This season of Love Island is packed with surprises. Friendships will be tested, alliances will shift and complications in the villa will keep everyone on their toes. Relationships will form and passion will run high, but with drama everywhere and twists around every corner, nothing is ever simple. It’s messy, unpredictable and totally addictive. Are you ready for it...?
pairings: rafe cameron x fem!reader
content: fluff, angst, smut
warnings: sexual innuendos, cuss words, 18+ content, smut, drinking, verbal arguments, breakdowns, drama
a guide before reading the love island series
episodes:
episode 1: welcome to the villa
episode 2: the bombshell effect
episode 3: dear stranger
episode 4: ex marks the spot
episode 5: tangled hearts
episode 6: handle with care
episode 7: sparks fly
episode 8: kiss it better, baby
episode 9: imperfect for you
episode 10: this is why we can't have nice things
episode 11: purple lace bra
episode 12: after midnight
episode 13: pick me, choose me, love me
episode 14: brutal
episode 15: the one with the blue party
episode 16: bed chem
episode 17: running out of time
behind the scenes:
introductions: rafe edition
introductions: y/n edition
meet the islanders (girls edition)
meet the islanders (boys edition)
meet the islanders (y/n & rafe edition)
meet the islanders (bombshells edition)
meet the islanders (bombshells edition pt 2)
meet the islanders (bombshell edition pt 3)
meet the islanders (casa amor boys edition)
meet the islanders (casa amor girls edition)
kissing challenge results
follow @drewsephrryslibrary & turn on your notifications for fic updates!!!
(inspo for this series: @finelinevogue @rafecameronssl4t)
WARNINGS: a little suggestive and touchy towards the end, but this part is pretty tame!
⌞LEXY'S NOTES: love island is my guilty pleasure tbh, and dick as a bombshell is soooo yummy. might do a pt.2 with a hideaway or heart rate challenge :p … also not proofread so ignore any mistakes pls pls⌝
❁ my reqs are open! look at my guidelines before sending one!
read part 2 here
MASTERLIST
love island!dick that definitely comes in as a bombshell! probably in the first or second batch.
you were already paired up in a couple, but when you got a text saying “hey, sweetheart meet me on the dock. got something really special planned for you. #candlelitdinner #bombshell alert” , you immediately got ready for the date.
to your surprise, it’s probably the hottest man every waiting up there for you, and the minute he flashed you a boyish grin, paired with a “hey, im richard” you’re hooked and there’s no going back.
love island!dick that comes off as well, a dick. he knows exactly what he wants after your date and that’s to steal you from your guy.
every challenge he chooses to pair up with you. regardless of whether or not it’s kissing, an athletic one or even just a game where they ask questions, you’re the one he wants to do it with.
love island!dick that goes out of his way every morning to make sure you have a plate of breakfast in front of you. if he has to, he’ll push your current guys dish aside, and put your focus on his instead. he’s not a top chef by any means, but if it’s gonna put a smile to his girls face, you bet your ass he’s gonna try his best to be gourmet.
love island!dick that’s super touchy. you’re still in your original couple, but it’s pretty known through the villa and to the viewers that you’re his, and he’s yours. he can’t stand the thought of being away from you for too long.
you’re laying on a beanbag? he’s laying on the yellow one right next to you. you need a break from everyone and head to the soul ties? he’s holding your hand up the stairs. it’s common knowledge that wherever you are, he’s following right behind you.
when he first came into the villa and you guys parted from your date, he did talk to a few girls but they didn’t click as fast as he did with you.
love island!dick that makes sure you know there’s no girls you have to worry about. you don’t want to step on anyone’s toes considering the whole point of the show is to test out connections, but you’re hoping deep down that there’s not anyone you have to compete with.
when it’s finally time for the re coupling, you both couldn’t wait. as soon as another islander yelled out “i got a text!” and read the words “islanders, tonight there will be a recoupling #finalchoices #lock in”, you ran off to your respective places, heart beating fast in your chest and got ready with the rest of the girls for the night ahead.
it was no surprise when love island!dick let out the most heart warming speech before saying your name. you already knew you were falling hard for him but his words made you want him even more.
you both can’t get enough of each other. now that you can finally share a bed as a couple, his touches become more intentional. he’s wrapping a possessive arm around your waist and the other around your neck, pulling you into his chest.
but when the lights turn off, love island!dick wants to celebrate finally becoming a couple! a hand under your big tee, cupping your tit, while he grinds slowly into you, letting you feel the twitches of his bulge. he only wore a pair of boxers to bed tonight, and it’s leaving very little to the imagination. and as he works you up, he presses soft open mouth kisses to your inviting lips, making sure you keep quiet and the others don’t hear.
waking up after a night like that felt like a fever dream. but the minute they turn the lights on and you see the suggestive looks the other girls are sending you, you think maybe you and love island!dick we’re as quiet as you had hoped….
maybe the other islanders will take this as a sign, and send you both to the hideaway next!
Summary: After following Chris Smith through a strange door leads to you getting knocked unconscious, you wake up at home in the familiar arms of your boyfriend.
But as clarity comes back to you, you start to realize that the man in your bed, the one holding you like you might run at any moment and kissing you like he hasn’t seen you in years…he’s not Adrian. At least, not the one that you know.
Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI: Swearing, Spoilers for Peacemaker season 2, Dubcon (kinda? No sex happens but Other Adrian is definitely a little sketchy about things so far), Vague descriptions of injuries/a head injury, Please let me know if I forgot anything!
Author’s Note: Hoping this isn’t too premature seeing as season 2 is only half over, but I couldn’t get this idea out of my head. This will very very likely be at least a 2 parter depending on how much you guys like it!
Is Other Adrian just less noticeably neurodivergent than the one we know and love, or is he a different kind of psychopath? We don’t know, but he sure as shit wants you. Is he gonna let you leave? We don’t know! What does he know, and how does he know it?! Oh boy, the places we can go with this one. Please let me know what you think!
-
You wake with a groan, body screaming in protest as you drag yourself from sleep. You crack your eyes open, taking in your surroundings through the exhaustion weighing down every sore muscle in your body.
You’re home. Good. That’s good.
You feel bruises. Newly stitched cuts. Your head aches like it recently came in contact with concrete. Or a fucking sledgehammer.
Bad. Well, not great, but manageable. You’ve felt worse before. Woken up in much worse places in much worse conditions. Comes with the job.
And finally, you feel a warm arm beneath your head. A familiar chest against your cheek. Calloused fingers skating lovingly over your jaw.
“Adrian.” You mumble, a quiet acknowledgement of his presence and a way to alert him to your consciousness. He tenses, like he’s nervous, and oddly enough remains quiet even as he wraps his other arm around you and pulls you closer to him. You bury your face in his chest, squeezing your eyes shut with another miserable noise. “I just had the weirdest dream ever.”
The feeling of something off…that’s probably just a remnant from said dream. Still, he would usually be rolling on top of you by now, always careful of injuries but always trying to be as close to you as possible. He’d be peppering you with kisses and questions, or even getting almost immediately distracted and talking about everything from ideas about what the dream could mean (before he’s even heard it) to the fact that he saw a bird pick up a squirrel outside of your window while you slept.
“You okay?” You find yourself asking, beginning to pull back to look up at him. He doesn’t let you, though the movement isn’t aggressive in any way. He just pulls you carefully but firmly closer, warm lips trailing gently from your temple to your ear like he’s trying to cherish the contact. A hand slides over your back, so strangely familiar but lacking its usual level of energy. Adrian’s hands always wander, always searching for more contact like he can’t figure out how to be still unless he’s committing some lethal act. His touch never really stays in one place this long.
“Mhm. I’m okay.” He hums, pressing another sweet kiss to the skin beneath your ear. And that odd feeling of something off remains. His voice is so…calm. So soft and sweet as his lips brush over your earlobe. As his fingers trace again over your jaw. “What did you dream about?”
“I was…” You’re so confused, so thrown off-kilter by his strange mannerisms - well, one could call them very normal mannerisms for a boyfriend, but not for him - that it takes you a moment to start putting your thoughts together. “I was at Chris’s. Followed him through a door…”
-
“Chris? What the hell is this? Why are you-“
Chris whirls around, startled and maybe just a little panicked when he sees you standing behind him, your eyes already scanning the massive room. So he’s been sneaking through some portal and into a mansion? Why?
“How did you…” he trails off, shakes his head like he’s trying to figure out exactly what to do. Rewriting plans and searching for an explanation now that he’s been caught. “Why the fuck did you follow me?”
You raise your hands, defensive and a little peeved at his hostile tone. “You’ve been acting weird. Adrian’s worried, and you know how he gets.” He’s at work now, probably annoying the shit out of his coworkers with his stress. You came to confront Chris and maybe find some answers before your boyfriend gave himself a migraine wondering if his best friend suddenly hates him. Or worse, replaced him somehow. “Plus, you weren’t exactly secretive when you walked in here. Or alert. I think I could have been wearing squeaky clown shoes and you wouldn’t have noticed me.” Your eyes scan the room again, and he grumbles something about nosiness and being left the fuck alone before he pulls you the rest of the way through the door, closing it behind you. “Where are we?”
“I’ll show you. Just…just don’t tell anyone. And stay quiet, okay?”
You make a gesture like you’re zipping your lips shut, and follow him deeper into the house.
-
Your eyes open.
The memory of the dream is vivid. A little too vivid.
“Adrian?” You ask, confusion beginning to lace through your tone. His hand moves to your hair, fingers carding through the strands as he shushes you gently, like he’s trying not to frighten you. Like he’s worried you’re about to bolt.
“S’okay. Just a dream. I’m here.”
His tone is too soft. Too gentle.
You start to pull back, but the fingers tighten gently in your hair, and before you can spare a second thought his mouth is on yours.
Kissing you at random times is not unlike Adrian. The possessive grip on your hair, the way his other hand moves to wrap more tightly around your waist, those things aren’t unlike Adrian either.
But there’s something about the way he’s kissing you - slow and hungry like he’s trying to relearn the way you taste. Like he’s holding you to him - preparing to keep you from running away. That’s…different.
You respond instinctively, because it’s Adrian. If something’s wrong, off in any sort of way, it will always be your first instinct to comfort him. To assure him that you’re there. You’re not going anywhere, and you’ll fix whatever might be wrong. Together. Always.
You kiss him back. Match his possessive grip with your own. Your hand moves up to his hair, and you have a brief moment to wonder if it’s…shorter than it was earlier today, before he’s making a hungry noise and rolling on top of you.
His hand slides up from your waist, beneath your shirt, fingers brushing over the skin of your stomach as he deepens the kiss, blunt teeth scraping against your lips only to be soothed by his tongue in a movement so practiced and familiar that the doubt in your mind begins to fray at the edges.
And, despite how increasingly difficult it’s becoming to think when he’s kissing you like this, memories begin to trickle back.
-
“Dude, do you see what I mean? Best. Dimension. Ever.” Another group of people wave at Chris as you walk beside him, some screaming with awe and excitement. He waves back, grinning from ear to ear and looking at you like you might match his joyous expression. You frown instead, wary gaze roaming over the utopian-esque streets.
“Something’s weird, here.”
“Yeah. It’s fucking better. Everything doesn’t suck here.” He says it like it’s obvious. Your frown deepens.
“I wouldn’t call this-“ you gesture to his outfit, the stupid patterned shirt straining over his chest like he bought it a size too small just to show off his muscles, “an improvement. You look like a grade A douche.”
He frowns down at his outfit, opening his mouth like he’s going to defend it.
“Besides, everything doesn’t suck back home. We’re just…all in a rut, I think.”
“Oh yeah? You and Adrian really seem like you’re in a rut.”
“Hey, we’re just as pissed by the lack of…gratitude, I guess, as everyone else.”
“If you get it, then you can see why this place is so much-“
The explosion knocks you off of your feet.
-
It wasn’t a dream. It’s a memory. That explosion. Trying to orient yourself enough to help Chris in the ensuing fight.
You remember that. Remember getting knocked down. Hitting your head on the concrete hard enough to make you see stars.
So how the fuck are you home now? How are you lying in bed with Adrian on top of you, kissing you like he’s fucking drowning with his hands sliding over your skin and his fingers tangled in your hair to angle your head so he can kiss you even harder?
Your fingers curl against his back, nails digging into what feels like a tight t-shirt. You’ve never seen him wear anything like that before. He’s always in baggy (and admittedly dorky) clothes that do wonders to hide his impressive physique - to be ‘extra special careful’ to hide his identity.
Think. Think. Think.
-
Chris is fighting. You’re on the ground. People are screaming. Your head is still spinning. You just need to get your bearings, and then you can get up to help. To keep fighting. To keep helping.
The man above you prepares to deliver a blow, and you manage to knock your foot into his side hard enough to send him sprawling. The movement makes one of the fresh injuries on your side scream in protest. You groan. Your head is killing you. Your vision is swimming.
And then you’re being lifted. Dragged away. At first, you’re pretty sure it’s Chris. But you just saw him run up the stairs, so how…
You fight for consciousness, head spinning as you look up to meet the eyes of the man holding you.
“Adrian?” Your voice sounds distant to your own ears.
And then you black out.
-
“Adrian.” You’re breathless now, from shock and dawning realizations and the feeling of his mouth still moving hungrily against your own.
“Yes.” It comes out as a breath against your skin, his lips trailing down over your jaw to leave searing kisses along the line of your throat. The word isn’t an answer, necessarily. It sounds a lot more like a plea to say his name again.
His hand comes down, sliding lower so he can hook your thigh over his waist. He bites down into the hollow of your throat hard enough to make you gasp, mind swimming until-
Until it’s not.
This isn’t Adrian.
You push your knee down, only to bring it back up to slam into his side. He makes a noise of surprise, and you use the distraction to smash your elbow down against his shoulder. You roll to the side, giving yourself room to bring your knee up again, knocking him over the side of the bed and onto the floor.
You roll off to the other side, and you settle your feet on the floor just quickly enough to watch him jump back up with an almost inhuman grace. Your Adrian has that, too, despite his usual awkwardness. The trained instincts of a killer.
And there he is.
His shirt is tight, like you thought. His hair is shorter, too. Not by much, but enough that there isn’t the usual shagginess to his curls. He’s not wearing his glasses.
Most unnerving of all is that he’s not speaking. Not filling the silence with borderline nonsense or even fixing you with that goofy and almost manic grin of his. His eyes are dark, but sharp as they look at you like he’s fighting the urge to leap over the bed and kiss you again. You watch as his tongue peeks out from between his lips, like he can still taste you on them. His gaze falls to your mouth.
“Stay back, doppleganger.” You threaten, raising your hands in an imitation of a cross like you’re warding off a vampire.
He backs up, hands raised in surrender, and watches you.
“If the next words out of your mouth are ‘the power of Christ compels you’-“
“Who the fuck are you?”
He raises an eyebrow, hands still raised. “You know that already.”
“Do I?”
“Baby, sweetheart, let me explain.”
Adrian Chase doesn’t call you sweetheart. He barely ever calls you baby. Babe, sure. Plenty. More in a “babe, look at this spider!” or “babe, seriously, I know this. Ask me again if owl eyes are orbs or tubes. You’re gonna be so impressed” sort of way than anything else. He also calls you every possible nickname that your name can be turned into, from just the first letter to even just the last one. It’s weird. It’s cute. It’s him.
This guy, the one with the spotless room and the folded Vigilante suit in the chair in the corner and the pictures on the walls that are of you and your boyfriend but not, this guy is not Adrian.
Your eyes scan the photos. There’s a picture of the two of you at a fancy restaurant, holding hands and smiling at each other in the cheesiest way you’ve ever seen. Where that picture is in your own apartment, there's a photo of you on Adrian’s back, both of you drunk and laughing your asses off as Chris shakes champagne over two of you and Economos throws up over the edge of the roof in the background.
This little pocket of life looks so normal. So weirdly domestic where your beloved little life is all chaos.
“Where am I?”
“Home.”
“Try again.”
He frowns, looking down at your hands still raised in the ridiculous T before you, then back up at your face. “Wanna put that down?”
“No.”
“Home. But in another dimension.”
“Where are your glasses?”
His eyebrows raise again, hands still up in surrender like he’s placating you. Like you may as well be holding a gun in his face.
“Bedside drawer.” He gestures his head towards said drawer, and then points to his own face without lowering his hands. “Contacts.”
You just barrel onto the next question. “What the fuck was all that about?” You gesture to the bed, where you were just lying. Just wrapped in his arms with his lips crushed against yours.
He follows your gaze. “Why did I kiss you?”
“If you wanna put it that simply.”
“Because I love you.” And his eyes soften, though the hunger doesn’t leave them. “Any version of you.”
You can’t help the twist in your heart. The way your steely gaze must falter beneath the intensity of his own.
“So where’s this version of me, then?”
And then his gaze really does soften, sadness and pain creeping into his features like a poison, and he doesn’t have to say it. You know before the word leaves his lips.
five fratboys + one nerd. will you join them as they try (and fail) to romance the reader with each other’s help ? inc: fratjo(sato), nerdjo(toru) , toji , sukuna , geto , nanami
𝐂𝐀𝐒𝐀𝐍𝐄𝐑𝐃𝐕𝐀 ◞ NERDJO › AVAILABLE NOW !
toru gojo wants you bad. when the fratboys of sigma-chi — toji , sukuna , nanami , geto & his twin brother sato — come together to give him various ‘alpha male’ tactics used to manipulate women into falling in love , will he succeed in winning your heart , or will it blow up in his face ? wc: 4.5k
sato gojo has it all — the looks, the money, the popularity. but when the one girl he wants on campus rejects him because of his playboy reputation, can his frat brothers — and real brother — help him prove he’s not a player ? wc: 5.2k
adrian chase’s official bff list - 4.6k words - You work your way up Adrian’s bff list until Chris finally gets demoted. 🩷
adrian vs superman - 7.2k words - You think Superman is hot. When you get the chance to meet your hero in real life, Adrian's jealousy spirals out of control. 🩷
déjà vu - 2.3k words - When Adrian decides it’s finally time to tell you about Vigilante, he’s flabbergasted to learn that he’s not the first crime-fighting boyfriend you’ve had. 🩷
do you want me to kill that guy for you? - 3.6k words - Adrian is constantly offering to kill people for you. When you finally take him up on it, it turns into a bonding activity. 🩷
eat the rich - 3.2k - Adrian gets hyperfixated on a new thief in Evergreen and makes it his mission to take her down. But when he finally gets the chance, things are more complicated than that. 🩷
emergency contact - 2.9k words - Adrian finds out he’s your emergency contact when he gets a late-night phone call, and he freaks out. 🩷
flower crowns and flaming swords - 1.5k words - A chaotic day at the Renaissance Faire with Adrian. 🩷
healing factor - 3.4k words - Adrian is used to sleeping things off, waking up to closed-up wounds and only the memory of pain. But something's wrong this time. 🩵
kiss it better - 3k words - Checkmate hires a new medic. Adrian starts wondering if he needs to get shot more often. 🩵
like real people do - 4k words - Adrian feels a lot of feelings, and it’s all your fault. He manages to cope with it just fine (barely) until you get yourself hurt on a mission, and then he just can’t fucking take it anymore. 🩷
merry christmas ya filthy animal - 3k words - You have no idea what to get Adrian for Christmas, so you take some inspiration from his favorite holiday movie. 🩵
the one that i want - 2.6k words - In a moment of vulnerability and panic, you want Adrian. But nobody knows yet about your relationship. 🩷
secondhand smoke - 2.3k words - When a guy smoking a cigarette at a restaurant triggers your asthma, Adrian loses it. 🩷
sexy hug - 4.6k - Adrian's acting weird, and when you ask him what's up, you get an answer you were not expecting. Why the hell is he jealous of Economos? 🩷🔥
soft spot - 2.1k - Adrian has no idea what to do for Valentine's Day. He asks Harcourt for some advice. 🩷
symbiotic relationship - 2.8k - Adrian likes to yap a lot. Usually you don't mind. You just really, really wish he would stop yapping about spiders. 🩵
wants and needs - 2.6k words - You've had a really shitty day, so Adrian comes home early from patrol to comfort you. 🩷
the evergreen public library 🩷
the evergreen public library - 6.2k words - You’re the new reference librarian. Adrian is a library regular who works his way into your heart. When Vigilante starts offing problematic library patrons, you start to wonder what the hell is going on.
the evergreen public library book club - 5.3k words - You're starting a new book club at the library, and you need members. Adrian knows exactly who to drag along.
the evergreen public library intervention - 6.5k You and Adrian stumble upon the first major roadblock in your relationship. As you argue about work and worry about one another's safety, you struggle to compromise.
everything has changed 🩷🔥
Adrian has spent his entire life thinking he's a Beta. Then one traumatic mission turns his life upside-down, and he realizes he might finally get to have the one thing he's always wanted: you.
part one | part two | part three | part four | part five | part six | part seven
i don't want to miss you like this 🩷🔥
COMPLETE - Adrian loves his job at Checkmate, but when he gets sent on a long-term mission, he misses you. A lot. When two weeks turns into three, and then more, he starts to lose it a little.
part one | part two | part three | part four
trigger happy series 🩷🔥
COMPLETE - During a chance encounter with Vigilante, you get an impromptu lesson in murder. You and the costumed crime fighter strike up an unexpected friendship, and as you grow closer, and it becomes clear that something suspicious is going on, he's determined to help you get to the bottom of it.
part one | part two | part three | part four | part five | part six | part seven | part eight | part nine | part ten | epilogue
blurbs (>1k words)
mini me - You crochet Adrian a mini Vigilante.
sidekick - Adrian has a lot of feelings about Punch the monkey. 🩵
Clark Kent x fem!Reader
Superman vs. Vigilante - 14k words - When Justice Gang starts a new initiative to work with other superhero groups across the country and Checkmate is chosen for the trial run, you’re assigned to work the breaking story. After all, your best friend is a founder of the company. Clark is happy for you. He really is. But…why are you friends with these people?
librarian!Reader collection
The Girl at the Circulation Desk - 5.3k words - Clark frequents the local library and finds himself crushing on you, the cute girl at the front desk
The Boy with the Brand New Library Card - 1.3k words - Clark meets Librarian!Reader for the first time
Most Ardently - 1k words - You dress up as Elizabeth Bennet for Halloween and Clark shows up as your Mr. Darcy
Book Boyfriend - 1.2k words - In which you convince Clark to participate in a BookTok trend
‘Tis the Season - 2.2k words - As you keep yourself busy making sure the kids at the library have a magical Christmas, Clark is there to make sure your Christmas is magical, too.
Role Reversal - ~900 words - A role reversal of the TikTok trend as seen in Book Boyfriend.
cw: mdni, exes reunion, first time seeing each other in six years, slight angst, praise, dirty talk, p in v, pet names, light dry humping.
he’s got you grinding against his strained bulge, your clothed cunt rubbing against his aching cock. you’re a babbling mess beneath your ex boyfriend’s touch—yuji itadori, a man you haven’t seen in six years since he became the strongest. you and him ended shortly after jujutsu high. he disappeared. word was yuji itadori was immortal, unaging—his curse. you tried to linger beside him, to be his hope, his forgiveness, but that didn’t matter to yuji.
he still left you.
he’s looking up at you now, like you’re something fragile, something he doesn’t quite deserve to touch. salmon-hued hair falls in uneven strands around his face, brushing against scarred skin that’s lost some of its warmth. dark purple shadows sit heavy beneath his eyes, exhaustion carved deep into his features. a shell of the man he used to be, of the boy you knew.
he’s got his mouth on you, fingers digging into the plushness of your thighs.
“fucking missed you so bad, baby… m’such an idiot, fucking stupid.” he’s nearly slurring against your spit-slicked lips.
your breath stutters, your body giving in so easily it almost makes you ache. you let him move you, let him mold you, pliant beneath his touch like no time has passed at all.
you hadn’t expected to run into anyone today—let alone your ex boyfriend at a fucking cafe. and still, part of you wonders if he knew you’d be there. you heard things from nobara. you know yuji watched you all these years—not in a way that felt creepy, but lingering, noticing the things you like, keeping an eye out in case anything tried to hurt you. watching from a distance, learning the shape of your life without him in it.
“lift up a little for me?” he asks, eyes heavy and bloodshot but soft in that stupid familiar way, like coffee mixed with milk, warm even when everything else about him looks worn down. his fingers curve into your skin eagerly, yanking you up by the fat of your ass, lifting your hips. your panties are soaked with desperate need, the wetness slick and causing the fabric to grow sheer.
“shit…” his breath hitches, almost a laugh, almost something weaker, “you’re so wet… did you miss me that bad, sweets?”
two fingers hook into the side of your panties, pushing them aside, fabric creasing against the plush cheek of your ass. your hands fumble toward his boxers, tugging them down, glossy lips parting as his hard cock springs free against his defined abdomen, flushed and heavy, twitching slightly. precum beads at the tip, trailing down the length of him. the soft petal-pink line of hair leading below his navel only makes it worse—makes your mouth water, makes your thighs tighten around him without thinking.
“need your cock so bad, yuu…” you beg, slightly dazed from pleasure, head hazy with longing and need.
he lets out a breathy chuckle, shaking his head slightly.
“need you more.”
he lines himself up with your heat, pushing in, slow at first—your walls welcoming him, clenching tightly, your cunt greedily swallowing his cock. a low groan tears from his throat as you take him in.
“i know things ended badly… shitty of me. i’m sorry.” he groans, low and broken, forehead dropping forward as his hips press up into you.
his voice is rough, regret threaded through it, but distant—like he doesn’t know how to hold it properly anymore. your fingers bury into his pink hair as he starts to move, hips snapping forward, cock driving deep enough to kiss your cervix. the force of it pulls a loud moan from you, your body jolting beneath him as he moves again, sharp, desperate thrusts.
yuji throws his head back, adam’s apple bobbing as the hood of his light grey hoodie slips down his shoulders.
“oh my god—” he groans, voice ragged, “i missed her… gripping me like this.”
he drops his head into the crook of your neck, breathing you in—your strawberry shampoo, the warmth of your heated skin, the little mewls spilling past your lips.
“missed you… i missed you…” he repeats, voice breaking into soft, wrecked sounds, “missed this…”
his thrusts grow sloppy, desperate, messy squelching sounds filling the space between you.
“c’mon… coat my cock… wanna feel you—cum on it, baby…”
he captures your lips in a sharp kiss, tongue pushing past them, dragging along the roof of your mouth, tasting every bit of longing you’ve held onto. his hips stutter, then still deep inside you, your cunt fluttering and tightening around him, milking him down to the base of his balls.
your nails dig into his shoulders, carving crescent moons into his skin as pleasure crashes through you.
he lets out a broken whine, collapsing forward, his forehead falling against your chest.
“i missed my baby… my pretty baby…”
his cock twitches inside you once—twice—before he pulls out, breath shuddering, and spills thick, hot ropes of white, painting you with his milky seed, scattered across your lower stomach and inner thighs.
note: i haven’t read modulo so sorry if it’s inaccurate also this is acc the worst thing I’ve written but i had to hurry and write after seeing him animated like omg. anyways !! masterlist
taglist: @xoxojisu @candiiee @seraphsmuse @cvnt4him @soldierboy420 @lotusstarr @cupkiki @3lenaatvt @the-faceless-bride @badslittlemuffin @dreamcastgirl99 @wonubby @dienamiight @sofi4dsam @kawaiiclubdaily @therefore-evermore @luckybibucky @sk1ppy-art @myths-and-ledgends @icanread-icantwrite @changkyunnnie @twoplayergaymers @socialobligation @calliopemanga @izutwos @doubelieveme @ivankinnieclatter @roronoafushiguroaratakahakari @green-orange-bloom @sparklylanddetective take a look at this post to be added, or removed!
synopsis: When his rut ends, Adrian has to face his new reality. As Chris starts preparing him to return to his life, and to see you again, it's a lot harder than he thought it would be.
tags/warnings: 18+ MDNI, omegaverse dynamics, alpha!Adrian, omega!reader, talk about ruts/heats, hurt/comfort (Adrian is a sad boy who has trouble with change), mutual pining
word count: 6.4k
notes: I got a lot of questions after the last chapter about when the next part was coming - I will be updating this every Tuesday!! As always thank you to @embeanwrites and @snowyathena for listening to me ramble about this story and being there to bounce ideas off of <3 also I might have taken some liberties with the s1 canon timeline for backstory purposes just walk with me here
Masterlist | part one | part two | part three | part four | part five
Three days later—the first day that Adrian wakes up feeling refreshed instead of writhing in a pool of his own sweat—he nearly cries tears of relief.
He’s been confined to the trailer for a full week now, cycling between phases of fever, insomnia, irritability, and oversensitivity. And beneath it all, the constant, overwhelming, unbearable arousal.
Seven days of torture. Seven days of chugging Gatorade, seven days of sweating through the bedsheets, seven days of wanting you.
The wanting you hasn’t stopped, but he’s not sure it ever will. That’s not a symptom of his rut, that’s just a symptom of his existence.
But the rest of it—the rest of it is gone. The end is in sight. His mind feels clearer than it has in what seems like years.
Adrian decides to get dressed, clean himself up. To make himself feel more like a human again, less like an animal controlled by his biological impulses. When he hops in the shower and washes the sweat and the grime and the grossness away, he comes out feeling like a new person entirely.
As he dries off afterward and slowly starts to get dressed, he’s reminded, quite literally, that he is a new person entirely. He’s not the same as he was seven days ago. He’s an Alpha now, and he catalogs the physical changes to his body with simultaneously growing curiosity and irritation.
He just barely manages to squeeze his legs into his jeans. They’re way too tight around the muscle of his thighs, and he knows instinctively that if he tried to sit down in them the seam would split. Chris would laugh his ass off and he would never hear the end of it. He sighs, peels them back off, and swaps them out for some stretchier sweatpants. Even those show off his ankles in a way they didn't before. He got taller. An inch, maybe two. He might even be as tall as Chris now.
His shirt, too, is more form-fitting when he wrangles it on, clinging to his skin in a way that's terribly uncomfortable, biceps straining under the too-tight sleeves. Part of him is pleased—he’s constantly putting effort into his body, and it’s nice to have muscles to prove it, but the other part of him is just pissed off.
“Fuck,” he mutters as he strips off the shirt and reaches for a hoodie that used to be oversized, but now fits him pretty normally.
He’s gonna need to replace his entire wardrobe. He can’t live like this. It’s a sensory nightmare. He has no idea how Chris functions in that tight-ass Peacemaker costume. He would be fucking miserable.
Given how different he feels, Adrian is almost afraid to go look in the bathroom mirror and see how different he looks, but when he does, he’s relieved that it’s just him. His face. Silver glasses, green eyes, the tiny mole on his cheek. He’s a little scruffy, which is weird. He doesn’t usually grow this much facial hair this quickly, but…he’s got more testosterone, now, doesn’t he? He scrubs his hand across his chin, feeling the scratchy, prickly hairs against his palm, and he frowns. He doesn’t like it.
He digs around under the sink until he finds an unopened pack of razors and a half-used bottle of shaving cream and takes care of it, nicking his jaw twice in the process. He growls, annoyed, and then hums, because the growling is new, too. The sound surprises him, a low rumbling in the back of his throat. It’s the first time he’s made the noise when he’s fully aware of himself, not in some protective, panicked haze where his body is telling him he needs to protect you.
Clean, dressed, and freshly shaved, Adrian kind of, sort of, feels like himself again. When he comes out of the bedroom, Chris is sitting at the kitchen table eating breakfast. His best friend raises an eyebrow and sits back in his chair, observing.
“None of my fucking clothes fit,” Adrian complains, taking out a frying pan and starting to make himself some scrambled eggs. “Economos brought me that bag I keep in my locker in the office. All of it fit me this time last week, and now it’s all too tight, and I look like I stole my sweatpants from Judomaster.”
“I was wondering about that,” Chris says thoughtfully. “If you’d still get the growth spurt. Even though you’re, well, already grown. But I’m glad you’re wearing clothes. And you’re hungry. That’s a good sign.”
“I think it’s over,” Adrian says. “I feel good. I feel clean, and not horny. In fact, I never want to touch my dick again. It’s a fucking miracle if there is any cum left in my body, actually—”
Chris makes a face. “Yeah, okay, I get it, bro. I’m eating.”
Adrian wants to ask if he can see you, now, since he’s feeling better. But he doesn’t want to push it. Doesn’t want to seem too eager, in case that sends the wrong signal, gives Chris the wrong idea that maybe he’s still a little too desperate to see you.
Technically, he supposes, he doesn’t actually need permission from Chris or Emilia anymore. But out of respect for them, he’ll wait. Whatever Chris says, he’ll obey. It’s like he told them the other day—he’s not interested in being a macho Alpha dickhead who doesn’t listen to his friends, who starts his own pack and makes his own rules. He’s not interested in being a leader. If all he’ll be is your Alpha, he is more than okay with that.
But god, is he itching out of his skin to claim that title as soon as he can. He is tired of waiting. He wants to talk to you. He wants to see you. He wants to just be in your fucking vicinity.
“Can I talk to her?” he asks, trying and failing to be casual as he dumps his scrambled eggs on an empty plate. His hands are shaking, not because he’s holding himself back, but because—he’s nervous. Chris’s face softens. “Please? If—if my rut is done—”
“I think…” Chris considers. “I think you can try a phone call. And that will be a good test for it.” He digs into his pocket and hands over Adrian’s cellphone, which he’d confiscated a few days ago. Adrian smiles with relief, wide and bright, excited just to hear your voice.
“But,” Chris adds, “I also think we should probably wait things out an extra day or two before you actually see her in person, just to be safe. Like I told you the other night. It’s not even just about keeping you under control. It’s about not accidentally triggering a heat for her while she’s still recovering.”
Adrian doesn’t care how long he has to wait, as long as he can hear your voice. “Okay.” He shovels his scrambled eggs in his mouth. They’re still hot; he nearly burns his tongue. But the sooner he finishes eating, the sooner he gets to talk to you.
“I’ll call Emilia and let her know what’s up,” Chris says. “I’m glad you’re feeling better.”
Adrian pauses inhaling his breakfast to look up at Chris. He swallows. “Thank you,” he says, maybe the most serious, genuine thing he’s ever said to his friend. “I don’t think I’ve said it yet. But—this past week—I don’t know what would have happened if I didn’t have you. So—”
Chris rolls his eyes. “Don’t get all fucking sappy on me. Save it for your girlfriend.”
Adrian flushes red. “She’s not my—I mean, I want her to be—fuck.”
Chris steps out of the room, ruffling Adrian’s hair on the way out. He smiles to himself and powers on his phone.
As soon as it connects to service, it buzzes dozens of times in a row. His brow furrows, then his heart skips a beat when he realizes they’re text messages, all from you, that you’ve been sending over the last week, even when you knew he didn’t have his phone and he wouldn’t receive them.
Watching a documentary on animal planet. Did you know there’s a species of jellyfish that’s technically immortal?
I wish I was with you
John just said something SO incorrect about Pokemon you would have spontaneously combusted if you were here to hear it
I miss you
I miss you
I miss you
He wants to cry. You’ve been thinking about him. You’ve been missing him.
You don’t have to miss him anymore. He clicks a button and the phone starts ringing.
“Adrian?” you answer almost immediately, your voice hushed, hopeful.
“It’s me,” he says.
“Hi,” you say, still whispering.
“You don’t have to whisper,” he says. “I think—I think it’s over. I think—”
“You—you’re better?” you say, your voice rising. “Can I come—”
“Not yet,” Adrian says gently. “One or two more days, Chris said, just to be extra safe. But we can talk, now. If you want.”
“I want,” you say quickly. “I really, really want. I missed you.”
“I know. I just saw your texts,” he says, grinning. “I missed you, too.” His smile falters a bit before he continues worriedly. “You’re not—Chris said that you coming around here, being near me, it could have—triggered your heat? Are you okay?”
“I’m okay,” you say softly. “I’m not due for a while, now, and with the injury, I’m taking temporary suppressants, just in case.”
“Good,” Adrian says, relieved, but there’s still anxiety clawing at his insides, still a million questions he needs to ask you, a million things he needs to say.
“Besides,” you continue. “I’ve been thinking a lot over the last couple days, and—I think we crossed that bridge a long time ago. I’m pretty sure you triggered my heat early, like, two years ago, when we first met.”
Adrian’s brain short circuits. “I did—what?”
“I wasn’t due for my heat that week,” you say. “I’m normally pretty regular. I thought it was weird at the time. Chalked it up to the stress of all the butterfly shit. But I’m thinking now that it was because of you. That my body recognized…” You trail off, the unspoken words hovering.
“You mean—that couple days when you disappeared, after Goff—” Adrian can’t even speak the words. The idea that all this time, even if your mind didn’t know, your body did. That you’ve been—waiting for him. His heart clenches.
“Yeah.”
“I felt so weird that week,” Adrian remembers. “I kept asking everyone where you were while you were gone. Emilia kept asking me why I cared, and I didn’t know what to tell her. I was so antsy, and anxious about it, and I couldn’t figure out why. And horny, fuck. I had a threesome with Chris!”
“You did?”
“Yeah. Like I said. Weird week.” You laugh on the other end of the line, and Adrian smiles at the sound. Then he sobers up a bit. “I know—I know we have a lot to talk about—”
“Later,” you say softly. “We have time, Ade. We don’t have to do the hard stuff right away. You’re probably fucking exhausted. We can just—do you have your Switch with you? If you don’t I can ask John to bring it over. And we can just play video games? Like we did before any of this happened?”
Adrian’s throat feels tight. He hears what you’re trying to tell him. Everything has changed, but also—nothing has changed, not the things that are truly important. You’re still you. He’s still him.
“That sounds really, really nice,” he says, his voice thick.
The last morning before Adrian is going to see you again, Chris wakes him up bright and early and tosses him the mask of the Vigilante suit. Adrian looks at it curiously.
“We’re going out,” Chris says. “To the woods. One last chance to shoot up some appliances and get out the last of any lingering aggression. You were kind of a lot yesterday.”
Adrian reluctantly has to admit that Chris is right. He’d spent a few calm hours playing Animal Crossing with you, just chatting, carefully dancing around sensitive subjects like Alpha presentations and feelings. Then Chris and John had hopped online too for a round of Mario Party. Adrian had gotten a little (a lot) worked up when Chris stole all of his stars.
