→ warnings: jack abbot x fem!reader, fluff & little of angst & tiny smut [very last one], jealous!jack duh [this accidentally turned into a bit of manipulative!jack too], nicknames [angel, sweetheart]
→ a/n: inbox msg!
Jealous!Jack whose jealousy isn’t expressed in a dramatic overt way like when he was younger. No he’s older and a little bit more mature than that, it comes out in a more subtle protective way. Whether you and him are dating or not it’s the same, either way he never will outright say he’s jealous.
He won’t say outloud that you are his but mentally he’s already staked his claim and nobody messes with what’s his.
Jealous!Jack who was trying his best to input something into the computer near the end of shift but he’s since abandoned it and forgotten what it was. Because by the nurses station there you stand talking to one of night shift's new male nurses. Normally he’d just sit and watch, making sure you’re safe as he shimmers with that little green-eyed monster named jealously on his back. So this shouldn’t be the cause for any concern nor possessiveness except that this kid is staring at you like he wants to eat you and Jack is just going to make sure you’re alright at least that’s what he’s telling himself as he heads over a small scowl on his face.
His hand finds the small of your back rubbing at it slightly to alert you he’s behind you and not startle you. “Hey angel, you need a ride home?” he questions, his gaze focused entirely on you when you turn mid conversation to look at him. He feels a sense of satisfaction at the way the nurse stutters a moment and stops his next sentence because you are no longer looking at him.
“Was just gonna take the bus, but if you’re offering” you shrug, a little smile on your face. Jack smirks when out of the corner of his eye the younger man throws in the towel and walks away. “Course sweetheart, go get ya’ stuff” he prompts with a head nod towards the lockers.
Jealous!Jack who lets you drag him from store to store in the mall simply because with the way you stick to his side he hopes it makes people assume you’re dating. He holds every shopping bag, he pays for you for your lunch at the foodcourt, gives his options on clothing you hold up. “Don’t you think that dress is a little short angel?” “Where the hell is the rest of those shorts?” “What about some tights under the skirt?” “Top seems a bit too tight maybe size up sweetheart”
He always makes sure to hold the bundle of bags behind your back, covering your ass as the two of you go up the escalator. His eyes tracking the men behind the two of you as you yap about which should be the next store. Him nodding along with a “Where ever you wanna go, S’ your day angel”
Jealous!Jack who thinks his heart finally stopped beating when you mention something about a boyfriend. He schools his expression even if it’s eating him up inside. Simply telling you “As long as he’s treatin’ you right sweetheart, i’m happy for you”
“Of course he is, and if he wasn’t i know my big strong protector would sort him out” you giggle, teasingly grabbing at his bicep lightly as you say ‘big strong’ and jack can’t help the smirk that grows on his face.
Jealous!Jack who shakes the hand of the man you now call boyfriend with a firm dad like tight grip. Telling him it’s nice to finally meet him even if his face is telling a different story.
When he overhears your boyfriend tell you Jack hasn’t stopped giving him little glares all dinner and it’s annoying him, he smiles as you defend him. “He’s just protective, stop being so weird and be nice” you’d scoff at him before returning to the living room where you sit back down next to him leaving your boyfriend to sit alone in the empty arm chair.
Jealous!Jack that plants little seeds of doubt about your relationship. How your boyfriend doesn’t seem to protect you when walking places, he just stalks ahead and hopes you’re still trailing behind. Knowing you think of how Jack is always right at your side when you walk somewhere together and stays on the side of the sidewalk facing traffic. He tells you how you shouldn’t be the one planning dates or asking for flowers, your boyfriend should know to do it. Hoping you remember how Jack brought you your favorite flowers on your birthday after only hearing you talk about them once, and how he’s the one planning things you like to do for your hang outs.
Jealous!Jack who consoles you when you come crying to him about you fought with your boyfriend and he broke up with you. Holding you to his chest as you sob, petting you head and shushing you softly, “It’s okay sweetheart, he didn’t deserve you anyway” he coos and smirks when you cling on tighter to his body.
Jealous!Jack who when he finally has you beneath him a blabbing fucked out mess, can’t stop muttering “Mine, all mine, finally fucking mine angel” as his hips bounce off yours. “Yeah ya’ my girl now sweetheart?” All you can do is repeatedly nod, his cock hitting your g-spot with damn near sniper precision pushing you closer and closer to the edge. “Need to hear you say it baby”
“All yours jack, only yours, fuck don’t stop” you cry out, hands pawing at his stomach. Your words finally end that lingering little green-eyed menace that’s plagued him from the first day he saw another man flirting with you.
→ a/n: not really proofread lol — check out my other jack hcs on this mlist!
synopsis 𓂃 ໒꒱ getting dragged out of bed before sunrise because jack wants you to “keep him company” was never something you agreed to, but somehow it still happens. you end up on the gym floor in his hoodie, half awake and pretending to read while he trains, only to realise he’d much rather bench press you instead of the barbell. (2.7k+)
pairing 𓂃 ໒꒱ jack abbot x fem!reader
content 𓂃 ໒꒱ established relationship, fluff, jack decides you're the workout instead, playful teasing, no reader weight or body type mentioned, not proof read (sorryy).
You don’t remember agreeing to this, though in fairness, Jack has always been annoyingly good at making things sound optional when they very clearly aren’t. Somewhere between him nudging you awake before sunrise and quietly telling you to “come keep me company,” you’d been coaxed out of bed with the promise that you didn’t have to do anything except sit there.
Now you’re cross legged on the rubber flooring with a book balanced across your lap, drowning inside one of his old hoodies while he goes through the last of his workout a few feet away, and you’re beginning to think “keep me company” was just a nicer way of saying watch me work out because I like knowing you’re here.
Not that you’d ever admit he was right.
The page in front of you hasn’t changed in at least five minutes. Every time you start reading, the dull clink of metal meeting metal pulls your attention away again, and before you know it you’re watching Jack instead, following the slow rhythm of another controlled lift before your eyes drift back to the book with all the guilt like a kid who’s just been caught staring out the classroom window.
“You gonna finish that chapter,” Jack asks, easing the bar back onto the rack before reaching for the towel slung over the bench beside him, “or do you plan on giving page twenty three your full attention for the rest of the morning?”
You glance down automatically, almost as though the book might have turned itself while you weren’t looking (it hasn’t)
“I’m reading,” you insist anyway, trying for something convincing and landing somewhere closer to stubborn.
“So I’ve noticed.”
“I am.”
He drags the towel across the back of his neck, the corner of his mouth lifting ever so slightly as he wanders over, looking far too pleased with himself for a man who’s done nothing but catch you in an embarrassingly obvious lie. “Honey,” he says, stopping in front of you, “I’ve watched you look at me more than you’ve looked at that book.”
You felt suddenly hot being in the room with him, “I was observing.”
“Observing.”
“Mhm.” You murmur, pursing your lips together.
“My technique?”
You shrug, making a show of considering it. “Among other things.” That earns you a proper smile, one that always appears when you’ve managed to catch him off guard.
“So,” he says after a moment, folding the towel over one shoulder, “what’s the verdict?”
You let your eyes travel over him with exaggerated seriousness, pretending to assess every possible flaw before giving a thoughtful little hum. “I think your form’s terrible.”
He looks down at himself as though he might actually find something wrong before his eyes settle back on you again, “my form?”
“You keep getting distracted.”
“I do?”
“You’ve looked over here at least six times.”
“I was checking on you.”
“You were absolutely not.”
“I was.”
“You were showing off.”
A laugh escapes him then, low enough that it almost disappears into the room. “I don’t have to show off.”
“Oh?”
“No.” His gaze lingers on you for just a second longer than necessary. “I’ve already got the girl.”
Your stomach betrays you immediately, “that,” you mutter, closing the book before he can see the smile threatening to appear, “was disgustingly smooth.”
Jack’s smile lingers for another second, subtle enough that most people would’ve missed it, but you're not most people, before he reaches for the towel again and drapes it over his shoulder.
“I wasn’t trying to be.”
“Oh, that’s even worse.”
He lets out a quiet laugh, rubbing the towel over the back of his neck before dropping it onto the bench beside him. “How’s that worse?”
“Because if you actually tried, I’d know you were putting it on.” You gesture vaguely in his direction. “When it just happens, it’s unfair.”
“Unfair,” he repeats, like he’s turning the word over in his head.
“You know exactly what I mean.”
“I don’t think I do.”
“You absolutely do.”
His grin grows just enough to tell you he’s enjoying this far more than he should, though he has the decency not to point it out. Instead, he nods toward the bench behind him, his expression settling back into that calm, unreadable look you’ve never quite figured out.
“C’mere for a second.”
“Come here for a second,” you mimic under your breath, lowering your voice in an admittedly terrible impression of him as a reluctant smile tugs at your lips. You’d learned very early on that those five words usually ended with you agreeing to something ridiculous, and the worst part was that you’d follow him anyway. “You know every questionable idea you’ve ever had has started exactly like that, right?”
“I don't think that's true.”
“Oh, really?” You fold your arms across your chest, giving him a look. “You got me to go camping with those exact words.”
A huff of laughter slips from him as he remembers it. “You liked camping.”
“I liked the cabin after we left the campsite,” you correct, unable to stop yourself from smiling. “There's a very important difference.”
“You still came.”
“I was manipulated.”
“You made a choice,” he says, far too calmly for someone revising history right in front of you.
“I made a mistake.”
His grin grows just enough to give him away. “You've made that mistake more than once.”
You try to hold your glare, but he has an annoying habit of waiting you out without saying much. It works far more often than you'd like to admit, and judging by the look on his face, he knows it.
“What is it?” you ask, setting the book beside you, “and don’t say ‘nothing,’ because you’ve got that look.”
“What look?”
“The one that gets me into trouble.”
Jack looks genuinely unconvinced. “I don’t get you into trouble.”
You don't even answer straight away. Instead, you just look at him, waiting for him to realise how ridiculous that statement is. He holds your stare without so much as a hint of guilt before the corner of his mouth finally gives him away.
“Often,” he concedes.
“There it is,” you mumble, unable to stop yourself from smiling. “I was wondering how long it'd take you.”
Rather than arguing his case any further, he simply holds out his hand. He never tells you to hurry or asks twice, and somehow that's exactly why it works. You eye his outstretched hand with as much suspicion as you can manage before looking back up at him. “I really should start saying no to you.”
“You do,” he reminds you. “You just never stick to it.”
You let out an exaggerated sigh, already reaching for his hand despite yourself. “I really need to start working on that.”
“That'd be new.”
“It would,” you admit, letting him pull you to your feet before pointing a finger at him. “Don't get used to it.”
“I wasn't planning on it.”
“I hate proving you right,” you grumble as he starts leading you toward the bench, though the complaint loses most of its bite the second his thumb brushes absentmindedly across the back of your hand.
Jack glances over at you with a smile. “No, you don't. If you really hated it, you'd still be sitting on the floor.”
You open your mouth with every intention of arguing, only to realise you're already standing exactly where he'd wanted you. “…Don't,” you say glaring at him.
“I didn't say anything,” he says, looking entirely too innocent.
“You were about to.”
“I was thinking about it.”
“That's close enough,” you decide before he can dig himself into an even deeper hole, earning a laugh from him as he finally lets go of your hand and nods toward the bench.
“Lie down for me.”
Your eyes flick from the bench to him again, suspicion settling in almost immediately. “I'm sorry... are we skipping the explanation entirely?”
“I'll explain in a second,” he promises.
You groan, already shaking your head. “You know, that sentence has never once made me feel better.”
“It'll make sense.”
“It better.”
He doesn't try to convince you after that, he just waits.
You've always admired that about Jack. He never pushes you into a decision or pesters you until you cave. He'll throw an idea your way, then stand back and let you come around on your own, even if the look on his face says he's already got a pretty good idea of how it's going to end.
You shake your head with a laugh as you climb onto the bench. “If this turns out to be one of your terrible ideas, you'll be hearing about it for the rest of your life.”
“I figured as much.”
You settle back folding your hands over your stomach as though you were preparing for surgery instead of whatever ridiculous plan he'd cooked up. Jack hangs back for a moment, looking you over to make sure you're comfortable before taking another step closer.
“So?” you ask, peeking up at him. “Are you finally gonna tell me what this master plan is, or are you just enjoying watching me panic?”
His mouth twitches ever so slightly. “I'm enjoying watching you overthink it.” He moves closer, resting a hand lightly against your side as he straightens the edge of your hoodie without really thinking about it. “I'm gonna lift you.”
You blink at him, waiting for him to laugh, thinking that maybe this was one of his usual awful jokes he tells you often. “You're gonna what?”
“I'm gonna lift you,” he repeats, like he's suggesting the two of you stop for coffee on the way home.
You stare at him for another second before a laugh escapes you, “no, you're not.”
“Yeah,” he replies, looking almost amused by your disbelief. “I am.”
“No.”
“Honey.”
“Jack.”
“You’ll be fine,” he says, like that's somehow the part you've got wrong.
