Summary: You and Pope have loved each other since you were teenagers. And then he went to prison, and cut you off. No apology, no explanation, nothing. Just a sledgehammer to your heart and utter radio silence.
Three years later, he's out, and he wants you back.
Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI: Swearing, Mentions of drugs, Mentions of violence, Alcohol use, Gun use, It's Animal Kingdom there's a little bit of everything, Character death (not a main/canon character), Vague descriptions of mental illness (it's Pope), Smut!! Unprotected pinv (wrap it up guys!), Loss of virginity in a flashback, Brief Craig/Reader (they're besties though), Age gaps/timelines might be a little wonky but oh well, Mentions of abuse (reader’s dad is a bad man), Please let me know if I forgot anything!
Author's Note: I hope you guys enjoy this one! I wanted to experiment with flashbacks, and then this exploded out of my brain. Special thanks to @flowersforbucky for proofreading and dealing with my indecisiveness on the pictures and layout because she is the best!! Please let me know what you think!!
Word Count: 21k
-
The bar is dimly lit. Sticky. Loud.
The guy sitting across from you has nice eyes. Pretty, even. They’re a light blue, crinkled a little in the corners and looking at you with something like adoration. You try to appreciate it, you really do, but all you can see is naivety. Maybe you’re too cynical. More likely too damaged. Whatever.
You prefer brown eyes, anyway.
Warm brown eyes looking into your own. Large fingers tucking your hair behind your ear. The ghost of warm breath against your lips and a small curve of a shy smile as he leans closer and closes the distance between you-
You blink, and force a smile.
The guy across from you, Ethan or something, clears his throat. “So, do you wanna maybe-“
A beer hits the table, loud enough to make the man - though you should really call him a boy, with that collared shirt and combed hair and those innocent eyes - jump nearly a foot in the air.
“Move it, pal.”
Craig Fucking Cody stands above you, and you bite back a groan.
The boy stammers, pales at the sight of the gigantic, tattooed man beside you, and takes maybe a full twenty seconds to stammer out his next words.
“I-I…are you her…”
“Oh yeah, I’m her husband. Fresh outta the psych ward and everything. Now beat it, before I smash your head against the table.”
The boy bolts like Craig set the booth on fire, and you glare up at him.
“I was on a date.”
Craig laughs, like you were genuinely joking. “Not exactly your type.”
“You don’t know what my type is.”
“Pretty sure I do. I shared a wall with your type for most of my life.”
You clench your jaw. “What do you want, Craig?”
He sits across from you, all friendly familiarity, and smiles. “I need your help.”
“I don’t do jobs anymore.”
He raises his eyebrow, and glances pointedly towards Ethan in the corner of the bar, trying to save face by ordering himself another drink.
“I told you, that was a date.”
“C’mon, don’t lie to me. You think I don’t know when you’re working an angle?”
You narrow your eyes a little. “Okay, fine. I don’t do jobs with the Codys anymore.”
Craig’s smile falls a little.
Burning rubber in your nose. Panic in your throat. The shriek of the tires drowned out by your own voice as you grab frantically at the wheel.
“Baz what the fuck are you doing? What are you doing? Turn around!”
Baz’s hand darts out, and he slams you back against the seat so hard your teeth knock together. “It’s too late.”
“What the fuck are you talking about? We can’t just leave him-“
“We have to. He was too late. You know the rules. It’s him or all of us.”
You’re frantic. Panicked. You even start to yank at your own car door, like you might jump out and run back to the bank on your own two feet, and Baz slams you backwards again.
When he makes it to the house, you punch him in the face before you even get out of the car. He takes it, head whipping to the side like he expected this reaction from you. When you get out, you punch him again. It takes both Craig and Deran to pull you away.
“He’s out of prison, you know.”
You take a sip of your drink. “Good for him.”
“He keeps asking about you.”
Yeah, bullshit. “I’ll bet he does.”
Craig sucks his teeth, and seems to decide to pick a different battle.
“So, it’s a good job. You barely have to do anything. We just need your help with-“
“I don’t do jobs with the Codys anymore, Craig. Also, I don’t know if you realize this, but using my ex as an incentive to help you isn’t really boosting my interest.” Ex. Your ex. It still feels so weird to think of him like that.
Because he’s just…Pope. Andrew Cody. The love of your life since you were a teenager. Even when you were together, ‘boyfriend’ felt like too simple of a word to describe what he was to you. It was too intense for such a lame title. Too full of a love so deep it bordered on obsession.
And then it was all over. Just like that.
Craig is making a face. You frown back at him. “What?”
“It’s my job, okay?” He runs a hand through his hair, flexes his fingers on his beer. “And it’s good. I’ve worked my ass off at planning it, and Baz is out, so I just…I need it to go well. And it will go well if you help.”
You grip your drink a little tighter. Fucking Craig. Fucking asshole with the terrible decision making skills and good heart. Fuck him for being your friend. For making you care about him. For giving you that look that’s making you feel like-
“Fuck. Fine.” God help you. “Fine. Fine. Okay. Fine.” He grins at you, and you glare back at him. “But I don’t want to see Pope.”
Now it’s Craig’s turn to give you a look. “About that…”
-
Your outfit is so fucking uncomfortable you want to die.
Okay, maybe it’s not the outfit. Maybe it’s the anxiety twisting in your stomach so intensely you think you might vomit in the driveway of the Cody house.
You’ve been here since he went to prison. Since you broke up. Not for long - you haven’t exactly been in the habit of hanging out by the pool or anything - but whether you’re here for a minute or an hour this damn driveway always whips the memory of that horrible day back into your mind more violently than a slap.
-
“Put me down. Put me the fuck down I’m gonna-“
“Jesus, relax!” Baz throws his hands up, angry and defensive and so very punchable right now. Deran’s got you locked against him, feet kicking in the air like you might be able to land a blow if you just try hard enough. “I had to go! He got held up or some shit, and if the cops caught us the whole family would have gone down.”
“You just fucking left him there! We could have-“
“We didn’t have a choice. I made a decision. I saved our asses. We knew this was a risk. It always is.”
“Fuck you.”
“Yeah, yeah. Fuck me.” Baz runs a hand through his hair, and you know he’s heartbroken too but you couldn’t give less of a shit right now. His nose is still bleeding from where you clocked him a minute ago. “Fuck me for making the hard decisions for this family.”
Rage rises up in your throat again, threatening to choke you as you kick harder. “Boo fucking hoo. You left him! You fucking left him and-“
“Calm down.” It’s Deran’s voice now. Deran, who sounds choked up and is still holding you locked in a vice grip. The sound of it makes you look up at Craig, whose eyes are shining with tears, and…
Your feet drop back to the pavement, the sound and sight of the boys’ pain deflating you almost alarmingly quickly, and you pat the arm around you in both comfort and reassurance.
“Okay.” You breathe, shaky, and Baz’s shoulders drop.
“Okay.” He repeats, and the sound of his voice makes you grit your teeth. “Now that we’re all calm, we need to figure out what to do.”
-
He’s in the yard.
Three years later, and he’s just… in the yard. Standing there. Staring at you. And what did you expect? That he would drag himself out of a grave? Appear before you in an explosion of fire and blood?
He looks at you. You look at him. He doesn’t move an inch.
He looks good. Just as beautiful as the day you lost him. You hate him for it.
“Hi.” His voice sounds even lower than it used to. He looks bigger. Like he worked out a lot in prison.
You raise your eyebrows. Something curls deep in your core at the sight of him. Three years later, and you still can’t look at this man without feeling a physical reaction. “Hi.”
-
“You’re bleeding.”
You reach up, swiping the back of your hand over your lip and frowning at the smear of red across your skin, illuminated by the moonlight reflecting off the pool.
“You’re not the only one who can get into fights.”
Andrew Cody looks at you, with those dark eyes that always seems to see through whatever lie you try to tell him or even yourself, but you meet his gaze with the defiance of a teenage girl who really doesn’t want to talk about it.
“Are you…staying here again?” He asks, standing still from his spot beside the pool. You’re on a chair. Your face hurts. Your body aches. You nod.
“Smurf says I can crash for a few days.” In exchange for help, of course. Help with jobs. Connections. Money. You don’t mind. It’s better than being home, or hiding out on the beach again.
He still hasn’t moved. “Are you…gonna stay in Craig’s room? With him?”
You almost laugh out loud. Craig, big and rowdy and often immature even for a teenager, is closest to you in age. He might be your best friend. He definitely has a crush on you, and you’re almost positive that Smurf is angling for the two of you to get together.
“Why? Would that bother you?”
“Yes.”
You look up at him. He looks down at you. Slowly, almost unaware that you’re doing it, scoot over on your chair to make room, and he takes the invitation. Your heart hammers in your chest.
His hand comes up. Fingers brushing over a bruise on your cheek and eyebrows twitching with…
“Stop looking at me like that.”
He doesn’t. “Like what?”
“Like you want to kill someone for me.”
“I do.”
“I know.”
He’s close. His thumb is still brushing over your cheek, and his eyes fall to your lips. You think he might kiss you. You don’t think you’ve ever wanted anything more.
But this…this house, as chaotic and dangerous as it may be, is the only somewhat stable thing you have right now. The only safe place to go when things get too fucked up at home. When your petty criminal of a father takes things too far, or debt collectors come banging on the door. Smurf lets you stay here, and Smurf is always working an angle. You’ve told yourself a thousand times that, in exchange for this, you’ll go along with whatever plan she has for you.
This is not that plan.
And yet, as his face ducks closer to yours, fingers curling in your hair, you wonder what it would be like. To feel Pope’s lips against your own. To feel his body against yours as he lies you down right here on this pool chair. You think, despite his violent tendencies and episodes of something your uneducated mind can only call insanity, that he would be gentle with you. Like he always is. You don’t have much experience with boys, but you think he would make sure that you felt comfortable. He’d probably kiss you through any nervousness, whisper reassurances into your skin as he peels off your clothing, make you feel safe the whole time and-
His lips brush over your own, and you pull back.
“I’ve gotta…go inside.”
He searches your face, and you know that his observant eyes see the want there. Still, he nods, and stays where he is as you pull yourself to your feet.
-
“We should talk.”
You laugh, humorless, and push past him into the house. You don’t get far before you feel his hand on your arm, turning you towards him.
“Let go of me.”
He does, but he tilts his head and furrows his brow in that intense way he has. The familiar sight makes you ache. “We should talk.”
“I think the time for talking passed somewhere around three years ago, Andrew.” You grumble, and he fixes you with an expression so filled with helplessness and pain that you almost crumble right then and there.
You ignore him, and push your way into the house. Craig whistles at the sight of your too-tight dress and heels, and Deran greets you with a familiar smile.
As you start to plan, to prepare for the day ahead, you don’t turn around. You don’t look at Pope. His eyes don’t leave you the entire time, and it’s almost physically impossible to keep yourself from leaning back against him like you have a million times, over the course of a million similar meetings.
But you don’t look at him, and when it’s time to leave, you storm out of the house before he has a chance to catch your arm again.
The job. Focus on the job.
You can do this.
-
You lost your virginity to Craig Cody two weeks after you and Pope nearly kissed by the pool.
You don’t know why you did it. Well, you do. It’s what Smurf wants. It’s what Craig wants. It’s what you should want. You and Craig are well matched. You love him in whatever way you do. He’s your best friend. You know how to keep him in check when he acts like an idiot, and he knows how to make you laugh when the weight of everything feels like it’s going to fucking crush you.
So you had a couple of beers at a party. You grabbed his hand before he could get too wasted. Even for a teenager, he’s already fucking huge. Handsome, too. You know the other girls stare at him. You should feel proud that he follows you like a lost puppy the moment you start tugging him towards his room.
It was awkward. And messy. And nothing like the movies say it’s supposed to be like. You know he tried to make it…special, or whatever. He was gentle. He asked if you were okay between kisses as he laid you back on his unmade bed and helped you out of your clothes. When he pushed in, you’d gasped and clawed at his back, and he’d mumbled apologies into your neck and waited until you nodded that you were okay, but he still moved just a little too fast. A little too clumsily. It didn’t hurt too badly, and it wasn’t exactly unpleasant the whole time, but you didn’t feel fireworks or any of the overwhelming pleasure you thought you were supposed to.
When it was over, he’d kissed you, and you’d smiled up at him, and then he’d rolled over and pulled you into his chest and laughed.
“That was awesome.” He breathed, and you nodded. “You’re awesome. Was it…did you?”
“Yeah.” You think you did. There was a minute, somewhere towards the end, when it had felt pretty good. Not the explosion of pleasure you’ve always heard about, but that’s fine.
“Awesome.” He kissed your forehead, and sat up a little. “Wanna beer?”
You’d smiled, heart swelling with affection that should definitely feel more…romantic than it does. But it’s still affection. You still care about him a lot. Maybe this is supposed to be right. “Yeah.”
~
Pope Cody hasn’t looked at you in a week.
Smurf seems more than happy with you sleeping in Craig’s room. With him wrapping an arm around you when you all sit on the couch together. He’s even developed a habit of ducking down and pressing a kiss to your cheek when you’re standing in the kitchen, or before he does a backflip into the pool. It’s fun. You think you can get used to it.
You haven’t had sex again. He’s asked, almost every night, but you’ve always come up with some kind of excuse and he’s always responded with nothing harsher than a disappointed smile. And yet, you both stay up almost all night every night, talking and laughing and playing video games like you always have since the day he first brought you to this house. This family.
But Pope won’t look at you, and you can’t ignore it anymore.
Because he came home from a job with a black eye and bruised knuckles, and now he’s standing in the yard and Smurf’s chastising him for being reckless is still ringing in the air. He didn’t talk. He didn’t argue. He just stared at the pool and refused to look at her. At you.
And now you’re alone with him, and everyone has left to go regroup or party or whatever, and he still. Won’t. Look. At. You.
“Andrew.” You rarely use his real name. He tenses, but he doesn’t turn around.
“Look at me.”
He doesn’t. You snap.
“Why won’t you look at me?” You grab his arm, and turn him toward you, and he pulls it away.
“Stop it.”
“No.” You grab him again, and this time he catches your arm, fingers around your wrist in a vice grip that is firm but nowhere close to painful. His eyes remain on the pavement.
“You haven’t talked to me since I got with Craig.” You say, and his jaw clenches at your words. You can see his cold expression, now, if not his eyes. He’s older than you, but his face still holds the smooth roundness of youth. He’s just as handsome as always. Your heart stutters a little, like it’s supposed to with Craig.
When he still doesn’t answer, you shove at his chest. The sudden movement makes him release your wrist, but he doesn’t budge. “Fucking look at me! Why won’t you at least look at me? Are you seriously this pissed off because I hooked up with him? Stop being an asshole and tell me why you’re acting like this!”
“Because it should have been me!” He finally snaps, finally looks at you, and the sharpness of his voice paired with the intensity behind his dark eyes is enough to nearly make you stumble backwards. “It should have been me. You know it should have.”
He looks almost crazed, now, shoulders hunched and fists clenched and feet moving towards you until you take an instinctive step backwards. The movement doesn’t stop him. He still comes closer.
“You…you let him touch you. And kiss you. And do all of the things I’ve…” he trails off, and your breath freezes in your lungs, “the things I’ve wanted to do since I met you.” His eyes drop to your mouth, back up to your eyes, and he’s close. So close. “It should have been me.”
You don’t move back again. You can feel the warmth of his proximity in the chilly night air. Your voice is too quiet to your own ears. “That’s…not the plan.”
He’s not breathing regularly. His hands are still clenched at his sides. He looks you over, like he’s trying to fight it, before something finally breaks.
“Fuck the plan.” His voice is almost a growl, and you don’t have time to respond before his hand is on the back of your head and his mouth is against yours.
The world explodes.
His lips are warm and rough, demanding and desperate and sending fire through every vein and pore in your body. You choke on a whimper, surprising yourself with the sound, and Pope groans in response as his tongue sweeps its way into your mouth. Your hands fly up, curling in the fabric of his shirt before moving up to his hair like you don’t know how to touch all of him at once. His own hands move down, lips only leaving yours long enough for him to grab the backs of your thighs to lift you against him before he’s kissing you again.
You don’t even register that you’re moving, too caught up in the desperation and the feeling of something hot burning in your core. He presses you against a wall, trails his lips down your throat until you’re gasping for air, before he kisses you again and moves deeper into the empty house.
And then he’s lowering you back onto his bed, crisp sheets smooth against your back, and you barely let him pull away enough to crawl over you before you’re kissing him again with so much need that it’s almost embarrassing.
His rough palms are sliding up beneath your shirt, breath turning shaky at the feeling of your skin against his, and it feels so good you think you might die.
“Is this okay?” He whispers, lips against your cheek, and you nod.
“Please.” You don’t know what you’re begging for, but the sound of it makes him moan as he pulls your t-shirt over your head and trails his mouth down over your collarbone.
His own shirt comes next. You roll on top of him, and kiss and bite down his chest until he’s tangling his fingers in your hair and pulling your mouth back up to his, rolling you both once more until you’re on your back and your hands are fumbling with his belt, unpracticed and clumsy, until he shushes you gently and reaches down to help you with a lingering kiss to your cheek.
“Tell me if it’s too much.” He rasps after a while, and you can barely breathe enough to tell him that you will. You settle for a nod, and his rough palm slides over your stomach, up over your body until he’s cradling your cheek.
“I’ve got you.” He whispers, and the soft words are almost comical with how hard he’s trembling with restraint. With how dark his eyes are, how intense his touch feels. “Breathe. I’ve got you.”
You nod, and when you smile he smiles back, shy and nervous behind that starved expression, and that one look alone makes you feel like you’re floating.
It’s nothing like Craig. It isn’t like Pope is a whole lot more practiced, or some kind of sex god or anything, but every movement feels so much more…right. He slides his hand beneath your thigh, guiding it around his waist and watching your face as your bodies join together for the first time, and the noise that pulls its way out of your throat barely sounds human.
His breath comes on a shaky exhale, eyes never leaving yours as he searches your face for signs of pain or discomfort, and when he finally starts to move you feel something coiling so tightly in your stomach it almost hurts.
Every slow thrust, every reverent touch, tightens that coil. Every kiss. Every whispered word against your skin as his fingers catch your own and he presses your joined hands into the pillow above your head.
You reach the edge so quickly it shocks you, free hand clawing at his back as you bite down on his shoulder and fireworks explode behind your vision.
The feeling is so intense that, for a moment, you forget where you even are. You forget your own name. All you know, all you feel, is Pope moving with you. Whispering praise and promises of adoration against your lips and throat. When he follows you into oblivion, it’s with a breathless moan of your name.
After, he holds you like you’re the most precious thing he’s ever touched. He traces his hands over your skin. He follows the caresses with his lips. And, when you finally remember how to breathe again, you giggle.
He pulls back from your throat with a raised eyebrow, a smile curling on his own lips, and nuzzles his nose into your cheek. “What?”
“I didn’t…” you didn’t know it could feel that good. You didn’t know anything could feel that good. “I…wow.”
He really does smile, now. He tucks you closer to him, barely letting you go as he pulls you beneath the blankets with him and curls his body around yours. Protective. Possessive, even. “Yeah.” He murmurs, pressing his lips to the side of your head. “Wow.”
-
The future Mr. and Mrs. Franklin need to be convincing. Happy. Overwhelmingly in love.
Your heels click against the dock. It takes years of practice and training from Smurf to keep yourself from fidgeting in your expensive dress. Pope’s eyes are on you, burning holes into your head from behind his sunglasses.
“Stop looking at me like that.”
“Like what?”
“You know like what.”
“You look nice.”
“Shut up.”
The door to the yacht opens, and you don’t have time to keep the argument going. Pope slides his arm around you, you grin wide, and he tugs you almost too-tightly into his side.
“Welcome!” The woman on the other side of the door is smiling in that fake and familiar way that people do when they’re trying to get a whole lotta money from rich people. “Mr. and Mrs. Franklin, right?”
“Soon to be.” Pope says, all confidence and practiced casualness. He catches your hand in his, the expensive ring glittering obnoxiously on your finger, and raises the back of your hand to his lips. You giggle like an airhead, tilt your head onto his shoulder, and grin up at him.
“Adorable.” The woman says, too emphatically, and you don’t miss the way her eyes rake over your ‘fiance’. You shouldn’t care. This isn’t real. He’s not… yours anymore. And yet, it’s hard to shake off the surge of possessiveness that nearly has you yanking him down and pressing your lips to his.
When she turns to lead you both into the yacht, you try to pull your hand out of Pope’s. He doesn’t let you go. You turn to glare, and he offers you a small smile and a squeeze of his fingers through your own.
Fine.
-
“I’m sorry. He refuses to see you.”
“I…” you blink, shake your head, and tell yourself you heard the guard wrong. “What?”
“Believe it or not, even prisoners have a right to refuse visitation. He said he doesn’t want to see you.”
You blink again. “That’s…that’s not true. That can’t be true.”
“You can try again next week, but in my experience you’ll probably have the same reaction.”
-
You try again the next week. And the next. You stop sleeping. You stop eating. You wait for a phone call. An explanation. You go to Smurf. You go back to the prison.
Six weeks later, he finally fucking agrees to see you.
You nearly rip the phone off of the wall. He doesn’t look right in a prison uniform. He doesn’t look like he’s been sleeping. “What the fuck, Andrew?”
At your use of his name, his real name, you swear you can see something like relief flicker in his eyes, like the sound of your voice is a drug he’s been deprived of for over a month. You’re about to keep talking, or even press your hand against the glass like some lame fucking cliche, the sight of his face lifting something heavy off of your soul.
“Stop calling.” He says simply, and your heart drops to your feet.
“What?”
“Stop calling. Stop showing up here. Stop.”
“I…” what? This isn’t happening. He wouldn’t do this. “What? Pope, Andrew, I didn’t leave you.” That’s almost, almost incriminating. You know that. But it could also mean anything. You’re his girlfriend, after all. He’s in prison. You’ve been trying to see him. You haven’t left him. The last thing they’ll probably assume is that you’re talking about leaving him to be arrested after robbing that fucking bank.
“I know.” He says simply, and meets your eyes. “I don’t care. Leave. Stop coming here. I’m not going to come see you again.”
You don’t know what to say. You don’t know how to breathe anymore. This is so fucking wrong and it doesn’t make sense and-
He places the phone on the receiver, stands up, and leaves.
That’s the last time you see Andrew Cody for three years.
-
“And here we have the reception deck. As you can see, the view will be absolutely spectacular, especially when you’re out on the water…”
Four exits. Three cameras. One, two…
“I’m so sorry. Is there a bathroom I can use?” You ask brightly, from where you’re hanging off of Pope’s arm. “Or I’m sorry, the head, right? Like they say on boats.” An airheaded giggle, a practiced bat of your eyes.
The moment you’re around the corner, you whip out your phone and start taking notes and pictures. Exits. Entrance points. Doors to the lower deck where Craig can-
“We need to talk.”
You actually yelp, whirling around and stumbling on your heels before Pope’s arm shoots out to curve around your middle and keep you from falling over.
“What the fuck are you doing?” You hiss, wide eyes shooting back towards the hall. “Now? Let me go.”
“You won’t talk to me. I have to-“
“So you’re gonna fuck up the job? They could be here any second. You’re supposed to be distracting them.” He’s lost his fucking mind. Clearly, prison has warped his brain and made him an irrational asshole who-
The click of heels against the hardwood floor. A familiar, professional voice calling out your fake names with too much curiosity and suspicion.
“Fuck.” You whisper, and start scrambling to pull away and hide your phone. “Fuck.”
In one swift movement, Pope snatches the device out of your hand, slides it into his back pocket, presses you against the wall and slams his mouth to yours.
Like always, even after all of this time, the feeling of his lips against your own sends a jolt of electricity through your entire body.
He kisses you like he hasn’t thought about anything else in the last three years. His lips move hungrily against yours, one large hand coming up to tangle in your perfectly-done hair as his body envelops yours until you can’t think of anything else.
His tongue traces over your lip, and you open for him instinctively until he groans and changes the angle so he can kiss you more deeply and it feels so fucking good you might-
“Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to…interrupt.” A bright, awkward voice breaks you out of your trance, and you gasp as you wrench your mouth away from Pope’s. He doesn’t even turn to the woman, thumb pressing into your cheek as he traces it over your skin like he’s trying to re-memorize the feeling.
It takes a lot more effort than you want to admit to clear your throat and plaster a flustered and embarrassed look on your face. To fall back into the ditzy, wealthy fiance facade. To keep yourself from ignoring her completely and kissing Pope again to chase that euphoric fucking feeling for as long as you can.
“Oh geez. I’m so embarrassed.” You reach up, and pinch Pope’s cheek just a little too hard with one manicured hand, feigning bright affection. “I just can’t keep my hands off of him, you know?”
“It’s so nice to see a couple so…in love.” A tight lipped, professional smile. Another glance at Pope that has irritating possessiveness curling in your chest again. You don’t have a right to feel that way. Not anymore. Not even after…whatever that was. “Would you two like to continue the tour?”
-
When Craig found out, he punched Pope in the face.
Pope punched him back.
When you lurched forward, prepared to jump between them and stop the bullshit macho display, Smurf had stuck her arm out and pushed you back.
“Let them fight. They need it.” She said, voice even, and kept her eyes on her two sons as they wrestled each other near the pool.
“This is bullshit. They-“
“You know,” she interrupts, still not looking at you. “When I took you in off the street, I wasn’t expecting you to stir up so much trouble.”
You freeze, heart stilling in your chest. She could send you back to your family. Your father. Being thrown out on the street would be bad enough on its own, but Smurf doesn’t work that way. If she wanted to really hurt you, she would.
“I didn’t mean to…stir up anything.”
She looks at you now, assessing. “I believe you.” She hums, and pulls her arm back. “Go break them up now, baby. See if you can fix your mess.”
-
“What the fuck was that?”
“A distraction.” Pope’s hands are on the steering wheel. His eyes are on the road.
“And before that? Cornering me in the hallway when I’m trying to gather fucking intel?”
He frowns. His fingers flex on the steering wheel. “It’s been three years.”
“And whose fucking fault is that?”
His brow furrows like he genuinely doesn’t understand why you would ask that. “The…U.S. prison system.”
“You know exactly what I mean. Don’t be a dick.”
“I’m not being a dick.”
“Pull the truck over.”
He does look at you, now, and you can see surprise in his eyes from where they’re visible over his shades. “No. Why?”
“I’m walking. Pull the truck over.”
He turns back to the road. One hand drops off the steering wheel, like it might come to rest on your thigh the same way it has in almost every car ride for years, before he catches himself and returns it to its original spot. “You can barely stand in those shoes.”
“So I’ll take them off. Pull over.”
“Just let me talk to you. Please.”
“No.”
His head drops back against the seat, jaw clenching in frustration, and you feel a surge of pride that you still seem to be the only person who can break through his little bubble of stoicism. Yeah, take that asshole. Be as exasperated as you want.
You don’t speak to him for the rest of the car ride.
-
Craig’s nose is bleeding. His feet are in the pool. He’s holding an ice pack to his eye.
“Do you hate me?” You ask, feeling almost childish for the question.
He laughs. Actually laughs, like you just said something ridiculous.
“Nah. Couldn’t if I tried, I think.”
You frown. “Then why did you…”
He shrugs, takes a sip of his beer, and smiles at you. “I mean, he did fuck my girlfriend. I’d be a little bitch if I just let him get away with that.”
“I’m not your girlfriend.”
“Well, not anymore.”
“I was never-“
“C’mon. I’ve got a shiner and a broken nose. Don’t hit my ego, too.”
You laugh, and shake your head. “You’re an idiot.”
He holds up his beer in a silent cheers, and there’s nothing but affection in his eyes as he takes a swig. No pining. No longing. Not even hurt or betrayal. Just…affection.
You smile at him, and your heart swells in that way you once tried to convince yourself was romantic attraction.
“I thought Smurf was gonna throw me out.”
He frowns now, and shakes his head. “She won’t. And if she does, Pope and I’ll just come with you.”
You smile again. You know it doesn’t reach your eyes. Craig leans over, and bumps your shoulder with his own.
“No matter what, that asshole’s not gonna hurt you again. You’re gonna be okay.”
“And if Pope ever fucks up, I’ll be here. I know I’m the best sex you’ve ever had, anyway.”
You snort. “Craig-“
“Ego, remember? Lemme have this.”
You poke him in the bruised ribs, and he hisses in pain before he laughs again.
You believe him.
-
When you get back to the house, you lurch out of the car before he can even reach for you. You stumble on your heels, kick them off of your feet in the yard, and storm into the house.
“Woah, hey there Hurricane Lady.” Craig’s grin falls the second he sees your face. “Shit. What happened?”
“Nothing. Here’s the phone. It’s got the pictures. Exits. All of that shit.” You want to snap that maybe Craig could have just done this himself, having gotten himself a job there, but you know that he doesn’t get access to the same places you just did. “I’m off the job.”
“What?”
“She’s not off the job.” Pope’s voice, from the door, makes you prickle.
“You don’t get to decide whether I’m on or off the job.” You whirl, and glare. “You don’t get to decide shit about me. Not anymore.”
“Jesus.” Deran blows out a breath, eyes on Pope. “You didn’t tell her, man?”
“Tell me what?”
“She won’t let me tell her.” Pope looks frustrated. Pained, even. Like he has any fucking right to be.
“Tell me what?!”
“Just tell her.”
“I’ve been trying-“
“Tell. Me. What?”
“He cut you off in prison because the cops were coming after you.” Craig says, and the words shut you up. “They were investigating your involvement. He had to cut ties so you didn’t incriminate yourself.”
Oh. Oh.
‘Pope. Andrew. I didn’t leave you.’
“Can I talk to you now?” Pope’s voice is low, and he’s doing the head-tilt thing, and you swear your lips are still tingling from his kiss.
You stare. He stares back. You open your mouth. Close it.
And then you walk into his room.
You don’t even need to turn around to know he’s following you. You hear Craig whistle the wedding march behind you, and you flip him off over your shoulder.
Pope’s old room is empty. The bed is made like it always was before.
“Beautiful. So beautiful. All mine…”
He whispers the words into the flushed skin of your neck, reverent and laced with gravel as his body moves against yours like it was made to. You gasp his name, and he groans as he moves faster.
Some party rages down the hall. The sounds of it are distant and inconsequential. All you can hear is his shallow breathing. His whispered promises of love between presses of his lips to any part of your skin he can reach. You love him so much it hurts and you’re going to-
You shake the memory off. Clear your throat. When you turn to him, he’s looking at the bed like he’s remembering something similar. Well, there are a lot of memories like that in this house. In the house the two of you shared later. In his truck. By the pool. In the pool. On the beach. At the-
Fuck.
“Talk. You wanted to talk, so talk.”
He watches you. You watch back, tense.
“They were looking for a reason to arrest you. The cops thought they might have identified you on that job a few months before. The one at the dispensary.”
You just keep staring at him. He shifts on his feet. “I couldn’t tell you. They were listening to everything. I figured…it was the only way to keep you out of prison.”
“Three years.”
Guilt flickers across his expression. Something like desperation follows. His fingers flex by his side. “I didn’t know when they stopped investigating you. Just when they stopped asking me questions.”
“Three. Years.”
“I missed you every day.” He moves closer, hesitant, like he’s trying to make sure you don’t bolt. “Every fucking minute. I thought about you all the time. It…it killed me, to walk away like that. I still think about the look on your face. I…” his jaw clenches, and he reaches towards you.
You should pull back. You should slap him, maybe. You know he would let you.
“You risked the job.” You try. Try to find something to cling to your anger. Your hurt. You missed him so much and all of that pain doesn’t just go away with one explanation.
“Fuck the job.” He whispers, hand sliding up over your cheek. “It’s been three years.”
And then he’s kissing you. Rough. Hungry. Desperate in a way that makes your knees threaten to give out because holy shit nothing has ever felt as good as Pope Cody’s skin against yours.
For a moment, you forget. You forget to be angry and hurt and painfully confused in favor of tangling your fingers in his curls and dragging him closer to you. He groans, the sound rough and borderline desperate, and his hands drop to your waist, lifting you clean off your bare feet to spin you both until he has you pinned against the wall.
His chest is pressed against yours. His hand is moving down to the hem of your dress, and you think you can feel his fingers shaking as they skate up over your skin and a shiver falls down your spine.
But it isn’t enough. This isn’t enough. It feels so good that it kills you to pull away. But his fingers are sliding up the inside of your thigh and if they reach their intended destination there won’t be anything in the world that will be able to stop you. To stop him, either, if how hungrily he’s kissing you now is any indication.
Because his kiss doesn’t make up for the hours you spent alone, in the house you once shared, staring at a phone that wouldn’t ring. How humiliating it felt to cry yourself to sleep with your mind filled to the brim with questions that you would never have answers to.
His mouth is gliding over your jaw, down over your throat, and his grip on your waist is so wonderfully tight and his fingers are so close to where you need him so badly it hurts and-
You shove him away, breathless and flushed and almost shaking with hunger, and his dark eyes have never looked so predatory.
“You…you can’t do that.” You whisper, and he looks like he’s about to do exactly that again at any moment. You hold up a hand, warding him off, and force yourself to steady your breathing. “No, you don’t get to do that. You don’t get to just show up again and kiss me like that.”
“I’m sorry.” He starts, expression filled with a genuine pain.
“You made me think, for three years, that you didn’t love me anymore.”
“I’m sorry.” He moves closer like it’s instinct, and you back up a little more into the wall, and he looks like he’s about to drop to his knees before you. “I’m so fucking sorry. I did it to protect you. I promise. I couldn’t think of any other way.”
You push past him, and walk out the door.
For once, he doesn’t follow.
-
“Where is she?”
You’re not here. You haven’t come since he got out.
“She doesn’t really come around anymore, man.” Craig shrugs, like it’s casual, like your absence isn’t digging a hole into Pope’s soul even as he sits here by the pool and you should be here but you’re not and he fucking hates it. He should have apologized to you ten times over by now. You should be here with him.
“She comes around every now and then. Watches Lena. Grabs a beer with me on Tuesdays and surfs with us if we ask nicely.” Craig leans back, and Pope fights the urge to lean forward and beg for more information. “She doesn’t talk to Baz, though. I think the most I’ve seen them interact is her flipping him off or some shit.”
Yeah, sounds like you.
“So, you gonna talk to her?”
Yes. Of fucking course he is. He’ll be on his knees begging the second you’re in the room.
But you don’t come. You don’t show up at the house anymore. You changed your number, and he can’t call you. Despite what Craig said, it’s almost like you’ve made yourself into some kind of ghost, too far away for him to reach anymore.
When he was in prison, he would fantasize about the day he got out. In most of those fantasies, you were waiting for him at the house. In a good few of them, you weren’t wearing much clothing, but that part can be easily attributed to how long he went without seeing you.
Nevertheless, you were there. And he would take you into his arms, and you would smile and tell him you understood why he had to do what he did, and everything would be perfect.
But now, he has to track down your new house. On the beach, and not too far from his new place, but he doubts you know that.
He watches through your window and doesn’t even register that it might be a little fucked up of him. He makes sure you get home safe. Waits until he sees you climb into bed and flick off your lights, and often spends a good long while imagining all of the times he would be right there with you. How he would tuck you into his chest, and the two of you would have whispered conversations like you were still teenagers living in Smurf’s house and trying not to be overheard.
He doesn’t go to the door. It’s not the right time. Not yet. It isn’t like it has to be perfect, but… but it’s been three years. Three years of torture and an isolation that almost killed him. That may have killed a part of him, somewhere deep down where even he can’t reach. As badly as he wants to stand on your porch and beg and plead for you to understand, to love him again, he isn’t sure he would be able to handle you slamming a door in his face. He’s not sure he would be able to let you, and that thought alone almost frightens him more than anything else.
Not yet. The job. When Craig brings you in on the job, that’s when he’ll see you. Talk to you. Make you forgive him.
Just…not yet.
But that doesn’t mean he can’t keep an eye on you, until then.
-
The effort it took to get Ethan the Finance Bro to talk with you after Craig ruined it the first time is almost making this particular job too much of a pain in the ass.
It’s a little tricky to balance the work you have to put into the boat job with your own plans, but your own jobs are a little less complex than the ones enacted by the Cody boys. Less reward, sure, but it’s safer and easier. Find out a few things about Finance Bro Ethan’s rich dad, get access to an account or two, make a couple of unnoticeable transfers, and bing bang boom. You can afford rent and to fix your car, and maybe even a nice pair of shoes while you’re at it.
He’s jumpy. You have to smile a little more brightly at him, hold his hand across the table and bat your eyelashes as you insist that your friend from before is just terrible at making jokes, and he’s finally relaxing enough to-
His eyes trail up over your shoulder, and stop.
“Leave.” And that’s Pope’s low, furious voice. It is dripping with danger.
Ethan looks at you. Back at Pope. You smile, wide and sweet, and refuse to turn around. “Ignore him.”
“Do that, and I’ll cut your ears off.”
Son of a bitch.
“He’s joking.”
“Three.”
Ethan starts to scoot out of the booth.
“Don’t.” You say, jaw clenching and smile still forcefully bright.
“Two.”
And he’s gone. Just like that. Out the door and ruining your plans completely.
“Fucking Codys. Do you have any idea how hard it was to get him to talk to me again?”
“Who was that?”
“I had to bend over backwards to keep him from being terrified after Craig’s bullshit. This bra is so uncomfortable. You fucking-“
His hand comes down on the back of your chair, and he leans closer to you with a deadly and dark expression. You don’t flinch. You don’t even come close. In all the time you’ve known him, in all of his scariest moments, he’s never come anywhere close to harming you. The possibility simply doesn’t register in your mind. “Who was that?”
You look at him, deadpan. “My boyfriend.” It couldn’t be farther from the truth, but you may as well piss him off a little.
It works. His jaw clenches, and he leans a little closer. “I’m serious.”
Fine. You give up. “He was a mark. I’m on a job.”
“You’re already on a job.” Pope’s frown deepens, angry eyes moving up to the door again. “That guy was staring down the front of your shirt.”
“That’s kind of the point.” You glance down at your low cut top, at the aforementioned uncomfortable bra, and when Pope does the same you can see something twitch in his jaw. Feel his hand tighten imperceptibly on the booth behind you before he looks back up at your face.
“We’re leaving.”
“No, you’re leaving.” You correct, irritated, and move to turn away from him.
He catches you, turning you back towards him with a look so intense it makes your heart drop. “Come home with me.”
You pause, knocked off-kilter by his proximity and the desperation in his gaze. He looks…dangerous. Like a man in a desert who has been deprived of water for too long, and is starting to lose it enough to follow that water to a bar and ruin her weeks of work.
And yet, it’s annoyingly difficult to care. Not when it would be so easy to bring your hand up, curl your fingers in the soft curls on the back of his neck, and pull his lips down to yours. So, so easy, and yet…
You start to move back, and his hand catches your chin, thumb sliding over your jaw in that familiar and devoted way that always makes your toes curl a little. He saw it. He saw the hesitation. The want in your expression matching his own, and he’s too far gone to let it go.
“Come home with me.” He repeats, soft and close enough that his nose nearly brushes your temple. “We can do jobs together. Like we used to. You don’t have to…do this.”
You spent so long being a team. Being with him. Every job, every move, it was all with Pope and the Codys and while you can do these smaller jobs alone perfectly fine, you want…
Him. God, you want him. Not just sex, either. Though after three years and the way he’s standing so close you can feel the warmth radiating from him, you’re having a hard time not jumping his bones in the middle of this bar. You want to wake up with him in the mornings again. You want to watch him wash the dishes in that particular and concentrated way he has. You want to sit on the beach with him at night, and talk about everything and nothing until the sun peeks over the horizon.
His nose skates down your cheek. The noise of the bar fades away. Your eyes flutter closed as if of their own accord, head tilting to the side, and he makes a low noise as his fingers leave your face to move down your arm.
“I’m sorry.” He murmurs, lips pressing against the line of your jaw, and your next breath comes as a shaky exhale. His hand slides around the curve of your waist, and the angle of his body above yours is intoxicatingly overwhelming. He kisses your jaw again, a little higher, a little closer to your ear, and you melt. “I’ll apologize a thousand fuckin’ times, okay? Just come home with me. Let me show you how sorry I am.”
Your body relaxes beneath his, and you feel his mouth trailing over your skin like he couldn’t give less of a shit about the rest of the world around you. It’s so familiar. So nice. So warm and-
Goddammit.
“Stop.” You push on his chest, and he moves back with a genuinely pained expression. “Stop it, Pope. You just fucked up a month of work for me. I’m not going home with you.”
The look on his face would break your heart, if there was anything left of it to break.
You don’t say another word.
You just leave.
-
The girl sleeping on the couch is the most beautiful girl he’s ever seen.
Craig brought you here a few hours ago. Said something about you taking on three guys by the beach who were trying to rough him up over weed money. You hit the biggest one with a baseball bat. They knocked you out before Craig could take them down.
Smurf hadn’t said much when Craig walked in, eyes bright with lingering adrenaline as he’d placed you on the couch, but she’d seemed impressed when Craig had explained what happened. She’d told him to leave you on the couch for now, and to make sure you didn’t get any blood on her furniture. Your face is bruised. Your sneakers are dirty. You’re wearing a flannel that’s way too big and has holes in it.
“I think she’s been sleepin’ on the beach.” Craig says, brow furrowing a little as he looks down at you. You’re so still you could be dead. Pope wonders what color your eyes are, and then wonders why he wondered that.
“Junkie?” He asks, and resists the urge to brush the hair out of your eyes. Like Julia, maybe. Maybe you know her, wherever she might be right now. Maybe you already have that connection to him. Maybe…
Craig shakes his head. “Nah. Not a junkie. I dunno if she’s homeless, either. I just kinda see her around sometimes. She pickpockets tourists. Seems good at figuring out which ones are the L.A. douchebags.”
Pope frowns. Your face twitches a little, but you don’t wake.
“She’s hot.” His younger brother observes, and Pope’s frown deepens. “And badass. You shoulda seen her, dude. She went at them like a fuckin’ demon. She doesn’t even know me.”
You look so angelic, curled in on yourself on the couch with sand in your hair and dirt under your fingernails, that he finds it hard to believe.
Hard, but not impossible. Because there’s something about you, and the bruises on your face that look so much like the ones that often adorn his own, that screams…fighter. Survivor. Protector.
And he hasn’t even spoken to you yet, but there’s something else there. Something deep down and warm and intrinsic that he can’t exactly pinpoint but certainly can’t ignore.
His.
-
When you wake up, he’s watching you. He knows he probably shouldn’t be. He probably looks creepy, or whatever everyone says, but he can’t seem to pull his eyes away from the rise and fall of your breathing. The way your face twitches every now and then in sleep. The way your hair spills over the couch cushion. He wants to brush it away, but he’s afraid to wake you.
Your eyes flutter open. They’re beautiful.
And those beautiful eyes move dazedly around the room before they land on him, and widen. You bolt up, and hiss in pain as whatever injuries you sustained in that fight no doubt scream in protest.
You look at him. Look around. Look back at him.
Carefully, he passes you the baseball bat from his room. Craig said you had one before. You’re in a strange new place. It might make you feel safe.
You close your fingers around the handle, and watch him like a hawk as you pull it over to you.
“Where am I?” He likes the sound of your voice. Even cracked with sleep and shaky with nerves, it sounds as pretty as the rest of you.
“My house.” He says simply, cocking his head to the side. “Craig brought you here.”
Craig is passed out in his room down the hall. You took a while to wake up. You frown, and rub your head a little.
“Why did you do it?” The question leaves him before he can think, curiosity lying heavy in his chest. People in Oceanside don’t just help other people like that. Not when it could put them in the same state you ended up in.
“Three to one didn’t seem like fair odds.”
Pope takes this information, and holds it close to his heart. Keeps it there like a flame he’ll never let go out.
You sit in silence for a minute before he speaks again.
“Do you want a sandwich?”
You look up, surprised, and your lips quirk upwards just the smallest bit.
“Sure.”
-
The knocking is loud. Very loud. Angry, even.
When Pope opens the door, there you are.
Fuck, it’s like you don’t even know how beautiful you are. He’s always been surprised by that. Sure, you use your looks and pretty smiles to work people on jobs, but when that persona is lowered and you’re just…you, the sight of you could make him drop to his fucking knees.
“You fixed my door.”
He’s shirtless. It’s early. Your eyes drop down to his chest before they fly back up to his face, and he is two seconds away from yanking you into the house and taking you right here in the front hall.
Shit. Three years. Three long, long years of nothing but his hand and memories of you. He’s devolved into a fucking animal. All he can think about is ripping that t-shirt off of you. Of lifting you onto the table right here and dropping to his knees, hearing the noises he can pull from you when he buries his face between your-
“You fixed my door.” You repeat, angrier now, and he furrows his brow as he forces himself out of the fantasy.
“Yeah.”
“Pope, you don’t know where I live.”
His brow furrows a little more.
“Fine, I haven’t told you where I live.” Oh, that’s what you mean. Right.
“It was creaking.”
“How many times have you broken into my house?”
Seven. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Andrew.”
You should know better than to say his name. His real name. The sound of it shoots something molten through his veins, and his hand tightens on the doorframe.
“We’re broken up. You can’t break into my house.”
“We’re not broken up.” The fact comes easily. Simply. There’s no plea behind it. No question at all.
“We’re broken up. You broke up with me.”
“No, I didn’t. I said stop coming around. I didn’t break up with you.”
“Whatever you did, it was three years ago.”
“And you’re not in prison.” He wants to ask why you’re not getting it, but he knows that you do. Even if most wouldn’t, you know how he thinks. You’re just being deliberately obtuse because you’re angry. But he’ll spend the rest of his life apologizing to you, if that’s what you need. “I’m out. We still love each other.”
“You don’t know that I still love you.”
He raises an eyebrow. “Tell me you don’t.”
