summary: Jack doesn't feel "jealous" after watching you complain about another first date gone wrong.
pairings: younger resident!reader x jack abbot
contains: jealous, possessive and borderline toxic jack (if you squint?), fluff, medical inaccuracies, lots of flirting + romantic/sexual tension, dennis catching strays (im sorry king i had to sacrifice you as a plot device)
word count: 2.5k
notes: JEALOUS AND POSSESSIVE JACK ABBOT RAHHHHHHH!!!!! not the best thing ive ever written but idgaf . also a little Yes, Chef easter egg towards the end :3
Jack Abbot is many things. a military veteran turned swat physician and an adrenaline junkie to name a few things. another thing about Jack Abbot is that he is not a possessive, jealous man. at least that's what he tries to convince himself when he sees you come into work early with a full face of makeup, a short skirt and a pretty blouse,
“Woah! Where’d you come from?” Lena exclaims. you walk over and throw your arms over the desk, leaning down till your forehead hits the surface,
“I just came back from the worst fucking date of my life, like I genuinely think I’m done with boys and dating.” you lift yourself back up to face Lena. you don’t notice Jack standing nearby looking up at the board, pretending to look for a patient,
“And get this, Lena, not only is he late, but all he did was talk about himself. Like I actually don’t think I said anything about myself until the bill came.”
“Did he at least pay?” Lena asks. you groan and put your head back onto the desk. “And you didn’t walk out?” you shake your head, still face down on the surface,
“No! Please remind me to never waste my time on a stupid date before my shift.”
Jack raises his eyebrows in curiosity as he eavesdrops in on the conversation. Lena turns her head towards Jack, finally noticing that he’s been lingering around for longer than he should,
“Doctor Abbot, did you need something?”
“Nope. All good.” Jack walks away once he’s been caught.
Jack doesn’ t get jealous, especially not over his younger resident’s dating life. he thinks you could do much better though, rather than wasting your time over stupid, immature boys. if it were him, he would be sure to pick you up a few minutes early with a bouquet of your favourite flowers, wine and dine you at some expensive spot, then if everything goes right, he’d kiss you sweetly as he dropped you home. it’s not something he thinks about often though, except maybe on his drive home after seeing you for over 12 hours and sometimes right before he falls asleep. there was also that time he thought about it when he saw a bouquet of pink flowers at the grocery store; he knew you’d love them. other than that though, he’s never really thought about it,
“You good?” Doctor Ellis snaps Jack out of his daydream.
“Yeah, go ahead and page the OR again and let’s move her up as soon as a bed opens.” Jack says. the night shift has barely started and Ellis can tell he’s off his game tonight. she doesn’t try to pry and lets Jack excuse himself from the conversation. he takes a deep breath as he pulls the rubber gloves off, throwing them out. Jack enters the break room to grab another coffee when he suddenly hears,
“Seriously? I love that movie!” you say excitedly nearby in north one.
“Yeah? Here lemme show you.” a male voice replies. Jack puts his mug down and decides to stroll past to check on you. he was overdue for a quick check up on all his residents anyways. he walks over to north one to see you leaning over to look at the phone of your patient. you’re practically cheek to cheek with him, smiling in awe of whatever he’s showing you. Jack lets out a fake cough, breaking up the moment.
“Doctor Abbot, sorry. This is Joshua Harris, he’s got a left fibula fracture, currently waiting on x-rays to come back,” Jack nods, waiting for a further explanation on what he walked in on. “Joshua works in the film industry and was just showing me a picture of him and Harrison Ford!” your patient turns his phone to show Jack.
“Wow…” Jack tries to come off as interested but anyone can tell he really couldn’t care less, “You mind if I steal her for a minute?” you stand up to follow your attending out but Joshua is quick to intervene,
“Maybe, we could see that new Harrison Ford movie sometime? I’ll have a lot of time now that I’ve got this thing on.” he says gesturing to the boot you put on his leg. you exchange a glance with Jack and awkwardly laugh, “Oh sorry, I didn’t realize you guys were…” Josh waits for one of you to complete his sentence. neither you or Jack say anything. you stare at each other waiting for the other to define what this is. he could easily shut down the accusation by saying that he was your attending, but Jack lets the idea of you two dating linger in the air,
“Sorry, I legally can’t accept since you’re my patient. Plus I’m just not really looking for anything anyways.” your words come out in an awkward tone, desperate for the conversation to end.
you consider Jack as your coworker, your boss practically, but you always fantasized that there could be something more between the two of you. there was no denying that he is incredibly handsome and that you’ve always had a little crush on him, but who didn’t? Jack puts his hand on the small of your back as he guides you out of the room and back into the break room,
“Everything okay? Is this about my GSW victim in South 18?” Jack picks up his previously discarded coffee mug and takes a casual sip,
“She’s fine, she just went up to surgery. You just didn’t need that conversation.” Jack says nonchalantly as if he’s not boiling with jealousy. your eyebrows raise,
“I’m perfectly capable of handling my patients if that’s what you’re implying.” Jack takes a small step forward. it’s small but enough to make your breath shallow, enough to make you avoid eye contact with him.
“I know you’re capable. More than anything, anyone here.” Jack says lowly, “I just think if you’re gonna go out with someone that it should be with someone who isn’t gonna waste your time.” your eyes finally look up to his, realizing that he overheard your conversation with Lena.
“Do private conversations not exist in this hospital?” you say as your heartbeat quickens. You swear Jack can hear it as it thumps hard against your chest.
“Not when they involve my favourite resident.” Jack is quick to answer.
“Oh, so I’m your favourite?” the sudden praise brings back a bit of confidence in you. “So, if I’m your favourite then you’d know what’s best for me right?” Jack tilts his head up slightly, smirk slowly growing on his face. Doctor Shen casually walks into the break room, stopping in his tracks when he sees you both,
“Am I interrupting something?”
“Nope. Was just grabbing a coffee.” you say taking Jack’s coffee mug from his hands. you take a small sip of his coffee, keeping eye contact with him.
“Alright…” Shen says throwing his Dunkin’ cup in the garbage. he leaves quickly hearing his name come from a nearby room. you put the mug back on the counter,
“Well, if you’ll excuse me Doctor Abbot, I have a patient with a broken leg waiting on me to push some painkillers.” you say walking back out towards north one.
Jack walks around the ER with pride after his encounter with you. damn right he knows what’s best for you. it’s selfish of him to be greedy with your attention, but he didn’t care. he felt like you were his, even if it wasn’t explicitly said yet. you’re charting your latest patient’s info when Doctor Ellis rolls her chair next to you,
“Hey, so what’s up with you and Abbot?” your eyes keep focused on the screen ahead,
“What do you mean?”
“I mean like, why is he being so….” Parker can’t find the words to describe whatever the hell has been going on tonight. you look over at her as she tilts her head quickly, pointing towards Jack’s direction. you follow Parker’s tiling head to see Jack already staring right at you. he smiles at you before continuing his conversation with one of the nurses.heat floods your cheeks suddenly as you look back down at your screen quickly.
“Shen thinks you guys are fucking.”
“What!” you say louder than expected, grabbing the attention of Jack and surrounding patients. you dip your head back down making yourself small, “We are not… fucking.” you whisper.
“Might as well be with the way he’s been looking at you. Seriously, he looks like he wants to eat you alive.” she stands up, grabbing a tablet and walks away to her next patient.
he looks like he wants to eat you alive replays in your head a few times. you gnaw on your lip at the thought, oblivious to the sight of Jack approaching behind you. he bends down and looks over your shoulder reading your charts,
“31-year old male complaining of lower right abdominal pain, diagnosis appendicitis, patient admitted to surgery,” Jack mumbles close to your ear.
“Very good.” Jack stands back up straight as you spin your chair around to face him,
“You’ve been very distracting tonight.” you say pointing at him.
“Just doing my job.” your eyes widen in disbelief at his response. despite being annoyed at him, he thinks he might die if he looks at your big, doe eyes for any longer.
“If doing your job includes being on my ass tonight, Abbot, I would say you’re doing great at it.” you say spinning back around to face the screen. Jack pulls up a chair sitting close to you.
“Didn’t I tell you that you were my favourite earlier?” he says.
“If being your favourite means you’re looking over my shoulder for every patient and chart, I don’t wanna be.” you say with your focus still locked on your charts.
“Way too late for that.” Jack mumbles. you stop typing to meet his satisfied smile.
“Incoming trauma, cardiac arrest, 5 minutes out!” Lena calls from the desk. Jack stands up and heads towards the ambulance bay.
𝜗ৎ
you’re dragging your feet when the morning shift starts to roll in. the regret of getting up early for that date yesterday is really taking a toll on your body and you’re ready to head home,
“For someone who just worked 12 hours, you look great!” Doctor Whittaker starts as you walk together to your patient.
“Really? Thanks, I had an awful date right before my shift. Never doing that again.” Dennis lets out a small empathetic laugh.
“Dating or getting up early before your shift?” he asks.
“Both.” Dennis laughs a bit harder at your response.
“If you ever wanna talk about it, we could get coffee? Bond over bad first dates or something.”
from a distance, Jack watches your face change from casual into a surprised expression at Whittaker. he turns to Santos who’s also observing,
“What’s going on over there?”
“Huckleberry’s asking her out. I think he’s had a little crush on her for a while since Amy dumped his ass.” Santos replies amused at the sight. you’ve gotta be kidding me Jack thinks.
“Do you think she’s gonna say yes?” he asks. Santos shrugs,
“What’s it to you anyways, Abbot?” he rolls his eyes at the comment. to Trinity, it’s just Jack trying to pry and gossip, when in reality, he’s spent all night showing you that you deserve better and Jack was better. sure, maybe Dennis was closer in age to you, but Jack knows he can’t take care of you the way he can. before he can think, his legs start walking towards you and Dennis. he’s so blinded by jealously that he doesn’t even realize his body is in autopilot,
“Dennis, I think you’re great, but I don't think-” Dennis jumps as a pair of hands grab his shoulders,
“Whittaker! I've got a special patient to introduce you to. You're with me.” Jack's grip tightens on Dennis and pulls him away from you. you stare and watch as Jack takes him away towards the ambulance bay. your eyes lock with Trinity’s from afar, staring at each other in confusion. Trinity shrugs and carries on with her rounds.
slowly, you’re starting to puzzle the pieces together. all the sudden flirting, fleeting touches, always showing up right in the middle of an awkward disaster, Jack was jealous. he wanted your attention all to himself and you liked it. you enjoyed watching him have his way and not letting anyone stop him. doubt crosses your mind for a split second, there's also a possibility you could be wrong about all of this. surely he’s just been looking out for you tonight and all the alleged flirting was you mistaking it for something more than just kindness.
whatever, you’d have to deal with it tomorrow night.
Jack is finally free from the last handoff of the night. his leg is sore, head pounding, and all he wants is to see you one last time before he heads out for the day. he circles the ER one last time and doesn’t see you anywhere. Jack swears he just saw you at the workstation desk a second ago, did you leave without saying bye?
“She left a few minutes ago.” Santos says as she passes by with an amused expression. Jack glares at her, too exhausted to ask why she knew who he was looking for. Jack knows that he’ll see you tomorrow night but he was hoping to see you before you left so he could savor the way you looked at him for a bit longer.
the elevator dings to the top floor of the parking lot. the sun is just about fully risen and the soft sunrays peek through the clouds. as Jack walks down the lot, he sees you putting your bags in the trunk of your car, letting out a deep sigh as you shut it,
“Was looking for you.” you spin around hearing his familiar voice.
“You were?” Jack nods in response. he doesn’t want to leave. he’s exactly where he wants to be, even after being in the ER for twelve hours. you give Jack a tired smile as you both stand silently, lingering in each other's presence,
“I’m gonna head home in a minute, but here's what I think should happen,” Jack starts. there’s a bit of raspiness to his voice that catches your attention.
“On Friday, I’m gonna pick you up a little before seven and I’m taking you to North and Vine.” you tilt your head, brows furrowing in confusion,
“I’m working Friday.”
“You’re not anymore, and neither am I. I’ll take care of it.” Jack is quick to respond, like he was expecting your reaction. a smile slowly forms on your face,
“Was a little jealousy all it took for you to ask me out?” you say with aching cheeks.
“I don’t get jealous.” Jack replies with an unamused expression. your smile still big, finally proving your jealousy theory,
“Right… I’ll see you Friday night, Jack.” you lean up to press your lips to his cheek lightly, finally breaking his straight face.
synopsis: Charlie just wants some undisturbed time with his girl
warnings/notes: part of my 9k celebration. just fluff really.
wc: ~700
No one would call Charlie Reid kind.
And they certainly wouldn’t call him loving.
Except when it came to you.
Charlie met you at some dinner he was dragged to by the commissioner. You were a friend of the mayor. To be honest he hadn’t heard much beyond your name when you were introduced, far too enraptured by your presence to pay attention. But he certainly made up for that later.
He asked you out for a dinner date before the end of the night. Before the end of that date, he’d already secured another, and so on and so forth. Now, it was nearly two years later and you wore his ring and carried his name.
Things had been busy in and out of the station lately and he hadn’t had the time to spend with you as he wished. It had been weeks since he’d been able to take you on anything resembling a date. So, he’d told you he was all yours for the night, to pick where you wanted to go and he’d make it happen.
You’d texted him midday. Got it handled baby. Text when you’re on the way.
He frowned at that, wanting to take care of you. To treat you. But he’d said it was your choice so he’d kept his mouth shut and followed instructions.
When he arrived home, a bouquet of your favorite flowers in hand, he found you curled up on the couch in your comfortable clothes. You stood to greet him with a wide smile. “Hey, baby. Those for me?”
“Of course,” he said before pressing his lips to yours. “You don’t look ready to go anywhere.”
You twined your arms around his neck. “That’s because we are staying right here where I don’t have to share you with anyone. Dinner was delivered about five minutes ago. I will dish it up. All I need you to do is get comfortable and light the fire.”
He studied your face, making sure this was what you really wanted. Realizing it was, he smiled. “Sounds perfect.” He kissed you again before pulling back and handing you your flowers. “Better get those in water, sweetheart.”
Fifteen minutes later found the two of you curled up together on the couch while you ate your dinner, flames crackling in the fireplace and an old movie on the TV. Charlie leaned over and pressed a kiss to your head. “I wanted to take you out and treat you tonight, but this is so much better. My girl’s so smart.”
You shot him a grin that quickly faded when his phone buzzed on the table beside him. He glanced at the screen and frowned. He’d made it abundantly clear to everyone he was not to be disturbed for anything short of an apocalypse. He answered. “What part of ‘do not bother me’ was unclear in the communication I sent out?”
There was a beat of silence. “I’m sorry, sir. I just—”
“Has there been an officer involved shooting?”
“No, sir.”
“Here’s what’s going to happen. I am going to hang up. Then you are going to send out a new department wide communication that states Deputy Chief Reid’s phone is off until sometime tomorrow. If there is an emergency, send a car to the house. And it better be a fucking goddamned emergency. Is that clear?”
“Yes, sir.” The answer was so quiet, Charlie barely heard it.
“Good.” And then Charlie did precisely what he said he would. He hung up and turned off the phone. He left the burner on as he rarely got calls that weren’t emergencies on it anyway.
He dropped the phone on the table and kissed your head, before digging back into his meal. After a moment, he realized you were still just sitting there looking at him. “What’s wrong?”
“You didn’t have to do that, Charlie,” you said, but you had that soft look you got when he’d done something that pleased you greatly.
“Sure I did,” he responded instantly, kissing you gently. “My baby wants a quiet night at home with her man, that’s what she’s going to get.”
A Fucking Nightmare: Michael "Robby" Robinavitch x Reader
AN: Loosely inspired by Ana Huang's King of Greed - I may do a series of these based on the King of Sin series as I can very much imagine John Shen getting filthy with a partner on top of a piano and Brendon Park aggressively showcasing his jealousy at a formal event. - We'll see.
AN2: Everything mentioned about the NFL and their 'Big Tobacco' playbook regarding TBI's, eg hiding data, questioning independent studies, basically lying/denying the long term effects of concussions on players is absolutely true.
AN3: Spot the Grey's Anatomy easter eggs!
Summary: Robby's worst nightmare comes true when his ex-wife shows up as a guest at Dana's vow renewal ceremony.
Because I started reading king of greed
The first time Robby sees his ex-wife is at Dana’s vow renewal ceremony. It throws him completely off kilter because the last he heard you were supposed to be in Seattle giving a keynote speech at a fundraising dinner about the neurological consequences of traumatic brain injuries in athletes but instead you’re here, looking as if you’ve stepped off a magazine in a dress that gets his blood pumping and his dick hard.
It’s a two piece affair in powder blue, patterned with subtle cream flowers over delicate sheer tiers. The crop top is a halter neck that cuts off only an inch underneath the bra line, revealing a thin sliver of skin he acutely remembers running his fingertips over on the nights you used to share a bed together. It gives way to a skirt that accentuates your waist, flowing like a waterfall all the way down to a pair of wedges that he once fucked you in.
“This is a fucking nightmare.” He tells Jack as the two of them linger at the bar, watching you catch up with Jesse. You’re animated as usual, talking with your hands in a way that makes his chest hurt. He used to be the one that inspired that excitement, the one that made you light up like a star while he basked in your glow.
“You need to get over it” Jack raises a glass of bourbon to his lips, the ice cubes clattering against each other as he takes a sip. “She’s moving back here in a couple of weeks, she told me when we bumped into each other at the buffet table.”
“What?” Robby almost spits his drink out, the whiskey burning his oesophagus as he chokes it down.
“We need a new head of neurology, and she was top of the list her work with all those athletes in Seattle.” Jack shrugs his shoulders. “I’m guessing they’re hoping she’ll bring in some more private patients now that there’s a bigger spotlight on the whole TBI thing in sports.”
Fuck my life, Robby thinks. Fuck my fucking life. He’s barely just got over you and now you’re being thrust back into his carefully curated little world.
When you left Pittsburgh, it was because you’d been offered a job working on a medical study with top neurosurgeon Derek Shepherd. He’d head hunted you because you were the top neurologist in the country when it came to sports related TBIs and their correlation to degenerative brain disease.
The author of countless papers on the subject, you were known as the doctor who very publicly gave the middle finger to BIG SPORTS aka The NFL when they tried to shut you down by questioning your work over the course of a decade, using ‘The Big Tobacco’ playbook.
Your grit, your determination and the fact you had absolute balls of steel were just some of the reasons Robby fell in love with you. Although Jack says it’s because he has a thing for ‘cowboys’, people who push the boundaries of their profession, who challenge authority.
And telling the NFL to fuck off and calling them out on their bad behaviour…that’s the biggest cowboy move he’d ever seen during his tenure in PTMC.
You and him had been a match made in heaven… until Shepherd offered you a job with the study.
You wanted Robby to go with you, take up a job that Seattle Grace was offering in the same role. But Robby… he couldn’t leave his people behind. He was the captain of a decrepit ship, one that was barely being held together with duct tape and nails, if he abandoned it, he’d be leaving his entire crew to drown.
So, you’d gone and he’d stayed.
With his shifts and the cost of flights, the distance between the two of you had become untenable. You went for weeks without speaking because he was too exhausted to hide his resentment that the woman he loved, the woman who had always been there for him at the end of shitty day simply wasn’t anymore. And you… you were living in a strange new city, going it alone, spending your nights working your ass off because you didn’t want to face the fact you weren’t the priority in your husband’s life. That would be his mistress, the emergency department also known as The Pitt.
When the divorce papers arrived, he wasn’t surprised. It was simple no contest, something that was processed in just three months.
Then he was single again and life moved on as if your marriage hadn’t even happened.
Only it had, and he can’t deny that when he watches the woman he’s still hopelessly in love with, twirl around the dance floor with one of their more charismatic friends. He knows you don’t have an interest in Jesse, that you’ve been friends so long that he’s practically your brother at this point, but that doesn’t stop the pang of jealousy he gets in his chest watching you laugh together.
“You should make nice with her before you accidently run into each other at the hospital.” Jack advises, tipping his glass towards you in a way that makes Robby want to slap it out of his hand. “Clear the air.”
He sighs, setting down his drink because Jack isn’t wrong. The two of you could benefit from a more cordial relationship instead of this vacant No Man’s Land that exists between you.
He pushes away from the bar, striding towards you in the suit he wore for your wedding once upon a time. He taps Jesse on the shoulder lightly before jerking his head towards you stiffly. “May I?”