You shake your head, trying not to laugh. “I'm not questioning whether I'll be fine. I'm questioning why this has suddenly become part of your workout.”
“It didn't. It became part of my morning.”
You narrow your eyes at him, “those are two different answers.”
“They're also both true.” The worst part is that he seems perfectly satisfied leaving it there.
“You are so lucky you're charming.”
“I've been told.”
“By who?”
“You.”
That earns him an immediate frown. “I don't remember saying that.”
“You implied it.”
“I absolutely did not.”
A laugh escapes him as he reaches over to fix the sleeve of your hoodie. “Just stay still for me.”
“You say that like I'm a flight risk.”
“You fidget.”
“I do not fidget.” You say mouth agape at the accusation he chucks at you. “You've moved three times since you laid down,” he reminds you, entirely too pleased with himself. “I'd say that counts.”
You scoff, shaking your head slightly like the whole conversation is already getting away from you. “That’s different.”
“How?” he asks, like he’s genuinely willing to wait you out on this.
“I don’t know, it just is,” you say after a second, dragging it out a little because you refuse to give him anything better than that.
“Convenient,” he replies immediately, and you can practically hear the grin in his voice before you even look at him.
“Oh, don’t start,” you warn, though it comes out more tired than threatening, because he’s already in that mood where everything you say is going to make it worse for you. His grin only grows at that, like you’ve confirmed exactly what he wanted. “I can’t stand you.”
“I know,” you say, without missing a beat, though there’s no real bite to it. Then, because he clearly enjoys pushing it too far, he adds, “That wasn’t an invitation to be sweet, by the way.”
“I know that too,” you shoot back immediately, and the second it leaves your mouth you regret it when you catch his expression, which was far too pleased, like he’s just won something he didn’t even have to try for.
That look alone makes you roll your eyes again. “You’re insufferable.”
“Ready?” he asks after a moment, like none of the previous exchange mattered at all, already shifting the focus back to what he actually came here to do.
You exhale, still half annoyed, half amused despite yourself. “As I’ll ever be.”
He slips an arm beneath your shoulders and another beneath your legs, pausing long enough to make sure you're settled before he moves. Even now, with whatever ridiculous idea he's got planned, he's paying more attention to whether you're comfortable than anything else. “Don’t laugh if I scream,” you warn him, narrowing your eyes.
“I wasn’t planning on laughing,” he says, like that alone should settle it.
“You definitely were,” you answer immediately.
“I was planning on smiling.”
“That’s somehow worse,” you mutter, already regretting whatever this is about to turn into.
“It usually is,” he says, like he’s entirely unbothered by your judgement. That’s all the warning you get before everything shifts at once.
One moment you’re lying back on the bench looking up at him, and the next you’re moving with him in one smooth motion that knocks the air out of you more from surprise than anything else. A laugh slips out before you can stop it, half disbelief and half shock, because your brain doesn’t quite catch up fast enough to process how easy it feels. “Oh my God,” you blurt, staring up at him like he’s done something completely unreasonable.
Jack looks down at you, that familiar curve of his mouth showing up the second he hears you laugh. “You alright?”
“Am I alright?” you repeat, still staring at him like he’s lost his mind. “Jack, this is insane.”
“You said that already.”
“I’m saying it again because I mean it.”
He doesn’t respond, just lowers you back down and brings you up again like it’s nothing more than a simple motion, showing no signs of struggle or hesitation , just the steady rhythm that makes it look far too easy to question.
“You keep looking at me,” you point out, laughing when you catch him doing it again.
“I’m making sure you’re comfortable.”
“You’ve checked like five times.”
“I’m checking again.”
“You are the most cautious reckless person I’ve ever met.”
That gets a proper laugh out of him, his head shaking slightly. “I don’t think those words belong together.”
“They do when they’re describing you.”
“They really don’t.”
“They absolutely do.” He lowers you again, and by the time he brings you back up, you’re already laughing before you’ve even reached the top, mostly because of the look on his face, far too satisfied with himself for someone acting like this is normal.
“You planned this,” you accuse immediately.
“I had the idea,” he says, like that somehow clears him of everything.
“Don’t push it,” you warn, though it barely holds any weight, especially not with the way he looks at you when he says, “I wasn’t,” which is obviously a lie you both ignore.
You shake your head, a laugh slipping out as you glance at him properly, “I know exactly what you’re doing,” and he hums like he’s entertained, asking, “Oh yeah?” even though he already knows the answer.
“You want me to admit you were right,” you say, because there’s no point pretending otherwise when he’s standing there like that.
“You didn’t have to,” you shoot back immediately, which is what finally gets him, his expression shifting just enough for a smile to settle in as he holds out his hand like he’s been waiting for this exact ending the whole time, “I still won.”
You take it with a dramatic sigh, letting him pull you up before giving his shoulder a light shove that he barely reacts to, “you are never going to let me forget this, are you?”
“Probably not.”
“I knew it.”
“But,” he adds, slipping an arm around your shoulders as you head toward the door like it’s the most natural thing in the world, “I’ll let you tell everybody it was your idea.”
You look up at him immediately, narrowing your eyes as a laugh slips out of you. “Oh, you are unbelievable.”
Summary: Jack Abbot's relaxing day off takes a turn for the worse when he hears his phone ring. After all, his phone is on do not disturb and there's only one person that he's allowed to interrupt his peace — you. Even worse, your voice isn't the first thing he hears when he picks up.
Pairing: Jack Abbot x nurse!reader
Warnings: f!reader, violence against healthcare workers, language, mentions of bodily harm, mentions of blood, mentions of injuries sustained at the workplace, use of the word 'assault', Jack Abbot's dead wife mentioned, description of a drunk driving accident, Frank Langdon catches some strays, use of the nickname 'sweetheart', use of the nickname 'slugger', no use of y/n, mutual pining, fluff, hurt/comfort
Word Count: 5.5k
Author's Note: Yo — so I'm still alive. I have been stuck in The Pitt for awhile now. This one has been sitting unfinished in my drafts for a hot second. I also have a Robby fic sitting in there that I desperately need to finish. Those two men have truly bewitched me. Anyways, hope y'all are ready to be stuck in The Pitt with me for the time being. Hope you guys enjoy this one!
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“Motherfucker!”
You angrily hit the coffee maker that has been causing the entire emergency department trouble for the majority of today’s shift. Langdon had watched you struggle earlier this morning before swooping in to fix the problem with a swift hit to the side of the machine and an off hand comment about having the ‘magic touch’. So, you imitate his actions now — hoping another dose of caffeine will help get you through the last couple hours of your shift. The machine stops its incessant beeping just as it had hours ago, but instead of brewing a fresh cup of mediocre coffee, the interactive screen goes completely black.
Great.
You squeeze your eyes shut and take in a deep breath. If Jack were here, he’d miraculously show up beside you with a latte in hand. You don’t know how he does it, but the man just knows exactly what you need and when you need it — you’ve taken to calling it his ‘sixth sense’. In reality, that’s Jack — observant and steadfast.
You miss the night shift.
It’s not that you dislike the day shift. In fact, you happily accepted Dana’s request for your help covering for Donnie during his paternity leave. In Robby’s words: they needed another nurse practitioner on the day shift and there’s only one that he trusts. A part of you thinks that it was just flattery to get you to come to the light side, but deep down you know that Robby only knows how to speak honestly. Lena wasn’t necessarily happy to let her best help switch shifts for an extended period of time, but she also knows that the ED is a team — sure the staff is split between day shift and night shift, but things only run smoothly when the shifts help each other out.
Jack wasn’t too keen on the idea.
He couldn’t stop you of course — Lena is your supervisor, not him. But that didn’t stop him from voicing his concerns. Jack Abbot has always been protective of his nightcrawlers, but there was something verging on possessive in the way he told Robby that this is simply a temporary arrangement after he realized he couldn’t change your mind.
“Should I call Ahmad to escort the caffeine criminal off the premises or do you have a handle on the situation?”
Robby’s voice breaks through your thoughts. You let out a sigh before turning to face the day shift’s senior attending. His expression, usually threaded with deep exhaustion and stoicism, is teetering on the edge of playfulness while a small smile tugs at his lips.
“Y’know what, Robinavitch? We never had this problem when we had the old machine. Mr. Coffee only had three buttons and never betrayed me.”
Robby lets out a breath through his nose — not quite a laugh, but the closest he’ll get to one this late into his shift. Gloria had decided to get the department a fancy new coffee maker that makes individual cups instead of a full pot a few weeks ago to celebrate improved patient satisfaction scores. What was meant to be a gesture of goodwill from upstairs has become the staff’s worst nightmare.
“You sound like Jack.”
You roll your eyes, but you also know no one has been more upset about this change than the night shift’s senior attending. Robby has always brought his own coffee from home, but Jack has been relying on the emergency department’s supply of shitty coffee for the entirety of his career at PTMC. You’d asked him about it once when you first started working together and he’d revealed under fluorescent lights that there was something comforting about the way it reminded him of the coffee rations he’d receive during his deployments.
“Have you talked to Jack recently?”
Robby attempts to sound nonchalant; however, you know him better than that. You’ve come to terms with the fact that he’s worse than the night shift nurses. Always needing to be in the know about everything and everyone. He swears that it’s because he’s the senior attending, so it’s his responsibility to keep an eye and ear on all of his staff. But Jack isn’t like that. He’s always been reserved and professional during shifts, always keeping his staff at a distance so he doesn’t get too attached — everyone except for you. In between cups of coffee and rooftop conversations, you managed to slip through the cracks of that cool, steely exterior.
“We talk during handover, but that’s not exactly the same as working a twelve hour shift with someone. Why? Anything I should be concerned about?”
Robby’s lips pull into a tight smile at your response, but anxiety finds its place in your chest. During handoff about a week ago, Mateo had pulled you aside to ask if you had any idea what was going on with Jack. Your brow furrowed as Mateo filled you in about Jack’s sudden change in demeanor with his staff — the once calm and collected attending has been increasingly impatient and scattered. You’d reassured Mateo that it was probably just stress related since Jack hadn’t had a day off in months — and even then he spent his rare off-call moments volunteering as a SWAT medic. You figured that Jack had finally hit a wall and was running on fumes, but Robby’s words were now making you second your assumptions.
“Nothing of concern, just looking out for you and Jack.”
Robby has this tone that makes it seem like he knows more about your relationship with Jack Abbot than you do. You know about his history with the night shift’s senior attending physician, but Robby hasn’t been there for the close calls at three o’clock in the morning when Jack puts his complete trust in your hands without a second thought. He hasn’t been there for the nights that seem to drag on for days when it seems like the sun will never rise again. He hasn’t been there for the hushed conversations in stairwells when the night feels darkest and the only comfort to be found in PTMC is in each other’s presence.
It’s not a bond built on flirtation — God knows, Jack Abbot flirts with everyone. And does that make you a little jealous? Maybe. And were you hoping that the distance created due to being on day shift for a few weeks would help you create some boundaries with the man? Possibly. But here you are, still infuriatingly infatuated with a man you have absolutely no chance with.
“I can assure you there’s no Jack and I.”
“Mhm.”
That damn tone again. You want to smack that smug look right off of his stupid face, but before you get the chance to fire back a commotion outside abruptly ends your conversation. The two of you move in tandem, Robby holding the door to the break room open as you duck under his arm before surveying the scene. Your eyes immediately widen as you spot Langdon attempting to keep two infuriated men on their separate gurneys as they yell over each other. He meets your eyes before moving his gaze to Robby, relief flooding his features.
“A little help here?”
You and Robby share a brief, knowing look before dividing and conquering the situation. Robby steps in, wheeling one of the men away while you follow after Landgon who is moving with the other.
“What’s the story here?”
You have to shout over the man’s incessant yelling, but Langdon ducks his head down slightly as he navigates the gurney through the ED to hear you better in the chaos. From not too far away, you hear Robby yell for Whitaker to take over his unruly patient so he can go find Ahmad for back up. Langdon’s shoulder bumping into yours pulls your attention back to your own situation.
“Bar argument gone ugly.”
The man laying on the gurney is bleeding profusely from lacerations on his forehead, but is cognescent enough to keep loudly threatening the other patient that came in with him. You manage to get a closer look at his wounds once Langdon locks the gurney in place and through the deep crimson you see little, semi-translucent pieces of debris. Your brow furrows as the light catches one of the pieces.
“Is that glass?”
Langdon nods before meeting your eyes with a crooked smile plastered on his face.
“Beer bottle to the head. Told you it got ugly.”
You let out a breath before gloving up with Langdon. As the two of you attempt to assess his injuries the man begins to fight you both off, pushing your hands away before either of you can start getting control of the bleeding. You pull back hoping to get the man’s attention so that Langdon can start giving him the care he needs.
“Sir, I’m gonna need you to calm down so that we can take a look at your injuries. Can you tell me your name?”
Finally, the man’s eyes land on you but they are filled with nothing but unbridled fury. You fight off the urge to take a step back from the situation and, instead, stand your ground.
“What I need is to get my hands on that son of a bitch who tried to fucking kill me. Can you help me with that?”
