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Writing/Main Blog: @xreader1989
RECOMMENDATIONS
Marvel: Bucky Barnes Johnny Storm Matt Murdock Benjamin Poindexter
DC: Clark Kent Bruce Wayne
The Pitt: Jack Abbot Michael Robinavitch Frank Langdon Dennis Whitaker Brendon Park
Animal Kingdom: Pope Cody
TLOU: Joel Miller
Project Hail Mary: Ryland Grace
Star Wars: The Mandalorian
Sports: Sidney Crosby Joe Burrow Mat Barzal
Recs by Tags (more characters here)
🔥 - smut
divider by @dollywons
can you write a fic about sidney crosby having an innocent shy seeming girlfriend but one day in the locker room he takes his shirt off and has marks all over him and his teammates are all shocked and can’t believe it
𝐦𝐲 𝐦𝐨𝐨𝐧, 𝐦𝐲 𝐦𝐚𝐧 ⋆ ༅˚🌺 •
sidney crosby x reader blurb
pretty short lil thang i cooked up for you all ! hope we love. made with 2000s sid in mind but could definitely be dilfed if you'd like. very vaguely beta'd because im lazy
The consensus among the Penguins was that they loved you.
How could they not? You’re an angel on earth, who somehow managed to tame their captain. It’s amazing, actually, how you’ve clearly lowered the cortisol of a man who can give himself a nervous breakdown in two seconds flat.
You’ll come into the locker room, bearing cookies, and the whole room’s attitude will change. You’re just so shy, and you have this stupidly soft voice that makes Sid’s big, tough teammates feel dumb for being anything but soft as well, around you.
It's safe to say that you're very loved in that locker room. You could not tell those boys that Sid’s girl did a thing wrong. This is why the locker room fell into a total, shocked silence on a random night after a win.
The mood is high, but Sid is fucking exhausted. All he wants to do is go home to you and sleep. The conversation he’s currently having with a rookie is secondary in his mind to putting on his street clothes. The moment he pulls the compression shirt off his shoulders, the rookie, seemingly shocked, looks away nervously. Sid blinks at him for maybe a second before the entire locker room goes quiet.
“Holy shit, Sid! Did you lose fight to bobcat?!” Geno’s booming voice breaks the silence. Turning towards him, Tanger lets out a low whistle.
“Jesus Christ, Sidney Crosby!” “What? What are you all talking about?” “Your back! You’ve been mauled!”
Sid’s brows furrow before he realizes. Across his broad, muscular back are multiple rows of deep, angry scratch marks that expand from his collar down the expanse of his spine. He helplessly touches his back from the front of his neck, and looks around at the dozen men looking at him.
“Oh.”
He sighs, rubbing his forehead and trying very hard to deflect. To stop them from connecting dots.
“...Shut up,” he grumbles, quickly putting his shirt on to hide the marks that you so lovingly placed on him last night.
“Wait…” somebody says very quietly, of which Tanger picks up the slack.
“Stop! That was that… the… Sid!? That was that girl!?”
“No. No! With the lemon bars and the cookies!?” Geno yells, and the tips of Sid’s ears are bright red at this point. He is violently packing up to go home.
“She climbed you like tree, Sidney! How long are her nails?!” “Alright, alright. Jesus.”
He’s looking up, ready to never look any of them in the eyes again, and finds his team all staring at him. Again.
“What? She’s shy around you guys. Not me.”
The entire room erupts, and Sid’s fighting back a stupid, smug smile after he says it, and finally leaves.
He opens the door to his house, greeted by your dog, and cannot refrain from setting his stuff down on the floor to say hi to her. He’s cooing at her when you get to the door.
“Hi, Sid,” you start, smiling ear-to-ear. “How was- oh!”
Immediately, in the foyer, he takes his shirt off—not even in a heated way (which has happened), just… taking it off.
He stares at you. You stare at him. “Uh… Hello?” Sid huffs, before turning around, displaying the scratches his entire team saw. “Oh, wow,” you say softly, reaching forward to trace the scratches.
Sid looks over his shoulder, smiling smugly at her. “You were hungry last night, huh, baby?” You giggle, pushing yourself up on your tiptoes to kiss the side of the cheek you can reach. “Always. Your back is just so… big.” Sid smiles, turning around to face you, instinctively wrapping both arms around your waist. “Oh yeah?”
“Yes. It’s very distracting,” you observe, running your hands all over his bare chest.
The expression Sid gave you can only be described as dopey. “Can I kiss you?” He asks. He always asks. It melts you every time. “Yes, Sidney, you can.”
hiii short ik but i hope it's cutie,, this is such an adorable prompt i hope ive done it justice !!
The way you beautiful, genius fanfic writers have ruined books for me. I literally open books and I immediately think they’re bad.
But they’re not, you amazing people just write with so much depth and emotion. Now I can’t even read a book without comparing it to fanfics.
Expectations
Jack Abbot x fem!reader (non Pitt reader)
Word count: 2.4k Masterlist
The three times you think Jack is keeping you a secret and the one time he proves he’s not.
You stared at the lunch on the counter for a long minute before deciding on whether or not to do it.
You grabbed the bag and your keys before you could change your mind. Jack was covering days. Between the usual night shifts and the extra day shifts, he was exhausted.
The drive to the hospital was short, and when you hopped out of your car, you realized you had never been here before. You had only been seeing each other a few months, and a work visit in the middle of the night wasn’t your typical forte.
You pulled your phone out and called him.
“Sweetheart? Is something wrong? Is everything okay?” His voice rang through, worried.
“Oh yeah, you just forgot your lunch, I’m outside. I don’t know where I should go in?” You said tentatively.
“Um, give me ten and I can come find you,” he said quickly.
“I don't mind coming in, I can leave it with someone,” you suggested.
“No,” he said quickly. “Um, no, no need.”
He hung up the phone.
Was it the hospital? He didn't want you seeing the everyday horrors he tried to keep you away from? That had to be it.
But you couldn't help the feeling of insecurity that started to bubble in your stomach. Did he not want you to meet everyone? Was there someone specifically he didn't want you to meet?
Ten minutes stretched into nearly twenty.
You stood awkwardly near the front entrance, watching doctors and nurses weave in and out of the automatic doors. Every few seconds someone laughed with a coworker or stopped to hug a family member before heading inside.
Finally, Jack jogged through the doors.
“There you are,” he smiled, pressing a quick kiss to your forehead before taking the paper bag from your hands.
“You okay?" he asked.
“Yeah,” you said, plastering an easy going smile on your face.
“You didn't have to drive all the way here,” he said, his eyes holding your gaze.
You shrugged, “I don’t mind.”
“Thank you, love,” he said quietly,
There was another awkward pause.
You glanced toward the lobby. “So... this is where you disappear every night.”
He laughed softly, “pretty much.”
Then his pager went off.
“I have to get back in there, I’ll see you tonight for dinner,” he gave you a quick kiss before all but running back inside.
And then he was gone before you even had the chance to ask him how his shift was going.
You watched him disappear through the sliding doors.
Not once had he turned around.
It was almost two months later when the phone call incident occurred.
“Your phone is ringing!” you yelled from the kitchen, but to no avail.
Jack was taking his post-shift shower, probably enjoying the hot water and a moment of peace.
So, you put the phone to your ear and answered, “hello?”
“Jack— oh, sorry... who is this?” A man's voice carried through the speaker.
You said your name, only to be met with a moment of silence.
“Who?” he asked quickly, but before you could respond, he answered himself, “actually, it's okay. Can you just tell him Shen called?”
Shen.
His coworker.
You'd heard his name in dozens of stories.
You don’t think he meant to sound dismissive or rude, but it was coming off that way.
You tried to keep your voice light, “um, yeah.”
“K thanks,” the line clicked dead.
Your mind spiraled so quickly you hadn't heard the water shut off or your boyfriend pad into the kitchen.
“Honey?” He came up behind you, nearly startling you.
His grey curls were damp on his forehead, and his sweatpants hung low on his hips.
He was so unfairly attractive you almost forgot why your chest suddenly felt tight.
“Shen called,” you said quietly, “he asked you to call him back.”
Jack reached for his phone without thinking, “thanks.”
He noticed your expression almost immediately, “you okay?”
Years of reading people and their injuries as a doctor left very little room for you to get stuff past him.
You hesitated, “does Shen know about me?”
Jack looked up, “what?”
He took a deep breath, hating how crazy you felt, “he didn’t know who I was… when I picked up the phone.”
He blinked.
You tried to laugh, “it was just kind of awkward.”
He rubbed the back of his neck, “I don't really talk about... my personal life at work.”
The words landed heavier than he intended. He opened his mouth to continue his explanation, but you interrupted.
“It’s okay,” you said with a practiced smile, “I get it.”
Because he'd met your coworkers, your friends, your family, but you couldn’t help but feel like he was purposely keeping you separate from the rest of his life.
Maybe this was more serious for you than it was for him?
Everyone important in your life knew him by name.
Yet somehow the people he spent twelve hours a day with had never even heard yours.
The third time nearly sent you into a psychosis.
The coffee shop was small and quaint.
It was the perfect blend of comfort and actually good coffee, which was hard to find these days while living in a world of eleven dollar lattes.
When you got your drink, you nearly walked into the woman standing behind you.
She had bright blonde hair pulled into a small ponytail and looked like she commanded any room she walked into.
You mumbled a polite apology, and as you stepped around her, your eyes caught the PTMC badge clipped to her scrub top.
Dana Evans.
Jack's stories made this woman sound like an absolute force of nature.
You felt like you were standing before a celebrity, “oh my god... Dana?”
You felt a pang of embarrassment as you just acted like a fan sitting in front of their favorite actress.
She looked up with an amused smiled, “I’m sorry, hun. Do I know you?”
You laughed nervously, “um no, I’m sorry. I’m Jack— Jack Abbott’s girlfriend.”
The smile on Dana's face froze, “night shift attending Jack?”
You nodded, suddenly feeling hyper aware of every movement you were making, “yeah.” You felt so small.
Dana's eyebrows lifted just enough that anyone else probably wouldn't have noticed, “you have a boyfriend named Jack Abbott?” she asked carefully.
You nodded again, not sure how much clearer you could be.
She smiled politely.
“It was nice meeting you,” you said, before walking around her. You decided to spare yourself any further humiliation.
No, I've heard so much about you.
No, the pictures don’t do you justice!
No, Jack finally found someone.
No, You're the girl he disappears to after shifts.
Nothing.
She hadn't even known he had a girlfriend.
You got into your car and placed your head on the top of the steering wheel, willing yourself to not spiral.
Maybe he was just private.
Or maybe you weren't as important to him as he was to you. You didn’t know what to do with yourself. So, you drove to his apartment. You were supposed to meet him there anyways, might as well get this over with now.
The apartment was quiet when Jack came home.
You were curled up on one end of the couch with a book open in your lap, though he was fairly certain you hadn't turned a page since he'd unlocked the front door.
“Hey, sweetheart,” he leaned down to kiss your forehead.
You accepted it, but your smile didn't quite reach your eyes.
His brow furrowed, “you okay?”
“Can we talk?” You asked quietly.
You could see him tense as he sat down on the couch next to you, “yeah. What's going on?”
You looked down at your hands, “I met Dana today.”
His eyebrows lifted, “what?”
“At that coffee shop I like, by the park,” you explained, “I recognized her because you talk about her all the time. And I saw her badge and it clicked.”
He smiled faintly, “that sounds about right.”
“I introduced myself to her.”
The smile faded.
“I said I was your girlfriend,” you took a deep breath, “and she had no idea who I was.”
Jack was quiet for a moment, “I don't really talk about my personal life at work.”
“I know that,” your voice cracked despite your best effort to keep it steady, “you told me that after Shen called.”
“So—”
“So I'm trying to understand why,” you interrupted him.
He rubbed a hand over the back of his neck.
You scoffed at his silence, growing frustrated, “you spend twelve hours a day with these people.”
He nodded.
“They know what coffee you drink, they know you’re a veteran, that you’re from Boston,” you looked up and held his gaze, “am I right?”
His jaw tightened, but he nodded.
“But they don’t know you have a girlfriend?” You sounded small again, the same way you did with Dana in the coffee shop.
“It makes me feel like I’m a secret, from something or someone, I don’t know,” you ran a hand down your face.
His head snapped toward you, “what?”
You laughed, but there wasn't any humor in it.
“I honestly started wondering if you were embarrassed by me,” you admitted.
His face fell, “what?”
“I know it sounds ridiculous when I say it out loud.”
He leaned forward, putting his elbows on his knees, “no because that's insane. It shouldn't even be a thought in your head.”
“Well it is.” You said firmly.
Silence settled between you.
He exhaled heavily, “I never wanted you to think that."
You looked at him with a blank face, “then… why?”
He took a minute to think before looking up at you again, “because you're mine.”
You blinked, “what?”
He shook his head, “not mine like…” He sighed, “god, that sounded terrible.”
You gave him a tight lipped smile, “it did.”
He huffed a laugh, searching for the right words, “my job is loud. Everyone is in everyones business, in and out of the hospital. It’s like a pit of gossips and rumors.”
You listened without interrupting.
“I hated the idea of anyone making judgement about me and you before getting to know you. You’re younger than me it’s no secret, sweetheart,” he glanced over at you, “I just wanted you for myself.”
You reached out and grabbed one of his hands in yours.
“I liked having one thing that belonged outside those walls, to me and only me,” he looked at his hand in yours.
“I didn't want everyone talking about you… or us,” his shoulders slumped, “so... I just never mentioned it.”
You were quiet for a long moment, “I can understand that.”
He looked hopeful.
“But they don't even know my name,” you said quietly.
He nearly winced at how sad it sounded, how hurt you sounded.
He looked at you again, “I was so worried about protecting what we have that I never stopped to think what it looked like from your side.”
A sad smile tugged at your lips, “it looked like you didn't want anyone to know I existed.”
He scooted close, taking your other hand, so he had both of them, “I hate that I made you feel that way. I love you, so much.”
He laughed quietly at himself, “I guess I got a little selfish.”
“Selfish?”
“I liked having you all to myself,” his thumb brushed over your knuckles.
He smiled sheepishly, “i didn't realize keeping you to myself also meant pushing you away from this huge part of my life.”
You softened slightly at his words, “you really weren't hiding me?”
He looked almost offended by the thought, “honey,” he leaned forward until his forehead rested against yours. “I’ve been trying to convince myself you're real since the day you agreed to go out with me.”
A tiny laugh escapes you and you smiled, despite yourself.
He kissed your forehead, “I love you.”
“I love you too.”
Less than a week later, things felt better than they ever had before.
“Get dressed,” Jack called from the bedroom.
You looked up from your phone as you were sprawled out on his couch. You went to question him, but he answered before you could, like he read your mind.
“I promised Robby I'd stop by O'Malley's after shift,” he said casually from the bathroom, “I want you to come.”
You blinked, “really?”
He looked confused, “yeah.”
You locked your phone and put it down, getting up and walking to the doorway of the bathroom.
“And you’re not just inviting me because you think that’s what I want? Because of the talk we had last week?” You crossed your arms over your chest.
He smiled at you, “no honey, I want you to come.”
You nodded, biting back the excited smile, “okay, I’m gonna go change.”
The drive there was quiet on your end, you couldn’t help the nerves that were eating at you.
Jack rested one hand on your thigh the entire way, absentmindedly rubbing circles with his thumb while he told you about his day.
By the time you walked into the crowded neighborhood bar, your nerves had settled deeper into your stomach.
“You made it!” Robby called from the high-top table.
Dana looked over first. Then Shen. Then Lena.
There was a younger group huddled close to them, also hospital workers you assumed.
All four of them watched Jack approach.
“Everyone,” he said easily, “this is my girlfriend.”
Robby slapped the table, “we finally get to meet this mystery woman that makes him smile at his phone.”
He leaned over and kissed your cheek in front of everyone.
Robby lifted his beer, “to Jack finally showing human emotion!”
Dana rolled her eyes and Lena smiled into her drink.
The banter continued, and you even joined in on it when it felt right. Jack bought you a drink, and all your worries suddenly felt far far away.
For the first time since you'd stood outside the hospital with a forgotten lunch in your hands, that knot in your chest loosened.
Tags (all): @ilocuras24 @nyxmoretti @kmc1989 @destinyg237
Tags (the Pitt): @sexychickenmagnet @thehockeynerd30 @woderfulkawaii @renegadebirch
i just KNOW jack gets physically sick whenever teenager chubby does regular teenager milestones such as prom or graduating, like he actually cannot (or will not) compute that his little baby is growing up and she isn't a little bean that babbles anymore
Prom is awful. Everyone sees a seventeen-year-old girl in a dress that put a dent in Jack's bank account. He sees the glaring little bread roll they brought home from the hospital. Gummy smiles. The toddler who used to put toys on the bed while he was sleeping. The little girl who called his prosthetic Leggy.
You're already crying while putting on Chubby's necklace for her, and Jack looks ill.
"Dad, you look like you’re gonna throw up."
"I’m fine."
You look over your shoulder and take a glance at him. "Sit down before you ruin her pictures with a cardiac event."
"I said I’m fine."
Jack is sweating, and when Chubby's date arrives, he tries his best not to be mean. He'd chew off his remaining leg than become the reason her prom memories feel ugly. No, no. He is polite.
He's just curious, is all. He asks where they’re eating, who is driving, who else will be with them in the car, whether his phone is fully charged, whether he knows how to perform first aid---
"Dad, stop interviewing him! You know him."
"I’m checking for competence. And making small talk. I can't make small talk?"
When Chubby's date tells her that she looks beautiful, Jack realizes he can't punish the boy without indicting himself. She looks so much like you when he first realized he was already ruined over you. Bright, nervous, trying to pretend she doesn't know how beautiful she is.
This adolescent bastard is looking at his daughter with the same expression Jack once wore for you.
Still wears. To the point that he's surprised his face hasn't gotten stuck and that his heart hasn't given out by now.
He can only stare at the floor and grow nauseated while you cry and hug Chubby. He has prepared himself for a quick hug. He's not gonna embarrass her. No speeches and no asking her to stay home and watch movies with them instead.
...She already promised she'd do that with him and you tomorrow, anyway.
But then his girl, not so little anymore, is shockingly brave enough to wrap her arms around him first, whispering softly enough that her date probably can't hear.
"I'll always be your and Mommy's baby. So stop freaking out."
When she leaves, Jack throws up.
Graduation is worse for simpler reasons. It's hard to stand up when Chubby crosses the stage. It's the folding chair. By the time he stands, she's already got her diploma in hand.
Three seconds of her graduation are wasted because his baby's moving faster into her future than he can physically keep up with. Maybe it's irrational to be devastated over that. He doesn't give a shit.
He applauds anyway, though. Hard enough that his palms sting. His face stays static until Chubby finds them in the crowd and waves.
She does the same floppy-handed wave she would do as a toddler.
When he begins to cry, you think it's his heart first.
"Jack?"
His baby is not gone, but he can't pick her up again. Where did the nightmares she would cry out to him for go? He did too good a job of scaring them away. Good parenting is supposed to make your child need you less. Fucking awful.
"...Thank you for giving me a family, Sleepy."
After graduation, everyone comes back to the house. Chubby's still wearing her cap, moving between relatives and coworkers, accepting gifts and hugs. But Jack disappears.
You find him in Chubby’s childhood bedroom, sitting on the edge of the bed with one of her many stuffed animals in his hands. She got that from you. You and your girl share a collection.
Still, although she's like you in that manner and still embraces her inner child with complete confidence, the room hasn’t looked so obviously like a child’s room in years. Chubby's replaced most of the pink with darker colors, posters, books, makeup. But her beloved Bun-Bun sits on her bed. Always.
Jack runs his thumbs over the ears. You lean against the doorway before coming over to sit beside him.
"You're missing the cake."
Jack swallows what is probably bile.
"I don’t know what I’m supposed to do with all the versions of her that are gone, kid."
At that, you can only rest your head on his shoulder.
"They’re not, Jack. They’re inside the one downstairs, eating frosting with her fingers even though she’s technically she's going to be an adult in less than a month."
"I keep thinking I had more time."
...And how do you tell him that he did, but that it was never gonna be enough for him? That no amount of prep could've readied him for her growing up?
That he could've had fifty more years of babbling, sticky kisses, tiny shoes, and Chubby falling asleep against his chest, and he would still demand a thousand more nights where his little family was kept in his grasp?
"Dad! Mommy! Uncle Robby’s trying to cut my cake all wrong! Uncle Robby, stop!"
Jack shoots up from the bed.
"Fucking knew it."
And how can you get him to stop obsessively thriving on the fact that she still needs him? That both of you do?
"Daaaad!"
knock next time | sidney crosby
Pairing: celebrini!reader x sidney crosby
Prompt: when your younger brother and his best friend, Mack and Will, decide to surprise you at your Pittsburgh apartment, they get more than they bargained for
requested!
Growing up in the Celebrini household was never a dull moment, especially not as the oldest child. It was rinks, practices, someone yelling about losing their hockey bag, yelling over who took the last piece of dessert. But it was also full of love, that was always a given. And there was no one you loved like your siblings.
That’s part of the reason these last 11 months have been so hard. Not because your family is scattered, not because you live in Pittsburgh, which is approximately 3,000 miles away from your brother, but because you’ve been hiding something from them all.
That something?
Sidney Patrick Crosby.
You roll out of bed, trying to wiggle your way loose from Sid’s grasp. He just groans in response, pulling your body flush against his.
“Sid.” You whisper with a morning voice and a giggle. He groans again, his eyes still closed as his lips find your temple, then your cheek, then your lips. You kiss him back like a woman possessed, it happens every time Sidney kisses you. But you manage to pull back, even though your body is screaming at you to jump his bones right now and worry about coffee, and the headache you’ll get if you don’t have any, later. “I’m going to go start some coffee.” You whisper, your voice sultry in your boyfriend’s ear.
“Looking like that?” Sid questions you, his eyes raking over your bare form. You stand, your back towards him as you turned your gaze over your shoulder, his eyes staring at your ass.
“Come find me after your shower you hound.” You joke, stealing his penguins shirt off the ground, making sure to bend over very very slowly. Sidney groans as you leave the bedroom laughing, the soft glow of the morning casting your apartment in a golden glow.
You love Pittsburgh, at first you wondered what the hell you were doing as you spent your first night alone in the apartment. Your entire family had helped you move in, buying furniture, building the furniture, and listening to Mack and Aiden argue over the furniture. But it’s been two years since then, and almost a year since you and Sid have been attached at the hip. But that also means, it’s been almost a year of lying to everyone you love. Especially Macklin.
Macklin was your rock, your little brother who you looked after your entire life. And now he’s in San Jose, now he’s 19 and playing his heart out with his best friend Will Smith. Will, who you’ve also adopted like a little brother.
You smile thinking about them, about how excited they are to be coming to Pittsburgh in a few weeks. The family dinner was nearly impossible to plan with everyone’s schedules, but they all found a way, and that is the night that you’ll be introducing them to Sid.
It’s not like they don’t know him, or know of him. Macklin knows him in a ‘I’ve played against you and looked up to you my entire life’ kind of way. But you want them to know Sid, not Sidney Crosby the hockey player, Sid the boyfriend who basically lives with you. The boyfriend who refuses to let you drive anywhere, the boyfriend who redid your spare room so you could continue to write your novels from home, the boyfriend who cares more about you being a famous author than he does about being a famous hockey player, the boyfriend who has never once let you feel anything except larger than life.
These thoughts fill you with ideas for your next book, and it’s not like you haven’t based characters off Sidney’s actions before. The ideas fill your head as coffee starts brewing, and as the shower turns on from deeper in your apartment.
A little while later you grab your designated mugs, still deep in thought as you smile. But the peace of the Pittsburgh morning died. It died in the way that at 7:14am, your apartment door unlocks. And Macklin Celebrini and Will Smith enter your apartment with wide smiles.
