alyssa's fic directory!

nsfw:

he jerks off to the photos, let’s be real

half-lidded eyes and disheveled brown locks draped over his forehead

he whines and groans as he strokes himself, your body and pretty face clouding his mind.

”wish you were here… fuck!” he gasps out your name as his hips come to a halt, cumming all over his hand.

back at your place, he decides to move closer, slotting his hand on your cheek as he asks:

“can i try something?…”

when you do agree, he’s digging tf in

he begins slow, kissing you and prays that you're enjoying it

but at the end of the day he doesnt give two shits

he eventually has you laid down on your couch, yanking your shorts off and throwing your panties somewhere.

he admires your pussy for a moment before licking a flat stripe on your folds

with a moan escaping your lips, he knows you are in for a ride

as he’s eating you out, you notice that he’s whining and groaning more than you are moaning.

its like he was enjoying this… craving for this, even.

when he finally props you up on all fours, he chucks his jeans off to nowhere

looking over your shoulder, you see that he is rock hard in his fucking boxers

you giggle but that smirk is gonna be wiped off your face

entering in, you let out a cry as you plead him to hold on.. but he doesnt

he slips right in all the way, savouring the warmth and tightness of your core

“so fucking tight all for me.”

slamming into you at a steady pace, you moan and cry out in pleasure as he keeps on going

he’s muttering soft apologies, leaning down and kissing your shoulder blades

“you were made for me, don’t fucking lie.” he whispers in your ear.

all you can do is nod vigorously as you writhe underneath him.

hopefully this will convince you enough to be his.

The willow lifted its green head to look, the river made its quiet, pleased sound. John rapped the roof once, impatient only with happiness, and jumped down to offer his hand.

“Home,” he said, softer than the word usually is.

“Home,” you answered, and the gate seemed to understand.

The rosemary by the step had already thrown a brave handful of new leaves. A small, brass back-door lock gleamed, your brother’s peace offering, tidy and stout. Along the long garden wall, a military line of brand-new hooks waited, each one straight as a parade. Someone (Mr. Price, obviously) had chalked PUNCH on a crate and set it near absolutely nothing except the idea of a band.

John did not let go of your hand. He turned the key with you, the latch gave with the courteous little click you loved, and the house breathed you in.

They had been restrained, just as promised. In the front parlor, a rug with quiet colors made the floor tell the truth. Two chairs: one that forgave muddy boots, one by the morning corner that would never refuse a shawl. The dining room had a table that could be too small and exactly right at once, and one leaf tucked beneath for the days your life forgot itself and grew. In the library, a row of shelves had been dusted back into good behavior, a modest stack of books waited, the Psalms, two volumes of Pliny who would not mind being ignored, a cookbook with a stain that looked like cinnamon, and a blank ledger Violet had labeled Household Mercies.

The scullery’s new shelves stood square, stern, and good, the range looked as if it would refuse to smoke even when insulted. In the hall hung a small key rack, three pegs and a nail, waiting for the habit of arriving. Your ammonite, sent ahead with the letters, sat on the parlor mantel beside Benedict’s sketch and Ghost’s compass, the odd little reliquary of how one finds a life.

“Approved,” John murmured, thumb skimming over your ring as if to settle it in its new geography.

“Completely,” you said, and leaned back into him because you could, because he stood exactly close enough to make the house know who belonged.

He was all small attentions as you walked the rooms, steadying your step over a threshold that would learn you soon enough, tucking an escaped curl behind your ear in the library, bending with effortless grace to flick a grain of travel-dust from your hem. At the stair he touched the underside of your wrist with two fingers, that quiet question he asks when he wants to be sure your breath and his are keeping the same time. You nodded, his shoulders unknotted without a word.

Upstairs, the bedchamber wore fresh linen and a narrow quilt your mother must have supervised, the stitches honest, the pattern sensible. In the little “study” a neat table had found the north window, a clean sheet of paper waited with a pencil laid ready. Your name, written in your father’s hand on the corner of the page, made your throat tighten in the pleasant, aching way of things begun correctly.

“Later,” John murmured at the doorway. “We christen it with a letter about how the sea was too loud.”

“And how you were upright,” you teased, and he laughed softly against your hair, his mouth brushing your temple once, then once more simply because he could.

They saved the garden for last.

The orchard had remembered them. Bees fussed in the apple-blossom, the allée lay prim and promising. He offered his arm, you took it, and he set his hand over yours, thumb drawing an absent-minded, reverent circle on your knuckles as he always does when his heart is louder than his voice.

“Plans?” he asked, respectful of your kingdom.

“Peas along the south fence,” you said. “Cosmos for the bees. Rosemary hedge in time, but pots for now. Your father will insist on lemon in a tub, we shall humor him within reason.”

“Lanterns along the wall,” he added, eyeing the line of hooks like a captain reviewing his men. “First one at the door. Second by your studio window. Third…here.” He stopped where the path widened, picturing a table that could hold bread and gossip. “So we can eat when we forget to go inside.”

You looked up. “And there,” you said, pointing.

The bench under the willow waited by the river, its plank lightly carved, UNDER THE WILLOW, with a date and a flourish that was unmistakably your father. It had the right arrogance: broad enough for a sleeping child, a tired captain, and a sketchbook.

John’s palm found the small of your back, you felt the warm, unhurried weight of it even through cloth, felt the way he anchors you with that touch without ever pinning you down. At the bench he turned you in, back to his chest, his chin folding into the shelf of your shoulder as the river did what it always does, wrote and wrote.

“Tell me when we plant,” he murmured, voice at your ear, too soft for the birds. “Tell me where to build. Tell me which rooms need my hands and which need me to stand out of the light.”

“All of them need all of you,” you said, and his breath stuttered once, the sound you pretend not to hear when you’ve said exactly the right thing.

He kissed the hinge of your jaw, no hurry, no spectacle, daylight simple and possessive in the best way, and then your knuckles, and then the inside of your wrist where your pulse applauded him. “Welcome home,” he said again, as if the words were a tool that made the world line up.

“Welcome home,” you returned, turning in his arms to face him, your hands running the lapels of his coat back into their proper lines because attentiveness should be a two-way trade.

They walked the perimeter once more, the captain checking gates and you checking sun angles, he lifted the latch on the new back lock and gave it a soldier’s nod, you tested the scullery shelf with a palm and smiled when it refused to wobble. He lit the kettle because that is how a Price declares a house open, you hung the first lantern at the door because that is how a Price says a house will stay kind after dark.

“Punch table?” he asked, mock-solemn, setting the crate in the correct spot purely to please two fathers.

“Near the band,” you decreed, and the wind had the indecency to sound like laughter.

He caught your hand again as if remembering it every thirty seconds, and together you took the first slow, attentive rounds of the place that would hold your days, touching where future habits would live, speaking aloud the small decisions that make a life, learning the creak of the stair, the temper of the latch, the way the garden path curves you back to the bench whether you meant to sit or not.

By the time the kettle sang, the rooms knew your names, by the time the tea breathed its steam between you, the house did too. He handed you your cup, fingers grazing yours in that steady, proprietary way, and looked out across your little world with the contented violence of a man who had wanted one thing for a very long time and finally held it.