You raise both of your hands as the man fights off Langdon once again. He gives you an exasperated look as his shoulders slump in annoyance.
“I can not, this is a hospital not a fighting ring. What I can help you with is getting your bleeding under control and taking that glass out of your head before you get a nasty infection. How’s that sound?”
Your tone is stern but gentle as you attempt to talk the patient down. For a moment, his face softens in understanding and you almost let out a sigh of relief after having gotten through to him, but then Whitaker’s voice tears through the moment.
“I’ve got a runner, incoming!”
“Oh, shit.”
Langdon’s tone makes your heart rate spike, but before you get a chance to turn towards the commotion Whitaker’s very angry patient shoves you into the wall.
“We need some help in here! You good?”
Langdon’s worried eyes are locked on you as he tries to keep the two patients from tearing each other apart. Your shoulder took the brunt of the impact, but you had managed to stay on your feet which saved you from any additional trauma. After catching your breath, you leap in to help restrain the patient who just assaulted you.
“Sir, please. We need you to calm down!”
Your words fall on deaf ears as he continues to lunge at your patient who is now being held back by Langdon. What a fucking mess. You haven’t had a situation like this since last year’s Fourth of July night shift when two drunken men came into the E.D. after one of them practically eviscerated his buddy’s legs after shooting off a firework directly at him. Your eyes desperately meet Langdon’s, hoping he’s in the same boat as you, and he gives you a similar look of bewilderment.
“Whitaker! Ahmad! Anyone!”
Langdon’s voice is strained as the man in his arms struggles against his hold. You’re using all of your strength to pull Whitaker’s patient away from your own, but he’s got at least a foot and a hundred pounds on you. Keeping him restrained is taking all of your strength. Finally, Whitaker’s shoes squeak as he slides into the room.
“Woah, what can I do?”
Langdon gives him a ludicrous look before his eyes land on you.
“Give them a hand, will ya?”
Whitaker immediately jumps in to help you. You were hoping the additional body could help even the odds with these men; however, they seem to be getting more violent by the minute. The man in your grasp reels back and shoves Whitaker, who stumbles back. Now with only you holding him back, he takes this as a chance to take a swing on Langdon.
“Absolutely not!”
You grab his arm and pull back before he can land a punch. The man lets out a desperate, angry cry and swings his arm back hard. His elbow connects with your nose with a loud crack. The room explodes further than you thought was possible as you spit out the blood draining into your mouth due to the blow. The searing hot pain blooming across your face blinds your vision.
Fuck, that hurt.
You blink once, then twice — your eyes finally adjusting to the damage. Your patient has seemingly settled down enough to be left alone, while Langdon has your assailant in a chokehold as Whitaker tries to pin his arms behind his back.
“What the hell is going on in h—?”
Robby’s words die in his throat once his eyes land on you. His face twists into concern for a brief, fleeting moment before a dangerous rage washes over his hardened features.
“Knock it off before I knock you out.”
Robby’s voice is ice cold and it suddenly pauses the entire room. The only noise filling your ears is everyone’s heavy breathing. Robby lets everyone cool down for a moment before barking out orders.
“Ahmad, get this man out of here. Whitaker, take over the patient who didn’t attack one of our nurses. Langdon, with me.”
Everyone complies instantly and you let out a relieved sigh as the tension in the room finally dissipates. Robby makes his way to you in two large strides with Langdon behind him. He drops his head to meet your eyes which have regained their comforting warmth.
“How you doing, Slugger?”
“I’m fine. It’s nothing, really.”
Robby raises a brow as you spit more blood on to the floor, narrowly missing his sneaker. Langdon gives you a similar incredulous look. Obviously, your attempts to brush off their concern have fallen on deaf ears. Great. Two hours from shift change and now you’re a patient.
This day can’t get any worse.
Robby takes another step forward and carefully places a hand on your chin and gently tilts your head up toward the ceiling. You grimace immediately at the bright, fluorescent lights above you.
“You’ve got two black eyes, a broken nose, and you’re bleeding all over the floor. This isn’t nothing.”
His voice is surprisingly gentle and his features soften into a look you can only describe as brotherly concern. You sigh defeatedly, squeezing your eyes shut as the adrenaline in your body begins to subside giving way to an invasive and persistent shooting pain in your head. Robby’s hands find your shoulders — you aren’t sure if the physical contact is meant to provide you comfort or a precaution in case you pass out. Either way, you appreciate the way his delicate hold grounds you back into this moment.
“I’m going to have Langdon take you to an empty room and do a full exam. Okay?”
You open your eyes again and nod at his question. Robby’s posture relaxes slightly, obviously relieved that you didn’t stubbornly push back against his orders. He rubs your shoulders reassuringly for a moment before speaking again.
“We’re going to have to document all of this. Dana is dealing with a situation in chairs, but I’ll have her come find you when she’s done.”
You nod again, pursing your lips together into a straight line. You don’t love the idea of making a big deal out of this, but you also know that violence against health care professionals is at an all time high. The last thing this department needs is you trying to push this under the rug. Finally, Robby releases his hold on your shoulders and allows Langdon to step in.
Robby runs both his hands through his hair as he watches Langdon lead you towards a room at the back of the ED. He moves towards the hub in the center of the large room, gripping the countertop as he allows himself a moment to gather his thoughts. This is a nightmare. He needs to call Gloria about the situation that just happened. There’s a stack of paperwork that needs to be filled out. Someone has to alert the authorities. And worst of all, he needs to call Abbot.
Hopefully, the asshole that assaulted you will be off the premises before the night shift attending rips through the emergency department. Not because he cares for the wellbeing of your assailant — more so that he doesn’t necessarily want to bail his best friend out of jail tonight. Robby sighs as he digs his phone out of his pocket. He finds Jack’s contact easily in his favorites and presses the speaker to his ear. To his surprise, the call immediately goes to voicemail. Robby knows that Jack has the day off; however, he’s always easy to reach — especially if you’re on shift. So, he dials the number again and presses the phone to his ear. But just like before, he is once again met with Jack’s voice apologizing for missing the call. That’s odd. His brow furrows, but before he can think about his friend’s odd behavior further he’s distracted by a concerned voice behind him.
“I heard about what happened. Dana’s almost done in chairs. How can I help?”
Robby turns to look at Perlah who is currently trying to catch her breath from her obvious sprint over to him.
“Do you know who their emergency contact is?”
If he can’t get ahold of Jack, he might as well let your other loved ones know what happened. Perlah side steps the attending and logs in to one of the computers on the other side of the counter. It only takes a couple seconds to pull up your digital file and a smile spreads across the nurse’s features as she spots the name listed.
“Abbot.”
Of course he is.
“I can’t get a hold of him.”
Perlah’s expression reflects his own confusion for a moment until she remembers a conversation she had with you in the break room earlier this morning.
“He’s gone fishing.”
Robby’s eyes shoot to his hairline as a laugh bubbles in his chest. He attempts to picture his friend in a boat by himself on the river with a fishing rod in his hand, but his mind cannot seem to compute that absolutely ludicrous concept.
“Abbot is fishing?”
“Apparently they convinced Abbot to actually take a day off, put his phone on do not disturb, and find a hobby that doesn’t involve getting shot at.”
Robby’s eyes drift to the room he watched Langdon escort you to as he attempts to wrap his head around the information he was just given. Jack Abbot is fishing on his rare day off because you asked him to find a hobby that doesn’t involve putting himself in harm’s way — and he listened. He wants to be impressed, but instead he’s just annoyed at the two of you — he’s fucking tired of watching the two of you dance around your feelings for one another. He looks down at his phone again, still confused at how his paranoid best friend could actually relax when he’s unreachable while you’re still on the clock.
Oh.
The realization hits him like a slap to the face and he looks up at Perlah who is still anxiously waiting for the attending to start barking out orders.
“Do you think you can manage to get their phone?”
Perlah frowns for a moment, confused by his question. And then her face lights up as she comes to the same realization as the attending standing in front of her. A smile pulls at her lips as she nods at Robby’s request.
“I think I can manage that.”
Jack Abbot enters the emergency department like a hurricane — his presence immediately disrupting the fragile peace they’ve managed to establish since your assault. Robby meets him at the door, stopping him before he can cause any unnecessary damage.
“Where is she?”
Robby frowns. Abbot’s voice is lacking its usual warmth — in its place is a fiery, impatient intensity.
“Let’s just cool down for a second. She’s alright — getting checked out by Langdon as we speak. Okay, Jack?”
Abbot’s brown eyes darken at Robby’s words. His posture stiffens and he’s suddenly aware that he’s no longer looking at his best friend. No, the man standing before him is a devoted soldier with one mission and God help anyone who gets in his way — he certainly isn’t dumb enough to stand between the two of you.
“Exam room 11.”
Abbot brushes past Robby without another word and marches toward the back of the emergency department. He finally feels like he can breathe again as he enters the doorway and watches Langdon press an icepack to your nose. You flinch away from him and Frank lets out an exasperated sigh.
“You are a horrible patient.”
“Well, you’re a horrible nurse. You have to be gentle.”
Abbot leans against the doorframe, his body relaxing now that he’s heard the sound of your voice. A smile pulls at the corners of his lips at your defiance. Eventually, Langdon pulls the icepack away from your face and his blood runs cold as he gets a look at your injuries. It takes every ounce of what’s left of his self control to stay put, instead of forcing Robby to let him know who did this to you.
“I’ve got it from here, Langdon. You can get back to work.”
Both of your heads snap towards the attending standing in the doorway, but Jack’s eyes never leave yours. He watches as your expression shifts from confusion to relief before taking a few steps into the small exam room.
“Hey, Abbot. I’m actually almost done here. The rest of the exam will only take a minute.”
Jack finally regards the other man in the room, but his demeanor shifts to annoyance as Langdon continues to occupy your personal space — as he watches another man’s fingers glide gently over your cheek while he’s standing right there. The sight makes him sick to his stomach as a pervasive, ugly feeling claws at his chest.
“Langdon. Out. Now.”
Langdon’s movements suddenly still and the room immediately feels too small for the three of you. Luckily, the resident does what Jack says and exits the room without sparing you a second glance. Jack’s cold demeanor melts as soon as he hears the door close behind Langdon.
“Hey, sweetheart.”
Jack’s voice fills the room and you finally feel safe. You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding as you hear his boots take careful, calculated footsteps move towards you. This is a dream — it must be. Jack’s fishing today, unreachable until after your shift ends. But then he’s standing in front of you, invading your personal space in a way that’s so undeniably him. You finally look up, meeting his piercing gaze and you swear his jaw ticks slightly as he takes in the full extent of your injuries.
“It looks worse than it is.”
It’s a lie, but all you want is to smooth out the worried creases on his forehead. Jack tilts his head slightly at your words — considering them for a moment. His hands move slowly allowing you time to pull away, but you let him cradle your face with a tenderness that feels misplaced in this environment. His thumb gently brushes under your eye, where deep purple bruising has made its temporary home, and you flinch away from his touch before he even makes it to the worst of your injuries. Jack pulls his hands away from you and you involuntarily frown — a smirk plays at the corner of his lips as he watches the way you chase his touch.
“Do me a favor?”
You nod at his question — not fully trusting your voice at this moment. Jack bows his head slightly, meeting you eye to eye. His gaze is a raging wildfire of emotions. It’s a stark contrast to his calm demeanor and steady hands.
“Don’t lie to me.”
You roll your eyes at this as he stands to his full height again. His hands find their way back to you again, settling on your knees as he begins assessing your injuries further. You lean in closer to him without even thinking about it — it’s like Jack Abbot is the sun and you’re simply a planet trapped in his orbit.
“How are you here?”
Jack’s brows knit together at your question, like it’s the most ridiculous thing he’s ever heard. His thumb absentmindedly rubs gentle, grounding circles against your scrubs as his gaze trails over every visible wound on your face.
“What do you mean?”
“You’re supposed to be fishing.”
His face scrunches at your words, but he doesn’t stop his careful assessment of your condition.
“I got a call.”
“Your phone was on do not disturb — you were unreachable.”
“To everyone other than you.”
Your breath catches in your chest at his words. He says it nonchalantly, but the significance of that statement lands harder than the elbow you took to the face. You’re the only person that Jack would let interrupt his day off. Hell, you’re the only reason he took a day off to begin with.
“But how… Perlah.”
Jack’s head tilts as he watches you put the pieces together. Not too long after Langdon got you into the exam room, Perlah found the two of you. She helped Langdon with the exam for a few minutes before cursing that her phone had died before she made an important call. You had offered her your own, thinking nothing of the interaction. But now you understand exactly what transpired when Perlah left with your cell.
“Yeah, scared me half to death when it wasn’t your voice on the other end.”
