, squeezed your ankle with his thumb and forefinger with the utmost tenderness like he was holding a newborn. Then, a sigh, like he knew something you didn't, because he did.
"It's definitely sprained. Probably not broken but I can't really tell. We need to get you to a hospital, this won't heal on it's own." He stood up and looked down at you. You still hadn't said a word. He understood that it was from shock, most likely. "How bad does it hurt?"
Then, finally, your mouth opened and your voice sounded strained and forced but he knew that was normal. He had seen people recovering from shock not be able to speak for hours.
"I can't afford to go to the hospital."
"well that's no' what' I asked, is it?" A beat of silence. "How's your pain?"
You looked at him then. Military attire, combat boots, camo jacket with a name tag with 'SGT. Riley' plastered on it. He was leaving?
"Its okay. Hurts, but it could be worse. It feels hot." You chose not to mention his attire or the fact that if he hadn't come in here to check on you he would have just left without saying anything.
"yeah, that's jus' your blood rushing to your ankle. You got ice? Gotta bring down the swelling."
"There might be a bag of frozen peas or something in the freezer." Those frozen peas had probably been bought during a health kick where you swore you were going to lose weight but then promptly gave up after about a day.
He left then. You heard the sound of the freezer door opening and the drawers being pulled out, frozen pizzas pushed away in favour of vegetables for the first time ever no doubt.
He returned with that bag of peas wrapped up in a little cloth so the cold wouldn't feel so extreme on your skin and knelt down in front of you once more.
He took your ankle, just as gentle as before if not more so, and pressed the frozen peas to your skin. You winced a little at the sudden pressure and temperature chance. He noticed and mumbled out a little "sorry" just barely loud enough to be heard.
"We need to go to the hospital, love." He sounded guilty almost. Maybe he was just upset about the door or maybe it was the silent internal spiral of what might have happened to you had he left his apartment five minutes earlier instead of when he did. You would be here but alone and in pain with no way of getting to the hospital. Anyway, there was no use dwelling on that. He was here. That was all that mattered.
Once he was satisfied with the work the peas had done on your ankle he placed them on the floor and stood up just to sit down on your bed next to you.
"You can't walk, as much as you might want to. You alrigh' with me carrying you?"
A nod from you was really all he needed to stand up and put his arm under your knees and his other behind your back for support. Simon lifted you like you weighed the same as a pile of blankets or a stuffed animal. You would have been a blushing mess only the pain pulsating from your ankle was drawing your attention more than Simons strength.
You noticed your door as he carried you out of your apartment. It was destroyed enough that it wouldn't close. Not properly anyway. Still, you grabbed the broken doorknob as you passed it and tried to close it as best you could so it would maybe look closed enough that burglars wouldn't notice and rob you blind.
"Sorry 'bout that. I'll pay for it, love."
He carried you down the stairwell and out the front door of the building. It was cold outside. Much colder than your apartment. You were only wearing old shorts and a t-shirt as pajamas so the early morning breeze reached your bones almost immediately.
Simons truck blended in to the dark so well that you couldn't tell where it was until you were right beside it. He set you down on your feet gently, being careful to not let go until you had your balance on your non injured foot. He pulled off his jacket, his military jacket that you were almost certain he wasn't supposed to be giving to other people, and wrapped it around your shoulders before you could protest. When he turned he kept a protective hand on your arm and used his other to open the passenger side door of his truck.
You hobbled in, using both Simon and his truck for balance as you sat in the passenger seat then swung your legs inside. The door shut gently once you were inside and Simon went around the truck to hop in the driver seat.
The drive to the hospital was quiet. The type of quiet where you both knew there was something you had to address but neither of you were quite ready to talk about it yet. Until the silence became deafening and the tension was so thick it could be cut by a knife.
And you chose to break the silence.
"Were you really going to leave without saying anything?"
He didn't respond straight away. He didn't do anything actually. No sign that he had even heard you other than the way his grip subtly tightened on the wheel, knuckles going white, eyes glued to the road illuminated by his headlights.
Then, "Yeah. Thought it was just easier tha' way."
"Easier?" You almost scoffed, turning your body towards him. "Easier for who? Because it sure wouldn't have been easier for me, Simon. I would have woken up in the morning and texted you to no reply, then knocked on your door with no reply. I wouldn't have seen you in the hallways or stairwell, or the laundry room. You were perfectly fine with just leaving me confused and wondering what I had done to make you not want to say goodbye?"
He sighed and glanced towards you, silent for a while like he was thinking about what to say. His face showed no emotion. No guilt. But his eyes betrayed the sea of thoughts in his head.
"I- I don't know. I didn't think about it like that. I guess I thought you wouldn't care if I left. Most people don't."
Your heart softened at that. You had been upset with him for not thinking about you but he just figured that you wouldn't care if he was there or not...
"Maybe you should have asked me first instead of just assuming? I care, Simon." You reached over, softly putting your hand over his that was resting on the gear stick.
He looked over at you now, daring to tear his eyes away from the road just so he could see you.
"I'm sorry."
Simple words. Quiet and easy but they weighed heavily. You could both feel it.
"Well, I'm sorry for falling off a chair in the middle of the night and putting us in this situation in the first place." You laughed and he smiled. The tension was gone, replaced by something much sweeter that happily crowded the air between you for the rest of the drive to the hospital.
You were utterly grateful for Simons jacket when he helped you out of the car once he parked. It was even colder there, somehow. You also didn't want to be seen in your old t-shirt by anyone at the hospital.
The hospital was quiet as expected. Simon walked in, you in his arms. You were seen by a doctor almost immediately, unusually quick even with how quiet the waiting room was. You were even given a wheelchair so you didn't need to be carried everywhere. Maybe that had something to do with his military uniform, you assumed. It was odd how you felt sort of sad about not relying on him so much, even if he was pushing you in the wheelchair because it didn't have those big wheels with the handles on them.
After a brief examination from an older nurse who looked as though she had seen this exact injury many, many times before, she concluded that you had a partially torn ligament. She gave you an ankle brace, crutches, and a weeks worth of strong pain killers. It would take about six weeks to heal, and you would be on crutches for four of those weeks. At least you hadn't broken any bones.
You were in and out of the hospital in about 45 minutes. whether that was good luck, good timing, military privilege, or all three you couldn't tell. Either way you were grateful for it. You wanted to get back to bed.
You slept the entire car ride home. Your sleep was already interrupted earlier by the loud shrieking from your fire alarm, now this? you were exhausted.
When you woke up, it took you a minute to recognize where you were. Simons apartment. You must have been in his bedroom. Well, obviously, considering the bed you were in that you had no idea how you get there.
Simon was beside you, sitting on the side of the bed, gently shaking you awake.
"Sorry, love, it's just... I have to go. I've stayed here as long as I can. I'm gonna be late."
You suddenly shot up in the bed, eyes wide and much more awake than you had been all night. Your heart sank in your chest. You had completely forgotten about that. He was leaving.