“Probably a good idea,” Adrian mutters. He thumbs nervously at the edge of the Vigilante mask. “But—I never cleaned the suit. After the mission. I can’t—” He’s been a little preoccupied this week. Just the thought of putting the Vigilante suit on, stained with your dried blood, makes him feel sick to his stomach.
“Ads took care of it,” Chris says, and Adrian sighs with relief, making a mental note to thank her later.
“Okay,” he says.
But when Chris tosses him the Vigilante suit, and Adrian goes to put it on—it doesn’t fit. Just like the rest of his clothes.
Adrian has held strong for nine days now. He has rolled with the punches, taken every hit with gritted teeth, focused on the light at the end of the tunnel and endured.
He watched you get shot. His entire biology altered itself. He endured his first miserable rut. He has lived with this terrible anxiety about how the pack dynamics are going to change, holding onto hope that everything is going to be fine, because he trusts his friends, and he cares about you, and he knows, at the end of the day, that those are the things that really matter.
All the change has been hard but manageable. But now—the Vigilante suit doesn’t fit him the same. And that is the thing that finally breaks him.
Adrian doesn’t realize he’s crying at first. He’s just clutching the material in his hands, shaking, sliding to sit down on the floor at the end of the bed. He hugs it to his chest, hitching with silent sobs.
This suit means something to him. It means everything to him. He has poured literal blood, sweat, and tears into this fabric, into every stitch, molded it to fit him perfectly, to serve exactly the purposes he needs, and—all that work, all that time, is gone. He needs to totally redo it. Start over from scratch.
And until it’s done—he can’t be Vigilante.
When Chris pokes his head in to see if Adrian is ready to go, and he sees his friend in a sobbing heap on the floor, he instantly backtracks into the hallway.
He calls you.
“Hey, Chris,” you say. “What’s up?”
“I don’t know what’s wrong,” Chris says quietly. “He’s upset. I don’t know why he’s crying. But I know I’m not the one who can talk him off whatever ledge he’s standing on. So I’m gonna hand him the phone and let you fix your boyfriend.”
The word boyfriend makes your heart skip, but you don’t acknowledge it. Now is not the time to sort out labels.
“He’s not broken,” you finally say after a quiet moment. Adrian is one of the strongest people you know. He just feels things, so fucking strongly, and he’s really, really good at hiding it. You’ve only seen him cry once before, when Chris left for the alternate universe, and even then, he almost instantly bounced back once the team had a plan to get him back.
“Okay, okay, just—fucking talk to him, okay?”
Chris is panicking a little. He’s been working on managing and processing his own emotions, recently, but when other people have big feelings around him, it still throws him off. He’s only just started learning how to cope with his own emotional breakdowns. Adrian having an emotional breakdown is entirely another story.
“Are you sure I can’t just come over?” you ask, pleading.
Chris hesitates. “You shouldn’t. I want to take him out today to get out the last of his aggression. You heard him yesterday, I thought he was gonna kill me over that fucking video game.”
“Okay, fine,” you say, even though you’re frustrated. “Then just give him the fucking phone and let me talk to him.”
Chris walks slowly back into the bedroom, where Adrian is still on the floor sniffling, tears streaking down his cheeks. He slowly holds out the phone.
Adrian shakes his head. “I don’t want her to know—” Then he sees you’re already on the other end of the line, and he looks up to shoot Chris a look of betrayal. Still, he takes the phone, and Chris leaves, the bedroom door falling shut behind him. Adrian clears his throat and tries to put on a fake smile before he speaks. “Hi.”
“What’s the matter, baby?” you ask softly.
You’ve never called him that before. He wants you to call him that all the time. He never wants to hear you say his name ever again, only sweet, sappy pet names that melt his heart. And maybe, one day, Alpha.
“Nothing,” Adrian lies through his teeth, even as his cheeks flush. “It’s nothing. It’s stupid. Everything is fine.”
“Everything is not fine,” you say. “I’m honestly surprised you’ve held out for this long. So don’t lie to me. Tell me what’s wrong. Let me help you. Let me support you. That’s what—” You pause. “That’s what we do for each other.”
Adrian’s heart constricts. He takes a shaky breath, one hand running over the material of the suit in his lap.
“The Vigilante suit,” he chokes out. “It doesn’t fit me anymore. My body is different now. None of my clothes fit right. I can—I can deal with that. I can replace my wardrobe, I don’t give a fuck. But this—” His voice cracks. “This—”
“It’s something you’ve worked really hard on, for a long, long time,” you finish for him, when he loses the words himself. “And you feel like you can’t be Vigilante without the suit?”
“Yeah,” he whispers, wiping at his face.
“You are still Vigilante,” you remind him. “Nothing is going to change that. You could go out there in your underwear and you’d still be Vigilante. Though I don’t recommend it. Not enough armor, you’d probably get stabbed.”
Adrian laughs through his tears.
“Do you remember what happened when you blew yourself up with that fucking grenade when you faced off with the White Dragon?” you continue. “You gave me a fucking heart attack that day, by the way. But your suit was shredded to pieces, wasn’t it?”
“It was,” Adrian says. “But I fixed it.”
“How many times have you fixed that thing?” you ask him. “How many times have you patched up a stab wound or a bullet hole, or replaced a fabric panel entirely, or polished a scuff or a burn mark in the armor?”
“I do that after every mission,” Adrian says, confused. “You’ve seen me do that. You help me do that, all the time.”
“Exactly, Adrian,” you say softly. “You’re constantly replacing pieces. This is just—that on a bigger scale. And I’ll help you with it just like I’ve helped you with all the rest. We’ll take the pieces of the suit that we can. The buckles and the holsters and the zippers, whatever we can salvage. And we’ll use them to make you a new one. One that fits you as you are now.”
“You’ll rebuild the suit with me?”
“I’m already online ordering materials,” you say, and he does, in fact, hear you clicking away at a computer mouse. “I know you like the kevlar fabric in black. How many yards should I get, a dozen? That way you’ll have some extra for future repairs. And you use silicone for the base of the armor?”
“Yeah,” he says, taken aback that you remember. “In—”
“In black, and white, and the medium teal, because the first teal is too light, and the other one is too dark,” you finish. “I know. Do you need to replace the helmet too? Should I order a size up? Eh, I’ll wait on that til we can take your actual measurements, just to be safe. But I’ll put a rush on the rest of the order so we can get started as soon as possible, okay? Vigilante will be back on the streets before you know it.”
“Promise?”
“Promise. Listen to me, Adrian. Even if the Vigilante suit disintegrated into ash and you could never rebuild another one, it wouldn’t matter. Because Vigilante is not the suit. Vigilante is you.”
“You—you are—” Adrian says. He can’t find the words, his throat feels tight. “You are perfect. How are you so perfect?”
“I just pay attention to you,” you say, a little shy. “You feel a little better, now?”
“I do,” he says, looking down at the Vigilante suit. Ten minutes ago, he was devastated. Now, instead, he’s—excited? Rebuilding the suit is the perfect excuse to spend more time with you.
You’re quiet for a minute. “I’m really glad I get to see you tomorrow.”
“Me too,” he says. It doesn’t feel like enough to explain the intensity of the longing he’s felt over the last week, but he’s never been good with words.
“Go have fun with Chris, okay?” you say. “And I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Won’t be soon enough,” he says. He’s been so fucking patient, but he is so tired of waiting. “I just really want to hug you. I miss your hugs.”
“You can have all the hugs you want, tomorrow,” you tell him. “I promise.”
Twenty minutes later, Chris tosses Adrian the car keys. They’re both wearing their plain clothes. Chris changed out of his Peacemaker costume to make Adrian feel better about the Vigilante suit situation, which he appreciates.
It’s also the first time he’s been back behind the wheel of the Vigilante-mobile. He’s missed it. The simple act of driving his car is one more thing that helps him feel like himself again, and with the windows rolled down, enjoying the fresh air, he feels like he can breathe, no longer suffocated in a stuffy room that stinks of sex.
As they trek through the trees toward the clearing in the woods, Chris stops and turns around for a second, then turns back and continues walking.
“What?” Adrian says, because his best friend is clearly thinking about something.
“You sure she’s your mate?” Chris asks after a moment, a little seriously. “That’s not something to enter into lightly.”
“I know,” Adrian says, quiet, just as serious. “And I know we’re kind of operating on an assumption. Based on—what set off my presentation, and the research that Ads and John did. But—” He thinks about you, and that alone is enough to set his heart racing. “I’ve wanted her for years, Chris, and I thought I would never be able to have her. This is my chance.”
“I’m just saying. If you mark her—she’s your responsibility for life.”
“I know that.” Adrian frowns. Does Chris think he can’t handle it? That he won’t be a good enough Alpha for you?
“It’s one thing to fuck her. It’s another to claim her as yours.”
Adrian grits his teeth at the way Chris talks about you like a fucking object to own instead of a person. Is this bullshit Alpha talk that Adrian only gets to hear now that he’s inducted into some special club?
“You sound like Gut,” Adrian says, disgusted. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”
“Nothing is wrong with me,” Chris says calmly. “I just want you to be sure you know what you’re getting into, and be one hundred percent certain. You’ve only been an Alpha for like a week.”
“She is mine,” Adrian says. “And I am hers. I would—I would want her to mark me back. I know that’s not the norm. That most Alphas mark their Omegas, but don’t take a mark in return. But I would want her to mark me. She deserves a partnership, not some asshole Alpha who just wants to fucking own her—”
“Jesus, she’s already got you wrapped around her fucking finger,” Chris laughs. Adrian growls. He holds his hands up. “Okay, okay. I get it. I’m just saying, that’s a lot. And if you wanted to, you know, explore the world of other Omegas that are available to you, before making that commitment, I don’t think anyone would blame you. I mean, she doesn’t even need to know.”
Chris is laughing, walking several feet ahead of him, and Adrian stops in his tracks, his blood boiling. Because—where the fuck is this coming from?
“I don’t want any other Omegas,” Adrian says fiercely. “I only want her.”
“God knows she’s fucked a few Alphas in her time,” Chris continues, like he didn’t even hear what Adrian said. “Gotta get through those heats somehow, am I right? Never came to me and Emilia for help, but we wouldn’t have said no—talk about a threesome—”
Adrian snaps. The next thing he knows, he’s tackling Chris to the ground.
“Don’t fucking talk about her like that,” he rages, throwing a punch that hits his best friend square in the jaw.
Chris says nothing, just smiles and punches right back, landing a blow to Adrian’s side that knocks the wind out of him. Still, Adrian doesn’t let up, just keeps pummeling him.
The two men roll around on the forest floor, half-wrestling, half-boxing, landing messy blows with their fists and their knees and their feet wherever they can reach, until they’re panting, gasping for breath. Hot rage and adrenaline rushes through Adrian’s veins.
Eventually, Chris finally manages to pin Adrian to the ground, an arm against his throat, a knee on his chest, and he laughs, again, which just pisses Adrian off even more. He would say something about it if he wasn’t heaving, trying to catch his breath, struggling against Chris’s hold.
“See, this,” Chris says, trying to catch his own breath, “is exactly what you are not going to do when you go back out into society tomorrow, right?”
He smiles, and there’s blood in his teeth from the very first punch Adrian landed directly to his mouth.
Adrian’s mouth falls open. “You—you—”
“Baited you on purpose?” Chris says. “Yeah. I did. Because I knew you would snap, and you needed to release the last bit of that pent-up aggression, and I can take it. Are you done now?”
Adrian stops struggling. “Fuck,” he says, his head slumping back into the dirt.
“Sometimes, people are going to say stupid shit about your mate,” Chris says. “And you cannot just assault them. In broad daylight, at least. Do whatever you want as Vigilante. But when you’re just Adrian, you gotta keep cool.”
“Point taken,” Adrian mutters.
“While we’re on the subject,” Chris says pleasantly, “I understand why it happened. You had literally just presented and your mate was hurt. But if you ever growl at Emilia again, the next time I shoot you, it won’t be with a tranquilizer dart. Got it?”
Adrian nods. “Got it.”
“Come on,” Chris says, standing up and holding out a hand. Adrian takes it, letting Chris help him up. “Let’s go blow some shit up. Then we’re meeting up with John at the store to buy you a nice new outfit to make a good impression on your girl tomorrow.”
Adrian smiles. His girl. He likes the sound of that.
At the store, Adrian is a fucking nervous wreck. He’s instantly overwhelmed by all of the choices, which puzzles Chris and John, who were expecting him to make a beeline for the long-sleeved polos, shove a handful of them in the cart, and call it a day.
“I don’t know what to buy,” he says nervously.
“Clothes,” John laughs. “You know, pants? Shirts? Things made out of fabric that cover your naked body? Underwear, if you need that? Is your dick the same size? You know what, I instantly regretted asking that. Please do not tell me, I don’t want to know.”
“It’s a little bigger,” Chris answers for him.
“Why do you know that?” John sputters.
“We had a threesome once.”
“Of course you fucking did.”
Adrian looks at a red leather jacket on a rack. “Should I try this on?”
“Why the fuck would you try that on?” Chris asks.
“It is not your style,” John agrees.
“Respectfully, Economos, you know nothing about style,” Chris says. “There is a raccoon on your shirt.”
“Fuck you—”
“Well, do I need to change my style?” Adrian interrupts their arguing with his internal crisis. “Do I need to—”
John’s face softens when he realizes what the problem is. “Adrian, Alphas don’t have a secret dress code. You can wear whatever you want. Whatever you like and feel comfortable in is fine.”
“I know,” Adrian says. “But I want her to like it.”
“She likes you the way you are. Dad jeans and all. So just stick with your usual, okay?”
“Okay,” Adrian says, still sounding a little hesitant, but things go a bit faster after that, the cart piling high with new sneakers, jeans, and shirts. Still, he holds up every single shirt he finds and asks, “Do you think she would like this one?”
“Yes,” Chris says after the dozenth time, losing his patience a bit. He is not a caretaker, and after a week of this, he’s reaching his wit’s end. He is more than ready to pass Adrian off into your more capable hands tomorrow. “God, you are fucking anxious today. Do we need to go back into the woods and have another fist fight?”
“You guys had a fist fight?” John exclaims.
“No,” Adrian says. “We don’t need to have another fist fight. I'm just—nervous, I guess.” He rubs the soft fabric of another new shirt between his fingers. It’s your favorite color. He knows you’ll like it. He adds it to the growing pile in the cart.
“Normally, I’d say you need to get laid, and you do, but that’s obviously not the solution here,” Chris muses. “You up for a beer?”
Adrian thinks for a minute. “Yeah. Yeah, I could drink.”
So they check out, and half an hour later, they’re sitting at a hightop table at a bar, beers in hand.
“Cheers,” Chris says.
“What are we cheers-ing?” Adrian asks.
“You,” Chris says. “I know the last week fucking sucked for you. But it’s over now. And things are only going up from here.”
At that, Adrian smiles, and the three men clink their bottles together. Chris chugs half of his down almost immediately, and Adrian suspects that this was less about helping him ease his own nerves and more about Chris unwinding after this week.
“It was scary,” John says. “That first day. When we didn’t know what was happening. I’m glad you’re okay.”
Adrian swallows. “I’m sorry,” he says. “That I scared you.”
John furrows his brow, and opens his mouth to respond, but Adrian keeps talking, rambling, because now that he’s clear-headed, he needs to get this out. To make sure his friends don’t hate him.
“I understand if you guys are mad at me,” he says quickly. “I don’t even remember, really, that first night. What happened, or what I did. I just know I was…feral, ish. I don’t want you guys to be, like, afraid of me. I can take that from anyone else. The whole fucking world can be afraid of Vigilante, I don’t give a shit, but I don’t want—you, or Ads—”
“We’re not,” John interrupts. “We weren’t afraid of you, Adrian, we were afraid for you.”
“Oh,” Adrian says, because that thought hadn’t even crossed his mind. “Okay.”
“Enough of the sappy shit,” Chris says. “What did I say? Save it for your girlfriend.”
“She’s not my girlfriend yet—”
“Yet.” Chris rolls his eyes. “You know what? Go get me another beer. You owe me beers for life, actually, after this week.”
Adrian grins. “If that’s what you want as payment,” he says, and he pushes back his stool and heads up to the bar to grab another round.
As he sits and waits for the bartender’s attention, someone sidles up next to him.
“Hey, hot stuff,” says a female voice. When he turns to his right, there’s an Omega right next to him. He glances around. She is definitely talking to him, but he still points at himself and checks.
“Me?”
“Yeah, you,” she giggles. “What’s your name?” Then she puts her hand on his shoulder, and he tenses.
“Please don’t touch me,” he says, brushing her hand away from him as carefully as he can. He takes a step back, too, frowning.
She flutters her eyelashes. “Why not? You know, I’m in preheat, I’m just looking for someone to help me out the next couple days. You wouldn’t be interested in that?”
Adrian could not be less interested in that.
“No,” he says.
She pouts. “But you’re so fucking hot,” she says. “I could show you a good time.”
She reaches for his sleeve again, and he clenches his jaw. He can feel himself flushing with anger, that this random woman has the audacity to touch him without his permission, when the only person he ever wants to touch him is you.
“I have an Omega,” he says firmly. “Leave me the fuck alone.”
He moves quickly to the other end of the bar, gets Chris his beer, and stomps back over to his friends, slamming the bottle onto the table.
“What the fuck was that?” Chris says. “With that lady?”
“She wanted me to fuck her,” Adrian says bluntly, a little pissy. “She touched me when I didn’t ask her to, and I told her to fuck off. Now I can smell her on my shirt, and I desperately need to go home and shower it off because her scent is all wrong. Drink your fucking beer.”
Chris takes a sip of it, then sets it down on the table. “You sure you don’t need to punch me in the face again?”
Adrian thinks about it. “Would you mind?”
Adrian is only a little bit tipsy by the time he gets back to the trailer, still on edge even though he and Chris had another friendly fight in the parking lot. He stumbles into the bathroom to clean himself up. When he looks in the mirror, he winces. He looks like shit, he thinks, as he presses at the bruise on his cheekbone. It will be gone by tomorrow morning, but it hurts like a bitch right now.
And he still smells her, that random Omega girl, on his clothes. She really must have been in preheat, because her scent is so fucking strong, and she barely fucking touched him, all things considered. But the fact that he’s coming off his own rut, his first rut, probably isn’t helping.
He turns the shower on as hot as it will go and scrubs himself off until his skin is raw and red, until every trace of her is gone. It’s not enough. Sure, it fixes part of the problem, but really—really want he wants is to smell like you. So he dries off as quickly as he can and falls into bed, cuddled up with the blanket you’d given him in the care package. He buries his nose in it and whines. It’s been a couple days, and your scent is still there, but it’s faint. Too faint. It smells mostly like him now.
He rolls onto his back and stares at the ceiling. He reaches for his phone and checks the time.
It’s not that late. You might pick up. And yeah, he’s going to see you in eight hours, but fucking sue him, he wants to hear your voice now.
“Adrian?” you answer, probably confused because you just talked to him earlier today, and he sighs, some kind of relief washing over him just at the sound.
“Hi,” he says, a little pathetically. “I miss you.”
You don’t laugh at him, like he expects. You just quietly say, “I miss you too.” He can hear the smile in your voice. “But I’ll see you tomorrow, right?”
“Yeah,” he says. “I just—tonight—” He swallows. “Chris and John took me shopping.”
“Oh?”
“It’s not just the Vigilante suit. None of my fucking clothes fit anymore.”
“You’re telling me that you, Chris, and John went clothes shopping together?” Now you are laughing. “I would have gone with you, baby.”
“I probably should have gone with you. They are so fucking judgy! And I spent the entire time worrying about whether you would like everything anyway, and I wouldn’t have had that problem if you just picked it all out,” Adrian says. “Fuck. I could have just got, like, one outfit for tomorrow and waited.”
“As long as you’re comfortable in your new clothes, I promise you I will like them,” you reassure him. You pause. “You’re rambling a lot. You’re nervous.”
“Fuck,” Adrian says, because of course you would notice. “Yeah. I guess I am. I don’t know if I’m nervous or just…on edge. We went out for drinks tonight. Chris thought I should try being around other people. Just as a test run. Some Omega hit on me at the bar. She touched my shoulder. It took me like, half an hour to scrub the scent of her off in the shower.”
“Somebody hit on you?” you repeat, jealousy roaring up in your chest. “Who? Where? I swear to god I will—”
“Some random girl,” Adrian says. “It was terrible.” He pauses, and his voice drops to a whisper. “I just wanted her to be you. And now I’m back in bed and I wanted to make myself smell like you again but it’s been a couple days and the blanket doesn’t smell like you anymore and—”
“Hey,” you interrupt softly. “It’s okay, Ade. You’re okay. I’ll bring you something new tomorrow, okay? A blanket or a scarf or something?”
“I don’t need a blanket or a scarf,” he says. “I just want—I just want you.”
“I know,” you say softly. “That’s all I want too.” You fall silent for a moment. “I wish I was there tonight. I would have told that random bitch to fuck right off.”
“I told her to leave me the fuck alone, because…I have an Omega already.”
Adrian says it quietly, cautiously, like a question. And you answer him like it is one, a smile in your voice that settles some of his anxiety about seeing you in the morning.
Summary: Everything in Bruce Wayne's life is going as it should...so why is there a feeling that something is missing? Someone so important he couldn't live without them.
“It’s such a shame you’re still a bachelor, Mr. Wayne. There are many lovely men and women attending the Gala who would make wonderful partners.”
Bruce opened his mouth to correct the Mayor, but closed his mouth when he realized that he didn’t have a partner. Why were his instincts telling him otherwise? He’s never been married before in his life. Yes, he’s had numerous love affairs, but nothing serious enough to leave the giant pitt that he had in his stomach. For weeks, he’s felt as if something was missing. His life felt like an incomplete puzzle and the most important piece had vanished. Strangely enough, he was the only one who felt this way. Everyone around him carried on normally, but him. He couldn’t sleep…he could barely eat. All he could do was stare into space wondering why he couldn’t remember what he was missing…or who.
He looked around the Wayne Manor ballroom and felt like his missing puzzle piece was broken into small pieces. A woman with (H/C) hair…and another with (E/C) eyes. He was seeing a face that he couldn’t see. Like a blurry photo that someone took too fast on their phone. Suddenly that pit in his stomach had turned into a crater.
“Master Bruce, are you not planning to join the patrol tonight?” Alfred asked, hours later. Instead of suiting up and patrolling the streets of Gotham, he was sitting in front of the fire nursing a cup of whiskey. The fire had been a white noise to help him focus his mind on his memories, “Master Bruce?” Alfred asked softly, and placed his hand on Bruce’s shoulder.
“Something's wrong, Alfred.” Bruce muttered then stood up, “Every morning I wake up smelling a perfume that I know I certainly haven’t used. At night I look over on the other side of my bed expecting someone to be there, but no one is. I hold a door open for no one, I pour two glasses of whiskey instead of one, I leave my bathroom door unlocked in case someone wants to come in and join me in the shower.” Bruce ranted and began pacing in front of the fireplace. He normally had a terrible sleep schedule, but now it was even worse. On par with Tim by now, “Why am I having this terrible ache in my chest? This isn’t anything like I felt with Selina.” He whimpered and sat back down in his seat. The Bruce Wayne aka Batman had just whimpered like a heartbroken puppy. Alfred knew now, something was seriously wrong.
“Sir, if I may-” Alfred started and walked around the chair to kneel down in front of the fractured man he saw as a son, “It seems this all started after the night a gate of Hell opened in Gotham.” He said, and Bruce tensed up. Alfred was right. He could barely remember that night, but what he did remember had been reduced to flash images. The Demons were a threat against him. No, no they weren’t. It was to stop someone else. Bruce felt a chill go through his spine when a memory broke through the wall of his mind.
A woman with (H/C) hair standing with her back to him. He was on the ground and could barely move. Magic flowed from her hands and to the open gate, pushing it closed. Her mouth was moving, but he couldn’t hear what she was saying. When she turned her head towards him, her face was blurry. One hand moved from the gate towards him and then…nothing. He woke up the next morning in his bed covered in bandages.
“A woman in all black, (H/C) hair. She was powerful.” Bruce whispered and looked down at his hand. A frown worked its way onto his face as he stared at his left hand, “I had a ring…” He said, then stood up while resting his hands on Alfred’s shoulders who stood with him, “I had a wife! That woman is my wife! And I know just who to find to fix my mind.” He said and darted from the room.
“I truly am getting too old for this.” Alfred muttered then picked up the two whiskey glasses left by Bruce.
><><><><><><
Batman couldn’t believe he was standing at the doorstep of this house once again, but he needed them now more than ever. Magic was the cause of this, and there were only a select few he trusted to help him through his. Well only one, but they were kind of a packaged deal. “Aye, Batsy! What a wonderful surprise! The missus and I were just about to step out!” John Constantine said with a massive grin, and stepped aside so Batman could enter the House of Mystery.
Zatanna sat by the fireplace and had a warm smile on her face that vanished as soon as Batman got close to her, “John…it’s him?” She exclaimed while standing up. A magic radiated off of Batman. Similar to what she’d been sensing everywhere lately, but it was strongest on him. Whatever the source was, it originated from him.
“Ah, now I can sense it. The magic of a very powerful forgetting curse. Someone wanted to erase themselves from your mind batsy. A little bit of hocus pocus.” John tease then went pale. His eyes widened as he started muttering ‘hocus pocus’ over and over again. Like Batman, he started feeling a pit in his stomach. He was missing someone. Someone so special to him. Someone he saw as a sister, “Whoever cast this curse didn’t just curse Batman, they curse everyone. I bet the entire planet is cursed to forget them. Even me.” John said and started running around the house. He pulled book after book from shelves until he found one, and started flipping through the pages rapidly until he found the page he’d been searching for.
“Here! A forgetting curse so powerful not even Fate could break it if he wanted to, but I guess no magic is as powerful as intellectual minds such as ours. No offense, Love.” John said and winked at Zatanna who just rolled her eyes and snatched the book from John to read it herself. After reading it, she had Batman describe everything he’d been feeling.
“The spell was cast too quickly to be precise. That’s why you’re finding fragments or feeling like something is missing. When we made it to Gotham, the gate had already been closed. All we found was you muttering and asleep. Now we know how the gate closed. Now we know you have a wife” Zatanna said and closed the book, “I can reverse the spell since it’s in such a weak state, but I can only reverse it for us three. To completely break the curse, we need to find the one to cast it.” She said and held her hands out for John and Batman to take.
John took her hand without hesitation, but Batman hesitated. He wasn’t as trusting of someone getting into his mind, but he knew he needed to get answers. He needed to get his wife back. Zatanna closed her eyes and let out a deep breath before they opened again and were glowing, “Esrever ruo esruc dna tel su remember!” She chanted over and over as white hot pain tore through all of their minds, but no one let go.
Suddenly memories flooded Batman’s mind. Everything was unblurred, and clear. Your smile, your touch, your lips on his. The sound of your laugh and the feeling of your hand between his fingers. The love that dominated his very soul, and the pain that he felt that night when he tried to stop you from closing the gate, but your magic kept him pinned to the ground. The Noir Witch, Y/N Wayne.
synopsis: After breaking up with Adrian Chase, you find your dating life thwarted at every turn by Evergreen's own Vigilante.
pairing: adrian chase x reader
tags: stalker vigilante, possessive & jealous adrian (wait maybe this also works for your suggestion @genuinelygemini!), that being said - generally lots of antics and humor, angst, fluff, (but it's adrian so there's still murder), reader kind of matches vij's freak, brief sexual references, language, attempted mugging, gun violence
word count: 9.1k (sorry I got carried away)
note: (Based on this request from @danversxwasabi <3) as I'm not sure what's going on with the tumblr reblog/comments/notes situation this is a reminder that all my work is also cross-posted on my AO3 (I'm actually going to be changing my username there to match here soon!)
You were fairly certain that Vigilante was cockblocking you.
If you were being technical, your suspicions had started a few months ago, when you’d gotten back on the market after a particularly painful breakup with –
Adrian Chase had been…Adrian Chase had been the perfect boyfriend. Until he wasn’t.
You’d met just over a year ago, when Adrian waltzed into your coffee shop just before closing, a gleam in his eye and a demand for “something that’ll keep me awake. For like, a really, really long time. I want to get punched in the face with caffeine.”
It was said with the particular intensity of a man who definitely didn’t need caffeine ever, but you’d indulged him anyway.
“Have you tried cocaine?” you’d asked, a small smirk on your lips.
“What? No! Cocaine is like…” he’d lowered his voice and leaned over the counter, scowling. “Very illegal.”
Then he leaned back abruptly as if burned, and looked you up and down. “Why? Do you do cocaine?”
“Not my scene,” you’d replied, your turn to lean forward conspiratorially. “But I can make you something just as efficient. We’ll have you practically vibrating out of that little dad outfit of yours in no time.”
And that had been all it’d taken. Six shots of espresso and a criminal amount of vanilla syrup over ice with milk. You’d expected to see his face plastered on the morning news for a caffeine overdose. Instead, he became a regular, always in right before closing. Sometimes he’d stay and chat with you until the shop was closed up for the evening and then he’d insist on walking you to your car.
Which became you two sitting in your car and talking for hours.
Which, one particularly cold evening, became you two making out in your car. (You’d finally had to be the one to initiate - Adrian couldn’t pick up on a goddamn signal if his life depended on it.)
Adrian decided you were boyfriend and girlfriend after that, always said with a beam of pride and like it was one big mashed up word: “boyfriendgirlfriend”. As if he was afraid if he didn’t say it fast enough that would be the exact amount of time you’d need to break up with him. You weren’t sure how much say you’d actually had in the matter of becoming boyfriendgirlfriend, but it was weirdly nice, actually. After the last several years of fuckboys and ghosting and “not putting labels on things”. You’d had a gnarly past with dating - you’d probably be a serious contender for Guinness World Record for Most Times Someone Had Been Cheated On. And Adrian knew that. And Adrian Chase was built different.
Until he wasn’t.
At first, that was a good thing.
Sure, he was obsessed with you in a way that was sometimes vaguely disconcerting, but he loved you. Hard. You weren’t sure he knew any other way. He loved his friends hard, too. They were basically all a package deal. You never quite understood how they all became friends? They were like a random grab bag of people flung together by circumstances that were entirely unclear to you, no matter how many times one of them gave you a half-assed explanation.
And really, the problem with Adrian Chase had been a slow build. The issue had always been there, it just became more and more prominent over the year you were together until there was simply no ignoring it.
He had been hiding something from you.
You’d never confirmed he was cheating, not like you had with all the others. There was no smoking gun: no incriminating texts accidentally sent to you, no “hey girlie” DM from some stranger, no friend who’d seen him at the club making out with someone else. There was just...something. Something not right.
He’d go radio silent for long stretches of time, which was uncharacteristic of a man who often sent you over 100 texts a day. He’d be evasive about what he was up to when he wasn’t with you or at work. Once, you’d gone to Fennel Fields to drop off his jacket that he’d left at your apartment when he left “for work” only to find he wasn’t scheduled at the middling Italian restaurant at all.
The final straw had been when you’d woken up in the middle of the night to find his side of your bed empty. He didn’t come back for three days.
Then he’d shown up at your door in the middle of the night, soaking wet from the rain, his eyes brimming with tears, a set of scratches down his cheek. He looked like some cat that had come skulking back to its owner after discovering the alleycat life wasn’t all it was cracked up to be.
And you’d hated that his pained expression made you feel anything at all. That your heart squeezed tight when you looked at him. That his choked, desperate pleas had been almost convincing. But you’d learned your lesson the hard way in the past and you weren’t willing to repeat your mistakes. The risk of Adrian breaking your heart all over again was insurmountable.
Worse still was the fact that the anger never came - only the sorrow and the loneliness. You’d stayed awake for nights after, wondering if you’d made the wrong decision. Because Adrian wasn’t like the others…right? He’d adored you. Worshipped you, even. The way he looked at you like you hung the moon and stars…
Either way, he wasn’t being honest with you. You had to hold tight to that certainty.
Adrian Chase: i’m so sorry please forgive me
Adrian Chase: i can’t explain but I promise i’d never hurt you
So you’d spent an entire weekend drinking Three Buck Chuck (you didn’t give a flying fuck if inflation made it $4.49, it was still $3 in your heart) and repeatedly washing every fabric in your apartment until none of it smelled even remotely like Adrian Chase. You’d stood numbly over the washing machine, bottle in hand, and willed yourself not to cry.
If only it were so easy to wash your brain clean.
Unknown Number (Possibly: Adrian Chase): you were right to break up with me
Unknown Number (Possibly: Adrian Chase): i won’t bother you again
But time heals all wounds, right? And time was certainly making a valiant effort at it.
Your best friend had made you re-download Hinge, your coworkers at the coffee shop had all consulted on your profile, and you were officially back on the market after much protest and turmoil. Of course, dating would require your heart to be “in it”, which it certainly was not. But some casual dating to take your mind off of things surely couldn’t go amiss.
That was, of course, until Vigilante showed up.
The first time seemed like pure coincidence.
It just so happened that Vigilante was in a foot chase with some low level criminal or another and ended up knocking over the outdoor dining table you had been sitting at with your first Hinge date. That could happen to anyone! Especially in godforsaken Evergreen.
In the end, it was actually kind of fortuitous that Vigilante had shattered a perfectly good table in your lap. Your date had turned out to be some kind of red pill loser who listened to Andrew Tate like it was mindful meditation. He had just been going on about “low value females” when glass and ceramic and wood exploded and spared you from another second of any of that bullshit. You were…weirdly grateful to Vigilante?
He stood up from the table, dusted himself off and held out the purse to a woman standing breathless on the sidewalk a few feet away. He kicked the purse thief in the ribs for good measure, waved at you and started to take off.
“Wait!”
You weren’t sure why you said it. You stooped to collect the hunting knife that’d fallen off his…utility belt?...and offered it to him. He came back and reached for the knife, but for some reason your fingers had been unable to let go. At the time you’d chalked it up to some kind of panic response - your brain synapses simply weren’t firing correctly. Shock. Or something. It was only later that the real reason became startlingly clear.
You’d been struck by the odd desire to keep him close.
“Uh…thanks, citizen?” he said with a clumsy attempt to disguise his voice. You released the knife into his grasp unwillingly.
“Why do you sound like that?” you asked, crossing your arms over your chest.
“Like what? I don’t sound like anything. I just sound like me. Vigilante.”
“No,” you replied, shaking your head. “Why are you doing a weird voice? You sound like Yoda swallowed Kermit the Frog.”
“That’s…no I don’t!”
You paused for a long moment, trying to place the vaguely familiar insistence in his tone. “We’ve met before.”
“N-no we haven’t,” he said lowly, a tremble in his voice. “Because I - I would definitely remember meeting you.”
It was strange, how you felt a little dejected that he didn’t remember that night. In his defense, it had been over a year. Probably a little after you and Adrian had originally started to become friends, actually.
You’d been walking home one night and he’d appeared out of nowhere - handed you the earbud you hadn’t realized had fallen out of your pocket about two blocks prior and then just…stayed. Walked you home in a companionable quiet (which you remembered thinking was weird, because all the reports you’d heard and the late night Reddit posts you’d read about him mentioned how chatty he was) and disappeared the moment you were safely in your apartment with the deadbolt slid into place.
At the time you’d thought: he probably did that sort of thing all the time, right?
Of course, now you knew better.
That first date had ended with your date looking back and forth between you and Vigilante, before calling you a “freak bitch” and leaving you splattered in salad dressing with a check to cover.
What, in all likelihood would have technically been the second time Vigilante crashed your date, you’d gotten ghosted instead.
So maybe you decided to have a drink or two while you waited for what had clearly become a total, radio-silent abandonment. And maybe you’d not eaten anything beforehand because it was supposed to be a dinner date. And you’d fucking driven yourself there but your ass would be walking home.
It was probably for the best - you were pretty sure you’d only matched with the ghoster because he had glasses that reminded you of Adrian.
Of course Vigilante was standing in the parking lot when you tripped out the front door. You walked straight past him and straight past your car and you didn’t even bother to look to see if he was following. Somehow, you knew he was.
He fell into step beside you silently, somehow feeling not like a threat, but a gentle comfort. A wordless offer of companionship.
“I imagine you’re not on any dating apps, Vigilante, so you don’t get it, but it’s fucking bleak out here,” you complained. “There are no good men left on this Earth. I finally had one who was good and he still managed to let me down in the end.”
“How?” came the gruff, muffled, accented reply. You stumbled on the uneven sidewalk and your hand flew to his bicep just as his hands wrapped around your waist. You didn’t pull back, you just stared up at him, hoping maybe your drunk self would see something your sober self couldn’t.
“It’s…hard to explain,” you replied, scrunching your brow as you studied his featureless face, head tilted back slightly to look up at him.
“Try me,” he said, his voice painfully soft. For not the first time you wondered what the man under the mask was really like. You reluctantly released your hold on his arm, and, in turn, his fingers drifted away from your waist. You started walking again, weighing whether there was any harm in unburdening your heart to Vigilante.
“Adrian was the first guy I dated who really and truly made me feel loved? Like I never doubted that he adored me. And I think because of that I was willing to overlook some things for a long time. And then suddenly one day I realized he’d disappear a lot, or be vague about where he was or sometimes he was straight up lying to me. And it didn’t matter how much I thought he loved me because his actions proved that maybe I shouldn’t have been so certain,” you explained, really focusing on your words, wondering in the back of your brain if you sounded like a drunk idiot.
When he didn’t say anything, you continued, “I’ve dated more than my fair share of guys who cheated or fucked around and even though I felt so certain Adrian wasn’t like that, there was still this doubt in the back of my mind that overweighed everything else. Maybe he wasn’t cheating but I’d given people the benefit of the doubt in the past and always been sorry in the end. Cheating or not - which, I’ll be honest, I find really hard to believe he was cheating because of the way he’d…um, actually you don’t need to hear about that! Uh, cheating or not, he was keeping something from me.”
Vigilante’s decisive lack of response kept your drunk mouth running. “I think the worst part is I maybe miss him? Or, not maybe, I know I miss him. I think about him all the time even when I try not to. I even miss his quirks – of which he had many, let me tell you! But I guess that’s what happens when you love someone that much. And now I’m worried maybe that was the best it’ll ever get for me and it’s gone and I fucked everything up forever.”