Your frown deepens at that. You can only imagine the fear that clawed its way back into Jack’s chest — can only imagine the unwanted memories it brought up. Your eyes glance down at his left hand, where a silver wedding band permanently resides. You remember the morning on the roof when Jack finally told you about his late wife after a particularly difficult shift. The two of you had lost a young woman whose vehicle had been struck by a drunk driver. You watched Jack go above and beyond for the woman in a way you’d never seen before. And you noticed the way his entire demeanor shifted once he had to call it after an hour of compressions. Jack slipped out of the ED the moment that the day shift showed up and you followed after once you completed handoff. You found Jack on the edge of the roof — not surprising on any other day, but a concerning visual after what you just witnessed that night. He knew you’d find him — you always do. And as you took your usual place, leaning your elbows against the railing right behind him, he finally opened up about the worst day he’s ever experienced. You listened as he told you about how his wife was in an accident. How she was dead on impact and EMS found her phone on the scene. How Jack was her only emergency contact. How he despises that the last time his wife called him he never even got to hear her voice. How he knows he’s your emergency contact. How his heart can’t go through that again.
“I’m sorry, Jack. The last thing I wanted was for you to worry about me on your day off.”
Jack’s brow furrows at your words.
“Sweetheart, all I do when I’m not with you is worry.”
You both let that sentence linger in the room for a few moments. Jack continues to trace shapes into your shrubs as you attempt to calm your nerves as you realize how intimate this conversation feels. Finally, Jack breaks the silence.
“Can you just come back to the night shift so I can stop freaking out every time my phone rings throughout the day?”
You almost smile at that.
“Donnie comes back in two weeks.”
You mean for that to be comforting; however, this only makes Jack’s body stiffen in response. His head drops as he lets out a long sigh.
“Two weeks is too long.”
“You’re not my boss, Jack.”
Jack pulls his hands away and you watch as he runs them through his short, grey curls. He looks exhausted — and you suddenly feel guilty that his relaxing day off has turned into this.
“You’re right, but sweetheart, I can’t do this without you anymore.”
A part of you wants to throttle him because of that nickname and how easily it falls off his lips — how it’ll only feel right when it’s his voice saying it to you.
“Do what?”
Jack looks at you and his face twists into confusion as he realizes your question is genuine.
“Get through the fucking night.”
A beat passes. You desperately want to just say yes. It’s what you want isn’t it? Returning to the night shift — returning to him. But that’s also the problem. What is this? You thought your switch to day shift would give you some sort of explanation, but your time away has only made you more confused. Would it actually just be easier if the two of you only saw each other during handoff? No domestic moments between cups of coffee, no more mornings spent side-by-side on the rooftop, no more stolen, fleeting touches as he passes you on your way to the hub. You know what you are to Robby — to everyone on day shift. It’s simple. But with Jack — it’s never been simple and maybe that’s the problem.
“What if I want to stay on the day shift?”
Jack recoils like you just threw a punch at him. Guilt claws up your throat as you watch his face fall. It’s a lie — you know that it is. You love everything about the night shift, but you also don’t know how much longer you can keep playing this game with Jack before you simply fall apart.
“Why would you want that?”
“Because at least I know where I stand with everyone here.”
Jack’s brow furrows — you hate that it’s cute. That everything about him draws you in.
“You don’t know where you stand with me?”
You shake your head and he scoffs — the sound is surprisingly cold. He looks at you, brow pinched into a scowl. And then he realizes that you’re serious. Your expression is nothing but unashamed honesty and his head cocks to the side at that. Do you really think he’s been stringing you along this entire time? That this has all been meaningless flirtation? That you mean nothing to him?
He takes a step forward, slotting himself between your knees. Your breath catches as he reaches up and gently cradles your face. His touch is different than before — all professionalism has been cast aside and is now replaced with his overwhelming adoration. Without thinking your fingers grab the hem of his black t-shirt. He smiles as he feels you nervously pick at a loose stitch before he ducks his head and his lips finally meet your own. Your grip on his t-shirt tightens as he moves his hands through your hair. Now this is a dream. The kiss is soft and restrained — you know he’s holding back due to your injuries. The last thing he wants to do is hurt you. Jack pulls away too soon for your liking, but he doesn’t move away. Instead, he places his forehead against yours.
“Sweetheart, I’ve been yours since the minute you walked through the fucking door.”
You bite your lip as you attempt to hold back the giddy grin that begs to spread itself across your face.
“You never said anything.”
Jack pulls away at that, not far — just enough to get a good look at you. The look on his face is incredulous — like it’s absurd you don’t know that his entire life revolves around you at this point.
“I thought I made myself abundantly clear.”
You laugh at that and Jack steals a kiss from your lips just because he can.
“I take it Robby gave you the rest of the day off?”
You nod, smiling as you feel Jack thread his fingers through yours.
“He told me to go home after Langdon finished my exam — who you should apologize to.”
Jack’s jaw clenches slightly as his brow furrows.
“Him being here was unnecessary.”
You watch him for a moment, trying to understand what happened between the two men that never seemed to have any sort of animosity prior to today. And then your hand tightens around Jack’s as you realize what happened.
“You were jealous.”
Jack rolls his eyes.
“I have no reason to be jealous.”
You raise a brow at his statement. He’s not wrong — he has no reason to be jealous of Frank Langdon, but you know the resident somehow got under his skin. He may be able to maintain his facade of nonchalance to the rest of his staff, but you see right through him.
“What makes you so confident?”
“Because Langdon isn’t the one taking you home right now, is he?”
A/N: i've been meaning to cook up something for the tour and also involve the heatwave so here it is! Some assistant!yn to entertain you in the heatwave!
WORD COUNT: 7k
WARNING: sexual content
SUMMARY: The London heatwave is bringing out the slutty little shorts and some complicated feelings between you and Harry. Then a plumbing disaster happens and you move in with him just until it's solved, however a broken AC forces the two of you to share a bed as well. A pop star, an assistant and lots of unspoken feelings in a bed. What could go wrong?
MASTERLIST | SUPPORT ME!
London is melting. The heatwave has been pushing the temperature to extreme measure for days now and it will most likely carry on for a couple more.
That’s not stopping Harry’s Wembley residency though. Show must go on.
It’s night seven and he is doing his usual pre-show shenanigans. Take a shower. Have a peek at Shania’s set. Get dressed while warming up his vocal chords in his dressing room. It’s always the same.
The extreme heat has switched up the planned outfits a little bit, going from pants to shorts at the past couple of shows, but the fans are definitely not complaining and Harry kind of likes flaunting his toned legs as well, so it’s a win-win.
Standing in front of the mirror he is humming Bridge Over Troubled Water while trying to fix his tie when there’s a knock on the door.
“Come in!” he calls out, eyes still fixated on his reflection.
The door opens and he doesn’t even have to turn around to know who it is. It’s like he has a sixth sense when it comes to you.
“Oh, I see the slutty little shorts are coming out to play again,” you tease him instantly upon walking into the room and closing the door behind you. Harry smirks as he turns around, though his smile halters for a second when he sees you.
He hasn’t been the only one the heatwave has been affecting when it comes to outfits. As his shorts got shorter, you, his long-time assistant, started putting on shorter dresses as well. Tonight you chose to put on a pale yellow sundress, one that’s short but flowy, demands his attention in an instant, making his eyes glued to your smooth legs and flirty neckline.
Fuck, he thinks to himself before recovering as quick as humanly possible. Truth is, he’s been crushing on you since… well, probably day one, but only admitted it to himself about a year ago, when the two of you somehow ended up sharing a bed at a mutual friend’s party and he woke up with you curled to his side, your scent filled his nose and as he listened to your quiet snoring, which you absolutely denied you did, he realized just how much in love he was with you.
But he’s been doing everything he could to keep his feelings at bay, not wanting to ruin your friendship and he also happened to be your boss, though your work relationship is quite different than at an office job. However at moments like this, when you completely take his breath away and make it quite hard for him to think of anything else than ripping your dress off and–
“You okay, Styles?” you snap him out of his thoughts.
“Yeah,” he smiles, shaking his head. “Not a fan of shorts?” he asks with a flirty smirk, still fiddling with his tie.
There’s a beat of silence on your end, something crosses your face, but it’s gone before he could catch it.
“Everyone is a fan of the shorts,” you end up saying. “Let me help you with that,” you offer as you step closer and swat his hands away so you can fix his tie.
The AC is working perfectly in the room, but suddenly Harry feels like he is burning up, standing so close to you, your hands brushing against his chest a few times and even though it’s only through the fabric of his shirt, it’s maddening. He can only hope you can’t feel or hear his hammering heartbeat.
“There,” you smile softly stepping back and admiring your work.
“All good?” he asks, squaring his shoulders.
“The best,” you reply, smile widening. “Everything is set, Shania just got off the stage,” you inform him. “Sarah and Mitch are here as well.”
Harry hums with a nod. His drummer and guitarist have been the last ones to arrive at the venue after doing bathtime with their kids and leaving them with the nanny before heading out for their night shift at the stadium.
Harry looks at you and notices a bit of worry etched onto your expression. Tilting his head he narrows his eyes at you.
“Something is wrong,” he says and it’s not a question. He knows you enough to notice these small details.
“Nope,” you shake your head.
“Oh yeah. Tell me, I can handle it, I’m a big boy.”
You chuckle, shaking your head.
“It’s nothing work related.”
“Okay, I still want to know about it.”
You hesitate for a second before giving up, knowing he’ll bug you until eternity if you don’t tell him.
“Just… I had some problems with a pipe in my apartment,” you say dismissingly. “It’s fine.”
“It’s not fine if it’s bothering you. There’s still an issue?”
“Kinda,” you sigh. “I need to change the pain pipe in the bathroom, which means they have to rip the wall out. But they are coming in the weekend, so hopefully it’ll be settled.”
“But can you use the bathroom until then?” Harry asks suspiciously. You don’t answer and avoid looking into his eyes at first before shaking your head no. “So you can’t use your bathroom until the end of the week?”
“It’s fine, I’m gonna stay at my sister’s place until then.”
Harry gives you an amused look.
“Y/N, your sister lives in Southampton. That’s… what, like a three hour commute to London?”
“Two,” you correct him, earning an eye-roll.
“You’re not going to your sister’s.”
“Well, I’m not paying for a hotel either,” you stubbornly say.
“Of course not, because you’re gonna stay at mine.”
He says it out loud before he could even think it through. But as soon as his words land, he knows he might have brought hell on himself. It’s challenging enough to spend so much time with you during the day, but having you in his home might be another level of torture.
You bark out a laugh.
“No I’m not,” you simply say, not even taking him seriously.
“Yes, you are. I live close, I have two guest rooms, this is the best solution,” he argues, pushing his own doubts to the back of his mind, because putting his feelings aside, this is actually the best solution, saving you from the hours spent on a train every day just to get to London.
“Harry, I can’t just move in with you.”
“Just until your apartment is fixed,” he shrugs. “I’ll drive over to your place after the show, you can grab whatever you need.”
You stand there, just blinking at him for a couple of long minutes, like you’re expecting him to say he was just joking, but he stands his ground. As bad of an idea it is regarding his situation, he would never let you down.
“I mean… If you’re sure,” you give in. Harry nods with a satisfied smile.
“I’m sure.”
“Okay, thank you then. Show time in twenty,” you remind him then, switching back to work mode before walking out of the dressing room.
The second the door clicks shut, Harry lets his head fall back with a quiet groan. Brilliant idea, he thinks to himself. Invite the woman you've been secretly in love with into your house, for several days. What an idiot you are, Styles!
A generous, caring idiot, but still an idiot, because he might have just made the worst decision in his life.
The show goes down without a hiccup. He puts on his best performance, as always and the fans love him, as always.
You watch most of the show from backstage, but you love Season 2 Weight Loss way too much not to go out, so you dance in Circle for a little and sneak back before any of the fans could recognize you. Harry however totally saw you and the smile that stretched across his face is the absolute sweetest.
When the show is over Harry quickly showers while you do your usual rounds settling things. When he’s ready the two of you roll out of the garage in his car, passing by the fans leaving the stadium.
You’ve just bought your apartment last year and Harry realizes he hasn’t even been there when he pulls up in front of the building. He follows you up to the third floor and bites back the excitement he feels upon stepping into the apartment.
“I’ll try to be quick. Make yourself at home,” you tell him before disappearing in the bedroom, leaving him alone in the open concept kitchen and living room.
“No need to hurry,” he calls after you, already curiously eyeing up the place.
The apartment is small, not cramped, but very lived-in. The vibe suits his expectations of your home pretty well. The couch is tucked beneath a large window overlooking the street, a knitted blanket carelessly thrown over one arm. Books are stacked on every available surface instead of neatly shelved, plants occupy nearly every windowsill and there are tiny trinkets everywhere, little ceramic animals, candles in mismatched holders, postcards pinned to a corkboard over the faux fireplace.
It looks exactly like you and it makes him smile as he wanders farther inside, hands buried in his pockets as if touching anything would somehow feel too intrusive.
His attention lands on the fridge, it’s covered in magnets, lists, sticky notes and quite some polaroids. He instantly moves closer to look at them. He sees his family, friends, crew members and random moments from the past years, including ones with him as well.
One of them is from Tokyo last year, the two of you squeezed into a photo booth, both pulling ridiculous faces.
Another one is from backstage at Madison Square Garden where you're laughing so hard your head is thrown back while he's clearly saying something dramatic, a moment Anthony caught on camera.
