Happilymarried!Pope who makes everything a onesided competition on who treats their wife best. He just wants to brag how he kisses the ground u walk on because how are they criminals but Cath has to work at a bar??? Uh uh not Pope's wife, she's lapping up the sun by the pool in their house or busy spending his money around, not a care in the damn world hair done nails done in a cute lil car...his card has never graced the leather of his wallet cause its always in her purse
oh my gosh yes, absolutely. oh he's so husband ohhhh i'm sick!! i especially love this with ditzy, bimbo!reader <3 i got a little carried away but it's andrew so it fits! :)
everyone's at the house waiting for dinner to be made, just standing around and chatting. it's hot, bordering on nauseating humidity, and all andrew wants to do is see his pretty wife before dinner. he needs alone time, quiet time in his old room to just sit and gaze at you as you chatter.
but now? andrew's engaged in a mindless conversation with craig, hearing him drone on about his latest hook-up while he stands with his hands on his hips nervously. you're due at smurf's house at any minute, a promise you made as you laid out on the beachfront of your home, waving at andrew as he got in his truck to meet up with the boys earlier that day.
he couldn't stop himself from kissing you. he was 15 minutes late. big fuckin' deal. andrew's family knew he needed his "you time".
deran's cooking tonight, much to pope's chagrin, and the cody's are all a bit anxious to eat the food. "oh no i literally have the pizza place down the block on speed dial" j expresses in between sips of his beer, before deran angrily chimes in from inside the house "jokes on you, dickhead, i catered."
baz sits on a lounger with cath, holding her to his side as he talks to j about an upcoming job. she's sticky with bar-soda stains and exhausted with the sheer movement of a work ethic. staring down at her ring, she runs her thumb over the diamond, wondering how life could've been different. her eyes flicker over to the oldest cody, and she can remember a time when she'd always find him looking back at her. but that hasn't happened in a long time. her shoulders crack with resignation and envy.
a horn honking, a happy squeal from the driveway, and andrew's straightening up his miserable stance. the thick gummy sole of his jordans rub against the concrete as he, quite literally, walks away from craig mid conversation. "bro-" craig shrugs, turning to look at baz in confusion as baz smiles "his girls home bro, you lost him the second the tires pulled in the driveway." craig stomps into the house, but he's not really angry, never could be at pope, "fucker has super hearing, man"
andrew walks to the driveway, shoulders losing their hunch the closer he gets to your bubblegum pop music and toothy smile. it's hard for andrew to smile, he'd often tell you, late in the dark of your bedroom, "'it's like it hurts a bit. hurts my face, i guess" but right now? his smile is beaming; crooked, endearing teeth on display with a light flush. it's probably because his brothers are inside, he never liked smiling with his teeth before you.
"andy!!" you cheer, wide smile and bouncing in lightly between your left and right foot. andrew doesn't even slow his steps, just keeps trudging towards you until you're in his arms. one big hand hooked behind your head for a long, sloppy kiss. waaaay too much of a display for normal public settings. his breath hitches as your hands drag under his t-shirt, nails lightly scraping his sides.
breathing in through his nose, andrew pulls back to look down his nose at you, "missed you. where you been? how was shopping?" "good! really good andy, wanna see?" "later. lemme get a feel for you. missed you so much" with more kisses to your cheeks as he pushes the hair away from your eyes <3
when you go into the yard, you're smiling and waving at the cody's as you hang onto andrew's arm. your ring glistening in the reflection of the pool, cath can't help but swallow bitterly. andrew trails next to you, head fully turned to listen to you rant and rave about the latest sales and the cute clothing you bought for yourself and him. he looks like he could and would eat you whole at the nearest convenience. it's been years, and he still looks at you the same way.
at dinner, you sit on andrew's lap, legs swinging as you bring the fork to his mouth. craig can barely look but deran smiles into his food; it's nice to see pope happy (even if it is gross to witness at dinner). when his iced tea needs to be refilled, you lean forward over the table, his hand resting on the side of your ass to stabilize you. he's not comfy until the weight of his pretty wife is resting on his thighs.
later that night, when you are all cozy and chatting on the couch, you lift your feet into andrew's lap. he doesn't even bat an eye, moving like it's routine.... because it is. slipping off your lil platform flip flops, starting with a massage at your ankle, andrew massages your foot lovingly as he watches the conversations around him. "'s that good?" he speaks lowly to you, and you nod excitedly.
it's almost torture for cath to watch. she was on her feet for probably 9 hours today, and here you are: shiny toe ring, perfectly, freshly manicured toes. begging andrew for a massage, "think i twisted it after i ran out of victoria's secret." his voice sounds alien to her "'s no good baby, gotta watch your step, we talked about this" soooo husbandly and earnest.
Dick was the one who found the photo album. He, Jason, Cass, Tim, Duke and Damian were tidying the attic. A punishment given by Alfred, and approved by you. It was for a mixture of being careless on patrol, sneaking out when banned from patrol the night after, and a build up of disobedience.
The only reason Bruce wasn’t up there with them right now, was because he claimed he had “important work” to finish, but you promised the children that Bruce would join them shortly. Plus, Alfred remarked that the Christmas decorations needed to be found up there anyway.
Dick pulled the album out of an old box, and opened the cover to be met with a photo he had to blink twice to figure out properly.
It was very obviously you in the photo, but much younger. You looked like you were college age, standing with a group of girls that were clearly your friends, judging by the arms around each other.
After flicking through a few more pages, Dick held it out and called, “hey look, it’s all old photos of mom.”
Damian’s head appeared from above the small wall of junk he had built while searching through the different piles. He made his way to Dicks side, stepping over whatever Tim or Jason had carelessly tossed over their shoulders. “Let me see.” He demanded, before humming a little as Dick lowered his hands.
Cass had appeared at the other side of Dick, also interested in the pictures of her mother. Duke had also made his way over, equally as interested. Jason shrugged, deciding that it was definitely better than continuing to clean and walked over. Tim was also interested, wanting to see any picture that he wouldn’t have seen when he was doing his previous research.
When they properly turned each page of the album, they found that the pictures started when you were a baby. There was a picture of you, small with chubby cheeks blowing spit on a birthday cake with a big ‘1’ decoration on it.
A couple of pages later, there was a picture of you, a couple of years older. You had hair that was just past your shoulders, flashing small teeth in a smile with one missing in the front. There was a small note underneath the picture that said “First day of school.”
First school play. Graduating elementary. First day of middle school. First day of high school. Prom, homecoming, and you with your diploma. You throughout different years crouched by a Christmas tree or you with different costumes through the years on Halloween.
That was the first half of the album.
Dick flipped the second half, when you had started college and most of the pictures were now taken by you or your friends, rather than your parents. They varied from different locations, from parties to your dorm room.
In one picture, you’re taking a shot with one of your friends, the clock in the background showing that it was 2:30AM. “And she tells me not to stay out too late.” Jason rolled his eyes, but had no real bite to his words. “She was cool.” Duke said, his voice laced with awe.
When Bruce made his way up the ladder to the attic, the album was open on a page that showed a picture of you getting ready for some event. You had rollers in your hair, and a bathrobe on as you beamed at the camera. The lighting made your eyes sparkle and your smile shine. There was a different look of happiness that the children hadn’t seen on your face. You looked much more carefree, and you had the look of someone that could never fathom the horrors the world had to offer you. It wasn’t that you weren’t happy now, it was just clearly different back then.
“What are you all crowded around?” Bruce asked them, making each of their heads fly up to notice him.
“A photo album of Mom.” Tim answered him before swiftly turning back to the photo album.
When Bruce cast his eye on the photos of you, he didn’t look surprised. A small, easy smile appeared on his face. Cass reached out to flip a couple of more pages, and they reached the section where you had clearly just started your relationship with Bruce.
The picture was the two of you in a kitchen that looked very different from the one in the Manor. Even though it was barely seen in the background, it was clearly smaller, with much simpler looking furniture. You were both dressed in pyjamas, the morning light coming knocking through the window in the background.
The camera was held in your hands, just the upper half of your bodies shown. You were making a face at the camera while Bruce wasn’t even looking at it. His eyes were closed, his lips pressed to your cheek as he stood behind you. Bruce looked younger too. He had some lines on his face, and there were a couple of scratches on his shoulder from presumably the previous night as Batman. But still, younger.
Bruce’s fingers reached out, eager to see more pictures of the two of you from the past. That’s when they heard somebody else enter the attic.
“Are you all doing alright up here?” Your voice was heard before you found them huddled around something in the middle.
“Grayson found an album of you.” Damian answered, already taking a step towards you as you joined their huddle.
You smiled upon seeing the different pictures of you when you were younger. There was a picture of you when you first appeared at a gala with Bruce. Your face was smoother back then, the crease between your brow not yet there. you weren’t yet aged with the stress of having a husband who likes to throw himself into danger every night, and six children who did the exact same.
“I was fairly pretty back then.” You said, “Been a while since that was a relevant fact, though.”
Bruce’s head immediately turned to yours at your words, his mouth opening. But a couple of people got there before him.
There was a chorus of outraged sounds, shouts of confusion and overlapping voices of siblings that don’t know how to speak in turn.
“Absolute nonsense.” The smallest boy at your side said, shaking his head. Damian was acting as if you had gotten a simple question wrong on a test. “You were beautiful then and equally beautiful now.”
“Exactly.” Tim nodded. “You’re gorgeous, mom. The amount of camera flashes when we’re forced to galas should prove it.”
Cass had slid herself close beside you, so that your arm subconsciously went around her. She shook her head at you too, before saying quietly, “very pretty.”
Dick looked downright horrified at your words. “How could you even think that?” He said. “Mom, you’re literally inspiration for like, five different clothing brands.”
“You’re stunning.” Duke declared. “In all these pictures you are. And you are now.”
Jason also tutted. He looked pained to agree with all of his siblings, but he had no choice. “Saying nonsense.” He muttered. “You’re beautiful, ma, always have been and always will be.”
You were silent for a moment before you smiled. “Thank you.” You said, a little sheepish. You pressed a kiss to the top of Cass’ head and ruffled Tim’s hair. “You know how to make me feel special, anyway.”
They continued fussing over you before you eventually reminded them to return to their ‘punishment’.
Later that evening, Bruce found you in your shared en-suite bathroom, washing your face before bed.
He stared at you for a moment, letting that indescribable feeling settle in his body again. Even after years of marriage, gentleness is still unfamiliar to him. He would’ve stayed there for hours if you hadn’t noticed him.
You caught his eye in the mirror before turning to him, “you okay?”
Bruce just nodded before walking the few steps to put his arms around you. “i’m okay.”
and that was enough.
“they’re weren’t lying earlier, you know.” he mumbled into your hair. “when they said you were still beautiful. you are. you’ve always been.”
You smiled against his shoulder. “thank you.”
And Bruce took every opportunity he could to remind you of it. because it wasn’t just your face that Bruce found beautiful, it was everything.
How you loved and cared for his children, how you put up with him and his late nights for years, how you cry and laugh at movies and books, how you treat Alfred with kindness and respect, how you were able to bring in so much love into his life when he thought it wasn’t possible, how you held him even when he couldn’t admit he wanted to be held.
Bruce Wayne might be the best detective in the world, but he’ll never figure out how you didn’t see how gorgeous you are.
Summary: Three surgical residents find friendship in the halls of PTMC, And two of them also happen to find love.
When your father died and left you your childhood home in Pittsburgh, the last thing you expected was to end up where you are.
The house itself felt too big after the funeral. Too quiet. Every room still carried traces of him — coffee mugs left in cabinets exactly where he liked them, old jazz records stacked beside the living room stereo, the dent in the hallway wall from when you crashed your bike into it on Christmas morning at nine years old.
You couldn’t bear the idea of selling it. But you also couldn’t afford to keep it on a resident salary.
You took the surgical residency at PTMC and upon looking for roommates to subsidize the cost of the new house as well as your nearly zero dollar income as a resident, you stumbled upon Emery Walsh and Brendon Park, fellow surgical residents.
Em couldn’t afford anything and Brendon had been dying to get out of his parents house.
The arrangement was supposed to be temporary. Just a practical solution between three exhausted residents drowning in student debt and eighty hour work weeks.
But somewhere between overnight trauma rotations, takeout containers piled in the kitchen, and collapsing together on the couch after thirty hour shifts, the three of you became something dangerously close to a family.
You became inseparable in and out of the hospital. You were a dynamic trio, people often feared you all in the OR due to your cut throat attitudes and lack of emotions. You were all shaping out to be the perfect surgeons.