“Shall we walk it again?” he asked.

“Every evening,” you said. “Until the willow learns our steps.”

“It already has,” he said, and proved it by kissing you under it, slow and sure, before you went in to put the cups by the sink and your rings on the sill and your key on the peg that would never again be empty.

The staff had retired for the evening, their final bows given and final tasks complete. The house had been lit with low lanterns in every room you might cross. A tray of biscuits and a small decanter of port had been left on the corner table by the window. Everything else was still, quiet in that sacred way a house becomes once everyone else has gone to sleep.

You stood in the shared bedchamber, your bedchamber, dressed in your nightgown, barefoot on the soft rug John had insisted upon, fingers absently toying with the embroidery of your sleeve.

John crossed from the door, having checked the final lock, and paused in the doorway as if taking a mental portrait of this moment. You, in his home. You, here. In a room you would sleep in together every night. For the first time.

He looked impossibly handsome, shirt sleeves rolled, hair slightly tousled from running his hand through it, trousers loosened just enough to show the comfort of the hour.

“You’re staring,” you murmured with a soft smile, your voice low like a hush.

“I’ve earned it,” he said simply.

You blushed, shaking your head but not moving away as he approached. His hands came to rest lightly on your waist, warm, callused, familiar. His nose brushed yours as he leaned in.

“Still nervous?” he asked.

You shook your head. “Not nervous. Just… it feels like a dream.”

He smiled, pressing a kiss to your temple. “You’re not dreaming. But I can understand why you might think so.”

The bed was already turned down. Anna had set the pillows just so, even placed a sprig of lavender on the coverlet. But it was not Anna’s presence that settled you, it was John’s.

He lit only one candle by the nightstand, casting the room in amber gold. He moved slowly, attentively, folding his waistcoat over the chair, placing his watch on the small tray by the window, and coming to you again.

The sheets were soft, the bed wide, but it was John who made you feel safe. The door was locked. The candle flickered low. His body stretched beside yours, solid and warm, the sleeves of his shirt rolled up to his elbows, and his gaze nothing short of reverent as it swept over you.

“Come here, Mrs. Price,” he murmured, voice like honeyed whiskey.

You did. Crawled right into his lap, straddling him, letting your nightdress slip up your thighs as his hands came to rest just beneath the hem. He let out a breath, deep and trembling, and cupped your hips.

“Look at you,” he whispered, pulling you forward so your chest pressed to his, your lips brushing just shy of his mouth. “My wife.”

That word. That word undid something in you.

You kissed him first, soft and then desperate, your fingers threading into his hair, nails gently scratching his scalp as he groaned against your tongue. His hands tightened at your waist, guiding you, rolling his hips up into you, making you feel the weight of what he’d been holding back for months.

“John,” you whimpered, gasping as his hands slid up, palms warm and large over your ribcage, thumbs brushing the swell of your breasts through the thin cotton.

He kissed down your jaw, your neck, his teeth scraping lightly where your pulse thundered. “Gonna take my time,” he promised, breath hot against your collarbone. “No one to rush us now.”

He eased you back onto the bed, following you down. Your nightgown was bunched beneath your arms, and he helped lift it over your head, leaving you bare for him.

His breath hitched. “Fuckin’ perfect.”

He kissed you again, slower this time, letting his hand travel, exploring you like he was memorizing a map. His mouth followed, down your throat, across your chest, over your breasts, pausing to kiss the space between them before taking one into his mouth.

You arched, a soft cry escaping you as he sucked gently, tongue flicking over your nipple, the other hand rolling the other between callused fingers. He groaned when you writhed beneath him, savoring every reaction.

You tugged at his shirt until he pulled it off, tossing it somewhere across the room. His bare chest was warm, his shoulders broad and golden in the candlelight. Your nails skimmed down his chest, his stomach, to the waistband of his trousers.

“Please,” you whispered, trembling.

He kissed your lips again, then pressed his forehead to yours. “Are you sure, love?”

You nodded. “I’ve never been more sure of anything.”

His trousers came off. Then yours. And suddenly there was nothing between you.

He moved over you slowly, fitting himself between your thighs, kissing you through every tremble. One hand held your cheek, the other cupped behind your knee, guiding your leg to wrap around his hip.

When he pushed in, slow, careful, thick and overwhelming, you both gasped.

You clung to him. He buried his face in your neck, groaning your name, whispering praises against your skin.

“So tight, love. So warm. Took me so well, fuck.”

The stretch stung at first, but he was so gentle. So patient. He kissed away every flicker of doubt. And when he began to move, deep, slow rolls of his hips, it was nothing but pleasure.

You felt every inch of him. Every promise. Every vow. Every ounce of love he poured into the way he fucked you.

“Mine,” he growled softly, kissing you again. “All mine. No one else will ever have you like this.”

You arched to meet him, hands splaying over his back, your nails digging in as you moaned.

“John, please, don’t stop.”

“I won’t,” he swore. “Not ever.”

The bed creaked. The candle burned low. And as your body trembled around him, as he spilled into you with a groan and a curse, you knew this was more than just sex.

It was devotion.

It was forever.

And it was just the beginning.

🌹✨🕯️🌙✨🌹✨🕯️🌙✨🌹✨🕯️🌙✨

Would you care to be added to the Taglist, dearest? ✨

Peeking only down at the stool, you placed your feet down one at a time before getting down, unknowingly taking the warm hand that helped you down the rest of the way.

Huffing you threw your head back as you sat on the stool, other hand going to block the autumn sun from your view just to peer up at some pretty hazel eyes.

“You alright?” There’s a small smile of amusement on his lips.

Jimmy Holiday.

Your heart was already racing but now the butterflies decided to start acting up too! And that’s when you realized your hand was still being held onto and you snatched it back.

“I had it.”

Jimmy folded his arms underneath his pits as he stated sarcastically, “Oh really? You would have broke some more bones if it wasn’t for me and you know it.”

Scoffing you don’t even bother to look down at the compression sleeve that covered your left knee, “First of all, I don’t need a savior Jimmy, thank you. Also, what the hell are you doing here anyway?”

Jimmy shrugs, “I was on my way to Dezbah and Bryson’s, I left something over at their spot last night and of course they’re too hungover to bring it to me so…And imagine on my way by I see: a bird? A plane? No, a whole person that looked a whole lot like you trying to get on top of their house.”

“Minding your business is free.” You sass with a flick of your hair behind you while Jimmy rolls his eyes up to the sky.

“So these are the things I get for helping you out?”

“Does that also mean holding my hand?” You argue, you knew you were being absolutely ridiculous right now but it was easier to be this way than to give in and tell the star basketball player that you wanted to kiss him right on his stupid mouth.

Jimmy furrowed his brows, “Well…you grabbed my hand first.”

Gagging you say, “I would never! I don’t know where anything on you has been.”

Jimmy smirked and lifted his chin, “yeah you did but keep being delusional and see how far that gets you.” He even kicked at your stool lightly, “It’s okay to say that you enjoy hand holding, arent girls into physical touch?”

“Please stop talking.” You mutter at that generalization, “I’m sure you can get that from any other girl who drooled over you at the party last night.”