There’s one where he is giving you a piggy back ride in Italy and one taken in his mom’s backyard, the two of you posing like the worst models.
His smile stretches wider with each photo he spots that features him, feeling warm that you cherish these memories just as much as he does.
Then he moves over to the living room and the cushions seem familiar. It takes a moment for him to realize it’s because they have the cases on them the two of you chose out together at a flea market in Berlin two years ago. He teased you, saying you’ll probably never use them, but now you’re proving him wrong.
His eyes continue roaming the room until they snag on the wall opposite him. His smile softens instantly. There’s a painting hanging over the couch, one he gifted you for your birthday three years ago. An abstract piece he found in a gallery and instantly thought the vibrant colors would fit you so well. He was afraid you wouldn’t like it, but here it is, hanging in your home years later.
“Snooping around, I see.” Your voice makes him turn. You're standing in the hallway now, duffel bag slung over your shoulder, another backpack hanging from one arm.
“Nice decor you have,” he nods towards the painting.
“Ah, yeah, right? Some rando just gave it to me,” you tease him, pulling a laugh out of him.
“Dude’s got taste,” he adds. “You’re done?”
“Yes. If I forgot anything I’ll just swing by.”
Harry nods and follows you out of the apartment, glancing back one last time, a smile tugging on his lips knowing he is there, in your home in the tiny details.
Unlike him, you’ve been at Harry’s place a million times, so there’s nothing surprising there. Walking into the spacious townhouse he bought a couple of years ago in Hampstead you already know the way to the guest rooms.
“The one facing the backyard has AC, use that one,” he tells you.
“Ah, I get the fancy room?” you tease him, standing on the stairs.
“You’re VIP,” he grins before he disappears down the hallway leading to the kitchen and you make your way up to the room.
He pours himself a glass of water and stares out the window sipping on it. That’s when he hears you shuffling around upstairs. The faint footsteps, the closet opening and closing, the facet in the bathroom turning on before you shut it off. He’s so used to being alone here, it’s an odd feeling having someone else here, but knowing it’s you warms him.
A couple of minutes later you appear in the kitchen as well.
“Hungry?” he asks, leaning onto the kitchen island and he catches your gaze jumping to his biceps just for the shortest second before shaking your head.
“I inhaled half of the catering at the stadium,” you admit, making him laugh.
“Well, feel free to raid the fridge anytime. And… you know where to find everything,” he chuckles.
“Thanks,” you smile at him bashfully. “And for letting me stay here too.”
“I didn’t let you, practically ordered you to stay,” he corrects you, making you laugh.
“Whatever. I’m gonna shower and then head to bed. Good show tonight.”
“Thanks,” he smiles softly before you nod and then head back upstairs.
Minutes later he hears the shower running in the guest bathroom and his thoughts are quick to wander. Knowing that you’re up there, standing under the shower naked has him going crazy. All evening he tried to convince himself it won’t be any different than staying at the same hotel, but it is. There’s a kind of domesticity in your presence he is not used to and it has him spiraling a bit.
He shakes his head, annoyed at himself.
“Get it together, Styles,” he mutters under his breath, finishing his water and forcing himself to move.
He has spent years being around you. Years of late nights, long drives, hotel rooms, dressing rooms and airports. He knows what your coffee order is, how you like your fries, the exact face you make when you’re trying not to laugh during serious moments.
So why does hearing you move around his house feel so different? Probably because you’re not here because you’re working late or because everyone decided to stay over after a party. You’re here because he asked you to be. Because he wanted to make things easier for you. Because a selfish part of him wanted you here, sharing the same living space, spending even more time together.
By the time he finally gets ready for bed, the house is completely quiet again. He walks past the guest room on his way to his bedroom and stops for a second, staring at the closed door. The ridiculous thought crosses his mind that maybe he should knock and say goodnight, but he is quick to shake it.
Instead, he lies in his bed for hours, staring at the ceiling, thinking of you sleeping just down the hallway until his spiraling thoughts eat him away and he finally falls asleep.
He is gonna have a rough couple of days.
***
The next few days pass in a blur. Somehow, somewhere between rushed mornings, stadium chaos and late-night drives back home, the weirdness of having you in his house disappears. It becomes normal, having you around not just while working but at the end of the day as well, when Harry retreats from being Harry Styles, the pop icon.
It probably helped that he didn’t need to act like a host because you didn’t act like a guest. It was like you belonged there, in his home and he realized he liked it a lot.
Having coffee with you in the morning, running to the grocery store together or grabbing lunch from the nearby Chinese restaurant. He liked finding you on the couch, typing away on your laptop or making calls when he came back from his run and he liked that on show days you left together, did your own things and went home together at the end of the night, had a a glass of wine or two on the patio before going to bed and starting it all over again.
When you got a call three days into your stay at Harry’s that your bathroom works will be postponed to next week Harry tried to focus on easing your stress instead of the absolute happiness he felt for having you at his place even longer. It’s like even fate wanted him to enjoy more of the time spent together.
It’s another show day and Harry is already downstairs, getting ready to leave while you’re still upstairs.
“Have you seen my charger?” he calls up.
“Which one?” comes your answer.
“The black one.”
“It’s in the kitchen!”
He runs into the kitchen and is not surprised to find the item he’s been looking for everywhere lying on the counter. Laughing at himself he walks back to the front door while tucking the cord into his totebag, just when you come down the stairs.
Glancing up he freezes for a second, because you’re wearing jean shorts and an old band tee. His band tee to be precise and you look a lot better in it than he ever did. He doesn’t even care that it's one of his favorite ones, he would be fine if you wore it from now on.
“Is that my shirt?” he asks, recovering.
You look up at him innocently.
“Is it?”
“Yes, it is,” he chuckles.
“Ah, it must have ended up in my pile of laundry.”
“Interesting, because I haven’t worn it in a while, so it was not even near the laundry,” he keeps teasing you with a growing smirk.
“Your memory is shit, Styles,” you wave at him dismissingly. “Let’s go, we’re gonna be late,” you say, changing the subject. Harry just shakes his head chuckling, but follows you out the door.
That stupid t-shirt messes with his head. Or to be more precise, seeing you wearing his clothes is what has his panties in a twist.
Every time you walk past him it’s like electricity buzzes through him. Then he starts picturing you more of his things. His running shorts. His shirt. His boxer briefs… It’s a trap he walked straight into.
When the show starts he manages to shut you out, but then you decide to go into the pit again. No matter how badly he fights the urge to ignore you, he can’t. During Dance No More he stops right in front of you, dancing while looking straight into your eyes. At first you just shake your head at him and try to shoo him away, but when he doesn’t, you end up mirroring his dance moves that makes him laugh.
“Okay, I accept defeat,” he says into the mic before finally moving on, the fans going crazy over what they just witnessed and that’s when you decide to return backstage.
By the time the show ends, Harry is still smiling. Partially because the show felt extra good tonight, but mostly because of the interaction he had with you and the thought that now he gets to go home with you.
“You’re in a good mood,” Mitch comments when they’re backstage, wiping sweat from his face.
Harry looks up from the bottle of water in his hand. “Am I?”
“Yes,” Anthony answers from beside him, his camera is still in his hand. “It’s actually slightly annoying.”
“Sorry my happiness is inconveniencing you,” Harry chuckles.
“Not the happiness,” Mitch says, pointing at him. “The lovesick teenage boy energy.”
Harry almost chokes on his water. “What?”
“Please, I’m kind of hurt you think I wouldn’t notice the change in you,” Mitch scoffs. “Besides, I know this exact feeling,” he adds, his gaze jumping over to Sarah who is talking to a crew member in the corner of the room.
“I… I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Harry shakes his head, but he can’t help the smile that tugs on his lips.
“Yeah, okay. Keep lying to yourself. See you tomorrow,” Mitch pats his shoulder before walking over to his wife.
Harry looks at Anthony who has his camera in front of his face and snaps a picture of him. Then he checks the screen and nods to himself.
“Yep, lovesick teenage boy,” he says before walking away.
Harry just shakes his head in disbelief before heading over to you, throwing his towel at you.
“Ew! Get your sweaty towel off me!” You cry out, throwing the towel right back at him.
“I’m gonna shower and then we can leave.”
“Take your time, you stink!” You call after him teasingly, to which he just flips you off before walking away.
By the time Harry finally finishes showering, you’re already waiting by his dressing room, scrolling through your phone.
“Done?” you ask, looking up from the screen.
“Squeaky clean,” he grins, proud of himself for quoting his own song. You just roll your eyes, but he spots the smile hiding in the corners of your mouth.
The ride home is the same. You’re talking about bits from the show and then sing along to some music, it’s been his favorite after-show ritual lately.
Arriving home you’re already heading into the kitchen to pour the usual glass of wine for the two of you while Harry heads up to his room to drop his stuff off before joining you downstairs. Just outside his bedroom he starts to feel like something is off, but only realizes what it is when he walks in.
It feels like hell in there. It’s hotter than in a sauna.
“What the…” He grabs his phone to check the app that’s connected to the AC system in the house and sees that the one in his bedroom is not working. He taps on it several times, but it just wouldn’t turn on.
Then he digs out the remote, hoping to start it with that, but that doesn’t work either. It’s dead.
“Hey, what’s taking you so long?” You walk in with two glasses of wine, but instantly feel the heat in his room. “Holy shit, did you set your room on fire or something?”
“The AC is not working,” he sighs in defeat.
“Damn, okay, no worries. We can call someone tomorrow,” you say, handing him one of the wines. He takes a big gulp, since it’s pretty cold at least.
“Sure. I’ll just sleep in the other guest room tonight,” he says, but then he quickly realizes. “Fuck, there’s no AC there either,” he groans, his head rolling back in frustration. “Okay, then the couch it is for tonight.”
“What?” your eyes widen. “You’re not sleeping on the couch, you need to rest, you have a show tomorrow.”
“Where else am I gonna sleep then?” he chuckles helplessly.
“In my room. I’ll take the couch,” you say right away.
“Absolutely not,” he shakes his head.
“Harry–”
“No.”
“You need to fucking sleep! In a bed!” you argue, slightly raising your voice from the frustration of how stubborn he is being.
“And you don’t need the rest? You’re working too, Y/N.”
“Yeah, but I’m not performing at Wembley.”
“You’re not sleeping on the couch in my house,” he states, making you roll your eyes.
“Well, you’re not sleeping on the couch in your house either.”
“Y/N, I’m not taking your bed–”
“It’s your bed in your guest room in your house.”
“No, right now it’s your bed.”
“Jesus, you’re so fucking annoying!” you growl. “Then we’re sharing the bed,” you then say, surprising probably the both of you.
“What?” he chuckles awkwardly.
“It’s big enough, we can just share it tonight and then we can have the AC fixed tomorrow. No big deal,” you explain and this time he can’t argue.
Well, he would love to, but he would rather not say out loud his arguments. He can’t just say he doesn’t want to share the bed because it’s too intimate for him and he would very likely spiral, so he chickens out and just nods.
“Okay. I guess… you’re right.”
Satisfaction takes over your expression.
“See? There was no need to be this dramatic about the whole situation,” you say, taking a sip from your wine. Harry’s eyebrows arch.
“I’m literally the least dramatic person you know.”
You look at him and that look speaks for you.
“Okay,” he sighs. “That might be a lie,” he mumbles.
You carry on with the evening as usual. It’s still so hot outside that you don’t sit on the patio too long, just until you both finish your wine and then head back inside. Harry uses his own bathroom and you use the guest one just like every evening since you’ve been here.
But once he is done he feels ridiculous for being nervous at the thought of going over to your room and get in bed beside you.
“Get your shit together,” he mumbles to himself before finally making his way down the hallway.
The door is open and you’re already sitting on the bed, scrolling on your phone when he walks in. When you look up you smile softly at him that already has his stomach sinking.
“Come on in! Make yourself home!” you gesture at the bed. Harry chuckles.
“Well, it is my home.”
“Shut up,” you flip him off as he takes the right side of the bed.
Tentatively he sits on the edge at first, then a little awkwardly lies down.
“Are you going to lie like a board all night?” you tease him.
“What if I am?” he scoffs.
“Okay, do whatever you want. It really is your home,” you say teasingly.
Harry wills himself to relax and get under the covers finally. The bed is big. Big enough that you’ll probably not touch all night, but Harry is still worried.
“I hope you haven’t started snoring since the last time we slept in the same room,” you break the silence. Harry peeks over at you.
“You’re the one who snores.”
You gape at him dramatically.
“I told you I don’t snore!”
“Can you hear yourself while sleeping?” he arches an eyebrow.
“Well, of course not. I’m sleeping!”
“Okay, I have heard you. And you were definitely snoring.”
That’s a lie. It was just loud breathing probably, but he loves teasing you with that, he loves seeing you get all heated up while defending yourself.
“Yeah? Then you fart all night!”
At that, you both stay silent for a second before uncontrollable laughter bursts right out of you both.
“Fart all night? That’s the best you could come up with?” Harry asks, wiping the tears away from his eyes.