Attendings loved you because you were efficient. Patients trusted you because you were calm. Other residents avoided getting scrubbed into cases with the three of you because it always became a competition no one else could keep up with.
Emery was brilliant and terrifying under pressure. Brendon was meticulous, almost annoyingly precise. And you were cold in the way only someone desperate to prove themselves could be.
The three of you developed reputations fast.
Residents whispered that the PTMC surgical house never slept.
That one of you was always at the hospital.
That if all three of you were scrubbed into a procedure, the patient was guaranteed to survive.
And amongst all of you also started the tumultuous situationship you have been involved in with the one and only Brendon Park for the last four years.
It started off as these things usually do, a release. Both of you were stressed and too tired to find other sexual partners. So, you wound up down the hall in his bed.
The first time had happened after a brutal overnight shift during intern year. You’d lost a patient. Brendon had found you sitting on the back porch at four in the morning still wearing your scrubs, staring blankly into the dark.
He sat beside you silently for almost ten minutes before offering you half of his sandwich and his beer.
You kissed him before he could even finish chewing.
After that, it became routine. It was unspoken and convenient,
Some nights he ended up in your room. Some nights you ended up in his. And by morning, everything reset back to normal.
Except somewhere along the line, lines blurred, as they normally do in these situations.
It happened quietly for you.
Not during sex. Not during one of the stolen kisses in supply closets or the nights he crawled into your bed after thirty hours awake. It wasn’t during the lazy Sunday mornings where Emery would throw pillows at the two of you for monopolizing the couch either.
It happened on a random Thursday in February.
The kind of Pittsburgh morning that was all sleet and gray skies, where the roads looked wet even when they weren’t and everyone in the hospital was already miserable before their shift started
You walked downstairs half asleep, still tying your scrub pants, mentally preparing yourself for the twelve hour pediatric reconstruction case waiting for you.
And Brendon was already in the kitchen. Because of course he was.
His hair was damp from a shower and he had his glasses low on his nose while he looked over scans on his iPad. The coffee was brewing and the smell was overwhelming in the best way.
Then you saw it. Your to go mug sat next to the pot, the creamer already filled to the exact level you like it.
He didn’t even look up when he heard your footsteps.
“You slept late,” he said casually, filling the mug, and sliding it across the counter toward your usual seat with the lid securely on.
You frowned. “It’s six fifteen.”
“Exactly,” he said, finally placing the iPad down.
You rolled your eyes, wrapping both hands around the warm mug. He reached over absently and fixed the collar of your jacket where it had folded under itself.
The gesture was automatic but it was intimate in the smallest, stupidest way.
And that was the problem.
Because Brendon touched you constantly now. Not sexually. Just naturally, like it was easy.
A hand at the small of your back while passing behind you. Fingers brushing your wrist when handing you instruments. Pulling your hood over your head when it rained because you always forgot an umbrella.
Like loving you had become muscle memory for him… and the realization hit so hard it almost made you nauseous.
You were in love with him.
Not in the fun, messy situationship way where feelings stayed manageable because neither of you acknowledged them. No no no. You loved him in the terrifying way.
The forever way, the way you and Em fawn over in rom coms while Brendon complains about watching When Harry Met Sally again even though he likes it. The kind where you noticed he always ate around the pickles in his sandwiches and gave them to Emery. The kind where you could identify his footsteps in the hallway without looking up. The kind where seeing him exhausted after call physically hurt something inside your chest and made you want to fix it.
You stared at him over the rim of your coffee cup while he annotated scans like none of this was life altering.
And the worst part?
You suddenly realized he had probably been loving you for a long time too, but that couldn’t be true, could it?
Brendon finally glanced up, brows pinching slightly. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
Your stomach flipped violently. And not because he totally caught you, but because you almost said it.I love you.
The words sat right there behind your teeth, dangerous and irreversible, yet somehow easy to say.
Instead, you took a sip of coffee and shrugged lightly.
“Just tired,” you shook your head.
His expression softened instantly.
“Mm.” He stood, grabbing his bag before leaning down to press a quick kiss to the top of your head like it was the most normal thing in the world. “Try not to commit homicide before noon today, okay?”
You snorted quietly, “no promises.”
He smirked and disappeared toward the stairs to finish getting ready for the day.
And you sat there alone in the kitchen afterward, staring at the spot where he’d been standing.
Somehow, without either of you noticing, this had stopped being casual a long time ago.
Ever since that moment, you noticed it all.
It became Brendon automatically making your coffee before your early cases because he memorized how you liked it.
It became you falling asleep with your head on his shoulder during movie nights with Emery.
It became his hand brushing against the small of your back in crowded elevators.
It became rushed kisses in storage rooms and seeking each other out to talk.
It became every person in the hospital assuming something was going on between you long before either of you admitted it to yourselves.
Still, neither of you said anything.
Because saying something would ruin it.
And losing him felt significantly worse than pretending none of this meant anything at all.
It was coming time to pick specialties, and with that it was coming time to pick hospitals.
Offers started appearing one by one.
Emery had already committed to trauma.
Brendon had always been dreaming of ortho.
And you had changed from general to pediatrics, which everyone expected (so they said).
The other two musketeers picked PTMC, but you were the girl who swore she’d never stay in Pittsburgh permanently and you had New York calling your name again.
NYU Langone.
Prestigious. Competitive. Everything you’d dreamed about before life rerouted you back to Pennsylvania.
When you went to medical school in New York you swore you would stay, but your dad got sick and life changed. So you ended up in Pittsburgh for the last eight years.
And every time you looked at the acceptance email sitting in your inbox, your stomach twisted.
Because for the first time in your life, ambition and love were no longer pointing in the same direction.
“Have you told him yet?” Emery said, leaning against the counter besides you.
You scoffed, “why would I do that?”
The two of you were in the kitchen after another late shift. Emery sat cross legged on the counter eating dry cereal straight from the box while you pretended to focus on anything but the acceptance letter open on your laptop.
Emery laughed, “you can’t be serious?”
You raised your brows in response.
“He’s in love with you? Does that ring a bell? God you two are so stupid,” she shook her head.
“Em. Please. We are not in love,” you said matter of factly.
This made her laugh again, harder, “all I’m saying is, he’s going to be upset. And he should hear it from you.”
You nearly flinched at her words, because you knew she was right.
You hated how easily Emery saw through you.
Maybe because she had spent four years watching the two of you orbit each other like idiots.
“Seriously,” she added softer this time, “you guys act like you’re casual but you look at each other like divorced parents trying not to reconcile.”
You rolled your eyes but your face burned anyway, “he’ll survive.”
Emery gave you a look that practically screamed liar. “You know what I think?” she said, hopping off the counter. “I think you’re terrified that if he actually asked you to stay… you would.”
There was a pause, she studied your face, “I’m not going to tell you what to do. But tell home before you leave, Kay?”
You nodded. She squeezed your shoulder as she walked passed you to go to bed.
So, you sat at your favorite bar that three of you typically drank too much at and got carried home from. But this time it was for a different reason.
“You really want to go back to New York?” Brendon asked.
The question came quietly.
You and Brendon sat shoulder to shoulder at the small bar tucked a few blocks from the hospital, the same place you always ended up after difficult weeks. The air smelled like whiskey and fried food and rain soaked jackets.
You shrugged, “other than the house, I don’t really have a lot here.”
That wasn’t entirely true. You had Emery. You had the hospital. And you hated to admit it but you had him.
But admitting that out loud felt dangerous.
“That’s not true, I don’t think you’d be happy if you went back there,” he said.
“Oh, cause you know me so well?” You were testing him, and he knew that.
He let out a breathy chuckle, “cmon don’t make me say it.”
Your chest tightened instantly.
Because suddenly this wasn’t flirting anymore.
You looked down at the drink in your hands, twirling it slowly.
“Give me a reason to stay,” you said it calmly. You turned your head so that you could face him from the barstool you were sitting next to him on.
Your eyes met his but you were met with complete and utter silence. And not the comfortable kind, the kind that swallowed you whole.
His jaw was slightly slack, like there were words right there that he was fighting to keep in.
You could practically see the war happening inside his head. The years of pretending this wasn’t real catching up to both of you at the exact same time.
You sighed and knocked back the rest of your drink.
“Goodnight Brendon,” you grabbed your bag and stood up, “I have a flight to catch in the morning.”
Before he could respond, you turned and left without even sparing him a glance.
You heard him say your name once behind you. But he didn’t follow and you didn’t look back.
Sleep didn’t find you, and when you finally crawled out of bed, you just barely made your flight.
You sobbed the entire one hour and twenty minutes from Pittsburgh to JFK.
The woman sitting beside you kindly pretended not to notice, which you were very thankful for.
You spent most of the flight staring out the tiny airplane window wondering why it felt less like chasing your dream and more like losing something.
By the time plan landed, you locked in.
You changed in the bathroom into your best suit, fixed your hair and makeup.
You pulled out your phone, the anxiety was starting to crawl up your throat. Your finger hovered over Brendon’s contact, before deciding to call Em.
“Hey, you okay?” She answered worriedly.
“Yeah, I— I made it.” You tried to hide the shake in your voice but you knew she could clock it.
You could hear her sigh, “he told me about last night.”
You sniffed, taking a deep, shaky breath.
“Babe. You’re going to go in there and crush this. We’ll be just fine,” she said firmly.
You nodded even though she couldn’t see you, “okay.”
“I love you, okay?” She said softly, “I have to go okay? But call me after.”
“Yeah, okay, I love you too.”
You hung up and stuffed your phone away. You took another glance in the dirty mirror, wiping your eyes.
Time to make this interview your bitch.
To say you crushed it would be an understatement. You stepped out onto first avenue, right outside the NYU building, the chief of surgery shook your hand and you thanked them for your time.
You’d been sharp. Confident. Charming— when necessary. Exactly the new pediatric surgeon they wanted.
After they walked back into the building you couldn’t hide the grin on your face any longer. You pulled your phone out of your bag and realized you were about to call him. Him who you left on the barstool last night. Your grin immediately faded at the thought. You stepped past the people on the sidewalk, reaching the curb to call a cab.
Because no matter how well the interview went, your first instinct had still been Brendon.
Just like when you got off the plane and couldn’t calm down, your first thought is that he would know exactly what to say.
You decided you were going to at least try to enjoy the rest of your New York evening by meeting some med school friends for a drink.
Just as you lifted your arm to hail a car, one stopped short right next to you, so short it made you jump.
But then the back door slammed open, the rider was mumbling thank you’s and throwing cash at the driver before he slammed the door shut and turned around.
Brendon fucking Park.
Your jaw went slack with shock. You were suddenly frozen in place. His eyes found you and he hurriedly made his way towards you.
His dress shirt was wrinkled like he’d slept in it. There were dark circles under his eyes and his hair looked windblown from sprinting through Manhattan.
He pushed his messy, ungelled hair back with his free hand, the other gripped a bouquet so tightly his knuckles were white. You loved his hair like this, the way it looked when he would roll over and plant a kiss on your lips in the morning.
“How’d it go?” He asked breathlessly.
“Really well,” you said simply.
“Yeah?” He asked.
You nodded in response.
For a second he just stared at you like he was reassuring himself you were actually standing there. Like he’d been terrified he missed you.
“Don’t do it.” He said firmly.
Your eyebrows shot up, but he spoke before you could respond.
“Take the job at PTMC. Not this one. Take the attending position at PTMC and be with me.”
“Brendon—”
“No, I mean it. Take the pedes position at PTMC. I know it’s not New York. Hut Em is there. Our house is there. Your favorite sandwich shop is there. Fuck it. I’m there. And I love you. I’ve been in love with you for longer than I even realized. And last night I choked. I thought I was holding you back, I convinced myself that you were better off without me, but I can’t live without you,” his eyes were glossed over and his chest was rising and falling.
You looked at him dumbfounded.
People moved around you on the sidewalk, cabs honked, someone shouted down the street, but all of it faded into background noise.
Because Brendon Park — emotionally constipated, terrifyingly composed Brendon Park — was unraveling in front of you. Publicly and without hesitation.
“Do you want me to get on my knees? Because I will, right here. I don’t care what it looks like,” he slowly kneeled down, placing the flowers next to him, causing you to look around at the small crowd trying to act like they weren’t staring, “we are meant to be together. And if you don’t realize that, I will try to prove it to you everyday.”
