‧₊˚❀༉‧₊˚. jack abbot x kindergarten teacher!reader
❀ jack abbot who comes into his wife's kindergarten class every year on careers day to tell the kids all about being a doctor
❀ jack abbot who keeps all of the drawings the students make for him
❀ jack abbot who is always called for paediatric cases because he spends so much time in his wife's class, and knows what to talk to the kids about to keep them distracted
❀ jack abbot who remembers the names of all his wife's students and remembers everything she tells him about them
❀ jack abbot who sits quietly on saturday mornings and reads medical journals while his wife marks her students work
❀ jack abbot who helps out with all the school fairs and performances, he even goes on all their fields trips (for practicality of course, he can be a first aider if needed, not because he secretly loves the trips to the aquarium)
❀ jack abbot who helps decorate her classroom every summer (and for halloween and christmas)
❀ jack abbot who always buys his wife two bouquets of flowers, one for the dining table and one for her desk in her classroom
‧₊˚❀༉‧₊˚. jack abbot x kindergarten teacher!reader
❀ jack abbot who comes into his wife's kindergarten class every year on careers day to tell the kids all about being a doctor
❀ jack abbot who keeps all of the drawings the students make for him
❀ jack abbot who is always called for paediatric cases because he spends so much time in his wife's class, and knows what to talk to the kids about to keep them distracted
❀ jack abbot who remembers the names of all his wife's students and remembers everything she tells him about them
❀ jack abbot who sits quietly on saturday mornings and reads medical journals while his wife marks her students work
❀ jack abbot who helps out with all the school fairs and performances, he even goes on all their fields trips (for practicality of course, he can be a first aider if needed, not because he secretly loves the trips to the aquarium)
❀ jack abbot who helps decorate her classroom every summer (and for halloween and christmas)
❀ jack abbot who always buys his wife two bouquets of flowers, one for the dining table and one for her desk in her classroom
Summary: Jack Abbot is your best friend in the entire world, until one day he isn't.
Warnings: cursing, use of pet names, age gap (approximately 20 years), quite a bit of discussion of Jack's prosthetic/residual limb. SMUT, oral (F receiving), unprotected sex (P in V), multiple orgasms, squirting.
Having a best friend is totally normal. Having a best friend that's older than you--also normal. Having an opposite gender best friend that's technically old enough to be your father--perhaps a little out of the ordinary.
But that didn't stop you from befriending Jack Abbot the second you met him on your first day as an intern at PTMC. Technically, you befriended nearly every single person you met--something about that bubbly personality of yours made it impossible to resist.
Jack would know better than most. After all, he tried to resist your charms. He lasted about an hour and a half before you'd managed to pull him into your orbit on a permanent basis.
Fast forward four years and he was now your closest confidant, your staunchest supporter, and your absolute all-time favorite human being. If someone asked him what he thought of you, he'd spend 20 minutes talking about how brilliant, competent, kind, beautiful--every positive adjective under the sun--you were.
You'd been asked countless times why you'd selected a man almost 20 years your senior as your best friend and your response never changed, "He sees my flaws and doesn't run". To be fair, Jack would never acknowledge you had any flaws to begin with, but the deeper meaning remained true--he loved the darkest parts of you no matter what. That's what friends do.
As far as you were concerned, your friendship with Jack was just like any other--the only difference was his age. Neither of you gave a damn, so it was never really a topic of conversation or concern.
Other people, however, loved to comment on it. Especially when you went out together. The initial assumption was always that he was your dad, but once that was dispelled the automatic next conclusion was that he was a creepy old sugar daddy. While he did often pay when you went out, there was certainly no arrangement--caring for people was simply Jack's love language.
He'd buy you drinks without a second thought, pay for meals regardless of how expensive, and buy you gifts when he saw something that made him think of you--it was just his way.
There was obviously nothing going on romantically between the two of you, as evidenced by the number of suitors you managed to date in all the free time you definitely didn't have.
You were more likely to swipe right than left these days, as you were convinced there had to be someone for you out there. You'd told Jack you had to take a chance on some of these guys or you'd end up dying alone. He'd been hilariously offended at the implication--as if he would ever allow you to die alone. You were best friends, after all.
It wasn't uncommon for you to waltz into the Pitt still wearing whatever outfit you'd chosen for a date, but it was extremely uncommon for you to have anything positive to say about the date itself. Everyone wanted to hear the updates as if they were living vicariously through you. Even some of the day shift staff would hang around to get the latest scoop.
"He spent an hour talking about his sneaker collection. An entire hour," you whined to Trinity as you tossed your bag into your locker.
"And you wonder why I like women..."
You rolled your eyes. "Because you were born that way?"
She laughed as she tugged her backpack over her shoulders. "That and men are so weird."
"All men?" Jack joked as he appeared beside you.
"All the ones I've gone on dates with in the past month," you confirmed with a wry chuckle.
"Honey, you've got the worst taste in men I've ever seen." He shot you a playful wink. "You can do way better than those apps."
"You try meeting someone these days outside of an app," you grumbled. "It's literally the only option."
Jack laughed and leaned forward conspiratorially. "You know I'm single too right? I've gotta suffer those apps just like you do."
"Jack Abbot you're about as likely to be on a dating app as Robby is to get married."
Jack laughed even harder, shaking his head ruefully. "You've got me there. I didn't even really know how it worked until you showed me."
"Well you are 140 years old," Trinity mumbled under her breath.
"But I'm not deaf," he sassed with a wink.
"If you're gonna flirt at least do it in front of Garcia. Maybe you'll make her jealous."
They both glared at you, but the expressions held no real malice.
You grinned ear to ear and grabbed your scrubs. "I'm gonna go change, then we can revel in the brilliant chaos of the nightshift, my beloved comrade in arms."
Jack matched your grin and Trinity just shook her head. "You guys are so weird."
"That's why we're on the nightshift, kid."
"Yeah, yeah. The rest of us want some semblance of a normal life."
"Why do that when you could experience the wilds of the night?" Jack joked, stretching his arms out to gesture around him. "This is where the fun's at." He backed up towards the nurse's station, grin never faltering.
Trinity just shook her head again with a chuckle. "Weirdos."
When you came back out dressed in your scrubs, you found Jack leaning against the nurse's station chatting with Lena.
"So how bad was this one, sweetheart?" Lena asked sweetly as you approached.
"I think I said a grand total of six words the entire date. The rest was him talking about the merits of Nike versus Adidas sneakers."
Jack wrinkled his nose and Lena chuckled with a shake of her head. "How do you manage to find so many strange men?"
"Honestly, I think it's a gift," you grumbled with a shrug.
"Or a curse," Jack muttered under his breath.
You smacked his chest affectionately. "Hey!"
"Ow. Rude."
Lena rolled her eyes at your antics. "Okay, both of you get to work before Shen comes over here and regales us with his latest story."
"Aren't you in charge?" you joked, elbowing Jack in the side.
"Yeah--you can't tell me what to do."
Lena raised a brow, a small smirk on her lips.
Jack stood up straight and saluted her. "Yes, ma'am."
You shot Lena a wink and she shook her head at you, but her smile widened. God you loved the nightshift.
A few hours later, you and Ellis were chatting instead of catching up on your charting.
"Maybe we should go out on our next night off," Ellis suggested.
"To a bar?"
"Yes, a bar."
You groaned. "I hate picking up men in bars."
She shrugged. "Pick up a woman instead."
"I'm starting to think you and Trinity are trying to convert me."
Her lips spread into a grin. "I'm just saying, if you ever wanna try something new..."
You laughed loudly enough to draw Jack's attention from the other side of the room. He smiled when his gaze landed on you, affectionate evident to anyone who cared to look.
"I promise you'll be the first to know." You shot her a wink as you stood up. "And maybe we should go out. We can drag Jack with us. I'm sure he needs to get laid too."
"Ew. I so do not need to think about our boss getting laid."
"Why not? He's a human man, Parker. He's got needs." Your teasing voice didn't stop the look of disgust from crossing Ellis's face.
"And I repeat: ew."
"What're we 'ew-ing'?" Jack asked from behind you.
"Parker suggested we go out to a bar--have a little fun, pick up some guys or gals." You shrugged. "I simply said you should come too because you need to get laid."
A look of pure shock crossed Jack's face for a split second before he burst out laughing. "Jesus, sweetheart."
"What? I'm just saying. It's been ages."
"I don't think Ellis wanted to know that."
"I truly did not."
"There's nothing to be ashamed of! We all have needs," you insisted.
"I'm not ashamed."
"You're just so...old fashioned about it. We can talk about sex without it being awkward."
Jack groaned loudly and ran his hand through his hair. "Just because you're comfortable talking about your escapades doesn't mean we are."
"Escapades?" You gave a mock gasp. "You're making it sound like I'm out whoring around."
"I so did not say that!"
You grinned and gave his arm an affectionate squeeze. "I'm kidding. You've heard all my failed date stories. I haven't even seen a man's penis outside of a medical context or an unsolicited dick pick in over a year."
Ellis's jaw dropped. "A year?!"
You shot her a glare. "Yes, Parker. A year. I'm a celibate monk. It's my new thing."
"Girl. You need to get properly dicked down."
"Jesus," Jack muttered, a light dusting of pink gracing his cheeks.
"You know," you leaned forward conspiratorially. "I've never even come during sex. Not once."
"Okaaaaaay," Jack muttered. "And that's my cue."
"You're no fun!" you called after him.
Laughter echoed from behind him as he walked away, a strange feeling settling in his chest. You'd talked about your dates, your exes, even sex with Jack a hundred times, but lately he's begun to feel differently about it.
He couldn't identify exactly when the shift started to happen, but the last month or two had been different for him. Two months ago, after a night out with you, he'd come home and stared at himself in the mirror for a long time. Longer than he'd done in years.
He'd made a realization that night. One he hadn't been sure he'd ever reach. It had been weeks since he'd thought about his wife, months since he'd missed her so much it hurt. He would always love her, but it no longer hurt to think about her. He didn't feel lost. He didn't feel broken. He didn't fall apart on her birthday or their anniversary. Somehow, some way, his heart had healed.
He'd looked down at the wedding band on his finger--the one he'd never taken off. For the first time since she passed away, he slid the ring from his finger. He stared at his left hand in silence, processing what it meant. He'd placed the ring in a box in his safe and locked it. It felt like he was closing one chapter of his life and finally allowing himself to step into a new one.
You'd noticed the very next day.
"Jackie, where's your ring?"
He glanced down at his hand. "I took it off."
"Yes...I can see that. But why?"
"I think it's time for me to move forward with my life."
You'd wrapped him in a tight hug and pulled him close, somehow knowing he needed that hug--needed to feel the closeness of another human being. Neither of you had really discussed it since, but he finally felt like he was ready to date--to meet someone new.
Sometimes, when he laid awake unable to sleep, he'd let his mind wander. Let it explore possibilities he'd never acknowledge outside the four walls of his bedroom.
He'd imagine building a life with someone new. He'd picture meeting someone, letting himself fall in love all over again. What he would never admit, never acknowledge, was in those moments, in the darkness of his room, he always pictured you.
You were the woman he imagined building a life with. The one he wanted to fall asleep wrapped around, the one he sometimes dreamed of marrying. On his worst days, he'd even let himself picture having a family--kids--with you.
He would never tell you. Never even admit it to himself in his waking hours. You were his best friend--he couldn't break your trust by falling in love with you.
But it was getting harder and harder to ignore. Like today. When you made jokes about your love life and Jack couldn't help but think to himself that he would treat you right. Or when you joked about not getting laid and all he could think about was worshipping your body--pulling orgasm after orgasm from you until you were a satiated mess beneath him.
He hated himself for thinking those things. Each time the thought crossed his mind, he felt like he was betraying you. You were friends and that's why you shared things with him. He had no right to imagine anything with you, but he couldn't bring himself to create distance between you either. You were his best friend as much as he was yours.
He let out a groan as he sunk into a chair beside Lena.
"Leg bothering you?" she asked gently.
"Just tired."
The look on her face made it clear she didn't believe him, but she made no further comment. If he wanted to open up, he would.
"Maybe I'm just getting old," he muttered.
She chuckled dryly. "You and me both."
And there it was. The other thing he hated himself for. He was old enough to be your father, yet here he was fantasizing about you. He wasn't sure if it was better or worse that it wasn't just sex he dreamed about--but of actually being with you. It was enough to make him wanna put his head through a wall.
Being friends was perfectly acceptable. Perfectly normal. Perfectly reasonable. Wanting you, on the other hand--loving you--was not. He didn't wanna be one of those creepy men that liked younger women for whatever pervy reason their deranged brains came up with. He sure as shit didn't want you to be uncomfortable and he would rather die than lose your friendship.
The first four years had been easy. The thought of crossing a line had never occurred to him. Friendship was all he wanted from you--and it's all you wanted from him. The last two months, however, had been hell. He spent every waking moment wishing you were his, and every sleepless day dreaming of you.
So if you told him you wanted to go to a bar and find some random dude to hook up with, he'd go with you. He'd make sure whoever you went home with wasn't a total creep and he'd support you in whatever way you needed--even if it killed him.
"Jackie, can I borrow you for a second?"
He looked up, meeting your slightly nervous expression. "Sure, sweetheart. Everything okay?"
"I need your opinion on this patient, please."
He suppressed another groan as he stood up and followed after you, listening as you described the patient's symptoms. Back to work he went.
**********
"Okay, how 'bout this one?" You came out of your closet in yet another dress option you were modeling for Ellis and Santos.
"Maybe something a little sluttier?" Ellis suggested. "We are trying to attract a man here."
"What's wrong with this one?" you whined, looking down at the black dress.
"It's boring," Trinity groaned. "Let me look."
She jumped up and dove into your closet, digging through the dress options until she found one she liked. "Put this one on."
You paled slightly at the dress she held up. You'd bought it on a whim, but never wore it. It was short--like whole ass gonna hang out if you bend over short--and extremely low cut. It was a deep burgundy color that looked gorgeous on you, but it made you insanely nervous to wear it in public.
"I can't wear that."
She frowned. "Why'd you buy it then?"
"I thought it looked hot in the store!"
"It looks hot from here too," Parker commented with a grin.
You shot her a glare over your shoulder.
"Just try it on. If you hate it, you don't have to wear it," Trinity insisted.
You groaned as you grabbed it from her. "Fine."
You stepped into the closet and pulled the dress on. It was just as short as you remembered, but you'd forgotten how perfectly it hugged your curves. You stared at yourself in the mirror for a moment, admiring how good your body looked in the dress.
"You coming out or did you get lost in there?" Parker called.
You rolled your eyes before stepping out. Both women fell completely silent as they stared at you. You chewed on your bottom lip nervously as you waited for one of them to speak.
"Fucking christ," Trinity swore under her breath.
"You're good," Parker commented, sticking out her fist for Trinity to bump.
"Damn right I am."
"So...this is the one?" you asked.
"Obviously."
"Clearly."
"It's not too much?"
"I'd argue it's too little," Parker teased.
Trinity smacked her arm. "She's self-conscious."
Parker stood up and crossed the room. "You look gorgeous, okay?" She gave you a hug. "Now let's go find you a man."
"Is Jack meeting us there?" Trinity asked.
You shook your head. "He's picking us up. He's the DD tonight."
"Bless him," she muttered.
You grabbed your phone to see if he'd texted you. Unsurprisingly, you had an alert for a text from him.
Jackie: I'll be there in 10 minutes, sweetheart.
You: See you soon! <3
The three of you were waiting in the lobby when you heard the rumble of Jack's truck as he pulled up in front of the apartment complex. You straightened your dress, suddenly feeling incredibly nervous for Jack to see you. What if he thought the dress was too slutty? Would he judge you? Say something about it?
You couldn't quite put your finger on why the thought of him hating the dress bothered you so much, but you tried to push the concern away.
"You alright?" Parker asked.
"Mhmm."
"Hey." She turned you toward her. "You look beautiful, okay? Take a deep breath."
You breathed with her, relaxing as you did.
"Excellent. Now let's go give Jack a heart attack."
You groaned, but both girls laughed. You shook your head at their antics as you followed them into the parking lot.
Unsurprisingly, Jack was standing outside his truck, waiting on the three of you. He was always such a gentleman--he never let you (or any woman for that matter) open the car door.
He opened the rear passenger door for Santos and Ellis to climb in before turning back in your direction. As soon as he did, his entire body went rigid.
You swallowed thickly as you watched him take in your appearance. His gaze traced down and back up your body, but he didn't make you feel uncomfortable. Instead you felt a surprising heat settle low in your abdomen--a heat you hadn't felt in a long time.
"You look..."
You bit your lip as you waited for him to find the adjective he wanted.
"Stunning," he breathed.
A dark blush crept into your cheeks. "Thanks, Jackie. You look handsome as always."
He rolled his eyes fondly, opened the passenger door, and helped you inside.
You hadn't been lying. He did look good. He always looked good, but you especially liked him dressed down. He was wearing dark jeans, a slightly too-tight black t-shirt, and boots. A simple outfit, but on him it might as well have been couture.
You sometimes joked about the woes of having a hot best friend. You always told him you'd have to beat the ladies back with a stick, even when he was still wearing his wedding ring.
"How much trouble are you three planning on getting into tonight?" Jack asked as he started the truck.
"That depends," Trinity answered.
"On?"
"How quickly we find (Y/N) a suitable lover for the night."
"Oh my god," you muttered under your breath.
Jack laughed loudly. "Jesus, Santos."
"What? We established that was the goal for tonight!"
"Maybe we don't word it quite like that in front of Jack," Ellis chided with a small grin.
"Thank you, Ellis. Decorum." Jack's voice was light and teasing, but you swore you heard a little undercurrent of strain.
"Decorum? Really? Sounds like we need to get you laid too."
"Fucking hell," he muttered with a laugh. "Were you pregaming, kid?"
Santos grinned wickedly. "You bet your ass I was."
"I'm so glad you're not on the nightshift." He shot you a wink and you smiled in return.
That smile stole his heart for the thousandth time. It was his all-time favorite look of yours. He'd kill to see it every day for the rest of his life.
When you arrived, the four of you immediately gathered at the bar, ready to get some liquid courage--or maybe that was just for you. You ordered a drink and dug into your small bag for your credit card to open a tab.
Before you could even get it out, Jack was sliding his card across the bar. "I've got it, sweetheart."
"I was gonna start a tab."
"And?"
"Well, I don't know how much I'm going to drink."
He gave you an odd look then turned back to the bartender. "Put all her drinks on my card for the night."
"Jack--"
"Don't complain about free drinks," Trinity muttered from your other side.
You sighed. "Fine, but I'm only having two drinks."
"Suit yourself," Ellis said with a smile. "I plan on having at least four."
Jack got himself a water and leaned back against the bar so he could look around. You were holding your small bag in front of you, hands fiddling with the strap nervously. "Gimme your bag, sweetheart. I'll hold onto it for you."
"You sure?"
He held out his hand in response and you handed him the bag. Neither Ellis or Santos had brought one, but Santos did slip off her jacket and hand it to Jack.
"Go dance and have fun, ladies. I'll be over here if you need me."
Ellis and Santos made their way to the dance floor without argument. You, however, turned to face him, concern etched on your pretty face. "Is your leg hurting?"
Jack hated how well you knew him sometimes. "It's a little sore, but I'm alright." Just one more thing he wished were different. One more reason he wasn't good enough for you.
You stepped toward him, hand coming to rest on his forearm. "Jackie..."
"I'm fine, sweetheart," he assured you softly, placing a hand on top of yours and squeezing it. "Go have fun."
"I want you to have fun too."
"I'm here with you. What could be more fun than that?"
You huffed a laugh and rolled your eyes. "Cheesy as hell."
He merely grinned and waved you off. "Go on. Santos looks like she's two seconds from stomping over here to get you."
You looked over your shoulder and both women waved at you enthusiastically. "Alright...if you're sure?"
"Very. Go."
You gave him one last look, expression soft but unreadable. Then you were walking away and it took all of his self-control to not stare at the sway of your hips as you crossed the room.
The same could not be said for most of the other men in the bar. Several were eyeing you like you were prey--and they were apex predators. Jack didn't like the way their eyes on you made him feel, but he pushed the feeling down deep.
He told himself you were a big girl and you could take care of yourself, even if all he wanted to do was take care of you himself. His protective instincts had always flared up when you were around, but lately they'd risen to a new level of intensity.
It drove him crazy watching one guy after another approach you, but you turned each one away. Some of them took it well, others looked more than a little annoyed. Ellis and Santos never strayed too far from you, and Jack felt confident they would defend you if you needed it.
About 30 minutes later, you made your way back toward the bar, assumedly to get another drink, but to Jack's surprise, you eased your way to him.
"Having fun, sweetheart?"
You shrugged. "It's not as fun without you."
He chuckled in an attempt to cover the tightening in his chest. "I'm not a very good dancer on the best of days anyway."
"Maybe not, but your presence is always a welcome one."
"You've had plenty of potential dance partners come up to you," he teased softly.
"Yeah, but none of them are--" You bit your lip, stopping yourself mid-sentence. You'd been about to say 'none of them are you' when your brain caught up with your damn mouth. You'd had one drink--what the hell had gotten into you?
Jack raised an inquisitive eyebrow, but you waved him off. "I'm gonna get another drink."
"Use my card!" he called as you stalked off toward the bartender.
Jack wondered what you'd been about to say when you cut yourself off. He knew what he wanted you to say, but odds were not in his favor. You were probably just not interested in any of the men who'd approached you thus far, and that was just fine. Hell, a big part of him hoped none of them interested you. Ever.
As the night went on, you had a couple more drinks, but you were still mostly sober. Certainly too tipsy to drive, but not too intoxicated to make decisions.
At some point, you'd lost track of Ellis, but you weren't worried. If anyone could take care of themselves, it was her. Trinity was still close by, but you could tell she was a little off.
"Trin? You okay?"
"I texted Garcia."
You groaned. "We talked about this--"
"I know! I know. I just--I miss her."
Before you could say anything, her phone lit up. You knew by her facial expression exactly who it was.
"She's asking me to come over."
"Trinity..."
"I won't go if you don't want me to leave."
Honestly, you didn't want her to go, but that was more for her own heart than any needs of yours. But you couldn't bring yourself to tell her to stay. "Do you wanna go?"
She shifted on her feet--an answer in and of itself.
"Alright, fine. Go."
"Are you sure?"
"Go before I change my mind." You gave her a tight hug. "Be safe and text me when you get there."
"I will."
You watched her make her way through the growing crowd. You still had no idea where Parker was and you could no longer see Jack sitting at the bar. You decided to start in the direction you'd last seen him when someone bumped into you from the side.
"Oh god, I'm so sorry!"
You looked up at the man who'd run into you, jaw slackening slightly as you took him in. He was tall, incredibly handsome, and quite fit. You were sure your body should be responding to his attractiveness, but you felt nothing. No heat. No desire. Nada.
"That's alright," you said with a smile. "It's crowded."
He smiled back at you. "Yeah, a bit." He stuck out his hand for you to shake. "I'm Tyler."
You took it and offered your name.
"Could I buy you a drink?"
You debated it for a moment before deciding it couldn't hurt. "Sure."
His smile widened and he gestured for you to walk with him to the bar. He ordered himself a drink and then one for you. While the bartender made them, he turned his body toward you and began asking questions.
"You here with anyone?"
"Yeah, a couple of my friends." You glanced around. "They're somewhere in here."
He nodded. "Celebrating anything or just out for fun?"
"Just fun."
"It's my friend's birthday, but he's making out in a booth with some chick he met, so we've all kind of dispersed."
You chuckled, feeling slightly annoyed with yourself. The whole point of tonight was to get laid, and a perfectly attractive man was buying you a drink and chatting you up, but you felt absolutely nothing. Not even the hint of attraction.
"I saw you dancing earlier," he commented. "You've got moves."
You let out a genuine laugh. "Now you're just full of shit."
He laughed too. "I'm serious!"
You rolled your eyes with a smile. Your lips parted to make another joke, but out of the corner of your eye, you saw a flash of gray curls across the room. You felt your chest tighten as your head swung in that direction, instinctively drawn to him.
Your eyes landed on Jack as he was leaving the bathroom, weaving his way through the crowd back to his spot at the bar. You noted the slight limp in his step and your whole body ached for him. You hated seeing him in pain--you'd do anything to ease it. Anything.
Unbeknownst to you, your drink had arrived behind you, and Tyler was still chattering away. But from across the room, Jack's hazel eyes met yours and you felt your body awaken for the second time tonight. You inhaled sharply as his keen gaze swept over your face before he offered you a tight smile. You returned the expression, silently confirming you were okay.
"Your drink, madam."
You turned your attention back to Tyler and smiled as you took the drink from his hand. "Thank you."
You lifted the glass toward your lips, only to stop when you heard a sharp voice yell, "Don't drink that!"
A girl you didn't know appeared beside you and snatched the drink right out of your hand. You gasped in surprise. "Sorry?"
"He put something in your drink," she said with absolute certainty. "I saw him."
You looked up at Tyler and knew without a doubt the girl was correct. He looked angry, but beneath it was a shred of guilt you could just barely make out.
You took the drink back from the girl's hand and splashed it directly into Tyler's face. "Sick fuck," you snapped.
Tyler lunged at you, but a guy behind him pulled him back. The commotion got the bouncer's attention as well as Jack's, both of which moved toward your location with surprising haste.
The bouncer grabbed ahold of Tyler and pulled him away just as Jack reached your side. "Sweetheart--you okay?"
"Yeah, yeah I'm fine." You looked toward the girl who'd saved you. "Thanks for that. Seriously."
She gave you a small smile. "Happy to help." She eyed Jack warily. "You know him?"
For the first time in a while, a genuine smile spread across your lips. "Yeah. I'm safe with him."
She nodded and gave you a squeeze on the arm. "Stay safe."
"Thanks. You too." You watched as she walked off to rejoin her friends.
"What the hell happened?" Jack asked, bringing your attention back to him.
"Can you take me home?"
He looked slightly startled. "Of course." He flagged down the bartender. "Let me close out and we can go. Grab the girls, okay?"
"Trin left to go meet up with Garcia. I don't know where Parker is."
"She's over there." He gestured off to the left past the dance floor. "She was making out with some girl the last I saw."
"Okay, let me see if she's still over there."
Jack nodded and watched you weave through the crowd. His adrenaline had spiked when he heard the girl yell and again when he saw you splash your drink in some guy's face. He knew you were okay--but he still couldn't quite get his heart rate to return to normal.
You saw Ellis sitting in a booth, chatting with a very pretty woman. "Hey, Parker, Jackie and I are gonna head out. Do you wanna come?"
She turned to you and offered a warm smile. "I'm alright, (Y/N/N)."
You nodded. "Text me when you get home. Trin went to Garcia's."
She groaned and shook her head. "Of course she did." She stood up and gave you a tight hug. "Love you, be safe."
"I'll be with Jack." As you said it, you realized it was true--Jack was safe. More than that, Jack was your safe space, the place you went when the world felt unbearable. He'd protect you with his life--you wouldn't even have to ask. No one had ever made you feel as protected as Jack did.
A surge of heat blossomed in your stomach and you finally acknowledged the feeling for what it was--desire. You wanted Jack Abbot. Badly.
Parker was watching your face as realization sunk into you. "If you're done being an idiot, I suggest you go and get your man."
Your jaw dropped. "What?"
"Oh please. The two of you have been running circles around each other for months. It's high time one of you makes a damn move."
"How the hell did you know I wanted him before I even knew?!" you asked incredulously.
She shrugged. "It was obvious to everyone but the two of you. Shen and I talk about it all the time. We both noticed when you two stopped being best friends and became something more--even if neither of you knew it."
You were shocked straight down to your core. Absolutely floored. How did you have no idea you wanted him when everyone else could see it? "I-I have to go."
She laughed and gave you another hug. "Yeah I know. Get moving."
You squeezed her tightly before turning and practically bolting back in Jack's direction. How could you have been so stupid? So blind? Everything you'd ever wanted had been right in front of you.
You were so in your head you didn't even notice he was physically in front of you until you ran directly into his strong chest.
"Woah, easy there sweetheart." His hands gripped your arms to steady you.
"Can we go? Please?"
"Yeah, c'mon." He edged his body ahead of you to make a pathway to the door.
You followed along behind him, thinking about how incredible this man was. All the small things he'd done for you over the years, all the ways he made you feel understood, all the times he'd been there when you needed him.
You couldn't identify the exact moment things had changed for you, but tonight had been eye-opening. You didn't even know when you'd fallen in love with him--all you knew was that you had.
"Sweetheart, are you sure you're alright?" Jack asked softly as he held the passenger door open for you.
You hadn't even realized you'd made it outside--too lost in your thoughts to register anything in the real world. "I'm good, Jackie. Really good."
He eyed you for a moment before nodding his acceptance. "C'mon pretty lady, get your behind in the truck."
You laughed, taking his outstretched hand as he helped you in. You inhaled deeply when he shut the door, taking in the scent that permeated the truck--his scent.
Jack climbed into the driver's seat and started the engine. "Seatbelt," he prodded gently.
"Oh!" You fastened it quickly, and he stared at you for a long moment before pulling out of the parking spot.
"Did you have too much to drink?"
"I had four drinks."
"You sure that's all?"
You shot him an amused glare. "Yes, Jack. I'm sure."
He chuckled, throwing his hands in the air in mock surrender. "You're acting strangely, that's all."
"Well I did almost get drugged."
"What?!"
"Yeah, the dude I tossed my drink on--he put something in it."
"Jesus Christ." He ran a hand over his face. "That's why that girl told you not to drink it."
"Yeah."
"Fuck." Jack's grip on the steering wheel tightened. "I shoulda been there."
"It's okay. Nothing actually happened."
"But it could've. If you'd gotten hurt--if that son of a bitch had done something to you..." he trailed off. "I-I don't know what I would've done."
Jack did know what he would have done. He knew exactly what he would have done. He would've broken his oath to do no harm, but he could guarantee that guy would've never hurt another girl again.
You reached out and placed a gentle hand on his arm, trying to soothe him. "I'm alright, Jackie. Nothing happened."
He glanced over at you and his heart ached with the need to hold you. He needed to feel it for himself--to know for sure you were okay. You were unharmed. You were safe.
"I'd do anything to protect you, you know," he murmured softly.
"I know."
The rest of the short ride to your apartment was silent. When he pulled into the parking lot, you decided to take the leap.
"Will you come up?"
Jack turned to you in surprise. "It's late--you sure you don't wanna go to bed?"
You shook your head. "Please?"
"'Course, sweetheart." He pulled into a parking spot and hopped out.
You knew better than to even try to get out before he opened your door. You'd made that mistake a grand total of one time early on in your friendship and you'd gotten an earful for it.
When the door opened, you slid out and adjusted your dress. "Thanks, Jackie."
He merely grunted quietly and shut the door. He walked beside you in silence, mind running a mile a minute as he tried to figure out what was happening in that pretty head of yours. He knew something was up, he just couldn't figure out what.
The moment the two of you crossed the threshold of your apartment, you turned to face him, eyes filled with an unreadable emotion. "I need to tell you something."
"Okay."
"Do-do you wanna sit down?"
He shook his head. "Just tell me, sweetheart."
For a long moment, you said nothing. A moment so long, he began to feel real fear. Did you somehow figure out how he felt about you? Were you mad at him? Was the friendship over? Was he about to lose the only thing in his life that truly mattered to him?
You had no idea he was panicking as you tried to find the right words to say. Everything that came into your mind sounded wrong. At some point, you realized it didn't matter what you said--you needed to just say something.
"I'm in love with you," you blurted, shocking Jack to his very core.
"You-you, uh-you're what?"
Panic settled deep in your chest and you wondered if you'd just made a terrible mistake. Had Ellis been wrong? Did Jack not feel the same way you did? Did you just blow up four years of friendship?
"I, um-I--"
Jack's body moved of its own volition, taking a step toward you. His brain caught up and the most intense surge of desire he'd ever felt swept through him. "Say it again."
Your lips parted in surprise, but you complied. "I'm in love with you."
Jack took another step, leaving less than six inches between you. He reached out and placed a steady hand on your hip, tugging you closer. "Say it again, baby," he whispered, sounding absolutely wrecked.
Your heart skipped a beat as your panic subsided. You reached up and cupped his face as you leaned into his toned body. "I'm crazy, madly, deeply in love with you."
There was no fanfare. No cheering. No fireworks. Just the purest of emotions easing something inside both of you--and tying you together forever.
He was the first to move, yanking you so close your body was flush against his. His lips dropped to yours in a hungry kiss, filled with years of affection turned to love. He kissed you like his very life depended on it--like he would cease to exist without the feeling of your lips on his.
You wrapped your arms around his neck as you leaned into the kiss, allowing him to deepen it with the softest groan. His hands were hot against your hip and back as he held you--it was a feeling you'd never stop craving.
Eventually, he was forced to break the kiss to breathe, but he didn't move away. "It's wrong. It's quite possibly insane. But I don't give a damn anymore. I'm fucking crazy about you, (Y/N/N). I'm so in love with you it hurts."
You lifted one hand to brush through his curls. "Jackie..."
"I couldn't tell you, baby. I couldn't--" He exhaled heavily. "It felt so wrong to love you like this, to need you the way I do."
"There's nothing wrong with this," you whispered.
"People will talk."
"Let them."
"You're still a resident."
"I don't give a damn. I've only got four months left."
"I'm old and broken--"
"You're not broken," you insisted. "And just because you're older than me doesn't mean you're old."
He rested his forehead against yours. "Are you sure you want this?"
"I've never been more certain of anything in my life."
"Baby, I need you to be a thousand percent sure. If we do this, I'm in it for the long haul. I don't do casual. I don't do no strings. I'm all in. If you want this, you get all of me."
You lowered your right hand to rest against his chest, feeling his heart thump beneath your palm. "I want everything with you, Jack."
He exhaled a shaky breath before pressing his lips to yours a second time. He loved kissing you. He loved feeling your body against his. He loved the soft sounds you made. He loved everything about you.
His hands slipped lower, cupping your ass slightly. "Jump f'me."
"Jackie--"
"I said jump."
His tone left no room for discussion, so you did as he asked. He caught you with surprising ease and you wrapped your legs around his waist. He carried you to your bedroom, ignoring the pain pulsing from his prosthetic. He'd be damned if he couldn't at least carry his girl to bed.
When he lowered you to your bed, you pulled him in with your legs, wedging him between them as you kissed him.
He groaned lowly as his hands traveled over your soft curves. "I fucking love your body."
You whimpered softly as your hands drifted under his shirt. "Wanna see yours."
He obligingly tugged his shirt off, allowing you an unobstructed view of his toned chest.
"Fucking hell, you're hot," you whispered.
He couldn't help but laugh at the awe in your voice. "So are you."
"Shhh. This is about you." You placed your hands on his chest and slowly caressed him, feeling every ridge, muscle, and divot on his torso. "I love your freckles. They're so pretty."
He was quiet as he let you explore, but he couldn't take his eyes off yours. You were observing his body with a reverence he hadn't experienced in a very long time. He was proud of the shape he was in, but when you looked at him like that? He felt like the sexiest man alive.
Your hands brushed against his shoulders before starting down his biceps, a soft sound of need escaping your lips. "I've always liked your arms," you admitted. "You're so strong."
He felt his cheeks darken as a wave of embarrassment hit him. "Well I don't know about all that--"
"You carried me. So shush."
He couldn't help the low chuckle that rumbled through his chest. "I love you."
You looked up at his face and smiled. "I love you too."
"Any chance I could see you now, pretty girl?"
You shifted slightly, head cocking to the side as you thought about it. "No. I haven't seen enough of you yet."
Your gaze immediately dropped to his pants, eyes widening when they landed on his very hard and very large erection straining against his jeans.
"Ho-ly fuuuuck..."
He laughed softly. "See something you like, sweetheart?"
"I'm about to," you muttered as you quickly undid his jeans and tugged them down. "Off. Take it all off."
He chuckled. "Yes ma'am."
He tugged his pants off first, then his boxer briefs. The moment his cock sprung up against his abdomen, your mouth began to water. It was the only thing you saw--the only thing that mattered to you in the moment.
It wasn't until you looked up to meet his heavy gaze that you realized he was nervous. "Baby? You okay?"
He nodded, but you weren't convinced.
"What's wrong?" He shifted slightly and you realized what it was. "Your leg?"
His cheeks darkened further, the red blush spreading down his neck. "I-I know it's not exactly attractive--"
"I love every part of you, Jack Abbot. Every part."
"I can't do as much as someone with both legs," he choked out. "I can't-I can't fuck you the way I want to."
You stood up then, bringing yourself a little closer to eye level with him. "I'm a doctor, Jack. You think I don't know that you come with some restrictions? Don't you dare think for one second I give a damn. I love you. I want you. I don't need tricks or theatrics. I just need you."
He melted against you, lips pressing up against yours in a desperate kiss of love and appreciation. He hadn't been with more than a couple women since his wife's death, and all of them had been one-night-stands. He didn't really care what they thought of him, not the way he cared about your opinion.
He didn't really know how badly he needed your affirmations until he heard them. His obsession with you only deepened in that moment, and his need for you increased tenfold. "Sweetheart, we gotta get this dress off. I need to see you."
You gripped the bottom hem of your dress and pulled it off over your head in one quick motion. You were incredibly thankful you'd worn a cute lace set--you had been hoping to get laid tonight after all.
Jack's eyes swept over the black lace covering your breasts with a barely concealed hunger. His eyes drifted lower, taking in the black lace covering your core and not much else. "Spin around f'me, baby."
You blushed slightly, but you obeyed, turning away from him.
"Slower."
Your body heeded the order immediately, even before your brain processed it fully. You could feel his heated gaze on you, even if you couldn't see him, and it made your skin prickle--you felt so incredibly alive.
"Can't believe you were hiding all this," he muttered to himself. "It's a shame to hide such perfection under clothes."
You couldn't help the little giggle that escaped at his compliment, a small smile firmly planted on your face as you turned back to face him again.
"Can I take this off?" he asked softly, running a calloused hand over the lace shielding you from his gaze.
You took your bottom lip into your mouth as you nodded, feeling slightly nervous for him to see all of you--completely and utterly bare.
He brushed his thumbs over your nipples through the lace, feeling them harden for him. "Use your words, pretty girl."
"Yes, Jack."
"Good girl," he murmured as he dipped his head down to mouth your nipples through the lace. His hands slipped behind your back to unhook your bra, letting your heavy breasts spill out as he dropped the garment to the floor.
"Christ have mercy." He cupped your breasts in his large hands, groaning at the feeling of their weight in his palms.
A soft gasp met his ears as he spun you around and pulled you firmly against him. His hands settled right back on your breasts as his lips pressed wet kisses into the curve of your neck.
"Jack--"
"What is it, baby?" he murmured against your skin, fingers rolling your nipples between them in an attempt to pull more of those sweet sounds from your lips. "What'dya need?"
You wiggled your ass back against him, feeling his cock press up against you--so close to where you wanted him, yet so far away. "More."
"Don't worry, sweetheart. I'm gonna give you more," he promised, lips never leaving your sensitive skin. "Just gotta be patient f'me."
You whined desperately, reaching behind you to thread your fingers into his hair. "Please Jackie."
"Patience, sweet girl. Let me take my time."
Every brush of his lips against your skin, every squeeze of his hands, and every subtle shift of his hips felt incredible--but it wasn't enough. The ache between your thighs, the pulsing need, was becoming unbearable.
"Jack, need you to touch me," you pleaded.
He chuckled lowly as his teeth grazed your shoulder. "I am touching you."
You whined again and gripped his hand in yours, trying to pull it down to where your soaked core yearned for his touch.
"Didn't I just tell you to be patient, sweetheart?"
"I can't," you whimpered. "Need you, Jackie. Waited so long. Please."
"Hmm," he hummed. "You have waited a long time...and you've been so good...maybe you do deserve a reward."
