The life of Kiana

21 :)

[fromsil]

──⋅✮ the terrible date

ㅤㅤ     ㅤ⭑ pairing. widower!jack abbot x charge nurse!reader

ㅤㅤ     ㅤ⭑ about. a terrible date, on your evening off, ends you up at the emergency service in a bad state. the very same emergency service you work at. (wc: 5.560)

ㅤㅤ     ㅤ.ᐟ warnings. soft angst. age difference (eleven years). flirting. blood. medical inaccuracies. canon medical procedures. car accident. quick reflexion about deceased wife. chubby reader.

ㅤㅤ     ㅤᯓ duo masterlist. main masterlist.

All through dinner, he had been dismissing your job as a charge nurse. Like so many others before him, he thought you were too young and making it up just to impress him—his exact words. You truly didn't know why you didn't leave after he had said that.

He did believe you were a nurse, sure, just too young for the responsibilities you were talking about. At thirty three, who was running an entire service? He has asked with disdain and mockery.

Truth be told, you were used to that kind of judgment. When you had been transferred to the emergency department, the nurses had given you sideways looks before they saw what you were capable of. Lena had trained you, explained how things worked, and made sure you understood exactly what you were getting yourself into. It had been a hell of a ride this past year, but you'd say you were doing well and so did your nurses and the doctors.

It was a hard, demanding, and stressful job, yet one you were thriving in.

Gulping down the last of the wine in your glass, you zoned out, no longer really registering what Jordan was even saying. He talked about his job endlessly, unbothered by whether you were listening at all. You took comfort in the fact that you had finished your dessert and were simply waiting for him to finish his.

The moment you'd get home, you'd call your best friend and tell her you never wanted to be set up with anyone ever again. You already knew what she would say: that you needed to get over the massive crush you had on your sort of boss.

The night shift attending. Doctor Jack Abbot.

In your defence, he had been the one to start the flirting. And he had gone in hard. He had been all over your work during your training, and on your first night as charge nurse, he hadn't restrained himself on the praising.

Usually, you weren't the type to be thrown off by a man's words, but Jack was different. It was hard to explain what had shifted between the two of you, since you had known him from your very first day at the hospital—back when you were a surgery nurse. He would occasionally come up to the floor to check on a few patients, always warm and polite, a refreshing change compared to some of the surgeons.

When a charge nurse position opened up in the ER, you had applied and after a few interviews, you had gotten it. The step up was more than welcome, even if the role was more draining.

Once you had finally found your footing, built trust with your nurses, the doctors, the interns, and the students—you had felt confident enough to flirt back.

And from that point, there had been no coming back. He was older, but you didn't care. What were eleven years, really, at your age? Nothing drastic, nothing that would stop either of you anyways.

Also, you couldn't help but think he looked far better now than when he was younger. You had once seen a photo from when he was first hired, and while he had been genuinely cute back then, the silver in his hair and the quiet confidence and dominance that came with age had made him something else entirely.

It had started with small compliments, scattered here and there. How good your new hair colour looked. How fresh your makeup was. How well you worked. How the place wouldn't survive without you. All of them unapologetic, said loud enough for anyone nearby to hear. You were no different. Every haircut earned a comment from you. You would bring him food when you could tell the night was going to be a long one. You praised what a good doctor he was, just as he praised what a good nurse you were.

It was a little much and at first the rest of the crew had felt awkward around it—as though they were always walking in on something. Eventually they learned to move around the charged atmosphere you two put out and stopped hesitating to interrupt when needed.

After a year on the night shift, neither of you had ever acted on any of it, both seeming to feel that doing so might ruin what you had. As if it was something sacred. That hadn't stopped you from developing serious feelings for the man, and you were almost certain they were returned.

But for one reason, you were afraid. You had noticed that Jack had stopped wearing his wedding ring somewhere between your promotion and now, and that had unsettled you deeply. You didn't want to replace her—his late wife—you couldn't even if it was your greatest wish. It wasn't, you had too much respect for the deceased woman, it wasn't even a thought that had crossed your mind. However, you were terrified that was exactly what he was looking for in you.

It would be impossible to fill her shoes—to fill the hole she had left behind in Jack's heart. Even with all the love you could possibly have for him in a near future, you would never be her. And that was a terrifying thought: maybe he was simply looking for a replacement. Someone to fill the hole. A hole no one would ever be fit to fill.

That had been why you had accepted this awful date.

After splitting the bill, at his demand, you were now out on the street ready to part ways. He had driven you both here, but honestly, you couldn't stand the thought of spending another minute with this man. It wasn't that late and you lived close enough, you could and would walk.

As you pushed through the restaurant door, you felt a quiet frustration settled—you had wasted a perfectly good dress on someone who hadn't even bothered to notice it. It clung to your curves beautifully, with a low neckline that deserved at least a glance at your breasts. It hugged your stomach too, but you had never made any effort to hide the fact that you were on the curvier side, and you weren't about to start now.

After exchanging a few polite words, both of you promising to text—either of you knowing full well the both of you were lying—you set off toward your place, mildly annoyed that he hadn't even offered to drive you home. What a complete waste of an evening off.

Not three seconds later, you heard a loud crash behind you, unmistakably the sound of a car accident. You turned to find your date on the ground several feet from a stopped car, a large shard of windshield glass lodged in his shoulder.

"Oh, fuck," you breathed, and then you were running.

He was conscious, sitting up on his own, trying to make sense of what had just happened. Once you were satisfied he was alert, you rushed to the car. The driver was conscious too, yelling about how Jordan had come out of nowhere, his hands shoving uselessly at a jammed seatbelt.

People nearby had already called 911. All there was left to do was wait. As a nurse, walking away felt almost criminal, so you stayed. While bystanders gathered around the driver and worked to get him out of the car, you went back to Jordan.

You crouched in front of him, and for just a moment your eyes left his—long enough for something warm and wet to splash across you, followed by a sharp groan.

"I don't think I was supposed to do that," Jordan said, the glass shard now in his hand a look of shock splattered across his face.

Blood had poured from the wound straight into your cleavage before slowing to a trickle running down his chest. You pressed both hands hard against the wound without hesitation.

"No, you weren't." You kept your voice flat, falling on your knees on the concrete scratching them. He was about to pass out—you could see it in the way he was staring at the glass in his hand. "Can someone get me a towel? Anything?" you called out to the crowd.

The response was immediate, as his eyes rolled to the back of his head. Seconds later you were pressing down on the wound with a clean towel while Jordan lay unconscious on the ground. It wasn't blood loss that had taken him under the wound was small, even if it had bled dramatically after he took of the piece of glass. It was the sight of his own blood.

You exhaled slowly and looked up just as ambulance lights swept down the street.

The paramedics assessed Jordan, applied pressure to the wound, and were now loading him into the ambulance. You stood there weighing whether to follow. You recognised the crew, and given where the restaurant was, you already knew they were heading to PTMC.

You looked down at your hands, still trying to decide and that was when you noticed it. Something was wrong. At some point between the accident and now, you had sliced your palm open. It wasn't serious, nothing you couldn't handle yourself, but your hands were covered in blood.

Blood that wasn't yours. Blood that could be infected.

"Oh, for fuck's sake," you muttered, then raised your voice to flag down the paramedics before they pulled away.

Walking into the ER was one of the most humiliating experiences of your life. Rationally, it wasn't that bad, you were staff, you walked in here almost everyday. But you were also covered in someone else's blood, and those two facts did not sit well with each other.

Your date had been taken straight through when they arrived, while you had deliberately hung back for a few minutes. It had seemed like the considerate thing to do at the time.

It was, after reflexion, possibly the worst decision you had made all evening. Because rather than looking like someone who had helped an injured man, you looked like a woman who had been assaulted.

The first person to spot you was Shen, who had been laughing with Ellis at the nurses' station. His laugh cut off the instant his eyes landed on you, replaced by a sharp intake of breath. Within seconds he was crossing the floor toward you at speed, already calling out for a wheelchair.

"No, no, I'm okay," you tried explaining as the entire ER seemed to converge on you at once. "It's not my blood, I'm fine."

But it was too late. You were gently lowered into a wheelchair while Lena rushed you into a free room, and everything you said was brushed aside—they had likely decided you were in shock and weren't taking any chances.

Lena was already calling for Abbot while hands came at you from every direction. Someone was listening to your heart and lungs, someone else was pressing along your ribs asking if it hurt here or there, nurses were checking your vitals from both sides.

It was the arrival of Abbot that finally pushed you over the edge. He came through the door looking as though someone had told him you were dead. The room felt like it was closing in: the nurses crowding around you, Lena directing everyone with sharp precision, all those hands on your body. It was too much.

You stood up quickly and backed yourself toward the far wall, away from all of it. You'd give them that much, you must have looked unhinged in that moment with palms raised in front of you like a barrier, your breathing starting to climb.

"Enough," you said, chest heaving. "I'm not hurt. This isn't my blood. I was with the man from the car accident who just came in, Jordan."

Every doctor and nurse in the room looked to the charge nurse on duty. Lena gave a short nod, confirming that a Jordan had indeed just been brought in.

"The idiot pulled a piece of glass out of his own shoulder and the blood went everywhere, all over me." You kept going, your breathing steadying now that nobody was staring at you like you were about to collapse. "I would have gone straight home if it weren't for the fact that I cut my hand and his blood is all over the wound." You looked around the room. "I just need a blood test."

That was when your eyes found Abbot's. He hadn't said a word yet—still standing at the entrance, arms folded across his chest. He looked almost composed, except for his eyes, which were moving over you carefully, methodically, searching for anything anyone might have missed.

"Okay, everyone back to work," he said at last, apparently satisfied you weren't in need of urgent care. When no one moved, you rolled your eyes before his voice boomed again. "Come on, Nightcrawlers. You're needed elsewhere."

That did it. The room cleared, leaving only you, Abbot, and Lena. Almost at the same time, as though they had rehearsed it, both of them tilted their heads toward the bed.

You let out a small laugh and shook your head, but you moved toward it all the same. Once you were sitting, Lena slipped the pulse oximeter back onto your finger and studied your face with quiet intensity.

"I'll be right back for the blood test," she said, her voice soft in a way that told you she was still being careful with you.

Technically, blood tests weren't part of a charge nurse's duties, but you weren't going to say a word. If she wanted to do it herself, you would let her.

It must have been genuinely frightening, seeing a colleague walk through those doors covered in blood. It was only now beginning to register that you could have gone home first to cleaned up and change before coming in.

"Well, that was something," you said lightly, glancing over at Jack, who still hadn't moved from the doorway.

The look on his face told you he did not find the situation even remotely amusing. His expression was hard enough that you felt your gaze drop, your fingers starting to fidget in your lap, until a sharp bolt of pain shot through your hand and up to your elbow.

Abbot was in front of you within seconds. He reached for your hand, then caught himself—almost as if he had reached out for your on instinct— and turned to pull a pair of gloves from the dispenser on the wall before taking your hand carefully in both of his and lowering himself onto the rolling stool.

"This is pretty deep," he said, eyes on the wound.

"No, it isn't," you scoffed.

You were a nurse. You knew how to assess an injury, and this was a cut you could have handled at home with what you had in your bathroom cabinet.

You laid back against the bed as he glanced up at you with that look again, and made yourself comfortable while Abbot reached for the saline. He opened his mouth, something sarcastic clearly on its way, but Lena reappeared in the doorway before he got the chance.

It took only a few minutes for Lena to run through her checks and let you know they had drawn blood from Jordan as well and were still waiting on his results. You gave her a thumb up and thanked her warmly while Jack continued rinsing your hand with saline.

He swivelled on his stool and rolled toward the supply drawers. "Have a look for yourself, genius. Not deep, my ass."

You pushed yourself up slightly and looked down at your now clean palm and, well, fuck. It was deeper than you had thought. Considerably so. How had you even managed that? You had felt the concrete scrape your knees, but how had you not noticed your entire palm getting sliced open?

"Shit," you said, and let your head fall back against the bed. "I need stitches."

"Yep," was all he offered in return.

What was supposed to be a quick stop at the ER had turned into you becoming a patient. You were on the other side of things entirely but apparently you were getting the full VIP treatment, because Abbot had already turned back around with a suture kit in hand.

"You can call one of the nurses. I know you have more important things to do," you said, watching him lay everything out.

Without even looking up at you, still focused on getting everything the way it was supposed to, Abbot shocked his head.

"Nuh uh," he let out, followed by an almost whispered, "I can take care of you."

The words, the cadence, the casual dominance, the way his voice dropped lower than usual—it sent a shiver straight down your spine and ran straight between your legs. It took everything you had not to press your thighs together.

You knew he would notice, as Jack noticed everything.

You opened your mouth to argue. His eyes met yours with a look that left not room for complains. That happened so often with Jack, the way he could hold a room without even trying. That effortless, unassuming authority he carried without ever seeming to reach for it.

"Shen has the floor covered," he said simply, leaving no room for further debate.

Once he had numbed your hand, he got to work. The silence that followed was uncomfortable in a way that surprised you, the two of you weren't used to quiet moment. There was always something easy and warm between you, something a little flirty and a little playful. The absence of it was starting to press on you.

"That's one pretty dress," Jack said, breaking it, almost as though he had sensed the shift.

"It's completely ruined," you said, glancing down at the dried blood stiffening the fabric. "And it didn't even get me a single compliment all night." The words were out before you had quite decided to say them.

"Really?" It wasn't quite a question, you could hear it in his tone while his eyes stayed on his sutures.

"Really," you confirmed, thinking back to the vaguely disgusted look Jordan had given it. "He split the bill too." You kept going, unable to stop yourself now that you had started. "And didn't offer to drive me home."

That made him look up.

"He let you walk home alone at night?" he asked, making sure he had understood correctly.

"Well, I would have said no anyways, I really didn't want to spend another minute with him… but the fact that he didn't even offer. That's a red flag if I've ever seen one." You laughed, and then the laugh faded the moment you caught his expression.

His jaw was set, his eyes hard and anger lingering behind them. Not at you but at the man who had let a woman walk home alone in the dark. You could practically watch the what-ifs moving behind his eyes.

"Karma got him in the end, though. I mean, he got hit by a car," you tried joking, reaching for even just a small twist of his lips.

The joke didn't land. He went back to suturing in silence, brow furrowed in concentration. Then, a few minutes later, without looking up.

"For what it's worth, you make the dress even prettier." His voice was barely above a whisper.

You laughed awkwardly, the way you always did when you didn't know how to receive a compliment, especially one about your body. "Well, enjoy it while you can. It's going straight in the bin when I get home."

"A shame," Jack said simply, and you knew he meant it.

You could feel the warmth spreading up your neck and into your cheeks, and you couldn't quite make yourself look away from him.

The ease of it, the way he could flirt so quietly and so naturally while stitching your hand, as if the two things required the same level of calm made him more attractive than you knew what to do with. You had a feeling this was a point of no return.

The thought dissolved when Lena reappeared in the doorway, a wide smile already on her face and a sheets of papers in her hand. You knew she had pulled a few strings to get the results flagged as a priority, and you were grateful for it—you needed the peace of mind.

"He's clean," she said, her smile widening. "You'll still need a round of antibiotics, but there's nothing to worry about."

You closed your eyes and exhaled slowly. It would have been a devastating thing, picking up an infection from a man you hadn't even wanted to have dinner with. When you opened your eyes, Jack was already gesturing for Lena to bring the results over. You watched some of the tension leave his face as he read through them.

Did he realise how expressive he was? At least with you.

"Thank you, Lena," you said warmly as she gave you a quiet wink and slipped back out of the room.

Soon enough, the sutures were done. Strangely, despite being someone who lived nocturnally even on your days off—deliberately, so as not to lose your rhythm—you were starting to feel the pull of exhaustion.

When Jack rolled away to dispose of everything, you wiggled your fingers experimentally, trying to gauge how much anaesthesia was left. Sensation was slowly creeping back, and the absence of feeling in your palm was really weird in that particular way that made you want to keep testing it.

"Stop that," Jack said, his back still to you, before turning around with bandages, antiseptic, and compresses.

"I can't feel anything," you said, not entirely sure whether he was telling you off to protect his work or protect your hand.

"I don't care. Don't ruin my good work." He looked at you as he said it, a faint edge of amusement in his expression.

"Oh, right, of course. My sincerest apologies, Doctor Abbot." You rolled your eyes and dropped your good forearm over your face.

All you wanted now was to go home and sleep. With an injury like this—even though you would have argued you were perfectly capable of working—you already knew Abbot would sign you off for at least a week, or until the stitches came out. There was no getting around it.

Once the bandage was secured, you moved to sit up, and a warm, heavy hand pressed gently but firmly on your shoulder and guided you back down. You frowned and tried again. The hand pressed once more.

"Don't move," Abbot said, clicking his tongue, his expression leaving no room for negotiation.

He shifted down the side of the bed and lifted the hem of your dress slightly without saying a word before reaching for the antiseptic. Of course, he had noticed your had scratched your knees. Abbot noticed everything.

"You don't have to do that," you said, keeping your voice gentle.

It was something you could easily take care of at home. You didn't need to take up any more of his time, knowing how wild the night shift could get. When you made another attempt to sit up, the same hand came to rest on your knee unhurried, measured and still so freaking warm. His eyes found yours, one eyebrow raised in a question that needed no words.

You tilted your head and felt a flicker of genuine irritation. "I'm a nurse. I can manage a few scraped knees myself."

He said nothing at first. He simply reached for a sealed compress and tore it open then paused, and looked up at you with a slow, knowing smirk. He knew exactly what he was doing. You hated wasting supplies and he was well aware of it.

"Oops," he said simply, and picked up the antiseptic.

It took everything you had not to say something about how annoying he was. You swallowed it and let him work in silence, watching. His movements were gentle and precise, carefully cleaning a wound that could have been sorted out under a shower at home.

His fingers were light against your skin, one hand cradling your knee while the other pressed the compress softly against the bruising. It was such an unexpectedly tender thing that it was making you feel warm and strange and a little undone. The way he was hunched over you, his posture terrible, as though his back wasn't going to punish him for it the moment he stood up straight.

"Your back, Abbot," you said, in a tone that came out far more like a scolding wife than you had intended.

The only answer you got was a knowing smirk as he moved on to the second knee. His fingers were warm, and you noticed—not for the first time, honestly—that they were the right size. Not large exactly, just... proportioned perfectly. It was a strange thing to be fixated on, but you had been quietly obsessed with his hands for months, and feeling them on your skin for the first time was doing something to your brain. Rewiring it, almost.

"All done," he said, pulling you back. "You can get up, now."

Feeling inexplicably guilty, as though you had been caught thinking something you shouldn't, you sat up too fast and felt the blood rush immediately. You lost your balance and missed the edge of the bed on your way down but Jack's military reflexes were faster. Both hands closed around your forearms and set you upright before you had any real chance of hitting the floor.

"Easy, tiger," he said, still watching your face with eyes that were a touch more worried than the joke suggested.

You laughed it off and stood again, slower this time, giving him a thumb up before grabbing your bag from the bed and following Abbot toward the nurses' station. After reassuring your colleagues that you were absolutely fine, despite knowing you looked anything but, you turned to Lena.

"What are the chances Abbot doesn't put me on medical leave?" you asked, watching him chart you from across the room. It wasn't a complicated entry given the nature of the injury, but it also meant he was prescribing medication, and very likely signing the paperwork you were dreading.

"Absolutely none," Lena replied without looking up from her own screen.

"I could work," you started, but the look Lena levelled at you over her monitor stopped the sentence dead. "How will you manage?" you asked instead, guilt settling in your chest.

"Don't worry about me," the older woman said, her smile warm enough to be annoying about it. She stood and pulled you into a hug. "I know you have a habit of worrying about the elderly," she murmured, "but I'm not quite there yet."

"Lena," you gasped, pulling back with mock horror.

You glanced around quickly to check whether anyone had caught that. Satisfied that the rest of the night shift seemed to be occupied occupied, you shook your head slowly. Ready to scold her, you were stopped by a masculine presence.

"Here." Jack's voice cut through as he appeared beside you, pressing a folded set of papers into your good hand.

"You know, I could—" you started, glancing down at the medical leave form.

"No." He cut you off immediately, steering you toward the ambulance bay with one hand settled at the small of your back.

He didn't even give you time to properly say goodbye to Lena. You threw her an apologetic look over your shoulder. Her smile only widened and she was soon joined by Shen and Mateo, wearing the exact same knowing smirk.

Jack's hand sat across the small of your back as though it had always belonged there—and again, it was just so warm. He wasn't pushing, exactly. It was more like being gently herded, a steady and certain pressure guiding you precisely where he had decided you were going: home.

Once outside, you drew breath to say goodnight and finally make your escape taking a small stop away from him. Looking at Jack, you were met with something unfamiliar. It was rare for this man to check on his phone and yet here he was.

His phone was in his hand—the hand with no wedding ring anymore—he appeared to be thinking. He frowned faintly, then looked up at you, his expression easing just slightly.

"What's your address again? I looked it up in your chart but I forgot," he said, almost to himself, his thumb already moving across the screen.

You caught a glimpse of the Uber app open in front of him. Widening your eyes, you shook your head, this wasn't happening.

"No. Nope. Absolutely not." You shook your head. "Goodnight, Abbot."

You should have known better. Of course Jack Abbot wasn't going to stand there and watch you walk away at nearly midnight. For what felt like the tenth time that night, he reached for you. His fingers wrapped around your wrist—not tight, always gentle, always warm—holding you back. He had been deliberate about it too, catching your uninjured arm.

"If you think," he began, his eyes steady on yours, "that I'm going to do what that terrible date of yours did and let you walk home alone, think again. You're either getting in that Uber or you're sitting here until my shift ends."

In his eyes, you could see it was pointless to argue. You clicked your tongue, closed your eyes, and let out a long breath. When you opened them, you gave a single nod, eyebrows raised.

"Put that I'm paying in cash," you said. Not a request.

He didn't even glance up. He simply scoffed, as though you had said something mildly entertaining.

"I'm not joking," you replied, a little sharper than you had intended but the exhaustion was beginning to win.

"She's three minutes away, out front," Jack said, unbothered, already looking back at his phone. "Text me when you're home. Come back in a week for the stitches."

And then he was gone, back through the doors without a goodbye, without giving you a chance to get another word in.

You stood there for a moment, weighing your options. With him inside and unable to see you, you could absolutely just walk home and let him deal with a one-star rating from you skipping the ride home. Your ego was genuinely putting up a fight.

But something about the way he had looked at you before disappearing inside made it difficult to do anything other than what he had asked. Almost as if he had anticipated the internal debate, your phone buzzed: a screenshot from Jack, the car model and licence plate from the Uber app.

Less than fifteen minutes later, you were home. When you had tried to pay the driver, the woman smiled and told you it had already been taken care of through the app. You exhaled slowly, thanked her, and got out of the car. At least she was honest enough.

Right after locking your front door behind you, you went straight to the bathroom, desperate to get out of the bloody dress you've been in for hours now. It was almost starting to itch from how uncomfortable you felt in it. Before stepping into the shower, you fired off two quick texts to Jack.

how much do i owe you fucker? im home btw

It was late, you were tired, and you were annoyed with him, the insult had slipped out on its own. Besides, technically you were equals hierarchically speaking. He simply had an extra qualification to his name. And you knew he wasn't the sort of person to get offended over such a trivial thing—even more when he had been the one pushing your patience.

You took your time in the shower, washing slowly and thoroughly. You had already washed your hair before the date, but it felt necessary to do it again—like washing the entire evening off. You were careful around the stitched hand, working methodically around it.

Hair dried, skincare done, body moisturised, new bandage on—you were finally ready for bed. It was half past one in the morning, and if there was one good thing about the medical leave, it was that you could sleep in without feeling any sort of guilt.

You didn't check your phone. You simply plugged it in on the nightstand, turned off the light, and settled into bed. Despite everything, despite the irritation still slithering quietly under the surface, all your mind kept returning to as your eyes closed was the feeling of his hands on you.

How warm they were. How careful. How certain. How capable.

You were seconds from sleep when your phone buzzed. Once. Short and deliberate. You reached for it blindly, hand patting across the nightstand until your fingers closed around it. You tilted the screen toward you. Two words.

Two words that sent warmth pooling straight to places it had no business going at one-thirty in the morning.

Good girl.

ㅤㅤ     ㅤ⭑ following part.

©fromsil.

a.n.: new aesthetic and a new abbot fic? hell yeah. (also if you can tell i have a fingers/hand/arms kink... no you dont, shut up)

[pedroscurls]

a familiar face (one-shot)

summary: before there was catherine, there was you—his twin sister’s best friend and a safe place for the both of you.

pairing: andrew “pope” cody x fem!reader content warning(s): EXPLICIT CONTENT (18+ mdni), descriptions of alcohol and drug use, mention of death of parent (overdose), manipulation / inappropriate behavior (smurf that’s you), all the cody boys love you, basic descriptions of reader (medium-length hair, curves), love confessions, smut - protected piv, oral m receiving (brief f receiving), light slap to the ass, fingering, cowgirl, missionary, no use of y/n. word count: 7k a/n: i'm so so obsessed with pope it's not even funny. i just want to give him a hug and tell him that he's lovable (unconditionally) and also to just get smurf out of the picture. anyway, this is taking place before s3 events (baz is still alive here and smurf isn’t in jail yet). hope y'all enjoy. it isn't proofread but this has been lingering in my mind for DAYSSSSS. see y'all next time<3 gif credit @wesandresons (gifset found here).

“I have quite the surprise for you, Andrew,” Smurf smirked, standing in the kitchen as she was preparing dinner. 

Pope looked at her with a slightly furrowed brow before he looked around the counter at Baz, Deran, Craig, and J. “A surprise?” 

“Well, it could very well be a surprise to all of you, actually.”

Craig and Deran looked at each other. 

Baz leaned back against the counter with his arms crossed over his chest and J had poured himself a glass of water. He felt like he was finally holding his own in this family, especially after losing his mother. 

Just as Baz was going to speak, there was movement on the camera and all five men looked up at the small television that was mounted in the kitchen. It was dark out, so it was a bit difficult to make out who it was, until your face came into view. 

Baz’s eyes widened slightly.

Craig and Deran cleared their throats. 

J furrowed a brow.

And Pope—well, his expression remained neutral, but his posture went rigid. 

“Is that—”

“It is,” Smurf interrupted. 

“Who’s that?” J asked.

“Your mother’s best friend,” Baz answered. 

“I bumped into her at the grocery store today and invited her over for dinner,” Smurf explained. “She said she moved back to Oceanside just a few months ago. Has her own practice nearby.”

“Practice?” 

“She’s a child therapist,” Smurf smiled. “She’s always been the smart one, hasn’t she?” 

“She—She was my mom’s best friend?” J asked. 

“She used to live a few houses down,” Baz answered. “She was—she was good for us, for your mom, for Pope,” he whispered.

Andrew cleared his throat. 

The doorbell rang. 

Craig and Deran were the first ones to walk eagerly to the door. They didn’t have a great childhood, but they did remember you—the girl with a pretty smile and a contagious laugh, who had a family that would welcome them as if they were their own. 

When the door flung open, you looked up with slightly wide eyes. You were holding a bottle of wine, dressed casually in a pair of jeans and a cropped cardigan over a fitted white tank top with your hair flowing naturally past your shoulders

“Craig? Deran?” You smiled. “Jesus, look at how tall you guys got!” 

Craig and Deran chuckled before pulling you into a hug. You still had the same pretty smile and when you laughed, both men couldn’t help but laugh too. It was like they were suddenly transported to a time where you’d invite all of them over to your house while your parents made dinner. 

“Smurf said you’re some hotshot therapist now,” Craig teased, helping you inside of the familiar home. 

You nodded, looking up at him and glancing at Deran. “Yeah,” you answered. “Always wanted to help people get through really difficult shit, but as I went to school, I focused a lot more on wanting to help kids.” 

“You helped us,” Deran whispered. “Even if you didn’t know it.”

You smiled. “I know, Deran,” you reached over to rest a hand on his arm. “But look at you two—so handsome and tall,” you teased. “Smurf said you own your own bar too.”

“Yeah,” Deran grinned proudly. “It’s still new, but I’m pretty proud of it.”

“Well, I hope I can stop by one of these days,” you said.

“That—That’d be great,” Deran said. “I’d love to have you come by.” 

As they led you through the house, you could feel your heart beating out of your chest. You knew that you’d see Andrew tonight and it was one of the reasons why you agreed to dinner anyway—for the chance to see him again. 

Once you rounded the corner to the kitchen, you saw him immediately. The same curls and the same intense gaze that you had fallen in love with all those years ago. You didn’t stare at him for too long before you swept your gaze to Baz, to Smurf, and then to the younger man at the counter. 

Instantly, you noticed the resemblances that he shared with Julia and you bit your lower lip, setting the bottle of wine you had brought with you on the kitchen counter. 

“This is J,” Smurf said. “Julia’s son.”

“Hi,” you said softly. “I—I’m sorry about your mom, J. I thought she’d have gotten the help to get better,” you sighed. 

J just shrugged, kept his hands in his pockets and looked at you. “Were you really her best friend?” 

“When we were in high school, yeah,” you answered. “But my family—we ended up moving and we lost touch.”

Smurf chimed in with a smile. “You used to get in all sorts of trouble, didn’t you?” 

You looked at Smurf and tightened your jaw. You hadn’t ever felt comfortable around her, especially not after you noticed how Julia and Andrew would act whenever she was around. There was a complete difference between how any of the Cody kids were when they were at your place versus when you were over at theirs. 

But you knew what Smurf was referring to. 

Because she had glanced over at Pope with a knowing grin.

“Smurf,” Baz warned.

“What?” She chuckled. “It’s nice to think back on memories, don’t you think?” 

You held her gaze. You were no longer a teenager trying to protect your best friend and the boy you loved from a woman who manipulated them every chance she could. 

The rest of the Cody boys looked between the two of you, but Pope couldn’t take his eyes off of you. He couldn’t explain what he was feeling—the tossing and turning in the pit of his stomach, the thrumming beat of his heart pounding against his chest. He never thought he’d ever see you again; saying goodbye to you had broken his heart… something he didn’t think he’d ever fully recover from. 

Because you had always been a safe place for him and for Julia. 

And when you left, everything came crashing down. 

“I can think of worse things that adults have done,” you finally answered. “Adults that should know better.” 

Smurf kept her smile, but anyone who knew her knew that she didn’t like being talked back to, didn’t like being challenged. 

J looked between the both of you. 

No one else was saying anything. 

But the sound of the oven going off managed to break the tension. 

“Dinner’s ready,” Smurf smiled, grabbing her oven mitts and turning around to the oven to grab the lasagna she had baked. 

“Can I use your bathroom?” You asked, eyes glancing over at Andrew briefly. 

Baz looked over at you. “Pope can show you.” 

“Oh, I think I remember where it is… unless you guys did some renovations—”

“We did,” Craig lied. 

Pope let out a quiet sigh and then nodded, walking past you without waiting for you to follow him. You cleared your throat and excused yourself, following Andrew through the halls. He kept his hands at his sides as he led you through the home and you couldn’t take your eyes off of him from behind. You thought he was handsome when he was young, but now—well now, he was even better than you ever remembered. 

“They lied,” Pope said. “We didn’t do any renovations.” 

“Oh,” you whispered, approaching the bathroom at the end of the hall.

He opened the door for you and then stepped out with his gaze downwards. It wasn’t until you reached for his arm that he finally looked at you. Pope’s eyes stared deeply into your own and he hesitantly took a step forward, the both of you now standing gin the bathroom.

“You look—” you whispered, feeling the muscles on his forearms flexing underneath your touch. “You look good, Andrew.”

He nodded, looking down at your hand briefly. “And you too.” 

“I missed you,” you admitted.

Then, you slowly moved your hands to his shoulders and wrapped your arms around him to pull him into a hug. He was taller now—taller than you remembered, but his arms immediately snaked around your waist loosely and rested his cheek on your shoulders. Pope shut his eyes for a moment and reveled in the comfort of your embrace. He hadn’t felt this safe in someone’s arms in so long. 

You held him like this for another minute or two until you both heard the sound of laughter echoing down the hallways. You pulled back only enough to look up at him, but made no move to let go of him entirely. Pope rested his forehead against yours as his hands moved to rest on your hips. Even after decades of being apart, it was like your bodies knew what the other needed. 

“Can you take me home tonight?” You asked. “Maybe we can catch up? Just us?” 

He nodded. “Okay,” he said softly. “You didn’t drive here?” 

“Took an Uber.”

The corner of his lips lifted upwards. “That your plan all along? Get me to drive you home?” 

“Maybe,” you smiled. 

His smile grew. “Okay,” he repeated, moving one of his hands to your cheek, brushing his thumb lightly along your skin. It was as if he was trying to see if this was real, if you being here was real. 

Then, you turned your head and pressed a light kiss on his thumb. “I’m here,” you whispered. “For good now.”

Pope let out a shaky sigh and nodded. 

“Dinner’s ready you two!” Craig yelled.

Then, Pope chimed in. “Don’t—Don’t try to stir the pot, okay?”

You rolled your eyes playfully. “I’ll try not to.”

He sighed.

That got your attention. “Okay, Andrew.” 

“Thank you.”

“Your eyes—” you whispered. “I don’t remember them ever being this sad.”

He looked away and dropped his hand back to your hip. 

“But we can talk more about it when we get back to my place.” 

“I’m not your patient,” he whispered.

“I know you’re not. Last I checked, you’re not a kid anymore… and I’m a child therapist,” you corrected. 

Suddenly, Pope pulled away when he heard Deran’s footsteps approach the bathroom. “I’ll leave you to the bathroom,” he whispered and feeling a surge of confidence, Pope leaned in and kissed your cheek. “I’m glad you’re back.”

After dinner, you all migrated to the backyard and sat around the pool. You had folded the ends of your jeans to your calves so that you could dip your feet in the water. Pope was sitting on one of the beach chairs across from you, eyes locked on you as he watched you talk and laugh with Deran and Craig. Smurf was in the kitchen, talking to Baz—possibly about another job—and J hesitantly approached you. 

“You want a bump?” Craig asked, walking to a small table nearby. You furrowed a brow and watched him snort the white powder.

“Craig…” you whispered. 

“What?” 

“Guess you’re not a kid anymore,” you said, glancing back over at Pope. “Do you do that often?”

“Only when needed,” Craig grinned.

“So often?” 

“Helps me function.”

“Don’t know if that’s a good thing or not,” you said, shrugging a shoulder and turning to look over at J. “Do you do that too?” 

The younger man shook his head. “No,” he answered.

“He drinks, but doesn’t really touch any of the drugs,” Craig said. “I guess seeing your mother overdose in front of you will put things into perspective.”

You cleared your throat and softened your eyes at the younger man. “Y—You were there?” 

J nodded.

“I’m sorry,” you sighed. “That must have been real hard. Your mom—she was—” you looked down at your wine glass. “She had a kind heart. She just got lost in… in everything, I guess.” 

“Smurf said you were always the smart one… what does she mean by that?”

You shrugged. “I don’t know,” you answered. “They were smart too,” you said pointing to the collective Cody family. “Julia, too. They’d come by my house on most days after school and after we finished all our homework, my parents would make us dinner—”

“You also had this sick ass trampoline in your backyard,” Craig interrupted. “Me and Deran would be on that thing for hours!” 

“Yeah and you almost broke your arm when you two were playing too rough,” you commented. Deran and Craig laughed amongst themselves and J let the corner of his lips lift slightly. 

“And you and my mom?” 

“She—she always wanted to make sure that Andrew was okay,” you answered honestly. 

“And Baz?” 

“Oh,” you smiled. “She and Baz were inseparable for a while.” 

“And you and Uncle Pope?”

Your gaze turned to Andrew who was still staring at you. “We’re friends. We all were best friends,” you answered.

Deran snorted.

Craig chuckled.

“Friends, sure.” 

J laughed quietly. 

“Does she have a plot nearby?” You asked. “I’d love to visit and get her some flowers.” 

“Yeah, she’s got one,” J answered. “I can take you there tomorrow, if you like.” 

“I think that’d be great,” you smiled. “I can tell you more stories about what we got up to,” you laughed quietly. 

Baz abruptly stepped out and shook his head to himself, walking over to Pope. You watched them carefully before you looked at Smurf, her eyes already locked on you. 

“Hey, J?” You asked, seeing Deran and Craig get up to grab another bottle of beer from inside the home. “Is Smurf—is she good to you?” 

J glanced over at Smurf and then looked down at you. “Yeah,” he answered nonchalantly. “It’s been a more stable home than what I’m used to,” he admitted. 

“That’s good,” you said. “Stability is important.” 

“Can I ask why you moved away?” 

You shrugged. You had your suspicions that Smurf had something to do with it, but you couldn’t prove it. “Dad got a new job in New York.” 

“Oh.” 

“Yeah,” you sighed. “Tried to convince them to let me finish my last two years of high school here, but…” 

“They didn’t let you,” J finished for you. 