You open your mouth, like you just might try it, before closing it again and trying another tactic. He’s always found it…cute. The way you try to deflect your feelings like this. And he’ll never try to pretend that he doesn’t love how easily he can call you on it. There are two things in this world that Andrew Cody is absolutely confident in: jobs, and you.
“You fucked up my job.”
“You hate those jobs. They bore you.”
Your eyes narrow, and you’re gorgeous when you’re angry. “I don’t have a backup plan anymore. I need the boat job to go well.”
You’re stalling. You don’t want to leave. “It will.” He raises an eyebrow again. Your eyes drop back down to his bare chest, and it sends a thrill through him. “Want some breakfast?”
“No.” You’re still standing here, and he knows you too well to let you leave just yet. The tension crackling through the air, emanating from you and directing itself at him, is so fucking obvious it almost makes him grin.
“Coffee?”
You hesitate. Frown. “Fine.”
And with that word, you cross the threshold, and kiss him.
-
Your first job with the Cody family went well. Really well.
Smurf shocked all of them by inviting you in, building up her tests of your skills and your loyalty to the family until she suddenly just…made you a part of it. Sat you down at the family meeting with them and told you what your part in the job would be.
Baz protested. Deran was quiet. Craig, however, was thrilled. Pope is pretty sure his brother likes you a little too much, and he hates the way it makes jealousy and possessiveness curl black and vile in his throat. He hates the way Smurf seems to assess this. The way she watches you keep Craig in line and encourages the two of you to spend time together.
But you did well. Really well.
And then, after dinner, you disappeared.
Pope found you up the street, sitting on a small curve of beach and watching the moon like you were greeting an old friend. He’d hesitated to join you, like he might be interrupting, but…
“Hi.”
Shit. “Hi.”
“Wanna sit down?”
Yes. So fucking badly. He’d do anything in the world to just be close to you. “Do you want me to?”
“Yeah.”
He hesitates. You look back at him, illuminated by moonlight and so gorgeous it stops the breath in his lungs, and pat the sand beside you.
He sits, and you rest your head against his shoulder. Like it’s the easiest thing in the world.
“Are you…okay?” Do you expect him to function correctly right now? Do you expect him to be able to string a thought together? You’re so warm. So soft. He doesn’t have experience with this kind of thing.
“Oh yeah.” You hum, fingers curling in the sand beneath you. “I mean, if you’re asking if I’m upset about you holding an unloaded gun to my head while I pretended to freak out, don’t worry. I’m fine.” You mean it. Smurf would be impressed.
He could cover your hand with his own, right now. You might even let him. You might let him curl his fingers around yours, and even flip your palm to rest it against his. Your soft skin against his rough callouses, pillowed by the sand beneath you…
“So what’s wrong?”
You hum, and he feels it vibrate through his shoulder. “I don’t know. Smurf, the job, everything just feels like it’s going too well.”
“Too well?”
“Things change. They hurt when they change. It’s too…good.” He starts to say something, though he isn’t sure what, before you continue. “That’s why I like coming out here, though. I like looking at the water. It’s why I slept on the beach when things got too shitty at home, you know?”
He turns his head, and it brings his face so close to yours that he almost chokes. You don’t even look up, just keep watching the waves crash on the beach as you continue.
“It sounds kinda cheesy, but the ocean is so…big. And no matter what’s going on with me, no matter how bad things seem, it makes it all feel smaller, you know? All that ocean, everything going on beneath the surface, and whatever bullshit’s happening to me just feels…inconsequential. More manageable, I guess.”
Oh God. Fuck. He loves you. He loves you so much.
His hand, knuckles still bruised from some fight he got into earlier this week and already so much bigger than your own, covers yours. You stop picking at the sand, but you don’t pull away.
“I’ll always be here.” He murmurs, some part of him terrified that you’ll jump away from him. He means it. He really does.
And you mean it too, when you turn your palm and slide your fingers through his, and murmur back. “Thank you.”
-
It’s a fucking whirlwind.
You don’t know what possessed you. What you were thinking. Just that you are magnetized to this man, and he’s standing there looking at you like he knows every thought in your head and like he loves you more than anything in the world and you can’t spend another second without his lips against your own.
He meets you just as hard, hand coming up to grip at the hair at the base of your skull as you walk him backwards into his house. You realize, vaguely, between the blur of lips and teeth and desperate hands, that you haven’t even seen the inside of it yet. Even now, it’s weird for there to be any aspect of Pope’s life that you don’t know about.
The tour, however, is going to have to wait. Because Pope has you pressed against the counter and you barely have time to gasp his name before he’s lifting you onto it, tugging your shirt up over your head and tossing it aside before ducking down to trail desperate kisses over your neck. You tangle your fingers in his hair, and pull his mouth back up to yours, biting down on his lip until he groans and reaches down to start tugging your pants over your hips.
“Bedroom.” You manage, somewhere between a choked moan and a drag of your nails down his muscled back that has him sinking his teeth into your throat.
“Three years.” He replies, the words a starved growl, as he rips your pants and underwear down over your legs. All you can do is nod your understanding and drag his mouth back to yours, hands leaving his face to reach down and tug his sweatpants over his hips.
He pulls back, just enough to press his lips to your ear, and you can’t help but whimper when he murmurs his next words.
“Tell me you want this.”
You curl your fingers in his hair, pull him closer to you, and barely manage to gasp out a soft confirmation of “I want this, Andrew” before he’s pushing into you and it is everything you’ve missed for too long and it feels so good you might fucking die.
You gasp, and hold him tighter, and he breathes a shaky exhale into the hollow of your throat as he goes very very still.
You make a soft noise, needing more, and he understands immediately because he knows every inch of you better than he knows himself.
“Three years.” He murmurs again, hoarse and apologetic as his hands grip the counter on either side of you. You realize what he means through the haze of lust, and a bubble of laughter tears its way out of your throat. The sudden movement makes him hiss, cursing softly against your throat as his hands fly up to grip your hips. You clamp your lips together in an attempt to stop your giggling, and when he pulls back to look at you he starts laughing too.
And then, still smiling, he kisses you slow and deep, and begins to move. The moment he does, all humor flies out the window, and you gasp as you lock your legs around his hips and scramble for purchase against his back.
It’s fast and desperate, like he really and truly can’t help it, and it is absolutely perfect. Fuck, it’s everything you have ever needed in your entire life and more. You cling to him, wrapped in his arms and burying your face in his neck to try to muffle cries that might wake the entire Strand. He doesn’t stop, but his grip tightens as he adjusts his movements to grind deeper, fingers tangling in your hair to pull your head back from his shoulder until you can feel his ragged breaths against the shell of you ear.
“Yeah?” He whispers, hoarse and smiling and already wrecked as the force of his movements makes stars explode behind your vision. Then, closer, his nose against your temple and his grip almost bruising on your skin. “Yeah?”
You just nod, and hold on for dear life as you fall over the edge with a cry of his name, and he follows right after you with a choked moan of yours.
For a moment, you both just try to catch your breath, wrapped in each other’s arms with your legs shaking and Pope’s shoulder warm against your forehead. He kisses the side of your head, soft and loving, and huffs a laugh into your hair as he pulls back to press his lips to yours.
“I missed you.” He whispers, and you’re smiling too.
And then, without warning, he hoists you into his arms and starts walking.
“Where are we going?” You ask, still laughing, still smiling, still blissed out beyond words.
He kisses your forehead, your cheek, and kicks a door open. “Bedroom.”
-
Once the initial violent desperation has faded, Pope takes his time with you. He works you apart piece by piece, like he’s relearning every inch of your skin. He kisses every new scar. Every familiar freckle. He makes you forget every word that isn’t his name, tells you he loves you until he’s hoarse with it, and you do the same to him. In the confines of his room, in this new house on the beach, you forget about every morsel of pain you’ve felt in the past. Every tear you’ve shed. Every lonely moment.
At some point, when he’s trailing slow kisses up the inside of your thigh and your fingers are tangled in his curls, you manage to come back to yourself for half a second.
“We’re not back together.” You murmur, and he looks up long enough to raise a dark eyebrow at you.
“We’re not.” You repeat, and he gives you another look, this time with both eyebrows, before nudging your thigh further aside. He doesn’t speak, and he doesn’t need to, because in the next five seconds you completely forget how to form coherent thought.
-
The sun is setting by the time you’re both too exhausted to continue. A few minutes ago, you broke apart long enough to make your way to the shower, where you’d lasted about five minutes before he’d slipped in behind you. You managed to hold back long enough to shampoo each other’s hair before lathering off had turned into kissing beneath the stream, which had turned into…well, into you pressed up against the wall, his chest against your back and his teeth buried in your shoulder as your fingers clawed against the tile and your vision turned white for the umpteenth time today.
Now, his fingers card through your still-damp hair, and you wonder vaguely if you’ll ever walk again.
“Holy shit. We haven’t done that since…” you trail off, brain as mushy as your muscles seem to be, and you feel Pope’s proud smile against your forehead.
“Three years and forty nine days.” He supplies, and you can’t hold back your giggle. “Day after the jewelry store job.”
“Right.” Christ, it really is a miracle that you survived three years apart when you used to go at each other like coked out bunny rabbits. “Forgot about that.”
“I didn’t.”
You swat at his chest, and he tucks you closer to him, tilting your chin up to press his lips to yours.
-
For the first time in three years, you wake up in Andrew Cody’s arms.
And he’s asleep. He’s soundly, completely asleep. He’s always been a light sleeper, but despite that there are certain circumstances that have been known to knock him out like a log.
He’s completely out now, arms wrapped tightly around you and deep breaths tickling the top of your head.
There was always so much chaos in your lives. So many things that could go wrong at any moment, so many risks taken every single day. There was Smurf’s manipulations, Craig’s irresponsibility, Deran’s tendency to disappear and worry everyone, Julia being gone, and Baz…well, Baz being a raging douche most of the time. All of it was always so much, but right here, right like this…this was always where you felt safest. All of the insanity would always be a million miles away, blocked out by the circle of Andrew Cody’s arms.
Which is probably why it feels like a physical stab to your chest when you carefully wiggle out of them.
He grunts, one arm reaching out as if searching for you, but he doesn’t wake.
You allow yourself one moment to stare at him. One long, aching moment. He’s so beautiful in the moonlight that he almost hurts to look at.
And then you slip on one of his tshirts, wiggle into your jeans, and disappear out the door.
You don’t bother pulling your shoes back on, letting the sand cushion your feet as you wander down the beach, and listening to the waves crash against the shore.
He’ll wake up soon, and he’ll find you. And when he does, he’ll pull you back into his arms and the two of you will sit on this beach like you used to. Watch the waves and the stars like you used to. You’ll talk, and he’ll apologize, and he isn’t very good with words but you’ll understand him and you’ll forgive him. Just like that.
You’re not ready for that.
So you pull out your phone, and dial the only other number you have on speed dial. The only number besides Pope Cody’s.
“Where the hell have you been?” Craig shouts into the phone, mirth lacing his voice even through the tinny speaker.
You glance down at Pope’s t-shirt. Plain white. Too big for you. Soft and draped over your body like a flag with his name on it.
Oh well. “You’re gonna give me a whole lotta shit for it.”
He laughs, and you hear a bottle clink somewhere on the other side of the phone. “So why’re you callin’ me?”
“Cause I’m crazy, I guess. Or an idiot.”
“Or both.”
You hum, and bend down to scoop some sand into your palm, letting it trickle between your fingers as it falls back to the earth. You’re confused, and still hurting, and your heart aches heavy in your chest. In moments like this, you’ve always wondered what it would be like to have one of those girl best friends in rom-coms. The kind who would split a bottle of wine with you on the couch and talk for hours about boys with you. That must be nice. You wonder if they really exist, somewhere where life is normal.
Well, you don’t have that. You have Craig Cody.
“I’ve gotta go off grid for a minute.” You say, and trail your eyes back towards Pope’s darkened house. You have minutes before that light flicks on, and you cave. “Wanna get drunk?”
Craig blows out a long breath, and you can almost see him raising his eyebrows and resting his elbows on his knees.
“Sure. Where are you?”
-
Pope hasn’t seen you in three days.
Deran is the one who called him, frustrated and concerned and grouching about you not being able to handle your liquor.
“It’s weird, dude. The balance is gone. She’s not talking him out of shit anymore. They’re just kinda ramping each other up.” He hears the clink of bottles. Shouting in the background. Maybe, somewhere, your laughter. “Whatever you did, come fix it. Because your girlfriend is doing body shots on my bar and I’m not about to get shut down because those two are acting like fucking idiots.”
“I didn’t do anything.” He’s already grabbing his keys. You fell asleep in his arms, for fucks sake. You spent the entire day letting him whisper apologies and promises of love into your skin. He thought you were good. It felt like everything was back to normal, and then you were just…gone.
Sure, there was a moment where you insisted you weren’t back together, but when that sentence is quickly drowned out by “Oh God oh God Andrew please don’t stop” it’s a little hard to let the words sink in.
He’d searched the beach for hours. Called your phone even when it became blatantly obvious that you’d turned it off. He went to Craig’s house, and his brother wasn’t there. You didn’t take your car when you disappeared. He’s been worried sick about you and now you’ve been on some kind of bender?
“You did something.” Deran doesn’t seem to be grasping the gravity of this situation. Everything was fine. Why are you still upset? “They haven’t done this kind of shit since you dumped her in prison.”
“I didn’t fucking dump her.” He needs to focus on not breaking too many traffic laws, but he senses a few irritated comments coming his way. Annoyed as Deran may be right now, he fucking adores you almost as much as Craig does, and Pope can hear genuine worry in his tone.
“You should probably look up the definition of dumping, dude. Telling her to fuck off and not talking to her for three years is pretty-“
“Just tell me if she’s okay.” The words come out harsh. A snap of anger in the quiet car.
“Just get here.” The phone clicks off, and Pope almost throws it out the window.
-
Everything is nice and fuzzy, and you’re having a very fun time.
You don’t have anywhere near Craig’s tolerance, nor his penchant for anything stronger than alcohol and weed, so this ‘bender’ hasn’t exactly consisted of you partying straight through like he has. In fact, it took until tonight for him to pull you off of his couch and tell you to stop wallowing and have fun.
And you had listened. Oh boy, had you listened.
You started at Craig’s house, letting him amp you up and remind you to get angry between shots of tequila.
“Holy shit, just say it. Say it already!” Craig stands, waving the shot in front of your face before shoving it forward. “Are you mad? Sad? C’mon, quit bein’ such a closed book! Who the fuck is that helping?”
“I’m angry!” You take the shot, down it, and sputter.
And then you smash the glass against the wall.
“There she is!” Craig shouts, enveloping you in a drunken hug, and you let the rage build in the safety of your friend’s arms as you start to giggle like a fucking lunatic.
“Gimme another.”
He whoops, lets you go, and grabs the bottle.
And then you went to the Cove, and drank margaritas and let Craig convince you to get angrier. Angry because Pope left you. Because it hurt so bad it felt like a piece of you had broken off, and angry because he showed back up and brought all of that pain with him and just expected it all to be better.
And eventually, you ended up in Deran’s bar, hammered and laughing and trying to remember why you were mad in the first place.
That is, until Pope Cody shows up.
You’ve seen him look scary before, with that furrowed brow and those shark eyes, but now he looks downright murderous.
That’s okay. You can be angry too. You are angry.
“We’re leaving.” He says, simply, wrapping an arm around you before you shove him off.
“Nuh uh.” You step back, and his frown deepens.
“Dude, lay off. She’s just blowin’ off some steam-“
“What the fuck are you doing, man?” Pope stands too close to Craig. Looks way too angry. He doesn’t get to be mad. He broke your heart. He left you alone.
“What’re you doing?” Craig, larger than Pope and already too drunk and coked out to think rationally, matches the furious energy. “You think you’re cool just walkin’ in here and making her go home?”
Something twinges in your drunken mind. Tells you to step in. To stop this.
But you’re too late.
“Maybe I’m sick and tired of pickin’ her up off the floor because you did some shit to make her bawl her fucking eyes out.” Craig shoves Pope. Hard. “Seriously man, what’s the fuckin’ matter with you? You think she deserves this shit?”
Pope punches him in the face.
You just stand there for a moment, drunk and shocked, and it takes a good moment of them brawling and shoving each other into the bar before you realize that you should get in the middle of this.
Someone, some guy who was flirting with you a while back, tries to grab you and pull you away. You slam your elbow into his face, and he releases you long enough for you to leap onto Craig’s back, yanking him away from Pope just in time to feel your back slam into the corner of the bar hard enough to make you lose your grip.
You fall back, feel something smash beneath you, and groan as a bolt of agony shoots through your body. Fuck. Fuck, that’s gonna leave a mark.
The fight stops. The bar goes quiet.
Hands pull you up, slurred apologies spilling past Craig’s lips in a panic as he sets you on your feet and looks down at you with a horrified expression. You’ve had worse, sure, but the bruise isn’t gonna be pretty and you know damn well he’s gonna feel guilty about it tomorrow.
You look up at him, reach up to pat his chest…
And puke on his shoes.
You hear him mumble a quiet “oh, fuck” before he’s shoved aside, and Pope is there. Pope, who is scooping you up into his arms without a word and carrying you out of the bar.
“Sorry.” You mumble, and he doesn’t respond, but he squeezes you a little more tightly to him and that feels like enough.
He places you down in the passenger seat of his truck, and presses his lips to your forehead before he moves to the drivers side.
You’re suddenly very, very exhausted. You thunk your head against the window, and close your eyes as the engine starts.
You feel Pope’s hand on your leg, warm and comforting and familiar.
It feels like home.
-
“Look who finally decided to come home.”
Your father’s voice is nails on a chalkboard. A skin-prickling, hatred inducing rasp that makes your entire body tense.
“This isn’t home.” You drop your keys on the counter. It’s not home. It never has been, but now that you have a real home the difference has never been more obvious to you.
You left your home tonight. Left the warmth of Andrew Cody’s arms. He hadn’t woken, as exhausted after the job as you were, but he’d hummed sleepily into your neck and tried to squeeze you closer as you’d wiggled your way out of his embrace.
Your father scoffs, and doesn’t look up from the TV. “You think that place is home? You whore yourself out to that psycho Cody and now you can’t give half a shit about the guy who raised ya?”
It’s your turn to scoff. You don’t answer. He keeps going.
“You think that crazy kid loves you? You think you’ll get to leave and run off into the sunset with him? The ticking time bomb ain’t gonna love you. None of ‘em are. I know Smurf. She’s keepin’ you around because that shithead prefers to fuck you over going berserk and killin’ everyone in the house. They don’t give a shit about you. They use you. S’all you’re good for, anyway.”
That hits you. Harder than it should.
No. No, he’s wrong. He’s an asshole, and he’s wrong. Andrew Cody loves you more than life itself. There’s no question there.
…Right? It’s not like you even know what love is, being raised by this of shit. And Pope’s love is…obsessive. You don’t mind it. You like it, actually. But-
No. Fucking no. You’re not letting him get in your head. You can’t.
Because there’s Craig. And Deran. And even Baz, sometimes. Smurf likes you, and she most certainly sees you as a pawn, but… but Craig is your best friend. Craig laughs at your jokes. Hugs you so tightly your ribs might crack sometimes. Stays up to talk to you for hours by the pool.
And Pope loves you so much that it consumes him. Even you can’t doubt that. The way he looks at you, the way he touches you, the way he kisses you like he’ll never be able to get enough. His shoulders relax when you enter the room. His smile is the brightest thing you’ve ever seen. You even wake up to him watching you sleep, sometimes, tracing his calloused fingers over your skin with his eyes half-open like he’s fighting sleep just so he can look at you a little longer.
And the last time your father took things too far, the last time you came back with bruises…
You’d spent an hour talking Pope down from coming over here. You’d spent longer convincing Craig and even Deran to stop fucking encouraging him to, to stop insisting that they’ll help him end this asshole.
That’s love.
And that gives you the strength, the courage, to move over to your father and lean one hand on the back of the couch, glaring daggers into his eyes.
“The only reason you’re still alive, is because of me.” It sounds like a fucking growl, so angry and unlike you. “Don’t forget that.”
Your father just smiles, like you’re wrong and he knows it. You want to punch him. You want to prove him wrong, and let Andrew kill him.
You walk out the door, instead.
-
He sits you on the edge of his bed, and it’s just like before. Like every time you’ve been drunk or even sick since you were kids. He kisses your cheek, asks if it’s okay, and when you nod he pulls your t-shirt up over your head, quickly replacing it with one of his own. Your pants go next, and then he tucks you beneath the blankets of his bed and brushes your hair from your face.
He hesitates to pull his own shirt off, wonders if you might be too drunk and upset to want him near you. You never have before, but he’s realizing pretty quickly that before is more removed from the present than he expected it to be. Three years in prison, daydreaming every day about coming home to you and explaining why he did that he did and having you forgive him right away was…well, a daydream. He may have been able to lose himself in the fantasy of your unconditional love and forgiveness for three years, but you were here. Alone. Wondering what you did wrong and missing him on a level completely separate from his. He didn’t experience any of the confusion. The lack of understanding. The pain that comes with that.
You reach out, and push the hem of his shirt up. He pulls it over his head, a slave to your needs and whims, and helps you unbuckle his pants until he’s sliding into bed beside you and pulling you into his arms.
“You’re mad at me.”
You tilt your head into his hand, and nod.
His heart breaks, eyes softening and hand smoothing over your cheek as he leans closer and presses his forehead against yours.
“Why?” He asks, a genuine desperate pain cracking the word as it leaves his throat. “I thought…I thought we were good.”
You make a soft noise, and lean against him a little more.
He whispers your name, presses a kiss to your cheek, and inhales deep, trying to memorize your scent.
“I’m not good at this. You always tell me.” Another kiss. Fingers curling in your hair. “Tell me what to do. Tell me how to make you stop hurting.”
You curl a little closer.
“You left me.” You finally whisper. “You promised you never would, and then you left. I worried about you for three years.”
He pulls you closer. Feels tears prickle in his eyes and guilt churn in his stomach.
“I went to the beach, and it didn’t feel better, because you weren’t there.” Your fingers curl against his chest, right over his breaking heart. “I thought you didn’t love me anymore. For three years.”
Fuck. “I’ll never stop loving you.” If he holds you any more tightly, it might hurt the bruise on your back. He’s gonna fucking kill Craig for that, accident or not. “Never.”
And then, quietly, almost a whisper as you drift off but just loud enough for him to hear it and almost die right there, “…I don’t know if I believe you, anymore…”
-
The boat job goes well. Really fucking well. Save for Marco cutting a woman’s fucking finger off, everything goes off without a hitch.
And you’re proud. Really fucking proud. Craig was always capable of this kind of thing if he just applied himself, and here you all are. Richer than before and still riding that all-too-familiar adrenaline high.
“Geez, Pope really did a number on you.” You reach up now, poking lightly at his black eye. He flinches, and huffs out a sheepish laugh. You saw this coming when you decided someone would have to beat Craig up, and Pope volunteered a little…emphatically. But still.
“Pretty sure he’s got some pent up anger.” He rubs the back of his neck, eyes scanning over you. “How’s your back?”
You cringe, and resist the urge to rub the still-bruised area. “It’s fine. The hangover was worse.”
Craig looks like he’s about to turn you around inspect the injury himself, but one glance over your shoulder to where Pope is no doubt glaring from across the bar is enough to make him cave with one last guilty look. He’s apologized maybe a hundred times for the mistake, and you’ve forgiven him every time. After all, he didn’t mean it, and you’ve definitely had worse. “Damn, how bad?”
Your head is pounding, and you just barely managed to make it into the bathroom before the rest of last night’s tequila expels itself from your stomach.
Not five seconds later, you feel a large hand curl in your hair, pulling it back into a makeshift ponytail while another palm rubs small circles on your back.
“Oh, the humanity.” You whimper, pulling back to lean against the wall. You flinch at the movement, and give Pope a miserable look. “Christ, did I get hit by a truck last night?”
“You broke up a bar fight.”
“Why the fuck would I do that?”
“It was…between me and Craig.”
You frown, and try to piece the fuzzy memories together. “Did you kill him?”
“No. He fell back against the bar with you on his back, so I’m going to.”
Ah, that’s where the pain is coming from. You look him over, shirtless and beautiful and achingly familiar, but…
“Have you slept?”
He frowns, and looks like he’s fighting the urge to reach for you. “No.”
Ugh. This is stupid. Bad idea. You should leave. You are not together anymore. You will not-
“Okay. My head hurts. You need to sleep. Back to bed, big guy.” You reach out, and make grabby hands at him, just like you’ve done a million times before. Every time you were hungover, every time you were sick, or even one time when you just twisted your ankle trying to dive into the pool.
His smile is so full of adoration and relief that it nearly makes you cry. He doesn’t hesitate, moving to scoop you into his arms with a soft grunt of “c’mere…”
He lays you down, and you pull him with you, tugging the covers around you both before tucking yourself into his chest and reaching up to scratch your nails lightly over his back in the way that’s always made him melt.
“I love you.” He murmurs, warm fingers brushing through your hair. “I’m sorry-“
“Shhh. Go to sleep.” You press your lips to his shoulder, and feel him shiver a little at the feeling. “Head hurts, and you need to sleep.”
He takes a moment to speak, but then he nuzzles his nose into your hair and drops his arms down to pull you closer to him. “Okay.”
“I’ve had worse.” You smile, and clink your beer against Craig’s. “Thanks, though. You did fucking amazing today.”
Your friend’s smile, despite the damage to his face, lights up the entire room. “Fuck yeah I did. You did, too.”
“Aw, shucks.” You grin, and it’s just like before. Just like when you were kids, riding the adrenaline high together and laughing your way through the car chases and the gunfights despite Pope and Baz and even Deran’s concern. You nudge him, and smile a little wider as you gesture towards the door. “Renn’s here.”
He turns, and the way his eyes light up makes your heart swell impossibly more. That, right there. That’s how you look at Pope. How he looks at you. That little spark behind his eyes is exactly what he’s always deserved.
“You two back together?”
“Nah. I mean, I dunno. Maybe. We’re…you know.”
You clink your beer against his, and meet his eyes. “Just don’t fuck it up again, okay? You’ll be fine. Don’t overthink.”
His eyes trail behind you, to where Pope is most certainly still watching you, and he raises a pointed eyebrow.
You scoff. “Shut up.”
-
That’s the problem with good things. They always end.
You’re at the bar, sitting beside Pope like you have after a thousand jobs, and despite your conviction to keep your heart safe you can’t help the way it melts when his hand covers yours, large fingers threading through your own.
“Do you wanna go home?”
You hum, and lean into his side despite yourself. It was a pretty big day, after all, and nothing sounds better than curling up in bed with him and sleeping until noon tomorrow.
You open your mouth to agree, feeling his thumb trace lightly over your knuckles, and-
Your phone dings. A specific ringtone. One that makes you feel like an anvil has been dropped into your stomach.
“I’ll be right back.” You murmur, and when Pope’s brow furrows you lean forward and press your lips to the corner of his mouth. Not quite a kiss, but close enough that his hand squeezes yours one last time. “Just gotta go to the bathroom, first.”
You leave before he can follow.
-
“You look like shit.” You greet the old man in the alley with a frown, crossing your arms and standing a good few feet back. He does. Your father, piece of shit that he is, has probably pissed off a debt collector or two again, judging by the bruises on his face and arms. You have no sympathy for the man who once left similar marks on you.
“Heard your psycho boyfriend is outta prison.” His retort makes you grit your teeth. “Still sluttin’ yourself out to the Codys?”
“What the fuck do you want this time?”
“Just an exchange. Heard about that boat robbery today.” Fuck. “Wouldn’t be too great for good ol’ Dope’s probation if someone were to put in an anonymous tip, would it?”
“Pope had nothing to do with that.”
Your father smiles, all stained teeth and greedy eyes. “Shouldn’t be a problem, then.”
“Fuck you.”
“How ‘bout we make a trade? I don’t gotta call nobody, and you help cover my debt.”
You want to kill him. You hate him so much it makes you feel sick. “Like I said, fuck you.”
You turn to walk inside, and the move is a mistake. Fingers close too-tightly on your wrist, and before you know it you’re being slammed against the alley wall with your arm twisted agonizingly tightly behind your back. You bite hard on the inside of your cheek to keep from crying out, and remind yourself to breathe through the pain.
“Thought I raised you better than that.” The fingers on your wrist feel like they’re going to snap it in half. You want to bite something back, preferably something poetically sarcastic, but you can’t let your voice betray the pain you’re in. All these years, and you hate that he can still hurt you. “You got three days, kid. Sure you can spend enough time on your knees to get the money out of the crazy one. Maybe the cokehead, too.”
He lets you go with a shove that makes your cheek scratch against the wall, and you turn to glare defiant daggers as he walks away.
-
“Where did you go?” Pope’s dark eyes are curious, almost innocent as he reaches up to pull you closer to him by your hips.
You move back a little, and his brow furrows with concern. “I need my cut.”
“Yeah. You’ll get it when we-“
“I need it now.”
He stands, and you step back when he looks you over, but you’re too late. He knows you too well.
His hands are on your waist, tugging you close to him, and his fingers fly up to the scrape on your cheek. Down to pull up your sleeve, exposing angry red marks in the shape of fingerprints.
“Where is he?” He asks, voice dripping with danger, and you try to pull away but he just grips you more firmly. His grip is gentle, and you know he would let you go in a second if you asked, but he’s not letting you run from this. “Is he here?”
“Not anymore.” His fingers are curling around your arm, pulling it up to inspect your wrist. His eyes are almost black, and his jaw is clenched so tightly you’re worried he might crack a damn tooth. “Hey, Andrew. Look at me.”
His eyes don’t leave the bruises on your arm. “I should have killed him.”
“Beating him half to death caused enough problems.” Piece of shit that he is, your father has one too many connections in Oceanside, and the damage control from when Pope snapped on him years ago nearly got all of you arrested or killed.
It’s been proven safer to just give him what he wants, and try to keep it as secretive as possible, lest Pope or even Craig try to pound him into the pavement again.
Speaking of which, Pope is still holding you too tightly. You reach up, and turn his face towards yours. “I’m fine. We’re fine. Let’s…” God, you’re supposed to keep up with this ‘not together anymore’ thing, but “can we just go home?”
He melts. His eyes soften, and his arms slide around you to pull you closer to him. You feel his cheek against the side of your head, his hand sliding gently up over your back, and you melt too.
“Yeah. Yeah, let’s go.”
-
Split lip. Black eye. Ringing ears.
God, everything hurts. That asshole really did a number on you this time.
Bruised if not cracked ribs. A slight limp from where your leg hit weird when you were tossed across the floor. An aching arm that was grabbed a little too hard.
“Holy shit.” Craig. Craig’s voice, as familiar as your own.
“I got hit.” You worked on this lie. Practiced it the whole limping walk down here. “…by a car.” As bad as it is this time, it might be the only thing that’s believable.
“You’re a shit liar.” Now you know that’s not true, but your friend is already by your side, holding you up and helping you walk into the house. “I’m gonna kill him.”
You’ve definitely got a black eye. Your lip is swollen and bleeding. It’s becoming more exhausting to take stock of your injuries than it would be to note what isn’t hurting.
“Don’t. Just…don’t.” You wince on a step, and when Craig huffs and tries to scoop you up you swat him off.
“Fuck that. You look like you’re about to keel the fuck over.” He frowns, concern lacing every one of his features. “You’re not going back there.”
“I hit him with a fuckin’ frying pan.” You mumble, knocking your head against his shoulder. “So I figure I’m not welcome back any time soon.”
“Smurf is gonna shit.” He mumbles, and leans you back against the kitchen counter to inspect your face. “Fuck, Pope is gonna blow a gasket, dude. How are you gonna explain this to him?”
“I don’t know.” You mumble, reaching up to push the hair out of your face. All you want to do right now is see him. To be held by him and to maybe even just lay down in his twin bed and feel him tuck you into his arms. You’ve been with him for a little over a year, now, and it still feels like you’ve been dating for a week. Like your relationship is just one never ending honeymoon phase. Even these last few days, helping your father out with his bullshit scam, you’ve missed him so much it’s almost concerning.
Fuck.
“Beer, please.” You mumble, and when Craig hands it to you you take a moment to rest the cool glass against your bruised cheek. “I don’t know. I’ll tell him I got in an accident.”
Craig’s answer is immediate, lifting your arm to show the bruises in the shape of fingerprints dented into your skin. “Yeah, real fuckin’ believable.”
You pull you arm back, panic rising in your throat. “Okay. I…give me a sweatshirt.”
“He’ll just take it off.”
“Fuck.” He’s right. You shouldn’t have come here. You should have hidden out on the beach for a few days like you used to, and waited for some of these injuries to fade. Fuck. “I’ve gotta go.”
“Fat fuckin’ chance.” Craig grabs you, more firmly than usual, and keeps you still against the counter. “You think I’m gonna let you walk outta this house while that asshole is still breathing? Look, I ain’t Pope, but I’m not gonna let you into a situation where you could-“
You sense him before you see him. You didn’t even hear the door open.
“Get. Away. From. Her.”
Shit.
“Shit.” Craig releases you, and takes three large steps back like he might be attacked by a mountain lion.
Pope is on you in a second, one large hand cradling your bruised face, and in a moment you can see in his eyes that he’s not entirely there. That line in him has snapped, like it has on those nights you’ve found him in the yard, distant and empty and staring at the moon. When you’ve pulled him from fights, and he took a minute to even remember your name. Took him longer to remember his own.
“Please.” You whisper, reaching up to slide your fingers through his hair and force him to look at you. “Please be okay about this.”
He doesn’t answer you. He just moves his hand over your face, looks at you with those murderous eyes, and presses his forehead against yours.
“Where is he?”
“Pope. Andrew. Please.” Your heart cracks on his name, and he grips you more tightly. “Please, just take me to bed.” You turn his face to yours, squeeze your eyes shut. “I just wanna go to bed.”
And he does.
One hour later, he leaves that bed. You don’t open your eyes. Keep your breathing slow and steady as you feel him kiss your forehead, then your cheek, sliding his fingers through your hair like pulling away from you is physically painful.
But he does, and you feel him stand. You hear him leave.
And you let him.
Two hours later, he walks through the door of Smurf’s house with blood on his knuckles and sweat on his brow.
You’re waiting for him in the hall.
You look down at his hand. Back up to his eyes.
“Is he dead?” Your voice is quiet. He doesn’t look guilty, but he doesn’t look away from you, either.
“No.”
You just nod, and move forward to slide your hand over his cheek. He leans helplessly closer to you.
“Next time you do that,” you murmur, guiding his lips down to your own as his swollen knuckles curl against the back of your borrowed shirt, tugging you closer to him, “take me with you.”
He releases a shuddering breath, and his kiss is so full of love and devotion that it buckles your knees.
-
A warehouse is a cheesy place to meet. The fact that the asshole brought backup makes it worse. Granted, you brought Pope, Craig, and Deran with you, but…well, they’re more here for emotional support. And because they wouldn’t let you come alone.
When you got home, you told Pope everything. The threats, the money you’ve sent him, the amount of time he’s still been able to keep you under his thumb despite how hard you’ve worked to break away…
To your surprise, he hadn’t snapped. He hadn’t stormed out of his house to find the old man. He’d…
He’d kissed you. He’d wrapped his arms around you, tilted your head back, and kissed you.
You make a muffled noise against his mouth, eyes flying open in surprise before fluttering shut as your body melts into the embrace before your mind can even catch up.
When you finally break for air, still confused but certainly unable to complain, you blink your eyes open again.
“What was that for?”
He just kisses you again. Slow. Warm. Wonderful. “I’m sorry I wasn’t here.” He whispers, lips moving down to your jaw. Your neck. “I’m sorry you had to be so fuckin’ brave on your own.”
“Andrew, I…” this is a much different reaction than you were expecting. You haven’t mentally prepared for it. Your mind is still on the defensive.
He shushes you. Pushes his hands up under your shirt to trace them over your skin. “I love you. You don’t wanna be together? That’s okay. We can do whatever you want.” He kisses the hollow of your throat, scrapes his teeth against the sensitive skin, and you make a soft noise in the back of your throat that has him tightening his grip on you. “I’m not going anywhere, and you’re not dealing with this alone.”
You’re not alone. He’s not going anywhere. Never again.
You believe him. You really, really believe him.
“Take off your clothes, please.”
He smiles against your collarbone, and trails his nose up your throat until his lips are hovering over your own. “Are you sure?”
“Positive.” You’re already tugging at his shirt, already pulling him down to kiss you, and he meets you with a hunger that feels like a satisfied craving. “I love you. I trust you.” The words are murmured between kisses, “now please take off your clothes.”
“Christ, it’s like you think you’re Tony Soprano or some shit.” You grumble, feeling surprisingly petulant despite the intensity of the situation. Your father has connections, sure, but you grew up with Smurf Cody. The comparison between the way he operates and what you’re used to is absolutely insane.
Your father is a drunk, and an asshole, and he thinks he’s tough shit. You happen to know what it looks like to actually know what you’re doing. Shocker, that you’re the one who makes the actual fucking money. Even less shocking that he makes most of his income leeching off of you.
Well, not anymore.
“I told you to come alone. You brought your fuckin’ guard dog.”
“Yeah, you’re one to talk.” You gesture to the man beside him, the wall of muscle holding the gun and glaring at you like this is a gangster movie and he genuinely believes himself to be the most badass character. “Did you give your Steroid Humunculus his pay already, or is he gonna be banging on your door in a week looking for it?” You’re guessing the latter, if past experience is anything to go by.
“Enough.” Your father snaps, like he has any authority at all. It makes you furious. “Tell the psycho to leave.”
“Call him a psycho one more time, and this time it won’t be him who beats you to a fucking pulp.”
“Are you threatening me, you little shit?”
“Like father, like daughter.”
“I should teach you a fuckin’ lesson-“ he starts toward you, only to back up when Pope steps forward. His jaw ticks, fury flashing in his eyes, and you hear the click of something loading in the cavernous room.
It all happens so fast.
In all the times this kind of thing has happened, all of the times he’s made threats, it’s always been diffused. He’s always held up a gun, maybe loaded it, and said some bullshit until money was tossed his way.
This time, he brought the wrong backup. And that backup panics.
The man raises the gun, and aims it at Pope.
You move before you think, jerking instinctively in front of him and pushing him back, already beginning to move towards the money to end this bullshit. They always point the gun. Always shout a threat. Always shut up when they see the money and-
And then the gun goes off.
-
You wake to an empty bed.
Your first instinct is to reach out to the space Pope usually occupies, hand sliding over the cool sheets like you might be able to pull him out of thin air. It’s not morning, and the house is silent. If there was some kind of emergency, he would have woken you.
Huh.
The mystery doesn’t stay a mystery for long. You shuffle into the yard, and there he is.
Naked. Staring at the moon.
He seemed fine last night. Well, as fine as Pope Cody can be. A little more quiet, maybe. A little clingier than usual, and that would be saying something, but fine.
“Hey, handsome.” You hum, casual and sleepy, and move to stand beside him. He doesn’t move. He doesn’t break his eyes from the night sky. “What are we looking at?”
“Everything.” He murmurs, absent, and you can already tell that he isn’t here. Isn’t entirely inside his own head. That’s alright. This isn’t the first time something like this has happened, and it probably won’t be the last. At least he’s not smashing anything with a hammer.
“Sounds like a lot.” You move to stand in front of him, lifting your hand to brush your fingers through the soft curls on the back of his neck and turn his gaze down to yours. “How ‘bout you just look at me instead?”
When his eyes meet your own, still hazy and distant, his breath catches in his lungs. His hand moves up, guiding yours so he can press his cheek into your palm like the touch is some sort of coveted blessing. You smile, soft and gentle, and bring up your other hand to mirror the first and cradle his other cheek.
“You’re an angel.” The words come out as a reverent whisper. He’s not trying to flatter you, not trying for pretty compliments, but rather stating a fact. Like he often does, when he’s in this state.
“Not quite.” You press your lips to the underside of his jaw, and you feel a shiver travel through his entire body. “But I appreciate the compliment.”
Large hands hover over your waist, and his eyes don’t leave you. “Can I…touch you?”
You nod, and bring his forehead down to rest against yours as his arms slide around you, tugging you against him as calloused fingers trail up beneath your sleep shirt, the touch just as familiar as the rest of him.
“Will you come to bed with me?” You ask softly, moving your own hands down to smooth over the skin of his chest. “I’m not an overly jealous person, but I’d prefer to keep this view for myself. Don’t wanna share with the neighbors.”
“I’ll do anything for you.”
“Tell me that again in the morning when I remind you to take your meds, okay?”
He follows you back inside, and allows you to pull him back into bed with you. Allows you to pull the covers up around you both as he envelops you in his arms, and trails his lips along your hairline as he whispers soft words against your skin. You can’t make them out, but you wonder from his tone if they might be some kind of prayer.
“I love you.” You murmur, and his arms tighten around you. “Every part of you. You know that?”
“I don’t deserve it.” He whispers, and you pull back to look at him.
“You do.” You kiss his nose. His cheek. “You really, really do.”
-
For a moment, you think a car might have backfired somewhere nearby.
It’s not like you don’t know what a gun sounds like. Fuck, with your childhood, you could recognize the sound faster than your own voice. And yet, in this moment, your mind can’t seem to keep up. Can’t seem to process exactly what just happened.
You feel like you got punched in the stomach. There’s an intense, knock-the-wind-out-of-you pressure, and then…
Your hand comes up to the point of that pressure, to the dull burn, and comes away red.
“Fuck.” Your father breathes, and then he starts shouting. “Fuck! You idiot! What the fuck did you do?!”
You’ve heard that voice before. When he’s lost an exceptionally lucrative bet. When a deal has gone wrong. That’s the tone of a man who is losing his meal ticket, not even close to the tone of a concerned father.
You didn’t even get to do your little speech. Your whole ‘fuck you, I owe you less than nothing and this is the last time you’re getting a cent from me’ speech. You were kind of looking forward to it.
Your whole body feels a little numb. When your knees finally give out, warm arms wrap around you before you can collapse.
“No. No no no no no!”
Now that…that isn’t concern either. It’s worse. So much worse. It’s the realest and most raw fear you’ve ever heard.
There’s too much blood. Fuck. So much blood. It’s spilling out between your fingers faster than should be possible. Vaguely, you remember when you were small, and the faucet broke at whatever house you and your dad were squatting in at the time. You were so scared of his ire, of him blaming you for the burst, that you’d tried to hold it together with your small hands until your entire body was soaked.
Andrew Cody is gathering you into his arms, lowering you to the ground, and the pain is starting to slice it’s way through the shock and it is absolutely fucking overwhelming.
“It’s okay. It’s okay. I’ve got you. You’re gonna be okay. Look at me. C’mon, y-you’ve gotta look at me.”
Your father is still yelling at the guy who shot you. Screaming about the money. Not about you. The sound is loud, cutting through the ringing in your ears, and Andrew’s arms tighten around you.
“Close your eyes.” The words are murmured by your ear. Soft and warm and gentle despite the chaos. When he speaks again, his voice is shaking. “Close your eyes, sweetheart. It’s gonna be okay.” He rarely calls you that. This must be bad.
When you do, you hear a gun fire, and the shouting stops.
Your eyes fly open, and you try to turn towards the sound of two bodies hitting the floor, but Pope is there before you can move, dropping a gun to the pavement and cradling your face in his hands.
“Don’t look at that. Look at me. Look at me, okay? You’re gonna be okay.”
He shouts for Craig. For Deran. Everything is still in a sharp, dizzy sort of focus.
-
“Holy shit. What happened?”
Craig is hunched over the toilet. There’s a bottle of tequila on the floor.
He turns his face towards you, hair messy and cheek resting against his arm. “Go away.”
“Nah.” You’re already sitting beside him, tugging his hair into a ponytail and tying it off.
“M’a fuckup.” He mumbles. “Jus’ a…drunk idiot. Deran said.”
You hum, and rub a soothing hand over his back. “Definitely acting like one.”
“See?” He tilts his head miserably back into his arm. “Even you say it.”
“Shut up. You know that’s not what I’m saying.” You move over to the bottle, and take a swig before throwing the rest into the trash. “Hey, look at me.”
He does. He looks like he might have been crying.
“You’re one of the smartest people I know, you know that?”
“You’re not funny.”
“I’m not lying.”
He looks at you now. Really, really looks at you. “You gotta stop seein’ the best in me.”
“Too late. You done puking?”
He grunts, and you reach down to help him stand with a significant amount of effort and bitching that he weighs a million pounds.
And you get him into bed, and even tuck him in, and before you leave to go back to Pope’s room he catches your wrist.
“I love you.”
You stop, and furrow your brow.
“Not in like, a weird way. M’not tryna fuck you or anything. I don’t even know how…” he frowns, and releases you to rub a hand over his face. “I dunno how to say it.”
Your heart swells, in that familiar way, and you laugh a little as you move over and sit on the edge of his bed. “I think you’re telling me I’m you’re best friend.”
“Well, obviously. S’more than that, though. You don’t…you don’t think I’m a fuckup. You actually like me.”
You think back to that kid on the beach, surrounded by three angry assholes and fully prepared to stand his fucking ground. The kid who you were knocked out defending. Who didn’t think twice before he brought you back to his home. To the only safe space he knew. Who brought you into his family.
Who loved you like you loved him, and wasn’t sure what it meant. Who assumed, as teenagers do, that it might be romantic. Who didn’t think twice when he realized that it wasn’t romantic, and still pushed his pride aside and kept on loving you. And even now, budding your own ways into adulthood together, he’s drunk and still trying to put into words that he loves you platonically.
“You have the biggest heart.” You say, honest and raw, and his hazy blue eyes fill with tears again. “Even if you can be an idiot sometimes.”