That attitude of yours was something.

After the death of your shared friend, Nataanii Jackson the both of you grieved in different ways. Jimmy got more into basketball and you tried to distance yourself. Jimmy and Nataanii were childhood friends, whereas you moved to Chuska freshman year and met Nataanii first. At first you thought maybe he was just interacting with you because he had something to prove after becoming a warrior. You weren’t into the whole clique scene and found it hard making friends in the beginning, still highly upset that you left your small group back on another rez but you were thankful that Nataanii Jackson became a good friend of yours.

And with Nataanii came Jimmy.

The both of you often talked shit to each other and liked giving each other a hard time but underneath it all there was still love there. Then unfortunately that platonic love became something more…at least on your part.

“I think y’all would be cute,” Nataanii teased you one time at lunch during junior year, “I can see the wedding bells now and you should just tell him or I could do it for you? I make the perfect wingman.”

You almost choked on your apple juice as you watched the braided man glance over his shoulder where Jimmy was sitting with the rest of the team. There was a girl who squeezed herself right in between Jimmy and Levi, her hand running up and down Jimmy’s arm as she flirted with him and of course Jimmy was all smiles, just eating the attention right on up.

“Yo Jim—

Nataanii starts but you’re reaching over the table to yank on his collar, bringing his face closer to you so you can slap a hand right over his mouth, “Taanii no!”

You can feel him grinning underneath your hand but that doesn’t stop Jimmy making his way over to you two nonetheless.

“Why you worried about any of them anyway?”he quizzed you, eyes tightening.

Scoffing you quickly move your attention else where, picking at the loose thread from your compression sleeve, “please, far from worried.”

“You’re the one who disappeared and left early.”

“So?”

“So?” Jimmy pressed, “Why is it every time some other girls are around me, you’re nowhere to be found?”

It’s your turn to frown, “Do you want me to be sick watching them fall all over you, Jimmy? Is that going to feed your ego better or something?”

Jimmy blinks, “You know what I think? I think you’re a bad liar. Always have been.”

You snapped, “What exactly have I lied about?”

“You don’t have one of those corny guys you were talking to, to come help you with these decorations? I heard when I went off to recruitment camp, you were entertaining that lame ass dude who looks like Harry Potter.” He taunts.

Your eyes go wide.

“And who exactly did you hear that from? Your most reliable source? Bryson’s dumbass?” You get up from the stool, pulling it into place and start walking towards your front door, “Like I said, I don’t need anybody’s help, let alone some non existent guy you think I’m talking to.”

“Lies.” Jimmy coughed from behind you, which irritated you more.

Slamming the stool against the front door of the home, you ball your fist into your side, “Call me a liar one more time—

“What’s gonna happen? You and your crappy knee going to jump me or something?”

Poking your tongue into your cheek with a raise of your brow, you size him up and what did you do that for? Jimmy decided to grow his hair out for the two months he was at camp and if you weren’t so frustrated you may have completely folded.

So you shoved him, “I can still kick your scrawny ass.”

He laughs as if you didn’t, “Yeah? You’re just mad your lies caught up to you and Dez finally snitched on your ass but alright, you want to fight instead of acknowledging the truth, fine? Let’s go.”

That’s when Jimmy knew he had you because you stepped back and froze.

“What? What did she tell you?”

Jimmy shrugs trying to be coy, “That you got a crush and it ain’t on Harry Potter.”

“There is no—

You started but stopped as you bit down on your bottom lip before continuing, “I don’t know what you’re talking about and I’m getting tired of looking at your face so I’m gonna leave.”

With your back to Jimmy he decides to finally let the ball drop, “Stop being so mean and just admit that you’re in love with me already, damn.”

Deeply exhaling, you can feel your heartbeat in your ears now. Of course somebody close to you ratted you out. It was a miracle that Nataanii kept his mouth shut this long about your little crush that wasn’t so little. Yet it was Dezbah (who was most likely drunk at the time) who ratted you out. She figured it out long before you admitted it to Nataanii. And now you were ready to fight her (again.) regardless if she whooped your ass or not.

“I…”

Then you tried to book it to your front door but of course Jimmy caught you by the elbow. The guy was as tall as the street lights so surely he had the advantage.

“Nope. Not uh, stop running.” He demanded from behind you, gently pulling on you so that you’d finally face him.

He tilts your face up by the chin with his finger so you can meet his honey eyes. “…Would it be so bad if I said…I like you too?”

You laugh before covering your smile, “I’d call you a liar then.”

“I’m not,” Jimmy boldly said, “and to prove it…you should let me kiss you.”

Internally you definitely screamed but your eyes flicked to the lips you thought about way too often plenty of times before.

“How do I know you’re not just toying with me?”

Jimmy lightly shakes his head, “‘Cause I wouldn’t do that? I liked you the first moment I saw you up in the bleachers since Nataanii and I thought you wouldn’t take up his invitation to come to our practice, ‘Miss. I don’t do large crowds.’ You even rooted for me when we were still trying to get to know each other as friends and that meant a lot.” He says bringing up the memory where you skipped study hall to come to their practice which made you smile a bit before he continued, “Also my mom would probably beat my ass if she heard I broke somebody’s heart and vice versa, if my heart got broken. She doesn’t like to show it but she’s also a sucker for a good love story. So promise me you won’t break mine?”

Slowly feeling yourself nodding you say, “Okay.”

Cautiously he pinched at your chin again, guiding your face right to his. Jimmy stops just before your lips, feeling each of your breaths tickling the other while he admired how gorgeous you looked up close and personal. He even tried to tuck some hair out of the way behind your ear, taking his precious time and smiled as the hair poked right back out from your ear.

“Hurry up, scarecrow.” You mumble.

Which makes him smirk, “relax, you’re so bossy.”

“And you’re so irritating.”

Which makes him press his lips right to yours, shutting you up for good. In that moment you felt like your heart exploded as your lips moved together, noses brushing against each other. Jimmy’s lips were incredibly soft and he took his time, holding onto you with great care, even if there was a hint of static the moment your lips connected. That was enough urge to keep you two going and it felt like you could kiss him for hours.

You “hated” it.

Yet you can feel him smiling as you sighed against him just before he pulls back to get a look at you, with your eyes still closed.

“…anybody home?” He jokes.

You groan, moving to bury your head against his chest while he laughed, wrapping his arms around your shoulders. “Don’t worry,” he whispers, “that was better than I imagined too.”

It actually felt nice to finally experience this and maybe you should be thanking Dezbah, as soon as you got over your annoyance of her ratting you out.

“…where does this leave us now?”

“Well, I’d like to take you on a date sometime.” He says pulling you back to cradle your face, with a stupid smile on his own.

That made your stomach flip, “really?”

“Yeah…if you’re down?” He peers at you from underneath his eyelashes, making sure that you knew he was serious with how intently he stared into your eyes.

You breathe out a smile, “I guess that’ll be cool…as long as you don’t eat all my food.”

“I’m a gentleman.”

“Eh…so only now you’re a gentleman? Because I can’t tell you how many times you stole a lot of my food during lunch?”

He attempts to defend himself, “…That’s what friends are for?”

“Are we that anymore?”