“It was weird too,” you said, taking a sip of your wine. “How abrupt it was, how fast we moved away.”

Smurf approached you and rested a hand on J’s shoulder. To anyone else, it could have been seen as a kind gesture, but to you, it was territorial. She was trying to prove a point without actually saying it. 

“What are you two talking about?” Smurf asked. 

“About Julia,” you answered, holding her gaze. 

Baz looked across the way and then back at Pope. “How are you doing?”

“Fine,” he answered. 

“How’s it like seeing her?” 

“It’s okay,” Pope replied. 

“Just okay? You’ve been staring at her all night, man,” Baz teased, letting out a quiet chuckle. 

“Just want to make sure she doesn’t get into it with Smurf,” he reasoned. 

“She always did get into it with her, didn’t she?” Baz sighed. “Even when we were all younger.” 

Pope shrugged. 

“You know, she always loved you, man,” he said. “She went toe to toe with Smurf every chance she could get to protect Julia, to protect you.” 

Pope glanced over at Baz and then back at over at you and Smurf. You had stood from the pool now. 

“Do you think Smurf had anything to do with her leaving?” 

Baz nodded. “Yeah,” he answered. “I think Smurf was the reason why they left.” 

Pope sighed. 

Then, he stood from the beach chair when he saw you step up to Smurf now. 

“You were her mother,” you spat. “You should have protected her.” 

“We tried,” Smurf said. 

“Not hard enough, it seems like,” you replied. 

“You think you know what it’s like? Having a child who doesn’t want the help?” Smurf reasoned. 

“Oh please,” you said, jaw ticking at the sight of her. “Julia told me so many things about you and—”

“Enough,” J said, shaking his head. 

“Your mom could’ve gotten clean, J,” you said, looking over at him. “… or she could’ve also never had the opportunity to get on drugs in the first place.” 

Smurf laughed. 

“I shouldn’t have come back here,” you said. “We never did get along, did we, Smurf?” 

“You were a teenager,” Smurf said. “… who was in love with one of my sons. Of course we weren’t ever going to get along.” 

You turned to J and grabbed one of your business cards to hand to him. “If you ever want to know more about your mom or if you want any pictures—which I’ve noticed is lacking here—then, feel free to give me a call.” 

Smurf took the business card from J and ripped it up into two. “Don’t think he will be needing that.” 

“Why did you even invite me, Smurf?” You asked, shaking your head. 

“To show you that my boys are doing just fine,” she answered. 

“Craig’s doing cocaine,” you said. “That’s fine to you?” 

Baz walked over now. He looked between you and Smurf for a moment before motioning for Pope to walk towards you too. 

“I think we’ve all had enough to drink,” Baz said, trying to lighten the mood and cut the tension. “And so, I think it’s time we call it a night.” 

“Pope, you taking her home, right?” Baz called out. 

Pope nodded. 

“It’s fine,” you said. “I can get my own ride home.” 

“I am taking you home,” Pope mumbled. “That’s final. Now, let’s go.” 

The entire ride back home you were quiet. Pope kept both hands on the steering wheel, but he kept glancing in your direction. You had given him your address for directions, but kept your gaze out towards the window. 

It only took about fifteen minutes until he pulled up to the curb in front of your apartment complex. Once he put his truck in park, you looked over at him and noticed his gaze focused straight ahead. 

“I’m sorry,” you finally whispered. “I shouldn’t have let her get to me like that. It’s not my place to—”

“I loved you,” Pope blurted out. “I think I’ve always loved you.” 

“Andrew…” 

“You always felt safe to me, to Julia too,” he whispered. “And my eyes are sad because I’m just tired… of everything.” 

You reached out for him and rested a hand on his own. He flinched under your touch and then relaxed, eyes dropping to your hand. 

“I didn’t think I’d ever see you again,” he continued. “But you can’t—you can’t go toe to toe like that with Smurf again.”

“I can handle her—”

“She can hurt you,” Pope interjected. 

You sighed. “Okay,” you whispered. 

Then, he finally looked at you. 

“Do you want to come in?” You asked. 

Pope nodded. “Okay.” 

You pulled your hand over his and climbed out of his truck to lead him towards your apartment on the second floor. You glanced over your shoulder at him as he glanced around the empty street and quiet neighborhood. You unlocked your front door and slowly opened it for him, watching him step inside after you. You kicked off your shoes and he did the same, neatly putting them aside before you closed and locked the door behind him. 

“I loved you too,” you finally said. “…I think a part of me still does because even after all these years, I look at you and feel all these butterflies.” 

Pope lowered his gaze and watched you step closer to him. Even as his heart raced faster, all he could think about was how safe he was, how untouchable he felt. 

“Moving away from you and Julia… it broke my heart,” you confessed. “I was mad at my parents for a very long time.” 

When he felt your hand move to his chest, Pope inhaled sharply. He kept his hands at his side and his back straight as he looked at you, eyes scanning your face. He tried so hard to chase the feeling that he had with you anywhere he could. When he met Catherine, it felt like it was his second chance, but even then, she never did really feel the same way. 

Because she had chosen Baz… like everyone else in his life did. 

“Will you stay the night, Andrew?”

He looked into your eyes. You moved your hand from his chest to the side of his neck lightly. 

“Only if you’re comfortable,” you added. “I just—I don’t want this night to end.” 

He nodded once and then stepped forward. Pope’s hands reached out to rest on your sides, inadvertently pressing your back against the door. “I’m a different person now.” 

“Me too,” you whispered. 

“I still feel safe,” Pope said quietly, lowering his head to lightly brush his lips across your cheek. “With you, I still feel safe.” 

He wouldn’t admit it either, but you and Catherine had only been the two women that he’d ever thought about inappropriately. He wasn’t like Craig or Baz or J. He didn’t seek out other women to satisfy his needs. Even with Catherine, it had taken him a while before allowing himself to open up in a way that he did with you. 

“Andrew,” you whispered. 

He pulled back to look down at you. Your eyes softened at the sight of him. 

“I’m not going anywhere,” you said quietly. “And I don’t know what this looks like between me and you, but I—I’d like it if you were part of my life again.” 

He nodded. Pope’s eyes briefly glanced down at your lips as he let out a shaky breath when your hands moved up his chest and around his shoulders. He knew that he couldn’t tell you the things he had done since you left, or the fact that he really wasn’t a good man, but if for one night he could forget about all of that and just be with you, he’d take it. 

“Okay,” he whispered. Suddenly, Pope felt his phone vibrate in his pocket and it caused him to pull away from you to look down at it. He saw Smurf’s contact name appear on the screen and without hesitation, he declined the call and then shut his phone off. His relationship with his mother had always been very rocky to begin with, but ever since she asked him to do something about Cath, it just never was the same. 

“Don’t need to take that?” You asked. 

Pope shook his head. “Nothing’s important right now. I just want to be here with you.” 

You smiled and then took his hand, slowly leading him down the hallway and to your bedroom. He caught a brief glance of some the photographs hung on the wall and stopped halfway to see a familiar picture. 

You kept  hold on his hand though and looked over at him, knowing the photograph that he was already looking at. 

“You kept it,” he whispered. 

“Of course I did,” you said. “They remind me of all the good times we shared.” 

It was a photo strip of you and him when you were both younger. He didn’t recognize himself—he looked carefree with his arms around you in one photo and your arms around him in the other. When his eyes caught the last picture on the strip, he let his lips curl into a smile. 

“I remember that,” he said. 

“Yeah?” 

Pope nodded and then glanced at you. “I remember being so scared to kiss you.” 

“My first kiss… in a photo booth with the boy I loved,” you smiled. “I think I made the first move.” 

He chuckled. 

You felt yourself relax. 

Glimpses of his old self—before losing Julia—showed. 

“You did,” Pope agreed. “I don’t think I would’ve kissed you if you hadn’t done it first.” 

Then, his eyes moved to another picture next to it. He let out a breath—he remembered that one too. It was everyone (except Smurf), sitting in your backyard. Deran and Craig were there, just two young boys, surrounded with four teenagers—Baz, Pope, you, and Julia. His eyes lingered on twin sister for a minute longer before he turned his gaze on you. 

“You kept this too.” 

“I loved all of you,” you said. “I was the only child who struggled to make friends when we moved here, but then I met all of you. My parents still ask about all of you to this day,” you admitted. 

Pope felt tears sting his eyes. He squeezed your hand and then turned to face you. 

“I can’t remember the last time I saw a picture of my sister,” he whispered. 

“Smurf doesn’t keep any around?” 

Pope shook his head. 

“Well, I have a lot,” you said. “I can make you a copy.” 

He stepped closer to you. “Can you also make me a copy of that photo strip?” 

You felt the warmth in your cheeks and nodded. “Going to carry it around in your wallet, Andrew?” You teased. 

He smiled and stepped closer. This time, you could feel the heat of his body radiating against your own. 

“Maybe.” 

“Andrew?” 

“Hmm?” 

“Will I have to make the first move now too?” You asked. 

Pope let out a quiet chuckle. He released your hand only to lift you off your feet, hands coming up underneath you as your legs wrapped around his waist loosely. He leaned in and began lining up soft kisses along your neck, feeling your hands run through his dark curls as he led you into your bedroom. 

Once inside, he gently set you down on the end of your mattress as he stood above you. Pope pulled his eyes away from you to look around your room, biting back a smile at how neat and organized you were; you always had been. 

But, he finally looked back down at you when he felt your hands tug on the waistband of his jeans, pulling him closer to you as you spread your legs for him to stand between them. 

“Smurf said we got into trouble that one time,” you whispered. “I don’t think it was trouble.” 

Pope shook his head. “It wasn’t trouble.” 

“Besides, I think she should have knocked,” you smiled, undoing the button on his jeans and slowly lowering the zipper. 

He let out a relieved sigh, his length already pressing against his jeans uncomfortably. Pope moved a hand to your hair, gently stroking it back and away from your face. 

“Can we not talk about Smurf… ever?” He asked. 

You looked up at him and nodded. “I’m sorry.” 

“It’s okay,” Pope whispered, moving down to rest his hands on either side of you. “I just don’t want her anywhere near this, anywhere near you,” he confessed. 

“Okay,” you replied, scooting back up on the middle of your bed and gently pulling him down on top of you. “Just me and you.” 

“Just me and you,” he repeated, one of his hands moving to the button on your cardigan to undo. 

The next few minutes felt like a blur to him. He still hadn’t kissed you, but the both of you were now completely bare for the other to see. You gasped at the sight of him—chiseled muscle, thick, strong arms and thighs, and not to mention the manhood already erect at the sight of you. 

Pope also couldn’t take his eyes off of you. He let his eyes take in every inch of your frame from top to bottom and back up. He wanted this seared into his memory for the rest of his life. 

He was taken off guard when you slowly rolled him onto his back, straddling his waist with ease. Pope felt your warmth brush against his throbbing length and he sat up to wrap his arms around you, keeping his eyes focused on you. 

Always on you. 

“Andrew,” you whispered. 

“Yes?” 

“Can you please just kiss me now?” 

He chuckled. 

Pope moved a hand to your cheek and slowly leaned up to finally press his lips against yours. His eyes fell shut instantly, hand moving from your cheek to curl itself in your hair. It felt like coming home—being with you like this, kissing you like this—it was like the missing piece he’d been searching for ever since you left. 

His other hand hesitantly moved to the side of your neck, parting his lips for you when he felt the lightest touch of your tongue. Pope’s hand around your hair tightened just a bit as the other moved from the side of your neck down to your collarbone, inching closer and closer to your exposed breasts. 

He suddenly rolled you over onto your back, settling himself between your legs as he pulled back to look down at you. Your hair was splayed against your pillow, lips parted with quiet pants escaping you. 

Then, your lips curled upwards. 

That same pretty smile that always brought him comfort. 

“I forgot how good of a kisser you are,” you said, moving both hands to his cheeks and pulling him back down. 

Pope smiled against your lips but pulled away reluctantly. He was suddenly aware of just how close he was to where he wanted you. The warmth and wetness between your legs sliding along his throbbing, bare manhood. 

“Condom?” He asked. 

You nodded and suddenly turned on your abdomen to reach into your nightstand. Pope looked down at you for a moment, biting his lower lip at the sight of your bare ass and back. He reached down and grabbed your ass roughly, squeezing it tightly before he let one hand lightly smack it. He watched it jiggle before him and felt his manhood twitch at the sight. 

“Andrew,” you whimpered, grabbing a condom from your drawer and looking over your shoulder at him. 

“I always did love your ass,” he said, lowering himself until he was face to face with it. He used his large hands to spread your cheeks apart, licking his lips at the sight of your glistening sex. Then, Pope leaned and licked a stripe along the length of you, eyes still staring up at you as your eyes fluttered. 

“Andrew,” you moaned, shaking your head as you reached down to tug him back up to you. 

He kept your cheeks parted as he continued to lick another stripe along you. He kept his eyes focused on before moving a hand to slide one of his fingers inside of you—warmth and wetness surrounding his digit tightly. 

You gasped loudly, hand dropping to his shoulder as you squeezed it. You bent a leg upward, opening yourself up to him as he slowly began to pump his finger in and out of you slowly. 

Pope stared between your legs with a fixation, watching his own finger move into your depths and back out. He noticed his finger glistening with your wetness and slowly introduced another finger, feeling your nails dig into his shoulder at the second intrusion. 

He pushed his hips into your mattress, the throbbing between his legs now becoming more noticeable. 

“Andrew,” you repeated, suddenly scrambling away from him as his fingers slid out of you. You turned to face him, chest heaving as your eyes took him in. 

“I wasn’t finished,” he said. 

“And I couldn’t handle it anymore—”

“I think you can,” he grinned, crawling towards you with that same intense gaze. Andrew sat up on his knees and tugged on your ankles to bring you back closer to him. His hands slid from your ankles and up your legs carefully, slowly. 

Your eyes narrowed and you sat up, hands resting on his shoulders as you flipped him onto his back once more. You moved your lips to his jawline and neck, teeth grazing his soft skin as you shifted to the column of his throat. His hands immediately moved to your hips, tightening his grip around it at the feel of your tongue swirling along him. 

You slowly began to kiss your way down his body, lips pressed against his hardened muscles at his chest and down to his abdomen until you were kneeling between his legs. His manhood rested against him, twitching upwards in excitement as you wrapped a hand around his girth. He was heavy in your grip, warm and throbbing too. 

Then, you slowly leaned forward to wrap your lips around his leaking tip, the salty taste of his precome on your tongue. You looked up at him and watched his cheek tick slightly as his lips parted and his gaze still just as dark and intense. 

You lowered yourself to take more him into your mouth, sliding your tongue along the underside of him to lubricate his manhood with your saliva. One of his hands moved to your hair again, holding it back and away from your face as he watched you take more and more of him. 

He couldn’t help his toes curl inwards at the feel of your mouth around him. Pope also couldn’t take his eyes off of you, watching you eagerly take him until he hit the back of your throat. He heard you gag against him, causing a quiet groan to escape his own lips at the feel of you around him. 

You pulled back, swirled your tongue eagerly around his tip as your hand began stroking the base of him. His breathing picked up immediately as his free hand gripped your sheets tightly. 

“Come here,” he whispered breathlessly. 

“I’m not finished,” you teased. 

Pope’s eyes narrowed and he tugged on your free arm to pull you back up on top of him. He reached for the condom nearby and tore the wrapper open with his teeth, sliding the latex down onto himself. 

“Been thinking about this,” you confessed, raising yourself just enough to feel him run his tip along you slowly. “About you… what I’d do differently if I saw you again.” 

Pope stared at you and notched himself at your entrance. His heart racing faster again, pounding against his chest in anticipation. He never broke his gaze, especially not now when he slowly pushed you down onto him and feeling your tight walls surround immediately. 

Your hands instantly moved to his chest, bracing yourself as you felt him breach your entrance. He was big, not anything like you’ve felt before, and there was a slight discomfort at the way he stretched you open as you continued to lower yourself down onto him. 

Pope’s hands moved to your breasts, grunting quietly to himself as he began massaging them together in his palms. He felt your nails dig just slightly into the skin at his chest as he filled you to the hilt, watching your hips roll against him slowly. 

He hadn’t ever done this with you before. Sure, the both of you did have intense makeout sessions when you were still young, lingering touches and going so far as fingering and oral, but never quite going the full distance. 

Until now. 

He ran his thumbs over your peaked nipples, eyes lingering for a brief moment to watch your hips move expertly against his own. Pope never felt this way before—not with Cath and certainly not with any other woman that his brothers (and even his mother) tried to hook him up with. 

Because you not only were nice to him when you were younger, but you were the only person (aside from his sister) that showed him unconditional love. 

You didn’t love him or want him because he could do things for you. 

No, you loved him and wanted him because of the person he was—how neat and clean everything had to be, how his gaze could be so intense yet filled with so many things left unsaid, or how he would do anything for his family, even if it meant costing him everything. 

He thought he knew what love was when he met Cath, had always blamed Baz for taking her away from him, but Pope wasn’t stupid. He knew Cath always liked Baz more. 

But you—he tried not to think about you as he grew older because it only brought him pain. You were the one that had gotten away, the one that could have changed the entire trajectory of the Cody family. 

And he didn’t want think to about what life could have been like if you and your family stayed. 

“Andrew,” you whispered breathlessly, lowering body until your chest pressed against his and his hand moved your hips. “You’re thinking,” you said, lips brushing against your own. “I’m right here, my love,” you pecked his lips and then stared into his eyes. “I’m never leaving.”  

My love. 

His heart pounded. 

A wave of emotions hit Pope unexpectedly. His hands gripped your hips tightly, holding you against him as he began to thrust upwards into you. You buried your face against the crook of his neck, moaning into him loudly, as the sounds of skin slapping against one another filtered your entire home. 

Pope whimpered into your ear, eyes falling shut as his arms snaked around your waist to hold you firmly against him. He didn’t know what this meant or what this would look like after tonight, but Pope already decided what he wanted. 

He wanted out. 

No more jobs. 

No more putting his life at risk. 

And no more doing things for Smurf or Baz or anyone else. 

He wanted to put himself first from now on. 

And he wanted to be by your side through it all. 

“I love you,” he whispered into your ear, gasping quietly at the feel of your tight walls sliding along every inch of him. “I love you, I love you, I love you,” Pope repeated, eyes falling shut to only focus on the way you felt around him and the way you’re clutching onto him. 

Suddenly, you felt your walls tightened abruptly around him. You hadn’t expected to reach your peak so fast, but the way he was thrusting into you and the way he was holding you paired with him muttering into your ear had pushed you over the edge. 

Your body trembled above him and he slowly rolled you onto your back. He hovered above you and moved one hand to your cheek while the other gripped your headboard. Pope delivered deep and slow strokes into you, eyes staring into your own as the grip on your headboard tightened while the hand on your cheek lightly and gently brushed across your soft skin. 

You moved your hands from his midsection and up to his chest until you locked your hands together at the nape of his neck. You gently pulled him down to press your lips against his own, his hips beginning to snap against yours. It was quicker now, a bit more rough too. 

The kiss was messy, but still so intimate. You gasped against his lips when you felt him hit that spongy spot inside of you again, wrapping your legs around his waist loosely. He pulled back to rest his forehead against your own, the hand on your cheek moving to your hip now  

“Andrew,” you moaned, causing him to slam into you at the way his name escaped your lips. Your body jerked upwards at the sudden thrust, one hand moving to run through his curls. “I love you,” you finally said. “And I’m never leaving,” you repeated. “Want you, want this, for as long as you’ll have me, Andrew.” 

Pope’s hips stuttered. He came abruptly into the condom as he moved to bury his face against your neck. He was panting heavily and quietly into you. You ran your hands along his back lightly, both of you breathing against one another until he pulled back enough to look down at you. 

His eyes softened. 

You reached up and cupped his cheek. 

“Did you mean it?” Pope asked, remaining still inside of you. 

You nodded. “Every word, Andrew.” 

“Do you promise?” 

“Yes,” you said. “I love you. There has never been anyone else. It’s only ever been you.” 

“My family—”

“We can figure it out together,” you interjected. “You won’t have to do it alone.” 

Then, he slowly pulled out of you with a quiet groan. He reached down to pull the condom off of himself and tying it at the ends before he tossed it into the trash near your bed. 

“It won’t be easy,” he said. 

“Life never really is,” you replied. “But I left once… and I’m not doing that again.” 

“And Smurf?”

“I can handle her,” you said confidently. “Don’t you worry, Andrew.” 

His brows furrowed. “You don’t know what she’s capable of.” 

“And she doesn’t know what I’m capable of either,” you added. “I’m not the same person, Andrew,” you whispered. “I’m not stupid either. I know what you guys do… and I know the kinds of people she knows. Trust me,” you said, leaning up to lightly peck his lips. “I can handle myself.” 

Pope nodded. 

Then, you asked the same question he did, “did you mean it?” 

He reached up to cup your cheek. His touch had always been so gentle—the same hands that caused so many people to hurt—were gentle and careful with you. 

“Yes,” he answered. “I don’t know how this will work,” he admitted. “But I don’t want to let you go.” 

“Then, don’t,” you said. “Stay,” you whispered. “Will you stay?” 

Pope searched your eyes for any uncertainty. His head tilted and then he leaned down and brushed his nose with yours. “I’ll stay.” 

You let out a relieved breath and then felt him lie back down atop of you. His arms snaked around your waist as his cheek rested against your chest, your hands running through his hair and down his back and up. 

Neither of you knew what this would mean moving forward, but the both of you were sure about one thing. 

Life would be a little less lonely and a little less difficult when you two were by each other’s sides. 

Just as how it should have been.

“I’ll stay,” he repeated again, eyes fluttering shut. And for once, Pope felt hope for a better life for himself. 

Because he had you. 

It had always been you. 

[jadeittic]

Affair?

summary: the ER knows you're married, pregnant, and hopelessly in love with your husband. so when brendon keeps hovering around you, everyone's convinced you're having an affair.

pairing: brendon park + attending!pregnant!reader

word count: 2.4k

warnings/tags: mentions of pregnancy, workplace misunderstanding

notes: based on this ask from anon, tysm for requesting!

reblogs, likes, and comments are so so appreciated! if you want to read more from me, kindly submit in my inbox !!! xoxo

The first rumor started because of a protein bar.

Not because of anything dramatic. Not because someone saw you sneaking around hospital corridors or caught you pressed against a wall with Brendon Park's hand around your waist.

No.

It started because at two in the afternoon, during a brutally understaffed Friday day shift in the ER, you looked up from charting and said with exhausted fondness:

"My husband is going to kill me if he finds out I skipped lunch again."

And Dana, who had worked enough years in emergency medicine to survive on caffeine and spite alone, snorted.

"Husbands," she said. "They worry too much."

You smiled to yourself while typing. "Mine's worse now that I'm pregnant. Yesterday he tried to meal prep for me."

"Oh?" Santos asked from the next computer. "How'd that go?"

"He labeled every container by protein count."

"Sounds intense," Santos muttered.

"He is intense," you agreed easily. "But he means well."

Nobody thought much about it then. Because everybody in the ER about your husband.

Well, sort of. They knew he existed. They knew he packed your lunches sometimes. That he texted reminders for vitamins. That he apparently folded laundry with terrifying precision. That he hated when you worked overtime but still stayed awake until you got home anyway.

They knew he rubbed your swollen feet after shifts. They knew he was "ridiculously overprotective." They knew he called you "doctor" sarcastically whenever you forgot to take care of yourself.

They knew you adored him, but they didn't know his name.

And somehow, over months of working together, nobody ever asked. Or maybe they had once and gotten distracted by a trauma alert halfway through.

That was the thing about the ER. Conversations happened infragments.

So your husbands became this faceless mythical man everyone pieced together from tiny details.

And because you were basically sunshine in human form (You were the warmest, most patient, endlessly kind person), everyone imagined your husband accordingly.

Probably some sweet elementary school teacher. Or a soft-spoken accountant. Or maybe a stay-at-home husband who baked sourdough and wore cardigans.

Definitely not Brendon Park. Absolutely not him.

The first time most of the ER really met Brendon was during a motorcycle trauma.

The ortho pager had gone off twenty minutes earlier and everyone was already stressed. The patient had multiple fractures, a discolated shoulder, and enough road rash to make the interns pale.

Then he walked in. Tall, broad-shouldered. No greeting, no wasted movement, just immediate assessment,

"X-rays," his voice cut through the chaos.

Someone handed them over. Brendon studied them for maybe three seconds.

"We'll prep OR two. I want vascular on standby."

Ogilvie beside him started talking. "So we were thinking—"

"No," Brendon interrupted without even looking at him. "You were guessing."

Silence. Ogilvie visibly shrank.

"Comminuted tib-fib fracture with displacement. If you'd waited another hour, he'd lose perfusion."

The room went still. Not because he was wrong, but because he was terrifying.

Then his eyes shifted toward you. And the entire atmosphere changed so subtly that nobody noticed it except maybe Santos.

Your shoulders relaxed just slightly. Brendon's expression remained unreadable, but his gaze lingered on you for half a second too long.

"You've been here since morning," he said flatly.

"Hello to you too."

"Did you eat?"

The room paused.

You looked midly defensive. "Yes."

"You're lying."

"I had crackers."

"That's not food."

Ogilvie who'd just been verbally executed stared between you both in confusion. The Shark did not do conversation, yet here he was arguing with you about crackers.

You rolled your eyes. "I'm busy."

"You're pregnant."

"And?"

"And you require actual nutrition."

Santos coughed to hide a laugh. Brendon ignored everybody. He reached into the pocket of his jacket and placed a protein bar beside your keyboard without saying anything else.

Then he turned and walked away. No goodbye or no explaination. He just left.

The ER collectively stared at the protein bar. Then at you. Then back at the protein bar.

Santos finally broke the silence. "...What the hell was that?"

You unwrapped the bar casually. "He gets grumpy when I forget to eat."

"You know Park the Shark?" Santos asked slowly.

You looked confused. "Brendon?"

The entire station froze at the first-name basis.

"What do you mean, Brendon?" Santos asked.

"That's his name."

"No one calls him Brendon."

"Oh," you took a bite of the protein bar. "I do."

After that, people started noticing things. Little things.

Like how Brendon only ever lingered in the ER when you were there. How he answered everyone else with clipped professionalism but always gave you full sentences.

How you somehow never seemed intimidated by him. Everyone else treated Brendon like a shark circling bloody water, you treated him like an annoyed housecat.

One afternoon, during a particularly miserable shift, you were sitting at the station rubbing your lower back.

"God," you muttered. "My husband bought six different pregnancy pillows."

Dana laughed. "Six?"

"He said the first five didn't have the right feeling."

"What does that even mean?"

"I don't even want to know."

Then Santos frowned. "Wait. Wasn't Park carrying a giant package into the parking lot yesterday?"

You didn't look up from your charting. "Probably."

"And didn't he get irritated at at someone who bumped into him because it caused him to drop it all?"

"Oh, that was ours."

Silence.

You blinked up. "What?"

Santos stared at you carefully. "You and Park live in the same building?"

"Oh." You smiled absentmindedly. "Yeah."

Another silence. Santos looked deeply concerned now.

"You're... close with him?"

You laughed. "I mean, I would hope so."

Nobody knew what to say to that. Because there was no way. No way.

You were married, pregnant even. Completely in love with your husband, whoever he was.

And Brendon Park looked at most human interaction like it personally offended him.

Yet somehow he kept appearing around you like a shadow, like it was gravity.

The rumors exploded after an incident at the cafeteria. You had been off your shift for exactly eleven minutes when Brendon walked into the cafeteria still in his scrubs.

And everyone noticed that. Because Brendon never went to the cafeteria (He barely seemed to consume food). He scanned the room once and found you immediately. THen walked over carrying a tray.

Without asking, he switched your coffee with a different one.

"You can't have that much caffeine."

You looked offended. "It was half-caf."

"It was basically battery acid."

"You tasted it?"

"You left it on the counter this morning."

Brendon sat across from you naturally, like this happened every day.

You pointed at his tray. "You got fries?"

"You wanted fries."

"I mentioned fries once."

"You cried about it."

"I was emotional that time."

"You threatened divorce."

The tables surrounding you stared. The conversation sounded disgustingly domestic.

Brendon pushed the fries toward you first before touching his own food. You stole half of them and he didn't complain.

Actually, he watched you eat with this faintly distracted expression that nobody had ever seen on his face before. Like he was making sure you were really eating.

Then your phone buzzed. You checked it and groaned.

"The husband says I forgot my appointment tomorrow."

Brendon immediately said, "Ten-thirty."

You looked at him. "I know."

"You forgot."

"I remembered eventually."

"You remembered because I reminded you."

The silence at the table became defeaning, like somehow everyone was staring at you. Brendon glanced around once, clearly unimpressed by the collective lack of intelligence.

Then his pager went off. And before leaving, he reached down and adjusted you chair closer to the table because you'd been sitting awkwardly with your belly.

The movement was instinctive, like he'd done this a million times. And it was weirdly intimate.

The second he disappeared, Langdon sat on the seat that Brendon just occupied.

"Oh my God."

You frowned. "What?"

He leaned forward carefully. "Are you having an affair with Brendon Park?"

You nearly choked on a fry. "What?"

"That man practically tucked you in!"

"He's just—"

"You literally just talked about threatening him with divorce!"

"My husband!"

"Exactly!"

You stared at him in disbelief before realization dawned.

"Oh my god."

"So, you are!"

"No I'm not, Frank."

"Then why does The Shark know your OB schedule?"

"Because he made it."

Silence. "...Made it?" Langdon repeated weakly."

"He color-coded the whole calendar."

He didn't speak. Then you laughed, actually laughed. Because suddenly the misunderstanding was hysterical. But before you could explain, a trauma alert blared overhead and the conversation died instantly.

Unfortunately for you, the rumor did not.

Within a week, the entire ER thought you were secretly involved with Brendon.

Not openly. Nobody confronted you directly again because you seemed so genuinely confused by the accusation.

But people whispered. The evidence kept piling up. Brendon carrying your bag without asking, appearing whenever you mentioned cravings, glaring at anyone who stressed you out, standing suspiciously close during procedures if you looked tired.

And worst of all? The way he looked at you when you weren't paying attention.

That's what really convinced people. Because Brendon looked at everyone else like they personally wronged him. He looekd at you like you were something precious.

Then one night, the ER was hell. Every bed was full, three ambulanced inbound, a drunk patient screaming in triage.

You were exhausted, hormonal, and dangerously close to crying. Then one of the newer interns snapped at you.

"Can we get another attending to handle this? Dr. L/N clearly isn't keeping up."

The station went silent. Your exhaustion sharpened into humiliation. And before you could answer, a voice cut through the room.

"No."

Everyone turned. Brendon stood near the doors, having apparently arrived seconds earlier. The intern straighted nervously.

"Repeat what you said."

The poor intern paled. "I didn't mean—"

"You questioned an attending physician with ten years of emergency medicine experience while you can barely place an IV."

The room became deathly still. Brendon's voice never rose which somehow made it scarier.

"You will either assist competently or get out of her department."

Her department. The possessiveness in those words hit everybody like a truck.

The intern muttered an apology. Brendon didn't even look at him again. Instead, he turned to you.

"You're shaking."

"I'm fine."

Brendon's hand briefly touched the underside of your belly as he adjusted your position from the station edge.

It was gentle. So different from the cold surgeon everyone knew.

And suddenly Santos understood. Not the affair, but something else. Something much bigger.

"Oh my god," she whispered.

Dennis looked at her. "What?"

But she was staring at Brendon. At the wedding band hidden beneath his gloves as he reached for the chart. At the identical band you wore on a chain around your neck because pregnancy swelling made your fingers ache.

At the way you entire body relaxed when he was near. At the way he knew every tiny thing about you.

Not like a lover, like a husband.

"Oh my god," Santos repeated louder.

You looked up. Brendon looked annoyed already, like he sensed where this was going.

Santos pointed between the two of you. "You're married."

You blinked. "Yeah?"

Brendon closed his eyes briefly like this was exhausting.

You looked genuinely baffled. "Who else would we be married to?"

Chaos. Absolute chaos.

"You let us think she was cheating on her husband?!" Santos yelled at Brendon.

Brendon looked unimpressed. "That sounds like a you problem."

"You never said—"

"Well, nobody asked."

"You literally acted like you hated each other!"

You burst out laughing. "What? No we don't."

Brendon looked down at you. And for the first time ever, in front of the entire ER, his expression softened completely.

Not subtly or barely there, but fully. Warm eyes. Affection. Something that was gentle.

Park the Shark was apparently somebody's husband. Somebody's incredibly devoted husband. And somehow that was more shocking than if he'd announced he killed people.

And somehow, from that day on, things became infinitely worse. Because now everyone noticed everything.

The quiet touches. The instinctive teamwork. The fact that Brendon always knew where you were in the hospital. The way he softened only for you.

The way you could make the scariest surgeon in the building carry your snacks and hold your coffee and rub circles into your back between traumas.

And worst of all?

Now the ER knew that every horrifyingly domestic story you told about your husband had been all about Brendon Park all along.

Which completely destroyed their ability to fear him properly anymore. Especially after they heard him answer your phone one day with:

"Baby, why are you calling me from upstairs?"

thank you for reaching until the end! i'd love to know what you thought about this story anddddd if you'd like to see more ;)

[writingismycardio]

huge mistake

Brendon Park x fem!reader

summary: you and Brendon coparent your little daughter, one day he’s late to pick her up in the kindergarten and you storm into his office to give him a hard time. later you ends up at his place, because your little one threw a fit about missing her stuffed animal. years of missing each other ends with you in his embrace in the bed you once shared…

warnings: 18+, smut, oral, unprotected sex, dirty talk, curse words, little plot twist at the end ;)

word count: 2.7k

🦈

“Are you out of your mind?!”

Brendon rolled his eyes at your tone on the phone, while he walked with your daughter through the hospital hallway.

He forgot to pick her up from the kindergarten like he promised, being an hour late. She didn’t mind though, she was eager to spend some time with her dad.

“As far as I can remember, I’m not.”

“I’m coming to the hospital. Not gonna be easy on you!”

You ended up the call, Brendon looked at the phone and just shrugged.

“Daddy, can I have an icecream?” Your little girl fluttered her lashes sweetly at him, holding his hand.

He smiled down at her and nodded. “Of course, princess. I’ll get you some.”

Sitting in his chair, spinning in it, she giggled softly, enjoying the frozen thing, while he looked over some papers of the patients he had that day.

Feeling the rise of his hair on the back of his neck, he knew that you were about to storm into his office.

And he was right.

Not bothering to knock, you opened the door swiftly. Cheeks flushed, your blouse slightly unbuttoned as you liked it to wear, your eyes found your little girl.

“My poor baby.” You huffed and instantly went for her, hugging her tight, while giving Brendon a scolding glare.

He stood there leaning against the small table, his lips in the tight line, arms folded on his chest.

“Daddy got me an ice cream!” Your daughter grinned in happiness, she was so oblivious to the tension between adults.

“Mhm, how sweet of him.” You huffed, running a hand through your hair.

“She was still playing with other kids when I arrived at the kindergarten, so…” he shrugged.

“That’s not the point, Brendon. You promised to be there on time. Not to make her wait and for the teacher to call me.” You stood up, narrowing your back to throw daggers at him by your glare.

“Sorry, I was on a case.”

“Sure. You always are.”

Your daughter furrowed her small brows. “Be nice.”

You let out a shocked gasp while Brendon smirked softly.

“Excuse me, little lady?”

She scoffed. “You are mean, mommy.”

Glancing up at Brendon with wide eyes, you were red with anger. And he was having the time of his life.

“What about a sleepover at my place, hm? You can have a night for yourself, and me and the princess will have a movie night.” Brendon took a step towards you, holding your gaze.

“Yes! Yes! Mommy, please say yes!” She chanted like a crazy animal and you tried so hard to put on your hard facade, to be stoic and unmoving.

But then— “Fine.” You let out a sigh.

🦈

Your little one threw a fit over a missing stuffed animal, so Brendon called you in the evening and you came over.

Ringing the bell, he opened immediately, in his home attire with his hair ruffled from the shower. It was a funny sight from the usual slick one he wore to the hospital.

“Hey. Come in.” He pressed his lips into a small smile and you stepped into the hallway.

“Here’s the little rabbit she’s missing so much.” You chuckled with a shake of your head.

“Yeah, thanks… she was really insufferable, crying like a dying cat…” he hummed, taking the toy from your hand, brushing his fingers with yours.

“Uh, I can imagine, really.” You stood there awkwardly.

“But she fell asleep when you were on your way here, so…” Brendon rubbed the back of his neck with a little guilty expression.

“Ah. Well, that’s okay. She’ll be surprised when she wakes up in the morning that her favourite rabbit is somehow in bed with her.” You nodded, looking to the ground.

“You want some tea, coffee…?” It was unusual to ask you that, because your meetings were usually full of angry fire due to your painful split.