“Surprise!” Mack yells, his smile fully on display, a drink carrier with three coffees in his hand, as Will smiles behind him, a brown bag clutched in his.
“Mackie.” You state, shock settling deeply around you. Your eyes blow wide as everything clicks.
The pair of shoes by the door which are obviously not yours, the bottle of men’s cologne on your countertop, the Pittsburgh Penguins shirt you’re wearing, which is way too big to be yours and houses CROSBY 87 on the back in big gold letters, and of course, the sound of someone in the shower. Of Sidney. Your boyfriend. Your secret boyfriend. Your very secret and very naked boyfriend.
“What?” Mack asks, his wide grin fading just a bit as he sees your shocked face. But that’s not the only thing he notices. His eyes scan your place, they catch the shoes, the bottle of cologne, the shirt that is way too big and way too worn covering your body. And of course, he clocks the sound of the shower turning off.
Will chokes as he realizes too, but it’s Will who’s eyes go wide when he realizes who’s shirt you’ve got on.
“Is… is someone here?” Mack asks quickly, his eyes going wide as he stares into your still wide eyes.
Your soul leaves your body, and you stay quiet not knowing what to say.
“Mack-“ Will says but you interrupt.
“Mackie, just-“ you start, but it’s too late. Too late because there’s the sound of the door opening, the sound of rustling, and the sound of footsteps coming closer to the kitchen.
And then it happens, Sidney Crosby walks into the kitchen. One of your white fluffy towels hanging dangerously low on his hips, and another towel drying his hair which is dark and dripping down his muscular back and chest.
“You better hope this hickey goes away before practice tomorrow otherwise the guys are going to-“ Sid stops when he realizes, he didn’t just say that to you. In fact, he said that to three people, two of which, are your little brother and honorary brother.
Macklin stares at his idol, Will stares between the two of you. Sidney just stares at Macklin. For a moment, nobody moved, and nobody spoke. Until your brother, to no one’s surprise, loses it.
“WHAT THE HELL!” Macklin exclaims, Will taking the carrying tray out of his best friend’s grasp as Mack starts waving his arms around.
“Oh my god.” You whisper, a hand going to your forehead while Sid’s hand tightens on the towel around his hips, like he remembered how he looks, and who it is standing in front of him.
“Is-“ Mack starts, green eyes so wide as he stares between you and Sid. “Sidney-“ he starts talking again but it’s like he can’t get out a full sentence.
“Morning, Macklin.” Sidney says, you can tell he’s a bit nervous by the way his muscles move. But he’s also still relaxed, like he’s not letting himself freak out.
“MORNING?” Macklin repeats. “Morning? You’re in my sister’s apartment basically wearing a fucking hand towel and you say morning?”
“It’s a regular towel.” You say, a bit offended that he insulted your fluffy white, and insanely expensive, towels. Behind Mack, Will now fully loses it. He sets everything down on the entry table and covers his mouth with his hand. His shoulders shaking as he tries to turn away.
“Will!” Macklin exclaims, turning around to watch his best friend try not to double over in laughter. “Stop laughing!” Macklin exclaims, but that only seems to make him laugh harder.
“I’m sorry,” Will says, waving a hand in front of him. “I’m sorry this is just the funniest thing that’s happened to me all year.” He says, wiping under his eyes as he continues to giggle.
“Sid.” You whisper, and your boyfriend’s gaze shoots over to you immediately. “Maybe go put some clothes on?” You say, and Will busts out with a new fit of giggles.
“Isn’t that a little hard when you’re wearing his shirt?” Will asks, and Macklin makes a pained noise as he really takes that fact in. You stare at Will as threatening as you could as Sidney awkwardly scratches the back of his neck as he tries to contain a laugh from Will’s comment.
“I’ll be right back.” Sid says, his smile unable to be contained as he turns down in the direction of your bedroom.
—
It didn’t take long for Sidney to come back in a pair of sweats and a black t-shirt. The shirt hugs his arms perfectly, and you have to drag your gaze away before your little brother notices. But Sidney does, he always notices. And he gives you a wicked little smirk before turning his attention back to your little brother.
“Macklin-“ Sidney starts as he sits down next to you on the couch, the younger players standing in front of the tv, facing the both of you like they are parents who caught you guys doing something bad.
“How long?” Mack asks, and for the first time since entering your apartment and finding out your secret, he sounds hurt instead of angry.
“A while.” You say with a slight wince.
“A while?” Mack echos. “How long is a while?”
“Just under a year.” Sid finishes, and his hand takes yours. His fingers interlinking with your shaking ones. “We were going to tell you.”
“When?” Mack asks.
“Dinner.” You say immediately, and you want to crawl into a hole as you see your brother’s face.
“Like the family dinner?” Will asks from beside Mack as you nod.
“Why didn’t you-“ Mack starts but stops himself as he really takes you in. Takes in the way you and Sidney are, the way he knows that if he were to raise his voice again Sidney would step in front of you, the way his hand is wrapping around your slightly shaking one. The way Mack knows that keeping this from him all this time must have been killing you. “I’m not mad, Y/N.” He finally says, the tension dropping slightly from his shoulders. “I just-“ he pauses, his fingers running through your hair. “Why didn’t you feel like you could tell me?”
That carved a part of you open. Not, why didn’t you tell me? But, why didn’t you feel like you could tell me?
You see him clearly for the first time since he walked in, your younger brother. Your younger brother who has done nothing but support you your entire life. Your younger brother who looked at you for years like you hung the stars for him.
“Because it was new at first.” You finally say, staring at Mack, your hands still squeezing Sidney’s. “And I didn’t want the world to know, we didn’t want the world to know. With both of us in one form of the media we just wanted something that was… ours.” You explain. “Plus, he’s Sidney Crosby, and I have the Celebrini name.”
That fact causes your boyfriend to shift you more into his side, and your brother for the first time looks like he might understand why you kept it secret.
“I didn’t want people to assume stuff because of who we are.” You say, motioning towards you and Sid. “And, I didn’t care what they would say about me if they found out, I still don’t. I just care about him.” You say, and everyone stills.
“Y/N.” Sid whispers, his voice so soft.
“So you hid him because you love him?” Will asks, the joking smile replaced with a genuine one.
“Yes.” You say, and you feel the familiar press of a kiss to your head.
“I’m sorry this is how you found out.” Sidney says. “But I’m not sorry that you know. And I’m definitely not sorry for all the time I’ve gotten to have with her.”
“Oh my god.” Mack says, finally sitting down on the couch.
“So you’re like, in love in love.” He says, laughing for the first time today.
“Yeah Mackie.” You say with a laugh. “We’re in love in love.”
“Fuck.” Mack says, laughing loudly now. “Do I have to pretend I don’t know?” He asks suddenly.
“Just until dinner.” You say, hoping he’ll agree. It’s quiet for a second until Mack nods and agrees.
“So!” Will says, clapping and bringing all the attention to him. “I’m exhausted and I cannot keep the comedy up unless I’m fed.”
Sidney lets out a genuine laugh before he agrees.
“I’ll start something up.” He says, letting go of you but not without a soft kiss.
“Oh god. Right in front of me.” Mack complains, but you see his smile before he covers his face.
“I have more questions.” Mack says, as he follows Sid into the kitchen and rapid fire asks everything he can possibly think of.
How did you guys meet? Who made the first move? Do you live here? Do any other hockey players know? Do the Penguins know?
Sid meets them all with honesty and laughter, and his answers make Will fake a groan with how sweet they are.
“I love her, Mack.” He says finally once Macklin seemed to exhausted all his questions. “I have for a long time, even before we started dating. I know that probably sounds like a lot, and maybe it is.” He confesses, but he keeps talking. “I loved her before I had any right to. Before I knew if she’d ever look at me that way, before I knew if this could be anything more than me hoping she’d text me back, or finding reasons to ask about her day, or noticing every time she laughed at something I said and trying not to make it obvious that it melted every wall I’ve ever had.”
Your breath catches as you hear it, and Sid turns his attention to you for only a second before turning back to your brother.
“She loves you very much Macklin. I need you to know that this secret wasn’t because she didn’t trust you, and it wasn’t because she wanted to keep you out. But she wanted to protect it until she knew how to show it to the people she loves most, which is you. Both of you actually.” Sid says, pointing to Mack and then to Will.
Your heart clenches as Will sits down on the couch now too, smiling a bit as he hands you the coffee he and Macklin brought in.
“Can I ask something?” Macklin says to him, and Sid just nods, stirring batter in a bowl. “Are you guys worried about, I mean, I’m not trying to be weird, but are you guys-“
You cut him off before he could finish. “The age difference?” You ask, one eyebrow rising.
Macklin nods, looking a bit sheepish at that question, but you understand.
“No.” Sid says with warmth but also with confidence. “I mean we know people will talk, but people aren’t in this relationship.”
Your heart warms at that. That no matter what, no matter the age or the circumstances that fans can and will put you through, no matter any of it you know Sidney Crosby is yours and yours alone.
It doesn’t take long for the four of you to settle down, to laugh, eat, and the boys to all chirp each other.
You’re standing in the kitchen, watching the three of them talk, and for the first time in a very long time, you let yourself breathe.
Because Macklin Celebrini, your little brother who used to cry at the thought of you growing up and moving out of your parent’s house, is sitting with the man you love more than life itself.
Sidney catches your gaze from across the space, and he gives you a wink before chirping your brother and his best friend back.
I love you, you mouth at him.
I love you more, he mouths back.
the first time you hear fwb!brendon park laugh is when you’re sitting side by side in his bed, eating chinese takeout and talking about the chaos of the ED.
“we all looked at each other and didn’t know what to say. i thought whitaker was gonna shit himself.” you tell him and that draws the unfamiliar sound from him.
your chopsticks freeze in your grasp as you watch him chuckle to himself as he focuses on his own food. you haven’t heard a sound so genuine before, so full of warmth. your heart swells, and you quickly look away before he notices you gawking at him.
“i would’ve paid to see that.” brendon responds, a hint of a smile on his face.
you’re so enamoured by him that you almost forget to breathe. all you can do is nod, trying to give yourself a moment to steady your racing heart.
you thought this thing you had going on was purely physical, a means to an end, a way to get out your frustration on someone hot and willing. to be dominated by someone who can push you to your limits and equally take care of you after.
but it seems park has put a wedge in your plan, and the butterflies in your tummy call you out on your bullshit.
The Captain and Doctor’s Meet Cute
Sidney Crosby x thePitt!fem!reader
Wordcount: 2.5k
Masterlist Series Masterlist (can be read alone)
No description of reader but she wears a dress and drinks alcohol!!!
You were annoyed to say the least.
It was just your luck that Robby picked your name out of the mug.
You were a doctor. Not a poster child.
Yet, here you were. Adjusting your dress for the umpteenth time as you walked into the gala with Robby and Parker. The annual Pittsburgh Emergency Medicine Gala, hosted by the one and only Pittsburgh Penguins Foundation.
Robby had to go, by default. And you and Parker just seemed to have that kind of luck last week.
“I’m hitting the bar,” Parker said, diverting from you both before you even made it past the entry way.
You huffed a laugh.
“I know this sucks and no one wants to be here. But remember, smiles, handshakes, and don’t abuse the open bar.” Robby patted you on the shoulder before making his way through the room with his game face on.
You sighed, grabbing a glass of champagne from a waiter the second Robby was out of eye shot.
You downed the first one, immediately grabbing a second one.
The one perk was that you felt beautiful. You spent your days in scrubs and your days off in athletic clothes, at most jeans and a non graphic tshirt.
You took a deep breath, scanning the room for any familiar faces.
You walked over to one of the high top tables, heels clacking on the ground, squeezing your toes uncomfortably. You leaned against the nearest table and sighed in relief. It was going to be a long night.
Robby had laid out ground rules: you each had to be there until at least 10PM, you needed to shake hands with at least four of the donors and or sponsors, and be on your best behavior.
You ran through the rules in your head, suddenly feeling small in the room full of smart doctors and rich donors.
Someone clearing their throat beside you snapped you out of your thoughts.
You startled as the tall, dark haired man with piercing hazel eyes approached you.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you,” he said, approaching your high top.
You smiled, it was Sidney fucking Crosby. You couldn’t wait to rub it in Frank’s face. He had been rubbing it in yours that he didn’t have to go to this gala for the past week.
“You didn’t,” you said softly.
“I've seen that look before,” he said, narrowing his eyes.
“What look?” You asked innocently.
“The 'I'd rather be literally anywhere else' look,” he said, playing with the stem of his champagne glass.
You laughed before you could stop yourself, “am I being that obvious?”
He shrugged, “a little.”
You glanced around the ballroom. Crystal chandeliers sparkled overhead, waiters floated by with silver trays, and somewhere in the corner a string quartet was valiantly trying to make the top 5 classical songs sound classy and not boring.
“I thought I was hiding it better,” you brought your champagne to your lips, taking a long sip.
“When I first saw you, you were,” Sidney said with a shrug, “but as I got closer, I saw the sigh.”
You furrowed your brows, “I sighed?”
He nodded, “it was pretty dramatic, as far as sighs go.”
You groaned, “oh no.”
You buried your face in your champagne glass for a second before taking another sip, “this is my first gala.”
His eyebrows lifted, “really?”
You nodded, “I’m only here because my attending decided dragging two residents along would ‘make the hospital look like a united front’” you made exaggerated air quotes. “Personally, I think it was stupid.”
“So you’re a doctor?” He asked, genuinely curious.
“Yes, senior resident at PTMC,” you said proudly.
“So how does a senior resident end up here and not, say an intern?” He asked, suddenly invested.
“Oh, glad you asked. He drew names out of a coffee mug,” you said with a tight lipped smile.
Sidney blinked, “a coffee mug?”
You nodded.
He laughed, a real laugh this time, warm and surprisingly loud enough that a few nearby people glanced over, “a coffee mug somehow makes the situation even funnier.”
He shook his head, still smiling, “I remember my first one.”
“Yeah?”
He nodded, “yeah we’re gonna need a real drink for that one.”
He flagged a waiter down, ordering himself a whiskey and you ordered a glass of wine.
The drinks arrived swiftly.
“Cheers,” he said holding his glass towards you.
“Cheers,” you said softly with a smile, clinking your glass before taking a big sip.
“So, were you awkward?” You asked.
He chuckled, “I still am,” he took a deep breath.
“At my first gala, I was a rookie, I couldn’t even drink. So I spent the entire night sober. I got hit on by a sixty two year old lady with lipstick all in her teeth.”
You couldn’t help it, you laughed.
He smiled, “and the worst part is, I was too nice to say no. So I danced with her. And the team still likes to send that grainy picture around to humble me.”
You laughed harder, “I bet it made her whole night though.”
He laughed now too, taking another sip of his drink, like he was working up the courage for something, “I hope it did, because it’ll follow me forever.”
“But you have to be a pro now. You've done... what, a million of these?”
He shrugged, taking a look around the room, “a few.”
“You must know everyone that comes to these things,” you said.
He looked around the room before lowering his voice conspiratorially, “that's actually the problem.”
You lifted your eyebrow, “do go on.”
He smiled again, “they get rather boring.”
The admission surprised you.
“They all kind of blend together after a while,” he said with a shrug.
“So you're bored?” You asked.
He looked at you, “a little.”
You grinned, “I'm bored too. And I just got here.”
“So we found our common ground,” he said proudly.
You lifted your glass, “to our mutual boredom.”
What started as a two-minute conversation somehow became thirty.
Thirty minutes suddenly became an hour.
You learned that Sidney hated small talk almost as much as you did.
He learned that emergency medicine had permanently destroyed your ability to tolerate people who complained about trivial inconveniences.
You told him your craziest night shift stories. One of which was a Penguins fan challenging a Flyers fan to a duel using baseball bats.
He laughed so hard his whiskey nearly came out his nose, “you had to have made that up.”
“I swear on my medical license. They both came in, still clutching their bats, jerseys torn and covered in blood. And when they were wheeled in on stretchers, they were still yelling at one another,” you said with a tight lipped smile, “the Penguins fan did actually say he was fighting for your honor.”
Sidney doubled over laughing and you felt butterflies. You quickly realized the crush you were harboring on the devilishly handsome athlete in front on you.
“You are making that up,” he said accusingly, but with a smile.
“Im not! I swear!” You said defensively, with a grin.
"You're making Pittsburgh sound insane,” he said, shaking his head.
“You’ve played hockey here for basically a century. You should already know that,” you quipped.
He scoffed, “how old do you think I am?”
You couldn’t help it, you laughed again.
In return, he told you stories from road trips that sounded too ridiculous to be true. You heard of forgotten passports. Pranks that were borderline evil. And who accidentally boarded the wrong team bus once.
Sidnsey shook his head, “I refuse to tell you who that was.”
“You already told me enough clues,” you said with a smirk.
“I absolutely did not,” he said.
“Letang.”
“No.”
“Malkin.”
“No.”
“Right. Because it was you,” you smirked.
He stared at you, “I'm pleading the fifth.”
You gasped dramatically, “it was totally you.”
He sipped his drink, simply shrugging in response.
“So confirmed. It was you, Captain.” You said slyly.
You could’ve sworn you saw his breath hitch when you called him that. “I plead the fifth. I know my rights, Doctor.”
“You’ve said enough,” you said triumphantly.
He rubbed a hand over his face, smiling despite himself, “I think I liked you better before you started interrogating me.”
“You like me, Captain?” Your tone was borderline flirting. Dancing on that dangerous edge. He had gotten you too many glasses of wine for you to not attempt it, “and I’ll remind you, that you approached me.”
“I know,” he said, tone shifting to something softer than the back and forth teasing.
“So that’s on you,” you said knowingly.
He nodded, “it is.”
Somewhere around drink four, the room became softer around the edges.
Your feet still hurt, but you'd stopped caring.
“Don’t you have important people to woo here?” You asked, your filter slipping through the cracks.
“I’m right where I want to be,” he said smoothly, “plus there’s some perks to being Captain.”
That was the first of many times Sidney Crosby would make you blush.
Neither of you had noticed most of the gala had shifted towards eating.
“So,” Sidney asked, “have you met any of those donors your boss assigned you to?”
You froze, “oh god.”
His smile faltered, “have I been distracting you too much?”
“I may have forgotten,” you said embarrassed. You have been completely entranced.
Before he could answer you, another voice interrupted.
“There you are,” the deep voice rang out.
You turned.
Robby.
His hands were in his pockets. Suspicious expression already firmly in place. The one you received whenever you and Perlah were pranking Frank.
“I've been looking all over for you,” he said, a hint of passive aggression in his tone.
Your stomach dropped.
He looked between you and Sidney, immediately extending his hand towards him.
“Michael Robinavitch, chief of the ED at PTMC,” he glanced at you, “and this one’s boss.”
He turned back to face you, “how's the networking going?”
You looked at Sidney, “I’m so glad you asked…”
Sidney looked at you.
Neither of you spoke.
Robby narrowed his eyes, “you talked to at least four sponsors?”
You opened your mouth, but nothing came out.
Sidney stepped in smoothly, “she did.”
You both turned toward him.
Robby looked skeptical.
“I grabbed your finest resident here, she’s been keeping me company. But she met the Campbells,” he said confidently.
You stared at him in slight awe.
“The Harrisons,” he looked around curiously, “oh and Dr. Jones from Presbyterian.”
Sidney paused just long enough to look convincing, “Dr. Donnelly from the U.”
Robby looked at you suspiciously, “really?”
You nodded perhaps a little too enthusiastically, “yep. My social battery is basically drained, gonna need tomorrow off.”
“She’s been great company,” Sidney continued seamlessly, “they must’ve talked for at least fifteen minutes before I interrupted.”
“You interrupted?” Robby asked.
Sidney didn't miss a beat, “my bad, chief.”
He gestured toward you, “I came over to introduce myself, and then I completely stole her attention.”
You looked at him, trying very hard not to laugh.
“I've basically been monopolizing your resident ever since,” he spared a glance at you and noticed you biting back a smile.
Robby crossed his arms, “for almost two hours?”
Sidney shrugged with practiced innocence, “I didn't realize how much time had passed.”
Robby looked between the two of you again.
You were both holding your drinks and smiling far too much. Your cheeks were flushed the same way someone who had a few too many drinks would be.
Neither of you was doing a particularly good job of hiding that you'd had more than one drink.
Then, slowly, Robby glanced between you both, “you two are drunk.”
You gasped at the accusation, “noooo,” you said immediately.
Sidney answered at exactly the same time, “yes.”
You whipped your head toward him, “Sidney.”
He looked back and shrugged, “what, he’s not my boss?”
“You were supposed to say no,” you say, in a failed attempt at a whisper.
Robby pinched the bridge of his nose, “I knew I shouldn’t have let us split up. I’m pretty sure Parker already took some girl home.”
You laughed at that, “right on.”
Robby did not have the patience for you. He looked at Sidney, “so she actually behaved?”
Sidney nodded, “more than.”
“He is not my babysitter,” you said
Robby simply rolled his eyes in response. Sidney glanced at you with a grin that made your stomach flutter.
“I was the bad influence,” Sidney admitted bashfully.
“I wouldn’t say… bad,” you said flirtatiously.
Robby rolled his eyes again, “I can’t believe you and Parker did nothing but flirt all night. Now, excuse me Mr. Crosby, it was nice meeting you, but I have to pick up the slack of both my residents.”
You couldn’t help it, you laughed the second Robby walked away. And Sidney joined you.
“So,” he started, looking down at his glass, “have you been flirting all night?”
Heat immediately creeped up your neck, “it didn’t start that way, but, yeah, I think I have.”
You noticed the tint of pink covering his cheeks, “well. I came over here with the intention of flirting. But then I just started having fun.”
The admission came quietly and shyly.
You couldn’t help but smile at him.
Someone with an ear piece and a clip board all but ran up to you both, ruining the moment.
“Mr. Crosby! We’ve been looking for you everywhere, we need you on the stage like…. Fifteen minutes ago,” she let out on one breath.
Sidney glanced at you and then back at the panicked young coordinator, “I’ll be there in five. And please, Sidney.”
She nodded quickly, rushing away and talking into her walkie.
He sighed, “so I guess I’ve avoided my responsibilities far too long.”
You gave him a tight lip smile, saddened that this part of the evening was winding down.
“Listen,” he rubbed the back of his neck, “if it’s not too forward, I would love to get your number… and maybe take you to dinner some time?”
You had to bite back the giggle you could feel bubbling your throat out of giddiness, “ I would like that.”
He smiled, taking a deep breath of relief. He reached into his pocket and handed you his phone, you typed in your number.
“I hate to leave you here, but I’ll see you soon Doctor,” he winked at you before turning to go.
“Thanks for making tonight actually fun, Captain,” you sipped your drink, hiding your smile.
He walked away borderline skipping out of excitement.
You made your way through the crowd, finally finding Robby again.
“Oh, you done making eyes at the captain of the penguins yet?” He teased as you approached him.
You shook your head, “ha ha very funny.”
“Oh well, I wasn’t joking, now was I?” He teased again.
You rolled your eyes at him because his teasing was light and harmless. And you couldn’t believe you had just scored a date with the captain.
Tags (all): @ilocuras24 @nyxmoretti @kmc1989 @destinyg237
Tags (Sid x the Pitt): @readersassemble5 @sexychickenmagnet @renegadebirch @jesswriteswrongs @dancerbailey3
years to bloom between | s. rogers
⋆˚✿˖ synopsis: Steve and you had built something sacred, something that always got cut short due to the weight of the world and the ever turning hands of time. How many years would have to pass before he realized he ought to do something for himself—and how many more would be stolen from the two of you before he finally did? Thank God Bucky has always been good at pep talks.