Jesse smiles, it’s a knowing one, filled with amusement and mischief as he places your hand into Robby’s palm. His heart slams against his ribcage as you allow him to draw you closer. It’s awkward at first, with his two left feet and his tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth but you take his large hands in your own, adjusting them accordingly the same way you did for your wedding dance. It all clicks into place then, the two of you falling back into a familiar rhythm as you sway to the lyrics of an old love song.
“Jack thinks we should clear the air.” He finds himself saying, his bearded cheek presses to yours. The scent of your perfume floods his senses, summer peaches ripening on a tree in wine country where you took your honeymoon. It’s different from the one you used to wear when you lived with him, but it invokes such vivid memories that he finds his grasp on you tightening at the thought of letting you go again.
“I wasn’t aware there was air to clear.” You inform him as his thumb accidently caresses that tiny sliver of bare back. “I don’t hate you Michael… I understand why you had to stay.”
“And I understand why you had to leave.” He concedes. Your body relaxes against him at his revelation and he wonders… how much of the divorce was really about the perceived notion that he hated you for following your dreams, and not for his own selfish reasons. “I’m proud that you were brave enough to take that leap, the study you did will help a lot of people.”
“It already is, we’ve managed to create a protocol to help with early neurological intervention through symptom tracking which means we can utilise preventative stabilization…” You pause, the words fading away as you realise you’ve reverted back to the doctor version of yourself. It makes him wonder… did you close that part of yourself off when you were in Seattle, did you slip back into the workaholic you were before the two of you married, before he found your off switch. “Sorry… I know it must sound awfully boring.”
“No sweetheart.” He says releasing you to spin you away from him before drawing you back. You melt into him and he wraps his arms around you, more sure of himself this time. Having you in his proximity again, it wakes up things he shut down after the divorce. Thoughts, feelings, the insane urge to take your hand and drag you into a private room so he can remind you of just how much of a good husband he was for you. “You were never boring, just dedicated.”
And you had reason to be. Your father had been your first real interaction with Chronic Traumatic Encephalopathy after he’d retired from the Steelers. You’d watched him turn from a mild-mannered man who loved his family, into something darker, more unpredictable, and eventually… you’d watched him die after he shoved a gun into his chest and pulled the trigger in his memorabilia room. Doing it that way had left his brain intact, his suicide note had said he wanted them to study it, to prove he had CTE, that he wasn’t just some mental case.
“Too dedicated maybe…” The sadness in your voice resonates through his nerve endings as your head comes to rest on his shoulder. His lips brush over your hair, a soothing motion meant to chase away the gloom. “Sometimes I regret-”
Your smartwatch does off, the chime interrupting you. You pull away, and it feels like you’re taking a piece of his heart with you as you check your wrist, spitting out a curse that would make a sailor proud. “I’ve got to go otherwise I’ll miss my plane back to Seattle.”
“Oh, shit yeah, you’d better-” He’s cut off by the sensation of soft velvet caressing his cheek, your lips leaving a ruby red mark on his skin before you step away.
“I guess I’ll be seeing you around Michael.” You murmur, departing quickly so that you can retrieve the purse you’ve abandoned alongside Jesse’s suit jacket. His gaze fixates on you as you hurry for the exit, his fingertips tracing over the lipstick stain you’ve left on his cheek as he plays your words back in his mind.
For the briefest of seconds, he thought that you were going to say you regret the divorce.
Like My Work? - Tip your friendly fan fic writer here!
summary: Brendon Park has no patience for small talk, distractions, or uncertainties. Unfortunately, for him, you happen to be all three of those.
w.c: 5.2K
warnings: the complexities of being Brendon park, coworkers to lovers, slow burn, fluff, character study kind of, no physical description of reader, flirting (Brendon’s way of flirting), medical inaccuracies, sunshine-ish!reader?? Only with Brendon though, grammatical errors
author's note: reblogs, likes, asks, and comments are greatly appreciated. enjoy! Sorry the ending may feel a lil rushed but... this was just for fun! will go back to edit this soon! It’s 3am lol
Brendon Park was notoriously an asshole. everyone who worked at the PTMC knew that first hand. he could make you cry with just a single, unimpressed stare. he knew he was one. It came with the job of being a surgeon.
Surgery required the upmost precision because the human body was a machine. It required perfection and nothing less.
With a high stress job that required him to be perfect in every single aspect that he did, he expected the same thing from his colleagues. Including naive, stupid medical students and residents. He had no patience for incompetence-excuses.
Perfection meant everything to Brendon. It meant that there was no room for mistakes. Mistakes were a luxury reserved for people who weren't good enough. Every single decision made in his OR had to be deliberate.
Every incision had to be exact. He expected-no, he demanded excellence because anything less than that had consequences.
Residents called him ruthless. Others called him an asshole. What they failed to realize was that he simply had standards. Standards that they failed to reach. If they wanted him to coddle them, they should've chosen a different field of medicine. If they wanted encouragement, they should've stayed downstairs and sought out Abbot or Robby.
Because to him, excellence was expected not rewarded.
He had no time for coddling. He had no time for making other's feel better about themselves for their lack of discipline. He wasn't interested in intentions, potential, or excuses. Results and accuracy were all that truly mattered to him. The operating room wasn't a classroom. It certainly wasn't a therapy session. It was a place where the excellent thrived. It was a place where if you hesitated, you were done. It wasn't a place for the ordinary.
Because patients did not care if a resident's feelings were hurt. They did not care if you thought, if you didn't know, if Brendan looked at you like you were nothing.
What they cared about is if they would be able to walk again. They cared about whether their arm would be back to normal. They cared about whether they could play football again—if their career could potentially be over.
If someone couldn't handle criticism (and disdain in Brendan's case), then they had no business being in his OR. The scalpel didn't care about feelings. Anatomy didn't care about feelings. The unconscious patient with an amputated arm certainly did not care about feelings either.
And most importantly, neither did Brendon.
Because if he smelled a single hint of hesitation, then he was out for blood. Hesitation meant uncertainty. It meant that there was gaps in your knowledge that needed to be filled before you even stepped into his OR.
It meant that you didn't study enough, weren't prepared enough, and hadn't practiced enough.
You were simply not enough.
And Brendon did not need someone in his OR, being uncertain. Uncertainty led to mistakes. Mistakes that could have been prevented if you didn't second-guess the knowledge that should have been drilled within you before you entered his OR.
And for that matter, he expected excellency.
Orthopedics was precision. Measurements mattered.
Alignments mattered. Angles mattered. If a screw is placed a few millimeters off, a reduced fraction would not heal properly. It would be permanent. It would mean patients would live with the consequences that was created in his OR after everyone else got to go home like nothing.
He had spent years of studying until the backs of his eyes burned and until his mind felt numb. Years of refining techniques, repetition after repetition, understanding the human physiology-until precision stopped becoming an effort. It became natural to him and expectation.
And everyday, he maintained that standard. He expected the same thing from his residents, his fellows.
In his field, there was no room for guesses or approximations. A crushed femur or patella wasn't fixed with intention. It was fixed with alignments, measurements, and perfect execution. Because millimeters, angles, alignments, and stability mattered the most. Every single screw that's required to stabilize a bone had its own purpose. Its own position. Every reduction of a fracture had to be exact.
Years ago, when he had made a mistake-small, practically insignificant, fixable, and forgettable in everyone's eyes.
But he remembered it clear as day.
He corrected it immediately. His old attending-now retired-had laughed and patted him in the back. It's okay, he had said. Years of teaching unprepared, unconfident residents had made him accustomed to seeing mistakes.
But it wasn't okay. Not to Brendon at least. It didn't make him breathe easier knowing that his old mentor wasn't upset. It ruined his day. And he punished himself internally for making a simple, insignificant mistake.
He never made another one after that.
So yes, while his standards and expectations may be exceedingly high and unattainable in many eyes-Brendon saw no reason to lower them. He believed patients deserved excellence and nothing less. No one should expect that from him either.
He was respected, feared, and avoided. His word was absolute-it was law. Residents learned quickly to steer clear of him, to speak when spoken to, and to keep conversations very brief. He didn't want to have small talk. He wasn't interested in knowing how your day was or how you were doing today.
He preferred to conversations that were purely medical, nothing personal. It had to be the point, precise, and clear. Because if something could be said in five words easily, then it was unjustified for you to speak ten more.
And according to the unlucky ones, asking him if he had any plans on Christmas was apparently enough to land you on his shit list.
His OR wasn't silent because he expected silence. It was only silent because he was silent. The only noise that was constant was the sound of him brutally hammering a screw into the bone and the sound of music playing.
Music that depended entirely on his mood.
On very rare occasions, he did allow you, the anesthesiologist, to choose. Those were rare occasions.
Those were not moments of generosity. They were controlled exceptions and were rare for a reason.
(The day this happened, it took an ounce of willpower for the surgical crew to not openly gape at Brendon. To them, this was an act of generosity. They understood this was Brendon playing nice. A form of an olive branch. He was being nice!)
It wasn't a courtesy, or a gesture of familiarity but because you had earned a level consistency he respected. Because you both had a mutual understanding of precision, perfection. Your decisions were consistent. They were precise. You did not hesitate when it mattered and you didn't speak when it didn't.
You understood what needed to be done and you never faltered in your decision-making.
Everything you did was concise. Your actions were deliberate. Controlled. It did not matter if it challenged the dynamics of his OR. If it was correct, than it stood.
You did not disrupt it without reason.
He recognized the type of person you were because he was exactly like you. While he had his expectations in his department, you had yours within yours. He's seen you with your own students. You weren't as harsh as Brendon but your words carried their own weight. You didn't just correct mistakes, you exposed them. They lingered. They hurt. And your residents remembered them long after the moment had passed.
You upheld your own expectations. You wanted just as much perfection as Brendon because patients deserved excellency. They did not deserve mediocrity. They did not need to hear excuses. Because they did not care what you felt or what you thought. They cared if they would survive a surgery, if the operation succeeded, if they would feel the pain that would come from a scalpel under anesthesia. Because they trusted you with their lives.
Therefore, they deserve nothing but the best. More than the best.
You're sitting in your chair by head of the operating table, next to your anesthesia machine and monitors. You have a cross word puzzle book in your lap, held steady your pink clipboard. Like every other anesthesiologist, you're calm. But not in the way you blend into the background.
It's more deliberate than that. Your presence is quiet, not absent.
You do not position yourself to be noticed unless the situation requires it. You do not fill the silence with unnecessary speech like other anesthesiologists. You stay within your means, crossing out words with your pink highlighter, anchored to head of the table.
He's in the middle of reducing a fracture fragment when Brendon inhales sharply through his nose at the sight of blood filling the surgical field.
Immediately the sound of beeping fills the room. The numbers of the monitor are dropping significantly. You lower your puzzle book down on your chair. Your eyes shift to numbers beside, focused and immediate. You stand up.
Everyone near Brendon stiffens. They recognize it instantly that something was going wrong. You gaze over the surgical curtain and look at Brendon.
"BP's dropping." You state calmly.
He doesn't look at you. His eyes never stray away from his hands and what he's mechanically doing with them.
Without breaking a sweat or focus. Brendon motions to his surgical tech.
"Gauze."
There's a brief hesitation before she places it in his hands. He looks at her briefly, scrutinizing her for daring to even hesitate.
She freezes and quickly mutters a quiet, "Sorry.." He ignores her apology and continues what he's doing.
Again, you're looking at the monitors before looking back him. "Saturation is at 92."
"Noted." He says. He continues what he's doing. He's done this multiple times. He knows what he's doing and he knows what the numbers on the monitors say.
He doesn't panic, he isn't worried. He could tell that the resident next to him is sucking in his breath, sweating profusely. If he wasn't so focused, he'd roll his eyes. Fear would only cripple you in these case. And that meant making mistakes because you can't think.
You're still standing, staring at him expectantly as he works diligently to fix the current issue.
"BP is still trending down. 88 systolic."
"Cause?" Again, his eyes still don't stray away to look at you.
“Likely retraction. Volume is unchanged." You respond.
"Ease retraction."
The resident holding the retractors hesitates for only a second before he complies, loosening his hold. This mere second was enough for him know that hesitation didn't go unnoticed. He knows-just as everyone in the room knows-that this will be corrected later. Outside this room, in a different context, there will be consequences.
The sound of rushed beeping slowly dissipates into a more rhythmic sound. You look at the monitor one last time. Satisfied, you give a small nod at Brendon before grabbing your pink clipboard, then sit back down in the chair.
For a fraction of a second, his gaze wanders and it lands on you. You’re sitting there, pink highlighter in your hand as you cross out another word. You’re composed and unaffected by the tension that follows him.
It's silent again in the room. The only constant is the music. Tension and perhaps anxiety lessens in small increments. Even the resident exhales a small, very quiet sigh of relief and his shoulders lower.
Outside of his service, the silence was never the same.
You weren't always the anesthesiologist that would be assigned to his cases. Sometimes you were pulled in at nights with Walsh. Other times, you would be with Shamsi. Normally it was for a day where you wouldn't be on his case. It was never more than a day.
It often varied. You didn't seem to mind. You liked the variety. Every surgeon was different and the music taste was sometimes interesting.
But people began to notice something. When you weren't assigned to his case, the difference in Brendon was immediate.
Resident's noticed first. They noticed how the atmosphere shifted, how it deteriorated quickly under him if your presence wasn't there to stabilize the rhythm of the room. Small mistakes seemed to be corrected loudly. His silence was heavier, borderline uncomfortable. It was demanded.
Unfortunately for them, you wouldn't be on his cases for a week or maybe longer. You'd been on call for the night shift. It was then that they truly noticed the change in his behavior.
He became worse.
Your absence became the bane of residents' existence.
His OR, despite already having its own expectations, became brutal. It was unforgiving in the way where the most experienced scrub nurse that had been working under Brendon for years began to hesitate. Residents quickly learned that during your absence, things like breathing too loudly or moving too slowly would be enough to be scrutinized.
Sometimes, it would be enough for them to get removed off the case.
Brendon knows something is wrong with him. He understands that his behavior has been borderline aggressive, even for his standards. He finds himself feeling irritated by little things. Residents have been dismissed for insignificant mistakes he normally would have corrected. His routine felt disrupted and he didn't know what it was that was causing it.
At first, he blamed the cases. Then the residents. Then it was the schedule.
Until he caught himself lifting his gaze lift from his surgical field to the head of the operating table. Again.
And again, every single surgery. Only to find a different anesthesiologist sitting there. Not you.
Every time he would enter his OR, his eyes would instinctively search for your pink clipboard that would be balanced on your lap. Instead he was greeted by a book of sudoku.
The irritation would unfold almost immediately.
Brendon Park does not do idle chit chat. That is well known amongst his peers and those that work under him. He does not care about what is polite and what isn't. He doesn't care about how you are doing. He does not care about what your plans for Fourth of July will be.
He cares about getting to the point without beating around the bush. He cares about clarity and things that could be said within five words or less. He wants to know the vitals of patients. Whether the amputation sight was clean. What bones required surgeries.
But he finds himself wanting to speak to you. To indulge in the simplicities of small talk. Of knowing how your day is going. If you had any plans for Fourth of July. His interactions with you outside of the OR become simple.
Questions that are direct, they're straightforward and they wouldn't beat around the bush.
Of where you were. Of who had stolen you from right under his nose for their own needs.
He finds you sitting in the nurses' station in his department on a chair with a tablet in your hands. Next to you is a cup of coffee, to which he identifies is from the break room. Your pink clipboard is also next to you.
"You weren't on my service last week."
You look up upon hearing his deep voice and small smile appears on your face once you realized it was him. It's subtle. Uncomplicated. He thinks that you look beautiful.
The realization is immediate and unwelcomed. It makes him clench his jaw.
You turn your body fully to him and lower your tablet down to give him your full attention. If you're surprised that he started a conversation with you, you don't show it.
Most people did.
You look tired. Not physically tired-though he's sure that you are-but weighed down in a way he doesn't know how to identify. The bags under your eyes are slightly darker than usual. Your shoulders seem to carry a tension that certainly wasn't there a week ago.
He noticed it immediately from just this interaction. It's just noticeable. It's a detail that he's sure other surgeons would be able to notice. Small details, minor deviations, out of the norm. Just a change that other's possibly overlooked.
He hadn't.
A part of him questioned why he paid so much attention to this. He didn't remember the last time he paid this much attention to anyone outside of his OR.
Because that's what made him a good surgeon, he reason. Able to notice minute details like this while other's couldn't. That's all it is. It's so obvious.
"No, I was on call for nights."
"Neurosurgery?" He asks.
You blink in surprise. You didn't think he noticed you.
Rather, you didn't think he even cared enough to notice.
You nod in response, unsure whether to answer him vocally. The rumors of Park The Shark and his issues with small talk didn't go unheard for you.
Brendon studies you for another moment. He wants to ask you things. Things that were uncharacteristic of him.
Subjects that he normally strayed away from because he didn't care to know. But he wants to know. He wants to know so terribly that it's leaving a disgusting taste in his mouth. That makes him want to smack himself in front of a mirror because he isn't like this.
Past romantic interactions like this never left him like this. He feels like his body is malfunctioning and that he needs to somehow perform a factory reset because - this isn't him.
Attraction was simple. It was predictable. It was easy to understand and compartmentalize.
"You look exhausted." There is no sympathy in his tone.
It was a statement of fact. It was an easy observation.
The same way he could easily identify a hairline fracture on an x-ray.
Yet, this doesn't feel like it's meaningless.
Your smile widens into something more. He doesn't know how to describe it. It's genuine, he supposed. It's terrifyingly beautiful. He feels hooked, lost in it.
"I'm exhausted, yes. The night shift does that to you, yknow? Especially having to listen to jazz on repeat for days."
A grin pulls at your lips.
"I think I still prefer your playlist a lot more than other surgeons so far. Dr. Park."
You tilt your head up and look at him. And you really do look at him, your eyes scan his stone-cold face and observe him. You take all of him in. You're not afraid of him. You don't look like you want to run away from this interaction. Your shoulders are relaxed and you lean into your chair more as you really look at him.
You're amused. "I actually feel alive in your OR, Dr. Park."
Brendon stares at you. For a moment, he forgets to answer. The sense, the feeling of malfunctioning is stronger now. It's almost like he is unable to respond.
Which is the most concerning because he always has a response.
Finally, he inhales through his nose.
"That's because my playlists are actually better."
These words left him before he could think. Before he could stop himself from speaking them. It was dry, so matter-of-fact. He realized too late that it was his lame attempt at a joke. At teasing. But the horror is instant.
A brief moment of silence.
Your eyes widen ever so slightly for only a fraction of a second. A laugh slips out of you before you can stop it.
Brendon doesn't react outwardly. But he registers the way your expression shifts from recognition to amusement.
He had made a joke. You laugh once more much more quietly until you settle down with a soft smile on your lips. You look like you've accepted something that he hasn't.
"Oh, yeah? I'll trust your medical opinion on that then." Brendon exhales through his nose but the corners of his lips twitch ever so slightly. A detail that didn't go unnoticed by you.
The interaction didn't take long for it to be shared amongst his department. It only took one nurse and a resident to notice. A shift in tone they weren't supposed to notice. A sound that didn't belong in the halls that Brendon Park walked in. Laughter was shared between nurses, techs, and residents. It was never shared with Dr. Park.
But curious minds that had nothing better to do stayed curious.
They spoke in hallways. In the break rooms. In shared on-call rooms.
"Did you hear that Dr. Park made a joke?"
"What- There's no way!"
"Well, she laughed."
"And he smiled!"
A pause. A beat of disbelief. To them, it was just a rumor A pause. A beat of disbelief. To them, it was just a rumor made by one bored nurse and resident. Because there was no way that the renowned, asshole of an orthopedic surgeon with a major stick up his ass was capable of cracking a joke. Let alone making someone else laugh.
Or even smile.
But the consensus amongst his residents was clear.
"Brendan Park-The Shark-practically smiled."
The news spread quickly like rumors often do in hospitals. He hears about it the same way he hears other rumors. Indirectly. It starts with an R4 hesitating to speak to him. A nurse nearly smiles at him before deciding not to.
Even Abbot and Robby pause when they see him in the corridor of the ED. A joke was forming between them-Brendon can clearly see the way they glance at each other with knowing smirks.
But it never comes out. They focus on the incoming trauma that they called him to look over. He registers the way Ahemed tries to shift his position in front of the betting board. The way Perlah, Santos, and Princess stare at him and whisper to each other in Tagalog. The word "anesthesiologist" doesn't go unnoticed by him either.