"I think you should stay here. In my apartment. It's obviously not safe in yours without a door."
You didn't have time to think about the fact that he had just offered you to basically live in his home for the next however many weeks or months. Because he was leaving.
"You're leaving? Now? Right now?" Your voice was tired but panicked in a way he had never heard before.
"Yeah, pretty, I'm leaving now. I have to." His hand, rough but gentle and safe in a way that felt almost cruel because he was about take that feeling with him, landed on top of hours with a reassuring grip.
"When will you be back?" Your other hand landed on top of his, gripping much tighter, much more desperate, your eyes glossy with unshed tears. Not from the pain from your ankle but the fear of not knowing what would happen to him.
"I don't know. A few months at least. Probably four or five." He shrugged and looked down like he couldn't bare to say the words himself.
One tear slipped from your eye and down your cheek. You didn't even notice it was there until you tasted the salt on your lips when it reached them.
Your mind was overrun with thoughts. You wouldn't see him for months. that was if he didn't get himself killed over there wherever he was going. You might never see him again.
You didn't really think about it. It was like moving on instinct when you leaned forward and pressed your lips to his, desperate and salty from tears and entirely unexpected from both of you.
His hand that wasn't currently trapped between yours reached up to your jaw, cupping your face and deepening the kiss, his thumb stroking the skin of your cheekbone, wiping away tears.
Neither of you said anything when you pulled away from each other. There were no words to describe these feelings anyway. No, speaking would ruin the moment. So you both stayed quiet. Even when he stood up and walked away. Even when the front door shut quietly. Even when you heard his truck engine start up. Even when he stayed there for a few minutes, sitting in his truck, not yet driving away like he couldn't bring himself to leave just yet.
And for the first time in his entire life, when Simon left, he was leaving something important behind.
For the first time in his life, he had someone who was desperate for him to return home.
For the first time in his life, he wanted to return home.
pope cody who goes to the emergency room for some stitches, after a ridiculous amount of badgering from deran
as a non-critical, he has to wait hours and hours, which means he passes the time people-watching
one person in particular catches his eye - you. he's pretty sure you're a doctor of some kind, eyes crinkled as you smile at each of the patients you treat.
he sees them all - kids and adults alike - grow visibly more comfortable in your presence
when it's finally his turn, he makes an offhand comment to the nurse, who tells him that you only handle the paediatric cases in the ER
that's no problem.
lena's had a little bit of a cough recently - she caught it at school, and it hasn't gone away with over the counter medication. he promises her $200 at the toystore if she comes with him to the emergency room for a check-up.
you're even prettier up close than from afar. your hands are gentle as you examine lena, diligently checking her temperature and asking all sorts of questions.
pope is very sure to tell you that he's her uncle, but loves her like his own. that makes you smile.
he feels terrible the following month for the little bit of glee that sits in his chest after lena breaks her wrist at school. that's at least two trips to the ER
before long, he's got your entire schedule down, and soon he's 'bumping' into you on nights out with your friends, just so that he can spend more time with you
summary: itâs day four of the âto do listâ and park tags along to help bring your herb garden vision closer to life. (wc: 1.5k)
pairing: brendon park / f!reader
content: cont of the âexpectationsâ series. fluff/humour. grumpy x sunshine duo. pilates princess!reader who has park wrapped around her finger. some mild sexual tension and physical touch in this. (1) honeybee mention
âGood morning, my little snuggle muffin.â you chirp with a cheerful bounce in your step as you enter the store; the smell of greenery at the forefront of scents.Â
Park is impassive toward the newfound nickname, as nothing that comes from your smart little mouth surprises him anymore. The tables turn when he passes you a coffee.Â
âMorning. This is for you.â his tone is more gravelly from the sleep still evident on his faceâyesterday had been a longer shift at the PTMC than anticipated.Â
You gratefully take the cup drooling with condensation from his grasp, âThank you, SharkyâLook! The barista drew hearts on the side of my cup. Were you nice to them?â you tease.Â
âThat was me.â Park informs.Â
âOh.â your quick-wit falters.Â
Park drops his gaze to look at you when you fall silent. His lip curls into a satisfying smirk, âSleep well?âÂ
âCouldâve slept better.â you shrug, dragging a cart toward you with your free hand.
Park takes it from your grasp, âThereâs a two-person remedy for that.â he suggests.Â
âOoh.â you sing, âSo explicit and itâs only 9AM! What kind of girl do you take me for, Sharky?âÂ
âA fun one.âÂ
It was great. Throughout your ownâŠplayful stipulations for Park to win back your phone number, his personalityâalthough similar to his workplace oneâwas revealing to be less two-dimensional and reeking less of that menacing, sardonic tone that he often work within the PTMC. (That side of him also extends further to the poor strangers who shoot a friendly smile in his direction.)Â
This whole facade was slipping before your eyes, revealing the softened centre you had presumptions about the first time he swam through the ED; shrouding everyoneâs semi-egotism with his own.Â
In addition to this, it also helps your case of getting a free hall pass into Parkâs true temperament because he was sorely into you.Â
You walk at a slow pace, content as you sip at the coffee Park brought you. He leans his weight onto the trolley, slowing his steps to match yours whilst he observes the surroundings like a godforsaken member of the SWAT team.Â
It had been agreed during the last time Park managed to wrangle some time in between surgeries to show face in the ED, that the next day off would be focusing on your newfound passion for a herb garden. Now, Park had his own queries about it, and you werenât exactly living in an establishment that was in abundance of space and natural sunlight.
But nevertheless, what you wanted; Park was going to make it happen.Â
âDo you know what type of herbs you want?â Park asks when you stop in front of the potted herb section.Â
âUhâŠEasy ones.â you mumble and pick up the pot labelled as coriander.Â
Park angles his body into yours, his head dropping read the pink label. He plucks the pot from your hand, âCoriander is hard to keep alive. Highly sensitive. Short lifespan. If it gets too warm, the flavour of the leaves are ruined.âÂ
(Consider yourself speechless. A rarity.)Â
âSharky, are you a green thumb?âÂ
Park chuckles, âIâm Italian.âÂ
âAh. Thatâll do it.â you place the herb back amongst the others. You hum, âWhat about basil? Thatâs pretty easy to keep alive, right? The last one I had lasted much longer than I anticipated.âÂ
âBasil will survive.â Park affirms. He tilts his head to inspect the leaves on the stem, âThis one is good. Mint will also survive under minimal maintenance. Chives. Theyâre all pretty hardy.âÂ
You smile widely. (Definitely liking this side of him.)Â
âWho knew the Ortho Bro had such a keen eye for herbs.â you pat his chest in passing, feeling the muscles tense beneath your palm. You bend over to drop the umpteen pots of herbs into the cart, not missing Parkâs wandering eye as he shoots it back up to look at your face. âEyes up here, Park.âÂ
âHeard.â Park clears his throat, tugging at his bottom lip to conceal the growing smile that was aching to break free.Â
There were things that Brendon Park wanted to be successful in life doing. The obvious being a top surgeon in Orthopaedics, living a healthy and fulfilling life and to see gray hairs sprout from his scalp; and to be able to kiss you whenever, and however he wanted.Â
Even if it made other people within the public area flush at the sight.Â
It wasnât as if he was plucking this out of thin air. Having been with a handful of women, the guy could spot hungry eyes from across a room. Something you were so eloquently sporting whilst you wrap your lips around the paper straw of your coffee.Â
Park prays for some respite. Really. The way his mother had raised him was not reflecting at the present moment.Â
Thankfully, it comes in the form of a distracting task of finding moisture-retentive, fertile soil with organic matterâhis words to you. Park keeps you close, occasionally taking his thumb and forefingers to rest on your hips as he guides you down the aisle with the cart abandoned at the end. You allow him the tactile touches, leaning into his touch whilst you bask beneath the glow of his undivided attention.Â
When he hauls the raised garden planter over his shoulder, you follow him back to the cart with a shit-eating grin.Â
That was about to become all yours. You know, when you decided to stop stringing him along for entertainment purposes.Â
His freshly washed hair flops when he lands the smaller scale planter into the cart.