"I've been so good, Jack--so good. Please."
He chuckled. "Alright sweet thing. I've got you."
He nipped at your pulse point before laving his tongue over it to soothe the bite. His hand trailed lower, sliding down over the soaked lace.
"Fuck, baby," he groaned in your ear. "You're soaked."
You shifted your hips, desperately seeking friction against his hand.
"Uh-uh, don't move. Let me do the work."
His fingers pressed down on the lace, pushing it between your folds as he deftly sought your clit. The second he brushed against it, a jolt of pleasure shot through you, pulling a moan from deep in your throat.
Jack's cock throbbed painfully when he was pressed against you, that sweet little sound you made shooting right through him. "Shit."
His fingers dipped beneath the lace, pushing it to the side so he could feel your perfect pussy. He dragged his fingers through your wetness before slowly circling your clit--the pressure was too soft, too light. You tried to grind down on his hand, but he pulled it away with a soft 'tsk'.
"I promise I'll make you feel good, baby. Just let me." He kissed your neck as he dipped two of his fingers inside of you. "Jesus, you're tight."
You gasped at the intrusion, pulsating around his fingers as he stretched you out. "Jackieeeee. More."
"You want more? Hmm?"
You nodded rapidly.
"Tell me what you want."
"Faster."
He obliged, speeding up the thrusts of his fingers as he pressed firmly against your g-spot. Your legs began to shake, but he held you upright, keeping you pressed against his chest.
Jack placed open-mouth kisses everywhere he could reach, no longer able to keep his own need under control. "You gonna come for me? Gonna come all over my fingers?"
You squirmed in his hold, breathless moans and gasps the only sounds you could manage. Your nails dug into his forearm as you held on tightly, using him as support to remain standing.
"Go on," he murmured, thumb rubbing against your clit just the way you liked. "Let go f'me."
Your jaw dropped into an 'O' as the first pulse of your orgasm hit you. Your head fell back against his shoulder as he worked you through it, whispering sweetly into your ear.
"That's it, baby. I've got you."
His fingers only slowed as you started to come down from your high. You clawed at his arm and tried to squirm out of his grip, so he relented, pulling his fingers out of you and directly into his mouth.
You turned your head so you could watch him suck them clean, a little moan of enjoyment breaking from him as he licked them.
"Oh now I need more of that," he murmured. "C'mere."
He turned you around to face him and maneuvered you to sit on the edge of the bed. He gripped your underwear and tugged them off before dropping to his knees between your legs.
"Wait, Jack--no, your leg--"
The look he gave you silenced you instantly. "I'm fine, baby. I'm right where I wanna be."
"But--"
He silenced you by licking a fat stripe from the bottom of your pussy up to your clit. A moan escaped you as you tilted your head back in pleasure.
The position was uncomfortable for him, but it wasn't painful, so he pushed it aside and got to work eating your pussy like it was the one thing on earth he lived for.
"Oh my god, Jack." Your fingers tangled in his curls as your hips surged forward to meet his mouth.
He gave your hip a swat before laying a strong arm low across your lap to keep you in place.
The room filled with the sounds of him feasting on you--slurps, sucks, and muffled moans--mixed with the sounds of pure unadulterated pleasure escaping your open mouth.
Jack wanted to hear those sweet sounds for the rest of his life--he wanted to be the only one who ever heard them again. Those were his sounds, coming from his girl, from pleasure only he could give.
"Jack, please please--don't stop."
He groaned into you as he continued his ministrations. He had no intentions of stopping, certainly not now that he knew what you tasted like.
Your nails scraped against his scalp as your moans became louder and more frantic. He knew you were close, could feel it as certainly as if it were his own.
He wanted to beg you to come for him, to let him feel you, but he didn't dare stop.
"Oh god, oh god, ohh-ohh, Jack!"
His name was the last thing he heard before you tipped over the edge, pussy gushing juices into his waiting mouth, thick thighs wrapping around his head as he continued to lap up every drop you gave him.
"'s too much--" you whined, tugging on his hair as you tried to wriggle away from his mouth. "Jackieeeee."
He moaned into you, not wanting to leave his new favorite place. He only relented when you tugged so hard on his hair he worried you'd pull some out. He lifted his head and gazed up at you, a smug smirk settled firmly on his face.
"You taste fucking amazing, baby."
You released a breathy chuckle and shook your head.
"I would like to spend a few hours trapped between these pretty legs--but that can wait for another day."
Your eyes widened. "A few hours?"
He grinned wolfishly. "Sweetheart, I'd let you smother me with those perfect fucking thighs. I don't need oxygen--I just need you."
"You're insane," you whispered incredulously.
He pulled himself up with a groan of discomfort he tried to suppress. "Maybe a bit."
The pained sound had your expression softening instantly. "Baby--come up here and relax." You patted the bed beside you, urging him to join you.
He knew you were right and he was more than a little embarrassed by how quickly he collapsed onto the bed beside you. He watched in shock as you slid off the bed and placed a soft hand to his leg just above the prosthetic.
"Honey, what're you doing?"
"Let me take this off," you murmured sweetly. "Want you to be comfortable."
He felt the familiar embarrassment creeping up and filling his chest. No, no, no--you shouldn't have to do this--you shouldn't have to see him like this.
He reached down and grabbed your hand, stilling it before you could unfasten the socket. "Let's-let's just leave it on."
You cocked your head to the side, concern evident in your gaze. You knew it was uncomfortable, perhaps even painful, and he most certainly shouldn't be wearing it during sex.
You opened your mouth to say as much, but closed it when you caught the pained emotion in his hazel eyes. You realized there might not be anything you could say to convince him you didn't care--but you could show him.
You leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss to the hand covering yours before lifting it and giving it a firm squeeze. You held his hand in your non-dominant one and used the other to unfasten his prosthetic.
His entire body tensed and his breathing became labored as you slowly removed the prosthetic. You released his hand and took the residual limb into both of yours, leaning down to press a kiss just above the liner.
Tears filled his eyes as he watched you, unable to fully grasp what was happening.
You slowly removed the sock, followed by the liner, soft hands massaging his irritated skin as you went. You knew residual limbs could be extremely sensitive, so you were incredibly gentle. Each touch was feather light and achingly sweet.
It filled his heart with an unnamable emotion, making his chest ache with each gentle pass of your hands.
To his utter surprise, you lowered your head again and began to place the gentlest of kisses to what remained of his lower leg. You were so incredibly reverent, so gentle, it hurt to witness.
"Baby," he whispered hoarsely. "Baby, come up here."
You looked up at him, chest tightening at the sight of tears staining his cheeks. "Jackie..."
"Please," he begged. "I need to kiss you."
Your heart hammered in your chest as you ran your hands up his strong thighs, using them as leverage to stand up.
"C'mere." He pulled you into him and kissed you deeply.
This kiss was different from all the ones that had come before. He poured every ounce of love he had for you into the kiss, along with gratitude and appreciation for what you had just done.
For the first time in a long time, Jack Abbot felt whole.
"I need you," he murmured against your lips.
"You have me."
He knew it was true--knew it always would be--but right now, he needed the physical manifestation of your love. Needed it like he needed air to breathe.
He pulled away from you so he could move himself back onto the bed. Once he was comfortably situated against the headboard, he beckoned you toward him.
"C'mere sweet girl. Let me make love to you."
The smile that crossed your face was painfully soft, but he could see the hunger hidden beneath it.
You crawled across the bed before climbing onto his lap, straddling his hips and leaning down to kiss him.
He moaned into the kiss when you slid your wet folds up the length of his cock, mixing with the soft needy sound you made.
He felt your hand wrap around his cock, gripping it tightly as you lined him up with your entrance. He gasped into your mouth as you began to slowly lower yourself onto him, soft whimpers escaping your lips as your body stretched to accommodate his size.
"Holy fuck, you're tight," he groaned lowly once you were fully seated.
You shifted your hips, preparing to ride him, but his grip on you tightened.
"Wait--wait. Just-just give me a second."
"Are you okay?" you asked worriedly.
"I'm about to embarrass myself by coming too fast," he admitted. He groaned when your pussy clenched around him as you stifled a laugh. "It's not funny. You just feel so goddamn incredible."
"It's kinda funny," you teased.
He smacked your ass affectionately, but with a little bit of a warning. "For that, I'm getting two more out of you."
Your eyes widened dramatically, the look almost comical. "Jack, I-I've never--"
"Come during sex? Yeah, baby I know."
"I don't really think I can," you admitted quietly.
"Bullshit. You've just never had someone willing to try."
The dark blush that crept up your cheeks solidified his resolve.
"I'll fuck this pretty pussy until I pass out if that's what it takes to make you come," he growled.
"Jack," you gasped, eyes wide once more.
"It might take me a little time, but I'm gonna learn this perfect little body inside and out--I wanna know everything you like, and I'll give you everything you need."
You bit your lip as your heart skipped a beat. "I love you."
He grinned warmly. "I love you too, pretty girl. Now why don't you move those hips, hmm? Let's see how quickly I can make my girl come."
He tapped your hip affectionately for emphasis and you started to move. You lifted yourself up and down, finding the right rhythm for both of you.
Jack's head leaned back against the headboard, but he kept his eyes locked on you. He was gauging your enjoyment, learning what made you whimper and what made you cry out. He was determined to prove to you there was nothing wrong with you.
He pulled your torso forward slightly, changing the angle his cock entered you with each downward motion. Your face changed instantly, mouth dropping open in a gasp.
Your hands grasped for purchase on his chest as the most intense wave of pleasure you'd ever felt crashed through you. "Oh, fuck--Jack!"
"Yeah? Right there?"
"There--there, there, there," you cried out. "Pleasepleasepleaseplease."
He did what he could to thrust up and meet each of your downward thrusts, gritting his teeth at how tightly your pussy squeezed him and pulsed around him.
"I've got you, baby. Just let go, okay?"
"Feels s'good, Jackie," you whimpered.
"I know. You're doing so good f'me. Just breathe. Let it happen."
Your body started to shake and you began to lose your rhythm. Jack gripped your hips tightly and helped you keep up the pace.
"Oh god-oh god-oh god--Jack!" Your head dropped back in a silent cry as your pussy spasmed around him.
He kept the pace as steady as he could, prolonging your orgasm as long as possible.
"Jack--I-I can't--"
"You're alright, baby. I've got you."
You collapsed on his chest and he wrapped his arms tightly around you to hold you in place.
"Did so well for me." He rolled his hips. "So, so good."
You breathed heavily against his chest as you placed open-mouthed kisses to the column of his throat.
Jack's own orgasm was steadily approaching, but he was desperate to feel you come on his cock one more time. It very well may have been his favorite feeling in the world.
He rolled his hips up into you in a steady rhythm. He couldn't pound up into you the way he wanted, but he'd be damned if he didn't make you feel as good as he could.
"Can I try something, honey?" he whispered.
"Mhmm. Anything."
He chuckled softly, your trust in him warming something deep in his chest. He kissed the side of your head and rolled you over as best he could.
You giggled sweetly as you arranged yourself beneath him, allowing him to properly hover over you. He grabbed a pillow and wedged it under his leg, hoping to give himself some more stability.
He thrust back inside you and your legs wrapped around him instinctively, pulling him even farther into you.
"Fuck," he groaned, dropping his forehead to yours. "How're you even tighter like this?"
You blushed and tried to duck your head into his arm.
"Uh-uh, nope. Lemme see that beautiful face."
You turned back to him and he grinned, leaning in to kiss you sweetly.
"There she is."
He started to thrust into you properly, the pillow beneath his leg giving him the extra leverage he needed to keep up a proper pace.
"Tell me how it feels, baby," he begged softly.
"So good, Jack," you moaned. "You're so big."
His chest puffed out with pride, hips snapping forward with more speed and force. "Yeah? Filling up your perfect pussy better than anyone else, huh?"
"Yes!" Your back arched up into him, a desperate moan clawing its way out from deep in your chest.
"Yeah, you were made for me. Made to take my cock."
He glanced down to where your bodies met and his eyes widened slightly. He could see his cock bulging out in your lower belly with each thrust.
"Holy fuck, baby," he groaned. "You see that? My cock is so fuckin' deep."
He pressed down on your lower abdomen and you cried out as the feeling of fullness increased.
"Please, Jack!"
"Please, what baby? Tell me what you need."
"Touch me-touch me."
"Where, honey? Tell me where."
You whined, barely able to form a complete thought in your head, let alone a sentence. You grabbed his hand and shoved it between your thighs. "Please!"
Jack was so desperate to feel you come again he didn't make you say what you needed. He started to massage your clit rapidly as he continued to thrust into you.
"Don't-don't stop."
"Wouldn't dream of it, baby."
He was true to his word, hips never faltering, thumb moving against your clit with precision just the way you needed.
You felt the familiar tightening low in your belly, but it felt different this time--more intensity, more pressure. You suddenly weren't sure if you could have another orgasm--it felt wrong, like it was just too much.
"Jackie, I-I don't--"
"Don't what, sweetheart?"
"I-I can't."
"Come on baby, you can do it," he urged. "Just relax f'me. Let go."
"It's too-too much!"
"Shh, I've got you. Let me feel it, baby. C'mon."
Something about the way Jack coaxed you had you falling apart beneath him with a strangled cry of his name. He felt the warm gush of liquid splash against his abdomen and he realized with smug satisfaction that you'd just squirted.
"Oh fuck, yes, baby. That's it. So fucking good f'me," he praised as he chased his own high. "God, you're so fucking perfect. Gonna fill you up, baby. Make you mine."
"Yours," you whimpered breathlessly.
"Fuck," he groaned as his pace faltered and his hips began to stutter. "Gonna come--fuuuuuck."
One, two, three more thrusts was all it took for him to fall apart. Hot spurts of his cum painted your walls as he continued thrusting, desperate to keep as much of it inside you as possible.
As his high began to fade, he collapsed on top of you, whispering your name like a prayer into your bare chest.
Your brain took several minutes to fully process the intensity of the last several minutes, slowly coming back to yourself as his weight grounded you.
You felt warmer than usual between your legs--significantly wetter too. In fact, you were fairly certain you were lying in a puddle of liquid. That had certainly never happened before.
"Jackie."
"Hmmm?" he hummed against your skin.
"I--why am I so wet?"
Jack's responding chuckle reverberated through his chest and into yours. "That'd be because you squirted, my love."
"I-I what?!" Mortification slammed into you as your brain processed his words.
He could sense your embarrassment so he lifted himself up just enough to see your face. Your cheeks were burning and your head was tilted away from him. You looked like you were about ready to crawl into a hole and never come out.
"Hey. Hey, sweetheart. C'mon. Look at me."
You turned your head toward him, but your eyes didn't quite meet his.
"You went from never coming during sex, to having two orgasms and fucking squirting. Do you know how fucking proud that makes me feel? I did that. I made my girl squirt."
"Really?"
"Fuck yeah, baby. Now I've gotta make it my mission to get you to do it again."
Your blush deepened, but a little smile had softened your features. "You really think it's hot?"
"It's the sexiest fucking thing I've ever seen."
"Now you're just full of shit."
"Nope. I'd chop off my other leg to see it again."
"Jack Abbot!" You smacked his chest, but the laughter that bubbled up was undeniable.
"Not even kidding. This body of yours was made for me."
Your expression softened. "The feeling's mutual, Jackie."
He brushed the hair off your forehead and offered you the sweetest smile you'd ever seen. "I love you, baby."
"I love you too, Jack."
"What'dya say we get cleaned up, hmm? Take a nice shower and maybe get a snack?"
"That sounds nice."
"I'll help you change the sheets too."
You smacked him affectionately. "I hate you."
He grinned. "No you don't."
"You're right. Not even close."
He kissed you again and you lost yourself in the feeling of his lips against yours. You still had plenty of things to discuss, but they could wait. For now, all you needed was his arms around you and the knowledge that no matter what happened, you had each other.
Thank god you'd finally stopped calling it friends, and acknowledged the relationship for what it had become--love.
cw: filth!!, licking, sniffing, dry humping, nipple play(m!receiving), degradation, praise, body worship(m!receiving), breath play(f!receiving), scent kink!!, coming in pants, face humping, (2.7kw).
n/a: idk what came over me. based on this post!! u can read this as a piece from the my hot husband au/universe or a stand alone!! i just wrote this with their dynamic in mind lol! enjoy! < 3
"mhm, you didn't bathe after the hunt," you mumbled, fingers lifting maekar's tunic upwards impatiently, revealing his stomach, with that soft pudge of fat at the bottom that you loved. the one pinched by his breeches, making the soft flesh hang just a little over the band of his pants. "good. that's how i wanted you."
your husband only grumbled, rough hands trying to stop you from revealing more skin. still, you were determined, swatting every attempt away with a disgruntled sound, making maekar even more annoyed.
"have you no shame at all, woman?" he grouched, face pinched in irritation as you lifted the tunic until it pooled under his armpits, revealing his chest and belly in all its glory. "disrobing me and pawing at my flesh like i'm nothing but a toy to be played with when i'm exhausted from the bloody fucking—"
but you were barely listening to what your husband was saying, and frankly, in that moment, you had no qualms about paying mind to what came out of his mouth. all you cared about was how good he looked in that moment, leaning back against the pillows of your bed, still sweaty and dirty from the royal hunt he attended, looking every inch a man. all muscle and sinew and gods, the smatterings of fine silver hairs all over his chest and belly, and all the way lower on his navel, where a white trail of hair led right beneath the waistband of his breeches, to his cock.
you almost sighed thinking of it. you loved your husband's cock. it was one of the best things about him.
"you're exhausted," you parroted, humming as your soft hands continued to caress his stomach, pressing your fingers in, kneading at the skin like a cat, leisurely and appreciative, eliciting a displeased groan from your husband. "so sit back and indulge me for a few moments, dear husband."
maekar only scowled at you, the furrow between his brows deepening, lip curling in a snarl as he leaned forward, trying to loom, to intimidate in hopes you would cease pestering him. "don't dear husband me, you aggravating woman," he gritted, teeth barred, akin to a dragon before it unlatched its jaws to breathe fire and ash in anger. it made you warm under your chemise. you loved when your husband was all snappy and indignant.
you leaned forward, undeterred by his little intimidation tactic, noses almost brushing as you spoke, your tone soft and persuasive, as if beckoning a wild animal that might bite. "you were gone for so long, and i have been here, all alone, missing you like a limb," you lamented, distracting him from the way your fingers trailed along the waistband of his breeches now, prodding at the pudgy roll of fat there, loving the soft feel of it. "the least you could do is yield to my whims for a while."
aware that it wouldn't be enough to placate your husband, you leaned in, pressing your lips to his scarred cheek, leaving chaste, sweet kisses on the skin as you murmured. "you always look so good after a hunt, husband," you appeased, relentless in your pursuit of what you wanted, especially when it was something as delicious as touching maekar freely without him grumbling in your ear incessantly. "makes me want to devour you whole," your tone was on the precipe of resembling a purr, lips descending towards the strong line of his jaw and down his neck, nuzzling at the sweaty skin in delight.
as always, he tried to persist, even as you felt his skin warm and flush under your lips, making your mouth curl into a satisfied smile. you had him exactly where you wanted him, even if he was still resisting.
"you're being ridiculous," and oh, he was already panting softly, broad chest heaving along with the warm breaths that brushed your temple as you littered his ruddy-skinned throat in wet kisses. "pouncing on me like a cat in heat the second, ah—fuck," he cursed right when your tongue laved at his skin, tasting the remnants of the hunt. the sweat, the grime, the dirt—him, musky and manly and oh so palatable. “stop. i reek of filth and—”
“and i love it,” you moaned against his throat, mouth parting to press open—mouthed kisses to the skin of his throat, tongue licking at every remnant of perspiration, catching it against your palate and savoring it like the finest arbor gold. “you smell s’ good, husband, gods. i want to lick you all over.”
it always got like this. the more disheveled he returned, the more aroused you got. shame had deserted you moons ago, being absurdly vocal about how much you enjoyed when your husband was anything but presentable and pristine.
maekar made an aborted sound at your words, already flushed all the way to the tip of his ears, one rough hand moving to clasp the back of your nape and squeeze in hopes of deterring your assault on his senses, but it seemed in vain. the touch only spurred you, a soft sound resembling a purr rumbling against his throat as you continued to press your tongue to his skin, dipping it to taste the touch of grime gathered in the hollow of his throat.
“filthy,” maekar snarled, fingers squeezing just so at your nape and pulling upwards, eliciting a disgruntled sound from you; a whine. your lips were slick with spit, cheeks flushed and eyes blown wide, hazy with heat and adoration, which only made the pressure of his hand increase, reprimanding you for how far gone you already looked. “you’re a filthy, dirty woman, you know that?” he spat, tone brooking on a growl. “always have been,” maekar continued, tightening his hold onto your nape, the pads of his fingers restricting your breath for just a moment, just enough to make you gasp, before he eased it. “getting hot and bothered by your soiled husband like a degenerate,” his thumb brushed against your throat, where he gripped prior, the closest thing to quiet tenderness you could get in that moment, but it made warmth spread through you regardless.
“what of it?” you challenged, dipping your head back to his throat, nosing along the flushed skin, your soft fingers resuming their pawing along his belly, pressing and prodding at the pudgy flesh there, nails scraping along the trail of fine hairs leading below his waistband, making your husband hiss. “it’s your smell i crave, your taste,—” another filthy lick, along the jut of his collarbones, before moving downwards towards his chest, where the smattering of hair was thicker, the smell of sweat and musk more pungent.
maekar tensed as soon as he felt your lips brush against one of his pecs, and you could feel the shiver that ran through him when the tip of your nose nudged a nipple, willing it to harden.
“don’t you fucking dare—”
you did it again, nosing at the pebbling bud once, twice. then, you licked it, slow and wet, circling the nipple with the tip of your tongue, flicking teasingly.
a garbled moan punched out of maekar’s chest, his hold on your nape tightening anew, his other hand fisting the sheets under him, white—knuckled and trembling with restraint. you could tell he wanted to shove you away, to haul you as far as possible from his body so he wouldn’t be able to feel all this, to have to succumb to your whims and depravity. but you also knew he liked it. craved your attention like poison in his veins. hated that he needed it. snarled and snapped his jaws while being half—hard already beneath his breeches, blushing from the tips of his ears to where your mouth was currently busied, lips parting to suckle noisily at his nipple, drawing out another restrained, delicious grunt from your husband.
“look at you,” he managed to bite out through gritted teeth, broad chest heaving under your mouth, voice thinner, breathier. “licking and sucking like a common whore,—”
but you didn’t let him finish, letting your teeth scrape against the bud, nipping at it enough to sting, halting his crude words, making him curse, back arching, pushing his chest more into your awaiting mouth. it was a reprimand, but also a sick, twisted pleasure. seeing your husband bucking and snarling under your lips and tongue was a sight you could never get tired of, much like right now, as you laved one last lick to his wet, swollen nipple, before nosing between his pecs through the fine hairs there, inhaling the scent of him like a woman possessed.
“how would you know what common whores do, mhm, husband?” you murmured, nuzzling along the underside of his pecs, letting your lips press against the skin in damp kisses as you descended towards his stomach, fingers still trailing along the hairs leading towards his navel. “have you been indulging without my knowledge?”
each question was a taunt, like dangling a hunk of meat under a dragon’s nose, waiting for it to bite. and you loved nothing more than to taunt your dragon until he bit, until you could feel his teeth sink in, metaphorically or not.
and he always bit.
“you think i would debase myself with some pleasure house wench?” he snarled, violet eyes glinting with something close to offense, which made you preen quietly, warmth spreading through your chest like drizzled honey.
as you nosed along his stomach, you couldn’t help but breathe him in again, mouth parting in soft pants as your eyes fluttered, the musk of him stronger the closer you got to the V—shape of his hips. “i would hope you wouldn’t, dear husband,” you mouthed along his belly, tongue poking out to lick at the skin, tasting him again. “i would be thoroughly scorned if you so dared,” another lap of your tongue, slow and filthy, this time along the trail of hair near the waistband of his breeches, feeling a slight tickle onto your palate.
but, gods, the scent. the taste of him.
musky and sweaty and man.
it drove you wild, lips pressing to that tempting silver line, open-mouthed and slow, savoring him on your tongue again and again, as if you couldn’t get enough.
a groan slipped unbidden from maekar’s mouth, fingers tightening at your nape, as if remembering he still had a hold on you, blunt nails biting at the skin light enough to make you shiver as he pressed with firmness, as if scruffing a cat. “don’t need some perfumed, wanton wench when i have my hands full with you,” he panted, eyes trained on you, almost unblinking, having watched you the entire time, despite his protests. lavender hues half—lidded, glinting, part anger, part heat, eyeing you like a predator stalking prey.
his words made you purr against his skin, a satisfied sound, your fingers moving to tug slightly at his waistband, revealing more of his navel to you to lick and kiss. “good,” you murmured into his skin, dipping to nose at the cincture of his pants, and lower, nuzzling against his crotch, where you could feel him hard and throbbing already.
“woman, you—” but his protest dissolved into a shuddering moan as you rubbed your cheek against his clothed cock insistently, eyes fluttering, gaze holding his, molten and smoldering with heated affection. the friction was delicious, and it only made more bitten off pleasured sounds fall from his lips, broad chest heaving, splotched red from how hard he was blushing, skin ruddy and flushed. he looked good enough to eat. and maybe later, you intended to do just that.
the scent of him was strongest there, musk so strong it made you dizzy with want, lips parting to mouth at his crotch, feeling his cock throb beneath the cloth, only spurring you on. “smell s’ good,” you mumbled as you continued to map the hard ridge of his arousal with your mouth, tongue laving at the material, wetting it with your spit, making the outline of his cock even more visible. “taste s’ good, husband.”
“gods, fuck—” came from above you, the grip at your nape firming, pressing down, almost smushing your face into his crotch, but you couldn’t be happier to succumb to maekar’s guidance, feeling his hips twitch upwards, rutting weakly against your face.
it made you moan, the action so debauched, so depraved, making you nose along his clothed cock in time with the clumsy grinding of his hips against your face, the scent of him thickening, clogging your senses and coating the back of your throat from how greedily you inhaled.
“c—can’t believe you’re, shit—” he could barely get his words out, too impaired by the way you looked, the blissful look on your face as he humped against it. “can’t believe you’re getting off on this, you wanton woman,” maekar continued, his hips picking up the pace, forcing you slightly more against his clothed cock, grinding against your cheek, the corner of your mouth, your nose; anything he could, the pleasure tingling down his spine way too rapid for his taste. “mouthing at me like a filthy animal, letting me hump—fuck.”
you could tell he was getting close, the thought satisfying you more than you could tell. seeing your husband so unraveled by this alone, hips grinding against your face, hand holding you down for more delicious friction, chasing more but not being able to get it. a delicious torture that was way too exquisite not to witness.
“mhm,” you hummed against his crotch, rubbing your cheek harder against his clothed cock, feeling it throb incessantly, the smell of him more pungent, the precum leaking steadily through his breeches and staining your cheek. “not my fault my husband left me unattended for so long,” you lamented, fluttering your lashes, continuing to rub against him. “i’ve been so lonely,” the words were mouthed against him, breath warm against his crotch, pushing him closer and closer to the edge.
“always so fuckin’ demanding,” he groaned, long and suffering, humping against your face with more fervor, so close to his peak, face and throat flushed and splotchy, hand firm against your nape as he pushed your face deeper into his crotch. “n—never satisfied, ah, fuck, fuck, wife—,”
wife. the word strained and close to a whine as he lost control, rutting against your plush cheek once, twice, before he came with a pained groan, as if someone clawed the sound from deep in his chest, his spent dirtying his breeches, wetting the fabric against your cheek.
his chest was heaving, mouth parted wide as he tried to catch his breath, his grip still firm, but trembling against your nape, his thumb now brushing along the side of your throat, just like before, as if rewarding you silently, thanking you for letting him use you like this.
it made you smile and you nuzzled into his now damp crotch, the smell of him more powerful than ever, making you moan against the cloth. the sound seemed to bring maekar back from his post coital bliss, his violet eyes blinking down at you, hazy but attentive.
“lick it,” he breathed out, voice strained and heaving still, the fingers at your nape guiding you towards where his cum stained his breeches most, a wet patch visible where the head of his now softening cock was under the cloth. “can’t let good spend go to waste, wife.”
you only hesitated for a heartbeat, mind not wrapping around his words for a moment, before you moaned, mouth parting eagerly, tongue pressing to the damp material and licking, feeling the taste of him invade your palette. “yes, yes,” you sighed, overly pleased, too preoccupied and greedy, lips wrapping around the wet spot and suckling it into your mouth, the essence exploding onto your tongue.
“fucking filthy woman—,” maekar cursed, the sight of his wife, so desperate and eager, making him equal parts flustered and astounded.
you knew the night was going to be a long one when you felt a twitch under your tongue, your husband’s cock throbbing back to life, making your lips curl.
You’d been with the 141 long enough that the team felt like home—Price’s cigars, Soap’s endless jokes, Gaz’s easy laugh, and Ghost… well, Ghost was Ghost. Silent, broad-shouldered, always layered in black long sleeves and that damn mask. You’d never seen an inch of skin. Not once.
Well, until today.
You’d caught him in the gym, sleeves pushed up while he wiped down equipment. And oh God—Ink. A full sleeve on his left arm—dark, intricate, covered from wrist to bicep—maybe even higher— in sharp lines and shadows. Skulls, barbed wire, something that looked like a grim reaper. It suited him perfectly, and the sight hit you low in the gut.
You couldn’t stop staring. When he noticed, he tilted his head, that masked stare pinning you.
“Something wrong, love?”
You swallowed. “Your arm. I didn’t know you had any tattoos. They’re… really fucking cool.”
Ghost paused. “You want a closer look?” His voice dropped, low and rough, a warning but.. you didn’t catch it. “Might not be able to unsee it.”
You nodded without hesitation. “Yeah. I want to see.”
You not catching that warning was more blessing than curse— now you’re in his quarters, door locked, the only light a sad lamp casting shadows across the room. Your back is pressed to his chest, legs spread over his thighs as he fucks up into you from behind—slow, deep, relentless. The thick, tattooed arm hooked around you, and he’s got three fingers shoved deep in your mouth, stretching your lips, pressing down on your tongue, keeping you quiet.
You can see every inch of the ink.
The sleeve is even more detailed up close—black and gray, textured, the designs shifting with every flex of his forearm as he works his fingers in and out of your mouth in time with his cock. Saliva slicks his fingers, dripping down your chin, but you don’t care. You moan around them, eyes locked on the tattoos, on the way his muscles move, on how hot the contrast is between the deadly ink and the way he’s using that hand to keep you quiet and full.
“Fuckin’ asked if you were sure..” he growls against your ear, accent thick, breath hot through the mask he won’t remove. “Now look at you. Mouth stuffed with my fingers, cunt clenching every time you see somethin’ new. Dirty girl.”
He thrusts harder, hips snapping up, the wet sounds were obscene. His tattooed arm stays exactly where you can see it—fingers hooked in your cheek, thumb brushing your lower lip as he makes you take them deeper. You gag softly and he chuckles, low and dark, never slowing.
“That’s it. Keep your eyes on it while I ruin you.”
Your hands grip his forearm, fingers tracing the lines of the tattoos as your orgasm builds fast and sharp. Ghost doesn’t let up—he fucks you through it, fingers muffling your cries, the full sleeve on display just for you like he promised.
When he finally pulls his fingers free, strings of spit connecting them to your lips, he drags the wet digits down your throat, over your chest, and presses the tattooed palm flat against your stomach so you can feel every inch of him still buried inside.
“Next time..” he murmurs, voice wrecked, “you’ll trace every line while I’m balls deep. Yeah?”
୨୧⋅┈∘┈⋅⋅┈∘┈⋅୨୧⋅┈∘┈⋅⋅┈∘┈⋅୨୧ ⋅┈∘┈⋅⋅┈∘┈⋅ ୨୧
A/N: ….I’ve been going feral since the sleeve reveal guys..
summary: the new nurse in the pitt has caught jacks attention.
content: fluff, hurt/comfort, yearning, protective jack, age gap, miscommunication, slow burn, he snaps at you, descriptions of reader injury/blood, mentions of abuse (patient)
wc: 10.5k
note: this is my first fic, enjoy :))
masterlists
You desperately wanted to make a good first impression on your first shift at PTMC.
The universe had a different idea, with your plan actively unravelling.
You’re new to Pittsburgh, and unfamiliar with the notorious unreliability of the public transport system, causing you to be 45 minutes late and frantically running from the nearest bus stop into the emergency department.
This is your worst nightmare. You picture everyone looking at you as you walk in, silently judging. Hating the feeling of eyes on you. You’re definitely flushed red in the face, your bag being packed to the brim with items you certainly do not need weighing you down, cursing yourself for packing so heavy.
While running through the entrance of the ER, you’re barely looking where you’re going and end up colliding with a chest, solid and unmoving you almost mistake him for a wall. You stumble a little, losing your footing and almost fall backwards over your own feet.
Warm hands on your shoulder steady you, preventing the horrific embarrassment.
“Oh fuck, I’m so sorry– I didn’t even see you,” your voice is frantic and apologetic, worried you’ve already made an enemy and you hadn’t even started your shift.
A deep, gravelly voice cuts through to you, grounding your panicked state.
“Hey, kid– easy, easy. You’re okay.” His voice is instantly calming. “You our new nurse?” he asks gently, while his hands slip to your arms, fully stabilising you.
You settle down quickly, gathering yourself and finally looking up at him, nodding after a while realising he asked you a question.
He’s incredibly attractive.
The first thing that you notice about him is how big he is. He’s taller than you and so broad, forming a literal wall between you and the ER in this moment, no wonder you crashed into him. He stands so close to you that you have to lift your head to look up at him as he towers over you with a gentle, concerned look. Butterflies twist in your stomach.
You swallow thickly, nerves returning as you realise you probably fucked this impression up by remaining silent and gawking at this man.
Collecting yourself, “Uh– yes! That’s me–” you stumble over your words internally cringing, “I’m so sorry about being late, it won't happen again.”
He chuckles quietly, finding your flustered state incredibly cute, and extends a hand to you.
You notice the size of his arms, his veins, his hands– oh, you’ve got to stop thinking like this. You’re so fucked.
“Dr. Abbot, nice to meet ya, kid.” His voice is low and gravelly, stirring your stomach. “But don’t let it happen again.” His voice is firm, making your insides flip and guilt rises within you.
“No, no of course not. I promise. I’ll be 45 minutes early every day!” Your voice is laced with guilt and you avoid his eyes, whilst shaking his hand, feeling like you’ve already failed before starting.
“Jesus, kid, breathe.” He chuckles, mouth twitching in amusement. “You’re apologising like you hit me with your car.” He soothes, smirking a little at how easily his teasing had gotten to you.
He watches your face fall in relief, and you let out a small, shy laugh. Still holding onto your hand a second longer, it's hard for him not to notice how incredibly soft your hands are in his, how untouched by cruelty, unlike his rough, calloused hands. Something protective stirs in Jack, confusing him, but a drive to keep you safe, keep you soft takes root in him. He needs to ensure this place doesn’t ruin you, doesn’t cause you to burn out like he's seen time-and-time again with nurses and doctors.
“I’m really not usually this much of a disaster– well, most of the time.” You laugh shakily.
You notice his intense stare, like he’s studying you, makes you squirm under his gaze. Your eyes flick down where your hands are still joined, you notice the sheer size difference, how his hand completely engulfs yours. You go to pull away, when he brings a second hand to cup your hand, completely engulfing it, before he pulls away entirely. Your breath hitches, trying to stave off any completely inappropriate thoughts,
Dr. Abbot tilts his head towards central, signalling to meet him there once you’re settled.
“Oh– and, kid?” He drawls, eying your bag as you head towards the lockers.
“We do have supplies here, I promise.” he teases, but his voice is soft and amused, referring to your massively overpacked bag, watching heat flood your face and you nod, completely embarrassed.
Jack watches you scuttle away, shaking his head and chuckling to himself, but his mind is elsewhere, how you were looking at him so shyly, your wide doe eyes ingrained in his mind. Imagining your eyes after kissing you, those eyes looking up at him when– Fuck. This is so unlike him.
Approaching central, he sees Lena and Shen talking in hushed voices. He chooses not to entertain their shenanigans, just crossing his arms and staring up at the patient board, but he catches Lena’s fierce stare in his periphery, alongside Shen’s smirk.
“Stay away from my nurses, Abbot. She’s clearly a good kid.” She scolds, her tone firm and motherly. He can feel her eyes shooting daggers at him.
Jack doesn’t look away from the board, smirking a little.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” His voice is low and equally amused, shaking his head gently. “Just being friendly.”
Shen scoffs, “Yeah? Friendly? You look like you wanted to eat her.”
Jack tenses a little going to defend himself before Lena’s sweet voice interrupts him. She walks past Jack making her way towards you where you had emerged from the lockers and placing a protective hand on your shoulder.
“There ya are, honey. I’m Lena, your charge nurse. C’mon, let us give ya a tour, get a lay of the land, yeah?”
During the tour, you notice Abbot seems to never stray too far from you. Always directly behind you, his hand hovering over the small of your back whenever the halls get crowded, ready to move you if needed.
Surely it's just friendly, you tell yourself.
You hope otherwise.
───────
True to your words, you’re never late again.
Always early to every shift, settled down and working by the time Jack clocks in. But he notices since you’re starting to be early, you get closer and closer with Robby, and it wouldn’t bother him, if you’d at least show the same fondness for him.
Every shift, you avoid interacting with Dr. Abbot at all. You tell yourself it's necessary, you can’t let yourself fall for an attending, despite how flustered, frankly, just warm all over, he makes you feel. You love watching him work, his competency and confidence as he works allures you. Especially in trauma cases, when he barks orders to his residents, you imagine him telling you what to do, when to do it, how to do it, guiding you.
However, during a particular trauma, you were meant to be in the background, watching and learning. But you couldn’t stop watching Abbot’s hands work with such fine precision, the way they flex, the veins popping out. You get lost in your head staring at how big they are, how they’d feel cupping your face, your neck, inside you–
That’s when you decided, for your own well being, but most importantly your work, you couldn’t be around him.
From then on, if you needed anything, you went to anyone and everyone, to avoid speaking to Abbot. Even if he was right there, and asking if you needed anything, you’d go quiet, and your quiet, meek voice dismisses him, “Oh, uh, I’m okay, thank you.” Before you turn and scuttle off in the complete opposite direction, towards Shen.
It bugs him.
How you avoid him, how easily you laugh and joke with Robby, or how you always go to Shen for questions or help.
Jack watches right now, as you laugh freely with Robby, gazing up at him as if you’re hanging on to every word. Gazing at him like he hung the moon. He feels an ugly feeling crawling up his throat, and doesn't want to admit jealousy. He’s not jealous. He’s not. He simply wishes you'd talk to him, with those wide, round doe eyes, smiling shyly and getting you to fall apart with the simplest of words and touches.
He’s so lost in his own head, he doesn’t notice Robby walking by ready to leave for the day.
“You got a good one there, brother, might steal her from the dark side if you’re not careful.” Robby jokes in passing, leaving Jack completely stunned. His eye twitches and his breath stops.
No.
His gaze flickers up to you across the ER, your sweet laugh cutting through the air.
You’re his.
───────
Admittedly, you’re making it very hard to make you his.
You’re almost too polite with him. A small, “good evening,” greeting when he comes in, a simple, “see you tomorrow, boss,” whenever you head out. You’re impossible to get time alone with.
Every time he catches you walking down the hall, jogging to catch up to you, asking you how your night is, you get all quiet. You don’t even look at him beyond a polite glance, your smile is tight and professional. Nodding before dipping into the closest room to get away.
He sighs, thinking you could be so focused on your work you may not want to entertain small talk. But he knows that’s not it, seeing how you laugh every time Shen or Ellis make jokes as you walk with them in the hallway.