He continues moving through the department as he always does-precise and unaffected in appearance. This was out of his control. Things were unraveling and he already disliked it.
He's sure you're aware of it as well.
If the way you looked at him sometimes-amused, calm, and equally unaffected by whatever everyone around you was overanalyzing —is any indication. You meet his gaze too easily in passing corridors. Long enough to mean something between the two of you. But not long enough for others to deem is provocative.
Because you both move on as if it meant nothing. As if it was just two colleagues greeting each other politely.
This, specifically more than anything, was what made people notice.
You smile when he nods at you in greeting. It's brief, practically unnoticeable because of the way your expression smooths over as if your smile was never there to begin with. It was deliberate. It was for him to notice.
But your residents noticed. They quickly pick up on it first. A glance of one of your R2s in his direction then one towards you when you pass by. Some will look at both you for a brief second before looking back down to their charts with a knowing smile.
As of now, you look better than the last interactions you've had. Your shoulders no longer seem to bear that tension you had before. He pauses in his stride as you both come across each other in an empty corridor.
"Dr. Park," you greet him. Your expression is composed-professional-but the small smile that seemed to be reserved only for him flickers in and out before you suppress it.
He nods at you. "Tomorrow. You're on my service."
You let out a soft exhale that resembled a quiet laugh, your smile widens briefly.
"You're getting very predictable, Brendon."
You said his name. It's simple. Casual but lands with more weight than it should. Brendon stops and for a moment, what he feels is akin to a robot malfunctioning—he really looks at you. His head is turned slightly to stare at you. He doesn't speak. He simply takes all of you in.
It's affecting him in a way he doesn't have a logical explanation to. He is well aware that these new found sensations in his body are becoming exceedingly difficult to compartmentalize, which is the problem. Because Brendon Park does not operate without it.
For the first time again, he isn't sure how to respond None of the options in his head feel correct. He could ignore it. He could pretend that he didn't hear the way his name rolls off the top of your tongue perfectly.
You hold his gaze, knowingly.
"Don't use my name like that." He isn't reprimanding you. He isn't upset by the use of his name. It's a more of a constraint for him. A warning of what would happen if you continue doing it.
You tilt your head slightly. You're clearly amused by him again. You don't step back or get intimidated by his response. You should. Everyone else would. You're studying him and it feels like you're stripping him down to his core. Like you know what he truly meant.
Somehow, he feels that's worse.
Brendon sharply inhales through his nose, his eyes still haven't left yours. A beat passes by.
"...Not here."
He doesn't elaborate any further. He doesn't explain what these last two words truly mean. He continues walking to the opposite direction of you. Leaving you left to your own thoughts, amusement rather.
His next surgery is with you. It's on Wednesday.
He knows this because he looked at the OR schedule ahead of time. Once. Then once more. Then again. Until he was positive that no one had changed your name overnight. He knows his behavior is ridiculous. It's unbecoming of a surgeon of his caliber.
Brendon Park does not need to double check a surgery schedule. He looks at them once and memorizes them and moves on. There was no need for him to triple check if your name was there.
You are assigned to his case and that should be the end of it.
But it isn't. Because he finds himself looking forward to seeing you in your chair and your pink clipboard. Seeing you cross out words you found in your crossword with the bright neon pink highlighter you always bring. To see the way you would smile at him-subtle and only meant for him. You are aware of the effect you have on him.
But seeing your name on his cases isn't important as the real reason he's been checking your schedule. For the past few weeks, everyday. And everyday for these past few weeks, you both had different days off. Nothing was aligned and lately, his residents have noticed the mood he's been in because of that.
But today he checked the schedule. Every Sunday, the schedules get updated. And immediately he goes to find your name-hoping to find aligned days off.
You're both walking out of his OR simultaneously down the corridor that led you to the elevator. You're both silent but maintaining the aura of professionalism you both normally keep. He waits to say something until you're both in the elevator.
"You have tomorrow off." He states. "And the day after."
Matter-of-fact as always. As if it was the most obvious thing in the world. It was accurate. It was direct. He knew your schedule because he memorized it.
You blink at him and you nod, slowly and for the first time-you are confused. This dance between the two of you has been predictable, in a way. You have learned the language that comes with understanding Brendon Park.
The nuances and the significance of his words, his attention.
You're not understanding him. His jaw clenches and he exhales slowly.
"You've been working a lot of hours." Brendon says. "Too many, actually."
And immediately, the fact was wrapped with concern.
No, it was care. His wording was precise. It was deliberate like it always was with Brendon. You finally understand and you look at him with more than amusement, you smile. This time it's wide and it wasn't subtle. It was loud.
You're beautiful, he thinks.
"You know, normal people would just ask me to get dinner, Brendon."
Brendon pauses and he stares at you. His gaze is heavy and his fingers twitch. He's sure of himself this time. For the first time, he knows exactly what he wants to say.
There is no hesitation. No uncertainty that would cloud his judgement and years of knowing. For the first time in a long time of knowing you, the answer comes easily.
"Would you say yes?"
You grin widens instantaneously. Finally, no more subtle glances in the OR. No more interpreting intent and words like they contained double meanings. No more pretending that what this is was purely professional.
Especially when the lines of professionalism have slowly blurred for the both of you.
You bring your palm forward and you squeeze his bicep.
You're bold but it doesn't matter anymore. Not when he already has the words he wants to say. The feelings he wants to express.
"What do you think?" You ask teasingly.
"You've been checking my schedule for weeks, haven't you?"
Brendon closes his eyes and exhales loudly. Then for the first time since you've known him, he looks at you with almost fondness mixed with exasperation.
"My schedule hasn't lined up with yours."
You stare at him with awe. Then you burst into loud laughter because he didn't even deny the fact. His response was an admission. That he was obsessively checking when your days off would align. To prepare for this.
"That's really your defense?"
"It's a factual statement." He responds.
"Yes-" You pause. "but you've been checking."
He holds your gaze and he clenches his jaw, inhales sharply at your statement.
"Yes."
His admission landed harder than anything you've heard.
It was real and it was profoundly like Brendon to not beat around the bush. To cut to the chase. To not make excuses. He was precise with his words.
The grin on your face couldn't get any bigger. This was the real you. The side that not many got to see. Just as this side of him was the side that no one but you got to see. It was reserved for you, jusy like the side you only showed him was reserved for him.
"Dinner." Brendon says.
You raise a brow at him. "Dinner?"
"And coffee." Brendon nods. "Tomorrow."
“Oh, and coffee? You really want to see me twice in a day, huh?” You grin. "So you're finally asking me out?"
Immediately, Brendon sighs and brings his hand to his face. "Apparently, yes."
You beam at him and you give his bicep one more squeeze as the elevator doors open to your floor. You wave at him as you exit the elevator.
"It's a date then!"
Warmth settles in the pit of his stomach as he stares at your face before the doors close. He presses his back against the wall and he looks down at the floor. It's quiet and it is just him. Slowly, a smile makes its way to his face and lets out breath that resembles a soft laugh.
summary: through your five years of residency at PTMC, you grew to hate Jack Abbot with all your might. Robby makes sure you come to terms with him, all of it having an unexpected turn as he sends you both to the medical conference in Washington.
warnings: 18+, undisclosed age gap, smut, unprotected sex (plan b mentioned), oral (f receiving), creampie, brief breeding kink, enemies to lovers, one bed trope, curse words, alcohol consumption
word count: 4.8k
“He clearly doesn’t like me, Michael.” You huffed, adjusting the stethoscope around your neck.
Michael Robinavitch was your mentor and also a best friend. You worked together for almost five years after you moved to Pittsburgh. And you were one of the few people who actually called him by his first name.
Robby looked through some papers on the chart, humming underneath his breath, his reading glasses hanging low.
“You are not listening.” You rolled your eyes, walking over to the nurse station, looking through a chart.
Dana glared up at you, shaking her head with a little smile.
“Arguing with Robby again?”
You straightened your back a little and huffed. “I would call it an exchange of opinions.”
Day and night shifts met for a quick briefing, Robby standing tall and serious. You were beside Mel, who looked anxious as always, stealing occasional looks at Langdon who were unusually smiley.
Then your eyes flicked to the opposite, to who dared to stand beside your partner in crime. Jack Abbot with his arrogant and cocky energy.
You scrunched your nose and he caught your stare, giving you a lopsided smile. He always enjoyed teasing you and you never held back.
“So, the thing is there’s this medical conference next week and I have to pick two of us who will represent the PTMC there.” Robby started, he wasn’t a fan of those events so you knew exactly he won’t be attending. You crossed your arms over your chest, curiosity took over your brain and you thought about who he should pick.
Frank raised his hand. “I’ll go. I think I’m pretty capable of doing so.”
Robby shook his head no. “No. I already made my choice.” And his gaze ended up on you. Oh no. Oh no. You knew where this was going.
Inhaling sharply, you were about to speak when he pointed at your figure adding: “You and Abbot.”
Jack raised his brows in surprise, but then his expression changed into an amused one, flashing a smirk at you. “Oh, funny.”
“You can’t be serious, Michael.” You growled, anger fuelling your body.
“That’s my final decision. I expect you two to behave like the professionals you are.” Robby dismissed the meeting, others already whispering and giggling.
You stomped on your feet, walking towards him all the while Jack still stood beside him.
“I won’t go.”
Robby scribbled something onto a paper, clipping it onto a chart not caring about your words.
“Come on. Don’t be silly.” Jack chuckled.
“I’m not talking to you.” You shot him a death glare and he just shook his head.
Michael lifted his gaze to look at you, being all so serious. You know it's just a bullshit facade.
“I’m giving you a chance to solve this— this something, which I don’t understand what is, between you two. Talk it out, spend some time together, I don’t know, but don’t come back from that conference with unresolved issues you have with yourselves.” And he was gone for a patient that just came through.
The way you were pissed off was unbelievably bad. Jack crossed his arms over his chest.
“Well, I won’t be easy on you, so you better get ready.”
“Go fuck yourself.” You scoffed, trying to find yourself a useful thing to do, you decided to go triage.
Arriving into the hotel you were staying in Washington was another kind of shock.
After neverending bickering through the flight, you were excited to get some peace in your hotel room.
Only to find out there was a mistake with your booking and you ended up in the same room as your rival.
One bed
Your worst nightmare, sharing the most intimate space with this unbelievable man.
Jack shook his head when he put his suitcase against the wall, taking another glance at the bed as if he was able to divide it into two.
“Robby, you piece of shit…” he muttered, but you heard it, shooting him an annoyed look.
“I will kill that man, with my bare HANDS.” You were livid, pacing at the window.
“Calm down, it’s okay. This bed is fucking huge, so there’s plenty space for us both.” He was amused.
“I don’t care what you think, Abbot. I’m getting my own room.” You were determined.
Casually, he shoved his hands into the pockets of his pants. “You heard the receptionist. There’s no other room, because they’re overbooked. Everybody is here for the medical conference. So be a professional and suck it up.”
You hated how he was right.
Jack was unbelievably gentle, standing tall beside you, chest puffed with pride when you spoke with other people representing the medical field. He took in how you were glowing while talking about things you loved.
When sitting at the table, you circled the leg of the champagne flute, watching it with an empty look.
“You don’t fancy alcohol?” His voice got you out of your mind.
“Not much.” You murmured, taking a glance at the speaker on the podium.
Jack was listening to everything that was said, massaging his thigh above the prosthesis, it was one of those days he felt utterly exhausted by that damn thing.
You didn’t care, trying to mind your own business, making some notes.
But Jack couldn’t help but steal occasional glances at your figure, the dress you were wearing was really enhancing you, as if you were born to wear that fabric. Clearing his throat, he shook his head to get back to his line of thinking.
You noticed he was staring, but said nothing, because you were already exhausted from dealing with him before, so there wasn’t a point in losing any more time with him. But you had to admit that he looked damn good in that suit, that white shirt under his blazer was really something, with those two buttons undone from the top revealing a little of his greyish chest hair. Swallowing hard, you felt your throat becoming dry, so this was the time you gulped the champagne.
Staying for the dinner and some evening chat with other doctors, one of them flirting with you, Jack decided he had enough and he excused himself to go back to the hotel room. His leg was bothering him to the limits the same as that damn young doctor trying to impress you with his successes through internships.
“Jesus Christ, what the hell?” You huffed when you arrived at the hotel room, a little tipsy, spotting a prosthetic leg casually resting against the wall near the bedside table.
Jack lifted his gaze lazily from the tv show he was watching, already tucked in the spacious bed.
“Scared by an innocent part of a leg? Get a grip.” He scoffed, but there was that sarcastic undertone you couldn’t unhear.
“Pff… I don’t have limbs scattered across my flat, so…” you rolled your eyes, trying to take off your heels, but it was already a struggle given to your tired state.
He noticed your fight with the tiny straps and he sat up on the bed. “Come here, you clumsy thing.”
And you did, landing on your ass on the edge of the bed and he gestured for you to lift your leg up so he could reach for it. Once his large hands wrapped around your ankle, your guts did a flip, the one you didn’t expect.
Jack was focused on the small fastening that was stuck. With the surgical precision he undid it and relieved your foot from the tight grip of the heel.
Then you lifted your other leg and he did the same. Now you had your legs on his lap and he ran his fingers over the curves of your insteps, pressing a little into the marks from the straps.
“You should consider stopping wearing those damn heels. Not good for your feet and back.” His voice soothed something in the depths of your soul, you started to melt under his skilled touch.
“Keep it to yourself, doctor Abbot.” You muttered and moved down to rest on your elbows, the dress hanging on your figure, your skin growing annoyed of the fabric.
Jack let out a soft chuckle, pressing his thumb to your sole causing you to groan in utter satisfaction.
“Fucking hell…” a soft mutter escaped your lips, your head falling back with a deep sigh.
“I know what I’m doing.”
The way he massaged your feet was astounding and embarrassingly great. You thought that you could never admit this to Robby. Ever.
“Sure you do…”
Jack hummed, tracing your ankle with his thumb. “I have an idea. Go take a shower and I’ll massage your feet even more, you can fall asleep comfortably. Hm?”
You turned your head back to stare at him in disbelief, awaiting something mischievous behind it but his face was soft and full of honesty.
“Okay.” You whispered softly, getting off the bed, already missing his warm touch. Collecting your toiletry bag and pajamas, you disappeared into the bathroom.
After a while you were out, fresh as a daisy, a tired expression written all over your face. A scent of your shampoo hit his nose and he cleared his throat.
Climbing into the bed under the sheets, you lay your head on the pillow, looking up at how he was seated against the headboard.
“Were you serious or you were making fun of me?”
Jack patted his lap again, your legs moving instinctively towards him and he moved a little closer to you for you to be more comfortable. You could smell him, feel the heat radiating from his body, but you didn’t feel nervous or scared. It brought you peace and comfort.
“Is this okay?” He asked for your permission in a low tone, giving you a concerned look.
You nodded, eyes closing as he massaged your feet gently.
For you it was a very intimate act. And with your sworn enemy?
“Thank you.” Your murmur was barely heard, but he caught it, smiling to himself, working on your toes.
“I would take care of you every day if you were mine.” Jack sighed into the silence of the room, while you were already out, deeply asleep.
The first sunrays peeked through the curtains of the hotel room, having you stirring in the bed. Something heavy was draped over your upper body, heat radiating at your back. A soft hum of approval escaped your mouth, but then you opened your eyes slowly, confused a little.
Jack had his arm draped over you, holding you close to his chest while his breath trickled your hair on your neck as he was still asleep.
Your mind yelled at you to jump out of the bed immediately, but you decided to shift a little, your stare taking in his skin.
Counting the freckles on his forearm, you actually felt good, safe even.
Until you felt another thing poking into your back, blush was creeping up your cheeks.
“Jack. Hey. We have to get up.” You tried to gently nudge him but all he did was wrap his arms around you tight, his face buried in the crook of your neck, exhaling heavily.
“A few more minutes, baby…” he hummed, grinding his hips into you.
Eyes wide you jumped out of the bed, heart thumping in your chest. “Abbot. Wake up, you dang idiot!” Your voice surely caused him to open his eyes lazily, looking at you and then he shifted to lay on his back.
“What’s the rush, huh?” His voice was hoarse and now you could see clearly the tent formed between his legs.
“Jesus Christ, you have no decency.” You huffed, grabbing your clothes to disappear into the bathroom.
Jack peeked under the cover to seek his morning wood only to grin. “That’s a sign my body is working well.”
Doing your skincare, you still felt the ache in your lower belly, the one that you desperately tried to keep at bay with your own skilled hands. There’s no way you would want to have sex with your enemy. No.
Maybe… a little. Yeah. No.
You shook your head and once being ready, you fled out of the bathroom, taking a glance at him with the corner of your eye.
Jack struggled to put on his leg, grunting and cursing under his breath.
“Need a hand?” You were all sarcastic but in your mind you pitied this man.
“Actually, yeah.” He ran a hand through his messy grey curls and you put down your phone, walking to him. Jack noticed you’re wearing a dress, again, but this time it was a nice summer one with flowers on it.
“You look good.” He hummed out and you just got onto your knees completely ignoring him as you focused on the task and that was clasping his leg on where it has to be.
“Tell me what to do?” You lifted your gaze and you caught his expression. Sucking in a breath he got out of the trance, showing you exactly what he needed help with.
You nodded, trying your best, your dainty fingers helping but that prosthetic bitch had its own mind.
“Shit…” you cursed and Jack propped himself back on his hands.
“Fuck. I hate this.”
You sat back on your heels, taking in his frustrated expression and your eyes wandered down south.
“Abbot, are you fucking kidding me?” You breathed out at the sight of his erection again.
His gaze fell down and he smirked a little.
“Well, you're on your knees…”
Your eyes went wide, mouth open agape when you wanted to insult him but your brain was numb. You could use some relief, a man hasn’t touched you in ages.
“You're an unbelievable asshole.”
“Really? Then why are you blushing? Why are you so flushed, princess?” He mocked you and you noticed his dick twitching in his shorts.
Acting more on instinct, you managed to rip your panties off you and throwing them at him with annoyed grunt. Catching them swiftly, he brought them to his nose, inhaling your sweet scent.
“Guess we’re gonna need to prolong our stay.” His voice was suddenly so deep.
Your hands grabbed his thighs, a longing sigh escaping your mouth. “How do we play this out?”
Jack was still mesmerised by the piece of fabric that used to hug your pussy, but he gave you a look full of lust.
“Robby wants us to get our frustrations out. So, use me. Ride me. Whatever you like. Because I know you’re secretly thinking about all the things you’d do to me.” His body leaned closer to where you kneeled, whispering against your lips as his fingers tipped your chin. You were like a moth caught by the flame, your lips parted slightly, trembling, you were needy as hell.
Not giving you time to speak, he captured your lips in some kinda soft kiss, like testing the waters if you’re gonna kiss him back. And you waited no more. Literally jumping onto him, you wrapped your legs around his hips, his one hand keeping you steady in place while the other was a little behind him to not fall on his back.
“Eager girl.” He muttered in between kisses, gasping when he felt you grinding against his groin.
“Can you shut up for a moment?” You breathed out heavily, arms around his neck, staring into his eyes.
“Never.”
That goddamn smirk that was driving you crazy.
“I hate you.” You gritted through your teeth, your hand traveling down between your bodies, into his shorts to finally take a hold of his girth. And holy shit, girl, your hand suddenly felt very small.
Jack could see it in your eyes, the surprise and warmth of your arousal when you found out how blessed he actually was.
“So, what are we saying?” His hand casually fell down to the curve of your ass, underneath the soft fabric of your dress.
“I’m not gonna praise your cock.” You huffed, palming him, trying not to salivate at how much you wanted to have your mouth stuffed with him. But you won’t give him that satisfaction. Not yet.
Being so focused on that, you almost didn’t notice his hand on your ass moving towards your pussy, his fingers smearing in your wetness.
“Oh, ohhh…” you jolted forward into his chest, whining in process.
“Jesus, love, I think we both need me to be inside you soon as possible, hm?” Jack was starting to get frustrated, expecting you to be more denying as usual but you nodded fast and shifted your hips to navigate his tip to your aching folds. All that while you were holding his gaze, you were shaking at the anticipation and he helped you with both his hands to guide you down.
Once his cock started to stretch through your velvet walls, your eyes rolled back into your skull, mouth letting out a loud gasp, your consciousness faltering slowly.
“Easy, baby, easy… fuck, you’re so tight.” He got you, slowly getting you lower and lower on his length, biting his lip to hold back the pathetic moan at how you clenched around him heavenly.