His chest puffs, âDo you have a garden for this?â he asks since he forgot to when you giddily pointed to the cutest planter on the shelf.Â
âShared garden. My neighbours are really sweet. Theyâll be fine about it.â you tell him in a nonchalant tone before taking hold of the cart to push it. âTake five, big guy.âÂ
âUh-huh.â Park muses lowly before deciding to be intentional with where he places himself. He cages you in with two muscular arms on either side of you as he helps you push the heavy-weighing cartâhis front flush with your back. âReady to check out?â he asks innocently.Â
âYup.â
Youâre really struggling to maintain composure. (Thereâs no way youâd let Park the Shark one-up you with his flirtations.)Â
You walk like that all the way to the cash register. Thereâs a handful of customers in front, placing their items on the conveyer belt; so you lean back into Park who cements himself to the spot to allow you to rest.Â
Thereâs part of him that wants to press a chaste kiss to the top of your head as you wait. Domestic and for all intents and purposes: a severe public display of affectionâin his eyes anyway. Also, not something he should doing without your phone number and an official date set in stone.Â
Park the Shark was many thingsâŠa creep was not one of them.
Itâs as if you can sense his overthinking, turning your head and lifting your chin to stare up at him. âHappy?â you query.Â
âAlways with you.âÂ
You hum in content, dropping your head back to stare at the moving queue you were in. Your hand rubs up and down one of the forearms he had still caged you in.Â
Eventually, youâre able to lift the items for your herb garden onto the conveyer belt. Itâs really Park that does all the manual labour of shifting the items from A to B after tells you to just stand and look pretty for him, which was an easy feat for someone like you.Â
He even gives you a glower when you go to pay. For your own items, nonetheless.Â
You make it back out into the parking lot, where Park abandons the cart at the front of the shop and decides to show off his extensive workout plan that makes juggling a planter over his shoulder whilst balancing all the herbs you selected in his other hand, a real cinch.Â
He follows you to your car and you pop the trunk for him.Â
âYou will be rewarded in your next life, Sharky.â you bounce on the balls of your feet as he places the purchased goods into your car.Â
He stands to full height. âHow about this life?â
âLet me sleep on it.â you openly taunt.Â
âHave you got someone to lift this on the other side?â Park cocks his head when you hesitate to produce an answer, âYouâre gonna lift and build this?âÂ
âIâm not weak.â (No, you werenât. But you 100% could not lift that planter yourself.) âI can ask one of my neighbours for help.âÂ
Park shuts the trunk, âIâm not convinced.âÂ
You pause, and then throw your hands up in defeat. âFineââ you fish out your car keys, ââLet me stroke your ego for a little while longer. You can come to mine and build it for me.âÂ
âAtta girl.â Parkâs answer makes your skin prickle with heat. He gestures to your car, âLead the way, honeybee. Iâll be right behind you.âÂ
The sweet chaos / rambling mess that is Shawn Hatosy on Twitter. Honestly, this man is a comedian.
"Now I'm going back to tweeting about what I know you came her for. Glorious throbbing triceps, terrifically styled hair and a personality that's been described as a positive ray of sunshine."
reader with ex-husband!simon riley and fourth of july w/ the kids
idk i'm a day late but that photo in the middle is singing to me - [MDNI. cw: piv.]
"You're looking good, little yankee." Your ex-husband says to you in a horrible yet somehow sexy country accent, hopping out of his pickup truck. He tips his cowboy hat at your red, white, and blue outfit for the day. You eye him up and down. Even in a casual outfit of a white t-shirt and jeans that are too tight around his thighs, he still manages to look hot.
Stupid hot Brit.
You'd be lying to yourself if you said that the way you're dressed right now was not to spite him. You chose a matching set with a push-up bra just so your tits looked better in your top. You put a little more time in styling your hair today and makeup, just so he could get a tease of what he couldn't have anymore.
You shrug your shoulders, "I mean it's the Fourth. What else would I wear?" You fidget with the handle of your outdoor wagon, heavy with all the things the girls wanted in there along with bug spray, a picnic blanket, and portable fans.
Simon opens the door of his truck and your two little girls hop out, twinning in red and white gingham tops with jeans shorts and white shoes. You coo at their pigtails, clearly done by Simon but perfect for their hair type. He watches you greet them with sweet kisses to their cheeks. He notices the heavy outdoor wagon you're holding with one hand trying to greet them, and he silently takes it from you.
"Look it. All of my girls are red, white, and blue today." You squint at the way he puts you into his statement and not the twins alone. He smirks and walks closer to you, "behave today, for our girls and America, yeah?" You couldn't help but roll your eyes. Simon drags the wagon while taking the hand of one of your girls, Ayla, while you take the tiny hand of Kyra.
Finding some grass on the field for you all to sit on, Simon sets the picnic blanket onto the ground and gestures to you to make yourself comfortable first. By instinct, he sits next to you, placing a gentle hand on your back. You spot your twin girls playing with their bubble guns, giving you a chance to smack his hand away. "Don't even think that me being here means I want you. I'm here for our girls and to look at pretty fireworks, not to suck you off after."
He chuckles and takes off his cowboy hat, rubbing it against his chest in mock-hurt, "So mean to me, lovie." He frowns, "cause I'm British, huh?"
You roll your eyes. You know he's just teasing but this constant banter has continued even after your divorce. "It's too hot for this." You turn around and look in the wagon for a portable fan.
Luckily for Simon, he was given a perfect view of you on all fours looking for this portable fan. Your back arched slightly, your tits spilled a little out of your top, and your butt was perked perfectly to him. If it weren't for all these people here, he'd make use of your positioning here on this picnic blanket. All he needed was for you to stretch your torso a little further until...perfect.
Your bottoms lower slightly down your back but enough to let the red lace of your panties peek out and Simon feels himself grow harder by the second. Thankfully, his hat is more than big enough to cover his growing bulge. You're his ex-wife on paper, sure, but how can he forget all of the restless nights you shared while you're being an unintentional tease. You turn back around and start waving the fan around yourself, clueless about Simon's conflict.