-> pairing: captain america!steve rogers x civilian!fem!reader
-> disclaimers: no use of y/n, minor cursing, angst, fluff, slow burn, time jumps & flashbacks, follows the mcu cap timeline, pre-blip & post-blip, emotional sacrifices, steve carries too much, time is a thief
-> song rec: baby came home 2/valentines by the neighbourhood & call it what you want by taylor swift
-> word count: 8k+
-> a/n: inspired by this request! thank you anon, i absolutely loved everything you gave me and i tried my best to piece it all together. i got a lil carried away with the timeline aspect and switched things up a bit, but i hope you enjoy 💐 the way this is come back to me’s twin sister….
The world was spinning on its axis again, bustling with the life and energy it was stolen of five years ago when a mere snap of a gauntlet stilled it to silence and ash. For the first time in a long stretch of emptiness, the missing half of the world was back. People were back.
And they were beginning—slowly and clumsily—to remember what it felt like to live again. Those who blipped were struggling to re-enter a world that had moved on without them and those who stayed were grieving all over again, mourning the versions of themselves that had to grow without the people they loved. Both parties fought one common denominator; time.
Steve Rogers had so much of that.
Time.
He’d lived far longer than any man should, or so he believed, and endured more than he ever thought he would. And while time had always been at his disposal, he’d learned he never had quite enough when it came to you.
“Remember,” Bruce said. “You have to return the stones to the exact moment you got ‘em or you’re gonna open up a bunch of nasty alternative realities.”
Steve nodded, gripping the case in his hands as he prepared to deliver the stones, that both ruined and saved the world, to their rightful places in the universe. He was to go back in time which, in a way, felt like more of mockery to a man who was both robbed of it, and then given infinite.
Bucky, who stood off to the side observationally, watched his best friend with furrowed brows. In all their years, he’d learned to read Steve like an open book but now, the words on the pages appeared blurred.
“Are you ready for this?” Bucky asked when Steve approached, voice low so the question could remain between the two of them.
“Never am.” Steve exhaled, eyes blinking rapidly like maybe there was an unspoken thought behind them.
Bucky could sense it—the hesitancy, the guilt, the slowness in Steve’s breathing that told him the fate of those stones, and the universe for that matter, was not at the forefront of Captain America’s brain.
“You talked to her, right?”
Steve swallowed, jaw clenching. “A little.”
Bucky shifted on his feet. “My guess is it didn’t go well, then. If you’re here, and she’s not.”
Steve inhaled, holding his breath tightly in his lungs. “I don’t want her here if I go through with it.”
“So she knows?”
He shook his head. “She’ll figure it out. Maybe you can explain it to her.”
Bucky nodded, slowly and hesitantly. He’d always thought he understood Steve like the back of his hand, but now, he wasn’t quite sure.
Why in the world was Steve Rogers, a man known for being the first to fight in any battle that called to him, running from the most important one?
Bucky continued. “You’ve decided then?”
Steve faltered because in all honesty, he hadn’t, but the thought had been burning in the back of his mind since that day you left.
Time was taken from him over seventy years ago—the life he grew up believing he would live. This mantle of The First Avenger was thrust upon him before he had a chance to breathe and yet, he upheld that with care and responsibility no matter what. But being a hero came with a cost; autonomy.
He’d spent so long doing everything for the world, that he never did anything for himself. He avoided rest, quiet, and love like the plague because he could never be still enough to have any of it in a way that mattered. He was full of regret and desperation but most importantly, longing.
For the life he dreamed to live, which was always just out of arms reach.
Until now.
Until he had the chance to go back in time and start fresh. He could make up for memories and opportunities he’d lost, actually exist in the years that only remembered him frozen in ice, and give the people he cared about in this timeline a blank canvas to grow on.
He thought about it for so long, the idea almost solidified in his mind. Yet, the more Bucky pressed, the more the only thing Steve could think about was you.
You who had eased your way into his life with the naturalness of waves on water, you who had fallen for the man behind the shield but adored him for what he did with it anyways, you who remained soft in all the places the world tried to harden him and stuck by his side no matter how often he believed he was doing right by you each time he walked away.
The temptation to go back in time and restart his life the way he felt he was always meant to, vanished like fog the moment he thought of ever having to leave you for good.
❀。• *₊°。 ❀°。
[ February, 2014 ]
God, you hated living on the third floor. Especially at times like this—when the elevator in your apartment complex decided to stop working, which was most of the time—and you’d just gone grocery shopping for the week. You, in all your overachieving glory, decided it would be easier to bring up everything in one go instead of making two trips.
You only made it up the second flight of stairs before your arms started cramping and you had to drop the bags to rest. You sighed, shaking out your hands and then with a deep regret, you leaned down to grab them again.
A voice spoke from behind you the moment you lifted the bags. “Do you always carry your bags six at a time?”
You paused, turning around to find Steve fucking Rogers standing at the bottom of the stairs.
His presence threw you off, you almost forgot he lived in the same building as you. He moved in not too long ago, so fresh that it shocked you every time you passed him in the hallway or ran into him at the mailboxes. Even more so when you found out he only lived a solid two doors down from you and you could see him leave on his morning runs from your peephole.
You let out a small laugh, breathless and tired. “Only when I’m stubborn and the elevator isn’t working. So, yeah, always.”
He laughed with a nod, before instantly coming up the steps to take the bags out of your hands. All of them.
“Oh, no, you don’t have to.” You shook your head but didn't bother protesting when he relieved you of the weight.
He took the bags effortlessly, his fingers brushing yours by accident. “It’s no problem.”
It really wasn’t—not for Captain America. He began ascending the rest of the steps to the fourth floor with ease, leading the way without question.
“Yeah, clearly.” You mumbled and you swore you heard him stifle a chuckle.
When you both made it to the fourth floor, he didn’t bother asking you which one your apartment was because he already knew. He’d witnessed you leave countless times in the morning, coffee in hand and blazer neatly ironed as you made your way to your office job with a sleepy smile on your face.
You fished for your keys out of your purse, hyper aware of the figure carrying your groceries behind you like helping civilians with everyday tasks was just second nature to him.
After fumbling for the lock, you pushed your apartment door open and spun around, a deep breath stuck in your lungs as you debated what to say to a face like that. No matter how many times you’ve ran into him in passing, you’d never get over how utterly handsome he was.
“What do I owe you?” You asked, using the door handle to hold yourself upright.
He smiled, relaxed. “Let me carry these inside for you?”
You tilted your head, eyes squinting almost teasingly. Then you stepped to the side, hand motioning for him to come through. “I don’t usually let guys in my place before the first date but I’ll make an exception for Captain America.”
“I’m honored, then.” Steve hummed, walking inside with a sort of poise that might’ve made someone think he’d been there before. He beelined towards the kitchen, his muscles flexing beneath his button up.
Shutting the door behind you, you watched as he placed the bags on the kitchen counter, and man were you happy you cleaned the place before you left that afternoon. He then turned to you with a gentle smile as he wiped his hands on his jeans like trying to find words he didn’t have.
You watched him tower in your kitchen like he’d always belonged there and suddenly it hit you—this was your first ever conversation with him. Not just a greeting in the hallway consisting of a minimum of four words, but something real. As real as his figure in your apartment was.
With that thought in mind, your body moved instinctively and you stepped forward to hold out your hand. You introduced yourself to him, properly this time.
Steve’s smile instantly grew wider. He took your hand in his and shook it, firm but equally as gentle. “I know who you are.”
For a second, you faltered, the warmth of his palm sending a wave of goosebumps up your arm. “But I’ve never told you my name before this.”
He blinked, pulling back but never minimizing the distance. “Frances has. She talks about you all the time,” He explained, smiling as he recalls your mutual neighbor—an old lady who loved baking cookies for everyone on the floor and meddling in other people’s business. “She has more intel than S.H.E.I.L.D ever could.”
A breathy chuckle left your lips at that. “She’s tried to set me up with you. Twice.”
“She’s mentioned,” His grin reached his ears. “Said you thought I was handsome.”
You hadn’t expected him to be this blunt, but he radiated this confidence that made your stomach churn with excitement because holy shit, he was flirting and he was doing it exceptionally well. It seemed so natural for him that you couldn’t determine if there was intent behind it, or just his kindness bleeding into his teasing words.
“I didn’t think she’d actually tell you.” You winced, trying not to appear embarrassed.
“She was very enthusiastic about it,” he replied, that gentle smile flickering again. “I don’t mind hearing it.”
The air shifted just enough for you to fiddle with the hem of your sleeves.
“Does it matter anyways?” you asked. “I’m pretty sure the whole world knows you’re attractive, Cap.”
“Well,” he shrugged, effortlessly thinking his response over. “I’m not standing in the whole world’s kitchen, right now.”
Your eyebrows raised in sheer pleasure as you crossed your arms over your chest in an attempt to ease your fidgeting. “You’re not at all what I expected. I always thought you were the quiet type.”
“Really?”
“Mhm.”
“How so?” He leaned against your kitchen counter, one foot in front of the other with his hands in the pockets of his black slacks.
“We’ve passed each other in the hallway so many times and all you’ve ever said was ‘Good Morning’.” You shrugged simply.
“I didn’t want to make it weird.” He said, though he wouldn’t ever admit you’d actually made him nervous to the point where saying something other than a simple greeting was difficult. “You had a good rhythm going. I think I was just waiting for my opening.”
“And groceries was the move?” You bit back a smile.
He nodded modestly, like it was no big deal. “Giving a helping hand is kind of what I do best.”
You inhaled, the insides of your stomach churning with happy nerves and a desire to keep this energy, this moment, going. “I feel like I should return the favor.”
“It’s fine.” He dismissed with a wave of his hand.
“But I want to,” you said, voice a little braver than you expected it to be. “If you’re free tomorrow night, I’ll make dinner. My famous penne arrabbiata.”
Steve blinked once. Not out of hesitation but out of plain disbelief from someone not expecting the offer, let alone wanting it as much as he suddenly did.
After a deep breath, he nodded. “I’d like that.”
You nodded too, hoping he couldn’t hear the way your heart was beating in your chest. “Sounds good. Seven?”
He smiled, pushing himself away from the counter with that effortless confidence. “I’ll be here.”
You grinned, walking him to the door with a warmth you couldn’t quite name. “Thank you again, Steve.”
He twisted to you once he stood in the hallway of the complex, the sound of his name rolled off your lips with an ease that had him fumbling for something to say in return. Of course you knew him, that’d been abundantly clear from every precious interaction that left you nervously avoiding eye contact with him. It was in the way you said it, though—sweet and genuine—that made it feel real in a way he’d never experienced with anyone else.
“Anytime.” He smiled.
❀。• *₊°。 ❀°。
[ May 2014 ]
“I can’t believe you’ve never had Nutella on pancakes.” You grinned, sliding him a fork across the table.
“I was around during the Great Depression,” he joked, moving the plate of pancakes to sit between the two of you. “We didn’t have much of anything.”
“Touché.”
The diner was quiet in the morning, especially where you sat in the back corner booth, the farthest away from other customers. The sunrise was shining through the windows, bouncing off the silverware and refracting light spots onto your tired face. Despite the early time of day, you had an optimistic energy to you that was bright like the rising sun itself.
Steve was grateful for it. When things felt dark, being around you was always a force against the shadows.
“Sugar for breakfast, huh?” Steve hummed, picking up his fork.
“Don’t knock it ‘til you try it.” You pointed, before shoving a piece of pancake in your mouth, the hazelnut flavor melting on your tongue. You hummed in satisfaction, tossing your head back dramatically in a way that had Steve chuckling.
It was his idea to meet for breakfast that morning.
It wasn’t abnormal for the two of you—since that fateful evening you invited him over for dinner months ago, the two of you had gone on frequent dates. You hadn’t labeled your relationship yet, but you’d spent enough time together for it to be something.
Recently though, he'd been busy. He explained it to you once, how he was trying to track down his lifelong best friend who’d just escaped the shackles of Hydra’s sadistic mind control. It was important to him, you knew that, and you supported him no matter what decision he made, no matter how often he wasn’t around—though you had a feeling this requested breakfast date was rooted in that exact explanation.
“Wow,” he raised his eyebrows after he mustered up the courage to shove a forkful of nutella pancakes into his mouth. “This is really good.”
“Told you.” You smiled, satisfied. “You can check that one off of your list now.”
He laughed, swallowing harshly as he watched the apples of your cheeks grow alongside your smile.
Steve Rogers had always believed he’d seen it all. In the ninety years he’d been on this planet, he’s witnessed so many of the great things it had to offer—beauty, kindness, love—yet he’d recently learned, you had them all beat. You were the embodiment of everything good about the world and so much more, which was why the more he looked at you, the more guilty he felt.
You watched his expression drop, his admiration faltering just slightly. “Are you okay?”
He inhaled and before you even had time to prepare yourself, he was speaking. “I’m sorry for being distant.”
You shook your head, putting your fork down gently. “Steve—”
“With the intel I’m chasing down, the dead ends, and empty turn ups, I just,” He paused to run a hand down his face. “It’s not an excuse, I understand that and I promise I’m trying to do better.”
You blinked at him, at the sincerity that dripped from his tongue. Shifting in your seat, you gave him your undivided attention as you said, “When I agreed to go on a date with you, and a second one, then another one after that, I knew what I was signing myself up for.”
He stilled, his breath hitched in his throat.
“I know what this is. Who you are.” You were gentle as you continued. “I never expected you to drop everything for me. You have a job to do and I respect that.”
He blinked, swallowing harshly. “Sometimes I think I’m getting myself too caught up in searching for him.”
You sighed, crossing your arms on the table to lean forward. “Is finding him important to you, Steve?”
He didn’t need to think about it before he nodded. “Yes.”
“Then, you’re making the right decision.”
“But you’re important to me too.” He said without letting a beat pass.
Your heart nearly did a summer-sault in between your ribcage.
He glanced away, his eyes trailed over the rim of his coffee mug. “I’ve never had to balance both—my personal and professional life have always been the same. But everything’s different because now, there’s that and there’s you,” his words smelled of vulnerability, nothing new from him but pungent nonetheless. “I want to make this work, I really do.”
Everyone that Steve had ever loved was involved with his work in some way or another, to the point where the line between profession work and romantic love got blurred. But you, you were his safe space outside of saving the world. He wanted to keep it that way, to preserve whatever your relationship was from the hardships of battle and combat. He just didn’t know how.
“I trust that you will,” You carefully placed your hand on top of his, your warmth sending an array of bumps across his skin. “When you want something, you do whatever it takes to get it,”
He watched you softly, a tender look behind those bright blue eyes.
“I know this is new to you, and honestly, it’s new to me too,” You went on. “But I believe in you and I believe in this. I’m by your side no matter where you are, okay?”
And, god, he thought he might melt into a puddle right there in the restaurant booth. He’d never understand how it is that he got so lucky, to have crossed paths with someone as understanding as you. He’d always been a kind-hearted person through and through, but he couldn’t help but think the universe was on his side when it gave him you—someone equally, if not more, compassionate and utterly human.
The silence between you two was softer when he shook his head, a smile curling at the corners of his lips. “You’re something else.”
You grinned too, a sudden tension lifting off your shoulders as you reached forward to snatch up another piece of pancake. “Something good, I hope.”
“Yes, good, always good.” He fiddled with his fork, eyes settling on you once more after a pregnant pause, and said, “I’m going to figure this out, okay?”
You blinked up at him in between chews. With all the assurance you could muster, you nodded. “I know.”
When the check came, and the both of you cleared the plate of any pancake, Steve was quick to snatch the receipt. You protested, but he dismissed you quickly, placing his card on the table without question.
You walked out of the diner together, footsteps padding over the sun-drenched concrete and shoulders brushing sweetly. Like it was second nature, his fingers reached for yours, intertwining easily. He tugged you closer, and with a softness that’d make silk jealous, he leaned down to press his lips gently against your temple.
Your eyes fluttered shut at the feeling—warm and steady. Your free hand rested lightly against his chest, feeling the slow rise and fall beneath your palm.
“Thank you.” He murmured when he pulled back, his mouth still lingering close enough that his breath brushed your hairline.
“Thank you.” You echoed, voice just above a whisper as you leaned forward and returned the gesture—pressing your own soft kiss to his cheek.
❀。• *₊°。 ❀°。
[ 2015 ]
“Steve?”
“It’s late, I know, I’m sorry.” He said quickly, standing outside of your apartment door with exhaustion buried beneath those blue eyes.
You didn’t bother rubbing the sleep away from your face because without hesitation, you immediately tugged him inside. The door shut behind him as you pulled him in for a hug, using him to keep your sleepy body balanced.
He reciprocated the hug, arms wrapping around your waist in guilt for having shown up to your place at an ungodly time of the night after drowning himself in the training room for hours on end.
Sokovia had taken its toll on him. Between plenty of sleepless evenings, disputes with the other Avengers, and training the new recruits, he was overwhelmed with responsibilities that he couldn’t seem to focus on because all he was thinking about was you.
You who he hadn’t seen in months given the circumstances of recent events. You who he tried to call whenever he had spare time in Sokovia though moments alone were scarce. You who went about your daily life having to pretend that your boyfriend hadn’t been halfway across the world infiltrating some Hydra base and recruiting enhanced individuals.
“Are you okay?” You asked, the question muffled against the rough fabric of his jacket.
“I’ve missed you.” He hummed, voice vibrating off the top of your head as his grip around your waist tightened. “I’ve been so busy, so tired and I just needed a break. I wanted to see you.”
“I missed you too.” You pulled away, enough to look up at him and gently brush away stray strands of blonde from his face. His eyes fluttered to a close at your touch, his lashes batted when you grabbed onto his hand. “Come on, sit.”
He slipped off his jacket and hung it on the coat rack, leaving him in a tight grey short sleeve that clung to his shoulders just right. The second he sank into the couch, you could see a weight fall off of his shoulders. His posture softened as he tilted his head back and ran a hand over his face. The lamp beside him on the side table painted his face golden, his hair shimmering under the light.
You plopped on the couch beside him and almost instantly, Steve shifted. He leaned into you, one large hand finding your thigh for balance as he laid down to rest his head on your lap like it was the only place he could put his brain to quiet it down.
One of your hands slipped into his hair, running through the strands carefully. He hummed faintly as his breathing slowed in content. The two of you stood that way for a while, cherishing the peacefulness that came from a comfortable silence.
Steve, who finally let his attention drift off, settled on a frame hanging above your television. “Is that a new painting?”
You glanced up at the watercolor garden on the canvas and nodded sheepishly, stunned that he managed to notice a miniscule detail like that. “Found it at the thrift store. It’s vintage.”
“Vintage.” He let out a breathy laugh as he settled further into your leg, large hand draping loosely over your thigh.
You smiled, tilting your head as you observed it. “It reminds me of my mom. She has this huge garden of flowers at her house that she just lets grow. My dad complains cause she never maintains it but she always says she thinks they’re better wild.”
A grin stretched across his face. “That’s nice. I like it.”
“You do?” You smiled, looking down at him.
“Mhm.” His eyes were still trained on the painting. “Are those wildflowers?”
“They are,” you nodded, fingers brushing across the sides of his forehead. “They’re free spirited, grow wherever they want.”
He let out a soft laugh. “Of course they do.”
“They grow through cracks in the sidewalk, take over gardens if you let ‘em,” You explained. “But they’re good for the ecosystem and really pretty.”
He went quiet for a moment, letting the image take shape in his head. Then, he murmured, “I see why you like them.”
You glanced down at him, but he was still looking ahead, like staring at the painting had magically freed him of any lingering stress. His thumb swept slowly back and forth on your bare leg, thoughtful.
“They make things better without trying to.” He added and it was enough to halt you to a silence.
The pause in the air was soft but heavy. When he tilted his head to look up at you, it was abundantly clear he was saying so much without actually speaking the words. There was a warmth blooming in your chest, one he put there with intention and the expression on his face told you he knew it too.
His hand came up to your face and he placed his palm against the side of your cheek. He ran his fingers over your skin, fingers brushing against your eyelashes and trailing down your jawline, like he was memorizing the feeling before it inevitably slipped away from him again.
“I wish I found you sooner.”
The minute the sentence left his lips, your heart began fervently pulsing in your chest. His words were simple but they carried years of weight—of war, of loss, of things unsaid. Admiration pooled in your stomach, flooding your lungs until all you could do was look at him.
“You found me when you were supposed to.” You admitted, your voice came out a whisper.
You were right of course. Still, he couldn’t help but wish he had more time with you.
How different would his life be had he met you before the battle of New York? What would it look like had he met you before he took the serum, before the war, before the weight of the world found its place firmly on his shoulders?
He tried to picture it: you, sitting beside him in some Brooklyn diner where sunlight dripped through the windows as you laughed at something he said. You as you reached for his hand at the cinema when you felt like neither of you were close enough for comfort. You, eyes shut as he led you in a slow dance, one that took place in your shared living room where the music on the record player was the only noise loud enough to drown out the sound of your beating hearts.
It was an image that made his throat tighten.
He was pulled out of the thought when your hand came down to massage his shoulder, your touch as familiar as it was grounding.
“You’re tense.” You murmured, more to yourself than to him. Your fingers pressed gently near his collarbone, drawing a deep breath from his chest. It was the kind of sigh that let you know he felt safe.
His gaze lingered on your face—how delicate your features looked under the lamplight and how your mouth curled up at the sides like the sight of him in your lap was as fulfilling as it was careful.
Without thinking, he reached up and cupped the back of your neck, his palm caressing your skin softly as it passed your jaw like asking for permission. You reciprocated the fondness in his eyes before you leaned down, his hand acting as a guide. His lips found yours with a naturalness like they’d done it a thousand times before. Like they’ll do it a thousand more.
This kiss was warm and light, like taking a breath. Rather than promise, it was full of truth. Right now, in that small, quiet corner of the world that was your apartment, he was allowed to want this for himself. He was allowed to have it, and have you.
When you part, he didn’t say anything at first. Instead, he kept looking at you like he wasn’t quite sure you were real. Or any of this, for that matter.
You smiled, thumb grazing his cheekbone. Your voice was like a flower, soft and gentle, when you whispered, “Hi.”
He huffed a laugh, his eyes brighter than they were when you’d opened the door that evening. “Hi.”
❀。• *₊°。 ❀°。
[ 2016 ]
The sky looked ready to crack open.
Thick dark clouds press low overhead, casting everything at the park in a dim gray hush. The trees lining the sidewalk were restless, swaying in the breeze like they too could tell something was about to change.
You crossed the walkway slowly, your hands tucked into the pocket of your jacket. Your eyes scanned the space around you until they landed on him.
Steve was standing beneath a warped metal pavilion, still as stone with no umbrella or hood, like the impending rain storm was no match for whatever it was he’d called you there to say.
He wore a hat, the first time you’d ever seen him in one, and sunglasses that concealed those blue eyes you’d grown to love. You almost questioned why he needed glasses when the sun wasn't even out but then he’d lifted his head to find you.
You stopped a few feet away. Neither of you said anything at first. The silence was heavy, mimicking the clouds above.
Then he said your name like it ached to speak out loud.
“Steve.” You said.
You wanted to smile. God, this was the first time you’d seen him since he had to run off to Germany for business that you tried your best to understand. You wanted to be happy about this. Yet, the way his chin was raised and his shoulders broadened with words unspoken, you knew you probably shouldn’t.
He shifted his weight, glancing down at his boots before he spoke again. “Thank you for meeting me.”
“Yeah,” You nodded once, finally mustering up the courage to join him underneath the pavilion where the both of you sat on a white wooden bench. “Your call said it was urgent. Figured it’d be wrong of me to say no.”
Your attempt at a joke didn’t go unnoticed and the corners of his lips curled up into a smile before immediately falling again.