“Nah. Something better,” He grins as you stood on your tippy toes to kiss his lips once more.

No longer a secret, Jimmy Holiday was now yours and he already loved having you in return.

He thinks.

“I told you I had it!” You say as Jimmy lifts you up on his shoulders to help you on top of the house.

Jimmy sucks his teeth, “Stop your yappin’ baby and just accept that this is boyfriend stuff, acts of service or whatever. This is my job.”

“Who said you’re my boyfriend?” You peek out from over the top of house, pointing the skeleton hand at the olive skinned boy.

Jimmy squints up at you, “oh I’m not? I guess I can go mind my business then.”

“…Don’t you dare leave me up here!” You call out at his back.

Jimmy smirks over his shoulder at you, “that’s what I thought.”

Then a middle finger is sent his way and he can’t help but to kiss his lips up at you.

❤︎𓊇ྀི 𓊆ྀི❤︎𓊇ྀི 𓊆ྀི❤︎𓊇ྀི 𓊆ྀི❤︎𓊇ྀི 𓊆ྀི❤︎𓊇ྀི 𓊆ྀི❤︎𓊇ྀི 𓊆ྀི❤︎𓊇ྀི 𓊆ྀི❤︎𓊇ྀི

You were leaning against the nurse’s station,  half-focused on a chart in front of you, pen tapping lightly against the clipboard as you filled in the last few details. The charts were overwhelming, and you were hoping to get caught up before you were needed again.

“I need someone in room three with me,” 

Jack yelled, not even looking up as he flipped through the newly picked-up chart, then, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “You’re coming.”

You didn't even argue. Duty called, and charting could wait.

“Wow,” you muttered, pushing off the counter. “I didn't even get a please.”

“You say that like you had a choice,” Jack muttered, already moving down the hall.

And you followed anyway.

Room three wasn't anything dramatic, thankfully. The patient, an older man, maybe in his late sixties, sat propped up in bed with the blanket pulled over his lap. He had a pair of reading glasses perched low on his nose and glanced up the second you both walked in.

Jack slipped into his usual tone immediately as he examined.

“Hi, I’m Dr. Abbot,” he said, voice steady, professional. He gestured to you briefly.

“This is–”

But you cut him off. “Hi, I’m with him. We’ll be here to take good care of you.”

The man hummed, watching the two of you closely.

You moved around the room easily, grabbing the blood pressure cuff, checking the heart monitor, and adjusting the IV line so it wouldn't get tangled. It was all just second nature at this point. Jack asked the man questions; you filled in the gaps, handing him things before he even needed to ask.

It was quiet coordination. Familiar. Comfortable.

The man’s gaze flickered between you, a small smile forming as he leaned back against the pillows.

“You two remind me of my wife and me when we were younger,” he said suddenly.

You paused, glancing over at him with a grin. “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah,” he nodded, clearly pleased with himself. “Same flow. She always knew what I needed before I admitted it.” His eyes shifted towards Jack briefly. “You’ve got that look, too.”

You let out a soft laugh, shaking your head. “I don't know if that's supposed to be a good thing or not.”

“Oh, it is,” he assured you. “You just don't realize it yet.”

You smiled at that, something warm and easy.

“Yeah, we’re basically inseparable,” you added, glancing at Jack with a grin. “Probably, best friends actually.”

Jack didn't react right away, but when he did, it wasn't the reaction you were expecting either.

“We’re not friends.”

His voice was calm. Flat.

No teasing. No humor.

Just a statement. 

One that landed harder than it should have.

Your chest tightens. Weren't we friends? 

You did everything together, inside and outside the hospital.

The room felt quieter for a second, like even the monitors had dulled.

The old man shifted awkwardly, clearly thinking he’d misread the situation. “I didn’t mean–”

“It’s fine,” you let out,  still smiling, still easy. You weren’t about to make him feel worse than he already did,

Jack didn't correct it.

He didn’t acknowledge it at all.

Just kept filling out the cart.

And for the first time that shift, something about you just felt…off.

Hours passed in a blur, one patient bleeding into the next.

But the tension between you and Jack never settled back into place.

You kept moving. I kept working. Keep doing everything like you always did, checking charts, helping where needed, laughing when Ellis said something under her breath, but it felt off.

You felt off.

It was subtle, easy for anyone to miss.

Unless you were looking for it.

“Hey,” Robby's voice cut in as you passed the desk, tablet tucked against your chest.

You glanced over. “What?”

He leaned back into his chair, studying you in that annoyingly observant way of his. "What'd you do?”

You frowned at the accusation. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me. What did you do?”

“I didn’t do anything.”

Robby hummed, not believing you for a second. His gaze flickered past you towards Jack, who stood across the room, focused on a chart but very obviously irritated.

“Right,” Robby muttered. “Because that,” he motioned lazily between the two of you, “is totally normal.”

You didn't follow his gaze.

“We’re fine,” you stated, paying full attention to the tablet.

Robby snorted. “You haven't looked at him in what, twenty minutes?”

“I’m working.”

“Yeah, well, it's usually you two working together, not avoiding one another.”

You shot him a look. “Do you have a patient or are you just here to psychoanalyze me?”

“Both,” he said easily. Then, quieter, “Jack said something, didn’t he?”

You didn’t answer right away. That was enough.

Robby sighed, shaking his head. “Yeah. Of course he did.”

“Drop it,” you muttered, already stepping away.

“Mm,” he called after you, not convinced. “Good luck with that.”

You weren't avoiding Jack.

Well, not really anyway.

You just stopped gravitating towards him. Instead of filling the space around him like you usually did, you found other places to be.

When he needed something, and you were there, you handed it over. When he spoke to you, you answered.

But that was it—No extra comments. No teasing. No lingering.

Later in the shift, the pace finally slowed.

You decided to restock, hands moving on autopilot, when Jack stepped into the supply room behind you.

You felt him before you saw him.

The door clicked shut.

You didn't turn around, continuing to restock like you hadn't noticed him enter.

“You've been ignoring me.”

Jack’s voice wasn’t loud, but it was firm.

You let out a small breath, setting a box down before finally turning to face him. 

“I've been working.”

“That’s not what I said.”

You crossed your arm slightly, leaning back against the shelf. “Then what did you mean?”

Jack stepped further into the room, jaw tight, frustrated sitting just under the surface.

“You haven't looked at me since the start of the shift.”

You let out a quiet, almost disbelieving laugh. “Oh, I’m sorry. Was I supposed to?”

Jack tilted his head slightly, watching you like he already knew how this was going to go.

“You really think we’re just friends?”

You crossed your arms, trying to hold your ground. “Well, apparently not, considering what you said.”

Jack huffed out a quiet laugh, low, almost amused.

“I let you follow me around all shifts,” he said, counting it off like it was obvious. “I take you out to eat. I’ve got you curled up next to me on the couch half the time–”

Your breath caught.

“And you really think we’re friends?” he finished, raising a brow.

The way he said it, so sure of himself, so knowing. It made your stomach do flips.

You forced a scoff, anyway. “Wow, you’re really full of yourself.”

“I'm not wrong.”

Jack studied you for a second, something sharper settling into his expression.