So he tries to talk to you when you’re not as busy, just charting.
Jack’s leaning against the counter at central, pretending to be looking at the patient board, but his eyes keep drifting over to you, thinking of ways to get you to talk to him.
He watches the way you pout while charting, your brows pulled tight in concentration, and has the sudden urge to smooth the crease between them with his thumb. He wants to gently scold you for mindlessly chewing at the tip of your pen whilst you work, to take his hand and brush the hair covering your face behind your ear–
His body takes him over to your desk before his mind catches up with him, a seemingly magnetic pull driving him to your side.
He slots himself beside you, a hand over the back of your chair, leaning down to look at your screen.
“Oh– Dr. Abbot!” you startle, being caught off guard.
Your mouth dries and your heart rate ticks like a rabbit, having him so close. His face is so close to yours, you don’t turn your head, you can’t. You can hear his breathing, can smell his cologne at this distance. Your mind reels.
He can smell you too. Caramel and vanilla.
The proximity alone has your stomach flipping, his hand behind you becoming an oddly domestic, claiming gesture. Placing a hand on your back, his voice is gentle, low when he speaks.
“This is good stuff, kid, keep it up.”
His praise sends a jolt down your spine and your face reddens instantly. He can feel you twitch under his hand.
You dip your head, hiding your red face and mumble a quick, breathless, “Uh– thank you, Dr. Abbot.”
He watches you fidget, uncomfortable from the praise. Laughing quietly, before removing his hand.
You’re so shy. Shy with him. Oh.
But then you flee, almost running in the opposite direction, and his mind reels. Maybe he’s read this all wrong.
───────
He concludes after a few more nights of avoidance that maybe you just want nothing to do with him at all.
He keeps his distance, returning your polite greetings, but he hates it. The night shift is supposed to flow, be light and less stressful. Jack's spent so long cultivating an environment where people feel free to laugh, ask questions, not be afraid of getting things wrong.
Now you’re here and he’s all confused. He wants you to enter the stream but it feels like wading against a river trying to figure out what to do differently for you.
He decides to just ask. He approaches you during your break one night.
You’re sat in the break room scrolling mindlessly whilst poking at your food.
His quiet, tired voice cuts through.
“S’alright if I join ya?”
You’d been too tired, too into your phone you hadn’t noticed him come in. Nodding fervently you allow him to sit opposite you, his tone of voice sounding different than it does most nights, almost resigned. You actually look at him properly, concerned.
“Listen, kid. I just wanna apologise if I’ve ever done anything to make ya uncomfortable, yeah?” His eyes meet yours, intense and serious.
You pause.
Uncomfortable?
Fuck.
You were avoiding him so much he thought you didn't like him, made you uncomfortable. Your eyes widen in panic, head shaking rapidly putting your phone and fork down immediately.
“No, god, no. You’ve never– that’s not it–” Stop rambling, you tell yourself. Swallowing, taking a deep breath, you realise you need to get over yourself. “M’sorry for the way I’ve been acting. It's not you.” Your voice is quiet, avoiding his eyes.
He tilts his head down to try and meet yours again, concern on his face. His voice is so soft, when he says,
“You sure, kid? You can tell me–”
You shake your head again, cutting him off.
“You make me nervous.” You blurt out in one panicked breath. You squeeze your eyes shut in embarrassment and literally bring your head to the table, groaning.
Abbot lets out a quiet chuckle, amused.
“Honey, hey, look at me.” He coaxes trying to get you to stop wallowing in embarrassment. “Please?”
You lift your head slightly, hands covering your face, peeking at him through your fingers. He’s smiling, like this is funny to him, like you didn’t completely ruin everything–
“S’okay.” His expression softens, voice gentler now. “You never gotta be nervous around me, you hear me?”
Oh.
He misunderstood, thinking you mean nervous of his authority. You can work with that, you haven’t entirely humiliated yourself.
Your hands drop from your face, blush still evident on your cheeks and a shy smile creeps up. You nod in affirmation to his words letting out a deep breath.
“I want you to come to me as well, for anything. Not just Shen, Lena, or Robby. Me.” His inflection on Robby’s name confuses you and makes you giggle a little.
The sound awakens something within Jack, without thinking, he leans over placing a hand over yours where it rests on the table.
“I mean it. Anything.”
───────
He notices how you don’t run from him anymore, don’t push him away, let him exist within your space.
You’re still nervous most of the time, but you push it away, and he’s proud. He wants you to come out of your shell with him.
One evening, Lena calls you into North 7 for a debridement, knowing how much you love mindless, repetitive tasks. It unwinds your brain, picking out thousands of tiny pieces of gravel and debris from a patient's leg, letting you let go and not have to worry about doing something wrong.
You’re about halfway through, the only thing heard in the room is the slow hum of the patient's monitor, and Lena tidying up a cart nearby, when you hear the door open.
You frown, not enjoying having been disturbed and the loud, chaos sound of the ER filters through the door. You keep your attention laser focused onto the patient, until you hear his familiar, gentle voice, checking in.
“All good in here?”
You hesitate, stopping your motions for the first time since you started, before lifting your head up and looking at Dr. Abbot, leaning against the doorframe. Your breath hitches as you make eye contact, his focus entirely on you, not the patient. His head is tilted, and his eye contact is intense, making you nervous.
Lena scoffs to herself. Checking in, my ass.
“Mhm.” Your sweet voice hums in affirmation, the only thing you can manage to verbalise at the moment.
Lena pauses from tidying up the cart, turning raising an eyebrow at you, oh god not you too.
“Good. Can always count on ya to keep things moving smoothly, can’t I, sweetheart?” His voice is sweet, almost cooing.
You’re starstruck. Sweetheart.
You blink, unable to respond, but he’s already leaving with a smug, self-assured smile like he accomplished his goal. You swallow, unable to stop the smile spreading on your face, ducking your head to hide your flushed, red face from Lena.
Walking down the hall, he recalls how much the praise got to you when he complimented your charting, and watching you now?
The knowledge that praise gets to you so much?
Wrecks him.
He feels a sense of power, knowing how much he can get you to fall apart from a few words.
───────
The closer he gets, the more he observes your interactions with everyone else. You’re just as shy and nervous with everyone too. A quiet little thing.
During shift change over one morning, a few night shift and day shift nurses and doctors are gathered gossiping about a particularly rowdy patient you had that night.
You’re off to the side, included, but just about. He notices that's always the position you take, included just enough, but never in the centre, never leading, and never actively involved. He thinks maybe you just like to listen, observe, feeling more comfortable for you like that knowing how shy you are.
He frowns, because the rowdy patient they’re on about? You were the only nurse working with him. He wasn’t dangerous by any means, he was strapped to the bed. Jack would never let you in a room with a patient that’s a danger to your safety.
But the group were already feeding the rumour mill, exaggerating the patients words and actions. He watches you from the corner of his eye where he’s leaning against the counter with a pen in hand, stopping his writing to watch.
He wants you to speak up, correct them, and join in.
He watches your eyes dart around the group, you lick your lips, breathing becoming shallower. You’re assessing for the right time to jump in. You’re so nervous to speak up, his heart aches.
And when you try? You’re so quiet, no one even noticed. Immediately you were cut off.
He watches you blink, swallowing in embarrassment before collecting yourself as if you hadn’t even spoken, smiling along.
His heart breaks.
You’re used to this, being spoken over always happens, you’re just too quiet sometimes, better at one-on-one interactions, not groups. Though you’re a little stung, you push it away, familiar with the feeling. Sighing, you slip into your coat before silently taking your leave.
Just before you can head through the exit doors, he catches up with you.
“Hold up, kid.” You hear him jogging slowly behind you.
You turn, smiling at him, he can see the tiredness and hurt in your eyes even if you’re trying to hide it.
“You leaving without saying goodbye?” he teases lightly, his expression incredibly soft.
You dip your head shyly,
“Didn’t think anyone would notice.” You mumble, trying to laugh it off.
His brows scrunch, a displeased look on his face, almost offended.
“I notice.”
His words are so final, so real. You just stare at him with a vulnerable expression. His words heal something deep, knowing someone cares about your presence. You’re speechless.
He places a hand on your back guiding you outside, noticing your hesitance.
“C’mon. Let me walk ya to your bus stop, you can tell me about the rowdy patient, yeah?”
You nod shyly, trying not to let your eyes well up from his care. It’s a short distance, the sky brightening as you both walk. He’s silent and attentive, actively listening to every word you tell him, like they’re the most important words ever.
When you reach the stop you turn to thank him, but before you can he speaks first.
“Hey. M’proud of ya, for speaking up in there.”
You give him a little confused look shaking your head.
“It didn’t really feel like I did.” You laugh awkwardly, embarrassed to revisit the moment knowing he was watching.
“You did. I’ll always listen, whatever you wanna talk about, yeah?” Your chest tightens painfully at the sincerity in his voice. You can only nod, suddenly too affected to trust your own voice.
“G’night, sweetheart” He drapes an arm around your shoulder squeezing you before letting you board.
On the way home, your head mulls over his words, settling on one detail.
He’s proud.
───────
Being around Abbot so much recently is fucking with you, to say the least.
His constant praise at your actions, you begin expecting and waiting for it. Every time he’s within your vicinity, you wait for his gentle but ragged voice ushering praise.
“Good catch, sweetheart.”
“Don’t know what I’d do without ya.”
“Jesus, you really make my life easier, y’know that?”
And he always delivers.
Aside from the praise, he’s incredibly attentive and observant, knowing what you need exactly when you need it. Encouraging breaks any time he sees you get overwhelmed during the night, telling you to drink water, take a breather.
But he’s also so patient with you, like no one's ever been. With him, you begin to unlearn your fear of being judged for saying the wrong thing, acting the wrong way, because he never judges.
Tonight is no different.
You’re in central 7 with Dr. Ellis, with a very panicked, frantic mother and her daughter. Her child is only around 6 years old, clearly withdrawn and quiet. Her mother explains to Dr. Ellis how she’d been bathing her daughter that evening, when she found a large bruise on the daughter’s back and legs, suspecting her husband’s abusing her.
You immediately make eye contact with Ellis, silently signalling that you’ll call Kiara, the hospital social worker. But before you can step out to do so, a large, loud and drunk man barges through the door, angry.
He’s unsteady on his feet, eyes directly narrowing onto his wife, before pushing past you and immediately going to yell at her.
“You bitch! You have NO right bringing our daughter here without my permission–” He yells spit flying out of his mouth, alcohol clearly on his breath
“Sir–” Ellis tries to calm him down, placing a hand on his shoulder which he shrugs off.
“No!” He shrugs her off
“Your permission?” The mother yells back, cutting him off in disbelief. “You’re laying your fucking hands on my kid and you think I’m gonna let you be near her?” She’s defensive, shrill, adrenaline thrumming through her.
The yelling gets to you admittedly, you’re never good whenever patients of their families raise their voices. They carry on, Ellis begging for them to keep it civil or he will be removed by security
The door opens swiftly with Dr. Abbot and a night shift security guard filtering through to de-escalate.
Drowning it all out, trying to not let it affect you, you turn your attention to the little girl on the bed, all hunched up scared of her parents yelling. You turn her towards you telling her to focus on you. You just try to distract her in any way possible, asking her questions about school, her friends, her hobbies. It works a little, her tiny voice whispering over her parents yells.
The father is finally removed, and the air to the room returns, silence taking over.
“It’s alright, you’re okay.” You comfort the girl placing a comforting hand on her shoulder, testing it beforehand to see if she pulls away.
Jack turns to you then, really looking at you. The way you’re so gentle with the girl, how your focus was on her comfort during her parents screaming match. God, he admires you. But he also picks up on your tense shoulders, the way your breathing is unsettled, your face is tighter than normal.
You step back once the mother sits by the daughter’s side comforting her, you don't realise you walk back into Jack’s hand, which now rests on the small of your back. He leans closer to you dipping down to speak into your ear,
“Go take a breather, yeah?” His voice is soft, gentle.
You look up at him to convince him you’re fine, you don’t need a break. But the look in his eyes is stern, pleading: do not fight me on this.
───
Jack finds you around 5 minutes later in the stairwell, you seem to just be sitting there lost in your own head.
He approaches slowly, groaning as he sits next to you on the stairs, your shoulders touching. He speaks first,
“You did really well there – with the girl.” He nudges your leg with his as he praises you, trying to cheer you up. You can tell he’s looking at you from the corner of your eye but you keep your eyes on your lap. Pedes cases always got to you.
“She shouldn’t have had to hear that.” Your voice is quiet, unsteady. Swallowing down the lump in your throat, but the tears build in your eyes anyways. You dip your head down further trying to hide.
“Hey, sweetheart.” His voice softens, his hand settling on your knee. “Talk to me?” His voice is begging.
You lift your head to look at him, drying your eyes. “It’s stupid, really.” You shake your head quickly, trying to laugh through it. “I just don’t handle yelling very well.”
“Yeah. I thought so, honey.” His thumb rubs back and forth over your knee, comforting you. “That’s not on you.” His voice is gentler now.
“I feel ridiculous.” You wipe quickly under your eyes. “I should be able to handle it better by now.” Insecurity laces your words at breaking down like this in front of an attending.
“No.” His response is immediate, firm but gentle. “Don’t start thinkin’ the answer is makin’ yourself colder.” He aches at the prospect of you removing the brightest parts of yourself, to dim your light to handle the harshness of the world. Absolutely not. He wants to shield you, be the barrier between people's cruelty and your soft, gentle heart.
Your shiny eyes meet his, vulnerability flashing through them. Without even thinking he brings his thumb to brush a stray tear from your cheek. He watches your eyes flutter close and your breath hitching at the gesture, his heart leaping.
“Take as much time as ya need. Come find me at the end of the day, I’ll take you home, yeah?” His voice grumbles, sending a jolt through you.
Your eyes open ready to protest, you can’t possible accept a ride from him, thats asking too much–
“Ah, ah, I’m not taking no for an answer.” He smirks before standing and heading back out to the ER.
───
Before your shift ended that same day, you had asked Lena to show you how to work the medicine cabinet as you’d had trouble returning a vial earlier in your shift.
The day shift starts to filter through whilst Lena is describing the steps to take, making you distracted.
You see Dr. Abbot in your periphery down the hall, talking to another nurse, one you had never seen before, most likely on the day shift.
She’s gorgeous.
She stands tall, confident and makes him laugh. Nothing like you.
Your heart aches, as you stare unapologetically, completely drowning out Lena’s voice. You watch as he also dips his head to catch her eyes, how he touches her arm, how charming he is.
It feels like your heart gave out and fell into an endless pit. Eyes flickering away slowly, realising your hope that the way he treated you was special, is just his charm. His naturally flirtatious personality.
God you’re so stupid.
Lena sighs, shaking her head before closing the cabinet and turning to you, sensing your distraction and sadness.
“Hun, you don’t wanna go down that route.” Her voice is firm, but motherly. Like she’s truly trying to protect you, not wanting you to get hurt.
Your head snaps over to her wide eyed and panicked having been caught.
“Oh– no it’s not like that.” you laugh awkwardly, embarrassed but your excuse is weak and she sees through it instantly. Placing a hand on your back and directing you away from the hallway before you get in your head any longer.
“Trust me, hun. I’ve been around long enough to know, men like him don’t realise the effect they have on girls like you.”
Your brows furrow at her words, girls like me? You reach the lockers before she hits the final blow.
“You’re young, go on dates. Don’t pine over old men like him, you’ll only get hurt.”
She walks off, leaving you speechless. You gather your things, mulling over her words. Is she right? Have you been misreading everything, pining over a man who’s naturally charming and kind to everyone?
You’d completely forgotten Dr. Abbots offer to take you home by the time you’re walking out of the doors. Your mind is only repeating her words and reevaluating all of Abbot’s actions towards you, trying to search for when you’d started to misinterpret things.
Jack frowns watching your hunched up form walking out of the ER from where he stands and talks to Ruby. He excuses himself from the conversation, trying to catch up with you before you leave, but you’re already down the street by the time he’s at the door.
───────
Just as he thought he was making progress, the rug is pulled from under him, and you’re colder than ever.
You’re distant with everyone, clipped greetings and polite words the only things you mutter during your shifts. He watches how you avoid groups, but more importantly, how much harder you’ve been working.
You’ve doubled your workload, trying to forget your feelings by distracting yourself. Always with a patient, never sitting down and charting, avoiding your colleagues asking you what’s wrong. Or, avoiding where Dr. Abbot could find you and make you fall for him all over again.
He notices how you’re no longer early to your shifts, just right on time, jumping straight into cases. Whenever he tries to coax you into slowing down and taking breaks, you brush him off, refusing to admit you need them. But he notices the bags under your eyes, you’re pushing yourself too much and he hates it, he can’t help and it’s hurting him.
But he also notices how late you stay. As you no longer chart during the day, you spend 3 to 4 hours overtime during the day shift charting. Robby allows it, sensing something going on with you but doesn’t want to overstep. Occasionally, you ask to work doubles, staying to around 1-3pm during the day shifts. It’s completely wrecking your body, but you don’t want to think about anything else except work.
One evening, during shift change before you got to work, Robby pulls Jack aside.
“Hey, brother, I gotta ask.” Robby glances over his shoulder towards the door, checking you hadn’t arrived yet, before lowering his voice. “Somethin’ going on with her lately?”
Jack’s brows furrow instantly, worry clenching at his heart. “Why?”
“She’s running herself into the ground, to put it mildly.” Robby sighs, rubbing the back of his neck. “She’s working through till the afternoon, then coming back to do it all again at night. Girl can’t be getting more than a couple hours of sleep.” His expression tightens. “M’worried about her.”
Jack goes still, his stomach dropping.
He noticed, of course he noticed. He just hadn’t realised how bad it’d gotten.
His jaw tightens, hand dragging tiredly across it as he sighs.
“Fuck.” The word leaves him quietly.
“I’ll talk to her.”
───
Later that night, Jack came to find you during a particularly quiet lull around 11pm. He assumes you’d be with a patient, checking with Lena before heading towards south 16. He’s rehearsing his speech to you, over and over.
When he approaches the room, his body stops. He hears you laugh. It’s beautiful, and he doesn’t realise how much it hurt him not hearing you laugh recently.
Rounding the corner he sees you through the glass stitching up a man’s forehead, and you’re blushing. You have that bashed, shy smile as you work, the type that was reserved for Jack. You're standing close to the man from where he sits on the edge of the bed, and he’s looking up at you with desire in his eyes, clearly flirting with you.
He shouldn’t feel jealous, but he does, insecurity clawing at his heart. The man you’re stitching up, he’s definitely closer in age to you than Jack is. He hates the way that fact digs under his skin, the sudden awareness of the years between you two. You’re still soft, bright, and untouched by the world in ways he hasn’t been for too long. He can’t take his eyes off the easy smile you give the man, bitterness twisting low in his chest.
He knows he should leave, but he can’t bring himself to move. Which is why when you turn, putting down the sutures, you see him outside watching you, and your body stills. He watches your face fall, and it hurts him how you’re no longer happy to be around him.
Jack sighs ready to turn and leave, but you excuse yourself from your patient and head outside to catch him.
“Hey–” Your voice is gentle and cautious, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear nervously at Abbot’s expression. “Did you need something?”
Jack’s jaw tightens as he hears your voice, trying to steady himself. This is the first time you’ve chosen to speak to him in ages, and he hates how relieved and conflicted he is right now.
His eyes flicker behind you, to the man in the room sprawled out on the bed scrolling through his phone, and his chest tightens. Possessiveness and insecurity battle within his heart, and he doesn’t even think when he blurts out a cold comment to you.
“Didn’t realise we were entertainin’ patients now.” His voice is clipped, and he regrets it as soon as he says it.
He watches your face fall. Fuck.
Your head shakes rapidly, apologetically.
“I-I’m sorry–” Your voice is meek, he can’t bear that he caused this.
“Just don’t let it happen again.” Jack’s voice is firm, as he walks off. He needs to leave, clearly not in his right mind, he’s hurting you and he’s completely out of line.
───
The way he spoke to you eats him all night, distracting him. He’s completely unfocused during cases, Shen telling him to take a breather during a trauma, get his head right. How is he supposed to make sure you’re okay if he’s also driving you away.
He decides to start small. Around 1am he watches you exit a patient's room, pausing outside leaning against the wall. He can tell you’re exhausted by the way you hold yourself.
He slows as he approaches you, wanting to get you to slow down, take a break. Up close he can see the way your shoulders sag like the weight of the wall is the only thing keeping you together, your undereyes heavy with exhaustion. He can’t remember the last time you sat down.
“Hey– hold up.” His tone is softer, contrasting the way he spoke to you earlier. “You eaten yet?
Your eyes flick towards him briefly, before looking away again.
“M’fine.” You’re short, a little dismissive.
Jack nods awkwardly, he knows he doesn’t deserve your kindness right now.
“It’s quiet, you should take your break–” He tries but you cut him off.
“I said I’m okay.” Though your tone has little real bite behind it, it’s still harsher than he’s ever heard it.
He stills, letting out a deep sigh. The silence between you both hangs in the air thickly. You won’t look at him.
Jack nods, accepting his defeat watching you walk off.
What he doesn’t see is the guilt flooding your face.
───
You need to apologise. He’s your attending and it was extremely unprofessional of you, a nurse, to speak to him that way. Guilt is clawing at your throat and you can’t get rid of it.
You decide that after you finish organising the supply room with Lena, you’ll find him. Explain yourself.
You’re standing on a stepping stool as Lena passes you supplies to restock the shelves with.
“That guy– from earlier? He was a real hottie, hun.” She says while passing you a box of nitrile gloves. Your face scrunches in amusement as you let out a breathy laugh
“That guy who got his head smashed with a beer bottle? Yeah, right. Like I need that kind of trouble in my life right now.” You joke back with Lena about the flirty guy.
“C’mon, you’re young. Live a little! He’s insanely hot, god knows if I was 20 years younger I’d jump his bones–” you cut her off with a real, chesty laugh.
“Lena! You’re married!” You turn towards her with a wide smile.
“I can appreciate beauty when I see it, hun.” She smirks before continuing. “What’s the harm? He’s still here isn’t he? Go get his number, go on dates, have mind blowing sex– just do something to get you outta this slump, y’hear me?”
You sigh whilst organising the top shelf. You don’t want that guy. You want Abbot.
What you didn’t realise was Jack was walking past and heard snippets of the conversation, well, particularly Lena’s grand speech about having mind-blowing sex with the man. He falters in his steps, realising who she’s talking to, who she’s talking about. The ugly, possessive feeling rears within him again. He peeks through the door, watching your face. You’re smiling, like you’re considering it. He can’t handle it. He storms off, childishly slamming the door of the next room he enters, blaming it on the draft.
You jolt at the sudden noise and frown before continuing. “I dunno, Lena.” Your voice is almost sad. “He’s not who I want.”
“You’re still hung up on him, aren’t you, honey?” Her voice is soft, pitying. She watches your sad smile when you nod in affirmation. “M’sorry, hun. It’ll pass, I promise.”
You don’t want it to pass.
───
You can’t seem to find Abbot for the rest of the night, until a trauma comes in around 5:30am forcing you both into the room together.
The EMTs roll the patient in on a gurney as you jog over to Trauma 1, reading off his vitals. Fuck, it’s a kid.
“Pediatric MVC, eight-year-old male, unrestrained passenger. Vehicle rolled twice after being T-boned at a high speed. Drunk driver.” The EMT scoffs.
You begin to glove up as you walk alongside the stretcher, Jack on the other side, his eyes land on you as he actively listens to the EMT, his gaze feels as if he was assessing you.
“Initial GCS was 10 on scene, refrained from intubation. BP 80/52, heart rate 145, satting 92 percent on non-rebreather.”
You watch Abbot nod, cutting through the patient's clothes as Ellis and Shen check current vitals and assess internal injuries. You end up stationed directly behind him, ready to hand him what he needs. But him in action is making you nervous, like he doesn’t want you here.
The EMT cuts in. “Father pronounced dead on scene, mother inbound, no obvious injuries.”
“Decreased breath sounds on the left side, significant bruising across the abdomen and chest. Patient increasingly lethargic.” Abbot begins his assessment. But is being drowned out by an increasingly loud scream from the floor outside the room, his mother arriving.
She rushes to the doors, doctors encourage her to wait outside but she barges in regardless. Her sobs and yells for the doctors to save her son cut through the room, loud and distracting. You take a deep breath at the sound trying to focus, remain unaffected by the scene, present.
Abbot’s jaw tightens as the room erupts around him. The mother’s wailing to his right, monitors beeping rapidly as the boy gets worse, the blood coating his gloves as he presses harder against the kid’s abdomen.
“Pressure’s dropping.”
“BP 78/40.”
“We’re losing him, Abbot.”
Fuck. Each sound and sensation cramming for dominance within his skull, overriding his focus.
And then he glances behind at you, where the station is set up ready for you to hand him things. But you’re spaced out, wide-eyed and pale, clearly overwhelmed by the sounds of the boy crying in pain and grief for his father, the mother’s wailing. Jack’s chest twitches violently. One thing at a time. Save the boy.
“Get her out!” He yells across the room, his voice loud and booming, a couple nurses urge for the mother to wait outside.
But he can’t focus with you standing there looking wrecked, your hands shaking. His focus should be on the boy, not you.
“Gauze.” He commands, a hand outstretched towards you.
Nothing.
The gauze finally hits his hand, a few seconds delayed.
His pulse spikes, the room suddenly feeling too loud. Your presence pressing against the back of his skull.
He snaps.
“I can’t afford hesitation right now.” Jack’s voice cuts sharply across the room, eyes snapping to yours. “If you can’t keep up, leave.”
You feel like you’ve stopped breathing. The room goes painfully quiet, heat rushing to your face instantly at the humiliation.
Your chest feels like it’s caving, shame burning beneath your skin. You swallow hard, blinking rapidly, staving off tears.
You nod once, unable to trust your voice, before stripping off your gloves with trembling fingers backing away from the table.
Another nurse takes over flawlessly, the room continuing like normal around you. You exit the room, tears burning your eyes and threatening to fall.
Lena sees your shaken state from across the room, beginning to make her way over to you. But you duck, scuttling away to lock yourself in the toilet. Needing to break down in private.
You sink against the wall, sliding down until your head rests on your knees.
You know he’s right, you shouldn’t have hesitated. Your throat tightens.
The boy could’ve died because you froze. He still might. For what? Because Abbot didn’t want you near him anymore? Because the sounds of the boys’ mother screaming cracked something open inside of you?
Abbot’s words replay over and over in your head as self-punishment, as you sob into your hands.
───
Jack regrets the words as soon as they leave his mouth.
He watches your face crumple in devastation and it almost knocks the breath from his lungs.
Your teary eyes flicker away, avoiding his fiery gaze. He hates that he’s the one who put those tears there, made you cry. He never wants to be the reason for your pain.
He watches you nod, so meekly it hurts his heart, the tremble in your hands when you pull off your gloves. Every instinct in him screams to go after you. He can’t. He turns back to the table, continuing to work on the boy even more distracted than he was before.
───
You manage to gather yourself not long after, exiting the bathroom and ignoring Lena’s concerned looks, just searching for a simple case to get your mind off what happened. You can hear the chaos continuing in Trauma 1, still working on the boy.
Lena assigns you to a wound debridement, a simple task to recalibrate and gather your thoughts.
You set up your tool table beside you, and you’re lucky your patient isn’t a chatty one. His arm rests on the bed, skin burnt red and white.
You’re utterly exhausted, emotionally spent. Too in your own head to notice how cramped your fingers get around the scalpel.
You try to reposition your grip, but the blade unexpectedly slips from your grasp, falling and slicing a clean gash from your hand down your arm. Pain slices hot and immediate.
“Shit–”
The scalpel clatters into the tray as blood begins to well. Your vision blurs for half a second, before you jerk back sharply, hissing from the sudden pain
“Oh shit you okay, lady?” You hear the patient ask, but you’re already halfway out the room, asking Matteo to finish your case before entering an empty room to sort yourself out.
“God fucking damn it, piece of shit–” You curse violently, voice breaking, trying to hold back tears yet again, whilst setting up the equipment you need to clean your cut.
Your heart beats violently, embarrassed at fucking up yet another thing. Abbot cannot know, he cannot have another thing to chew you out over.
You’re not that lucky.
“Hey, listen, I wanted to say that– what the fuck?” Jack’s voice is shocked when he glances down at your bleeding arm from where he stands at the door.
Your head whips around immediately, eyes wide and panicked but you don’t speak or move. Fear wraps around your heart knowing you’re going to get scolded for being distracted, getting yourself hurt, or creating unnecessary paperwork for the hospital.
The sight of your bleeding arm disturbs him. But what hurts more is the way you look at him, wrecked and terrified, like a child that just got caught for doing something wrong, more worried about his reaction than the fact you’re hurt. He shakes his head stepping inside fully making his way to you.
“Sit.” He commands, his voice tight, clipped.
Your breath hitches at his tone, interpreting it as annoyance for having to deal with this, but you do as he says, not wanting to make things worse.
“You don’t have to–” You attempt to say you’re fine, you don’t need help, it’s a small cut. But when you look into his eyes, you pause, there’s something softer behind them, concern.
“Yeah. I do.” His voice is gentle and strained like it pains him you’re trying to hide your hurt.
You watch his face as he washes out your cut and stops the bleeding. You can’t read him. He avoids your eyes, focusing solely on your injury, you watch as he clenches his jaw and swallows.
He can’t look into your eyes again, the broken teary look you’re adorning right now would completely break him. He feels your pulse thrumming from where he holds your wrist, shaky breaths like you’re trying not to cry in front of him.
“This’ll sting–” He warns gently before bringing a cold disinfectant wipe to your cut. He cleans it so gently, so carefully, you realise how much you’ve missed him. His touch, his care, his smell.
You hiss slightly at the alcohol stinging, and he quickly retracts, gaze flicking to meet yours worried.
“I’ve got you.” He coos, rubbing a thumb back and forth against your hand, avoiding your injury. “You’re alright, sweetheart.”
His soft tone breaks the flood gate, tears flowing freely and you sob. Hard.
“M’so sorry.” Your voice breaks, blurting out apologies, as you try to catch your breath. “I’m sorry, please–”
His heart shatters at the sound, immediately setting the wipes down and cupping your face.
“Hey– No. No, honey. Don’t.” His warm hands ground you, wiping the tears as they fall. He can’t stand the sight of you falling apart in front of him.
You shake your head. “I keep fucking up–” you whisper brokenly, your expression apologetic.
“God, c’mere.” He coos bringing your head to his chest rubbing his hand on your back. “You got nothin’ to apologise for, y’hear me?
His chest aches at your cries, knowing he led you to this, knowing he hurt such a sweet girl. His sweet girl.
“I shoulda never yelled at ya, it weren’t right.” His voice vibrates through your body against him, sniffling into his chest. “You get that? You did nothing wrong, baby.”
Baby.
He pulls back cupping your face again, eyes intense and searching. Searching for something in your eyes that tells him you understand him, that you know you didn’t do anything wrong.
“Is he– is the kid–” You choke out, genuinely terrified that your slip-up had cost the kid his life, and had cost the mother losing both loves of her lives on the same night.
Jack shakes his head quickly, dismissing your worry. “He’s good, he’s stable. Dontcha worry about that. I let shit get to me, yeah? Not on you.”
You sniffle, breathing jagged as you settle down. The kid will be okay. Abbot isn’t mad at you. His hand lifts from your cheek to smooth down your hair on your forehead, tucking it backwards. Looking at you like you're precious.
Unexpectedly, he brings his forehead to rest on yours, whispering:
“I never wanna make you feel like that.” His voice wavers slightly, but you notice. “Never again.”
You stop breathing at his proximity. Realisation crashing down at how stupid you’d been to avoid him all this time, to let insecurity overrun your thoughts. His lips are so close to yours.
“Jack–” You practically whimper his name.
His breath hitches, searching your eyes before leaning in slowly.
He presses a small kiss to the corner of your mouth, testing.
Instinctively, you turn your head towards his lips.
You both pause, staring at each other and breathing heavily. He watches as you dart your tongue out, licking your lips nervously, and he breaks.
He crashes his lips to yours.
It’s hungry, full of apology, and devotion. He brings a hand to cup the back of your head, deepening the kiss. Electric sparks fly down your spine, your mind turning to mush. The emotional toll of the day mixing with the high of finally kissing Jack, you melt.
He finally pulls away, after needing to catch his breath, not because he wants to stop kissing you. He’d kiss you for the rest of the night, if he could.
He takes in your flushed state, catching your breath and looking at him with so much trust. Your red cheeks, dazed and glossy eyes, and plump red lips and he lets a sound akin to a growl out. The look wrecks him.
He shakes his head, pressing a short, quick kiss to your hair before physically stepping back before going too far with you.
“I didn’t– I convinced myself you didn’t want me like that.” Your whisper breaks the silence. “I couldn’t be around you, it hurt too much.”
Oh.
He swallows the lump in his throat before nodding. He understands. Why you avoided him all this time, you must have been going crazy. Hell, you’d affected him so much tonight he snapped. He can’t imagine what living like that for so long would do to you.
“You don’t gotta explain, sweetheart.” He brings the chair to sit in front of you on the bed, and he takes your hands in his, bringing a small kiss to your knuckles. “But you scared me, doll. You gotta take care of yourself.”
Your gaze flickers downwards a little embarrassed, nodding
He turns your injured hand over in his, nodding his head towards it before gently asking.
“How’d this happen?” He refocuses on cleaning and assessing if it’s deep enough for a bandage or stitches.
“Wasn’t–” You pause, recalling how he scolded you last time for being distracted, shaking off your fear, you continue. “Wasn’t paying attention, cutting off patients' dead skin. Hand cramped n’ tried to fix it, blade slipped.”
He takes in a deep breath hearing your shaky explanation.
“Why didn’t ya tell someone, hmm?” He speaks softly, his attention focused on placing small little butterfly bandages along the cut.
You shrug. “Wasn’t thinking straight. Was overwhelmed, on the verge of crying again. Just needed to be alone.”
Crying, again. He hates the recollection that he made you cry that night. That after you had left the trauma room, you’d broken down alone.
He places the last bandage on, setting down the equipment and turning to you once more, placing a hand on your thigh.
“You always come to me when you’re hurting, yeah? I hate that I didn’t know, baby. Hate you were hurt and you tried to deal with this alone.” He begs, squeezing your thigh.
He sighs in relief as he sees your small nod. “Good.”
He places a small, gentle kiss over your cut. “There we go, all fixed up, my sweet girl.”
You flush red, a shy smile taking over your face before you can stop it, letting out a small laugh of disbelief.
“There she is.” He coos at your smile.
───────
After a few months of dating, Jack took a sabbatical, and asked you to go with him.
It was his way of an apology, for snapping at his sweet girl, taking you away from the place that you’d been running yourself into the ground for.
He didn’t tell you much, just to pack your cutest dresses. You obeyed mindlessly, trusting him completely. Truthfully, he couldn’t get enough of seeing you in sundresses after one particular picnic date where he couldn’t keep his eyes off you, or hands. Needless to say, the date ended early, with Jack driving you back to his place to tear off the sundress.
You’re leaning against Jack in his truck as he drives through the country. He had specifically chosen to bring this truck due to its bench seats, needing a hand on you at all times.
The warm breeze filters through the truck windows, and you hum gently along to the faint country rock playing through the truck radio, Jack tapping his fingers against the wheel along with the beat.
Everything felt perfect, domestic, calm.
Until you get deeper into country backroads.
You frown the first time you drive by a small animal on the side of the road, clearly roadkill. It disturbs something in your stomach, seeing the bloody mangled animal alone. You try to push it down, focus on Jack, the trip.
Until you seem to keep passing more animals.
Deer.
Squirrels.
Rabbits.
Foxes.
Every animal seems to twist your heart more and more, saddening you so deeply, wishing you could protect the babies that died alone.
Jack, observant as he is, feels you go quiet against his shoulder. No longer humming or drumming your feet with the music, just looking straight ahead into the dashboard, stiff. Something had set his girl off. He brings his hand that rested on the gear stick onto your thigh, giving it a firm squeeze, checking in on you.
His hand is warm where it rests on your thigh, grounding, as he coos, “Talk to me, sweetheart.” He glances over briefly before looking back at the road. “What’s got my pretty girl all quiet, hmm?” he says, softly.
Your stomach flips, of course he notices. He’s so in tune with your tells by now, you couldn’t even hide it if you tried. You whine a little embarrassed, turning to hide your face into his side.
His heart aches at the small, sweet noise you make and his grip tightens protectively on your thigh. Sensing your shyness, his thumb starts rubbing back and forth on your leg.
“Don’t hide from me, my sweet girl,” his voice is gentle and sweet, the tone he uses when he knows something is bothering you. Gentle fingers tip your chin upwards to meet his eyes momentarily, your stomach twisting as he brushes the hair behind your ear, a silent plea: tell me.
Hesitating, feeling shy and not wanting to ruin the trip you tell him, “It’s nothing, really, It’s the animals–”, your breath hitches as Jack drives by another dead deer on the side of the road. Your voice breaks before continuing, “It hurts”, you whisper sadly whilst immediately ducking your head to not look out the window for too long, the scene disturbing you.
Oh. Realisation floods Jack’s face and his heart clenches, oh, his sweet, sensitive baby.
You hear Jack breathe out a small sigh, before dipping his head and placing a small gentle kiss to your forehead.
“Yeah? That’s what’s gotten my girl all upset?” his voice soothing and rubs his hand up and down your thigh in comfort. Your stomach twists at his sigh, unsure if he’s silently judging.
“They might have had family or friends waiting for them!’’ your voice is whiny, desperate for him to understand as deeply as you do why you’re upset. You sniffle a little, trying not to let tears fall.
Jack blinks, trying not to laugh at his sensitive girl, knowing it’ll upset you more. He doesn’t mean to find it amusing, but your true devastation over deer and squirrels having family and friends, he can’t help but let out a low chuckle.
“You’re right baby, m’sure they’re sat around the dinner table, waiting for ‘im to come home.” He teases gently a smirk playing at his lips.
“Jaaaaack! It’s not funny,” you pout petulantly, hurt. You shift away from his side, scooting over to the other side of the truck, feeling dismissed.
Jack shushes you quickly, grabbing you by your shoulders before you move away, hating the way you curl in on yourself so easily. He pulls you back into his side, coaxing an apology.
“M’sorry, baby, c’mere.” He’s still smirking a little, but knowing he may have teased too much in your sensitive state, he needs to calm you down.
You feel him pepper quick kisses to your forehead, whilst rubbing the back of your neck gently. Your body relaxes instantly at the touch.
You sniffle a little calming down, wrapping your arms around his middle.
“Shh, baby, I know, I know.” He says, his voice softer now, before continuing. “I was so mean for teasing my delicate girl, yeah?” His inflection rises at the end of his question, like he was comforting a small kitten.
Sniffling, you nod at his comfort. “You know I love how my sweet baby feels everything deeply.” he croons, and you feel him run his fingers at the nape of your neck into your hair, petting you.
“You just keep your eyes on me, yeah? Focus on me for the rest of the trip.” He commands gently, shielding you away from the hurt of the world.
The low music continues to hum in the car, yours and Jack’s breathing matching as you sit quietly soaking the evening breeze.
Gravel crunches as you pull up to the cabin, you notice he doesn’t make a move to exit the truck yet. You frown, worried, is something wrong? Before you can even ask him, Jack breaks the silence, with such a soft tone it's unexpected.
“S’why you’re my favourite nurse, baby”. You falter, his words stirring something in your stomach, his praise making you shy. You feel him draping his arm around your waist and tugging you into his lap, straddling him.
Unable to avoid his intense eye contact, you duck your head shyly, quietly asking, “What is?”
For the life of you, you can’t figure out what he means. He ducks his head following yours to look into your eyes, cupping your face.