A woman walking by audibly whispered “oh my god” to her friend. A cab driver leaned out his window to watch. You wanted to die and kiss him simultaneously.
He took both his hands in yours, now kneeling in front of you on the New York sidewalk.
“Okay,” you said quietly.
“Okay?” He parrotted hopefully.
You nodded, “now please get up before I change my mind.”
Relief crashed over his face so intensely it almost looked painful.
He smiled, pulling himself off the ground, and before he could do anything else, he pulled you in by your waist and kissed you. It was far from soft, it was passionate and you melted into his arms without even trying to.
The people gawking from the sidewalk cheered and you felt like you were having a 90s rom com moment.
For the first time in years, neither of you were holding back. When he pulled away, you were both breathless.
You let out a breathy laugh.
“I love you,” he said with a smile.
“I love you too,” you brought your hands up to hold his face.
Brendon leaned into your touch instantly, his eyes fluttering shut for half a second like he still couldn’t believe this was real. Then he kissed you again.
His hands settled carefully at your waist while yours slid into his hair, soft against the back of his neck. The city noise faded into nothing as he kissed you like he had spent four years waiting to do it properly.
Not rushed between shifts.
Not hidden behind closed bedroom doors.
Not pretending it meant less than it did.
When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against yours and he let out the smallest laugh.
You smiled despite yourself. “This is very bold of you Dr. Park.”
“Oh, I was fully prepared to publicly humiliate myself for you,” he said with a laugh.
He grinned, the kind that only ever appeared around you.
And somehow, against every plan you had ever made for yourself, Pittsburgh became home again.
Not because of the house your father left behind. Not because of PTMC. Not even because of the city itself.
Because somewhere between overnight surgeries, grief, takeout dinners, and four years of almosts, you had built a life there with Emery and Brendon.
The kind of life people spend their whole lives looking for.
Later, Emery would loudly claim she deserved credit for “bullying two emotionally repressed surgeons into communicating,” while you and Brendon argued over who had technically confessed first. Brendon would insist it was him. You would insist it only counted because you said okay.
And for the first time in a very long time, the future didn’t feel terrifying.
The PTMC house would still never sleep.
One of you will still always be at the hospital.
And if all three of you were scrubbed into a surgery, the patient was still guaranteed to survive.
But now, when Brendon crawled into your bed after impossible shifts or kissed you in empty elevators or made your coffee before sunrise, neither of you pretended it meant less than everything.
Thinking of just doing something about Sid and Reader next, with less Pitt crew involvement, like their first time meeting or something! Idk, let me know what you think!
Now that your coworkers had seen your relationship twice in person, they wanted to know more. After seeing the typically stoic captain go soft for you, they constantly asked you questions.
To say it was annoying would be an understatement.
Because now everybody treated your relationship like community property. And you know this is a champagne problem, but you and Sidney valued your privacy deeply. And your coworkers were making it very hard to hold up to your usual standard.
“You never actually told us if he cooks,” Dana said, spinning in her desk chair.
“I answered that one already,” you hadn’t even looked up from the notes you were taking, and your tone was portraying your disinterest in the conversation.
“No, you said he ‘tries.’ That’s not the same thing,” she said, tapping her chin curiously.
Whitaker looked up from his charting across the nursing station, “does he still do the hockey-player thing where he eats that chicken dish before every game?”
You continued writing, choosing to ignore them.
“Answer the question,” Dana said beside you.
Before you could respond, Robby walked into the nurses’ station holding his phone, saved by the bell… or so you thought.
“Your boyfriend’s ruining my department,” he said dramatically, placing his palm on the counter besides you and leaning.
You frowned, “what could he have possibly done?”
Robby tossed his phone on the counter so that it was facing you. Six tickets.
Six seats in your usual row and section. For tonight’s Penguins game.
The entire station exploded with excitement.
“NO WAY.”
“Are those real?”
“Oh my god.”
Dana grabbed the phone dramatically. “I take back every bad thing I’ve ever said about Sidney Crosby.”
“You’ve literally never said a bad thing about him,” Javadi pointed out.
“Because they’re usually said in the comfort of my home after a bad game,” she answered obviously, looking between you and Javadi.
You groaned as everybody immediately started arguing over carpooling.
You pulled out your phone.
You: tickets… really?
His text bubble popped up almost immediately.
Sid: should you be texting at work dr? And just had to thank them for taking care of you after you passed out.
You rolled your eyes.
You: should you be texting from the rink, captain? And you didn’t have to do that… but they’re excited to say the least.
Sid: :) love you. See you tonight dr❤️
You smiled, trying to hide it, before sliding your phone back into your scrub pocket.
“He didn’t have to do that,” you muttered quietly, trying and failing to continue hiding your smile.
Robby noticed instantly. “There it is,” he said, pointing. “That stupid little smile she gets.”
“You people are exhausting,” you rolled your eyes, for what felt like the millionth time in this shift alone.
“And yet we’re all going to the game,” he said with a smirk.
“Who exactly,” Dana started, “is getting one of these six tickets?”
Robby huffed a laugh, “me, you, Langdon, because he would murder me if he didn’t,” he looked around the room of hopeful nurses and residents, “Javadi, because why not,” she “yesed” dramatically in celebration, “Whitaker and Santos.”
Some disappointed grumbles were heard amongst the nurses and other doctors.
“This is the best day of my life,” Langdon whispered to himself, walking to his next patient.
You had taken yourself to the game, needing some peace prior to spending the evening with the same people you spent your entire day with.
You also needed time to perform your pregame ritual and change into your lucky jacket that Side demanded you wear. Put your hair in a bun because that’s what was currently working, and making sure the gold s was hung perfectly around your neck.
You took a deep breath as you sat in the friends and family parking lot, before willing the courage to meet your coworkers inside.
You could not let their presence mess up the routine, because if they lost, you knew Sidney would never let them come to another game.
By the time everybody reached the arena, the Pitt crew had somehow become more chaotic than the actual hockey fans.
Frank looked one step away from cardiac arrest.
“I have never sat this close before,” he whispered, staring down at the glass seats, “I can practically smell the ice.”
Dana rolled her eyes at him, “You’re embarrassing yourself.”
“I don’t care, and that’s brave coming from someone wearing a sweatshirt that’s older than me,” Frank quipped back, glancing down at her faded and ripped Penguins hoodie.
She scoffed, “I had this on when they won the cup and real hockey fan knows you can’t wash the luck out.”
“Did you just admit that you haven’t washed that in ten years?” Frank said with a look of disgust.
Dana murmured “amateur” under her breath before bringing her attention back to warm ups.
Whitaker was already taking pictures of the rink, “this is my first hockey game and this is insane.”
Warmups had just started when Dana looked around suddenly. “Wait. Where’s Mrs. Crosby?”
You were gone.
Frank frowned. “Bathroom maybe?”
“No chance,” Javadi said immediately, “she was right here and then she disappeared suspiciously.”
Robby sighed, “you guys are worse than middle schoolers.”
Then Frank abruptly grabbed Robby’s arm hard enough to nearly dislocate it.
“Oh my God,” Frank said slowly.
“What?” Robby asked, prying Frank’s fingers from his forearm.
“LOOK,” Frank pointed down towards the ice.
Everyone turned toward the glass.
You were standing down near the boards by yourself in what looked like one of Sidney’s old jackets.
And directly in front of you, still in warmup gear, Sidney skated over to the glass.
“Oh my GOD,” Dana laughed, “this is so effin cheesey.”
“He came right over to her,” Javadi cooed.
“Look at his face,” Whitaker said with a smile.
The commotion actually made Santos glance up from her phone and fake a gag at the sight.
“Why did you even come?” Her roommate asked her.
She shrugged looking down at her phone again, “Robby said he would buy us drink.”
Dennis shook his head at her.
Frank looked deeply emotional already, “this is beautiful. My very own coresident, dating the man of my dreams.”
Robby turned his head, slightly confused and not even sure if Frank knew what he just said out loud.
Sidney tapped the glass twice with his glove and you smiled immediately.
Not your polite work smile that you gave to patients to make them feel better. You’re actual smile.
The one the ER only saw occasionally, when he called you, or when you were all out to drinks and you let a little loose.
Then Sidney pulled a puck from his pocket.
Dana gasped dramatically, “NO.”
“He’s giving her the puck?” Frank asked.
Sidney mouthed something through the glass they couldn’t quite hear from afar.
You laughed and shook your head.
Then he tossed the puck over carefully.
You caught it easily.
The entire section around them started cheering immediately, all the surrounding fans whistling and hollering.
Frank clutched his chest, “I can’t handle this.”
Whitaker narrowed his eyes suspiciously, “wait. That looked practiced.”
“Oh it absolutely was,” Dana agreed.
Sidney lingered for another second at the glass, eyes fixed on you with that same unbearably soft expression he always had.
Then one of his teammates skated by and shoulder-checked him hard enough to make him stumble.
You could actually hear the teammate yelling from the seats—
“QUIT FLIRTING!”
The row erupted in laughter, and your cheeks burned bright red.
Sidney flipped him off without even turning around. He gave a shy wave and you blew him a kiss as he skated off.
By the end of the second period, everybody had decided bullying you was more entertaining than watching the game.
Dana pointed accusingly with her french fry, “so. The puck thing.”
“What about it?” You asked nonchalantly, shifting in your seat nervously because of the close score.
Whitaker nodded, “it was very rom-com coded.”
You rolled your eyes, “it’s not romantic.”
“HE LITERALLY GAVE YOU A GAME PUCK,” Frank shouted across everyone from where he was seated.
You rolled your eyes and sighed. “There’s a superstition.”
Frank leaned forward immediately. “A hockey superstition?”
You sighed, already regretting opening your mouth.
“Sid says if he sees me before warmups and gives me a puck, he plays better,” you shrugged, trying to act like it wasn’t your favorite thing he had ever said to you.
“He’s obsessed with you,” Santos said casually, with an eye roll.
“You’re his emotional support doctor,” Javadi said sweetly, “this would be a really good hockey novel. There’s a whole genre for that now.”
You hid your face in your hands while everyone laughed.
Robby looked entirely too entertained. “How long has this been going on?”
“A while,” you said, looking at your popcorn.
“A WHILE?” Dana screeched. “How many pucks do you have?”
“…I don’t know,” you looked up, as if thinking about it, “I guess probably 72.”
Frank looked horrified, “that’s not a guessing number. That’s an ‘I’m counting’ number.”
You muttered into your hands, “please let the ice swallow me whole.”
Javadi was crying laughing now, “this man has hockey rituals about you.”
“He’s Canadian,” you defended weakly. “They’re weird about hockey.”
“You are dating the captain of the Pittsburgh Penguins and he performs girlfriend-based sports rituals,” Dana said dramatically, “honestly, whatever works.”
Your phone buzzed against the table.
Sidney: stop letting them make fun of me…
You immediately looked down toward the ice.
Sidney was staring up at you from the bench already, where he had just returned from the locker room. The smile he wore immediately gave him away.
Dana noticed instantly, “oh my god he texted her.”
Frank looked ready to ascend into another plane of existence, “he can’t text during games.” He said offended, as if he were the coach himself.
You shrugged, holding up your phone, “he can text me.”
Although they made fun of you for what felt like the longest hockey game of your life, you would be lying if you said you didn’t enjoy having them there.
Three days later, you thought you were going to dinner with Sidney.
That was it. It was your birthday, and you didn’t want anything over the top. You just wanted to spend time with him. Since he was in Pittsburgh and had two days of no games, it felt like the perfect chance to actually celebrate your birthday.
Being born during hockey season and dating a professional hockey player usually made it impossible to do something. But, for the first time since dating, you got lucky.
So, he had agreed to just dinner. And you thought that was it, at least until he drove past the restaurant entirely.
You frowned, “Sid.”
“Hm?” He said, eyes still focused on the road.
One hand casually on the wheel, the other mindlessly drawing shapes on your thighs right where your skirt falls.
“Is that not where we were going?” You asked confused.
“Change of plans.” He said firmly, leaving no room for discussion.
You narrowed your eyes immediately.
Then he pulled into the driveway of his own house and you knew something was wrong because there were way too many cars there.
“…Sidney,” you said questioningly.
He looked painfully pleased with himself, smiling before turning to face you. “Happy birthday, baby.”
He hopped out of the car, jogging over to your side and opening your door before you could. You took his hand and let him guide you up the path to the front door.
The front door opened before you could react.
“SURPRISE!”
You jumped so hard you almost dropped your purse.