He swipes his hand over his eyes, and tries to hide a sniffle. He looks young like this. He’s only in his early twenties, sure, but he looks younger than that. Vulnerable in a way only you ever really get to see.
“Promise you won’t go anywhere.” He mumbles, like he’s nervous to say it.
He smells like puke, and he’s sweaty, but fuck it. You hug him, making sure to flop down on top of him a little so he groans miserably before he wraps a large arm around you to pat your back.
“Can’t get rid of me if you tried, jackass.”
-
Craig is freaking out. He’s in the back of the car, where Pope is still holding you, and he’s freaking out.
Oh, no. That won’t do, will it? You take care of them. You always do. You keep Craig level-headed, and you keep Andrew from freaking out. Or…or is it the other way around? It’s concerningly difficult to think. You feel like you’re floating.
“Almost there. Almost there. Don’t leave me, okay?” God, Andrew Cody’s voice is the best thing you’ve ever heard. You want to sink into it, but he’s shaking and you can hear tears in his voice and you’re supposed to fix that.
“Drive fucking faster!” Craig is pushing on your stomach too hard. It hurts. You wheeze, and he doesn’t let up. “Deran, the IV isn’t working. It’s not working, she’s too fuckin’ pale.”
He’s covered in blood. You can’t see Pope, but you think he is too. Everything is tainted a horrible shade of red, and it’s getting really hard to think.
“M’here.” You try, scratchy and raw. “M’here. You’re okay. Don’t…be a dumbass.”
“Fuck. Fuck, don’t die. Please don’t die. Look at me, okay? Look at me.” You try, but Pope is whispering near-nonsense into your hair and trembling so hard it’s almost starting to hurt more than the pressure on your stomach. Still, Craig brushes the hair from your face, and you can see tears tracking their way down his cheeks. “They’re all dead, okay? All those assholes are dead. You’re not going with them, you hear me? You’re not going with them.”
There’s shouting. There’s panic. It’s all fading. Pope’s lips are warm against your skin, and the sound of his voice is soothing and…
-
“I love you.”
The words are whispered into your hair, so soft that you almost don’t hear them through the haze of sleep. But you’re awake, now. He doesn’t know it, but you’re awake.
You blink, and feel his fingers trace slow, warm patterns over the bare skin of your back.
“I love you.” He whispers again, just as low and just as quiet.
You shift, and he goes very, very still.
“Hi.” You whisper, pulling back, and he looks fucking terrified.
“…Hi.”
“You just said you loved me.”
“I…thought you were sleeping.”
You reach up, and turn his face to yours. Feel soft curls between your fingers.
“How long have you been telling me you love me when I’m asleep?”
He’s silent. He doesn’t look away.
“Andrew?”
“…a while.”
You smile, and the way his eyes spark at the sight makes your heart melt. “I love you, too.”
His hand flies up almost too fast, cradling your cheek and brushing his thumb over your cheekbone as he stares into your eyes with an intensity that makes your blood tingle in your veins. “You do?”
“Yeah.” How could you not? How could he not know? “Of course I do.”
-
A sharp sting brings you back, this time. You think someone might have hit you.
“Fuck, thank God. You looked like…shit, okay. Pope, let her go. You’ve gotta let her go, man.”
“Where were you?” He’s whispering against your cheek, and he’s out of his mind. Shit, he’s really out of his mind. His arms are still around you, and he’s speaking like he used to when things got really bad. When whatever was in his mind snapped, and it would take you hours to bring him back to you. “Where did you go? Don’t go. Take me with you.”
Every instinct, every cell in your body, tells you to fight. To stay here. To be here with him. To make this better.
But you’re losing time, and he’s not letting you go.
“Don’t touch her.” Lips on your temple. Your cheek. Arms tight around you. “Don’t touch her. Don’t take her away.”
You try to speak, but convulse instead. The sight of it seems to trigger something, and Craig starts to yank you out of Pope’s arms in such a panicked rush that you whimper as another bolt of agony fires through you.
Andrew holds you tighter. Your mouth tastes like copper. You feel blood trickling past your lips.
“Fuck it. Fuck it. Deran, hold him down.” Craig says, and he’s still crying and you should fix that, before he reaches forward and slams Pope’s head against the window. The arms around you go limp as he loses consciousness, and then you’re being lifted out of the car.
“I got you. It’s okay.” You choke out a soft noise, grab at his arm, and he just tucks you closer to him. “Pope’s okay, too. Everything’s gonna be fine, yeah? Just…just don’t die. Please, please don’t die.”
You’re so tired. You want Andrew. If you’re going to drift into oblivion, he should be here. But…
-
When you open your eyes, it’s to a cracked ceiling and a heavy, distant pain in your stomach.
You feel the drugs in your system. Blurred and heavy and warm. Tijuana. They managed to get you to Tijuana. And you’re alive. Bullet wound in the gut and all, and you’re alive.
Andrew Cody is beside you, head resting on his hands like he may have been living up to his nickname and praying. When you stir, he does too, red-rimmed eyes blinking open and looking at you like you’re the only other person in the world. There is so much relief in his gaze that the sight makes you feel dizzy.
“Hi.” You murmur, hoarse, and reach up to tap gently at the side of his head. “Are you here?” You remember his mumbled words against your skin. The way he needed to be knocked out before he would let you go. He can go so far away, sometimes. But he looks like he’s here now. He looks like he’s your Andrew.
He nods, and catches your hand to press his lips to your palm. His breath shudders on a silent sob.
“I thought…I thought you were-“
“I think we should get married on the beach.” You cut him off with a gentle squeeze to his hand. “S’that okay?”
He looks at you, at your stomach, and back at your face like he’s trying to judge how full of painkillers you are. “You wanna get married?”
“Do you?”
“Yes.” There’s no hesitation. Not an ounce of it. “But you’re on-“
“I know. Still want to. I can ask you again when I’m off them, if you want.”
“I think you should.” He murmurs, but he’s smiling. It’s a small, hesitant thing. Like he was pretty sure, not too long ago, that he would never smile again. Like he’s already re-learning the expression.
“Mm.” You squeeze his hand, and lean your head back against the pillows. “You wanna marry me?”
“Since I first met you.”
“Softie.” You turn your head, and furrow your brow a little. “You never asked, though.”
“I planned it.” He admits, tracing his thumb over your knuckles. “Bought a ring.”
“When?”
“Five years ago.”
You raise your eyebrows, and say again, “you never asked.”
“Never found a perfect time.”
“Mm. Sorry for stealing your thunder then.”
He squeezes your hand, and brings it up to his lips so he can trail kisses over your knuckles. He looks back up at you after a moment, and his dark eyes are so beautiful. “I killed your father.”
Those four words should definitely make you feel something. Anything. Instead, you just feel a surge of love for the man before you. “Okay.”
“I’m glad I did it.”
“I know.”
And, like he just can’t help it anymore, he moves forward and presses his lips to yours. You kiss him back, and wrap your arms around his neck even as the movement makes you wince. Worth it.
“Can we get married now?” You ask, the words muffled by his lips, and he smiles down at you.
“When the drugs wear off.”
You frown, and shrug. “Okay. Can we go home?”
“When they say you can.”
Hm. “Can we have sex?”
He laughs. It’s a beautiful sound. “Go to sleep.”
“You’re no fun.”
“Promise I will be.” He kisses your cheek. “For the rest of your life.”
“I like where this is going.”
“I’ll never leave you again.”
“Keep talkin’, Cody.”
“When we get home, I’ll stock the fridge with that ice cream you like.”
“Take me now.”
The love in his eyes is so beautiful, so pure, so raw, that you know without a doubt that those eyes alone were worth living for. “Go to sleep.”
-
You and Pope rent a house in Tijuana for a while. There’s no need to go back to Oceanside. Not yet. Smurf doesn’t love it, but she doesn’t fight it. It wouldn’t be great optics, after all, for her son’s girlfriend to be recovering from a bullet wound while her father, whom Pope has nearly killed before, was recently found dead in a warehouse.
He fusses over you endlessly. He barely lets you stand on your own, even when you’re fully capable of doing so. You wake up to him watching you sleep more often than ever, and he barely spends more than a minute not touching you.
It’s nice. Really nice. Kind of like a honeymoon before the honeymoon. Just with less sex due to an annoying bullet wound, and a little more crankiness from you than usual due to both of the former issues.
But you stay up all night on the beach, talking until the sun rises and making out like teenagers. You try to make breakfast, burn it, and get to ogle him from your spot on the counter as he makes it for the both of you. You plan for the future, count down the days until your wound is healed, and just…enjoy being happy. No jobs, no strings, no stress.
A little over a month later, you wake him up by rolling on top of him, the familiar pain in your stomach reduced to much less than a dull ache.
His eyebrows raise before his eyes even open, a sleepy smile curling on his lips as his hand trails down your back and your lips move to press teasing kisses down his neck.
“Good morning.” You hum, and he seems more than happy to return the sentiment. “I officially think I’m healed enough for…strenuous activities.”
He makes a low noise, and kisses you slowly. Hungrily. You grin, triumphant and happy, and feel his hands come up to shift you on top of him, sitting himself up against the wall and-
And pulling back.
You actually whine, chasing his lips with your own, but he holds you firm with a smile so wide it’s almost silly.
“I have another idea.”
“It’s been over a month, Andrew. I challenge you to name one thing better than sex right now.”
His smile grows impossibly wider. He reaches into the pocket of his sweatpants, mischief sparking in his sleepy eyes like he was hoping you’d say something like that, and…
And pulls out a ring.
“Oh.” You breathe, eyes locked on the little diamond in his palm. It’s simple. Beautiful. Perfect.
“Bought a new one.” He says, hand coming up to brush your hair back from your face.
Summary:
A love confession gone wrong becomes the catalyst for change. You just have to be brave enough to accept it.
Trigger warnings:
Mention of physical abuse of a minor by minor, mental abuse of minor by minor, anxiety, insecurities, depictions of violence, mention and description of a concussion, mature language, mentions and description of blood, mature content, bullying, forceful kissing (non-consensual) .
Author´s note:
Set in 1994 when both reader, Andrew and Julia are Senior´s in high school. Slow burn story with a friends to lovers trope. Reader in this story is depicted very much as an anti social outcast who has known the Cody family for a long time. The small chapter dividers in this story are songs I listened to while writing this.
Part 1 and Part 2 were written together, but are posted separately because word limitation on Tumblr.
Next morning came and you dressed in as baggy clothes as possible pulling the hoodie over your head trying to hide your face when Andrew picked you up. You had washed the clothes you borrowed from him and put them in the backseat.
“Thank you so much for letting me borrow your things”
Andrew looked at you: “How’s your face?” you took your sunglasses off and revealed to him how everything had now turned a sharp purple color, but the swelling had gone down substantially.
“I put some ice on it before bed” you said while putting your sunglasses on and hearing him start the engine and respond; "That´s good"
The ride to school was silent as you held your backpack to your body and watched the trees blur into one. Andrew parked the car near school and you both got out. It was a humid morning in Oceanside for it being late June.
Andrew followed you through the doors to school as the other kids passed glances. Andrew held around your shoulders as you walked up to your locker; “Lets hope this day goes by fast” you said with a strained smile.
“Just keep your head down. Julia has history class with you today and then we meet for lunch” Andrew said and turned to walk away. You watched him leave with his backpack over his shoulder and his hands doing that odd thing where he plays with his fingers. You took a deep breath and closed your locker leaving your sunglasses inside.
It was time to face the music.
The other kids stared for sure at you, but most of them just passed a quick glance then the pitiful look of disgust at how your face looked. Your knuckles were bruised and hurt while you wrote your notes in history class facing Brian on the second row.
He glanced up at you with a dead expression on his face. That same expression followed you around school all the way into the locker rooms where you hid during a quick break to Spanish class.
It was even more humid in the locker rooms as you pulled the zipper down on your hoodie and undressed.
A locker slammed shut from the corner as you bolted up grabbing your things in response. The figure that made the noise came out of the shadows as Brian. He was pressed against the lockers smiling at you softly.
This was the smile of a guy you had long fantasized being with in every way possible. Brian was the line backer for the schools football team, he was the head of math team and the valedictorian. The guy was planning on going to Stanford to study medicine. You knew a lot of things about Brian because you were his tutor for months since freshman year and you guys had gotten close. He had been nice to you and naively you thought he might like you back.
“Why are you at school?” he asked from the half darkness in the corner. You took a couple of steps back into the shower area looking for a way out.
“What do you mean?” you asked and he came closer again; “I see you had an accident, you should have stayed home”
You shook your head quickly; “I fell off my bike heading home from Julia’s” you lied still clutching onto your things.
“That sucks” he crossed his arms. His large statue loomed over you and you saw his dark eyes and that charming smile. Something dropped in your stomach as you looked to the lockers beside you thinking you could make a run for it.
“I’ll be okay. Thank you for asking” you lunged at the exit and just like that he was grabbing your arm again and pinning you to the outer shower wall. Brian’s face was close to yours to the point where you could smell him.
“Listen” he smiled softly and stroked your hair which made you tense up. “Accidents happen”
You looked at his shoulder and over at the exit which was now free before trying to push your way around him. He didnt budge and you were contemplating pushing him, but saw no way to shift his weight. Instead you accepted the situation and looked up at him and his bruised nose.
“Looks like you also got into a bit of an accident”
Brian grabbed a hold of both your shoulders and pushed you up against the wall making you think how you could ever have liked a boy like this. It had an oddly resembling to your father and that made you almost sink into his touch in defeat.
“You make me sick to my stomach” he whispered and slammed you as hard as he could into the tiled wall making you groan out in pain as your head hit it with an extensive force.
“You dirty slut” he spat at you while you glided down on the floor holding the back of your head in pain.
Brian left you there in panic on the floor as you looked at your hand covered in small blood stains. There was a buzzing in your ears and you felt dizzy, but managed to get up on your feet grabbing your hoodie off the floor and your other things pressing them against your chest.
Making it to the nurses office you were laying on one of the beds and looking up at the lights flickering above you. Nurse Brenda had ran some tests on your vision and your pain level and determined that you had a minor concussion from your fall.
The next call she made was to your father who didn´t pick up. She suggested you stay at the school until someone could take you. For the longest time you insisted it was fine, but she explained that you might throw up and even faint if by yourself. You needed a chaperon.
Unfortunately for you your father was still not answering so you had only one option left, that was Julia. She came to you immediately after classes ended and got the same lecture you did from nurse Brenda. You needed to be woken up every 2 hours and drink loads of liquids. Julia promised to take care of you and you both left the office together.
By the gates of the school Andrew waited with his car. He had it running when you and Julia stepped inside. She sat infront and you sat in the middle in the back. Andrew looked at you as you were trying to avoid his dark eyes.
“What happened?” he asked before starting to drive. “She had an accident” Julia said softly and looked behind you, “Thats what she told me”
“I fell on the wet floor inside the showers”
“What were you doing wearing shoes in the showers in the middle of the school day?” Andrew’s tone shifted as he looked at you in the rearview mirror.
“I met Brian” you answered.
“Oh my god” Julia chimed in and turned her whole body over to face you. Andrew was shaking his head at your answer and his hands gripping and releasing the wheel like he wanted to hurt the car.
“I should just drop out” you answered as Julia hit your arm really hard
“Stop it!”
“Ow” you protested and nursed the place that Julia hit you while shaking your head.
“He really cant be worth all of this. We should report him” Julia mumbled and looked wide eyed at Andrew who dismissed her with an angry expression; “Baz and I will take care of it”
“Please dont” you begged and almost leaped over to his shoulders grabbing a hold of his shirt “It will pass”
“Stop protecting him” Andrew said erupting in anger.
You sat back down again in the backseat and watched as Andrew passed multiple scenarios on why you were still protecting Brian through his head on the ride home. When you guys arrived at the Cody house, Andrew went straight for his room and shut the door.
You followed Julia into her room as you sat on her bed; “He’s so mad at me” you said as Julia was looking through her drawers to find you something else to wear.
“You are his friend. He wants to protect you. He will get over it” Julia said comforting and pulled out a bathing suit. “Let’s shake this funk off” she threw a bathing suit in your direction as you caught it with both hands.
You held up the two piece bikini and felt extremely self conscious: “Maybe I can just chill under on the sun beds?”
“Suit yourself! I need to get today out of my head. Mrs Stevens is threatening to flunk me in English, of all subjects” Julia shook her head as she slipped out of her clothes.
You watched her naked body and as she dressed, she gazed over at you.
“What’s up?”
“I’m a virgin” you said honestly as Julia laughed: “No shit”
“No, I mean apart from kissing Andrew a hundred years ago”
“Andrew counts” Julia said and adjusting her bikini in the mirror.
“Andrew counts” you repeated and thought about the fact that Andrew was indeed a boy and he had willingly kissed you so of course it counted.
Julia broke your train of thoughts as she turned to face you “What do you think?”
“You look beautiful, Julia” you gave her a reassuring smile. She took your hand and you wondered who she was so chipper about. Then it hit you. Baz was already at the pool with Deran and Craig.
He was showing the boys how to throw a frisbee across the pool. “Hi” Julia said and walked around to Baz with a bright smile.
You saw that Andrew was also sitting by the pool edge with his legs in the water. Walking around the pool and towards him he quickly got up and left the spot he was sitting escaping to the garage. You stopped in your track and felt your stomach drop. He was avoiding you now and he did for most of the afternoon. You ended up sitting on one of the sun beds with Smurf watching Deran, Craig, Julia and Baz play tag in the pool.
“How’s your head, sweetheart?” Smurf asked you and tipped her large sunglasses down over the bridge of her nose. You nodded; “I’m okay, just a little tired”
“You want me to get you something for the pain?” Smurf asked and got up to go into the kitchen for some more lemonade.
“Sure” you nodded and looked up at her “Thank you, Smurf”
Smurf went inside the house coming out with a large glass of lemonade and a big white pill. You took it from her and drank both. Between the warm sun and the days events you fell asleep shortly after.
Later on during the night you woke up in what didn't look like Julia´s bedroom. A familiar body sat by your side stroking your hair. It was Andrew sitting in his swimming trunks. His hair was still wet from the pool which brought out more of those natural curls he had. You opened your eyes and lazily turned over on your side to see his warm eyes looking at you.
The famers tan dividing his tan arms and neck. Andrew smelled like clean soap and sunscreen as he kept stroking your hair slowly playing with it. You winced a away from him as he said "You need to get up"
"No, please. Just let me sleep in a little longer" you wined and tried to turn over on the other side. Andrew stopped you immediately by putting a gentle hand on your hip and turning you over on the other side towards him. "Come on, I´ll make you a peanut butter and jelly sandwich"
In the kitchen you sat on the bar chair almost half asleep as he was putting together this sandwich he promised and gave you some more pain meds. Tapping his hand gently by the meds to wake you up from where you were folded over on the kitchen island. You got back up and took the meds down along with the water when he slid the plate with sandwich in front of you.
"I thought you were mad at me" you said picking the sandwich up and taking a small bite. Andrew looked down at your bruised hand while you were using the other one to hold the sandwich, his eyes moved slowly over your body until he met your eyes; "I´m mad at the assholes you choose to like"
The honesty set you back as you put the sandwich down "He wasn't always an asshole"
"Yes, he was" Andrew said as you took a deep breath; "Alright, Andrew he was always a fucking asshole. You happy now?" you huffed and exhaled before taking another big bite of your sandwich and seeing Andrew smile at you, something he rarely did for anyone: "Dont be desperate"
"I am not desperate. I genuinely liked him"
"What about him exactly?" Andrew asked still looking at you with those curious hazel eyes of his. "He was different than me. I dont know, Andrew. He was just nice, and charming and people liked him. It was just easy with him and maybe I got to forget who I was with him"
"I like who you are" Andrew confessed and took the crust you left behind and threw it in the trash. You watched him move around in the kitchen. His back muscles flex and his biceps too. The defined jawline that clenched and the toned shoulders that rolled. Andrew was just like Julia you thought. They were both beautiful people.
"You know what I mean. Brian saw me" It was hard for you to say these words, but in a way you knew that if you did say them out loud you could close that chapter in your life and move on.
"I see you" Andrew whispered and swallowed. You licked your lips and chuckled softly before stopping cause it hurt your ribs; "I know you do, Andrew"
He seemed to get upset by your response and walked around the kitchen island before putting his hand down on the counter and looking you dead in the eye: "I see you"
"I see you too" you said calmly back to him not understanding why he was acting this way.
Andrew exhaled, frustrated at your response and before you knew it he had grabbed your face and put his lips to yours. The kiss lasted for about a second before you pulled away by pushing at his bare chest, confused and surprised at what just happened.
"Andrew what are you doing? you asked not daring to move away from him, but at the same time keeping both your arms against his chest to create a barrier.
Andrews eyes followed you for a second darting back and forth to read your response; "I like you"
It came almost like a punch to your gut and a sense of panic filled you; "Andrew, you are my best friends brother" you whispered lowly and felt him take a small step away from you, avoiding eye contact.
"I´m sorry"
Before you could answer him back he had fled the kitchen leaving you standing there with an enormous empty space and questions about when he started feeling this way for you and what Julia would say.
content: 18+, SMUT, MINORS DNI, DUBCON, alcohol consumption, sexual acts under the influence, explicit language, oral sex (male receiving), Jack Abbot catches you in the act (kind of), guys I am addicted to writing drunk Dennis lmk if you want more
summary: Alcohol makes you horny. Good thing your boyfriend, Dennis Whitaker, is here to help!
The music sounds muffled in the refuge of Jack Abbot’s guest bathroom. You've been hiding in here for around twenty minutes now, sitting on the counter and staring at yourself in the mirror. Even with all the alcohol in your system, mingling with Dennis’s coworkers feels overwhelming.
This isn't the first work-related party he’s dragged you to, so you've met them all a number of times. It’s just that your social battery has run out completely.
The only person you can even fathom being around right now is Dennis, who’s somewhere downstairs.
The thought of your boyfriend drifts drunkenly through your mind, and a smile creeps across your face as you pull out your phone to text him.
You: Denny
Dennis: Yeah baby?
You: where r u
Dennis: In thekitchen
Dennis: Trinity spilled wine on me :(
Dennis: I smell like wine
You: not on the new shirt I got u
You: duck
You: fuck
You: you looked so good in it
You: I'm in the bathroom upstairs
You: need ur help
Dennis: oh shit
Dennis: Do u need a tampon or something?
You: No lol. Just get up here
You: I can help u clean ur shirt
A few minutes pass before there’s a knock at the door, and you open it to see him barely standing outside. To be honest, you’re surprised he even made his way upstairs. When you’d left him earlier, he was really, really drunk.
“Hi, baby,” he coos, stumbling through the door and wrapping his arms around you. He squeezes a little too tightly, but you know he means well. You kick the door shut behind him.
“Denny,” you murmur, feeling something wet seep into the front of your shirt, and you pull back just enough to look down at it.
His eyes follow yours and land on the wet spot on your chest, exposing the lace bra hidden beneath your white shirt.
“Fuck. I'm sorry.” His hands hover before your chest like he wants to help, but he’s far too panicked to do anything.
“It's okay, really. It's just a stupid shirt.”
“No, it's not.” He begins to tug off his own shirt to give to you. “Here—”
“Dennis!” you exclaim, pulling it back down. “Don't you remember? Your shirt is stained too.”
“Oh, right.”
When you pull his shirt back down over his head, his hair is mussed and his cheeks are flushed pink.
He returns his attention to the stain blooming across your breasts. “My eyes are up here.” Your fingers snap wildly in front of his face. “Do you even know why I called you up here?”
He blinks, trying to focus. “No. I mean—should I know?”
“I told you to come up here because I want you to fuck me.”
His mouth goes dry—opening as if to speak, but nothing comes out. He stands rigid with his fingers clawing at the inside of his pockets.
“I mean… unless you don't want to.” The tone of voice in which you speak is teasing and coated with devilish mirth.
“No,” he says—too quickly, saucer-eyed from your words. “I mean yes. Fuck. Yes, I want to.”
You waste no time, undoing the buttons of his jeans at an impressive rate. You slam his back against the door, eliciting a low grunt to escape his lips. His neck strains upon the wood as soon as you kneel down in front of him.
His jeans pool at his ankles. His eyes wire shut at the feeling of you palming him over his underwear. The alcohol in his system gives him a wonderfully heady feeling, intensifying the pleasure that rushes to his hard cock.
He thinks he might've died and went to heaven as he feels he’s on the cusp of an orgasm, and he snaps back to his senses before it's too late.
“Wait, wait, wait,” he shrills, reaching out to stop the movement of your hands. “If you don't stop that, I'm gonna come—”
“Can't have that,” you say, clicking your tongue as you pull his underwear down, freeing his reddened cock. “I think I’d rather have it in my mouth.”
“But—I thought you wanted to—”
He stops mid-sentence when he feels the warmth of your mouth envelop the pink tip of his cock. His body jerks at the sensation, his head thumping against the wooden door. His fingers tremble in your hair, trying not to pull at it as you throat his dick.
He looks down at you—looking up at him with wide, watery eyes. “Holy shit,” he rasps, hot static traveling rapidly from his lower belly to his pelvis. When his tip hits the back of your throat just right—causing you to choke—pathetic whimpers come spilling from his mouth.
Your fingers explore upward his body, running through the blonde tuft of hair on his pelvis and underneath his shirt, feeling the coiled plane of his stomach. His breath catches when you apply light pressure just above his pubic bone, sending him over the edge.
“Holy fuck. Oh my God. I'm gonna—” He moans, high and faltering, unintentionally tugging at your hair. “I'm gonna come. Fuck, I'm gonna come."
He does just as he says, hips shuddering against the door as he spills his load deep into your throat. Your pace slows, gently working him through his orgasm.
You continue to slowly suck him off until he's done squirming—movement brought down to only a slight tremble of his hands. You pop off his length, rubbing his bare thighs before pulling up his garments and returning to your feet.
“Good?” you ask with a shit-eating grin.
“Yeah,” says Dennis, mouth still agape as he tries to catch his breath. “Really fucking good. Thank you.”
You laugh. “You're welcome, baby.” You pull him in for a kiss, darting your tongue out to let him taste himself. A trail of saliva connects your mouths when you withdraw from him, and you use your thumb to swipe it away.
“I love you,” he says with a grin, his large blue eyes staring deeply into yours.
“I love you, too.” You smile. “Now, button up your pants before anyone notices we're gone.”
He works at his pants while you make your way over to the mirror, making yourself look as presentable as possible before opening the bathroom door.
So much for being inconspicuous—as you're greeted by Jack Abbot’s smiling face standing before the door.
“Never thought I would have to wait an hour to use my own damn bathroom,” he jokes, clearly unbothered by you using his guest bathroom to give your boyfriend a blowjob.
You look over at Dennis, whose face is somehow more flushed than before. Good thing Dennis works the day shift.
in which you've lived in broken bow, nebraska your whole life. nothing about your small town surprised you anymore - up until one sunday, when a man in the shape of years past sits in front of you during church service.
pairing: dennis whitaker x fem!reader
wc: 1.3k
warnings: religious themes/trauma, mayhaps slightly suggestive, might not be realistic cause i'm not american LOL
a/n: hello children! i lowk highk intend for this to be a series (buuuut i don't want to jinx it). i essentially just started writing shit down in my notes app and this is what came out of it .. so this is supposed to be reader's first time seeing dennis years after he left home. sorry for the long note but also! if anyone still somehow remembers me from my unfinished suna smau .. baby i'm sorry .. but tbh i might get back on that if enough people want it hah i'm eeaaasy
also also. dennis whitaker? willoughby tucker? fuuuuuuuuucdsk mama that's the same person fuaaaahuuucg ........ anyway! enjoy! i hope
the chipped, balmy wood of the pews always smelled the same. it was all the same — same hymnals, same worn leather, same congregation.
you can't remember a time before the church. even your oldest memories were tied to the wafer-thin pages of your bible, the way you knelt, the way you prayed before you slept. it's not like devoutness consumed your being, you're much more ambiguous in that sense. but it was a pillar in your life, a cornerstone.
"jesus is our foundation! the cornerstone of the church!" the preacher exclaims, full of conviction.
this snaps you out of it. how long have you been distracted? you can't recall. all you know is that the boy three pews ahead looks different.
you hadn't seen him since high school. yours was a small town in broken bow, it was hard to miss whenever a resident left.
"brethren, please turn your bibles to ephesians 2:19-22, the main verses of this afternoon service. let us begin—now therefore ye are no more strangers and foreigners, but fellowcitizens with the saints, and of the household of god;"
that's the word. saints. it propels you back into daydreaming. you think, hard. about the boy—of whom would now be better addressed as a man, but it's hard to think of him as anything other than the saint you remember from your youth. he's much more subdued now, big bags under his eyes. a twinge of red. it's difficult to focus on his features when he's sitting three pews ahead, yet you persist; you don't know why you do. god surely does.
"...and are built upon the foundation of the apostles and prophets, jesus christ himself being the chief corner stone;" the congregation echoes all around you.
you absentmindedly recite along, much more focused on shooting glances at the curls in his hair, noticing how they're much longer at the nape of his neck. you're much more self-conscious now, you know that much for sure.
"...whom all the building fitly framed together groweth unto an holy temple in the lord:"
what verse were you on now? oh right, 21. you haven't even turned your bible to ephesians, settling for reading it on your neighbor's bible instead. it's not like it mattered though, the verses were already burnt into your brain.
"...in whom ye also are builded together for an habitation of god through the spirit," the preacher praises god.
"let us pray."
you keep your eyes open during prayer. something you seldom do, not by faith, but by habit. you tilt your head down so it's less obvious that you're still observing him. he clasps his hands in prayer comfortably, he doesn't bring them all the way up to his face. they rested just in front of his pelvis, thumb soothing the back of his hand. his hands look different now, too, you note.
the rest of the service goes on this way. his presence was ever noticed, making you grow more conscious of your own. sundays were innocuous, safe. you didn't have to think much, say much; oh, but perform, you had to do. for much of the last few years, it was a place wherein you could leave your real troubles at the door. in here you could pretend.
now he's here, and forasmuch as you've observed him, you wondered if he would do the same once he saw you. you thought about yourself and how you've changed. what that would mean to him. would he think you look drastically different now? would he even recognize you at all? would it even matter to him?
you spiral.
when you exit the door, the misty air welcomes you, a breeze wrapping around your frame. it was cool, gentle. the sun wasn't harsh, no, it illuminated everything in a soft glow. the pitter patter of the earlier day's rain was quietly dancing on the deck. it was all so tranquil, which for a second made you forget about—
"hi."
you turn around. shit, how could you forget.
"hi!" you tried to sound as normal as you could, like you didn't spend the entire service eye-fucking analyzing him.
"how have you been!" you reflexively asked. his entrance surprised you, which you cursed yourself for, knowing that among your many earlier thoughts was imagining how this conversation would go, and what things you would say.
"good," he says earnestly, accompanied by a sheepish smile. "visiting my family." he offers. swaying.
"oh, it's been a while! i haven't seen you in so long—"
he cuts you off, tries to explain, "oh yeah, it's not, like, the first time i've visited since high school ...but, i usually don't wander off from the farm when i do come."
"ah, so that's why i don't see you," a small grin starts to form on the corners of your mouth as you continue, "i've heard rumors of a dr. whitaker coming into town, but i never did see him for myself."
he looks down at the sun-bleached floorboards all shy, and huffs a breathy laugh at this comment.
he doesn't say anything for a second, and due to your panicked state, you ramble on, "you kinda became a mythical legend in my mind..." he looks up at you, "...doctor."
jesus, mary, and joseph, did you have to add that last line?
"yeah, i'm...i'm sorry i didn't reach out," he sounded so earnest. so sincere, it takes you aback.
"oh? it's okay, truly, we weren't that close!" it sounded meaner than you intented. "i just...sorry, i just mean that you don't have to feel bad.
"thank you." there he goes again. so sincere.
the two of you stand there for a few seconds, smiling at each other. a bit awkward.
in this silence, you notice that his frame is considerably larger. it was hard to tell earlier, farther away. plus it's been years since you last saw him, so obviously he looks different. but still.
"hey," his voice is soft as he calls out your name in the same tone of voice he used to. some things stay the same. you didn't even notice that you spaced out again. he looks concerned, bending down a bit and leaning closer to get your attention. your breath hitches at this. it annoys you, how attractive you find him.
"hi," you say back, abashedly. he smiles, relief washing over his face. you wonder for a second why there was such concern on his face in the first place, then you recall that he sees the worst of the worst every day in the ED. ah, no wonder.
"sorry, i'm being weird," you say.
"you're alright, i'm sorry i haven't asked you how you've been." he pauses for a moment, presumably to think, then says, "ah, so you're still active in church! how's that- how's everything?" he gestures with his left hand, retracting it back into crossed arms; eager to listen.
in all honesty, it's a loaded question. at church, at home—what a god-fearing christian you are. it's an impossible task to find someplace to be yourself in a town as small as a mustard seed. you don't know whether to be honest or not.
a skill you've honed over the years is sussing out the black sheep, the outliers. trying to find community in the conservative. but you don't take any chances, instead opting to say, "it's been good! can be a lot, sometimes. but it's definitely living."
a sham of an answer. truly. but it's a little soon to be honest, you think. you don't even know how long he's staying for, which prompts you to ask—
"i'm here for about a month, by the way." it's like he read your mind.
the "by the way" feels intentional. maybe a wish for something more. to see you again. so against your better judgment, you prod, and you ask exactly that.
"do you want to see me again, den?"
everyone in town knows "den" moreso than "dr. whitaker". he definitely hasn't been called that name in a while, given the way his ears perked up.
F - fluff S - smut A - angst
♡ - series ☆ - one shot ◇ - imagines and drabbles
yeri's favourites
last updated - 12/06/2026
⤷ fic count - 47
fic recs: one - two
@acpectros ——————————
♡ being the michael robinavitch's daughter | F.
⤷ dennis whitaker has a soft spot for his boss's daughter, or when michael robinavitch's daughter learned the hard way that she is indeed a player.
⤷ [ part 2 ]
@aworldinsideaperson ——————————
☆ feel it | F.
⤷ a holiday party in the apartment and a few too many drinks makes things easy to confess.
☆ 'doctor dennis' | A.
⤷ reader has the thought that she’s dying, then comes the anxiety, then comes doctor dennis.
@bitchinbarzal ——————————
☆ widow | A.
⤷ dennis doesn’t realize he’s canceled three dates in a row. not at first. the first time it happens, you understand.
@bounty-jes ——————————
☆ loverboy | F.
⤷ four times dennis’ coworkers wanted to meet his wife and the one time they did
@ccandlehead ——————————
♡ im so crazy 4 u | F. S. - [smau]
⤷ when he left nebraska to begin a new life, dennis was forced to give up a lot of things that he held dear to his heart, including his emo phase… he couldn’t risk being bullied at college too. he doesn’t know how, but he made it. he’s an adult now, an employed adult, working as a doctor at the PTMC. but what happens when the cute new nurse looks a little too much like the online girlfriend he ghosted a decade ago?
@confettighosts ——————————
♡ and they were roommates | F.
⤷ where each part is a slice of santos', her reader best friend's, and now whitaker's lives as roomies
⤷ [ part 1 - the stray ]
⤷ [ part 2 - movie night ]
⤷ [ part 3 - acts of service ]
⤷ [ part 4 - safe & sound ]
@cupchattie ——————————
♡ ring and an apple | F. S. A.
⤷ you anddennis have been secretly dating for over a year and the ED just now finds out your boyfriend is their very own dr. whitaker with an apple bite.
⤷ [ part 2 - forgive and protect ]
@curlyhairedgirlwrites ——————————
☆ secrets secrets hurt someone secrets secrets are no fun | F. A.
⤷ while dennis was very aware of his feelings for y/n, she had a big secret that everybody knew about, but him.
@d3ad-aliv3 ——————————
☆ all together now | F. S.
⤷ in a apocalypse, if you and dennis had to single-handedly repopulate the earth, it would be a pretty easy task
@dreamingofagoodfic ——————————
☆ miscommunication | F. A.
⤷ being in love with your best friend was probably a bad idea. an even worse idea? being in love with your best friend who is also your coworker and dating your other coworker. note to self: don’t talk to dr robby about relationship stuff.
@feindforfics ——————————
◇ dennis whitaker definitely passes out while his s/o is giving birth to their baby
@hucklesbaby ——————————
♡ dennis whitaker x fem!reader | F.
⤷ assigned to follow whitaker, she’s ready to learn everything he has to teach. she doesn’t realize he’s the one learning something new. how hard it is not to fall for the girl who looks at him like a hero. slow burn. soft glances. one very bad idea.
⤷ [ part 2 - better than him ]
@illumoria ——————————
☆ dennis whitaker x reader | F.
⤷ dennis whitaker who loves to come home to you in a cute little apron over your pajamas, whisking ingredients in a bowl for a “post-work pick-me-up.” at least that’s what you called it.
@inlovewithquestionablecharacters ——————————
☆ knight in shinning armor | F. A.
⤷ where the reader calls him in the middle of the night because she's stranded somewhere and doesn't have anyone else
@jackrrabbot ——————————
☆ later, the day turns into night | S. A.
⤷ dennis stops running from love when he meets you. not immediately, and not without pain, but pain is something he knows well.
@katescaffe ——————————
◇ thinking about dennis whitaker who's a lot stronger than he looks
◇ thinking about dennis whitaker and what i call his boyfriend override.
@kissophile ——————————
☆ under the influence | F. S.
⤷ some inappropriate touching after accidental intoxication is all it takes to send huckelberry over the edge
@letshearitforthespacedads ——————————
☆ let me see it | F. S.
⤷ dennis whitaker’s incredibly supportive partner wants to celebrate his new badge from work.
@lsd-astronaut ——————————
☆ say that you love me | F. A.
⤷ there's nothing better than a man that becomes a little stupid when they're in love, trust me.
☆ cooking mama frenzy | F.
⤷ the algorithm gods show trinity santos and victoria javadi a familiar face and much needed reprieve.
☆ the eyes, chico. they never lie | F.
⤷ farm boy from buttfuck nebraska shocked at revelation that his beautiful and rich girlfriend's money comes from somewhere. love ensues and prevails.
☆ a home to come to | F.
⤷ in which dennis is found out to be living in the hospital by robby instead of santos. talk about awkward.
@mercury-retrogay ——————————
☆ study buddies & second chances | F. A.
⤷ when you get wheeled into the ER, dennis is forced to acknowledge how much he missed you, and how, despite all the years that have passed, he is just as pathetic for you as he was before.
@porchlightfairy ——————————
☆ livin' loose | F.
⤷ you come in from getting in a motorcycle accident and whitaker gets a little worried. some of the staff (santos) can't wrap their head around the two of you dating.
☆ alien superstar | F.
⤷ nobody in the ED thinks whitaker's girlfriend is real. and you are not helping his case.
@prettydaisygirl ——————————
☆ dr. dennis whitaker x bombshell!nurse!reader | S.
⤷ you give dennis head for the first time
@rickgrimes225 ——————————
☆ you have a what? | F.
⤷ dennis has girlfriend everyone knows about you right? he thinks they know about you but apparently some of them didn't believe him
@rosemaryswritingg ——————————
♡ stars that shine universe | F.
⤷ six years since dennis whitaker married his high school sweetheart in her parents backyard in broken bow nebraska, he becomes a resident at the pitt. if he wasn't still so head over heels for her, he might remember to be offended that all his coworkers have picked up a tendency of calling her their 'favourite whitaker'
@rwprincess ——————————
♡ trial by fire | F. S A.
⤷ it's the first day for the med students at the pitt's emergency department and you're a nurse tasked with showing one of the new kids around. your first mission: calm down a little girl with a probable broken arm.
⤷ [ part 2 part 3 part 4 part 5 if you need me coffee stitches karaoke fireworks nurse's orders ... ]
☆ nurse's orders | S.
⤷ “hey, do you want to come over tonight?” you made the mistake of asking whitaker this while santos was in earshot.
@sapiensecrets ——————————
☆ f*ck, marry, kill | F.
⤷ you wind up in the emergency room on halloween with the hottest doctor you've ever seen treating you. dennis thanks god that he decided to pick up a shift today.
◇ self explanatory | F.
⤷ dennis thought robby knew he was married...guess not!
@scarletttries ——————————
◇ dennis whitaker x reader | F.
⤷ please picture how dennis whitaker crumbles the moment you start using pet names for him
◇ dennis whittaker who has to stop himself proposing to you ten times a day
@shadeofpeach ——————————
☆ the girlfriend | F.
⤷ trinity santos prides herself on noticing the small details and lately she can't look away from the black hair tie that permanently lived on whitaker’s wrist. during a busy shift, a sudden act in the middle of the nurse's station gives Trinity the soft moment she was looking for.
@somethingeh ——————————
☆ don't you want me, baby? | F.
⤷ you really do like dennis, even when you don’t show.
@springtyme ——————————
☆ unexpected company | F.
⤷ an unexpected visit over takeout leads to quiet first impressions, gentle curiosity, and a surprising easy evening.
@starlord-s ——————————
◇ dennis whitaker x pop star!reader | F.
⤷ famous pop star flirting with dennis while he treats them.
@str4wbsstuff ——————————
◇ this drabble
⤷ dennis “i wanna knock you up” whitaker
☆ stripper!reader x dennis whitaker | S.
⤷ maybe trinity forces him to go for his birthday and buys a dance for him and he’s all flustered and trying to be respectful
@strangemar ——————————
☆ funny business | F. S.
⤷ you end up living with whitaker after your dad asks him to house-sit. he was very clear about the rules before he left, and how you were strictly off limits. but some feelings aren't easy to control.
@theeoracle-written ——————————
☆ date night | F.
⤷ you and dennis don’t often have date nights.
@uwulyn ——————————
◇ wife!reader suddenly noticing his arms while carrying their chunky baby.
@vanillann ——————————
☆ it takes a village(r) | A.
⤷ dennis whitaker x social worker!female!reader
@wynnevee ——————————
◇ dennis whitaker angst | A.
⤷ the concept of being with dennis whitaker since high school and being engaged when he starts to visit amy on the farm…
CW: +18, mentions of riding, oral, semi-public, playing doctor.
⋆˚꩜｡⋆˚꩜｡⋆˚꩜｡⋆˚꩜｡⋆˚꩜｡⋆˚꩜｡
Older husband Jack who has low stamina, so when he fucks you it always starts with him on top but after one orgasm you have to get on top of him. You don’t mind it though, you love how he looks underneath you.
Older husband Jack who loves eating you out, it is his favorite part. He loves burying his face into your plush cunt, inhaling the scent of your curls and eating you out like a starved man. He genuinely can get off just by your taste alone.
Older husband Jack who loves when you ride him, burying his face into your tits or the crook of your neck, inhaling your sweet sweaty scent, helping you bounce by holding your ass tightly.
Older husband Jack who loves when you don’t shave, liking to twirl his fingers into your curls, but he will never tell you to shave or not shave, it’s up to you and he will love it either way.
Older husband Jack who loves it when you’re vocal with what you want him to do to you.
Older husband Jack who finds it hot when you grind on him and whimper into his ear, biting and licking it.
Older husband Jack who gets turned on by you just kissing him, he always feels like a teenager when he’s making out with you.
Older husband Jack who sometimes enjoys to go to the bar with you and let you get handsy with him under the table.
Older husband Jack who loves to play doctor and “examine” you.
Summary: Jack finally introduced you, his girlfriend, to the Pitt. This is the aftermath.
Warnings: Angst. Hurt/comfort. Emotional hurt/comfort. Insecure reader. The Pittlings weren’t exactly welcoming. Older man x younger woman trope (unspecified age gap). Reader doesn’t want to cause a scene. No use of Y/N. Whatever else I failed to mention.
Author’s Note: I do not own The Pitt in any capacity. The franchise and its characters belong to their rightful owner(s). Similarly, I don’t own any the gifs or pictures used for my fics. All I own are the fic ideas.
Should I do a part 2?
Word Count: 3,865 (roughly)
Masterlist
Next Part ->
Jack noticed almost immediately—your silence, the far-off look in your eyes, the way you curled in on yourself as the night wore on. You’d been so excited to meet his friends—Robby, Dana, the others from the Pitt—but somewhere along the line, something shifted.
You spoke less. Drifted to the edges of the group. Nursed your drink like it gave your hands something to do, something to hide behind. You avoided eye contact, and when you did smile, it never quite reached your eyes—thin, strained, a polite facade that didn’t belong to you.
It was nothing like how you’d been at the start of the night.
Maybe it was just nerves, he’d told himself. These were his people—his coworkers, his circle. Anyone would feel out of place at first. That had to be it.
But as the night dragged on, something else settled in.
You weren’t really being included.
Whitaker and Mel made an effort—pulling you in, asking you things—but it never lasted. Not really. If you spoke too much, the rhythm of the group would falter, conversations stalling just long enough for it to be noticeable. There’d be a pause, a flicker of glances exchanged, and then things would pick back up again—just…without you.
Gradually, quietly, you were edged out.
By the time Jack pulled into his driveway, the silence in the car felt heavier than anything said that night. He left the engine running for a moment, his hands still on the wheel as he turned to look at you.
You hadn’t said a word the entire ride home.
You just sat there, staring out the window, absentmindedly worrying the hem of your top between your fingers.
For a moment, neither of you moved.
Jack studied you, the way your shoulders were slightly hunched, like you were trying to make yourself smaller in a space that was already empty. His grip on the steering wheel loosened.
“…Hey,” he said quietly.
You didn’t look at him. “Yeah?”
“You okay?”
A beat. Too quick to be real.
“Yeah. I’m fine.”
Jack exhaled softly, glancing away for a second before looking back at you. “You got really quiet back there.”
“I was just tired,” you said, a little too fast, a little too rehearsed. Your fingers kept tugging at the hem of your top, twisting the fabric tighter. “Long day.”
“Mm.” He didn’t sound convinced.