After a while, you were sitting fully on him, his shaft being swallowed whole by your hungry pussy and you held onto him tight, like you didn’t want to fall off. You didn’t even have a single thought to talk.
“So this is what it gets for you to finally be quiet, huh?” His arm holding you close on his lap, while his other hand reached out to brush a strand of your hair from your face to look at you, to note how you were out of your mind, so pliant and soft.
Then it struck him that you were still wearing that dress and he pushed the straps down your shoulders to reveal your breasts. Licking his lips, he then took your right nipple into his mouth, giving it a proper care, sucking it as if there was no tomorrow.
“J-Jack…” you whimpered, losing your mind through being full by him.
Trailing his way up your neck to your ear, he chuckled smugly. “Come on, baby girl, ride me.”
Lifting your hips, you slammed back, over and over, his hands gripping your hips to help you with your moves.
Face flushed, eyes rolled back, you couldn’t breathe from how much you loved the moment. He was absolutely perfect for you, matching your desire, holding you exactly how you expected from a man.
Sweat formed on your forehead, hair sticking to it, you were riding this man with all your might. And he was there, for you, watching you, without any biting remark, he was enjoying himself too.
Suddenly he stopped you, halting you fully onto his cock. You inhaled sharply, mind dizzy from the lack of oxygen, but you noticed his trembling lower lip, his features tight.
“Huh?”
“I’m gonna come, sweetheart, and–” you interrupted him.
“Don’t care. Gonna take a plan b. Just fucking fill me, Abbot.” ah, there it was, the fire in your eyes was back.
Something dark flashed across his gaze and he nodded. Quickly, he moved you on the bed, flat on stomach, and he did his best to climb on you, slapping your ass gently.
Settling between your ass cheeks, he rubbed his dick through your folds, only to fill you again. It was really hard for him to keep his balance, so he leaned forwards onto his hands.
Your hands gripped the sheets, drooling into the fabric, muffling your moans as he pounded into your relentlessly.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck, oh baby, oh…” he whimpered, it was like music to your ears and finally you felt his dick twitching with release, his thick cum coating your inner walls.
Breathing heavily, you buried your face into the mattress when Jack collapsed onto your back, peppering your bare shoulder in kisses.
“So good for me…” whispering, it gave you shivers.
“Fuck you…” you mumbled and he chuckled.
Jack carefully slid out of you, body still thrumming with post orgasmic flow, and his strong hand flipped you onto your back.
Gasping in surprise, you stared at him when he moved between your legs, laying on his stomach, one of his hands settled on your hip and the other cupped your ruined pussy. He was mesmerised by the way his precious frosting dripped out of you. Carefully, he scooped a little by his fingers, only to push it back into you, causing you to whine in overstimulation.
“Shhh… I almost forgot about you, how wrong of me…” he darted out his tongue and licked a long stripe to your clit, all the while his fingers were curling in your clenching cunt.
“Jack… please—“ you moaned, face frowned and eyes full of tears.
“What is it, baby?” He held you in place, noticing how your hips tried to escape from him even though you ached to come.
“T-too much—“ you gasped when he latched onto your clit with his lips, suckling sounds filling the room and your eyes went wide.
“Fuck— gonna kill you—“ it was all you had to say when your hands flew to his hair, to tug it rough, making him grunt into your core.
“Of course.” His voice vibrated your folds to the point you were going crazy, your pussy making all those lewd sounds of arousal.
Then he let go of you, blowing a little air onto your petal, chuckling at your squirming figure. Pulling out his fingers, having them coated with a mix of your juices and his cum, he propped himself onto his hand to bring them to your lips.
You shook your head no, brows furrowing in annoyance.
“Open your mouth. I want you to taste us.” His voice was commanding and you let out a shuddered breath. You were a mess, you wanted to come already, to be over with it, but you had to play his game.
Holding his gaze, you obeyed, parting your lips and he waited no more, pushing his fingers onto your tongue. Inhaling sharply, your tongue swirled eagerly, moaning quietly at how intoxicating taste it was.
Jack grinned victoriously, getting back to your painfully edged cunt, delving his fingers back into your depths.
“Look at you, taking me so well, who would have thought that you’re such a good girl. So fucking good. Mhm… come on… give it to me, all you have is mine, princess…”
The way he talked, you couldn’t take it, your body screaming in utmost pleasure and pain from the overwhelming sensations.
“You’d be so hot being round and soft with my baby. You were made to be filled by me…” he continued and you were bewildered by this and you shot him a shocked glare.
“Stop— don’t say— holy— Jack!”
But it was all you needed to actually reach your highest of the high, coming around his fingers, sucking him tight with your velvet walls.
Jack laughed softly, feeling so proud that his little talk made you come hard.
Giving your pussy a soft tap, he moved to lay beside you, enjoying your panting breaths, grinning how ruined you looked, sweaty and done.
Fingers grazed their way between your breasts to your neck, ending up on your jaw.
“You’re beautiful like this.”
Turning your head to look at him, you let out a sigh.
“Don’t start with this…”
“I’m just saying what’s true.” His features softened while caressing your cheek.
You leaned into his touch, closing your eyes for a moment. You wanted to savour every possible second of it.
“Robby can’t know about this.” You shot your eyes open with an amused expression.
Jack was smug, running his hand through the strands of your damp hair.
“He’s gonna be so nosy. Prepare for it.”
A soft laugh slipped past your lips, you were staring into the ceiling.
“Thank you.”
He cocked his brow. “For what?”
“Good fuck?” You looked at him again.
“Anytime.” He shrugged and moved to sit on the edge of the bed, reaching for his leg. This time he put it on the right way.
“Motherfucker.” He cursed under his breath and then he turned to see you over his shoulder.
“You have to get yourself cleaned up. I can help.” He offered you his hand and you took it without any hesitation. Still having your dress scrunched up around your waist you took it off and walked to the bathroom with him.
Jack grabbed a towel to clean himself quickly, not bothering about anything else and then he gestured for you to step under the spray of hot water.
While you were cleaning your skin he watched you intently, leaning against the vanity counter until he sat down on the closed lid of the toilet.
After you stepped out, wrapped into a fluffy towel, you let out a sigh of relief. His hand suddenly reached out for yours, bringing you to stand between his open legs.
“I don’t want this to be a one time thing. I’m not a man like this.” His thumb brushed over your knuckles.
That took you aback. “I… Jack…”
“Sorry, I… I just want you to know that I didn’t hate you. I don’t hate you. You captivated me from the moment you entered that damn hospital in Pittsburgh. You and your attitude just didn’t give me much choice.” He chuckled and his words tugged on your chest.
You placed a hand on his shoulder and he lifted his gaze to meet your eyes.
“I was so irritated by your cocky behaviour, I knew men like you. But… it appears that I didn’t know you at all.” Your hand moved to his cheek, cupping it.
A shaky breath went through his mouth. “You’re so insufferable, you can’t imagine.”
Rolling your eyes, you squeezed his hand instinctively. “Oh believe me. I can.”
“So, I suggest we come back and take it easy. No rush. We have to be careful around others on our shifts. What do you think?” Jack stood up, flinching a little, shifting his leg, but still holding your hand.
“Sounds good to me.” You nodded with a smile, while he leaned forward to press a kiss against your forehead.
“Let’s get you that morning after pill.”
A day shift was in full swing when about three in the afternoon Jack clocked in and his eyes were searching for you through the space.
You were on a case with Robby, finished with the patient to be sent to the OR.
Taking off your bloodied gloves, you huffed at something Robby was talking about behind you.
“Yeah, clearly I’m not in the best shape, okay?”
Robby noticed Jack standing at the computer at the nurse station, already watching you both. “Well, maybe you should think about switching for the night since you warmed up with our daddy one leg.” The last three words he whispered near you to tease you and you smacked his arm.
“Fuck you, Michael.”
“Ah, so, I’m not wrong with my assumption, huh?” He followed after you, when you hurried towards the charts.
“What’s the hush?” Jack smirked, taking a slow step forward Robby, who was eyeing him with amusement.
“Michael here just called you the daddy one leg.” You wiggled your brows in amusement, sipping coffee from your cup.
Jack feigned a little gasp, placing a hand on his chest. “You just hurt me, a war veteran, an amputee, Robby.”
Robby just scoffed, shaking his head in disbelief, a wide grin spread across his face. “I’m just trying to find what’s behind this little alliance you two made all of sudden. What the fuck happened at that conference, hm?”
Both you and Jack met with your gazes, but he decided to speak. “Well, you said we have to discuss the shit between us, and we sorted it out, case closed. What’s the matter with that?”
“That you both almost bit your head off and all of sudden you’re cooperating without a fuss. It’s weirdly hard to believe that you just discussed it out.” Robby bounced on his feet, irritation evident from his voice as he shoved his hands into the pockets of his scrubs.
“Get out of your head, Michael. You’re spending too much time there.” You chuckled at your own joke, Jack trying so hard to not laugh.
Later that day, when you were about to clock out of your shift, you stood beside Dana, who was scribbling something down, staring through her readers. Robby was discussing a case with Ellis and Shen who arrived just in time to relieve the day’s, while Jack stood close to them, somehow watching you again.
“So, what’s he like in bed, huh?” Dana nudged your arm, looking in the direction where Jack stood.
You bit the inside of your cheek with a little sigh. “Unbelievable, Dana. Fucking unbelievable…”
summary: dr. parker ellis is too old for situationships. too cool, too indifferent. and yet she's hung up on you, a girl that's constantly traveling — if she only knew that you'd be willing to settle down for her. (parker ellis x f!reader.)
tags: slight miscommunication (or lack thereof, parker's too scared to lose you with talks of commitment) / slight angst / some smut (parker's an eater send tweet) / eventual fluff / parker's down bad for you and the entire ptmc knows it
wc: 4.3k
notes: reader's slightly 'manic pixie dream girl' coded but she's just got a lot of whimsy and parker's obsesseddddd. based off 'edge of the earth' by the beaches.
Parker Ellis is too old for situationships. Well— maybe not as old as Robby or Jack Abbot but old enough that waiting around in an emergency department for a text that may never come is borderline pathetic. The ceaseless symphony of the ER should be enough of a distraction to keep her hand wandering down to her scrub pocket to check her lockscreen for notifications and yet she's checking again, so much that it even garners the attention of her attending.
"You waiting on some news?" Jack frowns as he looks up from a patient's chart as he leans against the central hub of the nurse's stations. Shen passes by, his obnoxious slurping stealing her attention before she gazes back up at the older man.
Parker shakes her head. "Nah, it's just… I thought I felt it vibrate. Thought I missed a text." She drops the phone back in her pocket.
Jack pauses and he has that look where he seems to see right through her, sees the half-lie for what it is: a sad, hopeful wish for a different outcome. Fortunately, her attending leaves it be but it has Parker itching to check her phone just once—
Bzzt.
Maybe she should've been a bit more cautious at how eager she looks as she digs out her phone but the rush of dopamine is irreplaceable when the one person she's been waiting on occupies her screen in a multitude of playful texts.
—
"So. Night shift. This is weird."
Trinity shifts her weight from her left foot to her right foot as she stares up at the board, Mel by her side with her usual shifty yet calm energy. Dubbed as one of Robby's 'pitt-lings', day shift had been her usual schedule until another awkward not-fight with Garcia had her searching for some reprieve to the so-called dark side of PTMC.
"It's not that weird," Mel hums casually as she steps closer. She's been experimenting with night shifts now that Becca seems to crave more independence. Hand-offs had been completed an hour ago and although chairs never seem to catch a break, there's an odd sense of calm that blankets the ED anyways. "Just like day shift but the sun isn't up."
"Thanks, Mel." Sarcasm is easy to reach but it always falls flat whenever it comes to the other resident. Trinity sighs and picks up a patient but it's still so unnervingly calm. However, she isn't bored enough to tempt fate and say the 'Q' word out loud so she sidles up to the charting computers where Crus seems to have taken shelter in between his sips of red bull.
"Here to gossip, Santos?" Crus chuckles knowingly, his gaze fixed upon the screen. Trinity huffs out a laugh as she lets her gaze wander before they land on a curious scene of Parker near Peds, brows furrowed and lips pursed as she glares down at her phone.
"What's up with her?"
Crus follows her eyes over to his fellow senior resident and bites back a grin. "Honestly? I have no idea. Shen says it's an ex-girlfriend. My guess is it's a situationship."
Amusement flickers to life within Trinity as she gives Parker another cursory look. Tense shoulders, desperation evident in that gaze, and yet the slight fidgeting that never seems to settle.
"Situationship. Has to be."
Mel frowns. "I don't see it."
—
Jet lag doesn't touch you anymore when you land in Pittsburgh from Europe, maybe a touch sleep-deprived and dehydrated but nothing a decent nap and a bottle of Gatorade can't fix. However, you call for an Uber to take you straight to PTMC rather than the closest hotel from the airport.
You travel light anyways, a backpack slung over your shoulder as you circle the side of the hospital towards the ambulance bay instead. A security guard stops you, a frown on his lips. "Ma'am, you can't come this way."
A charming smile stretches across your lips. "I know, I'm here to see Doctor Parker Ellis? Unless she doesn't work night shift anymore?"
"I—" Before the security guard could answer, a doctor approaches with an iced coffee in hand.
"You're looking for Dr. Ellis?" Although the doctor—Dr. Shen, according to his badge—maintains professionalism, you wonder if you're imagining the mischievous glint in his eye.
You nod and readjust your bag on your shoulder. The doctor waves away the guard with a friendly grin before he beckons you over. The pitt encloses around you in its own specific energy of the night shift but you fall into step with Dr. Shen without a stumble. You're good at that, adapting and slipping between the spaces to fit in— makes it easy to slip out when you need an escape.
"Are you coming back from a previous appointment?" Shen asks but he knows better, a smile fighting around his straw. He's seen you before, not in person but on the homescreen of his colleague's phone when she'd been too exhausted about hiding her private life. Your hair might've been shorter in the photo but the beatific smile is the same.
"No, I'm just a—" But before you can solve the mystery of who you are to Parker, she appears around the corner and your nickname falls from her lips like a bad habit.
"Bug? What're you doing here?"
Your smile widens and something kickstarts in her chest. It fights against the slight resentment that builds every time you go radio silent ever few days; how could you look at her like that when she never seems to be enough to stay?
"I just landed, I wanted to surprise you," you say simply as you cross the space to gently cradle Parker's jaw. She goes down easily, bending the distance so you could press a feather-light kiss to the corner of her lips while her hand finds your waist. "Are you almost off?"
The mention of work sobers her up and she looks up just in time to see Lena, Shen, and Jack watching in quiet amusement. "Uh— almost. One more hour. Wanna wait for me in the break room?"
You nod and gently squeeze the forearm of the hand that's still holding your hip. "Take your time, El."
—
When the door shuts behind you in the break room, Crus doesn't hesitate to step into Parker's orbit with his red bull long forgotten.
"El?"
"Don't start, Henderson," Parker bites but the little smile on her lips shine likes a million-watt sign that even Trinity's curiosity is piqued. "She's just—"
"— your situationship," he finishes. "I remember her, you know. I was with you. Was she the same one that came by to drop off coffee a few weeks ago?"
The emergency department must've hit a lull because Lena wanders closer along with Trinity in tow, charts momentarily set aside for some good piece of gossip. Princess and Perlah's been rubbing off on her.
"Wait, spill." Trinity all but demands and even with the sidelong glance Parker gives her, the new resident doesn't budge. Looks like someone's already made herself comfortable with the night shift, Parker thinks to herself.
"We met a few months ago—"
"— several months ago," Crus amends with a shit-eating grin.
Parker takes a deep breath. "Several months ago at that shitty dive bar near here. It was karaoke night and the little thing had too much to drink. I was close enough to the stage to catch her before she took a tumble. Guess she saw my badge or somethin' because she asked if I could… check her out."
"Oh my god, that was kinda smooth," Santos grins, the exhaustion ebbing away; who needs energy drinks when hospital gossip works just as well to keep anyone up?
"Long story short, we started seeing each other, but…"
An awkward silence follows when Parker's little audience realizes there isn't anything else to say—or rather, nothing else she's willing to divulge to them.
"It's a situationship," Trinity realizes aloud and now her grin matches Crus, giddy at the new bit of information that subtly chips away at the cool front that Parker always seems to exude. "You have a situationship with that— sorry, what'd you call her? Bug?—and you're not handling it well."
Parker glare sharpens but it lacks any heat with the slight frustrated purse of her lips. "I'm handling it."
—
Parker Ellis is not handling it. Not even close.
Not when you're looking so peaceful, curled up on the lumpy couch of the break room, lips slightly parted for each quiet huff of breath. It's the end of her shift and yet fatigue takes a seat on the backburner of her mind so she could kneel by your side, run a gentle finger along your cheek to slowly rouse you awake.
"Hey, sweetheart," she murmurs and when your lashes flutter open, something inside her cracks at the way you beam so brightly at her despite the late hour. "Sorry for taking so long. Ready to head home?"
You gently take her wrist to kiss her palm before nodding and it takes everything in Parker to keep her mind from creating every domestic fantasy she's had of you. "Mhm, I'm ready." You slowly sit up and whine quietly in objection when Parker takes your bag along with hers, a sleepy frown on your lips when she slings both bags onto one shoulder so you could hug her free arm to your chest.
"Want breakfast?" she offers as the sunrise to peek through the clouds, ignoring the way day shift is watching the two of you exit to the employee parking lot.
You nod, still half-awake. "Waffles. Extra syrup, stat."
A bemused laugh escapes her as she kisses the top of your head. "Yes, doctor."
—
In the beginning, it hadn't been this hard. You were gorgeous but it'd been your smile that stole her breath, that much had been enough to suck her into your orbit even after you landed right into her arms. But in the beginning, it'd been something just physical.
"Maybe it can be… a few times thing," you had tried to explain over a glass of water. Parker had shepherded you to the bar to get you hydrated again, the flush on your cheeks slowly dissipating as you sobered up under her gentle guidance. Her hand was warm against your thigh, knees knocking into one another as she had all but dragged your stool closer until your thighs had parted to make room for hers.
"A few times thing?" Parker repeated with an amused chuckle.
You didn't back down, just elaborated with a smile that she couldn't quite parse through. A Mona Lisa type of smile, Jack would comment wryly. "Mhm. A few times thing, not a one time thing. It works out, doesn't it? You're an ER doctor, very hot of you by the way, and I… I travel a lot. I'm never in one city too long but if the stars align and you're free while I happen to be here, then we can totally fuck."
She choked on her Dr. Pepper at the blatant invitation but she focused on something else entirely, her smile widened. "What do you mean, while you happen to be here?"
"I mean, I don't really choose where I go sometimes." You had taken another dutiful sip of water and you were rewarded with another pass of her hand along your thigh. "I spin a globe and wherever my finger lands, that's my next destination…"
There was a story there, Parker knew it, but she decided back then to not pry just yet, lest you lose interest if she demanded a potential sob story in a bar. She must've played her cards right because she had you under her within a couple hours, moaning her name like a prayer.
A couple months in, she'd begun to make room in her closet for you, on the random week or weekend Pittsburgh had been your destination of the month. Maybe that should've been the first red flag that Parker's starting to crave more than this unorthodox relationship but she's already six feet deep when one day, she rolled over and nearly smothered herself into her pillow to catch the faint traces of your perfume.
One month ago, she's accepted her fate and can only pray that your little globe would lead you back to her.
—
It feels like home whenever you pass the threshold of Parker's apartment, but instead of the terrifying gallop of your heart that follows the idea of settling down (tachycardic, Parker would say—only because she knows how squirmy and turned on you get whenever she talks 'medical'), your heart rate settles. Like the fight or flight instinct inside you just turns off around Parker. And maybe that alone should be enough to terrify you anyways but it just has you seeking her out.
"You wanna shower first, lovebug?"
The full nickname never fails to bring forth a smile as you nod, watching Parker set your things down by the couch to free her arms so she can sling them low around your waist. "Yeah, I smell like plane."
She leans down to kiss along your temple, cheek, and jaw. "Smells good to me." With an indulgent grope of your ass, she hustles you over to her bathroom as your laughter echoes behind you. It's domestic and heartachingly perfect, living in this limbo of unnamed connection that's making you want more than just a stolen weekend. So maybe you stopped spinning the globe exactly five weeks ago, the countries and places you visit acting as placeholders to kill time before Parker Ellis pulls you back in; there's only so much distance you can go across the earth before you're right back where you started.