The entire living room erupted into cheers. It was filled with your friends, family, coworkers, and over half the Penguins roster.
You stared in shock while Sidney laughed beside you.
“You planned a surprise party?” You asked, looking over at him, “for me?”
He shrugged, “you said you never had one before.”
Emotion climbed into your throat so fast it caught you off guard, “oh,” you said softly, “yeah… that’s true. I didn’t think you caught that.”
He pulled you against his side while everyone continued cheering.
You made your rounds while tucked into Sidney’s side, hugging your friends and family.
One of his teammates appeared with a glass of champagne for you and a beer for him, making you smile.
Frank appeared suddenly looking seconds from fainting.
“You did not tell me your boyfriend’s house looked like this,” he whispered, as Sidney talked to one of his teammates.
“It’s just a house,” you said, bringing your champagne to your lips trying to act like Frank wasn’t being weird.
Frank pointed wildly across the room. “Evgeni Malkin is standing by the chips.”
You started laughing, “go get’em tiger.”
Frank grabbed your shoulders dramatically. “DO YOU UNDERSTAND WHAT THIS MEANS TO ME?”
He stomped away to go make small talk and try his best to act normal.
Across the room, several Penguins players were already openly amused by the Pitt crew, Dana and Robby were animatedly explaining their best ER stories.
Sidney disappeared briefly to grab refills, kissing your cheek as he moved and the second he walked away, Dana appeared and leaned toward you immediately.
“He’s in love with you,” she said while wiggling her eyebrows.
You snorted, “you say that every day.”
She simply shrugged before making her way back to her group.
Then Sidney returned, sliding an arm easily around your waist while handing you a drink.
“You okay?” he asked quietly, “I know you’re not big on the party thing. But everyone wanted to celebrate you. And you deserved it.”
The softness in his voice immediately made you smile. “Yeah,” you admitted softly, “you really surprised me. I had no idea ”
A tiny smile tugged at Sidney’s mouth, “good surprise?”
You looked around the room.
At your coworkers laughing with his teammates. At Frank still visibly malfunctioning. At the decorations Sidney had clearly spent way too much time setting up.
Then back at him.
“Yeah,” you said quietly. “Really good surprise.”
His hand squeezed gently at your waist. He leaned down and placed a soft kiss on your lips. For a moment, all the noise faded into nothing and it was just you two standing in his living room.
And then from across the room Frank suddenly yelled— “SIDNEY! GENO SAID YOU CAN SIGN MY JERSEY!”
He pulled away from the kiss, you whipped your head around and glared at Frank.
The entire house burst out laughing.
Sidney sighed dramatically. “Frank.”
“You said we were friends now!” Frank said, throwing his hands up defensively. You groaned, leaning your head on Sidney’s shoulder.
And although it was chaotic, and somehow Whitaker and Santos had taken control of the aux, everyone you loved was there, and you had never felt more thankful.
I DO NOT CONSENT TO ANY OF MY WORK BEING COPIED OR TRANSLATED
This is the masterlist for the ‘Tell Them’ Universe! Here you can find everything about the Seresins!
pairing: jake ‘hangman’ seresin x wife!reader
The Orginal Story
Tell Them
after nearly losing someone very important to him, jake decides it’s final time to reveal his secret to the dagger squad
Telling Them
after nearly losing grayson, things are really put in perspective for jake and he realizes that the daggers are family too.
Told Them – pt.1 pt. 2 pt. 3
after nearly losing his son, jake decides to tell the team about his family and invites them to his home for a cookout
Extras
Meet the Kids
get to know Grayson and Kennedy Seresin
Please, Be in the Chair, Dad
the first time Grayson stands up for his mom
Ask Me
asks related to the ‘Tell Them’ Universe
Santa Photos
More Kids??
Grayson’s Thoughts on Another Sibling
if you would liked to be tagged in this series, please comment or reblog here!! it’ll just help me to keep up with everyone to have a central hub for tags
if you have anything you want to see with this family my inbox is open!!
Thinking about Din Djarin with a Y/n who doesn’t wear armor, know how to fight, and has never shot a gun before. To him you’re a like a delicate flower that could wilt at any moment.
Sure, he’s also got the kid to also worry about. But at least the kid can use the force. You’re completely defenseless.
Which is why he’s determined to teach you how to fight. But let’s say you’re a pacifist. You don’t want to shot a gun or fight or whatever. Din of course takes this as a sign of giving up and he’s pissed. Which is why he’s determined to teach you how to protect yourself. Eventually he finally tells you why he wants to learn. Which is why you decide to learn.
Him teaching you to fight and defend yourself completely makes him feel better. He also finds it attractive after a while that it makes you more self confident in yourself. He also finds it super hot when you hold a gun.
thinking about how the cody compound backyard is so hot that the concrete around the pool almost burns under bare feet.
so she swore that she was “just gonna tan for twenty minutes.”
but that was over an hour ago.
and pope… he’s sitting at the kitchen island near the sliding doors cleaning one of the guns to prep for another job, but his attention keeps drifting outside.
his gaze lingering onto where she’s curled up on the lounge chair, her baby blue bikini— the one with the white ruffles is hugging her curves just right. and her sunglasses slightly crooked, one arm dangling lazily at her side.
asleep.
his eyes narrow slightly and then he stands.
the screen door slides open so quietly as he walks outside, freckled shoulders catching the sunlight while he stalks towards her. up close, he can already see the pink starting to blossom across her shoulders.
“hey,” he says lowly.
nothing.
his brow furrows.
“hey.”
she stirs, nose scrunching sleepily. “mmm?”
“you’re burning.”
her eyes barely crack open. “m’not.”
“you are.”
“five more minutes.”
pope stares at her for a second and then, without another word, he bends down and slides one arm behind her knees, the other around her back.
she lets out a sleepy noise immediately, eyes opening wider. “andrew—”
“shh.”
like that explains everything.
she melts against him almost instantly even though she doesn’t care that she’s getting burnt. the sun just feels so good.
she’s warm to the touch from the sun as he carries her across the patio toward the house like she weighs nothing.
“i can walk,” she mumbles weakly against his warm shoulder.
“you’re half asleep.”
“c’mon baby.”
he ignores her plea.
inside, the air conditioning hits her skin coolly and she sighs into his chest, fingers curling lazily into the front of his shirt.
pope glances down at her and sighs at his view— her breasts are perfectly perked beneath the cotton as she breaths in and out in his muscled arms.
“sun’s too hot for you.”
the way he says it makes her smile sleepily and caress his chest with her index finger.
because what he really means is— all i do it worry about you.
based on this request
wc: 1.2k
pairing: jack abbot x wife!reader
summary: jack has always liked privacy, but one of his biggest secrets is revealed one random afternoon.
c.warning: established relationship (married); mentions of minor injury and minor car accident; reader is a mother; no other warnings i think but if i missed something let me know!
a/n: gooooood it's been so long since i last wrote for jack. i missed him so much! i hope you liked this!
masterlist | requests
for years, jack’s personal life has been locked inside a vault. of course he’d mention you, his wife, from time to time. but always in passing and never waiting too long for his coworkers to asks any personal questions. and it’s not because he doesn’t love you, god knows he’s obsessed with you. but a small, overprotective part of him thinks that by distancing himself from you and your kids when he’s at work he manages to keep you away from the hospital.
he has spent a decade building a wall between his grueling work and the life he cherishes waiting for him back home.
but tonight, the universe has different plans for him.
you sit on the edge of the crinkling paper of the examination table in exam room 4, a dull, throbbing ache radiating down the left side of your neck. every time you try to tilt your head, a sharp reminder of the sudden impact flashes through your muscles. a minor fender-bender on the way home from your daughter's hockey practice left you with a stiff, aching neck, but thankfully, nothing more. next to you, your twelve-year-old daughter is swinging her legs off a plastic chair, her hockey gear bag resting by her feet. she’s still wearing her team jersey and, next to her, your five-year-old son is entirely unbothered by the clinical surroundings, happily coloring on a piece of scrap paper. the minor accident had sent your heart into your throat, but as you look at your children, the overwhelming wave of maternal relief keeps you grounded.
"it seems to be nothing more than a little muscle strain," dr shen says softly, his gloved hands expertly palpating the base of your skull, his expression a soothing balm to the lingering adrenaline in your veins. shen steps back, charting something on his tablet with a soft, reassuring smile. "the kids are completely clear, not a single mark or tender spot on either of them. i’m going to order a mild anti-inflammatory for you and then you are free to go home and rest."
"thank goodness," you sigh, reaching down to ruffle your son's hair. "i just wanted to be absolutely sure they were okay."
outside the glass doors of the exam room, jack is walking fast, clipboard in hand, listening to an intern rattle off a patient's vitals.
“send for dr. fitz, he’ll know what to do. and call me when you get the results. what’s the state of the girl in bay one?”
jack turns then towards the intern as she starts listing the latest lab results on the young patient that just arrived a few minutes ago. he is in full doctor mode. focused, distant, and professional.
that is, until he passes the curtain of your bay, a sudden movement catching his eye. it’s a high, dark auburn ponytail swinging back and forth. a very specific, familiar ponytail.
the same one he usually fights with on his days off as he helps his daughter get ready for practice, earnestly trying to avoid any bumps or stay hairs hanging from the ponytail. jack stops dead in his tracks, causing the intern to almost crash into his back.
jack looks through the pale curtain, eyes widening. the clipboard in his hand feels suddenly too heavy. and it only gets worse once he notices a second head poking though the curtain, this time his baby boy. his entire world is sitting right now in exam room 4.
he abandons the intern mid-sentence, pulling the curtain aside, his usual collected demeanor completely evaporating.
"jack?" shen looks up, surprised by his sudden entrance.
but jack isn't looking at him. he rushes straight to the side of the table, his eyes scanning you from head to toe, wide with a rare, raw panic. "what happened? are you okay? are the kids okay?"
"hey, breathe," you say instantly, reaching out to catch his hand. your fingers lace into his, and the grounding touch immediately lowers his shoulders, though his chest is still heaving. "we're okay. i promise. just a stupid little bumper-to-bumper on the way home from the rink. someone short-braked ahead of us."
your daughter rolls her eyes playfully. "mom took the hit like a champ, dad. you should be proud."
"daddy!" your five-year-old chirps, abandoning his coloring page to scramble off the chair and throw his arms around jack’s leg.
jack immediately drops to one knee, wrapping his strong arms around your son, burying his face in the boy's hair for a brief, fiercely protective second. he looks up at your daughter, reaching out to squeeze her knee. "you're sure you're both okay? nothing hurts?"
"we're totally fine, dad," she reassures him, giving him a warm smile.
only then does jack stand back up, turning his attention fully to you, eyes glowing with adoration and relief. his hand cups your cheek, his thumb gently brushing across your cheekbone. "and you? your neck?"
"just a little stiff," you murmur, leaning into his touch, completely accustomed to how deeply he cares for his family, even if he keeps it hidden from the rest of the world. "dr. shen was just checking me out. he says we’re good to go."
speaking of which… the room is entirely silent as four sets of eyes turn to the doctor.
you look past jack’s shoulder and notice that dr shen is standing there, his jaw slightly slack. on the other side of the curtain, the intern who had been following jack is staring open-mouthed, and a bunch of other nurses, including lena, have paused in the hallway, completely transfixed by the scene.
the great private dr. abbot is currently looking at you with a softness none of them knew he possessed, his hand resting tenderly on your waist while a local little league hockey player calls him dad.
jack blinks, finally realizing the audience he has gathered. he straightens up, but he doesn't let go of your hand, the other one resting on top of your son’s head. he clears his throat, the faint trace of a rare, boyish smirk tugging at the corner of his lips as he looks at his stunned colleague.
"john," jack says, his voice regaining its usual steady cadence, though it's much warmer now. "i believe you've met my wife. and these are our kids."
shen blinks, a massive grin suddenly breaking across her face. "your kids? jack, you have a whole family!”
“i do,” he says, smiling softly.
“and you didn’t think of sharing that information with the group.”
"i like my privacy," jack defends himself. he looks down at his kids, then back to you, the sheer relief of knowing you are all safe overtaking any awkwardness about his secret being out. he leans down, pressing a lingering, sweet kiss to your lips right in front of the entire observation window. " i'm glad you're all safe."
"we are," you whisper, smiling against his lips. "now, can you sign our discharge papers, dr. abbot? we want to go home."