His voice is low, serious, when he speaks. “Your sensitivity, compassion, empathy.”
You swallow the lump in your throat, uneasy by the intensity of his praise. Tucking your head into his neck to hide your shyness, you quip– “It’s not the sex?”
You hear him chuckle, the vibration running through your body.
“You were my favourite before the sex smartass– no, you have a big heart, biggest I’ve ever known, you care deeply.” You feel him guide your head out of his neck, needing to see your face, his thumbs brush against your cheeks as he watches your wide, doe eyes trying to accept the praise.
“Plenty of other nurses and doctors are empathetic.” You begin shyly, trying to brush the compliment off, uneasy by how seen he was making you feel. Always having been told your sensitivity is a curse, especially in this field, and it’ll wear you down.
Jack immediately interjects, not enjoying how quick you are to self deprecate, diminish yourself.
“Not like you, baby.” His voice is stern, as are his hands gripping your face. Desperate for you to see yourself the way he does.
Those three simple words cut deep, your eyes watering from so much care. He wipes the tears before they fall and watches a shy smile tugging at your lips, hitting him like a punch to the chest.
“You hear me, baby? Hmm?” he coos gently while pressing a kiss against your temple. You nod in his hold, cheeks flushed from receiving so much affection, never having been treated so carefully before.
“You’re m’favourite attending.” You mumble shyly fidgeting with your hands in your lap.
Jack laughs deeply, he knows, of course he knows. He just hadn’t expected that to be what you said. He finds your tone so cute, like you're too shy to admit it.
“Oh yeah? S’not Robby?” He teases, pushing a strand of hair behind your ear, laughing again at your scrunched up face, like the idea is ridiculous to you.
“I know, sweetheart.” He calms you, presses a final, soft kiss to your temple and brings you closer to his embrace.
Outside, the sun sets as crickets chirp around you, the air gets cooler but neither of you rushes to leave the car yet, this moment meaning something so deep to the both of you.
─
Jack is setting down the last of the bags in the bedroom when he hears you yelp from the bathroom. Before he can even ask if you’re okay, you call out for him, your voice startled and afraid.
“Jack!”
His heart jumps, and his mind immediately rushes to the worst idea, that you’re hurt somehow.
Jack runs to the bathroom panicked, “Baby, what’s–” he calls out in fear, until he enters the room, and pauses, blinking.
You’re crouching on the toilet seat like the floor is lava, with one shoe off, in your hand, looking around the floor terrified. You meet his eyes, genuine fear behind them,
“I swear, it's taunting me! It looked me right in the eyes!” you whisper urgently pointing at the small bug in the corner of the room.
Jack laughs for real this time, tilting his head affectionately, “baby, what are you doing?”
You screech as you watch the tiny dark bug scuttle along the bathroom floor and chuck your shoe at it, completely missing it.
“Please– kill it, quick!” you beg him
He smirks at you from where he leans against the bathroom door frame, crossing his arms, and taunts you, “What if his family is waiting for him to come home, hmm?”
You groan as Jack points out your hypocrisy, squealing again as you watch it come towards you. “Jack, I swear to god–”
He hangs his head in, a shit-eating grin spreading across his face before he walks over and stomps on it. He picks you up into his arms and mumbles into your hair.
“Yeah, you’re not lasting ten minutes out here, sweetheart.”
“Know I wanna beat it, wanna beat it bad
Oh, everyone looks happy in a photograph
I've crossed the county line, I cannot go back
I'm always on my own.”
-All Them Horses, Noah Kahan
summary: your family is in town for the annual ‘parents berating their kids for their decisions’ get together. jack overhears you talking about how much easier it would be if you had a boyfriend to shove in their face, and offers his services. No strings attached, of course.
wc: 15.7k (steak is too juicy lobster is too buttery)
tags/tropes: jack falls first and harder, reader is an eldest daughter (but not the eldest child) to a large judgmental family who are constantly disappointed in her, jack pretty much uses the fake dating as a chance to show reader what a good boyfriend he COULD be to her if she let herself have nice things, jack 'i'll pay for it' abbot, jack is YEARNING in this one, a teeny bit of mean dom jack as a treat
a/n: how are we all feeling about the latest noah kahan album. Doors is great. i do NOT repeat timestamp 2:14-2:21 of All Them Horses. i’m normal and can be trusted with noah kahan’s discography. this fic was supposed to be crossposted on ao3 at the time of post but ao3 crashed and i lost all of my tagging and uploading process so im saving that. for later. when it is POSTED it will be linked below :)
acknowledgements: thank you @wesandresons for the amazing gif and @saradika-graphics, @chrisssiren, and @uzmacchiato for the dividers! and thank you @leeknowpegger for your work in keeping up morale and being deranged with me
masterlist
“Your family’s in town?”
You’re at the nurses station, tucked into a corner with your head in your hands while Shen, of course, drinks what has to be his third Dunkin coffee of the day. Where he’s getting them is one of the world’s strangest unsolved mysteries.
You can’t see his face, on account of the heels of your hands being pressed into your eyes so hard stars are bursting and swirling behind your eyelids, but you can hear the grimace in his tone.
“Yeah. I moved out here to get away from them, but they decided to host the annual family dinner circuit here in Pittsburgh instead. My mom always complains about how it’s such a huge imposition to have the entire family fly out, but I never asked to do it and offered to just fly to them on multiple occasions. Apparently, my work schedule is too hard to work around.”
“Dinner circuit?”
You wave a hand. “It’s actually a lunch circuit now, since I work nights. Basically, for every single day that they’re here everybody has to attend a lunch, no matter what. Most of the time they’re at different restaurants, but sometimes my mom demands to have them at my place.”
“Yikes,” The attending says, sipping on the last bits of his coffee, “And the whole successful doctor thing doesn’t work on them? It got my parents off my back.”
You shake your head. “I’m the only doctor in the family, but they thought I should’ve been a hospitalist or go into general surgery.”
The sound of ice being shaken in a plastic cup rings in your ears. “There’s money in emergency medicine. Eventually.”
“There’s money in all medicine eventually,” You groan, lifting your head and leaning against the wall, blinking dazedly up at the flickering fluorescent lights. “I’m sure if I'd picked general surgery they would’ve found a problem with that too.”
“So your fucked, basically.”
Your eyes slip shut again. “Yep. Anything short of showing up with a rich boyfriend and a promise of grandkids on the way won’t get my mom off my back.”
Shen clasps you on the shoulder. “Best of luck with that. You’re the only intern the night shift has got, so we’d rather you don’t off yourself via poisoned wine.”
“I wouldn’t do poison. I’d choke on bread so they’d have to live with the guilt of not being able to save me.”
“Jesus fuck, man. I mean, clearly, they suck, but that’s brutal.”
You shrug. “Not as brutal as my mom not coming to my med school graduation.”
He gapes. “What reason could she have possibly had for not showing up?”
“I told her at dinner the night before that I was going into emergency medicine.”
“That’s…” Shen trails off, flabbergasted, “…Wow. Now I'm worried you’re going to kill one of them.”
“Way too much effort. They aren’t worth the jail time.”
The attending tosses his now empty coffee in a nearby trash can. “Well, if you snap and kill them all in a fit of extremely valid rage, please don’t call me. I can’t afford to be implicated.”
“You saying I can’t hide a body myself?”
“I’m saying I can’t hide a body.”
“Who’s hiding bodies?” Jack says, sidling up to the two of you with a tablet and a chart open in his hand.
Shen jams a thumb in your direction. “She’s killing her parents later today.”
You roll your eyes. “I’m not. Honestly, so long as I agree with whatever my mom says and don’t bring up any trigger topics, I’ll be fine.”
Jack snorts. “You’re describing being held hostage by someone mentally unstable.”
“Dr. Intern?” Ellis interrupts, using the stupid nickname Santos picked for you when she found out you’re the only PGY1 on the night shift, “There’s a woman in the lobby here to see you. Says she’s your mom.”
Your stomach drops to your feet and your heart seizes in your chest. “It’s six in the morning. Oh my god. Oh my god.”
Someone behind you says “Holy shit,” but you’re already gone. As you’re speed walking you whip out your phone, checking the dates of their flights that you’d only had a chance to skim and— fuck. They got in an hour ago. Why the fuck would she stop here? At the PTMC?
You practically slam the doors open and make eye contact with your mom across the crowded lobby.
“Mom?”
“There you are sweetie. I was trying to explain that there’s nothing wrong with me and I was here to see you, but they wouldn’t let me. Something about a security issue?”
“It’s not safe. We’ve had incidents in the past—“
She waves a hand, dismissing you. “I’m your mother. Honestly, I wouldn’t have had to come down here if you’d just respond to my texts.”
“I’ve told you mom, I’m really busy here and I don’t get very much time to look at my phone—“
“Your brothers take the time out of their busy schedules to text me back,” She sighs, then continues on, “Did you get time off this week for dinner?”
You frown. “I thought we were having lunch.”
“Well, I figured since we’re all making it easier for your work schedule to come to you, you could manage to take a few days off for your family. But if we need to make an extra effort—“
“It’s fine, mom,” You tell her with a gritted-toothed smile, “I can make something work. Can you just send me the dates again?”
“It’s this Friday and Saturday.”
Before you can even open your mouth to respond, a large, warm hand settles on your shoulder. Accompanied by the hand is a steadying one on your lower back, a familiar, rich scent and a low voice.
“Can I help you, ma’am?”
Jack.
Jack fucking Abbot.
Hottest man in the ED. Probably in the world.
Your mom blinks, clearly caught off guard, before regaining her judgy senses and narrowing her eyes at him.
“I’m trying to have a conversation with my daughter. Don’t tell me you’re security.”
You know for a fact that Jack has his stethoscope around his neck and his keycard in his scrub pocket that says ‘DOCTOR’ on it, so your mom’s just being bitchy. Figures.
Jack’s hand in your shoulder gives you a tiny, reassuring squeeze before he speaks.
“I’m Dr. Abbot,” He sticks out a hand for her to shake, the one that was on your shoulder, “I’m an attending here at the ED.”
And my boss, you mentally add. Your mom probably hears it anyway.
“You work with my daughter?”
“Yes ma’am. She’s the most promising intern we have here on the night shift.”
Your lips twitch at his words. He’s joking. Testing your mother— you’re the only PGY1 on the night shift. If your mom remembers that, she’ll pick up on his joke.
She doesn’t. She purses her lips for a moment before giving him one of her big, fake smiles.
“Well that’s good to hear. We’re very proud of her.”
Proud of the money I send home, maybe.
“If you’ll excuse us, I need her working on patients.”
“Oh yes, of course,” Your mom gushes, clearly already charmed by Jack. He has that effect on people. “I didn’t realize she was so important and busy here.“
You would if you’d ever let me talk about work before interrupting me and telling me what I should be doing better.
Jack’s thumb makes tiny sweeping motions on your lower back, little tingling motions that distract you enough to unclench your jaw and relax your shoulders.
“I’ll text you as soon as I can, okay mom?”
Your mom sweeps you into a hug, a rare show of affection. Putting on a show for Jack, more than likely.
“No rush. Whenever you get the chance, sweetheart.”
Jack gives her a parting nod, but you wait until your mom’s turned around and walking out of the lobby before allowing Jack to steer you back inside.
The second the doors close behind you and you’re enveloped in the sounds and smells of the heart of the PTMC, you shut your eyes and release a long exhale.
“I,” You start, “Am so sorry. I never thought she’d show up here, I got the flight times mixed up—“
“Hey,” Jack’s voice is low and steady, a much needed anchor. He uses the hand still on your lower back to turn you towards him, “None of that was your fault. We deal with patients like that every day. It is not your job to keep your mother in line.”
“I know. I know. Still, I’m sorry. She can be… difficult.”
He snorts. “Understatement of the year. But seriously. Don’t worry about it. If I didn’t want to get involved with her, I wouldn’t have swooped in there.”
You huff a laugh. “My hero. I’m pretty sure if you’d introduced yourself as my boyfriend she would’ve had an aneurysm. Or a heart attack.”
“Are those desired outcomes?”
“Mostly.”
He slides his hands into his pockets and leans against the opposite wall. “Might be worth a shot, then.”
It’s a very well kept secret that you’ve harbored an embarrassing, ‘think about him while you’re falling asleep at night’ crush on Jack.
So naturally, your response is to laugh. Loudly. And semi-awkwardly. Because he has to be joking. Obviously.
“Yeah, right,” You say, looking down at your feet because eye-contact has never been your forte and Jack’s gaze is too intense, “Could even take you to dinner with me. Maybe my dad would have a heart attack too. Really just wipe out the whole family.”
“You could.”
“Wipe out my entire family?”
“Take me to dinner with you.”
Jack’s body is relaxed and his tone is even. Not light and humor-filled. There’s no mischievous uptick to the corner of his lips. He looks like he’s serious.
“Are you joking?”
He can’t really be serious. He’s probably just fucking with you. He wouldn’t actually—
“No.”
You run a hand over your hair. “Yeah, sure, laugh it up, haha—“
“I’ll go to dinner with you. As your boyfriend.”
What. The. Fuck.
“No.” You gape, incredulous.
“No?” He raises an eyebrow.
“No, I mean— fuck. Dr. Abbot—“
“Jack.”
You purse your lips. “Jack. You can’t just… pretend to be my boyfriend at a family lunch.”
“Why not?”
“Why not?” You sputter, “For one, we hardly know each other—“
“You’ve been working here for three months. We’re hardly strangers.”
“You’re my boss, your way older than me, you’re—“ You cut yourself off before you can say something embarrassing like ‘you’re ridiculously fucking hot and I haven’t washed my socks in months’, “It wouldn’t even be believable. How would we even have met?”
“In the ED, obviously.”
“How long have we been together?”
“Month and a half.”
“Why are we even dating?”
“Because you’re a beautiful and intelligent woman, not to mention a good doctor.”
Your mouth goes dry, and your stomach does an entire gymnastics routine.
“Have you… thought about this?”
He makes a noncommittal hum, tilts his head back a bit. “Would it work?”
“Are you rich?”
There’s that devilish, pants dropping smile.
“I’m a senior attending on night shifts in an emergency department. I’m comfortable.”
You worry your lip between your teeth. “I still can’t… I appreciate the offer, but I can’t subject you to my family. No one else should have to suffer through these lunches and dinners.”
“But you do?”
“They’re my family.”
Jack doesn’t respond, but he doesn’t move off the wall and walk away either. Distantly, you really hope a patient isn’t coding somewhere.
You sigh. “Why would you even offer, anyway?”
“You need help, and I’m in a position to give it. Plus life has been kind of boring recently. My therapist told me to pick a new hobby that doesn’t involve people dying or getting shot at.”
“So you thought spending an evening being subjected to backhanded questions, comments, and not very subtle micro-aggressions was a good substitute?”
“Beats drinking beer in the park.”
You can’t say yes. It’s crazy. One, it would make your crush a million times worse and you might never recover on that fact alone, and two, when this inevitably blows up in your face, your family will never let you live it down and bring it up in literally every conversation for the rest of your life.
On the other hand, if it works, it will work. Your mom would probably get off your back for a while. You wouldn’t be a complete and total disappointment. If it works, it would be a much needed win.
“So. We’ve been dating for a month and a half?”
Jack nods, another smile playing at his lips. “I asked you out, of course.”
“Flowers?”
“Naturally.”
“You pay?”
“For every meal.”
“What’s my favorite color?”
“Navy blue. Mine?”
You roll your eyes. “Black. What are we going to tell my mom when she pokes at the age gap?”
Someone rushes by, pager beeping, and you both wordlessly start moseying towards your respective patients.
“Will she really be that upset about it?”
“Probably not, but she’ll definitely ask about it. My dad will probably be angry, but he’s easier to placate than my mom is.”
Jack hums thoughtfully. “When’s the lunch today?”
“Twelve-thirty, at that Italian place that has that mussel dish.”
“How about this,” He starts, apparently not needing anymore clarification on the location, “Lets focus on finishing our shifts right now. Then go home, get some sleep, and I’ll pick you up at eleven so you can pick my brain for every detail that you want to make this work. Deal?”
Last chance to back out. Say hell no, this is a crazy idea, why would you even volunteer for it, I changed my mind.
“Deal.”
—
Holy fucking shit. Jack Abbot is your boyfriend.
Fake boyfriend. But for the next few hours, he’s as good as yours. Kind of.
In a way.
You’re standing in front of your bathroom mirror, dressed in the outfit you picked out for the stupid lunch when your mom texted you the plane ticket details a month ago.
Neither your makeup nor your hair are cooperating and you really need them to because you have to be perfect, so you need your mascara and stop clumping and your hair to stop laying like that and you just don’t want to fucking go.
Before frustration induced tears can ruin your half-done makeup, a knock sounds at the door.
You rush through your apartment, nearly cracking your skull open on the corner of the couch when you trip over a stray shoe.
Shit, he’s here and you’re not ready, god he’s going to be so upset you have to make him wait it’s so rude—
“Hi!” You swing open the door and plaster what you hope is a cute-frazzled smile and not a panicked one. It’s a thin line between the two, “I’m almost ready, I’m so sorry, you can come in and sit down wherever, I promise I won’t take too long to finish up. Sorry.”
You turn, unable to bear the anger or frustration on his face and dart away (an old method— hiding and disappearing is much better for everyone in the long run) but a hand encircles your wrist before you can successfully escape.
“Woah, easy girl. Nobody’s mad at you. We have time, remember?”
Your smile is definitely coming across as panicked.
Your nails wander and find a hangnail to pick at while you talk. “I know, but that was so we’d have time to plan and it’s rude to make you wait and I really need time to plan, but I can’t get my makeup to look right—“
Jack nudges you into the house and you cut yourself off with another apology. Right. Cause he’s just standing in the hallway and you’re rambling on like someone deranged. God. Why can’t your brain just work? Get into gear? Actually function properly?
“First of all,” Jack starts, gently steering you towards your couch, “You look beautiful.”
Why does he have to say these things? Has he no care for what he’s doing to your heart? Is he unaware that Simone Biles would be impressed with the flip routine your stomach is currently doing?
He places a throw pillow in your hands which were previously clenched in your lap. It’s your favorite throw pillow, actually, because the texture is very soothing. You squeeze it and rub your fingers across the grain.
“Secondly, we don’t have to do this if you don’t want to. I can go home and go to bed and if you want, I’ll never bring it up again. Not even to Robby.”
You crack a wobbly smile. “Not even to Nurse Evans?”
“She’d probably guess on her own, but I would never confirm her suspicions.”
You tuck your feet under your legs, shrinking into the corner of your couch. “I couldn’t even if I wanted to. I already texted my mom to add a person to the reservation, and if I show up without a plus one there’ll be hell to pay.”
“You could swap me with someone else?”
“Do you think I would have agreed to let my boss be my fake boyfriend if I had someone else to bring?”
“Touché.”
The corner thread of your throw pillow has begun unraveling, and your wandering fingers pull and tug at it erratically.
“I’m sorry. I’m not usually this neurotic, I swear. My family brings out the worst in me.”
“I ain’t judging, sweetheart,” Jack soothes, “Besides. We’re ER doctors. We’re all a little neurotic.”
Steadfastly avoiding his gaze (again, just a little too knowing, like he can see every insecurity you’re trying to hide) you stand on shaky legs and rush to the bathroom.
“I’ll just. Finish up. Sorry again.”
“I’m gonna start a tally of unnecessary sorry’s. You’re gonna owe me an hour of overtime for each one.”
Oddly enough, getting ready (the rest of the way) feels much more manageable and much less difficult with Jack nearby. He doesn’t critique how long it takes you, the fact that you change earrings three times, or tell you that you look good enough and should just go.
He just hangs out in your living room, on the couch, practically oozing calm and nonchalance. The foolish, romance-starved part of you wants to cancel on your mom and spend the rest of the day curled up next to him on the couch, like a cat. Lazily dozing while Jack watches TV or something sounds like a much better way to spend your time after work than experiencing all five stages of grief over the course of one lunch. Repeatedly.
Finally ready, and with your sanity intact thanks to Jack, you pause by the kitchen and debate the merits of taking a shot to loosen your nerves. Unfortunately, your mom would undoubtedly somehow smell the alcohol on you and no doubt chew you out for a minimum of twenty minutes. Heaven forbid you make the event bearable.
Ever the kind host, you peek your head around the kitchen wall. “Do you want a shot, Jack?”
“You’re aware that I’m fifty?”
Right. That's probably an unhinged question.
“Just thought I’d offer,” You say, meekly tucking the bottle back under the shelf, slightly embarrassed, “Sometimes alcohol is the only way I can survive these things.”
He’s leaned up against the couch, hands in his pockets when you exit the kitchen. “It was very considerate, thank you. But I think the days of vodka and tequila shots are behind me. I’m more of a whiskey man, anyways.”
“I’ll keep that in mind when we end up at a bar afterwards to drink away memories of the lunch.”
Jack raises an eyebrow. “You act like we’re going to be hung, drawn, and quartered after showing up.”
You worry your bottom lip between your teeth. “Sorry. I just don’t want you to be unprepared, because they’re not always bad but when they’re bad they’re bad, you know? And I just don’t want to scare you off, and ruin the day you could be spending sleeping, and I really am thankful, by the way, I just don’t—“
“Do you always ramble when you’re worried?” Jack interrupts, tilting his head to the side.
“Um. No? I don’t know. I try not to. But like I said. My family brings out the worst in me.”
He searches your face for a moment, then taps the underside of your chin with a crooked finger, raising it slightly.
“We got this, okay? I’m not easy to scare. Combat med vet, remember? Plus, if it really gets that bad, I’ll fake a call from the hospital. Say there was some horrible accident and we’re being called in.”
“Won’t my mom get wise when she never hears it on the news?”
Jack shrugs. “It’s the city. Something horrible is always happening here.”
He holds the front door open for you when you’ve got your shoes on and purse ready, but as you’re sliding past him, he leans down, the angle of his jaw almost brushing the side of your neck, and breathes in deeply.
“You smell good.”
Fuck the gymnastics routine. Your stomach is going for Olympic Gold.
“Oh,” You exhale, a shiver running up your spine and a pleasant tingling sparking where your skin barely brushed his, “Uh— Thanks. Vanilla and spice. I like layering scents.”
“It’s nice. Suits you.”
You manage to squeak out another awkward “Thanks” before hastily locking the door, hoping he can’t tell just how flustered he keeps making you. Judging by the smile playing at his lips, your hopes are in vain.
The car ride to the restaurant is longer than it should be, on account of Pittsburgh traffic, but the time goes by quickly as you pepper Jack with questions to prepare for the million and one that your mother will no doubt ask.
(“What should I say if she asks if we’ve slept together?”
“Do you really, honestly, truly think your mother is going to bring up the topic of sex at the table, in a nice restaurant, with your entire family present?”
“Fair point.”)
By the time you arrive, you’ve picked and torn every single hangnail and loose cuticle around your fingers down to raw flesh and tiny dots of blood. Jack parks the car (parallel parks easily in one go, no repositioning needed, in downtown Pittsburgh. It’s one of the hottest things you’ve ever seen in your life) a good distance away from the restaurant, so that your family wouldn’t be able to see you if you decided to flee to his car to escape them.
At least, that’s what he says.
“I want you to hang onto the car keys, okay? If they get too much, you can sneak out through the kitchen and go to the car. I’ll meet you there.”
You can’t help but smile at his efforts. “And what will you be doing while I’m sneaking out?”
“Singing your praises, of course.”
Exhaustion from the shift you worked in what seems like a lifetime ago lines your limbs, but as you step out of the car (through the door Jack insists on opening for you “In case they’re still watching,”) and loop your arm through Jack’s, you feel… almost capable.
The lunch is going to suck. That’s a given. But Jack assured you he’s seen worse (“Probably done worse, sweetheart,”) and will not leave the lunch in a fit of rage and cause a scene. His arm is firm and solid —and fucking huge, how are his biceps that big— under your arm, and his presence is steadying.
As you cross the street and begin your final walk towards the building, he un-loops his arm from yours, but after you make a questioning noise in your throat, worried you’d be completely untethered (how pathetic to already be this reliant on a man, but there’s no time to unpack that now) but instead he wraps his arm around your waist instead, drawing you to his side and effectively grounding you to his body.
The entire left side of your body lights up at the contact, and if this were your apartment, it would be very difficult to refrain from climbing him like a tree or doing something equally embarrassing, like plastering yourself to his side and begging him to never stop touching you.
You’ve almost managed to come off unaffected, but then he leans down, lips almost brushing your ear, and whispers:
“You’ve got this, baby. And if you don’t, I do.”
Forget your family. Jack Abbot is going to be the death of you.
When you walk into the restaurant, hyper-aware of Jack’s grip on your body (your delusional mind has you thinking how… possessive the hand almost feels, if you ignore the fact that this is all fake) your family is waiting in the foyer, talking amongst themselves.
Your mother immediately zeroes in on you. “Honey, we’ve talked about you being on time to these things. You can’t be late to important family—“
You watch in real time as your mother’s gaze finally flicks to Jack, and the shades of recognition, shock, almost disgust, and confusion before settling back into forced pleasantness.
Your father, however, looks downright murderous. Looks like the age gap isn’t going down too well.
If Jack is at all nervous or put off by the several stares and outright glares from your family, he does not show it. He exudes cool confidence, the same unflappable energy he has during chaotic night shifts. The same calm that makes him so alluring to you in the first place.
He sticks out his hand for your mother to shake, a mirror of earlier that day in the PTMC lobby.
“I believe we’ve met before, but I’ll introduce myself again. I’m Dr. Jack Abbot.”
Your mother shakes his hand, but looks between the two of you like you’ve just spilled wine on her Persian rug that she can’t afford in the first place.
“You’re my daughter’s plus one?”
Jack nods. “Her boyfriend, yes.”
Your brother’s gape. Your dad’s glare intensifies. You want to kiss Jack.
“Honey,” Your mother says, gaze darting to you, “You didn’t say—“
“I didn’t want you to meet him at the hospital,” You tell her, hoping the lie doesn’t come across as too rehearsed, since you did rehearse it several times with Jack in the car on the way over, “The lobby of the hospital isn’t the best place to introduce people. And we really did have patients to get back to.”
Your mother purses her lips. “Why the last minute addition? If you’d told me that he was coming before today, it would’ve been easier to make the reservation.”
Jack is quicker to respond than you. “That’s my fault, actually. I didn’t think I was going to be able to come, what with my shifts as a senior attending, but when we met in the lobby I understood how important it was to make the time.”
You have to try hard not to smile at Jack’s not-so-subtle flex. Senior attending.
“Yes, well. My daughter doesn’t always stress the importance of these things.”
Jack’s grip on your waist tightens ever-so-slightly at the backhanded remark, and your mother’s gaze darts to the point of contact. But your father jerks his head towards the tables before she can say anything. “I’m starving.”
Everyone files in behind him, with you and Jack at the back of the line. Again, he leans down to whisper to you.
“How’d I do?”
You elbow him in the side. “We’ll discuss your performance after this is over.”
“Looking forward to it.”
The hostess leads everyone over to a large table near a window (your mother is particularly about seating) and everyone finds a seat. One of your brothers, either as a test or just to be a shit (your money’s on the latter) slides into the open seat next to you before Jack can.
To his credit, Jack doesn’t cause a scene, but he doesn’t back down either. He just stares at your idiot brother for awhile before finally asking:
“Do you really wanna do this right now?”
Your brother must sense that Jack Abbot is not a man to be fucked with (just a man you want to fuck), and scurries to his own seat, tail between his legs.
Once everyone is seated and the food is ordered (you don’t bother ordering anything other than the salad; Jack orders the most expensive thing on their menu. He’s never seemed like one to care for finery and expensive Italian restaurants where you practically have to order in Italian, but again, his unfazed demeanor makes him fit in anywhere) your family immediately begins peppering him with questions. Questions you knew they’d ask and appropriately prepared him for.
“So. Dr. Abbot—”
“Just Jack is fine.”
“—How long have the two of you been dating?”
“A month and a half.”
“Why’d you start dating?”
You take a generous gulp of your wine.
“Because your daughter is an incredible woman and an even better doctor.”
“Do you think she’s pretty?” One of your brothers chimes in.
Jack takes it in stride, despite that not being a question you prepared. “I’d have to be blind and stupid if I didn’t.”
You feel hot from the tips of your ears down to your toes.
That’s going in the mental folder.
“Have you always wanted to be a doctor?”
“Pretty much. Took a bit of a detour as a combat medic first, though.”
“Why’d you leave?”
“Honorably discharged after I lost my right leg. Below the knee amputation.”
You drain the rest of your glass and inconspicuously motion to the waiter for more wine.
The table is silent for the customary length of time after someone drops the “got a limb chopped off” bomb. Your family is clearly mildly uncomfortable, but Jack just keeps sipping his drink, his free hand drifting down and brushing the side of your thigh.
Your dad clears his throat. Here we go. Home stretch. Final questions before we’re in the clear.
“Mr. Abbot—“
“Either Doctor or Jack works.”
Ooo. There was some bite in that one.
Your Dad frowns. He does not like to be interrupted or corrected. You’ve been on the receiving end of far too many hour long lectures (read: berating and borderline verbal abuse) to know better.
But Jack isn’t his daughter. Jack is pretty much his equal. Actually, the fact that Jack not only served but is now a doctor places him above your father, by social conventions.
This no doubt infuriates your father. He’s always hated it when he couldn’t tear somebody down to his level. A true coward.
“Jack,” Your dad continues, a trademarked forced smile to save face, “You’re a smart man, yeah? Haven’t you ever considered the age difference between the two of you might be a little much?”
Yikes. Questioning Jack’s competency is not the way to go. Jack is very competent. And smart. And capable. It’s really hot.
Your fake-boyfriend just reaches over and grasps your hand, over the table, and looks at you with such devotion in his eyes that you forget how to breathe.
“War doesn’t really lend to longevity. I’ve learned to hold on tight to things I care about.”
For a moment, it doesn’t feel fake. There’s raw, punched emotion in his voice, and his thumb rubs your hand gently. Like he really does care that much. Like he wants to hold on.
But then your brother fake-gags and your fake boyfriend looks away with that, he’s passed the tests, and the conversation moves onto to different topics. Jack laughs at all the right moments, doesn’t bring up any argument-starting topics, doesn’t rise to bait when it’s thrown his way.
He’s perfect.
Eventually lunch is drawn to a polite close. You have one last glass of wine while Jack settles the bill. Himself. With one card. He doesn’t even look.
Your mom sends a smirk your way after he waves off your father’s attempt at splitting the bill or offering to pay. It’s probably the third time she’s actually looked at you for the entire duration of the lunch, but since it’s positive, you’ll let it slide.
Pretty soon bags are grabbed, hands are shook, and Jack’s hand magically finds its way back to your lower back and you’re being (very gently) escorted out of the restaurant and to the car.
“Wow,” You breathe as you slide into the passenger seat of his car. “I think that’s the smoothest a lunch with my family has ever gone in my entire life. You’re really good at this.”
Jack doesn’t respond though. Doesn’t make any kind of noise that he heard you. His hands are nearly white knuckled on the steering wheel and he’s staring straight ahead.
“Jack?”
“They didn’t even talk to you.”
You blink.
“What?”
“Your family never tried to include you in the conversation. Didn’t even ask you any questions.”
You snort. “Trust me, it’s better that way.”
He hasn’t started the car yet, just keeps staring off into the middle ground. He can’t be old enough to start doing a thousand yard stare already, right?
“You ordered a salad.” He says, a very prominent frown on his lips.
“So? It wasn’t too expensive, was it? I swear, if I knew you were gonna pay for the whole bill I would’ve looked at something cheaper, I don’t know why salads are so expensive—“
“Please don’t apologize for ordering a salad,” Jack says, voice pained, “Especially because I know you hate salads.”
Oh.
“How do you know that?”
“I overheard you talking to Dr. King that time you two were discussing the merits of Olive Garden. You said the salad there was the only kind you like, because of the dressing and the pepperoncinis.”
Your cheeks heat. “I never said I hated all salads. I said I like that one in particular.”
“You hardly ate anything during lunch.”
“My family tends to have that effect on my appetite.”
Jack does not look placated. He doesn’t take the out that your little joke provides. Doesn't so much as huff. He looks upset. Distressed.
Something about what he said goes ding! in your mind.
“…Mel and I had that conversation like, last month. You seriously remembered that?”
He frowns harder, like the answer to your partly rhetorical question should be obvious.
(It’s not. Why would he remember that conversation? Why would he care at all?)
“Of course I remember.”
There isn’t much to say after that. You’re not really sure what in particular has upset Jack, what possibly blunder or error you’ve made to incur him going completely monosyllabic and frowny. Ever eager to appease, you refrain from any attempts to cajole him, make conversation, breathe too loudly, or make any kind of indication that you’re still present.
The tension in the car is thick and uncomfortable. It prickles at your skin and the hairs on the back of your neck, but the only thing you dare to do is scroll through Pinterest, only looking at the safest, basic boards in case Jack glances over (he doesn’t.)
But then he does glance over. He just doesn’t look at your phone.
Jack just keeps looking at you.
He’ll look over, eyes darting over your face like he’s looking for something, and then he’ll look away. Over and over for almost the entire course of the drive. He only stops when you accidentally time your staring (monitoring) of him wrong and make eye contact.
He parks by your place (he once again sexily parallel parks with ease) and then puts the car in park. And then he starts talking.
“You’re so much more than them.”
Jack has the heat on, but the air in the car suddenly feels cold.
“What?”
“Your family,” Jack clarifies, like that was the confusing part “Your parents. I hated watching you… disappear like that. You deserve better than that. You are better than that.”
You try to swallow, almost choking on the sudden lump in your throat.
“Listen,” You start, unaware of how to even begin processing what he said, let alone formulating the best response because your brain is just flashing abort! Abort! Abort! in big neon letters,, “Thank you for today. I really appreciate it. But if this is all just too much, I can handle things from here. Really. I can say that someone called out and you had to cover shifts—“
“No.”
Jack says it with such vehemence, bordering on vitriol, that it startles you, and you flinch backwards ever so slightly.
An old habit.
Something flashes across his face —gone before you can decipher it— and he noticeably forces himself calmer.
“I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if I let you go alone again. Ever.”
Your brain starts short-circuiting at his words. “I really can’t ask you to—“
“It’s a good thing you’re not asking me then.”
“Jack—“
“Please.”
You’re stunned silent at the rawness in his tone— the pain.
He said please. He said it like he was begging. He is begging.
“I don’t know how you do it,” He continues, jaw working, “I can see it on you, plain as day. How you hate what they do, how it makes you hurt. But you keep going.”
You shrug uselessly. “Is there another option?”
Jack reaches out for you, then falters, like he thought better. A tiny part of you wishes he’d followed through; bridged the yawning gap between the two of you that’s made up of the center console in his car, a couple decades, and your own unwillingness to try at vulnerability.
“I’ll walk you to your door.”
The walk to your door is a stark contrast to the walk to the restaurant. There’s no mischief on his face now, only a mask of stony distress.
At the doorway to your apartment building, you pause. It seems customary. Appropriate. Necessary.
Really, you just want to look at Jack some more. Try to puzzle out why the lunch that felt like it went so well made him so upset. Where you’re getting signals wrong and crossing wires. Why success to you is failure to him.
(As an ED resident, you’ve seen child abuse cases. You’ve seen foster care children littered with cigarette burns and criss-crossing scars of broken bottles and the corners of coffee tables and haunted eyes.
You know your family isn’t great. But there aren’t any cigarette burns or glass scars or eyes that track fast movement.)
You have this burning inclination to apologize to Jack. Logically, you know you haven’t done something wrong, but you feel like you have because he’s upset so maybe you can make it better?
“You have that look on your face.”
You frown. “What look?”
“The ‘I’m gonna apologize for something stupid’ look.”
“I wasn’t going to.”
“You were thinking about it,” Jack ducks down, catches your eyes, “Hey, listen to me. You cannot fix what I am upset about. It is not your job. My mood is not your responsibility.”
“It’s freaky when you do that.”
“Do what?”
“You always know what I’m thinking.”
Jack just huffs; shoves his hands in his pockets.
Emboldened by his reassurance, you ask: “Why are you upset?”
“Because your family treats you like shit, and I want to fix it, but I can’t.”
“Oh.”
It’s not that bad. It can’t be that bad. You’ve seen bad. This isn’t it. It’s hard, but it’s not bad.
He stays quiet, seemingly sensing the inner turmoil his words have sparked. That, or he really is that good at reading you.
Jack nods towards your door. “We can talk later. Get some sleep. We both have shifts tonight.”
Right. Yeah. All of these events roughly occurred over the course of six hours. Time makes sense.
Despite the fact that you are exhausted and desperately need to sleep if you have any chance of surviving your –quickly approaching– shift, you linger.
“How am I supposed to repay you for all of this?”
The question that’s been burning a hole in your pocket since he said I’ll do it.
He just shakes his head. Like it’s simple. Easy. “This isn’t something I want repayment for. Now go. You’re no good to me as a zombie.”
“I’ll just have some of Shen’s Dunkin.”
“He doesn’t share that shit. Besides, he’s off tomorrow.”
“Maybe I‘ll—“
“Sleep,” He points at your door, “Now.”
You smile at his insistence. He’s sort of like cold coffee with sugar. Seems all bitter but then you get a bit of that sweet crunch, so it balances out. He balances out.
Sometimes it feels like he balances you out.
“Goodnight.”
He gives you a little smile of his own.
“Goodnight.”
—
Jack Abbot does not take his own advice. Mostly because he knows if he doesn’t talk about what happened during that lunch from hell, he’s going to do something that will end in him being thrown in prison and having his medical license revoked. More importantly, if that happens, he won’t be around to take care of you.
So instead he collapses on his couch, works his prosthetic off to give his stump a needed break, and dials the number at the top of his favorites in his contact list.
“This really isn’t a good time—“
“Robby,” Jack starts, “They didn’t even fucking talk to her.”
“Jesus, okay. Whitaker! Cover for me a sec, will you? I gotta deal with this.”
“They just…” Jack continues, genuinely at a loss for words. His vocabulary feels woefully unequipped to relay the depth of anger he feels about the events of the lunch, “…Ignored her. They talked over her, didn’t ask her questions, hardly ever let her finish speaking when she did finally get a chance to speak, and threw jabs at her constantly. It was fucking awful.“
The background noise quiets over the phone, and Jack knows Robby’s moved to either the break room or an empty patient room.
“She fight back at all?”
“No. Just… grinned and beared it. It was fuckin’ unsettling, man. I’ve seen her yell back at rude patients, watched her stand her ground to EMT’s who think they know better. It was like she hollowed herself out to sit at that table.”
“Christ.”
“She flinched away from me. Afterwards, in the car, when I raised my voice on accident.”
“Fuck. Do you think—“
“I don’t know. Maybe when she was younger. They don’t live in state, so if they are, she’s safe.”
Jack scrubs a hand down his face. “God. I don’t know what to do, Robby. It doesn’t seem like she’s got… anybody. She didn’t even understand why I was upset. She doesn’t get why that would be upsetting.”
“She’s friends with Mel and Santos, right?”
“And Whitaker by extension, yeah. But those are recent friends. I’ve never heard her mention anybody from back home. No boyfriend or best friend or anything. She’s just been doing everything on her own.”
Jack can picture Robby nodding. “We’ve done our fair share of that.”
“Yeah, and look where that got us. I can’t just leave her here. Fuck, it was like watching someone kick a puppy, over and over.”
“That bad?”
“Yeah.”
The line goes silent for a bit, both men stewing on the subject at hand.
“She’s always had these habits. I thought they were just personality quirks, you know. I mean, we’re all fucked up, but watching it happen…”
“It’s different.”
“You could say that,” Jack sighs, “She soaks up praise like a fucking sponge. She looks surprised every time I do something nice for her. And she keeps trying to make me happy.”