“Did you want me to say you pee your pants?” you wheeze out, making him laugh even harder.
It takes long minutes for you to calm down, silence settling over the room. Now Harry feels a lot less awkward about the whole bed sharing situation.
“Goodnight, Harry,” you whisper at last.
“Goodnight, Y/N,” he replies and falls asleep with a smile on his face.
***
Harry wakes up before his alarm, which is unusual. With his eyes still closed he buries his face further into the pillow and at first the scent doesn’t even register, your scent all over the pillow. Then feels the warmth, not excruciating, but definitely warmer than what he feels in the morning. Almost like… A body. Pressed against his.
The memories of the two of you fighting over the bed situation last night creep back into his mind and then he slowly puts the picture together before he even opens his eyes, that it’s you who’s pressed up against him.
he is lying on his side, one arm stretched out forward, right under the pillow on which your head is resting. You’re lying with your back plastered against his front, his other arm thrown over your waist, his palm touching your bare stomach where your top has ridden up in your sleep. Your legs are tangled together and the cherry on top is what’s happening around your midsections.
Spooning you his crotch is perfectly pressed up against your ass and just to make things even more interesting, he is sporting an erection.
It’s all settling in slowly but surely, his pulse picking up and then he completely freezes when you stir in your sleep and rub your ass even more against his cock. A silent groan slips from his lips. He’s still groggy and half asleep, but he can tell this should not be happening.
The rational part of his brain is screaming at him to pull back and get as far from her as possible, but that voice is tuned out as he takes a deep breath and your scent fills his nose, making his cock twitch from the need to touch you. He stays put, slight panic creeping up his spine as he tries to figure out what to do, but that’s when you start moving again. At first he thinks you’re just wriggling in your sleep, but after a few seconds he realizes it’s different.
You’re rubbing against him. Like, fully rubbing.
His muscles flex as he tries to control himself, another groan bubbling from him as he dances on the edge of a very dangerous territory.
You must be still asleep and it’s just an instinct, it’s totally normal to get horny in your dreams, he tells himself, so he shouldn’t take advantage of it, but it’s getting so fucking hard to resist.
But then…
“Harry…” you breathe out, arching even more against him and that’s when he snaps.
His hand that’s been on your stomach grips your hip and he finally lets himself grind against you, creating more friction and making you both moan.
“Fuck,” he grunts as he keeps moving his hips, his cock straining against his briefs.
Your hand finds his on your hips and taking it you tug it towards your core. He is quick to realize what you need and he gladly slips his hand under the elastic of your sleeping shorts, cupping your heated cunt at first, before gliding two fingers between your wet folds.
“Yes, please,” you groan, head falling back and he rests his forehead against your shoulder as he keeps rocking against you, his fingers slipping inside you.
“Fuck, Y/N,” he breathes, feeling like he is losing his mind as you grind against his palm and cock at the same time, chasing your own relief while he is inching closer to his as well.
Your hands find his that’s under the pillow, gripping the sheets and you bring it to your mouth, placing an open-mouthed kiss into his palm at first but then bite the tender skin when his fingers inside you hit the right spot.
“More,” you choke out.
The hand you bit moves to your chest, slipping under your top, palming your breast and you arch into his touch, eager to get more of him. You’re both close to the edge, panting and moaning, Harry is in a state of disbelief and overflowing joy at what’s happening and that’s when the bubble is popped.
His phone starts to ring on the nightstand, loud and sharp, making you both jerk at the interruption. You both move away and sit up, looking at each other like you were just caught doing something you shouldn’t have, the pleasure you were feeling quickly morphing into shock and panic.
The phone is still ringing and Harry snatches it clearing his throat before answering the call. He tries his best to focus on whatever is being said to him, but his mind is still stuck from just moments ago when he was basically dry-humping you and he was very much on the edge of coming.
“Yeah,” he croaks out. “Sure, I’ll head over.”
When he ends the call you’ve moved to the very edge of the bed, an unreadable expression on your face.
“I need to go to the stadium, something is wrong with the sound system, they need to do an emergency sound check,” he tells you and you nod. He hesitates for a second then tries to reach out towards you just when you jump out of the bed.
“Then we need to get ready,” you say, looking everywhere but at him.
“Y/N…”
“I’m gonna take a shower and then… You know what? You’ll have to go alone, I have some errands to run.”
That’s a fat lie, he knows. But he doesn’t call you out as you practically sprint into the bathroom, shutting him out. He stays there, sitting and staring after you for a few more seconds, absolutely no idea what to do. He runs a hand through his hair and lets out a frustrated breath as he stands and walks out of the room. He is dying to go after you and talk to you, ask you what you’re thinking, but the look on your face sent a clear message that talking to him was the last thing you wanted to do. He definitely doesn’t want to push you too far, so he is left with drawing his own conclusions and right now those are pretty clear.
You regretted it and now everything is fucked.
***
You don’t go to the stadium with him and when he returns home you’re gone. He fights the urge to call you and beg you to come back and talk to him, but instead he just texts you that the issue has been solved, to which you just reply with liking his message.
He is on the edge, waiting for you to return until the very last minute he needs to leave for tonight’s show, but you text him you’ll just get a taxi to the stadium, he doesn’t have to wait for you. Harry swallows down the disappointment, but forces himself to carry on.
He has done this a thousand times. Walk into a stadium, leave everything else behind, become the person everyone came to see, except today he is having a hard time shutting his mind off. He keeps looking for you everywhere as he goes through his usual pre-show rituals, but you’re nowhere to be found. But he knows you’re there, because everything gets done, it’s just as if a ghost is doing your job.
When he steps out onto the stage he more or less manages to get his focus straight, but he can tell he is not giving his best performance. He can only hope the fans won’t notice it. When he runs out to his short break after Fine Line and he is on his way back, that’s when he runs into you for the first time.
“Hey, you’re here,” he stops in his tracks.
“Of course, where else would I be?” you ask with a smile that doesn’t reach your eyes. He is debating being late for the next set just to talk to you.
“Are we going home together afterwards?” he ends up asking.
“Sure,” you nod shortly, though your expression has him worried. He doesn’t have time to talk more however.
He somehow gets through the second half of the show, even kind of gets more into the flow after the short interaction with you, but once he is off the stage he is eager to get home with you as soon as possible so you can talk.
When he walks out of his dressing room and you’re there relief washes over him. Part of him was afraid you might ditch him and say you’re spending the night at your sister’s place.
“Ready?” he asks, slinging his bag over his shoulder and you nod.
The ride home is suffocating. Silence takes over the car and it’s driving Harry crazy how just hours ago in the morning he had his hands on your body and now you feel miles away even though you’re sitting right beside him.
He is working up the courage to start a conversation when you walk into the house and that’s when realization hits him.
“Fuck,” he breathes out.
“What?” you ask him.
“I forgot… I didn’t get anyone to fix the AC.”
You stare back at him for a second, expression unreadable.
“That’s okay. I’ll just sleep on the couch,” you say at last.
“No, Y/N.”
“Shut up, I’m not arguing about this tonight,” you snap back, but it triggers something in him.
“Oh, okay. Then let’s argue about why you’ve been avoiding me all day.”
“I was not avoiding you.”
“What a fucking lie,” he scoffs in disbelief, his bluntness making your eyes widen.
“I’m not having this conversation, Harry,” you shake your head.
“Why?” he challenges.
“What?” you blink at him.
“Why are you not having this conversation?”
Your jaw tightens as you stare back at him.
“Because I don’t think there’s anything to talk about.” Your voice is low and steady, but he can see the tornado behind your eyes. Harry lets out a humorless laugh, shaking his head.
“Nothing to talk about?”
He takes a step closer, but stops himself before he gets too close. He’s not going to corner you, not when you already look like you’re moments away from running away again.
“Y/N, this morning we were moments away from making each other come.”
“I know,” you hiss.
“And then you just ran away.”
“I did not.”
“You locked yourself in the bathroom and didn’t come out until I was gone.”
“Okay, fine!” you snap. “I’ve been avoiding you. Happy? Can we move on?”
“No, not until we walk about this!”
“There is nothing to talk about!” Your voice is raised, chest heaving as you stare back at him.
“I beg to differ,” he scoffs.
“Then let me rephrase it. I’m not gonna listen to you say it was a mistake and we shouldn’t have done it.”
That hits him hard in the head and chest, his anger quickly morphing into confusion.
“What?” he asks quietly.
“Don’t give me this lost puppy face,” you huff out a dry laugh. “That’s where we would have ended up at. You saying shit like let’s pretend it never happened and just go back to how it was, so I was just cutting it short.” Your voice wavers at the end and it finally clicks for Harry.
You weren’t acting this way because you regretted it, you did it because you thought he would want to forget about it. The realization hits him so hard he almost laughs, except there is nothing funny about it.
“Y/N…” he breathes out.
You look away, suddenly uncomfortable now that you’ve said it out loud.
“Don’t,” you mumble.
“Don’t what?”
“Don’t stand there looking at me like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like you feel bad for me.”
Something in his chest twists as he takes a step closer.
“Y/N, that’s not what this is.”
“Then what is it?” you ask, looking back at him. “Because I know you, Harry. I know you better than almost anyone. You’re going to tell me you didn’t mean it, that you were caught up in the moment, that it’s complicated and we shouldn’t ruin what we have.” A tear rolls down your cheek, but you continue. “And you know what? You’re right, it’s way too complicated and I feel stupid, because there’s no way you–”
He cuts you off with a rough kiss, making you instantly forget what you were talking about as you melt into his arms. It’s desperate, passionate and ignites a fire inside you in an instant. It’s also speaking for him, loud and clear, because as his tongue licks into your mouth you have no doubt he did not regret what happened in the morning, in fact, he is aching for more.
You’re fisting his shirt and his fingers dig into your waist, pulling you even closer, though that’s not possible anymore. His hands then start roaming your body, your back, your ass and then thighs before he grabs the back of them and urges you to jump, legs curling around his waist as he holds you.
He carries you up the stairs without breaking the kiss, but you both start laughing when he almost slips, throwing you both down the stairs.
“Fuck, please don’t kill us now,” you laugh, planting a hand onto the wall next to you.
“That would be pretty unfortunate,” he grins, but then his face turns serious for a second and he even puts you down. Standing on the step above him, you’re about the same height. “This is real, Y/N. I want you, so fucking bad, I’ve wanted you for so long and–”
Now you’re the one cutting him off with a kiss, though it’s a lot less aggressive than his. When you pull back, you just smile at him.
“It’s real. Now would you just keep talking or we could–”
The words turn into a laugh as he picks you up, running into your room so fast, you haven’t seen him move this fast before, not even on stage. He throws you onto the bed and once he is on top of you, the broken AC in his room is long forgotten, along with all the unnecessary tension you put each other through today.
***
The heatwave is still raging, melting London and Wembley Stadium, but the residency continues. The show blows up the place as usual and Harry parades around the stage in his slutty little shorts, as they are now officially called.
It’s the part of the show where everyone is moved out to the runway, bringing the show even closer to the fans in the pit. Harry is dripping from sweat as he dances past Mitch.
“Feeling hot?” the guitarist asks, trying to shout over the music. Harry laughs nodding as he saunters closer, Mitch then leans over to his ear. “Did you get your AC fixed?”
“What AC?” he asks, confused.
“In your fucking bedroom! Have you been sleeping in hell all week?” he asks, but then it clicks for the both of them. “Holy shit!” Mitch laughs as Harry just dances away with a knowing smile. “Holy shit! You and Y/N!” he shouts after him.
But Harry just giggles and grabs his mic and then starts singing.
“Ready, steady, go!”
Thank you for reading, please like and reblog if you enjoyed and buy me a coffee if you want to support me!
summary: jack abbot is a big fan of calling people pet names. it drives you nuts.
pairing: jack abbot x resident!reader
tags: afab reader, pet names [sweetheart, best girl], jack abbot being a cocky flirt, r has a huge crush on him
word count: 0.9k
notes: for all of those that were victims of workplace crushes <3
Doctors are not nice. Never have been, never will be. Even your professors in medical school had been made of stone, steel-faced and stubborn, refusing to let even a slight slipup happen without any consequence. It was excusable, the behavior of doctors, due to what they saw everyday and what they held in their hands. You have felt yourself becoming thicker-skinned as you’ve spent your years inside of the emergency department, an unmovable object in the unfair windstorm of life.
But Jack Abbot is not mean. He is not unfair or harsh. He is empathetic and gentle despite the consistent pressure always put on his shoulders. It’s jarring, compared to all of your other mentors. Dr. Robby, who will scold you until his face turns red beneath that beard and scruff, or the residents that have inherited their attitudes from him.
It’s only human nature, the fact that you find yourself so drawn to Abbot. Beneath the cool demeanor you keep, you’re just a being of nerves and flesh and blood and synapses, all willing to work on their own without your help. The drastic difference between how others treated those beneath them and Abbot was enough to get your stomach churning and heart racing, as much as you passed it off as a stupid workplace crush.