"consider it done," jack says softly. he turns to the staring interns outside with a mock-stern raise of his eyebrows, and they instantly scramble back to work, whispering excitedly among themselves.
as jack helps you down from the table and gathers your son into his arms, you know his quiet, mysterious reputation at the hospital is officially over, but seeing the proud, contented smile on his face as he walks his family out, it’s clear he doesn't mind one bit.
Hi Leah! I had an idea for Hangman. Please no pressure but what if he had a run in with his ex? Something witty for sure! Like Mark Sloan sort of vibes if you get my drift.
Hahaha bet. The Mark Sloan reference gave me LIFE. I can see this happening with ex wife reader? Like an I still love you but this shits not working ex wife—still has his last name ex wife. Still fuck occasionally ex wife. Still hasn’t done anything proactive to go over the wedding band he’d had tattooed.
“Who’s the blonde?” Shooting his shot Jake caught the sight of the blonde talking to Penny by the bar. The tan active service uniform catching his attention.
“Dunno—didn’t see her come in.” Coyote frowns. His arms crossed as he tried to get a read on the back of you. Anything that would give him an idea as to who it was sitting at the bar.
“Well, excuse me—“ Jake smirked as he handed Coyote his pool cue. Making a B line directly for the bar. A space left just for him beside you. “Must suck being on active duty on a Sunday afternoon? All the way out here in Miramar as well—“ He thought he was being so smooth, sliding in with ease beside you as Penny looked at him wide eyed and shocked. There’s no way Jake didn’t recognise his own wife. Well—ex wife?
This should be good.
“I don’t believe we’ve met? I’m Hang—“ Turning to face your ex husband Jake turned the colour of Casper the friend ghost. “Ahh—! What the fuck did you do to your hair!?” God this couldn’t be happening. Your ex husband looking at you as if he didn’t recognise you.
“I changed it.” Running your hand through your hair nervously. Was there something wrong with it? “I coloured it—I just.” Then it hit you like a tone of bricks. Jake Seresin, your legal husband although technically separated, was trying to hit on you. “Wait—you thought I was someone else!”
“What! C’mon Hawkeye don’t be ridiculous.” Jake tried to shrug his obvious mistake off as he reached out to take a sip of your beer. Smacking his hand away you pointed your finger into his chest. Swing around on your chair, your knees in between his.
“You didn’t know it was me and you were trying to hit on me!?” It hurt just a little that Jake hadn’t recognised you, but then again, you couldn’t hold it against him. It had been a few months and you had changed your hair quite dramatically. From a distance and after some time? Perhaps it was possible to forget what you looked like from the back. Although, he’d seen you from behind enough to know the horny details.
“No! No—I pretty much just thought you were, you know.” Under his breath Jake finished his sentence, looking back at Coyote who couldn’t stop laughing. “Just some blonde.” Looking anywhere but your eyeline, up down left and right Jake avoided your gaze. But he still felt the burn.
“Yeah, real mature Jake, pathetic, and slutty—“ Before you really had a chance to rip in any further Jake cut you off with a smirk so fine it had your heart melting. You missed him. So much.
“And you are no blonde!” He missed you, like crazy. “You can’t pull that off.”
“Kinda already am.” Hissing with a cynical smirk you leaned a little closer, your hand on Jakes knee. “Got you lookin—didn’t I?”
“Blondes are either badass or fun, and you’re—you’re a brunette!” You let your eyes linger from Hangman’s to his lips and back. A split second of weakness. “Eyes up here honey.” Jake beamed, biting his bottom lip as you pushed off of him. Sitting up straight in your chair. “It’s good to see you.”
“Spare me the crap Jake.” Taking a long sip of your beer, Hangman watched your lips as they pressed against the lip of the beer bottle. Damn. Letting out a soft growl as he stood, Jake came to stand behind you. His hands fell to your shoulders as he flipped your hair to one side. Coming down to gently kiss you cheek as you hummed, leaning back against his chest as your hand instinctively came up to rest on-top of his.
“I’m serious, it’s good to see you—Mrs Seresin.”
It made your heart flutter, how desperately you both wanted things to work out. But they just never did. Neither of you were willing to let the other go permanently. Legally bound to each other for eternity. In holy matrimony.
“Call me that again and you’ll know what it’s like to meet God.” Turning your head to face Jake as he peered over your shoulder. You kissed him softly on his lips as the rest of the TopGun pilots watched on. Confused—who was the blonde? Coyote knew, he’d been the only one too see the storm that had brought the calm. Slowly pulling away as Jake let his forehead drop against yours. Just for a moment he’d pretend that you were actually his, that things were good. Because when they were good? Things were great. When things were bad? Well—that’s another ball game entirely.
𝐟𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 ryland grace & fem!reader
𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬 you're the medic on the hail mary and come across a photo that must've slipped from your personal supplies which changes the entire dynamic between you and who you thought was your co-worker.
𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 1.6k
𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐨𝐫’𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 i CANNOT believe it has taken people this long to jump on the ryan gosling train. as always, i this nawt proof-read whatsoever #lewl. nerdy silly white boy with biceps, i want you.
you thought you had it all figured out.
well...most of it anyway.
you thought that you know who you are, why you're here, etcetera or whatever, but a single photograph you discovered that had slipped into a nook of the ship has single-handedly destroyed all of the progress you've made in terms of remembering yourself.
your breath shakes just as badly as your hands, and you feel a nervous pounding in your chest accompanied by a pattern of drums in your ears.
this photo can't be real.
you repeat your name in your head. you are an astronaut, and one hell of a doctor. you are on this ship to assist in completing a mission with your co-worker, ryland grace, the only other crew member to survive the journey's coma.
co-worker.
so why the hell are you staring at a photo of the two of you kissing.
there's a little more context to it though, which actually makes everything a hundred times worse.
there's an arch decorated with an array of lush white flowers that frames you both on a sunny spring day, grace is dipping you into the kiss, a beaming expression on each of your faces as he does so. he looks happy, so you look happy, and you're also dressed in a traditional white gown while grace is wearing a tailored suit, but not black, because—
"black is boring," ryland uttered, elbow propped up onto your dining table while his chin rested on his fist. you looked up at him from your laptop where you were browsing websites to get him a suit.
"then don't wear black," you giggled. he reached for your left hand to toy with your fingers, eventually brushing a thumb over your engagement ring. "i thought you said you wanted 'traditional'," he teased.
you scoffed, "i did not say that!"
"you did say that."
"ryland."
"honey," he mocked with a smile. you grinned and smacked his hand away, tending back to your laptop.
"obviously if you don't want to do something, you don't have to do it. and i agree with you, black is boring."
ryland sighed dreamily, tilting his face into his palm after settling his elbow up onto the table again. "i love us. we're so compatible," he hummed.
you smiled shook your head a little in amusement, eyes still on your screen. "you're ridiculous."
"yeah, well, you're marrying me. probably makes you the ridiculous one."
ryland then wordlessly took the laptop from you to scroll through the options, then clicked on one of the sites. he scrolled a little more in silence, squinting slightly even though his glasses were right there that he could've put on. ryland clicked on the touchpad once more before turning the screen to you, dead serious.
"i want this one."
you blinked at the screen. he had pulled up one of the site's photos of one of their models showing off a tacky purple suit and an ugly gold tie, all pulled together by a matching purple fedora. your eyes flicked to your groom-to-be.
"now you're really being ridiculous."
"what's wrong with it?"
"you'll look like a pimp."
"nothing wrong with that," he shrugged.
you snatched your laptop back and deleted the tab with another smile and shake of your head. this time, he smiled back.
"i love you," he uttered.
you looked up again, lingering in those three words. he slid his hand towards you, palm facing the ceiling.
"i love you too," you murmured back.
you slid your hand into his, and ryland laced your fingers together, giving you a squeeze.
you thought you would carry on from there, but of course ryland had to open his mouth again; "even if i dress like a pimp?"
"oh my god."
the memory ended in a flash, and you dropped the photograph. looks like grace settled on a brown corduroy suit with a burgundy tie for a pop of colour. your own voice echoes in your head again; 'the brown will look nice in spring.', as does ryland's; 'i do look incredible in brown, don't i?'
you feel like your wedding ring is burning into your skin.
both you and grace knew you were married via your rings of course, you just couldn't remember who to yet, and it never occurred to either of you that it might've been to each other because why would it?
you take a deep breath, closing your eyes, before picking up the photo again to go find the supposed love of your life.
you navigated your way through the ship with a sense of urgency, photograph clutched in hand. when you heard a crash and a clumsy ‘uh-oh’ coming from the lab, you stopped by the doorway. suddenly the urgency disappeared. maybe this could wait until tomorr-
“who goes there?”
grace’s chair creaks when he leans back to get a peek of you hiding behind the doorframe.
when you look at him now, it all comes together.
ever since the two of you woke up from the coma, there’s been a gravitational pull that brings you two together. in terms of the mission, you operate in perfect unison and create such a steady flow that it makes everything feel oddly domestic. grace flicks a couple of switches there, you repair a part of the control panel here.
every time you both finish a task, it’s tradition to wrap it up with a high-five. however, one time when the two of you got too lost in the work, your fingers ended up intertwined and fell to your sides in a ten second hand-holding session where neither of you flinched.
as soon as the both of you realised, you each recoiled and spent a few beats staring at each other, marvelling at how natural the encounter felt like it was a subconscious effort. all grace could do was clear his throat and walk off, saying something about lunch.
“well, well, look who decided to come back,” grace quips as he wipes down a piece of equipment with a cloth. his glasses are practically hanging off of his face as they so usually do.
“y’had me thinkin’ you were going for a space walk.”
“grace.”
“without a helmet.”
“grace.”
“yeah?”
he finally looks up to see you holding out the photograph.
ryland’s hands freeze before he gently sets down the XRF analyser which looks to be like it was dropped in ramen water.
he rises from his chair, eyes refusing to peel away from the picture as he steps closer. he carefully plucks it from your fingers and slides his glasses onto his face properly to look down at it. white flowers, white dress, and a brown suit, because black is boring.
his head lifts back up to meet your nervous gaze.
“we’re married.”
it sounds like he’s saying it to himself rather than you.
you nod, trying to see through the blank stare he’s giving. dr. ryland grace, possibly one of the smartest men from earth has had his brain turned to mush by a photograph.
“you’re my…we’re-”
“married, yes, i know,” you snap.
“oh my god."
he inhales.
"oh my god..."
he blinks.
he pauses.
"oh my god-"
"grace!" you plead.
"you're my wife, and we're-”
“yes, grace, we’re married. can you please say literally anything else?”
he takes a deep breath, then suddenly hands you the photo again to start pacing around in a circle with his hands on his hips.
“grace…?”
“yeah.”
“are you okay?”
he stops, facing away from you and rubs a hand across his face.
“um…” he pivots to you on the spot, “i think so.”
you remain standing with your feet together, slightly curled in on yourself as you hold the photograph in front of you with two hands.
“do you…remember anything?”
ryland settles both hands on top of each other on the back of his head, inhaling deeply. “i’m starting to,” he says with the exhale, “do you?”
you nod. “bits and pieces.”
you drag your feet over to one of the lab tables and sit on the surface, staring down at the photo.
what now?
“i proposed to you at the beach,” ryland says.
you look up, and in his eyes, you see waves and a bright grey sky. you smile.
“you did,” you hum, setting the photo down on the table next to you. “when you got on one knee, you were too close to the water and it washed up on you so your pants got soaked.”
you giggle at the sudden memory. ryland smiles, “i don’t think i remember that part…”
“yes you do, you’re just embarrassed,” you grin. “and you stayed on one knee to ask the question because you were too proud to admit you made a mistake even though i was laughing at you.”
you’re in a fit of giggles now, and ryland just chuckles as he approaches you. his eyes land on the two bands around your finger; your engagement ring, and the basic wedding ring that so clearly matches his now that he looks closer.
suddenly, he reaches for your hand, thumb grazing over the humble gemstone on the engagement ring. your favourite gemstone, he suddenly remembers.
he lets the tender moment pass, then carefully drops your hand to place his hands on his hips.
“looks cheap. you probably deserve better.”
you give him a look before your eyes drop to the ring on your finger. you twist it a little, observing the gem from different angles.
“no…it’s actually pretty perfect,” you decide.
ryland watches you over the rims of his glasses, his heart beating quicker when he catches the complete genuineness in your tone. his eyes flick back down to the photo next to you on the table.
“we're really married, huh?"
you lift your head, gazing at him with a fond curiosity. what else could you learn to remember about this silly man?
“i guess so,” you hum.
ryland gives a nod and glances down at his own ring.