“You lost me on that last one.”
“It doesn’t… She’s not doing it to make me happy, exactly. She just does everything she can to keep me from getting mad.”
“Is there a difference?”
“There is. Eager to please versus eager to appease.”
“Are you sure you want to get involved?”
“Bit late for that.”
“You could pull back.”
“Fuck no, I can’t. Then I’d be kicking the puppy.”
“She is a grown woman.”
“Who happens to look like a kicked puppy.”
He scrubs a hand down his face, groaning into the microphone.
“You finally realize how ridiculous you sound?”
Jack grunts. “I’m not giving you the satisfaction of answering that.”
The line crackles with the staticky sound of Robby chuckling. “That’s an answer in it of itself, and you know that.”
He lets the line go quiet again, briefly debating just hanging up.
“I don’t know, Robby. It’s just…”
“Worse than you expected?”
“Yeah.”
“Come on. You knew that was a possibility. Has it put you off, at all?”
“Fuck no.”
“Exactly. Now please, go to bed so I can get back to saving lives? Whitaker is covering for me and he’s only gone through two pairs of scrubs so far today. I’m not a betting man, but if I were, I’d bet money that he’s moved onto his third during this conversation.”
“I save lives too.”
“You won’t save any if you fall asleep on the drive over and die.”
“I would never fall asleep behind the wheel.”
“That’s what they all say.”
Jack really does hang up after that, plugging his phone in and rushing through everything he needs to do before bed.
But even as exhaustion pulls his body down into deep, dreamless sleep, he can’t stop thinking about that hollow look on your face. And he knows, even half-asleep, that he won’t be able to let it go.
—
The next night at work is weird, because nothing has changed, except now you know what the inside of Jack’s car looks like and how his voice sounded when he begged you to let him help.
It’s jarring, to say the least. Unsteadying and mildly world-rocking if you’re being honest.
But gossip travels fast within the walls of the PTMC, so by the time night shift is halfway over, you’re convinced you’ve heard every variation in existence of the same two questions:
“Did you and Jack go on a date yesterday?”
And:
“What’s Jack like on a date?”
The answer to the first question is complicated and embarrassing, so you don’t answer it or any of it’s variants. The answer to the second question is not complicated but it does, however, stir some very complicated feelings, so you refrain from answering that one too. You just try to refrain from thinking about or seeing him in general.
You’re not avoiding Jack, per se. Just keeping busy. With other stuff. That’s conveniently nowhere near him.
Ellis keeps shooting you entirely too knowing looks, Mckay, who’s pulling a double, pats your shoulder and tells you she’s there if you want to talk, Shen is absent as Jack said he would be, and Jack himself is acting like nothing happened and everything is normal and he’s never been to your apartment smelled your perfume.
(“…I like layering scents.”
“It’s nice. Suits you.”)
It’s all too much.
Hence the avoiding.
You try to curb your own ridiculousness for the sake of your patients, but it’s oddly difficult. You’ve always been amazing at compartmentalizing. If your family gave you any kind of skill, it’s the ability to shove your feelings in a box, and then shove that box in a corner of your mind you won’t access consciously until you end up on public transportation with your headphones. You should be more than capable of gathering up all the loose feelings labeled ‘For: Jack Abbot’ and tucking them all nice and neat in that little box and then shove it in a dark mental corner.
But you can’t. And along with the flurry of Jack Abbot causing a hurricane in your head, there’s a lesser storm that is the result of your family. More specifically, how they look to Jack.
All roads lead back to Rome. Or, in your case, to Jack.
You catch yourself during every spare moment or menial task that doesn’t require 100% of your brain power analyzing every interaction he had with them. Everything they said, everything they did, and how Jack would’ve taken it. And why. Because clearly, the act of dealing with them isn’t the problem. The ease and finesse in which he did so crosses that off the list. So it’s something else.
It’s how they treat you.
You understand, logically, that it would be upsetting, from his point of view. If you were in his place, you’d also probably be upset too.
But this feels different. Jack’s reaction is different. Jack is different.
It’s just never really been something that anyone should be upset over. Your family are who they are. Not great, but not truly bad either. You deal with them sparingly. You don’t even live in the same state anymore. It’s not a big deal.
“Why are you hiding from me in a supply closet?”
You whirl around, a box of gloves clutched in your hands.
“I’m not hiding from you.”
Jack crosses his arms and leans against the doorway. “This is the third time you’ve been here in two hours.”
“So? I just want to be… on top of things. I’m a productive person.”
“You are,” He amends, “But all of your productivity tonight has been pretty strictly nowhere near me. Funny how that works.”
You sigh, placing the gloves back on the rack. “Things are just… weird, okay? I don’t know how you’re being so normal about all this?”
Your fingers wander and find a loose piece of skin on the edge of your cuticle, and you begin absent-mindedly picking at it.
You can’t exactly disagree with him, right here, in the supply closet at the hospital. But you can’t quite bring yourself to agree either– because whether he acknowledges it or not, things have changed. Seeing him outside the hospital, perfectly placating your family into one of the most peaceful get-togethers you’ve had in years isn't just nothing.
It’s everything. And you, for one, can’t just pretend that it didn’t happen.
“Hey,” He calls your name softly, “What’s on your mind? What’s bugging you?”
“Nothing.”
He snorts, pushing off the doorframe and shutting the door behind him, so it’s just the two of you alone. “Liar.”
He doesn’t probe any further, just leans against the now closed door with his hands in his pockets, eyes flitting over you like they’re looking for an answer. An answer you’re too hesitant to give.
“I’m just worried.”
“You? Worried? No.”
You cut him a glare, “There’s a very real chance that this could all go horribly awry, you know.”
“Sure,” Jack dips his head, “But that’s not what you’re really worried about.”
“And how do you know that?”
“Because that doesn’t address the fact that you’re avoiding me.”
You sigh, scrubbing a hand across your face.
“Why do you care?”
The question that’s been nagging at you since the beginning. The little itch in the back of your mind that you just can’t seem to get rid of. The puzzle you can’t figure out; the tune you can’t place.
You’re a logic driven person. You like knowing how things works– why they work. Why things do the things they do.
You like having the why. Having the why makes the world make sense.
Nothing about Jack Abbot makes sense.
“Why do I care about what?”
“This,” You gesture vaguely to the air, “Me. I don’t buy that you just didn’t have anything better to do or whatever it was you said. People don’t just… do that. You’re really ruining your life for an entire week for what? So I'm a little less uncomfortable? Me? At the end of the day, we’re just coworkers. I know how important your down time is for you, so I just don’t get why you’re so okay with being miserable just for my sake. I’m not that important. These stupid lunches aren’t that important.”
It’s a stupid confession. Much too vulnerable for a supply closet and a man you’re harboring feelings for.
He doesn’t respond right away. Hums, stares at his shoes for a bit. Re-adjusts so his prosthetic isn’t taking so much weight.
“You are important. You’re important to me, to this hospital, to your patients. And for the record, I am not ‘ruining my week.’ If it was that easy for my week to be ruined, I never would have become a doctor, let alone joined the military.”
“But why?”
“Jesus, you watched a lot of the science channel growing up, didn’t you?”
You snort. “Guilty as charged.”
Now it’s his turn to sigh.
“You… seem to have this misguided belief that caring is reciprocal in nature.”
You frown. “It is.”
“It isn’t. At least it shouldn’t be, but I don’t think anyone ever told you that.”
You scoff. “So this is about my family.”
He shrugs. “Amongst other things.”
“They’re not that bad.”
“They are.”
“Other people have it worse.”
“It’s not a competition.”
You resist the urge to throw your hands in the air. “Why is this such a big deal to you?”
“Because it’s a big deal to you.”
The air gets quiet and tense. Like the supply closet and all the medical supplies in it are holding their breath. If they were alive, if they were holding their breath, you’re convinced they’d all be looking at you.
It’s Jack who speaks first though.
“I can see it. You do everything yourself, get back up even when it’s hard. You look out for other people more than you look out for yourself. You’re selfless and kind and I don’t think very many people give that back to you.”
A reflexive smile pulls at your lips, a habit you never quite managed to kick after years of people telling you ‘smile, look grateful, stop looking so upset, there’s nothing to cry about.’ It feels awkward and clunky on your mouth but you don’t know what else to do. There’s no pre-written protocol for something like this.
“I still don’t really get it.” You murmur, more to yourself than to Jack.
Jack sends you a light grin. “We’ll work on it.”
“We will?”
“Sure,” He shrugs, “Already started anyways.”
“If you’re sure.”
“I’m sure,” He opens the door, “Now get back out there. And bring the gloves too.”
You roll your eyes but comply, snagging the box off the shelf where you’d left it and following him out.
The rest of your shift passes much smoother than before, even with the routine influx of patients as the time inches closer to morning. Jack doesn’t hover, but doesn’t pull the disappearing act that you (totally fairly) pulled on him either. He truly seems unfazed. Like it really, actually doesn’t bother him.
Well. Correction. It does bother him, but not because it’s something he’s doing for you, the part that bothers him (apparently) is how all of this affects you. All this caring makes you feel like a deer in the headlights.
You recall something he said that night. Something that had made you shiver– something that hit the nail right on the head.
“Hey, listen to me. You cannot fix what I am upset about. It is not your job. My mood is not your responsibility.”
He always seems to know exactly what to say to you. How to act, what to do, what specific worry you’re feeling and the best course of action to soothe it. It’s great but it’s also difficult, because there’s a part of you that wants to let him keep doing it, but then there’s the part of you that bristles every time and wants to snap that you’re completely capable of doing things yourself.
That probably wouldn’t even work. He’d just say something infuriating and sexy, like “I know, but I want to do this for you.”
He would. He totally would.
The thought is equal parts haunting and reassuring.
(And maybe, also, a little, kind of really sweet?)
–
The next two lunches go great. Jack is still freakishly incredible at charming your family. And, with his help, you actually manage to hold a (mostly) civil conversation with your parents for the first time in… years.
The lunches are fine, but the part you’ve started looking forward to is the before and after. Before, Jack comes to pick you up, and sometimes he comes early and helps prepare (which mostly involves him either talking you off the ledge, pouring a shot or two, or assuring you that your makeup and outfit look great. Not fine, great) or just to hang out. The hanging out part is nice, because he never comes with any sort of expectation. He’ll sit on your couch and scroll through his phone and entertain all the inane chatter you like to get out of your system beforehand but never had an outlet for before.
The after is even more fun. You run through the highlights of the night and hate on all the annoying things your family said to you. This usually also involves stopping somewhere for food (only for you, Jack’s never hungry because he eats t=at the restaurants but you’re never allowed to order anything that isn’t a salad) and then the two fo you fight over who pays. You always insist since you’re the only one actually eating any of the food, but then Jack usually takes your card, puts it in his pocket, and uses his own.
It’s as frustrating as it is hot.
But for the most part, the lunches and your shifts at work have actually been pretty good– as good as night shifts in a trauma center can be, anyway. Jack’s presence is… steadying, even when he’s not physically there. He’s always present in some way– whether it’s little reminders he leaves at your favorite spot for charting (he only uses blue sticky notes) or a real lunch left for you in the breakroom fridge (you weren’t previously aware he actually knew how to cook, or that he knew how picky you are when it comes to what you’ll actually eat for lunch and how often you get too busy to properly make something.) Sometimes he’s there in your head; in little things he’s told or taught you that you remember in the moment.
It’s nice. To have someone be around. Someone you can relax with, joke with– someone who hasn’t looked down on you for the the way you turned out.
You were pretty ready to declare smooth sailing ahead, but then on the third lunch your mother shows up and is decidedly not in a good mood and the seas turn choppy and the boat smashes into the rocks below.
At least, two peach bellinis in, that’s what it feels like.
“Honestly,” Your mother puffs, “I don’t understand why making some simple appetizers could take so long. This is why I hate going to restaurants during lunch hours, the staff just gets so lazy. The menu is always better at dinner anyways.”
You ignore the thinly veiled dig and instead choose to quietly drain the rest of your third peach bellini. They taste like juice and take a much needed edge (or two) of the evening. Lunch. What-fucking-ever.
Jack, ever aware of the best way to survive these functions (somehow) whilst keeping his sanity, remains silent as your mom huffs and puffs, seeming to understand that trying to placate her when she gets in these moods is a fruitless endeavor that only leads to your mom getting more upset and everyone else more annoyed.
You, made slightly optimistic by the wonderful powers of alcohol, attempt to put her in a better mood.
“I have the next three days off, mom. We’ll be able to do dinners instead.”
Your mother, however, only scoffs. “That’s no good to anyone now. We’ve already spent half this week dealing with poor restaurant service. I mean, no respectable job would have such a ridiculous schedule."
“I’m a doctor, mom. It doesn’t get more respectable than that.”
Jack nudges your leg with his, either a silent laugh, show of support, or quiet question of your sanity. Maybe all three.
Another bellini appears in front of you, this one heavier on the alcohol than the last. Your server is getting a giant tip when this is all over.
“You work in the emergency department, dear. That’s hardly stable, and stable is respectable,” Jack clears his throat, and your mother at least has the manners to look mildly sheepish, “No offense, Jack.”
He smiles thinly. “None taken.”
Conversation from there is stilted at best with even your brothers tip-toeing around your mother. No one wants to be the subject of a nitpicking lecture, even when the version she gives them is a slap on the wrist compared to what you endure.
So you keep drinking your bellini’s and they keep coming. After your fourth, you think you should maybe slow down a little, but then your dad starts grilling Jack about his life (again) and you decide that alcohol is, in fact, necessary.
“Have you ever been in a serious relationship before, Jack?”
That one almost makes you ask the server for a shot of vodka, straight. That’s a question you ask a nineteen year-old pimple-faced boy, not a fucking fifty year old man.
“I have, yes. But, like most things in life, they were learning experiences. I’ve moved on.”
Your dad snorts, then gestures to you. “You could teach her a thing or two about moving on.”
Your blood runs cold.
Jack sets his glass down. “And what do you mean by that?”
It’s your mother who answers. Because one vulture circling your soon-to-be carcass wasn’t enough.
“I’m surprised she hasn’t told you. It was all she ever talked about for years. She’s had exactly one boyfriend before you– what was his name honey?”
“Christopher,” You answer hollowly, stomach churning.
Your dad snaps his fingers. “That’s it. It took ages for her to get her first boyfriend. We were fairly convinced it would never happen, but then one day she came home with Christopher. Whole family wanted to throw a party– finally found someone to put up with all that attitude!”
Your family laughs, but Jack doesn’t.
“Where’s the funny part, in all this?”
Your mother clears her throat, just a tad awkward. “When she broke up with him it was awful. She refused to leave her room for works, cried all the time. Honestly, I would have understood if he had broken up with her, but it was all her decision.”
Your dad nods in agreement. “We had to have a sit-down conversation with her about decisions and consequences before she finally stopped crying and hiding in her room. Christopher was such a nice boy, we hated to see him go.”
Jack opens his mouth, poised to fire something back and defend you, but you beat him to the punch.
“He cheated on me with my best friend.”
At that, your mother frowns. “That’s not what Christopher said. You were in your teen angst era, remember? Always picking fights? He told your brother that you were so distant with him he didn’t know you were still together.”
“I wasn’t distant, I was really busy. I was studying for the MCAT. He knew that. He knew how important medical school was to me.”
Your brother rolls his eyes. “Med school was all you talked about. It’s not like you were putting out.”
Your mother snaps her fingers once. “That is inappropriate talk for public. You know better.”
“Come on, mom. It’s true. Everyone knows–”
“Sorry to interrupt,” Jack says, not at all sounding sorry, “But the hospital just texted. There’s an emergency, and we’re needed, so we have to go.”
Jack does not wait for your mother or father to excuse him. He just stands, offering you his hand. It turns out that you need it, because there is, apparently, such a thing as too many peach bellinis. Your mom sends you a pointed glare as you stumble once, after which you make a concerted effort to look more sober.
Neither you nor Jack bother saying proper goodbyes. Once he grabs your jacket and purse (and your vision stops swimming so much and you’re sure you can walk in a convincing approximation of a straight line) you’re both gone. You pass your server on the way out, who is slipped a very generous cash tip for the excellent bellini service.
By the time you get to the car, you realize that you’re about to have to save patient lives and you are very, extremely, drunk. There is no way you are capable of doing any life-saving at the moment.
“Jack,” You mumble, fumbling with your seatbelt, “I think I’m too drunk to go in. Did they say how serious the emergency was? Can I just get a banana bag?”
“There is no emergency,” He says calmly, batting your hands away and buckling you in properly, “I made it up. I figured you’d be okay with ducking out of there.”
“Oh. That was nice of you.”
He clicks you in and gives you a wry grin. “Told you I would handle things.”
You nod, the movement exaggerated and lopsided. “I hate it when they bring up Christpher. They always take his side. Like, is there ever a situation where it’s okay to cheat on a girl with her best friend? I was studying for the MCAT. I didn’t even wallow or break up with him when I found out. I waited until after I took the exam so I didn’t fuck up my score.”
“That’s my girl.”
“Christopher was an asshole. He was a real dickhead. The whole situation sucked. I lost the only two people who I thought cared about me at the same time. My family acted like I was the fucking anti-christ for being upset about it, too. It was fucking terrible. I’m so glad I don’t live with them anymore. I mean, I still love them, and I care about them, cause they’re my family, but everything is just so much easier when they’re not around.”
“You’re allowed to hate them, you know.”
“I know,” You say, fiddling with a hangnail. “I know I probably should.”
You sigh, tilting your head back against the headrest. “I always keep holding out hope, you know? That one day they’ll apologize, figure their shit out, care about me in a way that matters. I know it’s stupid.”
“It’s not stupid.”
You frown. “It’s not? It kinda seems stupid. You’d think by now I would know better.”
“No,” Jack eases the car out of the parking space, “We’re biologically wired to love our families. It’s the reason why they can fuck you up so bad. Your brain can’t compute why the people who are supposed to love you above all else just… don’t. Not in any of the right ways.”
You blow air through your lips. “I think my parents fucked me up. I was so happy when I matched into the Pitt, because it was so far away. But then I got out here it just kind of hit me, all at once, that I was alone. My best friend was gone, my ex boyfriend sucked, and I was too busy in med school taking care of myself and my family to make any friends.”
Shit, that sounds so whiny. “But it turns out it wasn’t so bad. Now I've got Mell, and Santos, and I’m pretty sure I’m friends with Shen too. Mckay is nice too. I like her. She’s cool.”
Jack huffs something that could be a laugh, and you turn to study him; the angles of his face awash in the glow of the red light you’re currently stopped at. From here, you can see the tiny bits of tension he carries in his face— a slight pinch in his brow, the tiniest downturn of his lips. It’s the only evidence that he’s not as unaffected by your family as he pretends to be.
Then the light turns green, and his face isn’t illuminated the same.
“And what about me?”
Oh. Well. That’s a loaded question.
The alcohol emboldens you to answer honestly. “I don’t know what to think about you.”
“Oh really?”
“Mmm. Nope.”
“How come?”
"You're so–” You gesture vaguely, “Confusing. I can’t figure you out. For a while there, I was pretty sure you hated me, but then you offered to help me with this and you keep saying you care so I think I’m wrong.”
“You think you’re wrong?”
“Still can’t figure you out.”
“And how can I show you that I mean it?”
That’s. Hmm.
“I don’t know. I think what you’re doing is working,” You pause, debating the pros and cons of continuing to just say whatever the fuck you want before deciding you’re too tired to care, “It helps that you’re really hot.”
His lips twitch. “Oh, does it now?”
“Mhm. You’ve got this whole… capable thing about you. It’s hot. Competency is in.”
“If you say so.”
“I do say so. I feel like if I had a problem I could call you or something and you would fix it. You’re so…”
“Competent?”
“That’s the word.”
If he’s at all irritated, annoyed, or otherwise put off by your stupid rambling, he didn’t show it.
“You should call me whenever you have a problem. Chances are, I can fix it.”
“Are you like Bob the Builder?”
“I’m a doctor, so no.”
“You’re kind of like Bob the Builder.”
“Whatever you say,” He pauses at an empty intersection before continuing on, “Before I start heading towards your place, do you want to stop by mine? You didn’t even get to eat your salad, and I have leftovers. You can say no.”
“Are you gonna be mad at me if I say no?”
“No.”
‘Then yes.”
“You sure? I wasn’t lying.”
“I know. But I like your cooking.”
You spend the drive to Jack’s continuing to ramble about nothing and everything, to which he entertains with a seemingly endless amount of patience. The only time he interrupts is to hand you a bottle of Gatorade he procured from his back seat. Apparently, he bought a few to keep in his car after the first lunch. “For any alcohol excursions.”
It’s freaky how prepared he is for every situation.
When you arrive, he unbuckles your seatbelt for you (unbuckling is just as difficult as buckling when you’ve had an unknown amount of peach bellinis) and helps you up the stairs to his apartment.
His gigantic apartment.
“Woah,” You mumble as you shuffle through the doorway, pulled along by your hand in Jacks, “I didn’t know they made apartments this size.”
“Its not that big.”
“I think, like, four of my apartments could fit in here. Your living room is the size of my entire place.”
You stumble once, heel catching on the little rug on the entry way, and he’s immediately motioning for you to sit on the little bench by the door and pats his thigh once. You clumsily raise your leg, barely managing to land your foot on the general area he gestures to. He pulls the first shoe off, then repeats with the second with an air of total calm. Like this is normal and he does this all the time for you. Like you regularly find yourself drunk in his apartment.
You decide to unpack the moment when you’re sober.
“One, it’s not that big, and two, that’s what you get for renting a studio apartment.”
“Like you could afford better when you were an intern.”
He snorts, leading you to his couch and gesturing for you to sit. “If you want to change clothes you can borrow some of mine.”
You chew on your lip. The outfits you choose to look nice for your mother are never exactly comfortable, and when else are you going to get the chance to privately live the scenario you fantasize about several times a week before falling asleep?
“Only if you don’t mind.”
“I wouldn't have offered if I wasn’t. Stay there.”
Jack’s only gone for a few minutes before he reappears with a dark grey sweatshirt and a pair of sweatpants in a slightly lighter shade. The sweatshirt is oversized and looks well worn, but the sweatpants are suspiciously new, close to your size, and look eerily similar to a pair you changed into after a shift a few weeks ago.
He hands them to you. Neither of you mention the sweatpants. “You can change in the bathroom. Door locks from the inside. I’m gonna change too, and then I’ll heat up the food.”
Jack shows you the bathroom (you don’t bother unpacking why exactly he felt the need to tell you that the door locks and from the inside, that’s for when you’re significantly more drunk than you are now and when you’re not in his fancy-ass apartment.)
Because he’s a man and men take approximately three seconds to change, he’s already in the kitchen setting stuff on the counter by the time you emerge from the bathroom. His countertops are solid granite, because the apartment is clearly expensive and he’s a man. They’re an inky black color with tiny flecks that sparkle when the light hits them just so.
“What are you doing?” Jack asks when he turns from the fridge to find you tilting your head this way and that.
“Looking at the sparkles.”
“Oookay. Do you want me to heat up the vodka pasta or the chicken?”
“You made vodka pasta?”
He shrugs. “You said you liked it.”
You slide into a seat at the kitchen island, a flush creeping up your neck. “The pasta, please.”
Suddenly exhausted now that you’re in soft, comfortable clothes that smell like Jack, you decide to just rest your head on your arms for a bit. And close your eyes. But you’re not going to fall asleep. You’re not.
“Don’t fall asleep. You need to eat something first.”
“M’ not fallin’ asleep.”
“Mhm. Sure.”
With great effort, you blink your eyes open and watch Jack while he heats up the pasta and prepares something else. A salad maybe?
“What’re’you’ making?”
“Just a little salad. In case the pasta is too heavy for you.”
“Oh. How come?”
“Because I don’t want you to throw up.”
“I promise I won’t throw up on your furniture. I don’t usually throw up when I’m hungover.”
“You drink often?”
“No,” Your head lulls to the side, “I’m too busy. I’m actually not-so-secretly very boring. I don’t really like partying. I much prefer staying at home.”
“Thought you went to that thing with King and Santos?”
“Yeah, but that was ‘cause Trinity really wanted me to come and I felt bad and I didn’t want her to think I was a boring, uptight bitch.”
“I see.”
“Yeah. I kinda had fun, though. I wished you were there.”
“Really?”
“Yeah,” You sigh, probably a hint too dreamily, “Makes me feel better when you’re around.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
He slides a little bowl with a light salad in it to you across the counter, and it's perfectly refreshing. Not at all heavy like the pasta ends up being.
“Sorry I couldn’t finish it,” You say, forcing down a yawn and resisting the urge to burrow into your arms and go to sleep right there, “I feel bad that you went through the trouble of making it and heating it up.”
“It wasn’t that much effort. Besides, now you can just eat it for lunch tomorrow instead. I’ll send it home with you.”
“Mhm.” You hum, slowly inching your arms forward and down onto the counter, your head quickly following suit.
Jack chuckles, and you can hear the light step of his feet as he rounds the corner of the island and nudges you in the arm.
“Come on, sweetheart. You wanna get home to bed, don’t you?”
“No,” You shake your head, “I wanna sleep right here. It’s comfortable.”
“It won’t be when you wake up.”
You whine, curling away from him.
He just puffs another little laugh. “You can either sleep in your bed, or my bed. You can’t sleep on the kitchen island.”
“Why not?” You finally lift your head, “And why is your bed an option?”
“One,” He lifts up one finger in front of your face and slowly drags it back and forth, “Because the kitchen island is not a bed. Two, I’m not letting you sleep on the couch.”
“Why? Is your couch uncomfortable?”
“No,” He says, shuffling back over to where the leftovers are and tucking all the food away in the proper places, “It’s just not right to make a woman sleep on the couch.”
“I like sleeping on couches.”
He shoots you a look over his shoulder, “I’m sure you do. But you’re still a little drunk, and my bed is closer to the bathroom than the couch is.”
You prop your head on your hand. “Who said I’m even staying here tonight?”
Jack closes the fridge. “Do you want to? Because I don’t care either way. We both have tomorrow off.”
“It’d be weird to wake up here.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re my boss.”
“And I’m faking being your boyfriend so your parents get off your back. Pretty sure we’re past coworkers.”
“What would we even do in the morning?”
“Sleep.”
“I don’t want to kick you out of your bed. I’ll sleep on the couch.”
“You’re my guest–”
“You’re already doing so much for me,” You blurt, stomach clenching, “I– You know me. I can only handle so much. Let me do this one thing? Please?”
Jack glowers for a bit, then sighs.
“Only because you asked nicely and I believe in rewarding good behavior. And because I know my couch isn’t uncomfortable. I’ll help you make it up.”
Jack’s apartment is surprisingly tidy for the fact that a man lives in it (Christopher’s room at his parent’s house always looked like shit) and he pulls down a couple options for bedding. You go with the plain black sheet and its matching thick, fluffy comforter. He insists on making up the couch himself (despite the fact that the alcohol has mostly worn off by now) and even sets up a glass of water, a liquid IV packet, and a bucket– “Just in case those bellini’s don’t love you back.”
The sight of it all is almost too much. It’s just so much care. All of it. The fact that he’s helping out with you and your disaster of a family, the way that despite the horribleness of it all he hasn’t judged you at all for how you deal with them. He refuses to let you drive yourself, always pays for every lunch for your entire family and the little snacks you get afterwards. Listens to you rant and he makes you food and gets you blankets and–
“You okay there?”
“Mhm,” You hum, “Just thinkin’.”
He leaves you be for a moment, busies himself with fixing your pillows and and tugging the comforter into its proper place.
Before you can talk yourself out of it, you turn, throwing your arms around Jack’s middle and burying your face in his chest.
“Thank you,” You say, voice muffled by the fabric, “For doing all of this. Thank you for looking out for me.”
Jack is still for a second, just long enough for you to second guess initiating physical contact –a line you were previously too scared to cross– but then his hands come up and it's so, immediately, remarkably over. Because you’re never ever going to draw that line again. You can never go back to your life without having this. Without having him.
Jack’s hands are big and deliciously warm as they slide up, around your waist, lingering to rub a few circles on the mid of your back before moving on. One arm stays, tightening around your waist and drawing you closer while his other glides further up, up, up, his callused palms sliding over the knob at the very base of your neck before his hand settles around your nape, fingers just barely brushing the edge of your hairline.
You barely manage to suppress a whine at how warm and incredible it feels to be fully enveloped by him. You never want him to let go. Goosebumps erupt everywhere he touches, little sparks of electricity lingering under your skin in his wake.
“I will always,” He presses the lightest of kisses to your temple, just a feathering of his lips, “Look out for you, baby. I’m always gonna be right here.”
His arms tighten around you, drawing you in— closer, closer, closer. Wrapped up in everything that is Jack you can’t help but sag, going completely boneless in his grip and allowing yourself to just bask in him.
“You smell good.” You mumble into his shirt, completely lost in the moment.
“Do I?”
“Yeah. Good. Like man.”
He chuckles, the sound vibrating pleasantly against your cheek. “Thank you sweetheart.”
“Why do you call me sweetheart?”
“Because you’re a sweetheart.”
“I am?”
“Don’t play dumb now,” He pulls back a little, just enough to get a good look at you, fingers curling in the fine hair at your nape and tugging down, angling your chin up so you’re forced to look at him, “You know you are.”
You shrug, eyes darting to the side, your cheeks flushing, “I don’t know. I was just making sure.”
“Mhm.” He hums, tone almost mocking, fingers tightening around your hair just before the precipice of pain.
You stay like that for a few moments of charged silence. Jack’s eyes shamelessly rove over the planes of your face, mapping it out in his mind. He keeps his grip on your hair, not completely forcing eye contact but keeping your head firmly in place.
It’s possessive. Bold. Probably too intimate for two people who (supposedly) are not actually dating
And you love it.
Jack only lets his hand (and your head) drop when your jaw opens in a splitting yawn.
“Okay,” He huffs, taking a step back, “Time for bed. Get going.”
Embarrassment is the only thing keeping you from whining at the loss of contact and impending reality of sleeping on the couch alone. But you made your bed (figuratively) so now you have to lie in it.
The couch does look comfortable. Especially since Jack put all the blankets together.
He waits until you’ve crawled under the comforter to bid you goodnight, followed by a parting reminder to “Wake him up if you start aspirating on vomit.” It’s a very Jack thing to say.
You’re out almost the second Jack turns the lights off. You fall into deep, blissful sleep, dreaming of that final moment in the living room, your eyes boring into each other.
Except in the dream, you tilt your head up those last few inches, and kiss your fake boyfriend as hard as you can.
–
Generally, the annual lecture event ends with a massive blow out argument. Something dramatic and filled with expletives, after which your mother will refuse to answer any texts or calls you send before finally telling you that’s she’s sorry if (always if) something she said offended you, but talking to you is just so hard sometimes so she doesn’t want to unless you’re ready to be more civil. By the time the two of you are on neutral terms again, it’s time for the next annual lunch circuit.
You’re a mess of nerves in the hours before the last one. Like usual, your mom requested that the last dinner be held at your place. “So it can feel like a real family dinner.” While you know that there isn’t any saying no to your mother, you also know that there is no way you’re cramming your entire family in your tiny ass studio apartment. It happened once. It will not happen again.
You originally asked Jack during a last minute shift you both got called in to cover if he would help you move some of the furniture at your place to accommodate them, and then he’d gotten this incredulous look on his face and then told you to tell your mom that you’re having dinner at his place.
“Jack,” You’d gaped at him, “It’s fine. My apartment isn’t that small, and you don’t have to help move the furniture if you don’t want to. I can ask Dennis to give me a hand instead. I really don’t think you want to host my family.”
“Sweetheart, it’s just logic. You’ve seen my place.”
“Okay. No need to rub it in.”
He’d just rolled his eyes and pinned you with a firm look. “Come on. You know this is the best option. If your mom throws a fit, tell her I insisted and give her my number.”
“Do you have a death wish?” You hiss, “That’s asking for torture.”
Jack had just shrugged. “Would having it at my place be easier for you?”
“...Yes?”
“Then we’ll do it there. You’re off in a bit, right?”
You’d nodded.
He fishes something small and shiny out of his pocket and tosses it to you. “That’s my spare key. I’ll be here later than you, so just let yourself in if you want to get there earlier to start setting up. I’ll be home soon.”
Robby shouted his name soon after and Jack was whisked away, leaving you standing in the middle of the ED, holding the fucking spare key to his apartment, gaping like a fish.
The line between real and fake has become so blurred you’re not sure if it ever was there to begin with.
He’s started calling you sweetheart more and more often– sometimes when no one's around. No familial audience to be persuaded into the romantic lie you’re selling. Is it still a lie if it doesn’t feel like one anymore?
The question and accompanying feeling follows you all day. All throughout your harried dinner preparation. Even now, with a solid hour until your family is supposed to start showing up, you can’t help but pace the length of Jack’s kitchen, heeled feet clicking on his floor. Jack himself is similarly dressed up, wearing a pair of dark jeans (“I’m not wearing slacks in my own home, and I’m not old enough to start wearing khakis with everything.”) and a black button down shirt with the first two buttons undone and the sleeves rolled up to his forearms. He makes a very nice view and under other circumstances you might take the opportunity to climb him like a tree. But alas. Anxiety.
“Take your shoes off if you’re going to pace. You’re gonna give yourself blisters.”
You ignore him, chewing on an already stinging cuticle.
“Things have been pretty good this far, right? Do you think she’s just waiting until the very end to bring up some secret thing that she’s upset about?”
Jack begins preparing the wine –your mother only likes red– for decanting. “I think if your mother were that upset about something she wouldn’t be able to hide it.”
“True. But what if?”
“I’m not going to help you spiral.”
“Why not?” You whine.
He looks at you with a heavy glare and points to the shoe tray at the door. “Shoes. Off. You can put them back on when they get here.”
You grumble under your breath the entire way but comply. Only because your feet were starting to hurt.
When your family finally does arrive, it ends up being annoyingly anti-climactic. You spend the entire time on the edge of your seat (literally and figuratively) waiting for the other shoe to drop. Waiting for conversation to turn sour, arguments to erupt, someone to choke on a piece of lettuce and die despite professional intervention.
But the argument never starts, conversation remains what it usually is and becomes no worse (or better, unfortunately) and no one passes away due to unevenly chopped vegetables.
The torture is over fairly quickly. Most everyone’s flight back home leaves early the next morning and your dad is paranoid about flight times.
Pretty soon it’s all just… over. They leave, your mother bickering with your father on the way out about something that probably doesn’t matter, and then it’s just you and Jack and the entire scheme is just done. Finished. Just like that.
There won't be anymore knee's brushing under the table, no more shared glances and pecks to the cheek when you make a joke that actually lands. No more excuses just to sit and watch him under the guise of playing the adoring girlfriend. No more late night milkshakes.
You'll just go back to being coworkers-- People who pretend not to know each other intimately. Jack probably won't struggle with it. But to you, right now, the idea of just not having him anymore seems like a another wound, right over top all the others.
You don't want him to become another person who used to know you.
You’ve been staring at the closed door for upwards of five full minutes, clenching and unclenching your fists when Jack comes up next to you. He hands you the same clothes you wore the last time you were there and jerks his head in the direction of the bathroom.
“Why don’t you go and change, huh?”
Your lip wobbles a bit as you answer. “But I want to help you clean up.”
“You can,” He soothes, “After you change.”
“But–”
“Hey,” He interrupts, “No. You’ve been stuck in those clothes for hours. Go change. I’ll wait for you.”
Jack keeps his word. He’s leaned up against the kitchen island when you emerge, rubbing at your –now bare, having had the foresight to bring makeup wipes with you– face.
He looks up when the door opens. “Better?”
“Yeah. Thanks.”
He just hums, heading back over to the kitchen table, stacking plates and cutlery. You follow in silence, and he thankfully doesn’t push for conversation.
Cleaning up doesn’t take long enough. Jack has a fancy dishwasher (and probably doesn’t want to stay standing any more than he has to this late in the day) and there aren’t any leftovers to pack up. Your brothers are bottomless pits when it comes to free food.
It can’t just be over like this. It can't.
When everything is finished and there isn't anything left to do, Jack wordlessly leads you to the couch and puts something quiet and calm on the TV. The white noise washes over you as you attempt to get comfortable, but the knowledge that it's all over proves to be an itch under your skin that you just can't seem to squash.
“So,” You say after the two of you are seated on opposite ends of the couch, “That’s it then.”
“So it is.”
“Guess I owe you big time, huh?”
“I’ve already told you I don’t care about that.”
“Right,” You look down at your lap, “Yeah. Sorry.”
You lapse into silence.
Jack sighs. “Sweetheart–”
“Was it fake to you?” You blurt, jiggling your knee, still staring at your lap, “Were you– did you mean it?”
It never felt fake. It never felt like pretending.
It felt real.
It felt like, for the first time in your life, things could be easy.
Maybe easy isn't the right word. But it life sure as hell didn't feel as hard.
When you look up, uncomfortable in his silence and hoping there’s answers in his face, but instead of finding something like disappointment or irritation, he’s grinning.
“What do you think?”
“I don’t know.”
He dips his head once. “Yes you do. You’re a smart girl, I think you can figure it out.”
Your fingers are curled around the hem of his sweatshirt, white-knuckling the fabric as if to stabilize yourself. Like you’re liable to somehow float away if you don’t dig your heels into the couch and hold on tight.
“What if I’m wrong?”
“You won’t be.”
A scoff escapes your lips, “You can’t know for sure.”
He taps his pointer finger on his leg in an unhurried rhythm.
“You do.”
Your stomach is rolling in a combination of leftover anxiety from the dinner that went better than it was supposed to and the weight of Jack’s gaze on you.
“I think…” You pause, worry threatening to overwhelm you, and take a deep breath before continuing, “I think you might like me.”
“You think,” He drawls, “I might.”
“I don’t want to be wrong!” You cry.
Jack huffs, throwing his head back in a good-natured sigh.
“Come here.”
You scoot further down the couch, sitting criss-cross right in front of him. This is not going the way you thought it would. You were almost certain you’d walk away shamed and embarrassed, forced to fake your death and flee the country out of the sheer humiliation of thinking your boss would actually have a crush on you.
Jack does love to prove you wrong.
“Soo,” You start, still hesitant, “You do like me.”
Jack props his head on his hand, his expression something you’re starting to recognize as fond. “Yes.”
“More than a little?”
“Yes.”
“And you weren’t faking anything. You were serious about the— You know.”
“Use your words.”
“The flirting.” You clarify, ears burning.
“All correct,” He nods, “Though I would have said it differently.”
You frown. “And how would you have put it?”
“I would have said,” He reaches out, snagging your arm and tugging until you fall down onto his chest with a little oof, “That you have a hard time believing things that are good, so I had to audition for my role. Like old-fashioned courting.”
You want to be offended, but unfortunately, it did work.
You frown.
Wait.
“Have you known I liked you this whole time?”
Jack snorts. “Overheard you talking to Whitaker about it during your second week.”
He’s known since the second week?
“Oh my god.”
“Don’t worry, I didn’t tell anyone. Except Robby. He’s been hoping you would figure it out for awhile now.”
“Oh my god.”
“I thought it was cute,” He smoothes a hand over your hair, “You were so much more nervous back then. You’ve come a long way.”
You shift uncomfortably at the praise, but Jack’s having none of it. He wraps his arms around you, holding you in place.
“Can you take a compliment?”
“No.”
He re-positions under you, getting more comfortable. “We’ll try again later.”
“Am I– Can I stay here tonight then?”
“Of course,” he murmurs, “My one condition is that you’re not sleeping on the couch.”
“Fine,” You sigh, long and drawn out, “I suppose we can share.”
“How kind of you to share my bed with me.”
“I have been told I’m kind.”
You both smile, and everything just feels so right and so perfect that you can't help but lean up, clearing the last few inches, and pressing a hesitant, gentle kiss to his lips.
