the new york times has such a great series of elevated butter noodles, if you ever want a super fast easy dinner that still feels grown up and you can emulsify pasta water + butter together basically the sky is your limit
ya got
gochujang butter noodles
peanut butter noodles
chili crisp fettuccine alfredo
miso butter noodles
any one of these + a bag of salad or whatever vegetable side you find easiest/cheapest, and you've got yourself a full meal that tastes far above the effort you put in.
Summary: Falling into a portal to a fictional world was not on your agenda for your night out.
Author's Note: my first ever x reader fic ahhhhh. Anyway, I've been toying with this idea for a hot sec and I figured I'd finally actually write it out lol.
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If you knew you were going to fall into a portal, you would’ve brought a bigger purse. But when you started getting ready for a night out with your friends, you decided to only bring the essentials – wallet, phone, charger, and your trusty lip combo.
The Atlas was one of the few bars in town that could be relied on to play good music, something evident by the numerous bodies on the dance floor. The air smelled like sweat and cigarette smoke with a slight undercurrent of a fruity perfume from someone who never learned restraint. You could feel a bead of sweat run down the center of your back and the slight frizz your hair had gained from the heat of everyone packed together. At some point, the press of people against you has shifted from comfortable to claustrophobic. You felt a thread of anxiety curl in your chest. Buzz worn off, the colored lights were too bright, the bass too loud, and the dance floor just too damn hot.
The music transitioned to a throwback from the 2000s. The bass thrummed, mirroring the headache growing at your temples. Pulling your phone from your shoulder bag, you could see the time had just passed midnight. Shoving it back in amongst the lip glosses and charging cord you craned your neck trying to get a glimpse of your friends. Two of them were standing by the bar, while the third was pressed up against a man. You dodged and weaved through the grinding couples and girls screaming lyrics at each other to reach the duo at the bar.
“How are you guys feeling?” you shouted at them.
“Pretty good,” one yelled back. You leaned in until your ear was an inch from her mouth.
“We’re ordering another round and then I think we’re going to hit Rosie’s,” she shouted.
“I think I might head out,” you shouted back. “I’m pretty tired and I have a bunch of stuff to do tomorrow.”
She nodded in understanding, asking if you were going to get an Uber back to your apartment. You assured them you would and promised to text when you were home. In turn, you asked them to keep an eye on the fourth member of your group who currently had her tongue in someone else’s mouth.
With a final goodbye, you shoved your way through the mass of people, until you stumbled out into the cool night air. Once again, you pulled your phone out to order a car. If you were lucky maybe you could be in bed by one. Quickly checking the street, you dashed across to the small blinking dot on your screen that showed where the car would get you. A street light cast a circle of illumination on the sidewalk. There, you stood and waited. It was some yards away from the bar’s entrance. You turned from the concrete buildings and looked out over the river. The dark water reflected the lights before smoothing out into an inky blackness. The only barrier between you and the water were short concrete bricks. You wondered how many drunk girls had fallen into the river trying to walk atop them. You stared into the water and wondered what stared back.
The pain wasn’t noticeable at first. At least nothing that couldn’t be chalked up to the vague ache that followed after a night out. Maybe if it had been more intense at first you could have done something. Could’ve called for help. Could’ve gotten someone’s attention. But the slow creeping ache was unremarkable until it wasn’t. By the time you realized something was really wrong it had radiated out from your chest, turning from an ache into a sharp pain. It felt like someone had wrapped a hand around one of your ribs and pulled. You stumbled forward, knees hitting the unforgiving concrete. One hand grabbed at your chest as the other flew out to stop your fall. But where you should have felt the sharp sting of concrete on your palm, you felt only nothing. The pain pulsated again drawing you forward. Something was pulling, tugging. You gasped and lurched forward, falling into the dark water.
It should’ve been fine. Even with the unrelenting pain that now permeated your body, you still should have been fine. You knew how to swim. Your buzz had worn off hours ago. You should have been able to kick your legs and break through the surface. But it seemed like no matter how hard you kicked and fought and thrashed you kept sinking. That pull in your chest, the one that had caused you to fall in the first place now pulled you down. Pain radiated through you, an agony that seemed to burrow down into the marrow of your bones.
Down, down you sunk. Farther and farther. No light shone through the water. The lack of light made it hard to gauge how you moved. It was only the vague sensation of water rippling past your skin that gave you any indication that you were actually moving at all. Time seemed to stretch, seconds turning into minutes and minutes turning into hours. You honestly didn’t know how much time had passed since you fell into the water. It seemed like you drowned for eons until suddenly you felt a shift in the water. It seemed that whatever pulled you down, tethering you to the deep void had abated somewhat. Your legs kicked and for the first time since you fell in, you were able to maneuver yourself through the water. As you squinted, you even thought you saw the glimmer of light. With your newfound freedom, you kicked and swam towards that glimmer, watching it grow and sharpen into focus, until your face broke through the surface. Taking huge gasping breaths you pushed yourself towards the shore with all the grace of a newborn fawn. Once your feet touched muddy ground, you clawed yourself halfway out. Bent over on hands and knees, you coughed up water until you thought you could take a deep breath without half drowning. You stayed like that for a minute on all fours, taking in huge shuddering breaths as you tried to orient yourself. You no longer felt the immense pain deep in your chest, but your throat felt raw from swallowing so much water and then immediately throwing it all back up. Once you wrestled your breathing under some semblance of control, you lifted your head taking in your surroundings. Looking around you felt the tight coil of anxiety in your chest grow tenfold.
You weren’t on the sidewalk outside the bar. You didn’t think you were anywhere near the bar at all. Instead, you were hunched on the shore of a small pond in the middle of a clearing. Tall pine trees towered around the edges of the clearing and you could hear the soft song of birds and the rustle of leaves in the wind. You sunk back until you sat on your haunches, your hands fisting in the fabric of your skirt. The only thought that seemed to echo through your mind was “This is not the Atlas.”
Somehow – despite the turbulent journey you had experienced – you had managed to keep a hold of your bright pink purse. With shaking hands, you unzipped it pulling out your damp phone. With a soft tap, you woke the screen up. No service, but you hadn't expected to get any in the middle of an unknown forest. Swiping the screen, you pulled up the emergency call page and with shaky fingers, dialed 911. The phone began to ring, the sound echoing through the clearing. It rang and rang and rang. Finally it disconnected with a soft beep.
This was bad. This was very, very bad.
The tears started slowly, but as your breathing quicked so did the gasping, heaving sobs as your body folded in on itself. Your wet hair hung around your face as hot tears fell onto the ground. You were never a pretty crier and the complete and utter fear you felt did nothing to help.
After a few minutes of completely losing it, you noticed that the soft noises of the forest had seemed to…quiet. You knew little about the normal sounds of a forest, having spent your whole life in the suburbs. But a distant part of you remembered hearing that when the birds and other small animals went silent, it meant that something dangerous was near.
This was it you thought. This was how you were going to die. Transported to some random pond in the middle of a random forest torn about by a wolf or a bear or a very angry moose.
“If you’re going to kill me get it over with already,” you croaked out. The forest didn’t respond. You sat like that for another few minutes in silence that was only broken by your soft sniffles. A shadow shifted in your periphery drawing your attention to the side. Squinting into the darkness you could barely make out a mass of shadows and the glint of what might’ve been claws or teeth. Your heart stuttered in your chest.
The being shifted through the shadows of the trees, closer to you.
“Please,” you said. You didn’t know what you were asking for. You saw the being shift, almost like it was cocking its head, considering you.
“you are far from home,” came a voice like steel over stone. It wasn’t spoken out loud. It felt more like hearing your own inner monologue. Except the voice inside your head had never been so ancient sounding..
“I don’t know where I am,” you responded. The shadowy being gave what appeared to be a nod, before stepping out of the treeline into the clearing. The clear view of it gave little insight into its appearance. Even in plain view it seemed to be a shifting, shapeless mass of darkness. Every so often a shadow would move to just the right place giving you a glimpse of a claw or tooth. The only thing you could make out clearly were two solid silver eyes..
“you are in Prythian,” the being said.
Prythian. Like the…fictional Prythian? Prythian, the island full of magic and fae that didn’t actually exist because it was from a fictional romance series. Oh God, you thought right as you started hysterically laughing.
“This, this is a joke right? Some sort of really elaborate prank?” you asked.
Its eyes gleamed out of the dark being as it said “this is no joke. you have slipped between.”
Helion arrived before dawn, and he looked like he hadn't slept in days.
That alone was strange enough to notice, even through the fog of exhaustion and fear that had settled over the house since Rhys had left to find him. Helion's whole presence usually announced itself before he did, gold light, easy charm, the particular radiance of a High Lord who'd never once had to work at being noticed. Tonight there was none of it. Just a tired male, hair disheveled, eyes shadowed, moving through the house like every wasted second cost something he couldn't afford to lose.
You heard him before you saw him, his voice low and urgent in the hallway, explaining everything to Rhys in quick, clipped fragments that carried through your half-open door. Source. Working. Untested. You caught only pieces of it, not enough to understand what was about to happen, only enough to know it mattered enormously, and that no one in that hallway was certain it would work at all.
Then the door opened fully, and they were all there. Rhys first, grim and focused. Cassian just behind him, hovering near the doorframe like he wasn't sure whether to come closer or give you room. Mor, arms crossed tight over her chest, jaw set, something fierce and frightened both at once in her eyes. And Azriel, closest of all, settled at your side where he'd barely left in days, his hand already finding yours before you'd even asked for it.
Helion knelt in front of you first, and for a moment simply looked at you, none of his usual charm left in his expression at all, just quiet and tired and entirely focused. "I'm not going to promise you this will work," he said. "I don't know that it will. But I intend to try everything I have. Are you ready?"
"Yes," you said, without hesitation.
He nodded once, pressed two fingers to your temple, murmured something low under his breath, and let gold light spill soft from his palm.
You held very still. You could feel it, distantly, a gentle pressure at the very edge of your mind, patient, careful, asking rather than forcing.
The door didn't answer. Didn't so much as shiver.
Helion's jaw tightened. He adjusted the working, tried a different angle, a sharper phrase. Still nothing. The silence stretched long enough that you felt your own hope start to curdle at the edges, and you watched him finally withdraw his hand, breathing out slow through his nose, some private frustration crossing his face before he schooled it away.
Rhys stepped in without being asked, impatient in the way he only ever got when something mattered too much to wait politely for. He reached for your mind the way he always had, that familiar, steady pressure, except this time there was force behind it, real effort, real daemati will bearing down.
He was rejected instantly.
Not painfully, not violently, just entirely, the same seamless nothing you remembered from that very first night, like the door didn't recognize the shape of what he was offering it at all. Rhys pulled back hard, breathing rough, and for a long moment simply stood there, staring at nothing, turning something over behind his eyes.
Then, slowly, his gaze sharpened, and he turned to Azriel.
For a long moment he didn't say anything at all, just studied him, some private calculation working itself out behind his eyes, the way he might study a locked room he'd just realized he'd been looking at wrong the entire time.
"You try."
Azriel went very still. "Try what, Rhys. I'm not a daemati. There's nothing for me to try."
"I know." Rhys didn't look away from him. "That's not what I mean."
"Then what do you mean?" Azriel's voice had gone tight, something wary threading through it now, like he could feel the shape of whatever Rhys was circling before it had been said out loud.
Rhys stepped closer, until he stood right in front of him, and lowered his voice like the words themselves were too fragile to be spoken any louder.
"I don't think this is about the mind." He held Azriel's gaze, steady, though something uncertain flickered behind his own eyes now too. "Not anymore. Not really."
A pause, heavy with everything neither of them had ever needed to say aloud between them. "You've felt it too, haven't you. That pull. The way something in your chest goes quiet the second you're near her, and wrong the second you're not. Every night you sat outside her door, you weren't guarding her out of duty. Something in you simply couldn't be anywhere else." His jaw tightened. "Try it with your heart instead."
The room had gone very still.
Azriel's throat worked, something raw and uncertain crossing his face, the particular fear of a male being asked to offer up the one thing he'd never once let anyone examine, not even himself.
For a moment nobody moved.
Then Azriel didn't argue further. He simply turned back to you, took both your hands in his, careful, sure, and closed his eyes.
His shadows rose slowly at first, then all at once, spilling off his shoulders in a way you'd never quite seen before, not restless, not scattered the way they usually moved, but focused entirely, completely on you. Something in his chest had gone taut and singular the moment he closed his eyes, a pull he'd spent weeks refusing to name, sharpening now into something undeniable, a thread drawn tight between the two of you that had nothing to do with magic and everything to do with whatever this actually was. They curled around your wrists, wove between your fingers, gathered close against your skin like they'd been waiting for exactly this permission the whole time.
You felt them, and something in you rose to meet them.
You weren't going to sit here and be a locked door waiting patiently for someone else to find the key. You reached for the power still sleeping dormant in your own chest, the same gift that had built this door in the first place, and instead of flinching from it, instead of fearing what it might cost you this time, you seized it.
You mimicked him back.
A thin, uncertain tendril of your own darkness rose to meet his, small at first, then stronger, gathering confidence with every second, until the two shadows moved as one, indistinguishable, twin threads of the same dark weaving together toward the same lock. You couldn't tell anymore where his ended and yours began, and it didn't matter. Helion cast his working once more, gentler now, a thin line of gold guiding the two of you rather than leading, and you felt everything converge together, entwined, searching for the same door as a single, unified thing.
You saw it from the inside, all at once, vivid and complete.
A door. Old, heavy, grained like something grown slowly out of the earth rather than built by hand, familiar in a way you had no memory to explain. A keyhole set low into the wood, small and dark, waiting.
One shadow, slender and certain, drifted toward it.
It slid into the keyhole, and for one terrible second, the door fought back.
Something ancient and frightened reared up from the dark behind it, some last, desperate remnant of the girl who'd built this thing in a moment of pure survival, and it did not want to let go. Pain lanced through you, sharp and sudden, a phantom echo of that tent, that blade, that voice demanding answers you'd rather have died than give. You heard yourself cry out from somewhere very far away, felt the shadow strain against a resistance that had teeth in it, real and vicious, one last desperate wall thrown up by whatever part of you still believed opening this door meant losing everyone you loved all over again.
In the room, your body flinched hard against the mattress, a raw, wounded sound tearing out of you that had nothing gentle in it at all. Azriel's hands tightened around yours instantly, his whole body going rigid.
"Something's wrong—" His voice cracked with alarm, already half-rising, shadows flaring dangerously at his shoulders.
"Wait." Rhys's hand shot out, gripping his arm, holding him in place. "Don't pull back. Not yet. If you stop now you could seal it worse than before."
Helion's jaw had gone tight, his own concentration visibly straining to hold steady despite the sound you'd just made, gold light flickering unsteady in his palm. "Almost," he said, low, urgent. "Just a moment more."
Azriel didn't move again, though every line of him strained against the need to, his grip on your hands turning bruising, his eyes locked on your face like he could will the pain out of it through sheer force of attention alone.
Then, slowly, the resistance broke.
Not violently. Just, all at once, exhausted, like the part of you that had been fighting so hard for so long finally understood it no longer had anything left to protect against.
The shadow turned the lock.
The click of it echoed through you like something enormous, and then, after everything, light spilled out from the seam of the door, golden and warm, flooding outward in a slow, gentle wave, the pain already fading behind it like a storm passing out to sea.
You gasped back into your own body like surfacing from the bottom of the sea.
"Easy. Easy, I've got you—" Azriel's voice, close and frantic, his hands already finding your face, tugging you gently closer, cradling your jaw like he thought you might slip away again if he didn't hold on tight enough.
The first thing you saw when your eyes opened was him.
Only him.
"Az?" you breathed, the word cracking in half, and you reached up, slow, trembling, to touch his face, tracing the familiar, scarred line of his jaw like you were making sure it was real.
You felt it happening before you understood what it was. Recognition, real recognition, nothing like the careful, learned kind you'd built these last weeks piece by fragile piece. This was the old kind. The deep, bone-certain kind. Memory came flooding back around the shape of his face like water finally finding its way home after being dammed too long, and you felt every year of him settle into place all at once, unmistakable, undeniable, entirely yours again.