“You know exactly what this is.”

You shook your head immediately. “No, I don’t.”

“Yeah,” he said quietly, stepping closer, “you do.”

You held his gaze, refusing to back down.

“Then say it,” you challenged. “Because apparently I’m getting it wrong.”

Jack didn’t answer right away.

Didn’t look away, either.

And for the first time, his confidence faltered just slightly.

You caught it.

Of course you did.

So you pushed.

“Well?” you said, a little breathless but still stubborn. “What are we, then?”

Silence stretched.

“Or is that too hard for you?” you added.

Jack’s jaw tightened, ​​something shifting in his expression.

He stepped closer. Now there was no space left at all. Your back pressed fully against the shelf, nowhere else to go.

His voice dropped when he spoke again.

“Careful, darling.”

You tilted your head slightly, a hint of a smirk breaking through despite everything. 

“Well, old man,” you muttered, “maybe try putting a label on it.”

That hit.

You saw it land, the flicker in his eyes, the way his gaze dragged over you for just a second too long. Something deeper slipped through the cockiness.

For a second, neither of you moved.

The air felt heavier now. Warmer.

Charged.

Jack’s gaze dropped, just for a moment–to your lips, then back up.

Slow. Deliberate.

“Are you sure you really want that?” he asked, voice lower now, rougher around the edges.

Your breath hitched.

You didn't answer. Didn’t move.

Jack leaned in just a little, not enough to make contact, but enough that you could feel the heat radiating off him.

“If I put a label on it,” he continued quietly, “I’m not taking it back.”

Your heart slammed against your ribs.

“You’ll be mine,” he murmured near your ear. “And I don’t think you’re ready for that.”

Your fingers curled at your sides, the urge to reach for him almost overwhelming but you held yourself still.

“Try me”

That was definitely the wrong thing to say. 

You saw it immediately, the shift in him. The cockiness didn’t disappear; it deepened into 

something darker. More certain. More possessive.

Jack’s hand lifted, brushing just barely against your side as he leaned in closer, still not touching, but close enough to make your breath uneven.

“You act like you don't know what you are to me,” he said quietly.

Your chest tightened because you did know.

You just needed to hear him say it.

The silence stretched again.

So you stepped forward.

Closing the space yourself this time.

Your hand caught his wrist lightly, stopping him from pulling away.

“Then don’t say it,” you murmured.

Jack’s brows pulled together slightly.

You held his gaze, steady this time.

“Show me.”

That did it.

Whatever control he had left snapped.

His eyes darkened.

His gaze dropped to your lips–then to your hand on him.

His jaw tightened.

And for the first time, all shift, he had nothing to say

You didn’t move.

Just waited.

The lights in the apartment feel like physical needles against your eyes. You don't even bother taking off your clothes. You simply collapse onto the duvet, your limbs feeling like lead weights.

Seventeen hours.

You aren’t just tired.

You’re vibrating pure exhaustion.

Jack is there. He’s already softened his movements, sensing the fog that usually blankets you after a long shift.

"Hey," he murmurs, his voice low. He sits on the edge of the mattress, the dip in the bed making you roll slightly toward him. "How was it? Do you need water? Food?"

You don’t move. You don't even open your eyes. And the ceiling fan feels like a white sound.

"Jack," you croak out.

"Yeah, doll?"

"Just... lay on me."

There’s a brief silence. "You want me to... what?"

"Lay on top of me," you mutter gesturing vaguely at your body. "All of you. Your whole weight."

He chuckles but he doesn't argue. Jack knows you well enough to know when you've reached the point of sensory overload where only something physical can pull you back down to earth.

He moves carefully, hovering over you for a second before slowly lowering himself. He’s careful to distribute his weight, but you huff out a breath of protest. "No, handsome. Don't do polite weight. Just lay down."

He finally settles, his heavy frame covering yours. The effect is instantaneous. The pressure of him acts like a weighted blanket, twitching nerves in your legs and pinning your racing thoughts to the bed. It’s a heavy safety. You can feel the thrum of his heart against your chest and the warmth of his body through his shirt.

The dissociation starts to bleed away, replaced by the physical reality of him. You’re no longer floating somewhere; you’re right here, in your bedroom, being held into the mattress by the person you love most.

"Better?" he whispers, his breath warm against your ear.

"Mhm," you sigh, your muscles finally turning to liquid under him. "Don't move."

"Okay," he says. "I'm not going anywhere."

The crushing pressure of him is exactly what you needed, a physical feeling to keep you from drifting away into the memory of monitors and hospital's lights.

As the silence of the room settles, Jack begins to shift just a fraction, his lips finding your clavicle and neck. The kisses are soft and slow. Each one feels like a small reminder that the shift is over and you can relax now.

He works his way up toward your jaw, his stubble grazing your skin in a way that would usually be ticklish but right now just feels like a tether. You feel tension finally drain out of your body, your eyelids growing too heavy to keep even halfway open.

The world is narrowing down to the rhythmic thud of his heart against your body and the soft and repetitive press of his lips.

"Jack," you mumble, your voice thick with the first real wave of sleep.

"I know," he whispers, pressing one more lingering kiss just below your ear, feeling your breath become heavy. Gently, he hooked his arms under your form. "Come here, honey," he whispers.

He rolls onto his back, bringing you with him so you’re draped over his chest. He settles you between his arms, your head tucked perfectly into the hollow of his shoulder. The change in position doesn't wake you.

He begins a slow stroke down your back, his hand moving from your shoulder blades to your waist and back again. It’s a hypnotic motion that mutes the last of the hospital noise in your brain.

"Thank you... for this." You don't hear his answer, but you feel the way he settles even deeper against you, his arms wrapping around your sides to pull you closer into him. Before he can even tuck the blanket over both of your shoulders, you’ve drifted off.

"I love you," he mumbles, his chin resting on the top of your head.

The last thing you feel is him holding you tight against his body as the rest of the world finally fades.

⋆｡˚☤🩺✧˖°.｡⋆💉

Come Monday morning, Pope was right back in his corner of the coffee shop like he had never left it.

He’d even came up to the counter to order something, a rare occurrence considering most of the time it seemed like he didn’t want you to notice him at all. Maybe he still felt that way judging by the awkward shuffling of his feet when you gave him a warm greeting smile before slipping on your high pitched customer service voice.

He seemed almost amused by it and you knew the lightness on his face was most likely the closest you’d get to him laughing, so you took it as an automatic win.

Your boss seemed even more enthusiastic that he had actually bought something for once, even more so when she saw the large cash tip he’d left in the jar placed beside the cash register. He’d initially tried handing it to you directly as you passed him his coffee, furrowing his eyebrows and jamming it into the glass when you apologetically informed him you couldn’t accept direct tips.

Now you were halfway through your shift and he was still right there, staring out the window today like he was looking out for somebody. Occasionally his gaze turned on you whenever somebody complained about an order or you sighed tiredly a little too loud, but for the most part it was on the street and the beach slightly in the distance.

You’d only let your own focus drift when a vaguely familiar face was coming through the doors, your shoulders tensing at the sight of the man who had been bothering you as the entrance bell chimed obnoxiously above him.