You were never his wife, there wasn’t a time for that when you fell pregnant so quickly after you two started dating. It was an accident but you decided to give it a shot. Apart from bed you weren’t compatible, he was always in hospital, taking courses to be better in his career while you were at home, your own life postponed because you nursed your daughter.

But hell, you missed being devoured by him.

“Tea is fine.” You whispered and smiled a little, taking off your shoes.

Settling in the living room, you shifted uncomfortably into the seat on the couch, taking in the scattered toys around the space. The one you used to live in.

Brendon was back with two mugs, placing them on the coffee table, taking a seat next to you.

“She’s fast asleep but managed to snatch that stuffed animal from me.” He laughed softly, glancing at you.

“The usual.” You murmured amused, taking the mug into your hands and sipping the tea.

Silence stretched through the room, only the tv in the background was on.

“So… how are you doing?” He decided to ask, clearing his throat.

Rubbing the rim of the mug, you shifted a little. “Well, good.”

“Just good?”

“What do you want me to say, Brendon?” You shot him a glance.

“I don’t even know…” he shrugged, averting his gaze to the tv.

“I should probably go.” You placed the mug on the coffee table with a thud and got up but he mirrored your actions, standing in front of you.

His tall and huge figure towering over you, making you so small.

“You can stay the night.” He took a step closer causing you to take a step back.

“We both know that it’s a terrible idea.” You muttered, hands flexing at your sides as you held his predatory gaze.

His hand reached up to your hair, to brush a strand from your face. “No, we both know it’s the best idea. The one that worked truly great for us before.”

With his words your back collided with the hard wall, knocking the breath out of your lungs, the heat in your cheeks growing.

“You know that you’re free to leave. To let go, to keep your distance.” His voice so low, so close to your head, his breath fanned over your face. “But I guess you don’t want to.”

“Bren—“ you choked out, stopping midway when his fingers grazed your jaw.

“Shhh… let me make it up to you. I acted badly today, leaving our princess in distress, waiting for me. And I made you upset. Unacceptable…” whispers against your lips, you just let out a soft hum of agreement.

Brendon lifted you up to his chest with his arm, while you wrapped your legs around his waist, kissing him softly but urgently, his other hand in your hair holding you close.

Carrying you to the bedroom you had many memories of, he placed you gently on the bed, hovering over you, having your face cupped in his large hands.

“I missed this.” His confession tugged on your heartstrings and you sighed softly.

“Me too…” you hummed, there was no point to deny it.

“Really?” His thumb brushed under your eye.

“Yes.” You breathed out, staring into his eyes.

“Give me a sec. I’ll check on our tigress and I’ll be back.” He pecked your nose and quickly got off you to get into the bedroom of your daughter.

You propped yourself up on your elbows, dazzled by the faint smell of his scent that was lingering through the air. It was a bad idea. You’re gonna regret it. But for tonight you decided to put your worries to the side.

Brendon peeked through the door, finding your daughter sleeping soundly, without any doubt of her waking up soon.

He was back in no time, closing the door behind him, locking them with a soft click.

Then he turned around to take a look at you just lying there, waiting for him quietly.

Taking a few steps to the edge of the bed, he climbed on top of it, his weight dipping into the mattress, overwhelming you with his huge presence.

With a hitch of your breath, you reached out to his shirt, bringing him closer to kiss him. Brendon melted into your mouth, a soft whimper escaping his throat.

His hand worked its way under your shirt, touching your hot skin on your side, causing you to flinch in excitement.

“Still so sensitive…” he muttered in between the kisses and you giggled.

Helping him out of his shirt, you admired his torso, he was so muscular, even more now than before. Your mouth was absolutely drooling over the sight of him.

Brendon noticed, a cocky smirk lifting the curves of his lips.

“Like what you see?” His hands were working at the hem of your bra.

“You know I do.” You bit your lip with a redness in your face.

He was starting to grow impatient with how many layers of clothes you had on. His eagerness almost ripped your shirt when he pulled it over your head, your bra hastily pushed to the side, revealing one of your breasts. Being like a hungry beast, he leaned down, grasping your chest into his hands, playing and kissing you.

Your back arched with a small gasp escaping your throat.

Erection strained his sweatpants, his hips buckling into yours, you could feel how much he wanted you.

“Bren, please… don’t tease…” you whimpered, fingers running through his hair.

“You’re straightforward as always…” he muttered, his tongue trailing down your abdomen, his hands already pulling down your pants along with your underwear.

Almost losing his breath when he spotted how soaked you were, he waited no more and delved into your velvet folds, tasting your aching pussy, giving you those kitten licks he knew you loved.

“Fuck…” you yelped, eyes wide.

“Shhh… can’t wake up our little one.” A mischievous smile flashed across his lips.

You only huffed, brows falling down in frustration.

Getting up on his knees he took off his sweatpants and you were in absolute awe when he revealed he’s not wearing any underwear.

“You’re unbelievable, Brendon.”

Your voice made his cock twitch, his size matched him so fucking well, you started to wonder if he’s gonna fit after that long time.

Giving himself a few strokes, precum dripped down his foreskin, you breathed out with the urge of running your tongue through it.

“I need you so badly, darling… I’m so hard, it’s painful.” He groaned, and you reached with your hand to get a hold on him, sitting up in the process. The way he stood tall on his knees was perfect for you to be face to face with his tip. Licking your lips, you watched your hand pumping him softly, trembling with joy.

“Not gonna last like this…” he placed his hand over yours, stopping you midstroke.

Lifting your gaze to look up at him, he could feel the rush through his balls at how sexy you looked.

“Can I… give it a little taste?” You asked, not caring about his answer, kissing the underside of his cock, making him twitch and grunt.

“Jesus Christ…” Brendon was so down for you, moaning pathetically when you finally wrapped your lips around his shaft.

Caressing the top of your head, it was like a sign that was saying good girl.

You already regretted your decision, because your jaw was at its limits while you weren’t even halfway through his length. A soft gagging sounds vibrated through him and he was holding back the instinct of slamming into your throat immediately.

“S-stop, darling— stop…” he rushed you to pull away from him and you listened, a trail of saliva was the only thing connecting you to his dick when you took a deep breath, tears were pricking in your eyes.

“Bren…” you whimpered.

“It’s okay, baby. We don’t have to… let’s enjoy ourselves, shall we, hm?” He patted your cheek with a wide smile, of course he loved to see you like this, ruined and needy, but this wasn’t the point of the night.

Reaching for a pack of condoms, he took one and swiftly pulled it down his size.

You were trembling with the heat you felt between your legs.

“On your back and your legs up.” He commanded and you obeyed.

Moving his absurdly huge body to navigate his tip to your folds felt unreal. Rubbing his length through your slick lips and then smoothly pushing through your walls of heaven? Brendon almost passed out from how you hugged him immediately, sucking him in in the most delicious way.

On the other hand, you gripped your thighs, eyes wide and you wanted to look down, between your bodies. A shriek left your mouth, when you felt the stretch, it was becoming unbearable.

“Oh, can you feel this?” Brendon huffed out, his hands pressing your legs to your chest, to make you even more breathless.

“Bren— I can’t—“ you choked out a desperate moan.

“You can take it, shhh…” he murmured, slamming back into you, your insides loosening a little, but still you could feel him even in your throat.

“I wish you could see how you look right now…” thrusting into you, he tried to talk, but the way you were clenching with need was exhausting him from doing so.

“Bren—“ you were moaning his name like a prayer, bodies doing all those slick lewd sounds as you were covered in sweat along with your juices of arousal. The bed was creaking, the danger of waking up your daughter was high, but somehow none of you could waste a breath to think about it.

His weight pushed you into the mattress more, he was pressed down onto you, each thrust knocking the breath out of your lungs.

You tried to reach to his back, but you had strength to make it to his shoulders where you grazed his skin with your nails.

Brendon held your fluttering gaze, he noticed how you were fighting your consciousness.

“Eyes on me, baby. Come on, don’t run from it, darling.” He whispered through his gritted teeth, his balls slapping your ass.

“Shit, Brendon— I—“

He could see how you were surprised by the intensity of your climax. It came out of nowhere, hard.

Milking his cock to the oblivion, he wasn’t strong enough to resist and he faltered in his movements, spilling his precious pearly cream into you through the latex barrier that was in between your sexes.

Having his hands at your sides to hold himself up, he was shaking, his muscles slowly giving up. Carefully he slipped out of you, passing beside you to catch a breath, while you stared into the ceiling.

“Jesus, Brendon, what have we done…” you chuckled from the afterglow of the release.

Cupping your cheek, he brought you closer to him, wrapping his arms around you.

“I missed this…” he breathed out into your hair, his nose nuzzling into your temple.

You snuggled closer, enjoying the way he smelled just right. Like he was yours.

“We have to figure it out between us… I can’t lose you again.” Brendon was staring into your eyes, the depth of his own was maddening.

The reality dawned on you, this was a mistake.

But…

You didn’t regret it.

Not with him.

It was meant to be.

“Okay.” You mumbled, pressing your head to his chest, listening to his heartbeat, praying for this moment to never end.

🦈

Once you made it to the bathroom, you were barely able to stand, Brendon helped you. You also noticed your pussy leaking with something and you scooped a little bit on your fingers.

He had his attention on his now softened dick, pulling down the used condom.

“Brendon…” your scared, faltering voice brought his glance at you.

“Babe…” he was breathless when he inspected the plastic thing being broken and that fluid on your fingers was his cum.

You just stared at yourselves, silence thick in the room.

It was just like that moment years ago before you fell pregnant with your daughter.

🦈

© All stories and written content created by me is not allowed to be used without my permission. If you wish to share, quote, or use any portion of my stories, please contact me directly.

[pittmebabyonemoretime]

love me again // jack abbot pt. 6

you wake up in a hospital room at ptmc and you have no idea how you got there or why. but when your night shift attending comes bursting in the room all frazzled and worried, things get even more confusing. especially when he's saying he's your husband.

genre: jack abbot x nurse!reader, lover to strangers to ??? it's amnesia!!, smut 18+, nsfw, mdni!

word count: 5100

(a/n: thank you guys SO much for coming along with me on this adventure. hope you like how this story concludes :) thank you again for the kind words.)

part 1 // part 2 // part 3 // part 4 // part 5

The restaurant is in a small, tucked away corner of the city. It’s a date. A real one, not a step in a rehabilitation plan.

A real date with your very real husband. 

"Ah, Mr. and Mrs. Abbot." the host says, his face lighting up with warmth as he snaps two menus from the rack. "It is so wonderful to have you back. We’ve missed you at your usual table."

Your breath catches in your throat, but beside you, Jack doesn't even blink. He slides a casual hand against the small of your back, his thumb tracing a reassuring circle through the fabric of your dress that sends a spark straight up your spine.

"Good to be back, Marco." Jack says smoothly.

By the time the appetizers arrive, the initial shock has dissolved into something intensely addictive. You lean across the white tablecloth, resting your chin on your palm, looking at him.

"So," you murmur, a little smile tugging at your lips as you steal a stray fry from his plate right out from under his fork. "Apparently, we have a “usual table”. Care to tell me what I like to order, or are you going to keep making me guess?"

Jack tracks the movement of your fingers, his jaw tightening slightly before his eyes snap up to meet yours.

The candlelight catches the dark heat in his gaze. "You usually argue with me about sharing the dessert menu for ten minutes." he says, his voice dropping into that tone that makes your stomach do a flip. "And then you order the heaviest chocolate thing they have and eat three quarters of it."

"That sounds a bit like slander."

"It’s a thoroughly documented study, I know you." he counters, a devastating smirk breaking across his face as he leans in closer.

The banter flows effortlessly, a symphony of shy looks and brushed knees beneath the tablecloth that leaves you feeling breathless and dizzy before the main course even arrives.

You're flirting with him. Openly, shamelessly and the way his eyes darken every time you laugh makes you feel like you’re holding all the cards.

But as the plates are cleared, the playful edge in your chest softens into something warmer. You trace the rim of your water glass, watching the condensation drip down. "I found the wedding album." you say softly.

Jack stills, his fingers pausing against his napkin.

"I found the letter you wrote me." you continue. "From the morning of the wedding." You look up, meeting his eyes fully. "Jack..it made me feel like I was finally standing inside my own life again. Like I didn't have to keep searching for the missing pieces because the most important one was sitting right in front of me."

A silence settles between you. Jack’s eyes search yours, so heavy with devotion it makes your lungs ache. He swallows hard, his throat working.

"Did you watch the video too?" he asks quietly.

You straighten up in your seat, your eyebrows snapping up. "There's a video?"

…

The moment the front door clicks shut behind you back at the house, the atmosphere feels charged with anticipation you can taste on the back of your tongue.

You follow Jack into the living room, watching from the doorway as he kneels in front of the living room cabinet, the same one that held the wedding album.

He digs deeper this time, shifting old blankets and keepsakes until his hands locate a battered, nondescript shoebox buried at the very bottom. He pulls it into the light, lifting the lid to reveal a plastic jewel case with a DVD inside.

"John shot it on an old camcorder." Jack explains, a nostalgic smile softening his mouth as he slides the disc into the media player. "We told him we just wanted a few highlights, but he took the assignment way too seriously."

"Was he the cameraman the whole night?" you ask, walking over to the sofa.

"Pretty much."

You sit down, but you don't keep your distance this time. You don't take the far cushion. You sink into it and immediately lean your weight into his side, your shoulder pressing flush against his chest, your thigh resting against his. Jack’s arm moves automatically, curving around your shoulders, pulling you into him as the television screen flickers to life.

The footage is grainy and shaky in the beginning. John’s voice narrates from behind the lens, shouting inside jokes over the thumping bass from the reception. You watch as clips of your friends play across the screen. Trinity performing an aggressively unhinged version of the karaoke song you two love to sing together, Robby trying and failing to look dignified while wearing a ridiculous party hat.

And then the camera pans to the head table.

It’s a candid shot. Neither of you knows you're being filmed. You are just sitting there, your hand resting in Jack’s lap, looking up at him with a smile so brilliant it cuts right through you. Jack is looking back down at you, his thumb tracing your cheekbone, his face completely stripped of his usual armor. He looks like a man who has won everything he ever wanted.

Leaning against his chest now, you feel his heart rate skip, his grip on your shoulder tightening just a fraction.

Then the screen cuts to black for a second, transitioning to a completely different setting. The audio quietens, replaced by the muffled, carpeted silence of a hotel room.

The camera is steady now, held at chest height. You can tell immediately that Jack is the one behind the lens. The viewfinder pans across a luxury suite and scattered rose petals, before locking onto you. You’re standing near the edge of a massive bed, still wearing your white wedding dress, the lace slightly rumpled, your hair half undone and falling over your bare shoulders.

"Here's my wife." Jack’s voice echoes from the TV speakers. The intimacy of it all makes the hairs on your arms stand up. "Still in her dress. Wife, where are we going tomorrow?"

On screen, you turn toward the camera, a radiant smile on your face. "Paris!"

Jack lets out a laugh behind the lens. "And what are we doing in Paris?"

You laugh, marching straight toward the camera, and grab the rim of the lens to yank it toward him. "Honeymooning, of course!"

The frame tilts wildly before steadying on Jack's face. He’s looking at you with a gaze so hot it practically scorches the screen, a lazy, besotted smile on his lips as he raises his left hand, flashing his brand new silver wedding band at the lens. You laugh and set the camera down on the nightstand beside the hotel bed.

It keeps rolling, capturing the two of you as you both lean down into the frame. Jack hooks two fingers under your chin, tilting your head back, and gives you a kiss.

On the couch, your breath hitches.

On the screen, the kiss stretches out. You watch yourself lean entirely into him, your chest pressing against his, your lips parting as you literally sigh right into his mouth. 

The innocence of the wedding day evaporates in a split second as things start to get heated. Jack’s large hand wanders down, his palm fiercely gripping the curve of your ass through the heavy silk of your wedding gown, pulling you flush against his hips. Your own hands are buried deep in his hair, pulling him down, your mouths moving together with hunger.

You sit on the living room couch, your mouth opening slightly, your breathing turning shallow and erratic as the sensuality of your own history plays out in front of you. 

How you could you be blamed for the pooling heat deep in your belly in this moment?

Jack clears his throat, the sound loud in the quiet room. He hits the pause button. The screen freezes on a blurred image of his hands tangled in your dress.

"Better stop it there." Jack says, his voice completely wrecked. "Things..don't exactly stay PG after that point."

You snap your head around to look at him. Beneath the light of the living room, he is flushed a burning crimson red from the collar of his shirt up to his ears.

A thrill cuts through your arousal. You gasp, widening your eyes and feigning total, puritanical shock just to cover up the dangerous way your body is currently vibrating for him.

"Jack Abbot!" you breathe out, your voice trembling with a mix of laughter and heat. "Do we have a sex tape together?!"

Jack lets out a helpless bark of laughter, running a hand over his face as if trying to erase the blush. "No!" he groans, his shoulders shaking as he looks at you. "Not exactly. We..we generally remembered to turn the camera off before we got entirely carried away."

Another laugh escapes you, joining his in the quiet room, the shared amusement breaking the tension but doing absolutely nothing to cool the fire burning beneath your skin.

…

After you say your goodnights and retreat to your separate rooms, the silence of the guest room feels like a prison.

You lie under the sheets for twenty minutes, staring at the ceiling, but your skin feels too tight, your blood humming.

You throw the blankets off, stepping onto the cold hardwood floor, and begin to pace the small width of the room.

"This is ridiculous." you whisper to the dark walls, your hands pressing over your flushed cheeks.

Your mind keeps flashing back to his hand on your waist at the bar, his palm on your skin in that hotel room, the possessiveness in his voice when he called you his wife.

"He’s my husband." you say out loud, the words landing in the quiet room. "Of course my body feels this way toward him. It’s always known."

The realization hits you like a physical blow, clearing away every single fraction of hesitation, every lingering doubt, every boundary you’ve spent carefully guarding. 

You're done waiting. 

You're done being careful.

You march straight to the guest room door, your hand wrapping around the brass knob, and pull it open with a decided jerk.

But Jack is standing right there in the hallway. His fist is raised in the air, mere inches from the wood, caught in the exact middle of preparing to knock on your door. He looks completely undone, his hair wrecked, his chest rising and falling in uneven breaths.

"I was just.." he starts.

You don't let him finish the sentence. You lunge forward, closing the final inch of distance between you, and bury your mouth against his.

It’s a feverish, bruising kiss. Crushing your lips to his with all the pent up longing, confusion, and overwhelming desire of the last two months. Jack reacts instantly, a groan tearing out of his throat as his rational mind completely short circuits.

He slams his hands around your waist, pulling you off the floor and pinning your back flush against the doorframe, his mouth devouring yours.

When you finally break apart for air, your foreheads resting together, your chests heaving against one another, you wrap your arms tight around his neck. You look straight into his wild eyes.

"Take me to our room, Jack." you breathe against his lips. "Please."

Jack doesn't hesitate for a single second. He hooks his arms under your thighs, lifting you clean off your feet. You wrap your legs tightly around his waist, burying your face into the warm crook of his neck, your fingers gripping his shoulders as he carries you down the dark hallway, straight toward the master bedroom, straight toward the bed you were always meant to share.

...

Jack doesn't put you down immediately. He presses you flush against the wood of the closed bedroom door, his upper body pinning you there as his mouth finds yours again.

It’s a bruising reintroduction, his tongue sliding deep into your mouth that tells you exactly how much he’s been holding back. 

When he finally lets you slide down his body, your feet hit the floorboards, but your knees are so weak you instantly sway into him. He catches you by the waist, his grip firm.

Jack reaches down and unclasps his prosthetic, setting the shaft quietly against the nightstand. There is no hesitation in him, no awkwardness. This is a man who knows exactly what he wants. He shifts his weight seamlessly onto his other leg and then hovers over you as you both tumble onto the mattress of your shared bed.

"You're so beautiful." Jack says, his voice completely ruined as his eyes track the way you spread out beneath him. 

"Jack," you breathe, your fingers digging into his broad shoulders, pulling his weight down onto you. "Don't make me wait."

He breathes against your neck, his lips tracing a burning path down your throat, biting gently at the sensitive spot where your shoulder meets your neck. His calloused hands glide down your sides, pulling the fabric of your clothes off and out of the way until you are entirely bare beneath him.

He shifts his weight on the mattress, using his arms to balance himself as he slides down your body. His hands spread your thighs wide, lifting your knees over his shoulders to give himself perfect access. When his eyes meet yours from between your legs, the passion in them makes your stomach drop in a delicious flip.

Then, his mouth finds you.

You let out a gasp, your fingers clutching violently at the bedsheets as his tongue makes direct, soaking contact with your heat. He isn't being gentle. He knows exactly how you like it, his tongue doing deep strokes that immediately make your hips rock off the mattress. He uses his thumb to find your clit, applying steady pressure that syncs perfectly with the wet, sliding friction of his mouth.

The sensation is overwhelming. Something pooling rapidly in your lower belly. You can't breathe, your head tossing back against the pillows as he suctions you into his mouth, his tongue working frantically until your breath catches in a breathless sob.

"Jack, I'm..I'm going to.."

He doesn't slow down. He deepens the pressure, his fingers sliding inside you to stretch you open while his mouth devours you. Your entire body goes rigid. A blinding wave of pleasure crashing through your veins as you come against his mouth, your walls pulsing around his fingers.

Jack stays right there, drinking in every single drop of you, his tongue lingering until your trembling thighs finally begin to relax. He slides back up your body, his chest slick with sweat and a thoroughly satisfied smirk playing on his lips as he looks down at your undone expression.

Needing to touch him, to taste him the same way, you try to shift beneath him, your hands tracing the sharp line of his hip down toward his boxers. "My turn." you whisper, your voice completely wrecked as you start to slide down toward the edge of the bed. 

Jack’s hand snaps around your wrist, his grip firm but gentle as he stops your movement, pulling you back up the mattress until you're staring right into his eyes. 

"No." he rasps, his face slightly flushed. "If you do that right now, I am going to come in five seconds flat. I'm not kidding."

A small laugh escapes your lips "Five seconds, Abbot? Where’s that legendary stamina?"

Jack laughs and leans down to press his forehead against yours, his eyes locked onto your mouth. "It goes out the window when it comes to you. I've been waiting two months to touch you like this. Every single night, waking up in an empty bed. I want to be inside you. I want to come in you like I always do."

The sheer sincerity in his voice, the unvarnished love behind the admission, makes your heart swell. "Okay." you whisper, your fingers wrapping around his neck, pulling his mouth down to yours.

He moves over you, his arms framing your head, his knee anchoring his weight on the mattress. Before he slides inside, his mouth drops to your chest, capturing one of your nipples between his lips. He sucks deeply, his tongue swirling around the sensitive peaks until you’re writhing beneath him, your hands burying deep into his hair, pulling him flush against you.

He guides himself to your opening, the slick head of his length pressing against your soaking entrance. He pauses for one agonizing second, his eyes locking onto yours, making sure you are entirely with him.

Then, with one deep, devastating push, Jack slides completely inside you.

A loud moan tears out of your throat that you otherwise would have found embarrassing if it didn’t feel so fucking good. Your eyes widened as your body stretched around the thick fullness of him. 

It feels like home. It feels like a perfect remembering. 

Jack lets out a trembling exhale against your ear, his entire body shuddering as he buries himself into your heat until your hips are pinned against the mattress.

"You feel so good, sweetheart." he groans, his hips immediately establishing a slow rhythm. 

He grips your hips with his large hands, lifting your pelvis slightly to find the perfect angle, plunging deep and bottoming out with every single stroke. 

You wrap your legs tightly around his waist, locking your ankles behind his back to anchor him, pulling him deeper into you. Every time his hips slam into yours, you cannot help but gasp at the feeling of it. The friction building again that same delicious tightening in your belly. 

Jack leans down, his mouth catching yours in a wet, filthy kiss as his pace quickens. He reaches down between your bodies, his thumb finding your slick clit, running over it in fast, heavy circles right as his length drives inside you.

"Jack!" you cry out.

"I've got you." he pants against your mouth, his pace turning frantic. "Come for me, baby."

The crushing friction of your release is the final straw for Jack’s discipline. His length pulsed over and over as he filled you completely.

For a long time, the only sound in the room was of your breathing. Jack stays buried inside you for a moment before carefully pulling out and laying by your side. 

You blink up at the ceiling, dazed.  Your voice a whisper in the quiet. "Did it always feel like that?"

"Yes." Jack says. "Every single time."

...

The rest of the weekend dissolves into a blur of tangled sheets, breathless laughter, and the quiet realization that the space between you has completely vanished. There is no more careful. 

Your body remembers him, and his body has been starving for you.

He makes you breakfast in the morning, standing at the stove in nothing but a pair of sweatpants, his broad shoulders catching the morning light. You don't even let him plate the eggs. You slide down his front, dropping to your knees right there on the cold kitchen tile, and take him into your mouth until his hands lock into your hair, his breath tearing out of him in ruined gasps as he braces himself against the counter.

And then of course, you try to walk past his home office on your way from the shower, entirely bare and dripping wet. You only make it three steps past the doorway before his hand shoots out, grabbing your wrist and pulling you back into the room. He sweeps a stack of papers off his desk and bends you over the wood, and drives himself into you from behind, his hands tightly gripping your hips as you scream his name.

It is, simply put, amazing.

By Monday morning, you haven't shared a single detail with anyone. You haven't mentioned that the guest room is empty, or that things are nearly back to normal. You keep your guard up, letting the secret live just between the two of you, until the monthly emergency department meeting forces everyone into the same room.

The hospital conference room is packed. You're sitting near the back, wedged tightly between John and Trinity, both of them adjusting their clipboards and complaining about the shift schedules.

John leans back in his chair, clicking his pen against his knee, and looks over at you with a perceptive squint. "So," he murmurs, dropping his voice below the noise of the room. "How are things going at home? You look less stressed."

Before you can even open your mouth to formulate a polite, non committal response, the heavy door at the front of the conference room swings open.

Jack walks in. His eyes scan the crowded rows of chairs, cutting through the sea of scrubs, until they lock directly onto you.

He marches straight down the aisle. In his hand, he’s holding a paper cup with what you know is the premium herbal tea you like, brewed the way you like it.

The entire row goes completely silent as he stops right in front of your chair. He doesn't say a word. He just bends down, sets the hot cup onto the folding desk in front of you, and then he keeps moving downward.

His hand cups the back of your neck, his thumb sliding behind your ear, and he presses his lips to yours.

It isn't a polite, professional cheek peck. It is a real kiss. He parts your lips with his, kissing you. It is probably a little too intense for a workplace environment, and definitely too long for a room full of your coworkers, but his mouth moves over yours anyways.

When he finally pulls back, a smirk plays on his lips. "Don't let it get cold." he whispers softly.

You sit there, your heart hammering against your ribs, a delicious heat blooming in your face.

To your left, John and Trinity are frozen. Both of them are sitting dead still in their chairs, their mouths agape as they stare at you, then at Jack, and then back at you.

Trinity is the first to recover, a massive grin spreading across her face. "Well, I think I know exactly how it’s going."

An unbothered smile breaks across your face. You don't say a single word to confirm it. Instead, you just lift the warm cup to your lips and take a sip of your tea.

...

Six Months Later

The morning of the vow renewal is chaotic, but you just simply cannot stop smiling.

You’re upstairs in the bedroom struggling with the zipper of a simple, backless white sundress. The lace keeps catching on the track, and you let out frustrated sigh, twisting your arms at an impossible angle.

Jack steps into the room, already wearing his crisp suit trousers and a white button down, though his tie is still draped loosely around his neck. He stops in the doorway, his eyes sweeping over the exposed skin of your back.

"Need some help?" he asks.

"This zipper is my enemy." you mutter, turning your head to look at him. "And aren't there traditional rules about the groom seeing the bride before the ceremony?"

"We’ve been legally married for five years, baby." Jack smirks, closing the gap between you in two long strides. "I think the statute of limitations on the rules has run out."

He steps up right behind you, his chest pressing flush against your bare back, sending an immediate shock straight up your spine. His hands don't go to the zipper first. Instead, his palms slide firmly around the curves of your waist, his fingers digging into your skin, pulling you against him. He leans down, his mouth brushing your shoulder.

"Jack," you breathe, your hands instantly reaching back to grip his forearms. "The guests will be here in twenty minutes."

"They can wait." he groans against your skin, his thumb brushing across your hip. He finally reaches for the zipper, his knuckles brushing down your spine as he slowly guides the track up, closing the dress but doing absolutely nothing to release you from his grip. He spins you around in his arms so you're facing him, his hands resting on your hips. "You look incredible. It’s taking an immense amount of self control not to tear this dress right back off you."

You laugh and reach up to tighten the knot of his tie, leaning in to catch his lips in a quick, teasing peck. "Save it for later."

…

The ceremony itself is small and perfect. 

Your guests are gathered under the oak trees in the backyard, the afternoon sun filtering through the leaves. John is holding a digital camera like a proud mom. Trinity and Dennis are openly tearing up before a single word is even spoken.

Jack stands across from you on the grass, holding both of your hands in his. 

When it’s his turn to speak, he doesn't read from a script. He just squeezes your fingers, his voice steady. "Five years ago, I stood at an altar and promised you my forever." Jack says, his eyes searching yours. "When you woke up, I realized I would gladly spend the rest of my life earning that forever all over again. Because the woman standing in front of me right now is the only future I want. Whatever comes back, and whatever doesn't, I am yours, completely.”

You feel beautifully alive.

"I don't remember the first time I said these words to you." you say, your voice trembling but clear as you look right back into him. "But I know my body never forgot the shape of you I choose you today, tomorrow, and every single day after that."

Jack closes the gap and pulls you into his chest, his arms wrapping around your waist, as he kisses you. 

Husband and wife.

…

Later, after the champagne has been toasted and the backyard has quieted down, you’re standing in the kitchen, packing up the leftover cake. The house is warm, filled with the love of a perfect evening.

Jack walks in behind you, having shed his suit jacket and unbuttoned the top two buttons of his shirt. He doesn't say a word. He just slides his arms around your waist from behind, pulling you back until your hips are locked against his. His chin rests gently on the crown of your head.

You lean back into his warmth, your hands resting over his on your stomach.

"So, husband," you murmur, turning your head slightly to glance up at him. “What are our next plans?” 

Jack laughs against your hair, his grip tightening just a fraction as he pulls a white envelope from his back pocket and slides it onto the counter in front of you.

You blink, loosening your grip to pick it up. You slide the paper out, and your breath catches in your throat.

It’s a flight itinerary. First class.

"Paris?" you whisper. You flash back to the grainy camcorder footage, to the younger version of you excitedly shouting the destination to the lens. "Another honeymoon?" You say, unable to hide your excitement.

"Our flight leaves on Thursday. I told the department we're going to be unreachable for two weeks." Jack says softly, kissing you behind your ear. 

You turn around in his arms. "Paris," you repeat, a flirtatious smile breaking across your face. "I hope you're ready.  Because I don't plan on letting you leave the hotel room for the first three days."

Jack lifts you clean off the kitchen tile, pinning you against the edge of the counter. "Promise?" he rasps, his mouth hovering inches from yours. 

...

The boutique hotel room is small. All dark velvet, creaking hardwood floors, and a pair of tall French doors that open up to a wrought iron balcony overlooking the rain slicked streets. The moment Jack shuts the door behind you, dropping the luggage onto the floor, the city outside completely ceases to exist.

You don't even let him take off his coat.

You turn on your heel, backing him straight up against the wall next to the door frame. His arms instantly lace around your waist to drag your hips flush against his.

"I thought we were going to at least try to look at the Eiffel Tower first." he pants against your mouth, his thumbs digging into your skin through your sweater.

"The tower isn't going anywhere." you whisper. "And I distinctly remember making a promise in the kitchen."

Without a word, Jack hooks his hands beneath your thighs and lifts you clean off the floor. You lock your legs tightly around his waist, burying your face in the warm crook of his neck as he navigates the small room, his unbothered stride carrying you both until you crash back onto the massive bed.

The clothes are discarded in a tangled heap on the floorboards until there is nothing left between you but the warmth of the room.

You reach up, lacing your fingers through his hair to pull his face down to yours. "Don't be gentle, Jack. I don't need you to be careful with me anymore."

A sound rips out of his throat, and the final shred of his self control completely disintegrates.

He guides his length to your opening, the hot head of his shaft dragging through your own slick release. He pauses for one second, his forehead resting against yours, his breathing shallow.

"Look at me." he commands softly.

You force your eyelids open, locking your gaze directly into his.

With one slow, deep, devastating thrust, Jack slides completely inside you, bottoming out against your core.

"I've got you." he pants, his mouth catching yours. "I've always had you."

…

After, you’re sitting out on the small stone balcony, wrapped in Jack’s coat, a hot mug of coffee cradled between your palms. The rain has stopped, leaving the streets below shimmering like gold under the glow of the streetlamps.

Jack steps out onto the balcony, wearing nothing but a pair of dark sweatpants, his bare shoulders gleaming in the moonlight. He moves up behind you, his arms wrapping around your waist.

You stay like that for a long time, just listening to the distant hum of Paris. 

You tilt your head back, looking up at him, a smile breaking across your face. You don’t need to look at the streets below to know where you are. You don’t need a map or a recovered memory. You just pull his hands tighter around you. And let yourself finally rest in the only place that has ever truly felt like home, with him. 

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[pittmebabyonemoretime]

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jack abbot

ask nicely You and Jack don't get along. When a confrontation finally pushes you over the edge, both of you discover that the only thing more intense than your arguments is giving in.

five dollar silver fox // pt. 2 // pt.3 // pt.4 (COMPLETE) You get bored one night and decide to download a chat service app. You pick Jack and he shows you just how good your choice was.

the single dad dating rule // pt.2 // pt.3 // pt.4 // texts (COMPLETE) While working at the grocery store one night, a lost toddler finds his way to you, then his hot dad shows up.

frequent flyer // pt.2 // pt. 3 // pt.4 (COMPLETE) Everyone knows you at PTMC, both AM & PM shifts, but you really like one doctor in particular.

the three times you couldn't sleep // pt.2 // pt. 3 (COMPLETE) You are convinced Jack only sees you as a friend, but behind his cool exterior is a man fighting a losing battle against his own desires. Across three restless nights, the boundaries of your friendship are tested as Jack struggles to decide if being happy and falling for someone who makes him feel human again is worth the risk.

forbidden you never thought you would have your own prince charming. and you don’t. not really. you only have him in glimpses. and tonight is the last night you will ever have him in your hands.

off limits // pt. 2 (COMPLETE) you always thought you were a person of logic and restraint, but running into Jack Abbot after all these years has you fighting your desire for your ex boyfriends uncle.

man i love feelings // pt.2 // pt. 3 (COMPLETE) Clock in. Find Jack Abbot. Say something that makes him squirm. Clock out. You've never claimed it means anything. You've never claimed it doesn't either. What matters is that something has shifted. Jack is off. And you are going to figure out what happened.

forgive me, father // alt ending feeling lost in life had you stumbling into a church on a rainy day. father abbot is here to listen.

rate my attending // pt.2 (indefinite hiatus) You were just a resident with a grudge and a wifi connection. Now you're running the most popular anonymous attending review site on the internet.

i got me someone else instead // pt.2 (COMPLETE) you agree to open your relationship after your boyfriend kept begging. at first he's on the apps getting absolutely zero matches, but then he gets a date. And the first time you go out with your friends with the full intention to find someone, you meet jack abbot. and he is hell bent on making sure you do not forget him.

love me again // pt. 2 // pt.3 // pt. 4 // part 5 // part 6 (COMPLETE) you wake up in a hospital room at ptmc and you have no idea how you got there or why. but when your night shift attending comes bursting in the room all frazzled and worried, things get even more confusing. especially when he's saying he's your husband.

one last chance // pt. 2 (COMPLETE) Jack knows you were the one that got away. So when the crew receives your save the date for your wedding, he decides he's got one last chance to right all of his wrongs.

jealousy, jealousy

[nocteambulavero]

Office Gremlin — Brendon Park x f!Reader

(Closet Gremlin pt. 2)

Summary: “You try to remind yourself that you’re too practical to moon over someone you’ve known for exactly three days, especially when he calls you gremlin on a regular basis, but you fail spectacularly. Apparently your type is intellectual assholes.”

WC: 3,017

A/N: direct continuation to Closet Gremlin — you should probably read that first, but idk, you do you; set seven years before The Pitt (Park is mid-30s); fem reader; you can’t tell me Park is OOC because man was on the screen for half a second; also it’s technically still Friday as I post this, so don’t come for me

—————————————————

You don’t know why you’re doing this.

You’re standing in line at your new favorite coffee shop, the cute one on the corner that hosts Star Wars trivia and serves lattes in handmade mugs. You’d found it two weeks after you’d started working at PTMC, and now you show up every Friday like clockwork. Your pitiful grad student stipend makes it irresponsible to come more often than that, though you do occasionally cave on particularly early Monday mornings.