To beat the awkward silence that you're both experiencing, you decide to stroke his ego a little, "their hair looks really good," you nod your head to the twin girls.
Simon's eyes light up at your compliment. He reclines himself a little, sitting now with his arms behind his back. "I'm glad you think so. They kept telling me 'only mommy does it good' until I was finished." He laughs recalling the scene of the girls sitting on his bathroom sink. Simon maneuvered their hair and the gel with tactical precision for the perfect pigtails and topped them off with American flag pigtail bows. He sighs before letting out a low, "I've mis--"
"Daddy!" The twin girls run in unison towards the both of you, bubble guns still in hand.
Ayla, a spitting image of you, speaks up, "when are the fireworks starting?"
Simon whips out his phone to check the time, "any minute, angel."
Kyra, who looks exactly like Simon, settles into your side and whispers a low, "I want Daddy to come with us after the fireworks."
You sighed because you hated that you wanted the same thing and all you could say was, "we'll see."
The fireworks finally started, making it Simon's cue to stand up and carry the girls in each arm so they could get the perfect view. You videoed them with the fireworks in the background.
After plenty of fireworks, the girls were finally tired and you walked back to Simon's truck, parked right next to your car. You stuck to Kyra's word and decided to ask Simon, "The girls want you to come back to my place." You pause, looking for any excuse for him to decline, "But you're probably on duty so I--"
"No." Simon shakes his head, cowboy hat on. "I'm a reservist right now. Don't worry." He crosses his arms and his forearms pump just a little but enough to make your legs clench. He walks closer to you and nudges you with his bicep, "Besides, don't think me saying yes means I want you. I'm coming for the girls, not to get sucked off after." He winks, slyly aware of his own remark.
It's going to be a long night.
Now in your house, which used to be the primary residence before the divorce, Simon changes out of his jeans into gym shorts. He spots you bent over the damned wagon again, but now in loungewear. He can't tell whether this wagon you bought was a blessing or curse.
Without any cowboy hat to hide his bulge now, he sucks it up and notifies you that he'll put the girls to bed. Not only because he's a good dad, but one more minute with you and he'll use that wagon to keep you situated as he bends you over in doggy. Bloody tease, he thinks to himself.
After putting the girls to bed, he passed the master bedroom that you two used to share. He walked in and thought it was missing something:
The both of you.
Before you could comprehend what was going on, your red lace panties were pulled to the side and your stomach was lying on that room's bed, abandoned for years until this moment.
You could feel Simon's torso sweat on your back as he pressed against you to slide in deeper. He settles his mouth by your ear, just where you like it. "You feel so good, mama." He finishes his statement off with a kiss to your temple. "Teasing me the whole day." He groans in pleasure and annoyance.
"Pretty red bra."
Thrust.
"Pretty red panties."
Thrust.
"My pretty woman." Thrust.
Your left hand clutches the mattress, while you triy whipping your right arm back towards Simon in an effort to push him off because it felt too good.
"Si," you mewled into the bed. "We're not using protec--"
He speaks roughly into your ear, now sensually sliding in and out. "You want a third one?" He lifts his torso off of your back, now using his hands to massage your lower back and hips as he keeps his tempo. "I'll come in this pretty little pussy right now. Get you pregnant. Say the word baby."
Two weeks later, an on-duty Simon in his office wasn't surprised when he got a text from you. A pregnancy test on a bathroom sink with a clean and clear "Pregnant" is attached, along with your text, I better not be popping out two babies this time.
series desc: reader is best friends with Deran Cody. she's a known introvert and sweetheart. so what the hell is she doing with Deran and Craig? but right when she thinks about slipping away, something (or someone) pulls her right back.
girlygirl!f!reader x andrew "pope" cody, no outright physical description of reader, no y/n
series tags: partying, drug use & sexual content, canon typical behavior, Pope Cody being Pope Cody, mdni
ââ§Â°đČÖŒđą Chapter One
ââ§Â°đČÖŒđą Chapter Two
ââ§Â°đČÖŒđą Chapter Three
ââ§Â°đČÖŒđą Chapter Four
ââ§Â°đČÖŒđą Chapter Five coming soonâŠ.
[ ONGOING - ??? Parts ]
Taglist for this series is CLOSED, blog is 18+, asks always open, donât like donât read
Thinking about Simon trying Tinder for the first time but itâs not what he expected. He signed up without telling anyone because if he had uttered a word about it, you already know Johnny or Kyle is going to snoop through his phone to look at his profile.
But Simon being Simon, he doesnât know how to present himself in a good light. His photos were bad; he took two selfies as he created his profile and they were not good to say the least. One was a mirror photo of him holding his tiny phone with both of his hands as he stoically stared into the mirror. The other was just a selfie of him except it wasnât angled high or even remotely attractive. It was angled down as if he was taking some sort of quick snap.
The only thing saving his profile was a photo of Riley wearing a vest and goggles.
His bio was the worst of them all.
âI like working out. I have a busy job.â
That was it.
No personality, no indication that he wanted more than just a quickie.
Simon wasnât expecting much out of the app and he was right because the next day, he opened up the app to find no matches.
Got the man thinking that he really was ugly.
It ruined his self esteem a little if he said so himself. Simon didnât care about what other people thought but gosh, not even one person wanted to match with him?
âŠ. And then he learned that he also had to swipe to get matches.
So on Simonâs off day, he practically spent half of the day swiping through people. He was picky, believe it or not.
Boring bio? Bye.
Too much filters or AI? Bye.
Too corny? Bye.
Clearly only looking for a one night stand? Bye.
Kind of hypocritical considering his profile looks like he only spent five minutes creating (which he did).
Just when Simon was about to give up on his love life for good, the last profile he stopped on was yours. Simple, nice photos, interesting bio and funny prompts. He hesitatedâ not because he wanted to skip, but in fear of rejection. Because if he swiped right and there was no âitâs a match!â, heâd probably wonder if heâll ever find the love of his life.
His thumb hovered over the middle of his phone before he pressed down and swiped right.
Itâs a match!
His phone lit up with the two profiles and underneath was his chance to send a message first.
Fuck. He didnât know what to say. Should he try to be funny? Or start it off with a simple hey?
Simon began typing, deleting, typing and deleting the same message for the next two minutes before finally settling with a: âHi. How are yâ
He typed too fast that he didnât even finish his sentence before he pressed sent.
The one where Jack Abbot accidentally knocks up Robby's little (step)sister in his final year of college.
warnings: this blog is 18+, mdni! this fic deals with pregnancy, discussions of abortion and medical complications, explicit sexual content, slut-shaming (not by jack), reader is robby's step-sister, they are not related biologically, and reader's appearance is not described at all. in this chap - nothing really, just the obvious pregnancy
main masterlist // supercut of us masterlist
The bed is well and truly cold by the time you come to.