You could feel his gaze on you but you didn’t indulge it. You were too busy thinking about the thing you knew you shouldn’t say, the most painful, stupid, ugly part of it all. “The worst part is that it makes me feel like there’s something wrong with me? That there’s something inherently unlovable about me baked into my DNA or something. Why else would all these guys cheat on me, or lie to me, or whatever? Like there must be something fundamentally wrong with me. I’m the common denominator.”
You felt his gloved hand scrape at your elbow, fingers pressing into the skin firmly.
“I didn’t know you felt that way,” came his quiet reply finally, his voice strangely ragged. You squinted up at him.
“Yeah, well, why would you?” you asked, genuinely confused.
“I…wouldn’t,” he replied slowly, before nodding emphatically.
“Right…”
“Right.”
You weren’t totally sure if he was being confusing or you were just drunk? Maybe both?
You turned and found yourself at your apartment door. You blinked for a moment - you’d been so preoccupied you didn’t even remember marching up the stairs. Wait, did it mean that he did remember walking you home all those months ago? Or you’d just led him right straight there. Again. A total psycho knew where you lived.
“Good night,” he said suddenly in that stupid put-on voice. Your heart leapt into your throat anyway. Were you that desperate?
“Good night, Kermit Yoda,” you taunted, flashing him a smile as you closed the door and you definitely didn’t wobble on your feet. You made an auditory show of dramatically flipping the deadbolt and sliding the chain lock into place.
“Fuck.” You heard him whisper from the other side of the door in a voice that sounded much more real than the one you’d come to know. There was a small thump and you wondered if you looked through the peephole you’d see his forehead resting against the door.
You decided it was better not to know.
You leaned with your back against the door and pulled out your phone. Against your better judgment, you scrolled through your old texts until you found the Unknown Number (Possibly: Adrian Chase) thread that you’d been so good about not looking at. Mostly. You hadn’t had the heart to block him, but you’d deleted his number to remove the temptation. And true to his word he hadn’t bothered you again.
You dragged your thumb along the edge of the screen as you debated. Maybe there would be no harm in just…checking in on him? You were still somehow unaccustomed to the total lack of him in your life after a year that was so full of him. You’d find yourself missing him in tiny ways over and over again, even if you were loathe to admit it. There was a stupid, Adrian Chase sized hole in your heart.
Your other hand drifted into the waistband of your jeans. What if you opened the door and invited Vigilante inside to fill something else of yours? Maybe you could bite into one of those biceps of his and convince him to let you call him Adrian.
Fuck. Fuckfuckfuck. What the fuck was wrong with you? You pulled your hand from your pants, closed your messages and opened Hinge instead.
The second time (ghosting date notwithstanding) was perhaps the strangest of all.
It was quick drinks at a bar downtown before he suggested you two hit the club. You could tell what he was after the moment you’d laid eyes on him, but you didn’t mind. You’d been meaning to fuck Adrian Chase right out of your system (and apparently Vigilante, too) and your date was easy on the eyes, if a little smarmy. You could deal with that if it meant getting railed so hard you forgot your own name. Though, if you were judging by the rhythm of his hips as he grinded against you, you might be out of luck on that front.
“Club’s a front for drug smuggling!” a familiar voice called as it passed you, so casual your brain didn’t process it until a moment later. You barely had time to react before Vigilante was pulling a gun and executing the club owner right in front of everyone. Your mouth dropped open and for a second you swore he was turning back to look at you, like he was looking for your approval.
Then, the club burst into understandable chaos. People went running for the door, shouts filling the room in lieu of music. Someone knocked straight into you and you hit the deck hard. You managed to get yourself onto your knees (the drink-slick floor was not agreeing with your choice of shoewear) when your date’s hand appeared in front of you. You grasped onto it, grateful for your only lifeline, and opened your mouth to thank him when you realized rather suddenly that the hand was gloved and attached to the rest of fucking Vigilante.
“Are you okay?” he asked, sounding strangely breathless.
You yanked your hand out of his and scowled at him. “That was really fucked up.”
“I thought you said drugs weren’t your scene,” he snipped back. Was that some sort of accusation? It felt loaded with a meaning you couldn’t quite parse. The club music was still blasting and you’d just watched Vigilante kill a man in front of your very eyes. Your brain was…not thinking clearly.
Still, it reminded you of something distant. Or someone.
“What?”
“Nothing!” he exclaimed. Then he looked over his shoulder and you both processed that the dead club owner’s security seemed to be getting themselves together, hands reaching into jackets for what you could only imagine were concealed weapons. He spun you around and pushed you towards the door.
“Oh! I ordered you an Uber: silver Honda Civic, license plate JG8566, Jamil has a 4.9 star rating. Get home safe!” he chattered at you before pushing you out the front door and onto the sidewalk. The heavy metal door slammed shut behind you.
The driver of a small Honda Civic waved at you from across the street. He poked his head out the window. “Uber for Vigilante?”
You looked around furtively to see if anyone had heard him and then with a hearty sigh you stepped off the curb.
The third time was the time that really pushed you over the edge.
Your new date had taken you to one of those trendy places-of-the-week that filled a niche so specific you weren’t sure how they sustained a business on “boutique rice pudding”. As it turned out, they didn’t. In fact, it turned out that Rice to Riches was a money laundering scheme.
A money laundering scheme that Evergreen’s own Vigilante had taken upon himself to break up right in the middle of your date. He’d breezed right in the front door, waving at you as he passed. For a moment you presumed you were actively hallucinating. But the sound of a fight in the kitchen had you realizing otherwise. You listened to the sound of fists hitting flesh over and over and by the time your brain was able to properly have the feeling that you should definitely leave, Vigilante was standing at your table.
“Hey!” He was still doing the stupid voice, apparently.
“Hi?”
“So, just a heads up this place was a money laundering front.”
“Okaaaay,” you drawled, uncertain of how you were supposed to respond to that info. “You know, a heads up usually comes before you murder a bunch of people.”
“Oh, I didn’t murder anyone. They’re just uhhhhh out cold. Tied up,” he replied in a way that was utterly unconvincing.
“Jesus Christ,” you muttered. You turned to your date to say something but he was white as a sheet, his fingers still gripping his spoon while his mouth hung open, slack jawed.
“Are you on a date?” he asked flippantly, examining the fingers of his gloves as if he were casually looking at his nails.
“Yes?”
“You sure go on a lot of dates.”
Wait a minute, did Vigilante think you were a slut?
“Three dates is not a lot of dates. And, not that it’s any of your business but…I’m trying to get back out there after a really shitty break up. Is that a fucking crime?”
His sure-fire posture shifted slightly and he crossed his arms over his chest. Your gaze caught on his biceps and suddenly your fingers itched with the memory of them. God damnit. “Maybe it should be.”
Your brow furrowed. Was he fucking pouting? You were indignant, and feeling a little reckless. “Well, then, Vigilante, go on - put that dumbass sword on your back to good use and kill me.”
“Uh…do you two know each other?” your date asked. You blinked at him dumbly - you’d forgotten he was there.
“No!” you and Vigilante snapped at the same time. You stared hard at him, trying to make out anything beyond that stupid red visor of his.
“Look, you seem nice but this has been deeply weird, sooo I’m gonna go,” your date said, but not before taking his rice pudding with him. You couldn’t blame him - for a money laundering scheme the pudding was really good.
You whipped back towards Vigilante as the bell sounded over the front door and the only person with a lick of common sense in the scenario fled the scene.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” you demanded. You clarified before he could shrug it off, “Why are you so hell bent on ruining all my dates?”
He laughed, an awkward, strained sound that devolved into a cough as he clearly tried to disguise the sound. “Um, selfish much?”
“Excuse me?”
“You really think the world revolves around you so much that I’m specifically trying to interrupt your little dates or whatever?” he scoffed, apparently intent on doubling down on his unusual attempt at indifference. “I’m a little busy fighting crime to worry about your inept dating life, dude.”
You narrowed your gaze at him, almost positive he was lying. But the alternative did seem insane. He sighed. “What possible reason could I have for wanting to keep you from dating?”
“I don’t…I don’t know,” you admitted. What else were you meant to say? There was no proof, not really. But you didn’t believe in coincidences.
“Oh, so he’s like…in love with you?” your friend said when you’d finally finished recounting the strangest weeks of your life.
Coffee threatened to spill out of your nose as you choked, “What?”
One of your regulars piped up from their usual table by the counter. “Oh, yeah, no I agree. It sounds like he’s totally in love with you.”
“On what planet is he – oh my god, there’s no way, guys!” you argued, even if the sinking feeling in your stomach said otherwise. Was it possible? And if it was – why? Why you?
You waved them both off. “He doesn’t even know me.”
Even if you were unconvinced of some kind of undying love you were convinced that it was all on purpose. Fate had often been unkind to you in the past, but it was a level of sadism that even you could not believe existed naturally in the universe.
And all of it – the failed dates, the weird, strangely intimate encounters, the skin-crawling feeling of being followed, the gnawing feeling of familiarity – had led you to a totally logical, reasonable plan: set a trap for Vigilante.
So maybe you’d spent maybe a little too much time planning it. Thoroughly vetting the restaurant, the people who ran it, pouring through social media accounts and a background check on your date - certifying that there was no off-hand excuse for Vigilante to crash your date.
No crimes, no drug fronts, no nefarious owners. Just an above-the-board night out with a nice guy. It was your own little challenge to him, a desperate bid to prove your theory right. If he crashed this date you would know for sure that this wasn’t just some weird cosmic intervention and that he was doing it on purpose.
“Are you okay?” your date asked. Alex? Andrew? Adrian? (NO, definitely not.) Fuck. What was his name again? “You seem a little…distracted.”
You dragged your gaze back to him and put on a carefully practiced smile. “I’m so sorry. I am distracted, you’re right. And that’s not fair to you.”
“Anything I can help with?” he offered with a lift of his brows and a small tilt of his head. He took a sip of his drink, waiting for you to fill in the blanks for him. Adam! Adam seemed…nice. And you were…toootally blowing him off. You sighed, defeated, and smiled apologetically.
“It’s going to sound crazy,” you started, raking your hands over your face.
Adam smiled. “Try me.”
You shifted slightly in your seat. “Okay, so you know Vigilante?”
“Vaguely? The costumed maniac who works with Peacemaker and is somehow not in jail?”
You chuckled. “That’s the one. Well, uh, I think he might be – ” In love with me? But you figured that was not the right thing to say on a first date. Was the alternative really much better? “Stalking me?”
Adam choked on his sip of wine. “What?”
“Or it’s total, weird karmic coincidence that he just keeps showing up where I am!” you offered. Adam’s head tilted slightly to the side, bewilderment written across his handsome features.
“How many times has this happened exactly?”
“Four. Give or take. Not counting the time he walked me home like a year ago.”
“Sorry, Vigilante walked you home?” he asked in disbelief.
“Yeah, I know how it sounds.”
Adam’s eyes studied you for a moment before he turned and flagged your waiter down. Damn it, you thought, he doesn’t even need to be here to ruin dates for me. Maybe you’d have to store the Vigilante card in your pocket for some bad date down the line.
But instead, Adam leaned back in his chair and smiled at the waiter. “I think we’re going to need another glass of wine. And what’s the best dessert you’ve got?”
When the waiter disappeared to fetch both things he leaned his elbows on the table. “Okay, start from the beginning.”
Outside the restaurant you two did the awkward dance between lingering and saying good night once and for all. With both your rides ordered the two of you stood waiting, close together. (It was cold! Who could blame a girl?) Adam reached up and tucked a strand of your hair behind your ear.
“Listen, I’m really hoping I don’t get a visit from Vigilante later for this, but, uh, can I kiss you?” Adam asked. His sandy hair was given an orange halo by the streetlight above you both. He really was handsome in a sort of everyman kind of way. Considerate, kind, easy to look at and not Vigilante – you nodded. His lips pressed against yours gently and something that felt almost like guilt twisted in the base of your stomach.
When his car rolled up first he offered to stay with you but you’d waved him off. “Can’t lose you to Vigilante, now can I?”
He pressed a kiss to your cheek and made you promise to text when you got home safe. The second his car disappeared around the block your driver cancelled on you. You’d already waited an eternity and getting a rideshare in downtown Evergreen on a Friday night was a nightmare scenario. Besides, the walk would be good for you. There was plenty to think about on the way home. Like…
Where the fuck was Vigilante?
Maybe you were back to the drawing board entirely. You’d been so convinced he was doing it on purpose, but maybe you’d been wrong? Maybe it really was just all coincidence? What a weird, specific curse to have upon you.
And then you heard the footsteps behind you.
The feeling of being followed was familiar now, unfortunately expected, but when you whipped around the very clear glint of a knife pointed at you, well…that was new.
“Oh!” you managed to squeak out. It wasn’t Vigilante at all. Instead, you were face to face with some guy who was very clearly trying to mug you.
“Jesus Christ,” you sighed.
“Give me your purse, bitch!”
You raked a hand over your face. “Please don’t do this. I’ve been having a really shitty few months and I’m - ”
“Shut the fuck up!”
“Listen, asshole, I’m just trying to warn you. Vigilante has been stalking me so you probably don’t want to fuck with me.”
You didn’t think you’d get to play the card so soon! A strange delight unfurled in your gut. Maybe invoking his name would somehow finally make him appear. Your life in danger would be his very own Bat Signal.
The man faltered slightly before tightening his grip on his knife. “Why would Vigilante be stalking you?”
“You know, man with knife, that’s a really good question,” you said, nodding thoughtfully. The strange sense of calm running through you really should have been more alarming. You felt yourself take a step towards him and his expression shifted into pure confusion. Maybe that was good. Maybe you could actually handle this yourself. Maybe this was like when people gave advice to out-freak your would-be attacker. Maybe –
A single gunshot silenced the rest of that train of thought. Hot blood splattered against your clothes, your cheek, in your slightly open mouth.
“Oh my god,” you managed, frozen for just a moment before bending to spit onto the sidewalk. You lifted the hem of your sweater to your mouth to scrape the taste of blood out of your mouth while you tried desperately not to gag.
“Nice! I’ve been looking everywhere for this guy!” Vigilante cheered, a slight hop in his step as he crossed the street to where you stood.
“Are you okay?” he asked, giving your shoulder a slight nudge with his own. You at least had the good sense to recoil from his touch. His hands shot up to shoulder height, palms towards you in a show of reassurance.
“Sorry! I was running a little late. Did I miss your date?”
“Yeah, you did,” you replied, realizing a moment too late that you sounded a little disappointed. Seriously, what the fuck was wrong with you? “I even got a good night kiss. Which, before you say anything, is not a crime.”
Tension visibly rippled through Vigilante’s muscles. “Was he…was he good to you?”
“He was very nice.”
“That’s it? Just ‘very nice’? Sounds kind of lame to me!”
“Well, he’s not you.”
“Not me good, or not me…bad?” he asked quietly.
You faltered a moment, genuinely unsure. Sure, the stupid, depraved thought had been knocking around in your head for a little while now. That while Vigilante was actively ruining your dating life, at least he was somewhat consistent. At least he showed up for you. And maybe there was something kind of hot about the mask now that you thought about it.
God damnit, you really needed to get away from him before you did something stupid. So, you continued walking towards your apartment, thinking maybe he’d have to stay behind to deal with the body. But instead he just followed along with you like some hapless dog.
“For one thing, he didn’t just murder someone in front of me again,” you said instead of really answering the question.
He put his hands on his hips. “That guy was going to hurt you. You’re telling me you would have preferred I let him stab you in the face over a purse? That would be a total waste of a really good face.”
“No! I’m not saying that, I’m saying…fuck I don’t know, Vij,” you sighed. He froze, a particular tension to his posture. But your brain was busy playing catch up with the fact that he’d said you had a…good face?
“Say that again,” he murmured. Something was so, so familiar about the cadence, the desperation. An impossible thought prickled at the back of your mind and you batted it away.
“Say what again?” you asked.
“Call me Vij. I like it when you say it.”
A shudder rolled down your spine, involuntary and unwelcome. You struggled against the feeling settling in your gut. “Not until you admit that you’ve been trying to ruin my dating life.”
“Why would I admit that?” he scoffed. “Or, um, I mean, uhhh…I told you before, I think that’s a really self-centered way of looking at the world. To assume that just because I happen to show up at all your dates and they happen to be interrupted or end badly while I’m around doesn’t mean that I’m doing it on purpose! And actually, as a feminist, I find that kind of assumption offensive.”
“Oh really?”
“Yes, really! I think all women should be allowed to date whoever they want!”
“All women?” you asked.
“Mhmm!”
“Even me?” you continued to press.
His shoulders shifted slightly. “Yup!”
“And so I should be able to fuck whoever I want as much as I want?”
His entire body went stiff as he seemingly tried to force himself to nod.
“For sure. Yes! Definitely! Go off, diva! Have sooooo much sex. Like maybe even have too much!” he rambled. You just stared at him with wide eyes. Then he laughed sharply, and the familiarity of it ran through your whole body. There was no way… “I mean, can one even have too much sex? Probably not!”
You tilted your head slightly. “Are you okay?”
“Can I admit something?” he asked, the question bursting out of him like he’d been biting his tongue, his voice sounding strained. He waited for your sharp nod before he continued, “I’ve been trying to ruin your dating life.”
You faltered. “What?”
“Yeah, ha, you totally caught me!” He scratched at the back of his neck and again that sense of familiarity ran through you like ice in your veins.
“You know, my friends think it’s because you’re totally in love with me.”
His head tilted slightly and you would have given anything to see the expression on his actual face. “Oh! Well, probably because I am.”
For a moment you could practically smell the short-circuiting happening in your brain. “You…huh?”
He shifted awkwardly from one foot to the other as you both stood at the bottom of your apartment complex stairs. “Sorry, I thought it was obvious?”
“Why else are you doing all this?”
“Is love not enough these days?” he joked breathlessly.
Something like panic started to crawl down your spine. You had, of course, considered the possibility, but faced with the simple truth of it you didn’t know what to do or say. So you did the only thing you could think of in the moment - you turned wordlessly and walked up the steps towards your apartment. You fished your keys out of your bag, fingers brushing over the lock before you turned back around to look at him one more time.
It was a mistake.
You couldn’t believe it. You were about to do something so, so fucking stupid. But the theory brewing in the back of your mind needed to be accounted for.
“Aren’t you going to kiss me goodnight?”
No sooner had you asked then Vigilante ducked his head down and pressed his mouth to yours, fabric scraping at your chin. You made a noise of surprise, muffled against his mask, as he pushed you back against your front door. All you could taste was polyester and sweat and something metallic. His tongue tried to lick desperately into your mouth but was constrained behind the fabric, now wet and sticking to your skin and his. It was entirely unsatisfying, frustrating even, but still you couldn’t deny the warmth spreading in your stomach.
So you slid your fingers up his suit until you were prying at fabric, pushing it up until his hands grabbed your wrists firmly and made you stop. He pinned your arms down at your sides but still you leaned back to examine the small stretch of canvas he’d allowed you, taking in the pale expanse of his neck, the very bottom of his face. Even in the dim light something about it was familiar.
You leaned forward and peppered kisses to his exposed skin until you reached his uncovered mouth and waited. He surged forward, kissing you for real this time - nothing but wet lips and eager tongues and hot breath and his hands fisted into the fabric of your shirt as he yanked you against him and – oh.
You pulled back.
“What the fuck?” you panted. If you’d felt insane moments before, you now felt the Earth had completely flipped on its axis the moment your lips had touched his.
Because you knew that mouth.
“Adrian?”
“Um…who?” he attempted.
“Take the mask off right now,” you ordered, pulling away from his grasp.
“I can’t, I, uh, well, I’d have to kill you! If you saw my face! Because, you know - secret identity,” he scrambled. Oh my god. How had you not realized it sooner? You really were a fucking idiot.
“You won’t kill me,” you said firmly, crossing your arms over your chest.
“You don’t know that!”
“I do. And besides, I already know what your face looks like, Adrian Chase,” you snapped.
He looked frantically over his shoulder. “Can we please talk about this inside?”
“Why the fuck would I let Vigilante inside my apartment?” you asked.
“C’mon, please don’t be like that,” he whined.
“Like what? Seriously, tell me why I should let a stranger who is a murderous superhero wannabe into my home,” you said, putting your hands on your hips. “I’ll wait.”
“I don’t wanna be pedantic but you did just let Vigilante put his tongue in your mouth, so, I’m not really sure what the difference is?”
You stood your ground. You just wanted to hear him admit it. Because you knew him and you knew he’d cave.
“Fine! Fuck! It’s me, Adrian!” he exclaimed in a rather loud whisper. You rolled your eyes at him and he reached up to take the mask the rest of the way off.
“Jesus Christ, don’t! Don’t do that out here, you idiot!” you gasped and reached up to stop him. You cursed under your breath as you unlocked your door and then dragged him inside, your fingers hooked under the chest plate of his suit. With the door closed behind him and the lock safely in place, Adrian reached up and pulled the mask off with a gasp.
He stared at you with those wide, bright green eyes of his and smiled from ear to ear. “See, you do care about me still!”
You shifted uncomfortably and avoided his gaze directly. You knew exactly what it was like to fall into those eyes and you weren’t totally convinced you’d be able to climb your way back out.
“No, I care about my nosy neighbors seeing me with a wanted criminal.”
“Sure,” he agreed, clearly sarcastic. He fished his glasses out his pocket and slid them onto his face. For some reason, seeing your Adrian - glasses and all - in the Vigilante suit was more befuddling than it was before. Worse still, it was also strangely arousing.
And then it hit you like running headfirst into a brick wall.
This is what he’d been hiding the whole time.
“Why?” you asked, somehow the only word you could seem to muster.
“You’re gonna have to be a little more specific…”
“Why the fuck were you lying to me about this, Adrian?”
“I mean, not to be technical but I was lying to you about other stuff. You never asked me if I was Vigilante!”
You rolled your eyes and groaned. “Well, pardon me for not thinking to ask if my boyfriend is the psychopath running around Evergreen killing people for minor infractions! Adrian, you’re weird but you’re like…sweet weird. You don’t exactly give off psycho-killer vibes.”
“Qu’est-ce que c’est?”
You punched him straight in the arm. “Please be serious right now!”
“Sorry! I couldn’t help it! That song is so funny. Because like, what is this, you know? They’re really asking the right questions.”
“I cannot believe I spent a year dating you,” you sighed.
“Hey!”
“You don’t get to ‘hey’ me! You’ve been living a double life for…wait, was it the whole time we were together?”
Adrian chewed at his lower lip. “Maybe.”
“Adrian!”
“Yeah, okay, the whole time we were together and also like…for a while now.”
Your mind was reeling, trying to deal with the puzzle pieces and details and – oh yeah, the gnawing of your own presumed morality at the back of your brain. The man you loved was a killer. And maybe you loved the killer, too.
“When you disappeared for three days were you…doing Vigilante shit?”
“Oh, ha! Yeah, I was on a super serious top secret mission,” Adrian laughed. Then he took in your expression and he, too, sombered. “I wanted to tell you then. I wanted to explain. That night on your doorstep I planned to…um, but when I came back…when you told me we were breaking up, that you couldn’t trust me, I…I think it broke something in my brain. But I also realized you were right to break up with me. That actually you’re safer when you’re not dating me. I couldn’t live with myself if someone were to somehow trace me back to you. But then I realized that I could protect you as Vigilante, even if I couldn’t protect you as Adrian.”
“I didn’t want to break up with you, you know that, right?” you asked quietly. Something like a glimmer of hope flashed in his bright green eyes. “But I had to protect my heart.”
“What if…do you think there’s a chance you could let me protect that, too?” he asked, voice quiet and unsteady. “That’s what I’ve been trying to do.”
“Is that what you think you’ve been doing this whole time? Protecting me?” you asked, genuinely trying to understand the way his clearly warped brain worked.
“I know I don’t deserve it, but you do. You deserve the world. Because you’re not the common denominator in a sea of shitty men. You’re like a bright star that everyone is drawn to. And bright lights attract some losers, too and…I think I’m losing track of the metaphor but all I really mean to say is: you’re exceptional.”
Call it weakness, call it stupidity, call it what it was: a kindling breath on a flame you’d tried desperately to snuff out. You loved him.
It was unclear if it was you who leaned forward first or him but either way you found your head pressed against his chest, his arms sure and firm around you.
“I have to ask — how did you know it was me?”
“I had my suspicions,” you laughed. Though clearly not enough. “But I knew for certain the second my lips touched yours.”
Adrian well and truly cackled. He lit up all over, exactly the same man you’d fallen in love with the first time you’d met him. Just with a little…more than you could have conceived of before. Maybe you weren’t ready to admit it to him quite yet, but a part of you clamored to get to properly know Vigilante, too. There was a whole new, strange, thrilling part of Adrian Chase for you to discover.
“I can’t believe you recognized my mouth, dude! That’s kind of insanely romantic if you think about it!”
“Yeah, I’m actively choosing not to think about it, thanks!” you retorted. Then, because for some reason you couldn’t help it, “I mean, I’m very familiar with that mouth’s work, it would be a crime if I didn’t recognize it.”
“Are you flirting with me right now?” Adrian asked, the question half a gasp, half a squeal of excitement.
“No! I don’t know! Maybe a little bit! Fuck! I can’t help it.” You scrubbed at your face with both hands like maybe you’d be able to wipe it all away. “It’s like…in me, you know?”
“What is?”
“Everything about you. I see your face and it’s like you’re hardwired in my skull and in my heart. I could have gone on one hundred dates or none and it wouldn’t have made a difference at all, because none of them were you!” you exclaimed, breathless. You knew Adrian well enough to know you were maybe being too flowery for his very literal brain to fully comprehend.
“Me Adrian or me Vigilante?” he asked, surprising you.
You forced yourself to meet his gaze and then gave a defeated shrug. “Both, I think.”
“Fuck, I think that’s the nicest and the coolest and the hottest thing anyone’s ever said to me,” Adrian murmured. He pulled you tight against him by the hips. “Can I kiss you again? I think I need to or else I’ll die.”
You answered him by pressing your lips to his, his chin captured in your hand, fingers pressed firmly into the skin – just enough pressure, not too much or too little for dear, sweet, Adrian. You kissed him hungrily, which seemed to take him delightfully by surprise, if the noises he made were anything to judge by. His tongue scraped over your teeth, and you bit at his lower lip and pulled. His fingers pressed so hard into your hips you thought they might bruise and you also thought you didn’t give a fuck. Adrian’s mouth travelled from your lips to your jaw to your neck. He sucked at the skin just below your ear and you knew he was trying to mark you as his. That was the question, wasn’t it? Were you willing to be his again, knowing what you know?
It was utterly incongruous: your perception of Adrian, the man you’d loved and practically lived with for an entire year versus Vigilante, a man you knew to be a totally cold-blooded, obsessive killer. Did it make a difference if it was in the name of justice? You had seen on the news when he’d been involved with saving the planet from those butterfly alien things with Peacemaker. How was he the kind of guy who could play D&D for hours, and talk incessantly about Pokemon, and kiss you so gently, and also the kind of guy who kicked criminal ass with no remorse and saved the planet from alien invasion?
“What are you thinking?” he asked, pulling back suddenly. He had that gentle, focused look in his eye that you knew all too well.
“I think I should probably be scared of you,” you replied honestly. His tight hold on you loosened almost imperceptibly, but still you felt it. Of course you did.
“I would never hurt you,” he whispered. “Please believe me.”
“I do. And, I also think you’ve permanently fucked up the wiring in my brain,” you grumbled against his mouth.
“Does this mean we’re getting back together?” he asked, and you could practically feel the excitement of the idea thrumming through his body.
“Maybe,” you offered. He deflated slightly. “If we’re going to try and figure this out then there’s no more secrets between us, okay?”
Adrian nodded. “Sick! I mean, now you basically know all my secrets. Except, I guess, about all the drugs and blood money in my basement.”
“The what now?”
He darted forward and peppered your forehead, your eyelids, your cheeks with kisses. Somewhere between them all he managed to say, “Thank you for giving me another chance. I’ve missed you so fucking much.”
“Hard to miss someone when you’re stalking them, Adrian,” you reminded him.
“But I miss you every time I blink,” Adrian breathed, wide-eyed and stupidly adorable and achingly earnest. Your fingers itched for every part of him but you refrained, hooking your fingers into the chest plate of his Vigilante armor.
“I need to hear you say it – no more secrets. We are both totally honest with each other, for better or worse,” you demanded.
Adrian nodded, a wide grin on his lips. “I’ll never keep anything from you ever again. You can trust me, I promise. In fact, I promise on Peacemaker’s life! He’s the only thing I cherish in this life even remotely close to you, so you know I mean it. If I was gonna swear on the most important thing, well, that would be you, but I figured that’s a little counterproductive to the whole swearing on something thing.”
When you kissed again it wasn’t hungry any more. It was slow, it was deep, it was an acknowledgment that you had all the time in the world. Your fingers wove into his curls and pulled tightly, just the way you knew he liked. Because you knew him. He groaned his approval into your mouth and he wrapped around you, practically enveloping you. The next thing you knew his hands were under your ass and he was supporting you so you could wrap your legs around his waist. He carried you effortlessly towards your bedroom, pausing along the way to press your back to the wall and kiss you even deeper, his fingers needy and clumsy at the hem of your shirt. His fingers, still gloved, scraped across the skin of your stomach, reacquainting themselves with familiar territory.
His lips didn’t leave yours the entire time, even as he carried you to your bed and laid you down like the most precious thing on the planet. He leaned over you, hands pressed into the mattress, you hooking your fingers into the straps on the front of his suit to try and pull him as close as humanly possible. Things blurred into a hot, slow, haze of Adrian.
Suddenly, you drew back with a gasp, both desperate for air and with another gnawing question on your tongue.
“Wait wait! You didn’t kill any of those guys I went on dates with, right?”
“Only the first one,” he said with a kind of severity that sent a chill down your spine and had you anticipating the feeling of him between your thighs in equal measure. Then you realized, somewhat dreamily, that Adrian already was in between your thighs. So you squeezed your legs around him tighter – you weren’t letting him go again. Adrian Chase really had ruined you forever.
“And what crime did he commit?” you asked against his mouth, your arms snaking around his neck.
“Being an asshole to the person I love most in the world.”
Then he unhooked your legs so he could slide down your body until he was kneeling at the edge of your bed. His fingers made quick work of your pants and yours pressed into the mattress as he made himself at home between your thighs like no time had passed at all.
Adrian watched you sleep for some time, your limbs tangled with his, you asleep in one of the oversized shirts he’d left behind, the poster of Fargo printed across your chest. The evening had gone better than he could have ever planned. And he had done a lot of planning.
Sure, he hadn’t anticipated your date kissing you, but it didn’t even bother him anymore. But he’d heard what that stupid guy had said to you while he was hidden out of sight.
Can’t lose you to Vigilante, now can I?
Now the mugger had been a total coincidence but one that made him look so cool and tough. He’d saved you from death, not just a shitty date with some stupid guy! Extra points for Vigilante! He’d high five himself if he could.
Adrian moved slowly, making sure not to disturb you in the slightest. He got distracted for a long moment just watching you sleep peacefully, a ghost of a smile on your beautiful mouth.
When he slipped back into the bed he had the Vigilante mask on and your phone in his hand. He cuddled up behind you and then tucked his chin into the crook of your neck. He ensured the flash was off and then took a picture. He opened your texts and found Adam (Hinge) with ease.
He attached the photo and then, smiling from ear to ear, typed:
You lose.
breaking up is hard to do taglist: @sideblogmeanz @danversxwasabi @countvonklit @tlfg-adrianchase @bunch-of-bens @lovenerdywhitemen2 @morguegrl89
gen adrian taglist: @countvonklit @tlfg-adrianchase
(if you want to be on my adrian taglist let me know below! x)
WARNINGS: (MDNI) suggestive content, whinny/bratty!reader, lowkey dom/mean!jack, kissing, touching, established relationship, mentions of marriage ayyyy, fem!reader implied, use of curse words, nipple play, teasing, choking lowkey, age gap not implied but pictured when written
A/N: can you tell that one line in s2 e14 reallyyyyy got to me?
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you’re pissed. jack got called into work again at the last minute. and it shouldn’t piss you off! you know who you started dating. you know he’s important and he’s needed at the hospital. but all you wanted was a date night. he’d be working a lot lately and you don’t get why. you can see the exhaustion that seeps through him after every shift. and he doesn’t need to do it. he’s worked hard and he’s well off, he could easily retire and the two of you could lay in bed for the rest of your days.
you snap out of you thoughts and look at yourself in the mirror. your hair and makeup was done. you brought a new dress for this occasion too. sighing, you get undressed and wipe off your makeup. getting into bed, you think the best thing to do is just sleep it off.
it’s late in the morning when jack finally gets home. you’re woken up by jack’s voice, soft and sweet from the side of the bed. but somehow it just makes you more annoyed. your first thought is how your date night was cut short. so you don’t answer him when your eyes flutter open and you don’t kiss back when he presses a kiss to your lips.
“what’s the matter with you, hm? still tired?” he asks.
you don’t reply, turning away from him so your back is facing where he’s standing over you on your side of the bed. frowning at your antics, he asks again what’s wrong with you. this time, you just huff.
“alright enough out of you” he grunts, folding his arms.
you don’t say anything and you think that’s the end of it because he doesn’t speak again. until you feel his hands on your side, rolling you onto your back. you let him move you but refuse to make eye contact. he moves a hand to toy with the waistband of your pajama shorts. you try to ignore the growing feeling of need that courses through you. do not give in. he moves the hand to dip in your waistband, feeling you over your panties.
“wanna tell me what’s wrong yet, sweetheart?” he presses his fingers down harder as he talks. your still not looking at him, shaking your head as a no while you bite your lip to stop from moaning.
he pulls his hand out of your pants and moves it up to your shirt, lifting it up so your tits can be seen. he pinches a nipple. you let out a whine at this, finally looking at him.
“jack! stop being mean” you complain, pushing his hand off and pulling down your shirt.
“i’m being mean? you’re the one that’s ignoring me after i came home from a shift” he laughs.
“yeah ‘cause you deserve it,” you grumble.
“oh yeah? why do i deserve it?” he asks condensingly.
“you missed date night! and you do it all the time. ‘s not fair i’m alone all the time!” you whine, crossing your arms over your chest and pouting.
“you’re such a baby” he replies.
you sit up on the bed at that, up on your knees so that your face to face with jack.
“i’m not a baby, you just don’t care about me anymore!” you point at his chest as you accuse him. jack grabs your wrist, stopping your movements and you try to pull away from his grip.
“let me go! don’t want you to touch me!”
jack let’s go of your wrist, like you ask. but instead, he moves it up to your neck. he squeezes slightly, just to remind you who’s in charge. and it does the trick, shutting you up. he free hand slides down to your shorts once more, but this time he slips it right in past your panties. you ground yourself by resting your hands on his shoulders. his middle finger slides through your folds and your eyes flutter. his ring finger joins him and they circle your clit. you let out a breathy moan.
“don’t want me to touch you but you’re this wet? make up your mind babe” he teases.
“fuck off. don’t want you near me.” you get out but it’s not very convincing. jack chuckles, his fingers rubbing faster as he leans closer and presses kisses your jaw.
“you’re mad i took an extra shift?” he murmurs against your skin.
“yes! you- you’re never around,” you say between a moan.
“you’re lucky you’re cute,” he huffs out a laugh. “wanna know why i’m always taking those shifts baby? hm? do it so i can get the prettiest and biggest ring on your finger”. he moves his fingers back between your folds, rubbing your wetness around, making a mess.
he brings his fingers out of your panties and up to your mouth. he presses them to your lips and forces you to suck on them, forcing you to taste yourself. he pushes his fingers further down your throat and you try not to gag.
author's note: another big thank you for all the support!! my requests are open so please feel free to message and ask for whatever pitt related stuff you'd like to see. if you couldn't tell, i'm in my jack abbot writing era as of rn but i am happy to write other characters, too! this is just a little fun one with no real plot or angst or anything, total fluff to lighten your weekend (and mine) x
pairing: jack abbot x reader (again i know)
word count: 3.9k
warnings: reader is described as being female presenting and is referred to with she/her pronouns, medical inaccuracies as always and the episodes sequence of events are a bit inaccuarate as well, fluff and a self-indulgent sunshiney reader, reader is younger as well, late 20s , episode 9 furry mention lol
songs i listened to while writing: oh, gemini by role model, potion by djo, godlight by noah kahan, true blue by boygenius
description: the pitt's in chaos, there's a very serious cyber attack happening, and apparently, a betting pool about you and one salt and pepper haired attending
This sort of shift made the Pitt feel less like a trauma center and more like some kind of cosmic punishment you were being forced to endure after doing something deeply terrible in a past life.
By midafternoon, the Fourth of July had already delivered everything you’d expected and then some. There were burns, lips split open on pool decks, heat exhaustion, one teenage boy who had somehow managed to launch a firework directly into a lawn chair and then act surprised when the lawn chair bounced back like it had a personal vendetta, and you were also fairly sure you’d witnessed an actual furry in chairs earlier. In fairness, you’d been awake since before sunrise, so there was every chance that part had been a hallucination. The ER was loud enough to distort reality on a normal day. Today it was deafening. The ambulance bay was worse. Every hallway smelled faintly of sweat, antiseptic, and that acrid, post-firework smoke that seemed to settle into the walls no matter how many times the doors opened.
And to top it all off, the hospital computers had gone down in the middle of the rush.
Poor Whitaker had tried his best to take a photo of the board before it died completely, but his lackluster camera skills had left half the names blurry , so the whole department had been forced to rely on Joy—new, terrifyingly competent, photographic-memory Joy—for every name, room number, and ailment in the goddamn ER. Every few minutes somebody would shout, “Joy, who’s in Seven?” and she’d answer without looking up, as if reciting patient lists from memory was a totally normal skill to have.
Dana had taken one look at the frozen screens and said, “You have got to be kidding me,” with the spiritual exhaustion of a woman who had already given too much of herself to this building. Ten minutes later she was digging out clipboards and paper charts like she had personally prepared for the inevitable downfall of modern technology and had simply been waiting for the right time to shine.