You shower quickly and efficiently, stealing her body wash to sate the homesickness that's been festering the moment you had left a few weeks ago and is only now abating back in Parker's presence. With nothing but a towel on, you step out to see her on the couch, TV on and a cup of coffee in hand.
"Are you working tonight?" you ask, a droplet of water sliding down the nape of your neck as you approach until your knee bumps against hers. An appreciative gaze runs down your body and you burn with delight.
She shakes her head. "No, I'm off for the next couple of days. So you didn't have to seduce me in that tiny little towel to convince me to stay," she teases, a hand sliding up the back of your thigh to skim the skin beneath your towel.
Your eyes roll but your smile is bright, playfully swatting her hand away as you head over to her bedroom. "Nuh-uh. You smell like hospital, Ellie, go shower then maybe I can share the bed with you." You drop the towel just right before you shut the door and she's left there reeling, mouth slightly agape.
"Cruel woman," she calls out but she hauls ass to the bathroom anyway.
—
"… god, yes—! right there…! fuck, fuck, fuck—" you squeal, hands fisted around the sheets beneath you as your thighs clamp like a vice around Parker's head. She's already wrung out three orgasms from you, once from her fingers alone, the next two with her strap (lavender, your favorite), and now she seems dead set on killing you with a fourth.
Her mouth is precise, her tongue deadly accurate as she tongue-fucks you with a brutalistic rhythm— it'd almost be considered clinical if it isn't for the way she's moaning around your sopping cunt while she grinds against the mattress. "Cum for me, sweetheart," she croons as her lips glide up to suck around your nub, her fingers taking the place of her tongue as she watches you arch off the bed and finish right on her face.
Your tense muscles slowly loosen as your hips sink back down into the bed, whining quietly when you feel Parker's hands massage your calves to alleviate any cramping for when you hurtled into your final orgasm. "I hate you," you say, eliciting an amused laugh from your lover as she places feather-light kisses up your body before settling in beside you.
"No, you don't."
You shake your head, lifting it so you can rest it right onto her chest while her arm fits itself around your frame. "No, I don't," you confirm with a quiet sigh, pleased and content.
—
It's rare for your visits to coincide on Parker's off days. It makes the short time she has with you feel longer in comparison to the days where you could see her between shifts, spending it mainly in bed or in the same four walls of her apartment.
("I can always call off for you, sweetheart, it's fine—"
"No—! Then it wouldn't be serendipitous, Parker. Imagine a weekend where the globe takes me back to you and fate decides to not keep you at the Pitt for me. Wouldn't that just be the perfect sign?"
Parker didn't quite agree but she couldn't ever say no, not when you get hung up on signs and hidden meanings and fate— it sounds like you've been circling the idea of the two of you being soulmates and she likes the sound of it too much to ever negate your own thought processes.)
So when you ask to see the city rather than be spoiled to death with more orgasms (another glaring sign that this has always been more than physical), it takes her a second to nod and agree as she takes this chance to show you that the two of you could be more than fuckbuddies.
"Where are we going?" Despite your third time asking, Parker merely hushes you with a playful kiss to your forehead before helping you into the passenger seat of her Jeep.
"You'll see, sweetheart."
It takes all your energy to keep from asking her to pull over as she drives, looking unbelievably attractive with the way she's got one hand on the wheel and the other curled around your inner thigh. With the short skirt you've got on, each pass of her warm palm seems to land closer and closer to where you usually need her the most.
"Parker…" you huff. She chuckles and at a stoplight, her hands move back down to your knee before stealing a kiss from you across the console. "You're such a tease." She neither confirms or denies it, just sends you a wink before turning her attention back to the road.
The drive takes you to the Conservatory and Botanical Gardens, eliciting an eager gasp from you. After the hassle of parking and admission (which Parker pays for without a chance of arguing), her fingers tangle with yours as the both of you stroll along the pathways.
Conversation flows easy and with the sun as your witness, you realize that spending time with Parker outside of the bedroom doesn't necessarily leave you like a fish out of water, struggling to pass the silence that isn't a moan or a desperate cry of her name.
"So where did your globe take you this time?"
After the botanical gardens, Parker had taken you to her favorite pizza place, buying a pie for the both of you to share. Not wanting to head back to her place yet, she's parked at an empty lot with the two of you sitting on the hood of her Jeep with the pizza box between you both.
You glance back down from where you've been staring up at the starless sky, mid-bite. "Rome," you hum, reaching for a napkin to wipe your mouth before Parker beats you to it. Her touch lingers. "Didn't really stay too long, might've gotten homesick."
Parker couldn't hide the surprise on her face even if she tried. "Homesick?" The unspoken question is there: what's home to you?
"Mhm. Homesick." The pizza box is shut and put away as you lay down, resting across the hood with your head nestled on the meat of her thigh. She waits patiently, her fingertips tracing your features gently. "My aunt traveled a lot and when she passed, she made me promise to see the rest of the world for her."
"You've seen a lot of the world already," Parker muses quietly.
"I did. She said that once I've seen my fill of the world to come back home. Maybe that's what's happening now."
The meaning of your statement settles deep in Parker's bones, her heart fluttering in a way that felt like hope. She can't deny that the gaps between your visits have been lessening far more frequently, feeding the impractical dreams of asking you—wanderlust personified—to stop flying. To stay here with her.
"You know what I want from this," she says quietly. "I think I've made it obvious."
Your laugh is delicate when your eyes finally meet hers, reaching up to cradle her jaw as your thumb skims along her cheek. "I think I need you to be more obvious, Parker. Every time I visit, I keep waiting for you to stop me from packing."'
"Can't ask you to stay for me when you've got the rest of the world to see, lovebug," she frowns. As much as she's been dreaming of this, she can't be the reason you clipped your wings.
"Parker, I stopped spinning the globe."
Your confession makes her pause. "What?"
Slowly, you sit up and she moves in tandem, bringing you close to straddle her lap as her arms wind around your waist. Your hands lock loosely behind the nape of her neck. "I stopped spinning the globe. I just… went wherever to pass the time, just to keep moving, but I couldn't stop myself from just going back home to you anyways."
Her eyes search yours and she must've found the confirmation she needs because when she kisses you, all the walls you both have half-heartedly drawn up crashes down. It isn't the first kiss you've shared, hell—not even the hundredth, and yet the way she kisses you without any hesitation elicits a newfound desperation to sit even closer.
But she slides slightly against the hood of the car and she laughs gently against your seeking mouth to reach behind and stabilize the both of you with a palm against the windshield. "Hold on, sweetheart—" she mutters as she carefully gets off the hood with you still in her arms, your legs wound tight around her waist. With her feet now planted on solid ground, she hikes you back onto the hood before leaning in to kiss you without a second to waste.
"Can't believe we're having our first kiss in the parking lot of a pizza parlor," you mutter against her mouth and she nips your lower lip in reply.
"Baby, this isn't our first kiss," she mumbles back, refusing to part from your lips for even a second.
You shake your head. "It is— as girlfriends."
The confidence that reverberates from those four little words draws out a pleased, dreamy sigh from her as she nudges the tip of her nose against yours. "So we're girlfriends now?" Parker teases anyway, just to see the way your nose scrunches up.
"We better be. You kissing anyone else, Doctor Ellis?"
"Wouldn't dream of it, lovebug."
—
EPILOGUE.
The sliding doors of the ambulance bay open for you and this time, Ahmed tips his head to you in greeting.
"Morning, Bug."
Ever since your first arrival, the nickname Parker gave you was immediately adopted by the rest of her colleagues. Despite her griping and whining, you never really did mind so she would drape herself around your back, huffing and whining into your neck much to everyone's utter surprise.
"Good morning, Ahmed," you chirp as you flounce into the ED just as handoffs have been finished up. Lena finds you first and you casually set a banana bread muffin onto the nurse's station before handing Shen a fresh cup of iced coffee from the artisanal cafe a few blocks down. Your gifts brighten up the end of what seemed to be a brutal night shift.
Dr. Robby chuckles and even his cool exterior as chief of the PTMC crackles beneath your insistent warmth when you make it to one of the charting computers where he's perched himself at. "Good morning, Bug."
"Hi, Dr. Robby. Muffin?" You offer the tray you arrived with, rewarding the older man with a beatific smile that he even falters at. "Is Parker done?"
Jack cuts in with a swiftness, stealing a muffin with a large bite. "She'll be right out, darlin'. Make sure she gets some proper rest, she got stuck with the few Dr. Googles."
You wince and nod in understanding. "Got it. Thanks for taking care of my girl, doctors." The two older men chuckle in fond unison, their gaze following the way Parker materializes from one of the rooms in South (after finishing a handoff with Trinity) and immediately perks up when you cross the distance to greet your girlfriend with a chaste but sweet kiss.
Parker Ellis had always been one of the cool-headed residents, quick to adapt to any situation in an emergency department and could be relied on to stay steady. Calm, collected, and undeniably charming only to fall apart and unravel into a blubbering, giddy mess when you deign to spare her a gentle smile.
Jack chuckles as he watches the way Parker slings an arm around your waist, dragging you into her side to press an obnoxiously aggressive kiss to your temple and cheek that has you squealing in delight while the both of you finally exit the hospital.
Before Jack could turn away to finish up his charts, he sees Ahmed clear the white board in the security breakroom to scrawl on a new betting pool category.
NEW POOL: Parker + Bug. Wedding date?
thank you for reading! reblogs + comments + asks would be highly appreciated ♡
dbf!jack abbot x college student fem!reader, the craziest this gets is kissing, dbf!jack abbot is weak for reader idc, summer vibes bc i can’t wait to be in the pool, very poorly written but i’m having fun, summer song by remy bond inspired this, enjoy! I'm very nervous to post this...
⋆☀︎｡ dbf!jack abbot who looks forward to seeing you every summer. you've been away at college for so long! :(
despite your efforts, jack doesn’t text you when you’re at school. you’re young and still go to parties and regularly hangout with your friends and he thinks the last thing you need is some old man bothering you.
but sometimes, when it’s late and he’s maybe had a couple of beers, he really starts to miss you. then he’ll text you something short and sweet like: “Hope school’s going good.” or “Only a few more weeks until break.”
⋆☀︎｡ dbf!jack abbot who always manages to greet you by asking "where's the old man at?" when he walks into your house.
the second you tell jack everyone’s in the backyard, out of sight, he’s dragging you down a hallway and pressing you against a wall. his lips are on your neck, mumbling “missed you so much, sweetheart” between kisses.
⋆☀︎｡ dbf!jack abbot who loves seeing you in your tiny bikinis.
he takes a step back, letting the hand he has on your waist trail down to the tie of your bottoms. he dips his thumb underneath the thin material that rests on your hip. “i like this color on you.” his eyes will trail down your body, appreciatively.
a little flustered, you say thank you. jack kisses you, it’s more of a peck, before telling you “let’s head out there before your dad comes looking for you.” with a short nod towards your backyard.
⋆☀︎｡ dbf!jack abbot who finds any excuse to spend time with you when your family’s around.
your dad is manning his grill, bragging to jack about some new blackstone he bought from his buddy at work. you spend most of the evening in your pool, soaking up the sun while it’s still hot, but eventually, the night starts to cool down and the water starts to feel warmer than the air. you wrap yourself in a beach towel and pad inside.
thankfully for jack, your dad is hyper-focused on his quickly cooking hot dogs. he follows you inside with the excuse that he needs another beer. you’re standing in front of your fridge, dripping water onto the tile, and grumbling to whoever’s walked in about how there’s nothing to drink.
“i’ll take you to the gas station. need more beer anyways.” jack offers. excitedly, you mention those fruity drinks you like—the same ones he teases you about because they "barely taste like alcohol."
⋆☀︎｡ dbf!jack abbot who casually asks "you have a boyfriend yet?" once you’re settled in his truck.
your answer is a short and simple "no.”
jack already knew that, but what's the harm in asking?
he glances at you and grins. “none of the college boys catching your eye?”
you glare at him. “no, not at all.” you sigh, a little too annoyed, and shift in your seat. “i don’t wanna be with any college boys, jack.”
he glances at you, again, but his grin is replaced by something else. maybe a little bit of embarrassment. he’s a smart man, he knows how wrong it is. he knows he shouldn’t like you.
still looking at him, you pout. “sorry.”
“don’t be.” he shakes his head, eyes glued to the road. “there’s no reason for you to be sorry, sweetheart.”
⋆☀︎｡ dbf!jack abbot who insists you connect your phone to his aux when you start messing with his radio. you shrug it off, partly because you're still a little annoyed, and because the gas station is only a few minutes away.
but jack insists, saying, "c'mon, i wanna know what kinda music you're listening to these days."
⋆☀︎｡ dbf!jack abbot who turns to look at you when he parks his truck around the side of the gas station. you turn towards him.
he knows you're annoyed. if it weren't for your face, it would be from the fact that he can feel it in the air between you.
“hey..." jack frowns. he never wants you to be upset, especially not over him. "sweetheart, c’mere.”
you meet jack over the center console, a little uncoordinated in the small space, but desperate. his hand moves to cover the side of your face, gently stroking your cheekbone.
"y'know i love you, sweetheart." he whispers against your lips. "y'don't have to worry about not having me." apologetically, he drags his thumb against your bottom lip. "let's get you your drinks."
⋆☀︎｡ dbf!jack abbot who loves kissing you. he blames it on the adrenaline of feeling young again, sneaking around and pretending he doesn't know what your lips taste like, but he knows it's more than that. it's because it's you.
please like & reblog if you enjoyed! thank u @shawpriya for the help with these ☻
Can I order an appetizer of Jack & Sabrina Carpenter, and for my main Titus x Killer!Reader?
thank you so much! you can find you appetizer here - house tour
and you main here:
It was just as exhilarating as you’d hoped it would be. The thrill of the kill, watching the shock and terror fill the man’s eyes despite him not being able to move. You enjoyed experiencing the man’s fear before he died, it felt satisfying and righteous like you were delivering justice. In a large way, you were. You’d rid the world of a man who’d caused irreparable damage to several young girls, the world would spin a little easier without him in it.
You got rid of the man’s body just as you’d planned - cut, bag, discard. You’d gone over every detail for weeks that the whole operation went extremely smoothly, no issues or close calls or things to worry about later. You’d murdered a man and the world was none the wiser.
Well, everyone except Titus. But you didn’t know that yet.
Good Job, Aria! And... Surprise? Michael Robinavitch.
Warning: This fic contains one overworked mama who mistakes pregnancy symptoms for stress, one ER doctor who goes from medical professional to terrified husband in approximately three seconds, and one five-year-old who successfully handles an emergency better than most adults. Expect kitchen-floor panic, tiny shaking hands dialing 911, ambulance rides powered entirely by love and fear, proud declarations of “I called the ambulance like Papa taught me!”, hospital staff witnessing family chaos in real time, surprise pregnancy reveals, emotional whiplash, Michael forgetting how words work after hearing “you’re pregnant,” and one very proud future big sister convinced she personally saved both Mama and the baby. Read with tissues, a warm blanket, and emotional support snacks because the feelings arrive before the ambulance does.
It happens on an otherwise ordinary afternoon, the kind that starts with dishes in the sink, laundry waiting in a basket, and you telling yourself you will sit down in “just a minute” after you finish one more thing. You’re in the kitchen, moving on autopilot the way you always do, because the house never really stops needing something from you, and you’ve gotten so used to carrying all of it that the warning signs barely register anymore.
The room tilts once, very slightly, like your body is trying to tell you to slow down, but you brush it off. Stress, you think. Exhaustion. Maybe your period is late because you have been running yourself too hard again, juggling Aria, Michael, the house, the endless little tasks that never seem to end. You reach for the counter...
And the next thing that happens is the sound of your own body hitting the floor.
It is not dramatic in the way people imagine it. No warning, no graceful collapse, just a heavy, frightening thud and then nothing. The kitchen goes blurred at the edges, then dark, then all you can hear is a small, panicked voice that sounds far away at first and then suddenly very close.
“Mama?”
Aria.
Her little footsteps come rushing into the kitchen, fast and uneven, and when she sees you on the floor, her voice breaks immediately. “Mama!” She runs to you, tiny hands hovering over your face like she is afraid to touch you wrong, afraid you might disappear if she does. Your vision flickers in and out, and you can barely keep your eyes open long enough to see her frightened face above you. She sounds so small, so terrified, that something in your chest aches even through the fog.
“Baby…” you manage, though even that feels weak.
She starts crying at once, but there is no hesitation in her, no freezing in panic. You and Michael taught her what to do for emergencies, because Michael insisted on it more than once what to say, what numbers to dial, how to stay calm enough to ask for help. And now, with tears streaking down her cheeks, she does exactly what he taught her.
Her tiny fingers fumble with the phone on the counter, but she gets it, and when the dispatcher answers, Aria’s voice trembles hard but stays determined.
“Help… help my mama,” she sobs, sucking in a breath. “Please. She fell down.”
The dispatcher speaks gently on the other end, and Aria listens the best she can, repeating your address in a tiny shaky voice, exactly as instructed. “PTMC,” she says when asked where to bring you, because that is where Papa works. Because in her little mind, that is where safety lives. When the ambulance arrives, the flashing lights fill the driveway in a way that makes the whole house feel too bright and too unreal. By then you are awake enough to register movement, voices, the weight of being lifted carefully onto a stretcher, but everything still feels floaty and strange around the edges.
And then Aria is there again, holding onto the side of the gurney with both hands, crying quietly while the paramedics work around her. One of them asks if she is okay, and she nods even while tears are still falling. “I called 911,” she says, as if this is both her proof and her apology.
“You and papa taught me.” There is so much pride in that last part, even through the fear, that your heart squeezes painfully in your chest. She looks so small beside the stretcher, so brave and terrified all at once, and when she tells you again in a trembling voice, “I called the ambulance like Papa said,” you want nothing more than to scoop her up and tell her she did everything right.
At PTMC, the moment the ambulance doors open, Michael is already moving. He sees the stretcher before anything else, sees your face and Aria’s tears and the way the whole world seems to go still around them. His expression changes so fast it is almost startling—professional reflex first, fear underneath it, and then something sharper when Aria looks up and spots him.
“Papa!” she cries, rushing toward him before anyone can stop her, still clutching the edge of her stuffed bunny that one of the paramedics tucked into her arms. Michael drops down instantly, one hand on her shoulder and the other already reaching for you as they wheel you into the ER. “What happened?” he asks, and there is no doctor voice now, only father and husband, strained thin with worry.
Aria answers for you because you can’t yet explain it properly. “Mama fell,” she says, still crying. Then, as if remembering something very important, her little face straightens with effort and she adds, “I called the ambulance. Just like you said, Papa.” Michael looks up at her sharply then, his eyes widening for a split second as the words hit him not because he doubts her, but because there is something so heartbreaking and beautiful in the fact that she did exactly what he taught her to do, even while she was scared out of her mind. He cups the back of her head immediately and kisses her temple, whispering, “You did good, baby. You did perfect.”
The medical side moves quickly after that. Dana is there first, all focused calm and familiar reassurance, while Samira steps in to help with your vitals. Michael stays close enough to see everything but far enough to not get in the way, which might be the hardest thing for him to do. He keeps one hand on Aria and one on you whenever he can, his jaw tight with worry.
At first everyone thinks the fainting spell was just stress and exhaustion, maybe overwork from too much cleaning and not enough rest. You think it too. You are embarrassed, even a little annoyed with your own body, because it feels stupid to need an ambulance over something that probably should have been obvious.
Then Samira orders a routine test because your blood pressure is lower than they like and your symptoms do not quite fit only stress, and the room shifts in that quiet, almost invisible way hospital rooms do when the answer is not what anyone expected. Michael notices first, of course, because he is watching everything—your color, the staff’s tone, the tiny glance Samira gives Dana, the way the test panel is carried in with more care than before.
You are still half out of it when Dana returns, but she is smiling in a very particular way, the kind that says something has just been uncovered that will change the shape of the whole day.
“Michael,” she says lightly, and then looks at you. “Congratulations.”
You blink at her. “For what?”
For a second, nobody answers. Michael’s face goes blank in that stunned way of his, his eyes moving from Dana to Samira to you as if the room has just rearranged itself around a truth he hasn’t reached yet. Then Samira gives you the kindest, gentlest smile and says, “You’re pregnant.”
The words barely land at first. Your brain catches on them and then drops them again, because they do not fit inside your current understanding of the day. Pregnant. That is not possible, or rather, it is possible, but not something you had been thinking about because you were too busy being tired, too busy chasing schedules and chores and Aria’s needs and Michael’s long hours and the constant noise of life. The lateness of your period suddenly makes horrible, bright sense in a way that makes your face heat all at once. Stress. Exhaustion. The symptoms you had blamed on everything except this.