Noa, the barista, already knows your order by heart, and they smile in greeting when you reach the register.

“Just your usual today?” they ask.

You hesitate. You really don’t know why you’re doing this.

“Umm, can I add a long black?”

Noa quirks an eyebrow at you. The first time you’d come here, you’d told them you liked your coffee to taste as un-coffee-like as possible — clearly the extra drink isn’t for you. They don’t comment though, which you’re grateful for. You might see them every week, but you’re definitely not prepared to explain to them why you’re buying coffee for a man you’ve met exactly once and who wasn’t even particularly polite to you.

It’s gratitude, you tell yourself.

That’s not completely a lie. Working at a desk was significantly more comfortable than working on the floor of a supply closet, so you really are thankful. And if that’s not the only reason you walk out of the shop carrying two drinks, no one else needs to know.

The three-block trek to PTMC somehow feels both longer and shorter than usual. By the time you’re scanning your badge and riding the elevator up to the fourth floor, you’ve called yourself an idiot five different ways. It’s too late to change your mind though — the lady at the nurses station has already seen you, and you’ll look like an even bigger idiot if you just turn around and walk back the way you came.

It’s the same nurse you saw when you were here a few days ago. She’s older, maybe in her late fifties, with steel grey hair held back by a sparkly butterfly clip and hot pink glasses perched on her nose. She’s sipping something from a mug labeled “World’s Best Grandma,” and her badge reel is shaped like a unicorn.

She must recognize you, too, because something horrifyingly close to amusement is dancing in her warm brown eyes. Patty, you read from her badge, looks down at the two coffees clutched in your hands then back up at you. She smiles.

“Can I help you?” she asks.

You’ve spent your entire academic career giving lectures in front of everyone from freshmen falling asleep in their seats to snobby faculty who disagree with everything you say on principle. You’re trained to be confident, eloquent. To answer any question thrown your way whether directly or by pivoting. Talking to a kind older lady with glittery clogs should not phase you.

It does in fact phase you.

“I’m uh, looking for Bre-, Dr. Park?”

Her grin widens.

“He’s is in surgery right now, but he should be closing soon if you want to wait.”

You shake your head immediately. There’s no way you’re going to stand here waiting for him like a lovesick teenager; you have more dignity than that. You’ll just consider this the universe telling you this was a bad idea.

“I have a meeting,” you lie.

Patty raises an eyebrow but doesn’t call you on it.

“Do you want to leave that here?” she asks instead, gesturing to your occupied hands. “I don’t usually play courier, but I’d be happy to give him that for you.”

It doesn’t take a genius to puzzle out why you’re looking for Brendon while holding an extra coffee, but you still feel yourself flushing at being caught. Maybe it’s frowned upon to interrupt surgeons in the middle of one of their operating days. Or maybe he brings random women to his office all the time, and you’re just the latest in a long string. Either way, you’re overthinking, mad at yourself for overthinking, and late to an imaginary meeting.

“That would be great, thank you,” you say.

You hand over the coffee like you’re handing over contraband. She takes it with what feels like an inappropriately pleased expression.

“I hope your meeting goes well,” she replies.

Yeah, she definitely knows you lied.

Mustering as much dignity as you can manage, you thank her again before turning and heading back to the elevator. You can feel her eyes burning a hole in the back of your head as you go. It’s not until you reach your tiny little borrowed office on the second floor that you finally relax a bit. You sit down in your chair, drop your bag on the floor, and take a sip of your coffee. Then promptly gag and nearly spit it out.

The taste of bitter black coffee coats your tongue like a violation. You glare at the innocuous looking to-go cup like it’s responsible for the mixup. Your beloved, sugary monstrosity is rotting upstairs, but you would rather gnaw your arm off than go back and switch drinks with Patty. You groan and drop your head into your hands.

It’s going to be a long day.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

“Who the fuck sits like that?”

You jump and nearly knock over your coffee. You’d taken it to the cafeteria and loaded it with as much cream and sugar as possible until it was almost palatable. You’d been sipping it on and off while you worked in silence for the last hour, and you hadn’t notice Brendon arriving at your door until he spoke. He stands just inside the doorway, arms crossed and lip curled like he’s looking at a zoo exhibit.

You blink slowly.

You’re sitting with your knees drawn up, feet tucked close. Your chin rests on your knees, and your arms are wrapped around them so you can reach the keyboard.

“It helps me think,” you reply slowly.

“You’re not doing much to beat the gremlin accusations. You look like fucking Gollum.”

Far from being offended, you feel your face light up.

“You’ve read Lord of the Rings?”

“That’s what you got out of that?”

He looks deeply unimpressed, which you find deeply attractive for some reason you’ll explore in therapy next week. He’s just as handsome as you remember, even with his hair mussed from his scrub cap and a small mark on his nose from his eye protection. It’s kind of annoying, if you’re being honest. No one should look that good in hospital-issued scrubs.

“You have terrible taste in coffee,” he continues.

You choke.

You’ve been so disgruntled while slogging through your sad-black-coffee morning that you forgot it meant he did not have sad, black coffee. You’ve been worried about your own drink, when you really should’ve been worried about his. Horror dawns at the realization you brought a six-foot-plus, scowling orthopedic surgeon a matcha latte with oat milk and vanilla syrup.

You wince.

“I gave you mine by mistake. This one was supposed to be yours.”

You gesture to your own cup weakly.

“It’s just a long black.”

“So you have some taste,” he snorts.

That pulls a scowl out of you, which in turn pulls a smirk out of him.

“You’re welcome, by the way,” you retort. “I wait all week for that drink, and you didn’t even appreciate it.”

“Thank you.”

You’re shocked by how sincere he sounds. He looks at you steadily, not a trace of mockery in his expression. Then he ruins it two seconds later by opening his mouth.

“Poor timing on your part though, Patty is having a fucking field day over this.”

“Well excuse me for not having your operating schedule memorized.”

He rolls his eyes.

“Besides,” you continue. “It’s just a thank you coffee, not a marriage proposal.”

“Why, you thinking about marriage?”

You should absolutely not blush at that. You blush. Then you blush even harder when that slow, infuriating smirk curves his lips. Asshole.

“Did you come all the way down here just to be a jerk?” you scowl.

“Not only.”

He walks into the office then, and your breath catches. The space is small to begin with, really more of a shoe cupboard than anything else, but it feels positively minuscule with his massive frame inside of it. He stops on the opposite side of your desk and nods at your computer.

“I saw the hospital memo — you’re giving a lecture on your research next week?”

“I-, uh, yes?”

You’re shocked that he actually reads his memos — you certainly don’t — and even more shocked that he noticed your tiny little line in the million-page document. It’s nothing big, just you giving an overview of your dissertation and its projected implications for the hospital. Really, it’s mostly just so you can tell people they might see you popping in and out of their departments for observation and to not call security on you.

“Are you planning on going?” you ask hesitantly.

He shrugs.

“If I can pawn off rounds on Feldman, then yeah.”

Oh.

He says it like it’s a forgone conclusion, like of course he’ll be there and you’re an idiot for thinking otherwise. He’s smart, handsome, maybe secretly nice underneath ten layers of grump. But once again, the thing that strikes you most is that he sees you and takes you seriously. You can count on one hand the number of people outside your committee who actually care about what you study, and you wouldn’t even need all your fingers. Even your parents’ eyes kind of glaze over when you get too technical.

Your face must betray some of what you’re thinking, because he’s quick to add-

“I just want to make sure you’re on track to give me my 20%.”

You actually laugh then, and something in his expression softens so minutely you almost miss it. Your heart stumbles over its next beat. You try to remind yourself that you’re too practical to moon over someone you’ve known for exactly three days, especially when he calls you gremlin on a regular basis, but you fail spectacularly. Apparently your type is intellectual assholes.

You’re searching for something to say that won’t give away your inner crisis, when you’re saved by the sound of another voice at your door. Although once you glance over and see who it is, you decide you would rather have confessed your undying love than deal with whatever this is about to be.

“Hey, y/n, I brought you some-, oh.”

Several things happen in quick succession. First, you make uncomfortable eye contact with Jeremy Hayes, who’s standing in the doorway clutching a cup from the hospital cafeteria. Second, Brendon looks over at you and clocks your vaguely pained expression. Last Brendon and Jeremy look at each other, and you can almost feel the instant dislike that passes between them.

“Hi, Jeremy,” you say quickly, trying to defuse the situation.

His eyes peel reluctantly away from Brendon’s, and he gives you a slightly more strained version of the smile he was wearing a minute ago.

“Hi,” he greets again. “I got you something.”

He walks into the office, passes Brendon, and then rounds the desk to stand next to you. He places the cup on your desk and lingers by your side. You wonder if it’d be rude to scooch your chair away from him.

You’ve known Jeremy since he started as a post-doc in your department ten months ago, and you have enjoyed approximately zero of those months. It probably makes you mean, but there’s just something about him that rubs you the wrong way. You don’t know why — there’s nothing technically wrong with him. He’s handsome, smart, and well-liked by most others. Maybe, you think as he grabs your old cup of coffee and tosses it in the trashcan next to the desk, it’s because he does stuff like this. You weren’t enjoying the lukewarm drink, but still. It feels presumptuous if not rude.

Brendon must feel the same, because he arches one imperious eyebrow that conveys an entire speech’s worth of words. Jeremy flushes, but powers through.

“I’m Dr. Jeremy Hayes, Carnegie Mellon,” he says.

Brendon just stares at him, arms crossed and expression flat.

“Y/n and I work quite closely together.”

That’s a gross over-exaggeration of your basically non-existent relationship.

“I didn’t know you were working with PTMC,” you say when it becomes clear Brendon has no intention of contributing to this conversation.

“I’m not.”

“Oh, so are you um, visiting someone here?”

“I was just in the area and wanted to come check on my favorite grad student.”

PTMC and CMU are relatively close to each other, only about twenty minutes without traffic, but it still feels…excessive. Even if he really was just in the area. And it’s news to you that you’re his favorite grad student — if you’re being honest, you don’t really want to be.

“Well, um, thank you for stopping by,” you say, hoping he gets the hint.

He does not get the hint.

Instead, he turns to Brendon and smiles confidently.

“You must be one of y/n’s new friends.”

Brendon says nothing, and the smile falters.

“Sorry if I interrupted, you were saying?”

Brendon just cocks his head.

“I can wait until you’re gone.”

Jeremy looks like he’s just been slapped, and you realize you’re going to have to put an end to whatever pissing match this is. Although calling it a match seems unfair. It’s more like Jeremy trying to talk to an uninterested brick wall.

“Thank you for stopping by to check on me,” you say to him. “I’m doing well. I’ll see you at the department brown bag next week?”

Something passes across his expression so quickly you don’t quite know what to make of it, before he pastes on another megawatt smile and nods.

“Of course. I’ll come by another time when you’re not so busy.”

He heads for the door then, but not before casting one more weighted look at Brendon. Brendon, for his part, just looks back with the same bored expression he’s been wearing for the past ten minutes. That is, until Jeremy actually leaves. Then he makes it approximately five seconds before rounding on you.

“You-”

“You don’t have to say it,” you grimace, rubbing at the ache forming at your temples.

“Someone has to. You have shit taste in friends.”

You glare at him.

“He’s not my friend, and that’s rude.”

“So is throwing away someone’s overpriced coffee and replacing it with cafeteria sludge, but you didn’t have anything to say about that.”

You open your mouth to respond, then close it, because he’s not wrong. You thought the exact same thing. You’ve thought the exact same thing about Jeremy several times in fact.

“He your advisor?”

You nearly choke.

“No, he’s a post doc. We don’t actually work on anything together.”

“And yet he came all this way to see you.”

You wince.

“Okay, when you say it like that, it sounds creepy.”

“Because it is. You told me I was terrible and knocked over my pens the first day I met you.”

He stops there, but you hear the rest of it anyways. So why don’t you say anything now? You don’t answer right away, partially because you’re not sure. When you stay silent, he shifts forward, and you brace for whatever scathing thing you’re sure he’s about to say. Instead, his expression softens, and his voice is careful when he asks-

“Is he a problem?”

That’s all he asks, but you once again hear the unspoken words that follow. Is he a problem and do you want me to do something about it? Warmth blooms in your chest. You met Brendon three days ago, talked to him for maybe half an hour, and did indeed knock over his pens after he specifically told you not to touch anything. Twice. But here he is showing real concern for you. Add that to his genuine interest in your research, and you suddenly find yourself too deep in a pool you weren’t aware you were swimming in.

“He’s just…really friendly,” you say when you remember how words work.

“Y/n.”

He says your name flatly, but it still manages to convey disbelief, annoyance, and try that again all at the same time. You feel a mortifying lick of arousal. This is not the time, but your body doesn’t seem to care. Hearing your name in that tone, from his mouth, short-circuits you for a second.

“Okay, maybe he’s too friendly,” you amend, “but I don’t think he’s a problem.“

He looks at you for a long moment, considering, before nodding.

“You can tell me if that changes.”

He’s serious, and you’re gone.

“Are you saying you care?” you joke in an attempt not to confess your undying love on the spot.

He immediately scowls.

“I’m saying that if you get murdered by your stalker before I get my cut, I’m going to be pissed.”

That makes you grin. In a lot of ways, Brendon is the opposite of Jeremy — snappy, rude, not a people person — but you find you prefer that. He’s straightforward, intentional. Sharp-tongued, but respectful of the things that matter. Maybe that’s why it’s easier to hold your ground with him.

“I’m serious,” he says when you keep smiling at him. “Stop looking at me like that. We’re not friends. You’re still an office gremlin with shit taste in coffee and terrible posture.”

“Technically matcha isn’t coffee.”

“For fuck’s sake-, I have a surgery to get to.

He shoots you a look cold enough to kill and leaves without another word. You laugh at his retreating back, then laugh harder when he flips you off over his shoulder. Your morning is starting to feel significantly better.

Maybe getting him a coffee wasn’t a bad idea after all.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

When you get to your office Monday morning, there’s a matcha latte with oat milk and vanilla syrup waiting for you on your desk.

[mcybank]

White Feather Hawk — Jack Abbot

pairing — jack abbot x fem!reader

summary — loving jack always had a price. you just assumed you’d seen the worst of it.

warnings — 7.1k words. MINORS DNI!! explicit sexual content (unprotected piv sex), divorce, ex-spouses with a major case of unresolved feelings, toxic relationship dynamics, codependency, alcohol use, unexpected pregnancy, discussion of abortion and reproductive choice, crying, emotional distress, also the past relationship details are left vague

author’s note — whipped this up bc i could not stop thinking about this plot 😬 yk i love a gooood angst + this one should be multiple parts!!

If you knew your ex-husband was going to be at the bar, you would have gone straight home. The only point of getting drinks after a shift was to stop being a person who’d had that shift—to sit in a sticky booth with people who’d seen the same bad day and let it dissolve into something cheap—and Jack’s presence anywhere had the effect of making you more yourself, not less; a woman performing being completely okay for an audience of one who’d seen you cry over burnt lasagna on your two-year-anniversary and had the terrible indecency to remember it.

But you didn’t know. Dana had said a few of them were going to the bar after the night shift took over, and you’d heard it would only be a few of them and not done the thinking on who’d be working the night shift—you’d assumed him, because he was always there, always fucking there. So you walked in already loosened, your badge clipped to your waistband, and you were three steps into the warm beery dark before you saw the back of his head in the corner booth.

He was nursing a bourbon he’d probably make last the entire night and he was half-listening to Langdon tell some story, his leg stretched out into the aisle, and he hadn’t seen you yet. You had a second. You could have turned around and texted Dana some bullshit excuse of getting the full eight hours and walked back to the parking lot to go home to your dog and half your bed.

You never did, though. You told yourself afterward it was because the leaving would’ve told the table something. But the truer thing, the one you didn’t want to look at directly, was that an evening without Jack had started to feel like a room with the bulb burned out. You’d gotten that bad. 

“There she is,” Dana said, twisting around in the booth, already sliding to make room. “Sit. I saved you the good side. It doesn’t wobble.”

You sat, and the good side put you diagonal from Jack, close enough that his stretched-out leg was a fact you had to arrange your own legs around under the table. He hadn’t acknowledged you yet. He was letting Langdon finish; Jack always let people finish, it was something that made patients trust him and made you, toward the end, want to put a plate through the wall because he’d let you get to the bottom of sentences you’d have killed to be interrupted out of.

But you watched the back of his neck change as his shoulders went from loose to aware. When he turned, his eyes found yours like a bad number on a monitor, faster than he could’ve chosen. For half-a-second, before his face caught up, he looked so completely undefended. Then it was gone and he looked at you like you were weather he'd been told about. 

“Huh,” he breathed, picking his bourbon back up. “They let your department fraternize with the help now, or are you slumming?”

“Dana kidnapped me.” You reached over and took the lime off his rim. He’d never once in his life used it—he hated citrus in bourbon—and only got it because Marlene behind the bar had been putting it in each time. Jack had decided somewhere around your wedding that debating her on it was more than what the lime was worth. 

You bit it and set the rind into his napkin where it went, where it had always gone. 

His eyes tracked you as you did it without any comment. The better half of five years of the lime and he’d never once said anything, only bought you the garnish on his own drink. 

“How was your floor?” you asked.

“Slow.” He turned the glass a quarter-turn on the table, an old tell, the thing his hands did when he was trying very hard to keep his words scarce. “Knock on something.” 

“But I like watching you suffer,” you drawled. 

He huffed at that. “I know.”

That was it. He was good at letting things sit, it was the worst of his habits, the way he could absorb a thing you said and just hold it instead of returning it. Half your sentences to him used to end in a silence you'd eventually have to fill yourself. You'd forgotten how much work it was. You'd forgotten you used to do all the talking and call it conversation.

“You got Kevin this week?” Dana asked from beside you. 

Jack, without a beat of hesitation, said, “She’s got Kilo this week.”

Javadi, the new and curious med student in the ER, looked between both of you with furrowed brows. “Sorry. Kevin or Kilo? Is that—are those two dogs?”

“One dog,” you said.

“Yup. One dog,” Jack agreed.

“Then why—” Javadi started.

“His name’s Kilo,” Jack said.

“No, his name’s Kevin.”

Javadi’s head went between you as though she was watching a tennis match. The table laughed because they’d heard this a hundred times and it never stopped being funny to them; the divorced two doing their oldest bit, the one argument that had outlived the marriage that spawned it.

“His papers say Kilo,” Jack said in Javadi’s direction.

Robby, who’d been completely invested in his own drink, said, “And your papers say divorced.”

“And we very much are, thank you,” you said, picking it up before the laugh had finished.

Jack stayed silent then. Robby, he’d have something for. But this was you saying it, easy and completely certain in front of everyone. The leg that had been stretched into your space this entire night drew back slowly, a small retreat nobody at the table except you could’ve felt. He turned the glass a quarter-turn. 

You’d done it on purpose. You’d felt the whole night immediately tilting into the warm dangerous fiction of it and you’d reached for the one sentence that would shut it, and you’d swung it at the only person who’d actually feel the blade. 

The facts of your divorce were no concern to anyone but the two of you at the table, but you could feel Jack flinch inwardly by the announcement that blanketed it all; that you now lived in separate homes, that the dog was scheduled like a custody hearing; that the word ‘we’ had a tense and it was past. None of it was news. He’d signed the same papers you had in the same flat conference room, with the same pen the mediator kept clicking until you'd wanted to scream. He knew the facts better than anyone. And still you'd watched him wince when you said it out loud.

He'd built a whole life on the difference between a thing being true and a thing being spoken; it was how he ran a trauma bay, how he told a family the worst news in the world in a voice that never broke, how he'd ended your marriage without ever once saying the words that would've made it real, just withdrawing by degrees until you were the one who had to say them for him. He'd made you do that too. He made you do all the saying. And now you'd said this, and he was sitting there absorbing it the way he absorbed everything, quietly, like he'd decided long ago that taking it without a sound was the least of what he had coming.

“Just fucking do it, Jack.”

And he did—finally, finally—push into you with a single long stroke that dragged a sound out of both of you, his coming out through his teeth, and yours into the pillow. His forehead came down between your shoulder blades. He stayed there for a second, breathing, one hand splayed wide over your hip and the other braced into the mattress beside your hips. His weight settled onto the left leg the way it always settled, a decision his body stopped having to make years ago. You could feel him shaking with the effort of not moving yet, of dragging it out, because he always did this, he always made you ask twice. 

“Christ,” he breathed into your spine. “You feel—” he started, and let the words die as his teeth gently pressed into the bone at the top of your shoulder. It was then he started to move.

He fucked like he did everything else with his hands; he was methodical, attentive, and so devastingly present. He went in believing there was always a correct rhythm, and he intended to find it just to ruin you with it. He’d learned by repetition until it stopped requiring thought, until he could play you without looking, and the worst part—the one you’d never say out loud—was that it worked. It always worked. He knew the exact angle that made you stop being a person with opinions about him. 

That long stroke dragged slow on the way out and snapped deep on the way back in, and your whole body misfired around him whether you’d given it permission to or not.

His palm slid up from your hip to flatten between your shoulder blades and pressed, folding you down into the mattress, taking the choice out of your spine. And the new angle had you gasping into the sheets because he’d done it on purpose; he always did everything on purpose, and now he was hitting that place that made your fingers curl and your thighs shake and a thin embarrassing whine climb out you that you’d have died before making it sober. 

Jack felt the exact second your control went and he leaned into it, hips grinding deep and unhurried, holding you right there on the edge of too-much like he was reading everything under your skin. 

“That’s it,” he drawled out, his voice low and even, the bastard, like he had all night, like he wasn’t already wrecked behind the voice. “Yeah, I’ve got you.” And he did. He had you exactly where he wanted you and you let him, because no one had ever taken you apart this precisely, this patiently, like your falling apart was the only thing on his list and he intended to do it right.

The dog tags swung forward and dragged close across your back when he leaned over you, then warm when they settled against your skin, and you thought—stupidly, with the part of your brain that should’ve been offline—that you used to fall asleep listening to that chain shift when he breathed. You thought there had been a version of this where afterward he stayed. You shoved that thought down. You arched your back into him instead and he made a punched-out noise, low in his chest, his grip going tight on you to leave the marks.

“Slow down,” he muttered more to himself than you, but he didn’t. His hips stuttered out of their careful rhythm because this was the one place his composure failed; it was the one place where the sealed-up, gallows humor, watching-you-over-the-glass version of him came apart at the seams. 

You’d figured this out over the months. This was the only place Jack was honest. He’d never say the things across a table, in daylight, with his clothes on. But here, with his cock buried inside of you and his composure shot, the truth leaked out of him in fragments he wouldn’t be accountable for later. 

“Missed this,” he got out, ragged, his mouth at the back of your neck now, words pressed into your hairline like he could bury them in there. “Missed you, fuck. You’ve got no idea, sweetheart, the things I—” 

“Don’t.” You didn’t want it. You wanted it so badly your chest ached and that was exactly why you didn’t want it, because you knew what it was worth in the morning, which was nothing, which was a text about whether you’d remembered to walk Kevin. “Jack. Don’t talk. You can’t—” You let out a gasp as he pressed his hips completely flush against yours, chasing you to the hilt, as if he could physically expel the words out of you. “Can’t fuck me into being with you again.”

You felt him falter at the words, just for a beat, the rhythm catching like you’d reached back and put a hand flat on his sternum. He slowed, dragged himself almost all the way out and held there, trembling, his whole weight coming down over your back so his mouth was now at your ear and you could feel everything against the shell of it.

“I know,” he said, words ragged. “I know I can’t. Doesn’t mean I can’t try.”

His hand moved around the dip of your waist, and he pulled out of you slow, the loss making you bite down on a sound. Then he was rolling you, one palm flat and insistent on your hip, turning you under him onto your back like it was the easiest thing in the world.

“No—” You got an arm up, forearm against your own eyes, because you knew what he wanted, and you weren’t going to give it to him. The face, the looking. From behind, you could keep it what it was; turned over, you’d have to be there for it. “Jack, leave it. I don’t—”

“Hey.” He held your wrist, thumb working into the soft inside of it where your pulse was going stupid. “C’mon. Move the arm.”

“No.”

“You won’t even—” He let out a low laugh, disbelieving, almost wounded. “You’ll let me do every other thing but you won’t even look at me?”

“That’s different.”

“Yeah.” He went quiet for a moment, and his hand slid up the inside of your thigh, holding you open, patient as anything. He knew exactly what the looking was and exactly why you were hiding from it, and he was going to wait you out. “I know it is. Move the arm anyway.”

He braced over you on his arm, the other hand drawing slow idle circles high on your thigh, his cock notched against you and not pushing in, just there, the threat and promise of him, while he looked down at the arm over your face. You could feel him watching.

So you did move the arm, mostly just to spite him by giving him exactly what he wanted. His face was right there—jaw tight, eyes gone dark and fixed on you like you were the only lit thing in the room—and the second you met it, the slight smugness melted clean down the middle and there was just the wanting underneath, naked and his.

“Thank god,” he breathed before pushing back into you. His eyes tracked your face scrunch up at the familiar—too familiar—pleasure like he’d been starving for exactly this. His hand left your jaw and found your knee, hooking it up higher over his hip. He’d always known your left hip sat wrong, that this was the angle that didn’t ache after; the same way you knew, without ever being told, to take the weight off his right side, the two of you arranging yourselves around each other the way you always had. “Knew you were in there somewhere.”

“Don’t get sentimental, Jack” you said, breathless. “You’ll pull something.”

He huffed a laugh against your jaw. Your hand had gone to his left shoulder and you pressed your thumb into the knot that always sat under the blade after a long shift, working it slow while he moved in you. He groaned low and helpless at the unexpected mercy of it.

“Mouthy,” he managed to say. “Even now.”

“You’re so—so insufferable.”

His mouth found the corner of yours and his hand slid up your ribs so his thumb could catch the underside of your breast exactly where he knew; your back came up off the mattress for him. “You married me anyway. What’s that say about you?”

You got your fingers to his hair and scratched once at the base of his skull, the thing that used to put him to sleep in under five minutes, something you’d done about a thousand times in a bed you no longer shared. You watched his eyes go briefly unfocused with how much his body remembered it meant being safe. You hated that you’d done it. 

The easy heat in him went somewhere graver, and his hand came up to cover yours where it rested in his hair. He pinned it there, keeping the touch on him, like he couldn’t bear for you to take it back.

“Why’d you—” His hips stuttered. “Why’d you have to go, huh?”

“Don’t,” you said quickly, and your hand came out of his hair—you made it come down, fighting the pin of his fingers—and you planted your palm against his chest to put an inch back between the two of you. “Don’t talk. Just—shut up. Jack, shut up and—”

He took in a breath, lips still parted like he wanted to talk. You’d expected it. Jack was fabulous at saying everything important while inside you or when he was halfway asleep.

“Yeah.” He nodded shakily. “Yeah. Okay.”

He got an arm under the small of your back and hauled you up into him, and the next stroke was just deep and selfish, like he’d stopped trying to make his point and now was only trying to get somewhere. The slow ruinous tenderness burned off into something with no thought left in it, and your body surged up to meet it—God—yes, this, you could do, this didn’t ask you for anything you’d sworn off. This was just the white-hot animal fact of him and you could be all the way in without losing a single thing. 

“There,” he ground out, forehead dropped to yours, both of you breathing into the same inch of air. “There—fuck—there you go.”

Your mind went black. That was the mercy of getting it like this; the part of you that counted the times he’d said your name, that totted up what the morning had cost, went quiet, drowned clean in the simple overwhelming good of him. You grabbed at his back and pulled him in past where there was room and made a strangled noise.

His hand found yours where it was fisted in the sheet and laced through it, knuckles white, pinning it down beside your head—needing the anchor—and you gripped back just as hard. The bed was loud. Neither of you cared. You'd gone past the place where you could have stopped even if the smarter version of you had walked in and ordered it, both of you just chasing the finish now with a kind of grim mutual desperation, like if you got it done fast enough you wouldn't have to deal with what it was.

“Close,” you breathed. “Jack, I’m close—” 

“I know. C’mon, let me feel it—” His hand let go of yours and dropped between you, fingers finding you without a second of searching, the muscle-memory of you deathly absolute. “Been thinking about this all night.” 

He worked you up to the edge with his face buried in your throat and his hips snapping. The whole thing finally cresting into something neither of you could've talked through if you'd tried.

You went over first, the peak tearing through you with your nails dug into his back and your spine bowed clean off the mattress. He fucked you through every second of it, hips ramming, dragging it up past the point you could stand. And right at the end of yours his rhythm broke and went erratic, deep and grinding and graceless, and you felt the exact moment it caught him.

His arms hooked tighter under the small of your back and hauled you up into him so there was nowhere for him to go but deeper, like the thought of any distance between the two of you right now was a thing he couldn’t tolerate. Your legs wrapped around the backs of his thighs anyway, your heel pressed into the base of his spine.

“Gonna—” His voice came out shredded, into your throat. “Sweetheart, I’m gonna—fuck—”

With a low broken sound, his whole weight crushed down and his hips gave those last helpless grinding pushes, burying himself to the hilt, spilling into you with his face shoved into your neck and his hand fisted in your hair. He continued moving even then, small, greedy rolls of his hips, working himself deeper through the aftershocks, wringing every second out. 

“God.” He shuddered out the word against your pulse, hips still flush, seated as deep as he could get. His arms came around you completely—there wasn’t any inch he wasn’t holding—and he stayed there long after he finished, unwilling to give up the last of it. Greedy even now, especially now. Jack would take every second he was handed and a few he wasn’t.

His heart slammed against your ribs. His breath dragged itself slowly back down. For a moment, you let him have it. You let him stay heavy on and inside you, and you stared at the ceiling. 

After a minute—because that’s all you could grant him, a mere sixty seconds—you put your palm flat on his chest, over the spot where the dog tags had settled cold against his skin, and you pushed.

He came up on his forearms and he looked down at you. That was the hundredth mistake of the night, letting him be that close to your face with the lights of the street coming through the blinds in stripes across him. He looked at you the way he looked at you in the one place he ever did, like you were something he'd been allowed to hold and was already being asked to set back down, and the wanting in it was so total and so useless that you had to look at his collarbone instead.

Then his fingers came up to your chin, tilting your head up gently to meet his eyes again. “I wish you weren’t so cruel to me in front of people.” he said, voice coming out so rough. 

You knew exactly which part of the night he was talking about. He’d carried it the whole way here—through the parking lot, through the drive, through all of this, your body still humming with him—and he’d held onto it the entire time, only to let it out now because now was the only time he could.

“It’s not cruel if it’s true,” you said. “Nobody thought it was cruel.”

“No, nobody thought anything.” He caressed your jaw just slightly, and you stilled under the grazing touch. “I still felt it.” 

Maybe it was the hour, or the drinks still thinning in you, or just the unbearable fact of him looking at you. Regardless of what it was, the lid you kept on the old thing slipped, and you didn't get it back down in time.

“Don’t talk to me about cruelty, Jack,” you said quietly, holding his eyes even though you could feel your own burn. You could do it for once, because he was the one that looked like he needed a collarbone to fix his gaze on. “It was your cruelty that did this.”

His thumb stopped at your jaw. And then, instead of the stillness you’d expected, his hand slid back into your hair and his arm came around you and he pulled you in, the whole weight of him bearing down. His face went into your neck. 

You froze under him, suddenly hating him all over again for making this harder and harder each time.

“Go home,,” you said, and it came out lower than you’d wanted it to.

He let out a shaky breath against your skin. “I’d like to stay with you for one night. If you asked.” 

Your hands came up to his shoulders. You gently pushed. “I’m asking you to go.”

He came up off you slow, by degrees, and the cold rushed into every place he’d just been. He never argued; he only gave you offers where with the condition of you having to ask welded into them. He sat up on the edge of the bed with his back to you and reached for his shirt off the floor.

People at the hospital had a word for you and it was ‘difficult.’ You’d made peace with it years ago. What you didn’t have a word for was the tired. You’d been tired before; this had a different grain to it, bone-level and sitting-behind-your eyes. Twice this week the floor had gone soft and far away when you stood up too fast. You’d put a hand on the counter and waited it out and told no one.

You hadn't eaten, either. The granola bar was still in your bag. So when you stood up from the workstation to walk the corrected units down yourself, the room didn't gray at the edges this time. It dropped. The whole thing tilted bright then dim, your hand reached for the counter and missed it by an inch, and the next clear thing was the floor being closer than it should be and a hand hard around your arm.

“Okay—I’ve got you. Sit.” Dana, you recognized. Of course it was Dana; she had a sixth sense for the exact second a person stopped standing upright. She steered you down to a chair before you’d finished falling. “Head down. Between the knees. You’ve told a hundred people to do this—do it.”

“I’m fine,” you said, voice coming out depleted. “I just got up too—”

“Yeah, you’ve been getting up fast a couple times this week.” " Her hand was on the back of your neck, two fingers at your pulse, and she wasn't looking at your face, she was looking at her watch, counting, and the professionalism of it—the way she'd switched you from colleague to patient without asking your permission—made something cold go through you. “When’d you eat, hon?”

“I ate.”

“When?” When you stayed silent, she said, “That’s what I thought.”

She straightened up and you heard her turn. “Hey! Somebody grab Robby. No, he’s not—just grab him.” She turned back to you, and gentler than you wanted, in a way that told you exactly how bad you looked, she said, “We’re gonna put you in a room. Don’t make a face. We’re gonna put you in a room, run some fluids, check a couple things. If it’s nothing—thank god—then it’s nothing, and you can be insufferable about it for weeks. But you went down, sweetheart, and I’m not arguing with you about it.”

You wanted to argue; you wanted to refuse the chair and go back to work instead of occupying a bed at work. But you were so tired. You were tired, and some animal part of you had already known that for two weeks and had been waiting, with a patience that frightened you, for someone to make you stop.

So you let Dana walk you to the room. You let her pull the curtain. You sat on the edge of the gurney in a department you'd worked in for over a decade and let a colleague put a line in your arm, and you stared at the corner of the blood pressure cuff and did not let yourself think the one thought that had started, very quietly, somewhere underneath the tired, to assemble itself, and would not finish assembling until Robby came in twenty minutes later with your labs and a look on his face you couldn't read, and asked you, carefully, like a man stepping onto ice, when your last period was.

You’d seen him tell a people about death with more steadiness than he was managing right now, standing at the foot of your gurney with a tablet he wasn't looking at, asking you about your cycle like the answer was already on the screen and he was just giving you the courtesy of arriving at it yourself.

“Why?” you asked flatly.

“Just humor me. Tell me.”

You told him and he had no reaction, and that was how you knew. Robby’s face had gone completely neutral.

“Okay,” he said, setting the tablet down. “Your labs came back. Everything’s—the anemia’s mild. That’s the lightheadedness and not-eating. We’ll sort that out.” He paused, took a breath in, and the cold thing that had gone through you on the floor came back and sat down in your chest and stayed. “Your hCG’s elevated.”

You felt your body run cold then.

“That’s the pregnancy hormone,” he said gently. He was a teacher before anything, and that reflex was still on, even with you.

“I know what hCG is, Robby,” you said, the words coming out sharp, voice cracking the last word in half. You saw him nod sharply as he decided to ignore it. “I—I know what it is.”

“It’s early,” he said. “Numbers are consistent with early, which means you’ve got time. That’s what I’m saying. You’ve got time to think about whatever you need to think about.” He was being so careful. “I didn’t put it into anything yet. I wanted to talk to you first.”

Early. You’ve got time. 

He picked the tablet up—done being a doctor about it now, the official part handled—and leaned a hip against the counter, and his voice changed, going off-duty.

“Hey,” he said. “Congratulations.”

You nodded, your mind already distant. 

“You gonna tell Jack?”

Your mind sharpened. For a second, you genuinely didn’t understand the sentence. Your brain refused it wholly, turned it over to look for the trick. There was no way Robby knew—there was no way anybody knew—because you’d been so careful, the whole thing happened in the dark precisely so it wouldn’t seep into the light, so nobody could say a sentence like that. Your stomach dropped through the gurney.

“Huh?” 

Robby looked at you, then shrugged. “I just figured, because you two still talk. He’d want to know. Big life thing.” Then, he added softer, misreading your face completely, “I guess it’s really over between the two of you then?”

You felt your breath hitch in your throat. That was what people would think when it got out, that the door has finally shut. They’d think you were getting clear, a baby with somebody new means the Jack-of-it-all was finally done, mercifully done. That you’d moved on and met someone, that you were building a thing past the divorce you survived. This was supposed to be proof of it. The sad civilized arrangement nobody named, ended at last by a life you were starting without him.

Robby had it exactly backwards and he had no way to know it. It was the furthest thing from over. It was likely the most permanent thing that had ever happened to you, and it had Jack’s name and only Jack’s name. The thing Robby believed to be your way out was the thing that could mean there’d never be a way out. Not anymore, if you chose to have this child. Not ever. You’d be tied to Jack Abbot. A year and a half of getting clear by inches.