“What is that?” you asked, cocking a brow at the massive clunky machine Jessie had pulled from some forgotten corner of the nurses’ station like an artifact from a medical museum.
“That,” Jack said, pointing at it with all the confidence of a man introducing a beloved childhood pet, “is a fax machine.”
You looked back at your boyfriend, who was leaning against the counter in combat trousers and a black T-shirt, left hand shoved in his pocket, the other loosely gesturing toward the glorified hunk of plastic in front of you. You narrowed your eyes at him, mostly because he had no business still being here. He should have been back at your apartment hours ago, asleep in your bed, not standing in the Pitt after a brutal night shift like his body ran on caffeine and spite alone.
Unfortunately, that just wasn’t Jack.
“That’s how we rolled when I was a resident,” he said, not really to you so much as to the room at large, as if he had been waiting years for a valid excuse to say it.
Joy paused in the middle of rattling off patient names and lifted her head. “Was that in the 1900s?”
You slapped a hand over your mouth to stop a laugh, but it was already too late.
Jack looked at her, entirely unimpressed. “Yeah,” he said. “Back when charts were written by candlelight.”
That did it. A snort escaped before you could stop it.
Jack turned his head and looked at you then, amusement tucked into his gaze as he watched you fail spectacularly to hide how entertained you were.
You were absolutely in for it later.
The thing was, you probably deserved it.
You had spent most of the morning being unbearably cheerful, which according to Trinity was "borderline offensive in a disaster scenario". You were three years into residency now, experienced enough that nobody hovereed, junior enough that everyone still barked at you when someone needed to take the blame. And somehow, along the way, you had developed a reputation for smiling through absolute carnage. You were kinda excellent in the er. Fast hands, good instincts, calm voice. You'd discovered early on that people tended to panic less when you looked like you genuinely believe that things could be salvaged. Most of the time, you genuinely did.
So yes, you smiled when you told a six-year-old that his popsicle-blue tongue made him look like a supervillain. You smiled when you promised a drunk college student that no, he wasn't dying, he was just very stupid. And you smiled now, in the middle of a cyber attack and a holiday shitshow, because if you didn't, you might just start screaming and never stop.
"Room Four needs reassessment," Dana called, slapping a chart into your hands as she breezed past. "Room eight's blood pressure has dropped, and if anyone asks me where the paper lab forms are one more time, I'm committing a felony."
"Copy that, boss," you said.
Dana paused just long enough to squint at you. "Y/N, why are you smiling?"
"Morale."
"You're using that voice again, babe."
You glanced over your shoulder at Dana as you started to move towards your next task.
"What voice?"
"The Disney Princess voice," Trinity said flatly.
Joy, without looking up from the board that Al-Hashimi was busy scribbling onto, said, "You do have one."
You gasped. "Et tu, Joy?"
Joy shrugged. "It is effective."
Jack, who had decided that fawning over the fax machine was getting boring, drifted close enough to hear your conversation. He took a pen from his pocket, handing it over to you.
"You forgot this," he said, "for your charts."
You looked down at your hand. It was your favourite pen. The good one with the ink that dried just quick enough. The one you complained about losing every single shift.
Your eyes narrowed. "You stole my pen?"
"You left it in, my um, my truck."
"Oh, shit. Yeah, I did."
Trinity, standing three feet away with all the subtlety of a fire alarm, went very still. She turned slowly to Dennis then, knocking him in the side with her shoulder.
"Huckleberry, write that one down, now."
Room Four held a sunburned dad who'd passed out at a barbecue and cracked his head open on a cooler. You cleaned and re-stitched the wound while explaining every step in your usual warm tone, and by the time you came back out, the nurse's station had only gotten louder. The fax machine had whirred to life and Jessie was in a heated conversation with Dana about toner. Joy was still where you left her, acting as the PTMC's human database.
And Dr Jack Abbot was still there. Stupidly tight black tshirt and all.
He caught your eye from across the station and, because he was incapable of not noticing things about you, lifted a cup from the counter.
A Dunkin iced coffee you had often heard him shitting on Shen for consuming one too many of during the night shift.
You made your way over to him through the chaos, accepting it with a look. "You're extremely attentive for a man who's meant to be unconscious by now."
"You skipped breakfast."
"Okay, Jack, that's not an answer"
"It's the only one you're getting."
You took a sip from the fluorescent orange straw. "Didn't take you for a romantic, Abbot."
Jack's mouth twitched, an almost smile. "Drink it before you get mean."
You blinked up at him. "I do not get mean!"
From two feet away, Santos whispered, “He knows her blood sugar patterns.”
Whitaker made a tiny distressed noise. “Oh my god.”
You turned. “What are you two doing?”
“Nothing,” Santos said far too quickly.
That was the exact wrong answer. You narrowed your eyes and held out your hand. “Santos.”
She folded her arms. “No.”
“Santos.”
“It’s literally not a big deal.”
“Then show me.”
Whitaker physically recoiled. Javadi looked almost interested. Princess and Perlah had gone suspiciously quiet at the nurses’ station, which in itself felt like evidence of a crime. Finally, with the theatrical suffering of a woman forced to betray her own art, Santos unfolded a sheet of paper from behind a clipboard and handed it over.
It was, unmistakably, a betting pool.
Your name was on it. So was Jack’s.
Beside a list of times, 2 p.m., 4 p.m., end of shift, by the parking lot, “during major trauma” in Javadi’s handwriting, were dollar amounts and initials.
You stared at it for a long second. Then looked up.
“You people are betting on us?”
Santos lifted one shoulder. “In our defense, you’ve been weirdly public all day.”
“We have not.”
Jack, traitor that he was, took a sip of coffee and said, “We have.”
You slowly turned to look at him. “You knew about this?”
“Yes.”
“You knew.”
“They’ve been doing it for weeks.”
Your jaw dropped. “Weeks?”
“Six,” Princess said helpfully from the desk.
Perlah smiled sweetly and added something in Tagalog that made Princess snort. You only caught one word, obvious.
You looked back down at the sheet, then at Santos. “There is a category for accidental hand placement.”
Santos nodded. “That one’s popular.”
Whitaker raised a nervous finger. “For legal reasons I only bet on the after-shift options.”
Javadi adjusted her clipboard. “I weighted mine against environmental stressors. Cyber attacks accelerate impulsive disclosures.”
“That sentence made me hate you a little,” you said.
“Understandable.”
Dana appeared in the middle of all this, took one look at the paper in your hand, and sighed the sigh of a woman who had somehow expected better despite having no reason to.
“Has she found out?”
“Yes,” Santos said proudly.
Dana held out her hand. “Pay me.”
“What?” you said.
“I told them they were all idiots for thinking you two were subtle. By technicality, I’m owed.”
Money appeared from multiple directions. Perlah slapped a ten into Dana’s palm. Princess handed over a five while muttering, “Sabi ko na nga ba.” Whitaker looked betrayed by the universe.
You turned to Jack in outrage. “You were just going to let this happen?”
Jack looked thoroughly unbothered. “It doesn’t bother me.”
“It doesn’t bother you that the entire ER has us in a spreadsheet?”
“It’s not a spreadsheet,” Joy said from across the room. “It’s handwritten.”
“Thank you, Joy,” Santos said. “Very helpful.”
It should have embarrassed you more than it did. It should have made you want to crawl into a supply closet and never come out. Instead, irritatingly, all you could really focus on was the fact that Jack was standing there in the middle of all of it, clipboard under one arm, coffee in hand (did he figure out how to uber eats Dunkin?), the faintest hint of a smirk tugging at his mouth, and acting like none of this was remotely a problem.
Because, to him, apparently, it wasn’t.
Before you could say anything else, Dana barked your name from the trauma side. “Bay Two. Pediatric burn. Move.”
You dropped the betting sheet onto the counter and went.
The room sharpened the moment you stepped into it. A little boy, maybe seven, sat on the gurney with tears drying on his cheeks and a nasty burn wrapping up one forearm. His father hovered helplessly at his shoulder, pale and frantic. You softened without even thinking about it.
“Hey,” you said, crouching until you were eye level. “I’m Dr. Y/L/N. What’s your name?”
The boy sniffed. “Eli.”
“Hi, Eli. I heard you had a very dramatic run-in with a sparkler.”
A tiny, suspicious smile flickered at the edges of his mouth.
“That arm looks pretty brave to me,” you went on, gloving up. “Mind if I help it out?”
By the time you were halfway through cleaning the burn, Eli was more interested in telling you about his dog than in crying. You talked him through every step, let him pick the colour of his wrap, and told him the whole thing made him look “extremely tough, in a comic-book sort of way.”
Behind you, Jack passed you supplies before you could ask for them. You glanced up once, and the look on his face made something warm settle low in your chest. Not amusement this time. It was a soft look shared between two people who found solitude in little victories like this.
When you were done and Eli had stopped trembling, his father said, voice thick with relief, “Thank you.”
You smiled. “He did all the hard work.”
Out in the hallway again, Jack fell into step beside you.
“You’re good at that,” he said.
You shrugged, a little embarrassed by direct praise. “Kids are honest. If you talk to them like they’re real people, they usually let you help.”
Jack looked at you for a moment longer than necessary. “Still.”
That was all.
Still.
Somehow, coming from him, it said more than a paragraph from anyone else.
By five, the cyber attack had turned the Pitt into a weird little time capsule. Pages were being run by hand. Orders were shouted across halls. The fax machine had stopped working, started back up again, and stopped once more. Somebody had unearthed an ancient label maker. Everyone’s handwriting was deteriorating in real time.
At some point, in the middle of trying to squeeze past a gurney and an IV pole in Trauma Three, Jack put both hands on your hips and moved you six inches to the left so he could get through.
It was practical. It was fast. There was a time where it would've gone completely unnoticed.
It was, apparently, now, worth fifteen dollars.
From the station, Santos sucked in a loud breath. “Physical contact.”
Whitaker slapped money down immediately. “That counts. That absolutely counts.”
“For what?” Robby asked, walking past.
“Nothing,” six people said at once.
Robby slowed, took in Dana counting bills behind the desk, Princess trying and failing not to laugh, and your face somewhere between horrified and resigned.
Then he looked at Jack. Then at you.
Then he sighed like a man realizing he had somehow become the only adult in a room full of teenagers.
“I’m not asking,” he said, and kept walking.
You pressed the heel of your hand to your forehead. “I’m transferring.”
“No, you’re not,” Dana said.
“Can I at least fake my death?”
“Not on my shift.”
Late in the evening, once the worst of the holiday surge had started to taper and the sky outside had begun to darken into a hazy blue, you found a second alone by the ambulance bay doors. It wasn’t exactly quiet, nothing around the Pitt ever really was, but it was quieter than inside. There were fireworks in the distance, all colour and sound and terrible decision-making, and somewhere behind you, somebody was laughing in the break room.
Jack came out a minute later, as if he’d known exactly where you’d gone. He leaned against the railing beside you with all the enthusiasm of a man filing taxes.
“You pouting out here?” he asked.
You looked at him. “I am processing workplace humiliation.”
“You’re being dramatic.”
“You let them build categories, Jack.”
“I didn’t build anything.”
“You encouraged them by existing.”
He huffed softly through his nose, which with him was basically a laugh. For a moment you just stood there, shoulder to shoulder, watching bursts of red and gold flare over the city skyline. The air smelled like smoke and humidity and summer.
Then you said, because you had to ask it at least once, “You really don’t care that they all know?”
Jack looked at you like the question itself was mildly ridiculous.
“No.”
“Why not?”
His gaze settled on your face. “Because it's you”
There it was again. That impossible, annoying simplicity of his. Like the answer had been sitting there the whole time and you were the only one making it harder than it needed to be.
You looked down at your shoes, smiling despite yourself. “That’s disgustingly sincere.”
“Don’t ruin it.”
“I’m just saying, for a man who acts like human emotion is a contagious disease—”
He turned toward you then, one hand still shoved into his pocket while the other came up to brush a loose strand of hair behind your ear. The movement was brief, casual, but it was enough to quiet you.
“I don’t hide you,” he said.
Your chest tightened in that warm, uncomfortable, lovely way it always did when he said things too plainly.
“I know,” you said quietly.
“And if they want to waste money on something they already figured out, that’s on them.”
You laughed. “You are impossible.”
“Accurate.”
The ambulance bay door banged open behind you.
Santos’s voice floated out before the door even fully shut again. “If either of you kiss out there, I’m collecting double!”
You closed your eyes. “I’m going to actually kill her.”
“No, you’re not.”
“Maybe a little.”
“You like her.”
You sighed. “I know.”
Jack’s mouth twitched, but when he looked back at you there was something more deliberate in it now. More focused. Like he’d made a decision.
“Come on,” he said.
You frowned. “Where?”
“Somewhere quieter.”
Before you could ask what that meant, he had already pushed off the railing and jerked his head toward the side corridor that led to supply and staff storage. Not romantic. Not scenic. Very on brand. You followed him anyway. The hallway was blessedly empty, the fluorescent lights buzzing overhead, the muffled chaos of the ER dulled by a heavy swinging door. Jack stopped just past the turn where the corridor bent out of sight from the main floor and looked back at you.
“Well?” you asked.
“Well what?”
“You dragged me into a creepy side hallway.”
“I walked,” Jack corrected. “You followed.”
“You are so aggravating.”
“Yeah.”
He said it like he knew exactly how aggravating he was and had no intention of changing.
You folded your arms. “What are we doing back here?”
Jack took a slow step closer. “Avoiding Santos.”
“That’s valid.”
“And,” he added, eyeing you with faint amusement, “you were whining.”
“I was not whining.”
“You were.”
“I was expressing righteous indignation.”
“You were pouting.”
You opened your mouth to argue, but the smirk on his face made it impossible to do with any real conviction.
“That’s very rich coming from a man who came in on his day off because the hospital computers hurt his feelings.”
Jack’s brow lifted. “You done.”
“No.”
“Shocking.”
He was close enough now that you could smell coffee on his breath, antiseptic clinging to his shirt, the faint smoke from outside caught in the fabric. One of his hands came up and rested lightly at your waist, thumb hooking just enough into the side seam of your scrubs to pull you half a step nearer.
“That,” you said, very quietly, “is exactly why they have categories.”
“I know.”
“You’re not helping.”
“I’m not trying to.”
That did something unfair to your stomach.
He looked tired now that you were seeing him up close. The kind of tired that sat under the eyes and in the set of the shoulders. But he was still looking at you like you were the easiest thing in the world to focus on.
“Still embarrassed?” he asked.
“A little.”
He nodded once, almost like he respected that.
Then, because he was apparently feeling especially insufferable, he said, “You’ll live.”
You stared at him. “That’s your comforting response?”
“What do you want, a speech?”
“A tiny bit of tenderness wouldn’t kill you.”
Jack’s fingers tightened just slightly at your waist.
“Sweetheart,” he said, voice drier now, “I came looking for you, didn’t I?”
That shut you up.
Because yes. He had.
He always did.
Your face must have given something away, because his expression softened at the edges even as his tone stayed gruff.
“There it is,” he murmured. “That look.”
“What look?”
“The one where you remember I’m right.”
You narrowed your eyes. “You’re unbearable.”
“And yet.”
“And yet,” you muttered.
His other hand came up then, slower this time, thumb brushing the line of your jaw. Not showy. Not performative. Just him.
“You done being mad at me for not caring?” he asked.
You exhaled softly. “I wasn’t mad that you didn’t care.”
“No?”
“No.” You glanced down, then back up. “I think I was just… surprised you were so okay with everybody knowing.”
Jack looked at you for a second like he was trying to figure out how best to answer that without sounding like himself too much.
Then he said, “I’m not ashamed of you.”
Your breath caught a little.
The teasing fell out of the moment all at once.
You looked at him. Really looked at him.
Jack, who hated fuss, hated spectacle, hated giving people more of himself than they’d earned.
Jack, standing in a half-lit side corridor during a cyber attack after a nightmare holiday shift, telling you as plainly as he knew how that being with you wasn’t something he needed hidden.
“That’s…” You swallowed. “That’s very unfairly nice.”
“Don’t make it weird.”
“You make everything weird.”
“I make nothing weird. You overthink.”
You gave a soft laugh, because of course that was his answer.
Then he leaned in, just enough for his forehead to rest briefly against yours.
“You done talking?” he asked.
“Maybe.”
“Good.”
The kiss, when it came, was private in the truest sense of it. Not secret. Just not for anybody else. A private thing made real by the fluttering in your stomach.
Warm, slow, and a little tired around the edges in a way that made it better.
Your hand slid up to the back of his neck, fingers catching at the short curls there, while his hand stayed steady at your waist and his thumb traced one absent line against your side through the fabric of your scrubs.
It felt like the whole shift exhaling out of both of you at once.
When he pulled back, just enough to look at you, there was a tiny smugness back in his expression that made you want to bite him.
“What?” you whispered.
He brushed his thumb once more along your jaw. “That’s for me. Not for the floor.”
Your eyebrows went up. “Oh, so now you’re territorial?”
Jack snorted softly. “Don’t flatter yourself.”
“You literally dragged me into a hallway.”
“You were whining.”
“I hate you.”
“No, you don’t.”
You smiled despite yourself. “Unfortunately.”
He leaned in and kissed you again, quicker this time, like punctuation.
From the other side of the swinging door came a muffled shout.
“Are they in there?”
Whitaker.
Then Santos, louder: “I swear to God if they’re making me lose the parking lot category—”
You dropped your forehead to Jack’s shoulder and laughed.
He looked profoundly unimpressed with the entire institution.
“Told you,” he muttered.
“You are so smug right now.”
“I’m always smug.”
“That is not true.”
He pulled back just enough to look at you. “Sweetheart.”
You laughed harder at that, and he let you, hand still warm at your waist, mouth twitching at the corner.
Outside the side corridor, the Pitt kept moving, fireworks injuries, paper charts, Dana probably extorting more money from your coworkers.
But in here, for one stolen minute, it was just the two of you.
No betting pool. No categories. No audience.
Just Jack, a little grumpy, a little tired, and entirely too pleased with himself.
Pairings: jack abbot x reader (other pittlings/pitt-crew mentioned)
Summary: After joining in on the bet on Westbridge, you find an old bet on your relationship with Jack.
Warnings: age-gap relationship, mentions of mental health, explicit language, angst with a happy ending.
Word Count: 4k+
Author’s Note: A little spin on that one iconic scene from ‘10 Things I Hate About You’ but make it Jack.
Your mouth tastes like poor coffee and the leftover bagels in the break room. A tiny hint of mint from the gum you incessantly chewed on. The shift was already hazy, too many traumas had the ambulance bay doors swinging open and close like a pendulum. A bunch of patient’s from Westbridge being shut down were coming through at a steady flow. The ED hadn’t seemed this busy since Pittfest.
Dana was behind you shouting orders, cursing at the damn fax machine like it stole her money. The sound of her hand smacking the side of it echoes through the hub.
“Jesus fucking—anyone know how to fix this godforsaken piece of shit?”
Jack—your Jack—was already sliding in next to her, ever the handyman. Muscles pulled tight under his black t-shirt, camo pants hanging from his hips. An easy half smile tugging at his lips.
“Calm down, I got it”, Jack tells her, hands up in defense; “Robby’s right, you’re awfully punchy today.”
“And I’ll get punchy right between your eyes if you don’t show me how to fix this damn thing.”
Jack’s laughing—hands up in defense again—the sound floating to your ears and making your heart thrum in your chest. A little pitter patter against your ribs that only Jack could cause you.
You quickly did another round, checking on your patients; the kid in seven with a broken arm, the woman in twelve with a rash, the two men in ten and thirteen who’d both been playing too close with fireworks and alcohol. It all felt like a blur by the time you found yourself back at the hub.
Jack was just finishing up whatever he was doing to the fax machine, Dana’s hand patting him on the shoulder as it started working again. You didn’t miss the way he winced—or the way his jaw ticked as he turned his head—trying to keep his reaction inside. You saw it though, you saw everything about him, even when he was stubborn and tried to hide it.
You saw him earlier, sneaking into an empty room, saw the bruise on his back from the bullet that barely swiped him. Seeing him fine now still did little to lessen your worry. The need to tell him to take a moment and sit, to slow down.
You caught his eye from behind the hub, quickly mouthing a quiet ‘Are you ok?’ He offered a nod in return, adverting his gaze to find something else to do before you came over to check him over again. He made himself busy, and so did you.
You wanted to scold him, tell him to go home and get some fucking sleep like he should have hours ago, but he was already being pulled into another room by Robby.
A half an hour later you see him wheeling out a patient on a bed towards the ambulance bay, stopping Robby as he passes by you.
“Where’s Abbot going?”, You try to be nonchalant.
Even if Robby knew about your relationship to some extent, you didn’t want to give anyone else any bait to ask more questions by using his first name so casually.
“Presby. Their machines over there can hold more weight than ours. Safer for the patient. I’m sure he’ll be back”, Robby tells you, that look in his eye that tells you he knows you’re worried.
“Right”, You nod, looking down at the chart in your hands; “Cause why go home and sleep before your shift instead? Who does that?”
Robby’s eyebrows go to his hairline; “You been spending too much time with Dana? Awfully punchy.”
You sigh, pinching between your brows; “No—sorry—I just- I’m worried about him.”
You lower your voice at the last part.
Robby nods, leaning his elbows against the counter of the hub.
“Have you told him this?”
You huff a laugh out before you can stop it; “He knows how I feel about the SWAT thing. I don’t want to take his freedom away from him…not like anything I say would get through that thick skull of his anyways.”
Robby’s smiling now, tapping the counter as he shifts; “He listens to you more than you think.”
You open your mouth to ask what he means, but he’s already winking at you and disappearing down the hall, deeper into the ED.
You sigh, pinching your brows together; “Men.”
─ ─── ─── ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─── ─── ─── ─
It’s an hour later when your phone buzzes, pulling it out of your pocket when you have a free moment. You already know it’s Jack.
Jack: Almost done at Presby. Should be back within the hour.
You: Ok, be safe.
You slide your phone back in your pocket before you decide to type anything more, to tell him to go home and sleep after. To slow down. You know it wouldn’t be the best place to bring it up.
You’re tired, you know he’s tired, and you want more than anything to be curled up in his arms, safe with him in his bed. But that’s hours away, you know that’s not realistic. Especially when you hear McKay calling out for your help with a patient in room three.
Time seems to flow by in different spurts of slow motion and a speed so fast it has your head spinning. A MVC, a kid from the campus library that police brought in, a few burns and cuts, one man in his twenties with a mild concussion after wrecking his four-wheeler. A handful of heat exhaustions set up in cool rooms thanks to Langdon and Mel. By the time you found Dana again your feet were begging to stop moving for even just for a second.
You plopped yourself down into one of the chairs by the hub, sipping at your water and letting the chair turn automatically, sighing when the cool liquid hits your mouth.
“Jesus, it always been this busy on the fourth?”, You ask.
Dana looks at you like you’ve got four heads; “Hon, you should’ve been here for the fourth of ‘06. Today’s still tame.”
You laugh; “Do I even wanna know?”
Dana looks over her glasses at you with a look that says you don’t, before passing you a chart on a clipboard.
“Got Mel’s sister in a room with Langdon. Make sure you get this to her when she comes back downstairs.”
You take the chart, setting it in front of you and frowning at it like it took your last dollar; “She ok?”
“Which one?”, Dana asks, a soft snort escaping her.
“Well, both I guess.”
She sighs, removing her glasses; “Kid’s just nervous, Ellis talked to her. Sister on the other hand has a UTI. We’ll send her home with some antibiotics and she’ll be good as new.”
“That’s good to hear.”
Becca and Mel had become your friends since first arriving at the Pitt. Mel’s quirks caught your attention, and soon your hangouts and conversations involved Becca as well. You were protective of them, no doubt. So hearing they were both going to be better off soon made you relax a little bit.
“What’s your bet on Westbridge, Huckleberry?”
“Oh uh…I’m not really sure.”
You turn your head to the pair behind you, Trinity hovering next to Dennis and giving him a quizzing look that has him fidgeting in her gaze.
You scoff; “Geez, are there already bets on that?”
Trinity’s eyes light up; “Oh yeah! You should see the board. Everything from water damage to an inside job to get the Fourth off.”
You roll your eyes at how unlikely that is.
“Are you gonna bet?”, Dennis asks.
Normally, you wouldn’t take part in it. But after the crazy shift you’d already had and how the day seemed to just stretch further on, you figured why the hell not?
Making your way over to Ahmad’s corner you passed Langdon with a group of intoxicated girls—one of them with a nasty lac to the tongue—you grimaced at the thought of it being your own. You could hear a few complaints about wait times drifting out from somewhere in the waiting room. McKay walked by with Robby, discussing more morphine for a patient. All sounds that were way too common to your ears.
Ellis was leaning against the wall talking to Ahmad when you arrived, tossing you a small wave.
“Hey, you here to bet?”, Ahmad was already on it.
You chuckled; “Depends, what’ve you got already?”
“Oh wouldn’t you like to know.”
He rattles off a list of all kinds of things that could possibly have happened; water damage, power outage, inside job, fire in the hub, tactical threat, nurse shortages and/or strike, and a cyber attack. That one seems a little intentional.
“Damn, you’ve got everything on there”, You muse, eyes flicking over the wall of sticky notes.
“I’ve got $40 for nurses strike”, Ellis says from beside you, sipping on a red bull.
You nod; “Shouldn’t you be at home sleeping?”, You ask, eyebrow raised.
“And miss this? Nah, I’ll sleep when I’m dead. Break room is calling my name though.”
You scoff again, shaking your head; “You sound just like Abbot.”
“I’ll try not to take that as an insult.”
Your gaze flicks back to the wall of sticky notes as Ellis walks away, contemplating which bet would be your best choice. Tapping a finger against your bottom lip you fish your wallet out of your scrubs.
“Alright Ahmed, put me down as $50 for cyber attack, I’m feeling adventurous today.”
He’s already nodding, scribbling your bet down on a sticky note and happily taking your money.
A voice calling out his name rings out from behind you, it sounds like Robby. Probably an uncooperative patient. He slips past you, a hand on your shoulder as he does and shoots you a smile.
“Good luck, miss adventurous.”
Your eyes flick back to the board when he’s gone, old bets still shoved into the furthest corner of the white board. There’s ones about Garcia and Santos, the broken coffee machine in the break room, Dana’s hair clip and how long it takes until she stabs someone with it. There’s even one or two about whatever’s going on with Robby and Whittaker. One in particular however, catches your eye.
It’s slightly faded, a simple ‘Jack Abbot and who?’ written at the top. Your name is under there a few times, Robby’s, hell even Princess’ with her flirty nature. The last name makes your skin run cold. Mohan. The most amount of bets are circled around her name.
The ED was betting on not only your and Jack’s relationship, but apparently was convinced that he had something with Samira too. You liked Samira, she was nice—headstrong and good at what she does—gentle with patients. The bottom line of a sticky note made you choke on air.
‘Empty exam room. Shirtless with Samira, 4th of July.’
What the fuck?
You knew Jack had been injured earlier, he told you himself. But when had he been with Samira?
Princess passing behind you caught your attention.
“Hey”, You call, pointing to the sticky note; “What do you know about this bet?”
Princess glances past you, before leaning in closer.
“Oh that one? That’s older! Hasn’t really been getting bet on much. Lack of evidence lately”, She tells you.
She looks around to make sure no one is looking before speaking again; “Between you and me? I saw Abbot and Samira in one of the exam rooms earlier. He was shirtless—whew he’s built—but they were whispering something about ‘our little secret.’ Abbot pretty much ignores the bets though.”
Your head whips around; “What?”
Princess shrugs; “That’s all I know.”
Jack knew about the bet? You want to ask more, but Perlah pulls her away, leaving you with the aching heaviness in your chest. Did Jack have feelings for Samira?
You knew he loved you, hell that man would move an ocean for you if you needed him too, but your anxiety and self depreciation were creeping up your spine, feeding you lies and making you doubt everything you knew.
Of course he’d like Samira. She’s pretty, headstrong, capable. All the things you compare yourself to. Why wouldn’t he like her more?
A hand on your shoulder snaps you out of it, making you jump.
“Placing bets, huh?”
It’s Jack. Voice warm but tired around the edges.
You shrug out from under his hand; “Yeah. Something like that.”
You say it short, clipped and emotionless. You don’t miss the immediate furrow in his brow at your movement.
“Hey, what’s?-“
“I’ve gotta go help Dana in the hub, sorry!” You blurt out, already turning.
You feel his hand on your wrist.
“Are we still on for breakfast?”, He asks.
You swallow hard; “Uh, yeah I’m gonna need a rain check for that. Sorry.”
Then you’re wiggling your wrist out of his soft grip and disappearing down the hall, leaving all the heaviness you felt to now settle in Jack’s chest.
─ ─── ─── ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─── ─── ─── ─
Jack couldn’t figure it out, had he done something wrong? You’d been avoiding him since he got back from Westbridge. You’d cancelled breakfast, you never did that. He couldn’t sleep even when he went home to nap before his shift. All he could think about was you.
You avoided him during shift change, barely mumbled a goodbye as you snuck around him. No sneaky kiss in the staff room before parting for the night. His head was spinning.
All he could see was your face earlier that day as he placed a hand on your shoulder. The way you practically recoiled at his touch, the hurt in your eyes masked with something else he couldn’t place. He felt like he was losing you.
You didn’t call him after his shift like you normally did. Weren’t asleep in his bed when he got home the next morning. All the texts he’d sent had been stuck on delivered or read for hours now. He didn’t know what he did wrong. He desperately wanted to see you, wanted to fix whatever this was, but he knew you needed your space, and he’d give you that.
You expected him to keep trying to reach you all day, but instead only found one missed call from him and a few text messages.
Jack: I’m sorry for whatever I did. I’m here whenever you want to talk.
Jack: Remember to eat something before your shift. Take care of yourself first. <3
The texts made tears sting your eyes. Even when you were shutting him out he was still incredibly sweet. He still cared. You hated that you were icing him out, but you couldn’t bare seeing him yet. Not with so many questions swirling through your head.
You moved on autopilot through your next shift, ignoring the occasional text from Jack, asking if you were ok. You were off, people clocked it. Robby noticed it immediately, especially when Jack texted him to see if you were ok. Dana noticed too—but stayed quiet and comforted you in the only way she knew how—keeping you busy and making you laugh, an arm around your shoulder when you looked especially beat.
The one time you’d want a steady flow of patients they just didn’t seem to come. You found your mind wandering to Jack, losing count of how many times you had to shake your head to will the tears in your eyes from falling.
You sat alone when you finally got a break, eating the sandwich that had been left for you in the fridge of the break room—you knew it was from Jack—your name scribbled across it in his messy yet perfect handwriting. You’d slept in his t-shirt the night before, curled up in a ball so the collar was lying over your nose; it still smelled like him. The bed felt cold and empty without him lying next to you, it felt wrong.
You stayed professional with Samira, but you’d be lying if you said there wasn’t a very specific ache in your chest each time you saw her. It was driving you mad.
When your shift finally ended, you snuck out as fast as you could. Not lingering to say goodbye, hoping to avoid seeing him. Luck wasn’t on your side, however. An all too familiar voice rang out behind you as you approached your car.
You froze, sighing before turning to look at him.
“Hey”, His voice was quiet; “Can we talk?”
You go to shake your head, staring at the keys in your hands; “There’s nothing to talk about, Jack.”
Even he knew that was a lie.
“Sweetheart, you can’t just push me out when something happens. Did I do something wrong? Please tell me what I did so I can fix it-“
“Do you like Samira?”
Jack froze, eyes wide and mouth still slightly parted.
“What?”
“Do you have feelings for Samira?”
“Dr. Mohan? Honey, no. Why would you think-“
“I saw the bet. In Ahmad’s office, about you and who you might be dating. Princess said you knew about it.”
Jack’s face falls, a deep sigh leaving his nose; “Oh.”
You cross your arms; “Really? All you can say is oh?”
Jack shifts his weight on his feet, his prosthetic clearly already bothering him.
“Alright yes, I knew about the bets.”
You scoff, tears pricking your eyes.
“But they meant nothing to me. I know who I’m with. That’s you, not Samira.”
You shake your head, tears falling.
“I hate you”, You mumble, no heat behind it but it still hits him in the chest just as hard.
“…What?” His eyes are wide, searching your face.
“I said”, You swallow hard, “I hate you.”
He doesn’t move.
You laugh wetly, tears running freely now.
“I hate the way you talk to me, and the way you play with my hair when we’re alone. I hate the way you touch my leg when you drive, and the way you stare”, You swallow thickly.
Jack’s still watching you, looking like he wants to reach out but is too scared to touch you.
“I hate your stupid combat boots and black t-shirts, and the way you always read my mind. I hate that you can make me cry. I hate that you’re always right or when you lie to keep me safe. I hate the way you always know how to make me laugh, and when you’re so patient it makes me cry.”
His hands are on both of your arms now, wind tossing his curls in the nighttime air.
“I hate it that I can’t function when you’re not around, or how I smile every time you call. But I mostly hate the way I can’t and don’t hate you, not even close to it, not even a little bit; not even at all.”
You’re sobbing now, fists in Jack’s shirt as you smack him softly against the chest, like you’re trying to push him away but don’t actually want to. You let him pull you a little closer.
“Sweetheart, hey…it’s alright.”
There’s that stupid nickname that never fails to make you crumble into him.
His hand is on the back of your head, lips ghosting over your hair. It sends shivers down your spine. You let him hold you, but only for a moment.
After a beat you force yourself back, pushing him back slightly enough to make him stumble just a bit. You turn towards your car, climbing in and shutting the door behind you. He watches you sit there for a moment—before your window rolls down.
You look up at him through wet lashes; “Mostly, I hate that I love you so much, Jack. So much that there’s never going to be anyone else.”
He opens his mouth, searching for a reply—but you’re already pulling out of the hospital parking lot—leaving him standing with pink cheeks and the glow of the ER sign illuminating behind him.
─ ─── ─── ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─── ─── ─── ─
You have the next two days off, thankful to be away from the hospital. Tear tracks have become a constant down your face—no point in trying to wipe them away if more are just going to come. You force yourself to eat at least a little, knowing how much Jack would scold you and worry if you didn’t.
You let his spare sneakers take up space by your front door. His extra hoodie hang from the hooks on your wall. The stupid plush blanket on the couch that smells like him remains wrapped around your head. You hate how lonely it is.
Eventually, you run out of food in your fridge, just enough there to last two days. You force yourself to get dressed, ignoring how your phone lights up with a notification from Jack every hour or so.
Still—it’s his shirt you pull over your head—soft sweatpants over your legs. You fix your ponytail, desperately needing to wash your hair. Try your best to remove the tears stains on your cheeks. You take a deep breath before opening your front door and leaving your apartment.
It’s around noon, the Pittsburgh sky shining bright and blue above you, spring on its way. A few birds chirp, allowing a small tug at the corners of your lips. Your shoes crunch on the gravel below you. You reach for the driver’s side door of your car, freezing when your eyes finally land on it.
A small, yet pretty bouquet is tucked into the door handle, all your favorite flowers and colors. A small note is tucked in between a few petals. You pick it up.
‘I’m sorry for everything. Please call me, I miss you. I hope you’re safe. I need you. Everything is better with you. Everything has been better since you. - J. <3’
You feel the tears pricking your eyes again, cursing yourself at the idea of crying again when a voice from behind calls out.
“Pretty huh? Guess that person knows what they’re doing.”
Jack’s standing behind you, hands stuffed in his camo pants, black shirt still tight around his biceps. His eyes a little sunken and dark, like he hasn’t changed or slept in days. Hazel eyes stormy and wet, rimmed with red. He’s been crying too. He looks the same way you’re sure you do. You see the attempt at a smile on his face, trying to lighten the mood.
“What’re you doing here?”, You ask.
He inhales; “I needed to see you, just- let me explain, please?”
You cross your arms, nodding at him to continue.
He shifts on his feet.
“There’s never been anything with Samira. Ever. She’s a colleague, yes we work together sometimes but that’s all it is, work.”
“What about ‘our little secret’?” You ask.
“She patched up my wound. I told her I wanted to keep it off the books. Less paperwork from the hospital and the police. She was just agreeing to keep it between us, that’s all.”
Oh. You feel dumb now. Putting him through all this.
He steps closer, hands hesitating before coming down on both your arms.
“Sweetheart, I love you. Only you. You’re it for me, kid. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about the bet, I just figured it was stupid, we both know who I’m with, who I want to be with. That’s not gonna change. Especially not because of a stupid little sticky note.”
You huff a laugh at the last part, finally making eye contact with him.
“Promise?”, You ask.
He smiles, holding up his pinky finger; “Swear on my last good leg.”
You laugh for real this time, linking your pinky together with his, letting him rest his forehead against yours. Then he’s pressing his lips against yours, soft but firm enough to mean it. He melts into it, like you’re what he’s been missing, like he needs you to breathe. When he pulls back he lets your foreheads touch again, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.
You pull back to look up at him, running your fingers through his curls, shining silver as the sunlight passes through them. He still looks tired, but he’s never looked more relieved, happy. Never looked more Jack than he does when he’s with you.
“You know”, you start, glancing at the bouquet in your hands; “You can’t just buy me flowers every time you fuck up.”
Jack laughs; “Oh I know. There’s always plants, seeds, bushes, trees…”
You smack his chest lightly; “Only if you’re gonna remember to water them all.”
He sighs happily, kissing your forehead; “Anything for you, sweetheart.”
And shit, you knew he was being honest. Knew you were fucked. Knew you were so deeply in love with Jack Abbot that it changed your very soul.
“How about that breakfast date, now? Or brunch?”, He asks, checking his watch.
You nod; “I’d love that.”
As you stand on your tiptoes to kiss him again, pulling him down by the curls at his nape, you realize you can breathe again. Your shoulders are light, no fog in your head. Just his warmth. His scent. His presence. Just Jack. Just the way it’s always been meant to be. Even if you swore up and down you hated him, you both knew you really meant you loved him.
“Oh and by the way”, Jack stops on the other side of your car, smiling mischievously over at you; “You won the Westbridge bet.”
Summary: Trinity Santos knows her cousin has a partner, but doesn’t know who it is. You have only told her they work in the same ED as she does. To Ahmed’s delight, a new bet has started.