It takes a second to orient yourself - for last night to come crashing back to you. Jack, his hands, that stupid cowboy hat, the way it felt when he-
You cut yourself off.
This isnât the start of something. Absolutely not. You were looking for a quick fling to get over Seth, and you found one. Jack made it very clear he wasnât looking for anything either, and youâre not about to beg him for more.
If your paths cross again organically, then that would be another thing entirely.
You reach for your dress, and take a second to look around his room as you try and gather your bearings. Itâs a lot cleaner than some of the frat rooms youâve spent time in.
There are textbooks stacked on the desk instead of empty beer cans. A chemistry textbook sits open beneath a notebook full of cramped handwriting and highlighted diagrams. Another book - something biology-related - has so many sticky notes poking out of the pages it looks like it's growing feathers.
You hadnât thought Jack was lying last night when he told you he was pre-med, but you certainly hadnât thought he was serious about it. You figured he was probably some trust-fund kid who was going to get daddy to buy his way into medical school.
Jack apparently doesnât fit into Cornellâs usual stereotypes.
Heâs not a selfish prick the way most of the hockey team is. Heâs also not a moron either - not by a long-shot. You know his music taste is pretty refined - on one date, after telling a guy that The Doors were your favourite band, heâd looked at you like youâd grown a second head.
Needless to say, there hadnât been a second date.
And heâs funny. Youâd laughed more last night than the entirety of summer. You think potentially more than your entire relationship with Seth.
God, you need to get a grip. You look around the room, almost praying to find something thatâll ruin the spark for you. Maybe a list of all the girls heâs slept with, or some Playboys under the bed. Some mouldy food perhaps?
Anything to get him off your mind.
You pull your dress over your head and glance around again.
The walls are covered in hockey.
Photos pinned to a corkboard. Team pictures from what looks like every stage of his life. A tiny kid missing his front teeth. A gangly teenager holding a trophy. A more recent photo where he's standing shoulder-to-shoulder with a group of teammates, grinning like an idiot.
There's a shelf lined with medals and a couple of plaques.
Your gaze lingers on a more recent picture - a slightly younger Jackâs first year on the Cornell hockey team. It looks familiar, and suddenly you realise why, heart sinking. Your step-brother Michael stands right by his side, smiles wide as the team poses for the camera.
Fuck.
Youâd thought that the hockey team would be safe from Michaelâs claws given that heâs been at medical school for the past three years. The last thing you want is to have slept with one of his friends.
While technically a step-brother, your mom met his dad while she was still pregnant with you. With your biological father out of the picture, the Robinavitch family very quickly became your own. Michaelâs father is the only father youâve ever known.
In all ways but blood, heâs your brother.
Heâs the entire reason youâd ended up at Cornell. Youâve always wanted to grow up to be like Michael. Even if heâs grown a stupid beard, and goes by Robby these days.
His single piece of advice to you when youâd started college was to run a mile from anybody on the collegeâs sports teams.
Basketball? Bad.
Football? The worst, if Robby is to be believed.
Hockey? Good guys, but not boyfriend material. Steer clear at all costs.
Maybe they were just teammates. You have lots of group photos with people you donât even like, much less consider a friend.
Jack seems like the kind of guy who would be friendly to just about everyone. But it could have just felt that way because he was trying to get into your pants. He could have a playbook of flattery, and youâre simply the most recent sucker to fall for it.
You realise with a snort that you donât know much about Jack at all.
Which, to be fair, was intentional.
The whole point had been not getting to know each other. He could be
No strings. No personal questions. No expectations.
For all you know, he's seeing someone back home. Or maybe he's the sort of guy who never stays single for long. Maybe there are half a dozen girls on campus who'd roll their eyes if they heard you were thinking this much about him.
You wouldn't know.
All you know is that his name is Jack.
He plays hockey.
He's pre-med.
Heâs a fan of classic rock - particularly Led Zeppelin and the Eagles, but heâs also partial to some eighties punk.
You don't know if he has siblings, or if he's close with his parents.
You move toward the desk, spotting a framed picture tucked beside a lamp.
Jack stands with a woman who shares the exact same smile. Must be a mother, though she looks pretty young. Upon further inspection, his mom is in a lot of the photos. For someone who spent half of last night pretending he didn't care about anything except having a good time, Jack seems surprisingly sentimental.
Maybe because you'd spent all of last night mentally filing Jack under Fun-Mistake. Good-Lay-Whoâs-Definitely-A-Bit-Of-A-Whore.
Not Son-Who-Keeps-Pictures-Of-His-Mom-On-His-Desk.
You force yourself to look away.
This is ridiculous. You have to get out of here. At the desk, a notepad sits beside a cup full of pens, and your eyes catch on it just for a second.
You could leave your number.
Not for a date. Just to say âhey, that was good sex and we should do it again sometime. Iâm not clingy, nor am I looking for a boyfriend, but youâre hot and I have a pushy ex.â
As soon as your brain catches up with your thoughts, you realise how pathetic you sound.
Youâve spent your entire college career avoiding becoming a stereotype. Youâre not a stuck-up teacherâs pet because you get good grades, youâre not a stoner because youâre in a rock band, and youâre certainly not a Puck Bunny because you want to fuck a hockey player.
You grab your boots, and try to get the hell out of there. The frat house is mostly empty this early. For that, youâre grateful. A couple of people linger in the kitchen, nursing coffees and hangovers, but thankfully, nobody pays much attention as you head for the front door.
You slip outside.
The morning air is cool against your skin. A welcome change from the heat of Jackâs bedroom.
You donât have a class until lunchtime, but band practice starts in forty-five minutes, and youâd like the shower before braving the heat of the Cornell Music Building.
The campus is dead at this hour, just empty brick paths and ivy before the mid-morning rush. Your boots click on the concrete, locking into the tempo of the bassline you keep looping in your head. Itâs a new composition, one that youâre pretty sure goes with Jesseâs latest favourite drum-fill.
You hadnât really meant to join a band, but when Jesse Van Horn is your next-door neighbour in freshman year, itâs hard to avoid the music.
Half the floor hated him, because he had an acoustic drum-kit set up in his room, and had no qualms about practicing at seven in the morning before his classes.
You didnât ever mind.
Alarm clocks didnât do the trick for you, but Immigrant Song sure did. Eventually, Jesseâs roommate had packed it in, found somewhere else to live. Meanwhile, you and he were becoming closer every day. Youâd pass records back and forth, and roll your eyes over student housing politics.
When your roommate started allowing her boyfriend to practically live with you both, it had been a natural decision. One box at a time, over a week, you moved into Jesseâs spare room.
Despite the rumours, itâs never been sexual - youâre both walking proof that men and women can, in fact, just be friends.
You started jamming together, before heâd finally proposed that a band could earn you some extra cash. Outside of tutoring, you didnât have any other income, so money got tight fast.
The only issue was that you absolutely refused to sing in front of a crowd. Itâs not that you couldnât - youâve always had quite a nice voice, especially for folk, but the idea of singing solo in front of crowds made you want to cry.