Silence pressed in again, heavier this time. The engine hummed beneath it, steady and indifferent.
Jack shifted in his seat, turning toward you more fully. “Did something happen?”
“No.” Your answer came just as quickly, but it wavered at the edges. “Nothing happened.”
He watched you for a moment, jaw tightening slightly. “It didn’t feel like nothing.”
That got a reaction—subtle, but there. Your hand stilled for half a second before starting up again, more restless than before.
“You’re reading too much into it,” you murmured.
“Am I?”
Finally, you turned your head just enough to look at him, but even then, your gaze didn’t quite meet his. “Jack, it’s fine. Seriously. You don’t have to—” You stopped yourself, shaking your head lightly. “It was your night. Your friends. I didn’t want to make it weird.”
His brow furrowed. “Make what weird?”
You huffed out a small breath, something closer to a humorless laugh. “Exactly.”
That made something in his chest tighten.
“Hey,” he said again, softer this time. “Talk to me.”
You swallowed, eyes dropping to your lap. For a second, it looked like you might brush it off again—another excuse, another deflection—but the words didn’t come as easily this time.
Instead, your shoulders sank, just a little.
“I don’t think they like me,” you said finally, the admission quiet enough it almost got lost in the space between you.
Jack blinked. “What? That’s—no. That’s not—”
“It’s fine,” you cut in quickly, even as your voice started to thin. “I mean, I get it. I was the outsider there. I didn’t know what anyone was talking about half the time, and when I did try to join in it was like—” You hesitated, searching for the right words, your throat tightening around them. “Like I said something wrong without actually saying anything wrong.”
Jack’s expression shifted, something unsettled flickering across his face.
“They just…” You trailed off, shaking your head faintly. “It felt like they were waiting for me to stop talking.”
The confession hung there, raw and uncomfortable.
You let out a shaky breath, leaning back against the seat as if that might steady you. “It’s not a big deal. Really. I probably just overdid it, or—talked too much, or something. I don’t know.”
Jack’s stomach twisted at that.
“Hey,” he said, more firmly now. “Don’t do that.”
“Do what?”
“Blame yourself for it.” His voice softened again, but there was an edge to it now, something protective. “I saw it too.”
That made you finally look at him properly.
For a second, neither of you spoke.
And then, quieter—almost hesitant—you asked, “You did?”
“Yeah,” Jack admitted, running a hand over the back of his neck. “I just…I thought maybe I was overthinking it. Or that you were just nervous.” He shook his head slightly. “But it didn’t sit right with me either.”
Something in your expression shifted at that—not quite relief, but not the tight, guarded distance from before, either. Just…something softer. More uncertain.
“Okay,” you whispered, like you weren’t sure what else to say.
The silence that followed wasn’t as sharp as before, but it wasn’t easy, either.
Jack glanced toward the house, then back at you. “C’mon,” he said gently. “Let’s go inside.”
This time, when he turned the engine off, you didn’t immediately reach for the door.
You just sat there for a second longer, like you were trying to gather whatever pieces of yourself had come undone—and hoping he wouldn’t let go of them once you did.
The front door clicked shut behind you a little too loudly in the quiet of Jack’s place.
For a second, neither of you moved.
You hovered just inside, slipping your shoes off more out of habit than thought, setting them neatly by the door like you always did. It felt strangely out of place tonight—like you were trying to act normal in a moment that wasn’t.
Jack lingered a step behind you, watching.
“You can, uh—” he started, then stopped, rubbing the back of his neck. “You can sit down. Or—whatever you need.”
“Mm.” You nodded faintly, though it didn’t look like you’d actually heard him.
You made your way over to the couch, sinking into the corner of it, curling in on yourself again—knees tucked up, arms loosely wrapped around them. Smaller. Quieter.
Jack’s chest tightened at the sight.
He crossed the room a second later, slower this time, like he didn’t want to crowd you. He sat down beside you, leaving just enough space so you wouldn’t feel boxed in.
For a moment, he didn’t say anything.
Then, more gently, “Hey.”
You kept your eyes on your hands. “I’m okay.”
Jack let out a quiet breath, not quite a sigh. “You don’t look okay.”
A pause.
“…I will be,” you said instead, softer.
That made something in his expression falter.
He leaned forward slightly, resting his forearms on his knees before glancing over at you. “You don’t have to brush it off with me.”
“I’m not brushing it off.”
“You kind of are.”
That earned him a small look—tired, not sharp, but there was something behind it.
“I just don’t want to make it into a bigger thing than it is,” you said. “It was one night. It’s not—” You stopped, swallowing. “It’s not like it matters that much.”
Jack turned toward you more fully now. “It matters if it bothered you.”
You didn’t respond right away.
Your fingers picked at the seam of your sleeve this time, slower, more absent. “I just…” You exhaled shakily. “I really wanted them to like me.”
The honesty of it sat heavy between you.
“I tried, you know?” you went on, voice quieter now. “I wasn’t trying to talk over anyone or—insert myself or whatever. I just…every time I did say something, it felt like I was interrupting something I wasn’t actually a part of.”
Jack’s jaw tightened slightly.
“And then when I stopped trying,” you added, a little more brittle now, “it didn’t really make a difference.”
That one lingered.
He shifted closer before he really thought about it, his hand hovering for a second before settling carefully against your arm—light, giving you space to pull away if you wanted.
You didn’t.
Instead, your shoulders dipped just a fraction, like the contact took some of the weight off.
“They shouldn’t have made you feel like that,” Jack said quietly.
You shook your head. “I don’t think they meant to.”
“Doesn’t really change how it came across.”
Another small silence.
Then, after a beat, he added, a little more firmly, “I’ll talk to them.”
Your head lifted at that, brows pulling together slightly. “Jack—no, you don’t have to do that.”
“I want to.”
“It’s not a big enough deal to—”
“It is to me,” he cut in, not harsh, but certain.
You hesitated, searching his face like you were trying to figure out if he was just saying it to make you feel better.
“I’m not gonna go in guns blazing or anything,” he added, softer now. “I just…I’ll say something. Make sure they’re aware. That’s it.”
You exhaled, some of the tension in your shoulders loosening—but not completely.
“I don’t want them to feel like I’m…complaining,” you admitted.
“You’re not,” Jack said. “You’re telling me how you felt. That’s different.”
Your gaze dropped again, but this time it wasn’t as guarded.
“…Okay,” you murmured.
The room fell quiet after that, but it wasn’t as sharp as before. Just tired. Heavy.
After a second, Jack shifted, leaning back into the couch and gently tugging you with him—not forcing, just a quiet invitation.
You went, unfolding just enough to lean into his side, your head resting against his shoulder.
He let out a slow breath, one arm coming up to wrap around you, his hand settling warm and steady against your upper arm.
Neither of you spoke for a while.
His thumb traced absent, grounding patterns against your sleeve. The kind of touch that didn’t ask for anything, didn’t try to fix—it just stayed.
Your breathing gradually evened out, though every now and then, he felt the faint hitch of it.
“I’m sorry,” he said after a while, voice low against your hair.
You shook your head lightly. “You didn’t do anything.”
“I still brought you into that.”
You shifted just enough to look up at him, your expression softer now—worn, but real. “I wanted to go.”
“I know.” His grip on you tightened just slightly. “Doesn’t mean it should’ve gone like that.”
You held his gaze for a second longer, then let yourself settle back against him.
“…Next time might be better,” you said, though it came out more like a quiet hope than a statement.
Jack didn’t answer right away.
But his arm stayed around you, steady and sure, like he wasn’t going anywhere—like, whatever came next, he’d meet it with you.
“Yeah,” he said finally. “We’ll make it better.”
Even then, though, there was still something lingering in the quiet—the kind of hurt that doesn’t disappear all at once.
Just…held a little more gently.
* * *
Jack did talk to them.
You knew he did—not because he said much about it, but because of the way his jaw would tighten whenever their group chat lit up, or how he’d go quiet for a second after checking his phone. The first time you asked, he brushed it off with a simple, “It’s handled.”
You didn’t press.
A few days later, the invitation came again.
Another night out.
You stared at the message longer than you meant to, your thumb hovering over your screen as if that might make the decision for you.
Jack noticed, of course.
“You don’t have to go,” he said from where he was leaning against the counter, arms crossed loosely. His tone was careful—too careful.
“I know.” You glanced up at him, offering a small, uncertain smile. “I just…don’t want to make it a thing.”
“It already is a thing.”
“Only if we let it be,” you countered, softer now.
Jack studied you for a moment, like he was trying to figure out if this was something you actually wanted—or something you felt like you should want.
“…Okay,” he said finally. “But we leave whenever you want. No questions, no arguments.”
You nodded. “Okay.”
The second time was…different.
Not better. Just different.
People made more of an effort this time—at least on the surface. Conversations opened up for you, questions directed your way, smiles that lingered a little longer than before.
But it felt…off.
Like something rehearsed.
Like everyone had been told to include you.
You answered when spoken to, smiled when expected, but you didn’t try to push past that. Didn’t try to wedge yourself into the easy, overlapping rhythm they all seemed to share.
And Jack noticed that, too.
He stayed closer this time, a hand brushing yours, checking in with quiet glances. You leaned into it when you needed to, but even that felt different—more like grounding than comfort.
At one point, Jack stepped away—just for a minute, just to grab drinks—and that’s when you heard it.
“…I’m just saying, man, you didn’t have to make it into a whole thing.”
You hadn’t meant to eavesdrop. You hadn’t even realized you’d drifted close enough to hear.
Robby’s voice.
Lower than usual, but not enough.
“I didn’t make it a whole thing,” Jack replied, his tone tighter than you’d ever heard it. “I said something because it was a thing.”
“It was one night,” Robby shot back. “People were drinking, talking—shit happens. Now everyone’s walking on eggshells.”
A pause.
“That’s not what I asked for.”
“Feels like it,” Robby muttered. “She barely even talks now.”
That one landed.
You went still, something cold settling in your chest.
Jack exhaled sharply. “Maybe ask yourself why that is.”
“Or maybe,” Robby said, a little more pointed now, “this just isn’t her scene.”
Silence.
Heavy. Tense.
You didn’t stay to hear the rest.
By the time Jack found you again, you were already by the door, slipping your jacket on.
His expression shifted immediately. “Hey—what happened?”
“I’m ready to go,” you said, not quite meeting his eyes.
He searched your face, something tightening in his chest. “Did someone say something?”
You hesitated.
Just for a second.
“…No. I’m just tired.”
It wasn’t convincing.
But it was enough.
Jack’s jaw set slightly, but he didn’t push—not there, not in front of everyone. “Okay,” he said instead. “Let’s go.”
The ride home felt too much like the last one.
Quieter than it should’ve been. Heavier.
This time, though, you didn’t fidget.
You just sat still, staring out the window, like you’d already checked out before the night had even ended.
Jack’s grip on the wheel tightened.
“You heard something.”
It wasn’t a question.
You closed your eyes briefly. “…It doesn’t matter.”
“It does if it made you leave like that.”
You shook your head faintly. “Jack, please.”
That made him go quiet—but not because he agreed.
After that, things shifted.
Subtly. Quietly.
The next time an invitation came, you didn’t hesitate.
You just said, “I think I’ll sit this one out.”
Jack looked up from his phone. “You sure?”
“Yeah.” You kept your tone light, casual—practiced. “You should still go, though.”
“I don’t have to.”
“I know. I just don’t want you to stop doing your thing because of me.”
“That’s not what this is.”
“Then what is it?” you asked, glancing at him.
Jack opened his mouth—then stopped.
Because the answer wasn’t simple.
Because part of it was you.
And part of it was them.
And part of it was the way everything felt just slightly off now, no matter which direction he looked.
“…I just don’t like how they made you feel,” he said finally.
You softened a little at that, but it didn’t quite reach your eyes.
“I’ll be fine,” you said.
But you didn’t reach for your phone again. Didn’t ask who was going. Didn’t ask what the plan was.
Didn’t ask to be included.
And that?
That might’ve been worse than anything that happened that first night.
Jack went without you.
He didn’t say much when he left—just a quiet, “I won’t be late,” and a look that lingered like he wanted to ask you to change your mind.
You didn’t.
The apartment felt different after the door shut behind him. Too still. Too quiet. You told yourself you liked it that way.
You didn’t touch your phone when it buzzed.
The bar was louder than he remembered.
Or maybe it just felt that way without you there.
Jack spotted them easily—Robby, Whitaker, Mel, a couple others already gathered around their usual table. For a second, he just stood there, watching. The way they laughed, the way conversation overlapped so easily.
It had never felt like something he had to think about before.
Now it did.
“Hey,” Whitaker called when he noticed him. “There he is.”
A few greetings followed, casual, familiar. Jack nodded, slid into an open seat—but it didn’t take long before someone asked.
“She coming tonight?”
Jack shook his head. “No.”
A small pause.
Not dramatic. Not obvious.
Just enough.
Robby leaned back slightly, lifting his drink. “Figured.”
Jack’s eyes flicked to him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing,” Robby said, but it didn’t quite land like nothing. “Just…doesn’t really seem like her thing.”
Jack set his jaw. “Or maybe it didn’t feel like her thing because of how last time went.”
Mel shifted a little at that, glancing between them. “We tried, Jack.”
“I know,” he said, not harsh, but firm. “I’m not saying you didn’t. I’m saying it still didn’t land right.”
Robby let out a quiet breath through his nose, like he’d already had this conversation in his head. “Man, you’re acting like we iced her out on purpose.”
“I didn’t say that either.”
“Then what are you saying?”
Jack leaned forward slightly, forearms on the table. “I’m saying she walked away feeling like she didn’t belong there. And yeah, that matters to me.”
There it was.
Plain. Uncomplicated.
Robby’s expression shifted—not defensive, exactly, but not backing down either. “Okay. But you gotta look at it from our side too.”
Jack didn’t respond, but he didn’t look away.
Robby shrugged lightly. “It’s a tight group. Has been for a while. People talk over each other, conversations jump—it’s not exactly easy to just drop into.”
“I know that.”
“And she’s—” He hesitated, like he was choosing his words more carefully now. “She’s younger, Jack.”
The word sat there.
Not accusatory. Not quite judgmental.
But not neutral, either.
Jack’s brow tightened. “So?”
“So it changes things,” Robby said. “Different stage, different vibe. That’s not a knock on her—it just is what it is.”
Whitaker shifted again, quieter this time. “I think…some of it just felt off. Not bad—just…off.”
Jack’s gaze moved between them. “Off how?”
Another pause.
Mel spoke this time, more gently. “It felt like she was trying really hard to meet us where we are. And we didn’t really know how to meet her halfway.”
“That’s on you, then.”
“It is,” Mel admitted. “But it also doesn’t fix the fact that maybe this just isn’t her scene.”
Robby nodded slightly. “Yeah. And pushing it isn’t gonna make it feel natural.”
Jack leaned back, running a hand over his face, tension pulling at his shoulders. “So what—you’re just writing her off?”
“No,” Robby said quickly. “That’s not what I’m saying.”
“Then what are you saying?”
“I’m saying,” Robby replied, more evenly now, “maybe not everything has to overlap. You’ve got your thing with her. You’ve got this. Doesn’t have to be the same space.”
The words landed heavier than Jack expected.
Because they weren’t entirely wrong.
That didn’t make them sit any better.
“And what if I want it to be?” Jack asked.
No one answered right away.
Not because they didn’t have one—but because none of them were sure it would help.
Robby finally shrugged, quieter now. “Then it’s gonna take time. On both sides. Not just one night, not just one fix.”
Jack looked down at the table for a second, jaw tight, thumb dragging absently along the edge of his glass.
“…She thinks you don’t like her,” he said.
That shifted something.
Mel frowned. “That’s not true.”
Whitaker shook his head. “Yeah, no—that’s not—”
“But that’s how it came across,” Jack cut in.
Silence settled again.
This time, it lingered longer.
Not defensive. Not dismissive.
Just…uncomfortable.
Robby exhaled slowly, rubbing the back of his neck. “Then we’ll do better.”
It sounded genuine.
But not simple.
* * *
Jack didn’t stay long after that.
The conversation moved on, eventually—work stories, dumb jokes, something familiar—but it didn’t sit the same. Not for him.
Not tonight.
When he got back, the apartment was quiet.
The lights were still on.
You were curled up on the couch, half-asleep, the TV playing something you clearly hadn’t been watching.
Jack paused in the doorway for a second, taking you in.
The same way you’d been sitting the other night.
Smaller. Folded in.
He stepped inside more quietly this time, setting his keys down without a sound.
You stirred a little at the movement, blinking up at him. “Hey.”
“Hey.”
A beat.
“How was it?” you asked, voice still soft with sleep.
Jack hesitated.
Not because he didn’t have an answer.
Because he had too many.
“It was…fine,” he said finally.
You nodded faintly, like that was enough. Like you weren’t going to ask for more.
“…Good,” you murmured.
Silence settled between you again.
Not sharp.
Not heavy.
Just…uncertain.
Jack moved a little closer, standing at the edge of the couch, his hand resting briefly against the back of it like he wasn’t sure whether to sit or not.
You shifted, making a little space beside you without really thinking about it.
An invitation.
A habit.
Something in between.
He took it, sitting down beside you, close—but not quite pulling you in like he usually would.
Not yet.
“…They don’t hate you,” he said after a moment.
You let out a small, tired huff. “That’s a glowing review.”
“It’s not like that.”
You turned your head slightly, studying him. “Then what is it like?”
Jack met your gaze—and for once, didn’t have a clean, easy answer.
“…It’s complicated,” he admitted.
You held his eyes for a second longer, then nodded slowly, like you’d expected that.
“Okay,” you said.
And that was it.
No argument. No push.
Just acceptance.
Which, somehow, felt heavier than either of those things would’ve.
Jack leaned back into the couch, staring ahead, his shoulder brushing yours.
You didn’t move away.
But you didn’t lean in, either.
And in the quiet that followed, it wasn’t entirely clear where either of you fit anymore—just that something had shifted, and neither of you quite knew yet what to do with it.
Summary: You and Sammy are good friends. After he finds out Tammi cheated on him, he asked to crash at your place. Unbeknownst to him, you’ve been in love with him the entire time, and the close proximity may force you to face what you’ve been pushing down all this time.
Tags/warnings: detective Sammy Bryant, he’s a sweetie in this, kinda slow burn?, female reader, eventual smut, little bit of angst, slight miscommunication, eventual happy ending, there will be a bit of Tammi in this, Nate lives, slight age gap, reader is mid twenties, Sammy is mid thirties. Since the fic is a little indulgent i imagine reader to be South Asian but it doesn’t really come up so you can imagine her any way
Sammy sat at his desk, dragging his hands through his hair as he poured over case files. It was the same story he’d seen a thousand times over now, gangsters shooting each other up, retaliation after retaliation until the original grievance was long lost to bullets and blood. It used to make him sick, light a fire of rage inside him until he wanted to roll over the city with guns blazing.
Years have tempered him. He knows when to pick his battles, he knows when to care. And right now, there were no victims in front of him save for a few men who had a long line of victims themselves.
No, he didn’t care much. The paperwork though, was driving him nuts.
His phone buzzed.
Paperwork and his soon-to-be ex-wife.
Sammy took a breath as he stared at the texts, jaw clenching as he scrolled through the log that went back early this morning.
Fuck you, Sammy. Don’t answer, we don’t need you!
Sammy, baby, I’m sorry. I messed up. Please come home.
The dog misses you Sammy, I miss you.
The texts paused for an hour then, and began again.
Are you mad about Victor moving in? Grow up Sammy.
What’s the Netflix password?
Sammy, fuck you, why won’t you answer?
I miss you, Sammy. I miss you.
Sammy dragged his hands down his face, shoving his phone back into his pocket without responding.
“Man I don’t wanna know what she’s saying for you to look like that,” Nate grinned, staring at Sammy from across the desk.
“This has to be a disorder or—or something,” Sammy groaned. “Can’t figure out what she wants, can’t fucking go back to my own house.”
“Think she’s being extra pissy cause the court’s forcing her to get a DNA test?”
Sammy scrubbed his chin. “Maybe. She’d do this stuff when we were married too, but…man I don’t know. I’m just so tired of—”
His phone buzzed again, and Sammy used all his restraint not to slam his fist against his desk. Nate seemed to swallow his laugh, shaking to himself as he turned back to his paperwork. But when Sammy slipped his phone back out and glanced at the message, he realised it wasn’t from Tammy.
hey! you free this saturday? there's a farmer’s market I wanna go to and Mariella ditched me :)
Sammy froze as he read the text, then read it ten more times, and he couldn’t help the soft smile that spread across his face.
You asking me cause you need a ride? Sammy wrote back.
Your reply came fast.
no :)
He let out a laugh, shaking his head.
see you saturday, was all Sammy wrote back. You sent back a little sticker of a cat voraciously licking at the screen.
Sammy had no idea what that meant.
“Woah, I know Tammi isn’t making you smile like that,” Nate said, and before Sammy could look up, his partner had snatched his phone out of his hands.
“Hey!”
His eyes scanned the texts, then he looked up with a shit-eating grin.
“Going to a farmer’s market, Sammy? What’s next, a fancy little house in the Palisades?”
“Oh fuck off. I’m just being a good friend.”
“Hm. Good friend. Sure, sure. A great friend in fact. Helps that’s she’s cute, huh?”
“Watch it or I’ll tell Mariella,” Sammy snapped, a thin line of irritation hitting his words. Nate stared at him, eyebrow raised.
“Hmm, okay. Meant no harm Sammy,” but he was smiling as he said it.
“Asshole,” Sammy muttered, turning back to his paperwork, but the phone felt a lot warmer stuffed in his pocket now, and he found himself looking forward to something other than drinking beers on Nate’s couch.
*
The long street closed off for the market was bustling with so many stalls that for moment Sammy’s vision was over taken. Each side of the street was lined with various sellers hackling their wares. He spotted massive blocks of cheese, and glass painted bottled filled with what looked like honey. Some stalls sold little wooden figurines in the shapes of animals, other sold stuffed animals, some hand crafted jewellery. Various smells rose in the air; hot oil and fish fry, sweet fruit scented cakes, greasy looking pizza, all mingling together into a pleasant smell that permeated around the crowds. In the distance, Sammy could see a merry-go-round set up in the centre of the street, dozens of children running about. Hundreds of people were milling about, leisurely walking arm in arm, sampling food, bargaining with vendors in the shaded evening sun.
Despite his quip about picking you up, he’d been late. A shooting that patrol officers thought to be gang related forced him to come in on a Saturday. Turned out to have been a crime of passion involved a furious wife and cheating husband. Sammy had promptly turned the case over to homicide and rushed out of the station, but he was still nearly forty minutes, resulting in you being forced to take three separate buses.
He was about to call you, when he spotted you standing in the distance. He froze for a moment, merely taking you in. You always looked pretty, he knew that, but you looked…extra beautiful today. You wore a short white dress that fringed your thighs, a blue and brown tote bag slung over your shoulder. Your hair was unbound, rolling down your shoulders as you gazed up at the vibrantly orange sky.
Sammy felt a tug go through, and he shook it away, swiftly making his way over to you. When you spotted him, a smile broke out over your face and you waved. As he came closer, you wrapped your arms around his neck and he pulled you in close, bringing his arms around your back and hugging you tightly, holding on for perhaps a moment longer than he should have. He didn’t quite know why.
“Hey,” you said.
“I’m sorry for being late,” Sammy winced. “I tried to get here as fast as I could.”
You waved your hand. “Don’t apologise, I figured it was probably something serious. I wasn’t waiting long.”
“Yeah, but it took you so long to get here,” Sammy said, biting his lip, and you smiled.
“It’s okay, Sammy. I know your job is important. Should we go?”
For a moment, Sammy just stared at you, blinking. It had been a while since anyone other than Nate had called what they do important. Most people gave him looks when they found out he was cop, and while he couldn’t blame them, it didn’t feel good to be stared at like he took a crap in people’s yards all the time. Tammi couldn’t have cared less, chewing his head off anytime he was late, accusing him of cheating or not loving her, when all he’d wanted was a hug to wash away the grime of his day.
“Sammy?”
“Y—yeah?”
“Should we go?”
“Yeah, sorry, yeah. Cmon.”
And he started walking, you falling in step beside him. For a little while, he remained silent, content with just watching you as you flitted from stall to stall, exclaiming excitedly over every little thing you saw, covering at length with vendors about their craft, holding up things for Sammy to inspect.
“Sammy, look, this cheese wheel is the size of my head. Should I get it?”
“What’re you gonna do a with a whole cheese wheel?”
“Good point. I can’t afford it anyway.”
Sammy chuckled, following you around like what he was sure looked like a puppy at its owner’s heel, but he couldn’t help it. At some point, you’d vanished into the crowd when Sammy was distracted by stall selling vacuum cleaners.
Why were they selling vacuum cleaners out here?
When he turned around, you were gone, and he felt his heart catch, wildly turning his head to catch glimpse of your white dress, when you’d materialised back at his side, two blue plastic cups nestled in your hands.
“Don’t do that,” Sammy scolded, and you pouted.
“I was just getting us hot chocolate.”
“Oh.”
You handed him a cup, the warmth spreading across his fingers.
“I could’ve gotten us that.”
“You treated me to dinner the other night, Sammy. I got this, don’t worry.”
“Just…tell me if you’re running off next time.”
“Geez, okay dad.”
Sammy stiffened at that, but you meandered on obliviously, sipping your drink.
“So what’s the point of these markets?” Sammy asked, giving you a sidelong glance. He couldn’t quite keep his eyes off the way your skin was glowing in the sun.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, is it just a way for people to scam you out of money? That old guy was selling honey for five dollars more than they got at Costco.”
“Yeah cause it’s locally produced?” You stared at him like he was an idiot.
He smiled. “Oh cmon, sweetheart, you know that doesn’t make a difference.”
You rolled your eyes. “Whatever, it’s fun to walk around. Why’d you come if you think it’s such a scam?”
“I needed to get away from Nate and Mariella,” Sammy shuddered, and you let out a little giggle.
“Yeah, I’ve crashed at their place a few times after Mariella and I do wine night. They go at it like rabbits.”
“Yeah, I’m never getting that out of my head,” Sammy winced.
“Soo, I’m your escape method?” You asked, batting your eyelashes at him.
“Nah, I wanted to come. I like hanging out with you.”
Your smile swallowed your entire face.
“Wow, did the mighty Detective Bryant just admit he likes my company? I’m so honored, sir.”
Sammy smirked, shaking his head, hoping you couldn’t see the faint pink on his cheeks at hearing you say the word sir.
He wanted you to say it again.
“Oh, here’s why I wanted to come,” you said suddenly, speeding through the crowd to a large, green painted wooden stall selling pots bursting with various flowers. Sammy spotted vibrant orange ones with massive petals, and smaller purple-pink flowers with their buds closed tightly. There was one with blue dots scattered over stark white petals. An old woman with her silvery hair tied back into a tight bun and a friendly smile stood behind the counter.
“You came for flowers?”
“Mhm.”
“You work at a flower shop.”
“Don’t be dense, Sammy, I got to sample some other wares too sometimes. Besides, always nice to buy some inspiration.”
“They all look like flowers.”
You stared at him incredulously. Then you pointed at group of yellow-pink flowers.
“Those are dahlias.”
Your hand turned to vibrant blue ones clustered together.
“Those are hydrangeas.”
“Flower.”
“My god, you are impossible,” you sighed as you greeted the stall owner.
“Hey I arrest people, I never claimed to know anything about flowers.”
The old woman smiled as you greeted her, laughing at what Sammy said.
“He’s a funny one, my dear. I’ve never seen him before. Is he your boyfriend?”
Sammy froze, as he watched you stutter your way through an explanation.
“Uh, no, uh, just a friend.”
The old woman looked from you to Sammy, nodding her head.
“Sure hun, whatever you say. So what are you in the mood for this week?”
Sammy suddenly became very interested in a tomato plant, staring intently at it while he listened to you flow into easy conversation as you launched into a million different questions, eventually buying two bags full of bright flowers. You moved to pay, but Sammy was swifter, whipping his card out like it was his gun and paying for the flowers, ignoring your protest as he lifted the bags in one hand. He shooed you to start walking and you obeyed, albeit grumbling as you did.
“I could’ve paid Sammy.”
“I know.”
“Then why didn’t you let me.”
“Just cause.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“Mhm. You picked nice flowers.”
“Thanks. I like to think I’ve got an eye for it now.”
“You do….so you come here often?”
“Pretty much, yeah. Why?”
“Everyone knows you.”
“I guess, yeah, I sometimes talk people’s ears off. My annoyingness must be easy to remember.”
Sammy looked down at you, and an overwhelming fondness came over him. He stupidly wanted to pet your head.
What was wrong with him?
“I don’t think you annoy people. I think people like you a lot.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
And Sammy was rewarded by the sight of you blushing. It took him a moment to realise what was happening, but when he saw the faint red on your cheeks, he found himself leaning closer, following your face as you turned away from him.
He couldn’t quite understand why he was so fascinated by the sight, but he wanted to see more.
“Two compliments in one day? Who are you and what’ve you done with my Sammy Bryant?” You joke, but the humour doesn’t quite reach your voice.
Sammy liked the sound of that. He leaned in closer, so close that if he moved an inch, his nose would brush yours. His eyes caught on the bell-shaped silver earrings that dangled from your ears that clinked faintly in the wind.
“Your Sammy Bryant is right here, don’t worry,” Sammy said, and you turned away, your face as flushed as a tomato.
Sammy felt his body grow hot at the sight. He liked that quite a lot.
He reached out and gently tapped your silver earring, setting the little bell and small beads hanging from the bottom dancing, a soft, pleasant chiming sound that seemed to go straight through him.
“These are pretty.”
You were silent a long time, refusing to meet his eyes. “My mom gave them to me.”
“Ah. How’re your parents?”
“Having the time of their life. They’re currently in Nice, I think? Or Prague maybe, honestly it’s been a few days since we last talked.”
Sammy whistled. “Fancy. How long they there for?“
“No idea. They say they’re just exploring.”
“Yknow they could help you a little,” Sammy said, more venomously than he’d intended.
“Hey, cmon, don’t be like that,” you sighed as you stopped by a small stall glass wares. You greeted the owner and started looking over a bear figure crafted from blue glass.
“They’ve worked so hard their entire life, I’m really glad they’re spending their money on themselves for once.”
“I guess. Doesn’t change the fact that you’re wearing yourself thin.”
You thanked the stall owner, leaving the glass bear behind. You threw a small smile over your shoulder and shook your head.
“It’s not so bad. Some people have it worse.”
You were staring pointedly at him, and Sammy chuckled.
“Fair, but I don’t have school to make it worse.”
“You’re simply not going to accept that I’m okay, are you?”
“Nope,” Sammy said happily.
You glanced back at him again, grinning brightly.
“Well, I ‘ll have you know that—”
You were too distracted, not noticing the burly man walking in front of you. Swiftly, Sammy wrapped an arm around your waist, tugging you back until you collided with his chest. You let out a little whoosh of air, just barely missing colliding with the man.
“Sorry,” Sammy said gruffly to the man as he passed, but he held you close, a surge of protectiveness burning through him.
“You okay?”
“Mhm, sorry, got distracted,” you murmur, still plastered against him.
Sammy can feel the warmth seeping out of you, smell the faint jasmine perfume you like to use. He liked the way your body felt soft against his. He leaned closer, cheek pressed against your head, unable to stop himself.
“It’s okay, I’ve got you.”
“Mhm,” you sighed, seemingly content with remaining wrapped against him.
“Here,” Sammy said softly, regrettably untangling himself from you, but wrapping his free hand around yours, interlocking your fingers tightly. He could feel the smooth back of your hand against the rough callouses on his, but he held on tight.
“This way I can keep a close eye on you,” Sammy said innocently, and you let out a soft laugh.
“Cmon then.”
And you dragged him around once more, but Sammy didn’t mind. He didn’t think he’d ever had as much fun as he had that evening, being victim to your careful and long appraisals of random objects, or being forced into a acting as proverbial trashcan whenever you handed him something you didn’t like the taste of.
And whenever anyone got too close, he tugged you closer by the hand, and always you came, leaning into his warmth, uncaring that he was being so protective.
When the evening drew deep, Sammy all but carried your half asleep form to the car, where you promptly started snoring the moment he turned the engine to life. Sammy would glance over at every stop light, smiling as he brushed hair from your face, trying and failing to stop his fingers from lingering at your skin.
When he pulled into the street by your apartment, you stirred to life, sleepily grabbing your bag and turning the handle, but Sammy had materialised outside your door and slid it open for you.
He trailed after you until your apartment door, an amused smile on your face as he did.
“Thanks for the ride,” you said, leaning against your door sleepily, and Sammy felt like someone punched him in the gut.
“No—no problem. I had fun today.”
“Me too.”
And you suddenly took a step forward, leaning onto your toes and dropped a kiss on his jaw.
The softness of your lips brushed over his skin, and it was over before it really began, and but Sammy felt a bolt of lighting strike right through him.
“Goodnight,” he said gruffly, turning away before you could see the blush across his face. He all but sprinted to the car, slamming the door shut, gripping the wheel so tightly his knuckles turned white, willing the boiling in his blood to go away.
No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t get the wild beating of his heart to slow.
sorry chapter 3 took so long but i hope u guys enjoy it!! Im currently working on chapter 4!! you can comment to be added to the tag list if you’d like :)
author's note: based on that one tweet by shawn hatosy. pls appreciate me writing this while being sick as fuck, sorry in advance if there are mistakes
divider: @/pixopix
“you're so perfect, god” sammy mumbles against your lips, his hands roaming up and down your back.
you whimper into his mouth as a response. the ache between your thighs gets worse with each swipe of his tongue against yours.
the two of you had just gotten back from a fancy little dinner, one that sammy had insisted upon after being so busy the past week that you two barely had time to see each other. it was torture, sitting through dinner with him. he was so sweet the entire time, being so gentlemanly and treating you so good. it took every ounce of your self control to not drag him by his shirt to the nearest bathroom and have your way with him there.
which is why you all but jumped on him the second you entered your apartment, the door hadn't even closed yet and your tongue was already in his mouth.
now, here you are, standing in the middle of your bedroom and making out like a couple of teenagers.
“want you so bad, sammy” you whisper as your hands start to fiddle with the buttons of his shirt.
he grunts when your nails meet the skin of his chest, dragging all the way down to the pudge of his tummy.
“know you do, honey, you're not subtle, y'know?” sammy teases, the little smile on his lips makes your heart melt. he undoes the zipper of your dress, drags the straps off your shoulders, and lets the fabric fall and pool at your ankles.
“christ.” he groans when the black lace set you put on is revealed to him. his hands grip your hips as his head dives down to your neck, lips planting hot kisses on your skin. the lingering scent of your perfume makes him dizzy, and makes his cock harder, almost to a painful degree.
the sweet noises you make in his ear pushes him to give your neck a little bite, he gives an appreciative hum at the sound of your squeal.
sammy comes up to find your lips again as his hands trail up your back to reach your bra. you feel him fiddle with the clasp, excitement brewing within you to finally be rid of it and potentially have his mouth on you.
your bra doesn't come off in the next few seconds.
you think maybe it's because he's too focused on kissing you but his hand is twisting and pulling at your bra. sammy lets out a frustrated grunt and curses, “these goddamn-”
it makes you giggle.
“don't laugh at me” he frowns.
“m'sorry, baby” you coo, still giggling.
to his credit, sammy is still trying. “why make them so complicated?-”
“what, scary detective bryant is bested by a bra clasp?” you tease.
in one swift movement, he spins you around, your back to him so he can face the stupid contraption that is your bra.
“you should just stop wearing these around me, y'know.” he murmurs, “makin' me suffer here.”
“and make things easy for you? but i like making you work for it”
you hear it before you feel it, sammy sighs in relief when finally the clasp is undone.
hands back on your hips, he turns you back around and with one hand he pulls the bra off you and tosses it aside.
“now, let's see how you like it when i make you work for it.”
pairing: jack abbot x plus-size! santos' sister! reader
summary: trinity is in the middle of a double and is desperate enough to have her sister show up at her job to bring her food. (takes place between seasons 1 & 2)
word count: 5.1 k ⚕♡
warning: y'all this one got away from me, it was just supposed to be a cute abbot x reader but sibling angst got mixed in and now we have this. reader is 12 years older than trinity so age gap, no smut just fluff and angst but if y'all like it than there may be some more in the future!
You couldn’t be prouder of your baby sister. But if you were to ever tell her that to her face, she would probably punch you. The past week has been an inescapable nightmare for her; they were down a few staff members, which had her picking up the slack for the next month while replacements were found. That’s how you found yourself at the farthest entry of the ambulance bay, balancing a tray half-filled with two different types of lumpia and okoy, there was some chicken mixed in there as well.
“Dude, what the hell are you doing back there?” You looked towards the sliding doors and saw Trinity calling out to you.
“It didn’t feel right going all the way down!” It honestly felt wrong to even be this close to the hospital without going through the front entrance.
She waved her arms like she was directing air traffic. “Hurry up and get down here, I’m starving!” No way in hell were you running, you were carrying precious cargo, but you did pick up the pace for her sake. “What took you so long?”
You held up the tray, “Uh, I was finishing up the food.” The aluminum pan was handed over, and she almost dropped it from the unexpected weight.
She looked at you wide-eyed, “Jesus, why did you make so much?”
You had gotten into a groove, and it felt nice to make familiar recipes. “Figured I’d make enough for you and your coworkers since I had access to the big kitchen at work. That’s if you choose not to be greedy, of course, if nothing else, leftovers.”
“None of them deserve your cooking,” she remarked as the sliding doors opened up to the emergency department.
“Except you?”
“Except me.”
An older blonde woman called from behind the desk. “Trinity, you’re needed in room two now.”
Your sister held up the tray like it would cover for her. “But Dana food…”
Dana just shrugged with a small laugh, “Sorry kid.”
Trinity was already rushing towards room two. “Alright, fine, can my sister stay with you for a minute?”
“Sure, your sister can stay. Nice to meet you sweetie.”
“Nice to meet–” the tray of food was dropped back into your arms without warning. “Nice to meet you too.”
She grabbed a stack of papers and knocked them against the desk to straighten them out. “Hate to say it but it’s the first time I’m hearing about you.”
You gave her a ‘what can you do about it look.’ It was normal at this point. “If you look up mystery in the dictionary, you’d see a picture of her underneath.” Sometimes it hurt that your sister never talked about you. Especially when you would mention her and her accomplishments to anyone who would listen. But you also couldn’t blame her for wanting to keep her private life separate in a workplace like this.
There was a huff of laughter behind you, and suddenly, a warm body was leaning against the counter next to you.
“That has to be the most accurate description I’ve heard of her.” Holy shit, you thought hot doctors only existed in medical dramas, either that or you’ve just never had the pleasure of meeting one like this. Silver fox personified, god he’s gorgeous. “So Santos’ sister, huh?”
You had to shake yourself back to life. “Y-yeah, you know I feel like I should be offended, but I would have been more surprised if she had mentioned me before.” You finally introduced yourself, balancing the tray so that one hand was free.
His hand was strong, steady, calloused, gosh, he has really, really nice hands. “Dr. Abbot.”
He fits the bill, and right into your fantasies, woah, down girl. “Ahhh, the famous Dr. Abbot, don’t tell her I said this, but Trinity thinks you’re pretty cool, and that is high praise right there.”
He did a small playful fist pump, “I knew I could still relate to the kids.”
Someone likes to use old-man humour, don’t they? “Probably better than I can at this point.”
He looked out towards his younger residents, “comes with experience…” his remark trailed off, staring again at you like there’s a question unanswered.
God, I probably look like a mess, you thought. Leggings that had a hole in both knees and an oversized volunteer shirt with about a dozen bleach stains screamed put together. You can hear your mother ‘you should always have makeup on, never know who you’re gonna meet.’ Damn, maybe she was right about some things. He’s staring. Why is he still staring? “Do I have something on my face?”
A short cough from him, clearing his throat and breaking his gaze. “Uh, n-no, sorry, you just look really familiar. Don’t tell me I’ve treated you here before.” Oh, if only you were so lucky.
Thankfully, nothing had landed you in the hospital since moving to Pittsburgh with Trinity. Though now you feel like you should probably knock on some wood to keep up that winning streak. “Definitely not, but now that I’m thinking about it, so do you…oh wait, I know, the uh, the Veterans Center!”
He smiled and snapped his fingers, “That’s it, you’re with the Meals on Wheels crew, right?”
“That’s me, we try to help get them set up with different plans.”
“It’s good work you’re doing there.” Lord is everything he says laced with such sincerity? He seemed like the type of person to choose every word carefully, to make sure it means something.
You threw the compliment back, “It’s good work you’re doing here.” As if what you were doing could compare to his work, to your sister's work.
“Just doing the best we can.” Something tells you his best goes above and beyond the normal. Something also tells you that you could become addicted to the small uptick at the corner of his mouth. So subtle, a blink and you’ll miss it moment.
“That’s about all you can do some days.”
The silence shared between the two of you was charged, the background noise of the ED fading in and out the more seconds passed. Neither of you was aware of the small crowd that formed behind the desk.
Trinity popped up behind Abbot, hand sanitizer being generously applied to her hands, before she scootched between you two. It cut the moment completely like a faint record scratch, well, if there had actually been a moment and you weren’t imagining things. The cover of the tray was lifted and nearly smacked you in the face. “God, that was ridiculous. I’m starving.” She had already picked up two chicken skewers and an okoy fritter before glaring at the vultures surrounding them.
“Why didn’t you tell us you have a sister?” A woman with glasses and a very put-together braid asked. No doubt this was Mel.
“I have a sister, there, now you know.” She responded mid-bite, determined to end the conversation there. Something she’d once said to you had always stuck. ‘The less people know, the better,’ it’s a motto she seemed determined to live by.
Your arms were starting to get tired from carrying this tray. “She talks about you all so much, I feel like introductions aren’t even needed at this point.” Based off descriptions you were sure you could match up the names to the faces, but one you hoped to run into was the infamous Garcia, but you knew that would be unlikely, life of a surgeon and all that.
“Shut the fuuuck up.” She said through clenched teeth and a mouthful of chicken.
You gently nudged her, and she subtly did it back like it was muscle memory. “Aww come on, it’s been forever since I’ve gotten to embarrass you in front of your friends.”
“Were you adopted?” Tired eyes, curls, ahh, Huckleberry.
“Was she?” Small, youthful, definitely Javadi.
There was murder in your sister's eyes. “Don’t both of you have patients?”
The mythical Dr. Robby seemed to appear out of thin air. “Don’t you Santos? And I think foods supposed to be eaten in the lounge.”
She took another bite of chicken, almost mocking, like she was saying, ‘you’re just jealous cause I actually have decent food.’ “Thought you said eat when you can?”
You opened the lid again, the smell hitting every nose in the vicinity, setting off a few stomach growls. “You’re welcome to have one, please don’t let her hog it all.” You felt a short warning smack to your side.
Robby picked up one of the lumpia before taking the tray out of your hands. “Hmm, you can stay.” He gave Dr. Abbot a look as he passed by, taking a bite out of the roll. Prompting Abbot to take one for himself before the tray was carted off to the lounge for Santos to take care of later.
Your sister looked over your shoulder, “shit I gotta go take care of this, find me before you leave.” She was already running down the hall, shovelling down the rest of her food, your soft ‘okay’ following after.
“I’m still not convinced you two are siblings.” Dr. Abbot said, taking a bite of the food he was able to snag.
“Wanna see my driver's license?”
He groaned from the taste, eyes closed, head back, and he even did that small bend that people do when something is just that good. “Hmm, no, there it is, same snark.”
“Nobody ever believes we’re siblings, we’ve got different dads, not to mention the twelve years between us.” There are a couple of other reasons that run through your mind, but those are best kept to yourself.
“Well, the more I stand here, the more I start to see it.” Interesting.
“In a good or a bad way?”
He took the last bite. “All the good parts, I promise, you both have a very caring heart.”
Very interesting. “Huh, caring heart typically isn’t used to describe my sister.”
“I like to think we’ve worked together enough that I can see it, even when it’s hidden under all her spikes.” It surprised you to hear this kind of praise from someone above your sister; she had always had issues with authority. Constantly complained about the teachers and professors that she’d had over the years. Except for Dr. Abbot, he must be one hell of a teacher.
“She really does care about her job. It’s nice to see that she’s got a good group of people behind her.”
“That’s the Pitt crew for you.” There it was again, that small movement, and there goes the silence again. Sometimes it’s better not to scramble to fill it. “Hey, I uh, I think we used to work with Meals on Wheels before Covid happened, but I think it would be worth starting up again for the patients. I know it would help out a lot of the people we see.”
Work, thank god, something you can confidently talk about. “Yeah, definitely, I’ll talk to my supervisor and see if I could maybe work as a representative for the hospital.” It would be a good chance to see Trinity more…and Dr. Abbot…no bad, bad brain.
“Oh, I’d hate to add more to your plate.” Where does he hold all that sincerity?
“Nah, it wouldn’t be a problem at all, most likely they’d have me swing by a couple of days a week to review forms for anyone who was interested.”
He crossed his arms, fully leaning into you, or is he leaning into the counter? And why is it getting harder to breathe right now? “Well, I know for a fact we’d be lucky to have you.”
Once again, Trinity snuck up on you. “Alright, all done, thanks for bringing dinner by.” She gave you a quick one-armed hug before practically pushing you away like the hug wasn’t her idea in the first place.
“Okayyy…well, I’ll get out of your hair, really nice meeting you all, and I’ll see you at home Trinity.” You gave a wave to the few residents and nurses that had stuck around the desk.
“Bye Sissy,” the term of endearment seemed to slip out of her sleep-deprived mouth before her brain could catch it. You could see the way she braced herself for war as her coworkers slowly turned their heads towards her. Shit-eating grins on all of their faces.