Pairing: Jack Abbot x reader
Words: 3.2k
Notes/content: Santos POV, PTMC ER Betting Pool, slight age-gap, secret relationship, no use of Y/N, Santos being confused, Santos being competitive, reader being a bad liar, a bit of foul language, hospital setting, very little medical talk because I am not a doctor.
A/N: Sometimes you need something adjacent to a crackfic to distract you from the serious 100K angst you’re writing. Especially after you’ve binged The Pitt and had surgery. Hope you enjoy!
Link to AO3
Trinity’s older cousin has a partner. She’s sure of it. The only thing is… she doesn’t know who it is.
She had always looked up to you. A good few years older than her, you felt like the big sister she had never had. You played with her when her other cousins did not want to play with the baby of the family, sent her care packages throughout med school, and now went on holidays together. You were her best friend and were there for Trinity when she needed it. You had always been there.
It had been a week since Trinity saw your phone light up, revealing an unfamiliar nickname followed by a heart, and she felt doubt creep in.
She told you everything. Why had you not told her about this mystery partner?
***
It was Tuesday night, which meant movie-and-pasta night. You were in your kitchen, sauce simmering on the stove. It was your turn to pick the pasta and Trinity’s to pick the movie. It always took you both too long to pick out a movie if you had to do it together so, efficient as you both were, you divided the tasks.
Trinity held up her nose a bit when she saw the ravioli on the counter, waiting to be cooked. If it were up to her, it would have been mac and cheese.
“So…” Trinity leaned against the counter with her elbows, watching you stir in some basil into the sauce.
“So?”
“Can you tell me about your partner?”
“What partner?” You answered nonchalantly. Of course you would answer like you knew nothing and try to deflect the question.
“The one you’ve constantly been daydreaming about? I saw the nickname and heart on your phone. Must be serious if they have a nickname.”
Trinity knew you only gave nicknames to people you were very close to and serious about. It was as serious as a love declaration to you. You had given her her nickname ‘light bug’ after a lightning bug landed on her nose during a camping trip when she was five. She was still saved as light bug on your phone.
“Ah, that partner.” You kept your eyes on the pot and gave her a small, apologetic smile. “I would love to tell you more about them, but it’s a bit early to introduce them to family.”
“Can you at least tell me their name?” Trinity leaned closer, trying to get you to stop avoiding her eyes. She didn’t like it when you kept secrets from her and you were a horrible secret keeper.
You stopped stirring the sauce and looked at her.
“Why do you want to know?”
Something clicked. Trinity smiled. “Is it someone I know?”
A line formed between your eyebrows. “What hospital are you working at again?”
“PTMC.”
“Okay, maybe you know them already.” You shrugged, clearly trying to not make a big deal out of it. That was not going to work. Trinity would pull it out of you if she had to.
“Really?” She drawled.
“Probably.”
“It’s a large hospital. I might not even know them if the department they work in is different from mine.”
“What department are you working in?”
“The ED.” Your face slowly paled. Trinity could see she was winning.
“What shift?” She could hear the slight pleading in your voice to stop her questioning.
“Mostly day shifts, some nights. I basically know everyone.”
“Then you definitely know them.” Trinity let out a laugh and leaned forward.
“Tell me!”
“No, it’s still very new and I haven’t discussed this with them yet!” It was obvious you wanted to tell her, but didn’t want to cross a boundary with her partner. Unfortunately for you, her curiosity was winning.
“Tell me!” Trinity grabbed your arm.
“No!” You laughed.
“I’ll use my puppy eyes and I’ll do your dishes for a week.”
“That’s unnecessary. I have a dishwasher.” You peeled her hand off your arm. She kept looking at you with big eyes. It was kind of frightening how well it still worked after all these years.
“I’ll ask them if I can, okay?”
“Yes!” She held her hands up in victory.
You sighed and gave her the wooden spoon. “Here, take over.”
A little while later, you stepped into the kitchen. “They said I can tell you.”
“Fuck yes! Okay, spill.” Her eyes were wide and if she was clutching the wooden spoon any harder, it could break in half. She could feel the victory already.
“They actually suggested something different.” A conniving smirk grew on your face and Trinity knew she had lost.
“You know what would be more fun? You should start a betting board at work. Tell Ahmed. From what I’ve heard, I’m sure he’ll be thrilled.”
Trinity groaned. “Fine.”
***
“Hey, Ahmed!” Trinity pushed open the doors, still wearing her coat. There was something she needed to do before the chaos of the day started.
“Santos! Need anything? He was standing in his usual spot near the ambulance entrance.
“Not really, but I think I have something you might be interested in.”
“Go on.” Ahmed raised a casual eyebrow.
“I have a bet.”
A big smile grew on his face. ”Tell. Me. More.”
***
“Okay. So, saying goes that Santos’ cousin is dating someone from this department. Bets are on who, how long they’ve been dating and how they met. Starting at five dollars.” Ahmed was telling the group of medical assistants.
“Why do we want to know who her cousin is dating if we don’t know her cousin?” Antoine asked.
“ Yeah, why would we want to know?” Larry added.
“Why would you not want to win an insane amount of money?” Ahmed countered. Antoine and Larry looked at each other.
“Good point. Put me in for ten on Mohan, one year and coffee shop.”
“Fifteen on Jesse, two months and friends-to-lovers since university.
***
“You’ve met her, right?” Javadi asked Whitaker.
“Yes, she’s been around for movie nights sometimes. Why?”
“Can you tell me more about her?”
“You’re thinking about joining in on the bet?”
“Maybe.”
“Alright” Whitaker moved a little closer, Javadi leaned in.
“She’s a few years older than us, I’d say around Garcia’s age. Works around the corner as a professor and has a lot of embarrassing stories about Santos.”
“Really?” Javadi’s eyes stared to shine, the bet completely forgotten.
***
“Santos!” Princess called.
“Yeah?” Trinity looked up from her charting. It was boring and taking too long. She was grateful for the distraction.
“Show me a picture of your cousin.”
“Why would I show you a picture of my cousin?”
“For the bet! I need to know about her range.” Princess added with a few swaying shoulders.
“Her range?” Trinity lifted an eyebrow.
“Yeah. Like, would she be a person Dr King is dating or is she more like Dr Robby’s age?” Princess whispered behind her hand. Mel looked up, her mouth opening to protest, but quickly closing as she focused on her notes again.
“Good point.” Trinity pulled her phone out of her pocket and quickly looked up a recent photo of you. “There she is.”
“Oh, she’s cute! Way out of his range then. Got it!” Princess turned around, sprinted toward Ahmed and yelled a quick thank you over her shoulder. Trinity did not miss the look of offence on Dr Robby’s face. Princess slammed twenty dollars on the table.
“Put me up for Mateo, five months and elevator. That boy’s been too smiley lately.”
***
The bets were piling up and Trinity saw that the whiteboard was already filled with post-its. The night shift had not even come in yet.
She stood in front of the whiteboard.
Garcia, 9 months, gift shop for twenty. Prescott, 2 months, sports bar for ten. King, 4 months, bookstore for thirty. The list went on and on.
Mel had protested at that last one, which earned a groan from Langdon. He had no more cash to double the bet and change it and Ahmed did not accept promises of money.
She herself had fifty bucks riding on Dr Shen, three months and the Dunkin’ Donuts around the corner. The place was on your way to work and Shen was always sipping that coffee during handovers. Taking your blushing from the last few months into account, it was the perfect place, match and time.
A complete foolproof plan.
She could use the money to buy that new phone she had wanted.
***
An hour before the night shift started, Trinity looked up from her charting and saw Dr Abbot walking into the ED.
“Slow day?” He said as he dropped his stethoscope on the counter near Dr Robby and glanced at the board. Trinity was glad she hadn’t complained about charting that moment. She knew her attendings did not like her perfectly concise reports, calling them too short and without detail to follow her diagnosis.
“Kind of, you could say that.”
Abbot’s eyes squinted a little at Robby. “Something’s different. What happened?”
Robby nodded in the direction of the whiteboard.
“Ahmed started another bet. Apparently, one of us is dating Santos’ cousin.”
“What are they betting on?”
“Who, how long they’ve been dating and how they met. Everyone’s pretty hyped to find out. Apparently her cousin works right around the corner at the university. Everyone’s been offending each other and singing her praises all day.”
“Really?” Abbot smiled, amused by the remark. “And why would this be so interesting to warrant a bet?” He moved a little closer and looked at the post its.
Robby put his hands up in defence. “I don’t know, man. Slow day.”
Ahmed took that moment to make an announcement.
“Place your bets before the night shift’s over. Santos is going to call her cousin tomorrow morning during handover for the reveal!”
Trinity heard Abbot sigh. “Let’s hope the gossip is not a distraction.”
“Oh, it definitely will be. Good luck tonight, brother.” Robby laughed.
***
That night, after her shift, Trinity told you about the bet over the phone.
“There are so many people who want to know who it is. You have officially started at least three conspiracy theories.”
“Have I now?” Your voice sounded amused over the speaker while Trinity laid on top of her bed. Trinity could hear Huckleberry walking by and lowered the volume of her phone. There was still time for him to change his bet and with his new doctor’s salary he actually had the money to back it up.
“You have. Perlah believes you’re dating someone from the night shift, and Mel believes you’re dating someone who used to work at the ED.”
“Oh, he definitely still works there.”
“He! You said he! It’s a man!” She whisper-shouted, hoping Whitaker would not hear.
Trinity groaned. “Don’t tell me you’re fucking Huckleberry.”
“Who?”
“Whitaker.”
“What? No!” Her shoulders sagged with relief at your reaction. Whitaker and you knew each other from movie nights at their place, but you dating him would only make things awkward in the house. Besides, while she knew you deserved an actual nice guy like him, the match did not make sense at all. And you always seemed to attract handsome men.
Trinity blanched.
“Don’t tell me it’s Langdon.”
“Isn’t he married?” She could hear the slight laughter in your tone.
“True. Total wife and kids guy.” She let out a sigh. You dodged a bullet there.
“Is he a nurse?” She tried.
“Nope.”
“Guard?”
“Nope.”
“Medical assistant?”
“No.”
“Well, it’s either that or you’re fucking an attending.”
You stayed silent.
“Oh my god, you’re fucking an attending?!”
Your laughter rang through the room.
“Please tell me it’s Shen! I bet fifty on Shen.”
Trinity shivered. “Don’t say it’s Robby. That would be - No. Just no.” She could not sit through a Christmas dinner with that smug smile across her. She liked him as her boss. He was a good doctor and always in for a joke or a story. But it was a different thing to have him sit with them on movie nights.
You laughed even harder.
“Don’t worry, Trinity. You’ll find out tomorrow.” You managed between laughs.
“Fine.” She resigned, no closer to her goal, but still feeling confident about her bet. It was Shen, she knew it for sure.
“I should go. You’ll call me tomorrow morning?”
“I will, for the big reveal.”
“For the big reveal. ‘Night, light bug.” You drawled out the last syllables like you did when you tucked little Trinity into bed.
“‘Night, sunshine.” Trinity pressed the red button on her phone.
Her cousin was dating an attending in the ED.
There were only four options then.
Dr Robby, Al-Hashimi, Abbot or Shen.
It had to be Shen. She had bet fifty dollars on it.
Dr Robby was not your type. While you had a tendency to fall for noble people, you hated motorcycles. Lucky for her, he had become nearly insufferable about his after he came back from his sabbatical.
Al-Hashimi was too stubborn for you. While she thought it was a good quality to have in the ED, you deserved a bit of freedom in doing things your way.
Abbot - well, he was not it. Trinity had no particular reason, but she knew that with his crazy schedule between being a full time senior attending in the ED and volunteering as a doctor for a fucking SWAT team, he had no time left to meet people. Let alone date them. You would like his looks and the quiet but commanding presence, but you also liked to have a life outside of work that did not include scalpels and suture kits.
So it had to be Shen.
It just had to be.
***
The next morning everyone was gathered around the whiteboard. Ahmed had gotten it out of the dispatch room and put it in front of the hub.
“Alright, alright, everyone. We all know why we’re here.”
Trinity scoffed a little. Ahmed really was trying to make a show out of it.
In the corner of her eye, she saw Abbot looking at the whiteboard with a slight smile. Why was he standing so close to the front of the group? Yesterday, he wasn’t interested in the bet, calling it a distraction.
Shen was also near the whiteboard, coffee in hand. It would only make sense for her cousin’s partner to stand so close to the whiteboard. Trinity was already counting the bills in her head.
“We all want to know who of us here is dating Santos’ cousin.” Ahmed held out his hand to her in a dramatic gesture. “Santos, if you please.”
Trinity pressed the call button on her phone.
“Hello?” You answered.
“Hi there, it’s Trinity. Calling for the reveal. You’re on speaker by the way.”
“Indeed you are, no chance at foul play!” She heard Donnie yell from behind her.
You giggled a little. “Good to know. I’m just walking to work now.”
The other end of the line stayed silent for a while.
“Well? Tell us.” Trinity spoke into the mic of her phone. The suspense was killing her. She had been waiting more than a whole day just to hear a single name.
“Actually, I thought it might be fun to reveal it in reverse order.”
Abbot snorted lightly next to her, shaking his head.
“Okay, so first is the place we met. We met on the corner of the street near the hospital, in front of Dunkin’ Donuts. I ran into him and spilled coffee all over his scrubs.”
The answer was met with a lot of groans, but Trinity felt pride glowing in her chest. One step closer to victory.
Ahmed removed all answers that had nothing to do with street and coffee shop from the whiteboard.
“Second, we have been seeing each other for three months now. After I spilled coffee all over him, I tried to clean it up. He made a joke about wanting to take me out on a date first, and that was that.”
Ahmed removed the post its.
Trinity’s pride glowed brighter. Only one answer and she would have her new phone.
“And now that we’ve come to the final answer, I believe the person themselves could reveal it best.” Trinity locked eyes on Shen to her left. This was it, she could taste victory.
There was a shuffle on her right.
It couldn’t be.
Shit.
Abbot had stepped forward and held his hand up.
Trinity nearly dropped her phone.
“Hi love, did you have fun with the dramatics?” He had the audacity to sound amused.
“Oh, I sure did!” You replied. “My dearest gamblers, I am dating Dr. Jack Abbot.”
All around, Trinity heard applause.
She had lost. She was so sure of her answer, but she lost because of the last part of the question.
“Alright, thanks everyone. Back to your stations and handovers.” Dr. Abbot waved them off while receiving pats on his shoulders.
“Trinity? Could you give me Jack, please?” Your voice pulled her out of her daze.
“Yeah. Yeah, of course.” She turned the speaker off and handed her phone to Abbot.
“She wants to talk to you.” She said with her lips pressed together in a small awkward smile.
“Thanks.” Abbot took the phone with a small but bright smile and walked into one of the rooms.
Ahmed removed the last post its off the whiteboard.
“All this work,” he grumbled, “and no one even took the whole prize. Have to divide it like losers.”
Trinity turned toward the hub, starting her day with going through charts before discussing them with a second year resident from the night shift. From her stool, she could see Dr Abbot smiling and laughing.
He would make you happy. She knew that, just as she knew you were laughing and smiling just as much as the attending.
The more she thought about it, the more she could see it.
You had a tendency to get carried away in stressful moments and there was no one more steady in those moments than Abbot. She had seen him during the Pitt Fest chaos. It was impressive.
She also knew he was a very busy person due to his past and there was no one more understanding and warm than you. Trinity knew that firsthand. You might give him a chance to stop running and enjoy the world around him more.
Abbot hung up, walked to the hub and handed Trinity her phone.
“Thank you for letting me borrow it.”
“No problem, Dr Abbot. I can see she makes you happy.”
“That she does. I hope I do the same for her every day.” It sounded like he was making a promise. Abbot nodded at her and left in the direction of dr. Robby.
Trinity shot you a quick text.
Soooo… You into older veterans now? 😉
Shut up, light bug.
Not soon after, three dots appeared.
I’ll tell you the details of the meet cute tonight.
Trinity smiled at the text and put her phone in her pocket. It was time to see today’s first patient.
summary : a nurse's salary does not pay all the bills in Pittsburgh, but at least jack abbot knows how to keep a secret
tags/description : 18+ MDNI SLIGHT SMUT, fem!reader, reader is a nurse but a bar dancer on the side, pet names (sweetheart, baby, etc), reader n abbot have a crush on each other, so much pining (ooo they want each other so bad), sexual tension, makeout, hickies, might be OOC abbot im sorry </3 spell checked not proofread
word count: 4129
pt 2
a/n : LONGTIME READER FIRST TIME WRITER <3 its my new years resolution to branch out more hobbies so why not indulge in my fanfic fantasies LOL. i just watched coyote ugly for the first time so it was clearly a BIG inspo. please bully me if this is poorly written i want to be motivated to write better </3 dividers by cafekitsune !
a/n pt 2: TY GUYS SO MUCH FOR THE LOVE!!!! i'm working on a part 2 right now hopefully i can post it tomorrow evening ehehehe
For a western, rock themed bar the music did not fit very well. Richman, Take it Off, only a sprinkling of rock bands, and someone succeeding in getting the DJ to play one BTS song. This wasn't Jack Abbot's typical bar scene, compared to the dim and quiet bar the older Pitt crew attends down the street from PTMC. He only managed to be here by the constant insistence from Parker Ellis and Trinity Santos. Dennis Whitaker said he was also forced to come, but by the way he was singing along, he probably was the easiest to convince.
Trashy was the best way he could describe. Maybe in a charming way. At the very least there was a mix of young and older people. "The Bottom Shelf" it was called.
Girls bartending mount the high counters of the bar, not afraid to tip over a few glasses and splash patrons. Bodies moving, hips rolling and grinding in the air.
An amusing show, before Jack's eyes fell onto you. A few feet away from the group, you proudly dance on the counter top with your coworkers. Black denim shorts hung low below your belly button, a vintage tank top that you cropped way too high on accident (your friends said it was perfect for the job anyways), and black cowboy boots stomping against a creaking wood bar. Jewelry glittered in the light and nearly tangled with all the movement.
It's... different than what Jack Abbot is used to seeing you in. Compared to what anyone is used to seeing you in. The gray scrubs sometimes made you blend in, not to Jack. He would be able to spot you anywhere; the shine of your hair, the way you bit the corner of your lip while you focus, and an infectious smile brighter than hospital LEDs. It was all the same here, just different.
It was almost shameless the way he was looking at you. The outfit left little to his imagination. If anything, it helped him undress you like this better than the scrubs. Who was he kidding, he still thought the scrubs were perfect on you.
A good kind of different? Yes, a bonus he gets to think about often now.
This was the enjoyable part of your job, letting loose and having fun. Beer and water were splashed on to you, you squealed and spun around in it. Kneeling on the bar to pour more drinks and lip sync with drunkards. Hips swayed from side to side, moving your hands all over your body. It was raunchy, trashy, but you reveled in it. Grabbing your girls on the bar squeezing hips, tits, ass. Making eye contact with anyone that would look. Sex sells, they say, and it pays for your rent at the end of the day. Drunk people slipped bills into your boots, sometimes you just grab it from them, slipping crinkled dollars between your hips and shorts.
Eyes scanning the crowd, hooting and hollering for more dancing. Your eyes finally met his. Oh god, you thought, not like this. Frozen in place, wanting to run, but virtually nowhere to go. A coworker notices and nudges you, motioning you to not stop. And you really couldn't stop.
It wasn't long for the others to notice while Jack had been staring for a bit too long. He wasn't a jaw dropped kind of guy, he knew how to keep his composure with a smirk; he liked what he was seeing. Dennis' eyes almost bulged from the sockets, hurriedly nudging and shoving for Trinity and Parker to see. Both their jaws dropped and quickly formed in a shit-eating grin.
"HOLY SHIT!" Trinity yelled out loud. Trinity was very vocal in hyping up your 'performance' . They gravitated towards you, still not able to get too close through the crowd, but enough for Jack to feel up close and personal.
The corner of your lips struggled to fall from a nervous smile. Their eyes were amazed at this side of you. Jack's gaze seared hotter than theirs. He looked up and down slowly, wanting to take in every inch of you while you were like this. Who knows if you'd ever let them come back here after today. Now that he was closer, he could see more. The cleavage of the tank top felt more pronounced when you occasionally bent forward. A sheen of sweat on your stomach and legs.
He stared so long he forgot he even came with other people. It felt like a show just for him, from his close, personal friend...
Jack wanted to get closer. Feel the warmth of your body from all the dancing. Listen to the heavy breaths leaving your rosy lips. His chest felt tight, and his pants. He's going to enjoy a nice cold shower when he gets home.
As girls started to climb off the bar, you figured it was your time to confront the inevitable. Quickly pocketing a few bills into pockets, boots meeting the sticky floor. Pushing past the crowd, you were able to meet with the group of your colleagues.
Jack could hear your heaving breath more clearly now, even through the loud bass of Beautiful Liar by Beyonce.
There was an awkward silence from everyone. Wild smiles while your lips were bitten into a guilty smile.
"So how long have you been a go-go dancer?" Parker snickered.
"I am not a go-go dancer! I'm technically a bartender, dancing... just a small part of the job description." Your shoulders shrug, trying not to make it a bigger deal than it is.
Jack was still eerily quiet, breath caught in his throat and trying to will his erection away.
"You looked good, very different than what we're used to, but this suits you." Santos praised.
Good doesn't even cover it, Jack thought.
The song changes again, catching Santos' attention, pulling Parker and Ellis away to dance. Leaving you and Jack alone.
The feeling between Jack and you is sticky. Wanting to dance around the subject that one of the most smiley nurses he knows was capable of working here. You made it work though, very well.
"Soo.. cats out of the bag!" You draw out a flustered laugh.
His eyes rake down your body, looking at every thread and fiber that hid the rest of you from him. Your shirt, partially soaked in beer, water, and sweat clung to your skin. You thought you looked crazy in his eyes.
He needed this, to see that you had a side that was willing to step out of your comfort zone. A part of you that wanted to be wild. Because if that was true, there was a possibility you might indulge in an old man with a school boy crush on you. Not that he would admit that you directly, or anyone. Robby caught on at some point, but knew Jack would never admit to letting his eyes follow you as you walked past.
"It certainly is a night and day comparison but, you killed it up there sweetheart." The corner of his lips pulling into a smirk.
Oh good lord, your heart might as well have fallen right into your panties. That praise, that nickname, you wanted to rip your top off right there for him.
"Do you wanna sit? I can get you a drink, I'm allowed two free drinks a night and I used it already as a confidence booster. It's actually funny you'd think for how long I've been working here I wouldn't need it, but it's still daunting like being that high up-"
Jack brings his hand up to your shoulder. Squeezing and brushing his thumb over your collar bone. Warm and soft, he has never felt this much of your skin before... at all actually. "Yes I would like a drink."
He chuckled to halt your rambling. The rambling that always sucked him in, it was cute how lost in your thought process you could get.
A thankful sigh left your lips, he was acting more chill about this than you thought anyone would be.
Your fingers pick his hand off your shoulder, using it to pull and guide him through the crowd. Delicate fingers on his rough skin, well used he likes to call it. Jack curled his fingers into your hold, not wanting to break the bond and lose the sensation of him holding your hand. He's always imagined what it felt like to truly hold your hand, rather than the pathetic brushes when it came to working on a patient.
Tangling fingers together on casual walks, holding your hands to hold you down against a rocking bed. To name a few...
He's pulled away from his borderline impure thoughts when you lead him to sit in a bar stool at the very end of the bar. A bit quieter, less people crowding around, more of the casual talkers.
Pulling himself into the higher chair, prosthetic leg resting on the step holding the legs together. Jack took him to actually look around the place, he was too distracted by you to realize the amount of bras hanging above the wall of liquor. His eyes fall back to you, back turned to him as you rummage around the crowded bar to find something for him to drink. Bending over, your shorts slipping a bit and peaking out the cheetah print of your panties. His heart begged for it to slip down lower. Your back arched as you bent back up, reaching for a bottle opener, a chilled bottle in your other hand. He could see it as clear as day, imaging your bare back to him, bent to his will as his large hands held your hips flush to his pelvis.
Quickly looking back to your face, whipped back to reality. Cracking off the bottle cap and sliding the green bottle of beer. Jack took it happily, a soft 'thank you' before taking a sip.
“You having fun so far?” you ask.
He sighs, not sure what to admit. He wasn’t feeling it until you popped up.
“‘S not my normal scene, but I was compelled to stay a bit longer.” He says with a trailing sigh, settling into the bar stool.
You purse your lips, nodding along with his statement. He was right, the only ‘older men’ here were usually on the prowl for you and your coworkers.
You sigh, resting your chin on an open palm. "Alright... what do you wanna know?" In surrender, arms bracing your body against the bar. Eyes lifting to finally meet him, both of your eyes half lidded.
Jack's strong gaze always held unnecessary power over you. It kept you in place, tense, waiting for him to command your presence. You longed to hear him command more than to administer meds.
"Well now sweetheart, I think that's more your job to tell me what I should know. Won't push where you don't want me." A swig from his beer left his mind loosen, just wanting to hear your voice.
"Well... out-of-state tuition for California was not nice to me or my student loans. That and all I had to take out to move here piled up. I couldn't stand my roommate when I first got here, so I opted to live on my own. I have standards and really didn't want to live in a shitbox. So, 1,800 in rent, 60k in student loans, I don't even want to talk about how much my utilities cost, I looked for other options..."
Your fingers started twirling your hair between the thumb and index, a nervous habit you did when you were deep in speech. This is what he was used to seeing. Willing to talk your ear off without asking if the other person was busy, you had a way that kept people sucked in while you talked. A soft voice that still had a brightness in it no matter the situation. You usually didn't share this much about your personal matters.
"I was kinda just barely above water. A friend of mine brought me here and I heard they were looking for a new girl so.. I got a second job. It was way more than I asked for, I had to audition and everything. Buy a whole new wardrobe, I never used to dress like this." You motion to the low cut top and massive space between the chopped hem of the tank and your low rise shorts. Jack tried to conceal his gulp. It was like you gave him permission to look, and he took the chance.
"I only intended to stay until I got a raise or more hours. But its hard to part from here, no matter how much it feels like bills and costs keep piling up. I try to send money back home when I can, people tell me I shouldn't but that's just how I am. And scrubs are so fucking expensive to replace." You finished with a snort.
Jack had not taken a sip at all through your mini monologue. He could give less of a fuck about beer at this point. He was laser focused on you. The wetness of your top had started to dry, shoulders rising and falling as you breathed through each spoken word.
"Hate to say though, I grew to appreciate the attention." Teasing as you pat the bills sprouting from your shorts.
"'S not easy balancing all of this at once, alone. You could have always asked for help, I don't mind throwing something your way." He offered up.
"No I couldn't let you do that, it's my bed to lay in." He wanted to push more, asking why. That wasn't his place.
There was a stretch of silence. You cleaned the area a bit, not wanting to get caught by your boss for not working. Sliding a few drinks to people that had asked. You worked just as smoothing as you did in the ER. Everything about you moved smoothly. Making drinks, or dancing in front of a gaggle of wasted people.
This is how it was in the ER too, with the both of you. Small bursts of closeness, then it got awkward when one of you remembered it wasn't appropriate.
But technically, you weren't a nurse right now.
"I'm gonna take my break now actually, do you want to get some air with me?" Asking hopefully.
Jack smiled, getting up from his seat and chugging the rest of the beer, for confidence of course. You felt dirty watching his neck. Muscles moving as the liquid moved. That wasn't the weirdest thing you've had about him before.
You motion for Jack to follow you past the bar. A side door just out of sight opening to a lit ally. The music inside faintly heard from the other side of thick walls. You pushed your back against the walls of the building, humming as the cold brick pressed against any exposed skin. Jack took his place in front of you, two steps in front of you. A modest distance, enough for Jesus. His hands shoved into the pockets of his dark denim jacket. You craned your neck just a bit to look at him directly. The way he towers over you fills your stomach with a swarm of butterflies.
"I-It would be great if you didn't tell anyone that I work here... I mean it's not a big secret anyone can come here its not a large city-"
Jack puts a hand up again, motioning to hush you.
"It's alright, 'm not gonna blab to anyone. Not my business and not theirs." He said with comfort. Any secret you share is safe with him. It's something he reveled in, knowing something intimate about you, all for him. If anyone else knew, he'd surely lose the possibility of having all of this to himself.
Your eyes soften to say thank you, a soft smile gracing his presence. He wanted to burst. This was the most alone time you've ever had together. There was always a clamoring of hospital sounds in the background. This moment was silent with subtle city sounds. No one could possibly pull you away from each other.
The ally lights did you so much more justice than they did inside, his head was spinning seeing your body even closer. A bit of squish from the fit of the shorts on your hip. Thighs full and plump, you shave your legs for the job, he wonders if you leave other parts natural.
You did some staring as well. His black shirt was fitted compared to his looser scrubs. He filled out his jacket and jeans perfectly. Silvered auburn curls looked flat against his forehead. Impulsively, you reached your hand up to fix it, fluffing up with your fingers as he always had it.
Hot.
"Right back at ya baby." A smug sneer, his eyes focused on your body away. It was too much for him at this point.
You choked on a little spit, realizing you thought out loud.
"Oh god- I'm sorry, I didn't mean for you to hear that." Palming your cheeks to hide the burning red that appeared.
"I don't mind, like I said, you really fit the whole 'down n dirty' outfit." He took one step forward.
Instinctively, your arms moved to hug your stomach, shy from how exposed you were to superior. Play it cool bro, you thought.
“This? It’s not much, it’s the dancing that I had to really get used to. I wasn’t much of a partier in college so I had to learn how to dance… I get why Ellis thought I was a go-go dancer though.”
"I can tell the hard work pays off, you put on an addictive show sweetheart." The alcohol was really surging through his veins now. He has you here all to himself, and so far you haven’t told him to fuck off. Never say never.
The air caught in your throat, you couldn’t tell if your body wanted to be embarrassed or freak out because Jack Abbot had been praising you. His step forward signaled a surge of real confidence in your body.
“If it’s addicting, you can always come back for more..” Words laced with a bit of hope, sussing out if he was truly down to clown.
“Thought you didn’t want anyone to know baby? Figured after tonight I’m getting cut off from this side of you.” His head tilts, raising his eyebrows, also feeling out your vibe.
“Well it’s different with you, you already know so I gotta keep an eye on you, make sure you keep my dirty secret.”
“Mmm, only dirty if you make it that way.” He says, another step forward. His shoes meet with your boots.
A deep exhale pushed your chest up, closing the small space between your chests. Giving him more of a chance to look at your cleavage. Jack’s free will wanted to grab you and push your body against his, take you right in this dank ally. He’s drunk off your scent, sweet mixed with the tang of alcohol. Could smell you without having to really go in to sniff.
“Is it dirty, Dr. Abbot?” Eyes flicking up to him innocently. You knew what you were doing, pushing the limit.
Jack closed his eyes, leaning his head back to take a deep breath. His restraint was running thin. The flood gates were bursting.
“Jack, and only if it’s gonna be dirty for me baby.”
Without second guessing, his hand reaches to cradle the space above your neck, another reaching to your reddened cheek. A thumb moving to brush the plump of your bottom lip. Just as he thought, soft and warm. Just what he needed from you. His hands pull you in, lips catching each other. Working in tandem, fighting to sneak past each other's lips. Tongues licking into the kiss to taste more of the other. Jack won, deepening to kiss to feel the inside of your warm mouth. God he needed to put his cock here soon. You tasted the faint, shitty beer on his tongue.
Your hands find their place against his chest, one gripping the edge of his jacket. It pulled him in closer, egging him on to take up more of the space between you. It was non-exsistent at this point.
He pulled away a bit, catching his breath through heavy pants. Before you could say anything, his lips met back with yours. Then you cheek, jaw, neck. He settled there, taking in a long awaited inhale of your scent. A subtle apple scent, licking over a small patch of skin on your jugular. Nipping at the skin, a soft bite that pulled out a curt moan from your lips. He lowered himself, kissing, sucking, biting any open skin. Until he got to the tops of your breasts.
The holy land, he wanted to mark it, make it his own before it was too late. The pillowy skin called to him. Latching onto, sucking the skin between his teeth. His hands had long left your neck, large hands wrapping around your waist. Held you in place as you squirmed under his touch. Thighs pressing together to relieve the need for friction in your panties.
“Jack… ‘m need more.. I want more.” You pant out pathetically. This was a rare moment for you, the fantasies in the back of your mind finally coming true.
He groaned hearing you whimper out his name, urging him to give you all that you want. His right hand peels away from your smooth skin, tickling down to the dip into your shorts. He cups your wet panties, the cheetah print ones that hid your soaking cunt from you. A warm slick gushed from the fabric and flooded his fingers. Time stood still like this.
“I’ll give you anything you want, baby, you’re so good for me.” Jack whispers to you. Removing himself from your bruised chest up to your ear.
“HEY”
A loud call pulled you and Jack back to reality. He didn't shuffle to pull away, an annoyed look to the door as he was rudely interrupted. Your coworker, blonde hair hanging as she peaked her head out of the doorway.
“Love this for you babe, but your 20 was done like 10 minutes ago… Soo chop chop!” She winks to you before closing the door behind her.
Your head leans against the wall as you sigh. It was just getting good. You were too far gone to recover from this and go back to working. You laughed at how this turned out. Body tingling in need for Jack’s touch, forgetting about the demand of the bar. Your hearing pulsed, still feeling dizzy from the sensation of his hand on your clad pussy. You must have been waiting for this awhile if you’re this dazed already.
Jack pulled his hand away from your shorts, large fingers glinting with your arousal. His eyes met yours as he licked away the mess from his digits. You might as well pass away at this point.
“I guess I gotta get back out there.” your tone disappointed.
“Duty calls, got to get down n dirty again.” He teases. As if he didn’t do enough damage to you already.
“You’re going to kill me, Jack Abbot.”
“Good thing I know how to keep that from happening.” He muses.
He leans in for one more kiss. Softer, sweeter. More meaningful than before, not that the first kiss didn’t mean wonders to you. This one had intent, a goodnight kiss. Your hand reaches up to brush his cheek, wanting to touch him before parting ways for the night.
“See you later” was all you left with before turning away, opening the heavy door and closing it behind you.
Jack ran his hand through his dampened hair. Hot body temperature makes him sweat through that entire makeout. That truly made him feel old, hadn’t made out with anyone like that in a long time. He needed more, wanted more out of you. He wanted to see this side, the one outside of work. Maybe not just the bar dancer side, those outfits are a bonus for him only.
His phone buzzes in his pocket. Taking it out, swiping it open to see your name on the screen.
Get home safe Jack <3 See you tomorrow
Along with a picture of you. Angled down at you, a teasing smile, and the prominent hickey he left at the top of your chest. He had never saved a picture so fast, sure to use it later for himself. Another text popped up.
Parker Ellis: Come on peepaw we r leaving. Whitaker drank himself messy again.
a/n: hey so was this buns you can be honest <3 I HAD A LOT OF FUN WRITING THO!!!
requests are open <3
date night gets interesting when robby unknowingly interrupts yours and jack’s dinner with a date of his own—and no one is more nosy than the Abbots.
contents: smut, references to erectile dysfunction (i couldn’t help myself, sorry), being lil judgy and sexy together 🫶, a whole lotta fluff and smut tbh, lighthearted bullying of robby (he deserves it sometimes).
[jack abbot x fem!reader; wc: 6.0k ]
masterlist | other jack abbot fics
The restaurant was crowded for a Tuesday night.
Clinking glasses and consistent chatter, it would have been easy to get lost in the noise but when Jack was in front of you, smiling with those eyes that never seemed to leave you, it was practically impossible to be distracted by anything but him.
“…So Henderson came around looking around for an attending and of course—” Jack gestured to himself proudly and you scoffed over the rim of your glass.
“How humble of you.”
“Of course.” You motioned for him to continue, biting the side of your lip to disguise the effect of his charm.
“He takes me to this guy, maybe thirty years old, who can’t sit down. The reason? He lost a bet and shoved a piece of wood up his asshole.”
“Jesus, Jack!” You shushed. Your eyes darted around to the surrounding tables. “We’re in public!”
“And I’m a doctor,” he replied casually. “Things happen. I can’t keep them bottled inside or I’ll implode. Besides, this was like… a ‘you need to know this kind’ of thing.”
You lifted your glass again to wash the taste of his story out of your mouth. “I think I want to be left out of the ‘need to know’ from now on. Save that discussion for Dr.—”
Just as you felt the wine hit your tongue enough to muffle his therapist’s name, you caught a figure over Jack’s shoulder. Tall and unmistakable, the wine shot out from your lips and back into the glass like a waterfall.
“Holy shit,” you mumbled.
“What?” Jack asked concerned. His hand flashed across the table, clattering with your utensils. “What’s wrong?”
“Robby.” You coughed, “He’s on a date. Here.”
Jack’s neck careened in question as if he didn’t catch your words. You tried not to bring attention to the table, muffling your coughs with a napkin, and Jack took the glass from your hand carefully.
“He didn’t say anything at rounds this morning.”
“I’m not kidding.” You put the napkin back down. “He’s literally right there. Did you tell him we were coming here?”
“No.” Jack shook his head. He spared a fraction of a second to glimpse over his shoulder and clock Robby and his date near the host stand at the front of the restaurant.
Goddamn. Perlah was right. The rumors, which he had always taken with a grain of salt, were true.
“I thought he wasn’t dating anymore.”
Jack shrugged. “Every time he dumps someone he swears it off. But he’s a shit liar and gossip spreads fast whenever he makes eyes at someone.”
Your face curled in aversion of Robby’s romantic life. Just the thought of him… yeah, it made you want to seek out therapy too.
Michael Robinavitch was a serial dater—or, a serial wine, dine, and “leave someone behind” type of guy. Nothing ever worked out for him and you were always glad to give him a list of things to work on when he and Jack watched a Steeler’s game in the garage.
You’d seen it hundreds of times. Well, maybe not hundreds of times but enough for you and Jack to both come to the conclusion that Robby was never going to be one to marry. It wasn’t in his cards because he made stupid decisions and you, more than Jack, felt terrible for the women who fell into Robby’s little trap.