He watched it happen. Watched the recognition cross your face in real time, watched your eyes finally, truly see him, and something in him broke open completely, right there, in front of every person who'd ever seen him keep himself so carefully composed.
For once, he didn't hide it.
Tears spilled down his face, unchecked, his breath coming ragged, every careful wall he'd built over five hundred years simply gone, nothing left standing between the two of you at all. You had never once seen him like this. You doubted anyone in that room had.
"You're here." His voice broke on it, cracked wide open. "You're really here."
You clung to him, and he clung back just as hard, face pressed into the curve of your neck, his whole body trembling with the force of it.
The room, when you finally became aware of it again, had erupted into quiet, disbelieving joy. Cassian had a hand pressed hard over his mouth, eyes suspiciously bright, and when he finally lowered it his voice came out rougher than you'd ever heard it. "There she is." He laughed, wet and disbelieving, dragging a hand down his face. "There's our girl. Gods, I missed you. I missed all of you, every ridiculous, sharp-tongued bit of you."
"Don't you dare do that to us again," Mor said, though her voice wobbled too badly to carry any real reprimand in it, tears spilling openly down her face, one hand fisted in the front of her own shirt like she needed something to hold onto too.
Rhys said nothing at first. He simply stood there, watching the two of you, and you saw the exact moment his composure finally gave out, the careful High Lord's mask he wore even in front of family cracking clean through. His eyes had gone glassy, jaw working like he was fighting to keep himself together and losing. When he finally spoke, his voice had gone rough, unsteady, nothing left of his usual measured calm at all. "Welcome back." He had to stop, swallow, start again. "I don't, I genuinely didn't know if we'd get this. Any of it. I'm so glad we did."
Something in your chest ached, warm and overwhelming, looking around the room at all of them, Cassian's ragged relief, Mor's open tears, Rhys's rare, unguarded honesty. You hadn't remembered, until this exact moment, how much you had missed being looked at like this, like your absence had left a hole none of them had known how to fill.
"I missed you too," you managed, voice thick. "All of you. So much."
They gave you time after that. Nobody rushed to speak, nobody rushed to touch, they simply stood there a while longer, letting the relief settle over the room like something physical.
Then, one by one, they left. Cassian squeezed your shoulder on his way out, then paused at the door, throwing a grin back over his shoulder that was equal parts fond and knowing. "Congrats, by the way," he said, to neither of you in particular, and didn't elaborate, though something in the way he said it made your chest go warm and strange all at once. Mor pressed a kiss to your head. Rhys lingered longest at the door, something warm crossing his face, before he too slipped out and pulled it shut behind him.
Then it was just the two of you.
Azriel hadn't stopped looking at you. Not once since the door had clicked shut behind Rhys, not even to blink for longer than necessary, like he was afraid that if he looked away for even a second, all of it might slip back out of reach again. His eyes moved over your face the way a starving man might look at food, slow, disbelieving, cataloguing every detail like he needed to memorize you all over again just to be sure you were real.
"You keep staring," you said, quiet, almost shy under the weight of it.
"I can't stop." His voice came out rough, stripped of every careful wall he usually kept between himself and the rest of the world. "I keep waiting to wake up. I keep thinking this is a dream I'm going to lose the second I close my eyes." His hand came up, hesitant, and brushed a strand of hair back from your face, lingering there far longer than the gesture required. "I've imagined this so many times these past few weeks. Getting you back. I never let myself believe it would actually happen."
The silence that settled over the room afterward was nothing like the silences you'd grown used to these last weeks, the careful, guarded quiet of two people circling something neither would name. This one had weight to it. Charge. You were still sitting close together on the bed, his hands not quite letting go of yours, and the air between you had gone thick with everything five hundred years and several lifetimes of memory had left unsaid.
"You remember all of it," he said finally, quiet, testing the words like they might not hold. "Every day. Every year."
"I do."
His throat worked. He didn't look away from you, but something in his jaw had tightened, some old, careful restraint fighting to reassert itself even now, even after everything. His eyes were bright, too bright, and he made no move to hide it this time.
"Then you remember every time I almost said something," he said, "and didn't."
"I remember." You held his gaze, steady despite the way your own heart had started to pound. "I remember all of it, Az. Every almost. Every time you looked at me like there was something enormous sitting right behind your teeth and swallowed it instead."
He didn't answer right away. He looked down at your joined hands instead, something shy and uncertain crossing his face, an expression you'd never once associated with him before now.
"There's a, a hollowness," he said finally, low, stumbling slightly over the words like he wasn't used to reaching for them. "In here." He touched his own chest, briefly. "It's been there for as long as I can remember, honestly. I never had a name for it. I just learned to live around the shape of it, the way you learn to live around any old wound." His eyes lifted to yours. "These last weeks, watching you not know me, it got worse. So much worse. Like the hollow place had finally found a name for itself and didn't like what it was missing."
Something in your own chest ached in answer, sharp and immediate.
"I feel it too," you admitted, quiet. "Something. Right here." You pressed your palm flat over your own heart, then, hesitant, reached out and rested it instead over his, feeling the fast, unsteady rhythm beneath your fingers.
The moment your palm settled against him, something answered.
A low thrum, warm and electric, moved through you both at once, a current with no visible source, humming low beneath your palm like a second heartbeat layered over his own. You felt it. You knew, without either of you saying the word, exactly what it was.
You looked up at him. He was already looking at you, and his eyes had gone glassy, wet, no longer even trying to hide it.
You were both crying, you realized. Neither of you had noticed when it started.
He lifted your hand from his chest, slow, reverent, and pressed his mouth to your knuckles, then, lower, to the soft skin of your wrist, right over the place where your pulse beat fast and unsteady beneath his lips.
"I knew," he murmured, against your skin. "I knew you were special to me, long before I understood why. I never let myself hope you could actually be mine. Not really. Not fully." His voice cracked. "I've loved you for so long, and I could never find the right words, never found the courage to hand them to you, and all of this, everything you went through, everything I almost lost, it's made me realize how much I should have said it years ago. How much time I wasted being afraid."
He lifted his free hand to cradle your face, thumb brushing gently beneath your eye, catching a tear before it could fall.
"I love you," he said, plain and unguarded and entirely undone. "I love you."
"I love you too." The words came without hesitation, without searching, simple and whole. "I always have."
His gaze dropped, slow, to your mouth, and you felt the moment stretch, taut and trembling, before he finally closed the distance and kissed you.
It started soft. Reverent. But it didn't stay that way for long, deepening by degrees, his hand sliding into your hair, your hands finding his chest, until soft became something hungrier, something five hundred years in the making finally allowed to want without restraint.
"Mate," he breathed against your mouth, wrecked, reverent, like the word itself was a gift he'd been saving.
"Mate," you echoed back, and kissed him again like you meant to make up for every year you'd both spent too afraid to say it.
The shadows curled loose and content around you, and outside the window, Velaris settled slowly into morning, soft and golden and ordinary.
For the first time since a tent full of smoke and a decision made in half a heartbeat, neither of you had anything left to guard.
You were, finally, entirely, unmistakably, home.
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a/n : well we're done ! Thank you so much for reading !
I have a few other ideas for Az, coming soon 🤭
Tiger found caged in abandoned home gets second chance at wildlife sanctuary: ‘He seems to be so happy’
The estimated 350-pound tiger was transported to the facility, an affiliate of the Humane Society of the United States, on Wednesday afternoon, and is settling in well, Almrud said. There, he will have the chance to roam in enclosures of up to three acres.
Almrud, who estimates him to be about 2 years old, described the moment he first walked onto the grass at the sanctuary as remarkable.
“It was just amazing to see him walk out on grass and to see him explore and have that freedom of movement,” she said. “It was just such a reward and fulfilling to us.”
Now, he spends his days rolling around the grass in glee, Almrud said.
“He comes right up to the fence every time a staff member is present,” she said. “He seems very amenable to our presence.”
The tiger is eating well – a combination of chicken, humanely raised non-processed beef and whole prey complete with organs and bones. It appears that he was being fed chicken, which is what owners of exotic cats often feed them, but chicken alone does not provide the complete nutrition they need to thrive, Almrud said.
In addition, caregivers are tasked with keeping the tiger mentally stimulated by creating “pretend hunting” games and rotating him through different areas so he has access to new smells and environments to explore.
“He seems to happy and content,” Almrud said. “Our staff is just falling in love with him.”
premise: when pope comes home from prison to find you with a 2 year old little girl on your hip that looks an awful lot like him, he is determined to figure out if she is his. she has to be, right?
warnings: little angst & fluff, smut | 18+, more lore than smut oops, fresh outta prison pope [definitely ooc], ex gf!reader but they weren’t exactly ‘official’ , reader has a unnamed kid, nicknames [little dove, angel], unprotected sex + pope cums fast, not proofread!
requested! | 3.5k wc
You are Andrew's very first thought when he's no longer trapped between those 4 cold gray walls and bars. You were his every thought when he was in as well if he's being honest — He so desperately wants his first stop now that he's out to be your house. However he's not as sure as he used to be that you'll even open your door to him.
Wearing a polo with his shitty grown out prison buzz cut is not the way by far he wants you to see him after 3 years away either. He wants to look more a bit more presentable and bring a peace offering of flowers or something if you even do let him in. So he settles on heading 'home' first. Not his apartment that he has no idea what his family even did with while he was away but Smurfs.
The Cody house is full of more surprises when he expected to be met with even with the years away.
For one you're here but also, he learns that the only other person besides you who wholeheartedly genuinely loved him and let him be himself, his twin sister…is dead. Not that he expected Julia to magically be there to greet him home with his brothers but instead he finds her kid. Who is not only living at Smurf's but sleeping in his old room. J is not a lone new addition nor the only adolescent one, you have a child.
A 2 year old beautiful little girl that is staring up at him wide eyed and confused with a small wrinkle in her brow as she clings to your leg when he joins the rest of his family in the living room.
You were frozen place half way to the kitchen to get her food or a drink he presumes when you finally speak up. "An- Pope you're home" you state the obvious in a half surprised yet half blank tone he can't quite read. He can't tell if that's what irritates him or the way you stopped yourself from calling him Andy in that sweet tone he missed so much. Before he can reply he is bombarded by his brothers, getting short hugs or a ruffle of his shorten hair with a barrage of "Welcome home" 's. His eyes are still stuck flicking between looking at your kid and your shocked face.
"Got out on good behavior" his answer is aimed half for you and half for the questions he is expecting from his family. "You, good behavior?" Craig chuckled lightly hearted-ly, Pope watches as you grimace a bit at the comment. Smacking his brother on the shoulder lightly Deran butts in, "Just glad to have you home brother"
"Yeah, happy you're home…I-" you cough softly cutting yourself off, causing your daughter to briefly look up back towards you. "We all missed you" you speak up once again, hoping the slip up wasn't too obvious. With the way Andrew raises his eyebrows slightly in response you know it didn't pass him by. Really what did you expect from the man who learned to read every twitch, awkward shuffle and micro expression of your body language when you were 'together'. The two of you never exactly labeled it, and before you could give it that permanent tangible title Pope desperately wanted, he was locked up. But as he is readjusting he's noticing all the same ticks and small signs of your body that mean you are nervous.
"Yeah? And who all is we?" He prompts, finally addressing the little elephant in the room that is tracking his movements in the same way he used to do with new people as a kid. Her bright eyes watch as he squats infront of her to get on her level like he typically would do with Lena when he tried to reason with her to eat vegetables before ice cream. As you are telling Pope her name, he finally fully takes in her face now that he is eye to eye with her. She hardened her eyes a bit, clearly weary of this strange man infront of her and he can't help but smile a bit, she clearly has your personality. At first look her face mirrors yours and it makes his heart twist…almost all of her scrunched up face expect…her eyes.
He still has the number of your eyelashes mesmerized, the shape of your lids, the color of your iris…all of it. She certainly has your eye color but the shape more resemble his and maybe even so does her little nose? Maybe his lack of sleep locked up is getting to him…there's no way you were pregnant with his kid when he went away. The math is there but you would've told him. Right? With the way she so clearly resembles a mini you, only solidified to him that she really is your child and Pope doesn't exactly know what to do with that. He went away and you started a family seemingly without him.
"Well I'm Andrew" he greets the little girl, putting his hand out albeit awkwardly as he tried to ignore the stares he feels from his family as if he's grown a second head. "I'm-"
"He's Lena's uncle" you fill for him, and he doesn't know what he'd prefer you to say but for some reason it isn't that. Having confirmation on who he is she finally greets him, shyly grabbing his pointer finger in her little hand and shaking it. "Hi Andew" she smiles softly at him, missing the r sound when she says his name and it takes a way a bit of the sting of your label for him.
Pope is slowly adapting to being back home, sleeping on Smurfs couch instead of his apartment since his family decided it made more sense to get rid of it. He still doesn't understand that one…But as he is adapting he is watching, watching you and your daughter mostly. You, your daughter and his youngest brother…Deran. Who according to his mother is the father.
He tried his hardest to school his expression when he asked that afternoon in the kitchen while you played in the pool with the little ones. Your daughter clinging to you with floaties on as she tried her hardest to splash Lena but she could only make small splashes. Her wet hair under the summer sun giving off an auburn hue that only further confuses him when his eyes flick that way briefly. The girls little squeals as well as your own flood inside from the backyard and his chest only aches more. He didn't want it to show how it made him feel to Smurf when she told him that, especially when he could feel her studying his face for a crack in the surface. His throat is dry and he's not confident his voice wont come out broken so all he could manage to get out was a head nod, and she seemed to accept that as enough because she went back to making everyone lunch. She must chalk it up to him being tired and he's grateful.
Deran…Deran…Deran…
Andrew isn't mad, you deserve to be happy so does his brother but he doesn't know exactly what he feels. He can't stop himself from staring at the three of you, trying to spot Derans features on the girl and he can't. All he sees in her is you and him. He watches that afternoon waiting on his youngest brother to kiss your head or your lips, put a hand to your back, brush the wet hair sticking to your cheek off. Hold your little girl, pet her head, kiss her cheek, something…and he doesn't. Beyond the basic level of affection and touch the two of you have shared long before Pope went away — a soft nudge to Derans shoulder, his hand to your shoulder, or at most a short hand hold when you drag him inside or a hug when you leave. Deran hardly touched you that day. Besides your daughter getting a hug goodbye as well, he doesn't give her much affection. He doesn't act as if he is the father of your child.
Maybe he's projecting and thinking of how he would act when he had you. He could hardly keep his hands to himself you often had to pry them off you when you needed to get up or move. He might just be thinking about how he would never let go of you nor your daughter if she is…was his. His brother must just be more reserved with his affections is what he tells himself. But when he doesn't sleep that night. Pope can't help but think there's more chemistry between half the damn animals in the documentary he watches then between you and his brother.
He also can't help thinking there's still more chemistry between you and him then you and his brother. The way you lock eyes with him as he protectively watches over you and your daughter and give him a little smile. He's determined to get to the bottom of it so that at least it will stop bothering him. He's given the perfect opportunity when as usual his rowdy brothers throw a party and you attend.
Andrew's been watching you float around the house and when you waltz down the hall towards the bathroom, he seizes his opportunity. Pushing off from his spot on the couch surrounded by people he doesn't know high and drunk off their ass he follows you. With his large stride he catches up quickly, just before you can shut the door behind you his large palm stops it. "And-" you are cut off by the loud sound of him slamming the door shut behind him when once the two of you are inside. "Pope what the hell are you doing?" You exclaim as he invades your space.
"Is she really fucking Deran's?" He demanded as he walks closer and closer til your back hits the wall. His voice isn't loud enough nor the bathroom door thick enough to silence the sounds of the party flooding down the hall. You fane stupid, "Who?" As you put a hand up to stop him getting any closer. "Who-" he groans and tries to ignore the heat your touch send through his body, you hadn't touched him since he got home. He didn't realize how bad he missed it, he hopes you don't notice you haven't taken your hand away.
"Your daughter. Is she really Deran's?" His voice not any calmer but quieter this time around he asks. "Who else's would she be?" You continue to beat around the bush, head down as you start to fidget with the hem of your dress. Your dress that Pope didn't fail to notice either even if he was trying not to with the way it perfectly hugged your body. He's also certain if you even leaned forward an inch the bottom of your ass would peak out. "Mine…" he whispers finally making you meet his eyes as he continues on "Is she mine?" He pleaded, more desperation lacing his voice then he intended. With the wet puppy eyes he is giving you as he waits on your answer you concede "Yes, she's yours" you sigh. He lets out a small broken sound in either relief or pain, you don't know.