You realized Robby was still standing there and that he’d asked you something. He was waiting for an answer you didn’t have the throat for.

“Can you give me a minute?” Your voice came out hoarse. “Just—a minute. Please. And don’t put it into anything yet. Just—don’t let anyone know.”

Robby nodded, probably thinking you needed a beat to let the good news settle, to feel something private and large before the world got its hands on it. “Course. I’ll hold the room, keep people out. Take your time.” 

His hand found your shoulder on the way past, squeezing, and then the curtain rings scraped along the rod and he was gone. 

It all came up at once, fast and without warning. Your hand was flat on the edge of the gurney and you watched it shake, and you made it stop. You could always make your hands stop. What you couldn’t do was make the rest of it stop. The rest of it was the thought you wouldn't think of, thinking itself anyway, and the worst part was the voice it came in, your own, flat, professional, the one you used to walk a frightened patient through their options without ever letting it shake. You could end it. It's early. Numbers consistent with early. You knew exactly how early early was. You knew the window, the way you knew the shelf life of a unit of platelets down to the day. You knew how clean it was, how legal, how completely nobody's business but your own. There was a door. Right now, there was still a door.

There was a door. There was, right now, still a door; it was the realest door, the one that actually led all the way out that would let you walk back into the life where you got clear of Jack Abbot for good and never had to share a child or a custody calendar or a name with him. He would give you Kevin, you knew that. Over would mean over, for good, where in five years you’d be a woman the hospital remembered being married once, to the ER’s night shift attending, you know the one.

You could take that door. It was yours to take. Nobody even had to know. 

You sat in the small bright room and made yourself look directly at the door and waited to feel the relief of it, yet it didn’t come. What came instead, rising up under the grief like a second tide, worse than the first, was a thing you had no word for and no right to and could not, would not, look at straight on, was that it was Jack’s.

You wished you could see it as a curse, and somewhere in the last thirty seconds it had turned over in you and come up as something else; a small, traitorous, and warm thing. It was the exact warmth that had locked your ankles around him, the same warmth that had opened the door for him every night. A piece of him you could get to keep, that no amount of divorce could put back in its box. The one version of forever you two were going to get. And a part of you, a part you despised with everything you had, wanted it. More than the baby in the abstract. His, specifically and unforgivably. 

You put your hand over your mouth as you felt it all come up, and you cried—the real way, the way you hadn’t since the lawyer’s office. You cried a cry that came up from the root and shook you apart, alone, in a place where you worked, with only a curtain covering you. 

You couldn’t have heard the shift change happen on the other side of the curtain. The hospital had kept turning around your little curtained box, that somewhere out there it had ticked over into evening and the day people were handing the floor to the night people. You hadn’t heard any of it. 

You hadn’t heard Dana catch him at the board, and she would have—you know she would have tried—put a hand flat on his chest the second she saw which way he was moving. You only heard the curtain rings scrape against the rod. 

You looked up—ruined, mid-breath, your hand still pressed over your own mouth with your face holding an expression no one had ever seen you do. And there was Jack with one hand still fisted in the curtain he'd thrown back, stopped dead in the gap of it.

He’d come in braced, almost with the same register he came in when there was a level 1 trauma, except this one was a case of lightheadedness. His sleeves were shoved to his elbow, jaw already set, and he’d walked in expecting to find blood or something else equal to that, a thing he’d be able to clean up and fix. He had a hand half-raised for it, and it stayed there, hovering, for it had nothing to fix. 

You knew his face better than your own; there’d never once been a thing he could’ve kept from you, not even when it felt like he was hardly your husband, especially then. You watched the readiness dissipate off of Jack’s face, watched the doctor leave him by degrees until what was left standing was just Jack. 

Just Jack had no protocol for this; there was nothing he’d been taught to do with his face when you were crying because you didn’t cry.

He of all people knew so. He’d sat at a conference table with you while a mediator clicked a pen and you signed your name with a hand that was too steady. He’d carried his own boxes down to the truck while you watched from the upstairs window, dry-eyed, because tears would have made it all real and you refused—out of spite, out of the last thing you had—to make it real where he could see. 

His mouth opened, and his throat worked around words, any word. When he finally spoke, it was just your name, and it came out cracked down the middle, like a plea and a prayer. 

He had no idea. It made you sob slightly louder than you would’ve liked, the realization that he was standing there gutted with fear for you, scared past the edge of himself, and he did not know. Jack could not have known that he was the answer, that you were the answer. If he’d asked you what had happened, the whole truth would have been his name and your own; it would have been the thing you’d done together in the dark a couple dozen times and called nothing. 

“I hate you,” you said, because the only thing you’d been capable of doing was throwing up a wall, driving him out with your own two hands. And it didn’t work, because the words had come out between sobs, wet and wrong, the cruelty falling apart on the way out. 

He didn’t argue it. He never argued the ones he thought were true. He just took it the same way he’d taken every other blow you’d ever landed, without ever lifting a hand to stop it, as though he’d decided a long time ago this was the least of what he had coming.

Still, something moved through him when the words hit, a flinch, a wince that started behind his eyes and pulled his whole face down with it. 

He came the rest of the way to you anyway, and your hand came up between you—far from a hit, there was nothing left in your arm to make one, just the heel of your palm landing against his chest, more sob turned outward than strike. It pushed against nothing. Jack didn’t even rock with it. And then your fingers were curling into the fabric over his sternum instead, gripping when you’d wanted to shove, the same failure of your hands as two weeks ago; pushing him away and hauling him in, your body unable to decide which.

“You—” Another blow, glancing off his chest. “Why did we have—”

“Okay.” He let you continue, letting the first ones land, face stricken and bewildered as he absorbed the blows for a crime he couldn’t name. “Okay. Okay, hey—”

You drew back, and when your hand closed in again, his own came up and closed around your wrist. You could’ve pulled free—he’d left you room for it—but you let him keep holding it there against his chest where you’d been striking him.

“What happened,” he said, words coming out quietly, not even a question. “Whatever it is. Talk to me. What happened?”

He started to move into you, closing the space between you by inches, his other hand coming up to your face, your shoulder, somewhere, anywhere, his whole self trying to fold into your orbit the way it always had. “Just tell me,” he said, closer now, voice dropped lower, into a register it stayed it when it was only the two of you. “Let me—”

“No.” You twisted your wrist in his hand and turned your face away from the one coming toward it. “You can’t just—I won’t let you—”

His forehead had dropped down to hover over your temple, the warmth of him crowding into every place you’d been trying to wall off. “I’m not. I’m not doing anything. I’m just here—let me be here.”

Here. He’d said the word so softly, with so much surety, like it was a small thing to ask, like it had been a place he’d ever once been. The wall you'd been holding with both hands didn't come down so much as it went out from under you, the way the floor had two weeks ago, all at once and without your permission.

You stopped twisting away. You felt him feel the fight going out of your wrist under his fingers and felt the new alertness move through him.

“You want to be here,” you said into his chest, where your fists were still knotted in his shirt, the words coming out muffled aimed at the fabric. Then, through a disbelieving laugh devoid of any humor, you said, “You want to be here?”

“Yeah,” he breathed out. “Yeah. I’m here.”

“Fucking—” The laugh that tore out of you was anything but one. “Congratulations, then.” Your forehead pressed down hard against his sternum, your eyes squeezed shut, because you couldn’t say it and knew you were going to anyway. At least you wouldn’t have to watch. “Fuck—You’re gonna be a father.”

Everything that had been moving stopped all at once; the hand at your jaw, the thumb that had been working slow along your wrist, the whole restless warmth of him trying to fold into you went motionless. For a second, he didn’t even breathe.

You forced yourself to look up. You wanted, somewhere mean and small and ten years old, to see it touch Jack. You wanted to finally watch something get all the way through. 

You got it, and it was worse than you’d let yourself imagine.

The first thing that fell of was the part that told you he was ready to fix this, fix you. It fell clean off, his brows furrowing in worry, a tell that looked too tiny for something this large. 

For a second—less than that, before he could pull the reins on it—something that had no business being there moved under the fear. You knew it because you’d felt the exact same thing only a few minutes ago, alone, the warm traitorous thing rising up under the grief. It was there, on his face—unguarded, naked, wanting—and you watched him catch it. You watched his whole face wilt as he understood, in real time, that he wasn't allowed to feel it, that the wanting was obscene standing next to your wreckage, and you watched him put it away. He got it back behind the wall fast, the way he got everything back behind the wall.

Only his hands gave him up. The one at your jaw had started to shake.

He let out a choked sound, like he was trying to lift the words out of his chest but they kept getting stuck halfway. 

“You’re—” He stopped himself and swallowed, not being able to get the back half of a sentence out of his own throat. “We’re—?”

“Yeah.”

His fingers around your wrist pulled it closer to his chest, as if he could press it through his body and into wherever the words wouldn’t come from. 

“Let me—” he said, and stopped. Every possible word was too big to get a mouth around. “Just—let me.” His forehead came down against yours, and his eyes shut, and you felt the whole of him shaking now, not just the hand. “Please.”

[youthereader]

Abbot x Nurse!Reader hostage situation au preview:

It was the only time you had to get to the bank that morning and there was a line nearly out the door, like everyone got the same dumbfuck idea as you.

You knew your bank had laid off a bunch of people lately and were closing branches, making wait times all the worse, but you actually couldn’t do this online. An elderly patient had written a check and you said you’d cash it for them, they were a semi-regular fixture at the Pitt, unfortunately.

You and your big mouth trying to make peoples’ lives easier. You kept your arms folded as the line moved maybe an inch, and you zoned out, thinking of your shift tonight. You still needed to get home and pack everything, get yourself ready. 

As your mind drifted, the line moved again, and you shuffled forward with a short sigh.

What came next wasn’t the grumble of the man behind you, but a yell that cut through the overlapping murmurs and taps of computer keys.

“EVERYBODY GET ON THE FUCKING GROUND!”

You spun around and saw several men in dark clothes, wearing ski masks, armed with duffel bags at their sides.

The adrenaline spike was a familiar one to you; you drew in a breath, scanning the crowd. Some people shrieked, but everyone ducked to the ground, you included.

You put your hands behind your head as instructed. The man kept yelling over the sudden silence of the bank, brushing past you:

“This, ladies and gentlemen, can go one of two ways. You do as you’re told or you die.”

People were already crying, but you tried to think. Were there any children there? You didn’t recall any in front of you in the queue. You dared glance behind you.

“Don’t move,” came a voice, with a boot on your shoulder pressing you back down. 

[agnireed]

PAPER THIN WALLS

PAIRING ➩ jack abbot x reader

WC ➩ 19k

SUMMARY ➩ Jack Abbot is the perfect neighbor who is always willing to offer you a helping hand. Until you ask him to take your virginity.

WARNINGS ➩ age gap (reader is early 20s and jack is 50), they have sex and all the things that sex brings along, jack might be ooc

AUTHORS NOTE ➩ Well for once I tried to deliver real smut for you guys so buckle up and leave me some feedback on this one if you like it! NOT PROOFREAD AT ALL and it’s probably obvious so be kind about mistakes lol I wanted to get this to you guys asap!

“I need a favor.”

Jack was used to you asking him for help, had been for the two years since you moved into the apartment directly across from his.

He didn’t mind offering you a lending hand when he saw you struggling to carry your boxes from your small run down car, it wasn’t an inconvenience to collect your mail if you ever had to leave town for a few days, and he really couldn’t complain about having to remind you to get your laundry from the unit down below because it held him accountable too.

It was such a common occurrence, you asking him for a favor, that he wasn’t too surprised to find you at his door. He only gave a soft sigh as you pushed past him to enter his apartment, offering you a lot more patience than he did the newbies at the hospital.

You were always sweet, maybe a little bossy at times, but it gave him some amusement in his otherwise strict routine.

Plus it was admittedly nice to feel needed.

You came to him when your apartment had a leak or your air conditioning went out, knocked on his door whenever it was raining and you’d forgotten an umbrella after locking yourself out, and you even sometimes popped over just to get his opinion on what you should wear out on a random night.

Everybody was always telling Jack he needed a hobby that didn’t involve putting his life on the line, so he rarely told you no and tried his best to brush off Robby whenever he asked what was keeping him so busy lately.

It would be hard enough to explain the dynamic he had with his much younger neighbor but even more so considering you were now standing in the middle of his apartment with a frustrated look on your face, hands on your hips as you tapped your bunny slipper covered foot.

“What is it now?” His voice was gruff and disinterested but you knew well enough that he would do whatever you asked and he was well aware of that too. Still, it helped him just a little to pretend to contemplate it for a second or two first.

“I need you to have sex with me.”

You said it like it was as simple as asking him to come over and check your water pressure, falling out of your mouth casually and landing heavily in the quiet room.

There was no need to pretend this time as he fell into a bewildered silence, raising an eyebrow in your direction and letting his eyes track you as you dramatically sighed and went to flop down on his couch. You’d demanded about a year ago that he got some pillows for it, along with a few other interior design suggestions.

He’d picked up four after his shift that night.

“Please say something.” You were turned around on the couch so you could face him over the back of it, arms crossed as you rested your chin ontop of them.

“I have nothing to say to that.” He shook his head immediately, that stern expression he used on an unruly patient or Robby when he got a little too pushy.

This just made you sigh again, loud and exaggerated as you turned back around to fully lay flat on his couch.

“Why are you even asking me that?” He didn’t want to pry because he knew you well enough by now to know you’d just be encouraged by that but his curiosity got the best of him, circling around to sit across from you on one of the living room chairs.

You didn’t sit up but you turned your head to the side to look at him, a slight frown on your face that he didn’t think was particularly genuine. Your personality was always something Jack admired, not getting a lot of time in his own life to be so bold with his emotions and carefree in the way he spoke and behaved.

He was serious and guarded where you were a walking billboard for spontaneity, coming to him crying about random problems after only half a week of living in the building.

It was mostly endearing but there was the more critical part of him that wondered how lonely you must be to be making friends and finding comfort with some random guy across the hallway, a much older one at that.

Jack knew he had a bit of a hero complex but it typically manifested in a more extreme way, quite literally jumping into battle to save lives or operating on them in their lowest moments. This dynamic with you was a new form of care taking and there’d been a handful of times he’d doubted his own motives.

“Because I have a date next week and I am a complete lost cause when it comes to all things intimacy.” You still had a theatrical flare to your voice, not facing him anymore and instead rambling straight up to his ceiling with your hands gesturing wildly.

He tensed up for two reasons now, one being the mention of a date and the other was your implication you didn’t have any experience.

“But you’ve had sex before.” It came out slowly and half like a question, half like an assumption.

There wasn’t any real reason for him to think that other than his own social expectations. You were gorgeous, one of the prettiest women he’d seen in a very long time, and had a naturally magnetic energy to you that even he couldn’t resist most of the time, platonically but also selfishly deep down, a little more than that.

He’d seen you go on a handful of dates in the last year or two, all guys your age that didn’t seem to know how to pick up a check let alone please you properly.

That’s where Jack’s problem stemmed from.

There had been almost no ulterior motive the first year he had known you, genuinely trying to be helpful and to be a good neighbor. He would get upset when his coworkers would call him anti social or make digs at how unfriendly he was because he hadn’t always been like that and he figured helping out the girl next door was a good first step to getting that part of himself back.

You’d told him after a few months that you had no family on this side of the country, completely starting fresh at a new company you’d applied to on a whim.

It was completely innocent.

Yes, you were undoubtedly beautiful in a way that made his head spin for a second when he first saw you. You had been standing near your car and fighting with a box, both by tugging at it and saying less than kind words in its direction like it could understand you.

Jack had hesitated for a handful of seconds before making his way over and offering to help, feeling this weird pull in his chest when you blinked up at him in surprise and eagerly thanked him.

Once you were in his life, you never left. And he made space for you effortlessly because, quite frankly, he had plenty of it to offer up.

About seven months ago was the first time he had ever seen you with a guy.

He’d been coming home from a long and rare day shift (covering for Robby so he could attend Jake’s graduation), dragging his leg behind him and praying nobody stopped him on the way to his apartment so he could crawl into bed for a few short hours before he had to do it all over again for his own shift.

The only distraction he would have allowed was you but you were clearly busy, standing in the hallway as he got off the elevator and touching the rather small bicep of a guy your age.

Jack hesitated, considered getting right back on the elevator before it could close on him, and then slowly walked to his door.

He had hoped you wouldn’t acknowledge him because his throat was already weirdly tight as he eyed you and the way you stared up at the man (boy, if Jack had to really label it) with that soft and curious expression you always had.

“Jack.” Your voice was full of excitement and he faltered, his key left in his doors lock as he turned to give you an attempt at a polite smile. “Covering somebody again?”

If this had been any other day then Jack would have invited you into his apartment to talk instead of lingering in the hallway. He would have ignored his exhaustion to pair his black coffee with the hot chocolate flavor you liked that he kept in his bottom drawer, complained to you about being tired and listened to you scold him for working too much when he didn’t need to.

But you were in a pretty dress that was clearly on its way to dinner and your date was giving Jack that possessive stare that guys fresh out of college thought was intimidating.

So instead he simply nodded his head and continued to unlock his door.

“This is Asher.” You continued abruptly as he turned his door handled, leaving it cracked as he stopped to look at you again.

He gave you a once over to make sure everything was okay, wondering why you were still insisting on talking to him when you were so clearly meant to be going somewhere else. You didn’t look too uncomfortable but you were watching him back just as intensely so he mentally stored the name and face of the guy anyways, just in case something happened.

“Ashton.” Your date finally spoke and his voice was annoyed and laced with immature bitterness, although slightly valid considering you had forgotten his name.

Your eyes widened, still boring into Jacks, and he smiled a little before giving you a small wave and heading inside.

Jack realized quickly after that encounter that his intentions were a lot less innocent than he had initially thought they were. He’d closed his door before immediately pressing his back against it, listening to the sound of your small heels leaving the hallway as you apologized to your date with a clenched jaw and a pain in his stomach.

The next few dates after that just confirmed what he had already realized from the first one.

He was attracted to you.

Maybe even liked you.

You talked to Jack about almost everything going on in your life, even things he definitely would not have cared about if it came from anybody else, but you never once brought up the dates. At first he had worried you had somehow noticed his weird demeanor that day in the hallway but Jack wasn’t very expressive in general so he figured you must keep that part of your life private for other reasons.

The attraction part was easy to accept mostly, he was only a man and you were clearly gorgeous. Although the age gap was something Jack couldn’t get himself to look past.

You were barely in your early twenties, over half his age younger and overly obviously so. You radiated youth, from your appearance and the way you spoke down to your hobbies and interests.

You were clearly a very young girl and he had felt like a pervert from the moment he saw you outside of that car for the way his body warmed. Jack hadn’t felt much attraction to anybody at all since his wife died, at first out of a lingering loyalty to her that barely faded and then just due to his busyness and his own mental blocks.

That was not a problem when it came to you and he had to give a genuine effort when he was around you to act normal.

You’d come over in tiny sleep shorts or a tight tank top that showed your hardened nipples through the thin fabric, join him for morning yoga in downright sinful leggings and he even was attracted to the stupid bunny slippers you wore.

But you were a young girl and he was a disciplined old man so he barely looked twice in your direction when you were bending over to get mail and he never once touched you, setting boundaries for himself and keeping them.

Which was why it was so hard for him when you slowly shook your head to his question about having sex before.

“What about those guys?” His eyebrows furrowed as he looked at you and you sighed like you were embarrassed, a rare emotion to see from you.

“We barely kissed.” You shrugged and finally sat up from your dramatic position on the couch. “Please Jack, I don’t have anyone else to ask.”

“I’m not sleeping with you.” He said immediately, slightly offended you were seemingly only asking him because you had no other options.

You looked completely dejected now but Jack knew there was no way he could possibly accept this request, for too many reasons but especially because of his own moral code. He also didn’t want to ruin what you’d had going on, enjoying your company on his hard nights and finding himself finally letting somebody in after so many years alone.

“Okay so no sex.” You say softly and you stand up when he does, following him as he walks into the kitchen and leaning against the counter to watch him set the coffee machine settings. “But can’t you show me little things.”

He sends you a sharp look that you return with a gentle pleading smile, bouncing in place a little like you think your cuteness is the answer to everything.

And it just might be because Jack sighs softly and turns his full attention back to you.

“Like what?” He knows him asking for specifics will give you hope and he can see it immediately on your face, brightening and taking a step closer to him that makes him tense.

“Maybe just telling me what guys like?” You suggest softly and the words coming from your mouth make him almost groan, keeping his face flat and emotionless as you speak. “And some kissing lessons.”

“You know how to kiss.” He shook his head at you and went to turn back to his coffee but your hand wrapped around his wrist to stop him, successfully keeping his attention on you. He realized that it might be the first time you’d ever actually touched him, skin against skin. “I’ve seen it.”

His posture tightens as he reminds himself of that fact, easily recalling the vivid memory of leaving his apartment to head to work and finding you coming home from a date and making out with a guy against your door.

You hadn’t noticed him at first but he had slammed his door harder than normal, shamefully intentional.

There’d been a pang of guilt when you jumped in surprise and separated from the guy who looked the douchiest out of all of them but it was hard to feel it when you have him a slightly grateful look on his way to the elevator.

You were blinking at him now, almost like you were realizing something, and he looked away in favor of glancing at the clock on the wall.

“Not a kiss that feels good.” Your voice was more serious now, sounding genuinely disheartened by the conversation and the slow unveiling of your inexperience.

He sighed again, just trying to get rid of the tightness in his chest, before shaking his head firmly and fully turning away from you to fill up his coffee mug.

“I’m not doing it.”

—

Jack thought about your offer for the next two weeks. Obsessively.

He waited to hear you bringing somebody else over, someone who had jumped on the golden opportunity to touch you for the first time when he hesitated. You didn’t seem to go on any dates but he supposed you wouldn’t have told him anyways.

The thought of you experiencing sex with some asshole you met off a dating app, nervous and unsure on what to do without guidance, was eating away at him.

Jack was a fixer, he liked to help you, and he had already accepted the fact that he was extremely attracted to you. It wasn’t like he didn’t recognize the jealously in his stomach everytime he saw you with somebody else, a type of anger he hadn’t felt since he was preparing to go into a real life war.

Subdued by age and a calmer reality now but it was still fresh hot anger that he couldn’t shake no matter how much he tried.

You came to him with this problem, not just for pointers and tips but you had actually asked him to be the one to take your virginity.

Virginity.

Jack couldn’t get the concept out of his head and while he hadn’t necessarily considered himself somebody who would care about that type of thing, especially not as he entered his fifties, it did bring a wave of heat over him whenever he thought about it.

You’d never been touched before outside of a few unsatisfactory make out sessions. You, the pretty girl with downright sinful choices of pajamas that consumed his day to day life so easily after he spent such a long time alone.

He thought about it endlessly until it led to him knocking on your door, a rare switch of the usual dynamic that left him feeling a little awkward before you answered.

The sensation went away when you looked up at him, eyes a little wide with confusion as you silently stepped back to let him inside. It was rare for you to be so quiet but maybe you could tell what he was thinking by the look on his face, maybe you were thinking about the same exact thing.

“I’ll help you.” His voice was gruff and flat, waiting until your door closed behind him before he spoke. Your face immediately lit up but he silenced anything you were going to say with a raised hand, your parted lips closing as you waited for him to finish. “But I’m not sleeping with you.”

You pouted a little at the condition but stepped forward after a few seconds, far too close to him for his sanity but he figured you’d be getting a lot closer soon so he forced his breathing to stay level.

Jack used to consider himself quite smooth, still a natural flirt when he joked around with older patients or teased Robby.

But he was completely thrown off of any existing game when it came to you. He didn’t even know he could still feel this way about somebody, the yearning and lustful feeling having been dormant for a long time before you moved in.

“I’ll take whatever you give me.” Your voice was soft now and he’d never heard you like that, maybe a bit of a whine when you impatiently asked him to help you with something, but never so pleading.

You’d shifted even closer as you spoke and he couldn’t help himself now that he practically had permission, his large and rough hand sliding over your waist to rest on the small of your back.

You sucked in a sharp breath at the feeling and he was suddenly aware of how much fun this was going to be if you were that sensitive.

“Not tonight okay?” He replied and his low tone made your eyes soften, nodding eagerly and hesitantly letting your hands land on his chest in balled up fist. “We can talk about it more later and work out some conditions.”

“You’re giving me rules?” You’d collected yourself enough to finally give him some of that familiar attitude, smiling slightly as you stared up at him. He rolled his eyes but let his hand tighten against your back, moving you forward and just trying to test your reaction to the touch.

You lost your smile immediately, shuffling closer until you were pressed against him as your eyes darted all around his face with surprise. It was clear you didn’t expect him to accept at all let alone this easily, despite his two weeks of contemplation, he wasn’t at all hesitate now.

“You need them.” He retorted and his free hand brushed some of your hair behind your ear, the first time you were ever really touching each other being this intimate was sending another wave of affection through him.

A few years ago, Jack couldn’t even get himself to look at another woman, let alone hold one so gently. Even with the slightly out of the ordinary circumstances, he cared for you and you trusted him and that was all that really mattered in his eyes.

“You’re mean.” You’re whispering it and his head tilts at the sound it, overly fond and curious how you can affect him so much just by changing the tone of your voice. “Kiss me atleast.”

It comes out a demand and his eyebrows naturally furrow at the sound of it, knowing immediately that will have to be one of the rules he gives you when you talk them over.

Manners.

He doesn’t respond for a second but you seem to understand before he even needs to scold you, lips parting in realization before they form a small pout and you unclench your fist so your palm is flat on his chest now instead.

“Please give me a kiss Jack.” You sound sweeter now and he would think it was an act, making fun of him for his sudden silent sternness, if it wasn’t for the genuinely pleading look on your face.

The knowledge that you listen so easily, even when he doesn’t actually say it, overrides his senses so much that he actually does bend down to kiss you.

It’s soft at first which you don’t seem to understand, immediately trying to eagerly make out with him like that’s all you really know. He moves one of his hands from your side to hold under your jaw, applying a little bit of pressure near your throat to indicate he wants you to slow down.

You melt against him at the touch but do as he silently communicates and relax a little bit, still moving your mouth a bit sloppily against his but learning to adapt to his slow and easy pace.

Eventually you get the rhythm down perfectly, lips moving together without anything extra added. You asked Jack to teach you so he was going to do exactly that, starting from the basics.

Your face was completely dazed when he pulled back, instinctively shifting forward to try and kiss him again and making a small disappointment noise when his hold near your throat tightened in warning.

“You asked for a kiss.” He said in a low voice, still close to your face so he could perfectly see the way your widened eyes shifted around his features.

He was a bit mesmerized by the way you looked now, so unlike yourself on any other day. It both made his guilt over being perverse grow and also solidified that he didn’t care how wrong it was as long as you kept looking at him like that.

“Get some sleep.” He waited a few seconds before taking the necessary steps away from you, taking a sharp breath as he turned and left your apartment.

His own door had barely closed behind him before there was insistent knocks on it, his head immediately hanging since he knew exactly who it was.

Your eyebrows were furrowed when he pulled the handle to reveal you in the hallway, standing stiffly and glaring up at him but not making any move to come inside. You shifted in place and let out a huff of annoyance as you seemed to search for the right words to convey what you wanted.

“Can you kiss me one more time?” You eventually settled on the blunt question, shifting closer so you were both halfway in his doorway.

While he had a foot inside his apartment still, you had one in the hallway. It left you standing too close for his sanity, feeling it slip almost entirely again when your small hand landed on his forearm and rubbed softly.

“What’s wrong?” He asked softly, sensing your frustration but not knowing where it was stemming from.

He cupped your face with one of his hands, letting the other rest back on your side. You stared up at him as he took a few slow steps forward, backing you up with each one until your back hit the doorframe and took a soft near gasp from your lips.

“Nothing I just…” You trail off as you pout, scanning over his face and then down his chest until you can’t bend your head anymore to look. “I want one more. Please.”

You added it as an afterthought but it was enough for him, pressing his mouth back against yours.

This time, apparently a very quick learner, you were able to meet his pace right away and your mouths moved softly together. Your arms went around his neck so you could fully cling to him as you kissed deeply, heads tilting and quiet pleased noises rumbling in your throat.

You only got louder when his tongue pressed lightly into your mouth, mostly just to test your reaction but unable to stop himself when you were eagerly matching the actions.

It was sloppy and a little too wet, sounds of your tongues tangling together filling the silent hallway and sending a sharp heat down to his gut. He liked how clumsy you were, growing addicted to the way you seemed to have no idea what you were doing but too desperate to stop yourself and ask him for his help.

Jack knew he liked feeling needed but this was a whole different beast, one that came paired with some light shame.

You weren’t innocent and you knew exactly what you needed to about sex but your body was inexperienced and it was getting clearer by the second, your little gasp when he kissed you deeper and the way you tightened your hold on him everytime he went to pull back and attempt to slow down.

You’re red in the face by the time he manages to get you to stop eagerly kissing him, still instinctively shifting closer when he moves back. He gives you a lighthearted sigh, occupied by the softest smile he can manage so he doesn’t actually hurt your feelings when he presses you back against the doorway with the hand that’s still on your hip.

“Time for bed.” He tries to keep his tone light but it comes out more authoritative than he had meant for it to, most likely driven by the way you automatically started to frown as soon as he held you away from him. “We can talk tomorrow.”

You clearly weren’t happy about that but you surprisingly gave him a soft nod, shifting your body until you were out of his entrance and closer to your own.

He watched you and your dazed face, slightly wobbly on your feet, as you disappeared behind your apartment door with a small wave.

-

Jack had started off his day rough the following morning, barely able to sleep after what had happened.

It was a completely split mixture of wanting you so bad it was driving him to literal insanity and feeling disgustingly guilty for even looking in your direction.

He almost considered calling Robby about it but he really didn’t need to hear the lecture that would undoubtedly come his way about the situation. Plus he figured that whatever Robby knew, Dana knew, and if Dana knew then it was only a matter of time before the entire emergency department was gossiping about Jack Abbot and his young neighbor.

The dilemma was so strong that he had almost completely forgotten about the fact he had told you that you’d talk today, although almost intentional.

He was halfway avoiding having to actually sit down and make this arrangement a reality, still having a hard time believing what had happened last night was even real.

He had just started to get changed for work when the knocking on his door started and he knew it was you immediately, standing still and hanging his head for a few seconds like he figured he could just wait you out.

It didn’t take long for his senses to kick back in and he was pulling on a plain black shirt before making his way over to the door, raising his eyebrows at you when he saw how irritated you looked.

You brushed past him immediately and he lingered with his hand on the door knob for a moment before closing it and preparing himself to face whatever wrath you were about to send his direction.

“You didn’t come over.” You immediately accused, finger pointing in his direction as you stood in the middle of his living room with an angry expression. “You didn’t even text me.”

He was already walking closer to you as you spoke and your defenses naturally crumbled at the proximity, especially when his hands were sliding over your ribs to both hold you steady and let him feel your breathing as subtly as possible.

“You can’t just kiss me like that and then ignore me.” You continue on but your tone is a lot softer now that he’s touching you, already getting that dazed edge to it he had heard last night.

“I didn’t mean to ignore you.” He shakes his head and frees a hand to tuck some hair behind your ear, your features have completely softened now at the movement.

Jack wonders for the first time if you might have feelings for him beyond trust and attraction.

For some reason, he hadn’t really considered the possibility before. You were practically his polar opposite and he had nothing in common with any of the boys you went on dates with.

But now, with you blinking up at him like you were hanging on to his every word, he let himself think it might just be likely.

“I figured you changed your mind.” Your words are a little slurred from the insistent pout you have on your face and he sighs again, gently leading you over to sit on his couch.

Your knees brush together as you scoot closer to him the second he’s settled on top of the cushion, your hand wrapping around three of his fingers and squeezing lightly as you wait for him to respond to your fear of being rejected.

“I didn’t but I want to make sure you understand what you’re asking.” His voice is low and nearing stern, the same tone he uses on the new med students who seem a little more cocky than they are willing to learn. He knows that’s not the case with you, knows you’re desperate for any expertise he can offer you, but he still wants you to pay attention and properly understand him. “There’s other ways for you to do this.”

“What, like other guys?” Your eyebrows furrow like the thought confuses you.

His stomach tightens immediately, sick at the thought of it, but he stiffly nods his head.

You’re shifting even closer immediately and he lets out a breath when you’re leaning over his knee nearly, closer to his face than before and scanning over it again.

“I don’t want another guy Jack. I just want it to be you.” You’re whispering now and he can’t stop himself from pressing a light kiss to your mouth, brief but necessary when his brain processes the lack of distance between you. That makes you smile finally and he suddenly feels very stupid for ever questioning you when you’re making a request like this.

“Tell me why.” He mumbles, easily sliding his hands around your middle so he can tug you over more and into his lap. You kiss him again once you’re settled in his lap, still quick like you’re both using it as punctuation during your conversation. “Why me?”

He wants to hear you give a legitimate reason, to undo the hesitance you gave him when you said it was only because you didn’t have anybody else to ask. That’d been weighing on him more than anything else, the thought that you had just settled for your older lonely neighbor who was clearly willing to help you with anything in spite of himself.

Your next kiss was much longer, deeper as you fully sink down in his lap and move your mouth against his desperately. He’d accept that alone as an answer, big palms rubbing over your back and sides so he can keep pulling you impossibly closer.

Your nose is rubbing against his when you pull back, the sounds of your breathing being heavier now making his head spin with the necessary impulsivity to keep making terrible decisions with you.

“You’d make me feel good.” The answer you’d landed on was much more devastating than he was prepared for, his eyes darkening at how confident you sounded in that fact. “I know you would.”

His hands tightened around your soft skin for a second, needing to take a deep breath to ground himself.

It takes a second for him to reply, tucking his face into your neck and inhaling sharply. You smell as sweet as you always do but it’s intoxicating to have it this close after so long, skin soft under his lips as he kisses you softly.

Your breathing gets shaky, arms looping around his neck so you’re practically hugging him. You’re warm on top of him and making the sweetest noises when he moves along your jaw, shifting in his lap to try and get his attention back on your conversation.

“You’ll do it right?” You ask softly, running your hand through his hair and tugging just enough to make him finally look back at your face. His eyes are dark and unfocused as he stares at your pretty features. “Jack?”

“Yeah honey.” He says back after another long silence, voice deeper than he’d ever heard it as he leans in to kiss you again.

You kiss for a long time, wiggling around in his lap when your tongues tangle together and you get to taste him properly again. It’s addicting for both of you, both of your hands running all over the other’s body like you’re trying to learn every part of it you can reach.

Eventually you’re fully rocking against him from your neediness and it takes a second for him to process it, snapped back to focus when he hears the way your whines are getting higher pitched. A near growl leaves his throat as he grabs your hips firmly, thumbs pressing into the bone so he can stop you from moving on top of him like that.

“Jackie.” You whine desperately, kissing him again and successfully distracting him long enough that you can start humping again.

“Stop baby I have work soon.” He scolds in between the sloppy kisses, lips and chin slightly wet from how uncoordinated you still are.

You make another soft noise and he’s confused for half a second before he realizes it’s because of the pet name, smiling softly from his fondness for you as you hide down in his neck for a second.

“You’re hard now, I can feel it.” You’re whispering right against his skin and a shiver runs over him at the lewd words falling from such a pretty mouth, high pitched and almost innocent voice making the sentence sound so much dirtier than it needed to be.

At first Jack doesn’t think you’re right, knowing himself and his body enough to expect he’s not stirring down there even if he wants you so bad it makes him feel insane.

He’s had issues with it for years now, a deadly combination of his age, his traumas, and the carousel of medications he has to be on for a variety of things he wouldn’t disclose to you out of his own pride. That was the reason Jack had stopped trying to hook up with people years ago, giving up on porn entirely when he’d have to spend an hour trying to get hard before he could even attempt to actually get himself off.

It was in the back of his mind when you’d asked him to help you with this but he figured this was about your pleasure, he wouldn’t need to be hard to get you off especially if he stuck to his guns about not actually having sex with you.

He was sucking in a deep breath to explain this to you in less detail, make sure you understood that he wasn’t hard but it had nothing to do with you or his attraction to you, when you gave a particularly deep and slow roll of your hips.

And the effect was completely undeniable.

A shudder ran over him, eyes dropping to his lap that you were still rocking on top of. Your tiny little shorts were so clearly pressing against the tent in his scrub pants, catching on it whenever you lost the energy to move properly as you let out another needy whine and hid back in his neck.

You were completely unaware of his current mental situation, baffled at how easily you’d gotten him to this state from just some sloppy kissing.

You must’ve thought he was ignoring you because you picked up your head to glare at him, a pout on your swollen lips.

“Sorry sweetheart.” He sighed and kissed you gently, rubbing your sides up to your ribs and coming back down right when he felt the swell of your breast against his fingertips. “I really have to go.”