But you were a woman. There were some things that even if Jack tried his absolute best to understand, he wouldn’t be able to.
“So the woman is…?” You asked curiously.
As they stood behind rows of tables and decor, Robby and his date conversed differently than you and Jack did. It was new, a little nervous, and complete with a layer of discomfort anyone with a soul could feel 20 feet away. The uneasiness of their stature didn’t surprise you in the slightest. After a certain age, what people expected out of dating wasn’t the same as if they were young and without commitments. Robby had a million of them, you’re sure the woman did too, and that’s a tricky path to navigate.
“Noelle Hastings,” Jack said flatly before grabbing a piece of bread from the basket at the center. He ripped it in half and handed you one.
You took it without thought. “Who is…? Jack, you gotta be more specific here.”
“She’s a nurse—more often a case manager of insurance cases that fall through. She’s a rain cloud in a suit but works a lot of days so I don’t see her much.”
“High praise,” you droned and he sighed, chewing hard on the bread.
“One of the day shift nurses said it’s been goin’ on for a while.”
“And he didn’t tell you?”
Jack shook his head. The glass of water in front of him was suddenly more interesting than the conversation and you quirked a brow. His morose imitation of disappointment was cute.
Maybe they weren’t really good friends, he thought disappointedly. Was he really going to be stuck with his friends at the VA, some first responders, and the six elderly women who harassed him, sweetly, at the YMCA?
He didn’t even want to think about the women of your once-a-month book club.
He didn’t need to read about hockey players who fucked and World War II nurses who fell in love with soldiers.
You had a soldier right in front of you. You could just live out those fantasies with him instead.
“Are you upset that he didn’t tell you he was dating again?” You asked him and Jack pursed his lips in annoyance.
“No.”
“Yes,” you corrected with a chuckle.
“I think it’s a dick move not to tell your best friend that you’re dating someone.”
“Just like it was a dick move to not tell him about your little blue pill incident?” You pried with a smile and he met your eyes in a flash. Jack’s finger pointed at you accusingly.
“Hey now,” he warned. “I’m drinking water on purpose this time for you.”
“I didn’t ask you to, honey. I’m only joking.”
“That’s unconvincing.”
“Okay, soothsayer.” You grinned, elbows on the table and chin resting against your locked fingers. “You think you know everything? Let’s play a game then.”
“Baby, this was supposed to be a nice dinner.”
“A game won’t ruin it.”
Jack breathed in hard. He loved the dramatics; acting like the world was going to fall to pieces if he wasn’t one hundred percent present in the moment. It was a game, not a blindfolded eating contest where he’d accidentally eat a bug instead of his steak.
“What kind of game?” He settled instead.
“Better strangers.”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because.”
“That’s not a why.”
“I don’t really want to imagine whatever the fuck Robby is talking about just to get into that woman’s pants,” Jack explained but it was choppy and his eyes bounced around the tables behind you rather than look directly at you.
“You’re so jealous, Mr. Abbot,” you gave a playful accusation. “They’re being sat—should I call them over? Let them join date night instead?”
Jack’s fingers dug into his eyes. “Why are you such a menace today? After all I do for you?” His tone lifted. “And what happened to Doctor? I’ll also option Staff Sergeant or Professor—for your choosing, of course.”
“Jack,” you lamented. “You worked two doubles and two SWAT shifts this week. I’m allowed to be a pest.”
Touché.
He was the one who made the reservation to make up for his absence in the first place. Jack knew, he always did, when he wasn’t being the A+ worthy husband he should be. It was a casualty of his species, or, perhaps just his sanity, but he knew what to do to make you feel wanted when his career shifted things around.
“Fine. We can play.”
“Kinky, Dr. Abbot,” you winked. “Just beware. They’re sat in a booth—” you counted the tables with your eyes “—seven tables away.”
“Well it’s not like I’m gonna scream Robby’s fictional conversation across the room.”
You picked up another piece of bread and repeated what Jack had done before.
“Save the screaming for later. We’ve got a long night ahead of us.”
“Now who just said that in a public place?” Jack tipped his head to the side, accepting the air kiss you sent hurling in his direction as a result.
“You know it’s true.”
“Yeah,” he murmured lowly. Jack’s eyes crinkled at their sides, appreciating the light he’s caught you in at the moment.
Robby’s presence couldn’t ruin date night. It was an intrusion into your bubble, sure, but Jack would swim through a million Robby’s to reach your shore and he would play a thousand silly games with you to hear you laugh. If you wanted to make shit up about Robby and Noelle? Fuck it. He did too.
“So…” you tapped your fingers on the table. “What do you think they did before they got here?”
Jack sipped on his water in consideration. “I think Robby worked until 7 but she got off a little earlier or didn’t work today. He showered at work, brought his stupid sweater with him, and picked her up on the way here.”
“Solid choice.”
“How do you think they met?” He asked you.
“Work, obviously,” you said, matter-of-fact.
“No shit, Sherlock,” Jack snickered. “I meant… romantically.”
“I think someone set them up on a blind date. Maybe someone from her side of the hospital—not someone from the ED.”
Jack nodded and caught the server returning to your table with your dinners in hand. Over Jack’s shoulder, you watched the back of Robby’s head turn to their own server and order drinks.
You didn’t think for a second that your constant glancing in their direction would be an issue.
With thanks, the server left you both to eat but the questions kept going.
“Alright.” You halved the portion of hericots verts on your plate and scooped them onto Jack’s one-note plate. “Why do you think they’re at this same restaurant, right here, right now?”
Jack ate one of the beans first. “Destiny.”
“That’s a lame answer.”
“I thought it was transcendent and that’s your opinion.”
“You really think it’s destiny? To be at the same place as his very annoying, very married, friends?”
“He might have a problem with himself getting married but I don’t think he hates hanging out with us. It’s like a little family of sorts.”
“Ah yes,” you awed. “The child I never wanted to have: Michael Robinavitch.”
“I don’t know,” Jack replied truthfully this time. “It’s a pretty popular place and not far from our work so I think it was probably out of convenience. Do you think he’s in love with her?”
You laughed, audibly, and not quietly. Eyes flicking back to the booth and accidentally catching Noelle’s gaze at the same time.
It didn’t change your answer.
“Fuck no.”
“I agree,” Jack smiled. “Fuck no.”
“But I’ll give him a chance,” you admitted, sipping on your drink. “He deserves to be happy with someone… even if it’s hard to imagine.”
Jack cut a piece of his steak and held his fork out to you. “What do you think they’re talking about?”
“Work.” You eyed the piece of meat to see if it was cooked enough but you should have known Jack would have cut up his entire dish to find the one piece you’d eat.
“Boring,” Jack heckled.
“Were you not talking about a piece of wood up someone’s—” you motioned with your fist “—you know?”
“That’s different.”
Your eyes narrowed in a challenge. “Not really, honey. It’s basically the exact same thing.”
“Well it’s different because we’re married. And when you’re married, you can talk about boring stuff.”
Now your eyes rolled. Jack smirked, cutting up another piece for himself.
“I wish I knew that when you talked about MREs.”
“You wound me,” Jack quipped. He popped the steak into his mouth and chewed when you came back with:
“No—an IED did that for me.”
He just about choked.
“Careful,” you warned him casually. The light glint in your eye didn’t disappear. “You can’t die on me yet. We have plans later.”
“What the fuck happened to the game?” He asked, wiping his mouth with his napkin. “Why am I catching these strays, baby?”
“Catching strays? Did you learn that from the kids at your work?”
“They’re like twenty-two,” Jack corrected. “And yeah, I did. I think I used it correctly.”
“Mhm,” you hummed and finished off your wine. “What do I think they’re talking about? My answer hasn’t changed: work.”
“Still boring.”
“Agreed.” You nodded.
A quiet lull met the table as the food became more important. For all the nights you had to eat alone, having Jack present was a gift enough. He silently invaded your space. Filling every nook until shapes of him left indents in places he hadn’t existed before—at the kitchen table, on the couch, a second toothbrush in the holder, and a dip on his side of the bed.
As you ate, your gazes would meet across the table for brief moments in time.
No one ever looked at you like Jack did. Whatever he was feeling, you saw it in the curve of his eyes. The lines, as they stretched in pleasure and listened to you animatedly talk about anything, grew in adoration the longer you were together.
You imagined by the time you are old and the wrinkles have overtaken what you looked like in the present, Jack would still see you in the same light.
And not everyone is that lucky.
Jack cleared his throat and reached out his left hand onto the table top. You grabbed it as his thumb ran back and forth over your knuckles.
“Sorry about picking up the extra shifts.”
Two doubles. Two SWAT shifts in one week.
“Sometimes I don’t realize that I’m even doing it,” he admitted.
“I just want my husband home, Jack,” you squeezed his hand. “I think you need to start putting your schedule on the fridge.”
“Maybe… do you think Robby ever apologizes for not being a great… partner?”
“Oh hell no,” you amused. “He’s never apologized for anything in his life.”
“No he has not.” Jack agreed with a grin. “But really, sweetheart. I’m sorry about that.”
Your heart skipped a beat. “I love you, you know that?”
“I think you’ve told me once or twice.”
“Possibly a few times more.”
“Yeah,” he hummed. “I love you too.”
Seven tables away, Noelle Hastings was trying not to overthink on her fourth date with Robby.
Her hands folded over her napkin thrice in two minutes and as they waited for their beverages, she couldn’t help but feel the nerves of dating begin to catch up to her. Robby had been nothing but a gem—different from what she had heard and seen around PTMC and unexpected, based on the looks she’d been getting the last few weeks whenever she stepped foot into the ED.
Noelle took in the restaurant. She observed the people in the room to calm herself down—people watching, it was easy. She could imagine their lives and not focus so heavily on her own before she spiraled completely.
There was a gaggle of friends in a booth on the opposite side of the room chatting animatedly; an elderly pair of sisters catching up at a table in the center of the room, and then, a pair she couldn’t stop looking at.
The first thing she noticed was the smile on the woman’s face. Noelle was never the most confident in her abilities to read exactly what people wanted, but she knew what it was like to be in love and to feel it in every ounce of your body. She knew the ways in which a smile could stretch across a face, blurring your vision during fits of laughter. Noelle knew when a woman leaned across a table to take the hand of her lover’s in hers—only to press a kiss into his palm and bring it back down—was something only those truly at peace with their adoration did.
And she couldn’t stop staring.
The ring on the woman’s finger glinted every time she talked. Occasionally, also with a knife waving around unknowingly—to which the partner (the assumed husband) would try very hard to make her put down. Noelle glanced down at her own barren finger and wondered if that would ever be her fate if she kept chasing men like Robby.
“You alright?” Robby asked her after fifteen minutes of spotty conversation.
Noelle nodded, straining a wry smile. “Yeah, fine. Just tired.”
Robby accepted the excuse. “Shifts have been long lately?”
“Very. It doesn’t make for great conversation though. I’d rather not go over the mountains of Medicare paperwork sitting on my desk right now.”
“I don’t blame you.” Robby shook his head, picking up his glass and holding it out to her to toast.
“To a week done and a… weekend free of distractions.”
Their glasses clinked softly in the space around them. As Noelle drank, her eyes strayed from Robby again and landed back to the table of the married pair but as she looked, the woman caught her eye and lost it in an instant.
“You know,” Robby started. “I’m not really believing you when you said everything was fine.”
“It is. I just—nothing. It’s fine. Truly, it is.”
“Then why do you keep looking everywhere else but at me?”
Noelle looked at the table again, catching the woman’s sight another time before Robby followed the trail. Like a hound on a scent, he turned around, arm perched on the back of his booth seat, and fell on the table of Noelle’s attention.
“Oh, fuck.”
Noelle’s face dropped. “Do you know her?”
Robby turned back around and ran a hand over his beard. His head wobbled from side to side before deciding on the easiest way to answer.
“Yes, I know her,” he said slowly.
“Okay,” she nodded just as deliberately. “And is this like an… ex-girlfriend situation or…”
“Oh no,” Robby blurted. “Hell no. I would never—she’s,” he laughed “I would be six feet under if I even had an inkling of a thought about her.”
“Well she keeps looking over here, so.”
Robby glanced back over at you and Jack.
“See the man she’s with?” Noelle acknowledged it. “That’s her husband—Dr. Abbot, from the night shift.”
“Oh,” Noelle said. “The Abbots, then.”
“Mhm. And from where they’re sitting, they’re probably just as confused.”
“Confused about what?”
“You see, Jack there, he’s a friend. A good friend. Maybe my best friend but I don’t know… you know I don’t have a ton of those. I told him that I wasn’t looking for anyone right now because I didn’t want him to—”
“Know about us?” She finished for him.
Robby agreed with a bob. “Yep.” He popped the ‘P’ and drew his finger around the lip of his scotch glass.
“If it makes you feel any better, I haven’t told anyone about us either.” It did make him feel better.
“Do you mind if I?” Robby gestured with his thumb to your direction.
“Are you going to ask them to join our dinner?” Noelle asked jokingly. Robby’s mouth quirked but he ignored it because of course not. The last fucking thing he wanted was for you and Jack to start interrogating him about his love life.
He had married friends. He had married co-workers. But you and Jack? Together? It was like he was handling a live grenade and if it went off, half of it was for the amusement of you both and the other was out of spite for his… lackluster history.
“I’ll be right back.”
“Shit, Jack,” you sputtered. “I think Robby saw me.”
Jack put his fork down and rose his eyebrows. “You weren’t being very subtle, baby. Every five seconds you’re looking over there.”
“I was trying to be,” you explained.
“Let me just—”
From your peripheral, Robby slid out of the booth and straightened out his sweater before pivoting on his feet and walking toward your direction.
“—he’s coming over here.” You gave Jack a giant smile. “Do I have anything in my teeth? Jack.” He wasn’t looking fast enough. “Teeth?”
Jack squinted, barely able to see a speck of anything because of the lighting—he had to pull out his readers to even read the menu. “No you’re fine.”
“Robby?” You feigned innocence, dazzlingly him with a toothy grin. “What a small world.”
“Hey!” Jack played it off too. Fairly well, you thought. He could have been an actor. “What are you doin’ here?”
Robby’s eyes bounced between you and Jack. He thought it was slightly hilarious how, even though he’d caught you staring, that the niceties and horror-like smiles the two of you were giving were cute.
“Oh you know,” he started, “just on a date.”
“Really?” You gasped, suddenly interested and Jack kicked you under the table with his bionic foot. “You’re dating again?”
Robby shrugged. “Here and there.”
“Well good for you. Really.”
“I came over here because—” he cleared his throat and dipped his head as he stepped closer to the table, “—you’re being really fucking weird to my date.”
You scoffed, seeking out Jack who sat back against his chair casually. Your eyes shrunk in distrust that he was going to make you fend for yourself.
“Please. I was just shocked to see you, that’s all.”
“And you, Jack?” Robby asked.
“I didn’t even know you were here,” Jack said and you kissed your teeth.
“Really?” Robby laughed. “That’s funny.”
“A small world after all.”
“Alright, alright.” Robby didn’t believe either of you. You two were also shitty liars. “Actually, Jack, I’ve been meaning to ask you about something anyway. I heard it a few months ago and I just never got around to it.”
Jack glimpsed at you in caution.
“Yeah, brother, what’s up?”
Robby glanced at you, quirking his head to decide whether or not it was worth it. “You know what… nevermind.”
“You sure?” Jack asked with a critical stare.
Robby thought on the rumors he’s heard and the uncontrollable embarrassment that would follow Jack. The man would be mortified to have those words, the idea of him exposed for the sake of Robby’s pettiness.
“It’s nothin’ that can’t wait until next shift.”
“That’s in a few days.”
“Still,” Robby said. “It can wait.”
“So a co-worker?” You asked Robby not meaning to be overly judgmental. “Again.”
“And you’d rather see me with one of your reading friends, huh?” Robby observed dryly.
“Not sure.” You placed your napkin onto the table beside your finished meal. “I just think that someone outside of the field might give you peace of mind.”
“Well, maybe if you met her, your perspective might change.”
Robby looked back over his shoulder at Noelle and gave her a tight smile. Jack shook his head, disbelief washing over him at Robby’s assumption that this one will stick.
“You gonna let her eat by herself or do you wanna pull up a chair?” Jack wondered aloud.
“I just want to make sure that our… business won’t be intruded upon.”
“Business?” You couldn’t help the laugh that came out. “Shit, Robby. Do not call her ‘business’ ever. You’ll never get her to come out with you again.”
“And how did Jack get you to go out with him more than once, let alone marry him?”
Now he was just being petty.
“Have you seen him?” You feigned trivial spite. “He could be mute and still have more charisma than you.”
“I think we see Jack in two different lights.”
“Jack is right here,” Jack spoke up. “Please include said man in your conversations. And I bagged her, she didn’t bag me, brother. A good man knows that.”
Jack sent a wink tumbling into your direction and you felt your cheeks warm.
“You two are… something.”
“We’ll leave you alone,” you told Robby. “We’re almost done here anyway.”
“Thank you,” Robby said half-heartedly.
“Now go back to her. She’s probably more bored than she was before,” Jack waved him off.
Robby retreated back to his table and Noelle gave him a coy face as they settled back into their date and you and Jack made amends with the end of half of yours.
“And that’s why we don’t play games at dinner,” Jack followed Robby’s absence with.
“Oh, please,” you mourned with a flair. “Don’t act like you didn’t like getting to knock him down a peg.”
“I’d much rather—”
“Don’t finish that sentence, Dr. Abbot.” You warned.
“I didn’t say anything!”
“Maybe it’s time to leave, huh?” You pushed your plate further away from the edge. “Move on to something…new.”
“Yeah?” Jack said wisely. “Got any ideas?”
“A few.”
He dug into the pocket of his dinner jacket and flipped open his wallet before the check had been printed. Jack’s mind began to wander to a million different places, impatient to make it to the car and speed home for the sake of his own wants.
“What if we just dine and dashed?” He asked seriously.
“And be banned here forever? I can already see the headline: local veteran flees establishment for sex.”
“They don’t know it’s ‘for sex,’ though.”
Your eyebrows lifted in incredulity. “Sure, Jack. Whatever helps you sleep at night.”
“I think we will both sleep very well.”
“Is that a challenge?” You asked him, leaning forward on your elbows.
Absentmindedly, Jack rolled the sleeves of his dress shirt and your eyes locked onto his arms immediately. Anyone else there, Robby and his date, be dammed. What the fuck were you thinking? A game to guess whatever Robby was talking about when you had a fucking feast of a husband right in front of you?
Dipshit. You scolded yourself the more time he took rolling the fabric over each crease.
Jack nodded lightly. His head barely moved.
“I’ll have you out like a light by ten.”
You short circuited for a second. A glitch in your matrix running scattered, barely coherent thoughts by your brain.
“Where the hell is our server?”
It had taken Jack a long time to love his body after he came home. Though it had been many years and he’d come to accept that his memory of self would never be the same, when he was naked beside you, there was nothing to protect him from his thoughts.
And after the many attempts at trying the little blue pill? He performed sporadically and each time was a shot in his armor already scuffed with damage.
Yet you held his face in your hands so gingerly that it paved over the cracks in his facade. It helped build him up, strengthening his conviction that he was still worthy to be the man who pleased you and was able to satisfy you in the end.
A softness in your countenance made the muscles in his back contract. You felt him tense beneath your fingertips, the sides of his torso drawing rigid. You loved so deeply. It poured from every ounce of you but most in the way you looked at Jack. He witnessed you in vulnerability; the sheen of sweat on your forehead a testament to it. Your eyes flicked down between your bodies and he grunted as your reflex made your walls constrict around him.
Your breath hitched. Hands sliding from the sides of Jack’s face to his neck, pulling him in closer until one inch more would contort your view. His gaze turned hooded. The side of his mouth pulled, lines forming as he thought about you and nothing but you.
Jack’s pace picked up, challenging himself and his position. Leg be dammed—he’d deal with the soreness later. He pressed his thumb in the spot behind your ear; the joint of your jaw moving it as your mouth fell open softly, a whine he hadn’t heard in awhile meeting the audible thwop of his cock thrusting into you. It was an obscenity he’d welcome time and again so long as it meant he could feel you like this, have you between his hands, and loving him all at once.
“Shit,” you let out a quiet, warm laugh that tickled his face. “Holy shit, Jack.”
He kissed the side of your mouth and let his lips linger there.
Your chest blossomed with tenderness that nearly hurt. You loved him. You loved the curls on his head and the way his heart burned with empathy; his drive to keep moving forward amidst nights where his memories consumed every bone in his body. Jack was unyielding in his support of you and God, you could feel it in the way he moved.
“Keep breathing, love,” he whispered.
A hand fell down to grasp his forearm hovering above your chest. Small indents of crescent shaped moons met his graying hairs and defined veins before smoothing out. Your hand was damp with toil, seeking to mark him with remnants of you he’d never want to wash away.
His voice was honeyed around words of soft reassurances. Jack’s eyes rarely left yours when so vulnerable. Even when your body was arching into his, chasing after a high only he could help you reach, he watched you and your lips and your sighs.
His teeth pulled back on his bottom lip as he drank you in. And before he even realized he had let go, your hand was splayed against his jaw, thumb gliding over the same lip.
Jack leaned forward, pushing his mouth against yours. You opened up for him without him needing to ask. His tongue slipped against yours, pulling a sound from you that the heavens created just for his ears. Jack took the your hand resting against his face and guided it back to the pillow above your head. His fingers slotted between yours as he slowed down his hips, rocking his cock into you as deeply as it could go.
“Oh fuck,” you careened. Eyes fluttering and rolling with your head tipped back against the pillow.
Jack’s free hand slinked from your head to between your breasts to your clit where it settled with pressure. He bobbed his head at you, urging you to continue down that path.
“Baby,” he said lilted. “I got you. I got you.”
“Ja—” you started but he nodded as though he knew what you were going to say. His fingers moved fast and rough with the help of the lube that left its residue around you.
“You’ve got me too, yeah?” Jack said lowly and it vibrated within your bones.
“Of course,” you exhaled.
Jack’s muscles trembled in an effort to hold himself back because he knew you weren’t there yet. He felt your toes curl in as they brushed the back of his legs. Your left leg dug into the mattress behind the clean line of what existed before and the other into his thick calf.
His voice continued barely above a whisper. “God, I fucking love you. So much. I love you so fucking much.”
Maybe it was the tone, or combination of his hands and his unrelenting pace but you groaned, a cry of appreciation, straight into Jack’s heart.
“You almost there, baby?” He begged. “I’m there. I’m there. I wanna feel you. I’m gonna wait for you.”
You couldn’t remember the last time you finished together. Usually it was half and half. Jack would get you off, then you’d fuck and he’d come later. Swap it a million different ways but it still didn’t happen together frequently. Except it had been days. Long, tiring days of wishing to be beside one another and finally you were as close as you possibly could be.
And Jack pleaded for you.
He coaxed an orgasm from your body that had been dormant for days. Your shoulders trembled, quivering when you felt the delicate pulsing of his own fill you as his hand in yours nearly crushed the feeling left in it. His fingers removed themselves from your clit and grasped your hip tightly.
Jack’s mouth captured yours immediately.
You both chased the electricity that sparked on all nerves. There was no time to allow breaths to catch up. Every second that surpassed as the high faded into a tired relief lingered in a gentle preserve of desire.
You bit down gently on his lip and tugged. Jack’s hand loosened its grip on yours but didn’t let go completely.
His eyes stayed closed.
He listened to you recover and felt himself soften against the spasms you had no power over. There was no rush to clean up, to change the sheets, or lay down completely. Jack held you close and reminded himself that his time outside of your union could be reduced for the sake of these moments.
Your hands ran up his back and around his shoulders, pulling him closer. They burrowed into the back of his head and into his hair damp with sweat.
“I’m so proud of you,” you sighed.
For all that he’s done, all that he’s given, and whatever might come next. A small piece of him rewarded himself on not needing his support in the back of the medicine cabinet for the first time in months—a strange, selfish reason to be proud of himself. But you were proud.
And he prided himself in that.
“Come on.” He rubbed his thumb into your hip. You shook your head, placing your lips to his again.
“I don’t wanna,” you murmured against his mouth. “Five more minutes.”
“If we shower, you can wash my hair,” Jack suggested as though it would move you—it didn’t. Nevertheless, he still kissed you back.
“Lay with me, Jack.”
Five minutes turned into ten… then you got to wash his hair.
And you were asleep by 10:05, just like he promised.
Four days later, Robby arrived in the ED with a newfound pep in his step. Everyday was unpredictable for him lately and the good days were far and few between, so, he took an inch and made it last a mile when the satisfaction rattled through his soul.
Jack was already talking to Dana at a computer about a patient in South 17 when Robby joined them, setting his bag down on the floor where Jack’s was already packed and ready to go.
“Did I miss hand offs already?” Robby asked both of them.
“Jack asked me to come in early so he could get a jump start home,” Dana detailed and Jack logged out.
“I’ve got places to be, people to see,” Jack said causally. Robby scoffed, eyes looking around the hub at his staff.
“You mean your wife.”
Jack nodded once. “And if I get out of here in—” he glanced down at his watch “—five minutes I can catch her before she gets out of bed.”
“Isn’t that sweet,” Dana cooed. “Take notes, Robinavitch. You might need it someday.”
“Oh, I don’t know about that.” Robby put his glasses on, dipping them low on his nose. “Abbot might not have the best advice.”
Jack saddled his bag onto his shoulder. “Did the date not go well?” His brows lifted in no apology. “It was quite a fun thing to experience, if I do say so myself.”
Robby laughed an “uh oh” as though he were being challenged.
“Well, I’d hate to be on the other side of what dates look like.”
Jack narrowed his eyes, gazing at his friend with speculation before walking out of the hub. Dana backed off as Princess came snooping with an air of gossip waiting to be unleashed.
Robby gave Jack a few steps head start before jogging up to catch him.
“It actually went very well, if you care,” Robby said quietly. “We’re getting drinks after work tonight.”
Jack stopped. He looked at Robby’s face and knew in an instant that he was being honest. He did like Noelle—even if he had a strange way of showing it.
“Good for you, brother.” Jack slapped a hand on his back. “I’m happy for you.”
“Thanks…” Robby tilted his head. “Is she?”
“Is she what?” Jack asked. “Who?”
“Is your wife happy?”
Jack’s enjoyment broke. “What?”
“Oh, sorry,” Robby chuckled. He shook off an imaginary thought. “I was gonna talk to you about this, remember? I heard from someone a few months back that there was a little… problem? An age related one?”
“An—“ Jack paused, lightly offended. “What the fuck are you on about?”
“I don’t know… just this like… little blue pill problem?”
God. Jack’s face lit on fire. Who the fuck blabbed?
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
Who the hell talked? Who told the only person that Jack specifically wished never knew about his Viagra problem?”
“No?” Robby’s mouth quirked into an amused frown. “Okay, so nothing’s wrong in that department?”
“N-no.” Jack could have slapped himself for the stutter. “But it’s not fucking age related, Robinavitch. And you’re older than me, fucker. So, don’t even go there.”
“I’ve never had a problem.” Robby shrugged and Jack began walking away before anymore questions could be asked.
“At least I’m married!”
“See ya, Abbot!” Robby bid easily as Jack threw up his middle finger. “Mind your own business next time!”
“Fuck off, Robby!”
And the ambulance bay doors closed behind him with a swish.
a/n: jack has such vibes that i simply can’t resist him. he’s an itch we can’t (don’t want to) scratch.
reblogs, comments, and likes keep writers writing. thank you for reading! plus reblogging is like… super cool tbh
and if you’re looking for a little more jack abbot erectile dysfunction lore that can totally be tied in here, check out fic: i got a bad desire
summary: it's well known across the ptmc that park the shark doesn't like anyone, except for a younger resident he calls 'crybaby,' who also happens to be jack abbot's secret girlfriend. (4k)
characters: jack abbot / sunshine!fem!reader, mentor!brendon park, whitaker & evil whitaker
contents: secret relationship, jealousy, age gap, humor, insecure!jack, not proofread cw for medical inaccuracies, allusions to smut 18+ (MDNI), and r getting turned out that jack takes viagra
( NAVIGATION ) | ( MASTERLIST ) | ( AO3 )
Crybaby.
Dr. Park was the first to call you by that name — or Park the Shark, they called him, on account of his strong features, and the fact that he looked like he could swallow you whole without blinking.
It was your first rotation at the PTMC, when you screwed up a simple tibia plate fixation. The reduction looked clean, in your defense, straight and stable. “You got it?” the attending had asked. And you’d nodded as you adjusted your grip on the patient’s broken leg — only slightly.
The imaging still looked clear from your angle, as the drill went into the bone. But then you looked down, realizing you had forgotten to account for rotation, and found the patient’s foot slightly turned. Your heart dropped to your stomach, and then to your ass at the look Dr. Park gave you when his screw went in off-axis.
“Everyone take a good look!” he’d announced to the crowd of interns and med students watching after the fact. “If anyone here was wondering how to invent a new way to misalign a fracture, congratulations— You just got a live demonstration.”
Your eyes stung with tears, until your attempt to blink them back had failed.
“If this is all it takes to rile you up, wait until something actually goes wrong,” Dr. Park had scolded. “Now do you want me to go easy on you, or do you wanna get better, Crybaby?”
You stayed. And he made you better. But the nickname stuck.
Crybaby became a term of endearment, a symbol of how far you’d come since your interning days, and was shortened to Baby somewhere down the line. “Baby, take this patient down to CT for me, will you?” and “Cut me an ET tube, Baby, six millimeters,” and—
“Good luck getting that consult, baby,” Jack Abbot says from the opposite side of the exam room, with his strong arms crossed over his chest. The nickname sounds different spilling from his lips. It always has. “The OR’s backed up with Westbridge patients. It could be hours before we get a room booked.”
“She doesn’t have hours…” you murmur under your breath, squeezing past Whitaker and Ogilvie as you part from your unconscious patient. “Excuse me…”
“W-What are you doing?” the former boy stammers.
“Getting us a consult…” you say, half-distracted, as you reach for the red telephone on the wall. You press the cool plastic to your ear and dial the ortho extension.
Jack watches attentively from the sidelines as you make the call upstairs.
“You already sound like you’re gonna say no, so I’m just gonna ask quickly,” you say. “I know, I know— Terrible timing. But we both know I’m your favorite, so just hear me out.”
“Favorite…?” Ogilvie murmurs. “Wait— Who is she calling?”
“Park the Shark,” Whitaker answers solemnly.
“Or as I like to call him— Doctor Dick,” Jack says with a cynical smile. “On account of him being a dick.”
Whitaker nods in concurrence. “To everyone but her.”
You hang up the phone and return to your spot at the patient’s bedside. “Ortho consult’s on its way,” you tell them, half-distracted, as you check the ketamine levels in her IV drip.
“How’d you do that?” Ogilivie squints.
“I asked nicely,” you shrug.
Brendon Park comes into the emergency department barely five minutes later, and brings a tense air in with him that matches the unsmiling look on his narrow face. The way his dark blue eyes lock on you the second he walks in can only be described as sharklike.
“What do we got, Baby?” he asks you, and only you, utterly ignoring the other bodies in the room as he makes a beeline to your side. He smells of sea salt and sandalwood when he towers just behind you, standing several inches taller.
Jack swallows down the anger that swells suddenly in his throat like bile.
“Ten-foot fall onto a metal fence,” you tell him. “Tib-fib amputation— Pretty clean cut.”
“Sliced right through the bone like a guillotine,” Whitaker adds.
Park turns slowly, dark eyes zeroing in on the mulleted boy. “Was I talking to you?”
The boy’s cheeks flare red. He clears his throat. “Uh— No. No, sir.”
“Let me see the X-ray,” the attending says to you, much softer in comparison, and follows you the short distance to the bulky machine in the corner.
“See?” you hum. “Not too bad, right?”
His eyes flit from the x-ray to your hopeful gaze. The corner of his mouth flickers faintly upward as he nods once in response. “Yeah. Should be pretty fun— Where’s the leg?”
“Double bagged on ice.” You motion across the room.
Whitaker watches the older man walk past him with an unblinking gaze. “I didn’t know he smiled…” he whispers incredulously under his breath.
“Yeah, me neither, kid,” Jack mumbles, swaying softly in place, as he keeps his eyes locked on the two of you.
His jealousy is misplaced, but inevitable. Everyone had a certain soft spot for you, but he couldn’t quite stand it from Park — the man who didn’t seem to like anyone or anything but his work and you. Jack knows it makes a part of you feel special, you are special, but he wants to be the only one making you feel that way.
“Tell him how we prepped the limb, Ogilivie,” you tell the MS3.
“Oh, please, not me,” the curly-haired boy mumbles under his breath, looking instinctively to Whitaker for assistance. He swallows hard when Brendon’s dark eyes snap to his. “Uh— Sterile saline in the inner bag, ice water in the outer bag. No direct ice to skin contact.”
Park nods and turns away, unwrapping the severed leg on the table below. “Good…”
“Thank you.”
“I wasn’t talking about you,” the attending snaps. His eyes soften the second he turns to you. “Let me guess— You wrapped this?”
“How’d you know?” you grin.
“Because it’s neat,” Park quips drily as he pulls the bluing limb from the plastic. “And I don’t think Abbot suddenly developed fine motor skills.”
“Stop flirting with me, Shark,” Jack monotones.
“Antibiotics?” the man squints.
“Cefazolin and gent,” you answer. “And we’re already cleared her chest, abdomen, and pelvis.”
Park nods to himself, examining the severed leg with his gloved hands. “Clean wound… No rush injury… Rapid transport time…” he mumbles to himself, visibly pleased in a way that makes your stomach do a backflip. “Replantation is a go. I’ll go ahead and book an OR, get it taken care of for you.”
“Thanks…” you say, smiling a little wider than you realize. Because ever since the day he embarrassed you in front of all your coworkers, you’ve made it your personal mission to impress him.
“What’s the catch?” Jack quips from across the room. “You already got a packed OR so… What? You’re just doing us a favor out of the kindness of your heart?”
“Hell, no,” Brendon scoffs. “Baby’s gonna scrub in with me.”
Your breath hitches in your throat. You’re not sure whether to be happy or horrified, ‘cause you haven’t done a surgery with him since you were an intern.
“Holy shit— Really?”
“Yeah. As long as you promise not to fuck up again,” Park deadpans, though there’s something distinctly soft in his eyes as he quips, “And if you can keep your guard dog on a leash for a few hours.”
Your eyes turn instinctively to Jack. You find his features slightly hardened but mostly emotionless. He shrugs despite the distant searing in his chest.
“She doesn’t need my permission.”
“Then why are you glaring like I’m about to steal your favorite toy, old man?” Brendon scoffs.
Jack’s eyes widen. His head swivels slowly over his shoulder, as if he were looking for someone standing behind him. “I know you’re not talking about me,” he quips drily.
“I would love the opportunity to scrub in, Dr. Shark— I mean, Park,” you stammer.
“Alright, then. Let’s go,” he nods, pulling off his gloves with a low pop as he storms back towards the door. “The rest of you, irrigate the hell out of this with three liters.”
“Wait— three liters?” Whitaker blurts.
Park glares. “Of saline, genius.”
“I… I knew you meant saline…”
You stop short in the doorway with Jack at your side, right before you turn to follow Park into the elevator. You flash him a wide-eyed look full of hope and distant worry, “You’re not mad at me, are you? For doing this with Shark?”
“I couldn’t be,” Jack scoffs.
“Well, then, I’ll let you know how it goes later?” you murmur sheepishly, shifting on your feet like a shy child. “Over dinner?”
“Sure,” he nods. “I’ll take you somewhere nice. You know, to celebrate.”
He gives you a soft smile that fades the second you’ve turned the corner. He feels the weight of his own insecurity sitting heavy on his chest. The notion that he’s much too old for you tends to follow him like a shadow, but it rears its mean, green, ugly head a little extra now.
“Hey…” Robby greets, then slows his stride when he walks past the tree men leaving the exam room. “What’s the long faces for?”
Abbot flashes him an unamused gaze. “Shark attack,” he deadpans.
Robby nods sympathetically. “Yeah, that’ll do it…”
The familiar chaos of the ED wraps around you like a blanket when you come down from the OR — the beeping monitors, the rolling stretchers, the hundred different conversations. It feels welcoming, in a strange sort of way; it fuels you in a way it hasn’t in a long, long time. It feels less like you’re surviving your shift now, and more like you could solve every medical inquiry in this hospital if someone asked you to.
You feel ten feet tall and lighter than air as you weave your way through the crowded emergency department. Jack can see it from where he watches you at the workstation with an eagle-eyed stare. Your scrubs are creased from your hours in the OR; your eyes are as wild as the distant smile sitting crooked on the very edges of your mouth.
You plant yourself at the computer next to his, and Abbot pretends like he hasn’t been waiting for you this whole time.
“How’d it go?” he asks distantly, trying to be casual.
“Great,” you nod with a proud smile. “Like really great. There was a twisted artery, and I was the only one who caught it. I got to reroute it all on my own— It was crazy.”
Jack feels himself smiling despite himself, basking in the rays of your sunshine disposition.
“Really?” he hums, nodding once. “Good job, baby.”
You couldn’t possibly count how many times you hear that nickname on a daily basis, but it’s different coming from Jack. It’s warmer, more familiar — makes your stomach do backflips like it’s the first time you’re hearing the word from his mouth. You go dizzy accordingly, as your fingers flit across the keyboard below.
“I’m just glad I didn’t make a total fool of myself like I did the first time,” you scoff.
“Yeah, me too,” a familiar voice quips from behind you.
You glance over your shoulder and catch a glimpse of Dr. Park as he appears suddenly behind you, dropping a file on the desk next to you mid-stride. His sea salt cologne pervades your senses instantly, clashing with Jack’s softer, muskier scent.
“I thought I heard the Jaws theme playing…” the older man quips in a dry monotone.
“You should be proud, Abbot— Your resident was a star in surgery today,” Park says with a knowing smirk hinting at the very corners of his mouth, so subtle it’s barely there. “Can’t wait for her to be my protégé in the OR someday.”
Jack’s frown deepens when the man claps him hard on the shoulder as he walks back for the elevator, though not without tossing a “let me know when you need a letter of rec for that fellowship, Baby,” over his shoulder as he goes.