“okay…” he murmurs.
then, louder; “then let’s be scientists and figure this out.”
hi! can i request “checking them out when they change even after years together” from fluffy list 2 with mat barzal or nate mac?
list no.2, fluff prompt no.16: checking them out when they change even after years together
a/n: did both because they’re both too perfect for this prompt! switched the perspective each guy so that it’s not too similar
mat
you really should be used to this by now. that’s the most embarrassing part.
you’ve been with back for years. years of shared apartments and stolen hoodies and brushing your teeth beside each other half asleep in the morning. you’ve seen him shirtless more times than you could possibly count. since before he hit puberty during summer cannon balls into the pool, and way after that, when he started to bulk up and you were just realizing he was more than just your best friend.
and yet…your brain still short circuits every single time he changes in front of you.
and tonight is so exception to your ogling. mat’s getting ready for some team event you promised to attend with him, moving around your bedroom while you sit cross legged near the end of the bed, pretending to scroll through your phone. pretending being the key word.
because he’s peeling his shirt over his head and your eyes immediately betray you. you catch the flash of smooth, pale skin in your peripheral and your glance up without thinking—and like a moth to a flame, you keep looking.
broad shoulders. the sharp lines of his back shifting as he reaches into the large closet. the little scar near his ribs you absentmindedly trace sometimes when you can’t sleep. the muscle in his arms flexing as he buttons a dress shirt over everything far too quickly for your liking.
then, your gaze drifts lower for half a second. then lower, until it’s obvious what you’re trying to sneak of a peak of.
“you know,” mat starts casually, not even turning around, “you’re not subtle.”
your head snaps up, like a kid who’s been caught with her hand in the candy jar. “I wasn’t—”
he looks over his shoulder at you with the most unimpressed expression imaginable. but he’s also smirking all sexy and syrupy so you know he’s secretly like, loving this.
“you absolutely were.” mat snickers.
heat floods your face instantly as you scoff, “I only glanced. can I not admire my sexy boyfriend?”
“mhm.”
“it was one glance.”
“you checked me out for like thirty seconds.”
you sputter while his grins widens, fully turning toward you now as he fixes the cuffs of his shirt. and the worst part is the he looks unbearably smug about it.
“you’re so full of yourself,” you mumble, going back to pretended scrolling at your phone even though that means only thumbing through lockscreen notifications like a socially awkward school girl.
mat continues, “and you were staring at my ass.”
your mouth drops open. “mathew!”
he laughs outright this time, warm and effortless, and honestly the sound only makes things worse. because this isn’t the first time mat barzal has caught you staring. by no means is this new information.
he’s caught you doing this constantly over the years. walking out of the shower. changing after practice. pulling on hoodies in the morning while his hair is still damp. from when you were kids, just friends to something undeniably more, and up till now. every single time, your eyes follow him automatically like your brain refuses to evolve.
you’d think after this long your body would stop reacting so stupidly to your own boyfriend. but nope. not when you’re in love with someone so goofy, sexy and kind hearted—who just so happens to be obsessed with you too.
mat finishes buttoning his shirt before walking over to the bed slowly, amusement still written all over his face. “you done being creepy?” he raises a brow, looking over you in a way that makes you feel tiny.
you narrow your eyes. “you literally change in front of me on purpose.”
“that’s because I enjoy the attention.” he snickers, like that’s obvious. it makes you groan dramatically, dropping your face into your hands.
it’s only a second later the mattress dips beneath his weight. then half another second for his warm hand to slide around your wrists, gently pulling them away from your face.
“you’re cute when you get embarrassed,” he murmurs, tone fond.
you’re pouting when you meet his tender gaze. “this conversation is humiliating for me.”
“and excellent for my ego.”
that has you glaring at him while he smiles back at you softly, thumb brushing across your cheek “c’mon,” he says quietly. “after all these years, you still get flustered when I show off these…rock hard abs?”
“oh my god,” you grumble, slapping at his chest weakly until you’re both laughing. when you both catch your breathe, you let something honest slip out of your mouth. “can you blame me?”
something in his expression shifts. the teasing softens instantly into something warmer, quieter.
mat’s hand settles against the side of your neck then as he leans closer, forehead brushing yours in the sweetest touch.
“no,” he sighs softly. “guess I can’t.” mat doesn’t need to say that he’s the exact same way. doesn’t need to tell you that everytime you’re not looking, he too is watching you. admiring you like the sun.
then he kisses you slow and lazy like he’s rewarding you for getting caught staring, and honestly? you’re probably going to do it again tomorrow anyway.
nathan
nathan thinks he’s being subtle about it. but he’s not. like, at all.
you notice it constantly—the way his eyes linger for half a second too long whenever you change clothes, or the way conversations abruptly die in the middle when you walk past in one of his hoodies and shorts. and god forbid you’re in some kind of situation were a bikini is required.
and it’s not in a gross way. just in that distracted, completely infatuated way only a man in love could stare at you. like his brain temporarily stops functioning every time he remembers you’re real. and his.
and tonight, as soon as you knew they’re would be a moment when you’d both be in the bathroom at the same time, it would be no exception.
you’re getting ready for one of his teammates birthday dinners at the bathroom counter—slippery with lotion, silk robe wrapped around your frame, and in the process of blowing out your hair. behind you, the shower turns off, and you catch nathan’s thick briny arms shoot out to grab a towel.
he steps out, dripping and covered from the waist down. and even though he’s the sight to behold right now, you can feel his eyes on you like you’re the prize. rhode eye patches and all.
you catch it again through the foggy mirror—nathan’s eyes trailing up your bare legs, the hump of your ass under your robe. when he meets your gaze through the mirror, he looks away, a little embarrassed.
but a smile tugs at your mouth immediately.
“nate.”
he just hums, moving to stand behind you. he reaches past you and grabs your face cream, the expensive one he always steal because he claims it makes his skin feel like clouds.
“you’re staring.” you tell him, eyebrow raised knowingly. you set down the roller, watching him as he tried his hardest not to watch you.
he rubs the moisturizer into his skin in that rough, guy way they all do. like they have no concept of being gentle with themselves.
you turn around fully, arms crossing over your chest. “you just checked me out, mr.mackinnon.”
his expression stays perfectly neutral for all of two seconds. then he loses the battle against a grin. and maybe it’s because you called him that stupid, formal title, or maybe because he’s just so in love with you it’s impossible.
“can you blame me?” nathan hums, tilting his chin down so he can look at you properly.
heat immediately ignites behind your ribs at the blatant compliment. you roll your eyes, mostly because you’re annoyed that even though he’s the one being a lover boy, he’s still managed to make you flustered.
“you’re unbelievable.” you mutter.
“no, I’m serious.” his eyes flick over you again—less subtle this time. “you look ridiculously pretty right now.”
you laugh, because what. you’re oily with product, and warm from doing your hair, and do you even need to mention the under eye patches again?
“that’s not even a compliment.”
nathan shrugs, darting down to kiss the top of your nose because apparently he wants you to melt. “it is in my head.”
you scrunch your face, which makes him snort, before you turn back towards the condensation covered mirror—needing to finish your blow out for dinner—but you can feel him still looking as he brushes his teeth next to you.
it’s gets worse when you start getting dressed a little while later. as you reach behind yourself to zip up the dress, it catches halfway.
“nate?”
he looks up from where he’s waiting, dressed in the fluffy bed spread, immediately. “yeah babe?”
“can you help me?” your practically whine, all contorted like a puppet as you give a last stitch attempt to get the zipper to un-snag itself.
nathan laughs and the mattress shifts behind you a second later. then, only a beat later, his hands are at your waist—warm and steady as he asses the damage.
your breath catches slightly as his fingers brush your back while he carefully pulls the zipper higher effortlessly and with only the efficacy he could. or at least, it should. but, it definitely takes longer than necessary.
“nathan?”
he hums, fingers tickling the bare skin still exposed by your shoulder blades.
goosebumps immediately arise, and you shiver pathetically. “you’re going that on purpose,” you laugh, breathily.
“doing what?” nathan asks, even though he knows exactly what he’s doing. then, his hands flatten briefly against your waist, and you can literally see his reflection watching you in the mirror now, completely unashamed.
“you know what.”
his mouth twitches, “you just look really pretty right now,” he tells you quietly, and the sincerity in his voice completely ruins your ability to stay sarcastic.
because when it comes to nathan, that’s just the thing. even when he’s obviously checking you out, there’s still something soft underneath it. something that makes your chest ache a little because you know he loves you. like he genuinely can’t believe he gets to have this.
you watch him in the mirror leaning beside the dresser as his eyes drift over you one more time, slower now, affectionate enough to make your stomach flip.
“you done?” you ask softly, a shy smile on your face that makes everything feel tilted a little.
a shrug, then—“probably not.” and that’s when he spins your around, half done zipper already forgotten as your chest press together in a familiar press.
you giggle, loving this because you’re hopeless, while your boyfriend just grins with satisfaction, already leaning down for a kiss that will ultimately turn into two, or three or five.
summary: over the years he happily fulfills all of your desires, except the one you want most of all: to see his face.
cw: 18+, smut, unprotected piv, oral (f receiving), rough sex? a little fluff maybe, longing, dirty talk, language
a/n: this is my first time writing Din and I wrote it so fast but I really couldn't help myself after watching that trailer
He was your first. There have been others since, but they’ve never captured you like he did and still does even if it is true that you’ve never seen what lies beneath his helmet. The day he came through the village, you knew right then that there'd never be anyone else like him. Whilst your community was enthralled by the tiny yet powerful companion he brought with him, you were stuck on him. The way he walked, the way he held himself tall, strong, experienced, and you couldn't help but blush any time he lifted his head in your direction.
Din had one rule that you had tried so many times to understand; he'd give himself to you, but you could never see his face. Initially, even though you never showed it, it played on your mind that you were giving yourself to somebody so intimately, yet he never allowed you to see his true self, not without that goddamn barrier. But if you wanted him, and fuck, you definitely wanted him, that was the one small price you'd always have to pay, so you accepted it.
It became a sort of routine. Whenever he felt like it, after good days and after worse days, he'd arrive at your hut in the dead of night when only you would be aware of his presence. Whilst your village slept cast under a peaceful darkness, you’d wait for him, hoping that you'd hear those familiar gentle creaks of the floorboards letting you know that he was here for you.
Whenever he calls, you follow his instructions precisely. Standing facing the wall, you'll listen to the sound of his heavy armor approaching you from behind. He'll pull out the silver silk scarf from his suit and bring it over your head, over your eyes, until it's tied to block your vision. You always sense his silent hesitation before he reaches up to remove his helmet. Once he's naked, he'll undress you slowly, his large palms brushing against your skin, never failing to leave a trail of goosebumps everywhere he touches. Once he has you ready, he'll ask you to surrender your body to him in whatever way he desires: up against the wall, sprawled bare for him on the bed, in his lap, anyway he desires as long as that silver silk remains in place over your eyes.
He claims the blindfold heightens your senses, and he's right. But the more he calls, the more he worships every inch of your body under the darkness, the harder it’s becoming not to defy his rule and remove the barrier between you. The pull to cast your eyes over the man who consumes your entire body and all your thoughts every second of the day is starting to drive you insane.
Tonight should have been no different, except it was. He hadn’t shown for weeks, and the ache inside of you to be with him again was starting to mess with you. You were agitated and irritable, and you knew your friends had noticed. So when the creak of the floorboards came a few hours after the sun had dipped, it woke you from your light slumber, an excitement running through your being. The silhouette of his armor, the soft glimmer of it reflecting under the moonlight as he waited for you to notice him, made your tummy flip. He looks big in the doorway, and his size always has always intimidated you in the best possible way.
Following the pattern without a word exchanged, you stand, padding on bare feet towards the wall opposite him. You listen to his slow steps behind you as he steps inside your room. Like always, you wait for the silk blindfold, but it doesn't come. Instead, in the corner of your eye, you notice his helmet being placed down and hear the gentle clink of his suit as he undresses. His breathing deepens as he steps forward and slips the thin straps of your nightgown off your shoulders, letting the fabric slide down your body like a feather until it lands on the wood beneath you. With his palm snaking around your front, it rests low on your stomach as he pulls you back into him, his soft wet lips laying delicate kisses up your neck before they hover beside your ear. You push your naked ass back into his raging erection, aching to feel him again. God, how you've missed this.
“Please.” You beg.
“Missed me, huh?”