He approached the counter and you stood with tight shoulders as you watched him without your usual service worker forced smile.

“I was looking for you the other day.” He stated in a low voice, not at all bothering to even pretend he was here for coffee as he peered at you with interest.

“What can I get for you today?” You responded, completely ignoring his statement and glancing behind you in hopes you’d see your manager who was nowhere to be seen.

“Don’t be like that sweetheart, please.” He was whispering now and his tone was pleading, sounding genuinely upset at your disinterest. You imagined if anybody was overhearing this then they’d assume he was your scorned lover or a desperate ex boyfriend, not a stranger you’d barely interacted with.

You felt your throat get rough and dry, moving your eyes over to the corner Pope had been sitting in all morning.

He wasn’t there anymore and you felt the nausea build in your stomach, taking a shuttering breath as the man slightly bent down like he was trying to catch your eye and make you understand him.

Movement from beside him caught your attention and you felt your entire body deflate with relief as you noticed Pope back at the counter. He’d cut the small line in favor of standing shoulder to shoulder with the man, eyes locked on you and his empty coffee cup in his hands.

The man was taller than Pope but he had such an intimidating air to him, not to mention the broadness of his shoulders and the clear strong build of his chest. He didn’t even spare the customer a glance as he raised an eyebrow at you.

You gave him a quick nod, silently communicating that this was the one Deran had been talking about even though you figured the light fear in your eyes told him that already.

“You’re holding up the line.” His voice was a low rasp and spoken in that slow drag of his that always left you on the edge of your seat. You imagined it was unnerving to anyone unfamiliar with it, the time it took him to drawl out a sentence almost alien.

“I’m talking to her.” The man reasoned back, shaking his head like he was genuinely confused why he wasn’t allowed to stand here and bother you while you were at work and trying to serve other customers.

You watched Pope closely, not really sure what you were expecting him to do. A part of you wondered if he would lose his cool completely, throw the man to the floor or spit some threat at him that would make him run off.

Either he was more conscious of his behavior now that he had gotten out of prison or he didn’t want to cause a scene where you worked, and also where he frequented almost more than some of the staff. He sent you a look that was more patient than you expected and you let out a shaky breath.

“See you at home?” He murmured in your direction but it was loud enough for the man to hear and you could see the understanding pass over his face, followed by anger and betrayal as he whipped his head back to glare at you.

You gave Pope a nod even though you felt a little sick at the idea of him leaving you here after saying something so damning. You weren’t sure the man was truly delusional enough to do something to you in broad daylight during the busiest hours of the day but you knew all too well what a rejected man could be capable of.

The anxiety immediately went away when you watched Pope place a firm grip on the man’s shoulders and start to lead him towards the door, not even giving him the chance to protest before they were out on the sidewalk and disappearing from sight.

Your eyes were wide as you watched them go, the customer slightly tripping over his feet from the force of the hold on him while Pope kept his face flat and uninterested.

You only felt yourself able to breathe when the next in line was approaching the counter with an awkward look on her face and snapping you out of it completely.

—

There’d been a light level of excitement when you were heading over for dinner after work, leaving early enough that you hoped you’d be able to avoid Smurf in the kitchen.

You didn’t need to worry about that apparently considering she was nowhere to be seen by the time you arrived, getting a vague answer from J that she was busy before he was taking his bowl of cereal back to his room and making it clear that dinner was not happening for one reason or another.

You’d lingered in the kitchen for a few minutes in contemplation before you were sighing and turning to leave, stopped when you were running right into a familiar hard chest.

It was a direct parallel to the day he had returned home from prison, except his eyes were peering down at you with a lot more warmth than they had previously.

“Fuck hi.” You breathed out in light surprise as you stepped back to look at him without being awkwardly close. Pope didn’t reply, just watching you intensely and making your heart pound nearly audibly. “You scared me, I didn’t think anyone was here.”

“I live here.” He said back bluntly and you almost thought he might have been attempting to make a joke.

You scoffed in response and nodded, lacking the ability to think of anything clever to retort back with. Your gaze drifted downwards to where his fingers were drumming against his pant leg and your shoulders tensed at the variety of colors across his knuckles.

“Jesus Pope.” You whispered as you instinctively reached down to grab his wrist, he flinched back almost dramatically and you suspended your hand in midair as you met his eyes again. Now they were guarded and a little bit confused, his chest rising and falling harder than it had been. “Can I see?”

There was a long few seconds before he was nodding. He made no move to bring his hand up for you but this time he didn’t stop you when you reached down and wrapped your fingers around his wrist, bringing it up between your chest and sighing a little.

They were bruised and bloody and you weren’t naive enough to think he had been hitting something inanimate inbetween the time you’d seen him drag somebody from the coffee shop and now.

“You didn’t have to do that.” You said softly and shook your head, the hand that wasn’t holding his wrist in place coming up to lightly brush against the coloration.

His face shifted a little in pain at the touch so you retracted it although keeping your grip steady to stop him from hiding the injury away again.

“He was bothering you.” He gruffed simply as he watched you move backwards, tugging him along until you were near the hallway bathroom.

You left him in the doorway as you bent down to get the first aid kit from under the counter, afterwards wetting a rag and trying not to think about his straightforward implication that this was justified because you had been bothered.

You were quiet as you turned your attention back to him, wiping at the cuts lightly and feeling his stare burn into you as you focused your own on his knuckles. His palm felt rough on your skin, his fingers curling around yours to keep the hand suspended in air.

“He might come back.” You whisper softly as you continue to clean as carefully as you can without reopening the wounds. “I bet he’ll be pissed off.”

“He won’t.” He said it immediately like he didn’t even think about it and you faltered, keeping your hand in his but letting your eyes lock back together. He looked mildly embarrassed like he was aware of the possible meaning behind his solid statement, the conviction and sureness of which he had claimed you wouldn’t be bothered again. “He’d be stupid to try anything.”

You let out a breath and looked back down at his hand, gathering some ointment from the first aid kit and lightly rubbing it on the bigger cuts so you could wrap them up afterwards.

“People are stupid.” You said back and he tensed a little like he was frustrated he couldn’t convince you that you were safe without saying directly whatever it was he had done that left his hands in this bad of a state. Your eyes went back to his once you finished and you tilted your head slightly. “I guess you’ll have to keep coming around then.”

He stiffened up at the words and the near flirtatious tone you’d suddenly taken, his eyebrows furrowing for a second like he thought you might be messing with him.

You’d finished wrapping up his cuts and had no real reason to still be holding his hand but you let your thumb smooth over the calloused skin as you waited for him to let your words process, the intent behind them. You wanted him to keep coming around.

“Because you don’t mind.” He eventually rasped and now it was your turn to be confused.

Then you remembered what he was referring to and your lips curled up in a small smile.

Do you want me to tell her I don’t mind?

Your words from the bar came back to you all at once, the solution you’d tried to create if it meant him still being able to watch you throughout the day. He might have denied you in the moment but now it was clear that he had thought about it, maybe told her himself considering he was back today although you highly doubted that.

You weren’t stupid enough to not understand where Smurf was coming from even though you figured it was even more layered than you could imagine. Pope had a certain air about him, both of lingering danger and also a childlike innocence that could easily be manipulated.