"Why…why?" Is all he can get out but you seem to understand his question. "I knew you'd leave everything behind to be with us, and Smurf would just about kill you before letting that happen" your head hangs low again, eyes glued to your hand still pressed to the top of his chest, you let it fall a little. Pope's hand itches to grab your wrist and stop you from pulling it off but then you grab hold of his hand and run your thumb across the back of his hand as your fingers intertwine. "Then you went away before i could even tell you" you whisper lowly.
Using his free hand he softly pushes your head up so you look at him by grabbing your chin with his pointer finger and thumb. "Why let her think she was Deran's?" It's the last question weighing on his mind, he's fairly certain you aren't dating his brother so he's a bit confused. "Smurf let me still come around when you got locked up" you start to explain, eyes watering a bit as you recall the memories of the lonely feeling that ate you alive. Pregnant and alone without the one person you wanted around. "Let me hang around and even sleep in your room for whatever reason, think she liked seeing me so miserable" you laugh softly but the idea of that only makes Pope grimace. "And well i couldn't bring myself to let go of the last piece of you i had so as i got more noticeably pregnant, Deran and I came up with the plan to say the baby was is" He nods, his face soften once again as he resisters that it was his brothers own way of protecting you from their mother and he's grateful. "It was a little easier way of explaining why she came out looking like a Cody, then to tell her about me and you"
"You know she looks more like you than me, little dove" he chuckles softly in attempt not noticing his slip up of using his old nickname for you. Your breath hitches in your throat, "Missed you so much, promise I'm gonna give you two the world alright? I can deal with Smurf alright?" He is leaning forward as he babbles on, his eyes hardened not in anger or caution but in determination. "I'm here now and im not going anywhere" his thumb holding your chin mindlessly reaches up to brush over your bottom lip out of habit. "Not gonna let anything happen to either of my girls"
You can't help the shakey huff you let out in response to hearing him claim you finally. "Pope" you moan softly when he leans even closer and his breath fans over your parted lips. "Andy" he whispers in correction as he inches closer, "What?" You sputter out, eyes darting between his and his lips that hovered over yours. "Andy" he growls lowly making heat shoot down your spine, your hands grabbing at the loose fabric of his shirt by his stomach, not knowing yet if you are trying to pull him closer to stop him. "Call me Andy again please" he begs, voice low. The chatter and chaos of the party outside the bathroom drowning out as you breathe out in time with his breathes in. "Please…angel" he pleads one last time, mouth now lightly pressed to yours. With a sickly sweet whine you comply "Andy…" your breathing picking up as the sound of it finally leaves your lips. Pope has never really cared to be called Andrew by anyone but his sister once he became Pope. When she left no one else did until you and somewhere along the way it morphed into that little endearing nickname that made his chest hurt. It rattles around and replays in his head as his lips finally smash against yours for the first time in years.
"Andy" you repeat this time through a moan muffled in his mouth as you kiss back with just as much unrestrained yearning and love that he pours into it. Kissing you so hard he might as well be trying to bruise your lips, tongue slipping in to lick into your mouth. The warm muscle sliding around your own and winning the fight of dominance in an instant with the way your body melts against him. Your hands pawing at his chest and arms trying to tug him closer as the kiss intensifies. "Missed you 's much little dove fuck" he repeats his previous sentiment through a grunt as his own hands land on your waist before sliding behind you down to your ass, using that as leverage to tug your body against his.
"Fuck…missed to you too Andy" you purr into his mouth, body heating up with the feeling of his poorly contained bulge pressed to your front. "Show me how bad you missed me sweet boy" you tease when you finally pull away a bit from the make out, saliva still connecting your lips. Pope whines a bit at the loss but recovers quickly when your hands trail under his shirt and scratch at his stomach. He slips his knee between your legs to part them, pressing his knee up against the growing wet patch in your panties.
Your hips having a mind of their own grind down on his thigh, making a small cocky smirk form on his face. "As bad as i want to make you cum on my thigh angel…" he huffs out like it's painful for him to stop you, "I also haven't been inside you In threeyears" he pants out as his hands drift down to the bottom of your dress to hike it up, moving his leg so he can pull your soaked panties down til they hit your knees. Helping him along with frantic hands you unbuckle his belt, unbutton his jean and yank them with his boxers half way down his thighs. When his cock springs free and lightly smacks his stomach you let out a small whine at the sight. Tip reddened and leaking pre-cum, the vein you used to trace with your tongue and make Pope finish in minutes running down the shaft. Grabbing your waist he effortlessly spins you around and presses his large hand between your shoulder blades. Pushing your body to press your chest to the bathroom wall, your back forming an arch as his other hand grabs at your hip to keep your ass in place as he kicks your feet to spread your legs further apart. "Just as obedient as I remember" he coos softly under his breathe as if the words weren't meant for you.
Gripping himself at the base he parts your slick soaked folds with his tip, collecting and coating his cock in the wetness to act as lube. "Please" you pant out when he catches on your clit, turning your head to look back over your shoulder at him and fluttering your lashes as he peels his gaze away from your lower half to meet your lust filled glazed over eyes. "And just as impatient" he adds on to his earlier statement with a short chuckle, before thrusting forward to push all the way inside to the bottom inch by inch. Little pants and whines slip past your lips the further your sex stretches around him to accommodate his thick cock.
His head falling back in a choked gasp once completely buried inside when your pussy clamps down around him. "Oh fuck" he hisses out, slowly pulling his hips back to pull out, thrusting back inside fast and hard. "Feel as fucking good i remember too Angel holy shit" he cries out as his hands tighten their grip on your body. Using that as leverage he pulls your body away before slamming your back down on his cock as he pushes forward. "Andy!" You cry out in a loud wanton moan that bounces off the tile of the bathroom walls. As he is shushing you Pope presses you further against the wall, forcing your ass poke out more and push against his hips.
His large hand comes around to cup over your mouth, "As good as you sound little dove" he begins, his pace not flattering and only speeding up as his tip practically hits your g-spot on every thrust up. "And trust me you sound soooo fucking gooood angel" he coos, dragging his vowels near the end as he leans down to kiss at your shoulder softly. His hips slowing their pace and flattering a bit. "Don't want some nosy party goer to come knockin' cause they hear you screaming for me"
He lets out a shaky breathe at the way your ass pushes back against him, eyes falling down to watch as you start fucking your self back on his cock. "Fuck- wait wait" he sputters out, strings of curse words whispered under his breath as that thread in the pit of his stomach snaps fast. Grabbing onto you to stop you before your cunt can milk him even more.
"Already Andy?" You giggle softly as he presses his forehead to your back, panting softly "Fuck 'm sorry angel, it's been awhile alright…" he grumbled, rubbing at your hip as he regains a bit of his composure. "we'll get your stamina back up it's okay Andy" you tease, wiggling your ass against him causing another whine and whispered curses to fill your ears.
! didn’t name the child bc I didn’t wanna run the risk of picking a name and it being the name of someone reading yk? so y’all can chose whatever name you want. also somehow i like everything i wrote for this expect the smut idk my brain couldn't do it and i hate that part so idk how i feel about this.
some of you weren’t around for the fan fiction dot net purge of 2002 (when they banned explicit content and mass-deleted thousands of fics) and the livejournal purge of 2007 (when they deleted hundreds of blogs, disproportionately targeting queer & kink content) and it shows
cw: inaccurate hospital work probably, shy!fem!reader, mentions of death/blood obviously, yeaner!jack borderline obsessed jack, mentions of his late wife, misunderstanding, reader talks to dead bodies, very isolated reader who’s only friends with trinity cuz i love her…
wordcount: 6.1k
No doctor in the PTMC liked you—not because of what could be considered as your creepy and quiet demeanor. But because they saw you at the worst point of their career, a time when the hours training and exercises failed them and someone else had paid for it with their life. You’d been everywhere, on every floor and in every department; in every room and operating room, you never left alone though.
No one was safe from your clipboard as you collected signatures along with the recently deceased. You worked indiscriminately with doctors of all expertise from chief attendings to brand new med students, everyone made mistakes and you were there for all of them.
The ED was probably your most visited department, it was where death came up right to the doors and knocked. It was rare anything that went up from the ED ever came back down to you. However that didn't stop you from being met by only frowns or wary looks from the doctors when the elevators doors opened. You didn’t care much; couldn’t care much. No matter what your personality was—they’d never greet you with warmness, how could they? Your presence was an announcement that one of their patients wouldn’t be leaving the hospital feeling better. Your footsteps were the final bell tolls to a patient’s last breath. You didn’t expect warmth because you were the reaper’s cold shadow—whenever death went you followed closely behind.
That was doctors though, the nurses liked you well enough. They enjoyed the calm silence you brought after a coding patient. While the doctors tried to grieve and say a few words begging for forgiveness for their egos, you cleaned the body with a quiet respect. You always said thank you if they helped and told them to go take a walk if they couldn’t. You knew not everyone could bear this weight, the weight you carried on your own. Sometimes you felt like Atlas, holding up the entire world. You felt like it was your sole burden to carry, one that weighted on your shoulders—just heavy enough to make you doubt—but your mind wouldn't let you falter and you carried on regardless because in truth, you wouldn't wish this burden on anyone else. Yes, the ED nurses liked you just fine because they saw the tenseness of you shoulders went they closed the curtain on you and a body, especially Dana.
So when you showed up early for the 8am morning rush on July 4th, Dana and Lena welcomed you with open arms.
“Hey kid, how you holding up?” The blonde woman smiled giving you a hug, you shrugged. Same old, same old.
Lena smiled and looked over her glasses; you had never found yourself on the nightshift so you had never worked directly with her but she loved you all the same. “Well if it isn’t Persephone?” She gently asked as the shorter woman gave you a side hug. The ginger often joked you were softhearted Persephone—Queen of the Underworld alongside Hades. Your lips just curled up as you sat in one of the spinning chairs, much nicer than the one stool in the morgue.
“Awe. The prodigal son returns.” Lena called out. You leaned back waiting for the rush, spinning idly.“Too soon?.” Lena she winced and you turned in curiosity as a Dr. Langdon meekly approached the hub. You’d only heard about him through stories and rumors, never having met him since he left for his 10 month rehab journey.
He shook his head to the two women, before noticing you in the chair behind them; your blue scrubs and lab coat sticking out in the sea of dark gray and black. He sent an awkward wave and you just stared back, you began thinking about what Trinity would say. “Is Robby around?” He cleared his throat and asked the taller charge nurse tapping his fingers on the desk.
“Uh, he's in with a trauma. But if you hurry back, you can catch some of the pass-ons. They're in North,” Dana replied; Langdon thanked her as he left to go find the chief attending.
You went back to spinning; you really couldn’t be concerned with Pitt politics regarding anyone but Trin. As you spun you’d been met eye contact with someone new, someone unfamiliar in gray scrubs, a new nurse. She was cute; two dark curly strands with a dual braids. So symmetrical. You thought to yourself. She looked at you nervously, you tapped Lena’s arm and pointed to the new presence.
Lena turned around curiously, “Hi, hon. How can we help you.” The red haired woman smiled happily; she was always so nice.
“I'm looking for the charge nurse,” the girl murmured softly.
“Oh, well, you found two of 'em. I'm Lena. This is Dana.” Lena motioned to Dana who turned matching Lena’s welcoming smile as she put down the papers she was holding. “And this sweetheart is our morgue technician, a floor down.” The girl’s eyes widened at the mention of the morgue. You didn’t mind, you were used to it.
“Emma Nolan. Nice to meet you three. Uh, I'm a new grad RN here to shadow,” she stammered, holding her hand out to you. You liked her, she tried. You hoped she found her footing soon you thought as you shook her hand.
Dana walked over to Emma, “Welcome to the Pitt, Emma Nolan. Here, let me put some of your stuff behind the desk, and I'll give you a quick tour.” She began removing all of the extra stuff the girl carried from her fanny pack and glitter pens, before giving the girl on a tour.
You turned back to Lena, watched as they went. “What a cute little lamb.” Lena said happily; you nodded in agreement.
Whittaker stuck his head out of South 15, calling your name. “I got a DNR in here.”
You sighed and Lena smiled at your already tired face while you stood up from the comfy chair, entering the room as the other doctors filled out. You nodded to Whittaker in thanks and he stammered out a good morning while guiding out the medical students. You’d prep the body for the viewing room so the family could see off their loved ones, one last time before they left with you.
By the time you’d made it back to your second home, a floor under, with the elder’s belongings. You had created a story for Ethan Bostick, based off his wife you’d seen as you collected the body from the viewing room.
“Let’s get started, Mr. Bostick.” You spoken softly. You’d taken time to remove and polish the gold ring he wore to who you decided was his highschool sweetheart, Evelyn. Putting it back on with gentle care. “I wonder just how long you were together before she’d been diagnosed.”
You’d seen her altered mental state and heard that she was going to be placed in a care facility. You thought it was sweet how they such stuck together even as they grew old. You’d guessed they’d had children but decided they lived cross country; maybe California or Washington. The thought of them waking up to the news made you so sad that you erased the concept completely.
This was your deep dark secret: how you coped with the isolation of the quiet morgue, you actually talked… a lot actually and used their personal items to create stories for people you would never meet; whomever came to your table. You forged tales from past scars that marred the skin or fables from tattoos they had permanently inked onto their person.
You longed for these people to feel something you had never felt—wanted—even in death, you wanted to know about them and learn from them. You wanted their lives to teach you about your own. You began telling the man lying on your table of stories of your grandparents love. You rambled but Mr. Bostick didn’t mind.
After you’d finished, you’d set Mr. Bostick into the storage unit for preservation for when his family came. A cold breeze came out as you shut the door; you shivered before sitting at the table by the entrance. You began logging the body and belongings and preparing it for the funeral home and mortician. It wasn’t long before receiving a call from the ICU about a body that was being transported down to you.
That kept you busy until a motorcycle accident happened and the driver passed in the ED. It was bloody, an open skull fracture Dana explained once you came up into the trauma room.
You took your time with the man, explaining how you had wanted to get a motorcycle once you got out of medical debt. You cleaned the blood and the chains he wore, noting every tattoo and you thought of a story behind each one. “Brenda” would be for his mother and the eyes of a hawk on his bicep were because hawks are his favorite bird. Were. Were his favorite bird. You always did that.
You mentally scolded yourself as you did whatever you could do to make the entire scene more digestible for whoever was coming for him. No one should have to see a loved one like that, mutilated and beaten by life. You knew better—maybe knew the best of how life loved to kick you while you were down. You mentally wished him luck on his new beginning in death.
“I should get my license first, I think.” You spoke as you rolled the man into the viewing room near the stairs. If you had the time, you’d like to get as much as this gravel out before his family came to see him.
You finished cleaning up the body of a Felicia Golding; a VAE that processed too far to be saved in the OR. You gently brushed through her hair that was frazzled from an OR haircap and complimented her jade necklace. You rambled about the protective qualities of jade that many cultures believed in.
You clicked the storage door closed, hoping that the metal door would continue protect in the same fashion of her choice of accessory. Before you could sit, the phone’s shrill sound rang through the quiet room; almost laughing at you for thinking you'd get a moment to yourself.
You sighed softly picking it up, “Morgue.” You spoke.
Dana’s voice rang through the receiver. “Heya, Perse. I have a sister in North 15 wanting to speak to you about the funeral process about our biker. Mind coming up for spring?” She joked chewing gum. You nodded saying you’d be up in a few.
As the elevator opened, Santos’ green eyes widened as you stepped out. “Woah. Hope you’re not here for me, reaper.” You rolled your eyes and shook your head as you began walking with her to the annex. Not a lot of doctors liked you. But Santos did, maybe she liked that you listened well or that you both were socially inept in terms of other doctors.
“Where to? I’ll be your guide.” She joked putting down a tablet. Ever since you’d gone out with her as her designated driver and gotten lost for 20 minutes, she’d known you had a terrible sense of direction. Not a lot of people knew that about you. Especially not in the PTMC.