The breeze picked up, nipping at your cheeks and nose. You anxiously pulled at your sleeves, sparing a glance at the man beside you. He removed his glasses and you were instantly thrown off by the darkness that swirled in those once vibrant eyes. His chest rose and fell with heavy breaths like he prepared to say something that might ruin the moment.
“I’m leaving.” He spat out faster than you could process. “Tonight.”
You paused, blinking slowly. “But you just got back.”
It was something he explained to you briefly—The accords, the fight in Germany, taking Bucky to Wakanda—it was all so much to process but you didn’t doubt him. It never once worried you, not until now.
“I know.” He said.
“Is he okay?” You asked. “Bucky?”
Steve nodded. “He’s fine.”
“Then,” You swallowed, feeling the world narrow to the space between you two. “What’s wrong?”
He didn’t answer right away, couldn’t figure out how to say the words. But it didn’t matter because that was when you felt it—the shift.
It was in the quiet stretch of silence where he didn’t rush to get an explanation out, like he was savoring the moment of simply sitting beside you. You glanced down at his knuckles that clutched the sunglasses in his hand like they were a safety measure. When you looked back up at him, his teeth were carefully but so indiscreetly, chewing on the inside of his mouth.
“You’re not leaving,” You blinked as the pieces slowly came together. “You’re running.”
Steve’s mouth parted but no words came out.
You shook your head, an attempt at undoing the words and the prophecy they carried before it became real. “And you’re not coming back, are you?”
His Adam’s Apple bobbed as he said, “I don’t have a choice.”
The tears built up quicker than you could force them down, your throat tightening and your eyes stinging. For a second, you thought he might be joking but you knew him well enough to know Steve would never kid about something that’d hurt your feelings the way this was.
“This is the last thing I want to do, believe me,” He continued, his voice strained. “But they’re after me, I’m a fugitive now.”
“For saving your friend?” You scoffed bitterly.
He didn’t argue, didn’t bother correcting you because none of that mattered. Not when he was sitting beside you like it was the last time he ever would.
“I can’t risk you getting caught up in this.”
Your jaw tightened. “You don’t get to make that decision for me.”
“I know,” he said quickly. “And I hate that I’m even asking you to accept it but it’s not just about the Accords. It’s about me and the choices I’ve made. If the government finds out I’ve been with you, then—”
“Let them come after me, I don’t care.” You snapped, your voice sharp with feeling.
His eyes squeezed shut. “I do.”
You went quiet. The ache in your chest was rising fast but you bit down on it. You couldn’t bring yourself to look at the man beside you, couldn’t believe it came down to pushing you away as the only means of protection. Like losing you was merely part of the job.
You breathed. “When will I see you again?”
Steve watched you carefully, like trying to mitigate your reaction. “I don’t know how long I’ll be on the run for, how long it’ll be until this blows over. It could be months, or years.”
“Years?” You exhaled, voice shaky.
He wanted to curse himself for how heartbroken you sounded. “It won’t be safe to call, or write, or anything. They’ll be waiting for any sign of me. I need to disappear and I need them to think there’s nothing left tying me here.”
The truth was sinking in with terrifying clarity that had your body shivering, you almost mistook it for chills from the breeze—The breeze that picked up and began whistling through the trees just as the first raindrops started to fall. It was light at first, barely more than a mist, but steady and cold.
You didn’t move and neither did he as it sprinkled on top of the pavilion mockingly, like even the gods were mourning what both of you were losing.
“So this is it?” You said, wrapping your arms around yourself like somehow your own comfort would make this better.
“I don’t want it to be,” He countered fast. “But I can’t ask you to wait. Not when I don’t know how long this will last, not when it might never end.”
You blinked at him, his knee brushing yours ever so slightly as you shifted. He was staring at you with a desperation to get you to understand, to agree with him—as much as you may not want to.
“You can’t wait for me, okay?” He tilted, eyebrows knitting in despair. “Move on, talk to other people. Don’t let me hold you back when I’m not here. Please.”
You shook your head. “That’s asking too much of me, Steve, and you know it.”
That broke something in him—the mutual understanding that no matter how much he pushed this, neither of you would be able to forget what you had. It was quiet and tragic, the kind of parting that didn’t come with slamming doors and screaming but the unbearable weight of love with nowhere to go.
“I’m sorry.” He said finally, his voice breaking as soon as he muttered those two words.
You didn’t bother smiling, didn’t bother faking happiness when all you felt was hollow. Instead, your hands sat at your sides for a moment like you weren’t quite sure what to do with them, like your body hadn’t caught onto the truth of the moment.
He watched the way your shoulders sagged, and his frown deepened. Without a word, his arms came up to wrap around your shoulders and tug you closer. You let yourself sink into him, heavy and quiet, your body pressed to his chest as you tried to memorize the feeling.
Even this, the simple act of a hug, was risky and he knew it. Yet, he’d allow himself to be selfish for a moment because this moment was all he had left before everything changed. Before everything he’d grown to cherish and love slipped from his fingers like fine sand, no matter how hard he tried to hold on.
When you squeezed tighter, so did he. His eyes fluttered shut and he breathed you in, commuting this feeling to memory before it disappeared and him with it.
❀。• *₊°。 ❀°。
It never really left him—those moments with you, the choices he made, the parts of you he left behind in the name of doing what was right. They haunted the quiet corners of his mind, resurfacing when he could help it least.
And lately, as he made yet another decision that would alter the fate of your lives forever, they’d been louder than ever.
That phone call just days ago only made it worse. It clung to him like an itch he couldn’t scratch no matter how much he clawed at it with his nails.
The line rang four times before you’d finally answered.
“Steve?”
His name came out shaky, laced with the unmistakable edge of tears. You’d been crying. He could hear it in the rasp of your voice that dripped with both confusion and fear. Yet, beneath it all, it still carried that familiar warmth, like it hadn’t changed at all since the last time he heard it.
He couldn’t believe that it was you on the other end, despite the fact he’d been the one to call. It’d been five years of dreaming to hear your voice again, of hating himself for not stopping Thanos before he wiped everyone away—including you. Five years of doing everything in his power to bring you back because he couldn’t go on in life without knowing you were out there somewhere living.
“I just wanted,” He paused, words trembling with a relief strong enough to crumble cities. “I just wanted to hear your voice. To know you were okay.”
The phone call was short. Neither of you reminisced for old times sake nor did he fill you in on all the things you’d missed while you were gone. He didn’t let it linger like he wanted to because that meant letting you in enough to mean something again. He didn’t feel he deserved it—your care, your love, your time.
You deserved better; than a man who kept leaving, than a man who let regret control his brain like a puppeteer, than a man who sacrificed everything as a defense mechanism for selfishness that he wasn’t sure he was allowed to have.
Sparing you from another goodbye was mercy. You didn’t pick up where you left off because where you left off was apart. It wasn’t a reconciliation, it was a retreat. He was still running.
“Steve.” Bucky’s voice cut through the silence, sharp and steady, grounding the man back on Earth.
Steve’s eyes flickered up. blinking with evident dubiety.
“You don’t have to go through with this, you know that right?” Bucky expressed, voice hushed.
“I do.” Steve countered quickly.
“Goin’ back to return the stones? Sure, that I get but this,” He motioned around with his hands. “Goin’ back to a life that isn’t yours anymore? Help me understand why.”
The blond man inhaled sharply. “It’s easier.”
Bucky nearly scoffed, sucking on air in between his teeth. “I think that’s bullshit,”
Steve went silent.
“You spent so long pushing her away and the minute you can finally have her, you’re runnin’.” Bucky continued with that tone he only got when trying to convince someone of something important. “It’s killing you inside to think about never comin’ back to her, I know it is.”
Steve was listening—really—like maybe he just needed someone else to confirm what he was already thinking.
“I told her not to wait for me.” Steve swallowed.
“And then she vanished for five years.” Bucky tilted his head.
So much time had been stolen from the two of you—some uncontrollable, some by choice. Sure, Steve had all the time in the world but never with you.
Now, he had a chance to right that wrong, to make up for everything you had both lost in the many years he’d grown to love you.
So why the hell was he running from it?
“You’ve got nothing to lose, Buddy.” Bucky sounded just like he had in Brooklyn during the forties—back when the boys were still young and Steve trusted Bucky’s word more than anything else on the planet. “But a helluva lot to gain.”
❀。• *₊°。 ❀°。
His hand hovered over the doorbell of a house he hadn’t seen in years but remembered like yesterday. The wooden porch beneath his feet and twinkling wind chime over his head made his heart pound vehemently in his chest, worse than it ever had before a battle. When he worked up the courage, which was odd because he’d always been the man to have just enough of that, he pressed the button.
It wasn’t you that answered the door, but instead, it was your father. Your father’s brows furrowed as he took in the man at the threshold, and then as realization settled in, his eyes widened.
He inhaled. “Captain…”
“Sir.” Steve’s voice came out quiet, hands clasped in front of him.
Footsteps sounded behind the door and a moment later, your mother stepped into view beside her husband. She wrapped her sweater tighter around her frame and gawked at the sight before her in something of shock, memory, and gratitude.
The condolence cards he brought them after you blipped still sat perched above the fireplace in the living room. The hoodie he returned after you left it at his place and he kept it for all those years was draped against the back of the armchair. The words of sympathy he spoke to them when they lost their only child, rang like a gong in their ears as they looked at him with painful familiarity.
And simultaneously, relief.
Your mother didn’t hesitate when she ushered him inside and said, “She’s in the sunroom.”
Steve’s breath seemed permanently lodged in his throat as he made his way through the house, every step too loud and too heavy. The photos that lined the walls—you as a young girl, you with your childhood pet, you on graduation day—captured his focus as he walked past, your smile frozen in time between the frames.
He paused just outside of the sunroom. The light spilled out into golden streaks across the floor, and through the doorway, he could make out the shape of you. Your back was turned towards him where you sat on a wicker couch with your head in a book as you read—or tried too. You were bathed in sunlight like maybe the darkness that’d swallowed the world hadn’t at all touched you.
He was afraid to move but he knew he didn’t come all this way to stand in the threshold.
So with a deep inhale, he knocked on the door frame three times softly.
You looked up mindlessly, expecting it to be your mother coming to offer you sweet tea or force you to eat something again.
But when your gaze focused, you froze.
Neither of you breathed.
You sat up slowly as your book slipped from your lap and onto the floor, your page forgotten. It was like seeing the ghost of a feeling you never let yourself mourn, something unfinished and unsaid standing right there in the middle of the doorway.
You looked exactly the same as you did the last time he saw you in person over five years ago. The only difference was your puffy cheeks and dark under eyes that told him you’d been dealing with the blip in the only way you knew how—quiet and alone.
And suddenly, he hated himself for not being there the moment you blipped back, for letting that phone call be the only thing you had to hold onto, for deciding you’d heal better off without him.
“Hi.” He said, moving first.
You stood up from your seat, knees wobbling under the speed you moved. Your mouth opened and closed as you struggled to form the proper words.
“What?” Your voice stumbled. Your hands tremble at your sides. “What are you—why are you here? I thought you…”
“I went back to return the stones,” He said softly, stepping closer. “And for a second, I thought about staying. Thought maybe I could try to have some of that life I missed out on,”
You swallowed hard, your throat suddenly dry.
Steve shook his head. “But staying meant leaving you behind for good and if I’m being honest—I don’t want that life if you’re not in it.”
With every move he made, your heart hammered against your ribs.
“I’m done running,” He blinked confidently. “And I retired the shield.”
Your breath caught. “Steve, what?”
His gaze flickered down as he rummaged around for the words. “Sam can do more with it now than I can. I know he’ll do good.” He paused. “Being Captain America gave me purpose but kept me from everything else. I’ve got a new purpose now and I think I’ve earned a different kind of life.”
Blinking, you watched as he inched closer, now just an arms length away. Hues of sunlight danced across his face, making his blonde hair look electric and blue eyes the most vibrant they’d ever been. He was gorgeous like this, close enough to touch and warm enough to feel.
“What is it?” You swallowed, eyebrows knitting together. “Your new purpose?”
His finger twitched. He so badly wanted to reach out to you but needed you to initiate that movement first. “You.”
You shook your head, something of disbelief and admiration etched across your features.
“Me?”
“You.” He said confidently. “From the moment I carried your groceries inside, I knew it was you.”
The weight of his words settled around you, steady but heavy all the same. It was raw and real, that very thing the two of you fought for years to hold on to.
You inhaled and then exhaled a shaky breath. “It’s been a long time, Steve.”
Time.
At first, it was Steve who was gone for longer than he let himself recognize, saving the world and losing pieces of himself along the way. Then it was you—vanished into dust and forced to return the same in a world where everything was different. The years had not been in your favor and for a moment, outside reading your book in the golden light of the sunroom, you thought you accepted that.
But then he showed up, chin raised and shoulders relaxed, prepared to bare himself completely to you. He stood in front of you, gone of all hesitancy and fear, ready to make this work. After years of calling it whatever you wanted, you were finally slowing down to put a name to it.
“Yeah, well, I’ve got a lot more of that,” He shrugged as a small smile curled up at the corners of his mouth. “I’m sorry I wasn’t here when it happened.”
You shook away the apology he was letting spew from his lips, stepping forward to close that distance. Your hand came up to gently rest on his upper forearm and the touch felt like electricity. “That doesn’t matter anymore. You’re here now.”
The silence that followed was soft but charged. His eyes searched yours, like he was still trying to make sense of being allowed this—your touch, your proximity, your gentle gaze. All without anger or blame.
Your fingers fiddled with a loose strand on his white tee when you spoke again. “I waited for you.”
Steve tilted his head, opening his mouth to murmur your name but you stopped him.
“I know,” you nodded. “I know you said not to, but I couldn’t help it. I’ve never had anything the way I had you. I knew I wouldn’t find that anywhere else no matter how much I tried.”
He blinked, slow and deliberate like he was trying to take a mental photo of the way your face looked against the evening sunset. “You still have me,” His eyes went wide as he anticipated your answer. “If you want me.”
There was a glimmer in your pupils that twinkled with something teasing and heartfelt. Your lips curled up in a grin, oblivious of how it was the first genuine smile you’d graced in days. “Of course, I want you.”
“Alright,” He was grinning now too, wearing his heart on his sleeve as he took that final step forward to close the distance. “I was just checking.”
A giggle slipped out of your throat and you were unable to resist it anymore. Leaning up, you tilted your head to press your mouth to his, and without question, his lips began moving in unison.
It was cozy—this kiss—familiar, like a flower planted itself in your chest. The way your bodies clung together was golden, submerged beneath sun rays and brushed with the evening breeze. It mended a hole that carved itself there years ago, filling a spot you’d kept reserved for him and him only.
You could feel it when he smiled into the kiss and it only made you lean in further. Despite this, it was gentle. Not rushed or eager. Just calm like something you wanted to cherish.
When it was time to pull away slowly, your hands came down to rest on his upper forearms. “You wanna stay for dinner?” You mumbled against his lips.
He blinked rapidly and you could make out a slight rose tint on the apples of his cheeks. “I’ve got time, yeah.”
“Good.” You nodded, inhaling as you scanned his face, just enough to take him all in. “‘Cause you’ve got a lot to catch me up on, Rogers.”
He chuckled, soft and quiet, his thumbs rubbing gentle circles where they held you at your waist. “Never thought I’d be the one doing that.”
Time had once been your biggest enemy but now, appeared to be your greatest gift.
Writing/Main Blog: @xreader1989
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Disclosures: I am NOT a professional writer. I am quite literally the opposite. All feedback is welcome, if you can be kind about it! This is a safe space and all requests are welcome, if I am not comfortable with it I won’t write it. I also write as I’m inspired so it might take me a while to get to your requests!
✨fluff 🔥smut ‼️angst ⚠️ trigger warning
dividers by @reezer9x and @diviniyae
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The Captain and Doctor’s Meet Cute
Sidney Crosby x thePitt!fem!reader
Word count: 2.5k Masterlist Series Masterlist
No description of reader but she wears a dress and drinks alcohol!!!
You were annoyed to say the least.
It was just your luck that Robby picked your name out of the mug.
You were a doctor. Not a poster child.
Yet, here you were. Adjusting your dress for the umpteenth time as you walked into the gala with Robby and Parker. The annual Pittsburgh Emergency Medicine Gala, hosted by the one and only Pittsburgh Penguins Foundation.
Robby had to go, by default. And you and Parker just seemed to have that kind of luck last week.
“I’m hitting the bar,” Parker said, diverting from you both before you even made it past the entry way.
You huffed a laugh.
“I know this sucks and no one wants to be here. But remember, smiles, handshakes, and don’t abuse the open bar.” Robby patted you on the shoulder before making his way through the room with his game face on.
You sighed, grabbing a glass of champagne from a waiter the second Robby was out of eye shot.
You downed the first one, immediately grabbing a second one.
The one perk was that you felt beautiful. You spent your days in scrubs and your days off in athletic clothes, at most jeans and a non graphic tshirt.
You took a deep breath, scanning the room for any familiar faces.
You walked over to one of the high top tables, heels clacking on the ground, squeezing your toes uncomfortably. You leaned against the nearest table and sighed in relief. It was going to be a long night.
Robby had laid out ground rules: you each had to be there until at least 10PM, you needed to shake hands with at least four of the donors and or sponsors, and be on your best behavior.
You ran through the rules in your head, suddenly feeling small in the room full of smart doctors and rich donors.
Someone clearing their throat beside you snapped you out of your thoughts.
You startled as the tall, dark haired man with piercing hazel eyes approached you.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you,” he said, approaching your high top.
You smiled, it was Sidney fucking Crosby. You couldn’t wait to rub it in Frank’s face. He had been rubbing it in yours that he didn’t have to go to this gala for the past week.
“You didn’t,” you said softly.
“I've seen that look before,” he said, narrowing his eyes.
“What look?” You asked innocently.
“The 'I'd rather be literally anywhere else' look,” he said, playing with the stem of his champagne glass.
You laughed before you could stop yourself, “am I being that obvious?”
He shrugged, “a little.”
You glanced around the ballroom. Crystal chandeliers sparkled overhead, waiters floated by with silver trays, and somewhere in the corner a string quartet was valiantly trying to make the top 5 classical songs sound classy and not boring.
“I thought I was hiding it better,” you brought your champagne to your lips, taking a long sip.
“When I first saw you, you were,” Sidney said with a shrug, “but as I got closer, I saw the sigh.”
You furrowed your brows, “I sighed?”
He nodded, “it was pretty dramatic, as far as sighs go.”
You groaned, “oh no.”
You buried your face in your champagne glass for a second before taking another sip, “this is my first gala.”
His eyebrows lifted, “really?”
You nodded, “I’m only here because my attending decided dragging two residents along would ‘make the hospital look like a united front’” you made exaggerated air quotes. “Personally, I think it was stupid.”
“So you’re a doctor?” He asked, genuinely curious.
“Yes, senior resident at PTMC,” you said proudly.
“So how does a senior resident end up here and not, say an intern?” He asked, suddenly invested.
“Oh, glad you asked. He drew names out of a coffee mug,” you said with a tight lipped smile.
Sidney blinked, “a coffee mug?”
You nodded.
He laughed, a real laugh this time, warm and surprisingly loud enough that a few nearby people glanced over, “a coffee mug somehow makes the situation even funnier.”
He shook his head, still smiling, “I remember my first one.”
“Yeah?”
He nodded, “yeah we’re gonna need a real drink for that one.”
He flagged a waiter down, ordering himself a whiskey and you ordered a glass of wine.
The drinks arrived swiftly.
“Cheers,” he said holding his glass towards you.
“Cheers,” you said softly with a smile, clinking your glass before taking a big sip.
“So, were you awkward?” You asked.
He chuckled, “I still am,” he took a deep breath.
“At my first gala, I was a rookie, I couldn’t even drink. So I spent the entire night sober. I got hit on by a sixty two year old lady with lipstick all in her teeth.”
You couldn’t help it, you laughed.
He smiled, “and the worst part is, I was too nice to say no. So I danced with her. And the team still likes to send that grainy picture around to humble me.”
You laughed harder, “I bet it made her whole night though.”
He laughed now too, taking another sip of his drink, like he was working up the courage for something, “I hope it did, because it’ll follow me forever.”
“But you have to be a pro now. You've done... what, a million of these?”
He shrugged, taking a look around the room, “a few.”
“You must know everyone that comes to these things,” you said.
He looked around the room before lowering his voice conspiratorially, “that's actually the problem.”
You lifted your eyebrow, “do go on.”
He smiled again, “they get rather boring.”
The admission surprised you.
“They all kind of blend together after a while,” he said with a shrug.
“So you're bored?” You asked.
He looked at you, “a little.”
You grinned, “I'm bored too. And I just got here.”
“So we found our common ground,” he said proudly.
You lifted your glass, “to our mutual boredom.”
What started as a two-minute conversation somehow became thirty.
Thirty minutes suddenly became an hour.
You learned that Sidney hated small talk almost as much as you did.
He learned that emergency medicine had permanently destroyed your ability to tolerate people who complained about trivial inconveniences.
You told him your craziest night shift stories. One of which was a Penguins fan challenging a Flyers fan to a duel using baseball bats.
He laughed so hard his whiskey nearly came out his nose, “you had to have made that up.”
“I swear on my medical license. They both came in, still clutching their bats, jerseys torn and covered in blood. And when they were wheeled in on stretchers, they were still yelling at one another,” you said with a tight lipped smile, “the Penguins fan did actually say he was fighting for your honor.”
Sidney doubled over laughing and you felt butterflies. You quickly realized the crush you were harboring on the devilishly handsome athlete in front on you.
“You are making that up,” he said accusingly, but with a smile.
“Im not! I swear!” You said defensively, with a grin.
"You're making Pittsburgh sound insane,” he said, shaking his head.
“You’ve played hockey here for basically a century. You should already know that,” you quipped.
He scoffed, “how old do you think I am?”
You couldn’t help it, you laughed again.
In return, he told you stories from road trips that sounded too ridiculous to be true. You heard of forgotten passports. Pranks that were borderline evil. And who accidentally boarded the wrong team bus once.
Sidnsey shook his head, “I refuse to tell you who that was.”
“You already told me enough clues,” you said with a smirk.
“I absolutely did not,” he said.
“Letang.”
“No.”
“Malkin.”
“No.”
“Right. Because it was you,” you smirked.
He stared at you, “I'm pleading the fifth.”
You gasped dramatically, “it was totally you.”
He sipped his drink, simply shrugging in response.
“So confirmed. It was you, Captain.” You said slyly.
You could’ve sworn you saw his breath hitch when you called him that. “I plead the fifth. I know my rights, Doctor.”
“You’ve said enough,” you said triumphantly.
He rubbed a hand over his face, smiling despite himself, “I think I liked you better before you started interrogating me.”
“You like me, Captain?” Your tone was borderline flirting. Dancing on that dangerous edge. He had gotten you too many glasses of wine for you to not attempt it, “and I’ll remind you, that you approached me.”
“I know,” he said, tone shifting to something softer than the back and forth teasing.
“So that’s on you,” you said knowingly.
He nodded, “it is.”
Somewhere around drink four, the room became softer around the edges.
Your feet still hurt, but you'd stopped caring.
“Don’t you have important people to woo here?” You asked, your filter slipping through the cracks.
“I’m right where I want to be,” he said smoothly, “plus there’s some perks to being Captain.”
That was the first of many times Sidney Crosby would make you blush.
Neither of you had noticed most of the gala had shifted towards eating.
“So,” Sidney asked, “have you met any of those donors your boss assigned you to?”
You froze, “oh god.”
His smile faltered, “have I been distracting you too much?”
“I may have forgotten,” you said embarrassed. You have been completely entranced.
Before he could answer you, another voice interrupted.
“There you are,” the deep voice rang out.
You turned.
Robby.
His hands were in his pockets. Suspicious expression already firmly in place. The one you received whenever you and Perlah were pranking Frank.