You nod with a bite of your lip. “You know I did. Didn’t know if you were coming back.” Your hands reach up to entangle in those curls you don’t even know the true color of. Fuck, how you wish you could turn and see the man who knows your body and your needs so well.
“Always coming back to you…” He murmurs, and for a moment you know he’s overthinking that comment; he has a frustrating habit of seizing up any time a glimmer of serious affection slips from his mouth.
“What about-”
“Be a good girl for me; promise you won't turn around.”
You nod in agreement, but you're not sure if you can truly keep such a promise.
“Get on the bed, want you on all fours, head down.”
There’s a vulnerability that washes over you when he watches you do this, but every time it excites you, the anticipation, the curiosity of how exactly he’ll take you tonight. Sometimes he’s slow, gentle and caring. Sometimes he feels distant, the pain or sadness radiating from his body. Other times when he tells you he’s had a successful mission, he’s rougher, more daring, and more dominant because the confidence oozes from him as it courses through his veins.
Sensing the dip of the bed behind you, your heart begins to race at the way you feel so exposed yet so fucking good bared open to him like this. As you wait, you notice the coldness of the night air softly blowing through the window landing on your skin. In contrast, his hot breath tickles against your ass makes your tummy flip as you anticipate his next move. The tip of his nose brushes against your lower back, trailing down slowly between the curves of your ass cheeks, his tongue instantly darting out as it reaches its destination to taste your pooling desire. Jolting forward from his actions as your breath hitches, his palms instantly grip onto your waist, holding you tightly in place as his mouth explores your drenched cunt, his hums of satisfaction making you even more horny.
“Always taste fucking divine, my love.” My love. You can't help but latch onto those words the second they escape him. He's never called you that; always a man of few words and you can’t help but wonder if he means it.
You can feel your juices coating his chin as he laps at your folds, his wet facial hair against your thighs. He gets lost in the sounds of your moans while he tastes you, his erection twitching at the sounds. When he stops, you whimper in protest, needing more. His hand smoothes up to the top of your back, pushing hard on your shoulders until your head rests down on the sheets beneath you, your ass still high in the air.
“Please, I need you," you whisper, your ass wriggling, trying to move back into him, but he holds you tightly in place. He parts your ass cheeks with his hands looking down at your glistening folds.
"Shit, it’s been too long. I've missed this view, you all open for me like this, begging for it, baby. Don't think you know what it does to me, d’you?”
His hand comes to your mouth, inserting two fingers deep against your tongue. Pushing them further inside, he gently thrusts them, making you gag around his digits, the vulgar sound making his cock even harder. When he draws them out, the wet pop of your lips makes him groan deeply.
“Gonna kill me one day with the sounds you make. You’re fuckin’ perfect.” He takes himself in hand, his fingers wet with your spit now coating his rock-hard dick before he lines himself up with your soaked entrance. You push back, eager to have his veiny shaft fill you up once again. When he finally stops teasing, the sudden instruction of his thrust pushes your head further into the bed, making you gasp at how perfectly he stretches you. It's like your body forgets just how thick he is.
"Fuuuuck," he groans, reaching down to grab a handful of your hair, “Always so tight for me.”
In the quietness of the night, there’s only the sound of his hips slapping against yours, his animalistic grunts as he drives into you over and over again, mixed with your desperate whimpers muffled in the sheets. You both know you should be quieter; if anyone found you, you know your dad would probably start a war with Din, but when he’s sheathed so deep inside of you like this, it’s hard to care about what anyone else would think. His free hand lightly scratches down your spine before curving underneath you to your tits. His thumb flicks over your hard nipple before he squeezes the flesh hard, maybe a little too hard, but you don't protest because you enjoy being completely at his mercy, willing to give him whatever he needs.
He pulls tightly, wrapping your hair around his fist as his thrusts start to turn ragged and messy. When he starts to feel your walls fluttering around his thick erection, he releases his grip on your hair, reaching underneath your body to pleasure your sensitive bud, desperate to send you racing over the edge before he spills his load. “Yeahhh fuck, that’s it, darling; almost there.”
As he works you, your body begins to shudder against the mattress as he fucks you even harder through your orgasm. “Just like that, let me feel you.”
Your nails dig into the sheets, desperate for grip as you ride out your high around him. When it passes, your body feels weightless as the energy drains from you. It’s only his strong grip on your waist that’s keeping you in place as he chases his own release, his thrusts getting harder each time. When his pants become too quick, he withdraws, releasing a loud, guttural groan into the darkness as he spurts his hot, thick cum onto your ass, breathing heavy like a feral animal.
Utterly spent, he drops down onto you. Your damp, sticky bodies joined together as they recover from your mutual highs. He never stays long afterwards; once he’s sure you're okay, he pulls his armor back on too quickly, rushing away before he could be in any danger of being persuaded to stay, leaving you cold and lonely and wishing for more. But tonight it isn’t going unnoticed how he isn’t itching to flee your bed.
“Am I too heavy?” He hums against your hot skin.
“Hmm, but I like it.” Your voice is soft but tired.
“Need me to move?”
“No, stay… a while longer.” You mumble into the pillow, never wanting to leave this very moment.
You know you need to clean up, but this is the longest you’ve had him like this, thoroughly fucked, not wanting to leave your side, so you refuse to spoil this yet. For once you sense he’s relaxed, his guard down as he allows himself to get lost in the bliss of the intimate moment you just shared together.
As you lift your head slightly from the mattress, the thin slither of moonlight reflecting into your room allows you to see his body. The rise and fall of his bare chest is starting to slow. You watch as he pulls the sheet up over you both until it lies lows on his waist. He takes your hand, bringing it to his mouth to place a soft kiss on your palm before holding it against his chest. While you lie there not saying a word, getting lost in his soft breathing as he falls into a deep sleep, you don’t realize the time passing.
You still haven’t looked up, scared to lift your eyes, to move up his huge form beside you and land on the one thing you’ve never been allowed to see. But with him sleeping right next to you, the temptation, the desperation to flick your pupils up, becomes all too overwhelming.
So when you do finally give in, you’re sure your heat skips a beat. His face is cast softly under the white moonlight, and you can’t help but admire the beauty of it. You’d created an image in your mind from his voice and what you’d felt against your skin over the time you’ve spent with him, and of course you knew he’d be striking, but it was nothing compared to the reality of seeing his face beside you now.
His skin looks a little aged, like his experiences as a bounty hunter are finally catching up with him. His brows are knitted ever so slightly as he dreams, revealing the lines across his forehead, and his eyelids flicker gently as he fights his demons within his sleep. You reach up to examine the soft curls on his head before your eyes drop slowly down over the outline of his face, moving over the patchy facial hair that has brushed against your neck and your thighs a hundred times before. He has a jaw so sharp and rigid, and you wonder how one man could possibly be so handsome, even in such low light. There's a flutter of butterflies building within your stomach as you analyze every single detail and scar on his face. You can tell he’s seen more than anyone should, and you can know he’s still holding onto so much hurt. Jesus, there's so much you would like to ask him; you almost wish you could climb inside his mind yourself to make all his pain disappear.
As you watch him, his head begins to move, left to right and back again. His breathing suddenly becomes faster and more desperate, and you feel his entire body beside you tense against the bed beneath you. Lifting your hand, you cup his face as you look down at him.
You call for him. Nothing. As his nightmare worsens and his body starts to move more vigorously, you refuse to be scared, instead calling his name louder repeatedly until his eyes finally open, landing straight on yours, startled.
For the first time, you're finally looking directly into the eyes of the man you spend your days longing for, the only man you will ever want. In this very moment as you trace a finger along the outline of his face, it feels a thousand times more intimate than anything you’ve done together.
He whispers your name; the sound of it coming from his lips as he searches your eyes makes it sound different than any time before. All his barriers have vanished, if only for a second. He blinks, swallows, and speaks again, his voice louder and more serious. “What are you doing?”
“You were having a nightmare… you were thrashing-”
“Don’t have nightmares.” He cuts you off.
"Din-"
“Have to get back to the kid.”
You shift, moving your head closer to his on the pillow as you stroke the far side of his face with your thumb. “Wait, please... let me in. You don’t have to hide from me.” you search his face, trying to take as much of him in before he inevitably runs away. He reaches up, taking your hand from his cheek with a gentle shake of his head. With a heavy sigh, he sits up looking away so his broad, scarred back hides the view of his face.
He stands, dressing with his back to you. He doesn’t look back until his helmet hides him again. He lingers, glancing down at your naked body sprawled across the bed, and you get the impression he's fighting every ounce of common sense in his body not to stay. But he doesn’t say a word; instead, he disappears off into the night leaving you unsure when or if he'll ever call again.
Summary: You catch Jack behind the curtain with a resident after having the worst morning of your life, but he knows exactly what to say to make you feel better.
Sidney Crosby x the Pitt Reader coming tomorrow! Sorry guys, when I went to bed this fic was winning so I finished editing it first❤️ I hope you can forgive me XOXOX
This is the last place you wanted to be right now.
It was the fourth of July, while you were trying to wrangle your children into their outfits for their friends house, your son fell. It was more of a crash than a fall, missing almost every step on your back deck and hitting the patio. The scream he let out alone nearly gave you a heart attack.
So, that’s how you ended up at the Pitt.
Your husband was moonlighting the SWAT team, given why he hasn’t answered any of your phone calls, once you had kids you made him promise to only help once a year. You knew he couldn’t give it up completely, Jack was addicted to helping others. But you couldn’t handle the stress of him being out in the field. So, one day a year was agreed upon. And, unfortunately that one day had to be when you were rushing your kids to the ER.
That’s why he wasn’t answering any of your calls. Luckily, Robby did, and you were able to surpass the people in the waiting room, being placed in a trauma room for some sort of peace with your seven year old son and five year old daughter. She sat pressed up against your chest, still hiccuping from the sobs she had just barely calmed down from.
She was terrified by the entire ordeal, seeing her brother in pain like that had her also crying the whole way to the hospital. You were trying your best to comfort the both of them, but in reality you were barely holding it together yourself.
You knew how lucky you were to be a stay at home mom, to have the privilege provided by your husband’s career to stay home and care for them. But, some days felt impossible. Especially since it’s summer and the hottest one Pittsburgh has seen in years. As the kids got older, it was harder and harder to keep them entertained.
All you had to do was get them out the door and to their friends house, where you could have a glass of wine and gossip while they splashed around. But you couldn’t even do that. So now, here you were spending the day in the emergency department.
You held your daughter against you, rocking her back and forth, your other hand firmly in your sons, who was holding onto you for dear life.
“Mommy, where’s daddy?” Your daughter asked, muffled into our shirt.
You sighed, kissing the top of her head, “he’ll be here soon baby.” Which wasn’t a total lie, he had a shift tonight, so he had to be here at some point.
A knock sounded at the door before Robby pushed it open, "How's the super star doing?" he asked, looking at your son.
“It hurts Uncle Robby,” he said it so softly it broke your heart.
“Mommy says he’s brave though!” Your daughter butted in, attempting to make her brother feel better.
Robby nodded in agreement, checking the IV on the other side of your son’s bed, “well, we are a little backed up today so we’re still waiting on XRay.”
You pursed your lips, giving him an understanding nod.
“But, I am going to sit here with my favorite god children while mommy takes a little walk,” he said, making your son smile and your daughter perk up. She hopped off your laugh and ran over to him. He scooped her up happily.
He nodded towards the door, where he met you half way.
“Trauma 2,” he whispered.
You furrowed your brows, but decided to just listen to him, you had nothing else to lose and you were truly too exhausted to argue with him. You stepped out, closing the door behind you, taking your first deep breath of what felt like all day.
You walked around the nursing station for a moment, a bit overwhelmed by the chaos around you. You were reading the signs on each door, Robby gave you no directions and seemed to forget that you were in fact not an employee of the hospital.
You finally found your way, noticing the door was open, you let yourself in, but when you pulled the curtain back you gasped.
A very shirtless Jack whipped his head up at you, and you scoffed once your eyes landed on the resident touching his bare back.
“Oh so this is why you can’t answer your phone?” You asked, crossing your arms over your chest.
“What’re you doing here?” He asked, tone laced with confusion.
“I think I could ask you the same thing,” you snapped back.
“I got grazed in the field,” he said quietly. The pretty, young, probably very smart, resident froze behind him.
“YOU WERE SHOT?” You exclaimed.
He shook his head, “grazed.”
Samira excused herself, disposing of her gloves and passing you to leave the room.