He watches the younger attending until he turns the corner, and looks back at you with his jaw clenched a little tighter than before. His chest sears at the distant smile on your face, as the flames of his jealousy burn white-hot behind his ribcage
“Well,” Jack hums drily after a beat of silence. “You guys are getting awfully close, aren’t you?”
You scoff like it’s funny to you, because the thought of Park the Shark liking anyone is funny to you.
“What? No,” you laugh, then shrug at the unconvinced look Jack gives you in response. “He’s just nice to me. That’s all.”
Jack lets out a sharp exhale through his nose in place of a laugh. He turns back to his computer and deadpans, “Yeah. Because he likes you.”
You open your mouth to argue.
Jack beats you to the punch.
“And I don’t blame him, either. I think it’d make me a hypocrite if I did.”
Your face flares as a red-hot heat crawls up your neck. Your adrenaline-induced confidence fades into something softer as you struggle suddenly to meet the older man’s gaze. You glance down at the chart Park left, unable to hide the small smile on your mouth when you peer at Jack again from beneath your lashes.
“Where are we going for dinner after this again?” you wonder, half-sheepish.
The expression on his scruffy face shifts slightly, less tense but mischievous still. “We aren’t,” he says and logs out of the computer.
Your eyes narrow into a suspicious squint as you watch the man round the front desk. “What happened to ‘I’ll take you somewhere nice?’”
“Yeah…” Jack nods slowly, huffing sympathetically, as his hands curl around either end of his stethoscope. “I think we’re gonna miss that reservation, baby.”
Your stomach does a backflip.
By the time you make it to Jack’s place, the adrenaline has worn off just enough to leave you pleasantly exhausted.
He can feel it in your kiss, as you straddle him on his sunken couch in the middle of his dim living room — so quiet compared to the ER that it feels like stepping into a completely different world. You prop yourself over his lap with your palms cradling his silver scruff and lick into his parted mouth in slow, languid motions.
You’ve been at it for a while now. So long that Jack can feel your spit down to his chin. You could kiss him for hours and hours and never get bored — a testament to your youth, perhaps, because Jack doesn’t think he’s made out with someone this long since he was in college.
But, for you, he keeps his head tipped back against the sofa and his mouth obediently parted, letting you kiss him however you want — for however long you want. His wide hands fidget with anticipation on either side of your bare thighs, from where your shirt rides up to your hips.
You’d changed immediately into one of his old tees when you arrived, after a shower your body had been craving all day. You smell like his body wash and lotion as you sit on his lap, running your hands down his clothed chest like soft drops of summer rain.
Your fingers brush the tie in his dark navy sweatpants, and he tenses on instinct. You don’t seem to notice, though, as you leave a trail of wet kisses down his scruffy neck.
“Are you gonna fuck me tonight?” you mumble into his pulse. “’S why we didn’t go out for dinner tonight, isn’t it? ‘Cause I’ve been thinking about it all day…”
Jack goes dizzy at your words — at the otherwise innocent mouth they spill from. His stomach warms, and he jerks back from you before he means to; his mouth wet and rosy from the intensity of your kisses.
“Yeah, fuck— Yeah, I just…” he trails off, though it’s more of a dismissal than a true affirmative. “I just gotta go to the bathroom real quick, yeah?”
“Okay,” you smile politely, unaware of his subdued panic that he’s learned to keep well-hidden. You slide off his lap and onto the other side of the couch. “Sure.”
Jack rises from the sunken sofa with a low grunt in the back of his throat. There’s a slight limp in his step from where the long day has taken a toll on his prosthetic. “Feel free to make yourself at home while I’m gone,” he tosses mindlessly over his shoulder, before he disappears down the dim hallway, making an immediate beeline for his lamplit bedroom.
There’s a bottle of sildenafil in his nightstand drawer, with only one pill taken out of it — which he thinks is somehow even more embarrassing. He’d only taken it to masturbate once, after his SSRIs plummeted his libido and he was itching for a release after a long day.
The small orange bottle feels strangely heavy in his hands now, as he tips his head back to shake one of the tiny blue pills into his mouth before he can talk himself out of it. His adam’s apple bobs in his throat as he swallows it dry. The pills rattle faintly when he sets the bottle down beside him again.
He drops onto the edge of his bed, mattress squeaking under his weight. He rests his elbows on his knees and hunches over to dig his palms into his eyes. He tries to will himself hard for you, even though he knows that isn’t exactly how that works.
He thinks of you — all young and pretty and waiting for him out there — wasting your youth on an old man who can’t get hard to save his life. It leads to a cycle of self-hatred that prevents him from getting turned on at all. And it’s maddening.
The ajar door creaks quietly as you push it open without knocking.
You slink inside the dim bedroom and freeze at the sight of the man on the bed, like you weren’t expecting to find him there. Jack’s head whips to your form across the room and spins when he finds your underwear peeking out from the bottom of his shirt — a soft orange color patterned with dark black bats, several months out of season.
“What are you doing?” he squints teasingly, blanketed half by shadow and half by golden lamplight.
“What are you doing?” you retort. “I’ve been waiting out there forever.”
“It’s only been five minutes,” Jack scoffs.
“Yeah, tell me about it…”
You’re all but skipping to his side then, bare feet padding along the thin carpet as you go. The thin fabric of his shirt swishes around your thighs when you walk to stand between his. When you wrap your arms loosely around his neck and duck down to kiss him, Jack tips his chin back and opens his mouth to welcome you — until the open drawer beside you catches your attention, as well as the orange pill bottle sitting on the corner of the nightstand, as if he’d just pulled it out of there.
“What’s that—?”
“Nothing,” Jack answers, a little too quickly, and reaches less than casually around you to chuck the bottle into the drawer again. The pills rattle loudly in the quiet bedroom when he shoves it shut a second later.
He can tell by the look in your eyes that you’ve already gotten a glimpse of the label. Your gaze is soft with sympathy and glittering with something wild that he can’t quite place.
Jack says nothing for several long moments, and instead waits for your response.
“You don’t have to be embarrassed…” you murmur when you catch his scruffy cheeks flaring a soft pink.
“I’m not embarrassed,” he blurts, less than convincingly, eyes shifting away and back again. “I’m just… selectively unthrilled with this timing…”
Your nose scrunches at the shy smile you give him. His warm hands settle again on your waist while your fingers twist in the silver curls at the nape of his neck. Your eyes soften with something tender when you wonder shyly, “Is that why… Is that why you haven’t wanted to… you know?”
“No,” Jack answers instantly, then tilts his head to think for a moment. “Well, I mean— a little, I guess, but… I only take ‘em ‘cause of my SSRIs, you know? It’s not… It’s not because of you or anything.”
“Okay…” you nod and struggle to meet his gaze when you ask, “Do you know, like, how long it takes to kick in… or whatever?”
“Last time I tried, it took about twenty minutes—”
“Last time?” you echo with raised brows.
“I was just trying it out!” Jack defends with a crooked smile, slightly egged on by your misplaced jealousy after stewing in his own all day. “I was by myself when I took it, if that makes you feel any better.”
“It does make me feel better, actually…”
Jack’s light eyes narrow. “What’s that look for, huh?”
“Nothin’…” you lilt quietly, with a poorly hidden smile. “I just… I think it’s kinda hot… That’s all…”
His expression flickers in an instant — surprise first, suspicion second, then something darker third. A white-hot desire threads through the distant embarrassment still swimming in his stomach.
“Yeah?” he presses lowly, with a voice like honey.
“Yeah…” you nod once, unable to take your eyes off his prying stare.
He studies you for another beat, before huffing a quiet laugh of disbelief.
“You’re somethin’ else, baby, you know that?” he mumbles with a shake of his head, smoothing his calloused palms slowly up your bare thighs until they disappear under his shirt.
“I know…” you mutter on bated breath, trying and failing to be casual when you ask, “What do you wanna do then, huh? You know, for the next twenty minutes, anyway?”
You fight back a shiver when his thumb brushes over the center of the delicate mound peeking beneath the hem of your t-shirt, concealed by the thin cotton panties you wear.
Jack hears your breath catch in his throat. His darkened gaze flits from your Halloween-patterned underwear to your heavy eyes, now glazed over with a layer of honeyed desire.
Content: As a kid, all Sukuna ever really wanted was to be around you. He did just that for 10 years, only to spend the next 7 years wondering why you just stopped picking up the phone one day [tw: MDNI, angst/comfort/smuț, porņ with plot, friends to enemies(?) to lovers, uncle!sukuna, mentions of depression and low self esteem, sukuna's tongue is pierced, so is his 🍆, nıpple sucking, humpıng, óral (f receiving), fıngering, squırtıng, dacryphılia, matıng press] word count: 15k
Sukuna isn’t the type to hold on to promises, especially one made in elementary school. But, he never would’ve thought that you’d break it like that.
The promise? That you’d be each other's best friends until the day you died. Looking back, it might be a little dramatic, but you were eight years old— all eight year olds are dramatic.
Exactly how did you break said promise?
You ghosted him.
You fucking ghosted him.
You were friends for over a decade and the moment you went off to college, poof— gone! You stopped calling, stopped texting, deleted all your socials. It was as if you had never even existed and that you were just a figment of the man’s imagination.
Now that’s dramatic.
He’s texted and called you multiple times, no response. He’s asked mutual friends, they never got a response either. It got to a point where he had finally had it and texted your mother. You could only imagine how hurt he was when she told him you were doing just fine, and not that you were missing or in a coma.
He’d never admit it, though.
The years came and went. The hurt he once felt inevitably dulled. Yet, you always managed to linger around in the back of his mind, like a little ghost haunting him.
To this day, he still has no idea what he did wrong. You may have ghosted everybody, but he wasn’t just anybody. If anyone deserved an explanation, it was him.
He still cares for you, sorta, but it’s been so long, he’s not sure if he’d even want to reconnect with you. Not with how you just dropped him like that.
. . . . . .
“Are you excited?”
“No,” you respond a little too flatly for Ieiri, who shoots you the look right after. “Ugh, I’m sorry. It’s just been forever since I’ve seen everyone.”
She sighs, redirecting her attention back on the road— there’s not much to look at. Most people stay home on gloomy Sunday afternoons.
The GPS says you’re nine minutes away from your destination, making you remind yourself once more to relax. Though, you really wish you could be one of those people staying in right now. Cuddled up on the couch, watching a movie.
Ieiri taps her finger on the steering wheel. “It’s like what I said—”
What didn’t she say?
She held you hostage on the phone for over an hour last weekend, threatening and bribing, and then threatening you again if you didn’t go with her to Kento’s surprise birthday party.
You thought you had a good argument at the time.
“Do you realize how annoying that sounds? Kento doesn’t even like surprises, could you imagine how irritated he’d be if I just randomly popped up, too?”
“If you were Satoru? Yes. You? Doubt it. If anything, he’d probably like the distraction from it.”
“Yeah– probably,” you murmured.
“Can you please get out of your fucking head for once?” she scoffed. “Yeah, it’s been years since you’ve seen everyone, but it’s not like it’s because of a falling out. I don’t know where you got this weird idea that they hate you now because of it. It was them who told me to bring you!”
“Who’s them?” you stubbornly responded.
“Suguru, Satoru, Yuki, Choso— even Toji said something about bringing Megumi so you could see him.”
As much as you’d love to meet his kid, it would also be another reminder of all the years that’ve passed— how everyone moved on with their lives. Getting married, buying homes, having children, starting families.
The most you’ve done is get the job. You’d include the condo if you actually got to enjoy it, but it’s been a year since you bought it and you haven’t even bothered furnishing the place despite all the money you've saved up for it. The last thing you want to do after work is look at a screen and make more decisions. Deciding between color palettes and aesthetics, deciding on what decor and accents you want— it all sounded exhausting. Hiring an interior designer was an option. Except, you barely want to talk to a stranger, let alone work with one.
It’s too many decisions to be made for someone that didn’t want to make them. You often wonder if you’ve simply just become someone that couldn’t make them.
You’re well aware of the things that are wrong with you, but it didn’t make it any less surprising. You, paralyzed by choices and options?
The people who knew you professionally would laugh. Hard. Any sense of certainty that could be felt in the air almost always emanated from you. You were decisive. Sharp as hell— honed to perfection. Someone that was more than capable of a task as menial as filling a space full of items they liked.
You know what you like, don’t you?
No, not really.
You are sharp, there’s no doubt about it. It’s what your boss favors you for, and sure, one could say you’re valuable to the company, too. It’s a nice feeling for a while.
Then you realize there is quite literally nothing more subjective than the value of something.
Luckily, you are very useful. It was simply a fact, and every single one of your quarterly reviews solidified it. A coworker, or god forbid a client, could spend an entire hour talking shit about you, and they’d eventually reach the point where they’d have to backtrack with a little ‘well’ or ‘however’, before giving credit where it was due.
The devil works hard and you stole his pitchfork. Ripped it right out of his hands, because apparently, you needed it more than him to become the youngest portfolio manager the company’s ever seen.
Who cares about the value of something when you need it? Mr. Yaga claims to hate black tea, but leave him out in the desert long enough and he’d easily drink gallons of it.
Having you at the company isn’t a matter of life or death, there’s thousands of others out there that are more than qualified for your role. More than half probably had resumes twice as long as yours, too.
But for Yaga, there is no guarantee that day to day operations would run this smoothly, ever again.
You may be a little blunt. At times, impatient. But in a world full of sexual harassment allegations and sleezy managers abusing their power, not once has there ever been a formal complaint made against you. You’re not always like that either, you’re great with the clients and stakeholders.
It’s a talent, really— remembering all the personal details people tell you, like childhood stories, the places they’ve vacationed to, a spouse's birthday month that was briefly mentioned months ago. It makes people feel special.
It was very handy, too. Especially in the case where the company might deal with someone that isn’t likely to give them their hard-earned money or signature. Your job was to either sweet talk or gaslight. No arguing needed.
Yaga may have not preferred you at first. You were essentially a kid compared to the people that applied for the position.
The plan was to let you down easily, tell you to keep working hard and you’ll eventually get there. You were already lucky enough to have your foot in the door as an employee.
Yaga had a list of goals he wanted to reach before his retirement, though. Any of the other candidates would’ve helped with that, but none would've given him the opportunity to make a second list and cross that off as well.
The decision took months.
In that time, he realized a few things.
One, he spent his entire adult life playing it safe, which is an obvious sign of fearing growth. You’re not sure who taught him that, but at least he realized it was okay to start over and try something new. It was like a rebrand for him and he embraced that the “new” him craved more profit and welcomed different approaches.
The different approaches being, finding more aggressive people because they bring in the money quicker.
He never saw you as aggressive, though. He never saw you at all, actually. It wasn’t personal, those under 30 usually come and go, so he didn’t see much of a point in remembering names. What he did see, when he finally opened his eyes, was efficiency.
You were straight forward in a way that saved time, had an air about you that screamed “don’t ask me how my day’s going or what I have planned for after work”, yet approachable enough for work related questions. Stellar reports, received every quarterly and year-end bonus. Sharp.
Making you one of the managers meant he could wield you like a weapon, now you are the one he uses the most. You had the salary to prove it, yet no time or energy to enjoy it.
You’re respected. The young interns, the girls in particular, look up to you more often than not. Eyes bright and filled with ambition. Romanticizing everything, from how much coffee you drink, all the way to your style that they labeled as “effortless”. They’re not wrong, it is effortless— always some variant of trousers, a t-shirt, heels, and a long coat. They’re never planned, yet they somehow always manage to work thanks to the lack of color in your wardrobe.
You overheard your lack of jewelry and unpainted nails being appreciated once for how “clean” you look. All you could think of was the girl that used to do her hair and paint her own nails at one point. Except for the ones on her right hand. She saved that job for her best friend who surprisingly had a steady hand, despite complaints flying out of his mouth the entire time. Even on the days he gave in and painted his own nails black, he’d find something to be grumpy and complain about.
It was always you choosing whose house to hang out at, which movies to watch, what places to grab food from. He was a big brat whose favorite answer to most questions was an inaudible ‘I dunno’ from the way he’d mumble it. So, you always led the way.
Now it’s you mumbling that same exact ‘I dunno’ when you’re all alone.
You’re tired. Worn out. If you were a blade, you end each day dull and chipped. Nobody sees it, not even those young girls with all the time they’ve spent studying you, blinded by their own dreams and aspirations to be just as important, not knowing the difference between being valuable and useful.
Maybe it’s better off that way.
Who were you to try to burst their bubbles when you never had dreams or aspirations to begin with? Your eyes were never as bright as theirs— not as a student, not as an intern, and definitely not as a new hire.
You never had a spark to begin with, what makes you think they’d eventually lose theirs?
Maybe you were the unlucky one here.
You were the one whose head went under water after one bad semester, after all. Even now, years later, it still feels like you’re stuck in the deep end while everyone else has moved on.
Toji chose to get married and have a kid.
You can’t even choose yourself on most days.
“You have arrived at your destination.”
Fuck. You have a hard time believing the GPS was that loud when it was telling Ieiri which exit to take and where to turn.
Her lips thin into a reassuring smile as she makes the final turn into the apartment building’s parking garage, and you fail to return it as you take a deep breath. Ieiri doesn’t say anything this time, figuring you’ll probably just have to see everyone's excitement for yourself to realize this wasn’t a pity invite. It’ll settle half of your nerves.
The other half should settle itself with time and a drink. Several drinks, honestly. She did the best she could with telling everyone that what you pulled during your second year of college was 100% a you thing and to not talk about it unless you brought it up. Which you probably won’t— everyone will understand. No one wants to talk about being in a dark place when they haven’t fully left it.
One moment, you’re sitting in the passenger seat with your seat belt still buckled. Next, your chest is tightening as you watch her open the door to Satoru’s apartment. There’s already chattering, which stops once she announces your guys’ arrival.
You barely get the chance to look around before Suguru’s peaking his head out of the kitchen to see if you really did show up and lets out a laugh once he sees that you did. It was light and airy, the kind that’s accompanied by the warm feeling that you should get in your chest when seeing an old friend.
He’s obviously changed, it’s been 7 years. Yet, he never lost that quality that managed to make people a little more comfortable.
“Hey stranger.”
Your lips thin into a shy smile, “Hey.”
“Well?” Suguru asks, holding his arms out. “I know it’s been ages but there’s no need to be shy.”
“Sorry,” you murmur, stepping forward and accepting the hug.
He lets out another laugh. “Don’t be— it’s nice to see you.”
“Where’s mine?!”
You easily recognize the offended, slightly childish tone. You slowly turn your head around to see a slightly less lanky Satoru. Aside from getting some much needed meat on his bones, he doesn’t seem to have changed much. He’s still as unserious as ever, still wears sunglasses indoors like an asshole.
Ieiri stood back the entire time, sipping on a drink she had already managed to make, patting herself on the back as she watched her little plan run smoothly: Show up early and let you build some confidence from awkwardly greeting the old friends you shared together one by one.
It’s funny, you told her that they’d eventually move on to talking to the friends they made after you, but they all seemed more interested in circling back to you, whether it be handing you a shot or introducing you to a new face.
If there was one burden she wishes she could take from you, it’d be the burden that has you walking through the world as if you were everyone’s last choice.
Today should be enough to prove that.
“Yeah, no— at this point, fuck Nanami and his birthday. This is a better surprise.” Satoru throws an arm over you, slightly swaying from the shots he’s already taken. “Pfft– he doesn’t even like his birthday. I’m sure he’d be happier to see her, too—”
“He’s coming up the elevator,” Suguru cuts him off.
“SHIT! EVERYBODY SHUT THE FUCK UP AND HIDE,” Satoru suddenly yells, as if he weren’t just talking shit just seconds ago.
No one would be surprised if Kento heard him yelling at everyone like that, and given how hesitant of a knock there was at the door. The blonde probably already knows there’s something up.
Suguru goes to open the door, and the moment he opens his mouth to greet him, there’s a loud wave of people yelling ‘SURPRISE’ behind him, with Satoru saying it a split second sooner than anyone else did.
Kento’s eye slightly twitches. Half surprised, half irritated. He fucking hates surprises and knows that’s the only reason why Satoru decided to throw him one. Before a complaint can leave his mouth, Ieiri hands him an old fashion. He tries to speak again, but gets interrupted once more when she tells him who’s here.
At first he scoffs, already having enough of people of fucking with him today.
“No, I’m serious!” she swears, looking around trying to see where you were at, eventually catching a glimpse of your head in the kitchen. “There she is— come say hi.”
Ieiri grabs his wrist and pulls him through the living room and into the kitchen, where you, Yuki, and Choso were talking. She turns back to look at Kento, who’s already surprised by her rare display of excitement, as she gestures towards you.
“See? Surprise!”
“Yeah, surprise!!” Yuki says right after.
“Holy shit.” Kento rarely curses, but finds himself unable to come up with better words. “It’s been ages!”
“I know!” You try to sound more apologetic, but ultimately fail from the nice buzz you had going on. “Happy birthday!”
And for once, he’s a little less uptight about it when he gives you a hug and says his thanks. It was a nice surprise, he had to admit. If only Satoru didn’t have to ruin the moment with the way he barged into the kitchen with some stupid, frilly party hat in hand, begging Kento to put it on.
“I said no!”
“C’mon, Nanamin!” Satoru whines, taking a step forward each time the blonde takes a step back. “You’re not getting any younger.”
“I don’t want to get any younger— I’m a grown man, and so are you. Maybe you should start acting like one.”
“I do! I’m just fun,” he continues to pester him, ignoring everything Kento mumbles under his breath.
You end up excusing yourself to use the restroom, somewhat bummed you couldn’t stick around longer to watch them bicker some more. You’re sure it went on for a while, though, unaware of how it was cut short when Shoko grabs Satoru by the arm.
He hisses at how tight of a grip she has on him, fingers digging into his skin as she pulls him aside.
“What is your problem?!” he asks through a clenched jaw.
“Sukuna’s here?!”
“Yeah?” He tries and fails to free himself from her grip as he answers. “I thought it’d be a nice surprise!”
She looks at him like he’s stupid, nails continuing to dig into his flesh. “A nice surprise? He fucking hates her. I wouldn’t have brought her here if I knew he was coming!”
“Ow ow ow— No he doesn’t?! Do you actually believe that?!” he groans in between each sentence.
“Yes! He says it every time someone brings her up!”
“Ow ffuck! You know how dramatic he can be sometimes— fuck, Shoko, please, you’re breaking skin.”
“You deserve it!” she responds in a clipped tone, despite finally letting go.
“Jesus Christ— you can’t just assault people like that,” he pouts, rubbing his arm. “It’ll be fine! It’s been years, he can’t hold a grudge that long.”
. . . . . .
Sukuna can absolutely hold a grudge that long.
Except, he was staring at said grudge like some fucking loser, and had to remind himself that it was still alive and well.
At first he thought you were just one of Satoru’s new friends as you walked through the living room, shyly making your way around everyone, but then you just so conveniently looked up in his direction.
His eyes nearly widened.
And yours actually did, looking as guilty as you should be.
The longer you two stood there, looking at each other from across the room in shock, the guilt you had in your eyes started to fade. He was sure everyone else welcomed you back with open arms, and in turn got irritated because you probably thought he’d do the same. So before you could even think to take a step in his direction, he wiped the shock off his face and replaced it with a look that’s able to make even grown men turn around and walk the other way.
Which is exactly what you did, stomach slowly twisting into a tight knot as you immediately began to replay the death glare he gave you over and over in your head.
Sukuna didn’t stay long and left shortly after. Not without pretending like he didn’t know you when he said goodbye to everyone, including Kento, who he never even got the chance to say hi to in the first place.
Shoko didn’t think that was enough to have a complete 180 in your mood. She then realized you were already quiet before that. You also decided to stay in the kitchen, where there was a wall in between you and him.
So yeah, she blames Sukuna.
“Are you sure he didn’t say anything to you?” Ieiri asked one last time as she pulled up to your apartment building.
“Nah— my stomach just started to hurt. I don’t drink alcohol that much.”
She still didn’t believe you, not with how big of an asshole Sukuna can be, which is why a certain someone got an earful over the phone the moment you got out of the car. He barely got a word out while she threw nothing but insults and threats so specific his way, that he had begun to believe them.
Of course Satoru felt bad! He didn’t want you to disappear again for another seven years and have it be all of his fault. So, he gives Sukuna a call, continuing the cycle of abuse started by Shoko.
The phone rings three times. Sukuna never finishes saying hello before Satoru tries to grill him. “Alright, what did you say to her?”
“Who the fuck are you even talking about right now?”
Sukuna knows exactly who he’s talking about, Satoru can just see his face crinkling in fake disgust over the accusation because he’s just a bullshiter at the end of the day.
“Shoko thinks you said something to her— she said she was acting all weird and shit when she came back from the bathroom.”
“She’s already fuckin’ weird,” Sukuna scoffs.
“So you did see her before you walked into the kitchen to say bye?”
“Yeah, I saw her. Doesn’t mean I said anything to her though, you fuckin’ moron.”
Satoru sighs and rubs his temple, knowing he probably looked at you like he wanted to skin you alive.
“What? Is looking at her a crime now?”
“With the way you look at people? It should be.” It’s clearly not the first time Sukuna’s managed to simply offend someone his face with the way it comes out as a complaint on Satoru’s end.
“Why do you even care?”
“Don’t turn this back around on me?!”
“Then quit trying to grill me over the way I look at people. Seriously— she comes back and you all are fuckin’ babying her like she’s some victim. It’s not that serious.”
“Well Shoko—”
“Shoko can fuck off.” Sukuna cuts him off. “Don’t bother me about something stupid like this again. If she can’t handle someone looking at her in a way that she doesn’t like, maybe she should stay home and lock herself in her fuckin’ room.”
“I– she already did!” he tries to come to your defense. “Shoko won’t tell me much, but she was going through it for years. She probably still is! She doesn’t go out at all. I tried telling you before and you wouldn’t listen.”
There’s a long pause before a disappointed sigh could be heard. Satoru could tell it was directed towards himself instead of you. “She was going through it, so she locked herself in a room for years?”
“Not literally,” he scoffs. “Look, all I know is she was dealing with depression and now she’s all anti-social because of it.”
“She should’ve fuckin’ said something then.”
“Well, she fuckin’ didn’t.”
“That’s–”
“If that’s an opinion, it doesn’t matter,” he cuts the man off, starting to grow impatient. Satoru has adhd— the severe, annoying kind. There’s only so much he could handle before getting the violent urge to scream out random noises. “I’m just gonna give you her number so you can talk to her if you want. Who knows, she might even open up to you more since you were the one closest to her.”
“I don’t want her n—”
“YES YOU DO.” Satoru yells, leaving Sukuna more appalled than annoyed. “I just sent it. BYE.”
click.
Sukuna glares at his phone for a moment as if it were an extension of Satoru, convinced he was dropped as a child or something and just doesn’t know it. He knows he definitely wouldn’t tell his kid if he dropped them as a baby.
He relaxes his tensed brows and shakes his head as he pulls up the number Satoru sent. For some reason, he expected it to be your old number that he still somehow knew by heart.
He hates that he remembers it.
He also hates that the actual reason why you disappeared isn’t as dumb and selfish as he wanted it to be.
. . . . . .
In the three weeks he’s had your number, he hasn’t tried reaching out. He also hasn’t accepted any invitations to hang out with anyone as a group, despite being told that you were okay with him showing up. Part of it was spite, the rest being him genuinely tired from work.
His old man’s been taking more time off under the guise of letting him ‘take over for the day’. He acts so gracious with it, too, as if Sukuna should be thankful for the opportunity, when really, Wasuke should just fucking retire already so he can hire someone else to take his place as site manager. He’s essentially working two jobs now and when he asked for a raise, that old piece of shit laughed so hard that he damn near coughed up fifty years worth of cigarette tar.
You’d think watching his father nearly hack up an entire lung would be enough to make him quit smoking himself, but that shit pissed him off so bad that he smoked three cigarettes in a row just to calm down before going back to work. It still pisses him off. He doesn’t regret taking $50 out of that old man's wallet on his way out to cover his gas for the day. He honestly should’ve taken more.
It’s been months since he’s gotten home at a decent time. Tonight was probably the worst thus far.
He drags his feet into his apartment and kicks off his boots, heavy eyes landing on the clock that’s two minutes away from 10:00 pm.
The next ten minutes are spent shoveling leftovers into his mouth, followed by a hot shower that was mainly spent just standing there, zoning out as the hot water hit his back. It’s been days since he’s jacked off, realizing it doesn’t even give him the urge, his sex drives plummeted all the way down to hell. He just wants to sleep at this point.
Except when his head hits the pillow, he’s wide awake. It doesn’t help that he ends up scrolling through instagram— there was hardly a point for someone that barely followed anyone to begin with.
There’s not much to scroll through. The most interesting thing being a recent post of Suguru’s night. He absentmindedly looks through them, then pauses at the 4th photo of you and Shoko with your little drinks in hand.
You were barely smiling.
Your lips curved just enough for the camera— nothing like the photos of you from before, grinning and laughing. That’s how he’s always remembered you.
Would it have even made a difference if he told you not to move so far away for school? It’s not like he could’ve known, you never said anything. He thought you were doing just fine and you deleted everything one day and changed your number.
He taps the photo to see who’s tagged. Just Shoko. You still haven’t gotten back on social media, no profile to see what you’ve been up to. All he knows about you is that you moved back to the area after graduation and scored a cozy finance job without telling anyone. The only reason why you got in touch with Shoko again was because she ran into you at some bakery and made you give her your number.
It didn’t even matter if you did have a new phone with no contacts by the time you moved back. You didn’t need to text him or call him, you could’ve just shown up. Sure, he might’ve been annoyed at first, but he wouldn’t have turned you away.
You’ve known each other since 8 years old, you disappeared at 19. That’s his whole childhood right there. You played together, ate lunch together, walked to school together until he got a car, ditched school together. You had your own shampoo and toothbrush at his and would just use his clothes if you didn’t have a spare set with you.
It’s just dumb.
Still thinking about it, that is. It’s been years. It may have been fine to still be thinking about it at 21 or 22, but now it’s just ridiculous.
. . . . . .
You aren’t expecting Sukuna to warm up any time soon. At all, really. You couldn’t blame him for the reaction he had seeing you at Kento’s birthday. If there was one person that deserved an explanation, it was him, and you’re just about seven years too late for that.
He wasn’t the same person you knew. You couldn’t just go up to him expecting that you’d get to have a conversation. A civil one, at least.
It’s been years.
And honesty, it might not even be about being several years too late. He’s a grown man, why would he care about a childhood friend that just up and left?
All there’s left to do now is to stay out of his way. You’re sure his temper’s the same and the last thing you want is to bug him. Hopefully being at a kids birthday party shields you from it in the case that you accidentally do. From what you heard, he seems close enough with Toji to know not to fuck with his sons special day.
It’s not all bad. Toji couldn’t come to Kento’s birthday since his wife and son woke up sick that day, so you were more excited than nervous for today since you’d get to meet them.
This time it was you that picked up Ieiri. You felt a little guilty for being the one that constantly got rides, despite having a running car of your own. Once you two got to the little park in their neighborhood, everyone was already there, including Sukuna, who was stuck having to watch his nephew that you’ve heard about through Choso.
The biggest plot twist of all was probably learning that Jin is now technically Choso’s stepfather. You knew Choso had a teen mom, you didn’t know she was that young, though. You also had no idea how much of a milf hunter Jin was, either.
Jin apparently didn’t know that was Choso’s mother. No one believes him, especially not Sukuna, who still looks at two like they’re a couple of fucking sickos for making him Choso’s step-uncle.
The kid’s name is Yuji, and he looks just like Jin and Sukuna when they were kids. He’s the same age as Toji’s son, who’s turning 3 today. Yuji acts nothing like his father or his uncle. Jin was always quiet and sensitive. Sukuna was sensitive, too, but he was always very vocal about the things that annoyed him. The toddler was more like Gojo, hopped up on sugar and bouncing off the walls.
Sukuna calls out to him like an angry mother at a grocery store, gritting his teeth as he tells the kid to, “get your ass over here, NOW,” all while Yuji pretends not to hear or see him…. up until Sukuna gets up from the bench, which is when the little boy decides to run back to him, whining about how he’s sorry and how he didn’t know.
Megumi’s more quiet and follows Yuji around. He even ran back to Sukuna with the boy, worried that his friend's uncle was going to leave him at the park too, even though his father was at the grill just a few feet away.
Watching the two boys play is adorable, but you try not to look too much in an attempt to avoid making eye contact with the grumpy uncle, which ends up becoming more difficult than you’d imagined. The kid eventually wore him out to the point where he managed to slip out his view.
Yuji didn't go very far.
“...es’cuse me?”
You feel a little tug at your shorts and look down to find an incredibly worried Yuji, who should’ve gone to an adult he knew, but here he was after quickly deciding you were the trusted adult for whatever problem he had.
“What’s wrong?” You crouch down, getting at eye level. “Are you okay?”
“No,” he shakes his head, pointing to his feet. “I donno how to tie my shoes.”
“You don’t?” you ask, sounding just as concerned. “Do you want me to tie them for you?”
He pouts. “Yes, please.”
Your heart melts at his little voice. “Aw, okay.”
Like any other kid, Yuji’s amazed at how fast adults can tie shoelaces, unable to keep up with the strings crossing and looping around each other to create the little bow at the end.
“Yay!” He claps his hands, jumping in excitement. “We can play again, Gumi!”
Megumi thinks to celebrate with his friend, but closes his mouth right after opening it.
Then you’re startled by a scoff made directly behind you. “You make a stranger tie your shoes and you can’t even say thank you?”
The last to freeze is Yuji, who side-eyes him, rather than turning to face him. “Um.. ya I did..”
“No you didn’t?!” The toddler's ability to lie over something so simple amazes and offends the man at the same time. Does Yuji seriously think he’s that stupid? “I watched you lie about not knowing how to tie your shoes and then I watched you try to run off with even thanking her.”
“I donno how to tie my shoe!” Yuji stomps a foot on the ground to prove whatever point he thought he was making.
“Yes, you do— now thank her, before I take your shoes away.”
“Oh no, not my shoes!”
“Yeah. Bye bye, shoes.” Sukuna snorts, clearly enjoying this. “You’re a big boy now, remember? You don’t need them.”
“Yes, I do!” Yuji whines.
“Then have some manners and say thank you.” Sukuna continues to glare at the kid while pointing at you.
“Thank you for tying my shoe,” Yuji tightly grabs the bottom of his t-shirt with both hands and bows at you, then turns to his uncle and starts whimpering. “Don’t eat my shoes, Unkakuna! I need them!”
Sukuna’s even more annoyed now at how specific that was. “Who said I was gonna eat them?!”
“I dunno! You eat everything!” Yuji claims, bottom lip quivering and all, making his uncle's eye twitch in disbelief. “It’s all stuck in your big belly.”
Sukuna’s face drops, as if he didn’t see a 6-pack in the mirror this morning with his own eyes.
“I don't have a goddamn belly,” he scolds him through a clenched jaw, then lowers his tone as he begins to crouch down. “Do you want me to hit your Papa Jin?”
“No!!!”
“Then quit acting like I eat everything in sight, you little shit.”
Yuji scratches the back of his head as he continues to whine, trying to force a couple tears out. Eventually he turns to you. “He’s gonna hit my papa with his big belly.”
“Uh-oh. That's not nice,” you begin to laugh, all while Sukuna grumbles something about Jin being the one with love handles.
“Papa gonna cry,” he claims, continuing to act distraught over the news, trying to get all the sympathy he can from you. “My poor papa.”
You giggle. “I don’t think he’ll hit your papa, though.”
“He’s gonna EAT my papa!” Yuji stretches his arms out, emphasizing how big of a meal that would be for Sukuna. As if it couldn't get any worse, Yuji finds a random basketball and tries to stuff it under his shirt. “Then his belly will be big like THIS.”
“Stop it,” Sukuna snaps, pointing off into the distance behind the kid. “Get out of here before I barbecue you on that grill Mr. Toji’s using.”
“Hey!” Yuji gasps. “You can’t do that!”
“You can barbecue anything when you have barbecue sauce, Yuji.” he informs the kid, then notices a mortified Megumi standing off to the side. “You’re next.”
“DAAAADDDDYYYYYYYY.”
The boys run to Toji at full speed. Yuji thinks it’s a game, but Megumi’s genuinely scared, sobbing as his father picks him. His dad’s obviously confused as to why his son’s crying like someone threatened to kill him. Once Megumi’s able to actually get a full sentence out as he points right as Sukuna.
If Megumi thought he was going to receive any sort of comfort from his father, he was dead wrong. Toji bursts out laughing and doesn’t stop, even when Megumi starts screaming and hitting him for not being more concerned over something so dire.
“Megumi says you’re not allowed to have any cake,” Toji yells out.
“I’m taking Yuji home if I don’t get a slice.”
Sukuna’s response has the two boys whining in the distance.
“NO barbecue me.” Megumi glares as he tries to strike a deal with the most difficult person he’s encountered so far in his short, yet stressful life.
“Give me three slices and I won’t barbecue you.”
“But Unkukuna, you’re belly!” Yuji rounds his arms out in front of him, emphasizing how detrimental those extra calories would be for his physique.
Everyone grows quiet as Sukuna stares him down, wondering who the fuck even taught him that. Whoever it was better pray to god that he doesn’t find out.
“I’m not gonna be your uncle anymore if you keep talking about my belly.”
Yuji reaches out in despair as he screams, “NOOO.”
“No? You don’t want that?” he asks, fighting back a smile.
Yuji throws his back dramatically, shaking his head. “NO.”
“That’s what I thought,” he barks, not bothering to hide how proud breaking Yuji down with a singular sentence made him. “Now ZIP IT.”
“KAY’.”
Yuji looks away for a moment to take a deep breath, trying to calm down, all while sneaking little peeks at Sukuna.
He quickly looks away after seeing that his uncle’s staring at him, then peeks again. It happens several times, yet his uncle hasn’t moved a muscle once as he continues to just look at the boy like he’s better than him.
What kind of a sick game is this?
Naturally, he grows irritated knowing Sukuna is winning whatever game this is, which isn’t fair since he’s already going to have three slices of cake later. Even one slice was pushing it, to tell you the truth. He was too young to put into words why it pissed him off. All he knows is watching Sukuna enjoy good things, that are meant for good people, will never sit right with his spirit.