“South 15.” You mumbled as she nodded as she led you around the hub with practiced ease.
“Can’t believe Langdon’s back.” Santos groaned as she glanced into one of the glass trauma rooms at the taller male.
She’d told you about her awful first day as you two went to go get drinks after a particular hard shift where you had to log three of her patients. She was intrigued after seeing you so much, by you and your quietness, and asked you to grab a drink with her; joking it was an apology to her. You didn’t mind. You rarely went to go get drinks—and had never went with a coworker before. You liked her, she gossiped well and acknowledged you with something other than disgust.
“And I’m on both the new attending’s and Garcia’s shit list.” The woman ranted as the two of you arrived at a door labeled 15. She could read your shocked expression at her words. “I’ll tell you later, have to catch up on my charting.” She knew you weren't one for speaking but still wanted to take advantage of the kind heart she knew you had deep down.
“Can we finally karaoke today.” She begged, she’d been begging for a while. You always just shook your head—what would you do at a karaoke bar? Sit there and stare at Santos, along with various other strangers, scream badly into a microphone?
But this time you just shrugged, she smiled at that. “Okay. I’m gonna go ask Whittaker.”
You turned to the door opening it and pulling back the curtain, expecting to see a teary eyed sister to the man in the viewing room. Instead you were met with the wide back decorated with a small wound on his shoulder which was covered in dried blood. The owner was a white male in his 50s backed up with his salt and pepper curls that adorned the top of his head.
His head flicked back over his shoulder at you; his grey eyes meeting yours in confusion as you exposed his injured back to the outside world. His brows raised in surprise, causing his wrinkles to fold deeper in on themselves as he finished removing his shirt. A frown graced his face, bashfully trying to hide his pecs behind his shirt as he turned around. He opened his mouth to say something, but when he realized you weren’t a med student or any of his peers he’d come to recognized—no, your pretty face was much better than any of those things—he just shut it and sat on the bed feigning nonchalance.
You brushed him off and looked around for the woman. He raised an eyebrow as you ignored him; he watched your figure as you searched the room. “Looking for someone?” His voice was a husky rasp, one you hadn’t heard before. It scratched that part of your brain just right and made you want to melt. You willed yourself to respond instead.
“I have a family member of a patient waiting on me.” You murmured softly.
“Room was empty.” He spoke as he began opening a pack of medical tape. You bit your lip in confusion; had you misremembered what room? He glanced at your expression, noticing the piece of lip you tried to push down with your teeth.
You refocused on the man in front of you. “What happened to your shoulder?” You wondered gently as he started to separate some pieces of the tape.
“Was shot at while I was volunteering for a SWAT team.” He tried to shrug off your worry but only winced at the tension on his shoulder.
Whatever answer you were expecting; it wasn’t that. Your mouth gasped open but no sound came out. He just let out a wry chuckle at your face. “I’m fine.” He tried to assure as he squeezed out some antiseptic for his wound.
When your face showed no change, he continued. “I'm a doctor here. Doctor Abbot.” He inserted a long Q tip into the medicine and attempted to reach over his shoulder with his other arm to dab the wound. You didn’t react and turned to check out the window for any signs of the woman who wanted to talk to but saw nothing but chaos. You really hated being up here instead of the quietness of the morgue. The man just raised an eyebrow at your silence and pouted. Whoever you were; you were weird.
When you turned back to the quiet of your room, the man’s bicep flexed the stretch showcasing his freckles and perfectly pale skin. You think you would've drooled a little if you were anywhere else but you weren’t just anywhere; you were at work. You internally sighed at the thought.
You watched him as he attempted to clean his wound again, clicking his tongue as he failed. He looked back at the wound—almost as if to check if it was still there—you just stared, waiting for him to ask for help like normal people did. When the stubborn old man didn’t, you just rolled your eyes as you grabbed a pair of blue nitrile gloves and took the Q tip from his hands. His thick fingers brushed against yours and you noticed a ring on his finger. Lucky wife.
“What’re you doing,” he gruffly pouted as you disappeared from his vision. You were pretty and Abbot liked to stare at pretty things like you while he worked. He waited for a response but didn’t hear anything; instead he just felt the gently cotton rub at his back. He pouted even deeper at your lack of conversation. Not only could he not see the pretty girl; but he couldn't hear her either, he crossed his arms to sulk, “you listening?”
If you were you didn’t show it, as you took the gauze and medical tape and began taping his now-clean wound shut. Jack was confused by you. Who you were. Why you were up here. Your scrubs at least told him you had a medical license. But the department to which the color coordinated to eluded him. Jack cursed trying to think back on administrative meetings.
Your fingers ran against his warm skin and freckles as you made sure there were no air bubbles. You patted his shoulders silently signaling you were done. He gruffly thanked you, “did good,” he praised you, grabbing his shirt from the end of the bed. This was a teaching hospital after all.
“Thanks. Normally my patients aren't breathing.”
"What?"
Abbot's brows raised so high at your words they might've hit his hairline. He turned around to look at the woman tending to his shoulder but he was just met with a pale blue curtain; he guffawed at how fast you'd had disappeared.
He'd checked around the room but only made eye contact with Robby who raised an eye brow at his friend's lack of a shirt. For a second, Abbot questioned if he imagined the entire thing; imagined you in his desperation. He huffed as he brushed off the silly thought—he could never have come up with the beautiful combination that was your features—before he realized that through your lack of words; you hadn't even given him your name.
“Mr. Channing meet the group; you five will be together for a while.” You said before beginning on the history of accidental first meetings and the importance of first impressions.
“I don’t think it matters how good my first impressions are though. Once I tell people of my job they seemed turned off pretty quick.” You finished, pushing the body in; admiring the work you had done to pick out every single piece of gravel embedded in his leg. You sighed to the group before shutting the door to the fridge with a resounding pop for the door to close.
The recent blackout announcement didn't exactly have you panicking; you'd just have to log the bodies on paper. It was honestly calming and didn't tire your eyes as much as a screen.
"Maybe try talking to living ones as much as you do the dead ones." You heard a voice call out; you tensed up before turning around. Usually no one came down here other than transport techs and the occasional pathology med student who'd come for a body.
What you were met with was an attractive Dr. Abbot watching you with grey eyes; the teasing glint turning them green. He leaned in the doorway, his age evident with the crows feet which crinkled at the ends of his eyes. He had changed into his black scrubs as you looked him over he chuckled blushing slightly at your stare. "You are a very hard woman to find."
He pushed off the doorframe stalking towards you in a similar manner to a lion to a gazelle—if you noticed his predatory stare; you didn't respond. If you were being honest, you didn't even know how to response to any attractive older men who came into your space, much less a coworker who looked like he wanted to devour you. He raised an eyebrow at your quietness and tense form as he began again, "Had me going up to pathology and admin." He listed, jokingly complaining. It was true. He’d spent 20 minutes searching for you when he could've been home getting a nap before his shift.
You couldn't help but crack a small smile at that—the idea of him moving up the floors of the elevator when you were just a staircase beneath him. Abbot tilted his head down to admire at the small joy you graced him with. He didn’t think he’s seen anything as radiant since the death of his wife. It was a different radiant than he was used to; like a murmured sunshine that happened when the sun obscured by clouds. He’d clear the entire sky if it meant he could feel your radiance fully. He let out a small teasing laugh. "That's what gets a smile outta you sweetheart? Me suffering?"
You meekly shook your head trying to hide your smiling bashful face as you went back to work but he followed you, like the Earth following the sun, across the room. You sat down trying to straighten out your cluttered desk; you usually never had guest down here, how embarrassing. Abbot chuckled as he leaned his hip against the desk, watching you fumble your files away.
“Can I help you with something, Dr. Abbot?” You murmured softly tilting your head up at him; it was a mistake. The older man just smiled at the sound of your voice as he crossed his arms as he looked down at you. Your eyes flicked to his flexing bicep—it was beyond big, thick even—littered with freckles of varying shades that pushed against his scrub top. When you glanced back at his scruffy face which was marred with the same beautiful pattern, his lips were curled into a wolfish grin as his eyes followed yours. Fuck. You were caught. You looked back down at your papers, a much more boring sight but safer, you needed to finish these.
“Just wanted to thank you for patching up before I bled out.” Abbot murmured down at you, he watched as your hands tried to find something to do. His hands twitched to remove the nervousness from yours; he almost couldn’t believe they were the same hands that touched him so confidently hours ago. His curiosity gnawed at him to know more sides of you, to ask for more of you.
“That’s okay. You already said thank you.”
Abbot frowned at that. You clearly weren’t getting it. He didn’t know why he even tried to beat around the bush with you. “Do you wanna have dinner?” He cleared his throat, as he watched you almost jump at the request.
Your lips pursed in confusion. He almost wished he could take a picture at the cute furrow of your brows and small scrunch of your nose. You glanced at the hand that was snug in the crevice of his crossed arms, his ring peeking back at you. You shook your head at his request. “I have plans after shift,”
He chuckled, placing a hand on the folder you were about to open. You watched as the ring came into your field of vision again, it was just mocking you now. Temptation with a very steep caveat. “Don’t worry. I work tonight. How ‘bout Wednesday night, I’m off.” He tilted his head down, trying to meet your eyes. He was desperately curious about you.
You sighed, finally looking up at him. He perked up once your eyes met his. He liked having your attention on him, you listening to him. “I’m not that kind of girl, Dr. Abbot.” You explained, straightforward and harshly. His eyebrows raised in confusion at your blunt words. He wasn’t expecting that. A straightforward rejection from a timid woman like you. He think he liked you more after that—proved there was more than meets the eye. He wanted to learn about that more.
Sure he’d been on a few dates and slept around since the death of his wife. But he had never been so outwardly rejected especially by someone who held lingering eyes for him. By someone he’d wanted so bad either. “Too old?” He asked with shameful disappointment.
“Too married.” You spat up glaring up at the stubborn old man. No matter how attractive or flirty a man was—you’d never become a home wrecker. For a person as alone as yourself, you’d grip onto your morals that kept you company in the quietness of night and hold tight. You’d begun your report on Mr. Channing, writing with your favorite black ballpoint pen that glided against the page.
Abbot’s eyebrows raised at your comment, and your strong glare. His mouth created a satisfying ‘o’—you scolded yourself for the thought. He squirmed uncomfortably. “I’m not…. I’m…” Now he was the one who was nervous. “She passed away two years ago.” He softly admitted in the quiet of the morgue; he fiddled with his ring.
Your hand froze on the paper mid sentence, processing his words. He could’ve chucked as he watched your brain load, but he didn’t, just waited patiently.
You glanced up at him. He waited. You looked back. He waited. You looked sorry. He broke, letting out a small smile. “‘S alright, sweetheart. You didn’t know. I respect it.”
Your small sigh in relief had him wanting to do it again. “Could make it up to me though.” He teased, you raised an eyebrow at his tone and mischievous expression.
His smirk could’ve been mistaken for young but it was contrasted by his salt and pepper stubble which mainly shown salt in the dim morgue. “Let me treat you to dinner, for my shoulder.” He requested, almost pleading this time.
You bashfully looked down at your hand which had been slowly lost its grip leaving an unsavory line across the receival of body form. You almost groaned at the thought of starting to over. This was insane. Something you’d read in one of your books or something.
“Please.” His voice was closer now, much closer, close enough you could hear the tenor in his voice. You could hear his vocal cords loosen for a lower pitch. It was softer this time too, as soft as the tone he used to praise you earlier.
You pursed your lips together, willing yourself to make the deathly mistake of looking at him again. Fuck. His eyes. His frown. His brows. The entire sculpt was entirely too good to pass up or look away from. But you should’ve because he was crouched to your level, a hand on the desk as he stared at your profile, waiting for your answer. His expression was more puppy dog than an ED doctor and his eyes bore holes into yours. You theorized he’d beat out a five year old if they competed on who could jut out their bottom lip more.
You couldn’t look away and softly scolded. “I hope you don’t normally do this with women, Dr. Abbot.”
“Jack. And is that a yes?” Jack corrected before smiling and standing to his full height. He was already satisfied with what he’d knew the answer would be.
“Don’t be late.”
You spoke curtly; holding your hand out for his phone. He handed it to you from his scrub pocket with no qualms. You thought it was ridiculous. Both his lack of a password and the situation at hand as you opened up his phone. He watched with a smugness of a dog who had been rewarded extra treats as you put your name and number in.
“Wouldn’t dream of it.”
“You’re joking.”
“I wish.”
“You have a date with my nightshift attending.” Trinity gaped at you as she shredded her paper charts after she’d spent her time digitizing them. You had long since finished logging your patients, handoffs to your nightshift counterpart and came up to wait for her. You’d been avoiding the salt and pepper curls you’d occasionally seen roam the ED halls as you claimed a stool next to Trinity.
Before you could protest it wasn't a date, another doctor came to sit down at the end desk, Dr. King, you think. You didn’t have to collect her signature her much. She wore her heart on her sleeve as she carried a prominent frown on her face and sighed as she sat. “What's wrong with you, Malfeasance?” Trinity asked as she picked up her dictaphone to begin her charting. You hit her playfully at the nickname and she just rolled her eyes at your softness, you two complimented each other like that.
“I have to do another deposition.” The blonde softly admitted. The both of you winced. While as a morgue attendant you were almost never named in a deposition, you’d worked with some that were and never spoke of the experience fondly.
Trinity straightened her back and groaned at the thought. “Oh, that sucks. You must have really messed up.” You hit her again when you saw the girls face drop further at your friend’s words. Trinity leaned in, “Dude, I'm joking. You gotta lighten up. It's all just bullshit.” She motioned waving her arm around, dictaphone in hand. You nodded along encouragingly. Based on how little you’ve seen of her you could only guess Dr. King was an amazing doctor.
“God, you know what? Fuck all this. Do you want to go get a drink?” Trinity’s voice groaned. She was getting fed up with it. Probably has since she clocked in. You were honestly impressed she made it this far.
Dr. King looked around for who Trinity was talking to. When she made eye contact with you, you just looked at her. She wasn’t talking to you. “Me?” The doctor murmured out questioningly pointing to herself. You nodded.
Trinity glanced at her, “Yes, you. You--you do go out, don't you?”
“Well, I'm usually with Becca.”
“Well, bring her along.” Trinity shrugged before making eye contact with you, a gleam came to her exhausted emerald eyes. “Can she drive?” You sent her a glare—along with karaoke she’d almost been trying to get you blackout drunk but you’d always used the excuse you were the driver.
“No, and she's with her boyfriend.”
“OK. Becca.” You and Trinity’s eyebrows raised at that. Damn. Respect. You both nodded in understanding. “So it's just you, me, and the reaper.” She motioned to you. You waved at the worrisome blonde and she gave you a half-smile and wave. It was better than you normally got and considering her situation; it wasn’t so bad. “Do you like karaoke?” Santos asked, testing out the plans you two had cooked up to your new found friend.
“You guys do karaoke?” Dr. King perked up at your friend’s words, her hopeful eyes lighting up. A small smile at the thought came to her face.
You glanced at Trinity as she thought on her choice of words. She puckered her lips in thought to phrase it in a way that wasn’t ridiculous. To be fair this entire day has been ridiculous. “Well, what I do is more like primal scream therapy. And she’s never been.” The brunette pointed to you explaining, you shrugged. Dr. King looked at you thoughtfully. She understood it wasn’t your scene but thought it was nice you’d go on Santos’ insistence.
“There's nothing like getting wasted and just absolutely wailing to shake off a shit show like today.” Trinity continued, her face fell as she thought back on the day. Having her R2 year threatened to be repeated, the doctor who terrorized her from her first day back, and her casual relationship become more casual than relationship, yeah she needed this.
The blonde girl nodded in agreement a smile lighting up her demeanor. “I could use a fun night.” She fiddled with her hands on the desk.
“You and me both, sister.” Trinity said straight faced as she went back to soaking in her charts. During then, you’d gotten to know Melissa, Mel for short, and about her. You introduced yourself and listened to her ramble about her sister Becca who had come in today.
You’d nodded along as you listened before two wide hands met both of your shoulders. You tensed and glanced up in curiosity and were met by a smug face and greying eyes that glinted with pleasure down at you. Jack. You relaxed and his smile widened as he felt the knots almost dissipate at his touch. “Thought you had plans.” He accused playfully, you pointed to Santos and she raised her hand at the same time.