“Bye Sissy,” you echoed back, adding fuel to the fire.
The month passed by, and like clockwork, you would bring Trinity and the Pitt crew whatever you could to help feed them. After the first visit if Jack was available it meant that the tray you were carrying would be out of your hands the moment he saw you. It made your heart flutter, his fingers always brushed against yours. He had to know what he was doing.
Honestly, it just felt nice to have other people outside of your work to talk to, and you wondered why you hadn’t been doing this before.
Until one day, something snapped the fragile routine.
You were speaking with Jack, and he insisted on a first-name basis the next time you stopped by to bring Trinity dinner. The two of you were discussing the positives, among other things, patient satisfaction with the program inclusion, and what you were planning for the rest of the night, while he’s happily trapped here.
Suddenly, your arm was yanked backwards, “Dr. Abbot, I need to borrow her for a second.”
Trinity was a lot stronger than she looked, not a lot of people knew that until she decided to reveal it. Like she was now, by dragging you towards the staff lounge. “Hey, hey, are you trying to dislocate my arm?”
“Oh, trust me, you’d know if I was.” Oh, she’s pissed, but why, you have no idea.
You crossed your arms across your chest once she finally dropped the death grip that she had. “Okay, what the hell is your problem?”
“This has to stop.”
“You just gestured to all of me. What does that even mean?”
She poked her finger against your chest, dangerously close to your tit, which she knows is sensitive. “You, you coming here, bringing food for everybody, and whatever this thing is that you have going on with Abbot, it has to stop.”
That stopped you in your tracks because nothing inappropriate was going on with Abbott, not that you wouldn’t mind if something inappropriate were happening. “Trinity, there’s nothing–”
She poked you again, “Don’t bullshit me alright. This is my job, and you cannot come in here and fuck it up.”
You were brought back to a party that you didn’t know about and killed when you walked in the door. Back when she was being reckless and angry. “I wasn’t trying to–”
Trinity was on a rampage right now, and you were the target. “And I don’t care if you’re desperate, pick someone else besides one of my fucking attendings.” This was humiliation at its finest, she wasn’t trying to be quiet or private, she wanted people to hear.
You took a deep breath in, trying to ground yourself. “I’ve only ever come here to bring you food Trin, and for work, I see that you’re working doubles on the calendar, and I know you don’t eat like you should–”
She threw her hands up. “You’re not fucking mom okay! I’m not your problem, and you need to leave so I can do my fucking job!” She stormed out of the break room, a “what” thrown out to anyone who was looking her way.
You waited a second before adjusting your bag on your shoulder and walking out as well, head down, the refusal to make eye contact with anyone evident. A tear didn’t fall until the sliding doors closed behind you.
Trinity never thought that she would feel this hesitancy to enter her home again. But the weight of an apology was on her shoulders. Robby had chewed her out after her spectacle in the break room, told her to keep the family drama out of the ED, or her sister wouldn’t be allowed back. She didn’t want that, she never wanted that. The place somehow felt lighter when you showed up, helped make everything not feel so suffocating.
But the look that Abbot gave her today just pissed her off, fuck that man and his obvious crush on you. If he wasn’t going to ask you out then he needed to knock off the goo-goo eyes at work. And they wanted to say that she was being unprofessional.
Every movement was slow as she unlocked the door and stepped inside. She didn’t expect you to be sitting on the couch, an episode of Rick and Morty playing on the TV. She remembered you letting her watch an episode when she was way too young. “Hey…I brought home takeout.”
You didn’t say anything as she set the bag down, but you could hear a soft, annoyed sigh behind you. “What episode are you watching?” She knew exactly what episode it was. “Are you not gonna say anything?” No, you were not. “Alright, fuck, I’m sorry…I shouldn’t have snapped at you today. That was really shitty of me.” Trinity Santos, the master of apologies, ladies and gentlemen.
“So you still meant everything you said?” There was no move to look away from the screen.
“I shouldn’t have brought mom up, that wasn’t fair to you–”
Your head shook in disbelief. “You have said that to me before so many times Trin, it really doesn’t phase me at this point. I know it’s your go-to when I’m ‘smothering’ you I just–I care. You know I care right? I’m not trying to be…”
It was obvious that she was reaching for the right words. “I know you’re not, it’s just–it’s hard sometimes…you’ve always been more of a mom to me, and now that I’m older. It feels like I’m having to relearn how to be your sister.”
It made a lot of sense. Part of you hated that you had to be an adult at such a young age, but you wouldn’t give up your sister for the world. “I think I’m having to learn that too. I didn’t mean to encroach on your space or your work, I actively tried not to be in your way–”
She cut you off, “You were never in the way, it’s actually been nice having you there, and you genuinely seem to enjoy that place, which is crazy to me since I’m itching to get out of there.”
You nudged her, and thankfully, she nudged back. “You enjoy it too.”
“Yeah, I think, I think I just got so used to it being you and me that I didn’t really bother to have friends at work in the beginning. And then you started being all buddy-buddy with everyone, and I thought that’s it, she’s gonna be everybody’s best friend, and I’m gonna be alone again.” You always thought that was just the way she liked it, on her own. ‘Nobody to disappoint her that way,’ she would say.
You paused the TV, sensing the shift. “I didn’t know you felt that way.”
She scoffed, “How could I talk to you about feeling lonely?”
Now you were the one scrambling, “Trinity…I’ve been alone a really long time–”
“Yeah cause you choose to be.” Maybe your sister does need a psych evaluation.
“Choose to be, I’m sorry, you think I choose to be alone?” She nodded her head like it was obvious, “No…no, that’s you, I don’t choose this.”
She looked like she was ready to ditch this conversation now. “Okay fuck you. If you’re so alone, go out and find someone.” It’s almost like you could hear your mom's voice in your ear, ‘you have such a pretty face, if you just had form like your sisters, you’d be a knockout.’ ‘Of course you’re gonna be alone if you never put yourself out there.’ How were you supposed to put yourself out there when she had been putting you down for so much of your life?
Now your words had bite and sharpness to them. “You say that like it’s so easy. It is for you, it’s not for me, and it never has been.”
“What are you talking about? You never had a problem with making friends.” Friends that never stayed in contact, not one from high school or college, and it sure as hell wasn’t from a lack of trying on your part.
“Yeah, and you never had a problem finding someone that wanted to be with you. There are different kinds of loneliness Trin.”
It took a second for her to fully understand what you meant. “Oh, oh, I didn’t realize you…missed that.” Honestly your last relationship was so long ago that you felt like a born again virgin somedays.
“Yeah, I’m not a nun. I just don’t talk to you about it cause you’ve never had that problem before.”
Trinity was tired of standing, so she reached into the fridge to grab some beer to go alongside the takeout. She handed one to you before placing the bag on the coffee table and sitting beside you. “Yeah, just a problem with people staying.”
You cracked open both bottles while she started to unbox the food. “To be fair, you’ve never asked anyone to stay before.”
Her shoulders shrugged. “True, probably something I need to be in therapy for.”
“You and me both Sissy.”
“I hope you know, I don’t actually care about you and Abbot, I mean, I do I–I want you to be happy. You deserve it, you’ve taken care of me my whole life and you–you deserve someone who wants to take care of you too. And if that’s Abbot, then good for you, I guess.” What a world it would be if Jack Abbot wanted to take care of you. Maybe for a brief moment you thought he might have been interested, but after spending some time with him, you’re sure that subtle flirting is just his default mode. Nothing else has really hinted at interest or even desire, which you wouldn’t be able to spot in a person anyway.
Even though you wish it wasn’t true, “Trinity Jack’s not interested in me like that.” He probably wants someone in the same field anyway; it’s not like you’d understand half of what he talks about at work, you barely understand Trinity some days.
She took off the lid to her curry. “Uh, yes, he is.”
Accepting the takeout container from her, you pressed yourself against the back of the couch. “You sound awfully sure about that.”
She looked at you like she couldn’t believe someone could be so oblivious. “Okay, I’m starting to think that you’ve been alone because you’re just blind to when people like you, honestly, I should’ve caught on to that sooner.”
As sad as it was, it still made you laugh. “Well, can you blame me? I could never tell if it was a joke or not.” Boys had always been unnecessarily cruel to you growing up.
“Just…take my word for it…he likes you.”
You wanted to believe her so badly. It would be so easy to. But even if you did believe her, what would you do with the information? It’s not like you’d make a move, no, you’ve done it before, and it never works. That’s why you decided that if someone actually liked you, then it would have to be on them. At least nothing gets lost in translation that way. “I wouldn’t want to make things weird at work for you.”
She finished about a third of her beer. “Things are already weird, trust me, you’re fine. Listen, if he asks you out, just promise me you’ll say yes, at least give it a shot.”
Who would have thought your baby sister would try to set you up with her attending? Just what was the world coming to? “Yeah, that’s if he asks me out, which is a big if.”
A slow, smug smile crept onto her face. “I’ll bet you a hundred bucks that he asks you out tomorrow when you bring me lunch.”
“You and I both know you don’t have that money.” One would think being a doctor would pay better, but the world’s becoming too expensive even for them.
“That’s how confident I am.”
“I’m thinking you just want an excuse for me to bring you lunch tomorrow.”
The next day, you just ended up bringing the damn chicken soup in a crockpot since containers were a hassle. It seemed to be the right call, since the cold had brought in a wave of sickness throughout the ED.
Hands came up from your left and took the crockpot from you, both of you on a familiar path to the break room. You sure would know those biceps anywhere. Not that you were objectifying him in that way, of course not, you would never. “She returns…you know, we had a bet going on whether you’d be back around.”
You thanked him per usual and asked, “Oh yeah? Who won?”
He had a sort of playful scowl on his face. “Whitaker, he bet that Santos would apologize after work and you’d be back the next day. Kinda scary how well that kid knows her.”
“She’d never admit it, but she has a soft spot for him.” They reached the breakroom and Jack set soup down on the counter close to the outlet. You reached out to plug it in expecting him to take a step back. Only he didn’t, he just stood there without a care in the world.
Now the bastard was smirking at you, “Want me to get that for you?”
Come on, pull up your big girl panties and fucking flirt with this man. You have the approval of your sister of all people. A leap of faith had you leaning in, “That’s okay I got it.” Your arm brushed against his chest, and lord, that is one sturdy man, of course you could tell that just by looking at him, but to actually feel it. “Can I ask what you ended up betting?”
He leaned in even closer, “I was not a betting man this time around.”
“How come?”
His hand reached out, an inch away from your hip, a question, ‘am I allowed to?' So you leaned into the touch. “Didn’t want to take the chance that the outcome would be longer than I wanted.” That struck you, the way he said it, so simple, just a fact trapped in the room.
“You got lucky then, Trinity and I didn’t speak for three months straight one time.”
The smallest tug had you jolting forward, quickly trying to catch yourself. Jack had you right where he wanted you. “Oh, now I would’ve missed you way too much.”
“You mean my cooking.”
“That too but mostly you.”
“Good to know,” now’s when you say ‘I would have missed you too,’ go ahead. “Make sure you get some of the soup then, who knows when Trinity might decide to banish me again.” What the fuck is wrong with you?
He gave you a full smile, one of his rare ones, as his hand squeezed your side. You used to shrink away from touches like that, but from him, every part of you just softly pleaded more, more. “Perish the thought,” he looked over at the pot, “I can’t remember the last time I had homemade chicken soup.”
“Hope it lives up to the memory if you remember it.”
Jack has a silent intensity about him, and it keeps dragging you in. He’s just staring, a million questions he could be asking, and somehow he’s asking each one simultaneously. “Hmm,” even his ‘hmms’ have a vocabulary of their own. “You know, if you ever get tired of cooking, I’d be happy to do it for you.”
Is this–is this him asking you out? “Oh, you’d cook for me, huh?” Friends have dinner together, hell you’ve been doing it a lot this past month. But friends don’t hold onto someone like this and they definitely don’t keep glancing down at your lips like they’re seconds away from kissing you. Fuck, you wish he would.
The hand on your waist glides to your spine and his hands have a way of making you feel small, and incredibly weak in the knees. “You sound surprised.”
“Just thought you lived off of adrenaline and protein shakes at this point.”
“I’ve been known to make a mean steak.” The mental image of Jack standing over a grill just about does you in. It’s almost sad. When’s the last time someone cooked for you?
“Hmm, I’m very picky about my steak.”
That smirk makes you want to reach up and kiss it away. “As am I, you have to be. You free tomorrow?”
What the hell is happening right now? “Uh, yeah, yeah, I am.”
“Great, so I’ll pick you up at six.”
“I’ll bring dessert.” It was unmistakable, the heat, the way his eyes wandered slowly across you. You hadn’t meant it that way, or maybe deep down you did, maybe this is what it was to actually flirt. Maybe you were even good at it.
“Can’t wait.” He took a step closer, christ, he wanted to kiss you. Just a quick one, something to tide him over during his shift, but he knew it wouldn’t be quick, it wouldn’t be enough, and it wouldn’t be appropriate for the workplace.
Thankfully and annoyingly at the same time, one of the nurses came through the door asking for him before he could give in. “Sorry sweetheart.” He felt like he had to pry himself away from you, and you were just as desperate to hold on, but you knew better.
“Jeez, do your job Dr. Abbot,” you playfully teased. Secretly, it was a way to also catch your breath. But little did you know what that did to him. Eyes followed his back as he walked towards the door, his hand gripped the frame, and he looked so close to turning back around, but he knew better. His head shook with a small laugh, and then he was off.
It was just you and the soup now, you checked the heat once more and made your way towards the exit. There was an overwhelming need to get some fresh air and run the last ten minutes over and over in your mind.
Behind you, the almost evil voice of your sister whispered, “If you could send me that hundred bucks now, that would be great.”
a/n: hope you liked it, please let me know if you want to see more of this pairning! also i think I might start strictly writing plus-size characters from now on cause why the hell not, there's never enough of them! ⚕♡
here's my masterlist if you're insterested ــــ٨ـ🩺
You always assumed kids would not be something Jack wanted given he’s pushing 50 and the whole thing with his late wife, only to discover that he has a breeding kink/ baby fever
Plz ignore me if this isn’t something you are comfortable with I know it’s very specific
thank you anon! this was perfect!!! i hope i gave your idea justice as i pumped this out pretty quick!!
also sorry i didn’t proofread :(
MDNI 18+
word count: 1.4k
You and Jack returned home from your monthly date night. Before getting out to open your door, Jack had placed his hand on your jaw to guide your glassy eyes to his and pressed a soft deep kiss to your lips. When he pulled away be saw your eyes full lust and want.
“C’mon honey, let’s get you inside” he said with a gravelly voice.
You gave a tipsy smile and nod in return.
Walking you up to the front door, you both managed to keep your hands to yourselves, choosing to spare your neighbors of the sight of your love making.
After getting inside and closing the door, you could barely contain yourself and began kissing up and down Jack’s neck and exposed (god you love it when he leaves a few top buttons undone).
“God Jack you look so fucking good” you whisper, running your hands in the hairs on the back of his neck, trailing your kisses up to meet his lips.
When your lips meet his, Jack groans and melts easily into the kiss. His hands venture from by his side to now squeezing gently at your hips and ass.
“Yea, you like it when your old man is dressed up?” he teases with a smirk.
You bite your bottom lip and give a nod.
“Mmm, well let’s go upstairs and I’ll show you how much I love how you look.”
You both race upstairs, Jack faltering a few times because of his prosthesis.
When you both made it to the bedroom, neither of you wasted anytime and began to undress each other. Once you both were bare, Jack laid you down on the bed before crawling over you.
His hands rubbed up and down your side, “You gonna let me show you how pretty you are baby? Hmm?”
Your cheeks warm, hands go to cover your face at his words, but are quickly stopped by Jack’s right one.
“Look at me pretty girl…whaddya say? Gonna let me love on you?” His hands are now gliding from your sides to circle your nipples.
“Yes” you breathe out.
Jack wastes no time and duck his head to your nipple and begins licking and sucking incessantly before turning his attention to the other. His hands slide down your body to rest between your thighs and begin to rub your clit with his middle and ring finger before sliding his middle finger inside you. He begins to pump in and out of your wet cunt then adding ring finger too.
You gasp at the feeling, Jack’s head lifts to see your face twisted in pleasure. He begins to increase his speed on your pussy while he presses wet open mouthed kisses to your throat.
“God Jack, it feels so fucking good. I need you in me”, your hands begin to reach for his hips.
“You want my cock in you baby?”
He gently slides his fingers out of your opening, gives himself a few pumps, and begins running his tip up and down your push, collecting your slick.
He then lines himself up before slowly sliding himself inside. Once he reaches the hilt, he pauses and takes a big deep breath. He looks down at your figure waiting for him, his hands massaging your hips.
“My pretty girl…looking so beautiful, so perfect.”
He begins his pace with a sharp snap of his hips. His pace is slow, enjoying the feel of you around him, while his thrust are deep and powerful, creating a slapping sound that fills the room.
Your legs wrap around his lower back, pushing your feet into him to bring him closer to you. Your hands slide up and down his chest and tummy, loving the feel of his soft old man body on yours.
Feeling you spur him on, made him increase his pace and begin pounding into you.
“Damn, baby your squeezing me so fucking good” Jack groans in your ear and slam even harder into you.
“Fuuuuck Jack it feels so good!” you moan out, you use your soft hand to grab the back of his neck and bring him into a passionate kiss, allowing him to drink in you moans.
Jack slides his hand that was pawing at your hip to slide in between both of your hips and let his thumb rest on your pulsing clit. He eagerly began thumbing it to bring you closer and closer to your orgasm.
You back arches off the bed, “Oh my god Jackie, I’m gonna cum. Fuck i want you to cum with me”
“I’m almost there sweetheart”, Jack increases his pace to bring himself closer to his peak.
“Where d’ya want me cum baby”, Jack asks, remembering that he was to caught up with fucking you to put on a condom not that he minded.
You were babbling beneath him, to cock-drunk to think of your next words.
“Cum inside me Jackie…wanna-fuck, wanna make you a daddy”
As soon as the words fell from your lips it was as if you had woken up. Your eyes widen in realization and feeling Jack stiffen above you made you begin to push him away.
Neither of you had the conversation of children before. You were okay with not having them, assuming Jack wouldn’t want them since he’s 50 and he had already tried for kids with his late wife. But still something inside of you was wanting to see your loving boyfriend be a dad to your own.
You saw how he interacted with children during family get together a or even the one time you had stopped by the Pitt to drop off food and he was taking care of a 1 year old.
Despite this idea you had built inside you head, it was all false. Jack was obsessed with getting you pregnant, he loved picturing himself filling you up, you waddling with your big round belly, and tits engorged with milk.
The idea of it made him rock hard.
He never shared his perverse feelings in fear that you wouldn’t want kids with him. He’s not naïve, he’s aware of his age. He knows that it’s not typical to have kids with someone in their 50s but he didn’t care. He wanted it all with you.
So, hearing those words come from your lips did make him stiffen, but in shock and happiness, not because he was upset.
He didn’t let you pull him out of you, instead he grabbed your hips so fiercly it could leave bruises. “You want me to put a baby in you? Wanna make me a fuckin’ daddy huh?”
Your wide eyes peered into his to find them filled with need. You nodded slowly.
Jack begins to fuck into you relentlessly, not caring about anything other than pumping you full of his seed.
“I’ll make you a mommy baby”
Jacks lifts your legs to rest on his shoulders, and pushing your knees into your chest into the mating press.
“God you’re squeezing the shit outta me” Jack grunts above you.
Your head is thrown back moaning out anything, too lost within the pleasure he’s bring you.
“Jackie your s’good…want you to cum in me baby-want us to cum together, m’so close jackie”
Jack leans down further stretching you even more, caging you in with his strong beefy arms, using his whole body weight to thrust in you.
“i’m gonna cum baby, you gonna cum with me” he moans into your ear. You nod back, unable to since all of the air has left your body.
“Oh fuck”, suddenly his thrust become more erratic, your pussy spasms around his thick cock as you cum. His dick twitches as he fills you with his warmth.
Jack keeps his cloth sheathed inside you as you both come down from your collective high. Massaging your thigh and he evens his breath.
He pulls out of you and inches himself down to be face to face with your pussy, watching as his seed drips out of your pulsing slit. His cock immediately begins to harden seeing his cum pulse out of you.
“I’m gonna have to fuck ya again sweetie, make sure you’re pregnant by the time i’m done. Gonna get you all big and round.”
You look up at him in disbelief as you try to catch your breath, trying to see if there was any hint of joking in his eyes. But his face held no ounce of humor. Something told you that Jack was gonna keep going all night until it finally takes.
CHAPTER 01: I’D LIKE TO GET TO KNOW YOU, I’D LIKE TO TAKE YOU OUT
pairing: dr. jack abbot x f!plus size dating influencer reader
rating – explicit. minors dni
wc – 15.1k
series masterlist
series summary - forty and recently divorced, you come across the world of tiktok dating influencers. in need of pick me up, you decide to make a profile for yourself and see how it is with your own eyes. you have your own rules; no picking you up, never bringing a man home even if sex is on the table, never repeating a date and no strings attatched. but what happens when you meet a certain silver fox doctor at a bar that comes to your rescue after an awful date?
chapter summary – the date with the twenty something was awful, but the night starts to pick up when you go to the bar to swallow your sorrows.
warnings – angst, fluff and SMUT. drinking, fatphobia, mentions of smoking a joint. talks of jack’s dead wife and reader’s ex husband. jack is disabled and it is talked about during important times. reader is a menace and also gets in her head a lot. sort of a SMAU. teasing and sexual tension so thick you can cut it with a knife. oral (f! receiving), p in v, backshots, jack is such a munch, fucked dumb, some aftercare.
she/her pronouns and afab!reader. reader is described to be fat, other than that, no specific descriptions race or ethnicity. all lowercase for styling purposes.
a/n – this was supposed to be a one shot and suddenly got too long for tumblr’s word limit lmao. i don’t think i’ve been this proud of something i’ve written in a while. i’m really happy with how this series – this chapter in particular – turned out, and i’ve got a lot of it to thank @inkdippedquills and @thatcorporategirlie for! two gems this fandom gave me 🤍
truly hope you enjoy reading this one.
dividers by uzmacchiato and cursed-carmine
“hey, girlies!” you told the camera, a big smile adorning you face. “didn’t film the make-up because, of course, i’m late already, but this is tonight’s fit.” you pointed to each piece as you talked about them. “dress from h&m, tights from calzedonia, mary jane’s are prada and this vintage gucci jacket i thrifted last time i went to italy. super cheap, by the way. and the bag is the one you guys give me shit for every time,” you rolled your eyes, “from zara. y’all know i like how spacious she is and still not that big.” you gave the camera a twirl and pressed pause before sitting down on your vanity near the window, and started recording again.
“sooo, tonight’s date. well, i met him at whole foods. we were on the produce aisle and he approached me to ask which herb i think goes better with fish: cilantro or parsley – obviously, cilantro. anyways, we talked a lot and he was super funny and charming and he asked me out! the only thing is that he’s younger than me for like, a few years. make it like fifteen.” you huffed. “yeah, he’s twenty five. the youngest up until now is this whole… thing we are doing. but he seems nice, so here’s to hoping it goes well!” you downed (without wincing) a shot of tequila for some liquid courage and wrapped the video. “i’ll be back soon with all the after date deets. bye!”
once you turned off the camera, you quickly edited the video and posted it. you grabbed your keys and left, but not after checking yourself out in the mirror one last time.
if you had told twenty year old you that her forty year old self would be divorced and recording dating content for an app called tiktok, she would have laughed in your face and asked “what the fuck is that?”
it still seems absurd to you now, six months after everything had started, but somehow, you feel more alive than you have felt in years.
paul, your ex husband, and you met when you were twenty, started dating when you were twenty one and married a couple of weeks before you turned twenty four. the two of you met during college, while you were an undergraduate in molecular biophysics and biochemistry and he was getting his masters in chemical engineering. against all odds, your relationship was perfect for most of the eighteen years it lasted. paul was funny and attentive, did everything he could to give you the best, always pampering you and praising you for your hard work. but things started to go south somewhere around two years ago. all of a sudden, paul started to get distant, arriving late from work and snapping at you for nothing and apologising profusely when he realised what he had done, showering you in gifts as if they would fix things and make anything better, and soon, a vicious cycle was created.
the end came on a warm summer evening and you remember it perfectly. the day was spent basking in the sun by the pool’s edge, occasionally dipping inside the warm water. paul and you had invited some friends over for a barbecue and that day had actually gone alright. he was the sweetest he had been to you in a while, almost a mirror image of that guy that you had fallen in love with eighteen years before. paul was fun again, had the time of his life grilling and talking everyone’s ears off, you even had made his favourite desert, apricot cheesecake, and made sure the guests’ cups were always full.
to the outsider, you were the picture perfect couple.
but later that evening, after things calmed down and everyone had left, shit hit the fan.
with a silk robe still draped around your body, fresh out of the shower and with the steam of your en-suite bathroom sneaking into your bedroom, you moisturised your legs with your favourite body oil when paul said “you know, i was reading about polyamory and i think we should open our relationship.”
“excuse me?” you twisted the lid back on and turned to him.
“yeah, babe. we open the relationship and i get to go out and meet other women. it would be good for us.”
you shook your head, blinked a couple of times and licked your lips trying to make sense of what he was saying and to not strangle him – he is definitely not worth going to jail. “you want to meet other women…” you spoke and nodded slowly, your head bobbing almost owlish. “and what about me?”
he shrugged. “it’s not like you’re going to find other men to date you.”
you stared at him.
this had been the first time paul commented negatively about your appearance after all those years together. in fact, paul had always said that what attracted you to him was how you were not the typical stick thin girl he was used to see around the campus; your curves filled out your clothes well, you had softness around your stomach, thick thighs, a pair of breasts to die for and an ass that made heads turn wherever you walked by.
you had stopped listening to paul after that, only realising he was still speaking when the snort you let out interrupted him. you dropped the leg you had propped on your bed and aggressively gathered your pillows and blanket and started to make your way to the guest room. paul tried to stop you, saying a “baby, i didn’t–“ that you abruptly interrupted again as you yanked your hand back and told him to quit it.
that night, you didn’t cry yourself to sleep.
no matter how strong the pain on your chest was, how you felt like you were a couple steps away from dying of heartbreak, and how betrayed you felt, you refused to cry over a man.
you called in sick at work the next morning, texted your best friend grace as soon as paul left for his office, asking her to come help you pack your stuff because you were leaving him, and explained everything to her while you packed your belongings in cardboard boxes and black trash bags.
it felt surreal, eighteen years of a life built together thrown away because he wasn’t man enough to be honest about his feelings and of how little he thought of you. with your keys left on the kitchen counter, together with a note that said that your lawyers would be contacting his to sort out the divorce papers, you said goodbye to your past life and never looked back.
surprisingly, paul was very cooperative. signed the divorced papers the moment they were served to him, never questioning one period nor a comma on the document. he was the one to initiate the formalities of the pre-nup, selling and sharing everything you acquired together after all those years as a couple – just like the agreement mandated – without budging. as much as you were thankful for him to be acting without a big fuss, the way he gave up so easily on your shared life left you with a sour taste in your mouth.
what did end up proving to be difficult was navigating life as a newly divorced thirty nine year old.
it is not like you were one of those women that completely isolated themselves after marriage. truth is that you had a very active life besides the one you shared with paul. you had a prolific career as a professor in the biology course at carnegie mellon university, one you shared your attention with the role of food engineer in a bustling local brewery owned by one of your best friends from college, you went to the gym and did pilates regularly, had your hobbies and went out with friends at least twice a month. but whether you liked it or not, almost twenty years beside someone isn’t something you easily forget over night.
you missed having someone to come back to at the end of the day, missed having someone to share the good and the bad days, missed hearing the shower running from the other room while you read in bed, missed the woody smell his cologne would leave in the sheets and missed the feeling of a warm body by your side when you went to sleep.
the first two months were rough. you cried whenever you were alone – which, thankfully, wasn’t that many hours of your day and sleep came hard to you at night. some days you felt like a zombie, doing chores on auto pilot because they were already ingrained in your brain.
until one day, where you felt tired of feeling pity for yourself and probably too horny for your vibrator’s sake, a video of a girl in her twenties showed up on your for you page. she was getting ready for a date with a girl she met rock climbing and you gave her page a look, only to find similar videos of her getting ready and others talking about how the dates went. you got so immersed by her content that you scrolled so far back the you found the first video she posted, where she talked about starting an experiment to force herself to put herself out there. after years of bullying and awful experiences in high school that still haunted her in college, she decided she had had enough and wanted to live life like she deserved it.
her comments were filled with girls around the same age as her, congratulating her and thanking her for normalising the situation and inspiring them to do the same, even some older women saying they wished they had had her strength when they were her age.
you were never one for social media. yeah, you had some of them, all profiles privated, following and being followed by your close friends and family only, enough to just keep up with their lives. but the idea lingered in your head for days. what if you did the same as an older woman who hasn’t been out there in a while and just left a long term relationship? you figured that there would be other women going through the same and that it would probably be a good bonding experience. so you called grace, your best friend, the same one who helped you get your shit together and leave paul, who also had divorced a few years back, and told her about your plan. she loved the idea, and was the one to download all known dating apps to your phone and set your profile that night over drinks and laughter.
four months later, you had been to several dates and counting.
of course, you had your rules too. they were simple: no picking you up, you would meet them where you had agreed on. one date per guy only, maybe a second one if he really did it for you (none did until now). no bringing men back to your place – if sex was on the table, either go back to his or a hotel. and, most importantly, no strings attached.
thankfully, everything had been working perfectly.
your date was already at the table when you arrived at the factory. he was a gentleman, got up to greet you and pulled your seat and even ordered for you. but it didn’t take long for things to go south. he was the “me” type. talked about himself all of the time, going on and on about how he made his first million at twenty two with some internet scam that he promised was most definitely legal. when he actually asked about you, he interrupted you every ten seconds to say something about him that, in his mind, related to what you were sharing.
shit really hit the fan the moment the waiter set you plates on the table.
“you know, i’ve never gone out with one of you before.” he said mid chew. another ick to the ever growing list of icks you were ticking on your head.
you stopped cutting your steak and squinted your eyes. “one of me?”
“yeah, fat girls.”
the air left your lungs like a punch. “oh.”
“mhm.” he hummed and barely swallowed before continuing his tirade. “my friends kept telling me how well you guys fuck, especially older ones like you.”
you let out the ugliest indignant laugh of your life, grabbed your purse, fishing your wallet and a couple of hundred dollar bills from it, way more than enough to pay for your meal and his, and threw them on the table.
“okay, i really don’t need this right now. have a nice dinner!” you told him.
“where are you–“
“don’t!” you interrupted the idiot as you made your way out.
a surprisingly chilly-for-summer breeze hit your face and you finally let out the breath you didn’t know you were holding.
“oh my god. what the actual fuck.” you muttered to yourself. you laughed, more out of shock and feeling indignant about what just happened than finding it funny, as you went to find your car in the parking lot.
the shaky breath you took helped realisation dawn on you the moment you sat behind the driver’s seat. you just had gone through one of the most fucked up encounters of your life.
yes, you were fully aware your body is one you seldom find in magazine covers and now, in the age of ozempic, it is being more and more demonised. but you were also aware of your beauty, of how it was your body that helped you fight your fights and love the ones you love. so you refused to be seen as an experiment, refused to be seen as a toy for a twenty something dweeb to try his fantasies on.
this is not how you expected to end your night, and you really didn’t want to waste a good outfit by going home before you had planned. you stared at the people walking around the street, couples, groups of friends and families all making their way somewhere, searching for a fun friday evening.
the door of the dingy dive bar across the street opened and a couple around your age, holding hands and smiling, walked out. the sound of bruce springsteen coming out of the jukebox followed them out and called you in. it seemed lively enough and exactly what you needed, so with a muttered “fuck it”, you jumped out of your car and made your way across the street.
some good, cheap booze, nice music and a chat with the bartender seemed like the perfect ending for a disastrous night.
the atmosphere engulfed you the moment you stepped your foot inside the bar. low yellow lights, the smell of beer and laughter followed you as you made your way to the counter. sitting on the only available seat, between a girl talking excitedly to her friend and a lone older gentleman with more salt than pepper hair, you flagged the bartender.
“what’s your poison, sweetheart?” the charming barkeeper asked.
“a shot of tequila and some whiskey, please.” you smiled at him. “oh, neat!”
he looked at you surprised, but nodded and went to get your drinks anyway.
“what is so bad that a pretty girl like you wants to black out on a nice friday evening?” the man that sat next to you asked. he had finally looked your way and the sight you were met with wasn’t one you were expecting; he was extremely handsome.
a few years older than you, thin lips that looked strangely soft, nice hazel eyes that stared at you almost uncomfortably. up close, you could see clearer that his hair was actually sugar and cinnamon, the specks of auburn in the sea of grey told you that he was a ginger at heart, and the same colours could be found on his few days old stubble. oh, and yeah, his arms filled out his black t-shirt a little too well for your liking.
he seemed to have an attitude to him, just the right amount of cockiness to be hot and not annoying. you could definitely see yourself riding him at the end of the night if he was the one you had gone on a date with.
before you could answer him, the bartender came back with your drinks, setting both in front of you with a wink.
you saw your bar top neighbour frown but tried to not think any of it, choosing to down your shot of tequila and wash it with a sip of whiskey first.
“overall or just tonight?” you turned to him. “by the way, i’m–“ you gave him your name.
“jack.” he shook the hand you had extended to him. “overall. i’ve got time.”
“okay.” you nodded and, for some reason, you told him everything. from paul’s proposition, to the divorce being finalized a day before your birthday, about the dates (of course you didn’t tell him about the tiktoks or details like your rules), and about tonight.
he was actually interested in what you had to say, looked at you while you spoke, barely interrupted you, only to ask about something he didn’t fully understand and even threw a few mhms to tell you he was paying attention.
“and that’s why i’m here now and not across the street on my date.” you finished your rant with a sigh.
jack gave you a slow up down that made you shiver. “he wouldn’t know what to do with you.”
“and you would?” you countered, the whiskey making you feel even bolder than usual.
jack’s answer came in the form of a huff and a smirk, silenced by the sip he took of his own glass of whiskey.
you studied him for a bit, eyes lingering on his crows feet, trailing down his face, beautiful toned and freckled arm, abruptly stopping on the huge wedding band on his, rather thick, finger. you turned, looked away and drank some more of your whiskey to deflect.
“the wife isn’t going to be mad you’re out late in a bar?” you tried to go on another route, pretend you just didn’t flirt with a married man.
“we can pull out the ouija board and ask her, but i think she’d like to know i’m having fun with someone nice.” he said it so naturally one would think he just told you she was waiting for him at home.
“oh god.” you frowned and jack had the gall to smirk at your expression. but you barely noticed it as something tightened in your chest with his confession. “how long, if you don’t mind me asking?”
“two years.”
you exhaled and squeezed his forearm (in solidarity, obviously) as you said “i’m sorry.”
“so, what’s the idiot’s name?” he asked, changing the subject like an expert.
you shook your head and looked down at your lap as if you were trying to hide something. jack looked at you with amusement in his eyes when you murmured something he didn’t quite catch.
“gotta speak louder, sweets, the music is loud and my hearing is not the best.”
“paul.” you winced. “his name is paul.”
jack started laughing, loud enough that other patrons turned to look at you two. you nudged his thigh and told him to stop.
“he has your ex’s name?!”
“yeah, i know, ok? i really didn’t think this through, maybe it’s a sign of the universe or some entity telling me that pauls are the spawns of satan or something.”
jack snorted. “have you ever had any news of paul number one?”
“last thing i heard was that he had knocked up a random twenty two year old girl he was hooking up with.” you shrugged.
“ooof. you have any children with him?”
“nope, we never wanted any. just a cat that kind of hates him to be honest.” you giggled. “she’s my baby.” jack smiled at you and you had to hold it together so you wouldn’t melt. “what about you? what brings you here today?”
“i’m doctor.”
“got it. tough shift?”
“make it tough twenty years.”
“wanna share?” you smiled at him and mimicked his words. “i’ve got time.”
surprisingly, jack told you everything. about going to afghanistan and losing his leg, about coming back to the states and becoming a doctor, about his wife falling ill and dying, about how some shifts are harder than the others, everything.
“today… today was just tiring, you know? had to accompany the SWAT, got grazed by a–“ you didn’t mean to, really, but you have what people call an “expressive face with a life of its own” and without you even noticing, you scrunched your features at the mention of the police force. “what?” jack asked.
“on top of all that, you’re a cop?”
he shook his head and drank some more of his whiskey before continuing. “not a cop, sweetheart. i’m a tactical medic that accompanies the SWAT team in case they need medical support in the field.”
you snorted into your cup of coke – you had changed drinks some time ago, together with the absurd portion of buffalo wings and french fries that jack insisted on ordering after being aware that you were downing straight whiskey on an empty stomach. also because you were a responsible woman and knew you had to sober up so you could drive back home – and took a large sip before saying “sounds like a cop to me.”
he leaned closer to you and whispered “what happened to ‘fuck the police’, huh?”
you laughed as he pulled back. “ACAB, baby. and is this you admitting you are a cop?”
he shook his head again, that playful smile still present on his face when he told you once again that he wasn’t a cop. “my therapist told me i needed a hobby.”
you gave him a wide-eyed, bewildered look. “cooking is a hobby, knitting is a hobby, skating is a fucking hobby, not doing the same thing you’ve been doing for most of your life, with the added bonus of guns firing for some adrenaline.”
jack gave you an earnest smile. “is it bad that i’m happy your date failed?”
“no. i really liked meeting you too.”
“good.”
as if on cue, your phone’s screen lit up with a text from grace, asking if everything was ok and if you had already gotten home. it also made you notice that it was almost one thirty in the morning, meaning you had been talking to jack for almost five hours.
“is everything ok?” he asked.
“mhm. it’s just my friend checking in on me.” you flagged the bartender. “it’s kinda late, i should probably go home.”
“yeah,” he checked his watch. “you should. are you good to drive?”
you nodded. “could you close my tab, please?” you asked the bartender when he arrived.
jack stopped him, telling him to add your drinks to his tab. “i’m gonna take her to her car and come back.”
“no problem, abbot.” the bartender said, finger gun shooting him.
jack draped his jacket over you the moment you set foot out of the door. the short walk to your car was made in silence, just appreciating the little time together you had left.
“thank you. for walking me out and for saving my night.” you offered him a shy smile and gave him his jacket back.
“thank you for letting me.” he offered back. opening the palm of his hand to you, he said “give me your phone.”
“why?” you asked, but gave him the device anyway.
jack opened the phone app, created a new contact and added his number on it. “text me when you get home.”
“okay, i will.” he gave you the phone back and you saw that his contact name was “jack from the bar”. it made you snort.
“good. and, if you are up to it, i’d love to take you out on a real date.”
“i’d love to.” you hopped on your car. “bye, jack.”
“bye, sweetheart.” he closed the door for you. “drive safe.”
the drive back home was fast. given that the city was found to be asleep for long when you finally left the bar, the drive that, on a normal pittsburgh traffic, would have lasted at least forty minutes, was done in ten.
marie, your fluffy, blue-green eyed cat greeted you at the door, loudly complaining about how you left her alone for some subpar man. she went back to the top of her cat tower when she got bored of your pets, which didn’t take long to, and you made your way to your kitchen to grab some water.
as requested by jack, you shot him a quick “i’m home” text, to which you got a reply seconds later, one that said “sleep well, sweetheart.”
still buzzing with the night’s events, you propped your phone against your pastel blue smeg mixer and pressed record.
“hey guys…” your voice was tired now, a big contrast from the chirpy one you had on the video you recorded and posted hours before. “ it’s almost two in the morning and the date was… something.” you stopped again, snorted and shook your head, and took another sip of water as if the liquid would make the story you were about to tell less worse. “i’m not going to beat it around the bush. it was awful.” you laughed.
“he was a gentleman until the moment i sat down at the table. greeted me, pulled the seat so i could sit down and even ordered for me. then he went on that well-known “me!” rant about how great he was and how he was a self-made millionaire at such a young age. then, the waiter set our plates down…” you took a deep breath and a mirthless laugh left your lips. “and he, for some reason, thought it would be nice to say that the had never been with a fat woman before, that his friends kept telling him, and i quote ‘they fuck well, especially older ones like you.’ i’ve never gotten up and left a date so fast in my life!”
“but you guys know i don’t like to waste a good outfit.” the easiest smile you had in your whole life came to your lips and the tone of your voice changed to something much sweeter, softer. “and i made my way to a dive bar across the street and ended up meeting someone there. he’s sitting there at the counter, drinking because he’s a doctor and had a shitty day too. he was actually the one to engage in conversation first, and i don’t even know what to tell you guys, but he is the best person i’ve met in a while. i actually spent like, five hours straight talking to him. we just sat there, he ordered this ridiculous amount of buffalo wings and fries because he knew i left the date from hell without dinner, and we just talked. talked and talked and talked about everything. he’s funny and charming and quick witted,” you stopped and let out a low whiny laugh and whispered the first few words like it was a secret.
“and he’s so hot. he’s so fucking hot it’s ridiculous. he’s not that tall, an alright height, grey hair, beautiful hazel eyes that felt like he was staring into my soul, thick arms and thick thighs that is making me lightheaded just thinking about them. anyways, he walked me into my car, gave me his phone number and actually told me to text him telling him when i got home and that he wants to go on a date with me if i’m in the mood.” you looked at the time again, it was ten past two in the morning and your feet were trying to kill you. “well, gotta to to sleep! bye!”
you stopped the recording and posted the video without even editing it, made your way to your bathroom for a much needed shower before falling asleep.
40andthriving🩵| post date with the twenty something rambles. this is not edited and i’m so sorry about the length. will deal with it when i wake up (or not)
imsotired | girl, what the fuck? ew. at least you got a hot doctor in the end. (PLEASE, tell me you are going on a date with him!!!)
user802764277193701 | i’d have stabbed his hand before leaving
→ 40andthriving🩵| i still have to feed marie, but sure…
santos.trin | told you you should join us on the lesbian side, we’d treat you so much better. but i’m happy you found your silver fox doctor or whatever 🙄
→ 40andthriving🩵| love you too, trinity. and who said i’ve never been with a woman?
→ santos.trin | are you fucking serious?
→ 40andthriving🩵| 🤫
sophiesoph | thank fuck everything worked out in the end!
theegraceadams | girl, you better call me when you wake up!!!
you woke up around ten that morning to your phone blowing up with texts and missed calls from grace. after hearing an earful from her and reassuring your friend that everything was ok, you agreed to go out for brunch to catch up.
you were about to head to the shower when your phone pinged again. it made you sigh, thinking it was grace starting her rants once again, but the sight of a new contact name made you smile.
jack from the bar: Good Morning. How are you feeling this morning? Any hangover?
sent: morning, jack. i’m pretty good! surprisingly, no hangovers
sent: you?
jack from the bar: Better now. Just wanted to check in on you. Have a good weekend, sweetheart.
sent: you too, jack 😊
grace parked beside you the moment you hopped out of your car. as you expected, your “good morning” was barely out when she started questioning what happened the previous night. you told her to calm down and that you were only telling her what happened after you scored a table and ordered your usual.
“girl, so what?!” grace said after you spilled the happenings of the five hour impromptu encounter you had, and finished the last of her third mimosa. “from what you’ve just told me, he’s hot enough to be on a calvin klein ad and he clearly cares about you. what guy would want to know if a woman he just met got home ok and texts her the next morning asking how she’s doing?” grace flagged the waiter and ordered her fourth mimosa. you made a mental note for it to be her last. “so what if he has a questionable hobby?”
you scrunched your nose at the thought.
“babe, please! isn’t your rules ‘one date only’ and ‘no strings attached’? just go for it, have the time of your life and go for your next one. maybe you should go out with women too like that trinity girl that comments in all of your videos suggested.”
“yeah, you’re right.” you agreed, but a little voice that you were trying to ignore told you that it would be hard to follow the one date one/no strings attached rule with jack.
today’s shift was one for the books. all trinity wanted was for her to grab her stuff, dennis decide if he was going home with her or meet amy at the farm, order the greasiest take out she could think of and sleep. and not dream of yolanda, if possible.
once again, yolanda and her had a fight over the status of their relationship, and, to make things better, yolanda flirted with the new ortho resident right in front of her.
the night shift started to trickle in. ellis stopped by where trinity was charting to check out on her. five minutes later, came in shen with his watered down cup of dunkin’ and, not long after, abbot arrived.
there was something different about him. abbot looked… lighter? well rested? it would make sense knowing it was his day off yesterday, but everyone knows jack abbot doesn’t rest. trinity started at the night shift attending, noticed how his already playful demeanour seemed more light hearted, how easily he countered robby’s old man grunts with even stupider jokes, making the day shift attending sigh exasperatedly.
an alert went off on trinity’s head, and the video she watched earlier that morning on her way to the PTMC popped in her head.
“why are you staring at dr. abbot like that?” dennis asked. “oh my god, do you want to sleep with him to get back on garcia?”
“what the hell, fuckleberry? no!” trinity’s face was full of disgust. “it’s just–“
“what’s going on?” victoria questioned.
“trinity fought with garcia again and now she’s eyeing dr. abbot. i think she wants him.” dennis answered before trinity could say anything. she slapped the back of his head.
“abbot? ew! go for ellis.” victoria added.
“i swear to fucking god, you two.” santos pinched the bridge of her nose and took a deep breath. she fished her phone in her scrub’s pocket and opened her favourite influencer’s tiktok’s profile, clicked on her latest video and turned the device to her friends.
“oh, who is this? she’s hot.” vic asked as she paid attention to the video.
“just it’s this influencer trinity has a crush on.” dennis earned himself another slap in the back of his head.