“I've been looking all over for you,” he said, a hint of passive aggression in his tone.
Your stomach dropped.
He looked between you and Sidney, immediately extending his hand towards him.
“Michael Robinavitch, chief of the ED at PTMC,” he glanced at you, “and this one’s boss.”
He turned back to face you, “how's the networking going?”
You looked at Sidney, “I’m so glad you asked…”
Sidney looked at you.
Neither of you spoke.
Robby narrowed his eyes, “you talked to at least four sponsors?”
You opened your mouth, but nothing came out.
Sidney stepped in smoothly, “she did.”
You both turned toward him.
Robby looked skeptical.
“I grabbed your finest resident here, she’s been keeping me company. But she met the Campbells,” he said confidently.
You stared at him in slight awe.
“The Harrisons,” he looked around curiously, “oh and Dr. Jones from Presbyterian.”
Sidney paused just long enough to look convincing, “Dr. Donnelly from the U.”
Robby looked at you suspiciously, “really?”
You nodded perhaps a little too enthusiastically, “yep. My social battery is basically drained, gonna need tomorrow off.”
“She’s been great company,” Sidney continued seamlessly, “they must’ve talked for at least fifteen minutes before I interrupted.”
“You interrupted?” Robby asked.
Sidney didn't miss a beat, “my bad, chief.”
He gestured toward you, “I came over to introduce myself, and then I completely stole her attention.”
You looked at him, trying very hard not to laugh.
“I've basically been monopolizing your resident ever since,” he spared a glance at you and noticed you biting back a smile.
Robby crossed his arms, “for almost two hours?”
Sidney shrugged with practiced innocence, “I didn't realize how much time had passed.”
Robby looked between the two of you again.
You were both holding your drinks and smiling far too much. Your cheeks were flushed the same way someone who had a few too many drinks would be.
Neither of you was doing a particularly good job of hiding that you'd had more than one drink.
Then, slowly, Robby glanced between you both, “you two are drunk.”
You gasped at the accusation, “noooo,” you said immediately.
Sidney answered at exactly the same time, “yes.”
You whipped your head toward him, “Sidney.”
He looked back and shrugged, “what, he’s not my boss?”
“You were supposed to say no,” you say, in a failed attempt at a whisper.
Robby pinched the bridge of his nose, “I knew I shouldn’t have let us split up. I’m pretty sure Parker already took some girl home.”
You laughed at that, “right on.”
Robby did not have the patience for you. He looked at Sidney, “so she actually behaved?”
Sidney nodded, “more than.”
“He is not my babysitter,” you said
Robby simply rolled his eyes in response. Sidney glanced at you with a grin that made your stomach flutter.
“I was the bad influence,” Sidney admitted bashfully.
“I wouldn’t say… bad,” you said flirtatiously.
Robby rolled his eyes again, “I can’t believe you and Parker did nothing but flirt all night. Now, excuse me Mr. Crosby, it was nice meeting you, but I have to pick up the slack of both my residents.”
You couldn’t help it, you laughed the second Robby walked away. And Sidney joined you.
“So,” he started, looking down at his glass, “have you been flirting all night?”
Heat immediately creeped up your neck, “it didn’t start that way, but, yeah, I think I have.”
You noticed the tint of pink covering his cheeks, “well. I came over here with the intention of flirting. But then I just started having fun.”
The admission came quietly and shyly.
You couldn’t help but smile at him.
Someone with an ear piece and a clip board all but ran up to you both, ruining the moment.
“Mr. Crosby! We’ve been looking for you everywhere, we need you on the stage like…. Fifteen minutes ago,” she let out on one breath.
Sidney glanced at you and then back at the panicked young coordinator, “I’ll be there in five. And please, Sidney.”
She nodded quickly, rushing away and talking into her walkie.
He sighed, “so I guess I’ve avoided my responsibilities far too long.”
You gave him a tight lip smile, saddened that this part of the evening was winding down.
“Listen,” he rubbed the back of his neck, “if it’s not too forward, I would love to get your number… and maybe take you to dinner some time?”
You had to bite back the giggle you could feel bubbling your throat out of giddiness, “ I would like that.”
He smiled, taking a deep breath of relief. He reached into his pocket and handed you his phone, you typed in your number.
“I hate to leave you here, but I’ll see you soon Doctor,” he winked at you before turning to go.
“Thanks for making tonight actually fun, Captain,” you sipped your drink, hiding your smile.
He walked away borderline skipping out of excitement.
You made your way through the crowd, finally finding Robby again.
“Oh, you done making eyes at the captain of the penguins yet?” He teased as you approached him.
You shook your head, “ha ha very funny.”
“Oh well, I wasn’t joking, now was I?” He teased again.
You rolled your eyes at him because his teasing was light and harmless. And you couldn’t believe you had just scored a date with the captain.
Tags (all): @ilocuras24 @nyxmoretti @kmc1989 @destinyg237
Tags (Sid x the Pitt): @readersassemble5 @sexychickenmagnet @renegadebirch @jesswriteswrongs @dancerbailey3
off the deep end
Pairing: single dad!Brendon Park x nanny!reader
Word count: 8.3k
CW: explicit sexual content, nsfw, 18+, mdni
Tags/warnings: f!reader, age gap (reader is 24, Brendon is mid-late 30s), inappropriate boss/employee relationship, high key perv!brendon, daddy kink, masturbation (m and f), fingering, hand job, angst, car crash, injury, comfort, fight/confessing feelings, dry humping, lil somno, oral (f receiving), protected piv sex
Summary: Your dynamic with Brendon is easy, comfortable, until one night everything changes and you're forced to deal with your feelings for each other.
a/n: something to get me out of this writing slump dear god
Disclaimer: YOU DO NOT HAVE PERMISSION TO REPOST MY WRITING ANYWHERE ELSE WITHOUT MY CONSENT. REBLOGS ARE ENCOURAGED THOUGH. YOU MAY NOT FEED MY WORK TO ANY AI DATABASES OF ANY KIND, USE MY WORKS TO TRAIN AI OR USE AI TO TRANSLATE MY WORK. FUCK AI.
"Daddy!"
The shrill of childish excitement lights up the surgery department in an instant, eyes and ears cutting through the sterile floor towards the sound, eager for a reaction from someone, anyone.
It's even more satisfying when Brendon Park, the Shark of orthopedics, stops mid sentence, turning swiftly to the sound, his blank expression curling into a gentle smile as he bends down to pick up the three year old in his gigantic arms.
"What're you doing here, guppy?" he teases. Brendon Park jokes, and glances get thrown between residents, interns and nurses alike.
Ah gossip, the great equalizer.
"Wanted to see you."
The little girl manhandles him, pulling and squeezing his cheeks like he's not a great white but rather a pliable flounder, reducing him to nothing more than a sucker for his kid.
"Oh yeah, where's—?"
"Jesus trouble, how do you run so fast?"
The way Brendon Park lights up for the second time practically blinds everyone. Oh this is definitely making the rumor mill rounds today. So long boring ten hour surgery to come.
"I didn't run!" the child huffs. "I ski...skiddered."
"Skipped?" Brendon looks to you for confirmation.
You roll your eyes at her antics, nodding your head towards her father, gracing him with a smile that makes everyone understand exactly why their big, mean, scary boss is acting the way he is.
The floor returns to its normal shuffle after that, one more second of inaction and the Shark would've definitely snapped.
"Hey," Brendon greets you, a little reserved, definitely surgical in nature.
"Hey Mr. Park," you beam and he instantly stills.
"How many times do I have to tell you," he starts to chide. "At least call me doctor Park."
You sigh out a laugh at that, rolling your eyes playfully as you instinctively step closer. He can smell the faint sweetness of your perfume, the spilled apple sauce on your shirt, the hint of laundry detergent on your fingers.
"I'm glad we caught you," you tell him. "We didn't know if you'd started on time today."
"Just about to go in."
You nod, clinical, like you're absorbing information and processing how you're going to get out of his hair in the next twenty seconds.
"Gotcha, well, you got what you wanted trouble," you hum, moving to grab the child in his arms.
She knows what's coming and so she throws herself onto her dad, tiny hands fisting the purple scrubs, cheek pressed tightly over his chest.
"No! I wanna stay with daddy."
Brendon opens his mouth to speak, to defuse the situation before the guilt eats him alive. But you're no sucker, unlike him.
"Really?" you frown. "You wanna stay with your daddy while he does his surgery instead of going to the park to get ice cream with me?"
In all honesty, he stopped listening to you the second the word daddy left your lips. He's certain his kid can feel his heart beating uncomfortably fast, rattling against this ribcage and threatening to burst out of his chest.
All he registers is the toddler flinging herself out of his loose embrace, almost face planting against the sterile floors and practically buzzing with excitement.
"Brendon?" you turn to him, smile turning into a frown quickly.
He springs back into reality when your hand lands over his forearm, light and grounding, like an anchor he didn't know he needed.
"Yeah, yeah," he responds, pretends, shifts out of your touch like he's already late for something that isn't even remotely time for. "I'll see you for dinner, okay guppy?"
But she doesn't care anymore.
"Okay! Bye dad."
Instead, she grabs your hand, demanding and pushy, and pulls you down the hall.
"Bye doctor Park," you tease. "See you later."
And just like that, calm and cold return to the surgery department, and Brendon Park snaps back into the sharpness that defines him.
It's late by the time he makes it home.
Too late, too tired, too...everything.
He sneaks into his own home like a teenager, light steps, a soft touch as he turns the key, even takes off his shoes by the door before he even makes it into the house.
It's not the first time either, not gonna be the last.
He shouldn't feel bad, this is what he pays you the big bucks for at the end of the day.
It's when he peeks into his daughter's room, catching the two of you snuggled together in her tiny bed, butterfly printed comforter covering her and not you, a book forgotten, Mr. Stuffles the rabbit on the floor that it hits him.
Hard.
He'd been miserable that first year after his girlfriend left him. They'd been planning a wedding, the baby being just another blessing in the string of goodness that they had been experiencing.
At least it had been to him.
It took her a year to leave, to finally crack under the pressure and run away. He didn't know how to be a dad alone, much less navigate co-parenting with the woman who had torn his heart out of his chest with her bare hands.
If it hadn't been for his mother, sisters and brothers, Brendon would not have made it through it.
But even they could only get him so far. He needed to go back to work, needed to find something to keep him going, needed...help. Professional help.
And that's when he'd found you.
Frank Langdon's occasional babysitter, full time student looking for a summer job while you got yourself situated for your master's program.
The little guppy was two at that point and Brendon simply couldn't be there for her all the time. So he poached you away from the ED doctor.
To say the dynamic had started out a little toxic would be...an understatement.
Once Brendon returned to the OR with full force, he fell hard into it, into the love and thrill and control that he could exert over his patients, his work, his process.
All the control he'd lost, the scared man that he had become—frantic and powerless—disappeared the second he got back in those scrubs.
And so did the loving and caring father that had put his kid first.
You ripped him a new one about eight days after first meeting him, a night like this, one where he came back home buzzing from a procedure well done, pupils dilated and ego through the roof.
She was young enough to not remember then, but she was definitely old enough to hold onto broken promises now, and that is what tugged at his heartstrings.
Now, tea parties and recitals were just as, if not more important than getting to do a risky procedure no one at PTMC had done before.
Of course, this time around he'd texted, let you know there had been a complication with the surgery. The shaky intern typing out the message practically stopped breathing every time Brendon asked him to erase everything and start from scratch.
They all thought it was cute how he wanted it to be perfect and gentle for his daughter, but the truth is, he needed it to be for you.
Brendon steps into the room softly, bending down to pick up the stuffy and placing it in between his kid's arms before he closes the picture book and sets it on the nightstand.
Neither of you startle at the movement, the soft glow from the salt lamp casting shadows that you knew were never meant to harm you.
It's only when Brendon places a hand over your shoulder, squeezing gently that you blink awake.
"Hi," you whisper, barely turning back to look at him.
"Hi," he smiles softly. "Are you comfy?"
You scoff out a laugh, soft enough not to wake up the kid but loud enough to make his smile grow twice the size.
"Let's get you to bed then," he places a hand under your neck then, pushing you up by supporting your back with his forearm while you tangle your hands around his other arm and pulling yourself into a sitting position.
Certain you're awake enough not to topple over, he leans over you and places a kiss to his kid's temple, watching her nose scrunch ever so slightly before settling back into comfortable sleep.
You smirk at his antics, using his body as leverage to get up to your feet, hands clumsily digging into the muscles of his back.
He groans lightly, old man that he is, and quickly retaliates, holding onto you so that you'll hoist him up with you.
"So heavy," you joke, straining to keep the two of you upright.
Brendon shrugs. "Just full of love."
"Booo," you chuckle, making your way out of her room, Brendon's hands over your shoulders to steady you. "There's leftovers in the microwave if you want them."
He hums in acknowledgment, letting you go as you make it out to the hallway.
"Eat, then shower?" he asks you.
"I'll take advantage then."
He nods. "Yours is still busted?"
"Yeah, guy said earliest he could come is next week."
"Damn plumbers."
"Indeed."
He stares at you for a long second after the conversation settles.
He's...comfortable. Too comfortable with you.
The past year has been a whirlwind. One summer quickly turning into you deferring your master's program so you could finish out the year with them. Then one semester turned into two, into you moving in, into...this.
Don't get him wrong, Brendon knows where the two of you stand. It's not necessarily healthy, but it's innocent, it's professional, it's...just a pathetic crush, nothing more. A fantasy he'll never allow himself to indulge in.
And yet, he cannot stop himself every time his eyes fall on your lips, the plumpness calling to him, beckoning him forward, demanding attention, truth.
"Goodnight then," he manages, rough and exhausted, desperate yet...not enough. Never enough.
You smile dopily at him. "Goodnight Brendon."
It's his own fault really, he should've knocked. But it's his house for fuck's sake, why should he?
So that's how he gets a complete eyeful of you taking a shower the next morning.
He got a late start which meant making breakfast, taking his guppy to school and then going to the gym, all before nine.
Unfortunately for him, earbuds in, distracted as all hell, he completely misses all the warning signs, the closed door, the steam, your clothes on the floor, the music blaring from the speaker.
He's certain he's dead and this is both heaven and hell simultaneously when he finally dares to look up and—
Jesus fucking Christ.
He should look away, he needs to look away...but he physically can't, his hungry gaze taking in every inch of skin visible through the condensation of the glass shower.
If only he would've reacted a second earlier...
You turn in slow motion, your reaction catching up late. You yelp, hands coming up to wrap around your chest, only aiding in pushing your boobs up further.
He instantly snaps into action, blush taking over every inch of his face and neck as he curses out a long string of apologies, blood pumping through his heart and his...yeah, he needs to get the fuck out of there.
"I'm sorry, so sorry," he stumbles out of the bathroom ungracefully, fast enough that he doesn't catch your own reaction, the way your chest constricts, the way your legs rub together.
Brendon manages to hurriedly hide in the kitchen, heart hammering against his ribcage, eyes wide and mind absolutely running a million miles an hour.
He needs to forget he ever saw that, needs to erase it from his brain...but his stupid erection won't let him.
The tent in his pants becomes painful the second he gives it attention, the flimsy material of his work out shorts just not helping his case at all. He needs to take care of this, needs to stop being such a weirdo before you come out.
So he rushes into your bathroom, locks the door like a sane human being does, and pulls himself out of his boxers methodically.
This isn't pleasurable, no, not at all, never. This is necessity. Emotionless, cold and surgical. He spits on his hand, wrapping it around himself without much preamble, thinking of nothing, searching for only one thing, release.
But he looks down at himself and his brain betrays him.
Imagine her on her knees.
"Fuck no."
How beautiful does she look, skin wet, hair stuck to her neck, eyes wide, mouth open?
"Shut the fuck up."
Her mouth would be so hot, come on, Brendon, give into her—
"Go away."
And yet he groans, the mere thought of you knowing what he's doing two doors away, the way you pushed up your chest, the need to paint it—paint you—white with his spend—
He's biting down on his other hand quickly after as he cums loudly, making sure to aim for the toilet while does.
You're no longer in the shower when he comes back out, your movements confined to your room. He doesn't have the courage to seek you out, so instead he just showers in silence.
The two of you don't interact at all before he's making his way into work.
You left his food prepped on the dining room table, disappearing out of the house the second you did to run some errands.
The tinge of shame and embarrassment linger deep in his bones all throughout the day, following him around like an unwanted shadow.
How would he even start to apologize? You have to talk about it, there's just no other way around it, but...how could he ever tell you it was a mistake when a part of him wanted nothing more than for it to happen again—to get a better look?
Since he made it to work late, he leaves even later. As he makes his way into his home, the same stillness from the night before greets him, only this time, it's heavy, like a breath that's been held in too long.
He goes through his routine quietly, dropping his bag by the door, checking in on his kid before walking down the hallway towards his bedroom.
But before he can make it, something catches his attention.
A breath. A gasp. A moan.
He freezes in front of your closed door, body going rigid with goosebumps, head turning almost robotically as his senses sharpen.
Your light is still on, peeking through the bottom slit of the door. Not uncommon, you like staying up to wait for him before you go to sleep.
No, what catches his attention is the distant...humming.
He steps forward, tentatively pressing his ear to the wood. It's not just a humming, it's vibrations, soft and steady.
Another shaky breath escapes you, louder than you would've liked, and you readjust the toy.
A shiver passes through Brendon as realization hits.
His cock twitches painfully against his underwear. Fuck this cannot be happening right now.
His head falls against your door, stabilizing, grounding. He can't, he will not—
Another moan from you. You're close.
Whatever resolve Brendon has snaps as he pulls himself out of his pants, hot, heavy and leaking.
"Jesus fucking Christ," he whispers as he takes himself into his hand. He begins to pump quickly, the pace excruciating and borderline painful, but he doesn't care, he needs to—
"Brendon," you huff, a breathy moan curling around his name. "Please I'm—Motherfucker!" you curse through gritted teeth, the vibrations stopping abruptly.
Brendon's heart does a leap in his chest.
Oh my god.
He can feel how frustrated you are, can hear how you shift uncomfortably over your sheets, can practically taste how wet you are as you toss the toy with a thump on the mattress next to you.
And Brendon doesn't think. Can't think, can't process a logical thought to save his life as he lifts his unoccupied hand and—
Knocks.
Says your name in that soft, saccharine voice of his that he uses when his child is throwing a tantrum.
Oh how he wishes he could see your face pale in horror at the knowledge of your boss being on the other side of the door.
"Are you okay?" he keeps poking.
You swallow thickly, shame mixing with terror.
"Mhmm."
"Can I come in?"
A broken sound leaves your chest, unprompted and definitely surprising you just as much as it does him.
"Um...no?"
He says your name again, stern and fatherly. He hears you moving around frantically, hiding all evidence of what you were just doing.
"Okay."
"Okay." A Cheshire smile curls at his lips, a thrill of satisfaction coursing through him as he tucks himself into his pants, the outline of his still rock hard dick on full display.
It's now or never.
He opens the door. You never seem to lock it, fucking adorable.
He has to physically hold himself back from pouncing on you as his eyes land on your heated cheeks, on your slightly tussled hair, on how you're gripping your comforter to save your life.
He shoots you a calming smile, boyish and embarrassed, as he steps into your room and closes the door behind him. Locking it.
He hears you gulp loudly as you notice his final movement.
"How was your day?" you barely manage to ask, your throat hoarse, your breathing broken.
He settles down on the bed by your feet, close enough to make your heart beat out of your throat, far away enough that he won't overwhelm you entirely.
"Good, good," he sighs, one hand tentatively inching closer and closer to you. "Lot of injuries today."
"I bet."
He smirks, a huff of a laugh cutting through the tension in the room.
"Listen—" he starts, looking up at you before continuing. You choke on your own breath, body becoming a statue with shame. "I'm sorry, I should've realized you were in the shower. It was very inappropriate of me and it will not happen again."
You let out a shaky breath, settling into the false sense of security, choosing to believe that he definitely did not hear you...yeah.
Brendon has to bite the inside of his cheek to stop from grinning like an idiot. God, you're just so adorable.
You nod, shifting forward, closer to him. "It's okay, I know you didn't do it on purpose. It was just...weird I guess."
You laugh, awkwardly, because what a silly predicament the two of you have found yourselves in, clearly.
Brendon doesn't follow your lead, not at all. He just keeps watching you, eyes darkening as he leans into you as well, his hand finally coming up to grab ahold of your foot over the comforter.
He squeezes enough to punctuate the moment, the tension, the heat. Your gaze snaps towards his hand, towards him, towards—
Your eyes widen without your consent as they land on his crotch, on the straining in his scrubs, on his still practically throbbing erection.
"Brendon," you exhale, confusion and desire blending together excruciatingly.
He shivers over you, his grip tightening on you.
"Don't," he warns. "Don't start something you won't finish, sweetheart."
Your gaze meets his then. He looks like a caged animal, practically vibrating as he holds himself back.
Emboldened by your lust, by the pent up frustration left coiling in your lower stomach, you get up on your knees, letting the comforter fall around your waist, the slightest sliver of skin peeking through.
"Oh I intend to finish it," you whisper.
"Unlike your vibrator?"
That breaks the spell quickly, heat rushing up to your face, neck, back instantly.
"Oh my god, Brendon!" you smack his arm, falling back down on your heels.
He smiles dopily, his hand sliding up your thigh as your brain processes all this new information. Distracted, you don't even notice when he slides beneath the fabric. It's only when the backs of his fingers graze your dripping folds that your breathing hitches.
"Fuck, sweetheart," he groans. "You're so wet."
You whimper at the feather light contact, hips bucking towards his touch.
"Please," you're no longer thinking, finally. "I need...make me cum, Bren."
The smirk that adorns his face then, all self-righteous and proud, only gets you wetter.
"Is this what you need, baby?" he leans in, breath hot against your ear as he presses a kiss just below it. "Needed my fingers to get yourself to cum?"
You moan, hands coming up to grab a hold of him, nails digging into the toughness of his arms.
In response, Brendon presses his thumb over your clit, slowly moving the pad in torturous circles. You pull him closer, opening your legs so that he has better access.
"Tell me what you need," he commands. "Tell daddy how to make you feel good."
Oh your head is spinning. A tear falls down your cheek, frustration rocking you out of control.
"Need your fingers," you pant.
He grins against your skin. "You already have 'em."
You whine, patience wearing thin. Who would've ever thought, his good girl, so demanding.
"In me, please," you choke, swallowing the drool that has gathered in your mouth before continuing. "Please daddy."
It breaks him, his ring and middle finger thrusting into you in one swift movement as his thumb picks up the pace.
You instantly hide your face agains the crook of his neck, your breathy moan muffled against him as he hooks his fingers into you, curling them over and over again against you until your legs are shaking beneath him.
"That's it, baby, such a good girl for me."
You shiver against him, melting against his warmth.
"Help daddy out, baby, wanna—" he groans. "Wanna cum with you."
He slows down his movements, keeping you right on the edge between putty and alert.
You nod against him, timid hands grazing down his torso towards his pants. The second your hand slides under his waistband, a hiss escapes him, causing a shiver of praise to boost your ego.
You manage to pull him out, long and thick and hot and heavy against your palm, you can't help but salivate at the sight. You let your drool drip down on him, his hips jerking as the wetness lands over his sensitive tip.
You giggle, overly amused by his reactions, emboldened by how easy it is to tame the Shark with just a simple swipe of your hand over his leaking head.
"Fucking hell, baby," he groans, picking up his own pace in retaliation.
You pull back to look at him then, gazes locking in silent competition.
He looks completely disheveled, broken and almost...reverent. Gratification blooms in your stomach, your hand pumping his length in tandem with his own fingers inside of you, the pace causing the two of you to slowly start to unravel together.