“I’m plans.”
“Oh.” Jack nodded in an understanding way. “I actually have a patient for you.” He clapped your shoulders, signaling for you to stand. You raised an eyebrow but did so and he smirked at your wordless obedience as you two began walking.
Once you two were out of earshot, he began to tease again. “Didn’t realize I wasn’t the only ED doctor after you,”
“I thought you had a patient.”
“I do. Just tell me who else you’re seeing outside the ER.” Jack gave you a cocky smile.
You rolled your eyes. “We haven’t even had our date yet and you’re already jealous?” You asked, you weren’t oblivious his arm brushing against yours as you two walked down the hall.
Jack just chuckled as he heard your voice chew him out. He wanted to hear it more, more than anything else in this hospital. He’d note in his mind that you remained quiet unless given a reason to speak—a reason like a begging and jealous man. Yeah. Jack could be that. He’d be that in a heartbeat. "It's a date?" He pointed out happily. You tensed at your own words; realizing you had been caught.
“For your information, Trinity is the only person I hang out with that is medically certified. Now your patient?” You huffed up at him. He just frowned when you wanted to focus on work… at work and clicked his tongue as he led you to a central room.
Jack pulled back the curtain to the central room, revealing an elderly man dead in a wheelchair. You raised an eyebrow to him at the unorthodox presentation. “Had two doctors pick him up in the waiting room. They swear that he’s been here since their shift change.”
“So what?”
“So, he died during the day and is a dayshift patient and you need to take him down to the morgue.”
“Jack.”
“Hm?” He smirked at your deadpans expression.
“I love my job.” You started simply, as you began to commit each wrinkle that creased in confusion when you leaned in. You had begun to see through him, had begun to unravel the mystery of Dr. Jack Abbot—it was much easier when they talked and you had more than what was on their person. You noticed the twinkle in his eyes that reveled in your attention. He called you over just to talk and out of some small petty jealousy.
His breathing paused as your chest met his. In this game of chicken, Jack wasn’t so sure he’d win now; wasn’t sure if he wanted to either. “Don’t make me hate it by being an old man’s escort.” You finished bluntly. The older man's frozen expression turned one into snugness as he registered your words and the irony behind them.
“You talking about me?”
You shrugged innocently. “You said it. Not me. Get a transport tech.” you called out as you turned on your heels, to return to your spot by Trinity. Jack just watched you with an impressed awe as you left. His eyes shamelessly ran over your body as you left—he took mental notes of the jewelry you liked and the casual clothes you wore—and the curve of your ass in your jeans.
Did you know you carried a piece of his heart as you turned the corner? He loved it, every time you let out one of your quips today. Every rose had it's thorns and despite your beauty and timid nature it was clear you weren't afraid to draw blood. He wanted to savor each comeback, keep it in jar he could look back at when the dark nights got too dark.
From the three times you’d saw him today, it was like flint and steel rubbing against each other. His steel metal heart, that had long since been ignited, knocked against your equally harsh flint words. It created small shavings that oxidized and sparked a deep-seated fire within him.
author’s note: hiiiii everyone!!!! here is my rendition on the morgue technician + the one to patch up jack! according to my research morgues at hospitals are really only for storage until the funeral home + mortician can get to it!! but the PTMC doesn’t actually have a morgue and uses an offsite one! so a lot of this was fictional and based off research! this reader is actually inspired by ducky from ncis…. hehe anyways… the enforcer!reader is almost done I PROMISE ITS NEXT!!!!!!! okay kia out…. 🤤🤤🤤🤤
summary: you and jack have always been flirty and unfortunately that really doesn’t help the huge crush you have on him. seeing him with his girlfriend also really doesn’t help your huge crush.
contents: reader has a nickname (spooky), flirting, talk of mortuary sciences (death, bodies, etc), slight angst, miscommunication, reader is oblivious, only physical description is reader’s boobs, oral (f receiving), nipple/breast play, p in v sex, unprotected sex, fluff, inspired by olivia rodrigo’s maggots for brains
a/n: this is my first time trying to write anything remotely fluffy and i kind of wanted it to feel like a rom com! the medicine in this is probably not accurate at all but i needed it to conform to the plot for storytelling purposes so please forgive any mistakes!! also my first time properly writing smut in…a while so go easy on me i am RUSTY
Mondays are for psychopaths you think, not for the first time, as you watch the hour hand inch past 3 on the clock above your desk.
3AM, that is.
3AM on a Monday morning and you're sat surrounded by the dead.
At this point, the stack of paperwork beneath your hand is meaningless. To you at least, of course. Obviously. Super important for the poor guy who's name is printed in block letters across the top. And his family. Of course.
Truthfully, though, you've just been sat staring at the clock for the last 45 minutes, glazed over eyes and face smushed against your fist, willing your head not to drop forward in a sleepy trance. The graveyard of red bull cans in front of you have unfortunately not worked their magic, and you point blank refuse to even touch the hot tar in the breakroom some heathen has labelled as coffee.
In order to actually finish the custody forms and crosschecking them with sampling logs, you reason that you need to force your brain into gear. Surely stretching your legs will suffice. And if that leg stretch concludes with a lap around the ER which may or may not coincide with a certain nocturnal chief attending's rounds then that will simply be the world's largest coincidence.
A certain nocturnal chief attending who you may or not be working up the courage to ask out for dinner. Eventually.
You've been given enough encouragement by your friends, the usual "What's the worst he could say? No?".
Yes, the worst he could say is no, actually.
Well, not technically. He could turn around and spew off insults and declarations of total disgust and hatred for you. But you figure that reaction would go against the months and months of cheeky smiles and winks brandished in your direction, the inside jokes and flirty comments he greets you with, the smiley faces (and the one-time scribbled out heart!!!) he leaves on the sticky notes littered on the forms he sends downstairs.
So, really, a no would be the worst thing. A no would confirm that you'd done it again- read too far into things, saw signs that were more like mirages- an oasis granting affection in the touch-starved desert that is your love life.
A no would mean having to look into the eyes of a man you have admired for longer than you'd care to admit and watch him reject you. Which he is more than entitled to, of course! You'd take it on the chin and respect his no.
Then lock yourself in your office and sob loud enough to wake the bodies housed on the other side of your office door.
Dr Abbot wouldn't be your first rejection, of course. Far from it. To be human is to be rejected, and you'd learned long ago that picking yourself back up is the only response you can have if you want to remain human.
It would be the first to stop you in your tracks, though, you think. Your professional lives are so entwined- you're the one he calls every time he needs a deceased patient moving, or a DOA evaluated, or legal forms need both of your approval. Even the of his residents who show interest in mortuary rotations have to speak to the both of you, and you always manage to cross paths at hospital galas and fundraisers.
Quite frankly, you would survive the fallout. You would move on, tell yourself that you're a grown woman who has before and will again face rejection. Your professional lives would be just the same.
Your heart is another matter entirely.
It doesn't care that you're a woman with nearly three decades of earthly experiences. Or that your career is logically more important than a silly infatuation with the silver haired grump upstairs.
A muscle so intent on latching onto said silver haired grump cannot possibly care about logic.
Apparently, neither does your brain- the logic machine- as your calf muscles burn through the stretch of the seemingly endless stairs up to the ER.
The floor is almost awkwardly quiet tonight, your trainers squeaking against the linoleum and the sound of your heavy-ish breathing making you wince slightly with every movement. Box breathing is all you can do to tamp it down as you make your way through half empty corridors, every couple of rooms housing a patient but otherwise unusually inactive. The witching hour usually brings a whole host of crazy energy whirlwinding through the ER doors.
Perfect conditions for the native species of nightcrawler who infest this floor.
"Spook. Over here."
Your head snaps to the right at the familiar cadence of your favourite night shift attending. (Only marginally more favoured than Ellis, if only for the fact that Jack doesn't raid your super secret stash of cookies.)
You've gone by that nickname now for longer than your own name. Spook, or Spooky- bestowed upon you by Jack himself after he spotted the poster in your office. The UFO and 'I WANT TO BELIEVE' matching with that of Agent Fox Mulder's from The X-Files.
You suppose there are worse things to be called.
And, admittedly, you probably do come across as marginally spooky what with being cooped up with the dead four days a week.
"Hi."
"Hi."
That lopsided smile. It reminds you of the angle of Orion's bow in your favourite constellation. And the spray of freckles across his face reminds you of the Milky Way. You're almost certain you can trace a path between them, make up your own constellation.
"How are things downstairs?" Jack prompts the conversation at the sight of your slightly glazed eyes. He doesn't want to go so far as to assume it's because of him, so he'll chalk it up to the hour and the steadily growing army of empty red bull cans he's sure are encroaching on your desk.
You rock back and forth on your heels, hands fumbling to do something- anything- in front of you, "Oh, you know. Peachy. Lively as always."
The smile returns, this time more of a purse of his lips, as if biting back a chuckle. At you or with you: you're not sure you want to know.
"As always." Reaching for the tablet in front of him, he starts off in the direction of the triage bays, "Fancy joining me on my rounds tonight, Spooky?"
"Oh, yeah! Can't promise I'll be much help- my expertise is more use for those patients who don't really need fixing anymore."
He looks over his shoulder at you, smirking as you stumble on your feet to rush after him. Like a puffin, he thinks, not for the first time. A very cute puffin.
"Mmm, I'm sure we'll find a use for you yet, Spook. What're you doing up here in the land of the living anyway?" He looks back down to his screen as he walks, content with the knowledge that you're by his side.
You look around the ER with wide eyes like you're seeing it for the first time (even though this probably marks the thousandth time).
"Hm? Oh, um, I…needed to stretch my legs. Thought I'd come up and grace you all with my presence." A hollow chuckle betrays you slightly and from the amused look Jack throws your way, he believes you even less.
Thankfully he lets you get away with the obvious lie, swiping through the charts to find the one he's searching for. He stops in front of a curtain and briefly announces his presence to the patient on the other side, giving them an additional second before gently pulling the curtain aside with a practiced smile. One you've been on the receiving end of countless times, the one you're sure is laced with calming properties. You've seen many a patient be talked down from ledges just with that smile; the one that says I'm here, I understand, I've got you, we'll do this together.
Jack brings himself down to the patient's level, seating himself on the rolling stool, "Mr Romano, I'm Dr Abbot- this is another of our doctors here at PTMC, do you mind if she observes our chat for a minute?"
The patient looks nervously towards you so you take that as a sign to introduce yourself, telling him your name, "I'm normally downstairs in the mortuary, it's nice to meet you up here!"
The facepalm Jack makes immediately after you finish speaking makes your heart jump. Mr Romano's head shoots towards Jack, eyes wide like dinner plates, "Mortuary?! What? I am dying?" His thick Italian accent reverbs off the walls as you wince and rush to placate him.
"No- no,"
"Mr Romano, everything is fine. My colleague is just brushing up on her bedside manner," Jack pointedly looks towards you though you can see the amusement in his eyes from here, "You came in with laceration to your thumb, that is all. Once it's stitched you'll be free to go. No one is dying any time soon."
His words seem to calm the man if only momentarily, so Jack uses the sliver of calm to inform him that a nurse will be in to stitch him up shortly before ushering you out of the bay and shutting the curtain behind him.
You walk to the nurses station with your hands covering your face, refusing to even look at Jack.
"How bad was it?" Your voice comes out mumbled from behind your palms.
Instead of the reprimand you were expecting, you hear a throaty chuckle which quickly dissolves into uncontrollable giggles. A warm hand comes up to grip your fingers, gently removing them from your face. The sight of Jack's laughing face sets off your own, his out of amusement and yours out of embarassment.
"God, Spooky. 'I'm from the mortuary'? Really?" His imitation of your voice only worsens both of your giggling.
"I didn't know what to say! I haven't had to speak to a living patient in years! God he must've thought I was the grim reaper or something." At this point, your quickly warming forehead is pressed to the cool surface of the nurses station.
Jack rounds the desk, still chuckling, to sit in a chair, "You say anything but that, sweetheart. Anything. Did you see his face? Poor guy."
You bring your head up to glower at him still laughing at your expense, "Yeah, keep it up, giggleshits."
That only makes him laugh harder. You can still hear him when you turn and start back down the corridor. The sooner you get back to your safe space with no talking and moving patients, the better.
"Aw, Spook, don't run off! We were just getting started!"
A backwards middle finger is all he receives in reponse.
His chuckling it still audible when you reach the stairs.
A week later, you're back in a very familiar position, only this time during normal people hours.
The dayshift proves a stark opposite to that of the night shift; you're sure you've almost run into at least four separate people in the two minutes you've been on the ER floor. You watch with darting eyes as patients and staff alike flit and scurry between rooms, codes are called, and an incessant hum seems to hover above everything.
There is significantly too much life and noise happening up here for your taste.
Robby had called you a few minutes ago saying he needed your assistance with moving a patient and you find him outside of the family viewing room, a somber smile on his face. Whilst you enjoy each other's company, you'd both much prefer if your professional meetings were kept to a minimum.
Over your years working with him, you've come to find Robby views death as sadness completely. You suppose it makes sense; his job is to help these people, to do everything he possibly can to nurse them back to health- or at least stability before another specialist can swoop in. He is the frontlines for any and all emergencies and so death to him is a failing. Personal and professional.
From your perspective, death is a process. All of us die, some of us at the very hospital you work at. It's your job to treat all of your patients with dignity and respect, making sure they each receive the best possible standard of care. You see death as a ritual, and you have a sacred purpose to take care of their physical body and appreciate the life they lived. If you stopped to grieve for every person you performed on, you'd be stuck in one place infinitely.
If anything, you now have a deep appreciation for your own life. The job just comes with the added bonuses of developing a strong stomach and dark humour.
"Hey, Spooky, thanks for coming up. Sorry for the craziness around here, you know how it is." His accompanying laugh is more of a mirthless breath through his nose.
"Dr Robby, no problem, haha..yeah."
No, actually, you don't know. The speed up here is miles ahead of the one you're used to.
To his credit, Robby doesn't allow the awkwardness to linger for too long, instead sweeping you into the room with a palm hovering over your mid-back.
Transport support is already waiting inside the viewing room as you set to work on the usual identification and verification processes, checking over the death notification paperwork and ID tag, removing the little remaining medical apparatus from the patient's body, and securing a chin strap to ensure both dignity and practicality. After you give the go ahead to the transport staff member, they help you move the patient into a bag and then with securing the body with the concealment gurney. You give Anton, the transport staff, a murmur of thanks before asking him to move the body downstairs using the back elevator and noting that you'll be down in a moment once Robby and you finalise paperwork.
You find Robby waiting outside the room, his chin titled towards his shoes in thought.
"Hey, all finished in there, I'll be heading down to process them in a minute."
His eyes meet yours, some of the heaviness from before replaced with the professionality all doctors have to master- especially when they are the Chief Attending of an city's emergency department, "Thanks, Spooky. You're an angel."
The toothy, too-wide grin you give back makes him smile even more. You never could take a compliment.
At the nurses station, Robby turns to you with both the paperwork you need to complete and an expression you recognise all too well. You've worked with him for too long not to know when Michael Robinavitch is scheming.
"…What? Do I have something on my face?" Your hand haphazardly sweeps at your mouth, praying the pesto pasta salad you brought for lunch isn't smeared across your chin.
"No, no. You look great. Just…a question, if you will."
Your eyes narrow in suspicion, "Hmm, why do I not like where this is going already?"
Robby chuckles, "God, Spooky, at least hear me out before you start accusing me of something."
"You have that look, Robinavitch. I know that look."
His eyes roll good-naturedly before they meet Dana's over the other side of the desk, her own spying on the two of you from above the glasses perched on the tip of her nose.
"I just wanted to ask if you'd put any more thought into that gala. Gloria's been on my ass about numbers and representing the hospital properly, putting on a united front, yada yada. 'S all bureaucratic bullshit, but someone's gotta do it."
Robby watches in thinly veiled amusement as your head tips back on a groan, "Fuck. I completely forgot." You look over at Dana, still watching curiously, for moral support, "Do I have to?"