Michael makes a sound somewhere between disbelief and shock and a laugh that never fully becomes a laugh. “Pregnant?” he repeats, as if saying it out loud might make the room confirm it more clearly. His eyes flash to yours instantly, and the emotion there is so raw and surprised that for a second even you cannot look away. “You’re pregnant?”
And because the universe apparently enjoys watching him process things one after another, Aria gasps too, loud and delighted through her still-sniffling tears. “A baby?” she whispers, then looks between you and Michael like this is the most important discovery ever made. “Mama, is there a baby?”
The whole room falls briefly into stunned silence before Michael’s face changes again and this time into something softer, more careful, more stunned than anything. He steps to your side immediately, one hand moving to your shoulder while the other hovers near your stomach like he is suddenly aware of how to touch you all over again. “You didn’t know?” he asks, and the answer is so obvious in your expression that he exhales slowly, almost laughing in disbelief. “You really didn’t know.”
“No,” you say, still trying to process it yourself. “I thought it was stress.”
Michael looks at you for a long second, then gives that tiny helpless shake of his head that says of course you did. Because you always carry too much. Because you always assume your body will keep up with your life. Because none of you imagined this would be the reason you passed out in the kitchen while your daughter called for help like a tiny emergency operator.
And then Aria, still holding onto the side of your bed with her stuffed bunny tucked under one arm, looks at your stomach with absolute wonder and says, “I saved Mama and the baby?”
That does it. Something in Michael’s face breaks open completely. He laughs once under his breath—not because anything is funny, but because it is overwhelming and ridiculous and terrifying and beautiful all at once. He leans down, kisses Aria’s forehead, then bends to kiss yours too, his hand warm against your cheek.
“You did,” he murmurs, voice rough with emotion. “You absolutely did.”
Aria beams, still teary but proud in the way only a child can be when she knows she did something big. She hugs your arm carefully, then looks at Michael with all the seriousness in the world and says, “I called the ambulance like you taught me, Papa. I was very brave.”
Michael swallows hard, eyes shining as he wraps one arm around her and the other around you, drawing the two of you into him as gently as he can in a hospital room that has suddenly become the place where your family’s life changes all over again. “You were,” he whispers. “You were perfect.” And standing there between the beeping monitors and the quiet hum of the ER, with Aria tucked close and your hand in his and a brand-new tiny life already beginning to exist, he looks at you like he cannot decide whether to laugh or cry first.
Maybe both.
Probably both.
Please do not copy my work. If you enjoy it, I’d really appreciate your support by liking and reblogging instead of reposting or copying. Thank you for respecting my writing and giving proper credit. 🤍 xoxo, offthepitt.
Summary: Brendon is forced to deal with a vindictive POS when a dozen red roses are delivered to your door.
SET AFTER:
Rockstar - Brendon Park meets his match against PTMC's fiery new attending.
Pussy Wagon - A spilled drink leads you to see a different side of your nemesis Park The Shark.
The First Time (NSFW) - Fireworks aren't the only explosive thing happening at Jesse's Fourth of July party.
A Loaded Gun (NSFW) - Hate sex has never been so fucking hot...
This Is Not A Love Story - Brandon tries to set a rule after a 'sticky' situation.
The Game - Brendon finds himself breaking his own rules when it comes to you.
Pittfest -Brendon comforts you when you fall apart after the events of Pittfest.
Is He Prettier Than Me? - Brandon gets curious when he learns you have other plans.
The Drawer - Brendon realises your relationship may be shifting when he discovers he has a drawer at your place.
Scrunchies - Scrunchies… they’re the downfall of Brendon Park.
Love Games (NSFW) - Brendon and you love to play games, especially with each other.
An Exquisite Form of Torture (NSFW) - Brendon continues to turn up the heat as he holds you captive.
THAT Guy - Brendon is forced to face up to his feelings for you when he finds out your meeting up with an ex.
Seven Days - Seven days is far too long to go without you...
Save It - A thirty six hour shift leads to another admission about your relationship with Brendon.
Doctor Dick - Brendon's day takes a turn when Whitaker gives him some critical information.
A Manipulative Fuck - You and Brendon discuss what happened with your ex.
The Call (NSFW) - Brendon decides to put a stop to David's calls once and for all.
The One That Hates The Ravens - David's attempt at revenge backfires spectacularly.
The Lovin Spoonful - You wake up to an unexpected surprise.
Delete, Block, Rinse, Repeat - A series of cryptic messages force Brendon to confront a secret he's been keeping for almost a decade.
His Father's Son - Brendon reflects on the past as he debates taking that first sip of whiskey.
The Cost of Dignity - Brendon's greatest secret comes with a cost.
A Kiss For Luck - Brendon struggles to navigate working at the hospital after the release of THAT video.
The Craziest Fucking Thing - You take matters into your own hands after receiving bad news from Brendon.
Ride Or Die - You wake up to the sound of an angry blender after Brendon discovers what happened with Rowena.
Baby Shark - Once a year Brendon always ends up back at the aquarium.
Diamonds (NSFW) - A bet leads to naughty shenanigans in a five star restaurant.
The Call Out - Brendon's focus on wedding planning is disrupted when he's called out to the scene of a multi-car pile up.
Good Hands - Abbot reminds Brendon you're in good hands as they proceed with the amputation.
Flayed - Brendon's world crashes down as he learns the truth about the accident.
Ten Things I Love About You - Brendon discovers a pink envelope in the pocket of the jacket you were wearing at the time of the accident.
The Parent Trap - Brendon faces your parents, leading to a surprise revelation.
Sledgehammer - Brendon struggles to cope in the aftermath of everything that's happened.
Et Tu Marianne? - Your mother throws Brendon under the bus after you wake up from surgery.
SET BEFORE:
The Fucking Patient - Abbot has some harsh words for Brendon regarding your care.
Chemistry - You and Brendon finally have a moment alone to talk.
A Serial Absconder - Your habit of disappearing leads to a healing journey Brendon doesn't expect.
Home - Brendon introduces you to your new home after the accident.
The Change Up - When you struggle to reacclimate at home Brendon realises you need a change up.
Your mother is pissed.
Brendon knows that because apparently, she’s the one you get your temper from. The eyes that narrow, creasing at the edges breaking into crow’s feet. The flared nostrils that accommodate a heaving chest. The thin purse of her mouth, lips clamped together as she paces like a tiger, fists clenched in agitation, protecting her cub.
“Marianne…” Brendon begins as he slows his walk, his dark eyebrows etching into a deep frown. “What’s going on?”
She swings her gaze to the visitor’s chair outside of your room where a bouquet of roses sits. A dozen of them, blood red and peppered with baby’s breath like some huge horrific Valentine’s Day nightmare. There’s a card sticking out of the top, expensive cream with a gold inlay. Brendon snatches it up, his teeth grinding together as he reads words written in fountain pen.
I’ve told you before choices have consequences, now no one will want you, not even me.
Good luck, you’ll certainly need it.
- David
“That evil fucker.” He mutters, crumpling the card up in his hand. The sharp edges dig into his palm, the fury of a thousand fires burning underneath his skin.
“I’m going to kill him.” Marianne informs Brendon, using her hands to mime wringing someone’s neck. “I’m going to go to his shitty little hospital and stab the tires in his stupid Audi-”
“Has she seen this?” Brendon asks his gaze straying to the closed door where your nurse is helping you to dress.
Marianne nods, her eyes turning sad. “She tried to get rid of them, but her nurse pulled them out of the trash thinking it was a mistake.”
Brendon growls, a low involuntary sound that emits from the depths of his chest as his palm scrubs over the nape of his neck roughly. He wants to beat the shit out of your ex-fiancé, to choke the life right out of him but that’s not where his focus should be right now, it should be on you, the woman who received this spiteful little message. “Is she... ok?”
“I think if she could tape knives onto her wheelchair, she would have by now.” Marianne tells him, casting a glare at the roses. “She’s beyond pissed, she didn’t want you to see them just in case we had to bail you out for murder. Obviously, another thing she doesn’t need.”
The phrase is pointed, meaningful.
Don’t do anything fucking stupid.
It’s usually Jean that talks him down, Jean that…
“Where is Jean?” He asks because your father’s coat is lying over the back of that chair but there’s no sign of the man himself.
“He needed to take a walk after seeing the card, so he decided to get us all some coffee from the canteen before your shift.” Marianne informs him, crossing her arms over her chest. “He was so pissed off Bren, I thought he was going to smash the vase they came in.”
“The canteen doesn’t open for another hour.” Brendon says checking his watch. The thing is Jean would know that, the four of you have established a routine in the week since your surgery.
“Oh fuck….” Marianne curses, slipping her phone out of her pocket and hitting the number one on her speed dial. “Do not tell me he’s gone after that asshole.” The call goes straight to voicemail, and her eyes ignite with a new emotion, fear. “He never turns it off, he keeps it on in case Rae ever needs him.”
“Ok.” Brendon pinches his brow, rubbing the space in between his eyes as he tries to think through their next steps. “How would he even know where David is?”
Marianne’s finger flicks across her screen, bringing up Instagram. She types for a few seconds before holding the phone up for Brendon to see. There’s David standing outside the coffee truck that must park itself outside of Mercy Hospital, holding up the most complicated coffee order in the world. “It looks like he’s there, every day at 7am.”
“Shit…” Brendon mutters, raking his hand through his hair. “Look I’ll go, you just stay with Rae, make sure she doesn’t actually start taping knives to her wheelchair.”
He wouldn’t put it past you, he’s well versed in your acts of vengeance from the enemies to lovers part of your love story.
It takes him ten minutes to drive to Mercy, breaking a few speed limits here and there. He doesn’t bother with a parking space, he just swings in behind the coffee truck, throwing open his door, slamming it shut behind him with such force the Porsche rocks.
He hears the shouting before he rounds the side of the coffee truck and already, he knows he’s too late.
There’s already a small cluster of people with their phones out, recording what has got to be the most pathetic fight he has ever seen. It’s barely a scrap, just two men scuffling on the grass. David attempts to break away, but Jean grapples him, tugging him back by that pristine white coat of his that no fucker ever wears unless they want attention. David tumbles back onto the grass, his face dripping with blood from a nose that is most certainly broken. Jean straddles his hips, pinning him to the ground, drawing back his fist for another blow but Brendon intervenes, catching his arm before he can throw it.
“This isn’t going to help Rae.” He’s surprised how calm his voice sounds in the moment, how measured it is despite the fact he wants to take Jean’s place and kick the shit out of David. “She doesn’t need her dad locked up over him.”
He doesn’t use David’s name, he doesn’t allow him that importance, that dignity.
“He called her a slut right to my fucking face.” Jean snarls as Brendon drags him to his feet, his shirt stained with David’s coffee order. “He said he got what she deserves for slutting it up with a damn ortho surgeon.”
For a second, just one, Brendon seriously thinks about releasing your father, about just letting him beat that son of a bitch to death. But there’s a dozen witnesses, camera phones everywhere and he doesn’t want Jean in any more trouble than he already is.
“He’s a vindictive, petty little shit.” Brendon tells him, stepping between the two of them so Jean’s entire attention is focused on him and not the man currently lying on the grass, whining about his broken nose. “And I swear to you he will get what’s coming to him.”
“You don’t know that!” Jean shoves at his chest but Brendon’s a wall, firm and unrelenting. This man he saved him from doing something stupid once upon a time, now it’s his turn to step up.
“I do.” He says tripping Jean’s biceps to stop him from lashing out again, forcing him to listen. “You think I didn’t do a deep dive on him after he was harassing Rae? That I don’t know the real reason he left Philly.”
Jean’s gaze strays over his shoulder to where David is climbing to his feet, using the back of his hand to wipe the blood from his nose. “What the fuck did he do?”
Brendon sighs as he follows Jean’s glare, levelling his own at David. “He was accused of sexual harassment at his old hospital and asked to leave before they completed the investigation. I know there are a few very pissed off female residents out there who I’m sure would love a chance to tell their story.”
“It wasn’t my fucking fault.” David snaps, cupping his hand to his nose to stem the bleeding. “They came on to me, they wanted…”
“You fucking groomed them.” Brandon spits back, acid burning into his tongue as he escorts Jean towards the Porsche. “It all started the same fucking way, you have a pattern of behaviour, one I’m sure your hospital would be very interested in knowing about.”
“You can’t do that to me!” David shouts after him as Brendon holds the car door open for Jean, making sure his future father-in-law climbs inside. “I don’t deserve to be hung, drawn and quartered over a couple of fumbled passes.”
The audacity of this man, it makes Brendon want to throttle him.
“You should have thought about that before you fucked with Rae.” Brendon tells him as he moves to the driver’s side of the Porsch, yanking the door open. “Enjoy your shift, I’m sure it’ll be your last.”
Like My Work? - Tip your friendly fan fic writer here!
(Rabbot preparing for the annual PTMC Halloween party. Robby steps into the living room and sees Jack painting a foam leg model)
Robby: Tell me we are not going as Victor Frankenstein and his monster again this year.
Jack: Do you have something against this brilliant idea of mine, which by the way won us two costume contests in a row?
Robby: (sighs) I’m not sure waving a model of a severed limb around, pointing at me and telling people that’s how you lost your leg would be appropriate for the kids.
Jack: Nah they love it. It’s fun! Frank’s kids were thrilled, and Harrison even showed the photo to his classmates last year.
Robby: At least tell me you’re wearing a shirt this time. It’s…..distracting.
Jack: (pouts) You’re taking all the fun away from the party. Boo. And I know you enjoy the view.
Robby: (blushes) …Fine. Have it your way. But when you get drunk and come asking me to help find the leg you keep passing around to people for photo ops, I’m not going around asking everyone if they’d see Abbot’s leg.
Jack: Okay it was that one time. I apologized already but you have to agree it was funny.
Robby: Shamsi didn’t. Walsh still talks about it. (sighs and gives in) Just……keep a hold of it while you’re enjoying the attention, big guy.
Jack smiles. In around 4 hours he would be so happily drunk and asking Robby the same favor, only this time it was both the prop and his actual prosthetic that he’d lost track of.
And as Robby tucks him into the passenger seat when he finally agrees to call it a night, Jack hugging onto the foam leg and his prosthetic leg (both of which Robby retrieved), he hears his lover mumble drunkenly.
“Next year we’re going as Hannibal and Will Graham and I’m telling everyone you ate my leg.”
Summary: Pope knows that roses are certainly not the right choice of flowers for you.
SET AFTER:
Before You - Pope was in a dark place before he met you.
The Professional - Pope meets the love of his life when Smurf hires her to crack a safe.
The First Job - Pope starts to develop feelings for you during that first job.
Ethical Thieving - You introduce Pope to a new skill set.
Made For You (NSFW) - Pope’s sexual encounters have always been paid for… until you.
Go - Pope doesn’t realise he has options, not until you.
The Gift - Andrew recieves an unexpected Christmas gift.
Compulsions - You realise something isn’t right in Pope’s world
The Octagon - Smurf decides to show you the real Pope Cody.
The Bathtub - After the fight at The Octagon Pope returns to the beach house to claim his prize, only to discover a change of plan.
Two Weeks - Two weeks is too long for Pope to go without you.
SET BEFORE:
The Skatepark - Pope reacts badly when you try to share your feelings.
The Journal - Pope accidently comes across your journal after an incident with Smurf.
Wild Boys - Pope gets a phone call he doesn’t expect in the middle of the night.
Crazy (NSFW) - Pope’s always been crazy but now he’s also a man in love.
Tomorrow - Pope’s family always fuck up the good in his life.
Do Over Day (NSFW) - Pope tries to make up for the day before.
Everything - Pope’s family life clashes with your time together.
Positive - Pope didn’t expect for it to happen sooner rather than later.
Four Bullets - Smurf finds out about you and Pope, leading to dire consquences.
Misery (feat: Baz Cody) - Baz starts to notice there’s something wrong with Pope.
The Gruffalo - Pope finally lays eyes on you for the first time in months.
Kill The Queen - Pope tries to come to terms with Smurf’s death.
Night Thoughts - You and Pope discuss your fears about becoming a parent.
Existential (NSFW) - You and Pope have another first in the aftermath of Smurf’s death.
Today (NSFW) - You and Pope both wake up excited for the day ahead.
Freya - There’s a reason that the wedding has to happen before the birth of your daughter.
Picture Perfect - Pope shares a quiet moment with his new daughter.
A Month In - Pope asks you to make him a promise.
In The Blood - Pope worries about his genetics.
Guilt - You return home to Pope wringing his hands and you know that something isn't right.
The Strawberry - You discuss what's next for you and Pope.
Pope doesn’t like roses.
He knows what they’re supposed to represent: love, passion, a deep ever-lasting commitment but to him they’re a lie. One that was perpetuated everytime some asshole wanted to get into his mother’s pants or good graces.
Billy with his gas station bullshit, stems bent, petals missing.
Jake wasn’t much better, his may have come from the grocery store but the stench of rot always clung to the leaves along with that thin coat of white mould at the bottom.
Just the thought of it leaves a bad taste in his mouth as stomach acid claws it’s way up the back of his throat.
“No roses.” He says, wringing his hands as he stands in a boutique florist that no fucker in his family would be seen dead in, taking to a sixty year old women called Amber-Lynn. “My…”
He has no idea what he’s supposed to call the person he’s currently in a secret relationship with. It’s his first time buying flowers and he’s not really sure what the protocol is when it comes to choosing something for the person who loves him so unconditionally.
“My girl…” He tries the term on for size, liking the way it rolls off his tongue. The wringing slows, his hands merely rubbing, one palm over the other as he thinks about you. “My girl, she enjoys the ocean, and surfing. She’s like sunshine in a bottle, always making me feel warm and safe… do you have something that says that?”
“We don’t.” Amber-Lynn tells him and he feels his stomach drop with disappointment. He’s always doing shit like this, asking for the impossible, fucking shit up. His hand rakes through his curls, tugging at them so hard his scalp prickles. “But I’m sure we can put together something special for her.”
She moves from around the worktable surveying the readymade bouquets that rest within their carefully set buckets. Pope steps back allowing her space to work as she plucks red poppies, dark blue larkspur and yarrow from her stock, gathering them into a bundle in her skilled hands. She finishes it off with a handful of white daisies, breaking up the intensity of the color before she returns to the work bench and sets them amongst the brown paper that’s rolled out across the work table.
“What do they all mean?” Pope asks as he watches her arrange them with interest. He’s never learned the language of flowers, their meanings, how to organise them, how to make something pretty for the special person in is life. Before you romance was never his thing, but he wants to change that, he wants to try to be the man that’s worthy of you.
Amber-Lynn smiles warmly at his question, her finger trailing along the stem of a poppy as she looks up at him. “When it comes to love, poppies represent a passionate devotion, the way you talk about her… I can tell that you’re committed, that she’s your entire heart. We’re using yarrow because I get the sense that she healed you in some way, that maybe you were a little bruised when you met and she helped with that.”
“What about the daisies and the blue?” He asks, the pads of his fingers brushing over the soft petals.
“Daisies bring the promise of true love.” She informs him as she begins to wrap the flowers with cream tissue and brown paper. The cream offsets the harshness of the brown, giving the bouquet a more rustic edge as she picks up a length of twine, carefully trimming it and twisting it around the bottom so the flowers stay secure. “The larkspur is true blue. It brings in that ocean theme, radiating a calm much like when you’re out on the water watching the sunset.”
Amber-Lynn holds it up for him to see and a warmth blossoms in his chest as he stares at the components of your love story, woven into a gorgeous and simple bouquet. It’s bright, it’s sunny, it’s you in all your entirety. “What do you think?”
“I think…” His words come out rough, a low gravelly rumble in his chest as he reaches for the bouquet, cradling it gently in his hands. “I think she’s going to love it.”
Like My Work? - Tip your friendly fan fic writer here!
Summary: Brendon is forced to deal with a vindictive POS when a dozen red roses are delivered to your door.
SET AFTER:
Rockstar - Brendon Park meets his match against PTMC's fiery new attending.
Pussy Wagon - A spilled drink leads you to see a different side of your nemesis Park The Shark.
The First Time (NSFW) - Fireworks aren't the only explosive thing happening at Jesse's Fourth of July party.
A Loaded Gun (NSFW) - Hate sex has never been so fucking hot...
This Is Not A Love Story - Brandon tries to set a rule after a 'sticky' situation.
The Game - Brendon finds himself breaking his own rules when it comes to you.