It’s just like your dream.
Only this time, it’s real. And Jack is kissing you back.
Dr. Brendon Park x AFAB!female!reader; ex!Robby x AFAB!female!reader (but like they aren't anything)
Summary: In the midst of Robby's downward spiral, he ended your relationship and proceeded to be immature and treat you poorly. After time, healing, and reflection, you find yourself believing in something, or someone, again. Only this time, it’s with Brendon Park. This fuels Robby's lashing out at people as he finally gets his karma. Inspired by the Chappell Roan song 🩷 This is going to be the first part of at least two, if not three part fic. I'll see where the story takes me!
CW: minimally edited/reviewed, discussion of depression, explicit language, breakup so angsty but also lots of comfort, reader has hair, suggestive language/scenes so MDNI, making out (mwah!), like not smut but almost, reluctant(?) proximity
WC: 3.9k
A/N: this isn't meant to be a complete dunk on Robby because he deserves healing and happiness too but that doesn't excuse the way he treated his staff! This was lowk inspired by me being peeved that Noah Wyle refuses to give us a night shift season and said that its primarily mothers going to the ER at night and its "boring." My friend's husband who is a night shift ER doctor would beg to differ. Anyway! Hope you enjoy. Also thank you for 76 followers!!!
It shouldn't have been a shock to you, not really. You'd just never thought that Robby would do this to you. He knew that kicking you out when you had nowhere to go was cruel but he did it anyway. As a resident, you were making crumbs while under a crushing amount of medical school debt. That’s why you were sniffling in the stairwell; overwhelmed, upset, and scared. Maybe you could pull a Whitaker and live in the hospital…. what the fuck had your life come to?
Overcome with more emotion, a new wave of tears rolled down your cheeks. You tried, unsuccessfully, to sob silently but to no avail. You wished more than anything you could cry at home but you didn't even have one of those anymore. Suddenly, a door above you opened and heavy footsteps were headed your way. You quickly wiped away your tears and prayed to every deity possible to make it look like you hadn’t just been crying. All too soon, you were peering up at Dr. Brendon Park, who had stopped moving the moment he saw you. Great. The least sympathetic person in the entire hospital walks in on this pitiful scene. He'd probably lose any respect he might have had for you just given the state you were in.
He stared down at you and slowly continued to approach. “What happened?”
You really didn't want to share the sordid details of your breakup with the Shark. Naturally, a fib fell from your lips. “Nothing.... I just, um, I have really intense allergies.”
He stared at you, silent, not even entertaining your obvious lie. Anyone could tell you’d been crying your eyes out because your eyes were watery, red, and your whole face was puffy.
Much to your surprise, he lowered himself on the stairs to take a seat next to you. This time when he spoke, he used a softer voice and asked, “are you ok?” You really weren’t expecting that. Which is how you found yourself sobbing again, but this time, into Park’s chest, wetting his scrubs with tears and snot. Park absentmindedly rubbed your back while you were calming down. It was grounding and soothing -- it felt nice.
You both sat in silence for a little longer before you finally spoke up. You figured he deserved a little explanation since his scrubs were ruined for maybe the rest of his shift. Plus, he didn't have to comfort you. He could have just as easily ignored you and went on his merry way. You wouldn't have even held it against him.
You cleared your throat and with shaky breath, you explained, “Robby, uh, robby just broke up with me and told me to get my stuff out of his place by tomorrow night. It would be fine if I had a place to crash but I’ll figure it out. I’m just… really fucking sad and mad at myself for letting this happen. I knew it was going to end soon, I just didn't think.... I'd hoped he wouldn't do something like this.”
You didn’t see it, still buried in the warmth of Brendon’s chest but his jaw clenched at your admission. What stupid asshole breaks up with their girlfriend at work and kicks her out?
“If you’re going to be mad at anyone, be mad at Robinavitch. That’s beyond fucked up.”
You weren’t sure why but that made you laugh. Maybe it was mania setting in or the ridiculousness of the situation but it was suddenly very funny to you. Your laughter bubbled up out of you, uncontrollable and bright. You still couldn't see his face, but he was smiling a bit to himself at the sound, grateful you had a momentary reprieve in sadness to laugh.
Brendon started to stroke your hair as you laughed and asked, “what’s so funny?”
Turning your head to look up at him, you said, “I just never thought the Shark would be the one to comfort me.”
He gave the slightest smile and said, “hey, I’m full of surprises.” Finally extricating yourself from him, you replied, "yeah, I guess so. Thanks by the way." Before you could start to get up, his warm hand gently wrapped around your wrist, stopping you in your tracks.
"You can crash at mine if you'd like. I have a guest room."
You were sure your eyes were as wide as saucers. The Shark was offering his home to you? Were you dreaming?
"Yeah, that would be--," unable to help yourself, you asked him the obvious question, "why? Why would you offer your place, you don't know me very well and you're comforting me as I'm a wreck and I ruined your shirt--"
Brendon swiftly cut you off as he heard emotion rising in your voice again, threatening to bubble over. He looked you square in the eyes and said, "because that's what you need."
You were speechless. Who knew Park the Shark could be so kind? You rushed forward and slammed into his chest, wrapping your arms around him in a tight hug.
"Thank you so much!" Before he could respond or even hug you back, your pager went off and you ran out of the stairwell and back to work.
After your shift from hell, Trinity, Javadi, and Whitaker all provided moral and physical support by helping you gather your things from Robby's. Luckily (or depressingly), all you had were clothes, toiletries, books, your laptop, a few trinkets, and a couple random kitchen items, which all fit in the back of Javadi's car with room to spare. At least Robby hadn't come home while you emptied his place of the evidence you ever existed in it. Needless to say, you were choking back tears all over again.
Once the car was packed, you stared at the outside of his house for maybe the last time. Reality sunk in again and your mind swirled with aching thoughts. It was an end of an era, of a relationship, of a life with someone you loved. How could it be taken away so quickly and without remorse or concern for you? Your friends must have noticed you were on the verge of tears because you were quickly wrapped in a bear hug from all three of them. It wasn't like you guys to not bicker and tease -- you must have been in a really bad spot to garner harmony and support from the group. Once more, you allowed yourself to let go, lose yourself in your sadness, and cried into the hug, shaking and exhausted.
With a teary smile, you pulled away and said, "let's go see the Shark's lair."
Javadi laughed and said, "yeah, I still can't believe he offered to let you stay with him."
"Me either. But beggars can't be choosers."
Trinity sent a smirk your way. "Oh please, I think if you had another option you'd still chose to stay with Park, what with the fuck-me-eyes you give him during consults."
Your mouth dropped open. "I do NOT give him fuck-me-eyes!" Trinity simply kept her smirk plastered to her face and muttered under her breath, "whatever you say."
Truthfully, you did find the surgeon attractive. Come on, you clearly had a thing for older men. But he was.... something else with his imposing stature, mean stare, and big fucking muscles. But until now, you hadn't really thought about it all too much. He was eye-candy, off-limits while you were in a relationship. But now, you found yourself very much not single.
Huffing, you pushed the absurd idea out of your mind. The man was offering a place to stay -- it was against so many morals to be sexualizing the poor guy. You'd respect him and his home and absolutely wouldn't think about him that way.
Yeah fucking right.
The first hours at Brendon's was... awkward to say the least. Neither of you were sure how to interact with the other or move in the now shared space. Currently, you were sitting on the guest bed, attempting to scrounge up some courage to go back downstairs. You couldn't stay in your bedroom forever, no matter how tempting hiding away was.
Before you could stop yourself, you got to your feet and made your way downstairs. The closer you got to the kitchen, the stronger a wonderful aroma of garlic and olive oil became. Brendon was preparing something, you weren't sure what, but it smelled fucking delicious. Your stomach grumbled, effectively announcing your presence to him.
Brendon turned, and much to your mortification, said, "I'd ask if you were hungry but I think I know the answer to that." You dropped his gaze in shyness, unable to figure out how to respond. You should be grateful, and of course you were, that he was allowing you to stay and offering you dinner after what was arguably one of the worst shifts of your life. You couldn't help but feel burdensome and once that was added to your already full plate of emotions, you weren't sure what to do with yourself.
Noticing your internal distress, Brendon's brows knitted together in concern. Setting the spatula down, he completely turned to face you. "Hey, I didn't mean anything by that --"
Before he could get further into an absolutely unnecessary apology, you interrupted him, saying, "no, no, please don't apologize. I just, I feel like such a burden right now and I don't know when I'll be able to get out of your hair and I just feel bad that you're letting me stay and now you're making dinner. I feel useless and burdensome I guess." Wow. You weren't expecting this radical honesty to pour out of you, but clearly, you couldn't help it. It had been a long day and it was simply too tiring to try to jump through the hoops of deciding what to share and what not to share.
"You're not a burden. I offered to let you stay and I'm offering food because I want to -- I don't do things I don't want to do. I'm a surgeon, I'm not hurting for cash." Blunt, but true. He owned a gorgeous brownstone that would have Architecture Digest salivating at the opportunity to film. Natural light poured into the kitchen and because the sun was setting, it bathed everything in a beautiful orange hue.
Feeling a bit more comfortable, you truly took in his place. It was impeccably clean (of course) and thoughtfully decorated. Brendon watched you take in your surroundings, oblivious to his assessing gaze and clear desire to know what you thought of it etched on his face.
You smiled as you spotted some family pictures on his wall. It was sort of odd to see him smiling in the picture since it was so different to his intense no-bullshit vibe at work. "Woah, you have a huge family." You turned to look at him and he had his back to you once more, back to stirring whatever was in the saucepan.
"Yeah. I'm grateful for them, especially my sisters."
You hummed in response, continuing to browse but very much filing that piece of information away. A man with sisters tended to be such a green flag. God, you were like a dog with a damn bone. Your relationship with Robby hadn't even been truly over for more than 10 hours and here you were, noticing Brendon. But if you were honest, your relationship with Robby had been dead for a long time. He'd stopped giving affection long ago and foolishly, you stayed, clinging to the tattered remnants of what used to make you happy. There was a part of you that couldn't help it: you were a lover girl through and through, even at times to your detriment. You knew that the relationship was on life support, you'd basically been his emotional punching bag, but still. you hoped for better. Like a fucking fool.
As you mentally chastised yourself and got lost in your relationship rumination, Park's voice cut through the air again. "The two of them actually designed my place."
"No kidding. Gosh, they're talented. You'll have to tell them my compliments to the chef."
He chuckled and said, "they know it too. They actually co-own an interior design business. I'm lucky they put this place together for me." Fondness and affection seeped through his voice, obvious and unhidden. In one fell swoop, Park had completely undone the idea you had of him in your head. You'd unfairly characterized him as an unfeeling ortho bro, which he clearly was not. Maybe it was better or easier for him to be intense at work. After all, a great deal of responsibility and expectations fell to him.
Wanting to broach the subject of your stay again, you said, "so about my staying here...." Park turned around and gave you his attention, which felt heavy and set your nerves on fire.
"Yes?" Oh. He really wasn't going to make this easy. Upon seeing you floundering, he expanded on his short response, "I need you to use words and ask what you want."
His command, the sureness of his tone, made your thighs clench together. Jesus fucking CHRIST get a hold of yourself. You hoped with every cell in your body he didn't clock that reaction.
"I just mean, I'm not sure how long it will take for me to find a place I can afford that is safe and close enough to the hospital. Of course if you need me out of here by a certain time, I'll go. I just wanted to know if you had a timeline."
"No. It takes how long it takes. And you don't need to rush. You should be in a nice, safe, convenient, and affordable apartment. Don't worry about how long it takes." You let out a breath you didn't know you were holding in. You felt relieved and reassured, which is honestly better than you felt even this morning, pre-breakup.
"Ok, soup's on. I made my grandma's minestrone." Brandon handed you a bowl full of steaming food and you knew it was going to hit so different just based on the smell and the family recipe of it all.
"I -- thank you." You were filled with emotion again and god, you wanted to stop crying in front of him and stop crying period, but he was just being so nice and caring. You knew you wanted to repay him somehow, eventually, but you didn't know what that would look like. No one had ever been so selfless and kind to you, especially someone who barely knew you.
You both tucked into your dinner and as expected, the minestrone was amazing. It was truly a comfort dish for you in this moment. Wanting to lighten the mood, mainly your mood, you said, "a surgeon, a cook, and a shoulder to cry on? What can't you do?"
He gave you a smile and replied, "like I said, I'm full of surprises." Now you knew that you would keep stumbling on these surprises, uncovering who he really was, transforming the way you saw Brendon Park.
After three weeks, you'd entered into a sort of routine with him, where you'd trade off chores. At first, Brendon vehemently protested, saying you were his guest and shouldn’t have to help, which you met with your own claims against being a freeloader. Reluctantly, he started to let you help prepare meals and clean. But grocery shopping... well that was a dual task. It was sickeningly domestic and even more disgustingly, you'd come to enjoy it. It was a sacred time with Brendon, where he was relaxed and sometimes teasing, which you ate up and relished. You enjoyed it so much you didn't even think about how you'd never done this with Robby until you were in the cereal aisle and Brendon put in your honey-nut Cheerios without needing to confirm you wanted them. It dawned on you how strange it felt to be... noticed. That really sucked to realize because of all the people who should pay attention and remember things about you, you'd expect it to have been your boyfriend.
After that, you couldn't help but continue to compare living with Brendon vs Robby. With Robby, everyday tasks were never shared. You'd actually preferred it that way because it felt natural with him and it seemed efficient at the very least. But with Brendon, even if it wasn't your night to cook, you were in the kitchen, keeping him company. Sometimes you two didn't talk; you simply fell into a comfortable silence and rhythm. Of course, you weren't in a relationship with Brendon but it felt so much simpler and lighter than mundane tasks with Robby. You didn't feel like you were constantly trying to please him or gauge how he was reacting to something. No. Brendon was blunt, honest, and didn’t like to play guessing games. It was incredibly refreshing.
At times, you felt guilty for how much you enjoyed staying with Brendon and seeing this unguarded, intimate version of him. The constant comparison between him and Robby didn't help either because no matter what it was, Brendon was always coming out on top. Fuck. This couldn't be healthy. You shouldn't want him, hell, you shouldn't even be thinking of him this way. Shame curled in your chest, sharp and demanding. You needed to get out of his house and fast.
As soon as you could, you opened your laptop to look at apartment listings while Brendon put away the groceries. You were spread out on the couch, pinching the bridge of your nose as you scrolled Zillow. So far, anything remotely in your price range was either in a questionable part of the city or too far from the hospital to be considered a reasonable commute. Park walked into the living room and sat next to your head, peering over you to look at the listings.
"Can't live there, that's where half the GSW victims come from."
Huffing, you complained, "I know, its hopeless to try to find a place on resident salary. I need to look into housing assistance or something."
Brendon hummed in response and you continued your efforts, in vain, to try to find an apartment. Absentmindedly, he started to play with your hair and it felt.... really fucking nice. You weren't sure when the two of you crossed the threshold to such comfortability but his casual touches and attention were more than welcome.
"I can ask my sisters if they know anything about that, they have a lot of connections with relators and landlords because of their business. And not slumlords, local landlords who are the most ideal form of landlord you can get."
You leaned your head back to look at him and said, "that would be really great, thank you so much."
Halfheartedly, you resumed your scrolling and he continued to play with your hair, which was making your heart beat out of your chest. Clearing his throat, he said, "you don't need to keep thanking me for everything."
Sitting up, you turned to face him on the couch. "I'll stop thanking you when you stop giving me reasons to be grateful."
Smirking he shot back, "is that a challenge for me to be an asshole?"
"Well, don't challenge my manners."
The air was charged with tension and now your heart was truly thumping in your chest so hard, you were convinced he could hear it. His beautiful blue eyes were sharp and alert but also two shades darker than normal. He licked his lips and your eyes hungrily tracked the movement. When you locked eyes again, you knew, god, you knew that he caught you.
"Wouldn't dream of it sweetheart."
When did you two get so close? You could practically feel his body heat radiating off of him. Your knees were touching and even that burned. You felt like a teenage girl again, like she was with her crush, alone for the first time. What's worse is that he seemed annoyingly, unfairly calm. He was relaxed into the couch, breathing completely normally. The only indication that he was affected were his eyes, which were now low and lidded.
You brought your hand to cup his jaw, feeling the stubble and savoring its friction against your skin. Your eyes traced his face, taking him in. To your delight, he had the faintest blush on his cheeks and you felt like the cat that got the cream. You felt like you were in a trance, a fog of desire that dictated what you did.
"I never thought I'd see the Shark blush."
Something dangerous flashed in his eyes at your teasing. You felt pretty pleased with yourself, rendering him into a blushing mess. Little did you know, you'd only have the upper hand for about two more seconds. Brendon nuzzled his face into your hand and kissed your wrist, pulling a gasp from you. Then he leaned ever so close to your face, lips brushing along your jaw, so, so, so close yet so achingly far from where you wanted them.
"Yeah? Well lucky you." He had the self-assured tone you'd heard from him so many times but now, it was making your thighs push together. Impatiently, you moved your head to finally capture his lips in a kiss. It started off gentle and exploratory, but soon enough, he had weaved a hand into the nape of your neck, pulling your head back to deepen the kiss with better access. You couldn't help it, you fucking moaned. He devoured the sound; devoured you. He was kissing the life out of you and you fucking loved it.
When you pulled away for some air, he chased your lips. Before he could reach you, you decided to climb into his lap. He groaned as your hips met his and placed his hands on your waist, squeezing you there oh so nicely. Your hands were everywhere, on his shoulders, then his chest, messing up his hair, and then gripping his biceps.
Neither of you knew how much time passed. You were lost in the moment, lost in him -- how he felt, smelled, and touched. You were no stranger to kissing, clearly, but... it was safe to say no one had kissed you like this before. You weren't sure if you could remember your name. The only thing you were sure of was that Brendon Park was taking you apart at the seams and you were only too happy to let him do so.
"Please, please, please..." You could hardly recognize your whiny voice and you weren't even sure what you were begging for.
"What, baby, what?" God, he was so sweet.
"I need you."
"You have me."
"No I need more of you."
At that, he cupped your jaw holding you away from him to look you in the eyes. "Are you sure?"
And because he always gifted you his honesty and bluntness, you knew you needed to return the favor. "I've never been more sure of anything. Yes."
"Fuck." It sounded like it was punched out of him, like he was in disbelief with what was happening. He gave you another sweet kiss and then he was pulling you up and leading you to his bedroom.
Summary: You're the person who has to deal with the consequences of Brendon Park's actions, which means you're the only one willing to bite his head off. You want to strangle him; he wants to kiss your feet.
A/N: nobody needs a woman to yell at him like park the shark
Word Count: 6.2k
There is exactly one sound on earth known to make Emergency Department attending physicians with decades of experience under their belt run for the hills and cower under cover – and that’s high heels.
Your high heels, specifically.
It’s not a common sound in the emergency room or the hospital as a whole; most healthcare employees are in sneakers, clogs, or boots the entire time they’re clocked in. But not you. Always dressed pristinely – today it’s high-waisted tailored slacks and a mock-neck sleeveless blouse, effortless and simple with legs that go on for miles and miles – you stalk through the hospital with a mission.
Robby spots you first, strolling in from the offices with eyeliner sharp enough to slice. As his eyes widen, he flips around, briefly touches Abbot and Park on their backs, and hisses, “Find cover, gentlemen. It’s the Viper.”
Abbot breaks into a near run toward the closest open patient room he can find. While Robby scans the area for his hiding place, Park asks, “What the hell’s going on?”
Robby hustles in the opposite direction with a shrug. “Every man for himself, Shark.”
Then a bright, clear, loud woman’s voice bowls down the ED like an oncoming storm. “Dr. Park, just the man I’ve been looking for.”
Even Al-Hashimi claps him on the back and runs off with a whispered, “Good luck.”
You join him in the next second. In your heels, which aren’t even that tall, you’re looking him square in the eyes. Smiling through lips coated in a deep maroon, you ask him, “How’s the transfer to the ED treating you, doctor?”
Arms crossed over his chest, Brendon eyes you suspiciously. “Ah, good, so far. I prefer trauma to ortho. The stakes are higher. Feels good at the end of the day. Accomplished.”
“Glad to hear it. I just need a couple minutes; I know you’re busy. Can we talk here or would you like to go to my office?”
Not noticing the way every single doctor and nurse is nervously glancing in your direction, Brendon mutters, “Here’s fine if it’s quick.”
“Great!” You unlock your briefcase on the nurse’s station and remove a binder as thick as a textbook. Voice still sweet and teasing, you tut at him, “You’ve made yourself very difficult for me to find, Brendon Park.”
“I’m usually in surgery,” he replies, confused and suspicious. He vaguely recognizes you from somewhere, but he can’t quite place it. Probably just flitting around the ED when he’s been here for consults, but it’s entirely possible you’re the hot woman on PTMC’s billboard over I-376. “What’s this about?”
You introduce yourself, shaking his massive hand with yours (blood red stiletto manicure and all), and explain, “I’m the Emergency Department’s Patient Advocate Supervisor.”
“Ah,” Park sighs, eyes raking up and down your accentuated curves, “you’re my new Kevin. He was a huge pain in my ass; I hope our relationship will be better.”
“No, Kevin is a patient advocate and a damn good one, considering he had to deal with your mountain of issues; ortho’s equivalent of me is an idiot who lets the monkeys run the circus,” you correct with harsh eyes. All pretense of pleasantness gone. Brendon looks at you like you’re speaking Klingon, so you slow down your words like he’s a child and explain, “The patient advocates give their evaluations to me. I analyze them and write reports on each and every doctor in the department.”
His brows furrow. “I thought that was Gloria’s-”
“I don’t work for the hospital,” you say, offended by the very idea. “Hospital employees are beholden to the board and the bottom line. I’m a medical malpractice lawyer that the hospital contracts from a private firm to whip their doctors into shape. I don’t care about anything but how patients get treated while they’re here in the ED. I’m more than happy to testify against you in court, recommend probations and suspensions, advocate for salary cuts, or whatever else you might need to be a little more motivated to do your fucking job.”
He lets out a defensive half-chuckle sound, not quite believing the way you’re speaking to him when he’s used to nothing but deference from his coworkers. “I do my job just fine.”
You tap the thick binder and say, “This is your disciplinary folder, Dr. Park. You cut up patients just fine – and that’s an apt description, considering your outcomes aren’t any better than the other surgeons you treat like imbeciles despite doing identical work to yours.” He scoffs and goes to argue, but you barrel ahead, “Don’t ever interrupt me and don’t ever try to correct me; I don’t say things unless I’m completely certain they’re backed up by the data.”
With wide eyes, Brendon confirms, “That’s my file?”
“Yes. You have more patient complaints than any other surgeon in the hospital. I had to switch it from a folder because it has so many entries your previous PAS didn’t go through, so now I have to deal with a two-year backlog. She didn’t do her job of keeping you in line and I won’t be repeating her mistake. Your luck has run out; I expect you in my office at five this Friday for a comprehensive review of your existing file and every Friday after that until your performance improves.”
With his mind reeling, all Brendon can get out is, “Ah, I usually head out early on Fridays. Do a long surgery in the morning and get home by three or four.”
“I know that; I have your schedule history.” With a pat to his shoulder, you smile and tell him, “I want you to spend every weekend from now on thinking about how fucking annoying it is that some bitch from legal won’t let you leave the hospital until seven – and remember that it’s your own fault for being an asshole to patients and it’ll end as soon as you try to be nice and smile for once.”
Slack-jawed, Brendon just watches as you turn on your red-soled heels and head toward your next victim. After a couple of steps, though, you turn back toward him and add, “Oh, and welcome to the Emergency Department. I’m sure you’ll fit right in.”
And all that’s left of you is a waft of warm, citrusy perfume. Park leans against the nurse’s station and breathes out slowly as the other attendings gradually reappear. Baffled, he just shakes his head and runs a hand through his hair. “What the fuck?”
Robby slaps him on the back. “A good public reaming by the Viper is a rite of passage in the Pitt; you were bound to get your first one sometime. You’re one of us now.”
Feeling dizzy and breathless, Brendon says softly but confidently, “I’m gonna marry that woman.”
Robby shakes his head and snorts out a laugh, “That’s a fucked up thing to say.”
“No, no, I can see it,” Jack cuts in, chuckling too. “You’d have the tallest, smartest, meanest children around.”
“I’m serious,” Park insists. A smile threatens his lips. “Give me six months, boys, and I’ll have a ring on that finger.”
“Not a chance in hell,” Robby replies simply. “I heard she dumped her last boyfriend because he polished her shoes with the wrong rag. She doesn’t want a man; she wants a whipping boy.”
Brendon looks between them both and sighs almost wistfully. “A girl like that? I’d let her whip me any time she wanted to, especially if I ruined her $1,000 heels.”
It’s Jack’s turn to laugh. Shaking his head as he grabs a new chart, he mutters, “Something is deeply wrong with you, man.”
That evening, Park waits around your office for you to leave, hustling behind you when you stroll past in your stylish knee-length coat, ready to brave the autumn air. You see him in the corner of your eye and hold up a hand. “Whatever it is, it can wait until morning.”
“No, no, I don’t need anything,” he assures, quickening his pace to match step with your relentless one. “I think we got off on the wrong foot back there, Ms. Viper.”
You cut him a smirk. “Based on your file, I have a sneaking suspicion that’s how things usually go for you.”
“Well, I’d like to apologize for making your life so difficult over dinner and expensive wine.”
You stop in your tracks and turn around; he nearly barrels into you as he stops short. “Are you seriously asking me out on a date right now?”
“Yeah, I absolutely am. Are you saying yes?”
“Wow, you really do have all the social grace of a baboon.” With your hand on his chest, you give him the cruelest and most effortlessly dismissive laugh he’s ever heard, like he’s a snail by your foot and not an attractive, successful doctor. It makes him shiver. “You’re punching above your weight class, Dr. Park.”
But he just gives you a hunky grin, undeterred. “I can bench almost twice what I weigh; how much bigger do I need to get to take you out?”
You chuckle and reply, “Lift a thousand pounds with one hand.”
“No problem; give me two days.”
Trying to push down how charming he is, you turn at the entrance to the parking garage and tell him simply, “I’ll see you on Friday for your review.”
“Perfect.” He nods and, like it’s an assignment, confirms, “I’ll be done by then for sure.”
Friday afternoon, right on time, Brendon knocks on your office door. He pushes it open when you call for him to and slips inside with the air of a child who knows he’s in trouble.
“Sit,” you order, nodding to the chairs on the opposite side of your desk. He does so right away, clearly waiting to hear what you have to say instead of jumping into something himself. You set the contents of his disciplinary file on the desk and gesture to the piles. “Well, your reputation certainly precedes you, Dr. Park.”
He tries out a smirk to keep some semblance of confidence. “Not the first time I’ve heard that.”
You tilt your head and narrow your eyes. “Been a bully your whole life, then?”
“I meant more that-”
“Yeah, I’m not stupid.” You show him each of the three piles of paperwork and explain, “Since you started in the ED, I’ve been sorting through the complaints against you. This tallest stack is complaints I can handle myself without your help or where your help would only make things worse.”
“What does that mean?”
You level him with a gaze so stern it makes him squirm. “Ones where the problem was your personality, basically.”
“Brutal.”
“Like you.” When he hears himself in your words, Brendon doesn’t like it. For maybe the first time in his life, he questions his own behavior. So it sounds like an opportunity when you go on, “This one is complaints that I’ll have to pass on to the review board if you refuse to help me resolve the problems.”
After pinching the bridge of his nose, he taps the smallest stack of two thick documents held together by binder clips. “And this one?”
You sigh and tell him, “These two are going to the review board no matter what.”
“Shit.”
“Yeah, turns out that-” you show him the cover page of each complaint “-pressuring parents into high-risk surgeries for their child isn’t very nice.”
“Well,” he bites back, still pushing up against his over-groomed ego, “being a good doctor isn’t about being nice.”
“You’re right.” You match his intensity. “It’s about effective patient care, which is impossible if your patients don’t trust you.”
Gesturing like he’s trying to find the right words to grab, he argues, “The kid would’ve died without the surgery.”
You let out a harsh laugh. “And when you gave a blood transfusion to a Jehovah’s Witness?”
“They came in unconscious and had no identification of their religious status.” He throws his hands up defensively. “Could not possibly be construed as misconduct.”
“Clearly the complainant disagrees.” You sigh and lean back in your chair, fuse burning short at his constant belligerence. “Look, Brendon. Your surgical work is fine – good, even – but your bedside manner is nothing short of atrocious. You don’t spend enough time getting informed consent, you don’t listen to concerns, and you regularly exhibit disrespect to patients and other doctors. Now, I understand that surgeons receive more complaints than other specialties – less face time with patients, uncertainty about post-op results, all that. But you, doctor, are a true outlier among outliers. And if you want to keep your job at this hospital, then you need to cooperate with me in resolving these complaints.”
Your words hang heavy in the air for a minute. Brendon hates that you know exactly how to deliver a monologue that makes him feel like he’s in the time-out corner and absolutely deserves it. There’s never been a coworker – or a woman, frankly – who’s put him in his place like this. Finally sounding on the border of humble, he asks, “What the hell am I supposed to do?”
“Whatever I say.”
“In practical terms, please.”
You can’t help but let out a laugh at his pouty tone. “You’re going to take mornings off surgery for the next two weeks to meet with aggrieved former patients. You will listen, you will sincerely apologize, and you will agree with every single thing I say to convince them not to escalate.”
His eyes widen and he balks, “You seriously expect me to not do surgery?”
“My proposal has already been cleared by hospital administration and the meetings are scheduled. I’ll add them to your calendar.”
Reaching for anything to get out of what he imagines would be the worst thing on earth – trapped with a gorgeous, cruel woman who hates him and a jilted patient – Brendon mutters pathetically, “I thought we weren’t supposed to apologize to patients for fuckups.”
“That’s a myth and one that makes my life way more annoying on a regular basis.” You rifle through some papers on the cabinet behind your desk and hand him a pamphlet on malpractice, explaining, “Physician apologies cannot be used to demonstrate guilt in a court of law and they’re actually the number one reason patients agree to mediation and ultimately drop complaints.”
Brendon absently flips through the pamphlet, trying to resign himself to his fate. “What do I do, then?”
“Come to my office first thing in the morning,” you start, giving him a ‘don’t you dare’ look when he opens his mouth to crack a joke about that. “Wear a light-colored button-down and your white coat. Mousse your hair instead of gelling it so it’s soft. Practice looking like a human being in the mirror.”
Once again, his expression turns to a mix of offense and dread, scoffing, “What, like I’m a murderer trying to convince a jury I’m not a psycho? The damn Menendez brothers in their pastel fucking sweaters?”
You can’t help laughing at the irony. “Brendon, listen to yourself.”
He sighs heavily and runs his fingers through his end-of-day-loose hair. “Christ, I really am an asshole, aren’t I?”
“Acceptance is the first step in recovery,” you lilt. Then you pick up a few of the files and say, “Now, let’s go over the meetings I have lined up for Monday morning. The more prepared you are for what they’re going to say, the better we can handle it.” Watching him tentatively take the first file and read over it with furrowed brows, you go on, much softer, “I know everyone at the hospital thinks I’m a bitch – and, to be fair, I am – but it’s only because I want your patients to have a good experience with you. When your patients view you as competent and trustworthy, they’ll return to you for care, they’ll follow instructions better, and ultimately your outcomes will improve. So just work with me here and we’ll get this figured out.”
He nods slowly, guilt trickling into his veins as he actually reads over the details of the complaints for the first time. Patients who felt dismissed, who didn’t understand his decisions, who ended up with post-op complications they didn’t feel comfortable bringing up. After what feels like forever, his voice lowers and you see a flicker of humility in his eyes. “Yeah, okay. I trust you. I don’t-” He swallows hard, averts his eyes, and manages to admit, “I don’t want to be the kind of doctor people avoid. I want to be better.”
You reach across the desk and give his forearm and small, affirming squeeze. When you smile at him earnestly for the first time, it makes his heart flutter a little too embarrassingly for him to acknowledge. “That’s all I need to hear for us to work together.”
The two of you make it through reviewing the first week’s-worth of low-level complaints by seven, going back and forth to understand his perspective, the patient’s, and the advocate’s. You hate to admit it, but when Brendon actually accepts that there’s a problem and gets determined to fix it, he’s…good. He cares. He has the work ethic of an ox and you can tell he’s the kind of man who needs to right his wrongs.
It doesn’t hurt that most of the complaints against him have to do with him being hard-headed, not incompetent or malicious, usually bulldozing patients because he’s right and wants to do the best he can. Not like some of the ED doctors who have fewer complaints that are much more serious. You know he just needs to find the balance of that skill and confidence with communication and understanding. He’ll be the best of the hospital if he can do that.
Your watch beeps at seven, interrupting the flow of your conversation. You stand up first to make it clear that Brendon’s officially free, saying, “Thank you for coming in and for your understanding. You can do this.”
As you collect your things and he does the same, he ensures, “So we’re done for now?”
“Yeah, we are. You can head out.”
“Great.” He opens up your office door to let you walk through and says seriously, “Let’s circle back on that conversation we had earlier this week now that we’re off the clock. Would you like to go on a date with me?”
You laugh and shake your head. “Your biceps aren’t looking any stronger since we last went over this; sure you’re ready to lift that thousand pounds for me?”
All cocky again, he whistles and muses, “So you have noticed how big my arms are.”
You nudge him in the arm with your elbow as he falls into step next to you. “I’ve noticed your scrub tops are a size too small, yes.”
“God, you are far and away the most brutal, beautiful woman I’ve ever seen and I can tell you’d sucker punch a bear if it didn’t mind its manners,” he absolutely swoons. While you try not to smile, he goes on, looking for all the world like he’s about to break into song, “I’m smitten over here. I’ll take you somewhere nice, dress up like a gentleman, the whole damn thing. What do you say?”
“I only date doctors with a patient satisfaction score in the double digits, Brendon.”
“God, my name sounds so good in your mouth it’s like this is the first time I’m hearing it. You can make the meanest insult sound like a song. What a gift.” While you laugh and push out of the hospital’s front door toward the parking garages, he follows behind you like a puppy and goes on, “Plus, I know for a fact my patient satisfaction score is 51 because Robby was thrilled to have a doctor who scored lower than his 65. I’m proud of that.”
With an eye roll, you remind him, “You really shouldn’t be.”
“And you really should go on a date with me. I’d treat you so well; you have no idea,” he insists as you walk through the parking garage toward your reserved spot halfway down the first row. “I’d lick this garage floor right now if you’d let me open your car door for you.”
You stop next to a sexy little silver Miata and snicker, “I’ll let you do that today, but only because I have my hands full.” Brendon immediately drops to his knees and bends toward the ground with his tongue out, making you shriek out a laugh and smack him with your purse. You cover your smile with your hand and chastise, “You’re horrifying.”
“And you’re just a few more interactions from falling in love with me.” He stands up with a satisfied, goofy grin that’s far too boyishly charming for his features and opens your car door, stepping back and gesturing with a flourish. “Get home safe, beautiful.”
You slide into the front seat, settle your belongings, and tell him, “If you smile like that at your patients, you might actually have a chance with me, big guy.”
He salutes and promises, “I’ll spend the whole weekend practicing for you.”
The whole ride home, you have to keep forcibly wiping the school-girl smile from your face. You’re totally aware that Brendon Park can 1000% wear you down. Definitely not your usual type with his wolfish smile and domineering attitude, but gorgeous, broad, and just cocky enough to turn you on without intimidating you.
The problem is that his very existence is an annoyance to you. If you were going to date a doctor in the ED, it would be Abbot, who seems to actually give a shit about making your job easier and treating his patients like people and not puzzles. Shen is by far too happy and Al Hashimi is too sweet. Robby repulses you on a visceral level for more reasons than you can name.
But Brendon Park? He’s a big question mark for you. All you know about him is from his file, which doesn’t paint a particularly flattering picture. When he talks and smiles, though, you can sense a sweetness in him that he doesn’t show often. Maybe that means he can open up and be better – but you doubt it.
That flicker of hope in your gut? You aren’t sure whether to stoke it or blow it out.
You fully expect Brendon to drop his crusade to go out with you after a couple of rejections. He could have any girl he wanted with a snap of his fingers, you’re sure, so there’s no way he’d keep going for someone as off-putting and crass as you. Especially after two full weeks of morning meetings that essentially consist of you bending him over and letting patients spank him red, you’d guessed that his interest would fizzle out into something more akin to begrudging tolerance.
But no.
Brendon Park is not a man easily dissuaded.
Every time you spend two hours on Friday afternoon verbally beating the shit out of him so he’ll become a better doctor, he inevitably goes through the same routine.
“Go out with me, gorgeous, I’m begging you,” he tries again. His latest addition to the song and dance is insisting on carrying your file box and briefcase out to your car because, quote, ‘your manicure is too sexy to risk chipping.’ Sticking right by your side, he swears, “I’ll get on my knees right now if you just say yes.”
You meet his too-pretty blue eyes and insist, knowing it’s only about 40% true now, “Not in a million years.”
“No problem,” he beams, “I’ll wait a million and one just to sweep the floor in front of you so you don’t get any scuffs on those designer shoes.”
“Cute, but how about you start working on that list of calls for me instead? Give me an update the next time you see me.”
“Oh, I’m already on it,” he assures like a dog showing off a new trick and hoping for a cookie, “but if it gets me another single solitary second breathing in that perfume of yours, I’ll go double time.”
You roll your eyes and ignore it – but you’re smiling, and that’s enough for Brendon.
By the time you and Brendon are on the last week of his patient apology tour, your resolve is about as strong as a toothpick. He’s bringing you coffee and pastries every single morning, just setting them on your desk without a word while the two of you prep. He always compliments not only what you’re wearing but the little details alongside it – your perfume’s top notes, the shade of your lipstick, the way your earrings catch the light. With every ounce of his earnest affection, he can tell your resolve is wearing very, very thin, but it’s definitely still there. He can smell the blood in the water even if he isn’t quite sure when or how to make the final strike.
Brendon figures out his plan of attack because of the wisdom of one Dana Evans.
You’re working on the floor of the ED today because a nasty bug has taken out two of your patient advocates. In picking up their workload, you end up floating through Brendon’s peripheral vision all day. For everyone else, you’re the viper who might bite their neck at any turn. But, for Brendon, it’s like, well, the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen is just there for him to gaze at in between surgeries.
While going over plans with him and a few nurses, Garcia turns to him and offers, “One of my friends wants me to set her up with a doctor and I said I’d try. Park, you’re single, right? She’s funny, pretty, successful. Maybe a little nice for you, but you never know.”
Brendon smirks, glancing in your direction, and answers, “I’m single, but I’m not available.”
Princess rolls her eyes and cuts in for the sake of the gossip: “What the hell does that mean, Shark?”
“I’ve got a girl in mind,” he replies easily, voice smooth and cool as a saxophone. “Got a feeling she’s finally gonna give me a shot soon.”
Garcia faux-gasps. “You’re groveling for a girl? You know you’re, like, eight feet tall, buff, and rich, right?”
“And that means there’s nothing sexier than a woman who needs to be courted.”
“Ew.”
Absently listening to the exchange, Dana glances up at him over the rims of her glasses. “You’re cock-blocking yourself with her, Park, you know that, right?”
Princess looks between Park and Dana, beyond nose, and presses, “With who, exactly? This girl works at the hospital?”
“The Viper,” Dana explains like that’s not some top-shelf, high-value chisme. “He’s been trying to get her to go out with him for weeks now. It’s obvious.”
Garcia’s mouth falls open in horror. “You like her?!”
“Shut up,” Brendon hisses, nervous about the potential of you overhearing just a few feet over. He narrows in on Dana and demands, “What do you mean? I’ve never put more effort into trying to convince a girl to date me.”