“Unbelievable,” you said under your breath before leaving your shirtless husband in the trauma room by himself. You could feel everything from the day coming to a head. You felt like an awful mother, you hadn’t eaten, it was ninety seven degrees outside, and now your husband was shirtless with a resident behind a curtain? Is this why he wanted to do SWAT so bad? Why he worked so much? Was it all a ploy? You pushed the thoughts aside and tried to focus on your son.
Jack stared after you for half a second, completely blindsided. Then his brain caught up. What were you doing in the ER?
He shoved past the curtain immediately, pulling a shirt over his head while ignoring the pain in his shoulder, he jogged down the hallway. By the time he rounded the nurses station, you were already disappearing back into the room Robby had tucked you into.
Jack pushed through the door fast enough that your daughter jumped.
“Daddy!” She launched off the bed toward him and he caught her automatically, one arm around her while his eyes immediately locked onto your son.
The panic in him shifted so fast it nearly made him dizzy.
“What happened?” he asked, crossing the room in two strides.
Your son’s face was blotchy from crying, arm wrapped carefully against his stomach while the IV sat taped to his hand. The second he saw Jack, his lip started wobbling again.
“Hey, hey, buddy…” Jack’s entire voice softened as he crouched beside the bed. “What hurts?”
“My arm,” he whispered.
Jack carefully pushed his auburn hair back from his forehead, his cheeks red and somehow emphasizing the freckles that matched his. He checked him over with practiced eyes despite the adrenaline still pounding in his veins. He looked at the splint, then the monitor, then finally at you.
You wouldn’t look at him. That almost made his stomach drop harder than seeing his son in a trauma bed.
“What happened?” he asked again, gentler this time.
“He fell off the deck,” you answered flatly, still looking at your son and not him. “Robby said they’re waiting on XRay.”
Jack inhaled sharply through his nose. He looked back at his son immediately, keeping his expression calm despite the horror creeping up his spine. “You scared mommy pretty bad, huh?”
His son nodded miserably.
Your daughter was still clinging to Jack’s neck, sniffling quietly into his shoulder. Jack kissed the side of her head automatically before standing again, “you okay, peanut?”
“I cried,” she admitted sadly, “I was worried about JJ,” her tiny voice wobbled.
“I can tell you were brave though,” he said reassuringly.
That finally got the tiniest smile out of her. Jack looked at you again but you still wouldn’t meet his eyes.
“Can you stay with them for one second?” he asked quietly.
You shrugged, “been with them all day.”
Jack sighed and carefully handed your daughter back to you before stepping out of the room.
The second the door shut behind him, Robby looked up from the nurses station knowingly.
“Well,” Robby said, “you look like you’re about to throw up.”
Jack scrubbed both hands down his face, “she thinks—” he started before stopping himself with a groan. “Jesus Christ.”
Robby leaned back in his chair. “Yeah. Probably don’t love that she walked in on you half naked with Samira.”
“It wasn’t— how did you even know that?” He asked
“Oh, word spreads fast at the nurses station. And I know what it wasn’t,” Robby interrupted. “Does she?”
Jack’s jaw tightened, “no.”
Robby sighed. “She’s had the kids alone all day, Jack. Your son gets hurt, she can’t reach you, she ends up here exhausted out of her mind, and then she sees that.”
Jack leaned his palms against the counter, guilt washing over him in waves now that the initial panic about his son was easing.
“What even happened?” Robby asked.
“Samira was helping me clean up because I couldn’t reach the wound,” he said in a low voice,gesturing to his shoulder.
Robby nodded once, “then go tell your wife that.”
Jack looked back toward the room.
“She looked embarrassed,” he admitted quietly. “Not angry. Which is arguably worse.”
That made Robby soften a little. Jack exhaled hard.
Samira was young. Pretty. Brilliant. Confident. The kind of woman who was never overwhelmed by the thought of what to make for lunch or covered in popsicle stains and sunscreen. Meanwhile you’d spent the day carrying two terrified children through an ER after your plans blew apart.
Jack suddenly felt sick thinking about the look on your face.
“You’re supposed to start in a few hours, right?” Robby asked.
Jack nodded distractedly.
“Go home.”
Jack blinked. “What?”
“I’ll cover your first few hours. And Santos owes me a favor anyway.” Robby pointed toward the room. “Your wife needs her husband more than the hospital needs another attending tonight.”
Jack stared at him for a second before nodding slowly, “thanks.”
“Don’t thank me yet,” Robby muttered. “You still gotta fix it.”
By the time Jack walked back into the room, XRay had already come and gone.
Your son had finally calmed down enough to watch cartoons on the small TV while your daughter had curled up asleep against your chest.
You looked exhausted.
Jack’s chest physically ached at the sight of you.
“Hey,” he said softly.
You gave a small nod but kept your attention on your daughter. Jack sat carefully beside your son first, pressing a kiss to the top of his head.
“They said they think it’s just a fracture, buddy. You got lucky,” Jack said pushing his hair off his forehead.
“Can I still swim tomorrow?” He asked with bright eyes.
Jack smiled a little despite himself. “Probably not tomorrow.”
His son sighed dramatically and Jack looked over at you again, “I took the night off.”
That finally got your attention, “you did?” You tried not to let the hopefulness you felt seep into your tone.
Before he could answer, the door pushed open revealing Whitaker.
“I’ve been sent to relieve you both for a minute,” he turned to your son, “is it okay if I hang with you for a minute bud?”
JJ nodded shyly and you passed your daughter to Whitaker, he took a seat and you mumbled a thanks to him, knowing Robby assigned him this duty.
You followed Jack out into the hallway and into a small on call room right around the corner. He pulled the door shut before turning and looking at you.
“I should’ve answered my phone.”
You looked down immediately, “you were working.”
“I still should’ve answered.”
Silence settled between you. Jack moved closer carefully, and sat on the small cot, patting the spot next to him. You sat down and exhaled, rolling your shoulders back.
“You wanna tell me what that was out there?”
You swallowed hard.
“It was nothing.”
“It wasn’t nothing.”
You laughed once under your breath, tired and humorless.
“I just felt stupid.”
Jack frowned immediately.
“Why would you feel stupid?”
Your eyes finally lifted to his.
“Because she’s beautiful,” you admitted quietly. “And young. And smart. And you were standing there shirtless with her behind a curtain while I look…” you gestured vaguely toward yourself, “…like this. I wasn’t paying attention and he fell and now he’s hurt. I should’ve been watching him, and—“ your voice broke as you spoke so you stopped, taking a shaky breath.
Jack looked genuinely confused for a second before his face completely melted. “Baby.”
The nickname alone nearly cracked your composure.
“That’s what this is about?”
You looked away again, embarrassed now that you’d actually said it out loud.
Jack reached over carefully, taking your free hand, “I got grazed.”
“That somehow does not help your case.”
He actually laughed softly at that before shaking his head, “she walked in looking for a patient, I was trying to clean the sound but I couldn’t see or reach it, so she helped me. That’s it.”
You nodded once, still not looking convinced.
Jack leaned closer, “hey.”
Your eyes met his again.
“I do not see her. She’s nothing more than a coworker.”
Your expression softened just slightly.
“But I see you everywhere,” he said quietly. “In every room of my house. In my kids. In my entire life.”
Your eyes immediately glassed over, “Jack…”
“You think I want twenty-five year old resident?” he asked gently. “I want my wife. The one who keeps our entire world running while I play cowboy with SWAT once a year.”
Despite yourself, you huffed out a tiny laugh and Jack squeezed your hand.
“You’re allowed to feel insecure sometimes,” he murmured, “but don’t ever think for a second I’m admiring anyone but you.”
Your face crumpled a little then, exhaustion finally catching up to you.
Jack leaned over immediately, pressing a kiss against your forehead carefully so he wouldn’t wake your daughter.
“I’m sorry I scared you today,” he whispered.
And for the first time all day, you finally let yourself lean into him. Jack stayed there for another moment, his forehead resting against yours while your breathing finally started to slow.
His thumb rubbed softly against your knuckles.
“You know this wasn’t your fault, right?” he asked quietly.
You swallowed hard. “I should’ve been watching him better.”
“No.” His answer came instantly.
You pulled back slightly, eyes glossy. “Jack—”
“He tripped on the deck stairs,” he said gently. “That’s what kids do. They fall. They get hurt. It doesn’t mean you failed him. He’s a kid. You work so hard to take care of them both. You didn’t do anything wrong.”
You looked down at your lap, voice barely above a whisper. “It felt like I did.”
Jack’s chest tightened painfully. He shifted closer on the cot until his knee pressed against yours, “look at me.”
Reluctantly, your eyes lifted.
“You are an incredible mother,” he said firmly. “Do you hear me?”
Your lip trembled again.
“Our kids are happy. They’re safe. They’re loved beyond belief.” His expression softened. “JJ was only calm because of you, you make him feel safe.”
“And our little girl,” he continued quietly, “calmed down the second you held her.” A small smile tugged at his mouth. “You walked into an ER alone with two terrified kids and somehow kept both of them together while you were scared out of your mind.”
A tear slipped down your cheek and he brushed it away carefully. “You didn’t fail today,” he whispered, “you handled it like super mom.”
You let out a shaky breath and leaned into him again, your forehead falling against his shoulder. Jack wrapped an arm around you immediately, holding you close.
“And I’m done with SWAT,” he said softly into your hair.
You stilled. “Jack…”
“I mean it,” he said it gently, but with enough firmness to know there was no room for discussion.
You pulled back enough to look at him, “but you love it.”
“I love adrenaline,” he corrected gently. “I love helping people.” His hand slid up your back slowly. “But not enough to keep scaring my wife every time my phone stops working.”
Your eyes welled again immediately, “I don’t want you giving it up because of me.”
“It’s because of us,” he said firmly. “Because today made me realize something.” He glanced toward the hallway where your kids were waiting. “I already have the most important people I’m ever gonna save.”
Your face crumpled a little at that. Jack smiled softly and kissed your forehead again.
“So no more SWAT,” he promised. “No more one-day-a-year compromise. I’m done.”
You searched his face carefully like you were trying to see if he meant it.
“You swear?” You asked quietly.
“I swear,” he answered confidently.
The tension in your shoulders finally eased for the first time all day. He stood then, holding a hand out toward you.
“C’mon,” he said quietly. “Let’s go get our babies.”
The second you both walked back into the room, your daughter perked up in Whitaker’s lap, now awake.
“Daddy!”
Jack grinned immediately, opening his arms just in time for her to launch herself at him for the second time today.
“Hey, peanut.”
Whitaker looked relieved to hand her over. “She’s bossy.”
“She gets that from her mother,” Jack replied easily.
You rolled your eyes while JJ sat up straighter in bed.
“Are you staying?” he asked hopefully.
Jack looked over at you once before smiling at his son.
“Yeah, buddy. I’m going home with you guys,” jack answered as Whitaker slid out the door, leaving just your family.
JJ’s entire face lit up. “Really?!”
“Really.”
Your daughter gasped dramatically. “No hospital work?”
Jack shook his head, “nope.”
JJ looked at Jack suspiciously, “so… since you’re coming home…”
Jack narrowed his eyes playfully. “What?”
“Can we get ice cream?” He asked sweetly, “since it’s mommy’s favorite.”
You laughed for the first time all day, “oh very thoughtful of you baby.”
Jack looked over at you, smiling when he saw your laugh.
Then he looked back at his son dramatically, “buddy, after the day we’ve had?” He stood, still holding your daughter against his hip. “I think ice cream is medically necessary.”
Both kids erupted immediately.
“YES!”
Your daughter clapped excitedly while JJ nearly bounced despite the cast.
“You hear that?” Jack said seriously to his son. “Doctor’s orders.”
You shook your head, smiling despite yourself. Jack caught your eye from across the room. And for the first time since the phone calls went unanswered earlier that day, everything finally felt okay again.
In the dark of the night, Din always calls you by another woman’s name. And it’s starting to wear on you.
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Those Eyes by @beyondspaceandstars
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Kar’taylir by @the-archxr
the four times Din Djarin almost says it, and the one time he does. alternatively, the four times you almost say it, and the one time you do
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Sight Unseen by @/reedispunk
over the years he happily fulfills all of your desires, except the one you want most of all: to see his face.🔥
Silk and Beskar by @cherrycokeispunk
Din Djarin takes a job from a Hutt-linked merchant on Nal Hutta, thinking it’s just another bounty. But the “payment” isn’t credits: it’s a human girl, held in a palace cruiser full of the kind of moral compromises he usually avoids.🔥
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