By the time Sukuna decided to stop staring at the kid as a form of psychological warfare, you had already been awkwardly standing there for quite some time, unsure if you should leave or not. It was either look rude or look too comfortable, neither of which you wanted to come off as.
Sukuna wasn’t mad at you anymore. At least not since Gojo called and told him you were and still are dealing with some mental health stuff.
He wasn’t planning on talking to you today, either, purely because he didn’t believe he should have to apologize for giving someone a harmless look. But then he caught Yuji trying to get your attention and figured it would’ve been fine since 2 minutes with him would make anyone want to choose peace for the next hour.
You couldn’t tell what he was thinking when your eyes finally met his, but at least he wasn’t giving you that same disgusted look you got at Nanami’s birthday.
You weren’t the best at starting conversations outside of work, though, and quickly embarrassed yourself with how bad you stuttered while trying to find something to say, which ended up being an apology for tying the kids' shoe.
In turn, Sukuna looked at you like you were a fucking weirdo.
“What? No, it’s— that’s fine,” he waves a hand, still thrown off by the apology. “He just goes around annoying anybody he can.”
“Oh– don’t worry, he didn’t annoy me. He's adorable.”
You suppress a laugh as he shoots you a look saying he’s anything but that.
“He’s a pain in the ass,” he grumbles, already rubbing his eyes from how tired he is. “We passed around a baseball for an hour before coming here and he’s still running around trying to convince people that I’m a fatass.”
He has to be at least 200 pounds of pure muscle and has the ass of a baseball player, so you neither confirm nor deny the words out of fear that you’d make yourself look stupid again. “He probably just likes your attention.”
“That’s the problem— he’s probably taken 10 years off my life already because of it,” he smiles a little, obviously more fond of the kid that he lets on.
You avert your gaze as you find yourself smiling as well. “His poor parents.”
“They have good life insurance, he’ll be set.”
“Oh, I'm sure,” you laugh with him until it dies down into another awkward silence. You’ve barely looked at him and try not to think too much about it after the realization. Having a conversation with him was surprising enough. Difficult on your end, too, but you pushed yourself. “How’ve your dad and Jin been?”
“Jin’s been good, he’s—” he huffs out a laugh, “you know he went and made Choso his fuckin’ stepson right?” He openly points at Choso, not very worried about getting caught.
“Yeah,” you nod, just as surprised by it, more so by the fact that Choso and Yuji and brothers.
“Well. He’s still going strong with Kaori. Just bought a house,” he struggles to list things worth sharing— aside from the mommy kink, his brother’s pretty boring. Sukuna quickly moves on to Wasuke, who he has no issue talking about. “Old man’s driving me nuts. Says he wants to retire, instead he just takes a bunch of days off and pretends he’s doing me a favor by letting me play boss while he’s gone, so now I’m doing my job and his.”
“You’re working for the company?”
He sighs deeply. “Yeah.”
It pains him to say, remembering all that talk about him wanting ‘something of his own’ when he was younger. Now here he is, set to take over daddy’s company.
“I mean… it’s already there,” you try to offer some words of reassurance, being the one that heard most of the said talk. “All you have to do is maintain it once it’s yours.”
“Exactly,” his tone changes, less ashamed of pulling the nepo baby card. “I’m not tryna work any harder than I should at this point.”
“Does he pay you extra on the days he’s off, at least?”
“Fuck no.” He laughs, even though there is nothing funny about being exploited at his grown age. “Yeah— nope— he works me like a fuckin’ dog.”
Hence why he’s been helping himself to whatever cash is in the old man’s wallet and whatever food he has in his pantry when he visits. He makes good money to begin with, so it’s not like he can’t afford any of it, it’s just the principal.
He’ll take Wasuke’s toilet paper, too.
That old man has one year to either give him a raise or retire completely before couches and T.V.s start to go missing.
“Old man’s been good, though… still kickin’,” he mutters, then stops himself before saying something really fucked up, “What’ve you been up to?”
You shrug as you let out an indecisive hum, knowing you didn’t have much to share. “Nothing really— work usually has me pretty busy.”
He’s well aware of how boring of a life you have, but still tries to push for more details. “Yeah? Suguru says you’re in finance now.”
“Mhm,” you nod, growing shy, “portfolio manager.”
“You spend the day telling people what to do now?” he asks as if he were almost impressed.
“Not really,” you laugh. “A lot of it’s research, reporting, meeting with clients, I— yeah, I mainly just take care of more of the sensitive stuff. If my manager hat’s on, it’s usually just collecting reports from the other managers or figuring out what’s going on with their teams if they’re not performing the way they need to.”
He nearly barks out a laugh.
You look at him with confusion. “What?”
“So instead of managing a bunch of people, you just terrorize their managers?”
“I don’t terrorize them,” you murmur, shifting in place. “It’s their job to make sure that their teams are performing well and if they aren’t—”
“You ask them why they aren’t doing their jobs,” he finishes your sentence with an amused grin. “Then they sit there for the next hour, trying to come up with an answer for that.”
You pause for a moment, wondering if he has to do the same. “Well— kind of.”
You don’t have time to sit there and listen for an hour, nor do you want to. The longest one went just over twenty minutes before you had to stop her.
“Listen, Linda— I,” you stopped to think twice about what you were going to say, “I’m just asking why there’s been a dip in the performance, I really don’t need an entire life story for that. Why don’t we take a few steps back— how has your team been?”
“Well… uhm… well… they…” You nodded, thinking it’d encourage her, and it did, but 5 minutes later she went off course to talk about her failing marriage, again. “And then Dave, he—”
“Is Dave a new hire?”
Her eyes dried right up. “No… Dave is my husband.”
You knew damn well who Dave was, but she was starting to get on your nerves.
“Okay, let’s talk about your team right now… this is about work— Dave doesn’t work here.” You tried your best to be patient with her, but it was like teaching a kindergartener how to self regulate. “I wanna know things like how everyone’s been mentally— are they eating, are they getting enough sleep, are they taking their breaks? Are they having to work through them?”
She didn’t know. She just wanted to give you a sob story so you’d let her off the hook. So, when she mentioned Dave a third time:
“This isn’t working,” you murmur to yourself as you turn to your computer and start typing. “I’m going to make a little worksheet for everyone, including you. Think of it as a peer review. You’ll have one for each team member and each team member will have one for you. I think that’ll be an easier way to get to the bottom of things.”
Instead of excusing herself, she stares at you like a deer in headlights.
“There’s no need to wait on me by the way, I’ll have them emailed out to everyone within the next hour.”
On the rare occasion that you do have to ask performance related questions, you send them the same exact worksheet so they have an idea of what you wanted to talk about— which is the only part you mention to Sukuna. He’d probably accuse you of terrorizing Linda when you know you could’ve been ten times worse.
You’re just glad he didn’t ask about any of the other stuff you had to do.
Sometimes you wished you spent your days in Linda’s professional shoes— god forbid you ever had to deal with a man like Dave. Her job was less demanding than yours. More human. Working with others and collaborating with them must be great in terms of keeping you grounded— normal people, that is.
You wouldn’t consider any of the people you answer to now as normal. The stakeholders, clients, the higher ups, Yaga— they’re all fucking crazy. You couldn’t just pretend like they were normal, you had to match their energy and in some cases, you had to be worse to finish whatever job you were tasked to do, which drove you closer to their territory with each day that passed.
“Do you like it there?” Sukuna looks at you and asks, tone fond and filled with warmth, as if he were proud of you.
In the same moment you realize that you were only fooling yourself earlier when you tried to believe that he hated you.
You wish you could turn back time by just a few seconds to change the subject. You didn’t want to answer a question that he clearly wanted a yes to— you’re sure it’d make him feel better about knowing you chose to spend all those years alone, when you had someone would’ve easily stayed by your side.
You grew stiff, eyes glossing at the question because you hated the real answer to it.
“Not really,” you murmur, almost ashamed to admit it. “That’s kinda how I feel about most things, though.”
It was true. You don’t even know why you’re wishing for a job like Linda’s, you always came off as cold and hardly spoke to others before the big promotion.
He didn’t know what to say to that, he wasn’t even sure if there were any words you could give to someone as apathetic as you sounded when answering. It’s not like he was the type to offer anything encouraging to begin with. Instead, he stayed quiet, comfortable in the silence as he let his own mind run free for a bit.
Just as you were starting to think you made him uncomfortable—
“Did anyone have to drag you here today?” he asks.
“No.”
“So you chose to come to soot sprites' birthday?” he asks, as judgmental as ever.
You smile. “I did.”
He gently rests his hand on top of your head, leaving you with a familiar sense of comfort as he leaned in. “You’re not doing too bad then.”
“Uncle-Kunaaaaaaa!” The man looks up to see his nephew sprinting towards him. “My tummy growling!!”
“This kid’s always coming up with the most extra ways to say things,” he mutters under his breath as he pulls away. “So you’re hungry?”
Yuji slows down the closer he gets, until he’s skipping towards the man. “Yeah. Mr. Toji says he make chicken sticks.”
Sukuna looks at Yuji the way he always does whenever the kid decides to rename something. “You mean skewers?”
“Yeah, chicken sticks,” Yuji nods, confidently repeating himself, because Sukuna was obviously wrong, even though Toji said skewers, too. Both men obviously don’t know what they’re talking about.
The man actually looked to you for help, and given how it’s an issue between a 3 year old rage baiter and a grown man that will make time to argue with a child, you decide to stay out of it.
“That sounds yummy,” you say to Yuji, and you could feel Sukuna glaring at you for not even bothering to call them skewers, too. “You guys should probably grab some before Suguru arrives, he loves chicken and leftovers.”
Sukuna lets out a mixture of a scoff and a laugh since it’s true, but if anyone’s taking those skewers home, it’s him.
Which is why he lets Yuji start to pull him away to get some.
. . .
Getting to talk to you more, after being pulled away from Yuji, hardly counted since it was with groups of other people.
Luckily for Sukuna, your car’s parked right next to his and you’re leaving at the same time he’s trying to get the little brat in his car seat. He’s half asleep and won’t let go— each time he physically tries to pry Yuji off of him, he does this weird muted scream.
He’s about 2.5 seconds away from wrestling this kid when he hears someone.
“Bye.”
It comes off as a little unnatural, but it’s in more of an awkward ‘I don’t know if I should say goodbye to you right now’ way.
Sukuna turns around. “Oh, wait—”
His hand slides into his pocket, only to find it empty, then realizes it’s in the pocket of his jacket. The side where Yuji’s on and won’t leave. You stay in the place the whole time, wondering if he’s aware of how funny he looks grumbling to himself as he checks all his other pockets.
He eventually finds his business card, then rolls his eyes after realizing he’s about to give you a business card, because he’d rather not tell you he already has your number. To add salt to injury, he didn’t even need to pull his phone out, because the goal was to give you his number.
“Here.” He hands the semi-decent card over for you to take, surprised it’s not more broken down since he’s always leaving them in his pockets, even when he’s throwing his clothes in the washer. “You don’t have to of course, but feel free to reach out if you’re interested in catching up sometime over lunch or something.”
“Yeah, that’d be nice.” You look at the card, flipping it over a couple times. “Um… I don’t actually… need this, though.”
He stares at you for a moment, wondering if it was just some pathetic, last minute excuse to turn him down.
“I already have it,” you shyly admit, handing the card back to him as if it were better off going to someone else. “Satoru gave it to me a couple weeks ago. I just wasn’t sure if you wanted to hear from me.”
“Fair enough.” He shrugs, reluctant to say more— he might be down to catch up, but he’s still not apologizing for his face. “Shoot me a text sometime, then. I wouldn’t mind.”
“Yeah, I will.” You smile a little, trying to hide a bit of the excitement that was starting to bubble up. “Alright, well— it was nice seeing you.”
“Yeah, you too.”
. . . . . .
‘You’re not doing too bad.’
It took around 3 months after the words left Sukuna’s mouth to actually start believing them.
It’s not like your life was crazy interesting now. It just slowly started to fill up with things you looked forward to over time. Whether it be hanging out with others or simply sitting in your living room with a latte you took your time making. Your apartment started to feel more like a home with each new addition you added to it. You were nowhere near done, but you found yourself enjoying the process of casually looking through items and randomly falling in love with different ones.
The newest addition was a painting you saw a year ago and decided not to buy, despite how much you loved it. You stood in that gallery for over an hour, convincing yourself that it would never get that much attention from you again once you took it home. You were convinced that it’d find a way to collect dust in a space that felt as sterile as yours, and left it for someone that had a home where it wouldn’t.
You found it again in a consignment store with a big coffee stain on the side of the canvas. The person who ended up buying it probably got rid of the moment it spilled. They didn’t even bother hanging it up, and most likely had it on some counter before the accident happened. By the time you got to it, it was collecting dust with dozens of other paintings leaned against the wall since they weren’t good enough to be hung up.
You paid less than a quarter of it was originally worth, but a part of you thinks you would’ve purchased it for its original price if it meant you got to take it home. You’ve thought about it nearly everyday since you stepped out of that pristine gallery, after all.
Sukuna stared at it for a while before hanging it up. You can’t remember how the conversation started, but he came over and put it up for you after finding out you were going to do it yourself, claiming you didn’t have the right tools. You probably don’t.
It wasn’t until the canvas was up on the wall when he finally asked the question you had been expecting to get after you caught him looking at it funny.
“That brown stuff on the bottom corner is a part of the whole thing, right?”
“Nope.”
He just stood there and continued staring at the damn thing with you, waiting silently for an explanation that he soon realized he’d never get on his own.
“Are coffee stains some new trend I don’t know about?”
He was dead serious. It was almost funny how he couldn’t believe that you’d just buy something that was stained like that.
“Nope, not a trend.”
He continued to stare at you, so utterly confused as to why you want that thing hung up on your wall when you could just walk into one of those art shops and buy a new one. It’s not like you couldn’t afford it, he’s seen some of the shit you own and you’re clearly not bothered by commas on a price tag.
You eventually told him the story. He probably still didn’t get it, but that didn’t really matter.
“How cute,” he says rather boredly, wondering why you couldn’t just tell him that in the first place. “You didn’t buy it for more than 50% of its price, right?”
You shoot him an annoyed look. “I spent almost an entire year sulking over it, do you seriously think the price of it matters at this point? I wanted it.”
“You probably ended up cursing the damn thing so no one else could have it. People don’t usually spill coffee on paintings.” he says, starting to laugh the longer he thought about it.
You don’t laugh with him, but he does catch the proud look on your face as you walk away, just happy to have it. He walks after you with another question in mind, hoping now was an okay time since he always forgets.
“Mind me asking why you’re just now starting to furnish the place?”
You shrug. “I was just always too tired to get out of bed. If it wasn’t for work, I wasn’t getting up,” you remind him. “Too many choices to make, too. I’d get overwhelmed and stop looking for stuff.”
“Yeah, there’s a lotta shit out there,” he murmurs, helping himself to one of the white claws in your fridge.
The can cracks open and he takes a sip, looking over your living room that’s become a bit more filled in since the first time he came over to help you put your couch together. The place was so empty that he automatically assumed you had recently moved in.
He’s been helpful since Megumi’s birthday— at least he tries to be.
It never feels forced, most of the time it’s just him asking if you wanna come along to a place he was already going to, just to get you out of the house.
He also asks how you’re actually doing, a lot— figuring you were just someone that needed some extra support, given how one lonely, difficult semester made you isolate yourself to the point where you started to believe you weren’t worth missing.
Once, he almost asked how you could’ve ever put him into that category. He loved you, both platonically and not platonically. But he never asked, the past is the past and that’s probably just how it is when someone’s spirit’s in the dumps.
He’s far from a therapist and never has any advice to give, but he was surprisingly good at getting you out of your head— pull you back to reality, without the reality check. You’ve obviously had more than enough of them. It’s why he doesn’t bother being harsh with you, at all. Even during the times he’s come off as more straightforward, you don’t feel any judgement or malice behind his words. The last thing he wanted was to say or do something that made you think you couldn’t give him a call.
It’s probably why you’re so comfortable with having him come over and why you don’t mind telling him certain things, like the fact that you spent most of your free time sleeping at one point. He never bats an eye. He just wants to be around you, like he’s always had.
“Summers’ coming up. Getting anything for the balcony?” he asks, nodding in the direction of its doors.
You turn your head, looking over at the empty space. “What would I even get?”
He’s mid-sip when you ask, but hums in acknowledgment. “Some seating, a little table, maybe a fire pit if you’re feeling extra crazy.”
You fight back a smile, “Oh? Thanks, asshole.”
“You might be a grandma, but I never said there’s nothing wrong with it.”
“I’m trying not to be, okay.” You give him the finger as you walk to the fridge, hoping he didn’t take the last seltzer. Seconds later you’re cracking one open yourself.
He chuckles at the little pout you get on your face when you’re offended. “I’m just fuckin’ with you— you’re fine.”
“I guess,” you murmur, leaving him in the kitchen to go take a seat on the couch.
He trails behind you, leaving enough space between the two of you as he takes a seat on the couch he nearly lost his mind trying to put together. The instructions were in a language so uncommon that most people go about their lives without knowing about it.
“What do you mean you guess?”
“I don’t know,” you murmur. “Kinda feel guilty for all the years I lost, I wish I could get them back.”
“I bet,” he leans back in his seat. “You ever considered making more time for yourself, now?”
“What do you mean?”
“Taking some time off. Could be a week, could be a couple months. You could even try working part time for a little. You have a savings, I’m sure you could get away with taking a break.”
“Oh— yeah, I have actually. The company has really good benefits, though. It’s kinda why I haven’t even tried to leave,” you turn towards him, leaning against the arm rest as you hug your knees. “I’ve been considering asking for a demotion, though.”
You’re not quite sure how Yaga would handle that. You’ve been coming up with different ideas all month— a hybrid schedule, switching to a 4 day work week, maybe leaving early some days, a demotion. You’re sure taking on another role would have its own difficulties, but it’d be easy to handle compared to all you do now. The workload you have really should be split between two people, maybe even three.
“That’d definitely be a lot less work,” he remarks, still shocked at all the shit he has you do.
“A lot less— I’m hoping Yaga agrees to one of them. If not, I might just find some place else. I could probably take a few months off then. Free time does sound nice.”
“Yeah you could sleep in, hang out with anyone who’s free, find a hobby, go on a date—“
His last suggestion gets shut down with a laugh. “Yeah, right.”
“What?” he smirks.
“I suck at dating,” you inform him. “I don’t even know how to anymore.”
He snorts. “That’s a little dramatic, no?”
“It’s true— last time I went on one was three years ago.”
He raises his brows, then flatly asks, “Three?”
“Don’t judge me,” you grumble.
“M’not. It’s just— 3 years of completely nothing?”
“God— obviously.” You hide your face in embarrassment. “You are judging me right now.”
“I’m not,” he laughs, taking another sip. “Just a long time to go without having someone take care of you.”
"Well I slept through most of it anyway so I'm fine,” you roll your eyes, annoyed at how he’d even make a joke like that when he knows you can support yourself just fine without anyone’s help.
“You’re awake right now, though.”
“So?” you scoff.
“I can take care of you, if you want,” he offers.
“Not funny,” you murmur, just about ready to kick his ass out.
At first, he’s confused as to why his little offer had you that offended. Then after a minute, it clicks. Since you refuse to look at him, you miss the amused grin on his face after realizing you two are thinking about two entirely separate things in terms of ‘being taken care of’.
You only finally look at him when he gets up from where he’s sitting and there’s a shit eating smirk on his face, making you think he’s just being a dick and leaving.
Then he takes a seat right next to you, leg just barely brushing against yours.
“What are you d—”
“I think you’re a little confused here,” he says a little too calmly, throwing his arm over the backrest and leaning in way too close.
“Listen, I looked forward to hanging up that painting of yours all day, same goes for all the other stuff I’ve helped you out with.” You feel your cheeks start to warm as a result of the low, honeyed tone he’s using on you. “I really like helping you. It makes you a little happier, and with all the assholes I have to deal with everyday, it makes my day a lot better. So, why not just let me do a little more?”
“I don’t— what are you even talking about right now?” Your words come out all nervous and jumbled, failing to stay calm from how close this guy is.
“I’m talking about all the times I’ve caught you looking at my dick print.”
Your eyes widen in horror and he laughs.
“Yeah, you’re not slick,” he tucks some hair behind your ear and leans in closer. “C’mon— you’re not even at work right now and your mind’s still all over the place trying to find stuff to be stressed about. Aren’t you tired?”
Your heart pounds against your chest as you hesitate to answer. “I mean— yeah.”
“Let me fuck you then,” he murmurs, tracing the backs of his fingers down your arm. “You won’t have to think about anything, won’t have to do anything— just gotta take it. Super easy. Sounds fun, huh?”
“I… I don’t know,” you just barely whisper, shifting in your seat from all the nerves, looking like a deer in headlights.
“I think you do know.” He continues to toy with you as he waits for you to say anything else. Surprise: you never do.
“I’ll stop if you tell me to.”
You look like you’re about to have a panic attack and it’s adorable. “Stop what?”
“This.” He smiles, pressing a soft kiss right under your ear, humming against your skin, not missing the way it makes your breath hitch. Then he presses another one on your jaw, then another, getting closer to your lips and pulling back right before he does, meeting your glazed over, half lidded eyes.
He snakes a hand around the back of your neck and pulls you in, making your lips meet his. The first kiss is slow and gentle, letting you warm up to it. You put your legs down trying to get closer, not expecting for it to grow more heated, too.
An arm wraps around your waist and you're being pulled in to straddle his lap. His big hands roam around your hips and ass as you start to full on make out, grinding you down against something long and hard until you’re desperately panting against each other.
He gives your ass one last squeeze before finding the bottom of your shirt and pulling it up over your head, rushing to unclip your bra and tossing it in whichever direction the shirt went. A soft gasp slips through your lips once you feel the wet heat of his pierced tongue drag a slow stripe over your nipple, not thinking much about the way Sukuna smiled at you afterwards.
You should’ve braced yourself for the level of greed you were about to experience.
Many minutes later, your tits are covered in spit and you’re failing to bite back moans out of self preservation.
And it’s fucking hard.
Sukuna’s groaning and dragging a heavy tongue over each nipple 1, 2, 3, 4 times before wrapping his lips around them and starts sucking. He goes back and forth between each, pulling away with a wet, lewd pop before moving on to the next. At first, he’d replace his mouth with his fingers— rubbing, rolling, and pinching on the sensitive bud so it’s not completely neglected while he works on the other one.
They’re now firmly planted on your hips, because apparently he needs the extra friction. So now your shorts are soaked through and you’re trying not to cum as he continues to push you down back and forth against his cock.
Your fingers are digging into his shoulders, the moans you’re struggling to bite back come out as whines and the one thing that actually pulls one out of you is when Sukuna’s palm cracks down on your ass.
“Come here.”
He pulls you in by the back of your neck and swallows all the little sounds you try not to make with a kiss messier than the last.
The air's hot and heavy once he breaks it. A small string of saliva hangs on and then breaks as you pull away, already looking like a mess while trying to catch your breath.
“Bed?”
“Yeah,” you nod, sounding more desperate.
“Thought so,” he stifles out a laugh as he suddenly gets up, easily taking you with him as he makes the short walk to your bedroom.
He sets you down on the mattress before pulling his shirt over his head. The buckle of his belt lightly clinks as he undoes it to take his pants off, leaving just his boxers on that leave little room for imagination. He leans forward, hooking his fingers over the waistband of your soaked fucking shorts, taking them off along with your panties in one go.
You don’t even get the opportunity to be shy around Sukuna because he's immediately grabbing the backs of your thighs and letting out a low whistle while pulling them apart to get a good look at how wet you already are.
“Shit— look at you,” he groans.
Without warning, he dips his head down in between your thighs, and he licks a long, fat stripe up your slit, not missing the extra friction from the metal ball on his tongue. There’s a shit eating smirk on his face when his head comes up, teasing you as he pushes you back further up the bed to make more room for himself.
“Told you this was fun.”
“Shut up.” You giggle as you watch him get settled back in between your thighs, only for it to die out once he dips his head back down.
He draws a long sigh out of you once he starts to slowly lap at your sensitive clit. He goes at an unhurried pace, just barely using any pressure and you’re sure he’s just doing it to fuck with you. With the way you are right now, the lazily licks are fucking torture, making you squirm around while you clench around nothing.
The more you move, the tighter his grip around the back of your thighs gets, until you find yourself pinned in place as he finally starts to pick up the pace, adding more pressure until that metal ball starts swiping across your clit like you need it to. You focus on it, until it gets ripped away once you finally feel his tongue press flat against your hole and begins dragging heavy stripes up to your clit.
Your breathing grows sharp and uneven, hand moving down to his head, locking strands of hair in between your fingers as drawn out moans start spilling past your lips. He goes from pressing his tongue against your entrance to pushing past it, dipping further and further until deciding to just stay there and fuck you with it.
The shallow thrusts have you squeezing and clenching, back arching off the bed, desperate for more. You nearly let out a pathetic cry when he pulls away, but then he fills the empty space right back up with not one, but two of his fingers. They’re long and thick, and he’s curling them in. The pads of his fingers rub right up against that spot inside that has you seeing stars.
Through half-lidded eyes, you watch as he starts to pump them in and out faster, until a light squelch can be heard. “Oh fuuuck.”
“You like my fingers?” he asks with a low, amused hum.
You nod. “Feels so good— oh my god.”
“I bet— look at how fuckin’ soaked they are from you.” He pulls them all the way out for you to see, then stuffs them back in. He starts curling faster, thumb pressing your clit and rubbing little circles until you’re clenching and whining. “Yeahh— that’s it, show me how good that feels.”
He keeps hitting your sweet spot until something in you shifts, making you close your legs out of instinct, only for him to keep them open so he can keep going.
“Oh my god— fuck— wait!” you cry out.
“What’s wrong, baby? Gonna cum?” Instead of letting up, he goes faster, letting the room continue to fill up with the filthy sounds of his fingers scissoring into your cunt, pushing you over the edge until you give him what he wants.
And he gets it quick. You let out a sharp cry as you gush around him, finally cumming after holding it in from earlier.
“Fuuck yeah, there you go,” he rasps, fingers slowing down as he works you through it.
He waits for you to catch your breath before leaning forward and kissing you a couple times, humming with each one.
“Tired or you wanna keep goin’?” he asks.
You’re still trying to catch your breath as you answer. “Yeah, keep going.”
“Atta girl.”
He pushes himself off the bed to take the boxers off and your eyes widen at his cock that’s bigger than you originally thought it’d be. It springs out of his boxers with multiple piercings and precum smeared all over his darkened red tip.
And of course, you stare for longer than you should.
“You alright?” he asks, sounding cocky as hell, and actually having the right to be.
Taking your eyes off feels impossible— 3 rows of barbells on the underside of his shaft right below his tip, and another one on the underside of his tip. It almost feels wrong, he’s already long and thick.
“Yeah— I just— holy shit.”
“I know.” He says with full confidence as he gets back on the bed and situating himself in between your legs. “Gonna be fun watching you take it.”
He grabs the backs of your knees and spreads your legs further apart, getting a better look at how wet you still are, fighting back a smile knowing it’s from him.
He gives his cock a couple pumps, then looks at you, not sure whether you’re excited or nervous. “You ready?”
You look at him, then back down to the absolute monster he has in his hand, then back up at him.
“Mhm.”
He stares at you for a few seconds, then casually shrugs. “Alright.”
You’ll get used to it.
He runs the head of his cock through your slick folds, tapping it over your clit a couple times, making you a bit more nervous after feeling the cold metal ball from his piercing nudging at your entrance.
He pushes in, and you both have the same reaction to how easy it slides in despite how tight of a fit it was. You take in a sharp breath as he starts to sink in, inch by inch, with no resistance, all while feeling an immediate stretch and the added friction from each piercing.
Once he’s halfway through, he slowly starts to rock his hips back and forth and you find yourself having to bite back on a moan, realizing those piercings were also rubbing back and forth against your walls.
“You doin’ okay?” he raises a brow, clearly enjoying the sight.
“You’re so fucking big,” it almost sounds like a complaint.
“I am,” he hums, leaning down and caging you in with his arms. “I’m gonna push the rest in.”
“How much is there left?”
“You’ll be fine.”
He thrusts right in and you're letting out a shattered gasp. At the same time, he’s humming in satisfaction since he got to watch the whole thing.
“Fuckin’ tight,” he murmurs, giving you a moment to get used to how stuffed you are, stealing a few kisses while he’s at it since he’s not entirely an asshole. “Remember what I said, all you gotta do is take it.”
You don’t get a chance to respond before he’s pulling out all the way and sliding back in, working up a pace as he stuffs you over and over again, dragging those small metal balls right over the spot that made your toes curl.
It still took you a little bit of time getting used to him though, all words dying at your throat once he started to actually fuck you like it was nothing. Feeling betrayed by your body for letting him stretch you so easily like this.
Each drive of his cock has you moaning and gasping, making you cover your mouth trying to hold them in— something he did not like since he pushed your hand away.
Then without warning, he shoves two fingers in your mouth.
“Mmmh— you look good with my fingers shoved in your mouth like this. Now suck.”
You do as he says, swirling your tongue around his digit a few times before he presses them down it, making you softly moan as you sucked on them. He pulls them out with a wet pop and starts muttering in your ear.
“Don’t cover that pretty little mouth again, alright?”
Thrust.
“Fuck— okay,” you whine back.
“Good girl.” He gives you another rough thrust, pulling another choked noise out of you. “Don’t try to hold out on me thinkin’ snot and tears are gonna turn me off, cry on it if you have to. I like it ugly.”
At first you wanted to cry from how fucking mean that was, only to realize that urge to cry may have just been from that one spot he wouldn’t stop hitting, which eventually stopped being overwhelming once you finally get used to him.
“See? That wasn’t so bad now, was it?” he asks, though it was more of a condescending remark rather than a question. “Bet this feels good now, huh?”
“It’s been a while,” you say in an attempt to defend yourself.
“Yeah, no kidding— pussy’s fuckin’ tight,” he says all smug, getting harder at just the thought. “Feels good like this.”
He brings your legs together and throws them over his broad shoulders. Moans start to spill out of your mouth the moment he starts hitting at an angle that manages to hit your clit too. His hips crack against your ass as he picks up the pace, slick spreading past your thighs as he pounds down deeper, bed steadily rocking from all the force behind each thrust.
“Shit— look at how much of a mess you made,” he groans once the wet squelch between you becomes unavoidably louder. “Did you squirt or somethin’? You’re fuckin’ soaked.”
“No. I don’t— nghh— who cares, just keep going.”
He looks at you in amusement, keeping the same pace as he pushes further back against your legs to go deeper, making you nearly squeal. “Is this what’s got you lying about squirting?”
“I didn’t squirt,” you say with an airy laugh. “Fuuck— just feels good.”
“Right,” he mutters slowly as he pushes back against you even more, slowing down until he’s just grinding against you. “What about this?”
It’s a full blown mating press at this point.
“Mhm— yeahh.” Your lips curl into a small smile. “Better, actually.”
“Good,” he hums.
He leans down to press his lips against yours while slowly picking up the pace again, soaking up all the sighs and soft moans he pulls out of you from the deep strokes of his cock, letting the base of it rub against your clit while his tip mushes against that special little spot inside.
The slow, lazy kisses go on for as long as they can, and for you, it’s when your teeth threaten to clash against each other each time his hips snap against you. By then, Sukuna’s going harder. He pulls all the way back, then drives back in— the force behind each thrust growing greater than the last.
“F-fuck— Kuna, that’s—”
“What? Too much?”
“No, no— keep going,” you damn near start pleading with him, feeling a little bit of pressure start build. “Don’t stop— please, I think I’m gonna—“
Your cunt stretches helplessly around him, feeling every inch and vein he stuffs into you over and over again as he fucks you with reckless abandon. The sight’s nothing but obscene as he fills the room with the sounds of him pounding you senseless.
“What’s wrong, baby?” he asks, honeyed and condescending. “Can’t take it?”
“I don’t– fuck– I don’t know.” Your words are cut off by sharp sudden gasps, feeling something unfamiliar build up. It’s not until he gives you one particularly rough thrust when tears start streaming down your cheeks.
“You poor thing.” If you hadn’t known any better, he sounded quite pleased with himself. He leans down to lick a fresh tear streaming down your cheek before going back to business. “Look at you, getting fucked so good that it’s making you cry. You’re probably close, aren’t ya?”
You take in a sharp breath, wondering how bad it would be if you did. You already thought you came. Instead, Sukuna’s right and he’s letting one of your legs back down, leaning in close and cradling your head while he continues to absolutely ruin you.
“Cum for me,” he murmurs. His fingers trail down to your clit and starts rubbing over it with just the perfect amount of pressure, making clenching like fucking crazy. “Thaaat’s it— c’mon. Give it to me.”
He drags his heavy cock all the way out with a wet schlick, then slams back in— again and again and again— pushing you over the edge until your nails are digging into his back and you’re breaking out into a cry.
You’re gushing around his cock and he keeps drilling into you like he’s trying to work as much as he can out of you— just powering through it. This is the hardest you’ve ever cum in your life, you’re fucking sobbing and he’s just encouraging it with the way he licks a stripe up your cheek, groaning about how fucking hot you look crying on his cock.
“Oh my g-god— I-I can’t— ffuck it’s too much—” your nails start to claw down his back as he drives you into overstimulation.
“I know— I’m so fuckin’ close,” he husks out, and you can tell he’s not entirely all here anymore. “Shhiittt almost there— keep squeezing me like that, baby— yeahh just like that,” his hips desperately slam into you, deep groans start to rumble out of his chest as he chases his own relief. “Fuck— ffuuck.”
He lets out the most drawn out guttural groan once it hits him. He slams in, burying his cock deep inside of you and flooding your walls with so much cum that it starts to spill out while he grinds every last drop of it out.
He pulls out but keeps you caged in underneath you, pressing lazy kisses against your lips with short uneven breaths in between, skin damp and glistening from sweat. It takes a moment to come back to reality, and for someone that doesn’t even know where to start, you’re surprisingly comfortable with the silence between you.
It eventually ends, though. You’re the first to break it.
“Did you still want me to go out on those dates you were talking about?”
Immediately he lets out a breathy laugh. “If you don’t mind me trying to fight them, then sure.”
. . . . . .
Six Months Later
You walk step inside Sukuna’s office, giddier than usual with the small pink cake you bought after handing in your resignation letter to Yaga. His feet are kicked up on the cherry oak wood desk and you doubt he’s doing anything work related. But he’s the boss, who’s going to yell at him? He does sit up straight once he sees you, though, ready to hear the news.
Unfortunately, he doesn’t get to hear it right away since you just had to look at the wall shelves and catch sight of something that wiped the smile off your face.
“Why is Yuji’s face crossed off in that photo?”
He rolls his eyes, “don’t worry, it’s whiteboard marker.”
“But why would you do that?” you continue to interrogate Sukuna, because unlucky for him, you two are the best of friends now.
Jin visited him earlier today and brought Yuji along. He started off the visit strong by pointing to Sukuna and asking his father ‘Does Uncle have a reezding hairline, too?’ and eventually took a look at the protein snacks he had in the corner, which made him look Sukuna up and down, and go “you eat too much.”
Sukuna rubs his temple as he grows annoyed again. “He called me fat and bald, so I told him we weren’t family anymore and crossed his face out to prove it.”
Despite the words that come out of Yuji’s mouth, the kid loves him in all of his grumpiness.
“So you made him cry?”
Yuji cried so hard that started dry heaving and nearly threw up. “No,” he grimaces. “He just pouted and said sorry.”
You look at him rather suspiciously as you grab a couple forks from his little snack station in the corner, but let it go this time.
He takes your silence as an opportunity to change the subject completely. “How’d your boss take the news?”
“Oh my god, he was distraught,” you reveal, still surprised over how panicked he looked when you turned in your resignation letter.
He waves a dismissive hand, believing it’s the least he deserved for not trying to meet you halfway when trying to cut some of your hours down and refusing to demote you.
“You’ll forget all about it after sleeping in tomorrow,” he reassures you before taking his first bite of cake.
“Yeah— I,” you give a nervous laugh, “okay, so about that.”
He stops chewing and just stares at you.
“I’m gonna stay with them.”
“What?” he almost snaps. “We’re going on vacation in a few weeks. I— what the fuck? What did you get a fuckin’ cake for then?!”
“We’re still going! He’s giving me that time off.”
“How charitable of him.” He snorts out a bitter laugh, then goes back to be mad. “I thought you hated that fuckin’ place?!”
“I did! But he offered to shorten my hours and said I could work from home.”
That piece of information does nothing for Sukuna, who is grumbling profanities under his breath, acting like he’s the one being forced to stay there. His words start going in one ear and out the other after telling yourself he’ll get it eventually, and take a bite out of the victory cake since you also got a small raise, despite the decrease in hours.
“Are you listening?”
“What?” you look up and ask, still chewing on the food.
“Tch– nothing.” Sukuna takes his aggression out on the cake by stabbing the damn thing when getting more. “He shoulda’ given you all that before you tried to quit if you were that important. Hell— he shouldn’t have dumped all that work on you in the first place.”
“He’s a greedy old man that’s hungry for money,” you remind him. “What else would you expect from him?”
Sukuna’s delusional and does this thing where he just assumes the world sees you the same way he does, and then when it doesn’t, he gets offended. Last week at the grocery store, someone reached for the produce in front of you and he snapped at them for not saying excuse me. Then he snapped at them again for not having any patience, given how you would’ve eventually moved.
“Whatever,” he gets up from his seat to grab a water from the mini-fridge and takes a sip, but before sitting back down, he stops next to you and gets at eye level. “If Mr. Crabs calls you while we’re gone, I’m ripping that phone out of your hand and cussing him the fuck out, you hear me?”
You suppress a laugh. “Loud and clear.”
“Good,” he says, stealing a quick kiss from you. “Proud of you.”
The sincerity in his tone pulls a smile out of you. “Thanks.”
He glances at the door, notices it’s locked, then places a hand on your thigh when the sudden realization that there was no one that could fire him hits him.
He gives it a squeeze. You already know what he’s thinking.