But it was easy to ignore any signs that this was a terrible idea when he was finally looking at you in this way, a light warmth in his eyes like he was finding the reference just as funny as you did. You weren’t sure you’d ever seen him smile, maybe a light smirk when the younger brothers were messing around, but this felt even better to you.

He squeezed your hand, maybe just a reflex but it reminded you that you hadn’t answered him.

“No Pope.” You whispered back. “I don’t mind at all.”

—

You’d left the bathroom shortly after that and without much reason to stick around unless you wanted to make your desire glaringly obvious, you did nothing but watch when Pope went back to his room.

It had felt humiliating to even consider it but now you were wanting to turn around and high tail back down the dark hallway, catching sight of Smurf as soon as you entered the kitchen on your way out.

She hadn’t even bothered with getting a glass, instead drinking straight from the bottle of vodka that’d been sitting in the fridge. Her eyes were already on you and there was no surprise to see you there even though you both knew there was no reason for your presence.

There had been no dinner for you to stick around for and you had clearly come from the hallway with the bedrooms rather than the living room or even the pool area.

You knew she might not know for certain what you had been doing while she was gone but the slight anger in her gaze told you that she knew enough. You figured whatever she was imagining was probably much worse than reality, you hadn’t even done anything wrong by any normal standards but it had been a long time now and you’d be a fool to think the Codys were anything close to normal.

“Come over here honey.” She said in a low voice and your feet moved instinctively, stopping at the other side of island counter and watching her with your rising nerves making your knees want to bend in on themselves.

“I was just leaving.” You say it softly, a little higher pitched than you had meant to.

It was a little bit embarrassing, the effect she had on you without saying much at all. You’d seen the way Smurf tolerated people that weren’t in the family and you knew you fell in that category most of the time, maybe with a sprinkle of genuine fondness here and there.

There were plenty of rumors about the Cody boys that should have made you fearful of them instead but you knew enough to know they didn’t make a single step without it being approved or ordered by Smurf first. She was the true head of the snake and you felt like you were staring down her throat currently as she watched you.

“My Andrew is a nice boy but you cannot be alone with him.” She started calmly, voice not wavering or leaving any room for argument as she almost scolded. “Do you understand me?”

You took a few seconds before you were nodding your head even though there was a thousand arguments you wanted to make. You had a feeling that trying to change her mind would get you banned from the house all together and that thought made your stomach turn even more than the alternative.

“Okay Smurf.” You responded just as casually as she had been, smile tight like you weren’t at all affected by her vague warning. “Goodnight.”

All you could do was hope it hadn’t come off as dismissive before you were turning to leave, walking at a normal pace until you were out of eye sight and then practically jogging down the driveway to get back to your own as soon as possible.

Your house was eerily silent but you couldn’t think about it, barely noticing under the sound of your own heavy breathing.

You knew it might be stupid to ignore Smurf’s words, either because you would upset her or because she might have some truth in whatever she was saying. Maybe you shouldn’t be alone with him, shouldn’t be encouraging him to follow you around during the day and definitely shouldn’t be moving over to your window to leave it unlocked.

Nothing actually monumental happened after Jack Abbot had you gently pinned to his truck, nothing other than him wrecking your entire world with one quick half makeout session before sweetly opening the door for you.

It starts a cycle that leaves you so depraved and embarrassingly desperate that you don’t even recognize yourself by the time two weeks have passed. You’re not the type to get sucked into a crush and especially not the type to be losing sleep over when the next time your boss is going to kiss you.

Jack doesn’t do much differently in his defense, he stays professional at work other than that heavy gaze of his and he starts to bring you home without the arrangement ever really being spoken out loud. You walk out of the hospital together, only shifting close enough that your arms brush together when you’re in the parking ramp and relatively out of sight.

You’re not sure if the kissing (outside his truck, inside his truck, in the hallway outside your shitty apartment) is the only thing he’ll do because he thinks it’s the only thing you can handle but you’re humiliated to admit he might be right.

It’s as hot out today as it feels inside your chest when he finally walks in, eyes a little more tired than usual but his pace is steady and your gaze stays on him until he’s standing at the main desk with Robby beside him.

They’re talking about something in low murmurs and you’re trying to pretend you’re busy even though you imagine the way your pen flies out of your hand as soon as he scans the room and lands on you, really sells you out.

You give him a sheepish smile before you’re bending down out of sight to grab the traitorous object, staying squatted for a few extra seconds with your eyes squeezed shut to try and manifest yourself out of existence. By the time you stand back up, he’s crossed the room and is now standing directly in front of you on the other side of the desk.

“Dr Abbot.” You imagine your face only looks half as startled as you actually feel and his amused look seems to prove that. “How are you?”

“How am I?” His head cocks to the side a little like he’s trying to figure out if you’re asking him something else under the guise of small talk. You purse your lips awkwardly, getting that familiar stuck feeling that itches to life whenever he watches you a little too long.

You know you are an intelligent woman, a doctor above her peers who dedicated an entire lifetime to knowledge and earned a position to be proud of.

That being said..

Jack Abbot had the ability to make you feel absolutely clueless and you found yourself actually enjoying the feeling, maybe even a little addicted at times. You blamed the addiction for being the reason your eyes suddenly darted down to his mouth, only shooting away when you saw his lips quirk up in that infuriating smirk of his.

“Fine don’t answer.” You forced out tightly, nearly turning your body fully away from him in preparation to wander off and bury your head in a hot holiday case load until you couldn’t remember your own name let alone his.

Even though you were beginning to think you’d hold onto his name far longer than your own at this point.

“Hey don’t do that.” His voice was so soft and teasing you almost felt your knees weaken, slightly turning back in his direction when his hand lightly gripped your arm but letting the annoyance linger on your face for emphasis. “I’m alright sweetheart. I’m good, okay?”

You both knew exactly why you were asking him that, why you were extra curious about his state when you were surrounded by American flags and loud pops sounding across the city with the sun still shining brightly enough to mask the real effects of the fireworks.

The night would only get more intense from here on out now that the festivities were really going to start and if you worried about him on a typical day, then you worried about him tonight.

Jack didn’t seem too keen on talking about that time of his life with you and you tried not to take any offense to it. You’d started to chat on your rides home, sometimes sitting outside your building for an extra hour until he noticed your gaze getting a little too low and tired. Most of the conversations were about you and your life, gently being steered away from his own personal matters whenever you gave it an attempt.

You didn’t blame him necessarily despite how much it bothered you for naive reasons. He probably would spend the rest of his life being misunderstood by people with decades more experience and wisdom than you under their belts so you figured he didn’t want to even attempt to find properly placed empathy with you.

You could care and listen but you could never understand.

But that didn’t stop you from noticing the way he would lightly flinch at loud car horns or the barely visible winces when you were kissing against his truck after a long shift, his leg starting to bother him from standing all day.

“Yeah.” You breathed out in response to his question although you knew he only answered to make you feel better, not because he actually wanted to. “You know where to find me.”

It wasn’t a question but a silent offer, as non pushy as you could be. You’d outstretched your shoulder to him and it was up to him to want to use it or not if it came down to that.