She raises both hands in surrender, one holding a patient chart and the other the bright red hospital landline, "Hey, don't look at me, Spooks. I got nothin' to do with those bigwigs upstairs."
Unfortunately for you, your puppy dog eyes do not have the same effect on Robby as they do on Jack, "Put those eyes away, missy. Someone from your department has to go or Gloria will ride your ass so hard you'll be drowning in paperwork for the next year."
Robby's words make your whole face screw up in a cringe, "Please, don't ever put that image in my brain ever again."
He simply laughs out loud before fatherly patting you on the back, "You'd best send Gloria confirmation of your attendance." Handing you the final sheet of paperwork, he pauses as if remembering something important, "Oh, actually, you know who else is going? Jack. Huh, at least you won't be alone."
With that, he picks up a chart and heads towards a triage bay. His words make you pause: if Jack is attending then maybe the night won't be so bad, his presence might just make up for the painful amount of schmoozing with potential donors you're going to have to do. Seeing him in a suit will also make the brain melting act of socialising easier to stomach. Maybe you can even dress up nice to feel confident enough to ask him for dinner sometime. You wonder absentmindedly if your sister still has that formal dress from her friend's cousin's wedding sat in the back of her wardrobe.
When you look up, you realise how in your own head you were when you spot Dana smirking knowingly at you, "Don't. Even."
Both eyebrows raise in faux innocence, "My lips are sealed."
After three back to back shifts the last place you want to be right now is in a crowded, overly decorated banquet hall surrounded by the best doctors in the tri-state area, the wealthiest Pennsylvania has to offer, and staff who look like they also want to be anywhere but serving comically tiny hors d'oeuvres to stuffy old white men.
It'd taken your sister over an hour to convince you to leave the house in the dress you're wearing and, despite how good you felt when you first tried it on, you suddenly feel ridiculously out of place considering your day to day attire is usually frumpy scrubs, a hair net, and your comfiest shoes.
A small part of you- well, perhaps a large majority- is hoping you'll find Jack tonight and he'll be starstruck by your dress. That same part of you that has existed since you were a pre-teen and your love of rom coms was kickstarted, watching scenes of undercover princesses swaying down palace steps in a gorgeous dress and captivating the eyes and hearts of Chad Michael Murray and Heath Ledger.
It's a satin fabric in a rich plum colour, an asymmetrical neckline showcasing the oiled skin of one shoulder, boning across the mid-section to accentuate your waist and hips, and the rest falling in smooth pleats around your calves. The silver heels on your feet started hurting before you even got in the Uber here and you're almost 100% positive you lost bloodflow to your pinky toe around seven minutes ago. Grinning and bearing it seems the only option.
You've already made the rounds a couple of times, your schmoozing power running on empty to match the empty champagne glass you've been clutching like a lifeline instead of awkwardly fiddling with your hands as usual.
You're still yet to spot Jack amongst the crowd you think to yourself, and, as if by magic, there he appears. You spy him chatting with a group of donors you're yet to try and work some of your unusual charm with, their faces all alight with rapt fascination as he no doubt captivates them with his otherworldly charisma. He'll be regaling them with some story of his time overseas, or managing to spin a patient story into a subtle yet effective appeal for donations.
He looks as dashing as ever, even if you are only glimpsing him from behind; his deep slate suit stretches taut over broad shoulders, pants tailored to perfection, and his more salt than pepper curls perfectly coiffed. You hope he's missed a day or two of shaving. You love the stubble that grows in after only a short amount of time and have spent more time than is probably healthy imagining how the scruff would feel between your thighs.
Setting out to cross the bustling room to reach his side, the crowd he was previously entertaining seem to fall away with wide grins and pats to his back, leaving him stood alone with possibly the most gorgeous woman you have ever seen.
Your steps fumble slightly, not wanting to make a fool of yourself by marching over there when he's in conversation with someone else.
Especially not when he's smiling like that at her.
She's in a long sleek dress to match her long sleek hair and she looks so elegant you're unsure if she's even real. Of course he'd be smiling like that at her.
Her elegance doesn't bother you nearly as much, though, as the hand on his arm does. Her fingers are wrapped around the crook of his elbow in such a way that looks natural, familiar. And he's not rejecting it. Jack is standing there letting her paw at him, smiling at her in that way that says I'm listening, I'll always listen to you that you foolishly believed might just have been exclusive to you.
For just a minute- though it feels like an eon- you stand and watch them; how good they look together, how naturally they seem to fit together, how she throws her head back on a laugh and he watches the clean line of her throat. It feels like a car crash you can't look away from, though you know the only car crash is the nosedive your potential relationship with Jack just took off the Fort Pitt Bridge.
In the years you've worked with Jack, you've never once heard him mention a partner- you knew he was divorced, everyone at the Pitt knew that, but you had no idea he was seeing anyone. And, from the way they're stood together, they can't be anything but a couple. It makes you feel sick thinking about how many hours you must've accumulated flirting with Jack over the years. How he'd never shut it down- had played along, even. Once again, you feel like that same silly teenage girl again; awkward and a hopeless romantic, only to find out that the cute flirty guy next to you in biology class had been dating your friend since the beginning of junior year.
You feel stupid and small and really fucking uncomfortable in this dress that you wore for him.
Behind you, you hear someone call your name and, deciding you've seen enough, you turn from the smoldering remains that was your crush on Dr Abbot.
In turning away, you miss the way Jack's ears perk up completely at the distant sound of your name, swinging his head around the room in an attempt to find you and the sting he feels in his chest when he can't.
The pile of papers on your desk has officially reached critical mass.
You're at the point where one strong shove of your office door may result in bureaucratic disaster, however sorting and filing them properly would require a trip to the ER. The same ER in which you have been completely avoiding for the last two weeks due to the residence of a certain silver haired grump.
You'd received exactly one message from him at the end of last week (when you figure he finally caught on to the fact that you were quite obviously avoiding him);
Jack's Abs: Hey Spook, everything okay? Didn't see you at the fundraiser dinner, must've missed each other. Let me know if you want to come up and help with rounds again at any point. I'll make sure you don't frighten any patients half to death this time. - Jack
You'd only deigned to reply with a thumbs up emoji, to which you figure he must've guessed he'd done something wrong as he hasn't contacted you since.
In all honesty, you miss him. You miss the chats you would sneak together in the break room between lulls, you miss the way he would make any excuse to come downstairs to visit you, you miss the way he'd always have an energy drink chilling in the fridge for you- hidden behind the leftovers that have gone untouched for so long he's sure no one will bother to look behind them. You miss him when you see something funny on Instagram and you can't show him it, when normally you'd send it to him and watch him furrow his brows in old man confusion.
You've moped around so much for the past two weeks that even your assisstant, Sylvie, has been giving you shit for it.
"Girl, you've been slouching around here like a zombie for too long. Go talk to him!" She's sat in the chair on the other side of your packed desk, her feet propped precariously on one of the smaller piles of paper teetering on the edge of the cherrywood. You're slouched in your reclined office chair, head in your hands as you massage an incoming migraine from your temples.
"You should've seen them, Sylv- there was no way that wasn't his girlfriend. I feel so embarassed."
The whine in your voice makes Sylvie's eyes soften in sympathy, "Hun, there is no way that a man who looks at you like Dr Abbot looks at you has eyes for any other woman. Did you ask him if they were together?"
Shuffling your fingers apart, you peek up at her nervously, "…No?"
The eye roll you receive is expected, the tinfoil ball from her sandwich being thrown at your head, is not.
"Okay, well, if you're not going to take these up, I will." Sylvie begins precariously stacking papers in her arms and heads for your office door, "I'll be sure to tell Dr Abbot you asked after him."
All you can do is cover your face again and groan, slouching down even further into your chair.
It's your day off and you're still moping. Only now, you can mope from the comfort of your own home.
You've not even left the house today, even though you know definitely should've when you open the fridge door and all that's in there is a half-drunk carton of orange juice and a moldy punnet of cherries. The weather is another reason you haven't left the house today, the thunder and lightning and lashing rain mirroring the emotional deluge happening inside your head.
A tiny, insane, part of you thinks maybe you should risk a grocery run today. Should risk driving in the torrential rain if only for the fact that the grocery store is in PTMC's catchment area and any accident that may've happened to you on those rain-slick roads would've resulted in the potential for Jack to be the one taking care of you. You dismiss the thought as soon as it pops into your head, immediately apalled at yourself, and decide to just rot the rest of the night away on your couch. You're sure you have some stovetop popcorn hidden in a cupboard somewhere.
You're almost through Four Weddings and a Funeral, just about to reach Hugh Grant's famous love confession to Carrie in the torrential rain when you hear a pounding on your front door.
Immediately, you check your phone to make sure you didn't accidentally order a pizza in you zombie-like state and make some poor delivery driver make the trek to your house in the storm, only for another, much longer, knock to sound through your living room.
You hop up from the couch, fastening the belt of your robe around you tighter as you swing open the front door to be met with a very wet Jack Abbot.
"What the hell are you doing here?", You shout to be heard over the thunder rolling behind him, brows furrowing in desparate confusion.
Jack brings a hand up to swipe his dripping curls from his face, slicking them back only for the shortest at the front to stick to his temples, "You've been avoiding me for weeks!"
"So you show up at my house?! In a storm?!"
"I had no other choice!"
Looking at him dripping wet on your doorstep makes your defences wither faster than you'd like, "God, Jack, just- just come in. Come in. I'll get you some towels and something to wear." He lets out a breath of relief, making sure to keep his feet on your doormat as he removes his soaked shoes and jacket, trying to minimise the mess he is guaranteed to make. When you return from the towel cupboard, you find him standing sheepishly still in your doorway now with the door closed at least, "Come on, you can sit on the couch- I'll put towels down."
Whilst he busies himself with drying off, you go in search of the biggest sweatpants and hoodies you can find, hoping you have something buried in the back of your wardrobe, and when you get back your heart bursts out of your chest at the sight of Jack's wet t-shirt halfway off of his body, arms stretching backwards to rip it off. When his head is free of the soaked fabric, he catches your widened eyes, curls still damp and now ruffled, the skin of his chest and arms reddened from the cold.
"He-here," you have to clear your throat to speak a coherent sentence, "take these- they should fit. Hopefully." You all but toss the clothes at him and make an escape to the kitchen in a plan to bring him a warm drink and to put his own clothes in the dryer.
Jack takes the time to scan your living room, a space he's never been privy to before but always wondered about- wondered whether you like to keep things neat and minimalist or go all out with bright colours and clutter. From what he can see, it's very you. He loves it. Although he's not sure his opinions on interior design have any weight considering his own house has looked the exact same (if he had to pick a word to describe its aesthetic, he would choose showhouse, Robby would choose sad) since his divorce years ago.
"Black, one sugar." You place a coffee down in front of him, settling in opposite him with your own mug of no doubt something teeth-rottingly sweet that most likely no longer classifies as coffee.
"Thanks, Spook."
For the first time in all of the years you've known each other, the silence between you is awkward. It feels like there's an impenetrable barrier between the two of you, something tangible, something you can reach out and crush betwene your fingers. For the first time ever, you don't know how to talk to each other.
So, Jack takes the leap of faith.
"We need to talk, sweetheart."
The eyes you look at him with make his chest tighten immeasurably, there's hurt and guilt and longing and want burned into your pupils, so clear he can read them like his favourite book.
"You've been avoiding me, for a while now. Too long, really. And I just want to know what I did." Jack puts his coffee down and scoots forward on the couch, eyes wide in desperation, "Did I fuck up? I want to make it right, but I'm at a loss here, Spook. I miss us. I miss you."
"I don't know if you should be saying that, Jack. It's…inappropriate."
If it was possible, he's somehow leaning even farther forward, trying to get as close to you as he can whilst still respecting the clear space you've put between the two of you, "To who? We've always done this. It's been you and me since day one, Spooky."
"God, your girlfriend, Jack. Or partner- wife- whatever she is to you. I'm not coming between that, okay?"
Jack's eyes narrow in confusion, "Girlfriend? I don't have a girlfriend, or-or a partner or a wife."
The pit in your stomach widens, "You…don't?"
"Of course I don't. How could I when I have you? If you aren't filling any of those roles I don't want it." Out of all the expressions you've seen Jack Abbot wear, this one is a first. It's desperate, pleading, pure want.
"What about the woman in the black dress- from the fundraiser dinner? You two seemed…friendly." You can't even look at him as you say it, embarassment swirling in your chest.
"You mean Val? My sister's wife? She's on the board for the woman's clinic outside Presby. Spooky, she's family. I promise you. I'll get out the fucking family albums if you want me too, sweetheart." And god help you, you know Jack would never lie to you. Not about something like this.
"Oh."
The smile he gives you is one of hope and sympathy, "Yeah."
"Well…now I feel stupid."
Jack laugh is full of pity and amused exasperation, "Me too, Spook."
There's one thing still left to clarify, though, "Did you mean what you said before? About…me. Being your…girlfriend or whatever."
Jack's smile is megawatt now, "Oh, my silly girl, get over here."
In an instant, you're rounding the coffee table, and straddling Jack's lap. His hands reach to cup your face automatically, bringing it to down to meet his awaiting mouth. The kiss is desperate and searching, your tongues sweeping each other's mouths, dying to memorise the feel of each other.
"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry-" you pant between kisses, "I'm sorry I avoided you i just-"
"Shh, shh. 'S Okay, sweets. You're okay, I'm here now, hm?" Jack's hands are placating as they smooth over your body, gripping your curves, memorising the feel of your hips, "Now, I love this robe but I wanna see what's under it, yeah? That sound good?"
You nod frantically, aching to have his big hands touch your heated skin. He gently unties the knot, pushing the satin fabric from around your shoulders to pool at your feet. Instantly, his hands are going to your nipples poking from under thin material of your tank top, pinching and rolling and pulling. His mouth drops to envelop one through the fabric, teeth just and so nibbling at it before his tongue sweeps out to soothe. When he pulls away his eyes are heavy lidded at the sight of the wet spot on your tank and the outline of your swollen nipple even more prominent.
He looks up at you, your neck thrown back and whimpers pouring from you, "These tits, sweetheart. The things I've imagined doing to them."
You meet his eyes with your own hooded ones, "Yeah?"
"They're fucking perfect. Perfect for me." His fingers reach to pull the fabric of your tank down under your heavy tits, nipples jutting out proudly. Jack groans uncontrollably, mouth attatching to your tits once again like a man starved. Your hips works against his own, little shorts bunching up against the sweatpants you leant him, though you can feel the unmistakable bulge he's sporting.
"Where's your bedroom sweetheart?", Jack mumbles around a mouthful of your breast, his bite marks and spit leaving a trail across the delicate skin.
You point with a shaking hand in the direction of your room and, within ten seconds, he's pulling you up to stand so he can yank you down the corridor. Once he locates your bed, he shoves you down, standing between your parted legs as you prop yourself into your elbows. Jack takes you in, tits pressed together above the fabric of your top, tiny shorts hiding next to nothing, the outline of your perfect soaked cunt on display for him, your face already sweat slick and looking freshly fucked. He thinks you're the most gorgeous thing he's ever seen.
You watch with unconcealed lust as his rips the sweatshirt from over his head, pushes his sweatpants down, and reaches to remove his prosthetic leg. You watch that part with more interest- next time you want to be the one to do it for him. Once he's done, he leans against the bed, one of your ankles in each of his hands as he begins planting kiss after kiss up the side of your leg. Some are small pecks, others open mouthed, all whilst looking directly at you. Your jaw is touching your heaving chest at this point.
He finally gets to the apex of your thighs, the fat dimpling under his fingers as he places kiss after kiss over the fabric of your shorts, tongue coming out to poke at your clit, nose taking deep lungfuls of you. Your gasps and whimpers spur him on as he looks up at you, "Sweet girl, I want you to take these off for me."
You're nodding and hooking your fingers beneath the waistband instantly, hips lifting from the bed in what should feel an awkward move but doesn't as Jack keeps his eyes on yours- reassuring, guiding, loving. When the shorts are eventually hooked over one ankle, he slips them off and returns to face your cunt, weeping and leaking for him. Once he reaches what he's after he envelops your clit, nose smushing against the thatch of hair above your pussy, tongue sweeping across you, "God, Jack, oh my god-". For what feels like hours he suckles, kisses, licks, fucks you with his tongue. When he comes up for air, his face is glistening, the scruff you love so much completely doused in you.