Your mouth hangs open in a silent moan as your body clenches around him, so close to the edge, so, so, so perfect—
"Daddy," you warn. "I'm gonna—"
He grunts, grabbing your hand and pulling it back up to his tip, urging you to focus your efforts there.
It takes him no time to catch up to you, his own body tensing in anticipation.
"C'mon baby," he implores. "Let go for me, cum with me."
A choked moan ripples through you as the coil snaps. Your legs quake, your vision blurs from pleasure, your hand stills over him as you feel his own release take over.
It's overwhelming to say the least, his hot moans heavy in your ear, his spend spurting onto your hand, painting his scrubs and your delicate skin, his warmth...oh my god he's so everywhere.
You can't think straight. Can't breathe right. Can't—
You groan as he removes his hand from inside of you, wetness running down your inner thighs as he does. Pleasure clouds your brain as you watch him bring his hand up to his mouth, his tongue lapping up your release, humming contently at the sweet taste.
Hunger flares in your belly as you do the same, lifting your hand up towards your mouth and sucking down on the spot covered by his cum.
You can feel the moan that ripples through him, his body tensing up with lust once more as he watches you.
"Fuck sweetheart, who would've thought..." he smirks, leaning down to smash his lips with your own, mouth desperately seeking to combine your tastes into one sloppy, searing kiss.
You oblige instantly, opening up for him to take whatever he pleases.
He pushes you down onto the mattress, his imposing body slotting itself perfectly in between your open thighs.
He's about to join you on the bed when you break the kiss.
"Outside clothes," you grumble, sleepy and spent.
It tugs at his heartstrings, his mouth curling into a loving smile as he strips down to his boxers before slipping back into bed with you, pulling your body to nestle snugly against his.
"I'm sorry, baby," he kisses your temple, watching you settle into sleep beside him, completely oblivious to how he licks and cleans your skin before finally allowing himself to succumb to the darkness.
You're woken up by laughter.
Soft and airy, like a gust of wind rustling outside your window.
Your curtains are still drawn, only slivers of light peeking through into your room, the warmth from outside starting to become overwhelming as you toss the comforter aside.
You sit up with a start, memories from the night before crashing through you like a downpour.
You almost, almost could've pretended it had all been a dream. Almost, if not for the stickiness lingering between your thighs, for the Brendon sized dip in your mattress that he left behind.
It's impossible not to feel his lingering presence in your bed, the way the sheets molded to accommodate him, the way his woodsy scent mixed with hospital antiseptic lingers on the cotton.
Fuck!
You're so close to spiraling, to having your chest cave in from the pressure of guilt, but then you hear it again.
That laugh, like a tug, a spark, a lifeline.
School, you're supposed to up to help with drop-off today.
You're quick to dress, pulling on your sleep shorts, hastily forgoing underwear because you simply aren't thinking straight.
It's late, too late to be thinking instead of moving.
You burst into the kitchen, ready to hastily put together breakfast and Brendon's lunch when—
"Noooooo!" the toddler screams at you from her high chair. "Go back!”
You frown at her, moving slowly around the kitchen island to catch her dad, sweatpants low on his hips, topless for added effect, just finishing up at the stove.
Behind him, a plate with a mountain of pancakes, and beside it, a tray, decked out with cut fruit, a cup of coffee, scrambled eggs, bacon, even a cup with a little flower from the backyard.
He must see the flurry of emotions taking a hold of you, so he softens instantly.
"Morning," he steps forward slightly. "We were just coming to surprise you."
Your gaze snaps up to his, searching, panicked, overwhelmed and then...grateful.
Your cheeks heat up softly, not instantly, not rushed, just comfortable, safe, loved.
"I'm sorry bug," you lean over and plant a kiss on her head, unruly curls frizzy from sleep. "But now we can have breakfast together, yeah?"
She sighs, dramatically, before she turns to you, arms high up so that you'll pick her up.
You roll your eyes, obviously doing exactly what the princess wants.
You're about to walk out into the living room when you turn back to Brendon, the expression you manage to catch across his features just barely shy of adoration.
You've done this plenty of times before but it's never felt this...domestic. And you can't help how your stomach twists, how your heart blooms—you like this.
Breakfast continues on in that same way. Stolen glances, confusing feelings and an overly energetic toddler that get maple syrup over everything, especially her hair.
One rushed bath time later, you're putting her hair up into ponytail braids, her request, when his imposing frame slides up to lean against his daughter's open door, purple scrubs hugging his body deliciously.
"Ready to go, guppy?"
The kid nods, bashful, as she takes in the little hair clips in her hair, the beads from her ponytails.
"You look beautiful, trouble," you kiss her cheek and she responds by throwing herself around you, a hug so tight it melts you right into her.
"Thank you!"
"You're so welcome."
When she finally lets you go and runs towards her dad, you catch his stare through the mirror. It's...everything. Stormy, bright, hopeful, sorrowful, angry, pleading, you can't look away.
Later, he mouths. We'll talk.
You nod, shooting him a timid smile before he's being dragged out of the house.
Your brain is fuzzy for the next half hour, your movements slow and sluggish.
You focus on tidying up around the house, going through routine out of muscle memory. Cause the truth is, your mind is far away, stuck on the night before, on his lips, his fingers, his hot breath—
Jesus fuck you have got to get it together.
The postman comes through at the perfect time, envelopes snapping you out of inaction. You sort through them absentmindedly still—energy bill, invitation to the annual hospital gala, ortho research magazine, University of Pittsburg—
Your name.
His address.
Your heart constricts, your throat tightens.
Shaky fingers tear through the sticky adhesive, almost tearing the letter within its confines.
Rabid eyes scan the corporate jargon.
Final notice. Unable to push back start date another semester. Confirm attendance or forfeit spot. And then, a deadline.
Sink or swim.
Reality pounding at the door of your carefully crafted fantasy.
It all crumbles instantly.
You've grown attached, complacent, lost yourself as you found a new place, comfortable, easy, simple. You love your life, you love how easy it is to not have to think, to just do, to soak up the joy and the tantrums and the late nights and...
Him.
He's your fucking boss for crying out loud! He can't...he doesn't...you live in his house, you eat his food, you take care of his kid.
How can you take his money and be with him romantically?
You're taking advantage of him, this is so wrong, how could you ever do that to him? To them? To yourself?
But if you leave...if you leave you lose everything you've grown attached to, everything that makes up who you are now, everything—everyone—you love.
This isn't fair. This isn't how it's supposed to go. How could you have been so stupid to—
Your phone blares, a reminder alarm goes off, effectively cutting off your spiraling but only making you even more panicked.
You're late for pick up.
You don't remember much, just that you're driving a little more on edge than you usually are. The lunch traffic is easing down, luckily, but it's just a reminder that you're late.
The school calls, you tell them you're on your way.
He texts, you ignore it.
The green light turns red after you cross—
And it all goes dark.
You're so out of it that your name doesn't sound real.
There's overlapping voices, bright lights, too many hands touching your sweaty skin.
You try to push them off, try to close your eyes for them to be pulled open, try to complain but your throat is so dry nothing remotely close to words spill out.
You know where you are before the nurses have a chance to ease your discomfort.
You can't be here. Nope, not here, bad place to be cause he's here.
You try to get up the second they transfer you into a bed, even manage to sit before Langdon's hands are pulling you back down against the pillow.
"No, nope, none of that," he chides.
"Frank—" your voice sounds so broken it scares you.
"You're okay, let us take care of you," he stares deep into your eyes, his baby blues reminding you of the exact person you're desperate to avoid. "Please."
Before you can continue protesting, they drug you. Yeah, not their finest moment, not yours either. Lorazepam, just enough to calm you down, to finish their exam.
You're lucid, you think, just...softer. It's only then that your body comes back to you, the weight of your bones, the exhaustion in your muscles.
You don't complain again, only answer questions when they're asked.
You're fast tracked to CT, nothing abnormal though you definitely have a concussion. Your body is littered with little cuts and bruises from impact, apparently a motorcyclist who decided to accelerate to sixty without thinking twice. He's being treated at Westbridge so you'll know more later.
Now...now you're just a guilty, crying mess, injuries wrapped, IV almost done, waiting for an ortho consult because everyone in the ED knows you.
But he's not here yet.
It's been hours and he hasn't shown his face.
Logically, you know why.
He had to go pick her up when you didn't know. He had to call out of work because you weren't reliable, he had to—
The curtain is drawn and a child's voice says your name.
You can't help but burst into tears again, desperately trying to hide away, to brace yourself for the impact that follows her around.
But it only makes her more afraid, more distressed, and it breaks your heart.
With your eyes shut, tears streaking down your face, you don't see him, but you hear him.
Hear how he steps into the room, how he refrains from speaking your name, how he pulls the curtain closed again, how he picks up his kid and settles down on the stool beside your bed.
And then you feel tiny, cold hands press over your cheeks, gently poking at you until you break, calling out your name over and over and over until he says it.
Low and soft, pleading.
You open your eyes, a fresh waterfall dripping onto her fingers, causing her to recoil adorably.
"Yucky," she shivers, wiping your tears on her father's shirt.
That gets a laugh out of you.
"There she is," Brendon's voice is heavy, like the emotional weight has solidified into his body and is crushing over his chest.
You finally look up at him then, relinquishing your fears and staring directly into the place you know is both salvation and ruin.
"Well hello baby shark," Dana's signature snark breaks the moment. "Y'wanna come with me and let the boring grownups talk? I got apple sauce and crayons."
Wow she's so easy to lure away it's a wonder she's still in one piece. Well...who wouldn't be, with a dad like that and a nanny who would kill anyone that even thought about breathing near her with wrong intentions.
She winks at you and shoots a stern look at Brendon before leaving the two of you alone.
He doesn't even let the room settle before he's pouncing, lips on yours simply to prove to himself that you're alive, that you're breathing, that you're still here.
You can't stop crying, can't stop shaking, can't—
He shushes you gently, warm hands cupping your cheeks and wiping away the wetness as it falls.
You choke out a half-hearted laugh. "Not yucky?"
He smiles against your mouth, kissing you one last time before he pulls back to look at you.
"I was so worried," the confession is a mere whisper but it hangs thick in the room, suspended in a web of all the things you've both left unsaid. "When Dana called—" he chokes on a breath. "Fuck, sweetheart I almost—I couldn't think, couldn't breathe, I was resetting someone's fucking shoulder and..." he chuckles at the memory. "Almost made it worse."
"The great Brendon Park, almost ruined by one phone call," you try to joke, try to lighten the mood but...it's impossible. The way he stares at you, his gaze searing, his hands holding onto you as if he's afraid if he lets go you'll disappear—"Brendon."
"I know," he murmurs. "I'm sorry, we should've—I should've—"
You shake your head as much as the concussion will allow, your hands coming up to lace with his own.
"It's my fault," you sob. "I wasn't thinking—I...I got scared."
His brow furrows but he doesn't prod, doesn't force you to speak. He just waits, patiently, like you've seen him do plenty times before with a snotty, emotionally confused toddler.
So you take a steadying breath, grab his hand tighter, and tell him everything. The letter, your panic attack, your uncertainty, your fears, your...hopefulness.
It doesn't matter that your brain doesn't feel comfortable baring your soul to him, your heart does. With each word, the clutches of doubt and panic ease off, your grip lightening until you're unashamedly fiddling with his fingers, tracing lazy patterns over his skin like he...like he belongs to you.
He sits with your confession for a while, a few seconds turning into a few minutes but he doesn't pull away, doesn't make you feel unwanted. So you don't panic either, you just trace his nails with your fingers over and over and over agains until—
He lifts your hand up to his mouth and places a soft kiss onto your knuckles.
"What do you wanna do, baby?"
Baby, like it's simple. Baby, like it's normal. Baby, like you're his.
You search his eyes for malice, for a truth that you desperately need to push on him so that you can focus on a broken heart and not the overwhelming reality of choice, of making it work.
But all you find is patience, kindness, openness.
Fucking girl dad ortho bros that are emotionally intelligent—they're the worst.
You sigh, honest and raw. "I don't know. I just don't want to lose you."
He hums in understanding, rolling closer to the bed.
"I don't want to lose you either," he states, unflinching. "We can take this however you need, you can still live with us, you can..."
He trails off as he notices the hesitancy in your eyes.
"You don't want that?"
He doesn't say it maliciously, but it still sucker punches you all the same.
"I don't know...what about trouble? She's young but she's not stupid. I don't...I don't want her to think that I'm...that I don't love her because it's not the same—"
"She's a smart kid, she'll understand," he's too quick to catch your lie. "Now if you're afraid of things changing..." he catches your guilt flash through your eyes. "Then that's okay. We can go slow. We don't have to figure it all out right now."
You nod, accepting the easy way out.
One step at a time.
You can live with that.
Recovery is...boring as all hell.
The motorcycle guy lived, your insurance companies settled out of court, nothing to worry about according to Brendon who's been fussing over you for the past five days.
He's taken a temporary leave to nurse you back to health and "take care of his girls" as he put it, settling some stupid bet that the surgery department started a few days ago.
The little bug is practically glued to you, helping out her dad in whatever way she can, which isn't much, but it's always appreciated. She's even started reading you bedtime stories, but in truth she's just making things up as she points to the pictures.
At night, when she finally knocks herself out, Brendon settles into bed next to you, those first couple of days unable to get you into bed with him but finally, after much groaning and moaning, claiming he needed the extra room from his king for his back—which is a fucking lie since he always just sleeps tangled around you—he finally comes out victorious.
It's a Saturday when it happens.
No school, no early alarms, no nothing except his steady breathing, his safe embrace keeping you flush against his front, your leg straddled over his hip so that he can pull you in closer—
It's his own damn fault honestly.
You blink awake as a hardness pressed against your front. His heat pulls you in, your sleepy brain not thinking anything other than closer, warmer...so you roll your hips and a jolt of pleasure courses through you.
You're suddenly extremely aware of everything, frustration rearing its ugly head as memories flash from that night again.
You haven't touched yourself since then. Haven't wanted or been able to. But now, this morning you're just...very aware of how much you need it.
You roll your hips again, hoping to wake him up and have him take care of you. You can feel how much he needs it too, how much his body craves yours. If you can just—
"Baby," he groans against your temple, grip on you tightening, pulling you further into him. "What're you doing?"
You huff, desperate, sliding a hand in between your bodies and accidentally on purpose raking your nails along his length.
He hisses against your skin, question answered instantly as his eyes snap open.
"Oh sweetheart," he coos, merciful it seems. "Did you wake up needy, baby? Need me to take care of you?"
You nod, pathetically honestly, but you can’t care less.
He's got you sprawled under him in the blink of an eye, his mouth connecting with yours in a searing kiss before his lips begin to trail a path downward.
You're doing much better today. The cuts have scabbed over, the bruises are starting to fade from purple to brown, movement doesn't make you dizzy, if anything, it makes you just the right amount of lightheaded.
You feel his touch everywhere. Feather light grazes over your abdomen, nails raking up towards your breasts under his obnoxiously soft cotton t-shirt.
He removes his mouth off you so he can pull the shirt off your body, the offending fabric getting tossed to the side as his mouth latches onto your nipple.
You arch into his mouth, strangled moans escaping before his hand comes up to slide his fingers inside. He presses them against your tongue and you instantly suck on them as he too continues his assault.
When he's finally satisfied, he trails lower, hot tongue licking down your stomach until he reaches your pubic bone. His hand slips out from between your lips so he can hold your legs open for him before settling his mouth over your panties, taking a deep breath in and relishing in the way your breathing hitches.
Fuck he's so beautiful like this.
"Thank you baby," he grins against you. Fuck did you say that out loud?
He doesn't let you think on it as his mouth opens up, wide and predatory, and bites down on your mound, his tongue pressing against your clothed clit, working it through the fabric.
"Bren—please, I need—" you pant, already delirious.
"What do you need baby, tell daddy what you need."
Your head spins, heat blooms everywhere.
"Your mouth," you try, hoarse and needy. "Need your mouth."
He doesn't force you to beg, it's not the time for that. Instead, he shows you mercy, pulling your underwear to the side and diving right in.
His tongue is ravenous, licking a powerful stripe from your entrance up to your clit, groaning against your folds at the gathered wetness.
"So fucking good," he mumbles into your skin before his puffy lips latch onto your clit. He sucks and licks and pulls and tugs, all the while your body thrusts into his mouth. You almost hit him before his grip on your thighs tightens and he reminds you swiftly that he's much stronger than you.
You bite down on your tongue, hard enough to feel the sting, the faintness of copper lacing your taste buds. You know you have to be quiet but fuck do you want to scream.
"Bren fuck oh my god," you whimper, your hands threading through his soft waves, the lack of gel sending another shiver down your spine. No one else gets to see him like this.
He bites down on your clit then, pulling slightly before he slides down again, his nose perfectly hitting your bundle of nerves as his tongue and mouth fuck your entrance.
He feels you cumming before you even know what's happening, the coil in your abdomen snapping without even giving you a heads up. Your hands come up to muffle your screams while your body rocks, a tidal wave crashing through you as he does his best to hold you down, to work you through it.
He's gentle, diligent, devout almost as his mouth continues to kiss and lick and suck until you twitch from overstimulation. Only then does he detach himself from you, the bottom half of his face glistening with your release.
You look at him with the most gleeful expression, so proud of yourself, of his smugness.
He settles in between your legs again, pulling them tight around his waist, just reveling in being able to hold you against his naked front.
You're so blissed out, grateful and happy, planting your lips over every inch of skin he'll let you. But you're greedy now, you need more, want more.
You press your front against the bulge in his sweats and he hisses.
"We don't have to—"
"I want to," you kiss him again, your lingering taste euphoric. "Please."
You don't need to tell him twice. He rolls over towards his bedside table instantly, pulling out a silver wrapper and discarding his pants in what feels like seconds.
You can't help but giggle, the boyish smile on his lips and the way his cheeks tinge pink quickly sending you into overdrive.
You need this man inside of you right now.
You watch in awe as he tears the wrapper with his teeth, rolling on the slick condom over his impressive length.
Yeah, he's perfect, and he's yours, there's not a shred of doubt in your mind. You don't know how everything will fall into place but you don't have to, because you'll figure it out together.
He settles in between your thighs again, his chest pressing down against yours, desperate to be as close to you as possible before he lines himself up with your entrance and slowly thrusts himself inside.
You're wet enough that with the lube, he slides right in, your ass flush with his thighs in a dizzying, all consuming instant. He's perfectly snug, fitting so perfectly inside of you that neither of you can help the moan of satisfaction that spills.
It quickly turns into a fit of laughter, easy and shy, like you're both making love instead of having sex. And that just feels right.
He kisses you softly, tentatively, letting you get used to him before he begins to move. But you're impatient, your hips rolling on their own as you seek some friction.
He groans into your mouth. "Fuck baby, trying to kill me."
You smirk against his kiss, cocky for exactly three seconds before he meets your movement with a thrust of his hips. With the air getting knocked out of your lungs, he begins to move, slow and unhurried, all the way out before he thrusts right back to the hilt.
You hold onto him like your life depends on it, pressing further into his skin, his warmth, his safety. You can't get enough of him, of the excitement of tomorrow, of the need that comes from wanting nothing more than to be close to him.
"Such a good girl for me," he praises into your ear. "Letting me take care of you, only complaining a couple times."
You huff out a laugh, remembering the first time he'd helped you to the bathroom and then waited imposingly on the other side of the door until you were done. He's lucky he never tried to get in with you otherwise you would've hit him.
His thrusts pick up the pace in response.
"Let me take care of you, baby," he pleads then. "Whatever you decide, let me help you, please."
You blink back tears, nodding against his cheek, nails digging into his chiseled back.
"Yeah?"
"Yeah," you moan. "Please daddy—"
You don't get to finish as he groans, hoisting your bottom half off the bed as his mercifulness finally snaps.
He fucks into you like he needs to show you just how much your words affect him. The bed rattles, the mattress squeaks awkwardly but neither of you cares. You need this, need each other.
"Come on, pretty girl," he pants. "Cum with me, cum with daddy."
You're just as affected as him, your second peak slowly but surely sneaking up on you again as he sneaks a hand in between your bodies, pressing the pad of his thumb over your clit.
You clench around him and he hisses, leaning down to capture your lips with his in a searing kiss as warmth floods you both. Your moans get tangled in between hungry tongues and teeth, your bodies vibrate against each other in bursts of pleasure and care and...love.
You're unsure how long you're stuck there, in between real life and whatever the fuck you're feeling, but finally when your body pushes him out of you, he rolls over and goes into the bathroom.
You watch him through hazy eyes as he cleans himself up, his adonis like body always such a sight to gaze upon. He blushes crimson when he catches you watching him, the apex predator reduced to a blubbering mess by just one simple look.
But it's not simple, and you both know that.
Pride swells up in your chest as he runs a wet towel in between your legs, leaning down to kiss you over and over again before he finally deigns the day worthy enough to begin, or rather, three soft knocks on his bedroom door startle you back into reality.
"Can we have ice cream for breakfast?"
You roll your eyes, sharing a glance with him that warms your heart.
Yeah, you're gonna be alright.
a/n: thank you to everyone that participated in the poll! hope this is to your satisfaction dividers by @/enchanthings
sugar
pairing: chef Luca x reader word count: 2.6k warnings: 18+, nsfw!!!, smut!, no use of y/n but luca calls you baby :3 (unf), unprotected p in v, little bit of fingering, dom/sub, orgasm denial/control, edging, angry/annoyed sex?!?, public bathroom summary: “Let me guess… ‘Too proud to stage’ but just humble enough to fuck you in a bathroom?” author's note: um, so, this was my attempt at writing porn without the plot, but the plot got me!! the plot got me!! ugh >.< i'll try again. fyi this chef Luca smut has nothing to do with my fine line smut :) also i might write a second part?!?! anyways i hope you enjoy! the wordy peach <3
Seven minutes ago, you were sipping champagne, laughing with your cousins, letting the band’s cover of Sugar by Maroon 5 carry you into that familiar warmth weddings are supposed to have. Then Sydney just had to lean in, casual enough to pretend she wasn’t stirring the pot, and mention that Luca was definitely going to be the new stage at The Bear.
Now?
Your back is against the cold porcelain countertop, heels slipping against the tile as Luca’s frame crowds yours. Somewhere between your third “you’re better than this!” and his clipped “you don’t get to tell me that!” his hands had found the hem of your dress, and silk is now pooled around your hips.
You’re both glaring, eyes locked, daring the other to blink first.
“I thought you were joking, but you’re serious — you’re really going to be a stage? At his restaurant?” Your voice echoes through the tiled room, sharp and incredulous.
Luca doesn’t say anything, mouth screwed shut. His hand is braced beside your hip, the other grazing black lace — the panty he insisted you wear tonight. His fingertips slide the flimsy fabric to the side, letting the cool air hit your most sensitive area.
Your fingers curl against the counter, nails biting the surface, holding onto your anger to keep you steady. To keep you anchored. It’s your cousin’s wedding, for fucksakes. It’s practically a family reunion after years spent in Copenhagen with Luca while he chased, and caught, his dream of being a chef. You’re supposed to be mingling, drinking champagne, catching up, delivering a speech in about twenty minutes…
Not pinned in a bathroom with a needy cunt.
“It’s humiliation, Luca. You’re better than Carmen, and you know it.”
The more you poke, the more you prod, the heavier his silence grows. And Luca just stares at you in a flat, bored way. He’s done with the argument. Your words mean nothing to him, yet you’re still dragging it out. You grit your teeth, pulse thrumming.
It’s impossible to look away. He’s dressed too well for this fight. Black slacks, black collared shirt, hair styled to perfection. Fabric clinging and cutting in all the right places.
Luca looks untouchable.
Every inch of him screams control — making it harder to resist, and even harder to remember why you’re supposed to be angry when he looks like this, and smells like smoke and spice and something so distinctly him.