The worst part was that he couldn’t keep his nicknames to himself.
“You alright, sweetheart?” He asks as he steps beside you, a respectful amount of inches away as he glances at the patient board you’ve been so adamantly focused on for the past few minutes. “You’ve been standing here for a while.”
The name settles deep in your gut, an uncomfortable feeling that makes you fidgety. Your thumb drums against the counter as you pass the most nonchalant look you can summon over at him, lips pulling into a tight smile. “Fine. Just dozed off a little bit.”
Jack’s gaze travels over you like he’s trying to find something physically wrong, taking in the way you jut out your hips to take some pressure off of your back. He reaches out to press his hand into the small of your back, nudging you to sit up straight again. “Go take a break. Sit down and rest your feet for a moment, get a snack and a cup of coffee, come back your best self.”
“No, Dr. Abbot, really,” you argue. A hand raises defensively while the other gestures to the bustling hallways of the emergency room. “I have a few patients I need to check on and another couple that need to be discharged ‘cause they’ve already been here all night.”
Despite your protests, your attending simply crosses his arms over his chest and stares you down. “I’ll check with Lena and handle all of that.”
Immediately, the two of you end up in a staring contest. You with parted lips and a complaint hanging on the tip of your tongue and Jack with a clench of his jaw and a flex of muscle in his bicep. Finally, your shoulders drop in defeat, causing your attending’s face to relax in victory. “Go on, then,” he coaxes.
With a childish huff, you spin on your heel, irritation prickling up your spine. Who did Jack Abbot think he was, telling you when you needed to take a break? When was the last time he had taken a break? Sat down? Ate a snack in the middle of a busy night shift?
His cocky face is imprinted in your mind as you burst into the break room, sitting down on one of the chairs so abruptly that it screeches against the linoleum. You’re pouting, and deathly aware of it, but in the closed room of the breakroom there is no judgement to be cast and so you allow yourself to be grumpy about being sidelined.
Stupid Jack Abbot and his stupid nicknames and his stupid empathy for every little thing.
After approximately fifteen minutes of staring at the wall and allowing your brain to shut off for the first time all night, the door to the breakroom creaks open slowly, bringing in a wave of noise until it shuts again.
“How’s my favorite girl?” Jack asks, bracing his hand on the back of an unoccupied chair. “Do you feel better?”
There it is, that foolish gut feeling again the minute that sweet timbre hits your ears. You’ve never been one to crave praise, or even be flustered by it, however it was infuriatingly different when it came from your extremely handsome attending.
You prop your elbow up on the table, placing your chin in the palm of your hand and giving him your best bored look. “Dying of boredom from being sidelined,” you grump.
He just chuckles at your antics, reaching over to grab your wrist. In response, you lift your head so that he can place your hand down, breaking down your grumpy exterior physically. “You weren’t sidelined, you were told to take a break, there is a difference.” His hand lands on the top of your head, fingertips scrunching your hair and loosening it from your ponytail.
With an irritated grunt, you swat away his hand. “I don’t see you tellin’ anyone else to take a break.” You scrunch your nose at him mockingly, leaning back in your chair to look up at him.
Jack is the picture of amused, reaching out to pinch your chin playfully. “I don’t worry about anyone else that much,” he replies.
Finally, he pats your cheek gently with just his fingertips. “C’mon, sweetheart. Stop pouting and get out there.” With that, he turns and exits the breakroom, leaving you to gape at the door while trying to find a way to steady your own tachycardia.
How were you supposed to treat patients when Jack Abbot was so tempted to make you one?
synopsishi again(im gonna be so annoying with this). i had some voices whisper into my ear about a shared tattoo with jack abbott and wife(pediatrics doctor?) reader? reader and jack having two tattoos. one that everyone would see and the other where only the two of them would. and what if, their marriage is like not known to everyone except for Robby and Dana(?hehehe) request!
warningstattoo talk? general hospital stuff, language, making out, smut-ish
authornotein honour of tom holland and zendaya coming back to screen soon i dedicate the tattoo's to them. i had soooo much fun writing this, i can't believe i'm slowly moving into being a jack girlie. ignore the fact that Jack is for some reason in day shift. this one's for @expreissionism
My Pitt masterlist. other Jack fic!
The first time the Pittlings made the connection they thought nothing of it. Some ink swirled around the skin of two doctors wasn't anything, many of them had tattoos themselves.
Doctor McKay had the sort she got in collage and regretted, Robby had one or two that meant something to him, that he'd find himself tracing in times of despair. Doctor Santos had lost count of how many she had and what they all meant.
Javadi herself was pretty terrified at the idea of putting a sharp needle to skin. She was afraid of the permanence of it. The pain.
And her mother finding out.
That was until she spotted yours.
“You have a tattoo,” she noted standing behind you, paying close attention to how you examined the boy in front of you.
You nodded like you weren't trying to listen close down your stethoscope as you asked the boy to breathe in, listening at his back. “I do.”
“That's... really cool,” she said.
You smiled, small. “Thank you.”
Javadi watched your wrist move and arm flex as you put the stethoscope back around your neck, holding onto it either end. She'd called you down for a pedes case but was finding herself distracted by the beauty of the ink on you.
There were hard strokes of black and lighter ones, all drawn around in swirls that came together to make a sun. She thought it looked like the sun from tangled- one of her favourite movies. But you were a grown woman. Maybe you liked the movie as much as she did.
Javadi shook off the idea as you stood, telling the parents what you found. A small crackle in his breathing but as he'd been down with a flu and fever it might not mean anything terrible. Kept for observation and some blood work was ordered before the two of you were slipping away.
“What does it mean?” asked Victoria, hot on your heels as you walked to the nurses station. “The-the sun, I mean? Not crackles in the chest, I-I know that.”
You chuckled, tapping in to chart. Although you worked floors above on the pedes ward, your vintage disney top under the lab coat representing that, you were down enough on emergency and trauma cases to be a familiar and welcome face.
“Oh, you know,” you said, balancing your elbow on the table and checking on the ink. Your lips quirked at looking at it. “Just a little sun, for brightness and stuff.”
Javadi thought it was fitting. You were a sunshine person, hopeful and kind, like a ray of light in the depths of hell she called the ED. She supposed it came with the job, having to be the hope for the sick children.
Everyone down the Pitt could afford to be miserable, with a good enough excuse in working in the emergency department. You were with kids, helping them and their parents through anything minor to the worst days of their lives.
“Kinda, look to the light, kinda thing?” Victoria asked.
You slowly glanced up at her, finding a new perspective. “Yeah. I like that take.”
“Well, well, well,” said a hoarse voice coming closer to the two of you.
Beyond Javadi you looked past her.
Jack Abbot casually strolled over, hands behind his back, arms pulled in tight muscles and freckles in his dark scrubs. “You know, you're down here so often anyone would think you're after a Pedes attending job.”
You rose a brow, challenging him. “Are you offering?”
“Oh yeah, anything to keep sunshine down here.”
You rolled your eyes playfully, leaving Javadi to look between the two of you. She hadn’t realised the two of you knew each other so well.
Sure, you were the first everyone went to for a pedes case but how often was that?
“Sunshine! That’s funny,” said Javadi, standing between the two of you
Jack rose a brow. “It is?”
“Yeah- yeah,” she said with a clear of her throat. “Cause’- she has a sunshine tattoo.”
Jacks lips quirked up to a smirk. “Really?”
You leaned over the counter, chin resting in the palm of your hand. “Yeah. Got it some time ago.”
“Is it somewhere PG-13?” He asked.
“Well to know that you’d have to buy me a drink first.”
“I plan to.”
The two of you shared a smirk.
Suddenly, Victoria thought she was stuck in the middle of something.
It was Whitaker who discovered it next.
He was working with Abbot and Shen on a patient in trauma one, still waiting for the feeling in his feet to return to him after a twelve hour shift. But he wanted to see this patient through first, even if he could have left now the night crawlers had swept in.
He was shooting an x-ray for the guy in a car crash, checking his ribs after being found pressed up against his steering wheel.
Somewhere else you were stitching up his young daughter.
“The car came from nowhere,” fretted the patient, wincing with every breath. “I swear- I swear!”
“Don’t you worry, sir, we’re gonna get you sorted,” assured Jack, peeling off his jacket and replacing it with a vest.
“Is my- is my daughter okay?”
“She just needed a couple stitches,” said Denis.
Jack stretched up, moving the x-ray machine over the patient. “Don’t worry, your daughter is in the best hands. They lumped you with the second best, I’m afraid.”
The patient gave a huff of a laugh that evidently hurt more than anything.
“Okay… shooting!”
Everyone without a vest backed away.
It was at that moment as Jack hovered shooting the x-ray that Whitaker got his first glance at some ink peeking out from his wrist. His watch hid most of what Denis could make out as a tattoo but he thought it strange that Robby should have his own tattoo also typically hidden behind his watch.
Robby and Jack always called themselves brothers, from their years of friendship and shared experiences in the Pitt.
He just hadn’t realised they were that close.
The x ray was quickly done and the machine pushed away as everyone focused on stabilising the man.
A couple broken ribs, a severely bruised chest.
An OR was free to check on any internal bleeding, get the chest sorted.
The doors pushed open and you walked in, a maybe eight years old propped on your hip, little arms hugging around your neck.
Jack’s lips tilted up at once. “Second visit in one day, upstairs must be boring.”
“Well we do like to call this place the circus,” you teased. “This is Mr Peters daughter, she wanted to check in on her daddy.”
Jack tugged off his gloves and Whitaker watched as he approached you and the little girl. “Your daddy is doing fine, he’s strong. I reckon just as strong as you. He’s gonna go upstairs for a closer look but you can go with him, if you like?”
The girl hid her head closer into your shoulder, mumbling something that Whitaker could just about make out.
“Will you come up with me?” She’d asked you.
You bounced her gently. “Course. Upstairs is where all the fun is anyway.”
Jack hummed. “Hm. She has the best candy too.”
Whitaker watched the young girls eyes light up.
As a team from surgery came to drag the father away you followed behind with the daughter in arms, Abbot and Whitaker following out and taking a moment to watch the crowd dissapear.
“Did good in there, Whitaker,” said Abbot, the both of them tearing off their gowns and gloves.
“Thanks,” he said. The both of them went separate ways. Oddly enough, Jack was following in the steps of the team that took up the man and his daughter.
Doctor Robby wondered over, sliding into his seat. If even one of his day shift was left, so was he. It was his own morale code to not go till everyone on day had, Denis was learning.
“Hey,” greeted Denis. “You know I had no idea you and Abbot had matching tattoos.”
“Huh, yeah...” said Robby of absent-mind as he watched the computer. It took him a second to register what he was saying and look up. “Wait, what did you say?”
Suddenly Whitaker felt like he'd said the wrong thing, seeing his attending look over his glasses at him. Maybe nobody was supposed to know? Maybe it was super personal? Or it was a stupid drunk choice they were both trying to forget and he'd just brought it up.
“Oh god, I didn't, I'm sorry, I shouldn't have-”
Robby scratched at his beard. “Jack and I do not have matching tattoos.”
“Oh.”
“What made you think that?” he asked. “Did someone... say something?” there was something akin to mischief in his eyes, alight.
“No! No! I just- I saw something that looked like a tattoo under where he keeps his watch, and I know you have one there too. Or- well- don't know but I've- I've seen-”
“Yeah, yeah I've got one there,” said Robby, looking back to the computer bored. “So does Jack. His is a moon. Mine's something to do with my grandmother.”
“A moon? Oh.”
Somewhere beyond Whitaker, past his shoulders, Victoria passed by, catching the conversation.
A moon on one. A sun on another. Interesting.
Samira was only looking for her patient when she found a shirtless Jack Abbot hiding behind the curtain with you standing behind him.
Both your heads shot up when the whirl of the curtain pulled back.
“Oh. I'm sorry,” said Samira. She was only momentarily shocked at Jack shirtless, SWAT gear discarded in the corner and the typical pedes case worker standing behind him, working on a bad obviously over eighteen.
Jack tried to shrug his shoulders but came away wincing. “S'alright.”
“Have you guys seen my patient?” she asked, going on to describe him.
“No, sorry. This room was empty,” you said, rolling a q-tip along Jack's shoulder blade. “Anything you need help with?”
Samira deflated, taking a seat on the chair in the corner of the room. She was feeling sorry for the patient she couldn't get to in time she didn't realise the look you and Jack shared, one of mutual agreement of apprehension.
“What happened to you?” Samira asked.
“He got shot,” you said.
“You were shot?”
Jack made a 'pfft' noise at the two of you. “Shot at. It was nothing. Hardly a graze.”
You scoffed, reaching over for some bandage and applying it to the wound. “I'll be the judge of that.”
“You my doctor now?” asked Jack.
You bit back a smirk. “Someone has to be.”
Samira had worked with Abbot a handful of times, you maybe more on cases with children that required delicate matters. She never realised the two of you were close enough to tease. Close enough that you would be the first person he runs to for help.
Curious, Samira walked around Jack, standing on the other side of his bed as you showed her the wound.
“Oh. Ouch.”