“Let me suck you off.” You requested easily and his breath caught, nearly choking at how simple you made it sound. “I wanna learn and you’re so hard right now Jackie. Please let me do it.”

“That’s not the point of this.” He shook his head immediately and moved you by your hips so you were sat next to him and no longer settled in his lap, clearly upsetting you as you scrambled up on your knees and gripped his bicep so he couldn’t get off the couch yet.

“The point is to teach me things about sex and I’ll need to know this.” You counter, eyebrows furrowing in confusion at why he’s rejecting you.

He finds it a little amusing that you’re so used to him accepting your requests for things that you’re genuinely lost when he doesn’t immediately fold for you. It’s a bratty habit he should have corrected months ago but he can’t find himself caring too much, liking how dependent you’d become on him.

Jack has to contemplate this because he knows you’re right, stomach turning a little at the reminder that you’re going to use whatever he shows you on somebody else down the line.

That selfishly makes him want to cancel this whole thing and leave you completely clueless, hopefully to the point you decide to swear off sex with other men entirely. But he knows how stubborn you are and how stuck you get on something once it catches your attention, figuring you’d get on a dating app and find some idiot in finance to take your virginity as soon as he put an end to this arrangement.

So he lets you slip to your knees off the couch, taking his hesitance to decline again as a positive sign.

“Wait.” He interjects and you freeze, sighing in annoyance as you prepare for him to give another reason you can’t do it. Instead he pulls one of the pillows off the couch and slides in near his feet, your eyes softening as you shift so you’re kneeling on the plush cushion instead of the floor.

“How do I start?” You ask softly, eyeing the bunched up fabric in front of you with interest. He has to stare at the ceiling for a second, slightly losing it at the sight of you kneeling on his floor between his legs. “Do I have to get you ready?”

“No.” He says it gruffly and you tense again, his tone way sharper than he’d meant for it to be. “It’s… I’m ready baby trust me. Just give me a second.”

That calms you down immediately, enough that you rest your head on his knee as you try your best to be patient. His eyes go back to you at the touch and he watches the way you squirm against the pillow, clearly still riled up from the kissing and maybe even the thought of taking him in your mouth.

“Has it been awhile Jack?” Your voice is ridiculous now, clearly teasing him and developing this soft purr that almost irritates him.

His hand goes into your hair at the sound of it, tightening enough that you lift your cheek off his knee and stare up at him with wide eyes.

“Watch it.” He says lowly, using his free hand to untie his scrub pants as you eye the movement with fascination. Your lips part as you stare at his hand and the way his fingers twist the strings, he has half the thought to make you choke on the digits before you try and take anything bigger but your attitude has left him feeling just as impatient. “We’ve got to work on your manners if you want me to teach you.”

That makes you snap back into focus, frowning at his words and shaking your head as you straighten up on your knees.

“I have manners Jack.” You’re clearly trying to convince him, small hands smoothing over his thighs.

He starts to deny it but he’s cut off when you lean forward to nuzzle against him, face pressing right where he’s currently aching under two layers of fabric. His breath catches in his throat and he instinctively tightens the hand that’s in your hair, mumbling out an apology when you make a pained noise but barely loosening it after.

He feels like he needs to keep it there to have any sort of control in this situation, especially given the way you’re almost desperately rubbing your face on his lap.

“Should’ve told me you were this needy.” He half scolds as he shifts his waistband down lower, waiting for you to notice and pick yourself up just long enough to get his pants down.

You don’t give him long at all before you’re back to obsessing over the sight in front of you, eyes fully dazed now that it’s just his boxers separating you from putting your mouth on his hard length.

You’re clearly trying to be patient in an attempt to prove you have any sort of manners, a little pride rippling through him similar to the feeling he got when you had corrected yourself the other night to politely ask him for a kiss.

“You wouldn’t have done anything about it.” You say softly, not accusatory but confident in it like you know it’s true. You lean forward and kiss against the covered bulge, a groan leaving him. “You’re too good of a guy.”

“Clearly not.” He rasped just as you start to lose that faux patience you’re trying so hard to pretend you have, tugging at the waistband of his underwear and smiling softly when he lifts his hips off the couch without arguing. “And you know I never tell you no sweetheart.”

“Yeah?” You’re still trying to talk to him but now you’re completely lost in the sight of him half naked and sitting there with his legs spread in front of you, too desperate to even be intimidated by the size of him. “You would’ve let me do this months ago Jackie?”

He sighs and tightens his hold in your hair again, bringing you forward until he can feel your breath where he’s most sensitive.

Your eyes flicker up to him and the sight is devastating for how deprived he’s been, a pretty young girl like you sitting so nicely on your knees for the first time ever. He can barely even feel that guilt and slightly sick sensation, knowing how perverted it is that he could probably get off just looking at your face and thinking about the way he’s about to corrupt you.

“Stop talking.” He instructs gruffly and you nod eagerly, eyes back on his length and only now looking a little nervous as you swallow before your lips part in anticipation. “You sure you want to do this?”

“Want it so bad.” You don’t hesitate to answer and your voice is a little whinier, swaying forward like you don’t even realize you’re doing it.

Jack lets you move until you’re right there, eyes locked on your face as you give him a nervous look and try to take him in your mouth.

It’s awkward and you’re tense, expression full of hesitation like you’re waiting for him to tell you how to do it properly but he lets himself bask in this for a few seconds.

He knows it’s sick but he finds you the most beautiful like this, confused and desperate to please him without knowing how to. You go between sucking and licking at the tip of his length and while it feels good, no doubt about that especially after how long it’s been, it’s nothing compared to how clearly inexperienced you are.

Finally, he snaps out of his sick fantasies of watching you embarrass yourself trying to please him, and he decides to actually do what you’d asked and teach you something.

“Relax your jaw baby. Just take what you can okay?” His voice is low and gentle, hand loose in your hair but clenching into a tight fist whenever you brush against his sensitive skin with your teeth on accident or try to overachieve and take him deeper.

You do seem to calm down a little now that he’s finally speaking, shoulders slumping and your eyes fluttering shut as you get used to the feeling of him on your tongue.

You’ve barely taken him at all but he’s transfixed by the sight, perfectly content to sit here and cock warm your mouth until you were ready to move him down your throat.

He watches you closely as you pull back to take a few deep breaths, pouting a little at his length and hesitating before you’re touching him with your hand. It’s all experimental, tugging and feeling the skin against your palm while he grunts above you and tries to control himself.

It’s barely sexual on your end considering how fascinated you are by the new experience but he’s halfway losing his mind knowing this is the first time you’re touching somebody like this.

“I gotta go soon sweetheart.” He says and your eyes finally snap back up to him, turning a little red considering you’d been caught just staring at his length as you touched him. “You can play with me all you want after my shift.”

Now you’re full on blushing but you nod your head obediently and lean back in to take him in your mouth again, a little more confident now as you lick around the head and repeat movements whenever it draws a sound out from him.

Jack can barely stand it and he has to put both hands in your hair to keep himself from fucking up into your warm mouth, groaning from the effort it’s taking and considering telling you to get back on the couch before he goes too far with you too early.

You’re clearly just as impatient because you try to take more of him finally and immediately gag at the sensation, pulling back and frowning up at him.

“Help Jackie.” Your voice is whiny and has a little rasp to it now and he kisses his teeth at the sound, petting your hair back out of your face.

“I can’t help with that baby, you’ve just got to practice.” He tries his best to soothe you but you’re clearly frustrated.

“Can’t you just force my head down?” You’re rubbing his thighs as you speak in that ridiculously bratty voice, wiggling around on the pillow like the thought alone is exciting you.

He wants to say no, wants to tell you why it’s such a terrible idea for him to forcefully fuck your throat right before he has to go to work. There’s a million reasons he should be rejecting you right now but that sick voice in the back of his head is struggling to get the words out, especially when you go back to softly kitten licking at his length to keep him hard.

“Fuck you’re nasty.” He gruffs out and your eyes light up at the words, nodding your head and taking him back in your mouth as you keep trying your best to fit him deeper. “You want me in your throat that bad?”

You can’t talk now but your desires are obvious.

He eyes the way you’re shifting on the cushion below you, adjusting his foot the best he can so it’s between your thighs as you kneel. That seems to make you even more desperate, rubbing against him almost feverishly now as you try to focus on having him in your mouth.

There’s no option to do so when he brings his hands back to your hair, silently showing you he accepts your request when he moves his hips off the couch and keeps your face firmly in place so he can push deeper down your throat.

He feels you gag slightly around him but your eyes roll to the back of your head at the same time and you hump against his foot even faster so he can’t find it in himself to stop, thrusting slowly to make sure you don’t end up getting sick or feeling too sore by the time he’s finished.

Jack knows this is far beyond teaching, he’s not even speaking anymore and instead just using your throat to get himself off but you’re even more eager for it than him and he’d never deny you anything you asked for.

“This tiny little throat.” His voice is nearing a growl as he helps move your head up and down his length, reveling in the way you gag and drool around him. “You’re doing so good baby.”

The praise seems to do it for you more than anything else, rubbing your core against his foot so eagerly that you can barely focus on sucking him off. You’re getting too messy to control yourself, mouth slipping off every few thrust before you whine at the loss and immediately take him back in your throat.

Jack takes pity on both of you, both for his own sanity and because he can’t stop thinking about the fact he’ll need to leave as soon as this is done.

You’re clearly upset when he pulls you off, making a loud noise of disagreement that barely sounds like an actual word and frowning at him when he sends you a stern look and wraps his hand around himself instead.

You seem to forget your anger pretty quickly as you watch him touch himself, hips slowed down to a slow rock against his foot as you stare at his length and the way he’s making himself feel good above you.

Jack has to look away when he comes because he feels pretty close to forcing your head back down and making you swallow it, although half positive you’d actually enjoy that more than him judging by how eager you are to try things.

You’re laying your head back on his thigh while he grunts and curses, tightening his fist and going back to staring at your face just for a brief moment so he has a clearer picture to think about.

It’s quiet in the living room afterwards and he feels an odd sense of embarrassment, a rare vulnerability considering you’re still fully clothed and kneeling on the floor. He fixes one of those problems by effortlessly pulling you up by your arms, settling you back against the cushions.

He stands and pulls his pants up while he does so, knowing he’ll have to shower off before he can go to work and get a new pair of scrubs anyways.

There’s a second of hesitation before he goes to get you some water, leaning over your dazed frame and kissing you softly.

“Was it good?” You ask quietly against his mouth, hand tangling in his hair like you don’t want him to go anywhere without answering you first. “You stopped me.”

“You were perfect.” He answers simply and he means it, would probably feel the same if you had accidentally bit him though.

“I wanted to taste you.” You’re pouting again and every time he thinks he gets used to you, you prove him beyond wrong. He sighs and leans further against you on the couch so you’re fully sinking into the cushion below you.

“Next time.”

It comes out before he can stop it and he fully plans to backtrack but your eyes light up at the idea of him letting you do that again so he doesn’t, letting it linger for a few seconds.

“Not when I have to leave you right after. You won’t like it and I don’t want to hurt you.” He’s talking in the stern and no nonsense way he does at work, trying to make sure you understand even though you’re slowly starting to smile as he speaks and he realizes you’re probably not paying any attention.

“You won’t hurt me Jack.” You whisper and it’s so sweet he almost considers calling in so he can stay with you a little longer. “Not in a way I won’t like.”

That makes him scoff out a laugh, a rare sound from him and you look even more pleased at the noise.

“You don’t even know what you like sweetheart.” He says softly and brushes your hair out of your face, letting both his fingertips and eyes trail down your neck until he reaches your collarbones. “But I’ll show you.”

“You’ll show me?” You’re teasing him now, biting your bottom lip to try and hide your smile to no avail.

“Yeah I will.” He smiles too and kisses you again, a little too soft considering what you actually are to each other.

He eventually manages to get off of you long enough to get you some water, watching carefully as you take a few sips and rubbing your knee when you wince at first. He wants to feel guilty for making your throat sore but he can’t, sick enough to admit he just feels the urge to make you take him deeper next time to see if you’ll really let him.

You’re still laying on his couch when he gets out of his brief shower, having changed his pants and taken a few deep breaths while staring in the mirror to try and get ahold of himself. He needs to switch back to reality for atleast a few hours, become the weathered doctor who doesn’t lose his mind over a pretty girl asking for favors.

You set your phone down on your chest, giving him your full attention as he moves towards the door to tug his shoes on.

There’s no indication you plan to leave before he does but he can’t find it in himself to mind the intrusion, going back over to the couch to give you a kiss on the forehead.

“Staying here?” He says in a low voice and you nod eagerly, eyes locked on his.

He lets himself think about his entire way to work, the image of you being there when he gets home from a hard shift. It had been a long time since he had someone to come home to and having you across the hall was already a gift within itself.

Now you’d crossed a line and if he let himself forget the terms and conditions, the fact you were loosely using him just to end up with somebody else as the actual end goal, then he could pretend for a moment that you were the person he got to crawl into bed with when work was tough.

Despite how much he thought about you during his shift, every moment he wasn’t being bombarded with questions or saving somebody’s life on autopilot, you weren’t actually there when he came back.

He knew it before he even opened the door, confirmed by how neatly the pillows on the couch were placed again and the fact your glass of water was rinsed and put away in the dishwasher.

You’d made it look like you were never even there and he knew you still enjoyed his company, maybe enjoyed the newly added sexual dynamic even more, but that didn’t mean you wanted to comfort him after he lost a patient or help soothe him when his leg was bothering him from standing all day.

Jack had to remind himself of the part he was playing in your life currently and try his best to not be disappointed.

It’s two days until he sees you again and he thinks it’s one of the longest spans you’ve gone without talking in almost a year.

He’s just about to start really acting out of character by banging at your front door and asking if you’re avoiding him when he runs into you downstairs, freezing as soon as he enters the lowly lit laundry room to find you leaning against one of the washers and looking extremely bored.

You’re as beautiful as always, casually dressed in nothing but an old band shirt that hangs off your shoulder and a pair of shorts so small he’s pretty sure it’s just boxy underwear.

You don’t look up when he comes in until his leg slightly catches on the step, accustomed enough to the sound of the light dragging he sometimes can’t stop from happening when he’s extra tired.

It’s a relief to find that you don’t have any awkwardness on your face, no sign of being uncomfortable or upset with him.

Then he figures that might just be worse.

He would just about die if he had done anything that made you want to avoid him but the alternative seems to be that you just didn’t want to speak to him and that makes his chest sting.

There’s nothing but silence and the rattling of the old washer as it rocks back and forth on the cement floor, both of you seemingly having decided to not speak to each other first.

(sorry for the brief awkward spacing tumblr says this is too long)

It’s another five minutes of the now awkward stretch of quiet before you clear your throat, turning to face him where he’s fidgeting with his laundry baskets broken handle just to have something to focus on.

“So I went on a date last night.” You say softly, eyebrows raised like you’re genuinely interested in his reaction.

His stomach turns but it’s a relief to have you looking at him again so he takes it, swallowing hard and racking his brain for a response that’s appropriate.

“How’d it go?” He’s asking out of politeness but he’s silently praying you suddenly decide you don’t want to tell him about it. It wouldn’t even make him feel better to hear it had ended terribly, not wanting you to feel any type of negative emotions even if it technically was in his benefit.

He definitely can’t take any sort of mention of you being with another guy physically. He knows it’s coming eventually, it’s the sole purpose behind why he even gets to touch you, but he’s not ready just yet.

You’re quiet again and he really looks at you now, takes in the silent contemplation on your face and the way you tap your fingers on the metal of the washer for a second before pushing off of it entirely.

Then you’re in his space again and it’s like an instinctive move to cup your face, hand on your waist so he can lightly push you back against the machine he’d been in front of. You touch his chest, lightly rubbing in soft circles, and he wants to sigh in relief if that wouldn’t be so painfully obvious.

“Wasn’t a great time.” You whisper and your eyes are on his lips as you speak.

His eyebrows raise and his hand on your body tightens slightly at the same time he uses his thumb to press under your chin and make you tilt your jaw back.

“Why not?” He hates the thought of getting details but he needs to know some idiot from a dating app hadn’t done anything to hurt you.

You don’t answer right away, just standing there and letting your eyes scan over his features on rotation. You finally let out a small breath like you’re about to speak but it never comes, small hands moving to grip his biceps.

“Did he touch you?” He can’t stop himself from asking even though the question makes his voice come out low enough that your eyes flash with surprise for a second, snapping away from his mouth to meet his stare again like you’re looking for something in it.

You shake your head immediately, squeezing his arms and shifting against the vibrating machine.

He’s kissing you then and he tells himself it’s out of relief, the knowledge that you’re still untouched by anybody except for him instantly making this conversation easier.

You’re returning it right away and he’s pleasantly surprised by how quickly you caught on to the type of kissing he likes, his personal preference. He figures he should eventually tell you that not ever guy was going to like your constant licking into his mouth but for now he lets it be, wants you to be trying to please him specifically and not whoever you’d use these lessons with.

It’s ridiculously cute how desperate you get, only needing a few seconds of your tongue inside his mouth before you’re arching off the machine and making soft noises against his lips.

His hands are all over you as soon as he notices the state of you, sliding down to cup your ass with both palms and tug you tighter to his frame.

That makes you out rightly whimper, clumsily trying to hitch a leg around his waist and sighing in relief when he holds your thigh to keep it there. The wet sounds of your mouths fill the small room, body slightly shaking both from need and from the way the washer is vibrating against your back.

“Missed you.” You whimper it out when he pulls back to let you breathe, kissing down your jaw and tightening his grip on the soft curve hidden under your underwear. “Didn’t call me.”

“Were you waiting for me to call baby?” He asks softly, despite how much it had been bothering him, he would never want to make you feel guilty for not reaching out to him after what you’d done.

You don’t answer so he pulls his head out of your neck to look at your face, seeing the soft frown and the hesitation in your eyes.

“Hey.” He breaths out and pushes your hair back to get your attention fully on him, your body softening and completely leaning against his to the point you’d definitely fall if he took a step backwards. “I wanted to give you space. Let you decide when you wanted to continue this, if you did.”

“I don’t want space.” You counter and it’s a little past bratty but he’s so beyond fond of you that he can’t help but let the corners of his mouth turn up at the sound of it. “You’re supposed to take care of me.”

He’s not sure when your dynamic became this way but he feels it as much as you apparently do, knows it’s his duty to make sure you’re always fine and not needing anything he can’t fix. Now there’s the added element of making you feel good, touching you in ways you’re not used to and showing you what pleasure can be like, and he’s not taking it lightly.

“Then I’ll call.” He say softly and your eyes lock on his as you nod in agreement, his hand cupping your cheek so he can keep you still enough to kiss you briefly. “You want me to chase you and I’ll chase you.”

“Right now I just want you to kiss me.” You whisper and he doesn’t need to hear anything else.

You’re back to kissing and it’s feverish now, more tongue than anything and your hands groping each other anywhere you can touch.

He’s lifting you up off the ground just so he can press himself between your legs and swallow the soft needy noises you let out at the feeling, wrapping your legs tightly around his waist so he can’t pull away at all. You’re pressed back against the metal with his hands under your shirt and wrapped around your frame to make sure you don’t fall, thick fingers splayed out against your ribs.

It’s getting hotter in the room and it’s mostly due to the way you’re whining and trying to roll your hips into him, unsuccessful considering how hard he’s got you pinned back to the washer.

“Jack please.” You pant and pull away from his mouth, tucking into his neck and rubbing your soft cheek against his stubble like a needy cat. “Please touch me. Do anything.”

He’s grunting at the request and gently setting you back down on your feet so he can free up a hand, using it to push your shirt up to your neck. He’s not too surprised to find that you’re not wearing anything underneath and your surprised gasp swallows the sound of his low groan.

You’re whining lewdly when he leans down to press kisses against your skin, middle of your breast first to avoid putting his mouth where you really want it. You’re panting, chest rising and falling under his mouth, and tangling a hand in his ash colored curls to try and steer him where you need him.

He wants to smack your hand away and warn you to be patient but he wants you too bad to try and discipline you right now, letting his mouth latch onto to one of your hard nipples so he can hear whatever noise that brings out of you.

It’s loud and intoxicating, his head spinning a little as he keeps sucking and licking your skin, letting your shirt rest on the top of his head so he can use his other hand to roughly grope your other breast and make sure you’re getting equal attention.

“Oh fuck Jack.” You’re whimpering and trying to hump against nothing, back arching as you whine and hold him to your body like he has any plans of getting away from you. “T-that feels so good.”

“Come upstairs.” His voice is so rough it surprises himself, picking his head off your chest and letting your shirt drop so he can kiss you swiftly.

You frown at the loss of contact, rubbing your nose against his and still lightly petting his hair.

“Why not here?” You ask softly and he gives you a disapproving look that makes you sigh and rest your forehead down against his shoulder for a few seconds while you catch your breath. “It’s too far.”

He thinks for a moment before he’s adjusting his stance to pick you up off the ground, abandoning your laundry and his that both likely need to be switched out soon. He’d gladly let it sit and wash it again later if it means getting you up to his apartment as fast as possible.

You make a small surprised noise and cling to him, arms behind his neck and legs wrapped around his middle and he makes his way up the few stairs towards the elevators.

“Jack your leg.” The sight of the steps seems to remind you of his disability and he’d be more irritated by your worry if it didn’t sound so genuine.

You clearly don’t ever think too much about his leg restricting him, never shying away from asking him to lift heavy things or walk with you down to the store. You don’t treat him like he’s fragile or any less of a man for having limitations and he’s always liked that about you, same way he somehow likes your gentle concern even though it would have bothered him if it was anybody else.

“Think I can’t throw you around because of my leg?” He mumbles and you tense in his hold as he walks like you think he might be serious before you’re breathing out a laugh and hiding in his neck.

Jack finally gets back to his apartment, going crazy from the way you’d started to kiss his jaw and whine impatiently in the elevator. Your hands run up and down his arms like you’re marveling at the strength it takes to carry you for as long as he was, making soft needy noises and squirming around.

He can’t even care about the possibility somebody could see him with you, one of the neighbor he’d lived next to for years watching as Jack Abbot carries the much younger girl next door through his entry way as she whines for him to touch her more.

“Calm down baby.” His voice is soft once he gets to his room, setting you down on his bed and taking a few seconds to stare at you as you lay there and pout up at him.

You’re the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen and his gut twists a little at the observation, a mixture of desperate unfamiliar need and the same guilt from before accompanied by a new layer of it.

He thinks of his wife for the first time in a while. He used to spend every waking second with her on his mind but she had naturally started to fade from his mind once he met you, something he hadn’t even noticed until you’d already been living across the hall for a few months.

You’d came over for the first time and asked him to borrow some ingredients, strolling around his living room and eyeballing the photos on his walls while he poured some sugar into a small tupperware bowl for you to take back to your place. You had turned to him with a curious face and asked him where his wife was, obviously confused considering you’d never heard of her before despite how frequently you and him small talked.

That was the first time Jack noticed how little he’d been thinking of her lately, not just in the painful mourning way he’d been suffering through since she passed but in general too.

Now he was waking up in the morning and anticipating the next time you’d knock on his door, focusing on his health again so he could occupy you on your walks and not picking up too many extra shifts at work just incase you needed something and he wasn’t there.

Jack was thinking about her again now as you laid on his bed but only because he couldn’t remember the last time he had wanted something this bad, trying to compare the feeling of you to how he felt in his marriage and still thinking it fell short.

He had loved his wife, undoubtedly, but he craved you in a way that almost felt inhumane.

“You’re being mean to me.” You say softly to break him out of his trance, having zoned out just staring down at you and the way your chest was rising and falling with every deep breath.

“I’m never mean to you honey.” He whispers back and finally moves to lay down with you, hovering over your frame and running a hand from your waist to your ribs as he kisses you softly. “I take good care of you, don’t I?”

It’s a bit mean to throw your words from earlier back in your face, especially as he lets his mouth trail down your neck. You make a whiny noise and grip his shoulders, nodding your head and shifting under him so your legs are spread further.

“Yes Jack yes, you take care of me.” You’re practically whimpering and he feels almost drunk from how easily you get this needy, pausing his soft kisses to shift up on his knees and tug your shirt over your head.

You’re the prettiest sight he’s ever seen and he can’t help himself from bringing his mouth right back to your chest, drinking in the way you gasp and moan while he’s licking and sucking on your nipples. His other hand is softly groping whichever breast he doesn’t have his mouth on at the moment and your backs arching off his bed, scratching his shoulders through his shirt.

“Please touch me.” You’re begging after only a few minutes of the slow torture and he lets out a sharp breath, shifting so he’s more to the side of you than on top.

You’re quiet when he rubs his hand down your chest and over your stomach, rubbing at the waistband of your underwear for a few seconds just to hear the way you pant before he’s smoothing over your thighs.

Your back is basically against his chest as he hooks your leg over his to make sure yours are nice and spread for him, kissing your neck softly when he rubs your hips above your underwear.

You bare your neck for him easily and he’s selfish in the way he marks you, sucking any part of your warm skin he can reach so you’re left purple and red all over. He wants anybody you see for the next week or two to know you’ve been with somebody else, to see the claim he laid to your body even if he doesn’t let things go as far as you want him to take it.

Jack doesn’t need to be asked twice to touch you, big hand leaving your hip so he can fully palm your core.

Your reaction is just the way he had hoped it would be, sharp gasp leaving your lips as you instantly buck up against his touch. You whine desperately when he goes back to rubbing your thigh instead, giving you a second to work yourself up to the point he wants you to be at.

“Jack.” You don’t even sound like yourself now and it’s intoxicating, so pleading and broken. “Please.”

“Please what?” He’s practically whispering, perfectly calm and the direct opposite of how broken you sound just from him lightly touching you.

He moves you so you’re fully between his legs, back against his chest as he cages himself around you to keep you from moving.

You’re practically shaking, whimpering and moving your hips against nothing with the hopes he’ll cave and end up touching you again. You’re distracting to look at, body bare except for the pathetic excuse of underwear shorts you’d been wearing under your shirt, like you’d just been hoping he would be the one to find you in the laundry mat.

He has half the thought to make fun of you for that, make you tell him exactly what you were thinking when you left your apartment wearing so little, but he doesn’t think you could handle him saying much at all right now especially not something so demeaning.

“I’m going to touch you.” He says gently instead and kisses the side of your head, letting his hand go back to groping your chest just to make sure you stay worked up.

Even though he doubts at this point he even needs to touch you for that to happen.

“Yeah yeah.” You’re nodding in agreement, seemingly pleased at his decision as you relax back against him and let him touch you freely.

His other hands back between your legs now, letting you get used to the feeling of somebody touching you where you’re most sensitive. He’s just rubbing back and forth, listening to the way you pant and pulling back whenever you start to try and shift against his hand on your own.

“You’re wet just from that?” His voice is a little mean now but you don’t seem to mind, trying to clamp your thighs around his hand but being stopped by the sharp swat he sends to your skin. You wince but move your foot back to the other side of his leg so yours stay open, pouting softly at the silent punishment. “Answer me when I ask you something.”

“I’m always wet around you.” You admit with an embarrassed tone lacing your words, squirming like you wish you could hide yourself from the way he’s staring down at your body. “Want you so bad.”

“I want you too.” He kisses the side of your head, still rubbing you with just enough pressure to make you feel the friction but not to actually get off. “Gonna make you feel so good, you’ve just got to be patient.”

“Stop being scared to hurt me.” Your voice is shaky but as firm as possible, trying to show him you’re a big girl and can handle a little bit of the roughness he’s so clearly holding back.

It’s obvious in the way he was grabbing your throat your first kiss, moving your body around easily whenever he needed to, and scolding you just enough for you to be able to catch the mean tone seeping in accidentally.

Jack clearly has a darker side to him that he’s not letting you see and it’s obviously frustrating you, wanting to be taken seriously.

“I’ll hurt you if that’s what you want sweetheart but not for your first time.” His words don’t leave any room for argument so you don’t even try, sinking back against his firm chest and letting out a deep breath when he shifts behind you and presses himself forward.

It’s not long before you’re not able to wait anymore and he lets you scramble to tug down your underwear, keeping his fingers lightly rubbing between your folds and watching as you struggle to get the fabric past his insistent hand.

Eventually he lets you pull them off and then he’s right back to touching you, bare this time. You both suck in a breath at the contact and you’re practically laying down from how far you’d slid down his chest, spreading your legs as wide as they can go and whimpering while he touches you.

“Do you touch yourself like this baby?” He can’t help the curiosity, the image of you in your bed trying to get yourself off stuck in his mind now.

You shake your head and frown, trying to twist your neck to look at him but being stopped when he uses his free hand to roughly grip your chin and make you keep your eyes on the way he’s touching you, thumb on your sensitive clit now while you roll your hips the best you can.

“No I…” You can barely think let alone speak, clearly struggling as you make a pained and desperate noise. “I get nervous.”

Jack sighs and collects some of your wetness on his middle finger before finally pressing it against the tightness of your hole, not pushing in just yet but teasing it with light pressure and letting you get used to the feeling.

“When you’re with somebody, they should always be this gentle with you at first.” He’s saying softly, remembering that he’s supposed to be actually teaching you something and not just getting you off because he desperately wants to.

You frown deeply as he starts to talk and he doesn’t really understand why, thinks maybe you’re still being pouty that he won’t get rougher with you.

He tries to distract you by finally pressing a finger inside of you and it seems to work for a second, another gasp leaving you as you instinctively clench around the intrusion. He groans, his length throbbing against your back at the thought of being fully inside you instead of just a finger.

“Fuck you’re tight.” He rasps and buries his face in your hair for a few seconds to try and collect himself enough to keep teaching you something, anything at all so he doesn’t keep letting himself think this is something it isn’t. “They’ll have to really get you stretched before anything okay? You need to remember that baby.”

It bothers him so much he can barely focus, the thought of somebody not taking their time with you. He doesn’t want to picture you with another man in general but especially not in a way that hurts you, leaves you too sore the next morning with nobody to take care of you.

He’s so distracted by his own thoughts that he doesn’t notice your face stiffening at first, body a little tenser against him even though you’re still softly squirming to try and get him to put his finger deeper inside you.

“Jack stop.”

He does so immediately and goes to pull out of you before you’re making a panicked noise and closing your thighs around his hand. He lets you this time, pauses all movements just to wait for whatever it is that you need.

“N-no don’t stop that, god please don’t stop that.” Your voice is breathier now like the thought of him taking his hand away from you makes your chest tighten. “Just… stop talking about anyone else.”

It takes him a few seconds to register that and then his hands moving again, enough for you to relax and spread your legs back open.

You’re both quiet now as he adds another finger, lingering in the weight of your request and what it could mean if anything. He’s half sure you only asked because it was pulling you out of the moment, maybe making you nervous to think about doing this again with actual stakes, but the way you desperately tried to stop him from pulling away lets him pretend it was for another reason.

He’s selfish in the way he touches you now, thick fingers moving in and out of you while you cry and whine, gripping at his forearm whenever it feels like too much. He likes the way your nails dig into his arm when you think you might be close, thighs clenching and shifting when his thumb gently circles your swollen clit and how your lips part in breathy cries of his name.

He especially likes that.

You come with moans of his name filling the room and nobody else’s after you’d specifically asked him to stop mentioning other guys. Jack knows it’s selfish, even a little sick and perverted, but he could probably finish just from hearing that.

He’s throbbing against your back and he’s sure you’d be able to feel it if you were able to focus on anything after coming, body shaking a little as you pant endlessly and fall limb in his hold.

There’s a lot of softness that comes after, kissing the side of your head and being gentle in the way he cleans you up. It’s torture to be between your legs and getting to fully appreciate the sight of you for the first time without be able to touch you more but he doesn’t want to overstimulate you so early on.

He does let himself think about that vividly though, kissing against your thighs and picturing when he’s going to be able to put his mouth on you.

You’re quiet above him, eyes a little tired but still overly soft as you run your fingers through his hair and watch him wipe you down.

Then he’s back ontop of you and kissing you softly, shifting your back so you’re laying back against the pillows and not sitting up. It’s soft and bordering on romantic which makes his chest tighten, hoping you have no plans to leave his bed anytime soon.

“You okay?” He asks quietly against your mouth and he can feel you smiling, still touching his hair with one hand and letting the other drift down to the back of his neck.

“Felt so good.” You whisper back and your voice is a little hoarse from all the whining you’d been doing, nose bumping against his and then rubbing on his stubble for a few seconds. “Can I take a nap here?”

“You can do anything you want.” He says immediately, no hesitation as he gets up to get you one of his shirts and help you get comfortable, jumping at the opportunity to keep you with him just like he wanted.

Jack typically has a hard time sleeping through the night in general so he definitely never naps, needing to be truly past the brink of exhaustion to ever rest.

Yet he finds it to be the most simple thing in the world to crawl into his bed with you after taking off his leg, kissing you for a few more minutes before he’s wrapping you in his arms and tugging you back against his chest. He’s rubbing your stomach softly, hand under the shirt he’s given you, listening intently until he hears your breathing even out and then drifting to sleep right after you.

—

It’s one of the highlights of his decade to get to wake up with you still there, warm and making soft tired noises when you feel him start to stir.

His room is dark now other than the slight illumination coming from the moon outside of his window, casting just enough light for him to be able to watch your eyes flutter open.

You give him a soft sleepy smile and instinctively lean in to give him a kiss.

It’s easy to pretend that you are more than whatever this is when you act like this, mouths moving together sensually as if you have nowhere else you’d want to be.

Jack groans softly when your tongue pushes into his mouth, meeting it eagerly with his own and moving so hes hovering over you. Your hands are on his back, spreading your legs below him to let him slot between them.

He feels like a teenager again from how quickly he gets hard, your soft body under his putting him under some sort of spell. His hips shift and you let out a needy whine, scratching his shoulders lightly like you’re trying to encourage him.

You’re still making out slowly when he starts to thrust down against you, slow rolls of his hips to give you just enough friction to start to get desperate.

You’re tugging at his shirt fabric and he takes only a second to sit up and pull it over his head, back on you immediately and kissing you even more frantically. He’s moving your own shirt up towards your ribs but neither one of you wants to stop long enough to take it off, only able to when you need a quick second to take a breath.

It’s the first time you’ve both been nearly undressed together and he feels the effects of it instantly, your chest pressing against his when he lays back over you. Your skin is soft and hot to the touch, those now familiar soft whines leaving you when he lets his hand knead at your chest again.

“Jack please.” You’re whimpering and he finally stops kissing you in favor of sucking at your neck, bringing those marks from earlier back to the surface. “Can’t you just fuck me?”

He groans at the words and has to tuck his face in your shoulder, still rocking his hips against you even though they stuttered when you said that in that whiny voice of yours.

“Trust me, I want to fuck you so bad I can’t even think.” It leaves his mouth before he can stop it, not wanting to reject you again without making sure you know how badly he wants you.

“Then do it.” You’re begging now and he picks his head up to look at you, eyes wide and a little frustrated like you know he’s going to say no. You gasp when he thrusts down even harder, biting your lip as you stare at each other desperately. “Please Jack? Want you inside me.”

“I can’t baby.” He growls and kisses you to give himself a second to think without you arguing.

You’re quick to forget you were trying to convince him of something because you’re kissing him back deeply, angling your head so his tongue can get further and further inside your mouth.

He has that sick and perverted thought again that he’s coincidentally training you to be the perfect girl for him, kissing in a way he likes and not knowing how else to do it. Jack is selfish and wants everything you do to be for him, wants your body to instinctively move and react how he taught you regardless of who gets you next.

The thought of somebody else makes him want to forget his morals and fuck you like you’re begging him, be the one to take your virginity and fill you up for the first time.

He starts to reason with himself that it would actually be a good thing because Jack would never let himself hurt you in a way you didn’t like, he’d make sure you felt good around him and came so hard you weren’t able to see straight.

There’s nobody else who could fuck you like he could so he’s almost convinced himself that it’s a good idea when your phone rings on the nightstand.

You both stop, you’re completely tense under him and he sighs as he kisses you one more time and rolls off of you.

He lays there on his back as you sit up to grab your phone, screen a little too bright in the dark room and causing you to wince. He stares at your pretty face under the light as you open it up and answer it, not thinking much about the interruption despite the small disappointment he feels.

His hand is on your bare knee and rubbing your skin is soft circles, soothing both you and himself by keeping the contact.

“Hello?” Your voice is as soft and sweet as always, a little confused sounding which makes his eyebrows raise. “Oh Carter.”

Jack tenses up at the sound of a males name leaving your lips, his hand freezing and falling still on your knee. You’re avoiding looking at him as you listen to whoever it is speak on the other line, a deep voice bleeding through the speakers just enough for him to hear but not enough to make out the words.

“Tonight?” Your eyes go to the small digital clock on Jacks side of the bed, having to glance over his body in the process. You meet his eyes just for a second before they’re darting away again and it makes the pit in his stomach grow in understanding. “Of course I didn’t forget. I’ll be ready by nine.”

You’re hanging up after a quiet goodbye and now it’s suffocatingly silent in the room.