Then, Luca lifts two fingers to his mouth.
The wet sound of him coating them in saliva is obscenely loud in the tiny bathroom. Your stomach twists, heat rushing even lower, because he doesn’t look away.
Not once.
The connection is so palpable it makes your skin prickle — Luca is doing this on purpose. All because you picked a fight with him, because you dared to tell him he’s better than your cousin.
“This is about you proving something to him, not to yourself." you murmur, your voice faltering.
His fingers pop out of his mouth. Your chest stutters.
He drops them to your slit, peeling you apart. He starts just below your clit, gliding in an endless give and take motion — nothing about the way Luca touches you is careless. It’s dedication. Years spent mapping your body, so of course he knows the exact pressure it takes to make you gasp.
Your hand closes around his wrist, meaning to stop him, to push him away.
But you can’t.
Because you’re not in control. Luca is.
And he knows it.
The glint in his eyes tells you he feels the shift, feels as you lean into it. Into him.
“And if it is? What then?” He finally speaks, voice low enough that it scrapes over your skin.
His thumb ghosts over your clit, never makes contact. He knows your reaction by heart: a sharp inhale through your nose followed by a ragged exhale, squeezed through clenched teeth.
But he’s taken back by your harsh words.
“Then you’re not the Luca I thought you were.”
The real insult?
His pupils don’t even dilate. Just that same bored, ‘are you done?’ stare before muttering, “Mmm, wrong answer. Try again.”
Then, he circles your clit, just once.
Your body jolts, and you try to cover it with a useless scoff, “Well, the Luca I know wouldn’t go back to be a fucking stage.”
A muscle feathers in his jaw. Not anger. Not even annoyance. Just tired. So fucking tired of your persistent inability to understand him. One by one, Luca plucks his fingers away, leaving behind a glistening trail of ache.
Then, he moves.
Clutching your waist. Hauling you up. Setting you on the counter. Slotting his body between your knees. Cold porcelain biting your ass. Breath rushing out of your lungs. Hands gripping his shoulders for balance.
The bathroom is suddenly too small, and too hot. Music and laughter filter in through the walls, muffled but close. You vaguely register the risk of being caught, but none of it tears you away from Luca.
He tips your chin up, inspecting your flustered defiance at being manhandled.
“Go on, then. Define me some more, baby,” Luca orders, voice dark, hand dropping to his belt, flicking it open before working on his zipper. “You know how I hate half-assed prep work.”
Your throat bobs once. No words come. You’re still, silent, trapped by the certainty in his eyes that he has you right where he wants you. Every thought you had is gone, wiped out by the weight of his cock resting on your plush cunt, panty still shoved to the side.
“Let me guess… ‘Too proud to stage’ but just humble enough to fuck you in a bathroom?”
There’s no slow build, no easing in. Just a deep, hungry thrust. Nails digging into his arms. Teeth sinking into your bottom lip, clamping around a gasp. Walls squeezing, adjusting. Every exhale comes out as a thin, nasally whine. Brows furrowing together, each line a whisper of it hurts.
Luca lifts a hand, fingertips slowly tracing them. His touch is light, teasing, and infuriatingly intimate. You flinch, slapping him away.
He smirks a little, daring you to try again.
“Luca, you can’t just—nngh, fuck—”
He shoves deeper, forcing your gummy walls to expand for him. Luca loves how your cheeks puff out, round and straining, fighting to stay quiet. Even after all these years, you still can’t handle his stupidly fat cock.
It’s cute.
Your hand drops to his stomach, trying to signal that you need him to stop, that he can’t just take what he wants. He halts, pulls out a little, lets your cunt flutter around his tip instead.
His calloused hand cradles your jaw, grip just shy of painful. His thumb traces your bottom lip, admiring how lightly it quivers beneath his touch.
“Can’t what, baby?” His gaze lingers, all honeyed and sweet.
You fix him with a glare that’s not really a glare. It’s heady, full of heat and frustration, trying to regain control over the situation you created.
“Is it too much?” His head tilts, just enough for the bathroom light to crown him. Gold-lit hair, sharp angles, and that permanent, teasing smirk.
Luca looks impossibly perfect. Entirely in control.
You nod, a little. A soft mewl escaping.
“Oh, that’s too bad…” He rocks forward, cock devouring the space inside you again. You wince, breath hitching. It’s too much. The friction. The burn. You feel dizzy. Lightheaded. Invaded beyond comprehension.
But it's also everything you ever wanted.
Luca watches, mesmerized, as your face reddens. His finger taps your swollen cheek, pressing just enough to make your lips part in a gasp.
“Adorable,” he murmurs, “But I’m going to need you to breathe, baby.”
He holds your gaze, waiting for your lungs to cooperate again. When they finally sort of work, he whispers, “Good girl.”
His praise liquifies your bones.
Then, you feel the slick drag, inch by inch, of him withdrawing. Leaving nothing to clench. Your face twists into panic — is Luca just going to leave you like this — cunt empty. Sticky. Drooling.
Your fingers dig into his shirt, tugging at him. Your eyes start to water, trying to reason with him, “If I didn’t care, I wouldn’t have said anything. I just don’t want your talent to go to waste working as a stage again.”
You whimper. It’s sad, and pathetic.
“Luca, please—”
“Mmhm, gonna have to cover that pretty little mouth,” Luca places his palm firmly over your mouth, the heel of his hand pressing against your cheek while the other hand locks onto your waist, holding you in place, “Or the entire wedding is going to hear you.”
With a single thrust, he splits you open. You writhe beneath him, grunting words that get caught between your lips and his palm.
Wait. Please. S’fucking big.
He doesn’t stop, giving you every fucking inch, burning through your limits until there's no room left, until he's completely buried at the hilt. Luca licks the tear spilling down your cheek, and lets out a low hum of pleasure, “Fuck—tight little thing still can’t take me, huh?”
You don’t answer him. You can’t. He’s knocked any and all sense out of you. Your chest just arches into his, neck tipping back. Luca uses his weight and strength to cage your body against his, and, he fucks you.
Each thrust is a reminder that he’s the one who’s spent hours plating dishes you can’t even pronounce. That he’s the one who lifted, endured, broken his body into muscle and precision until it became second nature.
“Tell me, was it the 16-hour days where you watched me bleed that makes you think I’m too good to get my hands dirty as a stage again? Or are you just going to miss being the only one who gets to taste my best work?” His fingers dig into the soft yielding flesh of your hip, body angling impossibly closer.
“Be honest, baby. I know you hate sharing.” Luca growls, tearing into the resistance like it's nothing, cock hitting that spot now — your eyes roll back, and your moans vibrate against his hand. He works it over and over and over. Showing no mercy as a hot, insistent pressure builds that's too tight. Too much.
You’re right there, walls pulsating with the promise of release that never comes. Because Luca has pulled away, leaving you a shattered, ruined thing of almost.
A wet, broken sound crawls up your throat. It’s half-gasp, half-sob.
It makes him laugh, a soft, disbelieving sound.
“Oh, did you want something?”
You nod, a bit too desperately. Maybe even a little bit humiliated too.
“Maybe you shouldn’t have picked a fight over nothing.”
His hand that seals your mouth is a brand, a reminder you can’t shake. Each slow flex of his fingers tells you that he’s the one who’s spent years perfecting pressure, and restraint.
He shakes his head, tsking, “Some insignificant bullshit just to hear yourself talk.”
Your stifled disagreement earns you a hard grind of his hips. It’s just enough to make your toes curl, but not enough to send you over the edge.
This is where Luca keeps you, teetering on the edge, denied.
Because he likes this part.
Like the way your hips jerk, desperate, when he pulls back. Likes the way your lashes flutter, the furrow of your brows, the tension in your neck. He sees it all. Feeds on it. He could end this anytime. But why would he? Watching your thighs quake with the need he refuses to satisfy is half the fun.
And just to prove how practiced he is, how effortless his control is, Luca eases up. Penetration becomes shallow. Only giving you an inch, maybe two. Taking his fucking time, making every second count — again, again, again — until your nearly wrecked cunt starts making lewd, squelching noises and you’re clawing at him, whining in frustration.
A bead of sweat traces down the sharp angle of Luca’s jaw. He doesn’t wipe it away, doesn’t even flinch. Too busy holding the line, too busy forcing you to stay in this dizzy, aching place a heartbeat longer.
The sweat is the only thing that gives him away. The only crack in his control. And you’d worship it, if he’d let you.
“I know how to stage. I know how to be a chef.” Luca leans in, close enough for you to feel the heat of his words. “And I know I’m fucking good at it.”
He drags your hand to your stomach, covering it with his own, and presses down. Then, his hips snap forward. And you can feel the faint outline of his cock as it spears your cunt, owning you.
It makes you shudder.
“I’m not doing this to prove myself to Carmen — I’m doing this because he needs a chef like me in his kitchen.” Luca’s throat moves like he’s forcing down glass, tendons standing rigid under his skin. A swallow that’s too loud, too telling. But his eyes are worse. They’re bright with something feverish, pupils swallowing the light.
“I know I’m better than him in every way that matters.”
His hand stays firm as he kisses the corner of your mouth — a mockery of tenderness.
“Do you understand, baby?”
Only then does Luca lift his palm.
“—yes, chef—”
A knock rattles at the bathroom door.
You practically choke on your answer, eyes going wide with panic. Luca doesn’t seem to care, smoothing his hand over your mouth again, steady and calm, as if he’d been expecting it.
“Hey, you in there?” It’s your cousin. Carmen. “Your speech is coming up...”
You twist, a muffled sound pressing into Luca's skin, but he just looks at you. Totally unbothered. Then, without missing a beat, his voice lifts, casual and lazy, “No, she’s not in here…”
Luca smiles. It’s not sharp or cruel, but boyish. Soft in a way that completely disarms you, like he’s not the same man whose throbbing cock is still buried inside your cunt. He lingers, eyes sweeping your face before finally easing out. The loss is immediate, the ache cutting into the space just below your navel.
“Luca?” It slips out as a plea, a question you don't even know how to finish. You're half-undone, wound so tight. Head buzzing, blood thrumming hot in your ears. Desperate for the rest of him.
Luca just steadies you, patient, hands firm as he helps you down from the counter. Your legs wobble when your feet hit the ground, knees nearly give, and it makes him smile again — quiet, and infuriating. He knows exactly how wrecked you are.
With one hand lingering at your hip to keep you up right, Luca crouches low, helping to slip your heels back on, fixing the straps with sure fingers, like he’s dressing a doll he isn’t finished playing with yet. As Luca rises, he sweetly adjusts your black lace panty before smoothing your dress down over your thighs with those sure, capable hands. Tugging at the fabric until it lies flat, until there’s no evidence of what he just did, of what he almost finished.
“You’re fine,” Luca says softly, though you know he's lying.
You're ruined.
His thumb brushes your jaw, sweeping a stray strand of hair from your cheek. A deceptively soft touch, domestic, ordinary. And then, quietly cruel, with the faintest curve of his lips: “Well, baby. You better get out there — got a speech to give.”
Copenhagen
Chef Luca x fem!Berzatto!reader (established relationship)
Word count: 2.1k Masterlist
Summary: Luca asks you to move with him, will you blow up your relationship in typical Berzatto fashion? Or let yourself live the life you’ve always dreamed of?
AN: nobody asked for this but I’m a slut for Will Poulter and had this idea while watching season five. SEASON FIVE SPOILERS!
You couldn’t have heard him right. That couldn’t possibly be what he just asked you.
“Wha-what did you say?” Your words were shaky, you shook your head in disbelief.
“I asked you to marry me and move to Copenhagen… with me,” his accent was so overwhelming, even after years of dating, it made everything sound like silk, “I know it’s a bit of an ask, darling. If you marry me, you wouldn’t have to worry about a visa. I can’t pass this up, and I’m asking you to come with me, because I want that future we’ve been talking about.”
You could tell he was nervous, his tone was soft and a little tentative, like he knew what he was asking.
“Is that supposed to be a proposal?” It’s the only thing you could think to say.
His face softened, “not the official one, I just mean it’ll make it easier. I thought we talked about it. Do you not want to marry me?”
“No, I do, Luca. This is just, I don’t know,” you gestured vaguely, “a lot.”
Your family was here, your sister, your brother, your oldest brother’s grave. You have known nothing in life but Chicago. But part of you always dreamt of more, could this be what that is? Or was this a grave mistake you were bound to fuck up?
“We have to get to the restaurant,” you moved, not knowing what else to do. You slipped your rain jacket on. As you walked by him, he grabbed your wrist lightly, keeping you in place.
“Look at me please,” he said barely above a whisper.
You took a deep breath before turning to face him.
“I leave in a month.” He searched your face for a reaction, but your poker face remained in tact as you reverted back to your old ways of pushing your emotions all the way down.
“I want you to come with me, if that’s what you want. I’ll be able to support us both for a while, it could be our next chapter. But you don’t have to tell me right now,” his hands moved to cup your cheeks tenderly, and you let yourself melt just a little bit from his touch, “I love you.”
“I love you too, Lu,” you said softly, trying to blink back the tears of frustration that threatened to spill.
He moved his hands away from your face and you turned to leave, Marcus was waiting outside for you both.
The entire car ride you sat in the back as they chatted and bickered like brothers. You looked out the window at the rain absolutely pounding. The anxiety was sitting in your chest like a weight, making every breath feel like a chore. He was so patient with you. So patient with your grief and your anxiety and your Berzatto way of handling emotions and big conversations.
By the time you got to the restaurant, you made your problems everyone else’s.
You hated that you did this, the snapping, the tone. Sydney was begging you and Carmy to stop. It wasn’t loud, there wasn’t cursing, but there were little digs. When you finally turned to Sugar and gave her similar treatment, she had decided the last hour was enough.
She took your forearm firmly and all but dragged you into the small office. When she closed the door you immediately crossed your arms in defense.
“What’s wrong with you today?” Your sister’s blue eyes bore into you as she placed her hands on her hips, “you’re snapping at everyone, I hate when you get like this, it’s not like you.”
“Nothing,” you said, rolling your neck.
“Well, what’s bothering you then?” Nat asked, throwing her hands up in frustration.
“Nothing,” you said through gritted teeth this time. You moved to leave, but Nat stepped in front of the door.
“Sug—”
“No.” She cut you off, “you’re not leaving until you tell me.” Her hands were firm, her stance strong.
“Sug, don’t make me move you. I’m taller than you and you always forget that,” you threatened.
She scoffed, “try me.”
You sighed, seriously considering a physical altercation with your older sister, but your shoulders sagged.
Her face changed, twisting into something of concern.
Your hands came up and covered your face.
“Is it Luca? You guys have barely talked,” she pried, “he keeps looking at you like a dog that’s been kicked.”
You removed your hands, “god you always know.”
She smirked at you.
You took a deep breath, “he’s moving to Copenhagen.”
Her jaw nearly dropped, “what?”
You took an even deeper breath, you felt like caving in on yourself, “and he asked me to… marry him and go with him.”
You punched the bridge of your nose and squeezed your eyes shut. Now she audibly gasped. “What?”
She moved from the door and stood in front of you, “I mean, you said yes right?”
You whipped your head up, “what? I didn’t say anything. I totally panicked.”
She sighed, placing both of her hands on your shoulders, “you have wanted to escape here your whole life. And you love him so much, so much I’m almost jealous. This is so exciting.”
You smiled a little, which made her smile.
“What am I supposed to do? Just marry him and fuck off to Europe indefinitely?”
“I mean, does that really sound so bad?” She said softly.
“Ugh, no.” You said, “so why am I being so stupid?”
“Because you’re a Berzatto, it’s in our blood to ruin good things,” she answered, only partly joking.
You laughed again, “you’re right.”
She pulled you into a tight hug, “I think you need to talk to him.”
You embraced her, enjoying the moment of quiet that you rarely got with your sister.
“Yeah I do.” You agreed with her.
She took a shaky breath against you, you knew that meant she was trying not to cry, “I’m really proud of you, and so happy for you.”
“I love you,” you said softly.
She kissed your cheek and pulled away, placing both her hands on your shoulders, “go get em tiger.”
You emerged from the office with a new found lightness. Your first stop was Carmen. He was at his station quietly, being uncharacteristically quiet today for the sake of Syd.
You bumped your hip against his, “hey bear.”
He didn’t look up from the pan in front of him, “hey.”
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to take that all out on you,” you said embarrassed.
“It’s okay, I know you didn’t mean it,” he turned and smiled.
You rubbed your first over your chest, and he mimicked the gesture, a silent agreement that you were okay, water under the bridge.
You moved swiftly to the pastry station. Marcus was tense besides Luca, and you were sure a conversation about Copenhagen was had.
“Lu,” he looked up at your voice and met your eyes, “can you come outside for a sec?”
He nodded, “yes chef.”
He followed you out the back door, where you both jogged to the tent that was the makeshift smoking spot.
Before you could think too hard you spoke. “I want to come with you,” you said softly.
His eyes widened and a grin took over the lower half of his beautiful face.
Even in the rain his blue eyes were sparkling.
“Your coming… to Copenhagen,” he repeated.
You nodded, “yes.”
“And you want to marry me?”
You nodded again, “yes.”
You smiled up at him, and before you could say something else his hands came up and pulled your face into a warm kiss.
When he pulled away you were both smiling.
“I guess I have to get packing… and also tell everyone I know,” you said softly.
“Lu,” you said sweetly.
“Yes,” he said, still holding your face in his hands.
“Take me to Paris, I’ve always wanted to go,” you said, placing your hands on his chest.
He laughed, “I will take you, literally anywhere you want to go.”
His hands stayed on your face, he slowly moved his thumbs across your cheek bones, “I thought I was going to lose you. My stomach has been in knots all morning.”
Your hands came up to hold his wrists, “you couldn’t lose me if you tried.”
“Don’t tell anyone I’m coming with you yet, okay? I need to do it,” you said calmly.
“Absolutely,” he kissed you on the cheek, “we should get back in there.”
“And babe?” You asked.
He hummed, still looking at you.
“Go easy on Marcus, he gets mean when he’s stressed, and even more so when he’s upset. He feels like you’re abandoning him,” you held his gaze.
“Okay, love,” he pecked your lips again.
Both of you stood there touching, not wanting the moment to end, listening to the sounds of the heavy rain and enjoy the warmth emanating from him.
He leaned down and kissed you again, a little slower this time. You moved your hands to the base of his head, playing with the soft hair that sat there. He moaned softly into your mouth at the feeling. Just as you were about to slip your tongue into his mouth, the door swung open, “WOAH! Cousin!”
Richie’s scratchy voice rang out. You jumped out of Luca’s hold like he had burned you.
“I don’t wanna see all that, I’m tryna have a smoke!” He made his way under the tent, already trying to light his cigarette.
“We were just about to head inside,” you said, moving past Richie with Luca in tow.
“Yeah, sure that’s what it looked like,” he yelled after you.
You took Lucas hand and pulled him inside, both of you blushing out of embarrassment.
Inside, the kitchen swallowed you both immediately.
The hiss of burners, the clatter of pans, Sydney calling times from the pass. Service was still already starting to move whether your world had just changed or not.
Luca squeezed your hand once before letting go.
“After service?” he asked quietly.
“After service,” you promised.
You headed toward your station and could feel his eyes following you for a second before he turned back to pastry.
Marcus looked between the two of you with narrowed eyes, “you guys okay?”
Luca reached for a tray of choux and, for the first time all day, looked completely relaxed.
“Yeah,” he said, “more than.”
Across the kitchen, Carmen caught your expression immediately. As a brother does.
He was plating fish when he glanced up, froze, then slowly raised an eyebrow. You tried to keep your face neutral, but you failed spectacularly.
A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.
“What?” Sydney asked, noticing.
“Nothing,” Carmy said, still watching you. “Absolutely nothing.”
You rolled your eyes and focused on your prep, but your hands felt lighter than they had all morning. Every few minutes you caught yourself smiling at nothing. At the shallots. At the ticket machine. At the fact that Copenhagen suddenly felt real.
Then, inevitably, your gaze drifted across the kitchen.
Luca was piping cream into pastries, and he was smiling too.
Not his usual small, amused smile. A full one. The kind that reached his eyes and made him look younger.
Marcus noticed it first.
“Why are you smiling like that?” he asked suspiciously.
“Am I?” Luca replied, failing to hide it.
“Yeah. It’s weird. Stop,” Marcus said seriously.
Luca laughed under his breath and went back to work, but the smile never really disappeared.
Service pushed on.
You moved automatically, years of muscle memory carrying you through the rush. Yet every so often you’d catch Luca looking up from pastry, and each time he did, that same impossible grin returned to his face.
And every time it did, you felt your own answer it.
By the middle of service, Richie finally noticed.
“Why do you two look so goddamn happy?” he demanded, pointing between you with a pair of tongs.
“We’re working, cousin,” you said innocently.
“Yeah, and I’m the Queen of England,” he said, gesturing around dramatically.
Luca ducked his head to hide another smile.
Richie looked at Carmy. “You seeing this?”
Carmy smirked without looking up from the pass, but didn’t respond.
“You know something?” Richie asked, turning towards him.
“I think I’ve put some pieces together, yeah,” he said simply.
“I hate this family,” Richie said shaking his head
“No you don’t,” you and Nat said in tandem.
The tickets kept printing. The rain kept hammering the roof. The restaurant buzzed around you.
But underneath all of it was something new.
A month from now, you would be leaving Chicago. You would be standing beside Luca in Copenhagen.
You looked up from your cutting board just as Luca looked over from pastry. Across the noise and steam and chaos of the kitchen, your eyes met.
Neither of you said a word. You simply went back to your stations, unable to stop smiling. And neither could he.
seeing double
summary: when your ex-boyfriend makes a surprise visit to ptmc, your boyfriend and the rest of your co-workers realise you might have a type…
pairing: jack abbot x fem!reader & ex bf!mark sloan x fem!reader
warnings/tags: established relationship, implied age gap between abbot & reader and mark & reader, flirting, fluff, swearing, mark don’t give a fuck that the reader is in a relationship, but reader is respectful of boundaries, defs a bit of jealous and insecure Jack if you squint
notes: hot hot hot hot hot give them both to me now thanks!! also massive shoutout to the anon that requested this 🙂↕️
likes, reblogs, comments are very much appreciated!
Enjoy my work? Tip me! 🤍
masterlist
“Ew.”
The word left you before you could stop it as you sunk your teeth into a granola bar.
You grimaced as you turned over the wrapper, examining it like it might explain why you felt like you were currently eating a stick of glue.
“Are these expired?” You asked through the mouthful.
McKay barely glanced up from where she had half her body buried in the fridge, rummaging past several abandoned containers and a suspiciously wet paper bag.
“Nope, they’re just a by product of the drywall factory down the road.” She answered.
You stared at the bar for another second, trying to muster up enough willpower to finish it given you hadn’t eaten lunch.
After abandoning that mission in under 10 seconds, you leant over the bin and spat out the mouthful with as much decorum as you could before unceremoniously dumping the rest of the bar after it.
“Those things aren’t that bad.” Whitaker mused as he wandered into the breakroom with Santos hot on his heels.
“That’s because you were raised on hay.” Santos remarked dryly.
“They’re raspberry flavoured.”
“That’s not helping you Huckleberry.”
You huffed a laugh as the two of them started bickering just as your phone buzzed in your pocket. You leant against the wall, only half listening as you pulled it out of your scrubs and saw a notification from Jack.
He must have just woken up from his pre-shift nap. The corner of your mouth lifted as you read his reply.
You: Are you coming in early today?
JA ❤️: Always.
You quickly typed out another message.
You: any chance u could bring in a protein bar for me? the ones at work are inedible
The reply came almost instantly.
JA ❤️: I know. I’ve told Robby they are a serious health hazard.
You smiled at that as you watched the three dots blink back at you.