Besides, youâd argued, you needed a guitarist anyway. Youâd just find someone who could sing and play.
Jesse had placed a couple of ads across campus, and you got a lot more interest than you were expecting. Your answer came in the form of Nick Bradley - a biology major who could shred like Slash.
He agreed to sing too, as long as youâd do harmonies and take lead occasionally.
Like Fleetwood Mac, except none of you were sleeping together.
Now, a year on, youâre pretty successful. Good enough to get booked for a lot of the parties around campus, and a Saturday night slot at the local bar.
Youâre still living with Jesse this year, in an apartment just off-campus, while Nick lives two streets over with his girlfriend Princess.
Were it not for Seth, youâd be having the time of your life.
Your first college relationship, youâd met Seth at a party in your first month of being at Cornell. He was a freshman too, but a business major, and loved the sound of his own voice.
Of course, at the time, he was hot, and paying you considerable amounts of attention. You were hooked.
Your entire relationship was cyclical - youâd date for a few months, and then have a huge blowout fight, and break up. Youâd both sleep with other people out of pettiness, before heâd come crawling back a month later.
Much to all your friendsâ chagrin, you always took him back.
This is the longest youâve ever been separated since you first met.
It had happened over summer - an incident in New York City which had resulted in you sobbing down the phone, and Robby driving three hours in the middle of the night to come to your rescue.
Youâre determined the break is sticking this time.
The cold walk back to your apartment finally wakes you up. You drop your keys on the counter, shed yesterday's clothes, and step into the shower. The hot water cuts through the smell of Jack's cedarwood cologne and the leftover stuffiness of his bedroom.
Ten minutes later, you're out and dressed in fresh black jeans and a beat-up band tee. Cream. You tell yourself itâs a total coincidence, and not because itâs a Clapton band. Your hair is still wet, but with five minutes until your practice starts, Jesse is ushering you into his car without pause.
*****
You think about Jack at random intervals throughout the day over the next few weeks.
When you're walking to class.
When you see someone wearing a hockey sweatshirt.
When a cowboy hat appears in the background of a TikTok, embarrassingly.
But thinking isn't the same thing as doing. And you've managed not to do anything.
No Instagram searches. No asking around. No stalking fraternity pages. No investigating.
Which means you're doing great.
Objectively.
You havenât seen him around campus, but you figure thatâs to be expected, given heâs pre-med and on the hockey team. You wouldnât wish either on your worst enemy, much less both. Thankfully, Seth has been a complete non-entity too.
Maybe youâll be able to live your entire Junior year in peace.
You're walking back from class with your phone wedged between your shoulder and ear while Robby complains about med school.
Again.
Apparently today's crisis is pathology.
Yesterday's crisis was anatomy.
Tomorrow's will probably be something equally horrifying - heâs no longer allowed to tell you any stories that involve burns, toe-nails, or eye stuff, but you're sure he'll find something else that makes you feel sick just hearing about it.
"I haven't slept in two days."
You snort. "That's healthy."
"I hate you."
You hadnât realised that Robby going to med school would somehow be your problem too. When your parents are sick of him whinging, they send his calls your way.
"Do you know how many pathways there are for clotting?" He asks.
"No. Why would I know that? Iâm pre-law."
"There are too many."
"Okay."
He groans. "I'm serious."
"Congratulations? I don't know what you want me to say to that, to be honest."
Thereâs a pause, and you can just imagine him rubbing his neck, regretting calling you entirely. "You don't care."
"I care deeply about many things. Clotting factors? Unfortunately not one of them. Why arenât you moaning to Noelle?"
"Sheâs sick of it," He replies, sounding so miserable that you almost want to laugh.
âJust think about all the money youâll be making.â
âYeah, in like fifteen years.â Without taking a breath, Robby launches into another story about one of his professors, and you half-listen as you weave through campus.
Then he mentions hockey. "Honestly, sometimes I miss the team."
Your stomach does an immediate, traitorous flip. Itâs been approximately two hours since you last thought about Jack, and the reminder is not a welcome one. Itâs a battle to keep your voice neutral. "Yeah?"
"Not the practices,â He clarifies immediately.
"Obviously."
"Or the conditioning."
"Also obviously."
"But the guys."
You bite the inside of your cheek. You donât care about Jack. You shouldnât ask anything else. Change the subject, andâŠ. "Do you still talk to any of them?"
You immediately regret it, but itâs too late.
Fortunately, Robby doesn't seem to notice the odd cadence in your tone.
"Some of them."
You hum. "Who?"
He pauses. âMost of us are scattered now, but I talk to some of the guys on the current team. You know, one of them's applying to med school right now.â
"So?"
Robby laughs. "So?"
"Yeah."
You adjust your bag higher on your shoulder, wondering if you should just fake bad service and hang up.
"Lots of people apply to med school."
"Not while playing a college sport."
"Oh."
"He asked me to look over his application."
Your grip tightens on your phone. "That's nice."
"I know. Iâm a nice guy." Robby sounds genuinely pleased. Which is odd. He's usually much stingier with compliments. "Actually, his application's pretty solid."
You stare straight ahead.
Heart beating a little faster. âMust be smart, then.â
âEverything okay?â
Curse Robby and his insane perception skills. âUh, yeah - just thought I saw Seth.â
Immediately, Robbyâs in dad mode. âDonât go near him.â
âIâm not! Jesus, Mikey - what do you take me for?â
âYou donât want me to answer that.â
You want to be offended, but youâre mostly just glad the conversation isnât on Jack anymore. âScrew you.â
âLove you too!â
*****
The bathroom tile is freezing against your forehead.You trace the grout lines with your eyes, trying to focus on anything other than the rhythmic, violent heaving in your stomach. Itâs 4:00 AM, six weeks since term started, and youâre currently paying the price for the sketchy food truck tacos you ate after last night's gig.
Your throat burns, tasting like stomach acid and cheap tequila.
This cannot be the rockstar life everybody is so desperate for.
You groan, pulling yourself up onto your knees to lean over the toilet bowl again. Your body shakes, a cold sweat breaking out across your neck and back. Every muscle in your core is tightly knotted, exhausted from the last two hours of purging.
You reach up and flush, the loud roar of the water echoing painfully in the quiet apartment. Jesseâs the heaviest sleeper youâve ever met - thereâs no way heâs waking up from a couple of retches.
You wake up on Friday morning convinced you're finally over the worst of it. The constant, violent nausea has faded into a dull, low-grade ache, and you manage to keep down half a bagel and some black coffee. Robby informs you that sometimes food poisoning takes itâs sweet time clearing up.
By Sunday, you can't lie to yourself anymore.
Youâre still exhausted. The smell of the deli on the corner makes your stomach violently drop, and you spent twenty minutes this morning dizzy on the bathroom floor just from standing up too fast. Itâs not a stomach bug.
You decide eventually that you can manage a trip to the grocery store for some crackers and ginger ale, in the hopes of filling your stomach a little.