Your hands grab at his curls, guiding him to where you need him most. His own hands come up to play with your tits, rolling and pinching, sometimes just grabbing handfuls of the plush flesh as if he needs something to ground him. You see his own hips working at the bed beneath him, unable to keep still at the sensation of completely devouring your cunt.
When he feels you beginning to reach the edge of your orgasm, he brings one hand down, rolling your clit beneath the pad of his thumb, his fingers dipping shallowly into your pussy, "Come on, sweet girl, come for me. You can do it, I've got you." Your hips are uncontrollable, writhing and rolling against him, your thighs clamping down on his ears as your first orgasm collides into you. It's less of a plunge and more of a tidal wave, one big wave and lots of slightly smaller jolts that pull you just as far under.
"Yeah, that's it. You're so pretty when you come, baby."
Jack unwinds his hands from your thighs when you release him, moving to his knees to crawl over you. His mouth brushes your stomach as he moves, the skin instantly tightening making him glance up at you as he leans down and presses a firmer kiss to the skin still covered by your tank top.
"You're beautiful. Don't hide from me. I know what you look like, Spook." He tenderly thumbs at your temple as he says it, looking between your eyes. The kiss he plants on the bridge of your nose brings a prickle to your eyes. Before any tears can fall, though, Jack is lining his hips up with yours, the tip of his cock just and so pressing at your hole, "You want me baby? Hm?"
"Yes, yes- please, please. Need it, Jack-" His lips cut you off from anymore begging.
"Okay, sweet girl, you're okay. You'll get it. You'll get it all."
With a deep groan, Jack pushes in in one fell swoop, and it feels like fireworks explode behind your eyes. Like finding the missing puzzle piece. Like you've finally found your person. He's still for a moment, his face buried in your neck and hands gripping your waist, whilst he gives the both of you a second to acclimate.
"Please, Jack."
At your words, he begins a rhythm that feels like your favourite song and the beat of both your hearts, and, listening to Jack's heartbeat now they might just be the same thing.
His hips meet the backs of your thighs, the very tip of his cock reaching the very deepest parts of you. The neatly trimmed hair above his cock catches deliciously on your clit. He's so thick you can feel him everywhere.
"Oh sweetheart. you're perfect. You feel so good. So wet- oh my god-" Jack murmurs into your ear, not holding back from moaning and whimpering right against it. He blanketing you with his full body and you've never felt so secure. Your hands are in his curls once again, nails blindly scratching at the base of his skull and travelling down to his freckled shoulders. You rake lines down his back just slightly, not enough to draw blood but enough to know you were there, "Yeah, baby- like that. Feels s'good," His pistoning hips continue to meet yours filthily, echoing through the room in a delicious symphony.
"Gonna cum with me this time, sweets. Come on, you're nearly there- can feel it.", With his thumb back on your clit, he continues fucking you towards your orgasms. You can once again feel that tidal wave approaching though your ears are muffled now, as if underwater, your head fuzzy and fucked out. Your brain whites out completely as you cum, leaking onto the matress below you, "Come on, baby, now. Cum for me. Yeah- yes. Ohh my god-", Jack's whimpers mix with your own until you're creating a perfect harmony, his hips still fucking you through both of your orgasms, and, though they're slowing, they're no less intense.
Your ears are ringing by the time you come back down to Earth, Jack's heavy breathing the first thing you tune back into, "Oh, you're so perfect. My perfect girl. I love you." His tiny kisses are pressed to the skin of your cheeks, nose, lips, forehead- anywhere he can reach.
You giggle up at him, still spacey and fucked out and exhausted. But happy, so so happy, "I love you, too."
When he chuckles back at you through a kiss, his teeth pressing to your lips, you can't help but feel like the luckiest girl in the world.
A couple of hours later, with the storm still raging outside, you're huddled with Jack under fresh bedding and the TV playing some random true crime documentary. You're propped against your headboard with Jack nestled into your bare chest, and your nails scratching at the skin of his freckled back.
"Do you not see enough of this shit at work, Spooky?", Jack asks as an autopsy is described on screen.
"Hm, yeah. But I don't get to do all the cool forensics stuff normally, so."
He seems to take the answer, turning his head back towards the television. Leaving you to once again trace the constellations between his freckles.
You think from here you can just make out Orion and his bow.
Summary - They told her he was a monster. A violent, remorseless prisoner buried deep inside a supermax facility. A man no one could control... and no one could understand.
As the new prison psychologist, she was brought in to study men like him. To analyse him. To fix what couldn't be fixed.
She knew the risks but nothing could have prepared her for the moment their eyes met... and something shifted.
Azriel didn't look at her like prey. He looked at her like she was his. And suddenly, every rule she's ever followed began to blur.
The most dangerous place in that prison isn't his cell—it's the pull between them, dark, obsessive and completely forbidden.
Tags - prisoner x psychologist AU, dark romance, morally grey characters, forbidden romance, obsessive love
Contents -
⚠︎ One | Welcome to Hell | 2.2k words
⚠︎ Two | Under Observation | 2.1k words
⚠︎ Three | Pressure Points | 2.1k words
⚠︎ Four | A Hand in the Dark | 3.1k words
⚠︎ Five | Calculated Risk | 2.6k words
⚠︎ Six | The Shape of Absence | 2.4k words
⚠︎ Seven | Unravel | 2.3k words
⚠︎ Eight
⚠︎ Nine
⚠︎ Ten
ACOTAR Masterlist
A/n - As always content warnings will be at the start of each chapter, so please be sure to read them before continuing.
Another requested fic and I ATE this up... I had way too much fun writing it. The plotting, the tension, the characters—everything about this had me completely hooked from start to finish!!
It's 10 whole parts which is the longest fic I've written in months, so you already know I went a little feral with the ideas and let myself fully lean into the chaos xx
Please don't hesitate to vote or comment along the way, it truly means the world to me <3
When I was a little boy, girls used to just do random cartwheels for no reason. Then one day, they stopped. Now that I am a man, no women randomly do cartwheels. This is because society is evil and killed the cartwheel impulse in their soul. They don't even spin horizontally anymore. It's fucked up.
angst/eventual comfort (it seems that we are in the midst of chaos now)
Summary: When you walk in on Azriel and Elain the mating bond snaps leading you to flee to Autumn with Eris so you can be free of Azriel. Your absence causes Azriel to come to some drastic realisations, but is it already too late and has your time in Autumn led to you moving on?
Parts I, II, III, IV, V, VI, VII, VIII, IX, X, XI, and XII if you missed them!
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According to the laws of the universe, it is a known fact that nothing can be created or destroyed. All forms of energy, life, and matter adhere to this law. Magic is no different.
What humans know as "magic" is nothing more than a harnessing of energy - energy that is stored in the blood and body that the "children of blessed" have learned to manipulate and through adaptation they have got what is known as "magic".
Magic is stored in the blood, which is why certain poisons and elements can nullify the magic, if it's exposed to it. Fae magic is so imbued into their systems that if the magic is weakened enough, their body will slowly decay from the inside out and if no solution can be found and well...
The deterioration of magic is a brutal process, one that destroys you from the inside out. You will know the instance your body turns on you and the magic that has saved you countless time, will be a weapon against you aiming to kill.
At least that's what Azriel was telling himself. There was no way his magic could be breaking down because he would feel it. He wasn't weak and felt completely normal - except for the nightmares, the phantom pain in his chest, and the times he's tried using his magic only to find that he couldn't reach it almost as if he was trying to grasp smoke.
He normally needs 7 siphons to contain the raw strength of his magic; he's down to 2. One on each of the silver cuffs around his wrist and one in the centre of his chest. If his family had noticed, they hadn't said anything, but he's seen your not-so-subtle glances.
He hasn't told anyone yet. Azriel's bravery is limited to battlefields, and this is not a problem that he can make go away by wielding a sword. When he fights for the Night Court, he is fighting other people's problems; he believes they are worth saving and fighting for. When is comes to his own problems, Azriel doesn't share that same belief for himself; he will suffer in silence, even if it kills him.
"Azriel, are you with us?" You look to him, moonlight dancing on your face, a bit of moonlight reflecting in your eyes.
Right.
This is why he needed to make it through this. This is why he had to overcome this and make it to the other side. For he had seen the Mother and had learned what the other side had to offer, and he knew that it was nothing compared to what was right in front of him.
"Sorry." He gives you an apologetic look.
It's half past midnight in the library of the House of Wind, you have been trying to find anything in your family's private collection about Koschei, death gods, and mysterious ancient shadowed figures.
Amren said she had to go consult with some old friends. That means she knows more than she's led on, but he has to confirm her suspicions before she tells everyone.
Rhys, Feyre, and Nesta went to the priestesses, asking them to collect all the books they could find that might be helpful. So far the search has been fruitless on all ends.
Elain has been pushing herself to exhaustion, trying to force visions that might give a clue about the future; about what you're all up against.
She just sees the same vision over and over again. A blade with a cobalt twisted hilt adorned with a purple gemstone flies through the air, thrown into a cloud of darkness. The cloud is vanquished, but on the other side of the darkness is a shadowed figure; the blade lodges in their stomach, and they crumple to the ground.
Her vision seems promising enough if you take it at face value - the darkness is vanquished and the shadowed figure is slain. Elain's visions have never been direct before; they have always been symbolic and undecipherable until they come true - you have a sinking feeling that this one is no different and the shadowed figure may be one of your own.
"We've been at this too long, haven't we?" You asked.
You guys have been here since the late afternoon, hours spent together spent talking about anything but your own predicaments. In the light of the possible end of the world, yours and Azriel's problems seemed very minuscule.
"And yet we don't have any answers." He says, quiet disappointment lacing his voice.
"Okay, fine, let's brainstorm then. Maybe there's something we're missing." You close the book you were reading.
"We've looked through every book of relevance. I don't think we will find our answers here."
"Don't be so pessimistic." You chided.
You take a breath. "Maybe the issue is that we're looking at the wrong books. Let's stop focusing on what we don't know and look at what we do know." You paused.
"What about Elain's vision? That has to mean something right?" He visibly tensed at the mention of her name, coming from your mouth it's probably a reminder of a not-so-distant past.
"We've already tried to analyse it, we couldn't find anything about blades that relates back to Koschei." His features were slowly slipping from their mask, tiredness becoming evident on his features.
"What about blades that can vanquish shadows? Blades that can cut through darkness? Have we tried looking for blades based on the physical description Elain has given us?" You pause for a moment and then jump up in excitement.
"If a blade that powerful of Night Court origins exists, there must be a record of it. After the prison was built, all the High Lords of the Night Court were very cautious about powerful beings and objects. That's how the library was started, it was originally used for bookkeeping."
Azriel looks at you, confused. "Why has none of this ever been mentioned?"
"Well if you haven't noticed, my ancestors liked their secrets." You give him a small smile.
"I'm pretty sure everyone in Velaris for the last 3000 years noticed." His tone is dry, but you can see the latent mirth behind his eyes.
You know that this wasn't a strong lead, but it was better than nothing.
Azriel sighs. "Okay tomorrow we can start looking through the records in the library and see if we can get anywhere. I think we should call it a night.
His movements were slower than usual, and his shadows were the colour of smoke, much lighter than the jet black that they normally were. Dark circles rimmed his now duller hazel eyes; Azriel didn't look good.
The bond feels relatively the same, but the magic on his end of it feels muted as if a blanket was thrown over his magic.
Your stomach feels like a rock in your chest. Your smile not quite reaching your eyes as you walk with Azriel back to your rooms. You bid him goodnight and lie down in bed, tossing and turning, trying to forget the feeling that wouldn't go away.
Something was terribly wrong with Azriel and you were scared that he wouldn't tell you until it was too late.
-
The next day was spent in the library. You had forgotten just how many volumes the library housed, an endless maze filled to the brim with books. You look up and see that the countless number of floors, almost tunnelling in.
You and Azriel searched for hours, starting with the old records, but it seems that your ancestors were very meticulous recordkeepers. After the Night Court was first established, every single magical artifact within its territories was required to be recorded and tracked.
Each artifact would receive a page with a detailed drawing, its origins, and the intended use for the object, along with any additional information available. It seems like a lot of these objects were either lost or destroyed, on the bottom of a good number of the pages under the category "Number in existence," there would be a red line going through the numbers until they dwindled down to none.
The records were an entire floor themselves, at the very base of the library. The farther down you descend, the darker it gets and the records are at the very base of the library. The candlelight is dim and the enchantments are blaring. This was the oldest part of the library, ancient magic radiating off the walls, warning it's visitors of the potential consequences of disobedience.
You pawed through the records and while there were a myriad of ancient, enchanted blades none of them had fit the description that Elain had given from her vision.
Ledger after ledger sprawled out onto the desks. You, Azriel, and his shadows meticulously combed through the pages scrutinising every detail of these artifacts. You were racing against time and you could count the grains of sand that were left in the hourglass.
Night fell the mountain, keeping you and Azriel suspended in time for there are no clocks or windows in the library. Everything was going well, you guys had gotten into a good rythm doing research, not bringing up anything about mates or your relationship.
Azriel suddenly clutches his chest. His face scrunches, eyes shut tight in pain - breathing ragged and shallow. He falls to his knees, and you go down to the ground catching him before he could fall forward onto the ground.
Night fell and Azriel felt it. The shadows screamed - a warning siren of the looming threat surrounding Prythian. Night shuddered and the moon hid, dark shadows obscuring it's bright surface as if they were trying to shield it from the horrors of the land.
The ground lurched, and a few stories higher, the high lord fell to his knees. You felt the magic from the earth screaming out in fear, your ancestral magic warning you to hurry.
This had been the third night you had all felt it, a dull stream became a roaring waterfall. It lasted a few minutes before it ceased, leaving buzzing in your veins and a deep-rooted fear in your heart.
Even after the pain had ceased, you stayed there with Azriel in your arms. Allowing yourself the small moment of reprise before the claws of reality rip your world apart.
-
The chessboard viciously rattled despite there being nothing to attribute it to. The pieces shook and not even a steadying charm would get them to stop their menacing vibrations.
The Mother sat in her chair hands crossed over her chest while pinning Fate down with her stare.
"We have already meddled enough in the liminal space. There will be a price to pay for direct action in their world."
He implores her to see reason;. The possibility of her paying for the consequences of her action was a risk that he was not ready to take.
The Mother's rebuttal died on her tongue, her eyes going wide in shock. She jolts up from her chair and starts stalking the room, like a cat circling a mouse.
"What is it?" Fate tried to keep his tone as steady as possible, but there was a slight tremble in his voice. If the Mother was afraid of something then that meant the world should brace itself for the end was near.
The Mother stopped in front of an empty wall; Plain white and unsuspecting. She drew a large silver sword from the air, the long blade appearing in her hand.
Fate runs to her before she could strike.
She prepares to strike, but Fate runs to her before her blade can hit the wall. He grabs her by the arm and yanks her back before the wall blasts them back.
The room rattles — a wave passing through the very fabric of this reality. Amidst the wreckage, a dark voice begins to cackle maliciously.
"You thought you had seen the last of me?" In place of the wall that was blasted inward was a black hole. It looked like the surface of a lake in the night - large and rippling with a sinister power.
Purple magic emitted from its maleable edges.
"We've imprisoned you before. We will do it again." Fate stands tall as he pulls the Mother to her feet, keeping her behind him in protective stance.
"Don't be so sure of that." He chuckles lowly and darkly, acid dripping from his lips. They did not have to see him to know who he was.
"Oh Fate how far you have fallen from grace. You used to be respected, feared, and now you've fallen victim to her self-righteousness. Does it ever get boring only crafting fates to follow the path she has laid out for them?" He was provoking, as he always is. Happiness a repulse, he revels in chaos and malice.
"I will follow her wherever she pleases. If it ends in my eternal damnation, I will walk down to hell with a smile on my face. I understand you cannot comprehend that kind of devotion, love is not something you're familiar with." Fate says coldly.
The darkness did not shudder at his words. Fate did not want to give him the satisfaction of getting under his skin, so he stared down his reflection in the pools of the darkness.