“Kid, she likes you already. She laughs at your bad jokes and she squeezes your arm like it’s a prize tenderloin she’s thinking about buying. She wants to go out with you.” Staring him down from over her glasses, Dana explains, “But you know what’s not attractive? Being the reason she had to work overtime almost every day this month. You wanna go on a date with someone after you spend four hours defending them to angry patients and lawyers?
This isn’t some playground back in the ‘90s when we tried to convince girls it was cute for a boy to pull her pigtails or tease her. A lady like that expects better for herself. You’re clearing all these complaints for her, but, in the meantime, you’re collecting plenty of new ones. Bring her all the coffees and donuts you want, but until you’re a guy she can actually rely on to make her life better instead of worse, it’s a lost cause.”
“Damn, Evans.” Brendon lets out a long, slow breath, watching you talk with a patient using those soft eyes you don’t give to anyone else. God, you’re so beautiful it aches. The harshness of you and the softness, too. With a sharp nod, plan solidifying in his mind, Brendon claps Dana on the shoulder and says, “Heard.”
After the very last patient from the backlog of Brendon’s complaint file leaves your office, you stretch your arms above your head, down the last of your coffee, and tell him, “Congratulations, Dr. Park. You’re officially rid of me until you get a brand new complaint – so, I’m guessing I’ll see you this afternoon?”
With a shit-eating grin, he muses, “Oh, you haven’t heard?”
You raise an eyebrow. “Heard what?”
Shrugging like it’s easy and obvious, he explains, “I’m not gonna get a single complaint this month.”
You bark out a sharp laugh and start preparing for your next meeting. “For the first time in your career? Is that so?”
“Yes, ma’am,” he vows, almost somber in his conviction. “I’ve got a brand new wave of motivation.”
You lean forward and balance your chin in your hands like you’re tuning in for a gossip session. “Do tell.”
“Turns out my bad behavior has a direct negative effect on the girl I like, so I’ve gotta shape up if I want to make her mine.”
Your heart flutters and you unintentionally bite your lower lip before catching yourself and admonishing your brain for responding to something so…so…charming. As he leans in your doorway, lingering instead of leaving, you ask, “And what do you think the odds are on that?”
“Oh, they’re astronomical.” Sounding positively wistful, he gazes at you affectionately and continues, “She never gives me the time of day and she scares the shit out of me; it’s the most amazing thing that she still absolutely knocks my socks off. I’ve got no idea what the hell’s wrong with me when it comes to her.”
“Yeah, me neither,” you giggle. Fuck, you didn’t mean for it to come out as a giggle. Shaking your head and averting your eyes to your computer because the embarrassment of being caught feeling all flirty and cute is too much, you say, “Get back to the ED, Brendon; I’ve got my next meathead doctor in a few minutes.”
“No problem, gorgeous, but I’ve gotta tell you one more thing, though.”
You look back at him, careful to keep your face together and not too wooed. “What’s that?”
He steps forward and leans over your desk, hands planted on the tabletop. His eyes bore into yours. “My odds may not be good, but they’re not zero. And that minuscule chance? That keeps me going. You’ve just gotta give me a single second and you’ll fall in love for the rest of your life, I promise you that.”
A little breathless, you meet his baby blues. “Do you?”
“I’m gonna treat you so well and make your life so much easier; it’ll be impossible not to fall for me.” Then, so confident it steals whatever’s left of your breath, he cups your cheek and says, “I’m gonna fix this whole department’s patient satisfaction scores starting with my own and then I’m gonna learn how to shine your shoes just how you like. I’d do nothing but sit in your closet with a dehumidifier to make sure the humidity for your leather heels is just right if that’s what you wanted.”
You swallow hard as his touch stays on your face long after he withdraws his hand. “Sounds a little scary.”
Brendon shrugs, smiles, and backs toward the door once more, always reluctant to leave you. “Then you’ll just have to give me something else to do to make you happy. Let me change your oil; you don’t even have to be there while I do it. Or I can mow your lawn, bring over my own push mower and everything to make sure I get the stripes just right how you want them. I’ll hand wash your floors with my toothbrush. Anything.”
You shake your head and sigh tenderly, “What am I gonna do with you, Brendon?”
“Whatever you want, whenever you want. Have I not made that clear enough?” Brendon’s eyes rake over you once more like he’s memorizing the sight of you to savor for the rest of the day. “Man, even when you’re rejecting me, you’re just about the loveliest thing I’ve ever set my eyes on. The things I would do for you if you’d even brush a hair off my shoulder.”
“That would be the most action a man’s gotten from me in a very long time.”
“Yeah? How long?”
“I’ll see you later, Dr. Park.”
“See you soon, Viper.”
Brendon makes absolutely zero attempts to ask you out for the next 30 days straight. You’re honestly starting to believe he may have lost interest until he waltzes into your office at 5PM on a Friday, the last day of the month. He knocks dramatically on the door frame even though it’s propped open.
In the middle of collecting your things, you shrug on your jacket and sigh, “Can I help you with something, Dr. Park.”
Standing with his hands suspiciously bashfully behind his back, Brendon steps into the office and informs you seriously, “You should sit down for this, gorgeous.”
You lean against your desk and nudge, “Why’s that?”
“Because,” he announces, voice grand like he’s about to call an auction, “you, the Viper of the Emergency Department, are about to agree to go out with me, your humble subject, and, after your many rejections, I have to imagine that’ll be so shocking for you that you might pass out.”
With your stomach full of butterflies you can’t deny, you hop up on your desk dramatically and gesture broadly like a queen for her jester. “Alright, Sharkie, go ahead.”
Brendon’s smile only grows at your teasing. He takes a deep breath and explains, “Dana told me this morning that I had to check my mailbox because it had gotten too full. The whole time I worked in ortho, I think I checked my box maybe once. When you get served, they put the notice right in your hand, so why bother? But I go to the mailroom and she’s right; my cubby’s got a million fucking envelopes in it.” From behind his back, he hands you a stack of cards. “They’re from patients. My patients.”
He lets it hang as you inspect the papers he’s handed over. Like he said, they’re all cards and they’re all from patients. There are hand-drawn ones from kids with pictures of sharks, sentimental ones from old ladies, ones with shitty jokes from the convenience store. There have to be twenty of them here, each one telling a story of a doctor who truly made them feel seen and cared for.
The last of your resolve crumbles into dust.
Brendon steps forward, studying your expression carefully, and says softly, “Turns out that while I’ve just been trying to impress you, I actually became a better doctor for my patients. And a better man, I hope. So, first and foremost, I wanted to thank you for that.”
When he doesn’t launch into another attempt to ask you out immediately, you let the silence linger for a moment. Thumbing through the cards, you make your mind up once and for all. You meet his baby blue eyes, let a small smile part your lips, and reply, “Okay.”
His eyebrows go up. “Okay?”
You nod and sigh out, “I’ll go on a date with you.”
He fist pumps the air in a way so dorky and adorable you almost back out and lets out a dramatic whoop, “Fuck, yes! Jesus, I really didn’t think that would work.”
You roll your eyes at him even though it’s become physically impossible to suppress your delighted smile that matches his. “Alright, slugger, calm down. I’m just a woman.”
Brendon shakes his head and scoffs, “Au contraire. You aren’t ‘just’ anything.”
“Well, regardless, you win.” You take a Post-It from your desk, scribble your phone numbers on it, and hand it over to him. “Text me your address. Make me dinner tomorrow night.”
“Make you dinner? You know I could get us a table at any restaurant you wanted.”
You cross your arms over your chest and challenge, “And I want you to cook for me. It’s the perfect test for a man.”
Staring down at your phone number in your swoopy handwriting like it’s made of diamonds, Brendon absently asks, “Yeah? Why’s that?”
“It means one of the three things.” You explain seriously, “He can already cook, which is a green flag. He can follow a recipe, which means he’s teachable, or he utterly fails and that means he can handle being humbled, which is sexy.”
“It’s sexy when a man gets humbled?”
“What exactly do you think has been going on between us?”
“Honestly, I haven’t heard a single word since you agreed to date me.”
In lieu of my ko-fi, please consider donating to my mother's long-term dementia care fund.
Listen... I don't even know what I'm on with this. Just... don't judge me. Omfg what is wrong with me.
AO3 Link -- TW: omegaverse wildness, biting, blood, etc.
Your people are starving, and your clan's Alpha has asked you, their only remaining Omega, to give yourself up as a sacrifice to save them. So, you agree, and you are to be mated to one of the Alphas of Clan 141, praying that it is to any of them except Alpha Price. He is known to have a knot that is impossible to take, but when you finally meet him, you're not sure of what's possible anymore. Will you risk it all to be with him, even if his knot might kill you? One way to find out…
The Old Way
You couldn’t see the stars. The shroud that hung over your head was made from fine, black silk, and through its thin organza, you could barely make out the shape of the Watcher in front of you, much less the glittering galactic expanse overhead. You were wrapped like a gift, and if you wanted to save the lives of everyone you’d ever loved, you would remain cloaked in your darkness, hidden, waiting for your big moment. More than anything, you wanted to pull your veil away from your eyes just to see the familiar constellations again, to comfort yourself with their shapes, to make one last independent choice before all of your volition was stolen from you forever.
That wasn’t the right word. You couldn’t steal something that was given freely. You were not bound, and you were certainly not forced to wear the shadowed veil against your will. You had selected this path for yourself, and now you were living through the consequences of that decision.
As the only Omega in your clan – the first one born in seventy years – you were raised on the knowledge that you may one day be asked to give up your life for your clan. After the war, life was hard, and now that your people were stuck in a seemingly endless drought, it had become even more desperate. Your clan leader, Alpha Roan, had come to you six weeks ago with a terrible look in his eyes, a palpable guilt, still wearing his mourning collar for his long-lost mate, Omega Kiran, and he had asked you if you would be willing to undergo The Exchange.
His own wife had come to your clan through The Exchange, and although they had chosen to perform a private ceremony, you knew that it had been a challenge for her. Before she died, she had taught you much about your role, but you were still a youngling, and some things were just not for you to hear at such an age.
You thought about the years that had passed after the loss of your clan’s Omega. Alpha Roan had insisted on your education, and your training, but the idea that you would be asked to leave your clan through The Exchange was always a distant threat. But, now, here it was. You had been called by your Alpha to sacrifice yourself for their benefit; not in a marriage of love, but in a clan trade.
You had been asked by your Alpha to think about your choice. After he left you to ponder your choice, you sat down in your chambers surrounded by your Watchers, the women who had raised you, who had taught you to read, to write, to fight, and to charm. They looked at you with the same guilty, knowing eyes, and they asked you if you were prepared to make the sacrifice.
“You do know what awaits you at the end of The Exchange, don’t you, Omega?” Watcher Trinity had asked you quietly, holding your hands in her shaking fingers, the wrinkled skin of her knuckles folding and stretching over her thin bones.
You nodded, “Yes, Watcher. I am to be given to a new Alpha.”
She had looked at you then, her eyes sharp and calculating, trying to figure out how she would ask her next question.
“Do you know the way in which you will be given, Omega?”
Her tone chilled your heart, sinking through your body like ice across a pond, freezing you in place. You waited. There was more that she needed to say, and you allowed her to explain.
And now that you knew the truth, you felt fully prepared to accept the terms of the agreement. You would deliver your people from their strife, and any pain, any shame, and any horror that you experienced from this point onward would be in service to your clan. You hoped that would be enough solace to sustain you. There was no shame in your sacrifice, you knew that. But, in your soul, you knew that knowing a thing and experiencing a thing were two vastly disparate sides of the same coin.
You informed your clan Alpha, holding your chin high,
“I accept the terms of The Exchange, Alpha Roan.”
“Your people are forever in your debt, Omega. Watchers,” he addressed your caregivers, “Please make preparations in the old way of our clan.”
“The old way, Alpha Roan?” Watcher Trinity had asked, her voice giving away her apprehension.
“Yes, Watcher. We will follow the law, no matter how… upsetting it may be. Clan 141 is too powerful for us to take any undue risks. If they do not accept her, we may not survive their engagement.”
Even in your sheltered little academy, you had heard of Clan 141. Their clan was small, but it was deeply feared. If any other clan dared step out of line, the 141 were there to rain hellfire and destruction down on them until there was nothing left. They were not cruel, but they abided no violent acts in their territory, and any whisper of rekindling the war efforts or of superseding the peace treaty was dealt with swiftly and decisively.
Before the war, kings and presidents and generals had pulled the strings. Now that the world lay in ruins, the 141 was the only thing between your small clan and total destruction from larger, more aggressive packs. The 141 was the only reason your people still had other clans to trade with; they had made sure smaller communities had access to fair market costs for food and services, and no one dared to shun your merchants now that you were under their protective wing.
Your Watchers had done their best to ease you into your preparations. Clan 141 would be at the neutral ground in six weeks, and your team had tried to make every moment of that window meaningful in your training. They had started slowly, teaching you to stretch your untouched hole with your fingers, showing you diagrams and depictions of your own anatomy, warning you of the physical trial of taking an Alpha’s knot.
It was mortifying when you endured your first test. Watcher Gillar and Watcher Bhin had made you sit in front of a mirror and show them your progress. You were told to clench and release the muscles of your hole on command, fluttering it to prove its strength. Then, they had produced a carved, glass phallus, expecting you to practice on a smaller model before moving you up to a more advanced size.
You took it from their hands, looking at its curved, rigid shape with wide-eyed curiosity, trying to swallow your grief at being seen doing the unthinkable by people you considered to be your closest friends and caregivers. It almost made you regret your decision. But, your people needed you, so you rested the smooth tip of the phallus at the entrance of your hole and began to shove it inside of yourself.
This new feeling was overwriting your mind, so alien and yet so very comforting to you, confounding in its sensations yet overwhelming in its unique, bright pleasure.
It was a struggle, but you managed to slip it into your body almost down to the large, bulbous knot on the end. The sharp pain of being entered for the first time was not as terrible as you had feared, but when you pulled the phallic rod back out of you, it was cloudy with your slick and your blood.
“Try the knot, Omega. Your Alpha will be twice as large as this, at least. You do not want your first experience to be at the ceremony. I know that you will want to appear strong in front of the other clans.” Watcher Bhin encouraged you, holding you to her shoulder as she sat behind you, trying her best to comfort you through such a harrowing ordeal.
You put their practice cock back inside of you, slipping down further than you had, feeling the wide anatomy pressing against your entrance, but still unable to take the full knot inside. You pushed and pulled with your muscles, just like your Watchers had taught you, but it wouldn’t budge. You were panting, sweating, and teetering on the edge of an embarrassing orgasm in front of your Watchers, and you gasped out, exasperated,
“I can’t. I don’t think I can do this, Watcher.”
“Lay back, Omega. I will help you,” Watcher Gillar said softly, replacing your hand with hers at the base of the phallus.
You lay down on your back against your soft pillows, trying to avoid your Watchers’ pitying eyes. Then, you felt a cool gel being applied around the sore ring of your hole; something to ease the way since there was no true Alpha present to coax your slick from your glands. Watcher Bhin had held your hand in hers, gripping you tightly, letting you squeeze her through the pain, wiping away your tears as the glass bulb of the pretend knot began to split you, stretching your body before finally popping into place.
You Watchers had comforted you for a few minutes, but then you were told to begin your meditations.
With much difficulty, you sat up, feeling the heavy knot nestled against your walls. Then, Watcher Bhin handed you a firm pillow, and you understood that you must straddle it, and that it would push the knot against you. You were to train your body and your mind to accept it so that you would have the stamina to withstand the ceremony.
“Do not be afraid to listen to your body, Omega. We will return to help you remove it and recover. I will light some incense for you. Concentrate on your strength.”
You nodded, uncrossing your legs and settling yourself over the firm pillow, feeling the deep, sacral grind of the phallus as you set your weight against it. When you were left alone, you began your breathing techniques, but all the while, a flush was rushing across your skin, the shadow of a rising desire to come, and yet subtly different. Something whispered in your mind, and you wondered if you could call your slick down yourself, without an Alpha’s help.
So, you tried, rocking back and forth across the pillow, churning the knot within your core, feeling the rounded tip rubbing against your deepest parts. You removed your robes, letting the flush keep you warm, watching yourself in the tall mirror, meeting your own eyes.
It took only minutes before a true orgasm was upon you, but you tried to hold it at bay, searching through the sparkling, cracking fog of pleasure for the part of you that made you special. No Beta would survive a knotting; they never did, and it was a crime to even try. But, you were meant for it, and you knew that your Watchers’ training would not let you down. You breathed through the bliss, reaching out with your mind towards your slick, imagining it, visualizing your success, manifesting it deep within you.
When the Watchers found you later that night, they woke you with cool rags and worried faces,
“What happened, Omega? How did you…” Watcher Gillar looked down at your bare legs to where the pillow sat under you, seeing a torrent of slick and milky come covering your skin and the silk of the bolster, confused by how you could produce it without an Alpha’s beckoning call. It was just not done, not even considered to be a possibility.
After that night, there was much chatter amongst the Watchers. They consulted old tomes, dusting off the pages in the library of your little academy where you trained far away from the rest of your village, kept up here in your tower like a Delphic oracle, buried like a treasure.
The training became more intense, and each practice phallus that your Watchers produced became harder and heavier, each bearing knots that were unfathomably large. You used your newfound power to face each of your challenges, less ashamed now to perform in front of your team, but knowing that the ceremony would be something else entirely.
You had asked about it one night as your Watchers were helping you bathe after a particularly difficult practice session,
“Will there truly be none absent from the ceremony, Watcher Trinity?”
“Only the cubs and their mothers are forbidden from attending. Otherwise, all clan members are obligated to witness The Exchange. We will even invite Clan Farlight and Clan Seres to the feast as a token of goodwill. You know this, Omega,” her tone was a little impatient, wondering why you were asking such a basic question, “Your Alpha has asked for your ceremony to be conducted in the old way, according to the original scrolls.”
“I am worried that I will dishonor you with my abilities. I cannot seem to take even these false knots without tears,” you repeated the old scripture, chanting it rote to your Watcher just as you used to do when you had started your adult training, “Omegas are vessels. They will silently submit. The ceremony will be still, honoring the sacrifice.”
Watcher Trinity knelt down beside your bath and made you look at her. Her eyes softened, and she told you,
“Yes, that is what is written, but it is not that simple. You have already honored us with your sacrifice. We have no grain. We have skinny, milkless goats, and our well is nearly dry. When we feast after your ceremony, the full bellies of your people will mean so much more than any perceived weakness that you are reluctant to show.” She grabbed your hand out of the warm water, holding it in hers, “If you need to cry, we will understand, and we will be comforting you from the crowd. Trust me, Omega.”
You tried to put it all out of your mind as you marched down the path, following behind your Watchers as they surrounded you, adorned in their own ceremonial garb. They had worn their armor and their long, red robes, carrying huge, black scythes like walking sticks, as was the custom of your clan. Your Alpha was walking in the front of your pack, guiding your clan to the meeting point. You could just see the white, canvas tops of the tents and yurts that had been constructed for the ceremony, meant to house hundreds of people for at least three days. Yours was the biggest, its adornment the most splendid. But that was little comfort to your frayed nerves.
You were miles from home at this point, missing the comfort of your room and your books, knowing that you would never return there, and that perhaps your new Alpha would not allow you to keep any of your belongings from your old life.
You’d heard horror stories from some of the Betas in your clan, tales of Alphas who used their Omegas like slaves, keeping them clad in irons, surviving in dark dungeons only to be used to breed and to give their Alphas carnal pleasure.
While you were being prepared for this journey, a pair of Beta women had helped you paint your skin, drawing intricate symbols and prayers in gold flake, chittering about the ceremony and the feast without knowing what you had been through over the past six weeks.
“This is the first time I will witness a ceremony done in the old way,” Beta Lilia said.
“Do you know which Alpha will claim you?” Lilia’s friend, Beta Tyran, asked you, not knowing how loaded her words were.
You shook your head; you didn’t even know how many Alphas belonged to Clan 141. Lilia gushed about them for you, taking the conversation out of your hands,
“Clan 141 has four Alphas! Can you imagine? I hear that they have an entire army of Omegas as well. Alpha Garrick is so handsome, and he has three gorgeous Omegas. They are almost too beautiful to look upon.. I saw him when I was at the central market once. He was leading a team, hunting the vagabonds who set fire to a farmer’s field, you remember when that happened? It was years ago now. He was so imposing. But, that other one was there, too.”
She made a face that was strong enough to make you ask about it,
“Which one?”
“The Ghost, Alpha Riley. They say that no one has seen his face. He wears a terrifying skull mask. I heard from Yair that he has three Omegas as his guards, all masked as well. Yes! Guards! They have armor and weapons and huge, bulging muscles. Beautiful and lethal –”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Beta Tyran interrupted, “No one would give their Omegas weapons. No one would let their Omegas out in the public markets! Imagine the danger.”
Lilia shrugged, “Yair said that these Omegas were the danger.”
Then, you heard about Alpha MacTavish, a descendant from one of the ancient warlords, charming and fearsome. He kept two Omegas as his brides, always pregnant, but almost as fearsome as Alpha Riley’s guards. Alpha MacTavish often expected them to travel with their Beta friends, to take their children up into the mountains, hunting and fishing and exploring outdoors. All sorts of stories about his large, loving family. You silently hoped you would be claimed by him. It would be nice to live amongst Omegas and their cubs.
“Which one is their Apex Alpha? There must be one in a clan with so many Alphas,” you mused, asking the girls since you did not know much about Clan 141 yourself.
The Betas shared a look, and then Lilia shook her head,
“You will not be claimed by him, Omega. Don’t worry.”
“Why?” You pried, using your influence to force her to tell you.
“His name is Alpha Price, the leader of Clan 141. He’s the deadliest man in the entire land, and he’s the one who destroyed Clan Konni.”
The weight of that news sank in, and the dramatic tone of her story had attracted other Betas and Watchers to gather around you to listen to her tale,
“Alpha Price has never claimed an Omega. They say that he had tried. He had found one of Alpha Garrick’s Omegas to be very pretty, but she tried to take his knot and failed, so Alpha Garrick took her under his protection instead.”
“Failed?” Watcher Bhin asked, shocked by the implication.
“My sister was a medic who served with the Alliance in the most recent skirmish, and the 141 helped defeat the rebels who were killing members of Clan Darrah a few years ago. She said that she served under the doctor who had healed Alpha Garrick’s Omega. Said he’d never seen anything like it before in his life. She was so strong, and yet…”
Lilia’s words hung heavy in the air, and all of the women looked at each other and then at you, suddenly feeling the weight of your sacrifice, ashamed at their earlier levity. Tyran shook her head and patted you on the arm,
“Don’t worry. Alpha Price will not claim you. You have nothing to worry about.”
That night, painted gold and covered in your black silks, you sat in your tent and meditated while you waited for the other clans to arrive. Your mind kept wandering to Alpha Price and his lonely existence. Had he really injured an Omega during his claiming of her? How large must his knot have been to do so? It made you shudder to think about it, and yet deep inside of you, your core warmed from the thought. If he imprinted on you…
But, imprinting was just a myth. Something only written in old texts as a footnote or a story. It was a part of the ritual of The Exchange, but it wasn’t real.
“Omega,” Watcher Trinity interrupted your meditation and peeked her head into your tent, “It is time to present The Cloth.”
Clan 141 was here, then.
The ritual of The Exchange began with The Shroud, which you were already wearing. Then, it was The Cloth. If all went well, it would then be The Meeting. And finally, The Ceremony.
The Cloth was a gift from the Omega to her new Alpha, a token of her affection and a chance for him to smell her scent for the first time. In ancient legends, this is when her true mate would imprint upon her, her Omegan scent bringing out his Alphic marks, dark spots or stripes across his neck and back, making him look like a big cat, ready to bite into her neck and claim her as his own.
She tried to shake herself out of that fantasy world. All she could hope was that one of their Alphas would be drawn to her scent enough to accept her. Her people were depending on her.
“Here is your cloth, Omega. I embroidered it myself. I hope that it honors you,” Watcher Trinity handed you a wooden box, carved and adorned with great care, and when you opened it, you found a red silk square of fabric, sewn with the sigils and symbols of your clan in fine gold thread. You smiled up at your Watcher and reached out to hold her in your arms,
“It’s perfect, Watcher. Thank you for caring for me.”
You were both fighting off tears when she finally pulled away. You hoped that your Alpha would at least let you say goodbye after the ceremony, even if you might never see her again.
Watcher Trinity and all of the other women left you alone again in your tent, giving you privacy to prepare The Cloth. You made yourself naked, and you began to rub the silk across your neck and glands, trying to soak your scent into the piece. Then, you wiped it between your legs, swiping up some of your wetness to coat the fabric. Usually, this would be enough. You could call your Watcher back into the tent and give her the box, and you would be done.
But, something in your heart told you to try to call out your slick. You listened to your instincts, and you began to rub the soft fabric against your folds, bringing your own pleasure to a warm, shining height. Just when you thought you might not be able to do it, that your nervousness would make it too difficult or that you might black out again from the effort, you felt something inside of you slip free. Then, your hole was flooded, the orgasm making your vision go blurry and form spots at the edges, your whole body convulsing from the strength of your pleasure, and you had to lay down just to try and stay awake through your gushing bliss.
You felt it coat the silk and your hand, a thick, milky slick, and your heart swelled with pride. You knew that a gift this special would sway the attention of at least one of their Alphas. You trusted in your skills and training that you were worthy of this ceremony and that your people would be saved.
Sitting up, you carefully opened the box and returned The Cloth to its resting place, soaked with your scent. You took time to clean yourself up, stuffing wet blankets into your laundry packs and hiding them away, remaking your nest before your Watcher would know what you had done. You weren’t sure why you were keeping a secret from them, but you just felt like this was something between you and your Alpha. A promise, of sorts.
You replaced your black silks and veil over your otherwise unclothed body and called your Watchers. They entered your tent along with Alpha Roan.
His eyes widened as he approached you, taking the box from your hands. Quietly, as if knowing that this was an extremely private affair, he whispered to you,
“What have you done, little Omega?”
“I am doing what needs to be done, Alpha. Please, deliver my message to my new Master.”
You use of the ancient terminology caught your clan Alpha off guard, but you were glad of it. If this was to be done in the old way, then you would withstand it, but you would also do it your way. You were the Omega, here, and you were the reason your clan would survive this struggle. It was time you started acting like the heroine that you were. You would be your people’s strength, no matter the cost.
“Very well,” Alpha Roan sighed, closing the box, calling out to your team, “Watchers, bring your Omega to The Cloth ritual.”
You were guided to the path again, leaving your tent behind and walking towards the big, outdoor theater. It was a crude coliseum of sorts, a large circular pit lined with rows and rows of carved seating that was cut into the land. People had already begun to line the viewing platforms, each clan decorated in their traditional garb. You felt proud to see the stripe of red where your people sat, holding each others’ hands and praying for your safe arrival.
You were not greeted with raucous applause but instead with reverent silence. Alpha Roan walked in front of your Watchers, and you were the last one into the theater, dressed only in your sheer shroud, trying your best not to feel self-conscious about the fact that - because of the firelight - everyone could see your naked, painted body through the veil, even though you were covered head to toe in the organza. In the tent, the lighting was low and kept you in darkness, hiding your body under the thin silk. But, not here in the theater. Your skin was illuminated by the torches, and you knew that even your friends and neighbors could now see your most private parts.
You made sure that your face did not give away your lingering shame.
Alpha Roan took center stage, and you saw the Alphas of Clan 141 for the first time.
Alpha MacTavish was standing between his two Omegas, and you mused that his oldest children must have stayed behind to care for his cubs. He was dressed in his Clan’s black gear, covered in armor like a gladiator, his head shaven into a mohawk, spiked and messy on the crown of his head. His body was huge and stocky, and the Omegas seated at his sides looked so tiny compared to his bulk. But, they were strong. Their bellies were round with the promise of future cubs, and their skin and hair glowed like the stars.
Alpha Garrick stood next to him, his Omegas seated together to his right, dressed in the finest robes you had ever seen. He clearly had a type, and you thought that they looked like triplets, all decorated in jewels and gold, riches you’d never even dreamt of. Their Alpha was every bit as handsome as the stories had promised. He had pouty, full lips that were curled in a snarky sort of smile, and his soft brown eyes exuded pure confidence. His hands were wide and powerful, resting on his curved blade that lay sheathed at his hip.
Alpha Riley was masked, as you had been told, as were his Omegas. They were not seated, and every bit of armor that was strapped to his hulking body was also strapped to them. They had glittering knives, bows, arrows, and slings, looking like they could win their own war by themselves. Their bodies were heavily muscled, and all four of them seemed as tall as Alpha MacTavish, standing proudly in leather boots.
Then, you saw Alpha Price. He was holding a large wooden stick, at least seven feet tall, with hundreds of notches sliced into the side. You wondered what he was keeping track of, and you shuddered to know. His beard was neatly trimmed, and his hair was cut high and tight on the sides. He was certainly bigger and better muscled than each of his men, but that was not what you noticed about him first. It was his eyes. They were piercingly blue, like glacial ice, and they were looking right at you. Hungry.
Something inside of your core tightened under his scrutiny, but Alpha Roan’s voice shook you from your trance,
“Clan Arlos welcomes Clan 141 to The Exchange. We present you with our offering, an unmated Omega, 26 years of age, fully trained in the old ways of our people. She is our greatest gift, and we ask for your acceptance of our sacrifice.”
Alpha Roan held up the box with The Cloth inside for all to see. He set it on the large, marble altar in the middle of the stage and backed away from it, waiting for the other Alphas to take part in the ritual.
Alpha Price spoke, and your body nearly trembled at the sound of his deep, purring voice. You were more nervous than you thought, and you tried to breathe to manage yourself.
“We will consider your honorable offering, Clan Arlos.”
With that, he slammed his huge stick against the stony ground and Alpha MacTavish stepped up to the altar. He opened the box, and along with the other Alphas in attendance, his body had a visceral reaction. His hands went to touch the cloth and he brought it to his nose, smelling your scent with a sort of wonder and amazement.
Then, to your great relief, he raised his hand, palm outward, as a show of his acceptance of your scent. If you accepted him as well, you would be mated.
But, the slamming sound of the stick shook you out of your celebrations. Alpha Price called up Alpha Garrick.
This was most unusual. Typically, only one Alpha had to agree. It wasn’t like you had much choice in the matter. Even if Alpha MacTavish’s scent did not stir your heart, you would still submit to him as expected. This was not a marriage of love but of convenience.
MacTavish looked back over his shoulder at Price, just as shocked as you were. His Omegas looked even more taken aback, strangely offended that you would not automatically join them. But, Alpha MacTavish returned the cloth to the box and made room for Garrick, disappointed and visibly confused.
Alpha Garrick opened the box and buried his face against The Cloth, breathing in once, twice, and then tasting the fabric, right in front of everyone. It was his right, but it was a little audacious.
His palm went up, high in the air, and his Omegas smiled and held each other’s hands, excited at your acceptance.
Another loud slam. Another rejection.
You may still end up with MacTavish or Garrick after negotiations, you remembered, but you were now wondering why Alpha Price had chosen to test you against all three of his men before making a decision. It was very odd. Alpha Roan looked greatly concerned.
Alpha Riley approached the altar, his gloved hands prying open the box, then, he lifted the bottom of his mask to reveal his mouth and nose. The slightest murmur of shock rippled through the crowd. He bent to smell your scent, and he raised his hand in the air, signaling his acceptance before replacing his mask. You thought you caught the hint of a smile just before his pale lips disappeared beneath the skull plate again.
Slam! The stick pounded against the floor.
All of Clan 141 turned to look at Alpha Price at once. Your heart stopped. Why would he… Why would Alpha Price want to undergo The Cloth ritual himself? He had no Omega. Surely, he wouldn’t claim you now, not after what had happened. You watched Alpha Garrick’s Omegas. One of them stared at Alpha Price with wide, glossy eyes. You thought that it must be his prior candidate for a mate. She was afraid for you. They were all afraid.
All eyes were on Alpha Price as he approached the altar, and the entire theater was silent as he took The Cloth in his hands. He lay it out flat, in no rush, inspecting the wet stain that you had left for him, using his thumb to feel the fine, gold embroidery. Then, his eyes darted up to yours. He was the first one to look at you while he held The Cloth to his nose, that icy gaze making you tremble with anticipation.
You were so lost in his eyes that you didn’t see what was stirring the crowd. There was a loud gasp and then an explosion of whispers. You looked around, trying to understand what was happening. Then, when he tucked The Cloth into his breast pocket, keeping you for himself, you saw it.
Long, red lines began to stain his skin like lightning. All of his veins tattooed themselves across his neck, and although his armor was covering his shoulders, you knew that the marks would be there as well.
Alpha Price had imprinted for you.
Then, he silenced the crowd by raising his right hand, palm up, staring at you the entire time.
You were whisked away, surrounded by your Watchers, hearing Alpha Roan’s voice behind you, sounding like protest, but you couldn’t make out the words. Compared to the initial silence, the area erupted in a shattering din, clans shouting and yelling over each other, the drama from the ritual dividing the people.
You thought you would be taken back to your tent, but you were brought to a large lake about five hundred yards from the theater. It was quiet again. No one was allowed to follow you here, it seemed.
Watcher Trinity tried to explain in a rushed whisper, helping you climb into a boat and rowing you out to the middle of the lake,
“There is a dispute for your claiming. Alpha Roan will negotiate new terms, and Clan 141 must decide who will be your Alpha. It will be alright, Omega. It’ll be alright.”
She sounded like she was trying to reassure herself more than you.
“What now?”
“Because there is not just one Alpha who has claimed you, they will undergo a ritual called The Trial. It is a fight; a test of will. Whichever Alpha can win will be granted the right to appeal to you first. If you reject him, then you will be given a chance to hear the appeal from the second.”
“So, it will be up to me, then?”
“Yes. Alpha Price has put the choice in your hands. Very odd, and not in our custom, but we must honor his wishes. You will wait here for the winner.”
You looked around. You were now in the middle of the lake, and there was a platform lingering just below the water. It was a wide stone block, about three meters wide in each direction. Watcher Trinity helped you out of the boat and you stepped tentatively onto the platform.
“Will you wait with me?” You asked, feeling the uncertainty and fear finally get the better of you.
“No, my Omega. I cannot. These waters are forbidden to Betas. Only Alphas and Omegas can touch it. Take this. It is your flare. If you are in trouble, if he tries to get to you, fire it high into the sky and we will rescue you. You can do this. I know you are strong. Wait patiently for your Alpha,” she paused, grabbing your hand, “I realize you are doing this for us, but please, follow your heart.”
“I will, Watcher.”
So, you waited. You meditated, standing in an inch of cool lake water as you tried to commune with the land around you. And you waited some more. Hours passed until, finally, you saw torches. Your Watchers lined one side of the lake, and they greeted the newcomers. Then, you saw him. Alpha Price was being stripped down by your Watchers. They took his weapons from him, and then his clothes, making him naked on the shoreline. He craned his neck, trying to look for you in the lake, but it was dark and you were dressed in black.
You could see him just fine, though. His huge body was covered in short, curly hair, dense and dark against his skin. His muscles bulged and popped as he peeled away his layers of clothing. They left his undergarments on, little more than a linen loincloth. Then, you saw your Watchers attach a huge, metal collar around his neck. They clamped it together with a padlock in the back, and a huge chain was attached at the latch.
They bound his hands, chaining them together, and then loaded him into the boat. They rowed toward you with his back facing the platform, and as he got closer, you saw his imprint markings, red and raised like jagged scars across his neck and shoulders. Your scent had marked him permanently. The welts would go down, and the red would fade, but it would always be there, evidence of his imprinting.
The boat reached you, and he climbed out of it, sitting on the opposite side of the platform from you, just far enough to be out of range for your scent.
His eyes found yours again, staring at you through your veil, finding your gaze with a natural ease. He held a small box in his hands, and you thought you saw the phantom of a smile across his lips as you looked over his face.
The boat rowed to shore, dragging the long chain all the way back, and you were alone with him. It was quiet for a long while. You were just staring at each other, studying each other, trapped in a silent battle.
You looked down at his hands, noticing for the first time his cut, bloody knuckles, and he saw the worry cross over your eyes.
“They’re fine,” he said quietly, “My men. If that’s what you were wondering.”
“But, you triumphed over them, clearly,” you replied, not trusting your own voice.
He chuckled a bit, sighing,
“I did.”
“You fought for me, then.”
The laughing stopped, and he lifted his chin, proudly,
“I did.”
“And you are here for my acceptance.”
He didn’t respond to your cue, but instead, he took the box in his hands and slid it across the platform, skittering it along the surface of the water, making little splashes as it landed in front of you.
You reached for it, opening it up to reveal a shining key.
“Throw it in the lake,” he commanded you, using his Alpha’s voice to bend your will.
It shocked you, and you were so close to obeying, but you stopped, cutting your eyes at him,
“What is this?”
“Throw. It. Omega.”
His voice seared through your blood, calling to you with old magic. You fought hard to keep your mind under your own control,
“Stop! Stop it. Tell me what this is, Alpha.”
“It unlocks my collar. Otherwise, if I make so much as a shift in your direction that they don’t like,” his head turned to look back toward your watchers, “They will pull me into the lake, and I will drown.”
“And if I unlock it…”
“Then, you will be my mate,” his tone turned vitriolic then, “And you will die.”
You let his words sink in, your curiosity overcoming your fear,
“You believe your knot cannot be taken.”
He spat back,
“My belief is not –”
“But, it’s not up to you,” you interrupted him, “Is it?”
The shock that washed over his bright eyes filled you with a sort of sick satisfaction. You should be afraid of him, but your roles were reversed out here on this rock, and you were holding him under your command.
“Toss that key, girl. MacTavish fought hard for you. He’ll care for you. He’s a good man.”
“Are you a good man?”
“No,” he growled, his eyes dropping to the water, examining the chains around his own hands, inspecting them for the bloodstains that he obviously thought should be there.
“I am here for my people, Alpha Price. I am not looking for a husband. I am a resource to be traded for other resources. My clan needs The Exchange. Our people are starving, and I –”
“I would not let them starve,” Price’s eyes shot back up, indignant that you would suggest that he would leave you and your clan without food or water.
You let yourself smile slightly, teasing him,
“Spoken like a good man.”
He twisted his lips over his teeth, but he stayed quiet. You continued to torment him,
“Why did you raise your hand for me?”
He sighed, sitting forward, sloping his shoulders toward you,
“I couldn’t help it. My Alpha…He…” He paused, searching for the words, “I could smell you through the box. I knew you from the moment I saw you walk through the arena. And when my men all raised their hands for you, I knew you would be accepted as our Clan Omega. You are mine in every way that matters. And I cannot have you.”
His voice was full of bitterness. You wanted to smell him. What were the chances that he was your true mate? One-sided imprinting was rare, but true mates were one in a million.
You stood, surprising him, and he jolted back, sitting up right. The chain around his wrists clattering. You looked over at the shoreline. Your Watchers held the long chain around his neck, heavy and sagging into the black water, ready to yank it tight if he lunged for you, if he fell prey to his Alphic instinct to breed you.
He watched you approach, seeing how the water rippled with every step you took, gazing upon the dripping silks that clung to your legs, devouring you with his eyes. You stopped in front of his crossed legs, Knowing that he could smell you now. Your pussy was shielded only with a few layers of silk, and you watched him flare his nose, sniffing you right in front of his face, blowing a slow exhale of air through his lips, making the organza billow between your legs.
“Can I smell your scent, Alpha?” You whispered, your voice slicing through the silence of the still lake.
His chains clattered as he twisted his head to look up at you, peeling his eyes away from your pretty pussy to meet your gaze. Then, he bent his head to one side, giving you his neck, showing you his scent gland, a sea of red stripes emanating from its center.
You bent over him, closing the gap, steadying yourself by laying a gentle hand on his huge shoulder. Then, you took a long pause and breathed him in. His scent swirled through your body, wrecking your other senses. It was only him. Alpha. Alpha. Alpha. Your Alpha. Your mate. Your true mate.