You’re still sitting up with your legs crossed under you, avoiding looking at him like you’re not still wearing his shirt and covered in marks he’d given to you. He waits for a minute before he’s sitting up and running a hand over his face, on the opposite side of the bed from you and facing the wall so you can’t see his expression when he finally gets himself to speak.

“You’ve got a date tonight?” He rasps out, trying his best to sound unaffected even though it comes out low and tight.

“I forgot.” You whisper back and you sound further away now, a glance over his shoulder confirms that you’d stood up off the bed and are searching for the shirt you’d shown up in so you can swap out of his. “He’s taking me to some art show downtown.”

Jack stares at you as you move around the room, eyes scanning over your body when you pull his shirt over your head and neatly fold it before putting it on his dresser. It feels really final to watch you change back into your own clothes, turning to meet his eyes and letting out a soft sigh when you see he’s already watching you closely.

He hopes it doesn’t show on his face, doesn’t want to be too obvious that he’s probably about two seconds away from throwing up.

“Carter.” He says simply and now you really stiffen.

You stand there for a few seconds like you’re waiting for something, eyes a little expectant and then full on disappointed when he scoffs and moves to put his leg back on so he can stand up and get out of the room that’s suddenly suffocating.

You leave his apartment and all the warmth goes with you.

He stands in his dark kitchen with regret sitting heavy on his chest, wishing he had stopped you and asked you to stay with him instead.

He isn’t sure if it’s the fear of rejection or his own guilt that stopped him but he knew he couldn’t ask you to do that. You deserved better than him and his baggage, his late hours at work and his dangerous hobbies that he needed to keep himself busy with to not think about the things that sent him spiraling.

He couldn’t imagine forcing you into a life where you had to explain him to your friends and family, ignore the curious and judging looks from his own when they realized just how young you were.

Jack knew you were lonely, it was obvious considering how much time you willingly spent with him and it was bad enough he’d taken advantage of your desperation for connection and nearly slept with you.

He wouldn’t be able to forgive himself if he stopped you from enjoying your youth, having a fun late night in the city surrounded by artsy people your age and not stuck on his couch watching old reruns because he’s too tired after work to properly take you out.

Jack hates himself for thinking all this and then still obsessively wanting you.

So much so that he purposely lingers near his truck right around the time you’d told your date you’d be ready. In his defense, he did actually need a few things from the corner store, so he sat in the parking lot and waited until he saw you come down.

Your date met you at the entrance of the lobby but didn’t take your purse from you or the jacket you were holding, smiled at you politely but couldn’t be bothered to open the door of his car or even wait for you to get in before he did.

It made Jack sick to his stomach all over again, jaw clenched as he sat in the dark interior of his truck and watched you drive off with some asshole only an hour after he’d had you sleeping next to him, panting under him and begging him to fuck you.

Jack decides right then that it all needs to stop, not just the sex lessons but helping you in general. He can’t be that person for you without wanting more, he’s selfish and possessive over somebody that was never supposed to be his and he knows it’s not fair to you.

So he doesn’t answer any of your texts that night, stays quiet in his living room whenever you knock on his door and waits until he hears you leave for work before he goes to check the mail.

He feels terrible for avoiding you but keeps trying to convince himself it’s in your best interest.

Jack is half asleep when the silent treatment finally breaks.

He’d fallen asleep on his couch accidentally, a beer can too many on the table in front of him and the same movie he’d been watching beforehand starting to roll credits. He should have been in bed sleeping after pulling a double at work but he couldn’t stand being in there lately, tossing and turning and trying to catch the faint scent of you lingering on his pillows.

There was a second of confusion, not sure why he had waken up in the first place, until the sharp knocks on his door made him flinch.

He was standing up on autopilot to open it, wincing at how stiff and sore his leg felt from falling asleep with it still on.

Any thought of his pain was gone the second he opened his door and saw your face, tears on your cheeks and your eyebrows furrowed in frustration.

“I need to talk to you.” You said immediately and he ushered you into his apartment, not necessarily wanting to be in an enclosed space with you but recognizing your tearful voice was far too loud to have a conversation in the hallway.

“What’s wrong?” He said softly and takes a few steps towards you on instinct, cradling your cheek and staring down at you when you nuzzle against his touch. “Why are you crying?”

“Because you’re an asshole.” You seem to remember that you’re mad at him because you step away from his touch, pushing his arm back down to his side and storming further into his apartment.

He stands there completely frozen as you toss your purse onto the chair near the couch, your eyes scanning over the beer cans and the obvious indent of where he’d been sleeping.

Then you’re back to looking at him and he knows what he probably looks like to you. The exhaustion is obvious on his face, clothes a little baggier than normal from a lack of taking care of himself and a constant awkward shifting on his leg to keep pressure off of it.

“Why aren’t you talking to me?” Your voice cracks a little and he deflates, taking a few steps closer again even though he doesn’t think you want him to touch you. “Did I do something wrong?”

“What?” His face faces in disbelief at the idea you could ever do anything wrong in general, especially to him. “Of course you didn’t sweetheart.”

“Then why?” Your words are louder now and they linger in the tense air, face pained as you wait for him to answer.

He sighs and runs a hand over his stubble that desperately needs some maintenance, wishes he had the time to plan out everything he wanted to say to you so he doesn’t accidentally fuck it up more than he already had.

“I just… I can’t do it anymore.” He lets his hands fall to his sides with a loud defeated clap and shrugs his shoulders. “I can’t watch you go out with these idiots knowing they can’t take care of you.”

He hopes what he’s trying to say is an obvious to you as it is to him, not able to bring himself to actually voice the fact that he has feelings for you beyond helping out a neighbor.

“You didn’t stop me.” You sound devastated, head shaking like you don’t believe anything he’s saying to you.

You’re not crying anymore thankfully but you look so hurt and disappointed that it makes him physically ache, moving to grab your arm softly and guide you to sit down on the couch with him.

“I waited for you to stop me and you didn’t.” You continue once you’re sitting beside him, legs pressed together in a small amount of addicting content. “Isn’t it obvious by now that I only want to be with you?”

The words hit him so hard that he doesn’t even have time to process them, eyebrows furrowing as the need for more information pushes him to speak.

“Why would that be obvious? The entire point of this was for you to be ready for other people.”

You look a little embarrassed at his sound logic, staring down at your lap where your hands are fiddling with your fingers. He sighs and takes one of them in his, squeezing it softly until you let your gaze drift back up to his.

“I don’t want other people.” You whisper, staring at him with a small amount of hope in your eyes like you’re just waiting for him to understand. “And I don’t want you to be with anyone else either. I just figured… you wouldn’t cross that line without a good reason.”

Jack thinks it’s a little juvenile of a plan but he also knows you’re not wrong. He would have never touched you without the feeling of helping you out with something, no matter how much he had wanted you since the second you moved in.

That little lie was all he needed to get himself through the shame and guilt, the ability to pretend it was for a greater cause and not because he was sick and desperate for a girl half his age.

“Jack.” You sigh when he doesn’t respond for a few seconds, turning so you can face him better and press a soft kiss to the side of his jaw. “Stop thinking.”

“That’s a big ask.” He mumbles back but he gladly turns to give you a real kiss, holding your face in his hand and keeping your mouth against his.

You kiss until you run out of breath, pulling back from him but rubbing your nose against his and letting your small hands grip his forearm desperately.

“Then just be with me for tonight.” You try to reason with him in any way you can, rubbing his arm softly and blinking at him with those big pretty eyes that drive him so crazy.

He stares at you for a moment before he’s standing up off the couch and tugging you along with him, ignoring the little surprised noise you make in favor of lifting you up with his hands on the back of your thighs. You gasp and then giggle softly once he’s got you in the air, arms behind his neck and legs around his middle as he starts to walk you to his room.

“You’re crazy if you think you’re going anywhere after tonight.” He tells you once he gets you settled on his bed, kissing the smile off your face as he climbs over you.

It’s a direct mirror of the other night as you get each other undressed fully this time, kissing the entire time and tasting his tongue deep in your mouth when it starts to get more heated.

“You’re going to be mine.” He says firmly once he’s got you in nothing but your panties, making sure your eyes are locked on his when you hear it. His free hand is all over your body, rubbing from your smooth thigh up to your chest and cupping around your neck for a brief moment while he waits for you to respond. “If I fuck you then you’re mine.”

“I’ve been yours.” You whisper easily, like you didn’t have to put any thought into it.

He falters, hand tightening around your throat on instinct and then releasing the pressure when he sees the way your eyes light up with interest.

“Don’t be nasty baby.” He’s teasing, kissing the corner of your mouth and bringing your leg up so it’s around his waist and he can press himself against you. “Gonna be gentle with you for your first time. You deserve it.”

“I want you to fuck me.” You’re pouting and gripping at him impatiently, running your hand between your bodies to touch his stomach and fidget with the waistband of his boxers. “That’s what I want Jackie.”

“Didn’t ask what you wanted.” He grumbles back, not caring that it comes off a little mean because you whine at the sound of how rough his voice had gotten and he knows you like it.

He’s back to kissing you and it’s filthier than normal, more tongue and spit than anything else.

You’re as vocal as always, whining and begging impatiently when he gets your underwear off and starts to touch you again.

Jack can barely think straight when he’s back inside of you, fingers pushing in easier this time now that you’ve felt the intrusion before and know what to expect. You’re gasping and crying out immediately, unintelligible words that he blocks out in favor of focusing on how you feel when he’s stretches you out.

“Want it so bad.” Your near sob gets through to him and he hisses through clenched teeth at how wrecked you sound already, shushing you softly and kissing your cheeks to try and calm you down.

“I know baby I know.” He’s whispering but you don’t seem to be hearing him, spreading your legs further to try and make space for him to slot back between them instead of using his fingers.

Jack is just as impatient as you but he’s terrified of hurting you too early, although throbbing so hard in his boxers that it’s painful to shift around.

It’s not long before it’s too much prep for both of you and you’re watching him with your chest heaving as he gets himself undressed the rest of the way, leg going on the floor right alongside your underwear that he had slowly pulled down your body before climbing back over you.

Your eyes go down between your bodies where his leg is and he tenses for a second despite knowing you mean well with the concern you have on your face.

“Let me ride you.” You say softly and his chest tightens with that old familiar shame he was still actively working on ridding himself of.

“I can fuck you.” He says gruffly and your eyes flash with regret, pouting a little like you’re worried you’ve hurt his feelings with your thoughtful suggestion. He kisses the expression off your face, a long deep one followed by a few quick pecks to try and ease your mind. “Next time baby.”

He says it both because he knows realistically he has limitations, there will be plenty of nights he’s not able to rail you into his mattress like he wants to, but also because he knows he would die a happy man the second he got to see you bouncing on top of him and desperately trying to get yourself off.

You look like you want to argue but you’re stopped when he’s pushing your legs apart and moving between them, sharp gasp leaving you when you feel his hard length pressing against you finally.

“Fuck Jack.” Your voice is sharp and already a little pained just from the dull sensation of him lining up with your hole, a growl leaving him at the sound of your distress.

“Just relax baby.” He says as softly as he can even though his throat feels tight and raw, kissing you gently to try and get you to calm down enough for him to push in. “You’re too tight sweetheart.”

“I… I can’t.” You let out another sharp cry when he shifts forward, nails digging into his shoulders so deep it makes him wince and lower his head down on your shoulder.

Jack has to use every ounce of self control he can muster to not just fully push himself into you and feel that tight heat he’s getting a taste of, that same sick and selfish part of him that wants you in the first place begging him to just take you already.

Instead he takes a few deep breaths before he’s kissing you with more focus, going back and forth between softly rubbing your side and massaging your inner thigh to try and urge your body to relax and accommodate him.

It’s a torturous ten minutes, especially due to your soft whimpers and the way you cry his name whenever he accidentally moves himself deeper.

Then you’re finally calm enough, bare chest rising and falling with the deep breaths he’d instructed you to take.

“Want you inside Jack.” You’re whining in his ear, clinging to him tightly and almost suffocating him when he immediately takes your queue and pushes in. You tense up again at the brief surge of pain and then let out a satisfied cry when you feel how full you are, clenching around him so ridiculously that he almost needs to pull out to give himself a break despite barely starting.

You’re both too overwhelmed to speak much more once he starts to actually fuck you, deep thrust accompanied by filthy kisses to keep you from waking up the neighbors with how desperately you’re whining for him to keep giving you more.

It’s pure need on both ends, your hips eagerly rocking upwards to try and meet his thrust sloppily while he uses his free hand to roughly push down on your stomach and keep you in place.

“Jackie.” It’s nearly a sob from you now and he can tell you’re close from how much tighter you’d gotten, almost an impossible squeeze for him to keep fucking you through.

He’s grateful you’re so inexperienced because he doesn’t think he’d last long either, not with the way you look as you stare up at him with teary and trusting eyes.

“I know baby you’re doing so good for me.” It’s more of a growl than anything else but he can barely think let alone speak enough to keep encouraging you. “Taking me so well sweetheart.”

“I’m so full Jack.” You whimper and cling to him tighter, nearly pulling him fully down on top of you and knocking him off his balance. “Feels so good.”

You’re stuttering through your sentences and slurring each word, eyes a little dazed in a way that makes him need to squeeze his shut to avoid coming inside you just from that fucked out look you have.

It’s more sweet than heated when you actually do finally reach your peak, holding onto him still and kissing the side of his jaw softly with your face buried in his neck as you squirm and shake your way through your orgasm.

He stays inside of you for as long as he can so you’re not shocked from the sudden feeling of emptiness but you’re squeezing him too tight and he has to pull out as soon as you’re starting to relax. You whimper immediately at the lose and pick your head up to pout at him, eyes panicked like you’re genuinely distressed he didn’t finish inside you.

He shushes you gently and kisses your face over and over, rubbing your side as he lets you fully come back to reality before attempting to clean either of you up or get you dressed.

“Jack.” You’ve got the needy and frustrated tone he loves so much and he knows you’re not dropping it, meeting your eyes with a fond sigh as you glance down at where he’d came instead of inside you.

“Next time.” He promises again and he means it, fully intending to have that conversation with you ahead of time now that he’s got you like this.

Jack isn’t too opposed to the idea of getting you pregnant, not even sure he’s able to with the amount of pills he takes, but he has to push down that thought along with the rest of the sick ones he gets when he looks at your needy eyes.

You smile a little at the loose promise and tuck yourself back into his shoulder, soothing any concern he has about what just happened or how you’re supposed to operate going forward.

He’s undoubtedly the luckiest guy in the world to have you wanting him like this, feeling safe in his arms and desperate for him in the way he’d been for you since the second he laid eyes on you.

Jack was never the type of person to take the duty of taking care of somebody lightly and he doesn’t plan to let you down for even a second, kissing the top of your head softly and letting himself forget about any shame or insecurity just to hold you for awhile longer.

[porchlightfairy]

Little Miracle Series (masterlist)

jack abbot x nurse!singlemom!reader

summary: jack meets a little girl wandering the ED one night and falls in love with her mom. follow along as they grow closer and their relationship flourishes.

tags: single mom, classic romance, toxic ex,

˖⋆࿐໋₊ ☆

little miracle asks: askbox headcannons, and general statements

Sleepyhead: the first, second, and third meet.

Cupid's Chokehold: the breakfast date.

Blue: miracle is sick, jack babysits

˖⋆࿐໋₊ ☆

taglist is CLOSED. thank you.

[titusdanforthslittlekitten]

Computa… show me Shawn Hatosy’s boobs.

[vanillaaaabean]

[kisscoabbot]

oh calvin klein you have the chance to do the most insane thing ever 😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫

[gayaristocrat]

so yeah, he was right. and plus…they got BIGGER👀

[belleeebelleee]

Jack Abbot (The Pitt) x fem!reader

you’re both stuck in an elevator, tense silence filling the small space. out of nowhere, he nervously starts rambling about his day but ends up confessing, “…and then i realized i’m in love with you.” you both stare at each other, wide-eyed, as the elevator dings and the doors open.

The elevator gets stuck between the seventh and eighth floors at 2:13 in the morning.

Which honestly feels personal.

The Pitt had been devouring everyone alive all shift.

Three codes.

One violent psych hold.

A trauma case that ended badly enough to leave the entire emergency department feeling haunted.

By the time you and Jack stepped into the elevator together, neither of you had enough energy left to form complete thoughts.

You leaned heavily against the back wall with a tired sigh.

Jack stood beside the buttons, rubbing exhaustedly at his eyes.

Silence settled immediately.

Not awkward silence.

Not really.

You and Jack had perfected the art of existing quietly together months ago.

It was one of the strange things about whatever this was between you.

You could spend hours side-by-side without speaking and somehow still feel… full.

Comfortable.

Known.

Unfortunately, that same unspoken thing between you was also slowly ruining your life.

Because you were in love with him.

Hopelessly.

Painfully.

And almost completely certain he had no idea.

The elevator jolted suddenly.

Then stopped.

The lights flickered once overhead.

You both froze.

Jack looked up immediately.

“No.”

The elevator remained motionless.

Then came the awful mechanical groan of a building system failing somewhere above you.

You closed your eyes briefly.

“You’ve gotta be kidding me.”

Jack hit the button panel.

Nothing.

He hit the emergency call button next.

Static crackled before a bored maintenance worker answered.

“Yeah?”

“We’re stuck in the east elevator between seven and eight,” Jack said flatly.

“Maintenance is backed up right now. Might be a bit.”

Jack stared at the speaker like he wanted to personally fight the building.

“How long’s ‘a bit’?”

“Forty-five minutes maybe?”

The line clicked dead.

Silence.

You slowly slid down the wall until you were sitting on the floor.

“Cool,” you muttered. “Awesome. Love that.”

Jack huffed out a tired laugh and leaned back against the opposite wall.

For several minutes, neither of you spoke.

The elevator hummed faintly around you.

Too small.

Too warm.

Too close.

You became acutely aware of Jack’s presence in confined spaces.

His broad shoulders.

The way he loosened his scrub collar when stressed.

The exhausted shadows beneath his eyes.

God, he was beautiful.

Which was deeply inconvenient.

“You okay?” he asked suddenly.

You blinked.

“Yeah.”

“You hate small spaces.”

Your heart skipped.

“You remember that?”

Jack looked vaguely confused by the question.

“Course I do.”

Right.

Because Jack remembered everything about you.

Which was part of the problem.

You looked away before he could see your expression soften.

“I’ll survive.”

He studied you quietly for a moment longer before nodding once.

Then silence returned.

Heavy this time.

Not uncomfortable exactly.

Just charged.

Because the thing between you and Jack had been building for months now.

Tiny touches that lingered too long.

Looks that lasted seconds past appropriate.

Inside jokes.

Protectiveness.

Near confessions hidden inside exhausted late-night conversations.

Neither of you ever crossed the line.

But God, you hovered near it constantly.

The elevator suddenly creaked loudly overhead.

You startled instinctively.

Jack’s eyes snapped toward you immediately.

“You good?”

“Yep.”

“You jumped.”

“It made a weird sound.”

His mouth twitched slightly.

“Building’s old.”

“Comforting.”

That earned a real laugh.

Brief.

Warm.

You smiled despite yourself.

Jack’s gaze lingered on your face for half a second too long afterward.

Then he looked away quickly.

Something nervous flickered across his expression.

Interesting.

You’d never seen Jack nervous around you before.

He scrubbed a hand down his face tiredly.

“This day’s been insane.”

You nodded.

“Understatement.”

And maybe it was the exhaustion.

Maybe it was the trapped elevator at two in the morning.

Maybe it was the fact that both of you had spent months dancing around feelings too big to ignore anymore.

Whatever the reason, something in Jack suddenly unraveled.

He started talking.

Not casually.

Rapidly.

Like if he stopped, he’d lose his nerve.

“That trauma case this morning messed me up more than I expected,” he admitted, staring hard at the floor instead of you. “Kid looked like my younger brother.”

You stayed quiet.

Listening.

Jack continued before you could respond.

“And then radiology kept screwing around all afternoon and Dana almost killed a resident with her bare hands and I forgot to eat for like twelve hours—”

A small laugh escaped you.

Jack smiled faintly but kept going.

“And then that woman in room six asked if we were married.”

Your breath caught slightly.

Jack clearly didn’t notice.

“Which was weird because apparently everybody thinks we’re—” He stopped abruptly. “Anyway.”

Anyway.

Your heartbeat started climbing.

Jack exhaled hard and tipped his head back against the elevator wall.

“I don’t know,” he muttered. “Today just felt…”

He trailed off again.

You looked at him carefully now.

Something was happening.

Jack rubbed nervously at the back of his neck.

Then the words started spilling out faster.

“And then you smiled at me after that absolute disaster in trauma two and suddenly the whole day didn’t feel as shitty anymore, which is insane, because that shouldn’t happen just because someone smiles at you—”

Oh.

Oh no.

Your pulse hammered now.

Jack still wasn’t looking at you.

“And then I realized I look for you first every shift.” His voice got quieter. “And I sleep better if I know you got home safe. And every time something bad happens, you’re the person I wanna see after.”

Your breathing stopped completely.

Jack finally glanced toward you.

And kept talking anyway.

Almost helplessly now.

“Then I realized I’m in love with you.”

Silence.

Absolute silence.

Jack froze.

You froze.

The elevator hummed softly around you.

Both of you stared at each other wide-eyed.

Like neither of you fully believed what had just happened.

Jack’s expression slowly shifted from startled honesty to pure horror.

“Oh my God,” he whispered.

Your mouth opened.

Nothing came out.

Jack looked genuinely panicked now.

“I did not mean to say that out loud.”

The absurdity of the situation hit you all at once.

The elevator.

The exhaustion.

The accidental confession.

You let out one stunned little laugh.

Jack looked moments from spontaneous combustion.

“I’m serious,” he said immediately. “I wasn’t planning to— I mean, obviously I was gonna tell you eventually, probably, maybe, but not like—”

“You love me?”

The words slipped out softly.

Jack stopped rambling instantly.

His eyes locked onto yours.

And suddenly all the nervousness fell away, replaced by something terrifyingly sincere.

“Yeah,” he admitted quietly. “I do.”

Your chest ached.

Because there was no performance in it.

No dramatics.

Just truth.

Steady and terrifying.

Jack swallowed hard.

“You don’t have to say anything.”

You stared at him for one long second.

Then another.

And then you started laughing again.

Not mockingly.

Disbelievingly.

Relieved.

Jack blinked in confusion.

“What?”

“You absolute idiot.”

His brow furrowed immediately.

“That doesn’t feel promising.”

You pushed yourself up from the elevator floor and crossed the tiny space between you.

Jack watched you approach like he couldn’t breathe.

“You’re in love with me,” you said softly.

“Yeah.”

“You’re just figuring this out now?”

His confusion deepened.

“…Yes?”

Your smile turned helplessly fond.

“Jack, I’ve been in love with you for months.”

He stared at you.

Actually stared.

Like his brain physically couldn’t process the sentence.

“You what?”

“I love you too.”

The look on his face then—

God.

Pure stunned relief.

Wonder.

Joy so sudden and overwhelming it almost made him look dazed.

“You’re serious?”

“Yes.”

Jack let out one breathless laugh and dragged both hands over his face.

“You have got to be kidding me.”

“Nope.”

“You’re telling me we both spent months doing…” He gestured vaguely between you. “Whatever the hell this has been?”

“Apparently.”

Jack laughed again.

Then looked at you with something unbearably soft in his eyes.

“You really love me?”

Your heart nearly stopped.

“Yeah,” you whispered.

That was all it took.

Jack stepped toward you immediately.

One hand finding your waist carefully, like he still couldn’t believe he was allowed.

Then he kissed you.

And it was somehow exactly what you’d imagined and completely different all at once.

Warm.

Certain.

Months of restrained affection finally snapping free.

Your hands slid into his hair instantly.

Jack made this rough, relieved sound against your mouth that nearly melted your spine.

The elevator dinged.

Both of you jerked apart.

The doors slid open.

Two maintenance workers stood outside staring directly at the two of you pressed together in the corner.

Silence.

One worker blinked slowly.

“…Y’all good in here?”

Jack looked at him completely deadpan.

“Fantastic, actually.”

You burst into helpless laughter while the maintenance workers exchanged deeply confused looks.

Jack just grinned at you.

Openly this time.

Like he’d stopped trying to hide it.

Then he reached for your hand as you stepped out of the elevator together.

And neither of you let go.

[sole-jpeg]

Somewhere Between Hate And Whatever This Is — Jack Abbot

(Chapter 7/?)

pairing : jack abbot / f!reader

words count : 5.8k

previous chapters : Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6

summary : The night shift at the Pitt teaches you two things very quickly: how to keep people alive, and how to survive the ones you can’t.

You are a newly assigned intern doctor who is brilliant, stubborn, and entirely incapable of backing down — which becomes a serious problem when your supervising attending, Jack Abbot, seems to make a sport out of challenging you at every possible opportunity. Between impossible trauma cases, sleepless nights, and arguments sharp enough to cut through the entire ER, the rivalry between them slowly turns into something far more dangerous.

contain : enemies to lovers, rivals, slow burn, sarcasm, mentions of medical trauma, injuries, blood, angst, arguments.

a/n : ooooh she’s maaaaaaad ! What do y’all think will happen next 🤓

archiveofourown link

Spotify playlist link

CHAPTER 7 : Worse Than Angry

Two shifts had passed since the incident. Two shifts since the waiting room. Since the hands around your throat. Since the police officers dragging that terrified man away while you stood there trying to understand why nobody had listened to you. And somehow, that part was what stayed under your skin the most. Not the bruises. But the feeling of having something taken from you.

Your choice. You had said no. More than once. And they had done it anyway. So now, you did the only thing that felt safe enough not to explode into another argument. You pulled away. Not dramatically. Not loudly. Just quietly enough for it to hurt.

Dana still texted sometimes. You answered with short replies hours later. Robby tried once or twice to smooth things over, but you never let the conversations go very far. And Abbot…you simply stopped engaging.

No teasing. No sarcasm. No sharp little remarks thrown over your shoulder. Nothing. At first, everyone thought you were just tired. Then they realized this was worse. Because you weren’t angry anymore. You were disappointed. And disappointment was colder.

The ER was still half asleep when you arrived that evening, the outside sky dark blue with the last remains of sunset fading behind the hospital windows. The fluorescent lights hummed softly overhead, casting that familiar pale glow over the halls, over the empty stretchers waiting along the walls, over the nurses station where the first coffee cups of the night had already started to accumulate.

You were early. As always. Mostly because you didn’t want to walk in with everyone else. You didn’t want conversations. Didn’t want looks. Didn’t want another careful silence falling every time you entered a room. So you changed quickly in the locker room, tied your hair back, slipped your stethoscope around your neck, and started your shift before anyone could stop you.

The bruises at your throat had faded to a angry purple now. You knew people noticed them. You noticed the way eyes lingered before politely moving away again.

You stepped behind the nurses station, already scanning the scattered reports and patient charts left for the incoming shift, grateful for the distraction of paperwork and routine.

Then, “There she is.” Dana’s voice. Warm. Familiar. Too familiar. You looked up automatically.

She was sitting behind the station with a coffee in one hand, smiling the second she saw you, relief flickering briefly across her face like she’d been hoping you might actually acknowledge her tonight.

“Hi, sweetheart.” Usually, that would have made you smile. Or at least one of your dramatic French responses muttered under your breath just to make Princess laugh from across the station.

Tonight, you barely looked up from the reports in your hands. “Hi, Dana.” Neutral. Professional. The smile on Dana’s face faltered almost invisibly. Not because you were rude.

Because you weren’t. That was the problem. You sounded like you were speaking to any coworker in the hospital. No warmth. No affection. No teasing. Just distance. A small silence settled between you.

At the other end of the station, Lena arrived almost at the same moment, coffee in hand and jacket half hanging from one shoulder. She slowed automatically when she noticed the atmosphere. Her eyes moved between the two of you once. Then twice.

Ah. So it was still bad. Lena quietly set her coffee down near one of the computers without interrupting, pretending to focus on logging into the system while very obviously listening.

You kept looking through the charts. Dana watched you for another second before speaking more carefully this time. “How are you feeling?”

“Fine.” Your answer came instantly. Too instantly. You grabbed another report from the counter before she could continue, eyes staying down. “Do we already have rooms assigned?”

Dana leaned back slightly in her chair, studying you quietly now.

“Y/n—”

“Trauma or general tonight?” you interrupted gently, still calm, still professional enough that she couldn’t even call you out for it. And somehow that hurt her more.

“…General for now,” she answered after a moment.

You nodded once. “Okay.”

Then you turned slightly, already preparing to walk away. “Hey,” Dana called softly. You paused. Not turning fully.

“I miss talking to you.” That one almost got you. Almost.

Lena saw it immediately in the way your shoulders tensed almost invisibly, in the tiny pause that lasted just a second too long. For a moment, Dana looked hopeful. But then you lowered your eyes back to the chart in your hands, your voice stayed even. “I have patients to check on.” And then you walked away before she could answer.

And then you walked away, leaving behind a silence that felt heavier than any argument you could have started. Lena slowly turned her head toward Dana once you disappeared down the hallway.

“…Damn,” she muttered quietly. Dana stared after you for another second before exhaling softly and rubbing a hand over her face. “Yeah,” she said. “Damn.”

For a few seconds after you disappeared down the hallway, neither of them said anything. The sounds of the ER slowly filled the silence back in—phones ringing somewhere further down, the distant squeak of stretcher wheels, monitors beeping softly in empty rooms waiting for patients.

Dana kept staring in the direction you had left, her jaw tight, fingers tapping absently against the side of her coffee cup.

Lena watched her quietly for a moment before leaning back against the counter beside her.

“She’s really hurt.” Dana let out a tired breath through her nose. “I know.”

“No,” Lena said gently, shaking her head once. “I mean really hurt.” That made Dana finally look at her.

Lena’s expression stayed calm, understanding, but honest. “I get why you did it,” she continued. “Honestly, I probably would’ve wanted to do the same thing.”

Dana looked down briefly. “He assaulted her, Lena. He was about to kill her.”

“I know.”

“And she would never have pressed charges herself.”

“I know that too.”

Dana rubbed a hand over her forehead, exhaustion visible on her face. “We weren’t trying to hurt her.”

“I know,” Lena repeated softly. “That’s the problem.” Dana frowned slightly. Lena leaned her elbows lightly against the counter, lowering her voice a little. “What you did was human,” she said. “Seeing someone you care about get hurt like that and wanting justice for it? That’s human.”

Dana’s eyes flickered briefly toward the hallway again. “But what she’s feeling is human too.” That one settled heavier. “She told you no,” Lena added carefully. “More than once. And then it still happened behind her back.”

Dana stayed silent. Because there wasn’t really a defense for that part. Lena sighed softly.

“I’m not saying you were wrong for wanting to protect her,” she continued. “I’m saying she trusted you to listen to her, and right now she feels like nobody did.”

Dana swallowed slightly, her gaze lowering to the counter. “She won’t even look at me.”

“She will eventually.”

“You don’t know that.”

Lena gave her a small look. “She came back, didn’t she?”

Dana didn’t answer immediately.

“She could’ve transferred,” Lena continued quietly. “Could’ve avoided all of you for a while. But she came back here.”

A small silence settled again. Then Lena’s mouth curved just slightly. “She’s angry because she cares.”

Dana let out a humorless little laugh. “That sounds dangerously optimistic.”

“Maybe,” Lena admitted. “But if she truly didn’t care anymore, she wouldn’t even bother being disappointed.” That one hit differently. Dana leaned back in her chair slowly, arms crossing as she stared toward the hallway where you had disappeared. “…I hate this.”

“I know,” Lena said softly. “So does she.”

Dana finally picked up her coffee again, though it had probably gone cold by now. She took a distracted sip anyway, still visibly tense.

Lena stayed beside her a second longer before speaking again, quieter this time. “Did you apologize to her?”

Dana blinked. Actually blinked. Caught completely off guard by the question. “What?”

“Did you apologize?”

Dana opened her mouth automatically, ready to answer— Then stopped. Because suddenly she realized something awful.

No.

She hadn’t. Not really. She had explained. Defended it. Argued about why they did it. But apologize?

No.

The realization settled visibly across her face. “Oh.” Lena watched her carefully, not unkindly. Dana looked back down at the counter slowly, almost replaying every conversation in her head.

“I…” She frowned slightly. “I didn’t even think about it.”

“Because you thought you were protecting her.”

Dana nodded faintly. “Yeah.”

And that was true. Every decision she made after the attack had come from panic and fear and protectiveness. From seeing someone she loved get hurt and immediately wanting to fix it, defend her, do something. She’d been so focused on protecting you that she never stopped to think about how deeply you might feel betrayed by it.

Lena gave her a small, understanding look. “You can have good intentions and still hurt someone.” Dana sighed quietly, rubbing at her temple. “She looked at me like I was a stranger.”

“That’s because right now she doesn’t really know what to do with you.”That hurt more than

Dana expected. Lena let the silence sit for a second before nudging her gently with her shoulder. “Maybe apologizing would be a good start.”

Dana looked uncertain for the first time in a long while. “You think she’ll even listen to me?”

“I think,” Lena said carefully, “that she deserves to hear it.”

Not excuses. Not explanations. Just that. An apology. Dana looked back toward the hallway again, thoughtful now, quieter than before. And for the first time since the incident, she realized maybe protecting someone also meant respecting when they said no.

———————

The night settled in slowly after that. Not chaotic. Not calm either. Just the usual rhythm of the ER—stretchers moving through hallways, monitors beeping somewhere in the distance, tired conversations passing between nurses stations and trauma rooms under the harsh fluorescent lights.

You kept yourself busy on purpose. It was easier that way. Easier not to think when your hands were occupied, when someone needed something from you every five minutes.

You were crouched beside a teenage boy sitting on one of the hallway beds, his volleyball knee pads still half hanging around his legs while he tried—and failed—not to look embarrassed.

“I swear it looked worse in front of the team,” he muttered while you adjusted the wrap around his ankle carefully.

You glanced up briefly. “Oh yeah? Dramatic fall?”

He sighed dramatically. “Like… movie-level dramatic.”

That got the smallest smile out of you. “Well,” you said while securing the bandage properly,

“good news is your ankle survived the performance.”

The boy grinned slightly at that, relaxing a little as you finished checking the swelling. “Keep weight off it for a few days, ice regularly, and if you ignore my advice and go back to volleyball tomorrow, at least try not to fall in front of an audience this time.”

“Can’t promise that.”

“Of course not.” Your voice stayed gentle. Easy. Professional. You stood back up slowly, writing a last note onto his chart when movement at the end of the hallway caught your attention.

The day shift. Finally leaving. A cluster of tired doctors and nurses crossing toward the exit with bags over their shoulders, jackets half on, conversations quieter now after the long day.

Your eyes moved over them automatically, then stopped.

Dana.

She was walking with Perlah at first, one hand holding her bag strap against her shoulder, until she looked up. And saw you. For a few seconds, neither of you moved. The hallway noise faded strangely around the moment. Dana slowed just slightly. You could see it immediately in her face—that hesitation, like she was thinking about coming over, about saying something. Maybe apologizing. Maybe trying again. But you were still too tired for another conversation. Too raw.

So after only a second longer, you looked away first and turned back toward the teenage patient beside you. “Alright,” you said quietly, focusing back on the chart in your hands.

“You’re good to go.”

Behind you, you heard the automatic doors open. Then close. And when you glanced back again a moment later, Dana was gone.

A little later, you made your way back toward the nurses station, the chart from the volleyball patient tucked against your chest while you scanned the large patient board ahead, already looking for where you were needed next.

The ER lights reflected pale against the screens and polished floor, the atmosphere calmer now that the evening rush had passed. Nurses moved around with quieter steps, phones ringing less often, conversations softer from exhaustion.

You slid the chart into the correct tray without really paying attention. Then someone stepped beside you. Close enough that you recognized him before even looking.

Abbot.

You felt it immediately in the shift of your posture, in the way your shoulders subtly stiffened before you forced yourself to relax again. He placed his own chart down beside yours, glancing briefly toward the patient board.

“You know,” he said casually while typing something into the computer, “most people say hello before entering their silent revenge era.”

Nothing. You kept your eyes on the board. Room twelve needed reassessment. Trauma one was waiting on scans. Psych consult still pending.

You reached for another chart. Abbot glanced sideways at you. Usually, by now, you would’ve answered. Something sarcastic. Sharp. Probably in French just to irritate him.

Usually, he’d already be halfway through another remark and you’d both be standing here pretending not to enjoy the argument.

But tonight, nothing. You didn’t even look annoyed. Just distant. Professional. “Still ignoring me?” he tried again, lighter this time.

You finally spoke, but only because you needed information. “Did room seven already get their bloodwork back?”

The question caught him off guard for half a second. “…Yes.”

You nodded once. “Okay.”

And that was it. No eye roll. No biting response. Just work. Abbot watched you for another moment while you checked the panel again, and for the first time since he’d met you, he realized something uncomfortable: He hated this.