“i don’t have a crush on her, i just think she’s cool. now watch the fucking video.”
the video ended and victoria gave her the phone back. “it fucking sucks what happened to her but i don’t get what this has to do with anything.”
trinity looked at her friends like they were missing the most obvious clue. and they were.
“the ‘hot doctor’” trinity added air quotes for effect, “she’s talking about is abbot.”
dennis looked at her and sighed. “i think that’s a stretch, trin.”
“no, look at him!” trinity nodded in his direction. “he’s more abbot than usual. he even seems happy and well rested.”
it was victoria’s turn to contradict her. “i mean, how many silver fox doctors are there in pittsburgh? and maybe he finally had a good night of sleep.”
“oh my god, fine!”
as if on cue, abbot passed by them, flicking trinity’s ponytail as he said “time for rounds, kids.”
saturday turned into sunday, that turned into monday and monday turned into tuesday.
wednesday arrived and grace’s words still echoed in your head like they did all weekend; she was right, you should ask jack out. it was just a date, a single one, and you weren’t going to see him again anyway. you already had been bending all of your personal-non-experiment rules with this very important social investigation, what is another one, right?
you promised yourself you would text him, you did, but you got so caught up with life that you simply didn’t have the time nor remembered to. johnny was releasing a new beer this week and you had been spending more time than usual at the brewery. a few setbacks happened along the way, but nothing you, the expert, couldn’t deal with. and, of course, you still had your job at carnegie and everything that came with being a member of the faculty.
and that is why you spent a perfect wednesday evening in bed grading papers.
the sound of your phone vibrating next to you was a welcome and much needed distraction after hours spent staring at your laptop’s screen. it was a few minutes past nine when your screen lit up telling you that “jack from the bar” was calling. just the sight of his name across the device was enough to have goosebumps erupt on your skin and have you question all of your rules.
something flared up in your stomach. it wasn’t butterflies, no, but something more positive than that. to you, butterflies meant anxiety, and what you were feeling was something more akin to excitement and longing. the phone had to shrill a fourth time for you to wake up from your daydream and pick it up.
“hey, jack from the bar! what do i owe you the pleasure?” you wanted to cringe with the obviously fake nonchalant tone that came out of your mouth. jack laughed on the other side of the phone and that made you feel a bit less self conscious.
“are you ok? you sound a bit distant.”
you shook your head and brought the phone closer to you, laying it on your chest. “yeah, i’m on speaker. just doing some late night work.”
“did i get you on a bad time? i can call you back tomorrow.” jack sounded concerned.
“no! no. i’m grading some papers and if i read the word salmonella once again, i think i might self combust.”
jack laughed and it got a few chuckles out of you too. “that bad, huh?”
“more of a tough week, actually?”
jack groaned on the other side and the sounds of fabric rustling hit your ear, it sounded like he was sitting. “wanna talk about it?”
“oh, it’s just work stuff. friday is launch day at the brewery, so i’ve been working overtime there. had a batch go to waste on monday because of contamination – that, by the way, i have no idea how it happened and i have a feeling people are hiding the reason from me – but thank god it’s already solved. and, of course, the university and everything that comes with being a professor.”
“and salmonella has something to do with it? should i be worried?” he asked playfully.
“no, no worrying. no salmonella involved. it wasn’t exactly something that could be harmful to humans, the bacteria basically just ate the yeast and killed it, so the beer was a mess and it came out all wrong. we had to clean out all of our tanks, the lab and all the tools we use and start over. that takes us at least a whole working day .”
“ooof, and what about carnegie?”
“oh, i’m teaching foodborne illnesses and how to prevent it. basically making your job a bit easier for you, you know?” you joked.
“really?” he sounded gleeful and a smile spread across your face. “thank you for your service, professor.”
“no problem, jack from the bar.” you suppressed a yawn and asked him “what about you? slow night?”
“not exactly, but i just had a couple of minutes to spare and wanted to talk to you.”
“oh.” it left your lips before you could think about it.
“yeah,” jack chuckled. “are you do–“ jack was cut off by a female voice shouting at him. the only words you could make out was “multiple MVC” and “three minutes”. jack asked her to bring him a gown and got back to you with a sigh. “fuck, i’m sorry. i have a golden weekend this week and wanted to know if you are free this saturday. i’d love to take you out for dinner. on a real, proper date.”
“yeah, yeah! i’d love to!”
“great, sweetheart. i’ll text you with the details. hope everything goes well with the beer and the papers. loved talking to you. bye!”
“thanks. bye, jack!”
you turned off the call and, for some reason, the chat gave you enough will power to finish grading the papers.
jack and you kept in touch throughout thursday and friday. he was just as charming through text as he was that night at the bar. jack texted you good morning, asked what you were supposed to do that day and how it was going and effortlessly made jokes that made your co-workers side-eyed you when a easy laugh left your lips without a warning.
he also asked a lot of questions; jack was clearly making an effort in trying to get to know you and find things in common to plan the date.
it was around ten in the morning of a very sunny saturday when he finally told you where you were going. jack greeted you like usual, asked how your morning was going and if you had slept well and told you about his shift and one of shen’s shenanigans.
jack from the bar: The Carnegie is hosting the 59th International. I was thinking we could take a look and visit the Butterjoint for dinner and drinks. What do you think?
sent: perfect! i’m dying to visit the exhibit and butterjoint has the best old fashioned in pittsburgh
jack from the bar: An Old Fashioned drinker? You really are a woman after my heart, huh?
the flirting made you smile and your brain short circuit at the same time. as if he sensed your mild panic, or maybe he just needed to finish his train of thought, jack sent another text.
jack from the bar: Pick you up at six?
sent: six is fine, but i’d rather meet you there
jack from the bar: Of course, sweetheart. See you there!
sent: see ya
“hey, guys!” you sat down by your vanity with a light robe around your body, your AC on and a cup of ice cold tea on your hand. marie jumped on your lap the moment you sat down and you didn’t dare to take her out of her spot. “as you can probably guess, i’ve got another date. and yes, it’s with the hot doctor from the bar.”
you grabbed your favourite concealer, dabbed some on the back of your hand, warmed it with a brush and started applying it on a few specific spots. “not explaining my base routine because it’s the same as usual, same products. we don’t do over consumption here. i’m going for concealer only on a few spots i want to cover because it’s so hot today and i can’t deal with a bunch of sticky stuff on my face.” you made an ugly face when you realised how that sounded.
“anyway! hot doctor– i’m gonna call him mcsteamy because he’s a hot silver fox and we need an alias for him. mcsteamy called me on wednesday – yes, he called me, and asked me on a date. we’ve been texting back and forth ever since, and guys… he’s sooo nice. just as fun as he was that day at the bar. he’s super attentive and actually took time to get to know me, which i know it’s the bare minimum, but after the last two dates i’ve had? that’s growth.” you set the blush brush down and started rummaging through your drawer for the shimmery eyeshadow that made your eyes pop.
“so he planned a museum date and drinks after, and you guys know that those are my favourite. hold on, i’ll be back.” you stopped recording and went to get dressed.
“alright, so dress is vintage bluemarine, i think? got it second hand in NYC,” you said, showing off the midi pink, flowery dress that contrasted beautifully with your skin. “green tabi flats because we are going to walk a lot and green purse to match, no brand, got it at the flea market in florence.”
you sat back down by your vanity, this time a bit closer to your phone. silenced engulfed you for a couple of seconds longer than needed as your feelings towards the date started to make sense. “i’m not nervous, which is a first in these four months. it… i don’t know, it feels right?” you shook your head. “i know how this sounds, there’s no expectations here and the rules still stand, obviously, but it feels like i won’t have any surprises, you know? maybe because we’ve already talked a lot last week at the bar. and i know that that doesn’t mean anything, but i don’t know, there’s something about mcdreamy that feels like i’m going to have a good time. as usual, i’ll be back in a few with the run down. bye!”
40andthriving🩵| pre date with the bar’s silver fox doc rambles. i have a feeling we won’t have a post date horror story this time. 🤞
santos.trin | you got your she/they shooters by your side!!!
→ 40andthriving🩵| thank you!!!
→ user802764277193701 | yep, the knife is ready…
→ 40andthriving🩵| girl…
justmyluck91 | sending you good date vibes ✨✨✨
theegraceadams | love you, bestie! hope it goes amazing!!!
→ 40andthriving🩵| love you 🩵🩵🩵
jack was already waiting for you by the carnegie’s entrance hall with both of your tickets in hand when you arrived. he was a vision, dark denim pants that hugged his thighs so well that you didn’t have to imagine what was underneath, and the black polo shirt that he insisted on leaving a couple of buttons undone also didn’t disappoint, you could clearly see the outline of his muscular chest and arms and a teasing bit of his chest hair.
the once-over jack gave you when you were finally by his side made goosebumps rise on your skin; the look he gave you made you feel like a prey who met her predator, it made you feel like you were about to be eaten alive in the most delicious way.
or like the hottest person in the building.
“good to see you, sweetheart.” jack said as he hugged you tight, his left hand squeezed your waist when he kissed your cheek.
“you too, jack. have you been waiting long?”
“no, but you’re worth any wait.” he said and winked at you, making you shake your head and playfully roll your eyes.
he lifted the tickets and asked “shall we?”
you nodded yes and jack guided with his hand on the small of your back as you walked the halls of the carnegie museum of art. strangely – or maybe not, but you were unwilling to admit – it really felt right. jack asked how your day had gone, if everything went alright with the launch of the beer (it did). you had to cancel a couple of classes and stay at the brewery past midnight that last thursday, but everything was a success – jack even joked that he would take his friend robby there on a date. apparently, the man was a fan of your work.
“hi!” you heard a sweet voice call from one of the workshop rooms. it was a young girl in her twenties, with big glasses adorning her face and big, curly hair that looked like a crown on top of her head. her smile was contagious. “i’m amara, one of the museum’s educators. we are hosting ‘imagining home together’, a creative workshop with the center for artistic activism. we still have two slots open, wouldn’t you guys like to join us?”
you looked at jack, searching his face for a sign if it was something he would like to do.
sensing your unsureness, amara pressed. “it would be great bonding activity for such a lovely couple like you.”
“oh, we–“
“we would love to!” jack answered at the same time, squeezing your waist and smiling at you.
amara beckoned you inside the room, pointing to an empty table on the far end of the room, telling you and jack to get comfortable.
“alright, guys!” amara brought the attention of the chatty class back to her. “this is the fourth edition of ‘envisioning a just pittsburgh’ and this year’s theme is ‘home’. we want you to explore what home means to you, is it a place? a community? a language? what can we do to make pittsburgh a better place, for those who have been here from the beginning and for those arriving? we want you to explore it using whatever medium feels more comfortable to you, may it be with a painting or a drawing, poetry or music, we want to see the artistic side of you. you guys have forty five minutes to get your work done and the other forty five minutes will be reserved for the presentation!”
jack turned to you with a sly smile on his face. “this is going to be fun.” he sat down with a small wince, and you remembered his leg.
“you good?”
“yeah.” he stretched his right leg and exhaled. “long shift last night, barely had time to rest.”
“you sure you want to do this? we can reschedule the date if you want.”
jack playfully kicked your shin, and pulled your chair closer to him in a swift move as he said “of course not. you backing down on me?”
“no!” you slapped his thigh and it felt as muscly as you imagined. “alright, mr. hotshot doctor what is it going to be? what’s your artistic vein? why do i feel like you were in a band in your teens?”
he laughed and confirmed your suspicions. “i was in one, had to leave it when i was deployed.”
“really?” you gave him a fake questioning look. “let me guess, singer?”
“nope, lead guitar. and composer.”
you sneaked a look at his hands and fought back a smile. jack noticed, obviously, but let you slide with just a smirk.
“makes sense.”
“what about you?”
“oh, i’m more of a photography person. did occasionally write the angst poem as a teen.”
jack and you kept chatting, trying to decide on the theme. he told you about moving in from boston and adapting to the new city and you shared how you went through the same when you left your hometown for college in pittsburgh. it wasn’t an easy adaptation, but bit by bit, every person you met made you feel welcomed and loved.
the forty five minutes flew by quickly with jack by your side. it was shocking how easy it was to talk to him, something about his tone of voice and how effortlessly flirty he was made you feel like you had known him for ages.
amara’s voice called for attention again, signaling the time had run out. the first person to present was an old lady who appeared to be in her seventies, she had made a beautiful watercolour work representing the immigrants that helped build pittsburgh. after her, two twin brothers in their early teens, with the aid of their parents, presented a cute collage of what home was to them. their explanation brought tears to your eyes; to them, home was the corners of the city where their late grandma used to take them on the weekends. the park, the ice cream shop and the toy store.
next, it was you and jack.
“hi!” you greeted everyone and got a chorus of hi’s back. “jack and i are both outsiders who were welcomed by pittsburgh many, many years ago. so we wrote a little poem about it.” you pointed at the man by your side and said “he’s going to read it.”
“to the stories carried from distant shores,
may pittsburgh open its doors.
for every language, dream and name,
for it deserves a place, deserves the same.
to live, to hope and to safely start,
to call this city a home with all our hearts.
with space for hope in every room,
let homes be safe, let futures brightly bloom.
and may justice live in the streets, both old and new
for pittsburgh is a home that belongs to those who grew here,
and those arriving too.”
jack looked at you, easy smile adorning his handsome face while people clapped for your work.
“ugh, i’m so torn between the pierogi with sausage and the lamb belly.” you told jack while you took a look at the menu for the hundredth time.
the ten minute walk between the museum and the restaurant had been an educational one. jack told you he had parked between the two points of interest, across the street from the st. paul cathedral. he offered to call an uber, an offer that you countered with a “i’d love to walk, it’s such a beautiful evening.” to which jack quickly agreed to, and you backed down just as quickly when you remembered his leg. he shut you off with a scoff and gently pulling you by your hand down the museum’s stairwell.
jack abbot was a very opinionated man, you learned. and a funny one too. he had something to say about every piece of art you saw at the exhibit, commenting on everything, from the background of the artists to their choice of colour scheme. quickly, you noticed how easy it was to get a rise of him and would ask contradictory questions just to get jack to crack and go on a rant, which you found equal parts entertaining and sexy. it didn’t take long for jack to notice your dirty tactics, and he was quick to playfully – and softly – pinch the plush of your love handles, easing your jolt by kissing your temple and calling you trouble in the most sensuous, stern voice you have ever heard. it made you melt.
the two of you kept talking after arriving at the butterjoint. between shared bites of the delicious chicken fried pickle that he told you you had to try, and the falafel you wanted to order too, jack told you his favourite work was the one by the peruvian duo, arturo kameya and claudia martínez garay, citing how their choice of colours rewired his brain. you mentioned taking a liking to the works of saloua raouda choucair, represented by a collection of jewellery made by the lebanese painter and sculptor. when asked why by jack, you told him you liked how she worked the metals and the crystals used, and how meticulously well she transferred her abstractionist vein throughout all of her artwork, no matter the medium used, paint, wood or silver.
“i’ll drink to that.” jack raised his beer bottle and clicked it against your cream soda old fashioned, the same one you had mentioned a few days prior while texting him, the same one that jack insisted on ordering for you the moment you sat down at your table.
remember your rules. one date. just one date, you had to remind yourself.
“why don’t we order both and share?” jack countered.
“you sure?”
“of course, sweetheart.” he said and flagged down the waiter, placing your orders.
“now tell me, what made you choose the academic world?” jack turned to you the moment the waiter left and asked.
you exhaled and pursed your lips. “honestly?” jack nodded and you shrugged. “it just happened.”
the frank and genuine tone of your answer made jack laugh.
“i’m serious.” you playfulled slapped his hand and he caught yours in a barely there grip, and started playing with your fingers when you didn’t pull back. “for a long time i didn’t know what i wanted to do. i knew for sure that i didn’t want to follow my family’s business. for a while i even thought about studying history and maybe get a major in archeology or something like that, then one day, just before the college application period started, i remember watching this one documentary on national geographic about the sea and i thought ‘okay, i can see myself doing this’. and it was like it was set in stone. i got fixated on finding a school i could apply and study biology, then ship myself to california to get a masters in marine biology and go from there.”
“a mix up happened with my admission and i found myself as a molecular biophysics and biochemistry undergrad. i wanted to change it back to biology but they told me it would only be possible on my second semester. but i ended up loving it. i always had, like, really good grades, so around my fourth semester my coordinator asked if i wasn’t interested in tutoring and it was downhill from there. instead of getting a masters in marine biology, i went on to the engineering route, a lot of it influenced by my ex, i must admit. it escalated to a point where i got a PhD and started teaching at the same place i once was a student. it’s equally fun and frightening to see it become a full circle ride.”
jack looked at you with what you later identified as admiration, and of course his starstruck stare did not help with that feeling on the pit of your stomach, the same one you had been harbouring since he followed you to your car that first night. it also felt disconcerting and you tried to hide it with a smile.
“what about the brewery?” he asked.
your smile grew bigger when the memories of how the brewery came to be flourished in your head. “the brewery is johnny’s baby – he’s one of my best friends in the whole world. we went to college together. same undergrad, masters, everything. but he went to the corporate world, got a job at a big company, which he ended up hating pretty soon. but it paid him good money, so he kept doing it until he had enough cash to open his own business.”
“cut to 2019 and he invited me to work with him. a passion project that he had no idea if it would work or not, and it did! by some miracle we survived the pandemic and now we are preparing to start importing to a few countries.”
jack’s stare behind his beer intensified, and it made you focus your attention on the way his throat bobbed as he swallowed the golden liquid. you mimicked him, downed a couple fingers of your old-fashioned, knowing fully well your lips probably wouldn’t follow your brain if you tried to say something, not with the way he was looking at you.
you couldn’t remember the last time someone had made you feel this important and wanted.
“what about you? what made you go from the army to medicine?”
jack took a look around the room, the smile he had on the whole time you were talking diminished a bit and you could see he was carefully choosing what to say. it made you wonder if it was a touchy subject.
“my family never really had much money, so when highschool was over…” he raised his shoulders to his ears, tipping his head forward as he once again searched for words. he sighed and his shoulders got back to their normal position. “they sell you this world of wonders and promise you a lot, you know? and to a kid that didn’t have much growing up, that seemed heaven sent. i always wanted to be a doctor, so it seemed like a good opportunity. they promise to pay for your college, and you get a roof over your head and three meals a day. seemed like a win-win situation.”
you nodded, silently telling him you were listening. jack looked a bit conflicted and you wondered when was the last time he shared his story with someone, or if he ever talked about it at all.
“i don’t agree with it, you know? i had a very certain, almost utopic plan in my head that i was going to follow; it was going to be in and out, get my education done and leave as soon as my time was over. but the war happened, my leg happened and that’s it. physical therapy,” he tapped his temple and widened his eyes, “therapy, learn to walk with the prosthesis, that took me almost eight months ‘til i was even able to do anything alone, and a little longer ‘til i could finish my residency.”
you let out a shuddering breath. “i’m so sorry, jack.”
“don’t be.” jack shook his head and squeezed the hand he was previously holding. “that’s life. yes, it was horrible, but maybe i had to go through it to be the jack i am today. if it hadn’t happened, i probably– most definitely wouldn't have left the army when i did, and wouldn’t have finished med school, wouldn’t have come to pittsburgh to do my residency. and probably wouldn’t be here having this date with you.” he finished the sentence with a sly tone of voice that had you grinning.
“such a flirt, aren’t you?”
he winked at you. “i’ve been told once or twice.”
you shook your head, smiling. as you were about to flirt back, the waiter came back with your dishes.
“thank you!” you told the waiter with a polite smile as he left.
“this smells amazing.” jack said and both of you started eating.
the rest of the night passed like a blur. jack and you shared your meals like promised, laughed at shared stories of weird night shift patients, even weirder students and an exploding beer tank or two. you also poked jack about the whole SWAT thing, to which he now agreed with you about how it sounded. it had taken him a spat with his best friend and an earful from his therapist for him to see how he was basically running away from one chaos to another. he still didn’t have an answer for what else he could do, but at least he had started to see how dangerous it was.
somewhere between the last bite of your dinner and the first of your desert, you and jack changed tables, locating yourselves at a more secluded high-top, as per the request of your lovely waiter, chris – the restaurant got more and more crowded by the hour, and chris politely asked if you and jack minded changing seats. obviously, you didn’t.
the change was very much welcomed as it got the two of you physically closer to each other.
dessert finished with you and jack side by side.
another cream soda old fashioned for you and jack’s hand found itself on your lower back. his thumb tracing lazy circles aimlessly, as he talked about the time robby and him got stranded on a road just outside of pittsburgh during a road trip. two hours and a shitty cellphone signal that suddenly decided to work later, his then resident, john appeared to pick them up in the middle of nowhere.
jack’s beer turned into a dr. pepper and the bar got even more crowded. the chorus of voices was so loud that it had you even closer to jack. with a hand on his shoulder and the touch of your breath against his neck, you whispered, almost secretively, the story of how you and grace almost got arrested for public disturbance after a night out with one too many drinks a few days after your divorce had finalised.
a can of coke took your cocktail’s place, and jack grimaced when the pirates lost a run. his hand was still on your lower back, this time massaging the soft flesh that connected it to your waist and your own hand caressed his opposite shoulder. you stared at jack, counted the freckles that kissed his face very lightly, adored the way the crow’s feet adorned his green-hazel eyes and imagined how his stubble would feel between your legs.
“what, sweetheart?” he looked back at you and asked softly. the low timbre of his voice hit you where you had just imagined how his beard would feel. the feeling was strong enough to have you press you legs together and enough to have jack notice it. a small smirk showed up on his lips and it made you bite your own.
your answer to his question came in the form of a kiss.
jack didn’t give you time to backtrack – not that you would, anyway – as he pulled your body flush to his.
your hands went straight to where they had been itching to feel the whole night: his soft curls. you twirled it between your fingers and pulled at the hair on the nape of his neck the more he deepened the kiss.
jack was devouring you.
if his stare felt like you were being preyed on, his kiss felt like you had been caught at last. it wasn’t messy or frantic; it was somehow slow and intense, deep and tender. it made you feel revered. it was also nothing like you had experienced before in your entire life, not even with the person you had spent eighteen years of your existence with.
god knows how long you spent kissing. air wasn’t a necessity anymore, the feel of jack’s chest against yours and his grip on your ass was everything you needed to survive. the rest of the world could perish, you couldn’t care less.
the trance you found yourselves in broke when the bar roared when the pirates’ scored a home run.
“we should go.” jack said after he pressed his forehead against yours. you barely had time to say “we should”, deciding on simply agreeing with a couple of nods and hums as jack kept pecking your lips.
“mine or yours?” he asked with his lips still touching yours.
“yours.” you answered and kissed him one last time.
jack asked for the check and paid for it, looking at you like you had told him you were the one who killed the virgin mary when you suggested splitting the bill.
halfway through your walk to jack’s car, when the silence had finally become comfortable again and not anxiety driven, and the buzzing on your skin didn’t feel like electric shock anymore, jack said “i’m really offended that you thought i’d let you pay for your dinner.”
you burst out laughing.
“i’m serious!” you could hear the outrageousness in his voice, laced with a hint of barely contained laughter.
“jack, it’s fine! you know people split the bill in dates all the time in this decade, right?” you tried to joke but it didn’t really land.
he huffed by your side. “yeah, well, i don’t like it.”
jack felt the way you were staring at his profile and turned to you. “what do you want to know, sweetheart?”
as softly as you could, you asked “when was the last time you went on a date?”
a beat or two passed and silence grew for longer than necessary. you were by jack’s car when he finally answered “last one was a few years ago.”
if your memory doesn’t fail you, jack mentioned that day at the bar, very briefly, that it had been two years only of his wife’s passing.
you nodded and squeezed the hand that held yours one last time, before he closed the door on the passenger’s side and jogged to his.
the elevator ride from the garage floor to where jack’s apartment was located on the fifth, made you feel like a teenager. he pressed you against the elevator’s wall the moment it opened its door, pressing the button that sent the machine to his floor by muscle memory.
the kiss was just like the one you shared back at the restaurant’s bar, with a touch more of desperation as an added bonus, shown by jack unconsciously frictioning his very blatant, very large erection against your belly, only getting worse as he trailed down from your lips to your neck.
it felt all too consuming.
jack’s presence could be felt not only where his body touched yours, but on your soul. the way he traced his lips down your collarbone to your décolletage set you ablaze. his grunts were exciting, the obvious desire made you feel like the most powerful woman in the world. jack kissed, bit, sucked and licked every part of you he had access to on the 3x4 metal box.
you had no idea this was even possible, but you were pretty sure an orgasm was approaching and your cunt hadn’t even been touched yet.
you made a mental note of googling if that was actually a thing.
jack’s right hand fingers tightened their grip on your hair as he left hand one trailed up your arm, stopping by your shoulder to slowly pull at the thick, ruffled strap of your dress. he nosed his way down, carving a trail of wet kisses on your chest.
down, down, down.
air hitting newly exposed skin.
the tip of his tongue licking your nip–
ding!
the elevator finally arrived at his floor. jack sighed and the puff of air that left his lips hit your wet, exposed nipple, making goosebumps blossom all over your body.
“fuck…” he murmured as pulled the pink fabric back up, covering what he had exposed of your chest.
when the doors opened, you looked up and noticed the very in your face, angled at the both of you security camera. shameful warmth took over when you thought of the doorman watching the show you and jack put on.
“you always forego on bras on your dates?” jack asked as he unlocked his door. he had tried to go with a casual, relaxed tone, but you could feel the underlying hint of jealousy in his voice.
you refused to entertain the giddy thought you just had, filed it for some other time or whatever.
so you giggled and gave him a “only when the dress asks to.”
jack huffed and said “ladies first.” motioning with his head for you to get in.
his apartment was big, exactly what you would expect of an emergency medicine senior attending. it was also meticulously neat, exactly what you would expect from an army brat, but somehow, it was also lived in.
a big screen sat on top of a beautiful, darkish wood TV unit. there was a very obvious comfortable looking reclining chair, one you could clearly imagine jack sitting down after a rough shift to relax, or with a couple of beers to watch a game on TV with friends. the couch was just as big and fluffy looking, cream with a couple of throw pillows and a terracotta throw blanket. he also had three very well taken care of plants.
there were a few picture frames scattered around, of him with family and friends. two of them had jack looking very in love with a very gorgeous latina woman, whom you instantly assumed to be his late wife. there was one of him in black scrubs with an asian guy, a beautiful black woman with dreads and a red headed older lady in grey scrubs by his sides. they seemed to be at the emergency room and jack’s folded arms and too-stern-to-be-real face made you smile. that must be shen and ellis, you thought, remembering your conversations.
there were also a couple other ones with a guy closer to his age, taller and a bit fuller than him, with darker hair and a full beard that was starting to get some greys in it. they both wore scrubs in one of the pictures and jack was more relaxed in this one, both men apparently holding back laughter as a blonde woman, also in grey scrubs and around their age, gave up and rolled back in laughter.
the other picture jack had with him had the other guy dressed in a leather jacket and black t-shirt, very similar to the polo jack had on. they were sitting down on a high top, with two beer flight paddles sitting in front of them.
“you want something to drink?” jack called from the kitchen. you were so entertained being nosy that you didn’t notice he had sat your purse on the entryway table and went to the kitchen to try and be a good host.
a crass joke popped up in your head, but you shook it away and went for “no, i’m good!”
you turned back to the picture to analyse it further. the colourful wall on the background was awfully familiar, as were the glasses used on the flights and the logo adorning them.
your brewery.
johnny’s brewery.
robby.
somewhere in the back of your mind, a conversation you had with grace years and years ago popped back again.
it was a chilly and lonely weekend, one in which the two of you were still married, but your husbands were away on a work trip. grace texted you a picture of a badly rolled joint, captioned with “read and puff???”
read and puff was a game the two of you created on your dorm sharing days, where you would smoke a joint and read poorly written books just for the sake of it.
she arrived at yours not even twenty minutes later after you replied with a “YES!!!”
the shitty romance book you had chosen was forgotten a few pages in, after it served the purpose of making you laugh. out of nowhere, grace hit you with a “do you think you walk by your soulmate everyday without noticing it?”
“what?” you whispered, confused.
“think about it! everyday we go to coffee shops, malls, walk around the city and pass by hundreds of people that have the same, or similar, routine as us but we never notice them. then one day… you have a new co-worker, or a new pilates buddy, and you guys talk and find out you’ve been frequenting the same places but never really noticed each other there.”
you nodded, it made sense. “yeah, i think so. but we’ve already found ours, so who knows.”
“yeah…” grace murmured her answer.
later that evening, after you sobered up, grace told you she and clayton – her then husband – were on a rough patch and she was thinking about getting a divorce.
you shook away the memory of that read and puff night and repeated your rules like a mantra.
one date. no strings attached.
one date. no strings attached.
one date. no strings attached.
“here.” jack extended hand pulled you out of you mini spiral and offered you a glass of chill water. you smiled at him.
“thanks.” you pointed at the picture frame. “i’m guessing that’s robby.”
he nodded. “how did you know?”
“that’s the brewery. back at the bar that night, you mentioned he was, and i quote, a fan of my work. why didn’t you tell me you’ve been there before?”
“i was afraid of looking like a creep, like i had been stalking you.”
you snorted. “makes sense.”
jack took the almost empty glass from your hand, setting it on the coffee table before pulling you to him. “come here.”
unlike your previous kisses, this one was slower, but needier somehow. jack had a way of making you feel like pliable putty in his hand almost instantly. his tongue traced yours with casual dominance and his fingers knew exactly where to touch you without you having to tell.
your body reacted to his like magnets attracted themselves; opposite poles that when in touch with each other, couldn’t let go.
jack guided you to his large sofa and laid you on it. the furniture was as comfortable as it looked.
he let go of your lips just to attach his back again on that sweet spot of your neck, getting a whiny moan as a reward.
“you have no idea how many times i thought about this.” he confessed.
“yeah?”
“yeah. you walked in that bar and sat beside me, talked about that stupid fucker and laughed at my stupid jokes, and all i could think about how beautiful you were, how soft your skin would feel. how i wanted to have you under me, how you would sound and taste.”
“fuck.” his confession made you weak, and you silently thanked him for laying you down before doing it.
“i know, honey.” jack cooed, rather cockily, as he pulled the straps of your dress down, freeing both of your breasts and popping a nipple between his lips. he teased you, alternated between licking and sucking and kneading your free tit.
“sh–shit.” you moaned loudly after he lightly grazed his front teeth against your nipple and continued. “i touched myself to the thought of you that night.”
“yeah?” you felt his question against your chest more than actually heard it. jack lifted his head and ordered “tell me about it.” before diving back in, this time giving his attention to your other tit.
“i was so wet when i got home. went for a shower and– fuck! oh god… my panties were drenched. i usually need a vibrator when i’m alone, but i was so worked up that i came so hard with my fingers.”
sometime during your own confessional rant, jack had bunched the fabric of the skirt of your dress and pooled it around your waist. “yeah? like this?”
he didn’t bother taking your panties off, just pulled it to the side and rubbed his thumb in lazy circles on your puffy clit.
“yes, jack.” you moaned his name and he gifted you with his index and middle fingers. they filled you up deliciously.
in true jack fashion, like he had done before as if he had been rewarded with a map of your body, he found your g-spot easily.
jack massaged the swollen spot softly, studying your every breath, sigh and moan. he loved the way your body welcomed him as he moved his fingers in a come hither motion, got mesmerised by how your pussy got wetter, how your skin prickled and the way your thighs were starting to tremble.
“jack, please.” you begged, for what you didn’t know, when he attached his lips around your clit. his tongue circled your nub, licking it with the flat muscle.
jack timed his ministrations, synchronising the roll of this tongue with the pumping of his fingers. you ran your fingers through his curly hair, tightening them when he moaned and relaxed against you.
“jack, i’m gonna–“ your orgasm washed over you before you could finish your warning.
the man didn’t stop his attack on you after you came, making sure to extend your orgasm as much as he could as he helped you ride it out, until it became so unbearable that you clenched your thighs around his head and pushed him out with the palm of your hands.
jack looked like a maniac. hair sticking out in all directions, his stubble wet with your juices, pupils blown out and chest so red one would think he had spent all day in the sun.
“i think i went deaf on my right ear.” he said while trying to pop it with his finger.
“sorry.” you said, laughing breathlessly.
“ten out of ten, hope it happens again, or whatever the kids are saying nowadays.”
you shook your head and got up on wobbly knees to kiss him again. almost instantly, your hand dropped to jack’s painfully hard erection, only to have him stop you the moment you finally undid his fly and started to trace your nimble fingers inside his boxers.
“not gonna last, baby. and i really want to fuck you right now.”
“and i really wanted to suck you.” you said, tone of voice the same of a spoiled brat. jack let out a shuddering breath and kissed your pouty lips.
“let’s go to the bedroom, sweetheart.”
jack’s bedroom was as beautiful as the rest of his apartment.
a dark, greyish green accent wall that contrasted against the other three white ones. his king sized bed set there in the middle, just as soft looking as the rest of the furniture you have met so far. he had four big pillows on top of it, a habit he most definitely kept from his wife.
everything was just as neat. he had art on his walls, another TV, this one smaller than the one in his living room, in the wall right across his bed. a pile of medical books on a night stand and a pile of vinyls on the other.
“sorry about the mess.” he said when he noticed you were studying the contents beside his bed.
“what mess? i was trying to figure out what you were listening to.”
“pearl jam, nirvana, rush, some radiohead, semisonic.”
“good taste.” you complimented him and got a smile back.
“thank you.”
the wall to your left had an almost floor to ceiling window, lined by a doorless buffet cabinet that had more vinyls, books and other trinkets. beside it sat his crutches and a folded wheelchair.
you were fumbling with the zipper on the side of your dress when jack sat down on his bed with a groan. he had already ditched his jeans and was roaming his hand around his leg and where his prosthesis attached to the limb.
“you okay?” you asked him.
jack nodded, said a “yeah” without looking at you. he seemed embarrassed, almost ashamed and you wondered if anyone besides his wife had been intimate with him since he lost part of his leg.
“we don’t have to do this, jack. not if you are uncomfortable with me or anything.” you told him as you ran your fingers through his hair again, softer this time. he purred.
“i want to. it’s just… you’re the first person since li–“ jack sighed. “no one besides liz has seen me like this.”
his words echoed in your head. liz. his late wife now had a name. no one had seen him like this besides her. jack hadn’t been intimate with anyone since her passing.
you don’t give yourself time to think, knowing you would get in your head. so you just dropped to your knees in front of him and asked “alright, how do we take this off?”
jack’s smile grew bigger. “press here.” he said, guiding your hand to the base of the socket of his prosthetic leg. “and pull.”
jack turned to his night stand and pulled a packet of wet wipes, a balm and a single condom. the strap of your dress fell further down your arms, and a sudden wave of self consciousness hit you when you realised how crazy you probably looked, with your messy hair and tits out. you tried to ignore it when you saw jack looking at you with hungry eyes again.
“i can take it from here, sweetheart.” he said when you tried to help him take the gel liner off his residual limb.
you nodded, whispered an “okay” and got up to take off your dress while jack cleaned his limb.
jack knelt on the mattress and rolled his condom on, and you mimicked his position to take him on another needy kiss.
“is like this more comfortable for you?” you asked in a raspy voice.
“yeah.”
his confirmation hit your ears and you dropped on all four in front of him, arching your back and wiggling your butt when you looked back at him. jack murmured something that sounded a lot like a “you’re gonna kill me” as he started to run his tip from his entrance to your clit, collecting the mix of your natural lubrication and your first orgasm.
even after working you out, jack’s cock still felt a bit like a tight fit. it wasn’t one of those monster cocks people talk about in books, the ones you highly doubted ever existed, but he was clearly thicker than most men, and the thickest you had ever had.
“shit.” both of you whispered when he finally hit your hilt.
a giggle left your lips and soon turned into a moan when jack gave his hips an experimental thrust. he stopped, maybe getting used to you, maybe assessing how you felt. you truly couldn’t tell, brain fogged by your needy haze.
it was jack’s turn to laugh when you pushed your ass back at him. “so needy, aren’t you, honey?” he mocked, but took pity on you and started moving his hips again.
you knew jack was as desperate as you when he didn’t bother to start slow. the tip of his cock repeatedly hit that sweet spot inside of you, turning you into a whimpering mess in seconds. you were so out of it that you didn’t hear a word of what he was saying.
jack slowed his thrusts and bent down on top of you, fast enough to grab both of your arms, folding them by your sides like handles for him to loop his own through it and bring you flush against his chest.
once again you felt him everywhere. his thrusts were faster than it had been before, the tip of his cock hit your g-spot repeatedly and the warmth of his skin on your back was starting to make you dizzy. on top of that, jack was kneading the rolls of your stomach in a way you knew you were going to have hand prints all over the next morning.
jack abbot had reduced you to a whimpering mess.
you heard chuckling behind your ear and felt his lips press a kiss there. “yeah? it feels that good, baby?”
you nodded like your life depended on it. “so good, j–jack.”
the praise gave him more confidence and jack started pounding into you harder and brought his fingers to your clit.
“holy fuck, jack. just like this. i’m gonna cum again.”
“cum for me, baby. i’m right behind you.”
you nodded and a few thrusts and a couple of moans later, you and jack came together.
you fell onto his bed and rolled to your back and jack fell right beside you. the two of you basked in each other’s presence in silence, just listening to your erratic breathings and the feel of your skins.
“shit.” you were almost dozing off when jack said it several minutes later, making you alert again.
“what?”
“i gotta take care of this.” he said pointing to his, now limp, dick wrapped in the condom.
“hold on.”
you got up from his bed and made your way to his window, bringing his crutches back with you. jack thanked you and you made your way towards his en-suite bathroom.
jack discarded the condom and cleaned himself while you peed, a scene way too domestic for a one night stand.
you woke up to the distant sound of red hot chilli peppers playing and the smell of bacon. the bed felt good but strange under you, but soon the memories of the previous night hit you and a pleased smile graced your lips.
sitting up, you noticed a black t-shirt waiting for you on the night stand. it fit you alright, a bit tight on your chest and did a poor job of covering most of your ass, so you pulled your underwear back on and made your way to find jack in the kitchen.
“good morning.” you greeted him.
jack smiled and greeted back, pulling you into a sweet kiss. he tapped on the granite counter and told you to hop on it. “i’m almost done.”
you did as he told and you engaged in an easy conversation about the music that was playing.
seeing jack work around the kitchen was as arousing as he had been the night before. he moved around effortlessly and the evidences of what you did – the scratches on his back and the bites on his chest – were worn with pride.
jack turned the cooktop off and set the last dish on the table before he turned back to you.
“you look so good with my shirt on.” he told you, running his hands up and down your thighs, his thumb getting awfully close to your core every time.
“yeah?” you whined and fell for his bait, bucking your hips when his right thumb got too close to your clit.
“yeah, honey.”
jack grazed his thumb against your slit and you whined his name.
“lay back, sweetheart.” you propped your elbows against the cool counter and did what he asked, but stayed in an angle that still let you see what he was doing.
“she’s so pretty.” he said as he pulled your panties to the side again, and brought his face close to your pussy. “begging for me.”
you were about to come up with a smart remark when jack licked a long strip up your cunt and took your clit to his mouth, making your hands go straight to his hair, pulling him closer.
his tongue was soft against your clit and it made you feel like you were walking on clouds. you wished you could stay like this forever, with his face between your thighs, his tongue inside of your and with his hands roaming your body.
unlike last night, your orgasm creeped out on you and hit you without a warning. you were still a trembling mess when jack emerged from what was quickly becoming his favourite place on earth.
“alright, now we can eat!”
as expected, your phone had countless notifications from grace, from phone calls, to all caps texts and worried audio messages. you sent grace an audio message back as soon as you set foot inside jack’s elevator, reassuring her that everything was ok and that the date went incredibly well. as usual, you weren’t able to hold yourself and told her a short version of how the sex went, which earned you a very loud audio of her screaming “yes, bitch! ahahahaha.”
you felt sorry for your poor uber driver.
you pet marie who, rightfully, was pissed off with your disappearance, and went straight to your bathroom.
“hey, girlies.” you opened and closed your mouth a few times and brought your hands together in a low effort clap. “i’m alive and well… so well.” you giggled and pointed to your clothes. you caught a glimpse of yourself and part of you couldn’t believe you were recording a video like this; hair in a bun because it was so messy from jack pulling it, that you didn’t have the means to deal with it at his place, a couple of hickeys on your neck and chest and, even with the remnants of the previous night’s make up and two skipped skin care routines, you were glowing.
“it’s two something in the afternoon and i just got home, as you can probably see. the date was incredible. mcdreamy was everything i was expecting and more, way more. i don’t know what to tell you guys except that i guess we will have a first on this channel.”
“mcdreamy will be the first date number two.” you turned the camera off and posted the tiktok.
40andthriving🩵| yeah, i really don’t know what to tell you guys.
theegraceadams | bitch, you look fucked out. i love that for you
santos.trin | oh my god???
user802764277193701 | can put away the knife ig
justmyluck91 | girl, come back!!! tells us how the date went!!!
imsotired | dude????? SECOND DATE ALERT! 🚨🚨🚨
sophiesoph | marry him
a/n ii – no, i don’t like grey’s anatomy, i just think eric dane was hot. RIP to the baddie.
next chapter |
domesticblisss 2026. comments and reblogs are appreciated
mr. and mrs. abbot - assassin!pope x assassin!reader
word count: 5.2k
warnings: dead dove: do not eat, femme fatale!reader, extremely dubious consent (bc would either of you consented if you had known the other was also an assassin? oop-), “jack abbot” doesn't exist bc he's actually pope's fake identity!, he calls you “honey” and you call him “sir”, gun violence, murder, blood and gore, established relationship, deception, mutual pining, angst (with a happy ending!), domestic fluff, praise kink, mild brat taming, dom/sub dynamics, unprotected sex, breeding kink, squirting, spit kink, edging, fingerfucking, bondage, gun play (but tamer than usual lol!), choking, pope makes a lot of bad jokes (he's silly and in love!), it's actually lowkey mushy cutesy bc I just am in that kind of mood lately!
summary: you are an assassin but your husband thinks you're just a corporate executive. your husband is an assassin but you think he's just a doctor.
so what happens when you find out your husband's real identity and he finds out yours because your companies want you to kill each other?
a/n: i came up with this after seeing mr. and mrs. smith while browsing tv and i just had to write it!
hope it's a sick(ly sweet) read ♡
“Mrs. Abbot?” The pharmacist waves their hand in front of your face. “Are you feeling alright?”
You're staring down at your phone right now. At the bounty your company just set out on your burner.
For a man named Andrew Cody.
Better known by his call sign “Pope”.
Who looks exactly like your husband Jack…
“Hmm?” You glance up from your phone, remembering for a moment where you are. “Oh, right. Sorry, just got a business text. A little distracted.”
A clever excuse, like always, given your formal attire and the fact that you do actually work for a Fortune 500 company. You look like any corporate executive would if they were in line for a prescription at a pharmacy. Definitely not like an assassin for hire staring at a kill order…
“Do you need me to explain the medication to you before I sign off on it?” They show you the bottle of sleeping pills you always take on the nights Jack isn't home.
Because it's always hard for you to sleep when he's not there next to you…
“No, I'm alright.” You tell them and they nod, handing you the medication once they've signed off on it.
You take it out of the paper bag when you get to your car and stuff the pill bottle into your glove box.
You can't possibly take those now.
Not when you have no idea who your husband is…
So, you call your handler. “Who is this guy?”
“Competition.” The robotic voice on the other end answers.
“Last known?”
“Oceanside, CA.”
You and Jack are a long way from there. On the complete opposite coast…
“Time frame?”
“ASAP.” So, that's why it was sent to you…
You have the highest record of kills done in the shortest amount of time. Always so efficient. You knew it would bite you in the ass one day…
“I'm retired, though.”
“You're the only one capable of doing this within the desired time frame.”
“Why?” You know they're not going to answer but you ask anyway, clarifying, “what's the rush?”
“We have intel he is planning to kill one of our own.”
You wonder who it can be.
Because you would've never guessed that it would be you.
Pope stares down, much like you had earlier, in disbelief at the photo on his screen.
That's you, his wife, on his burner beneath the bounty just sent to him.
But that isn't the name you gave him.
Call sign “Pearl”.
Because you excel under pressure.
A top assassin. Clean kills. Perfect record.
Just like Pope…
“Jack?” Robby tries to glance over Pope's shoulder but he shoves his phone in his locker and shuts it before Robby can see anything. “Alright, keep your secrets.”
“My wife just sent something I shouldn't open at work.” Pope lies through his teeth but Robby always believes it.
Since Pope talks about you all the time at work. He loves you, after all.
He loves being a doctor, too.
He hates being an assassin. He had quit when the two of you got married.
So, why is he getting sent a bounty now?
“She's a high priority target.” Pope's handler tells him when he calls after his night shift. Call sign “Smurf”. “We need her dealt with, so we need our best.”
“Why the urgency?” Pope wants to know.
Smurf replies, “we have intel she's after one of our own.”
He wonders who it could be.
Because he'll never guess that you, his pretty wife waiting for him at home, are supposed to be going after him.
You've been sitting at the dining table, nursing a glass of wine, since you got home from the pharmacy.
You haven't eaten.
You couldn't sleep.
You can't even stomach the wine that's sitting untouched on the table.
You keep thinking about your husband Jack.
But you know that's not his real name.
Andrew is his real name. Though, everyone in the world of hitmen calls him Pope.
The ever elusive Pope. An elite assassin who has been out of commission for years now.
Around the same time the two of you got married…the same time you retired too…
You blink back more tears because you're trying to convince yourself that the foolish thoughts in your head can't possibly be true.
That maybe he quit killing people because he's actually in love with you.
Like you're in love with him.
Fuck. You know that can't be true.
Pope is known to be heartless. Ruthless. A born killer. The best of the best at torturing his targets for information.