JA ❤️: I’ll be in soon. I already have some in my bag for you.
You: are you psychic?
JA ❤️: Just good at pattern recognition.
Your smile widened as his reply came through.
You: thank u 🩷
JA ❤️: 👍
“What are you smiling at?”
You looked up to find McKay watching you over the fridge door.
“What?”
“That.” She pointed vaguely at your face. “Whatever that was.”
“Nothing.”
Santos and Whitaker paused their arguing to focus on you.
Santos studied you, her face contorting into a grimace. “Gross.”
“What?”
“I just can’t get over the fact that Abott reduces you to…” She trailed off, waving vaguely at you.
“That?” Whitaker supplied.
“Yeah.” Santos nodded gravely. “That.”
You rolled your eyes, sliding your phone back into your scrub pocket.
“I think the two of you are starting to fuse into one brain cell.”
Santos’ expression went still. “….that was genuinely hurtful.”
You turned to Whitaker. “There’s your new button to press.”
Whitaker’s grin widened as he crossed his arms over his chest and turned to Santos. “Oh I cannot wait to bring this up multiple times a day.”
Santos glared at you. "You're a traitor."
You pushed off the wall, shaking your head as you made your way towards the door.
“Never give your triggers away Santos.”
“You’re still a traitor!” She called out.
You waved her off without looking back, escaping before she could start another argument.
You barely made it two steps before nearly colliding with Samira.
“Oh sorry.” She came to an abrupt halt, the usual frazzled expression etched onto her features as she looked up at you.
“You all good?”
“Yeah um- have you seen Joy?”
“Not for a little while.”
“No worries, if you see her can you tell her I need her in Room 3?”
“Sure.” You nodded, tilting your head slightly as you studied her. “Are you sure you’re ok?”
“Yeah fine.” She brushed you off as she tucked a loose curl behind her ear. “Haven’t had lunch so I’m a bit cranky.”
You nodded in understanding. “Word of warning, don’t eat the protein bars.”
Samira’s nose wrinkled as she stepped around you. “Why on earth would I do that?”
You threw your arms up dramatically. “Am I the only one who didn’t know they were inedible?”
“Apparently so.”
You huffed, pulling your hair out from under your collar as you made your way over to the status board which was currently glowing above the chaos that was the ED like a cruel little scoreboard.
Your hands settled on your stethoscope as you scanned the board. Less than an hour till your shift was over, at least officially. Which given your track record of overtime, meant close to nothing.
“Hey.”
You glanced over to see Perlah leaning against one of the desks.
“What?” You asked warily.
Her smirk widened. “Have you seen the hot visitor?”
“The what?”
Princess appeared beside her, equally delighted.
“Absolute smoke show.”
Princess nodded towards the far end of the station. “Follow the sounds of Joy giggling.”
Your brows knitted together.
“Joy? As in our intern, Joy? As in the complete antithesis of her name, Joy?” You queried.
“See for yourself.” Perlah grinned.
You followed their line of sight to the other end of the nurses station where a tall figure stood, leaning an arm on one of the benches.
At first, all you saw was the back of a leather jacket, familiar in a way that made your stomach drop before your brain had fully caught up. The man shifted slightly, turning just enough for a familiar profile to come into view. The same hair coifed to perfection, the same self-satisfied slant of his mouth.
And sure enough standing beside him, blushing furiously as she giggled, actually giggled, at whatever he had just said, was Joy.
“I didn’t even know she was capable of laughter.” Princess remarked.
You closed your eyes for one brief, pained second. “You have got to be kidding me.” You grumbled.
Before either Princess or Perlah could ask what was wrong, you were already moving, making a beeline towards them.
Princess and Perlah exchanged a look behind your back. “What just happened?” Princess asked in Tagalog.
“I don’t know." Perlah muttered. "But I think it’s going to be good.”
By the time you were close enough to hear the familiar deep drawl of his voice, Mark Sloan had inched in just enough to make Joy look like she might pass out.
“So, is that the only piercing you have or...?”
You rolled your eyes.
“Still shamelessly hitting on interns I see.”
Mark turned at the sound of your voice. For half a second, there was nothing but surprise. And then his eyes lit up in recognition.
“Well I’ll be.”
That familiar grin spread slowly across his face as his eyes travelled down your body with the same shameless appreciation he’d had years ago, like he was undressing you from memory.
“Cupid.” He said the nickname lowly, like he’d never stopped saying it. “Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes.”
You shot him a fake smile. “Wish I could say the same.”
Joy looked between the two of you, blinking rapidly, as if she was trying to decipher a complex math problem. You turned your attention to her, offering her a polite smile.
“Dr Mohan's looking for you, something to do with your patient in room 3.”
“Oh right.” Joy nodded, adjusting her glasses as she glanced at Mark. “On it.”
“Bye Joy.” Mark called out lazily, watching her blush as she scurried away, nearly walking into a wall in the process.
He turned to you, looking pleased with himself as he leant forward. “Why do you always have to ruin my fun?” He pouted once she was out of earshot.
"Someone has to."
Meanwhile, McKay, Whitaker and Santos had exited the breakroom, not even bothering to conceal their ogling as they clustered around a monitor.
“Ok who on earth is that?” Santos queried.
"And why does he look like he just walked off a photoshoot?" McKay muttered.
“And how do they know eachother?” Whitaker added.
“He called her Cupid.” Joy casually commented as she walked past them.
Whitaker’s brow furrowed. "....Cupid?"
Santos froze. The faint amusement dropped away, replaced by the sharp, dawning horror of someone remembering a detail they were never supposed to need.
“Oh my god.”
“What?” McKay and Whitaker asked simultaneously.
"Do you guys remember that time at karaoke?"
"....the one where she sang No Scrubs at Abbot?"
"No. The one when she accidentally admitted she had an ex at Seattle Grace that used to call her Cupid."
McKay and Whitaker both slowly turned to stare at Mark, then at you, then back at Mark.
"No." McKay shook her head.
"Yes."
“You don’t seriously think….” Whitaker trailed off.
“Oh I do” Santos nodded. “I really do.”
Back at the nurses’ station, you folded your arms, ignoring Mark's attempts at getting under your skin.
“What are you doing here?”
“Oh some conference.” He waived his hand dismissively. “Thought I’d take the opportunity to come see Robinavitch.”
You blinked. “You know Dr Robby.” You said slowly.
“Since med school.” He answered smoothly. “Why? Hoping I was here to see you?”
You snorted. “Please.”
“Oh c’mon Cupid don’t act like you don’t miss me.” He smirked as he stepped closer. “You wouldn’t have moved across the other side of the country to forget about me if you didn’t.”
You leant in slightly, shooting him a dry smile. “I wouldn’t touch you again even if my life depended on it Sloan.”
He let out a genuine chuckle. “I’ve missed this.” He gestured between the two of you. “Us."
He placed his chin in the palm of his hand, leaning even closer. "Why did it ever end?”
You pretended to think for a moment. "Maybe because you’re physiologically incapable of staying monogamous?”
“Oh yeah right that.” He nodded. “Speaking of monogamous..."
"No."
"... I’ve heard you’ve got a new boy toy right here at PTMC.”
Your eyes narrowed. “Jesus Christ Meredith needs to learn to keep her mouth shut.”
“Well in her defence she told Derek who then told me so….” Mark trailed off, turning his body around to survey the room. “Which one is he?”
"I'm not playing this game." You answered, folding your arms over your chest.
“Wait let me guess.”
Before you could stop him, Mark placed both hands on your shoulders and gently turned you so you were both facing the floor of the pitt.
His eyes landed on Frank first. “Too pretty boy.”
He guided your shoulders slightly towards Whitaker. “Too scrawny.”
From across the room, Whitaker stiffened. “…Why is he looking at me?”
Santos didn’t look away. “Don’t wave.” She murmured.
“I wasn’t going to.”
“You were thinking about it.”
Then the ambulance bay doors opened. Jack walked in with a thermos in one hand, his bicep bulging as he shifted the backpack slung over his other shoulder on full display under his dark fitted shirt.
Your stomach dropped as his eyes scanned the room, no doubt looking for you. It didn't take long for his eyes to find yours. You watched as they shifted to Mark, then dropped to Mark's hands resting on your shoulders.
For a moment, his expression barely changed, only the faintest tightening around his jaw gave him away. Then he kept walking.
Mark smiled slowly. “….bingo.”
Your body stiffened as Mark glanced sideways at you.
“I’m right."
You didn't answer.
"I am."
“I’m not talking about my love life with you of all people.”
“Cupid, don’t be like that.” He nudged your shoulder. "Come on, what’s he like?”
“Well for starters, he volunteers as a medic for the SWAT team.” You said sweetly. “So he’s got at least one gun on him at all times.”
Mark nodded slowly, dropping his hands from your shoulders. "Noted."
"He also has excellent aim."
"Message received." Mark held his hands up. "I'll behave."
And then, for the first time since he had appeared, the teasing faded.
"But seriously..." His face softened slightly as his eyes settled on your face properly, no longer performing for the room.
“You’re happy?”
You exhaled slowly, your defences lowering slightly by the unexpected tone of his voice.
“I am.”
“He good to you?"
You smiled softly despite yourself. “He is.”
Something flickered across Mark’s face then, softening the usual sharp lines of his smirk, scarily close to being something sincere. “Good.”
For a moment, the years between you settled there. It didn’t feel painful or bitter or even sad. In fact, it seemed absurd to think that you'd cried over him once upon a time. Now he was just a story you told after one too many drinks, something you reflected on and shook your head, chalking it up to the foolishness of youth.
You cleared your throat, looking away first. “How’s work?”
“Busy, chaotic, dramatic.” Mark shrugged.
"So the usual then?"
“The usual.”
He glanced around the emergency department, frowing slightly as he took in the noise, the movement, the organised disaster of it all. “How’s the ED?”
“Busy, chaotic.” You echoed. “Somehow still much less dramatic than Seattle Grace."
Mark barked out a laugh. “Yeah that checks out.”
“Sloan.”
The two of you turned to see Robby making his way towards you, Jack beside him.
Mark's grin returned instantly.
“Robinavitch.” He broke away from you and pulled Robby into a hug with the force of someone who had never respected personal space in his life.
"A lot less hair since I last saw you."
Robby snorted, clapping him on the back. "The Pitt will do that to you.”
Jack caught your eye over Robby’s shoulder, his expression running a fine line between faint amusement and annoyance.
Robby stepped back, shaking his head before gesturing to Jack.
“This is Jack Abbot, night attending.”
“Nice to meet you. Mark Sloan.” Mark stuck his hand out. “Head of Plastic Surgery at Seattle Grace.”
“Plastic surgery?” Jack's brow lifted slightly as he shook Mark’s hand. “Explains the soft hands.”
Mark laughed loudly enough that several people looked over.
“Oh my god.” Whitaker mumbled as he watched Jack and Mark shake hands. “It’s like I’m seeing double.”
Santos shook her head. “She’s got some serious issues.”
McKay folded her arms over her chest as she studied the two men. “Or just good taste.”
“I second the good taste thing.” Princess murmured as she appeared beside McKay.
Perlah took a sip of her drink and nodded. “I third that.”
The handshake lasted just a fraction longer than necessary as Mark glanced over at you. “I get it."
Robby’s eyes narrowed as he gestured between you and Mark.
“You two know eachother?”
“I was an intern at Seattle Grace." You supplied quickly.
“Oh yes, Cupid and I go wayyy back.” Mark smirked.
Robby's confusion only deepened. “Cupid…?”
You shot Mark a warning glare, which he very intentionally ignored.
“Yeah Cupid.” He answered smoothly. “'cause you know she’s got these little angel wings tattooed right above her-“
“Okayyy you know what.” Robby clapped his hands letting out a bark of awkward laughter. “I think a hospital tour sounds like a great idea right about now."
Mark's eyes gleamed as he shoved his hands into his pockets. "I was going to say shoulder blade."
“You are going to walk with me." Robby said, already steering him away, “And tell me absolutely none of the rest of that story.”
Mark let himself be guided down the hall, still grinning smugly as he glanced back over his shoulder at you and winked, making you roll your eyes once more.
You dragged your eyes away from him to look at Jack who was yet to move. He watched Mark disappear down the corridor, then looked back at you.
He slowly stepped forward, eyes scanning your figure as he placed his hands casually behind his back.
"Ex?"
You sighed. "...Ex."
Jack nodded curtly. “Got it.”
“Abbot.” You looked over to see Dana studying both of you. “Dr King needs an attending in Room 8.”
Jack's eyes never left you. You watched him intently, waiting to see if he would say anything further. Instead he simply reached into his pocket and produced a protein bar.
You swallowed as he slid it into the front pocket of your scrub top, his fingers lightly against your side subtly.
“Eat.” Was all he said, unable to hide the affection in his voice.
Your throat tightened around a smile as you nodded. He held your gaze for one more second, then turned and headed in the direction of Room 8.
You watched him go, your hand subconsciously brushing over the side that he’d just touched.
When you looked back, Dana was still standing there, one hand on her hip as she watched you over her glasses with an expression far too knowing for your liking.
“Don’t you dare say a word.”
She raised her hands up in mock surrender. “Wasn’t gonna.”
You huffed as you turned, suddenly desperate to busy yourself in order to keep your mind off the cluster fuck that was your two worlds colliding.
For the next twenty minutes, you threw yourself back into work. Every few minutes though, your gaze betrayed you, either drifting towards the corridor where Robby had taken Mark or towards Room 8, where Jack had disappeared. The protein bar sat heavily in your pocket, your appetite now completely non-existent.
By the time you ended up at a computer to finish off your charting, your shift was close enough to ending that you had started to believe you might actually survive it.
“Oh damn, the patient in room 7 died.”
You glanced up to see Whitaker staring at a chart from the workstation beside you.
“The old lady with the chest pain?”
“Yeah.” Whitaker sighed.
You frowned. "That sucks."
“She had a husband right?” Santos chimed in from across from you, not bothering to look up from her own computer.
“Yeah she did, married nearly fifty years."
Without missing a beat, Santos glanced up at you. “Abbot better watch out.”
Your eyes narrowed.
"Nice. Very respectful." Whitaker shook his head, although you could see he was trying not to laugh.
"What?" Santos shrugged. "Our girl clearly has a type."
"Silver foxes?" McKay suggested as she walked past grinning like a cheshire cat.
"I hate all of you."
Whitaker looked over at you like he was genuinely offended. "What did I do?!"
Across the hallway, Jack had just emerged from Room 8. Your eyes met his. He didn’t react beyond the faintest lift of one eyebrow, but you could tell he'd heard every word.
You tipped your head slightly towards the supply closet. Jack looked at you for half a beat, then gave the smallest nod.
You waited a couple minutes before moving.
The supply closet was narrow, overstocked, and smelled faintly of antiseptic and cardboard. You shut the door behind you and leaned against a shelf, exhaling slowly for what felt like the first time in an hour.
A few minutes later, the handle turned. Jack stepped inside and closed the door quietly behind him. He leaned back against the opposite shelf, folding his arms loosely across his chest as the two of you studied eachother.
“Hi.”
“Hi.”
“So… that’s your ex.”
“That’s my ex.”
He nodded. "You left out a few details."
"Such as?"
His gaze dropped briefly, then returned to your face.
“Well first of all I wasn’t expecting Mark Sloan.”
Your brows lifted in surprise. “You know who he is?”
“I’ve heard of him.”
“Of course you have.” You paused for a moment before your voice dropped slightly, unable to hide the insecurity in your tone. "Do you think less of me because I dated someone like him?"
Jack's brows knitted together. "Absolutely not." He said immediately. "It's just that I wasn't expecting your ex to be..."
Your brow furrowed. “Be what?”
“…old.” Was what Jack settled on.
You let out a disbelieving laugh. “He’s not old, he’s like your age.”
“Exactly.” Jack nodded. “I'm practically from the stone age compared to you.”
“You’re not.” You insisted.
Jack’s mouth twitched, but the smile didn’t quite hold as he looked down at the floor.
You studied him for a moment, admiring the lines etched deep into his face that you’d had memorised for as long as you’d known him. “Does it bother you that he’s older?”
“No it doesn’t bother me it’s just...” He sighed. “I thought I was the exception.” He confessed.
Your face softened instantly as you pushed off the wall and took a step towards him.
"Jack."
"I know it’s irrational.” He said, giving a small, self-deprecating shrug. “I just thought I was the first older doctor you’d made questionable life choices over.”
You huffed a small laugh as you closed the gap between the two of you, reaching up to cradle his jaw.
“Hey.” You said gently, guiding his eyes up to meet yours.
“When I met Mark I was young and overwhelmed and had just moved to a new city and he was…” You trailed off, glancing at the door like Mark might somehow materialise on cue.
“…well you’ve seen what he’s like.”
You brushed a thumb over his stubble that lined his jaw. “It barely even qualified as a relationship. And then it ended and we worked together for months. And then I moved.”
Jack leant into your touch slightly, his eyes never leaving your face as you spoke, attentive in the way that always made your heart ache a little.
“And then on my first day here I met a grumpy doctor up on the roof while I was mid meltdown.”
His brows drew together in feigned disbelief. “I don’t think he was grumpy.”
“He told me if I was thinking of jumping I shouldn’t because it’d be a shame to ruin a face like mine.”
The frown that had a hold on his face loosened just a fraction. “Why on earth would he think that line would work.”
“In his defence, I think he was a little out of practice.”
His hands settled at your waist, warm and steady through the thin fabric of your scrubs. “Or his brain short circuited when he saw you.”
Your smile widened as you slid your arms around the back of his neck, entwining your fingers absentmindedly around the silver curls at the nape of his neck.
“Well, lucky for him it worked.”
The reluctant smile finally reached his eyes. “Very lucky.” He corrected.
He glanced down, playing with the tie of your scrub pants.
“I just can’t believe you dated a plastic surgeon.”
You snorted softly. “Is that seriously what’s bothering you the most?”
“Yes.” He answered plainly.
You shook your head, a wry smile on your lips. “Not the stupid nickname?”
Jack glanced down at you, his grip on your hips tightening ever so slightly.
“If he calls you that again I may have no choice but to punch him.” He conceded casually as he brushed a strand of hair behind your ear.
His head tilted slightly as he studied you for a moment. “But at least he can fix his own nose up after.”
You let out a laugh, running a hand over his chest. “Don’t worry.” You soothed. “I already told him you volunteer with the SWAT team.”
Jack smirked down at you proudly. “Atta girl.”
Then he leant down and finally pressed his lips to yours in a slow, reverent kiss. When he pulled back, his eyes narrowed immediately.
“Did you eat?”
You winced slightly. “Not yet.” You patted the pocket that contained the protein bar. “I’ll eat this and then go.”
Jack frowned, clearly unsatisfied with your solution. “Go home and eat something more substantial.”
“I will.”
“There’s pasta in the fridge for you, all you have to do is chuck it in the microwave.”
Your interest piqued immediately. “The pesto one I love?”
“Of course.”
You grinned, pressing your forehead against his. “You’re very good to me Dr Abbot.”
His smile softened into something private, something reserved just for you. “Anything for my girl.”
You kissed him again, deeper this time, enjoying the feeling of his warmth seeping into you.
“Alright.” He muttered reluctantly against your lips as he pulled away. “Get going before I end up locking you in here.”
You smirked. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”
He shot you a warning glare with absolutely no bite to it.
You huffed dramatically, “alright alright.”
You reached for the door, then paused, glancing back at him.
“And for the record, if you’re worried about feeling old…”
Jack raised a brow.
“You should meet my other ex, he checked into the nursing home down the road last week.”
“Very funny.” He muttered, trying but failing to look unamused.
“I know I am.”
“Go.” He urged as he tapped your backside affectionately.
You raised your hands in mock defeat, slipping back into the pitt without another word.
Jack shook his head as the door shut softly behind you, a lovesick smile spreading across his face.
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꒰ . ₊˚⊹♡ JACK IN :: you complaining about him losing weight.꒱
jack has always been stubby.
everything about him is thick. legs, arms, neck, tummy, dick. he was like hard squishy that you just couldn't help sinking your teeth in.
specially during sex. your favorite position was missionary. it meant having his thick arms caging you down, his tummy pressing against yours as your nails digged into his beefy shoulders. that feeling alone was enough to bring you to an euphoric orgasm.
but lately, you been starting to feel less tummy and more hard muscle. you loved his tummy! you would lay your head on it, dig your nails into it while riding him.
maybe it was the lack of eating, or maybe the increase of swat shifts he's been taking. whatever it is, you didnt like it. you loved chubby jack, loved his dad bod.
“jeez, im full.” he groaned as he stood up from the couch, gently pushing your legs off his thighs. “what?” you frowned, grabbing onto his hand. “you didnt finish it, jack.” you pulled him back down, shifting so were sitting on his lap.
“yeah but im-” “let me feed you.”
his eyebrows quirked at the sudden shift in position. he also didnt miss the way your hand rested against his now more flatter tummy. but he knew better than to deny you, specially since you looked so cute wanting to take care of him.
unbeknownst to him, you weren't doing it because you were concerned about him not eating. well kinda, but your main concern was getting his tummy back! so, he sits through 30 minutes of you feeding him, your hand against his cheek. which are more hollow now.
its not that he doesn't look good, he really does. but he doesn't look like your jack. your stubby jack. even his fingers are losing their girth. its not an obvious change, but its kind of impossible not to notice when you've had them inside of you several of times.
“what's up with you today?” he says inbetween chews, rough hands running up and down your back, eventually settling on the swell of your hips.
you look down for a moment, looking almost shy. you didnt want to make him feel self conscious, but his body changing did upset you a bit. “i dunno, i just *feel* you getting skinnier.” you whisper, setting the plate down on the couch.
his eyebrows furrow in confusion, head tilting like a confused puppy. “i mean i love how you look baby, so sexy!” you reaffirm, slightly nervous. “but-but-” you let out a sigh, running your hands through his curls more for your comfort than for his. “you're not...chubby anymore.”
you're so caught up in your own yours you dont realize he's smiling down at you, one of his broad hands going up to your head to pull it down to his chest. you melt immediately, cheek pressing against one if his pecks. he's so hard and broad, but yet again, you miss the slight curve of his tummy pressing against you.
“so you're upset because im getting skinnier?” he chuckles, kissing your forehead softly. “i guess so...it sounds bad when you put it like that.” you mumble, gently curling your fingers at his biceps that are holding you in place.
“i thought you would enjoy it, you know, me getting in shape.” he says softly, honestly. and it break your heart thinking that he's probably been feeling self conscious about his body, damn you for not showing him how much you love his stubby self!
“what?” you gasp, shaking your head. “baby you're already so perfect.” you insist, lifting your head up to look at him. “you're so sexy, jack. you dont need to be in shape, you already were.” your last words sound more earnest, it makes him feel better.
“i love your body, and i loved it before you started working out.” you mumble again, kissing his cheek. his scruff scratching your lips. “you better have not been starving yourself jack abbot.” you say more sternly, pinching his cheek.
“i swear, i havent. just been working out more.” he flexes his arm, his bicep looking extra biteable. but even then it doesn't satisfy you. jack sighs, cupping your cheek. “give me a couple of weeks, ill stuff my mouth with grease and junk.” he whispers, smirks as he pulls you closer to him. his cock chubbing in his jeans. “and you... your tummy will be full aswell. full of life, then we'll both be big and fat.”
you gasp, slapping his shoulder. “jackie stopp...” you whine, yet you dont pull away. the imagine does sound appealing. getting his tummy back while you being full of life. “i guess it doesn't sound so bad.” you mumble after a beat, arms wrapping around his neck.
“we can sort things out, i guess.” he grins at yours words. he can already imagine you, your tummy big and round, all swollen for him. “yeah? lets make that happen today, hm? we'll both have 9 months to fatten up.”