“See?” you said with a raise of your brows.
Jack's freckled arms crossed over his chest in protest.
“You have a chart?” asked Mohan.
“No,” you said. “We're keeping this off the chart.”
Samira nodded, lips quirking. We?
“Don't need the paperwork from the hospital,” said Jack. “Got big plans tonight, can't have paperwork getting in the way.”
“Big plans?” asked Mohan.
Jack hummed in affirmation.
With your careful bandages around his shoulder he stood and reached for his shirt on the side.
It wasn't just a quick glimpse Samira got of where another tattoo lied. It was a long look as Jack made work at pulling over his navy shirt overhead. At the ache in his shoulder you helped pull it over him and he didn't object, he let you help him like it was natural.
But just under his armpit, on the side of his chest there was a clear stroke of black ink in the curves and strikes of a letter. Just one simple there, no bigger than a finger nail next to his heart.
“All good to go solider,” you said, rubbing his un-injured shoulder.
“Thank you, Doc.”
You smirked. “Don't go straining yourself this evening.”
Jack chuckled, low in his throat. “I make no promises.”
It was only when watching the two of you leave that the hole in her heart for her own devoid love life sung with something other that sorrow. With hope and joy. It was only when she noticed Jack's hand linger on the small of your back as he leaned into say something to you that she realised the slope of the letter at his chest matched the very first letter of your name.
A week later and slowly Samira was forgetting the whole thing. Not forgetting the patient that had ran out on her but forgetting the state she found Jack in, forgetting how you helped him and the letter etched into his skin.
She hadn't told anyone either, because what business of others was it.
It wasn't even hers.
Maybe Jack knew someone in the army had the same initial as you. Maybe it was his mothers name. It didn't have to be yours. It was only seeing him shirtless, seeing you with him that had her thinking of you, she was sure.
But a week later she was brought back to that room.
“Woah- what happened to you?” Robby chuckled as you walked through the ED, a mixture of bodily fluids over your scrubs.
“Emergency c-section, twins,” you said. “I had no time for a gown.”
Robby's smile creased as you squelched closer. Your blue scrubs, typically a baby blue, was dyed darker due to blood, amniotic fluids and what he guessed might have been urine. “They didn't call OB?”
“OB was busy, apparently.”
“Apparently?” he asked, tablet in hand as he followed next to you as you walked to the scrub bin. You walked, arms slightly raised to not let them drop. Robby walked close but not close enough to touch the mess of you.
“Someone in OB has it out me.”
“Evil ex?”
“Yeah, one of yours,” you teased.
“Ouch.”
“I'm cranky.”
“I can tell.”
Santos and Samira were on a case together but stopped when they got a look at you. “Woah, what happened? A pile up?”
“Don't ask,” you grumbled.
From behind you Robby mouthed 'twins' and both knew not to say anymore.
“You know we have gowns for such messy procedures,” said Trinity.
You flashed her a grimace. “You're funny, Santos, must get it from this guy,” you said, slapping Robby in the chest as you stood in front of the scrub bins. However, as an official upstairs pedes resident you didn't have authority for more scrubs. “Is Jack around?”
“No,” said Robby, tapping his own ID cared on the pad and getting you an order of scrubs.
“Thanks.”
Samira wondered, briefly why you asked for Jack when it was probably easier to find some woman for your size. Like herself, for instance.
But in seconds you were pulling off your scrub top, leaving you only in a bra. Your scrub pants were next but you had a thin pair of leggings underneath. No one batted an eyes, except maybe Robby who cleared his throat and turned away, hypothetically hiding you behind his back.
“Thanks again, Robby,” you said, gaining his new scrubs.
“No problem,” he said, leaning over to you. “But you can bring this up to Jack,” he added in a mummer that Mohan just caught.
As you reached up, pulling the scrub top over you Samira caught it again. It was a smaller trace, a think line but there with no doubt.
A simple J in black ink in almost the exact spot as Jack had one of his own.
“Is that-” Mohan didn't get the words out before your scrub top was pulled over, swallowing you from Robby's scrub.
Robby and you looked to her as you pulled on the pants. “What?”
They were all looking at her, expectantly.
“No, nothing, it was nothing.”
“Okay, then.”
But now there was a knowing in there. That she didn't believe in coincidences, not when they were etched into skin.
“You look lovely.” Jack crept up behind you, his voice falling upon your ears with his head quick over your shoulder. He was like hot breath on a glass, there and gone the next second.
You understood why. Knew it had been easier to keep it quiet when things were fresh, yet, things had moved on from new and simple a long time ago and neither of you made to say it. Did you get a banner? Make a public announcement? You had no idea how to do it.
Keeping it on the low was all you knew how to do.
And anyhow, it made things far more exciting.
“Thank you,” you said, passing him a quick smile.
Jack hummed, crowding next to you at the station, leaning an arm on the counter and looking you up and down. “You'd look even better in scrubs that were mine.”
Your eyes rolled. “They're Robby's-”
“Robby's-” he scoffed, shaking his head.
“I had a messy C-section and it was this or several bodily fluids.”
“I'd have rather bodily fluids,” he said.
You hummed. “You think that but then you see me and you'd think different.”
“Oh, yeah?”
You turned your attention onto him, knowing he wouldn't give it up till he had it all. It was something about Jack and un-divided attention, he thrived on it. Giving it to you, or taking it from you. He needed it like sustenance. “Think wet. Think baby fluids that should be in a body on me. Think blood. And probably puke on there somewhere too- I don't even know how.”
“And I bet you still looked beautiful,” he said.
“I wouldn't be so sure about that,” you chuckled.
“I would.”
His hand crept up to your ribs, holding there. As if he was anaesthetic himself, his touch was soothing.
He held over where your initial of his name was, just as you did with him where yours was. It still felt fresh though the ink was imbedded into skin for almost a year now.
It was the soft knowledge of carrying each other closer than you already did. Working in the same building wasn't enough, falling asleep next to each and waking up next to each other wasn't enough but the soft initial of each others name might just have been.
Even if it weren't romantical (which it certainly was) the two of you had at least always respected each other in the work setting. It was a bond running deeper than blood, than respect, than love.
Something the people hadn't come up with a word for yet.
Robby passed by the two of them. “I thought you two were being discreet.”
“We are,” you said, you and Jack turning to face Robby as he took his space behind the nurses desk.
“He's all but holding your breast,” said Robby.
“Physical exam,” Jack shrugged. “And I thought I told you to stop making moves on my woman.”
Robby held up his hands in surrender. “I don't want any funny business in my scrubs,” he warned, s sharp look past his glasses at the two of you.
Jack quirked his lips, pretending his innocence. “We'll change into mine.”
You smacked his shoulder.
“Hey,” said Robby, leaning on the counter next to you as if you were all gossiping nurses and not different attendings in your own rights. “You know, Whitaker thinks we have matching tattoos,” he said, nodding to Jack.
You laughed, tilting your head down.
“Oh yeah, I have an R over my heart,” he teased.
Robby scoffed. “Yeah and I got a J on my-”
You looked pointed at them both. “Don't you have jobs to get to?”
Robby surrendered and headed off, making himself busy.
Upstairs would need you soon enough too, there was only so much time you could leave your pedes ward alone. Your hands were gentle on Jacks, squeezing lightly.
Meaning to let go, Jack squeezed and pulled you back.
“Jack? Woah- what- where are we going?”
His thumb worked up and down the back of your hand as he dragged you off. He found an empty room, checking the room before closing the door and pulling the curtains around.
“Jack!”
His hands found their ways up Robby's shirt on your body, pulling at the skin of your waist and drawing you in till he was kissing you, open-mouthed. It was as if he hadn't kissed you that morning, hadn't stole a make out in the car before heading in, hadn't text you in his spare five minutes that he wasn't thinking about you.
He grinned into the kiss, licking into your mouth.
As bad as it was, stealing a kiss in an empty exam room, your hands wound up to his hair, tugging at the strands. Your body curled into his as his hands moved from under your shirt to over, pulling at it.
“Take this off.”
Biting back a smirk you pulled it off you as Jack leant down to kiss at your neck. He bit and sucked, dedicating time to one mark that would be a tattoo on your neck.
Jack was obsessed with marking you, considering you tried you best to be secret.
This wasn't very secret.
“Jack,” you moaned, own hands clawing at his shirt.
He pulled back long enough to toss his off. “When we're done here... when I've made you come on my fingers,” he uttered next to your ear, breath hot. “You're gonna put my scrub top on, you understand?”
Your lips pursed and nodded.
Jack pulled back enough, lips ghosting yours. “Yeah, baby?”
“Yeah,” you whined.
“Yeah.”
His lips crashed into yours again with fire like need. Hie entire body moved over yours, hands steady on your hips to bring you in. You were stumbling around the room, trying to find a wall or bed.
“God,” Jack whined at your lips. “I could eat you.”
He kissed down your neck, over your chest and leant to press a kiss over his initial. He'd been there when you'd gotten it done, as you had when he got his. The two letters in each others hand writing.
Jack came back up and kissed you again before the door sprung open.
“Room three's open why's nobody-”
Jack jumped in front of you like jumping in front of a bullet for you, his arms fell on either side of you, caging you in behind him.
A woman was sat on a gurney, eyes wide at the two of you.
Dana was leading the charge, Mohan, Whitaker and Santos following and eyes falling wide, jaws agape at the sight of you.
Robby walked past, shaking his head and- taking one look at Jack- decided it wasn't a HR nightmare he could deal with.
“We were just...” said Jack, hesitating. “Doing a physical.”
Dana smirked. “I'll say.”
“Sorry, we'll just-” you apologised.
The two of you fumbled with scrub tops but Jack still found enough time in the mess to pass you his own scrub top and take Robby's himself. In sheepish moves the two of you moved by the group, catching only a couple words.
“Did you see those tattoo's?” said Samira.
“Each others inititals, right?”
“How longs this been going on for?”
Jack threw his arm over your shoulder, bringing you in close and peppering a kiss to your forehead. “Guess we told them, huh?”
Shen whistles at Jack as he comes in for his shift. "Looking great, old man!" It makes everyone put their attention on Jack, who just smirks.
He's wearing black button-up t-shirt and black pants. It's an unsual sight, so different from the black scrubs he wears.
But the real whistles and cheers happen when you come sauntering after him. You wear skin-tight black dress that flows down to your feet, covering the high heels.
Your cheeks are flushed as your colleagues cheer at the sight of you. But it's not the only thing making you blush.
It's the fact, that it's obvious to everybody that you and Jack just came from a date.
Everyone has been speculating about you two for quiet a while, there's even a betting pool going around, but this....This confirms it.
You didn't have time to go home and change and get here in separate cars, not when there's been a massive pile up on the highway and everyone got called to work.
It was supposed to be yours and Jack's night off, you had a dinner reservation in the nicest restaurant in the city and it was so, so lovely.
That was until your phones started going off and you scrambled out of there in hurry and with groans. Don't get me wrong, you both love doing your job as doctors. But dates nights are sacred to you two since they don't happen as often as you would like.
"Yes! I fucking knew it." Santos says very loudly, already halfway through on the way for her winnings.
"Alright, alright, alright. The show is over, everybody get back to work." Finally, Dana yells loudly, making everyone avert their hungry gazes away from you.
"And you lovebirds, hurry up and get changed. ETA is 10 mins for the first patients."
You nod and hurry after Jack. It's not as easy to walk quickly in these high heels. Jack notices, of course he does, and waits up for you, hand extended your way.
You take it sheepishly and let him stabilise you so it's easier to walk. "You okay, angel? That was a lot, huh?"
"Yeah, but I'm okay. At least, now they know." You give him a little smile, squeezing his hand for the reassurance.
"Yes. At least, now I can kiss you whenever I want." He grins at you and you just look mortified. There's no way you'll survive heavy pda in front of your colleagues and you both know it.
"As long as it's moderate." You mumble out as you let Jack lead you towards the lockers.
"Don't worry, angel. I'll be on my best behaviour I promise." He seals that promise with a quick peck to your lips. But you are out of anyone's view so you relax into it. And you almost whine when he pulls away, almost. Gosh, you were so excited to have him all to yourself for the night.
"Okay, let's go, sweetheart. You heard Dana, no time to waste." He says when you try to steal another kiss from him.
"You kissed me first!" You laugh because he's clearly being ridiculous.
"I'd never." He fakes innocence, but the smirk on his face is far from that.
"Pff, we'll see where this gets you when we get home." You giggle but his eyes only darken.
"Doll, we both know I won't be the one begging then." He whispers the words into your ear and your stomach practically does somersaults at that.
"You're not playing fair." You pout at him as his hands help you unzip the dress.
"I'm only-" he stops in the middle of the sentences as you turn around and let the dress pool at your feet. The purple lingerie you have on clearly broke his brain. His eyes devour the sight in front of him.
You chuckle as you quickly change into your scrubs, and by the time Jack realises you are no longer half-naked, you are running away, leaving him there all stunned.
Yeah, this shift fucking better be over quickly. Or he'll lose his mind thinking about you.
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