"Ah, devotion is a fickle thing. Remember when you were so besotted with me? You can still leave him and join my cause, you could rule the cosmos as my queen instead of lamenting over the bones of this world once I'm through with it."
His focus shifts to the Mother, the purple tendrils of dark magic radiating towards her as if they were reaching out to grab her and drown her in their murky depths.
"Over my dead body will I ever go with the likes of you." She threateningly points her blade at him, a viper readying to strike.
"Well, that can be arranged, my dear. Don't worry I will spare your little shadowsinger and have him spread your ashes in my next world."
No reaction. They would not give him the validation he craved so intently.
"A part of his soul already belongs to me; it won't be that difficult. It would also be such a shame to waste such a valuable asset.
The Mother was enraged. Before Fate could stop her, she swung the blade in a perfect cut down the middle. A white line intersecting the black pool, light emitted from the slash and began to spread outwards. The darkness tried to fight back, but the light only grew brighter and eventually swallowed the darkness whole.
His maniacal laugh slowly drowned out as the darkness dwindled from the wall. The sound sending shivers throughout the space.
Fate turned to the Mother, catching her as she fell to her knees. "What do we do? We have to help them."
Her eyes were beginning to water, and he held her in her despair. He has spent so many years of his life in the darkness, fighting internal battles and losing to the worst parts of himself. It took a lot to get to this point, he would not allow the darkness to wrench everything away when he has just found his happiness.
"We will." He tells her with certainty.
She looks to him, "But you said-"
He shushes her gently. "There are some things worth the risk, if there is a price to pay for changing their fates, I will pay it gladly knowing that it took you out of harm's way."
Before she could rebut, he walked over to the chessboard and closed his eyes. He moved his hands in a series of circular motions, a golden light emitting from his palms as he muttered an incantation.
The light extended out from his palms, wrapping around the two chess pieces - the Shadowsinger and Princess of Night - tracing the bond between them.
The pieces shifted on the board by themselves, their movements uncontrolled, before they settled into their new places on the board. The play had taken them out of danger but put them into an indiscernible position—a game with no clear winner.
The Mother ran to the board and immediately noticed the shift of the pieces.
"It's too late, it's already done. Don't worry I didn't do anything that grand." He grabs both of her hands into his own.
"I put the answer in front of them, but they still have to solve the problem. Their fates have been changed; even I can't see them, but at least they have a chance.
In the depths of the library, a book began to stir. The volume had not been touched for centuries, dust and cobwebs adorning the oldest bookshelf in the library.
The splintering wood creaked at its movement, as the spine poked out from the shelf. The book fell with an unceremonious with a soft thud that couldn't be heard beyond the walls of the alcove that housed the other ancient and more dangerous volumes.
Even fae ears couldn't detect the fall of the book, but the shadow that was now circling it did.
It curiously darted around the worn edges of the leather binding, trying to slip into the pages.
The large oval purple gem on the cover started to glow slightly, the gold setting holding it in place reflecting its glow. The shadow straightened in surprise before darting to it's master.
The pulses of light emitting from the purple gem started going faster - a warning signal telling the shadow to hurry. Its master has already defied fate twice; he was racing against the clock, running from a fate that was trying to defy him.
part xv
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note: Hello my loves long time no see... again... I have been in the absolute trenches of life, but I will hopefully be in the headspace to continue this particular story again as my schedule clears up at the end of the month. I got my first comment critiquing the quality of my work, which should not be that significant in the grand scheme of things, but it made me really self-conscious of my work and as a result I doubled down on editing and planning. I have since moved on(fuck what other ppl think!!), and will continue to keep writing as I please. I apologuse for we are still wading through the waters of exposition, but we will be in the midst of the action going forward. Until next time my darlings and remember good things come to those who wait!!
note note: I did look over this one, I know I know you should all be proud, but always remember that this is just fanfiction written for fun there might be a typo or a few errors we will both live, so let's be kind to our authors.
note note note: I appreciate all the love on this story and thank you to all my readers that have been here since the beginning and all my newer readers <33
angst/eventual comfort (it seems that we are in the midst of chaos now)
Summary: When you walk in on Azriel and Elain the mating bond snaps leading you to flee to Autumn with Eris so you can be free of Azriel. Your absence causes Azriel to come to some drastic realisations, but is it already too late and has your time in Autumn led to you moving on?
Parts I, II, III, IV, V, VI, VII, VIII, IX, X, XI, XII , and XIII, if you missed them!
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"So you're telling me that after days of searching, you found the answer to our problems literally sitting on the floor?" The dark circles underneath Rhys' eyes were so pronounced that you could see the edges of the capillaries that outline his eyes.
"Yeah, basically." Azriel shrugged. You guys had been going over the book for hours after its mysterious appearance in the library.
The tattered pages of the worn leather encrusted gold binding housing the first clue you guys had gotten in days.
The book was a record of rare magical artefacts that were taken into inventory after the founding of the Night Court. Somewhere in the middle of the book Elain had let out a yell that had shocked everyone out of their tired stupors.
"That's the blade!" She yelled.
This set off a chain reaction. First, Cassian jumped, knocking over a pot of tea which had spilt onto the table, waking up the High Lord, who was collapsed from exhaustion on the table of his overcrowded office.
This caused Rhys to jump, his wings going out and hitting a zoned-out Azriel in the face.
Under the picture of the blade was a single entry into the record sheet. It just said Prudentia Sub Terra.
"They can't just tell us where the knife is, no, that would be too easy." Cassian started to mumble to himself as he put his head in his hands.
A collective groan followed by a minute of silence passed as everyone mulled over the new information.
"No wonder this court is a mess. You people genuinely must be daft." Eris strode in and immediately went to the pot of tea sitting in the middle of the table, carefully pouring himself a cup.
You gave him a puzzled look, and his eyes slightly softened when they met your curious gaze.
"I mean the words literally mean knowledge underground." He took a long sip of his tea, trying to force patience onto himself.
Mor's frustrated groan resonated with everyone at the table. "We already scoured the library, I think we would have known if there was an enchanted blade sitting somewhere."
Eris looked up to the sky, begging the mother for every ounce of patience he could muster. "Yes, it might not be in that library, but is that the only underground library in your entire court? Do your temples not hold underground chambers of knowledge? We are operating on ancient knowledge, we cannot limit ourselves to the court we know today."
Rhys' brow furrowed, and you cocked your head at the pensive look in his eyes. It would make sense that such an item would be hidden underground, who would know to look in an abandoned library for such an item.
Your voice caught everyone's attention, shocking them out of their half-sleep daze. "We have an extensive record of maps starting from the founding of the Night Court. We can scour all the abandoned sites that fit the description."
You look to your left to see Azriel giving you his sole attention. You dart your eyes away, trying not to flush from his inscrutable gaze.
"Once we know what we're dealing with, we can make a strategy that would optimise on time since we are running on a ticking clock that we can't see."
Your eyes go around the table and you saw agreement in everyone's eyes, each of them giving you a nod as you raked them over.
Cassian clapped his hands together. "Alright, we have a plan, then let's go to bed before the sun decides to grace us with her presence."
Words of agreement laced in exhaustion reverberated around the room as everyone started to make their way to their respective chambers.
Something was different this time. You guys had been looking for days for any clue, but this is the first time you had all felt an ember of hope. No matter how small the belief, you believed that you could stop Azriel from befalling whatever terrible fate the universe had written out for him.
That was what was important. Keeping Azriel alive. Any questions of feelings or mating bonds came second to that sole motivation. All of that would be sorted out eventually, but as long as he was alive everything would be okay.
"For a court with such a comprehensive library, you people are surprisingly bad at doing research."
You could have sworn you heard Eris mumble under his breath behind you, but when you turned around, there was nothing there except for a stray shadow.
You stopped in your tracks, eyes narrowing at the small dark tendril, when your focus was yanked to the pang in your chest. You turned your head in confusion at the shadow, and you felt it again, this time it was a full tug.
You flushed at the implication of the feeling. This meant that the bond was getting stronger. You reached inside and you could almost see the golden thread tying you two together.
You looked back up at the shadow and followed it down the hall. You made your way up the staircase and around the corridors until you realised that you were being led in the directions of your rooms.
The excitement in your chest slowly started deflating as you heard the raised voices echoing throughout the halls.
"So after literal years of messing with her emotional well-being, you're going to put her in physical danger as well?"
You flinched from the pure vitriol that Eris was spitting. His words pointed and tone sharp, the complete opposite of the careful way he spoke to you.
"You are in no position to stand on any moral high ground here, Eris." Azriel's voice was low and threatening; you could almost see his shadows positioning themselves like blades, ready to attack.
"Like hell I am! You may be blind, shadowsinger, but I did not take you to be a fool. Who was it that ensured her safety when your recklessness led her to run away from your court? Who listened to her and gave her everything she needed, regardless of whether or not it fit my agenda?" While Azriel's voice got lower in anger, Eris' only got louder.
You saw the shadow about to slip out from around the corner and announce your presence, but you gave it a harsh glare and it froze in its tracks.
"Do you really expect me to believe that you decided to help out of the goodness of your own heart? Your court is a poison Eris and it slowly kills everyone it touches. It was only a matter of time before it got to her, too."
Eris let out a low chuckle. "Only you, my dear shadowsinger, would throw out such accusations in the face of devotion. At least I can say that I know where my heart stands, my affections have not wavered in the slightest since we met. Can you say the same for yours?"
Azriel growled, and you could hear the movement of his wings as he lunged for Eris. The sound of impact never came, because they were both thrown onto opposite walls.
"What is wrong with you two?" Lucien's unmistakable voice cut through the halls.
"I've seen children with more self-restraint and decorum. Do you really want her to witness this ludicrous squabble, fighting over her like she is the last piece of chicken on the table? Honestly, it's a wonder that either of you have ever talked to a woman before." Lucien facepalmed his head, as he scolded the two fae.
You almost forgot you weren't supposed to be listening, you were about to make your way back down where you came from, when the shadow decided it had grown tired of hiding.
"Seems like it's too late for that." Azriel's voice echoed down the hallway and you flushed as you made your way around the corner.
Eris immediately stood up, returning to his usual perfect posture. He approached you and gave you a small bow.
"Princess, I believe that I have made my intentions clear. I do believe in the sanctity of a mating bond, but I believe more in a woman's right to make their own choices. Nonetheless, I have said what I came here to say for now." He grabbed your hand and brushed his lips over the back, light enough to be polite, but scathing enough to express his intentions.
"When and if you are ready to hear everything that I came here to say, you will know where to find me. Until then, or until your mating bond is accepted, I will be here supporting your court and its idealistic endeavours."
Eris nodded to Lucien, and they began to make their way around the corner.
Eris stopped before he fully rounded the corner. "You may find my reasoning to be selfish, but know that the limits of my devotion have no bounds. If she asked me to lay my life down, I would do it because I wanted to, not because I don't think I am enough."
With Eris' last scathing comment, he left you alone in the corridor with Azriel. You could see his shoulder's slightly sinking in towards himself and his nostrils flaring in anger.
The bond getting stronger also meant that you felt the self-doubt radiating through his chest.
You walked up to him. The wall was dented behind him with an imprint of his body. The wooden beams in the ceiling cracked, and dust scattered across the floor from pieces of pulverised wall.
You looked at his face and saw a blood spilling down the side of his head, small scratches littering his shoulders dripped blood onto the floor.
You reached out towards him, and he took your hand graciously. You led him into your room, as you waved a hand letting your magic clear away the mess and knit the wall back together.
You dragged him through your room to the adjoining en-suite bathroom and sat him down on the large crystalline tub. Neither of you said anything as you grabbed a small cloth and began running water over it in the sink.
You approached Azriel and began to dab away at the blood on his head. Yes you knew he could easily heal, but it seems that he had suffered more than a physical blow and he could use being taken care of.
"You didn't have to do this you know?" He says, almost as low as a whisper.
"And you know that you don't have to take everything so personally? Let's not judge one another for the things we are prone to doing." You gently scolded him as you continued to dab away at the blood crusting on his head.
"Maybe Eris had a point. You deserve better. Not someone who spent the better half of a millennium mistreating you." He refused to meet your gaze.
"Eris did have a point. I should be allowed to make my own choices, and what those choices entail has nothing to do with your wants. Now you may choose to respond given the time, but currently I haven't given you anything to respond to".
You made your way behind him and stopped at the small scratches littering his shoulders and wings.
"I can stop... If you would prefer?" You tried to make your voice sound as steady as possible.
"You may do what you want with me." Now you were refusing to look at him, your face going red at his words.
Your hands began to shake as you slowly brought the cloth around the expanse of his back muscles and shoulders, initially going around the scratches on his wings.
After wiping the blood from his shoulders, you just stared at the expanse of his wings. This was too much.
You took a small step back when he suddenly grabbed your wrist. His hold was gentle, but firm, as he guided your hand to the outer membrane of his wings.
You let out a small breath that you didn't even realise you were holding in. This may have been the most vulnerable Azriel has ever been with you, any wrong movement and he would scamper away like a frightened puppy.
"I've always thought you had the nicest wings." The words slipped out of you before you could stop them and he let in a sharp inhale as you caught the base of his wings with the damp cloth.
"I would have made sure to use them more if you ever told me." He looked back at you with a small smile.
You knew he preferred to move through the world using his shadows; he couldn't fly until he was in his tweens, so flying never felt like a right to him the same way it did to the other Illyrians.
"Is it too late to ask now?" There was a lot buried in that statement. Looking in the golden hues of his eyes, you knew that he knew it.
"Not for you. Never for you." He stood up and grabbed the cloth from your hands before putting his arm around you to walk you over to the sink.
He made sure you washed all the blood from your hands before taking them and placing a kiss on each of your palms. You fought the urge to wrench them away and hide the way you were accustomed to.
Displays of affection had never come naturally to you, the way they did with others. With family and friends you were fine, but anytime anything alluded to anything more you had the urge to flee.
"I have never been good with words, but I wanted to thank you for your help. Not just for this, but for every struggle in my life, you have been the one light I can count on flickering in the darkness."
He continued to hold your hands, stroking the back of your hands with his thumbs while you guys stood in peaceful silence.
Nothing was defined, but it didn't need to be. You both knew enough to be satisfied with whatever was going on in the moment.
"What Eris and I argued about was who you were going to be partnered up with during the blade search. He said that I had a target on my back and I would be a reprehensible fool to take you with me, to endanger you like that, but I don't know what I would do if something happened and I couldn't get to you." The words spilled out of him and you kept quiet scared that he would stop talking as quickly as he started.
"It would be selfish for me to ask you to come with me, so I will not ask. But I am also done lying to you about my wants or desires. This time, I am going to choose you, whether you believe me or not. I will take whatever you will give me and revere it all the same. Punish me for it if you'd like, but I would gladly welcome it if it came from your hand."
His eyes were clear and open in a way you had never seen before; his shadows weren't hiding behind him; they just were. This was Azriel in his purest form; this was the one you had seen and chosen all those years ago.
"Azriel-"
He turned around and walked towards the doors, refusing to turn around.
"You don't need to make a choice right now princess, but I want you to know that you hold all the cards."
Azriel left without another word, leaving you alone with your thoughts and the new swirling emotions in your chest. You went to lie down on your bed when your pet fox decided to jump on your right, while Azriel's shadow remained fastened on your left.
-
note: Hello my lovelies, it has been quite a while. I did not mean to take a hiatus but things kept happening in my life, I fear. I moved, I got my life together, I lost my dog, which was absolutely brutal and I would never wish that upon anyone(rip juno i will spend the rest of my life missing you), it fell apart, it got better, a war broke out (I am safe but I wish the best for anyone who is currently affected by any of the wars breaking out), and now we just take it day by day. Every time I would sit down and make progress on this chapter, something major would happen. Initially, this chapter was meant to be twice as long, but I felt you had all waited long enough. I've been active on my AO3, but this is me getting back into this story and back on Tumblr after what feels like forever. Well, that is enough oversharing on the internet, like always, until next time my darlings I have missed you all dearly!
note note: This chapter was pure self-fulfillment and I just crammed every single trope that I love into it. I swear we will get back to the main storyline, but right now I believe ths is what we need in honour of acotar 6.
Note note note: Also, after this fic is completed how would we feel about an Eris story?