Standing in the chip aisle, you glance over at the bakery counter. A woman is standing there, waiting for a loaf of bread. Sheâs wearing a soft knit sweater, and one of her hands rests naturally over a very obvious, rounded baby bump.
Your heart stops.
You canât be.
Youâre on the pill, and Jack used a condom. Statistically, thereâs got to be no chance of that happening.
Panic floods your chest, hot and sharp.
You drop the crackers and sprint two aisles over to the pharmacy section. Your eyes scan the shelves frantically until you spot the boxes. You grab a digital two-pack, not even looking at the price, and tuck it flat against your stomach beneath your denim jacket.
You keep your head down, eyes darting left and right. The campus grocery store is a minefield; the last thing you need is a classmate, or Seth, or even Jack himself seeing you.
Running the three blocks back, the plastic bag crinkles loudly against your thigh. Your hands shake so badly that you drop your keys on the concrete before finally forcing the lock.
Jesse is on the couch, a laptop open on his knees and a half-eaten slice of pizza in his hand. He blinks up at you, surprised. "Hey, did you get the-"
"Bathroom," you choke out, barging straight past the couch. You donât look at him, keeping the plastic bag bunched tight against your side.
"Whoa, okay. All yours," he mutters, turning back to his screen.
You throw yourself into the bathroom, slam the door, and click the lock. In the sudden quiet, your breathing sounds deafening. You rip the box open, tearing the cardboard with your fingernails until the two plastic sticks tumble onto the counter.
Youâre on the pill. Jack used a condom.
You repeat it in your head like a mantra, trying to block out the terror pressing down on your chest. You read the instructions on the crumpled paper, the tiny text blurring. Wash hands. Remove cap. Hold the tip in the stream for five seconds.
You go through the motions on pure autopilot, your fingers icy cold.
When it's done, you lay the stick flat on the edge of the sink, turning the digital screen face-down against the white porcelain. You step back, gripping the edges of the counter until your knuckles turn white. On the side of the plastic casing, the tiny hourglass icon starts blinking, counting down the three longest minutes of your life.
You canât be pregnant. You still have two more years of college, and then law school. How the hell would you do that with a baby?
Especially when the father is someone you donât even know?
When you finally build the courage to turn the test over, you think you might cry.
âShit,â You curse. âShit, shit, shit!â
No amount of staring makes the line disappear, and you can feel tears start to prick at your periphery when a knock sounds at the door. âEverything okay? Youâve been gone forever.â
You swallow heavily. âFine, Jess.â Looking back at the very positive test, and the words that flash on the screen.
Summary: Itâs the Pittâs worst kept secret that youâre Dr. Abbotâs favorite nurse. When a close call with a patient leaves you hurt and vulnerable, he steps in to make sure youâre all right.
Word Count: 2.3k
Content: fluff, protective Jack, aggressive patient, depictions of violence and assault of medical staff, Jack being a professional yearner
A/N: Struggling with motivation to write, so thought I would try a new character and fandom focus just to flex my muscles. Anyways Iâm in Pitt hell at the moment, so here ya go.
It was a shift from hell.Â
A young man whoâd gotten in a terrible motorcycle accident, a teacher with. pulmonary embolus whoâd stroked right in front of you, and a pediatric case that the team coded off and on for hours until he couldnât be brought back from the brink. Those cases tended to hit the team the hardest, doctors and nurses alike. Suffice to say, morale was low already across the board. Weariness and suppressed emotions seeped down to your bones.
And then Brian rolled in.
Brian was a frequent flyer substance abuse case, one whoâd refused help time and again from the night shift social worker. He was stubborn and bitter (and probably a closet misogynist, based on how he spoke to the female staff), but usually harmless. Usually.
Still, it seemed the universe had it out for you that night.
You took his vitals and deflected the usual inappropriate comments and lecherous looks as you always did. He didnât seem to like that you werenât your normal, smiling self. He grew more and more agitated, but you didnât call âhula hoop'. You thought you could handle him. That once he got his treatment, heâd calm down some, like all the other visits before.
He tried to get out of bed, and you began to gently redirect him to sit down again. Hands seized your shoulders in an iron grip, and thatâs when you realized this wasnât like the other visits.
Your back hit the wall hard, knocking the wind out of you. The back of your head collided with the drywall, accompanied by a sharp pain and stars behind your eyes. You could barely breathe, let alone shout, but luckily Brian was shouting, and that would catch someoneâs attention. Spittle flew from his lips as he screamed incoherently in your face, as you tried with all your might to wrench yourself from his grip, as you gasped like a fish out of water.
At last, your lungs filled with a little bit of air, and you weakly called out, âHulaââ
Brian was ripped away from you by several pairs of hands before you even finished the phrase, and you collapsed to the floor.
He'd been talking to Lena at the front desk, debriefing on the trauma that had just been moved up to ICU, when he heard the noise. Jack's head whipped in the direction of the shouting. Through the glass, he could see a hostile patient, standing up and raving nonsense.Â
Then just past the patientâs shoulder, he saw you, pinned to the wall with wide, frightened eyes and a gasping mouth. You, the sweetest nurse in the building, who had a smile for everyone and wouldnât hurt a fly.
Jack began moving before he fully absorbed what he was seeing, before he recognized Brian. All he knew was that you were in harmâs way, which was unacceptable. So he skidded around the edge of the desk, grabbing Diaz by the back of his scrubs and hauling him towards North 6.Â
He flew through the doorway and roughly yanked the man away from you, arguably much harder than necessary. The man snarled and shouted profanity as Jack and Diaz wrestled him back to the bed.Â
ââstupid fucking whoreââ
The patient tried to sit up, and Jack, seeing red, slammed him back down by the shoulder. The patient yelped and writhed beneath his grip. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he registered that someone was trying to to shoulder past him, but Jack stood firm, his jaw clenched as he held the man down.
âAbbot.â
Jack almost didnât hear the warning past his own pulse roaring in his ears. He turned to see Shen, moving in to take Jackâs place, a stern but understanding look on his face.Â
Over his shoulder, Jack saw your crumpled form on the floor, pale and trembling. A few shards of broken plastic surrounded you on the tile, and only when he saw your hair falling wild around your face did he realize what they were â the remains of the clip that you wore your hair in every day, shattered to bits when your head hit the drywall.Â
You stared in shock at the scene before you, your eyes still wide like a spooked animalâs.
Jack's eyes snapped back to Shen, and he allowed him to replace him in restraining the patient. âYou got him?â
Shen nodded, then jerked his head in your direction. âGet her out of here, and tell security to get off their asses.â
Jack was at your side in an instant, one hand at your back, the other hand wrapped around yours as he quickly pulled you to your feet and steered you out of the room. âAll right. I gotcha,â he murmured. âI gotcha.â
âLena, tell security to wake up and help out in North 6.â He tried not to shout, but the words still came out rougher than he intended. He felt you flinch slightly beside him and kicked himself internally. âWhatâs open?â
âSouth 18. You alright, hon?â Lena had already moved out from behind the desk when the chaos started a few seconds ago, and she laid a gentle hand on your shoulder. You nodded weakly but said nothing.