Nothing like the man you married, Jack Abbot.
Decorated veteran. Emergency medicine doctor. Caring, kind, loving husband of yours…
How much of that was real?
And how much of it was a cover?
Does he know…who you are?
There's no way. And if he did, what's the goal of playing the long game?
If he wanted you dead, why would he go through all the extra hoops of taking you out on dates? Marrying you? Making love to you?
Because he loves you. Your mind tries to feed you delusions.
You are delusional…because you can't find it in you to kill him.
Even though you have to, before it gets reassigned and someone else does.
And they won't be so merciful…
“Honey?” You hear your husband's voice call out to you.
Is it really morning already?
“What's wrong?” Pope sees the untouched wine glass and your puffy eyes.
So, you make something up quickly. “The pharmacy didn't have any pills left in stock to fill my prescription. Couldn't sleep without them.”
Couldn't sleep without him. You hate that you love sleeping next to Jack—Pope.
His name is Pope. Jack doesn't exist.
The man you love was just a cover…
For what? You might never find out.
“Come on, let's go to bed. I'll go get your pills for you after a nap.” He puts his hand out for you to take.
And you take it without hesitation. Force of habit.
Pope doesn't notice anything off about you, which is good. He is used to you not sleeping well without your pills. You get bad nightmares if you sleep unmedicated.
That's why you like sleeping next to him. You never get nightmares for some reason. Probably because his warmth comforts you.
The thought of feeling his skin cold because you had to kill him makes you want to throw up…
You actually do throw up, right into the toilet in the bathroom. Pope gently holds back your hair, helping you with a light shoulder rub.
“Are you alright, honey?” Now Pope is worried.
Because the two of you were trying for a baby. And if you're pregnant right now…with his child…how is he possibly supposed to kill you?
“No, I'm not alright.” You wipe the tears that are dripping down your face uncontrollably. “I'm scared.”
“About what?” He kneels down next to you. “Talk to me.”
You look him in the eyes, in those beautiful hazel eyes you fell in love with, and you want to tell him the truth.
That you're supposed to kill him.
Before he kills you.
But instead, you tell him, “that you won't want to kiss me now, after I just threw up.”
The concern on Pope's face washes away, replaced by a chuckle. “I'd kiss you no matter what.”
“Yeah?” You look at his lips. “Are you sure?”
He leans in to prove it, kissing you. And you kiss him back.
You do more than just that. You pull him against you, wanting his body flush with yours.
“Let's get ready for bed first.” He smiles at your eagerness. “Then I'll help you fall asleep like always.”
Your skin heats up from his words and he nuzzles your nose while holding back an amused chuckle, liking how flustered you look.
It's hard for him to believe his adorable wife is an assassin. One of the best in the business too.
And yet here you are, your hand holding onto his so nervously as he walks the two of you to bed after you both washed up and brushed your teeth.
Who is the real you?
The one who is looking up at him all bashful the moment he climbs on top of you in bed?
Or the stone cold killer Pearl that he has heard echoes about slashing her way through target after target without a shred of fear?
Does it matter right now when you pull him down to kiss you, lacing your fingers in his soft curls and grinding your hips up against his?
“Someone's being impatient.” Pope nips at your bottom lip, drawing out a whimper from your lips.
“Please, sir.” You beg of him because you need to feel your husband's body against yours right now. “Please touch me.”
“How do you want me to touch you?” His hands slide under your shirt, lifting it up over your chest so he can see your lovely breasts.
“Make me cum, sir.” You want to remember this feeling, in case you never get to experience it again.
“Lift your arms up.” Pope instructs and you listen, letting him tug your shirt up over your head.
But he doesn't pull it off. He instead ties your wrists to the headboard, securing them in place there.
“What's your safe word, honey?”
“Your name.”
“That's right. Do you remember why?” He asks as he kisses down the length of your body starting from the arms he just bound.
You swallow back gulps of air before his lips hover over yours and you breathe, “because I only get to call you “sir” in bed.”
“Good girl.” He leans down, sealing his lips around yours, trapping the moan that wants to escape when you feel his hand slipping between your legs. “Do you still want me to make you cum?”
“Yes, sir.” You tug at your restraints when you feel his fingers graze your clit. So lightly, so purposefully weak to get you wriggling for more. “Please.”
“My wife is so needy tonight. I love it.” He really does love you so much.
That's why in bed, he doesn't want you calling out some fake name he made up. When you call Pope “sir”, he knows you're talking to him and not the fictional persona of Jack Abbot he created to be free from the world of assassination.
It's hard for him to think that you've been hiding the same secret as he has been all this time.
Is that why you told him you like being called “honey”? So you could enjoy his attention without the constant reminder of your fake identity?
What would you do if he called out your real name right now?
You're restrained. You wouldn't be able to do anything to him. Though, if you are Pearl, then he's sure you could get out of the loose knot he made with your shirt.
Why does that thought make his cock twitch? The sight of you showing him how skilled you truly are at your work. You have to be skilled to hide this well.
It would be betraying your trust, though, to use this vulnerable moment of yours for more than just sex and pleasure.
You trust Pope, maybe not fully but definitely in bed. You've given this part to him. He knows that well.
You wouldn't show this side of you to just anyone, the side so desperate to cum on his fingers that your hips are grinding against his hand now that he's stripped you completely naked.
Would you be this eager if you knew that he's supposed to kill you?
Maybe you wouldn't care.
You just want to cum.
His spoiled wife, who he takes great care of.
“Beg for it, honey.” He pins you down to the bed by your lower belly, stopping you from squirming so much.
“Please make me cum, sir.” You plead with him and nearly cum when he spits so harshly on your clit.
“Be specific.” Pope wants to see what you ask for today.
“Please make me cum on your fingers, sir.” You feel so empty inside.
Your heart aches and you want to have him inside of you any way you can.
“Are you going to be a good girl and cum hard for me?” He asks as he slips a finger inside of you for just a second before popping it back out, pulling a whine from your lips.
“Yes, sir.” You definitely will.
“Let's see it.” Pope dips two fingers inside of you then and curls them, grinding them right up against that spot that has your body trembling all over. He keeps thrusting them right there, reveling in how tight you're squeezing his fingers as he fucks you with them.
He knows you're about to cum because you're looking at him with those pleading eyes of yours. You don't want him to stop.
He always stops though. Because he likes seeing you on the edge of an orgasm, panting, reeling from getting so close before his fingers slow completely.
“Please, sir.” You don't know how much more you can beg for him to make you cum.
Pope likes torturing you. It's what he's good at. Always has been and he takes a lot of pleasure from it. From seeing you so helpless and in need of his assistance.
“Tell me you love me.” He doesn't know why that's what he asks in this moment. Usually he asks you to tell him something filthy, to leak out a dark desire of yours he'd be happy to fulfill.
But right now, all he wants to hear is your beautiful voice telling him, “I love you.”
“I love you too, honey.” He says, then drives his fingers back inside of you without warning.
You cum instantly, the sheer force of his sudden movements causing you to squirt uncontrollably. You're gasping for air and crying out because he won't slow down. He just keeps fucking you with his fingers until you're squirting like a fountain for him, drenching the sheets with your orgasms.
“Oh god, sir, I can't—” You dig your nails into the fabric of the shirt binding your wrists when Pope leans down to seal his lips on your aching clit. “Wait, stop, I'm going to cum again if you—”
You cum so hard that your eyes roll back and you can't seem to pull enough air into your lungs with every heavy breath. Pope slides his fingers out of you, licking them clean while he stares down at the sight of you so thoroughly dazed.
He strips off his clothes then, and that's when you ask him, “will you please untie me, sir?”
And he's tempted to tell you to do it yourself.
You can, of course, but in this scene, you've relinquished control to him. You've let him restrain you, so you aren't going to undo them yourself unless you absolutely have to.
Should he give you a reason to?
Should he wrap his hands around your neck and squeeze just to see if you're afraid of him enough to show your true self?
His body moves before he can think his actions through.
Pope sinks his cock into you, filling you up completely before his hands wrap around your neck. Your eyes widen when you feel him tighten his grip around your neck.
Tighter than he's ever choked you before.
Pounding into you with his cock rougher than he ever has before too.
“Say my name.” He keeps squeezing more and more, ramming his cock into you harder and harder, trying to scare you. “Do it.”
The wires are crossed in your head. You don't know what to think or what to do.
So much pleasure is flooding your system but there's a backnote of genuine fear.
That maybe Pope is trying to kill you.
Would he?
Should you let him?
If you did, then you wouldn't have to kill him.
Then your last memory could be him fucking you like this.
That's not a bad way to go.
Especially not when you're cumming your brains out on his cock, feeling so lightheaded from the lack of air, your mind spinning from cumming so much over and over again.
“Say it!” He shouts at you, shaking you by your neck. “Make me stop. Don't let me…”
You lock eyes with him and it's only when you see the tears building in corners of his eyes that you have to put a stop to this.
Not for your sake, but for his.
So, you slip out of the fabric tied around your wrists with ease then you reach up, cupping Pope's face before meeting his shocked gaze with your eyes as you call out his name, “Andrew.”
He blinks at you, the grip around your neck stilling completely, no longer actively squeezing. Tears drip down his face and you can feel them hitting your own face. Though, maybe some of those are your tears.
“You were going to let me kill you.” He lets go of your neck entirely, holding himself up at either side of your head now. “Why?”
“Because they want me to kill you.” You don't need to explain much else. “And I can't do that to you. I love you, Andrew. Even if you don't—”
“I love you too.” He says, followed by your real name.
And despite all the orgasms you've had, nothing could compare to the pleasure of hearing your real name come out of his lips after being told that he loves you.
“I wouldn't have killed you.” He swears to you. “I would've let you kill me if you had to.”
“Till death do us part.” You pull him in for a kiss then, like you're making that vow again.
Only this time, as your real self.
“Death will have to wait.” His words are so warm on your lips that your heart skips a beat. “Because I finally get to hear my wife call out my name while I'm fucking her. I'm not dying today.”
You chuckle, smacking him on the chest, “Andrew!”
He smiles back at you, nuzzling your nose so affectionately before kissing you.
You meet his hips halfway as he starts to roll them against yours, fucking you nice and slow. Making love to you, like always.
Making you laugh like always. “Are you really Pearl?”
“Are we seriously talking about this while you're fucking me?” You gasp when he buries his cock as deep as he can and then lays all of his weight on you, trapping you beneath him. “Andrew!”
“Fuck, you sound so good screaming my name.” He gives you a kiss on the cheek and you glare at him when he pulls away. “Answer the question.”
“Yes.” You answer then yelp when he thrusts his cock inside of you all of a sudden.
“Yes what?” He smirks at how annoyed you look.
So there is a side of you he hasn't gotten to enjoy fully yet. The little brat hidden beneath the usual submissive.
“We are not doing this!” You shove at him so he pins your arms down with his hands. “Stop it!”
“You're good at pretending, honey.” Because if the stories are true, you definitely can get out of his grip right now.
Pope wants to see it. See you in action.
You huff through gritted teeth. “I am not doing this with you, Pope.”
Oh, now you've pissed him off.
Pope slips out of you completely and before you can stop him, he opens the secret compartment he built into his bedside table and pulls out his revolver.
Then, he shoots you.
You narrowly avoid it, your reflexes kicking in immediately so you can dodge it, rolling off the bed and to your feet in an instant.
He laughs so hard that you want to punch his teeth out. “So you are as good as they say.”
“Fuck you, you just shot at me, you motherfucker!” You press your hand against the nearby wall, activating the biometric lock that opens up the hidden compartment you made and pull out your glock.
Then, you shoot him.
And Pope narrowly avoids it, before firing another shot at you that you dodge with ease so you fire back at him quickly.
Clipping his arm.
You suddenly feel a weight sink in your stomach at the sight of the thin line of blood that darts across his bicep. But that uneasy feeling washes away when you hear Pope chuckle so happily.
“Nice shot, honey!” He tells you before he fires another round and you almost get clipped in the ear. “Hey, stand still. I need to even the score.”
“What are we doing right now?!” This has to be the strangest foreplay ever!
“Having fun. And getting some practice in.” He says before shooting at you again, this time by your feet, hoping to nick your ankle but you're too slippery. “Looks like my wife doesn't need the exercise though. Good reflexes.”
“I will shoot your fucking cock off if you don't stop whatever the hell this is!” You shout at him before he aims another bullet at you. “Andrew!”
“You wouldn't dare shoot my cock. You'd miss it if it was gone.” He smiles so mischievously at you that you are actually tempted to shoot him there.
“I don't miss your leg.” You say then instantly regret it because you feel like that might've been too harsh, given the prosthetic he has.
Until Pope starts laughing again and goes, “that's why you won't take out the one hanging between my legs, right?”
“Oh my god!” You groan at the horrid joke. “Who the fuck did I marry? Have you always been this irritating!”
“Pretty much.” He nods with a shrug.
So you shoot his gun out of his hand.
Pope is actually startled by that, his revolver dropping to the ground.
Right before you pin him down to the ground in his distraction.
You point the gun to his head then tell him, “I always knew I'd be better than you.”
“Oh yeah?” Pope suddenly grabs you and pushes you down onto your back, then shoves his cock into you in a single smooth stroke. “I always knew you had it bad for my cock.”
“I will fucking shoot you!” You point your gun at him as he rolls his hips, grinding the tip of his cock deep where you like it. “Stop it!”
“You'll have to shoot me if you want me to stop fucking you.” He digs his fingers into your hips for leverage before he starts pounding his cock into you at a pace that has your back arching and your orgasm building too quickly. “That's it honey, cum for me.”
“Andrew, you can't—” You literally have a gun trained on him and he's fucking you right now?!
“I can't what? Fuck my wife? Watch me.” He slips his hand between your legs and rubs your clit while he finds the right angle to drill his cock into you until you're cumming all over him.
You toss your gun aside, not wanting to accidentally shoot him, as your orgasm shoots through you in intense waves of pleasure that has you pulling him in for needy kisses. He smiles so beautifully against your lips as he kisses you back.
“Tell me you want my cum, honey.” He massages your lower belly with his palm while his fingers play with your clit and his cock pounds you into the ground. “Tell me you want to have my baby.”
And it's like you snap right back into that submissive space in your head because you nod and tell him, “please, I want to have your baby. I want your cum, sir.”
“Good girl.” He gives you the sweetest kiss on the forehead before saying your name and telling you, “I love you so much.”
“I love you too, Andrew.” You pull him back for a kiss, pleasure surging through you as you cum again.
That's enough for Pope to cum, when he feels you tightening up from your orgasm, milking his cock dry. You lay your forehead against his, breathing heavy as he fills you with so much of his release.
“What do you usually say after you've gotten my cum deep inside of you?” Pope nudges your nose, waiting for your response.
“Thank you, sir.” You tell him, grinning when he grins back at you. “You are so lucky I love you.”
“I am lucky, because you definitely would've been able to kill me before I could kill you.” Pope can tell your reflexes are much better than his.
“We should get that cleaned up.” You point to the slight cut from the bullet.
“I'll be fine.” He waves off your concern, since it's not even bleeding anymore. “In case you forgot, I am actually a doctor.”
“How does an assassin have time for medical school?” You raise an eyebrow at that.
For you, it was easy to forge an impressive resume to land you an incredibly easy corporate executive job where all you do is answer emails all day.
Pope actually went to medical school and served in the military.
All under his fake identity, Jack Abbot.
“How do you think I paid for medical school?” He laughs at his own joke and then laughs some more when he sees you glaring at him. “You are so cute, honey.”
Before you can say something back in retaliation, Pope kisses you with so much affection that you melt in his arms.
The two of you lay there on the ground, kissing until he's soft. Then, you both take a nice shower together, which really ends up with you riding him in his shower chair until the two of you cum again together, and then get redressed for bed after swapping out the sheets.
“There's bullet holes in our walls.” You gesture at all the work that will need to be redone. “How are we supposed to explain that to a contractor?”
“We have lots of fun in the bedroom?” Pope chuckles when he sees how annoyed you are with his antics. “What? It's true—”
The doorbell rings, cutting him off mid-sentence.
Pope rolls over to his bedside table, grabbing his security tablet so he can check who's at the door.
It's the police…
“A neighbor probably called when they heard the gunshots.” You hold back a groan. “What are we going to say?”
“Misfire?” Pope says with a shrug. “I'll just say my silly wife wanted me to show her how to shoot and you accidentally pulled the trigger.”
“I can accidentally shoot off your balls. Don't test me.” You shove at him. “You go answer them. I'm staying here where it's cozy.”
Pope hands you the security tablet and then gets up to go to the door. He tells the officers the explanation but they want to step inside to look around, which Pope allows.
Though, his eyes drift to the two cops that walk into the house once their backs are turned to him. He doesn't recognize either of them from the local police force and since he does SWAT work every now and then, he should have at least seen them once or twice.
They wouldn't send newbies out to check on gunfire.
And those guns they have holstered aren't police-issued…
Fuck. Pope can't tell if they've figured out that he knows yet.
So, he slowly walks over to the bookshelf by the living room television, where he has a gun.
But before he can fire a shot, a bullet flies through the air.
And one of the cops drops dead.
Then, Pope shoots the other one down before that one has a chance to react to you killing their partner.
He walks over to meet you as you both stare down at the dead bodies. Then, you each take a body to check for a burner.
“How'd you know they weren't real cops?” Pope finds the burner phone on his dead cop’s body, seeing the bounty for you and him on the screen with your current house address listed for last known.
You pull out your dead cop's burner along with some keys then say, “no cop car outside. But a very nice getaway vehicle.”
“Want to take a ride, honey?” Pope puts his hand out for you to give him the keys. “You got a go bag?”
“Of course I have a fucking go bag.” You want to beat him up for even asking. You know he's just messing with you, though. “I have one made for the two of us too.”
“Really?” Pope finds that oddly sweet.
“In case my life ever caught up to yours.” You wanted to make sure that wherever you had to hide, he could come with.
“What are our new identities then?”
You go to unseal one of the floorboards in the living room and pull out the go bags. They're filled with untraceable cash and other necessities like weapons and new identities.
You pull out Pope's new driver's license and hand it to him. He looks at it and goes, “seriously? You couldn't pick a better name than “Titus”?”
“Shut up.” You roll your eyes at him, throwing the heavier go bag at him. “Go pack the car, Mr. Danforth.”
“Maybe I should have you call me “mister” instead of “sir” from now on, Mrs. Danforth.” He says with a smirk on his face, swinging the bag over his shoulder with ease before putting his hand out for you to take. “Ready to run away together?”
You let out a light chuckle then nod. “Yes, sir.”
“So we're keeping the “sir”. I'll allow it.” Pope leans over, giving you a loving kiss on the temple.
The two of you start packing the car but then you remember the pills so you quickly go and grab them from your car. Pope furrows his brows at you.
“You got them already? Why didn't you take them last night?”
“You know why.” You shove them in your go bag.
“Tell me.” He makes you stop your fussing.
“Andrew, we have people after us, who wants us dead. Can we talk about this in the car?” He really has such poor timing sometimes!
“I promise I wouldn't have killed you. Even if they tried to make me, I wouldn't. I love you, truly.” He says your name too, just to confirm it, giving you the reassurance you didn't know you needed to hear. “Come here.”
Pope pulls you into his arms, giving you a warm hug that you gladly accept.
“Till death do us part.” He tells you before lifting your chin up to look at him. “And I promise you won't need those pills for a while. I'll make sure you sleep real good from now on.”
You glare at him, knowing what he's insinuating and when he laughs, you giggle with him before leaning in for a kiss.
“Now let's go make sure the world knows not to fuck with Mr. and Mrs. Danforth.” Pope says against your lips before giving you another loving kiss.
You're certain they won't once they realize the two of you are a pair.
Because why would any assassin risk going head to head with you and Pope?
It'll surely be a death sentence for them, and a lot of fun for you two.
a/n: aw, this one turned out so much more fun than I originally planned! I will say that I hope this version of pope sort of makes sense as like a blend between him and jack, since technically he is jack too! I thought it would be fun to explore the idea that pope created the persona of jack abbot as a cover and then grew to love being jack! and now he's titus hehe ~
I decided to keep this one short and sweet. I was originally going to write the whole backstory of how they met, etc, but sometimes I like leaving things up to the imagination, I find that more fun and it allows for a little more wiggle room for any future installments!
synopsis: The new recruit says something stupid when you come to visit
warnings/notes: reader is a girly girl cuz that's what goes with the square. just pretend. Bad joke i got from reddit. part of my 9k celebration.
wc: 1k
You were used to people making assumptions about you. It came with the territory when you were still a “girly-girl” at your age. Who cared if your favorite color was pink, or you always made sure your makeup and nails were perfect? Or if your favorite scent trailed you wherever you went? Every woman should channel her inner Elle Woods in your opinion.
One place you hadn’t needed to worry about it in some time was your husband’s firehouse. He traveled a lot for his work, helping other stations get into shape as needed, but this was his home base. His family. His people. As such, you took care of them in little ways. Today, that meant a big pot of chili and dessert. The crew always liked when it was Brett’s turn to cook as most of the time that meant dessert from you, along with the occasional meal.
You walked in, kitten heels clicking on the floor, drawing immediate attention. “Food’s in the car,” you announced and left them to it. You didn’t notice a new set of eyes trailing you as you made your way to Brett’s office.
You knocked on his open door and he looked up, a smile covering his face as he took you in. He slid off his glasses and put them on the desk. “Hey, baby. What are you doing here? I thought you had that client meeting today.”
He pushed back his chair and opened his arms for you. You moved over to get a hug and then leaned against the desk in front of him, standing between his legs. His hands found your hips as he looked up at you.
“It’s not for a couple of hours yet. Brought dinner.”
His hands tightened briefly. “You didn’t have to do that.”
You huffed and ran your fingers through the curls on top of his head. “I know. But I did it anyway.”
“You have time to eat before you go? The crew always likes it when you stick around.”
You nodded and hummed in agreement. His smile grew impossibly wider as he stood and linked his fingers with yours. “Well, come along then, Mrs. Richards.”
As the two of you headed toward the kitchen, snippets of conversation drifted toward you. Brett pulled you to a stop when he heard his name.
“I have to say I’m surprised. Richards doesn’t seem the type.”
Brett leaned down to speak in your ear. “Kennedy. New recruit.”
The was a beat of silence then you heard Rhodes speak, “The type for what?” You’d always liked Rhodes.
“You know, that.”
Brett’s brow furrowed and you mirrored the gesture. What the hell was this kid on about?
“Afraid we don’t know. You want to clarify?” That was Jenny. She sounded irritated to say the least.
There was a low laugh. “Dating a groupie, a fire hoe.”
Oh.
“A what?” Rhodes’ voice was low, sharp. If the kid knew what was good for him, he’d shut up.
He didn’t. “Women that chase firefighters. Fire hoes. Get it?”
Brett released your hand and strode forward leaving you to trail behind him. The room was silent, everyone glaring at the new guy who seemed to still be waiting for the laughter he expected. Idiot.
“You want to repeat that?” Your husband’s raspy voice cut through the air and Kennedy spun to face him, looking like his soul just left his body.
“Chief! It was just a joke. Didn’t mean anything by it. Just trying to lighten things up.”
Brett crossed his arms over his chest and glowered at the man in front of him. “That woman, as you put it, is my wife.” He took a step forward. “She is intelligent, beautiful and takes care of this firehouse like family. Most importantly, she’s mine. Everyone here respects her. Do I make myself clear?”
Kennedy wouldn’t meet your husband’s eyes. “Yes, sir. Sorry, sir.”
“I’m not the one you should be apologizing to.”
The kid glanced at him briefly before settling his gaze on you. “Sorry, Mrs. Richards.”
You nodded but said nothing. The likelihood he would have apologized if Brett hadn’t overheard was slim to none. You’d never cared for insincere apologies.
“We’ll keep him busy, chief. Don’t worry,” Rhodes said, dropping a hand onto the younger man’s shoulder to steer him away.
“I thought we were getting ready to eat,” Kennedy protested.
Rhodes scoffed. “You think you can insult her and then eat her food? There’s bologna in the fridge.”
The scowl was still firmly on Brett’s face as he pulled out a chair for you. You placed your hand on the side of his face and pressed a kiss to his lips. “He’s an idiot. Your crew will teach him better manners. Don’t let it ruin your day, handsome.”
He hummed beneath your lips, snaking an arm around your waist to pull you into him and deepen the kiss. Only when the firefighters gathered at the table started to whistle and cheer did he pull away. A wide smile covered his face as he laughed. He guided you into your chair before taking the seat beside you and pulling you close enough that your thigh was pressed against his.
The normal easy-going banter rose up around the table as the meal was served and food passed around. Brett’s hand found yours under the table, tangling your fingers together. You let yourself sink into the feeling of belonging, of being part of the crew even if you’d never ran into a burning building.
A small part of you felt sorry for Kennedy and what the coming weeks would undoubtedly look like for him. The rest of you decided it was a lesson better learned here and now than at the expense of someone that didn’t have the support you did. Some other woman who thought her partner had her back only to find out she was horribly wrong.
You leaned into Brett’s side, smiling when he pressed a kiss to the top of your head. Kennedy entered the room and sat at the far end of the table, frowning at his bologna sandwich. You laughed at his disgruntled expression then turned to kiss your husband again.
Summary: It’s Tommy’s birthday. You and Jack do everything you can to give Tommy the best day ever even if that means inviting your ex-husband in for birthday cake.
WC: 12K
Tags: autistic character, nonverbal autism, aac user, autism acceptance, parenting a neurodivergent child, single mom reader, found family, neighbors to lovers, slice of life
Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7
Tommy is awake before the sun.
You know because you hear his bedroom door open at exactly 6:07 a.m., followed by the familiar shuffle of socked feet down the hallway and the soft electronic voice of his tablet before you’ve even managed to open your eyes.
“My birthday.”
The voice carries through the quiet apartment.
“It is my birthday.”
A smile spreads across your face before you even open your eyes.
“It is,” you call, your voice still thick with sleep. “Happy birthday, baby.”
The apartment falls quiet while Tommy searches through his tablet.
“I am 14.”
“You are.”
You push yourself upright just as Tommy appears in your bedroom doorway.
He’s already dressed. Last night, he’d carefully laid out his favorite blue T-shirt, the one covered in little white storm clouds, making sure there’d be no question about what he was wearing today.
His hair sticks up in every direction, sleep still clinging stubbornly to the back of it. His tablet hangs from the strap across his chest, and his eyes shine with the kind of excitement that never has to be loud to fill a room.
“We will have cake today.”
“We will.”
“And present.”
“There are presents.”
Tommy lowers his gaze to the tablet again.
“Jack will come.”
Your smile softens. “He will.”
Tommy nods once, satisfied.
“Birthday.”
“Cake.”
“Presents.”
“Jack.”
His morning checklist was complete. He turns and heads back toward the kitchen. A second later, the cabinet door opens.
You laugh quietly. “Tommy.” The door closes almost immediately. “No breakfast without me.”
“Okay.”
You swing your legs over the side of the bed, smiling to yourself. “Give me five minutes.”
“Okay.”
His footsteps drift toward the living room instead.
Fourteen years.
Fourteen birthdays.
And somehow every single one had started exactly like this, Tommy waking up determined to make sure everyone else remembered just how important today was.
—
By 7:15 a.m. the apartment looks like a birthday exploded inside it.
Blue streamers hang unevenly across the living room because Tommy insisted they had to look like rain. Blue balloons are scattered around the floor instead of tied together because he preferred them that way.
Tommy circles the apartment for what feels like the hundredth time that morning, checking every decoration as though conducting an inspection.
“Blue balloon.”
“Blue balloon.”
“Blue balloon.”
You laugh quietly from the kitchen.
“I know they’re blue.”
A knock sounds at exactly 7:45 a.m.
Tommy’s head lifts immediately.
“Jack.”
You grin. “I think you’re right.”
Tommy is already halfway to the door before you remind him.
“Walk.”
His pace slows just enough to satisfy you.
When you open the door, Jack is balancing two flat bakery boxes in one hand and a paper coffee carrier in the other.
“Morning.” His smile reaches you first. Then Tommy. “Happy birthday, buddy.”
Tommy taps his tablet almost immediately.
“My birthday.”
Jack nods seriously. “I heard.”
Another button.
“14 years old.”
Jack’s eyebrows rise.
“14?”
Tommy nods proudly.
Jack whistles softly. “That’s older than yesterday.”
Tommy’s mouth twitches.
You laugh as you take the coffees from his hands.
“Come in.”
Jack steps inside, slipping his shoes off by the door without being asked.
He hands Tommy one of the bakery boxes. “I was told the birthday foreman needed to inspect these.”
Tommy sets the box carefully on the coffee table before opening it.
Inside are decorated sugar cookies shaped like clouds, lightning bolts and little weather vans.
His eyes widen.
“Storm cookies.”
“I thought they fit the theme.”
Tommy immediately searches for another phrase.
“Nice cookies.”
Jack nods with complete seriousness.
“I certainly hope so.”
You shake your head as you carry the coffees into the kitchen. “You spoil him.”
Jack accepts the coffee with one hand. “It’s his birthday.”
You raise an eyebrow. “You already bought him presents.”
“I did.”
“Now cookies.”
His shoulders lift. “Also true.”
“There’s cake.”
“I’ve heard the rumors.”
You laugh, handing him his coffee. “You are impossible.”
“So I’ve been told.”
From the living room, Tommy’s tablet announces—
“Jack come help.”
Jack glances toward the doorway. “I believe I’ve been summoned.”
You smile. “You’ve been assigned since about six this morning.”
“I figured.”
He takes one sip of coffee before setting the cup down and walking back into the living room.
You lean against the kitchen counter for a second, watching without interrupting. Tommy is standing in front of the pile of balloons with all the concentration of someone organizing emergency response equipment.
He points.
“Balloon there.”
Jack picks up a balloon. “Here?”
Tommy shakes his head immediately.
“No.”
Jack moves it a few feet to the left. “Here?”
Tommy studies it.
“Yes.”
Jack places it carefully on the floor. “There we go.”
Another balloon. Another instruction. Another quiet adjustment. Neither of them says much. They don’t need to.
Jack follows Tommy’s lead with an ease that still catches you off guard sometimes. He never rushed him. Never finished the thought for him. He simply waited, listened, and then did exactly what Tommy asked.
Your phone buzzes against the counter. A text from the bakery confirms the cake pickup time. You answer it quickly before glancing back toward the living room.
Jack is sitting on the rug now while Tommy rearranges balloons for what must be the fifth time. Jack doesn’t seem to mind. He simply waits for the next instruction.
The apartment feels comfortably full, morning sunlight spilling through the blinds, blue balloons rolling lazily across the hardwood whenever the air conditioner kicks on. Tommy happily directs birthday preparations while Jack quietly helps wherever he’s needed.
You smile to yourself before pushing away from the counter. You walk over, careful not to disturb Tommy’s carefully planned balloon arrangement, and hold out the cup.
Jack reaches for the cup, but before he takes it, his free hand finds your waist with easy familiarity. “Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.”
He leans in, brushing a quick kiss against your cheek before finally taking the coffee. The gesture lasted barely a second. So ordinary by now that neither of you thought anything of it.
Tommy glances up long enough to make sure Jack has his coffee before returning to the much more important matter of balloon placement.
“Balloon there.”
Jack nods immediately. “Yes, sir.”
You laugh under your breath, shaking your head as you head back toward the kitchen. Looking around the apartment, you can’t help but smile. Blue streamers hanging from the ceiling. Weather cookies waiting on the coffee table. Balloons rolling across the floor. Tommy happily directing every detail. Jack following along without complaint.
It wasn’t a big party. Just the three of you. Blue streamers. Weather cookies. Balloons that apparently needed very specific placement. Jack quietly following Tommy’s instructions as if he’d been promoted to birthday assistant. Exactly the way Tommy liked it.
And if the smile that hadn’t left your face all morning was any indication, it was already shaping up to be one of his best birthdays.
—
By early evening, the apartment smelled like chicken nuggets and macaroni and cheese.
Dinner had been exactly what Tommy wanted. Chicken nuggets cooked until the breading was crisp and macaroni and cheese made the same way you always made it, from the same box you always bought. Tommy had eaten at the kitchen table with his new weather station positioned on the windowsill where he could see the display without getting up.
Not that it stopped him from getting up. He’d checked it six times during dinner. Seven, if you counted the time Jack carried the whole weather station over to the table because Tommy kept twisting around in his chair to look at it.
Jack insisted that one didn’t count.
Now the three empty plates sat pushed toward the middle of the table, yours and Jack’s nearly matching Tommy’s because the two of you had eaten chicken nuggets and macaroni and cheese too.
It was his birthday. When you’d asked what he wanted everyone to eat, Tommy had answered immediately. As always. Even his birthday couldn’t change his daily routine. So chicken nuggets and macaroni and cheese it was. Jack had eaten twelve nuggets. You knew because you’d counted those too.
“You ate twelve.”
Jack looked over from where he was carrying plates toward the sink. “I was hungry.”
“You ate one off my plate.”
“You weren’t eating it.”
“I was saving it.”
“For what?”
“Later.”
Jack set the plates beside the sink and came back toward you. “You should’ve said something.”
“I didn’t realize I needed to protect my food in my own home.”
His mouth curved. “Now you know.”
You narrowed your eyes at him.
Jack stopped beside your chair and leaned down, one hand settling against the back of it while he pressed a quick kiss to your mouth.
“You’re impossible,” you murmured.
“I brought cookies.”
“That doesn’t help your case.”
“Thought it might.”
You smiled despite yourself.
Jack kissed you again, softer this time, his fingers brushing lightly against the back of your neck before he straightened.
Across the table, Tommy was watching the weather station.
“Cake now.”
You laughed. “Of course.”
You pushed your chair back. Jack caught your hand before you could get very far.
You looked down at him. “What?”
He tugged gently until you stepped closer. “You’ve been running around since six this morning.”
“It’s Tommy’s birthday.”
“I know.”
His hand slid around your waist. “You can sit down for thirty seconds.”
“I have to get the cake.”
“I’ll get it.”
“You don’t know where the candles are.”
“Junk drawer.”
“The lighter?”
“Cabinet over the stove.”
“The plates?”
“Second cabinet on the left.”
You stared at him.
Jack smiled. “Sit down.”
“You’re getting bossy.”
“I ate twelve nuggets. Feeling powerful.”
You laughed as he kissed your forehead and let you go. “Fine.”
Jack headed toward the refrigerator.
Tommy immediately stood.
“Cake.”
“I’m getting it.”
“I will help.”
Jack stopped.
He looked at Tommy. Then at you.
You smiled. “Good luck.”
Jack opened the refrigerator. Tommy came to stand beside him, watching closely as Jack carefully lifted the cake from the bottom shelf.
“Two hands.”
“I’ve got two hands.”
“Careful.”
“I’m being careful.”
“Do not drop.”
Jack glanced over his shoulder at you. “A lot of pressure in this house.”
Jack carried the cake to the table with Tommy walking beside him the entire way, supervising every step.
“Here?”
Tommy looked at the table.
“No.”
Jack stopped. You pressed your lips together to keep from laughing.
Tommy pointed.
“Middle.”
Jack moved the cake three inches. “Here?”
Tommy studied it.
“Yes.”
“Excellent.” Jack set it down.
The cake was exactly what Tommy had asked for. Bright blue frosting covered the top, with a weather radar map spread across the center in green, yellow, orange, and red. White clouds circled the edges, and a yellow lightning bolt stretched across one corner.
Tommy stared at it. He’d seen it earlier. Several times. Apparently it required another inspection.
Jack leaned against your chair. “Think it passed?”
“Give him time.”
Tommy looked down at his tablet.
“Good cake.”
You smiled. “Glad you approve. Candles now.”
Jack pushed away from your chair. “I know where those are.”
You watched him disappear into the kitchen. Tommy stayed beside the table, looking at his cake. You reached out and smoothed down the back of his hair.
Fourteen.
You still weren’t entirely sure how that had happened. There were days when you could remember every year of his life with painful clarity. The weight of him asleep against your chest when he was a baby.
The first time he’d looked at a weather radar and become completely absorbed. The years of appointments. Therapists. School meetings. Learning new ways to communicate. Learning that progress didn’t always look the way other people expected.
Learning Tommy.
And now he was fourteen.
Tall enough that you didn’t have to bend very far to kiss the side of his head anymore. Old enough to tell you when he wanted space. Still young enough to come looking for you when the world became too much.
You leaned over and kissed his hair. “Happy birthday, baby.”
Tommy looked at you.
“My birthday.”
You smiled. “I know.”
Jack returned carrying the candles and lighter. “Fourteen?”
“Yes.”
He emptied the candles onto the table.
Tommy immediately began counting them. Tommy touched each candle with one finger as he counted. When he reached fourteen, he started again.
Jack stood beside you, his hand finding the small of your back. You leaned into him without thinking. His thumb moved slowly against your shirt.
Tommy finished counting.
“14.”
Jack nodded. “Fourteen.”
Together, the two of you placed the candles across the cake while Tommy supervised. One had to be moved. Then another. The yellow candle was too close to the lightning bolt. Jack moved it.
Tommy considered the new placement.
“Good.”
Jack looked at you. “High praise.”
“The highest.”
When every candle was finally where Tommy wanted it, Jack picked up the lighter. “Ready?”
Tommy nodded.
Jack lit them one by one. Tommy watched every flame catch. Fourteen small candles flickered across the cake, warm light moving over his face.
You looked at your son. Your fourteen-year-old son. The boy who had been awake before sunrise because he couldn’t wait for today to begin. Your chest felt too full.
Jack’s hand moved from your back to your waist. You rested your hand over his.
“Ready?” you asked.
Tommy looked at you. Then Jack.
“Yes.”
You started singing. Jack joined you. Neither of you sang particularly well. Jack was worse. You started laughing halfway through the second line. You made it through the rest of the song. Tommy watched you the entire time, the candlelight reflected in his eyes, a small smile pulling at his mouth as the two people who loved him most badly sang him into another year.
When the song ended, you clapped. Jack did too.
Tommy looked at the candles.
“Make a wish,” you said.
He kept looking at them.
Jack leaned closer. “Don’t tell us what it is.”
Tommy drew in a breath.
The knock at the door came before he could blow out the candles.
You looked toward the hallway. Tommy did too. Jack’s hand remained against your waist. Another knock followed. You frowned. You weren’t expecting anyone.
Tommy looked down at his tablet.
“Someone at door.”
“Yeah.”
Jack glanced at you. “You want me to get it?”
“No, I’ve got it.”
You looked at Tommy. “Blow out your candles. I’ll be right back.”
He remained focused on the door. The change was small. Most people wouldn’t have noticed. You did.
The slight uncertainty in his face. The way his fingers tightened around the edge of his tablet. Someone was at the door. Someone wasn’t supposed to be at the door. Jack noticed too. He moved his hand from your waist but didn’t go anywhere.
You touched Tommy’s shoulder. “It’s okay. Stay here with Jack.”
Tommy looked at him. Jack was still standing exactly where he’d been, beside the birthday cake.
“I’m not going anywhere,” Jack said.
Tommy looked back at the door.
You headed down the short hallway. For half a second, you wondered if one of the neighbors had come over because they saw the banner outside.
You reached the door and glanced through the peephole.
Your stomach sank, a cold drop that seemed to hollow you out from the inside.
It was Evan.
You unlocked the deadbolt, then pulled the door open, your fingers suddenly clumsy against the metal.
The moment he saw you, he smiled.
“Hey.”
He looked much the same as he had last year, and something in your chest tightened at how little had changed.
Still tall enough that you had to tip your head back to meet his eyes. His broad shoulders came from years of hauling equipment and climbing offshore rigs. Weeks beneath an open sky had left his skin permanently tanned, and more gray now threaded through the dark hair curling beneath his navy ball cap.
He looked tired. He always did after coming in from offshore, like he carried the ocean back with him.
In one hand, he held a neatly wrapped birthday present covered in blue paper with little white clouds. His rental car keys rested in the other, the faint jingle sharp in the quiet hallway.
Then his smile widened. “Surprise.”
You just stared at him, your mind already racing ahead to everything this meant. “Evan…”
He heard it immediately. The smile didn’t vanish. It only grew a little less certain, like he could feel the shift but didn’t understand it yet.
“When did you get in?”
“A couple hours ago. I checked into the hotel first.”
“How long?”
“Five nights.”
You gave a single nod, forcing your expression to stay even. “Okay.”
He waited, and you could feel the weight of his expectation pressing against you.
“You didn’t call.”
“I wanted to surprise him.”
A slow breath slipped out through your nose, steadying yourself before the frustration could spill over. “Evan.”
“I know.”
“No.” Your voice stayed calm, though your pulse had started to thrum in your ears. “You don’t.”
He met your gaze.
“You realize after you’ve already done it.”
He rubbed the back of his neck, a familiar gesture that used to soften you. “I just thought…”
“I know exactly what you thought.” You folded your arms, needing something to hold onto. “You pictured him opening the door, getting excited, you handing him his present, and it turning into this great birthday surprise.”
“…Yeah.”
“And it never crossed your mind to call me first.”
His eyes dropped, and for a second you almost let it go, almost. “I know you ask me to.”
“I don’t ask, Evan.” The words came out before you could soften them, sharper than you intended. “I’ve been reminding you for years.”
He nodded quietly. “I know.”
“No.” You shook your head, a dull ache building behind your eyes. “If you knew, you would’ve picked up the phone.”
Silence settled between you. Not tense. Just familiar, and that somehow made it worse. The kind that only existed between people who had spent ten years learning each other’s habits, and still missing the same ones.
You sighed, the fight draining out of you in a slow exhale. “He’s going to be happy you’re here.”
“I hope so.”
“But he’s spent all day expecting one kind of birthday.” You glanced back toward the apartment, picturing Tommy inside, his careful plans, his anticipation. “He has a plan in his head.”
Your eyes returned to Evan. “And in thirty seconds, you changed it.”
He looked down at the present in his hand, his grip tightening slightly on the paper. “I wasn’t thinking.”
“I know.” Your frustration softened, just a little, though it didn’t disappear. “That’s the problem.”
He lifted his gaze again.
“You always mean well. I know you do.” A sad smile touched your lips, bittersweet and tired. “But loving Tommy has never been the issue.”
He swallowed.
“It’s remembering that Tommy needs different things than you.”
His shoulders sagged, and you felt the familiar pull of sympathy you wished you could ignore. “I should’ve called.”
“Yeah.”
“I really am sorry.”
You believed him. You always did, and that was part of what made this so exhausting. Evan had never struggled with apologizing. What he struggled with was slowing down long enough to avoid needing one.
Before either of you could say anything else, the familiar voice of Tommy’s tablet drifted down the hallway, sharp and unmistakable, cutting through the fragile quiet like a bell you felt in your chest.
“Mom.”
The single word pulled both your attention toward the apartment, your heart tightening instinctively.
Tommy stood at the end of the hallway, frozen where he’d stopped, his whole body rigid in a way that made your stomach twist. His eyes locked onto Evan immediately. Recognition came first. Confusion followed just as quickly.
For a second, neither of them moved. The air felt thick, stretched thin between recognition and confusion. Then Tommy looked down at his tablet.
“Dad here.”
He looked up again. Back at Evan. Then at you, his gaze flickering, uncertain.
His thumb found the same button.
“Dad here.”
He started walking. Not toward Evan. Toward the living room. Three quick steps, his movements slightly jerky, like his body was moving faster than his thoughts could keep up.
He turned. Walked back.
“Dad here.”
Again.
He turned around once more, pacing the short stretch of hallway you’d watched him walk a hundred times before whenever the world suddenly stopped making sense, each step echoing faintly against the floor, each turn sharper than the last.
His fingers tightened around the edge of his tablet, knuckles paling.
“Dad here.”
Evan shifted his weight, the soft scuff of his shoe loud in the silence. Concern replaced the excitement that had been on his face moments earlier, his brows pulling together as he watched, helpless, a flicker of guilt crossing his expression.
You lifted your hand slightly. A quiet reminder.
Wait.
Evan nodded, swallowing hard, forcing himself to stay still even as every instinct seemed to urge him forward.
Tommy kept pacing. Door. Living room. Cake. Door. His breathing had become a little quicker, shallow and uneven, the faint sound of it reaching you and tightening something in your chest. Not enough to frighten you. Enough that you knew he was trying to catch up, trying to reorganize a world that had just shifted without warning.
“Dad here.”
You walked toward him slowly, careful, each step deliberate so you wouldn’t overwhelm him. He stopped the moment you stepped into his path, like your presence anchored him.
You rested your hands gently on his upper arms, feeling the tension there, the slight tremor beneath your palms.
“Hey, sweetheart.”
His eyes met yours immediately, searching, grounding himself in something familiar.
You smiled, soft and steady. “I know.”
He looked back toward Evan, his gaze lingering a fraction longer this time.
His thumb pressed the button again.
“Dad here.”
“Yeah.” You nodded, keeping your voice calm, even as your heart ached at the repetition. “Dad’s here.”
You waited. Tommy had never needed more words. He needed time.
“This wasn’t part of today’s plan.”
His eyes came back to yours, a flicker of distress there.
“I know.” You brushed your thumbs lightly over his sleeves, the soft fabric grounding both of you. “We’ll change the plan.”
His breathing slowed just enough for you to notice, the tension easing by degrees.
You pointed toward the kitchen. “We’re going to cut your cake.”
His eyes followed your hand, tracking the familiar, something safe.
Then you pointed gently toward Evan. “And Dad gets to have birthday cake with us.”
Tommy looked between the cake and his dad, his gaze lingering just a little longer on Evan this time, curiosity beginning to edge out confusion.
His thumb hovered over the screen before searching for a different button.
“Dad.”
“Cake.”
You smiled, warmth spreading through your chest. “That’s right.”
He stood quietly for another few seconds, the stillness settling over him like a breath finally released. No more pacing. No more repeating. His shoulders relaxed, the tension draining away.