You felt the red marks of your imprint streak across your skin, and his eyes widened in shock as he saw them branch through your veins and across your gland just as his had done.
The click of a lock made his eyes flash back to you, and with that movement, his heavy collar tumbled into the lake, the drag of the chain singing as it scraped the side of the platform.
“What have you done, my Omega?” Price breathed.
It was the second time you’d been asked that question. Your response was still the same:
“I am doing what needs to be done, Master. I am giving myself to you, my true mate.”
The boats were in the water the moment the collar slipped from his neck. The Watchers were on you in moments, and Price’s Beta soldiers were there to collect him. You watched as they rowed you two apart, taking you back to your camps to prepare for the ceremony.
Your Watchers were in a rush. There were only a few hours until sunrise. Your wet robes were switched out for red ones, and a red veil adorned your head. Underneath, you were rubbed and painted and sprayed with oils, until finally, Watcher Trinity came forward with a bowl of salve. She had made it herself, you could tell. She cared for you so deeply.
“I trust you, Omega. I know you know what you’re doing. But, please take this. It will help your muscles relax for him, and it will make it easier to bring on your natural defenses.”
She was being coy, avoiding using the word to refer to your slick, knowing that you had your own method of calling it forth using your special power. But, you took it from her anyway, and after you were left alone again to meditate, you used two fingers to massage it into your hole, feeling its effects begin to warm you, making your flesh supple and pliant.
A hand curled around your tent flap, pulling it open. Instead of your Watcher, you saw one of Garrick’s Omegas. It was her, the one who had failed to take your Alpha’s knot.
She stepped inside,
“May I speak with you?”
You nodded, motioning for her to sit,
“Yes, but I’m afraid I already know what you are about to say.”
Her eyes widened,
“If you know, then why have you accepted this? Alpha MacTavish was his second. He is not to your liking? His Omegas are kind and –”
“No, they were all to my liking. I am eager to join your pack in whichever way I can, but Alpha Price is my true mate.”
You showed her your skin from under the red silks, knowing she could not see them through the red of the veil. She gaped at them,
“Your… true mate? He could… This could kill you, Omega. I don’t want to see you come to harm, and it would destroy him. I saw how he was after my accident. I nearly blamed myself for his deep sorrow.”
“I trust my training, Omega, and I am so grateful for your support, but he is my mate. What is meant to happen to me, will.” You stood with her, seeing your Watchers hovering just outside the tent, signaling them that you were ready to leave.
“Then, I trust you as well. The others are so excited to meet you. I wish you an easy path, and I hope your ceremony is just as you want it to be. After this, you will be our Clan Omega, and I will serve you until the end of my days.”
She kissed your cheek through your veil and left you to be delivered back to the altar.
For a long time, you had wondered if this final walk away from your pack would be a sad one. You expected every step to be filled with hesitation and fear. But, the only thing you felt was joy. Your mate awaited you at the end of this long path, and you were ready to submit to him. He was worthy of your strength, and he would help you deliver your people from danger. You would rule beside him, helping him use the 141 for good, eradicating the evil from your land.
The sun’s pink wash was rising out of the horizon line just as you reached the theater. The crowd was silent again, and you saw the pallor and shock painted on all of their faces. They were expecting a funeral instead of a feast. They had no idea why anyone would be so desperate as to sacrifice their only Omega to this Alpha, especially when it was not necessary. But, they didn’t realize that you were no prisoner. You were no one’s puppet. You were in charge, here, and your Alpha would breed you as you commanded him to.
Your Watchers led you to the altar, kissing your hands through the thin cloth as they passed you to take their seats near Clan Arlos, tears in their eyes and staining their cheeks, and finally, your clan Alpha approached you.
“Alpha Roan,” you greeted him.
“Little Omega,” he smiled, kissing your hands just as your Watchers had done. He didn’t need to, but it was his way of showing everyone that he trusted your choice, “I hope you know what you are doing.”
“I do,” you said, smiling at him through your red silk veil.
Then, Alpha Price’s men came through the center of the theater, each of them bending to kiss your hands. But, instead of the back of your knuckles, they turned them over to kiss your palms, a sign that they would accept what you had to give them. Alpha Riley was first, and he lifted his mask to show you his mouth and chin, his kiss warm and tender against your skin. Then, Alpha Garrick knelt down, placing multiple kisses along your fingers and wrists, displaying his loyalty and respect. Finally, Alpha MacTavish knelt before you, daring to whisper to you as he kissed your palms,
“Brave lass.”
You used your thumb to pet his lip, acknowledging his trust in you.
Then, it was time for the Omegas to join you. They approached as a unit, not individually as their Alphas had done, and they helped you lay on the altar, guiding your body back onto the marble platform. They pulled at your silks, allowing the crowd to see your naked body, painted in fine brushes of intricate gold designs, of prayers and songs of your people, their symbols adorning you from neck to toe. Finally, they began to kiss you, licking and sucking at your mouth like lovers, showing their devotion to you as their clan Omega.
As they kissed you, your skin began to flush hot, your body somehow knowing what was about to happen to you. The Omegas felt your fire against their lips, and they pulled your legs apart, each of them bending to lick and suck at your flower’s drooling petals, slurping and sucking up your creamy nectar. They were at your breasts, your neck, your belly, your hands and feet. You were overwhelmed with pleasure, shaking and trembling under their affection, yet moved by their deep loyalty. You knew you would be safe with them. They would care for you just as your clan had done.
Then, you heard the familiar slam of a longstaff. Your Alpha had arrived.
According to the ceremony, you were meant to be still and silent as a showing of your acceptance. If you moved or cried out in any way, you risked a clan war, as taking a mate without their consent was a dark offense. You had to prove to your people that you were here of your own free will, and even though you were feeling the static cling of apprehension beginning to worm its way into your chest, you tried to breathe through it, trusting your Alpha to lead you through this moment with his protective power.
Your legs were lowered to the stirrup-style rests that were carved just below the stone table, keeping your knees wide apart, allowing your pussy to drip openly, glistening with the beginnings of your slick. You calmed yourself as they left you alone, each of them kissing you softly once more to show their reverence.
Then, you heard the clatter of fallen armor. He was undressing, removing his warlord’s mantle and coming to you fully bare. You spotted him between the vee of your legs as he approached the dais, his imprint marks flushed a deep wine red, his body shining with the traditional oils, meant to give him another layer of aphrodisiacs, promoting his production of his seed, keeping his cock tall and hard.
But, you knew that your imprint on his gland would do more than all of their drugs combined. He would kill every last person in this arena to get to you at this point, and although you had consented to this joining, you were no longer controlling it. He would take you, no matter what.
Then, when he got close enough to your platform, you saw it. It was standing proudly against his thick, furry belly, dripping with precome and lubricants, glittering in the rising sun. His cock was immense. You had not practiced on one so large. And his knot was larger than your two fists pressed together. He was intact, and his foreskin was slipping down his flushed head, unable to contain the swelling glans. Your body threatened to quiver from your suspense, and you tried to move your mind into your meditative trance.
As he approached, he did not go straight for his position between your legs. Instead, he walked around the front of the marble platform and bent to look you in your eyes, leaning his head down for a deep, heady kiss. He fed you his tongue and suckled on yours, letting it writhe inside of his mouth, rubbing against his own probing muscle.
He pulled away to gaze upon you, his eyes soft and full of joy. You smiled up at him, watching as he enjoyed the rest of your body, caressing your breasts, admiring your paintings.
“Did my clan show you their loyalty, my Omega?”
“Yes, Master,” you answered quietly.
“Are you prepared for me to show you mine?”
“Yes, Master. I am,” you replied, giving him a brave face despite the absolute weapon that was slobbering for you against his belly. You wanted to taste it, but now was not the time.
He returned to the base of your platform, kneeling in front of your wet hole, bending to place his mouth against you. He began to suck, pulling your soft lips into his mouth like he was starving, lapping up the beginnings of your body’s fluids, moaning from the taste and the smell of your scent. You wanted to moan, you wanted to pin his head to your trembling quim, but you didn’t dare move a muscle or make a single sound. Breathing in, breathing out, letting the sparks of an orgasm rush through you, bringing tears to your eyes from holding back so much pleasure.
Your Watcher’s salve was almost too effective. It had made you pliant, but now you were beyond sensitive, able to feel the pound of your own heartbeat through your hole, desperate for something to press inside of you. You needed his cock.
But, he did not give it to you. He just sucked and sucked and sucked, and his fingers began to rub along the entrance of your slippery hole, pressing down on your pussy’s walls, testing their strength. You fluttered for him, just like your Watchers had taught you, and you felt him stumble in his movements, shocked by your power.
He stood between your legs, his face and beard soaking from his meal, letting you drip off of his chin like a messy hound drinking from a river. Then, to test your resolve, he teased you with a little bit of meanness, stepping forward to let his cock lay along your body, measuring himself on the outside of you. He reached far beyond your navel, his lubed phallus warm and heavy, his knot resting in the softness of your folds, and you could feel him throbbing for you.
You didn’t dare move, but you wanted to cradle his cock in your hands, to rub up and down his length, to feel the smoothness of his head and the firmness of his knot. But, you stayed stock still, showing the crowd that you would not waver. There was some soft chittering from the clans, the shock at his size obviously enough to break onlookers out of their respectful quiet.
Then, he began notching his head at the entrance of your pussy, letting the tip slide up and down your tight ring of muscles that guarded your entrance.
“Last chance, Omega. Call it off. Cry out, and my own men will cut me down,” he bade you under his breath, having a hard time holding his words and sentences together, his voice shaking in his throat.
You looked up at him with closed lips, making a point to give him a soft smile as a response.
No deal.
You pulsed your muscles again, making your pussy lap up his sloppy precome like a little mouth, watching as he was torn apart by your action, no matter how minor.
So, without any other choice, he fed himself into you. It was a fearsome experience, at first. You weren’t sure if you could actually handle him. But, you breathed through the stress, relaxing your body, finding that deep, secret place inside of you, making your slick drop down for him, flooding your hole to welcome him in.
The confusion that painted his face was so satisfying. He couldn’t understand the sheer warmth and comfort he was experiencing. His cock was being sucked into you, deeper and deeper, and finally, you felt his knot.
He pulled all the way out of you, and sheathed himself all the way back in, always reaching to that one spot, just above his bulbous anchor, and then starting his process over again. Each time his cock fucked its way through your body, humping himself into you, creamy, milking noises filled the quiet, open-air arena. The whole ensemble could hear him invading your hole, the lurid slap of skin on skin loud and unashamed.
His phallus was large enough to rub against your most sensitive spot over and over, bullying it into producing more and more slick, making you come just by dragging his heavy cockhead over it, in and out, in and out, pounding into you with almost reckless need.
You came for him, and your body began to shiver from the overwhelming bliss, but you held your voice. You tried to still yourself, not wanting to show weakness, but there was nothing you could do. You were shattered by his cock, coming over and over again. It was an endless wave. You had no idea where one started and the other stopped.
You could taste blood in your mouth from biting the inside of your cheek. Still, you pushed through it, testing yourself with every push and pull of your body.
His huge hands pawed at your hips and breasts, squeezing you, watching your plump flesh jiggle with every cruel strike of his hips. Your Alpha took your own slick and began to rub it all over your skin, swirling it around your nipples, letting it smear across your belly from his palm. Then, he painted himself, taking it from your well-fucked hole and rubbing it across his scent gland, down his chest, matting his hair with your wetness.
Then, you felt his precome begin to pump out of him. You knew it had begun because this was when your slick was meant to wash through you, but there was no space for anything else. So, it began to pour out of you and over his knot. Every time he pushed it against your body, it threatened to slip into your hole, and you were filled with a twisted excitement, ready for it to be stuck inside of you, to churn and grind against your insides, to trap you in a blinding, rageful bliss. You nearly cried out from the heavy want you felt in your chest.
“You ready for my knot, pretty Omega?” He growled, no longer speaking to you softly. There was no gentleness left within him.
He shoved you back across the dais, climbing up onto it with you, breaking every protocol by doing so, but knowing there wasn’t a single other Alpha in attendance who would do anything about it unless you asked them to. But, he trusted you, lifting himself above you, bringing his face to your face, kissing you and beginning to lick your scent gland, making you see stars.
Would he really bite you right here in front of all these people while you were about to take his knot? It was beyond intimate. Not only was it private, but it was dangerous. It was when an Alpha was most vulnerable. The audacity of this man shook you to your core.
“Bite me, Omega. Please take me. Claim me as yours, sweetheart. Show them that you are mine. My Omega.”
His voice was ragged and deep, a hoarse purr of commands, all of which you were happy to obey. You began to lick his neck, putting your mouth over his gland as you began to suck at the round swell of flesh. Then, just as you canted your hips, feeling his knot slip inside of you, shoving and burying itself within the tight sheath of your pussy, you used your muscles to yank him the rest of the way in, and you bit down on his neck, hard, your body seizing from a hard, ruthless orgasm. .
You heard the crack of his gland, and you felt him sink his fangs into yours, the pain and the pleasure mixing within you like a drug, his cock firing rope after rope of searing hot come into your belly, flooding your womb with his spend. He pulled his mouth away and stared into your eyes. His pupils were blown wide, his face full of disbelief,
“My love…”
You kissed him, taking his lip into yours, suckling on it, trying to guide him back down from his tantric high. He was struggling above you, stuck deep inside of you, unable to stop himself from dumping heavy loads of his come into your body, his cock pulsing and throbbing with each burst of his cream.
He rested his head on your neck, returning his mouth to your gland, and every time he licked it, now, you felt your pussy twist around him, threatening to slam you with another orgasm. You licked him, too, hearing him cry out against your skin, feeling the mirror of your sensations, his heavy phallus jerking as you sucked on his broken gland.
Finally, he was able to rock back and forth, letting his knot slip out of you before popping it back inside, fucking you with it just like he did with his cock. He twisted his hips forward, driving into you with all of his strength, and then he would pull himself back out, the swell of his knot increasing with each thrust until, on the last thrust, he was finally trapped, unable to remove himself from your core.
Now, though, it was your turn. You began to use your muscles to push and pull him from the inside, fucking him like a sleeve of smooth, soaked warmth, jerking his shaft up and down with your insides.
“Oh, fuck…” He whispered, not expecting your skills to be so advanced, but you had trained hard for this moment. You weren’t about to let it go to waste.
You moved him inside of you, letting his knot take the brunt of your efforts, squeezing it like a fruit, making sure all of his juice melted into your skin. You made him come like this again, using the salve that your Watcher had given to you as an advantage, knowing that the heightened sensitivity you felt was now being passed on to him. He filled you up, his knot plugging your hole, preventing any of his seed from leaking out, and your tummy was swollen from his load, round and full for everyone to see.
He sat up on his heels, looking down at you with his eyes full of adoration and wonder, watching your strong abdominals clench and twist as you used them to help you work inside of yourself, edging him over and over before pulling him down into the depths of another hard come with you.
His hands went to the bulge of fluid in your belly, most of it flooding into your womb, unable to escape anywhere else. Your Alpha caressed your skin, marveling at the fullness. Then, he looked down at your stretched hole, playing with your clitorus that had been forced out from under its hood due to the sheer size of his knot, all of your skin bowing around it and pulled tight.
Your Alpha forced you to come like this, milking him hard, trying not to make a sound but giving away your mind-bending pleasure with shaking, whimpering breaths.
“That’s a good Omega. So full of my come.”
You smiled up at him, enjoying the full feeling of his come inside of you. But, you were losing your strength, and he could feel it. Alpha Price leaned over you again, grinding himself down into you and helping you reach one last orgasm, pulling himself along with you, squirting the last of his spend into your pussy. Then, he carefully twisted his cock out of you, watching the gush of his come coat the marble platform, dripping out of you and down the sides of the dais.
You were so empty and weak, but you were being lifted, cradled in his arms, and the whole arena burst into revelrous applause. The feast had begun, but not for you. You would be in your Alpha’s tent, and there you would remain until he bred you, making sure that you were laden with his cub, sharing food and drink with him in bed while you were stuck on his knot, traditionally until sunset when you would be presented to the clans as the new Apex Omega, destined to rule beside him forever.
“Are you done being quiet, my Omega?”
“Yes, Master,” you whispered, nestling into his broad chest.
“Good,” he smiled, “I need to hear you scream for me.”
“And I need my Alpha to breed me. I need your knot again, Master. Don’t pull it out.”
“I’m at your command, my love,” he smiled, planting a kiss on your temple, smearing his own salve across your swollen flesh, working his cock until he was hard again.
When you felt his knot for the second time, you knew you had made the right choice. Your people were safe, and so were you. You weren’t sure if it was the high of your claiming or the truth that you felt in your heart, but you were eager to be dripping with his come every night. Trapped underneath your Alpha was right where you belonged, knotted and full of his love.
Seriously, send help. I was too ashamed to even reread it for typos. I'm so sorry.
♡ synopsis: when a med student accidentally sticks you with an anesthetic intended for a patient, jack sits with you until its effects wear off to ensure you don't have an allergic reaction. while under the effects of the drug, you make many confessions which he finds to be both entertaining and endearing.
♡ content: pining!robby, medical inaccuracies, reader being under the influence of anesthetics, jack gets handsy on the roof, ogilvie is on night shift for this one bc i say so
♡ a/n: based on this request by @styx03, ty!
Allowing a med student to sedate a patient was clearly not the right course of action. You're not even sure who gave them the order to, or if they just heard a command for an anesthetic to be administered and chose to take it upon theirself to be the one for the job, but either way... You've now become the patient because of their eagerness to impress.
Stumbling back on your feet, your vision swims and the room tilts while raised voices yell. You think one is Jack's. You want to tell Ogilvie that it's okay, because accidents happen and you're sure you'll be fine. Hopefully. Instead, however, your attempted words slur into something incomprehensible while your eyes cross. Just as you descend toward the floor, a strong pair of arms catch you.
Jack most assuredly ripped Ogilvie a new one. He's never been so enraged here at work, since he's a man who prides himself on the trained ability to keep his cool under duress. After all, if he could bark orders while bullets rained down on his unit overseas, then an ED would and has been a cakewalk in comparison.
Until you came along, apple of his eye.
You'd been so shy initially—presumedly because you felt intimidated—but intent on seeking you out, Jack refused to let you slip from his grasp. So he tutored you in field medicine (maybe to show his skills off, even a little), gifted you a beautiful hardback copy of Gray's Anatomy, a fancy carrying case for your stethoscope, and this year for your birthday, a $200 prepaid Visa gift card to spend as you pleased. A present you'd been insistent on giving back, until he threatened to up the amount to $300 if you didn't accept it.
The more you bonded, the more the scales tipped from teacher and student to something else that he didn't really have the words for. What is it the kids call it nowadays? He heard it from one of the residents before... Situationship. Obnoxious, but he supposes appropriate.
What else is he meant to call it when he barely even calls you by your name anymore—instead opting for sweetheart, darlin', honey, baby doll, pumpkin; any and all pet names that he can come up with which earn him a sweet, bashful smile in return?
When the two of you are on a case together, he's always at your back or side to supervise your actions and decision making while showering you in quiet praise all the while. And anytime you have a particularly hard day? Jack gathers you in his arms and holds you suffocatingly close while insisting on taking you to a quiet dinner after... Or breakfast. Whatever you wish is his command.
But it's not all heaviness and burnout. It's also joking around by snapping rubber bands at your ass and tickling you until you're begging for a reprieve—lest you wet yourself—because your smile is his favorite sight, and your musical laugh or joyous cackle his favorite sounds.
He's waiting for the day HR comes down on his head like a hammer, but he's also aware that PTMC can't exactly afford to lose his expertise, so he feels pretty comfortable in toeing the line here and there.
So when your body went stumbling back because of Ogilvie acting first and hardly thinking at all, he hit the roof.
A gurney was unnecessary when he cradled you against his chest and carried you into a private room before lying you back on a hospital bed so he could wait at your side for the medication to wear off.
He continually took your vitals every handful of minutes, afraid the substance would wreak havoc on your system. With him being unaware of any possible allergies you may or may not have, sitting idly by while watching the clock simply wasn't an option. He needed to make himself of use somehow.
While running a soothing hand over your forehead is when you finally stir and blink up at Jack from beneath drooping lids.
Loosing a long, ragged breath of relief, the tightness in Jack's chest dissipates. "Hey, sweetheart," he coos quietly. "How you feelin'?"
Your tautly drawn features quickly morph into that of a scrunched nose and a toothy grin. "You're s'handsome," you slur while lifting a wobbly hand toward his cheek.
Practically slapping it against the stubbled skin, you giggle, which is then followed by your eyes suddenly widening to the size of saucers while your lips form a perfect O. "Are you my husband?" you inquire breathlessly.
Are you taking the piss or is the injection still wearing off?
"Honey—"
You toss your head back. "Jus' kidding," you drawl. "Never be that lucky," you mumble with a pout.
Waving your hand floppily that he should lean in closer, he does so with an amused smirk.
"I think 'm in love with you," you murmur while fisting the neck of his shirt and tugging him toward you.
Suddenly pulled out of his seat, Jack stumbles forward and barely manages to catch himself by planting a hand on your hip before you guide his lips down to your own.
Thank God he pulled the curtain around to give you a bit of privacy, because if anybody caught him in such a compromising position?
He jolts when you slip your tongue in his mouth and moan lustfully while exploring the warm, wet lay of it. Not a man to take advantage, though, especially of you, Jack breaks away reluctantly. A gesture which is met with a long, drawn out No from you.
Seating himself again, he tries literally to wipe the smirk from his face by scrubbing a hand from his cheekbones to jawline, but it does him little good.
"You're s'posed to say it baaack," you whine between chattering teeth.
With a sigh, Abbot shakes his head, then reaches over you to grab the remote for the electric blanket he draped over you just incase, until you lift your head and chomp down on his forearm.
Your lips recede into a smile while you nibble on the skin between your teeth.
He barks a laugh, then slips the limb from your mouth while turning the blanket to high heat. "You're somethin' else," he commentates while tucking the edges securely around your shivering form.
"But you love me," you whisper before your eyes flutter closed.
Cupping your cheek in his hand, he smiles softly. "If only you knew how much."
When you come-to, you feel groggy and ran through. Your memory pretty well begins and ends with you passing out just after being injected with something you shouldn't have been.
You've seen the videos—funny little snippets where people divulge hilarious admittances and embarrassing secrets while under the influence—so you of course begin to panic a little when your eyes slowly draw open. What if you said or did something? Maybe you were left alone to recuperate on your own?
When your head lulls to the side, that hope is quickly shot dead at the sight of Robby leaned back in a chair with an iPad held at a bit of a distance.
"Got my test results on there?" you ask quietly.
Lowering the device, the daytime attending studies you from over the rim of his glasses. Robby sets the tablet aside, then leans forward and caresses your cheek with a smile. "How you feeling?"
You blink sleepy eyes. "Tired. Which I shouldn't be if I slept long enough for you to get here."
He snorts quietly. "Being under anesthesia is hardly the same as sleeping. You know that."
You roll your eyes. "It's called sarcasm," you groan while sitting up.
"Easy," Robby mutters while settlings his hands over the crowns of your shoulders to keep you steady.
Hanging your head in exhaustion, you sigh. "Was anybody in here when you clocked in?"
"Abbot."
You wince. "Did I...do or say anything?"
His lips twitch into a smile. "If you did, he didn't tell me as much. Just asked me to sit with you so he could get back to it before his shift ended."
You lift your head. "You don't have to waste your time in here—"
He clicks his tongue while giving your chin a gentle, affectionate tap. "I'd never call it that." Robby slides a hand down the back of your head after standing. "Watching you sleep was the most peace I've gotten in..." he shakes his head while turning and pulling the curtain aside. "Too long," he mutters.
"Could have that all the time if I could only get you to come onto the dayshift with me," Robby states while turning around with hands on his hips. "Might do you some good to see a bit of daylight every once in awhile."
You grin while swinging your feet. "Are you trying to poach me from Abbot's team?"
He meets your smile. "Always." Robby walks over and grabs the iPad again. "It'd give me a reason to look forward to coming in here again every day at least."
Robby offers you a hand, which you take. Once you're standing on two feet again, you take a moment to catch your bearings.
Sliding an arm around your shoulders, Robby slowly leads you toward the door. "You're not just Abbot's favorite, you know?"
You glance up to him. "Oh?"
He presses a kiss to your brow before swinging open the door and holding it for you. "Just something for you to consider. Incase the nights ever get too long."
With your shift at an end, you decide to head in the direction of your locker to gather your things before heading home. A long soak in the tub, followed by plenty of rest sounds pretty nice. Maybe some Chinese takeout while you're at it. Or Thai.
"Robby tells me that you seem to be feeling better."
Clicking your locker shut, you turn and smile at the sight of Jack standing just a few feet away with an easy grin playing on his lips, matched by hands stuck in his pockets.
"Think so," you reply with a quiet, casual shrug.
"You heading home?" he asks while ambling closer.
"Planning on it."
Slipping your bag from your shoulder, he hefts it onto his instead. "How about," Jack begins while leading you in the direction of the elevators with your hand held in his, "You come up on the roof with me now that you're awake and let me watch you for a bit to make sure there's no residual effects."
You huff dramatically. "Jack, I really do feel fine."
Pressing the button that'll lead the two of you up, he cups the crown of your shoulder in his hand and brings you in close. "That is to still be determined."
The elevator dings and steel doors slide apart, inviting the two of you into an empty chamber.
"By me," he concludes while ushering you inside with an encouraging push.
With one arm wrapped around yourself, you settle the other over your mouth to suppress a laugh of disbelief. "Of course you and Robby have folding chairs up here," you remark with a giggle.
Popping one open, Jack nods to it, indicating it as your designated seat. "Could always look into a tent," he states while settling the other beside it. "If it meant getting you snuggled up next to me in a sleeping bag."
Plopping down in the offered chair, you rest an elbow on the fabric arm and your chin in your palm.
Jack tugs off his prosthetic, then leans back with a sigh. "That feels better."
"Maybe we get an extra big one. Or a blow-up mattress," you quip happily.
Jack clasps his hands over his belly. "Why's that, pumpkin?"
You flash a grin. "Maybe Robby can join us."
Hanging his head back, he shakes it from side to side. "Don't tell me he was making moves on my girl while I was busy saving lives this morning."
You shrug while wiggling your brows playfully.
"So..." You begin while picking nervously at your nails. "Did I say anything?"
"To me or Robby?" Jack asks while massaging his leg.
You roll your eyes. "Apart from me asking Robby to take his shirt off," you remark sarcastically.
Jack snickers and his mouth curves into a lopsided grin. "Without me there to see it?"
You remain silent as you wait for him to fess up.
"You, uh..." he trails off, then barks a laugh.
Oh no...
Jack glances at you. "You might've bit me," he says while cringing mischievously in an attempt to downplay things.
"I what?!" you cry while leaning toward him in shock.
Jack throws himself back against the chair and lies his arms palm face up. "Well, after you got done harping on my good looks, you got cold, so I went to switch on the heated blanket that I put you under and you just chomped down," he explains whole gesturing toward his right forearm with his hand drawn into the shape of a claw. "It was more like a nibble, though." He shrugs and bestows a reassuring smile. "You didn't break skin, so don't worry about it."
Burying your face in your hands, you shake your head. "Oh, this is mortifying." Dropping them into your lap, you stare at the skyline. "I'm so sorry."
Studying him from beneath your lashes, you nervously chew your lip. "Anything else?"
Please say no, please say no.
He smiles warmly—almost bashfully, in fact. "Asked if I was your husband. Then you broke character, and let me know you were just kidding."
It can't get any worse, surely.
Doubling over, you rest your elbows on your knees, then press your forehead against the heels of your palms. "Please tell me that's it."
He should let it go—leave things as they are. But Jack can't help it: wanting to hear that it wasn't just because you were high as a kite.
That feelings are mutual, and always have been.
When the sound of silence descends, you raise your head. "Jack?"
He sighs. "I just want you to know that I know it was strictly because you were out of it." Jack turns fully toward you. "That you didn't mean it."
"The more you talk, the more worried I'm getting," you reply with searching eyes.
Clasping his hands together, Jack leans forward slightly. "You..." he sighs. "You told me that you were in love with me."
His eyes flit to yours—attempting to gauge from expression alone whether it was a true utterance, or mere sarcasm. "And then you kissed me."
Your eyes pop wide open. "I—" You clam up.
Is this it? The defining moment that either makes or breaks your and Jack's...situation?
"You know how they say drunk words are sober thoughts?" you ask quietly and with a pattering heart that leaves you short of breath.
Jack's chin wobbles, but only slightly. "Yeah?"
You nod, and a sob breaks last your watery smile.
"C'mere, honey," he commands with a wave of his hand.
Rising from your seat, Jack guides your hips until you're seated on his generous lap. "Can you say it again?" he asks quietly while smoothing a hand across your brow.
You press your forehead to his and hum from the feeling of the rising sun warming your back. "I love you," you whisper while winding soft, gentle hands around his neck. "Jack."
Cupping his own around the curve of your neck, he guides your lips down to his this time. "'Bout damn time we got that outta the way," he murmurs before kissing you the way he's meant to so many times.
Jack teases your tongue with a wet, pointed tip which he slides along the underside of your own.
"How about," he pants. "I take you home just to be safe." A calloused palm scratches its way along the polyester that covers your inner thigh.
"Y-Yours or mine?" you whimper.
Squeezing your hip temptingly, he nips at your chin. "Better take you to mine to keep an eye on you. Help you in the shower," he drawls with a bored shrug. "I have a chair in there. It'll make things more comfortable when I help. Then I can fix you dinner before we go to bed. Together."
Carefully, he prods at the heat which radiates from between your thighs. "Would you like that, sweetpea?"
"Pretty dizzy all of a sudden," you sigh.
"Let me get my leg back on and I'll take you home, baby."
Rising from his lap, you stand to the side and wait for him to store he and Robby's chairs back away before following excitedly along so he can take you home for further eventful flirtations.
Best Day Ever: Andrew Pope Cody X Artist Reader (Drabble)
Artist Reader sets out to give her boyfriend the best birthday he's ever had. Pope is left overwhelmed by the choice of being told he can have anything he wants. Reader deals with her anxiety of the reality of her boyfriend's family dynamics.
Fluff, Smurf being a terrible mom, Pope being lovesick for his girlfriend and in awe that she loves him.
"Your birthday is coming up." The comment is so quick Pope almost misses it.
He stares up from the daze he'd been locked in meeting his girlfriend's eyes as she looks up from the easel she's been sat at for a few hours now.
Pope shifts the cup of herbal tea in his hand, the one she made him a moment ago when she took a short break from painting to grab her own cup of tea, as he clears his throat finding the words. "It is."
"Any big plans?" Y/N dares to ask her brow furrowing as she makes an attempt to sharpen a line along the space, she had just painted, the yellow paint seeming to taunt her.
Pope cleared his throat once again taking a long sip from his cup of tea his voice gruff his eyes once again taking that far away quality that Reader has learned to read as a sign she should be concerned. "Usually, Smurf bakes a cake, throws a party...big pool party, cake, booze, pot....Baz took me to a strip club last year."
He shifted the cup of tea all the more fumbling with it as he was fast to speak again. "Don't really want to do a strip club, didn't really want to last time."
Y/N raised a brow shoving back any hint of jealousy at the mention of strippers. They'd not exactly been a couple this time last year, so she knew she had no right to feel dumbly jealous of an experiance he'd had.
They'd been in the talking stage then...or not really even exactly in a talking stage. Pope had been just frequenting the diner she waitressed in multiple times a week and they made tense small talk when the diner was too damn quiet the night shift slower.
She bit back any sense of jealousy knowing it didn't matter now. Andrew Pope Cody was loyal as loyal could be when it came to her. The man was known for the intensity of his stares, and she was not exempt from being the object of his gaze. No other woman had a chance of capturing his attention when it came to her. She was pretty sure a gorgeous nude woman could throw herself at Pope Cody's feet and he'd not take his eyes of Y/N for even a second.
She cleared her own throat dipping her brush into a cup of water paying close mind to the way the yellow paint swirled into the water joining the muddy muddled mix of paint colors past. "I suppose that you have plans then."
She wiped her brush on a cloth pretending she was focused on being sure the brush was clean of all remains of yellow before she moved on to the crimson.
She bit back any anxiety knowing that if Smurf was planning some big birthday bash then Y/N would have to grin a bear it.
She was not naive enough to think that any politeness Smurf had been showing her as of lately meant that her boyfriend's mother was actually warming up to her.
She was socially aware enough to read through the empty smiles, kisses pressed to her cheeks, and false sugary words that Smurf had been throwing her way lately.
She didn't trust the woman.
Smurf Cody had treated her with equal parts disapproval and indifference from the moment Pope had begrudgingly introduced her to his family as his girlfriend and not just a party guest who Pope had spent his evening talking to.
The introduction had been forced, Y/N and Pope running into Baz while on a date and Baz mentioning Pope's lady friend to Smurf who had insisted that Pope bring her over to a family dinner.
Y/N had felt more like it was an interrogation than a nice family dinner. She'd done her best to keep up a brave face and had been relieved that Pope seemed to read the room as well as her.
He kept her from his mother and his brothers at all costs. That was why he spent most of his time in her little cramped studio apartment, his most cherished belongings finding a space there with her.
The only family Pope members Y/N found herself able to actually like and not just tolerate were Lena of course, and Deran Cody. Deran was far more tolerable than smug asshole Baz. Y/N had talked about surfing with him or her desire to learn but fear knowing her own lack of balance.
Lena was a sweet little girl, and Y/N had melted over her. She had felt quite lucky to see Pope play Uncle Pope to Lena. Y/N was happy to say that she was easily becoming one of Lena's favorite people happy to braid the girl's hair and listen to her talk about barbie dolls. She was happy to play mermaids with Lena at the beach. She enjoyed the drawings Lena had begun to give her always sure to praise them.
Craig Cody was not bad either, though he was usually high during most of their interactions.
Baz and Smurf weren't exactly her favorite people on the planet though. Smurf hated her and Y/N felt there was no love lost on her end. She found Baz to be selfish and arrogant. He exhibited all the worst qualities a man could. He seemed to operate as though he was God's gift to women...and the way he ignored little Lena put a sour taste in her mouth.
She knew that Pope's family was just something she had to live with. Pope had shared the reality of the family business with her. She knew what the Popes were.
A part of her had to wonder if she was insane or stupid to stay knowing what she knew.
All she could say was that she loved Andrew Pope Cody. She loved him more than she'd ever loved anyone. The love kept her by his side. The love forced her to tolerate Smurf and Baz.
She took a deep breath knowing that if Smurf had some big party planned for Pope, then Y/N would have to smile and tolerate it like a good girlfriend. She would need to put on a brave face and find a way to make sure Pope had a good time even if she was having a miserable time.
She was stunned as Pope spoke ruining any thought she might have on settling into some party that she would be forced to tolerate. "I don't really like the parties...it's not really about me, more about my mom...I don't like the noise, and then I have to clean up the mess the next day. The parties are always so messy. People don't respect other's property."
Y/N dared to form the words unable to stop herself. "We could skip the party...tell your mom we have plans already."
Pope stared up at her his brow furrowed the words leaving him. "We don't have plans."
She gave him a crooked smile fast to say it. "We could. If you could do anything for your birthday, what would you do?"
Pope furrowed his brow all the more the question though simple seeming so impossible to answer.
No one ever asked him what he wanted....people just assumed or told him what he wanted.
Smurf always told him what he wanted. He wanted a fancy cake. He wanted a wild party full of people all for him. He wanted to beat that man up because he'd screwed their family over. He wanted to take the pain for his family.
His brothers were the same. He wanted to go to a strip club. He wanted to get a lap dance and something more if his brothers passed the cash. He wanted to deal with a loud party and a mess it would leave over. He wanted to be the family guard dog.
The thought that someone might actually ask him what he wanted seemed preposterous. His wants were not important. He learned a long time ago that wanting was hopeless. He never got what he wanted anyway. So, why hope for anything?
Y/N furrowed her own brow abandoning her easel and dropping down on the sofa beside him spotting the way his eyes seemed to lose focus his mind clearly drifting far from her.
She recognized the signs, how her boyfriend sometimes disappeared into himself. His mind left her and whatever he was dealing with. He had admitted to her before that at times when things seemed to be too much, he would drift away so much that he blacked out and had zero memory of anything he may have done. It frightened him and it worried her.
She was aware that the man she'd fallen in love with was not mentally stable at times. She had promised herself that she would never shy away from him when he pulled into himself or behaved erratically. She would love him through it.
She knew other people pulled away. Other people told him he was too much. Other people told him he was scary and strange. She didn't want to be like other people.
She placed a hand in his doing her best to speak soft and slow trying her best to bring him back to her. "Andy, are you with me?"
She stroked his palm her movements soft and soothing a shuddered breath leaving him he seeming to snap out of it his eyes meeting hers.
She gave him a soft crooked smile as she spoke. "There you are."
He took a few more deep breaths as she finally spoke going with a different angle of approaching this. "If you could have your perfect day, just the best day ever, what would it look like?"
He frowned wanting to bite back the words, wanting to explain that it did not matter what he wanted. No one cared what he wanted. He never got what he wanted.
He rolled the words in his head forcing them back instead deciding to allow the slight spark of hope he felt developing in his gut flame up. "I guess...I'd want to wake up in bed with you. Sip coffee in bed as long as we don't spill it...we'd have to change the sheets if we spilled it. I'd want to eat breakfast...something here, pancakes maybe or eggs and toast with that avocado spread you sometimes make me, the one with the peppers and the salt. Then I guess...I'd like to go to the beach, sit on the sand under an umbrella and just relax...turn off my phone, just sit with you. You would wear one of those little bikinis that I grimace at you leaving the house in...but I'd know you only want me to touch you so I'd be okay with it...we'd eat ice cream at the pier and maybe pizza or something...then later we'd go home and shower, change clothes and go to the skate park...You'd let me try to teach you to skateboard again and trust that your balance isn't as shit as you think it is. We'd end the night eating a burger at the skate park...and you'd steal my fries even though you told me you wanted onion rings and not fries. I'd let you do it...maybe we'd go home after that, eat a grocery store cupcake...the kind with the really moist box vanilla cake mix and the blue icing that turns our tongues blue. You'd let me eat you out and spend the rest of the night in bed."
He swallowed the lump in his throat a voice in the back of his head telling him that his perfect day sounded so stupid. She'd think he was so dumb for wanting something so mundane. She would tell him his best day ever was boring and call it a waste.
The voice died as he felt a press of her lips to his cheek her voice so sweet and certain. "Then that is exactly what we'll do. I'll wear that pink bikini you like, and you can put sunscreen on my back and glare at the surfer dudes who stare at my rack when I wear that bathing suit. I'll share my onion rings with you in exchange for fries too."
"Yeah?" the word left him he sounding almost like he believed she'd tell him that she wasn't being serious, that his wants did not actually matter and she wanted to do something entirely different for him.
He was waiting for her to guilt him into doing what she wanted; to tell him she already made plans for them, and her plans were what he actually wanted.
The guilt trip did not come. The insistence that she knew what was good for him more than he did, never came.
She pressed her lips to Pope's the kiss so soft the words so sweet. "Yes, I think your best day sounds perfect. I'll make it happen."
He stared up at her dumbfounded as she pulled from him all too soon for his liking returning to her easel seemingly unaware that he was staring at her like she was a living goddess.
She might as well be one. She was an absolute angel, and she had somehow decided a filthy sinner like Andrew Pope Cody was worth her time and energy.
He pulled out his phone sending the text before he lost his nerve. "No party this year for my birthday. Have plans."
He turned the cell phone off not wanting to hear the guilt trip as he stared back at his girlfriend realizing that she cared about what he wanted.