Lena began to walk with you and Jack towards South 18, but Jack insisted, âI got her. Can you keep this place from falling apart for five minutes for me?â
She nodded, squeezed your shoulder, and pivoted back towards the hub.
Jack ushered you into the room, closed the door behind him, and eased you onto the edge of the bed.
âIâm okay,â you blurted, before he got the chance to say anything. The tremor in your voice and the tension in your shoulders told a different story.
âI know you are,â he replied gently. âI'm just gonna take a look at you. Hospital policy.â
He reached his hand into his pocket for his penlight. âEyes open for me.â You squinted as he checked your pupillary response, rolled your eyes when he asked, âWhat's todayâs date?â
âDr. Abbotâ"
âHumor me,â he softly urged you, pocketing his penlight again.
You sighed and surrendered. âThursday, the fifteenth.â
He offered you a smile. âWasn't so hard, was it?â
As gently as he could, Jack examined the back of your head where it had made contact with the wall, his fingers probing your scalp. You hissed quietly when he pressed near the tender spot.
âTender here, but no broken skin. You'll probably just have a bump for a few days.â he said thoughtfully, pulling back to look at you. âI wanna get you into CT, just to be sure.â
You started to protest. âIâm fine, I promiseââ
âPlease,â Jack interrupted you, not allowing you to talk him out of his concern. âFor my own peace of mind, if nothing else.â
After a momentâs hesitation, you nodded. âOkay.âÂ
You peered up at him with those still-frightened doe eyes and took a stuttering breath, your lower lip wobbling ever-so-slightly. Jack's heart nearly cracked at the sight of it.Â
âHey, hey,â he muttered sympathetically, and before he thought better of it, he pulled you into a tight embrace. âCâmere, sweet girl.â
He was sure to regret that particular turn of phrase later. It was too affectionate, a little too revealing. But you were so small and fragile in his arms, and he couldnât fight his instincts to hold you close, to murmur reassurance into your hair.
âHeâs not cominâ near you again,â he vowed, a surge of protectiveness underneath the words. âI promise.â
Your fingers tightened in the fabric of his scrubs, your breath hitching with held-back sobs. Jack kept his breathing slow and steady, and soon enough your breathing matched his, evening out to a calmer rhythm. He gave you one last squeeze, breathing in the sweet scent of your shampoo at the crown of your head, and then released you.
Just then, Lena cracked open the door, holding up your water bottle, the one you covered with stickers. Your cheeks flared with embarrassment at having been caught in such an emotional state, and you quickly wiped away the tell-tale tear tracks streaking them. Jack quietly thanked Lena and grabbed the water bottle, passing it to you when you were ready and politely dismissing her.Â
âHere, drink.â
You sat down on the edge of the bed once again, taking a few sips obediently. Jack suspected you could use a quiet moment to yourself, so he straightened his spine and prepared himself to return to the circus that likely awaited just beyond the door.
âSit tight for me, and weâll get you down to radiology. Can I get you a snack or somethinâ?â he offered, his hands slipping into his pockets so they wouldnât do something foolish like reach for you again.Â
You shook your head. âIâm not hungry, but⊠thank you.â
âOf course. Can't lose my best nurse. You're my backup.â
You didnât smile. You werenât quite there yet. But your expression softened a little, the corner of your mouth twitching upward. Youâd be all right, he was sure. You were tough underneath all that sweetness, and you wouldnât let this get you down for long.
Jack gave you the kindest smile he could manage and slipped back out into the hall.
You hated being treated with kid gloves, and there was a lot of that for the next few shifts. Your head CT had come back normal, and without evidence of a concussion, Dr. Abbot let you finish the last few hours of your shift under strict advisement to âtake it easyâ (which was easier said than done in the Pitt).
But the damage had been done. People had seen you weak, seen you cry. For a week after the incident, every interaction with Pitt staff was marked with well-meaning check-ins and encouragement bordering on the patronizing. You just wanted to forget the whole thing had ever happened, but that was impossible with all the hovering.
The only attention you received that didnât exhaust or annoy you was Dr. Abbotâs. He'd smile at you from across the bay, but it was friendly, not an expression of pity. Heâd ask you how you were doing like he genuinely wanted to hear about your day, not because he was worried you were about to have another breakdown. He cracked jokes and threw winks at you as he worked over patients and instructed residents.Â
It wasnât all that different from his usual attention, just moreâŠdialed-in. It had the same effect on you that it always did â an inexplicable warmth in your chest, a flush to your cheeks, and a slight flutter in your stomach. It was a welcome distraction from the bruises and soreness that were still fading from the altercation.
Three shifts after the incident, you arrived at the Pitt, tossing your bag in a locker and shuffling over to the hub desk. Waiting by the spot where you usually left your water bottle was an unexpected sight â a gift bag, small and in an unassuming color, bearing a tag with your name on it.
On the opposite side, in messy but familiar handwritten script, the tag read:
In case you need a backup.
-J
Flushing slightly, you glanced around you to make sure you didnât have anyoneâs attention before opening the bag. Inside were two small items. The first was a hair clip â not just any hair clip, but the exact one that had lain shattered on the Pittâs floor almost a week ago, the one you had worn religiously since you started working there. It was just a generic hair clip you had found at the drugstore â not fancy, sturdy enough to keep your hair out of your face and last a couple years. But the fact that heâd gone out of his way to find that exact one made your heart do funny things in your chest.
The second item was a scrunchie, the color matching the fleece you wore most days to stave off the chill of the air con. You couldnât help but smile to yourself as you slipped the scrunchie around your wrist and began to wind your hair up into a twist, securing it with the clip.
Somehow materializing out of thin air right in front of you on the opposite side of the desk, Bridget gave you a playful side eye as she typed into her tablet. âI know that look. That's an HR issue waiting to happen.â
You feigned nonchalance. âI donât know what youâre talking about.â Discreetly as possible, you slipped the tag off the bag and tried to pocket it. But Diaz, who also apparently obtained teleportation powers, snagged your wrist and managed to pry the tag from your fingers.
âââJ? Who could that possibly be?â He smirked as you snatched it back, your cheeks on fire.
âOnly one person in this building makes her smile like that,â Bridget replied with knowing amusement.
âYou know youâre totally his favorite, right?â Diaz whispered conspiratorially. âNone of us ever get presents.â
You elbowed him in the ribs. âShut up.â
He snickered as you rounded the desk to glance up at the board, getting the lay of the land as you started your shift. Across the bay, Abbot was doing the same, hands in his pockets, until his eyes drifted to you.
Something twinkled in his eyes when they fell on the scrunchie at your wrist, and a proud smile spread across his face. You smiled back, a little shy but fond all the same, before moving in the direction of your first patient.
(didn't do my permanent taglist on this one because it's not Bucky and idk if yall go in for that sort of thing, but if yall are interested in the future lmk<3)