You gave his arms one last reassuring squeeze, feeling the steadiness return beneath your hands. “You ready?”
Tommy nodded once. Then, on his own, he turned and walked toward Evan.
Evan stayed exactly where he was, his chest tight, eyes shining as he watched his son come to him, resisting the urge to move, to rush, to close the distance too quickly.
Tommy stopped a few feet in front of Evan, close enough to see the smile on his father’s face and the wrapped present in his hand. His fingers tightened slightly around the edge of his tablet, as if anchoring himself.
For a moment, neither moved. Tommy’s weight shifted from one foot to the other, a small, restless motion he didn’t seem aware of.
“Hey, buddy,” Evan said, opening his arms on instinct, but Tommy took a small step back, just enough to keep the distance. The movement was subtle, but Evan noticed.
His arms hovered for a moment before lowering, his smile faltering just a touch. “Sorry.”
Tommy glanced at his tablet.
“Hi.”
Evan’s smile softened, though there was a flicker of something more fragile behind it. “Hi.”
“Dad.”
Evan let out a quiet laugh, the sound a little thinner than he intended. “Yeah. It’s Dad.”
Tommy’s gaze shifted to the blue wrapping paper. He pointed, his hand steady even as his shoulders remained slightly hunched.
“Present.”
“I did bring you a present.” Evan said, glancing down at it, then back up at Tommy as if searching for something in his face. “It’s your birthday after all.”
Tommy looked to you, waiting, his brows knitting faintly as if unsure which step came next.
“Cake first,” you said.
His eyes flicked to the kitchen, then back to the gift, lingering there a second longer than before.
“Cake.”
“Then present.”
Tommy nodded, a small exhale leaving him as the familiar order settled back into place, his grip on the tablet loosening just a fraction.
Without another word, Tommy turned toward the kitchen.
“Cake.”
You smiled. “Cake.”
Evan stepped aside, his shoulder brushing yours as he passed. Once, that kind of contact would’ve gone unnoticed. Now it lingered, drawing your attention simply because it had been so long since it hadn’t.
He caught your hesitation before you could hide it.
“Can I come in?”
“Yeah. Come in.”
A faint smile touched his mouth as he stepped inside. His gaze dropped briefly to his boots. “You still have the no shoes rule?”
“You know I do.”
He let out a quiet breath that might’ve been a laugh and bent to untie them.
After lining his boots neatly beside the door, Evan straightened. He looked around the apartment, not obviously, not like a stranger, but like someone quietly taking in everything that had changed since the last time he’d been here. His shoulders were held just a fraction too still, as if bracing against something he couldn’t quite name.
The blue streamers still hung unevenly across the ceiling. Blue balloons drifted lazily across the hardwood floor whenever the air conditioner kicked on. Tommy’s weather station sat proudly in the living room window.
His eyes moved over the birthday decorations before settling on Jack, lingering there just a moment longer. Not suspicious. Simply taking in the man who’d clearly been part of Tommy’s day long before he’d knocked on the door.
Jack hadn’t moved. He still stood near the kitchen table, hands resting loosely behind him. He gave the three of you room without disappearing from it.
The apartment suddenly felt full. Not because anyone had done anything wrong. Simply because everyone was trying to find where they belonged.
Tommy had already climbed back into his chair, completely unconcerned with the introductions happening behind him. His attention stayed fixed on the cake, the present, the order everything was supposed to happen in.
You caught Jack’s eye. “Jack.”
He looked over immediately. His posture straightened just a touch as his gaze flicked toward Evan before returning to you, something cautious passing through it.
“I can head out for a—.”
“No.” You heard how quickly the word came out. Too quickly. You softened immediately. “I don’t want you to.”
Jack searched your face for a moment. His brow tightened slightly, as if weighing more than just your words. “You sure?”
“I’m sure.”
He gave a small nod, though his shoulders didn’t fully relax. “Okay.”
You looked between the two men. The space between them felt like a live wire.
“Jack… this is Evan.” You rested your fingertips lightly against Evan’s arm, aware of the brief tension beneath your touch before he let himself go still. “My ex-husband.” Then you smiled toward him, gentler now. “And Tommy’s dad.”
Turning back to Jack, you continued. “Evan… this is Jack.” A smile came a little more easily this time, though your pulse hadn’t quite settled. “My boyfriend.”
Jack stepped forward and stopped a respectful distance away. He offered his hand, movements deliberate and careful. “It’s nice to meet you.”
Evan shifted the wrapped present into his other hand and shook it. His grip was firm and steady, just enough pressure to acknowledge the moment.
“You too.” His eyebrows lifted slightly, though something searching lingered behind it. “The boyfriend?”
You nodded, holding his gaze. “Yeah.”
His eyes drifted briefly between the two of you. He caught the way your body angled instinctively toward Jack and the way Jack stayed exactly where he was.
A small smile crossed his face, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Well… it’s good to finally meet you.”
Jack returned it, a little tighter but genuine. “You too.”
Before either man could think of another sentence, Tommy chimed from the kitchen.
“Present.”
All three of you turned at once. The tension snapped just enough to let everyone breathe again.
Tommy pointed directly at the gift tucked beneath Evan’s arm.
“Present.”
You laughed softly. The sound eased something in your chest. “We’re getting there.”
“Cake.”
“Cake first.”
Tommy thought about it, his fingers hovering over the tablet. Then he nodded.
“Cake.”
“Then present.”
“Then present.”
Satisfied, he folded his hands neatly on the edge of the table. He waited with far more patience than any fourteen year old should have possessed.
You looked back at Jack. “You’re still opening presents with us.”
Jack glanced toward Evan. His jaw tightened just slightly, not asking permission, simply making sure he wasn’t stepping somewhere he shouldn’t. “I don’t want to interrupt.”
“You aren’t.” You stepped beside him and gave his forearm a gentle squeeze, grounding both of you. “I want you here.”
He looked at you for a long second. Something softened in his expression before he nodded. “Okay.”
“Jack.”
Jack looked over. Tommy pointed to the empty chair beside him. Then he selected another button.
“Here.”
You smiled, warmth spreading through you. “I think that’s your seat.”
Evan looked at Tommy for a moment before letting out a quiet laugh, softer this time, almost resigned. “I don’t think either of us gets much say in that.”
Jack smiled, a little more relaxed now. “I guess not.”
He pulled out the chair and sat beside Tommy. Almost immediately, Tommy settled. His shoulders eased. His grip on the tablet loosened. The plan was back where it belonged. Cake. Then presents. Exactly the way he’d been expecting all day.
With a smile, you picked up the cake knife. Tommy immediately nudged his plate closer to the edge of the table.
“So eager.”
He glanced down at his tablet.
“Birthday.”
“I suppose that’s a good excuse.”
A single nod.
“Yes.”
A soft laugh escaped you as you cut the first slice exactly how he’d requested, blue frosting, part of the weather radar, no lightning bolt.
You slid the plate toward him. “There you go.”
He studied it briefly, then pressed another button.
“Good.”
“I’ll take the compliment.”
You prepared another slice for yourself, then one for Jack. The last piece lingered in your hand as your gaze shifted to Evan.
“You still like corner pieces?”
His eyebrows lifted, faint surprise flickering across his face. “If there is one.”
“There always is.” You passed him the plate.
“Happy birthday to our favorite weather guy,” he said quietly, setting it in front of Tommy.
Tommy smiled.
“My birthday.”
“It is.”
For a while, the apartment settled into an easy quiet. Forks tapped softly against plates, the refrigerator hummed in the background, and Tommy’s tablet chimed now and then. No one rushed to speak.
Without realizing it, your attention drifted to the two men.
Jack remained beside Tommy, as he always did during meals, close enough to help if needed, never overstepping. Across the table, Evan sat with his present resting carefully against his chair, waiting. His gaze lingered on Tommy, as though trying to hold onto the moment.
They weren’t ignoring each other. Conversation simply hadn’t found its rhythm yet. And somehow neither of them seemed in any hurry to force it.
Of course, Tommy finished his cake first. He set his fork down with deliberate care, then reached for his tablet.
“Present.”
You smiled. “I had a feeling that was coming.”
His eyes shifted to the blue wrapping paper beside Evan’s chair.
“Present.”
You glanced across the table. “I think you’ve made him wait long enough.”
Evan bent down, picking up the box. “I think you’re right.”
He placed it gently in front of Tommy.
Tommy rested both hands on either side. He didn’t tear into the paper, he never did. Instead, he found the edge of a piece of tape and peeled it back, one careful strip at a time.
The room quieted again, not awkward, just attentive, as everyone watched Tommy open his birthday present the way he always did, slowly, carefully, savoring every second.
He peeled away the first piece of tape. Instead of tossing it aside, Tommy folded it neatly and set it beside the box. Then he searched for the next. Across the table, Evan rested his forearms, making no move to help or hurry him. Piece by piece, the blue wrapping paper disappeared until the cardboard box was finally uncovered.
Tommy lifted the lid. Inside, nestled in brown packing paper, sat a weather radio. Not the small emergency kind tucked away in a hall closet. This one had weight to it.
Its dark gray casing showed wear, the buttons smoothed from years of use. The telescoping antenna bore faint scratches, and one corner near the battery compartment had been patched with a strip of black electrical tape.
Reaching in with both hands, Tommy brushed his fingers over the cool, slightly textured surface.
“Weather radio.”
A smile tugged at the corner of Evan’s mouth, though his shoulders remained just a little too still.
“Yeah.”
Tommy turned it over slowly, studying each button before extending the antenna with careful hands. Then his fingers paused. He leaned in closer, brow tightening slightly as recognition flickered.
Two initials, written in faded black marker, stretched across the back.
E.D.
You glanced from the radio to Evan. “You brought your work radio?”
He shrugged, as if it meant far less than you knew it did, though his gaze lingered on it a moment too long. “I bought a new one a couple months ago.” His hand rested against the edge of the table, thumb pressing lightly into the wood. “Figured this one ought to have a better home.”
You kept staring at the radio. The scrape along one side was instantly familiar. Years ago, before one of his offshore hitches, he’d dropped it on the kitchen tile while trying to carry too many things at once. He’d spent twenty minutes afterward making sure it still worked. That morning, you’d teased him that he cared more about the radio than the suitcase sitting beside it.
The memory slipped away as quickly as it came.
Tommy pressed the weather band button. Static crackled softly before a calm, automated voice filled the kitchen with the latest forecast, its familiar cadence settling into the space like something steady and known.
He listened without interrupting. Without looking away. When the report finished cycling, he lowered the radio and reached for his tablet.
“Works.”
Evan smiled, a quiet exhale slipping free. “It better. Used it for work all the time.”
Tommy turned the radio over again, his grip just a little firmer now.
“Work.”
Evan nodded. “Every ocean trip.”
“Ocean.”
He rubbed his thumb absently along the edge of the table, the motion grounding. “That radio’s been with me a long time. Every time I was in the ocean.”
Tommy looked down at the faded initials again, tracing them lightly with his thumb as if committing them to memory. Then he collapsed the antenna with care and held the radio against his chest, letting its weight settle there.
He reached for his tablet once more.
“Thank you.”
Evan’s smile deepened, quiet and genuine, something softer easing into his expression.
“You’re welcome, buddy.”
Tommy nodded once. Then he stood, carrying the radio toward the windowsill where his weather station sat. He stepped back from the windowsill, studying the weather station and the radio side by side.
He nodded once.
“Good.”
You smiled. “I think it belongs there.”
Tommy nodded again.
Across the room, you caught Evan looking at the windowsill instead of the radio in Tommy’s hands, not at the gift itself, but at where Tommy had chosen to keep it.
Tommy stood there another few seconds, studying the weather station and the radio side by side before looking back at Evan, his fingers already moving across his tablet.
“It tracks the weather.”
Evan smiled. “You want to see something?”
Tommy nodded immediately.
Evan walked over to the windowsill, stopping just far enough away that Tommy still had plenty of room.
He picks it up carefully. “This antenna pulls out farther,” he said, extending it another few inches before handing it right back.
Tommy watched closely.
“So when I was offshore…” Evan caught himself. “…when I was in the ocean, we’d listen to this every morning before we started.”
Tommy’s attention stayed fixed on the radio.
“Every morning.”
“Yep. Every morning.” Evan pointed toward one of the buttons. “That one takes you straight to the weather band.”
Tommy pressed it, and the familiar automated forecast filled the apartment again. Neither of them spoke until it finished.
Tommy looked at the display, then at Evan.
“You had storm.”
Evan nodded. “Sometimes.”
You smiled to yourself. He wasn’t overwhelming Tommy with explanations; he was answering exactly what Tommy asked, exactly the way Tommy understood best.
Jack stepped quietly beside you. “You need anything?” he asked softly.
You glanced toward the living room, where Tommy and Evan were still standing shoulder to shoulder in front of the window, not touching, simply sharing the same piece of weather equipment.
You looked back at Jack. “Actually…” You held up the stack of empty cake plates. “Can you give me a hand with these?”
“Of course.”
Together, the two of you carried the dishes into the kitchen. The quiet clink of ceramic and the steady rush of running water filled the small space.
Jack reached for the dish towel without asking, drying each plate as quickly as you rinsed it. Neither of you hurried. Neither of you needed to.
Jack never glanced toward the living room. He didn’t need to. He already knew exactly what he was doing. Giving a father and his son a few uninterrupted minutes together.
—
Jack dried the last plate and hung the dish towel back over the oven handle. “I should probably get going.”
You nodded. “It is getting late.”
Together, you walked back into the living room.
Tommy was sitting on the floor now, the weather radio beside the weather station, switching back and forth between the two with complete concentration. Evan sat on the couch nearby, watching without interrupting.
Jack smiled. “Looks like you’ve got everything under control.”
Tommy looked up.
“Dad got me new radio.”
“I see that.”
“It is a good present.”
Jack glanced toward Evan for just a second before looking back at Tommy. “Looks pretty good kid.”
Tommy nodded once, satisfied.
Jack crouched beside him. “I wanted to wish you happy birthday one more time.”
Tommy met his eyes.
“It is my birthday.”
“The best one?”
Tommy thought about it.
“Yes.”
Jack’s smile grew. “I’m glad.”
He stood again.
His attention shifted to Evan. “It was nice meeting you.”
Evan nodded. “You too.”
“I hope you guys have a good visit.”
“Thanks.”
Nothing more. Neither man tried to force a conversation that hadn’t earned itself yet.
Jack slipped his shoes on beside the door.
You reached for your keys out of habit. “I’ll walk you over.”
Jack looked at you. “You don’t have to.”
“I know.” You opened the apartment door. “I want to. I’ll be back Tommy. I’m going to say bye to Jack.”
Tommy barely looked up from the radio. He knew where you were going. The hallway. Across the hall. You’d be right back.
The apartment door clicked softly shut behind you. The hallway felt almost too quiet after the birthday party.
A moment ago, your apartment had been full of cake plates, wrapping paper, Tommy’s new weather radio, Evan’s low voice, Jack’s steady presence, and the careful politeness of two men trying very hard not to make the night about themselves.
Out here, only the soft hum of the building’s air conditioning and the faint buzz of the hallway light remained.
You walked beside Jack across the hall. Neither of you said anything at first. His apartment was only a few steps away, but somehow the space between your door and his felt longer tonight. Like both of you knew there was a conversation waiting, and neither of you wanted to be the first to start it.
Jack reached into his pocket and pulled out his keys. The metal shifted quietly in his hand as he found the right one by feel before sliding it into the lock.
The deadbolt clicked. He pushed the door open a few inches but didn’t step inside. Instead, he turned back toward you.
“You didn’t have to walk me over.”
You leaned your shoulder lightly against the wall across from him, your arms folding loosely over your middle.
“I know. I wanted to.”
Something in his expression softened. For a second, neither of you moved.
Your gaze drifted back toward your own apartment door. The birthday banner still hung crookedly across it, the blue letters slightly wrinkled from where Tommy had touched them earlier while inspecting the decorations. One balloon had started sinking lower than the others, its ribbon curled lazily against the wall.
It looked tired now. Happy, but tired. A little like you felt.
Jack followed your gaze. “Banner made it.”
“Barely.”
“Still counts.”
You smiled. “Tommy liked it.”
“He liked all of it.”
Your smile softened before you could stop it. “He did.”
Jack leaned one shoulder against his doorframe, keeping the door open behind him with his hip. His apartment was dark beyond the entryway, quiet and still, but he didn’t seem in any hurry to disappear into it.
“He had a good birthday,” Jack said.
You nodded, your eyes still lingering on the crooked banner. “He had a really good birthday.”
The words should have felt simple. Instead, they settled heavily in your chest. Tommy had been happy. Evan had been there. Jack had been there.
For one strange, complicated evening, everyone Tommy loved had shared the same room.
Nobody fought. Nobody made a scene. Nobody asked Tommy to choose where to look or who to sit beside.
Tommy had gotten cake, presents, and a brand-new weather radio he would probably carry around for the next three days. It went well. That was almost what made it harder.
You rubbed your thumb against the inside of your elbow, watching the balloon twist slowly where it floated against the wall.
“I’m sorry.”
Jack looked at you immediately. “For what?”
You let out a breath, already embarrassed by the answer and still unable to keep it in.
“For tonight.”
His brow furrowed slightly.
You glanced back at him. “For Evan showing up like that. I didn’t know he was coming.”
“I know.”
“If I had, I would’ve told you.”
“I know.”
His voice was gentle, but not dismissive. He wasn’t brushing you off. He was just answering the part that mattered.
You looked down at the carpet between your feet. “I hate that you walked into that.”
Jack was quiet for a moment.
When you looked up again, he was studying you with the kind of focus that made it hard to hide. Not clinical. Not intense. Just present. Like he was trying to understand what you were really apologizing for.
“You think you did something wrong?” he asked.
You opened your mouth. Then stopped. Because when he said it that way, it sounded ridiculous.
You hadn’t invited Evan without telling him. You hadn’t planned some awkward introduction. You hadn’t forced Jack into anything. Evan had shown up because it was Tommy’s birthday and because he was Tommy’s father and because sometimes life did not give you enough warning to prepare a room before everyone walked into it.
Still.
“I don’t know,” you admitted quietly. “Maybe not wrong. Just…”
Jack waited.
You looked toward your door again.
“I know today was supposed to be Tommy’s birthday. That was the important thing. I know that. But then Evan showed up, and suddenly you were meeting him, and he was meeting you, and I was trying to make sure Tommy was okay, and that Evan was okay, and that you were okay, and nobody felt weird, and I just…”
You shook your head.
“I hated that you had to be so careful.”
Jack’s face changed a little at that. Not much. Just enough. His eyes softened, and his shoulders settled in a way that made you realize he understood you now.
He wasn’t the part you were apologizing for. The care was.
“You don’t have to apologize for that,” he said.
You huffed a quiet laugh, but it didn’t have much humor in it. “I feel like I’ve been apologizing for things all night.”
“I noticed.”
Your eyes flicked to his.
Jack’s mouth curved faintly.
“Not to anyone else,” he said. “Just in your head.”
You looked away.
Jack didn’t let the silence turn sharp. He stepped away from his doorframe just enough to face you fully, his voice low in the empty hallway.
“Tommy’s dad came to his birthday,” he said. “That’s not a bad thing.”
“I know it’s not.”
“He wanted to see his son.”
“I know.”
“And Tommy wanted him there.”
Your throat tightened as you nodded.
Jack let that sit for a second before continuing. “That doesn’t hurt me.”
You looked back at him. The words were simple. Too simple, maybe, for how complicated everything felt inside you.
But Jack didn’t say them like he was trying to convince himself. He said them like he had already thought it through and found the answer solid enough to stand on.
“It doesn’t?”
“No.”
You searched his face automatically.
You knew him too well now not to look. If he was uncomfortable, you would see it in the set of his jaw. If he was hurt, it would show up in the quiet around his eyes. If he was trying to be noble about something that bothered him, he would get that careful, measured stillness that made you want to reach for him and shake the truth loose.
But none of that was there.
He just looked tired. And calm. And maybe a little sad in the way kind people sometimes looked when they knew a situation was bigger than anyone could fix in one conversation.
“Evan loves him,” Jack said.
You swallowed. “Yeah.”
“I could see that.”
“He does,” you said, softer now. “He’s not a bad dad.”
“I didn’t think he was.”
“He’s just…” You stopped, trying not to explain your whole marriage in a hallway after your son’s birthday. “He loves Tommy. He just wasn’t built for the day-to-day part of it.”
Jack’s expression stayed quiet. No judgment. No quick opinion.
“He showed up today,” he said.
You nodded. “He did.”
“That matters.”
Your chest tightened again, but this time it wasn’t guilt exactly.
It was the strange ache of hearing Jack be kind about a man he had every reason to feel uncomfortable around.
“You’re being very mature about this,” you said.
Jack’s mouth twitched. “I’m trying.”
“No, you are.”
He glanced down briefly, almost like the compliment made him uncomfortable.
“I’m not competing with him.”
Your breath caught a little, because there it was. The thing you had been afraid to name.
Jack looked back at you. “I’m not.”
“I know.”
“I don’t think you do.”
The gentleness of it made you quiet.
Jack slipped one hand into his pocket, thumb catching against the edge of his keys.
“I watched them tonight,” he said. “Evan and Tommy.”
You waited.
“He was nervous.”
“Evan?”
Jack nodded. “Not in a bad way. Just… he was trying to figure out where to sit. What to touch. How close to be.”
You pictured it: Evan on the couch, hands resting on his knees while Tommy spread his new presents across the floor. Evan watching closely, wanting to be involved but not wanting to disrupt a system he didn’t fully know anymore.
You hadn’t been the only one noticing. Jack had seen it too.
“He was trying,” Jack said.
“He usually does.” You looked down. “That probably sounds obvious.”
“It doesn’t,” Jack said.
You blinked, then looked back up.
He shrugged lightly.
“I mean, I know he’s his father. I know Tommy knows him. But seeing it is different.”
Your throat tightened. “How?”
Jack took a breath, slow and thoughtful. “He didn’t have to work as hard to understand some of it. Not all of it,” he added. “But some.”
You knew exactly what he meant.
Evan didn’t know every part of Tommy’s current routine. He didn’t know all the updated buttons on the tablet or which foods had changed or what new warning signs to look for before an escalation. But he knew Tommy’s history in a way Jack didn’t. He knew the little boy Tommy used to be. He knew the old versions. The early appointments. The first words that hadn’t come. The first time you realized the tablet wasn’t a failure but a door.
That kind of knowing could not be recreated.
Jack looked toward your apartment door again, not sadly, but with an awareness that made something in your chest ache.
“I’m not threatened by that,” he said. “I just don’t want to disrespect it.”
You didn’t answer right away. Because that was Jack too. That was exactly Jack. He would make room even if making room hurt. He would step back without being asked if he thought standing too close might crowd someone else. He would never demand space in a life that had existed before him.
And you loved him for it.
“You didn’t disrespect anything tonight,” you said.
“I know.”
“But?”
His eyes met yours before drifting down the quiet hallway. He didn’t answer immediately, and somehow that silence told you everything.
Your stomach dipped. “Jack.”
He rubbed his thumb against the edge of the keys in his pocket, his gaze lingering on your apartment door before returning to you.
“Evan’s only here for a few days.”
You went still.
“He doesn’t get this often,” Jack said quietly. “He doesn’t get birthdays and cake or evenings sitting on the living room floor with Tommy. He doesn’t get nights like this.”
You waited.
He let out a slow breath.
“I was thinking…” He hesitated. “I’d stay out of the way while he’s here.”
The words settled somewhere deep in your chest before your mind could catch up.
Not anger.
Fear.
A quiet, hollow feeling, like something steady had shifted beneath your feet.
“What?”
“Not completely,” he said quickly, already reading your expression. “I’m across the hall. If you need anything—”
“That isn’t the same thing.”
“I know.”
You searched his face, trying to understand how he’d already decided this without ever asking you.
“Then why would you say it like it is?”
Jack exhaled through his nose.
“I don’t want him feeling like every minute he gets with Tommy has me standing in the middle of it.”
“You weren’t standing in the middle of anything.”
“I don’t want you trying to manage both of us.”
“I’m not.”
He gave you a look.
A reluctant laugh escaped you.
“Okay,” you admitted. “Maybe a little.”
The corner of his mouth twitched.
“But that’s not because of you.”
“I know.”
You shook your head. “Then don’t make that decision for me.”
Jack’s expression softened. “I’m trying to make this easier for you.”
“I know.” Your voice cracked despite yourself. “But it wouldn’t make it easier.”
Silence settled between you. This time, you crossed the small space separating you. You reached for his hand before you spoke again.
He looked down as your fingers slipped into his. His shoulders loosened almost imperceptibly before his hand closed around yours, warm and familiar.
“Jack…” You drew a slow breath. “If Evan wants more time with Tommy, that’s something he and I need to work out.”
He stayed quiet.
“You don’t have to solve that.”
His thumb brushed slowly across the side of your hand.
“He’s Tommy’s dad,” you continued. “If he wants to spend more time with him while he’s here, we’ll figure it out.” You held his gaze. “And if he decides he wants to be around more after this…” You gave a small, tired shrug. “We’ll figure that out too.”
Jack watched you without interrupting.
“But that’s between Evan and me.” You squeezed his hand gently. “If he wants more time with Tommy, then he and I will figure out what that looks like.”
You let out a quiet breath.
“He made the decision to show up today without calling me first. That doesn’t mean you suddenly have to rearrange your place in Tommy’s life.”
Jack watched you carefully.
“Those are two separate things.” You stepped a little closer. “Evan and I will figure out his time with Tommy.”
You looked him steadily in the eye. “You keep showing up the way you always have.”
His eyes stayed on yours. “I wasn’t trying to upset you.”
You nodded slowly. “I know.”
The words came easily. Believing them took a little longer.
A sad smile tugged at your mouth. “But Tommy won’t understand.”
His expression shifted so subtly most people probably wouldn’t have noticed it.
You did.
The careful, reasonable argument he’d been carrying around all evening disappeared the moment you said Tommy’s name.
“He isn’t going to think, Jack is giving Dad some space.”
Jack stayed quiet, waiting.
“He’s just going to know you didn’t come.”
His jaw tightened almost imperceptibly.
You glanced toward your apartment. “He’ll wake up tomorrow expecting breakfast if you’re coming off nights.” Your throat tightened around the words. “He’ll hear footsteps in the hallway and think it’s you.”
The image came so easily it made your chest ache. Tommy looking toward the door. Listening. Waiting. Trying to understand why something familiar suddenly wasn’t.
“And when you don’t come…” You swallowed. “He won’t understand why.”
Silence settled between you. Not uncomfortable. Just heavy.
“He’ll notice breakfast,” you said more quietly. “He’ll notice dinner. He’ll notice if you don’t ask him about the weather.”
You looked back at Jack. “He’ll notice if your shoes aren’t by the door.”
Jack followed your gaze across the hallway. The birthday banner still hung crookedly against your apartment door.
Behind it was Tommy. Breakfast after night shifts. Dinner after day shifts. Weather before coffee. Shoes lined up by the door. Little things. Until they weren’t. Until, somewhere along the way, they’d become promises.
Jack let out a slow breath. “I hadn’t thought about it like that.”
“I know.”
“I should have.”
“No.” You shook your head before he could blame himself. “You were thinking about Evan.”
He nodded once.
“That wasn’t wrong.”
His eyes searched yours.
“But you were only thinking about Evan.”
He didn’t answer right away.
Instead, he looked toward your apartment again before finally nodding. “I don’t want to make this harder for Tommy.”
“You won’t.”
“You don’t know that.”
You stepped closer until barely any space remained between you. “I do.”
His brow furrowed.
“I’ve spent fourteen years learning my son.” Your fingers tightened around his hand. “I know the things he can adjust to.”
You paused, choosing the next words carefully.
“And I know the things he’ll carry around because they don’t make sense.”
Your voice softened. “You leaving the routine would be one of them.”
Jack lowered his eyes to your joined hands. He didn’t answer immediately. You could almost see him picturing tomorrow morning.
Breakfast.
Coffee.
The weather.
Tommy looking toward the door.
When he finally spoke, his voice was quieter than before. “Okay.”
You searched his face. “Okay?”
He looked back at you and nodded. “Routine stays.”
Relief hit so quickly your fingers tightened around his without thinking. “You mean that?”
“I mean it.”
“No stepping back for a week?”
A real smile reached his eyes this time. “No stepping back for a week.”
You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding.
Jack watched it leave you. His expression softened.
“You thought I meant leaving.”
You looked down. “I know you didn’t.”
“But that’s what you heard.”
You nodded once. “Yeah.”
He stepped forward, closing the last few inches himself. His free hand settled gently against your waist.
“I wasn’t thinking about how that would sound.”
You looked up at him.
“I’m sorry.”
You let the apology sit between you instead of brushing it away.
His thumb stroked lightly against your side. “I’m not going anywhere.”
Your throat tightened. “You say that a lot.”
His forehead came to rest lightly against yours. “I mean it a lot.”
A watery laugh escaped you. “I know.”
“I don’t need Tommy to have less of Evan so there’s room for me.” His voice was quiet. Certain. “There’s room.”
You looked at him through the sting in your eyes.
“For him.”
You nodded.
“For me.”
A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.
“And definitely for the weather radio.”
You laughed.
“Definitely for the weather radio.”
“That thing outranks both of us.”
“It really does.”
The laughter faded into something softer.
You stepped into him without thinking.
His arm wrapped around you immediately, his hand settling at the back of your head as your cheek rested against his cheek.
After the carefulness of the evening, after watching Evan and Jack give each other space, after trying to make sure no one felt pushed out or pulled too close, it felt almost overwhelming to simply stop trying so hard.
You listened to the slow, steady beat of his breath beneath your ear.
“I don’t want you to feel like you have to compete,” you murmured.
His hand moved gently through your hair. “I don’t.”
“You sure?”
“Yeah.”
You leaned back just enough to meet his eyes.
They were tired.
Steady.
Honest.
“I’m not his dad.”
“I know.”
“But I love him.”
Your breath caught.
“And I love you.”
Warmth spread through your chest so suddenly it almost hurt.
“I love you too.”
His hand slid to your cheek, brushing away the dampness beneath your eye with his thumb.
“I just want to do right by both of you.”
“You are.”
He looked like he wanted to argue.
You smiled and shook your head before he could. “You are, Jack.”
Something in his expression finally settled.
He leaned down and kissed you.
Slowly.
Patiently.
Like neither of you had anywhere else to be.
The hallway light hummed overhead. His apartment door remained open behind him. Across the hall, Tommy’s birthday banner still hung a little crooked.
For just a little while, the whole complicated evening narrowed to the warmth of his kiss, the steady hand at your waist, and the quiet certainty that making room for one person didn’t mean losing another.
When he pulled away, he didn’t go far. His forehead rested lightly against yours.
“So,” he said quietly.
You smiled because you could hear the practical turn in his voice before he even got there.
“So?”
“Breakfast after nights.”
“Yes.”
“Dinner after days.”
“Yes.”
“If Evan has plans with Tommy, you tell me.”
“Yes.”
“If Tommy needs routine, routine stays.”
“Exactly.”
Jack nodded, like he was committing it all somewhere solid.
“And no guessing.”
You smiled. “No guessing.”
“No making decisions for each other because we’re trying to be polite.”
Your smile grew. “Look at you.”
His mouth curved. “Learning.”
“Proud of you.” You laughed softly and kissed him again, quick and affectionate.
Jack’s hand lingered at your waist afterward.
Neither of you seemed quite ready to move. But eventually, you glanced back toward your apartment door. The crooked banner. The sinking balloon. The life waiting behind it.
“I should go back.”
“Yeah.” His voice was gentle. Still, he didn’t immediately let go.
You smiled up at him. “You also have to let me go if I’m going to go back.”
“I know.”
“You’re not doing it.”
“I’m aware.”
Your smile turned warmer.
Jack finally released you, though his fingers brushed yours one last time before dropping away.
You crossed the hall and stopped with your hand on your doorknob.
Then you looked back.
Jack was still standing in his doorway, watching you with that quiet, steady expression that always made you feel like he meant every word before he even said it.
“You’re still coming tomorrow,” you said.
Not quite a question.
Jack’s answer came immediately. “Yeah. I’m still coming tomorrow.”
You nodded once. The certainty settled through you slowly. Evan being here didn’t erase Jack. Jack staying didn’t erase Evan. Tommy didn’t have to lose one steady thing just because another had come back for a few days.
Maybe it didn’t have to be a competition. Maybe love, when handled carefully enough, could make room.
You opened your door and stepped back inside, carrying that thought with you like something fragile and warm.
Across the hall, Jack stayed where he was until the door closed behind you.
—
Later that night, after you put Tommy to bed, you stepped quietly back into the living room.
Evan stood near the bookshelf, his hands resting in his pockets as his gaze wandered slowly around the apartment.
It lingered on the blue streamers still hanging from the ceiling. The half-deflated balloons drifted lazily near the hallway. On the windowsill sat Tommy’s weather station beside the worn weather radio that had spent years offshore with Evan before finding a new home beside his son’s favorite window.
His eyes moved from one familiar thing to the next, quietly taking it all in.
The apartment looked different than the last time he’d been here. Different artwork on the refrigerator. Different pictures on the wall. Tommy was taller in every photograph. There were small signs of a life that had continued moving forward while he was somewhere else.
At the sound of your footsteps, he turned.
“Out?”
You nodded. “Completely.”
A tired smile crossed his face, softening the lines around his eyes. “He made it longer than I thought he would.”
“He was determined.”
“I noticed.”
For another second, the smile lingered before fading into the quiet that settled between you, and you found yourself watching the exact moment it slipped away, as if you could hold onto it just a second longer.
It wasn’t uncomfortable. These days, it rarely is.
The hardest years are behind you now. The long conversations that never quite solved anything. The quiet realization that loving each other wasn’t the same as building a life together. Learning how to stop being husband and wife without ever stopping being Tommy’s parents.
Time had softened the sharpest edges, but the memory still lingered, like a bruise that had faded without ever completely disappearing.
What remained was something quieter. Not friendship. Not quite. Just the familiarity that came from years of knowing exactly how the other took their coffee, what made them laugh, and which conversations neither of you ever wanted to have but somehow always found your way back to.
You crossed into the kitchen and reached into the cabinet for two glasses, your movements automatic, guided by muscle memory before you could think too much about it.
Water filled the first, then the second.
“Thanks,” Evan said quietly as he accepted the glass.
You leaned back against the counter and took a sip of your own, the cool water grounding you.
For a minute, silence held. With Tommy asleep, the apartment felt different. Quieter. Somehow smaller, like the walls had shifted inward, leaving less room to avoid what lingered between you.
Looking down into his glass, Evan exhaled, his shoulders dipping slightly. “I should’ve called.”
You closed your eyes for just a second. Not dramatically. Just long enough to feel the familiar weight of the conversation settling onto your shoulders again, pressing down in a way that was both expected and exhausting.
When you opened them, you gave a small nod. “Yeah.”
He rubbed the back of his neck, fingers lingering there as though he could work the tension out. “I know.”
Your thumb traced slowly around the rim of your glass, the repetitive motion giving your hands something to do besides tighten.
“I remind you every year.”
He nodded once. “You do.”
You lifted your gaze to his. “Every year, Evan.”
He looked away first, his jaw tightening just slightly. “…I know.”
Again, the apartment fell quiet.
You stared into your water, turning the glass a slow quarter turn against the countertop, watching the way the light bent through it, anything to avoid looking at him for a moment longer.
It wasn’t that you expected a different answer anymore.
That was the hardest part.
You already knew how this conversation went.
Every birthday.
Every visit.
Every surprise.
A slow breath left you, your shoulders rising and falling with it. “So why don’t you call?”
His brow furrowed as he stared into his glass, not defensive so much as genuinely trying to trace his own thinking.
Finally, he let out a quiet breath.
“Honestly?” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I don’t think I know I’m coming until I’m already on my way.”
Your brow creased.
“I finish a hitch.” He shrugged helplessly. “Book a flight. Rent a car.” A faint, self-conscious smile crossed his face. “By then… I’m already here.” He looked at you apologetically. “The only part I really picture is knocking on the door.”
A quiet laugh slipped out before you could stop it, your head dipping as you exhaled through your nose. Not because it was funny. Because after all these years, you still didn’t know what to do with answers like that, and because some part of you recognized the sincerity in it, even if it didn’t make things easier.
Shaking your head, your eyes drifted toward the ceiling for a moment before settling back on him, your expression softening despite yourself.
He stayed quiet.
You watched him, waiting to see if he would argue.
He didn’t.
“You don’t picture Tommy needing time to catch up,” you said quietly. “You don’t picture him standing in the hallway trying to figure out why his whole day suddenly changed.”
His eyes dropped to the floor.
“You don’t picture me trying to help him reorganize his whole evening.”
You shook your head, your fingers tightening around the cool glass.
“You don’t picture me wondering whether you’re staying for dinner… or disappearing back offshore tomorrow.”
His shoulders sank another inch.
“You don’t picture me trying to explain why Dad showed up without warning again.”
The words hung between you.
He rubbed a hand over the back of his neck, his jaw working as he searched for something to say.
Nothing came.
Finally, he looked back at you.
He let out a slow breath, shaking his head once. “…You’re right.” His voice was barely above a whisper. “I don’t.”
He looked down at the floor, turning the words over before he spoke again. “I spend so much time thinking about getting here…” He let out a quiet breath. “…I don’t think about what I’m walking into.”
You let out a slow breath and set your glass on the counter.
“Okay.”
Evan looked up.
“Okay?”
A small smile touched your lips.
“Let’s figure out the next few days.”
Some of the tension eased from his shoulders.
“You’ve got five days.”
“I know.”
“And I want the two of you to have as much time together as you can.”
His expression softened.
You gave him a small, encouraging smile.
“So… what are you thinking?”
Evan frowned. “Thinking about what?”
“While you’re here.” You gave a small shrug. “If you want to come over for dinner tomorrow, come over.”
You leaned one shoulder against the counter, thinking it through as you spoke.
“If you want to take him to the park like you did last year, we’ll do that.”
A small smile tugged at your lips.
“If you want to come by for breakfast one morning, we’ll do that.”
You met his eyes.
“We’ve done this before.”
You smiled a little. “We just usually don’t talk about it until after you’re already standing at my front door.”
A sheepish smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.
“…Fair.”
“So this time…” You spread your hands slightly. “Let’s just be ahead of it.”
He studied you for a long moment.
“You’d really move things around?”
“Of course.”
The answer came easily.
“You’re his dad.” You shrugged lightly. “I want you to have a good visit.”
His shoulders relaxed another inch. “I appreciate that.”
“I just need you to call me.”
He let out a quiet laugh. “So you know when I’m showing up.”
“So I know when you’re showing up,” you agreed with a small smile. “If school was hard that day, I’ll tell you. If therapy wore him out, you’ll know before you get here.” Your smile softened. “And if he’s having one of those days where everything’s just clicking…I’ll tell you that too.”
Evan lowered his eyes, rolling the glass slowly between his palms. “I never really thought about everything you already know before I walk through the door.”
“I know.”
There wasn’t any judgment in your voice. Only the quiet acceptance that had taken years to build.
“You see pieces of Tommy’s life.”
His eyes lifted to yours.
“I live all the days in between.” You offered him a small smile. “So let me help you walk into the middle instead of the end.”
For a long moment, he didn’t say anything.
Then he nodded. “I’d like that.”
You were quiet for a moment before speaking again. “There is one thing I do want you to know.”
Evan looked at you, waiting.
“Jack’s become part of Tommy’s routine.”
You watched his expression carefully, giving him space to take it in.
“He comes over everyday. Breakfast after his night shifts. Dinner after his day shifts.” A small smile found its way to your lips. “It’s just… become part of Tommy’s week. Tommy expects it now.”
You let that settle before continuing.
“I’d like to keep that the same while you’re here.”
You paused, choosing your next words carefully.
“This isn’t about either of you.”
You held his gaze.
“It’s about Tommy.” Your voice softened. “You know how he is. When he knows what to expect, everything else gets a little easier.”
You glanced toward the hallway leading to Tommy’s room.
“I’d rather all three of us work around Tommy than spend the week worrying about each other.”
Evan was quiet for several seconds. His eyes followed yours toward the hallway before returning to your face.
“I get that.”
You hadn’t realized how tightly you’d been holding your breath until something in your chest finally loosened.
A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “I think that’s the right priority.”
“It always has been.”
He nodded once, slowly. “…Yeah.”
The apartment fell quiet again. Not awkward. Just thoughtful.
Evan looked toward the hallway again, quiet for a long moment. “I missed a lot.”
You didn’t rush to reassure him. “You did.”
He nodded once. “I don’t want to keep missing it. I can do that.”
summary: in which jack’s wife (you ehehe) is having a flareup during a shift and he helps you out <3
warnings: chronic illness flareup, talk about spiraling, migraines, fever, medical inaccuracies (probably), panic attacks, fluffiest fluff, unspecified age gap, reader is mid to late 20’s, readers nickname is bee
wc: 1.1k
you and jack both worked nights at ptmc. you as charge nurse of the ed, and he as attending. you had been married for close to 2 years now, and he knew you struggled with chronic illness. he always packed you snacks, electrolytes, salt packets- the works, really. which means he also knew when you were in a flare. ie: right at this very moment. yours and his shift had around an hour left and you were sat charting, and checking on patients occasionally. it was quiet, but not for you. the lights were buzzing and bright, the beeping of heart monitors sounded louder than a tidal wave to you, and the squeaking of everyone’s shoes made your brain itch.
you took a deep breath, rubbing your fingers against your temples. you could feel a migraine coming on, but you had already taken ibuprofen this morning and afternoon. “fuuuuuck me.” you whispered, closing your eyes tightly. that didn’t help. you opened your eyes and it felt like you were staring at the light of a thousand suns, so you shut them even faster. “shit.”
jack is heading out of a room, having just finished suturing a 10 year old who got too curious about what scissors would do to something other than paper. he snapped off his gloves, grabbing hand sanitizer and headed to chart before seeing you at the desk with your eyes screwed shut. he changed his direction and walked over to you. “baby.” he said quietly. you still jumped at his voice, squinting at him. “what’s goin’ on?” he said softly, leaning down.
“migraine. and my hips hurt like a bitch.” you said sharply. “sorry.” you closed your eyes again, pinching the bridge of your nose. he sighs, pulling out an electrolyte packet from his pocket.
“have you drank your electrolytes today yet?” he says, grabbing your water bottle. you hadn’t, but only because you thought it’d be fine. which- you should know better by now. but here we are. you shook your head. “i know its not an immediate fix but you might be dehydrated, baby.” he says softly, pouring it in to your water bottle and giving it a shake.
“doctor abbot to bay 4, doctor abbot to bay 4.”
he looks up from you and your pained facial expression. “we’ve only got 45 minutes left of our shift, you come get me if you need me.” he calls as he walks away. you just nod and try to sip your water and immediately regret it because any small movement feels like your whole entire body is giving out. you let out a sharp breath. you then remembered you had excedrin in your bag which was amazing! minus the fact that you had to stand up to get it. “okay. this is fine. you got this.” you whispered to yourself. you opened your eyes, which was your first mistake but you mustered on anyways. “oh fuck.” you said as you tried to stand up.
you held yourself up by white knuckling the desk, and sharply inhaled. “its just in my bag. right around the corner.” you told yourself, beginning to slowly walk to the lockers slowly. your head was throbbing excruciatingly, like your brain was trying to make its escape out of your head. you made it halfway to the lockers before you stepped wrong and fell to your knees in the empty hallway. “fuck. shit. fuck.” you cursed under your breath. you reached to get your phone to text jack to help, but you realized it was at the desk. “i’m gonna die in the fucking ptmc locker hallway.” you decided, accepting your fate.
jack finished up his case in bay 4, walking out to come find you before realizing you were gone- his brow furrowed as he scanned the ed for any sign of you, and he started to get worried. he walked into almost every room checking, wondering if you were out in the car. you both had only a half hour left of the shift, and you never left early. if anything you always left two hours late. “what the hell?” he said to himself as he walked down towards the locker rooms, the one place he hadn’t checked. he walked with a purpose, starting to freak out slightly. he turned the corner to find a figure on the floor, breathing like they just learned how to. he squinted, realizing it was your figure on the floor, and ran. “baby? what happened?” he says as he crouches down next to you. he puts his arm around you and feels your head.
“i was trying to get my um- my-“ you started breathlessly. you looked at him, his face tight with worry, gently feeling your head. “excedrin.” you spat out, tears welling in your eyes. “i tried to te-text you but i left my ph-phone on the desk.” you cried, practically falling into him. he wraps his arms around you, letting you fall into his chest. “i didnt think you’d find me, i thought i was gonna die in the fucking locker rooms.” you said muffled into his chest.
“oh sweetheart.” he says softly, kissing your head. “i think you’ve got a fever, that’s probably why everything hurts worse.” he whispers, rubbing circles on your back. “i don’t love how this looks, so i want to get you a room and some fluids.” he says in a tone that left zero room for argument. he wraps his arm around your waist lifting you gently.
“i should’ve known i was sick, i’ve felt like shit all night.” you said quietly, wincing as he picks you up off the floor. you walk with him to an empty section of the ed. “i’ll be okay, jack.” you say, already knowing what his answer to that will be.
he glares at you with no real heat behind it, and leads you to the bed. “bee. my love. my wife. you are sick. let me take care of you.” he says, grabbing a pair of gloves to start an iv. he grabs the kit, trying to be as gentle as possible. he hangs toradol, and acetaminophen, to reduce the fever and migraine. you closed your eyes, taking a deep breath.
“i’m sorry.” you say softly. “i know i’m a-“
he doesn’t even entertain the thought he knows you want to finish. “nope. you are my wife which means i love you. all of you. in sickness and in health and all that, right?” he says, sitting beside you.