Pittfest -Brendon comforts you when you fall apart after the events of Pittfest.
Is He Prettier Than Me? - Brandon gets curious when he learns you have other plans.
The Drawer - Brendon realises your relationship may be shifting when he discovers he has a drawer at your place.
Scrunchies - Scrunchies… they’re the downfall of Brendon Park.
Love Games (NSFW) - Brendon and you love to play games, especially with each other.
An Exquisite Form of Torture (NSFW) - Brendon continues to turn up the heat as he holds you captive.
THAT Guy - Brendon is forced to face up to his feelings for you when he finds out your meeting up with an ex.
Seven Days - Seven days is far too long to go without you...
Save It - A thirty six hour shift leads to another admission about your relationship with Brendon.
Doctor Dick - Brendon's day takes a turn when Whitaker gives him some critical information.
A Manipulative Fuck - You and Brendon discuss what happened with your ex.
The Call (NSFW) - Brendon decides to put a stop to David's calls once and for all.
The One That Hates The Ravens - David's attempt at revenge backfires spectacularly.
The Lovin Spoonful - You wake up to an unexpected surprise.
Delete, Block, Rinse, Repeat - A series of cryptic messages force Brendon to confront a secret he's been keeping for almost a decade.
His Father's Son - Brendon reflects on the past as he debates taking that first sip of whiskey.
The Cost of Dignity - Brendon's greatest secret comes with a cost.
A Kiss For Luck - Brendon struggles to navigate working at the hospital after the release of THAT video.
The Craziest Fucking Thing - You take matters into your own hands after receiving bad news from Brendon.
Ride Or Die - You wake up to the sound of an angry blender after Brendon discovers what happened with Rowena.
Baby Shark - Once a year Brendon always ends up back at the aquarium.
Diamonds (NSFW) - A bet leads to naughty shenanigans in a five star restaurant.
The Call Out - Brendon's focus on wedding planning is disrupted when he's called out to the scene of a multi-car pile up.
Good Hands - Abbot reminds Brendon you're in good hands as they proceed with the amputation.
Flayed - Brendon's world crashes down as he learns the truth about the accident.
Ten Things I Love About You - Brendon discovers a pink envelope in the pocket of the jacket you were wearing at the time of the accident.
The Parent Trap - Brendon faces your parents, leading to a surprise revelation.
Sledgehammer - Brendon struggles to cope in the aftermath of everything that's happened.
Et Tu Marianne? - Your mother throws Brendon under the bus after you wake up from surgery.
SET BEFORE:
The Fucking Patient - Abbot has some harsh words for Brendon regarding your care.
Chemistry - You and Brendon finally have a moment alone to talk.
A Serial Absconder - Your habit of disappearing leads to a healing journey Brendon doesn't expect.
Home - Brendon introduces you to your new home after the accident.
The Change Up - When you struggle to reacclimate at home Brendon realises you need a change up.
Your mother is pissed.
Brendon knows that because apparently, she’s the one you get your temper from. The eyes that narrow, creasing at the edges breaking into crow’s feet. The flared nostrils that accommodate a heaving chest. The thin purse of her mouth, lips clamped together as she paces like a tiger, fists clenched in agitation, protecting her cub.
“Marianne…” Brendon begins as he slows his walk, his dark eyebrows etching into a deep frown. “What’s going on?”
She swings her gaze to the visitor’s chair outside of your room where a bouquet of roses sits. A dozen of them, blood red and peppered with baby’s breath like some huge horrific Valentine’s Day nightmare. There’s a card sticking out of the top, expensive cream with a gold inlay. Brendon snatches it up, his teeth grinding together as he reads words written in fountain pen.
I’ve told you before choices have consequences, now no one will want you, not even me.
Good luck, you’ll certainly need it.
- David
“That evil fucker.” He mutters, crumpling the card up in his hand. The sharp edges dig into his palm, the fury of a thousand fires burning underneath his skin.
“I’m going to kill him.” Marianne informs Brendon, using her hands to mime wringing someone’s neck. “I’m going to go to his shitty little hospital and stab the tires in his stupid Audi-”
“Has she seen this?” Brendon asks his gaze straying to the closed door where your nurse is helping you to dress.
Marianne nods, her eyes turning sad. “She tried to get rid of them, but her nurse pulled them out of the trash thinking it was a mistake.”
Brendon growls, a low involuntary sound that emits from the depths of his chest as his palm scrubs over the nape of his neck roughly. He wants to beat the shit out of your ex-fiancé, to choke the life right out of him but that’s not where his focus should be right now, it should be on you, the woman who received this spiteful little message. “Is she... ok?”
“I think if she could tape knives onto her wheelchair, she would have by now.” Marianne tells him, casting a glare at the roses. “She’s beyond pissed, she didn’t want you to see them just in case we had to bail you out for murder. Obviously, another thing she doesn’t need.”
The phrase is pointed, meaningful.
Don’t do anything fucking stupid.
It’s usually Jean that talks him down, Jean that…
“Where is Jean?” He asks because your father’s coat is lying over the back of that chair but there’s no sign of the man himself.
“He needed to take a walk after seeing the card, so he decided to get us all some coffee from the canteen before your shift.” Marianne informs him, crossing her arms over her chest. “He was so pissed off Bren, I thought he was going to smash the vase they came in.”
“The canteen doesn’t open for another hour.” Brendon says checking his watch. The thing is Jean would know that, the four of you have established a routine in the week since your surgery.
“Oh fuck….” Marianne curses, slipping her phone out of her pocket and hitting the number one on her speed dial. “Do not tell me he’s gone after that asshole.” The call goes straight to voicemail, and her eyes ignite with a new emotion, fear. “He never turns it off, he keeps it on in case Rae ever needs him.”
“Ok.” Brendon pinches his brow, rubbing the space in between his eyes as he tries to think through their next steps. “How would he even know where David is?”
Marianne’s finger flicks across her screen, bringing up Instagram. She types for a few seconds before holding the phone up for Brendon to see. There’s David standing outside the coffee truck that must park itself outside of Mercy Hospital, holding up the most complicated coffee order in the world. “It looks like he’s there, every day at 7am.”
“Shit…” Brendon mutters, raking his hand through his hair. “Look I’ll go, you just stay with Rae, make sure she doesn’t actually start taping knives to her wheelchair.”
He wouldn’t put it past you, he’s well versed in your acts of vengeance from the enemies to lovers part of your love story.
It takes him ten minutes to drive to Mercy, breaking a few speed limits here and there. He doesn’t bother with a parking space, he just swings in behind the coffee truck, throwing open his door, slamming it shut behind him with such force the Porsche rocks.
He hears the shouting before he rounds the side of the coffee truck and already, he knows he’s too late.
There’s already a small cluster of people with their phones out, recording what has got to be the most pathetic fight he has ever seen. It’s barely a scrap, just two men scuffling on the grass. David attempts to break away, but Jean grapples him, tugging him back by that pristine white coat of his that no fucker ever wears unless they want attention. David tumbles back onto the grass, his face dripping with blood from a nose that is most certainly broken. Jean straddles his hips, pinning him to the ground, drawing back his fist for another blow but Brendon intervenes, catching his arm before he can throw it.
“This isn’t going to help Rae.” He’s surprised how calm his voice sounds in the moment, how measured it is despite the fact he wants to take Jean’s place and kick the shit out of David. “She doesn’t need her dad locked up over him.”
He doesn’t use David’s name, he doesn’t allow him that importance, that dignity.
“He called her a slut right to my fucking face.” Jean snarls as Brendon drags him to his feet, his shirt stained with David’s coffee order. “He said he got what she deserves for slutting it up with a damn ortho surgeon.”
For a second, just one, Brendon seriously thinks about releasing your father, about just letting him beat that son of a bitch to death. But there’s a dozen witnesses, camera phones everywhere and he doesn’t want Jean in any more trouble than he already is.
“He’s a vindictive, petty little shit.” Brendon tells him, stepping between the two of them so Jean’s entire attention is focused on him and not the man currently lying on the grass, whining about his broken nose. “And I swear to you he will get what’s coming to him.”
“You don’t know that!” Jean shoves at his chest but Brendon’s a wall, firm and unrelenting. This man he saved him from doing something stupid once upon a time, now it’s his turn to step up.
“I do.” He says tripping Jean’s biceps to stop him from lashing out again, forcing him to listen. “You think I didn’t do a deep dive on him after he was harassing Rae? That I don’t know the real reason he left Philly.”
Jean’s gaze strays over his shoulder to where David is climbing to his feet, using the back of his hand to wipe the blood from his nose. “What the fuck did he do?”
Brendon sighs as he follows Jean’s glare, levelling his own at David. “He was accused of sexual harassment at his old hospital and asked to leave before they completed the investigation. I know there are a few very pissed off female residents out there who I’m sure would love a chance to tell their story.”
“It wasn’t my fucking fault.” David snaps, cupping his hand to his nose to stem the bleeding. “They came on to me, they wanted…”
“You fucking groomed them.” Brandon spits back, acid burning into his tongue as he escorts Jean towards the Porsche. “It all started the same fucking way, you have a pattern of behaviour, one I’m sure your hospital would be very interested in knowing about.”
“You can’t do that to me!” David shouts after him as Brendon holds the car door open for Jean, making sure his future father-in-law climbs inside. “I don’t deserve to be hung, drawn and quartered over a couple of fumbled passes.”
The audacity of this man, it makes Brendon want to throttle him.
“You should have thought about that before you fucked with Rae.” Brendon tells him as he moves to the driver’s side of the Porsch, yanking the door open. “Enjoy your shift, I’m sure it’ll be your last.”
Like My Work? - Tip your friendly fan fic writer here!
summary: jack would rather be in pain than forfeit a summer day spent outside with you. when you realize what he's doing, you show him just how much fun summer can be without his prosthetic on.
warnings: smut literally just mostly smut lol. jack being insecure about his leg and talks of prosthetic pain.
notes: in this pretend world grass isn't itchy and bugs don't exist. ok now enjoy!
masterlist 𓊔 request
A day off work in the summer is always a day well spent with Jack Abbot.
He’s waking up early to workout-- something you can always benefit from. Especially when he comes in afterward to wake you up with a cup of coffee. Smells mingle in the air: sweat, coffee, and the summer sun.
Afternoons are outside, always. Jack doesn’t get enough sunlight working nights, and you make sure he gets his healthy dose of vitamin D when you can. Usually, he works in the yard. He pulls weeds or mows the grass. If you’re lucky, he’ll do both things shirtless and you’ll get to call him over every hour to reapply sunscreen to his back.
The alarm goes off, so you put your book down and wave him over. He’s using the pool net to gather leaves and flowers that the breeze has blown in.
“Jack!” You call across the pool. You lift the sunscreen bottle in your hand and shake it, earning a small grin from him.
When he’s in your space, he gives a long exhale.
“How’s your book?” He presses a kiss to your lips.
Humming, you stand so that you can reach his upper body. When you’re on your feet, he lowers himself into your chair with a little grunt.
“You okay, Jack?” Your heart skips a beat when you realize how pained he looks. He’s getting older, you know that, but you didn’t think he was exhausted-from-an-hour-in-the-sun-old yet. With a concerned pout, you kneel before him and bring your water bottle to his mouth. “Here, drink something.”
A sweet smile finds his mouth as his dark eyes roam over your face. He takes the bottle from you and sets it on the ground next to your chair.
“‘M fine, sweetheart. Just my leg.” He leans back uncomfortably.
“The sweat?” You ask, looking down at the prosthetic limb. When he nods, you tilt your head. “Why don’t you take it off, baby?”
With narrowed eyes, he shakes his head. One hand comes down to massage his knee while the other cups your neck softly. You’re sweaty, too, from sitting out here with him. His thumb pushes back a bead of it that rolls from your hairline.
“I want to stay out here with you. Can’t do yard work with one leg,” he jokes. There’s a hint of something in his eyes, though. Something you don’t see often from Jack.
It’s vulnerable, almost a little insecure. Like he’s worried you’ll realize something you don’t like about him if he reveals a weakness to you. Despite the wedding, despite the house you own together, and despite the countless times you’ve seen him without his prosthetic on, his mind still gets the best of him sometimes.
And you get where he’s coming from. There’s been a decades-long internal battle for him over this injury. He’s lost something. Gotten it back in a way that everyone expects him to pretend is normal when it’s not.
The honest truth is that you’ve never really thought twice about his limb difference. When you met Jack, it’d been years since he lost the lower half of his leg. To you, he’s the same as he’s always been.
It’s affected parts of your own life, certainly. When you two had this home built, you had to consider little tid bits that would enable Jack to live as independently as possible. Your shower, for example. In it is a granite shelf that takes up half of the space. It’s a shower chair for him, but that fact isn’t obvious to anyone else. If someone came in who didn’t know that Jack was an amputee, they’d just think that the ledge in your shower was there for shampoo bottles or sex. Which it also was.
You’ve done little things like that to meet him where he’s at. Valued the shorter paths and learned to pay attention to what surfaces he’d have to walk on if you wanted to bring him to a restaurant or a bar.
Never has his situation ever been an issue for you, and when he lets himself think otherwise, you’re quick to dispel the anxiety.
“Don’t have to do yard work to stay out here with me,” you comment, already untying his sneakers.
“Oh yeah?” His chin tilts upward slightly as he meets your eyes.
“Yeah.” Your voice is a whisper.
“Well I can’t sit here with you,” he explains. He always has to tease you before sex. Make you work until you’re throwing yourself at him before he caves in. “We only have the one chair.”
The other chair, his chair, broke when he set a dumbbell down on the arm rest between sets and snapped it clean off.
“Don’t need more than one chair, baby.” Easily, you slide his prosthetic from his knee, and then the sleeve underneath it. The same motions you’ve acted out hundreds of times before. Then, you stand, pretending to adjust your bikini top. “You don’t mind if we share, right?”
“Share?” He pretends to contemplate it while his gaze roams shamelessly over your body.
“Please?” You bend down to put a hand on his bicep when really you’re just looking for an excuse to move your tits into his eyeline so he’ll agree.
“Sure. Since you asked so sweetly.” His arm is around your back and pulling you into his lap before you have time to move on your own.
He’s got you bridal style-- your legs are hanging over one of the chair arms while your head rests on his shoulder. You’re both warm and sticky with sweat. Your hands wind around his neck, fingers combing into the curls there that are slightly damp.
The sun brings out all of the freckles on his shoulders and cheeks.
While you’re taking in the sight of him, he’s slowly inching closer until there’s no room between you. His lips are soft and careful on yours. When you kiss him back just as slowly it draws a quiet groan from the back of his throat. His hand rests on the curve of your ass and squeezes.
That’s how Jack has always kissed. His mouth is slow and romantic. He takes his time there. He’s a gentleman.
But his hands have a mind of their own. From first contact, he’s trying to strip you down. He’s fondling your tits and slapping your ass and squeezing every inch of skin he can get his hands on. He’s a man starved.
So, maybe he’s a gentleman starved.
While the one hand kneads your ass, the other moves to the back of your suit to untie your top. It’s easy. One pull and the fabric is loose, releasing your breasts of the support and leaving the cute top hanging uselessly around your neck now. Of course, the next thing he does is undo that tie too so that it falls to the floor and he can get a full view of your tits.
His tongue pulls out of your mouth and into his own as he leans back to ogle you.
“So fuckin’ sexy.” Big palms grip both your boobs. “All mine.”
Helplessly, you nod.
“All yours,” you confirm.
That brings a cute smirk to his lips before his face is back on yours, pressing more aggressively now as he works his mouth against yours. A moan comes from your chest as he begins to roll your nipples between his forefinger and thumb with the perfect amount of pressure.
Your hips roll against his crotch once before you’re climbing off of his lap.
“What’re you-”
He cuts himself off when he watches you step out of your swimsuit bottoms. Immediately, he’s pulling his shirt over his head. Had you not been so eager, pulling his shorts off would’ve been an awkward maneuver, but instead of giving him any time, you’re reaching under his waistband and pulling his cock out with no issue.
“Need you, Jack.” You’re back in his lap, panting against his skin as you press hot kisses down the column of his neck. “Please, baby. Please.”
“You have me, sweet girl,” he murmurs into your hair before pushing you off of him and back to your feet. When you pout at him, he twirls his finger. “Face the yard. Back to me. I’ve got you.”
Obediently, you turn around so that your back is facing him. Jack strokes himself with his free hand while the other holds your waist to guide you down slowly, carefully. Your own arms grip the armrests as you lower yourself onto him, stopping when your wetness touches the tip of his dick.
“Jack.” It’s a desperate whimper.
“You’re ok, keep going. That’s it, c’mon, all the way.” He continues coaxing you further down until you’re situated with the base of his cock nestled all the way inside of you. You’re sitting spine-straight on his lap, hands white-knuckling the lawn chair.
Jack reaches a hand up and around you, running his palm up your thigh and onto your stomach, gently leaning back with you until you’re flush against his chest. Once you are, his mouth drops to your shoulder, biting softly before pressing a soft kiss there.
“Relax for me, sweetheart. It’s ok. Just gonna stay like this for a minute, yeah?” He coos, trailing his hand to your nipple and pinching it lightly. Your pussy tightens around him. “Atta girl, good job. Doing good for me, baby.”
As he continues toying with your tits, you slowly relax into him. Your body lightens as you unclench the chair. Your head rolls back onto his shoulder, angled to the side so he can hear your pretty pants and moans in his ear.
His ministrations quickly become too much. You’re squirming around in his lap, earning deep, frustrated growls from him.
“Sit still,” he orders, one hand coming down to secure your hip while the other continues to pinch and roll your nipples.
“‘M trying, Jack.” Your hips push hard into his lap as you brace yourself against his teasing. “Just feels s-so good.”
His chest rumbles against your back as he inhales shakily.
The way his hands are squeezing you harder, teasing you more, you can tell his resolve is wearing. You stop trying to stay still. You rock your hips in his lap, grinding yourself down onto his cock. Doing exactly what he told you not to.
“C’mon, quit-- fuck,” he groans into the skin of your shoulder. “Fuck, baby. You feel so good.”
Your motions are slow and controlled, though your upper body still twitches wildly as Jack continues to play with your tits.
The angle is difficult to maneuver in with your weight being solely on him. It gives way for you grinding, but not much else. Still, Jack tries to thrust himself up into you.
This is the most frustrating thing for him post-amputation. It isn’t the pain or the rashes and welts. It’s wanting to move his body the way he did before. Being able to stand from a chair and walk without crutches. Being able to pick you up while he carries you to the bed in a moment like this. It’s the freedom and impulsivity that he wants to exercise but finds himself unable to do.
Now he needs help with certain things. But he is determined not to need help with this. Pleasing you is a job he’ll always be capable of achieving. Even if the means to do it are a little unconventional.
So, when his body doesn’t let him fuck you in this position, he needs to find another.
Without warning, Jack pins you to his chest with a strong palm on your stomach and a cradling grasp around your head. Then, he uses his foot to push off of the ground and tip the chair backward into the pillowy grass that he just cut.
With the pillows on the back of the chair, he’s not worried.
A frightened squal leaves you as you and Jack fall backward. There’s a heavy thud and a crack of splitting plastic as both of you tumble into the grass.
Quickly, you pull yourself off of his dick and spring to your feet to check on him. As soon as you see that playful smirk on his face, you know that your husband had every intention of getting you both onto the floor.
In fact, he’s already positioned himself off of the chair and onto his back, propped up on one elbow while his other hand tugs his shorts and boxers all the way off. God, his body is unreal. Muscle consumes every inch of him, adorned by the handsome freckles that dot his skin.
When he catches you staring, he whistles.
“My eyes are up here, sweetheart.” He gives a flirty wink.
With a little giggle, you lower yourself to your knees and crawl the short distance to his body. That knocked much of the humor from his wandering eyes.
“My eyes are up here, sweetheart,” you mock when his gaze drops to your breasts. All he does in response is swallow hard as he meets your stare. Pouting, you continue, “you broke my chair again.”
“I’m sorry, doll.” Lust is heavy in his voice. His hands come to your waist, moving you on top of him. Now he’s flat on his back underneath you. His cock is wet against your thigh, still coated in your slick. “Let me make it up to you.”
Nodding, you roll your hips back and lean forward to connect your mouth with his. It’s all tongue from the moment you start. And as soon as it begins, he’s pushing you to sit up.
“Is that a fair trade?” He asks, spitting in his hand and pushing you up to spread his saliva between your legs.
“W-what?” You bumble as his pointer finger skims your clit.