Not the anger. Not even the shouting from the other night. This. This cold distance. Because when you fought with him, there had still been something alive in it. Something warm beneath the irritation, even when neither of you admitted it. Your arguments had become a rhythm, a strange language between the two of you.

Now that rhythm was gone. And in its place was this polite emptiness that made him feel strangely… shut out. Like a door had quietly closed somewhere without him noticing.

“You know,” he said again, trying one last time, “you’re significantly scarier when you’re calm.”

Still nothing. You grabbed another file from the counter. “If you need something medical-related, tell me,” you said evenly. “Otherwise I have patients waiting.”

Then you walked away. And Abbot stayed there for a second longer than necessary, staring after you with a tightness in his chest he couldn’t quite explain.

The silence between you barely had time to settle before the ER doors burst open. “Need a trauma team!”

The shout cut clean through the hallway. Both of you reacted instantly.

The charts you had just picked up hit the counter with a loud slap as you turned and ran toward the incoming stretcher, Abbot already moving beside you without hesitation. The

familiar switch happened automatically—whatever existed between you personally disappearing behind training, instinct, urgency.

Two paramedics pushed the stretcher through the doors fast, wheels rattling violently against the floor. Young girl. Maybe twelve. Blood running down the side of her forehead, one arm hanging at a wrong angle against the straps while she cried weakly in pain.

“She fell from a carousel at the county fair,” one of the paramedics explained quickly while keeping pace. “Around twenty feet, maybe a little more. Witnesses said the safety bar failed during movement.”

The girl whimpered sharply as the stretcher jolted slightly. “Vitals?” you asked immediately, already moving beside her.

“BP’s dropping slightly, ninety-eight over sixty. Tachy at one-thirty. Oxygen stable for now at ninety-four but she’s getting more confused during transport.”

“She lose consciousness?”

“Briefly at scene,” the paramedic answered. “Came back responsive but disoriented.

Complaining about abdominal pain and left arm pain.”

Possible internal bleeding. You exchanged a quick glance with Abbot. Professional. Focused.

“Any spinal precautions?”

“C-collar in place since extraction,” the second paramedic answered while adjusting one of the IV lines.

The girl let out another broken cry, trying weakly to move her arm. “Hey, hey—don’t move for me, okay?” you said immediately, leaning slightly closer so she could focus on your voice. “You’re safe now. We’re taking care of you.”

Her eyes found yours briefly through the panic. “Hurts…” she whispered.

“I know,” you answered softly while keeping pace beside the stretcher. “I know.” Ahead of you, Lena looked up from the nurses station the second she saw the team rushing in. “Trauma six!” she called immediately. “Move, move!”

Everything accelerated at once. Nurses splitting off toward the room. Doors opening. Gloves snapping into place.

You reached for the side rail of the stretcher automatically as everyone turned the corner toward Trauma Six together, fluorescent lights flashing rapidly overhead while the girl’s frightened breathing mixed with the fast rhythm of the monitor beside her.

And without thinking, you and Abbot moved perfectly in sync beside her. The second the stretcher crossed into Trauma Six, the room exploded into movement.

“On my count,” Abbot ordered quickly, already pulling gloves on. “One, two, three—move.”

The team transferred the girl carefully from the EMS stretcher onto the trauma bed while keeping her cervical spine stable. She cried out weakly the moment her body shifted.

“Easy, easy,” you murmured, immediately moving to her side again. “You’re okay.” Not okay. But alive. And that was enough for now.

The monitor leads were attached within seconds, the room instantly filling with the rapid beeping of her heart rate.

One-thirty-four. Still climbing. You grabbed the trauma shears and cut through the remains of her sweatshirt carefully while another nurse removed her shoes and secured the IV lines the paramedics had started.

“BP dropping,” Lena called from the monitor. “Ninety over fifty-eight.”

“Let’s move faster,” Abbot answered immediately. The girl winced sharply when you pressed lightly against her abdomen. “There,” she gasped. “It hurts there—”

Right upper quadrant. You exchanged a quick glance with Abbot. Internal bleed was moving higher on the list.

“Focused assessment first,” he said. You nodded once and immediately started the primary trauma survey together.

“Airway intact,” you said quickly while checking her responsiveness. “She’s talking.”

“Breathing?” Abbot asked. You pulled the stethoscope from around your neck and moved fast, listening to both lungs carefully despite the noise around you.

“Breath sounds present bilaterally,” you answered. “Slightly weaker left side but still there.”

Abbot was already examining her chest and ribs with quick practiced hands.

“No obvious flail chest.” The girl cried again when he pressed lower along her side. “Possible rib fractures,” he muttered.

“Pulse weak and thready,” you added while checking her wrist. “She’s cold.”

Shock. Maybe hemorrhagic. You moved lower immediately, checking her pelvis carefully.

The second your hands applied gentle pressure she screamed. You stopped instantly.

“Pelvic instability,” you said sharply. Abbot looked up immediately. “Alright. Possible pelvic fracture. Get blood ready now.” The room moved even faster. A nurse rushed toward the blood fridge while Lena already prepared additional IV access.

“Doctor, FAST exam,” Abbot said. You were already grabbing the ultrasound. The portable machine rolled beside the bed as you squeezed gel onto the probe with slightly shaking fingers—not panic, just adrenaline.

Focus. The girl was starting to drift now, eyelids heavier. “Hey,” you called immediately while placing the probe against her abdomen. “Stay with me. What’s your name?”

“…Emily…”

“Good. Hi Emily, I’m Dr. Y/L/N. You stay awake for me, okay?” You moved the probe carefully across her abdomen, eyes locked on the screen.

Darkness pooled where it shouldn’t. Free fluid. Your stomach tightened instantly. “There’s fluid,” you said sharply. “Positive FAST.” Internal bleeding confirmed. Abbot swore quietly under his breath. “Call surgery.”

“Already paging them,” Lena answered. The monitor suddenly beeped faster. Heart rate one-forty-two. Blood pressure lower again. Emily groaned weakly, her breathing becoming more uneven.

“She’s crashing,” you said.

“Hang blood now,” Abbot ordered. The nurse connected the transfusion while you moved back toward Emily’s head, checking her pupils quickly.

“One pupil slightly slower,” you muttered. Possible concussion. Maybe worse.

“Emily,” you called again, louder now. “Look at me.” Her eyes fluttered open briefly.

“Good,” you encouraged immediately. “That’s good.”

Abbot moved beside you again, both of you working shoulder to shoulder automatically despite everything else between you.

“Pressure’s eighty-four systolic now,” Lena warned.

“She needs OR immediately.” The trauma surgeon finally entered the room at the same moment, already gloving up while Abbot gave the report rapidly.

“Sixteen-year-old female, fall approximately twenty feet from carnival ride. Positive FAST, unstable pelvis, hypotensive despite fluids, likely intra-abdominal hemorrhage.”

The surgeon looked at the monitor once. “We’re taking her up now.” The room moved again instantly. More hands. More movement. Controlled urgency everywhere.

You stayed near Emily while the bed began rolling toward surgery, one hand briefly

squeezing hers when she looked at you again through the fear and pain. “You’re doing really good,” you told her softly. The team disappeared through the trauma doors with her.

And just like that, the room fell quiet again. Not silent. Trauma rooms were never really silent.

The adrenaline slowly loosened its grip from your muscles as the remaining nurses started cleaning around the room, throwing away bloody gauze and opening fresh supply packs for the next emergency that would inevitably come.

You pulled your gloves off slowly, tossing them into the biohazard bin before grabbing a towel to wipe the ultrasound gel from your hands and forearms.

Across the room, Abbot watched you. You could feel it without looking. The way his attention lingered too long now. The way he almost seemed hesitant for once.

You ignored it. You grabbed the chart from the counter near the door, already mentally moving on to the next patient waiting somewhere in the ER.

Work. Focus on work. That was easier. You stepped out of Trauma Six and immediately reached for the sanitizer dispenser mounted beside the door, rubbing the cold gel between your hands while scanning the patient board down the hallway.

Footsteps followed behind you. Of course they did.

“Hey,” You kept walking. Fast enough to avoid conversation. Slow enough not to look childish.

“Hey, seriously.” Abbot caught up beside you near the nurses station, still holding Emily’s chart in one hand. “She’s gonna be okay,” he said first, maybe because it was the safest thing he could start with.

“That’s good.” Your answer came automatically. Short. Professional. You reached for another patient file from the counter.

Abbot stayed there beside you anyway. “You handled that well.” You flipped open the chart without reacting.

“Room fourteen still waiting on labs?” you asked Lena instead. Lena looked between both of you for half a second before answering carefully.

“Uh… yeah.” You nodded once.

“I’ll go check on them.”

Then you turned immediately. But Abbot followed again. Persistent this time. And honestly, that irritated you more than the teasing ever had.

“Can you stop walking away every time I talk to you?” he asked quietly. You finally stopped.

Not because you wanted to. Because you were getting tired of being followed.

You turned toward him slowly in the middle of the hallway, exhaustion visible all over your face now beneath the professionalism you kept trying to wear like armor.

“I’m working,” you said evenly.

“So am I.”

“Great.” You started to move again.

“Y/N—”

“What?” you snapped finally, turning back sharply enough that a nearby nurse instantly pretended not to listen. Abbot paused briefly, maybe surprised you had finally reacted at all.

And somehow that made the tension worse. Because for the first time tonight, there was emotion in your voice again.

Abbot looked at you strangely. Not annoyed. Not amused. Not defensive.

Just… affected.

And that alone threw you off more than you wanted to admit. You had seen him irritated a hundred times. Sarcastic, exhausted, arrogant, sharp-edged. You knew the look he gave difficult patients, difficult interns, difficult coworkers.

But this? This was different.

There was something unsettled in his face now, something quieter that you couldn’t fully place, and for one dangerous second it made your anger falter. Because he almost looked hurt.

Your chest tightened immediately at the thought, like your own brain rejected it the second it appeared.

No. You crossed your arms tighter against yourself instead, forcing distance back into your posture.

But your eyes betrayed you. You knew they did. Too full. Too tired. There was anger there still, yes.

But underneath it, sadness. And disappointment most of all. Disappointment from Dana had already hurt enough. But this… this felt different somehow, and that frustrated you more than anything because you couldn’t explain why. You weren’t supposed to care this much about what he thought. About what he did.

You spent half your time arguing with him. You were supposed to hate him. At least, that’s what you kept telling yourself. So why did this feel so personal?

Abbot looked at you for another second, his voice quieter when he finally spoke. “Can we talk?” Not teasing this time. Not provoking. Just honest. And somehow that almost made it worse.

Your expression flickered slightly despite yourself, hesitation slipping through the cracks for only a second before you shut it down again.

“I don’t have anything to say to you.” The words came out less steady than you wanted. You hated that. You immediately looked away before he could notice, tightening your grip on the chart still in your hands.

Then you turned and walked off down the hallway before he could answer. Leaving him standing there alone beside the nurses station, watching you disappear again.

———————

By six in the morning, the ER had fallen into that strange in-between state where exhaustion settled over everything like fog. Not quiet. Never quiet. But slower.

The waiting room had thinned out, monitors beeped softer in half-dark rooms, and the nurses station was now mostly fueled by reheated coffee and pure stubbornness. You were in room nine with an elderly woman who had slipped in her kitchen sometime around midnight and stubbornly waited three hours before calling an ambulance because, according to her, “it didn’t seem dramatic enough yet.”

Thankfully, nothing appeared broken. Mostly bruising, a mild wrist sprain, and a bruised hip that would probably turn every shade of purple by morning.

“You’re very lucky,” you told her gently while writing the last notes onto her chart. “At your age, falls like this can become serious really fast.”

The woman sniffed softly. “At my age,” she answered, “everything becomes serious fast.”

That earned the smallest tired smile from you. “Fair enough.”

You finished adjusting the wrap around her wrist carefully before continuing. “A nurse is going to bring you pain medication soon, and we’ll make sure someone helps organize follow-up care before discharge, okay?”

The woman nodded gratefully. “You’re very kind, doctor.”

You gave her a small polite smile and lowered your eyes back to the chart for one last note.

Then movement outside the room caught your attention through the partially open curtain.

A familiar silhouette crossing the hallway. You frowned slightly. Robby. You glanced automatically toward the clock on the wall. 6:07 AM. Too early for day shift.

Your brows pulled together slightly as you watched him continue down the hallway carrying two coffee cups and a folded jacket over one arm like he had just arrived. Weird.

You quickly finished signing the chart before clipping it back into place. “Alright,” you told the woman softly while stepping back from the bed. “Try not to get up alone for now, okay?”

“Oh, trust me,” she muttered dramatically, “I’ve learned my lesson.” You let out a small breath that almost counted as a laugh. “A nurse will bring your medication in a minute.”

Then you stepped out into the hallway, your curiosity already getting the better of your exhaustion as your eyes searched for Robby again beneath the pale fluorescent lights of the nearly-ending shift.

You spotted him near the nurses station, leaning slightly over the counter while flipping through a few patient charts with one hand, one untouched coffee cup resting beside him.

Definitely too early.

You walked over quietly, sliding the elderly woman’s chart back into its slot beside him.

“You know day shift doesn’t start for another hour, right?”

Robby glanced sideways at you, and for a second a faint smile appeared. “Yeah, I noticed.”

“You lost a bet or something?” That earned a soft huff of amusement from him, but it faded quickly. “Couldn’t sleep,” he admitted simply. “Didn’t really know what to do with myself.”

You frowned slightly at that. Now that you were closer, something felt… off. Subtle. But there.

Robby always carried himself lightly, easygoing even during chaos, but right now he looked tired in a way that had nothing to do with work. His hair was messier than usual, jaw slightly tense, and his eyes…slightly red.

Like he either hadn’t slept at all or had spent part of the night trying very hard not to think about something. You studied him for a second longer. “Are you okay?” The question came softer than you intended.

Robby’s fingers paused briefly against the chart in his hands. Then, almost immediately, he deflected.

“And you ? You okay with Dana and Abbot?”

Smooth. Too smooth. You narrowed your eyes slightly. “That’s not what I asked.”

“And you didn’t answer my question either.” You let out a quiet breath through your nose and leaned back lightly against the counter beside him.

“No,” you admitted finally. “Not really.” Robby nodded slowly like he had expected that answer.

“They did this for you, you know.” You looked away toward the hallway immediately.

“That doesn’t give them the right to decide things for me.”

“I know.” Robby stayed quiet for a moment, eyes lowered toward the chart in his hands like he was debating how much he should say. Then he exhaled softly. “It’s really affecting Dana.”

Your expression tightened almost immediately.

You looked away toward the hallway again, crossing your arms loosely against yourself. “She should’ve thought about that before.” Robby nodded slightly. “She knows.”

That answer caught you off guard more than you expected. Not defensive. Not argumentative. Just honest. You stayed silent.

Robby rubbed tiredly at the back of his neck before continuing. “I’ve known Dana a long time,” he said quietly. “And I don’t think I’ve ever seen her this upset over someone being angry at her.”

You swallowed slightly but kept your face carefully neutral. “She’ll survive.”

“She’s scared you won’t forgive her.” That landed harder than it should have. You frowned faintly, eyes dropping to the floor tiles for a second. “I didn’t ask her to protect me.”

Robby glanced sideways at you carefully. “She realized too late that she never actually apologized.”

That made your eyes flicker slightly. “…What?”

“She told herself she was helping you,” he explained softly. “So in her head, she kept trying to justify it instead of just saying sorry.”

You didn’t answer immediately. Because part of you hated how much hearing that affected you. Robby studied your face quietly for a second before speaking again.

“And Abbot—” Your expression closed slightly at the name. “He’s handling this badly,”

Robby admitted immediately. “Honestly? Terribly.”

That almost pulled a tired laugh out of you. Almost. “But he wasn’t trying to go against you just to control things,” Robby continued. “When he pushed that guy off you, he got hit too.”

You looked up slightly. Robby motioned vaguely toward his own ribs. “The guy caught him hard in the side before security got there. Bruised him pretty badly.”

“He filed the complaint under himself too,” Robby added quietly. “Not just for you.”

You frowned faintly. “What do you mean?”

“He used the fact that he got assaulted during intervention so the hospital could move forward without forcing you to be the one pressing charges alone.”

You stayed silent for a second. Because that complicated things again. Of course it did.

Robby glanced sideways at you carefully.

“He thought he was protecting you from having to carry all of it yourself.”

Your throat tightened slightly. You looked away again, exhaustedness settling heavier onto your shoulders now.

“But Dana’s not sleeping,” Robby added after a moment. “And Abbot came to me yesterday asking if he should transfer off nights.”

Your brows pulled together immediately. “…What?”

“He thought maybe you’d feel more comfortable if he wasn’t around.”

You stared at Robby for a second, genuinely unable to answer. Because somehow that hurt in a completely different way.

Abbot wanted to leave nights? That didn’t make sense.

Everyone knew he loved night shift. The chaos, the autonomy, the strange family atmosphere that formed between exhausted staff surviving impossible hours together. He complained constantly, sure—but he belonged there. Everybody knew it. The night team was his team.

And somehow the idea that he had actually considered leaving it, Because of you made something twist painfully in your chest. You looked away quickly, like that might stop the thought from settling too deeply.

“That’s stupid,” you muttered quietly. But the words lacked conviction. Robby watched you carefully for a moment, clearly noticing the shift in your expression. “He wasn’t trying to manipulate you,” he said softly. “He genuinely thought giving you space might make things easier.”

You stayed silent. Because suddenly the anger didn’t feel as simple anymore. Still real. Still justified. But heavier now. Messier. You rubbed tiredly at your forehead, exhaustion catching up to you all over again.

“I don’t know what to do with any of this,” you admitted quietly. And it was probably the most honest thing you had said in days. Robby’s expression softened slightly.

“You don’t have to decide tonight.” The overhead speakers crackled somewhere down the hallway, announcing a consult request neither of you paid attention to.

Robby grabbed the untouched coffee cup beside him and finally pushed himself away from the counter. “Just…” He hesitated briefly before continuing. “Think about it.”

You looked up at him again. “They messed up,” he admitted. “Both of them. But they care about you more than they handled this correctly.”

Your throat tightened slightly at that. Robby gave you one last small look before starting to walk backward down the hallway. “And maybe,” he added gently, “when you’re ready… forgive them a little.”

Then he turned and disappeared further into the ER, leaving you alone beside the nurses station with a thousand thoughts suddenly crashing together far too loudly in your head.

Taglist ⋆⭒˚｡⋆

@slowburnsky @gandalfthegoatsblog @nosebeers @chaotic-taco-collector-blog

[lovebugism]

LITTLE MISS SUNSHINE ─── jack abbot

summary: jack has been trying to get the pretty pediatric caseworker from upstairs to fall in love with him for weeks now. the only problem is, you have no idea that he's even into you. (4k)

characters: jack abbot / fem!reader, michael robinavitch, dana evans

contents: sunshine!reader, slightly ditzy!reader, friends to lovers, mutual pining, idiots in love, humor, fluff, not proofread :P

FIC #4 / 20 FOR 20

( NAVIGATION ) | ( MASTERLIST ) | ( AO3 )

PEDES CONSULT — CENTRAL 14.

The message scrolls across your pager on the elevator ride down to the bottom floor, where the chaos of the E.D. hits you before the doors have even opened. A monitor wails from somewhere inside the trauma bay. A nurse rushes by with a crash cart rattling violently against the tile. Someone in triage is crying; someone else is swearing. A thousand conversations fill the air until they turn into a dull roaring in your ears.

You enter like a sliver of sunlight breaking through storm clouds, weaving through the chaos with a practiced sort of ease. A pale blue cable-knit sweater bunches around your wrist, while a flowing ivory skirt patterned with delicate forget-me-nots sways around the tops of your sneakers with each step. You’re made of much softer stuff than the sterile brightness of the E.R. — like springtime washing over a war zone.

Robby and Jack stand together outside the closed door of Central 14. Exhaustion sits heavily in the former’s bearded face, weighed down with the regret of not clocking out an hour ago like he should’ve when he had the chance. The latter flips through the chart in his pale hands, scruffy features screwed in concentration until you enter into his eyeline.

He straightens almost instantly, hardly able to stay casual when it comes to you. “Little Miss Sunshine…” he greets with a cool grin, tucking the clipboard under his strong arm.

Your polite smile widens a little at the nickname. “You paged?”

“We’ve got a three-year-old girl. Suspected meningitis,” Robby briefs in a monotone, each word coated in a thick layer of fatigue. “High fever, lethargy, neck stiffness— labs are ugly, too.”

Your features soften instantly. “Oh, poor baby…”

Your eyes dart to the window. You catch only a sliver of the family through the edge of the curtain — young parents, likely in their early twenties, faking teary smiles for their sick baby, who sits in a too-big bed in a too-big hospital gown patterned with so many cartoon puppies.

“Parents are freaking out, obviously,” Jack adds gently, never once taking his eyes off of you. “We thought you could walk them through the admission process before we take her upstairs.” 

“Of course,” you nod, with a voice as gentle as you look.

Jack passes the clipboard over to you and allows his calloused fingers to brush your softer ones for a beat longer than probably necessary. Though if you notice it, you make no mention of it as you flip through the thin pages and follow behind Robby into the dim room. 

The chaos outside muffles when the door clicks shut behind you. 

A young mother — Nia, the form tells you — sits in a chair beside the bed with a wadded tissue clutched in her trembling hands. Her husband, Malcolm, sits on the edge of the hospital bed, wearing the long day all over, as his daughter curls lazily into his side. Ruby Turner is clammy with fever; her round eyes are heavy with it, too. And beneath her chubby arm, is a stuffed animal wearing a lab coat and a stethoscope around its long neck.

“Hi, there…” you greet in a gentle lilt, crouching beside the bed until you’re eye level with the toddler, who eyes your warm smile with a weary suspicion. “I have to say, that is a very serious giraffe you’ve got there, Miss Ruby.”

The girl blinks back at you with sleep-weary eyes; the same dark brown as her mother’s. “Pickles,” is all she can make out through her hoarse throat. The words came out like dry gravel, which rattles harshly in her chest when she coughs hard a second later.

Her dad pats her gently on the back with a wide hand and flashes you a tired smile. “She named him Pickles,” he clarifies.

“Pickles?” you gasp. “I had a dog named Pickles when I was growing up— He looked a little like that one there.”

You motion to the shaggy white dog on her hospital gown. The girl tilts her curly head down and begins pointing at each puppy herself, aptly naming each of them Pickles. It’s the first time the child has been moderately alert, or otherwise has been willing to engage, since she arrived some hours ago. Watching you work feels a little like watching a magic trick.

“Sorry. Hi. I should probably introduce myself,” you laugh warmly and rise to full height again, shaking both of the parents’ hands. “I’m one of the pediatric caseworkers upstairs— My job is basically helping families know what’s happening next. You know, all the boring insurance details, and making sure you guys aren’t going through things alone.”

The mother nods, wiping her nose with the crumbled tissue in her fist. “So what happens now?” she asks, voice teary and trembling.

You nod with a polite smile. “Yeah, so the pediatric unit is gonna start preparing a room for her upstairs, so our doctors can give her the full evaluation she needs— They’ll probably monitor her over the next few nights, too, just to make sure everything’s okay. And you’ll be able to go with her once transport comes, of course, we’ll just need to get everything squared away with insurance while she’s getting tested.”

“So she’s gonna be okay?” the father presses, half-strangled.

You never lie to families. Not ever. It was, as you saw it, the golden rule in any hospital. Jack noticed that about you, too — because he couldn’t help but notice everything about you. But he saw how hopeful you were without ever being dishonest, without ever making promises you knew you could not keep.

“She’s exactly where she needs to be,” you answer carefully. “And she has the best doctors I know taking care of her now. You guys made a great decision by bringing her when you did.”

The mother beside you sniffles. Her exhale leaves her mouth in a quiet sob, which she buries behind her hands before her daughter can see her crying. It’s not quite sad — certainly not as much as it had been earlier that day — but rather it’s a cry of distant relief; the first time all day she hasn’t felt like the worst mother on the planet.

Robby exhales quietly through his mouth behind you — scruffy cheeks puffing, obviously eager to leave. Jack, however, just keeps on staring at you, as you turn back toward the little girl with your voice now lowered in a feigned sort of seriousness.

“Now, Miss Ruby, I’m gonna need your professional opinion on this, okay?”

The girl blinks slowly back at you.

“…Do you think Mr. Pickles needs his own hospital bracelet, too?”

Jack sees the young girl laugh for the first time all day when you’re helping her wrap a plastic arm band around the giraffe’s stuffed leg. It’s basically your superpower, the way you make all the terrifying things feel halfway manageable. By the time you’re stepping back out into the hallway, with Jack and Robby at your side, the family is a little bit steadier than they were before you arrived.

Jack eyes you up and down for a moment, before leaning in to nudge your shoulder with his broader one. Your soft sweater grazes his bare arm, and he gets a faint whiff of your pretty perfume before he leans away again.

“When did you get so good at that, huh?”

Your head whips to the side. You blink like an owl up at him “…At talking?”

“Sure, yeah,” he laughs. “At talking people off the ledge.”

“Oh.” You bounce a shoulder in a lazy shrug, then reach to pull the neck of your sweater back up again when it slips off your collarbone. “I don’t know, I just… try not to sound like a hospital brochure, I guess.”

“Hear that, brother?” Jack quips, reaching behind you to clap Robby on the shoulder. “Try not to sound like a hospital brochure next time, yeah?”

The older man says nothing. He just lifts his hand and scratches at his temple with his middle finger, discreetly flipping him off.

You laugh under your breath and head back towards the elevator, pretty skirt swishing around your ankles. “Try not to traumatize anyone while I’m gone, alright?”

“Can’t make promises like that down here, Sunshine,” Robby calls back. “You know that.”

“Yeah, I’m starting to think we should just keep you down here permanently,” Jack says with a lazy shrug. His freckled biceps flex slightly when he crosses them over his broad chest, swaying back and forth on his feet. “You know, just— bring you into every room before the doctors go in. We’ll call you the Emotional Support Coordinator.”

“Oh, would you?” you scoff a faint laugh and hit the button for the upper floor. 

The doors part with a soft ding a second later. You step in through the threshold and turn to face him once more, giving him a much better view of the smile on your face.

“I mean, it’d certainly make me feel better,” he jokes.

“Well, you’re not the patient, Dr. Abbot,” you retort with a devilish grin. “I’m pretty sure you’ve got a few more years before your geriatric assessment, right?”

“A few,” he echoes sarcastically, light eyes squinted. “My opinion still counts, though.”

You shake your head at him despite the soft grin still dancing on the edges of your mouth. “You’re funny, Dr. Abbot,” is all you say, as you press the panel on the inside of the lift. The doors whir when they slide shut; your grin remains visible between them until hatch closes just ahead of you.

Jack drops his head with a chest-deflating huff when you’re gone.

Robby tries and fails to choke back his laughter. 

“You are officially 0 for 6, brother,” the man jokes. He claps Jack on the shoulder, hard, as his dark eyes squint under the weight of his smiling. “It’s honestly getting a little painful now.”

Jack turns to flash him a deadpanned look. “Shouldn’t you be clocking out now?” he wonders in a monotone.

“Not anymore,” Robby scoffs. “It’s just starting to get fun.”

The pediatric floor was quieter in the mornings, you found, after switching to the day shift some weeks back. It was never truly silent, exactly, but it was still a little bit softer, as the panic from the overnight patients faded into a calmer sort of quiet. 

Cartoon reruns play quietly behind closed doors, while lively children’s music can be heard from further in the main area, down the hall to your right. A softer set of lullabies, meanwhile, plays more distantly from the nursery behind the double doors to your left. And, somewhere within the soft sanctuary of it all, a wailing baby is fighting a losing battle against taking their liquid medicine.

It’s all confetti to you, really, from where you sit behind the reception desk with three different charts open on the monitors ahead of you. 

There’s a highlighter in your hand, a pen behind your ear, a paper cup of cooling coffee between your teeth, and approximately fourteen unfinished tasks glaring at you from the computer screen. 

You have not yet properly woken up — the same way the sun has not quite yet risen over the horizon. Your hair has been haphazardly dealt with, for one. Your cherry-colored sweater is bunched awkwardly at your waist, for another, while the white button-up you wear beneath it sticks out over top of your plaid-patterned bottoms. You vaguely noticed that your socks were mismatched when you slid into your scarlet flats, but were much too tired to bring yourself to care.

You don’t even flinch when the phone rings beside you. You reach for it with your free hand without looking, missing twice before finally plucking the plastic from the hook.

“PTMC—” You falter when you realize you still have the paper cup between your teeth. You scramble to set it back on the desk with the hand not holding the phone. You clear your throat and try again. “PTMC Pediatrics— How can I help you?”

“Morning, Sunshine.” 

Jack’s low voice crackles from the other line. You can practically picture him downstairs in the E.D. just now — leaning against the workstation with a computer glowing before him; with his messy silver curls, and his tired blue-green eyes, and that stupidly handsome half-smile he gets every time he talks to you.

You’re smiling at the thought alone before you even realize it. 

“Dr. Abbot?” you answer. “Do you need something? What didn’t you just page me—”

“Weren’t you the one who said I can call just to say hi before you switched to the dark side?”

(The day shift, he means.)

You scoff quietly and lean back in your swivel chair. “Well, I guess, that is preferable to getting paged about sick babies, so… I’ll take it.”

“Wow…” Jack croons drily. “You always say the sweetest things to me, you know that?”

“Well, what can I say? I’m very charming before seven A.M.”

“I think you’re very charming all the time, Sunshine.”

You falter for a brief moment, unable to tell if he’s flirting with you or if he’s just being nice and you’re the weirdo for thinking otherwise. So you shake the thought from your head and change the subject entirely.

“You sound tired, old man— Isn’t it almost bedtime for you?”

“Almost…” His sigh crackles through the faint static of the landline. “But unfortunately, there’s this case manager upstairs who won’t stop distracting me…”

You exhale a frustrated huff, utterly oblivious as you begin to gossip with him under your breath. “Is Hastings bothering you, too? Because she’s been hounding me about clearing beds up here since I came in an hour ago.”

There’s a long beat of silence on the other line, filled by the sound of distant chatter from the E.D.

“…I’m talking about you, Sunshine,” Jack clarifies.

“Oh…” you trail off, face burning hot. Your brain scrambles further when the light starts flashing on your desk, another call waiting. “That’s, uh— Sorry. There’s— There’s just someone on the other line.”

“Oh.”

You tuck the phone between your shoulder and cheek, fingers whizzing across the keyboard as you type with practiced (only now slightly anxious) hands. “So if you wanna have a conversation, you’re gonna have to trek all the way up to pedes, unfortunately.”

“Damn…”

“Yep…” you hum absentmindedly. “It’s a real difficult journey. Very treacherous elevator ride.”

“Well, you’re making a pret-ty compelling argument here, Sunshine.”

“Goodbye, Jack,” you lilt with a big dumb grin on your face, that you hope isn’t as audible in your voice.

“See you soon, Sunshine.”

You think nothing of his words when you decline his call and take another. You hardly expect to see him now, not when he’s still wrapping up the long night and briefing the day shift that’s trickling slowly in downstairs. He’s about half an hour shy of going home and collapsing face-first into his mattress — and you’re hardly special enough to lose sleep over.

Jack, however, respectfully disagrees. 

And so does Dana, who saunters into the workstation to start her morning, only to find the man hanging up the desk phone with a lazy grin hinting at the edges of his mouth. 

“What’s that look for, huh?” she croons in place of a greeting, shrugging off the jean jacket she arrived in and spreading it on the back of her chair before her.

Jack looks up from where he’s shoving the phone back into its cradle. “What look?” he scoffs. “I don’t have a look.”

“Oh, you most certainly have a look,” she argues.

“I have a face, Dana.”

“Uh-huh,” the older woman deadpans, half-distracted, as she logs into the monitor ahead of her, with her glasses sitting low on her nose. “And right now, that face looks like you’re the main character at the climax of a Nora Ephron movie.”

“…What’s a Nora Ephron?” Jack wonders with furrowed brows.

The corner of Dana’s mouth lifts in a crooked half-smile as she peers at him over the top of her clear frames. “Go ask Little Miss Sunshine about it. She’ll tell ya.”

Jack’s light eyes narrow in a smug sort of look as he strolls slowly past her. “Thanks for giving me an excuse to go up there, Evans,” he quips. 

“Oh, please,” she scoffs. “You were already on your way.”

There’s a newfound skip in his step, along with a faint limp in his prosthetic from the long shift, as he makes the elevator ride up to the pediatric floor — where he’s greeted instantly by soothing lullabies, children’s laughter, and reruns of old cartoons.

He’s swaddled instantly by the dim lighting and the soft warmth — both of which are rare to find in the cold, sterile chaos of the unrelenting E.D. just a few floors down. It’s like entering a whole new world when he steps out of the elevator.

Jack hears your voice, distant at first, but growing louder the further he treks down the hall. “No, I understand the policy, sir. You don’t have to explain it to me again—”

You exhale an annoyed sigh when the man on the other line prattles on, anyway, talking in a slow monotone as if you hadn’t understood him the first time. Despite your irritation, you perk instantly when Jack enters your vision, still in his black scrubs from the night shift, with a new exhaustion etched across his scruffy face.

He greets you with a tight-lipped smile anyway.

Your chest swells with a funny feeling accordingly.

“Sorry,” you mouth apologetically. “Just— one second.”

Jack waves a hand in your direction. “You’re fine,” he mumbles and turns away, idling awkwardly some feet away with his hands in his pockets, pretending not to hover. He marvels at the paintings on the walls, vivid scribbles from children of all ages, as he shifts on his weight — trying to relieve the distant pressure in his artificial limb.

You return to your phone call some feet behind him: “Yes, I get that. But this is a six-year-old going through extensive leukemia treatment— Delaying authorization for inpatient care would—”

You grumble an annoyed breath and drop your head into your hand when the man on the other line speaks over you once more. Jack glances over his shoulder at you, features softening instantly.

“—No, why should his parents waste their time fighting insurance, which should already be in place, by the way, when they could be spending it with their son? How is that fair?” you continue, obviously angry, but still so soft in your way. There’s a few seconds of silence as the person on the other line responds. You nod wordlessly to yourself at whatever they’re saying. “Yes, I will absolutely call back when your supervisor comes in— and every day until this is handled. Alright? Great. Bye…”

You set the telephone back on the hook with a huff.

“…Asshole,” you grumble around your breath, then get all sheepish again when your eyes find Jack’s. You cower under his softened stare. “Sorry… This insurance company’s trying to deny extended coverage for one of our oncology kids— because apparently compassion is illegal now, so…”

Jack musters a weak smile as he closes the distance between you. “I’m sure it’ll all work out.”

“Hopefully…” you sigh, a little embarrassed now, as you shrink further in your swivel chair. “So, uh... H-How was your shift?”

“Better now,” the older man croons, folding his arms along the countertop ahead of you, and leaning in until you can smell the cologne lingering on his skin — a mixture of leather and sandalwood.

“You’re such a suck-up, Dr. Abbot,” you say with squinted eyes.

His face twists into a look of faux-offense. “Well, that’s not a very nice thing to say to someone trying to invite you out for lunch, now is it?”

You brighten instantly. “Wait, really? That sounds so fun! Are Shen and Ellis coming, too— I haven’t seen them in ages!”

Jack’s smile falters slightly at the edges. “Well… Well, no, ‘cause I.. I thought, you know, it’d be just us. You know, you and me. Like a date.”

You blink owlishly back at him. “Oh…”

“Unless— Unless you don’t want to—” Jack stammers, quickly losing his ground.

“Of course I want to!” you blurt, a little louder and a far quicker than you mean to. “I just… I didn’t— I didn’t realize that you, you know, that you… liked me.”

His brows lower in confusion because, to him, it couldn’t have been more obvious that he was into you. He’d spent months tripping over himself to get your attention, including the time he ran into a crash cart ‘cause he was too busy staring at you to notice that it was in his way.

A chuckle sputters suddenly from his mouth accordingly. “I’ve been flirting with you for weeks! I mean, I’ve been calling up here just to talk to you since you changed shifts!”

“I thought you just liked bothering me!” you giggle in return, face burning hot.

“Yeah, well,” Jack tilts his silver head. “I do like bothering you, actually.”

“I like when you bother me, too…” you murmur sheepishly, struggling to meet the man’s unwavering stare as you swivel anxiously back and forth in your chair. You catch yourself smiling wider than you realize when you tell him, “And lunch sounds great, by the way.”

“Great…” Jack exhales a breath he didn’t know that he was holding, that he feels like he’s been holding in for weeks now. “‘Cause Robby’s kinda been threatening to ask you out for me if I didn’t do it myself, so… Happy to save myself the embarrassment.”

Your eyes widen with a girlish sort of horror. “Wait— Robby knew?”

“Sunshine,” Jack grins. “I’m pretty sure the entire hospital knew.”