“For the chair, sweetheart. Is this fair?” Your answer doesn’t matter, because he’s impatiently tapping your thigh, urging you to sit on his cock again. “Faster, baby. Keep up.”
“Yes. Yes, yes it’s fair.” Your vision swims as you nod quickly.
“Good.”
When you move to sink down onto him, he tightens his grip on your waist, making you pause. Instead of letting you lower yourself all the way, he keeps you suspended with barely the tip inside of you.
You’re trying to speak, to say anything, but the sudden slam of his cock against your cervix as he bucks his hips up into you takes your breath away. You inhale sharply in response, falling forward as he rams up into you again.
Suddenly, his movements stop.
“Sit up, baby. Wanna see y’tits.” His voice is breathy, desperate.
It leaves you no choice but to obey.
As soon as you’re upright again, he resumes his punishing pace. It makes your breasts bounce up and down each time he enters. Moan after moan spills from your lips. He’s breathing heavily, abs flexing with each motion. It’s fucking tantalizing. All you want to do is put your hands there. Prop yourself up and feel the constriction of his body as he fucks into you like he’s racing to finish. But he told you not to.
It’s impressive how long he manages to keep going before he needs a break.
When he does, he lowers his hips back to the ground and moves his hands from your waist. One finds your face, running his thumb across your parted lips as you pant from his intensity. The other rubs slow, firm circles to your clit.
Neither is any help for your racing pulse. Your head is thumping wildly under the summer sun as Jack coaxes you closer and closer toward climax. Slowly, you begin to rock your hips back and forth to release the tension that’s beginning to cord through your body.
“So pretty. All mine,” Jack murmurs, pulling your bottom lip down with his thumb.
“Jack,” you moan, his words swimming in your head as desire courses through you. “Feels s’good. Don’t stop.”
“Not gonna stop, sweetheart. Take your time. We’ve got all day.”
God you love having the day off with him.
You continue grinding your hips against him as he rubs your clit, letting his other hand trail down your body with fluttering fingers that send shivers up your spine.
As soon as he applies a little more pressure to your clit, there’s a pit deep in your stomach. Urgency races through you as you rush to tell him.
“J-just like that, please. So close, Jack,” you whine, hips rutting sporadically now as pleasure consumes you.
Jack doesn’t change anything at all. He keeps his pressure, keeps his pace, and keeps absentmindedly trailing his fingers along your sensitive skin. It’s an emergency department perk-- he’s great under pressure. He doesn’t rush to pick up his pace or make you feel like you’re not getting there fast enough. He’s confident in what he’s doing. And it’s so fucking hot.
“Jack.” You call his name like a prayer as your orgasm rises higher and higher, nearly bursting.
“I’m right here, baby. You’ve got it. Doing so good,” he praises. It makes your core tighten around his cock, earning a quiet groan from him that completely undoes you.
Your body crashes forward, hands bracing yourself on his chest as your own body heaves with heavy, ragged breaths. Jack’s fingers pinch your nipples, sending another jolt through you as your pussy squeezes around him.
As you slowly come down, Jack takes one of your hands and lifts it from his chest to press five soft kisses in the center of your palm.
You swallow, leaning forward to press a hot wet kiss to his mouth.
“Your turn,” you whisper against his lips. Your voice is high and whiny from your orgasm. It’s his favorite fucking sound in the world.
Five minutes later, Jack comes hard and fast with you bouncing on his cock under the heat of the summer sun. Once he’s finished inside of you, he props himself up onto his elbows with that cocky grin that comes from a lifetime of women fawning over him.
Not a day goes by that you’re not happy he chose you out of them all.
His head nods slowly as he surveys your body.
“So fuckin’ hot,” he mumbles. His thumb reaches out to catch a bead of sweat that drips between your breasts. Then, holding your gaze, he licks it from his thumb. A loud, mean laugh leaves him when he feels you clench around him at the sight. “Already wanting round two?”
Giggling, you shake your head and slowly lift yourself up on your knees until his cock falls out of you and lays on his stomach. His cum drips down your thighs as soon as you release him, making it the only thing you’re wearing now.
“God, I love you.” Jack lies flat like he’s been struck by you.
“I love you too, Jack.” You press a kiss to his jaw before climbing to your feet. “Be right back!”
He lies there waiting under the grueling summer sun while he thinks about how many more days off he gets with you.
As promised, you return to his side less than a minute later with his crutches. You’ve made no effort to wipe any of his cum from your body, and it’s down both legs now, having run all the way down to your feet, too.
“Shower’s already started,” you tell him as he sits up. Once he’s ready, you pass him his crutches and give him room to find his balance in the uneven grass. While he does, you grab his prosthetic and your book.
A moment later, he’s pressing a kiss to the top of your head and following you through your shared home to the shower. Under the cool water, his skin is warm on yours as he peppers you with kisses while he silently thinks about how fucking lucky he is to have found you.
Series Summary: Taking Lena under your wing leads to you developing a relationship with her Uncle Pope. You might be just the thing they've needed to feel like a real family.
Chapter Summary: You help Lena navigate one of the most challenging days of the year for an insecure middle schooler: Picture Day. As he watches Lena blossom because of your influence, it becomes harder for Pope to ignore his feelings for you.
Tags/Notes: fluff, parent!pope, girly girl reader, lena blackwell, slow burn
Content Warnings: none
Author's Note: because of everything going on in my life atm, i'm gonna be focusing on WIPs that are closer to being done or that just make me happiest for a bit so here's more of this!
Word Count: 3.1k
As the summer winds down and the school year begins, Andrew gradually becomes comfortable with having you around Lena. Soon enough, he’s reaching out to you when he has emergency repair work for his tenants so you can babysit. You get used to picking her up from the skate park to take her home or to the mall or the beach, whatever she wants. It’s nice; she’s kind of your mini-me, always looking to you for things that Pope can’t really help with. His advice for dealing with mean girls was ‘How about you tell me who their dads are and I’ll handle it?’ with his knuckles clenched white around the steering wheel, so your gentler touch is definitely needed.
All the while, you’re focused on nurturing your relationship with Lena, not your crush on Pope. Teaching her what she wants to learn and sneaking in the truths she needs to hear. He tries to do the same because he’s terrified of scaring off the one good female role model Lena has.
The dam of his attraction to you breaks slowly, tiny cracks in his resolve over time. It splinters in every moment that he watches you with Lena, always so gentle and so light, meeting her where she is. It crumbles each time he walks you into your building and then turns on your bedtime livestream on the way back home, listening to your sweet voice talking about him and Lena – who you give nicknames for privacy – and your plans and your job and whatever your followers want to hear. He just likes to hear your voice, a warm thing made of butterfly wings and cotton candy.
The third week of September, Pope can’t ignore it anymore.
SUNDAY
The three of you are at the mall on Sunday afternoon when Lena asks, “Can I get an outfit for Picture Day while I’m here, Pope?”
Tilting his head to the side as he vaguely remembers the eight Picture Days he had before dropping out for good – Smurf never bought the packets they tried to sell because he didn’t smile, anyway – he asks, sounding genuinely curious, “You need a new outfit for that?” But then you glare daggers at him and he quickly corrects, “Of course, Bean. Whatever makes you feel your best.”
“Come on,” you suggest, happy to have a new mission for the afternoon, “let’s go to that little boutique on the first floor where we bought your purple sundress. Something bright and fun like that would be perfect, don’t you think?”
“Exactly,” Lena agrees seriously. As you all take the escalator down to the other side of the mall, Lena tells you, “Maya Jenkins made fun of my picture last year, so I want to make sure I have a really nice one this time.”
“From everything you’ve told me, Maya Jenkins is a rat bitch,” you reply right away, not thinking. Pope snorts out a laugh behind you as you clear your throat and backpedal, “How about this year you show up feeling confident as hell and totally ignore her and take the prettiest picture ever for you? Not for her or anyone else. We can get a cute frame and hang it up somewhere nice. I’m sure your uncle would like to have something to remember what you were like at this age when you’re grown up.” You cut a glowing look over your shoulder. “Right, Andrew?”
“Absolutely.” He shrugs like it isn’t a big deal, which makes it obvious to you just how important it really is. “Wish I had more pictures of me and Julia from when we were kids.”
Your eyes soften as you gaze at him for a moment. Lena looks between the two of you with a satisfied, cheeky smirk.
TUESDAY
You show up at Pope’s house at 5:30 with your hair curler, makeup bag, and manicure kit in tow. You haven’t even gotten yourself ready yet, still in a pair of slouchy shorts and a tee with no bra, hair tucked in a pink silk bonnet and no makeup on your face; ensuring that Lena feels good before Picture Day is more important to you than looking good. That reality makes Pope’s stomach twist around itself. The view of your cute nipples nudging at your pajama top doesn’t hurt, either.
Lena’s on the couch in her PJs eating breakfast (peanut butter banana pancakes, eggs, sausage, strawberries, and fresh-squeezed orange juice; Andrew told you he’s very serious about making sure Lena has enough protein and vitamins). She squeals happily when she sees you and pats the spot on the couch next to her, which you occupy right away.
Before you can say anything, there’s a plate of food in your hands, Andrew silently serving it to you with a knowing look. “I watched your stream this morning; a handful of chocolate almonds isn’t breakfast.”
You roll your eyes but accept it because Pope is one of those people who make arguing completely futile – and, admittedly, you’re so fucking charmed by knowing he watches your streams to keep tabs on you when you aren’t together. “Thank you. That’s very sweet.”
Lena hums happily, “See, Pope? I told you she wouldn’t think it’s weird.”
As you giggle at him, Andrew rumbles something under his breath and returns to the kitchen to clean up from cooking.
Between bites, Lena tells you, “I’ve got my outfit and accessories and stuff all picked out now.” Then she picks up her phone and opens up Pinterest, showing you some inspiration pictures for her hair and nails, all sunshine and daisies and bouncy curls. “You think we can do something like this? I know we don’t have a ton of time.”
As Andrew joins you back in the living room, flopping onto the closest armchair with his legs spread wide like such a man, you shake your head and assure, “I did a fancy updo and a full set of French tips in an Uber on the way to my cousin’s bachelorette party; we have plenty of time.”
Pope’s eyebrows raise. “Seriously?”
“Mhmm,” you reply, all proud. “We girly girls have a set of skills you could never ever begin to comprehend.”
He chuckles under his breath and then stands, taking your and Lena’s empty plates with a quick, “Go get ready. I’m not gonna let you be late to school just because you wanted to look cute for picture day.”
You scoff, “It’s a need, Andy, not a want. But we’ll be quick.”
Andy.
Andy Andy Andy Andy.
His brain turns to ice cream and his veins fill with hot fudge because you’re so fucking sweet to him without even thinking about it. He’s rendered entirely speechless, wide-eyed and toddler-hopeful, as Lena snatches your hand and drags you into her bedroom suite. He can’t manage a single thought for five minutes straight, simply awestruck by the easy intimacy of your slow integration into his life.
Still floaty with adoration, Andrew drifts over toward the two of you after half an hour, knowing he needs to start corralling Lena for school. When he sees you finishing off Lena’s daisy-inspired makeup look with some soft highlights on her cheeks, he melts. Since losing her mom, Lena’s never had someone be so gentle with her, smiling and affirming and complimenting until she actually feels good about herself.
Once you’re happy with the makeup look, you finally allow Lena to look in the mirror, asking with bated breath, “What do you think, Lee?”
With a smile that actually makes her seem like a kid instead of a mini adult for once, Lena announces, “I look so pretty.”
When you catch Andrew’s eyes in the mirror, he’s absolutely glowing. Yes, for him that means a soft smile and crossed arms. But you can see the smile in his eyes and the innocent blush in his cheeks. He may not get this whole thing, but he’s Lena’s #1 fan, so if all this makes her feel pretty and confident, he’s going to support it with his whole chest. He touches her shoulder, knowing better than to ruffle her hair or even graze her cheek. “You’re beautiful, Bean. Really.”
Her smile grows as she once again checks herself out in the mirror.
FRIDAY
The day Lena comes home with her school pictures, you’re already in the kitchen with Andrew, working on dinner together in a comfortable rhythm with one of his crackly old records crooning through the house. Lena has Art Club on Fridays, so it’s about five when one of her friend’s moms drops her off at the bottom of the driveway. The sound of middle school girls saying enthusiastic goodbyes with talks of weekend plans makes you and Andrew smile to each other, small and intimate.
You hear Lena before you see her, skipping quickly toward the kitchen and loudly announcing, “We learned to draw in two-point perspective today, Pope! You won’t believe how cool this drawing of-” She stops and grins when she sees you there alongside her uncle, quickly tackling you into a hug. “I didn’t think you’d be here today!”
“Andrew thought it’d be fun to surprise you with your favorite dinner and I offered to pick up the groceries and help him out,” you explain with a warm laugh as she lets you go. “Now let’s see that drawing, yeah?”
While you and Andrew finish up dinner, Lena shows off the sketches she did during her club, all with mostly erased perspective lines that show the new skill she’s learning. They’re architectural, inspired by buildings in the neighborhood on the shore, and they really do show some potential. You make sure to ooh and ahh appropriately, knowing how important it is for her to be encouraged.
Once the three of you are full of Andrew’s supposedly famous fish tacos and your signature citrusy mocktail, the dishes are cleaned up, and Lena’s homework is done, Lena takes out a thick folder from her backpack and hands it unceremoniously to her uncle. “We got our pictures back today. I think they turned out good.”
Andrew sits up straight on the couch and you lean in, too. Quickly and quietly, trying not to make a thing of it, he opens up the hefty envelope of photos – he’d ordered multiples of every size they offered plus a fridge magnet, a keychain, and digital copies inexplicably still stored on a DVD.
A slow, tender smile spreads over Andrew’s lips as he takes them in. Lena’s absolutely beaming at the camera, clearly feeling herself in her cute makeup, clothes, and hair. She actually looks like herself. He pulls her into a tight hug on his lap and tells her seriously, “These are really great, Bean. We’ll go out and get some frames tomorrow; I’ve gotta put one up in my office at the park and one over the fireplace here.”
She perks up and hugs him again, burying her face in his neck. “Really?”
“Of course,” he assures; you can see the familiar pain in his eyes at the idea she’d even question that. “Hell, I’ll get it tattooed if you want me to.”
She laughs and shakes her head. “That might be too far.” Then, still perched on his knees, Lena turns to you with wide, hopeful eyes and asks, “What do you think?”
You look more closely at the largest photo and tell her, “You look so beautiful, Lee, seriously. These could be in the dictionary next to ‘pretty.’”
Her smile only grows as she averts her eyes, embarrassed but thrilled under the praise from everyone. “Thanks for doing my makeup and everything.”
“Any time,” you reply, dipping down to make eye contact so she knows it’s true, “although you’re really coming along as my makeup protege. You won’t need to have me on call soon enough.”
She shakes her head as she stands up. “You still have to teach Pope to take care of his skin.”
You give him a mean faux-glare and cross your arms over your chest. “You aren’t following the routine I built for you?”
He puts up his hands defensively. “I am, I swear.”
Lena grabs his right hand and holds it out in front of you. “His face, yes, but look at these sandpaper hands. He needs more help if he’s ever going to get a girlfriend.”
“I don’t think he’d have any trouble getting a girlfriend if he wanted one,” you reply, hoping your voice isn’t too needy with your crush.
Andrew nods tightly. “Thank you very much.”
But you still wrinkle your nose at the callus on him, taking his hand in yours and inspecting closely. As sexy as they would feel on your soft skin, his hands definitely don’t look well cared for. With a little shrug, you admit, “Actually, though, you really should let me get you a nice heavy cream for these. Repair all these cracks.”
He sighs, thinking about nothing but how good your hands feel on his skin even in this totally platonic way, “Whatever you say.”
You teasingly pat him on the cheek. “That’s what I like to hear.”
After a charged beat where you and Andrew hold eye contact a little too long, Lena interrupts with a tug to your sleeve. “Can you stay for movie night? We always watch something together on Fridays.”
Batting your lashes, you turn back to Andrew. “I’d love to – if it’s okay with Andy.”
He rolls his eyes and shifts his legs to stop himself from chubbing up at how fucking sexy you look when you’re being totally silly with him. All he can picture is how pretty you’d be looking up at him like that and begging for something very different. “Of course it’s okay. What are we watching, Bean?”
“Ten Things I Hate About You,” she says. “Kyra and Kylie’s mom has a picture of Heath Ledger up on their wall and I want to see if he’s actually cute on film.”
You nod, impressed. “Good call. And I promise he is.”
Andrew sighs, ready to strap in for yet another romcom (god, he misses when she always wanted to watch a Land Before Time feature), and orders, “Go get ready for bed first. We both know it’s 50/50 if you fall asleep and I’m not fighting with you over brushing your teeth when you’re half-conscious again.”
She pouts but concedes, “That’s fair. The evidence is there.”
Andrew snickers, “Thank you for your cooperation.”
Once Lena’s disappeared into her bedroom suite, Andrew stands up hastily, beelines to the kitchen, and rummages around in a way that makes it clear you’re supposed to follow him. First, Andrew removes last year’s school picture from his wallet and hands it to you. In it, Lena’s barely forcing a smile, her eyes full of insecurity and her lips pressed in a tight line. “She wouldn’t let me put up any of these. None from the year before, either. She said she looked ugly.”
Instinctively, you rub his back between his shoulder blades. “Nobody deserves to feel that way, especially not such a good kid.”
Placing a wallet-size of the new picture, where she’s glowing and confident, in the plastic sleeve in front of the old one, Andrew swats a tear from his cheek and whispers roughly, “This is the first school picture where she’s really smiled.” Another tear falls and this time he lets it, trying to breathe deeply and steady himself in your hand on his back. “God, she’s got the most beautiful smile, doesn’t she?”
“Yeah, she does.” You slide your arm across his shoulders and squeeze him. “I’m so glad she felt good about herself.”
Then Andrew Cody does something you’d never expect from him: He hugs you. Tight. His strong arms wrap around your back and he kisses the side of your head. Without questioning the moment, you bury your forehead in the crook of his neck and breathe in his brisk cologne. In a shaky vulnerable voice, he murmurs, “That’s because of you. I can’t thank you enough.”
He pulls away abruptly because he knows he could get lost holding you. There’s more he has to do. While you stand there, still a bit breathless from his strength and his scent, Andrew opens up a high cabinet – one nobody but him could reach – and removes something you can’t quite see. “Here,” he mutters as he shoves a thick envelope into your hands, “just a thank you. For all the time you spend with Lena. And everything else. Don’t make it weird; just take it.”
You peek suspiciously inside the envelope and find two brand new bundles of hundred dollar bills, fresh from the bank. Closing it immediately, you press it to his chest and reply, “Andrew, I can’t take two thousand dollars from a single parent.”
His eyebrows pinch together and he pouts adorably. Voice gravelly and low, he insists, “I said don’t make it weird and just take it. C’mon, be good for me.”
Well, that goes right between your legs. He didn’t necessarily mean to phrase it that way, but he also definitely doesn’t miss the way you choke out a nervous breath/giggle and flick your eyes away from his. After swallowing thickly, you tell him, “Okay, fine, but I’m going to get you and Lena presents and you can’t stop me.”
Finally, he cracks that lopsided smile you’ve only gotten out of him a handful of times. “You’re not the kind of girl I could stop from doing anything you wanted to. I like that about you.”
“That I’m stubborn?”
“That you’re sure. You don’t question yourself. It’s-” you can hear how he wants to say ‘sexy’ in his tone and the way his words hitch “-an attractive quality in a woman.”
Before you can respond, Lena emerges from her bedroom with her teeth brushed, her pajamas on, and her hair braided. You squeeze Andrew’s bicep briefly, your eyes communicating more emotion than he could ever understand, and tuck the money in your purse before joining Lena back in the living room. Andrew sits in the middle and it strikes him that he could get used to this – his girls on either side of him, an easy domestic life spread out for the taking.
Within an hour, Lena’s snoring, her head on Andrew’s lap, before Heath Ledger’s even delivered his iconic serenade. You hum along to it under your breath, nudging Andrew at your favorite moments, and try not to wake Lena with your happy squeals at the best scenes. It’s no surprise to him that romcoms are your favorite. Toward the end, you give him a sleepy smile and then rest your head on his shoulder like it’s nothing. Normal. Where your cheek touches his shoulder, it feels like lightning.
That settles it.
This isn’t a crush or some fleeting attraction.
He’s falling in love with you.
Now what the fuck is he supposed to do about it?
In lieu of my ko-fi, please consider donating to my mother's long-term dementia care fund.
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