The beginning of your shift went as decent as any holiday could, a constant swarm of heat related injuries being immediately followed by the typical round of firework burns and then the drunken partygoers stumbling (or being carried) in not much later. It was a rotation of the usual traumas mixed with some festively dressed flair that made your head spin.

You barely passed by Jack but you tried not to focus on it too much, you were at work and you didn’t need to constantly be pining after your boss who happened to be a very very very good kisser.

It was nearing the harder part of the shift, that climb into the very earlier morning that always seemed to get steeper and steeper each time. You’d start to feel the exhaustion of the late hours but without the adrenaline boost the final few brought along, the ascent before the roller coaster dropped.

You heard it as you passed by one of the rooms, nurses whispering about a patient that had came in. Normally you didn’t listen in on gossips, especially knowing how quickly it got twisted between the more bored nurses, but the keywords stuck into your skin and made your footsteps slow.

A veteran that had came in with wounds he gained during a PTSD episode, mostly self inflicted.

Your stomach churned at the news although you had expected a few patients coming in from the old folks home nearby, elevated heart rates and other symptoms caused by the extreme stress. The sick feeling only got worse when you made a few quick rounds in quickening laps only to come to the conclusion that Jack wasn’t around anywhere you could see him.

You didn’t hesitate before your body was turning, barely choking out a quick excuse to Ellis that you needed to take a call before you were heading up the staircase and pushing out onto the roof.

It was instinctive and you felt a little bit of regret, the shame of intruding on a private moment even though you knew you wouldn’t be able to forgive yourself if something happened and you hadn’t risked embarrassing yourself to try and help. You felt a little bit of relief to see him standing there, not much considering he was on the opposite side of the railing and his back was so tense it looked painful.

Now it was your turn to flinch at the fireworks surrounding you, almost non stop as they came from different parts of the city in waves. It was nothing like a suburban neighborhood where you might here a family lighting off a few small shooters, instead it was almost like you were in the middle of a competition on who could make the most noise.

“Jack.” You called softly, wondering if he could even hear you over the fizzling that was starting to bleed under your skin.

You sighed and opted for stepping closer, not wanting to startle him but still letting your hand slide over his bicep from behind. He stiffened even more and turned his head to the side, possibly seeing you out of his peripheral vision or maybe knowing you by touch at this point.

Maybe he figured you were the only one naive enough to grab him from behind while he was standing pretty close to the edge of the building.

He didn’t say anything and neither did you, letting your arms snake around his middle now that he knew it was you. You laid one of your hands across his stomach, the other resting against his heart and feeling the way it was racing slightly. The railing pressed coldly against your stomach but it was a welcome break from the heat that you hoped he could feel on his back too as you tugged him a little closer to you.

It felt like hours passed, probably ten minutes if you were correctly timing it in your head before he was sighing and gently taking your hands to remove them from his frame. You frowned instinctively and it stayed on your face as he turned around and ducked under the bar so he was back on the safer side of it with you.

His own hands immediately went to your waist and you shifted closer to him, cupping his face gently in a bold move of affection you wouldn’t have dared do under normal circumstances. You were barely getting used to kissing him occasionally let alone sharing such an intimate touch after a hard night, his dark and tired eyes peering down at you with unmistakable affection.

“They need me down there?” He rasped it out slow and more steady than you were expecting.

You let your thumb rub against the stubble on his cheek before shaking your head firmly in denial.

“They’re fine for a second.” You still answer verbally, figuring he would need the double reassure that he could take a breath. “You need me up here?”

There it was again, that offer for him to let you in and solidify whatever this was you were doing was more than flirty banter and stolen kisses.

You were shocked enough for it to show on your face when he nodded his head in agreement, fully expecting him to tell you he was okay and that you needed to go help downstairs. He would’ve said it gently in a way that reminded you of your importance to the crew but it still would have landed like a rejection.

Instead he was letting his head nod continue up until his mouth pressed against yours.

It was sweeter than your usual kisses, lacking the heat and desperation that seemed to naturally creep up whenever you got a moment alone.

Other than his big hands burning your body, one of them still on your waist and doing that pulsing move he seemed to do absentmindedly now and the other pushing through the restraints of your loose ponytail to halfway tangle in your hair.

You could almost feel it when the need took over him, his frame bending over yours in a way that made you shrink back to accommodate it. His breathing got heavier and the pace picked up too fast to be natural, his hands gripping you like he was worried you could be taken.

You were just about to pull yourself back to get him to stop but there was no need, a loud pop freezing him in his tracks immediately. It was closer than the other ones, maybe even set off in the parking lot of the hospital right beside you.

The worry settled over you in a cold wave and you sighed as you shifted even closer if that was possible, making sure he felt you in every point you could mold against him.

“Hey.” You whispered and his gaze was a little unfocused as it tried to meet yours. “I’m right here, do you want me to be?”

It was more of a grounding technique than an actual question, you weren’t going anywhere at this point regardless of how he answered but you still felt the relief when he nodded automatically.

“Come back inside Jack.” You said quietly, rubbing his face in soothing circles and trying to ignore the heat in your gut when his hand tightened in your hair again.

He was silent in his agreement again but a win was a win no matter how wordless and you took both of his hands in yours so you could walk backwards until you got him into the stairwell.

It was nearly impossible to let go of him once you were nearing the chaotic crowded hallways of the ER but he seemed visibly calmer surrounded by the familiar loud voices and beeping machines.

You watched as he fell right back into the routine as soon as another trauma was being rushed in, giving you one last squeeze to your side before he was speeding off to go and help.

—

You hadn’t expected Jack to forget to take you home because he was still himself despite the hard night, a gentleman who had set an expectation that he planned to continue to fill.

But you were a little thrown off by how normal he seemed now, like your moment on the roof hadn’t happened at all. You didn’t want to press him any further, especially since it was possible his good mood was genuine and not just him avoiding his real emotions, but the concern was growing heavier and heavier as his familiar hand on your lower back led you to his truck.

He didn’t seem to notice the look on your face when he gently backed you up against his truck, mouth on yours as you eagerly kissed him back.

You might have been worried but very little could stop you from kissing Jack Abbot back.

Your mouths moved together hotly, leaving the sweetness of the rooftop behind completely as that familiar tension simmered between you. The same kind of band snapping that you felt after a long day of eyes met across the room and light touches whenever you passed by each other.

Jack made a low noise from his chest when your tongue was gliding across his bottom lip, your own sound of impatience making him chuckle against your mouth before he was opening up and letting you in.

You didn’t need him to tell you that you kissed like somebody who was inexperienced but he didn’t seem to mind, in fact it felt like he liked you best when you got a little sloppy and eager.

His grip was tight on your hips to keep you pinned against the truck even though you weren’t planning on going anywhere at all, too busy tasting his mouth and tangling his tongue with yours in a way that was borderline filthy.

“Alright baby c’mon.” He spoke gruffly into the kiss as he pulled off, pecking your lips a few more times on his way to ending it. “Get in the truck.”

You frowned but knew you couldn’t stand in the parking lot forever, momentarily forgetting all the things to be concerned about and feeling that familiar frustration from the beginning of your shift.

There was a childish lack of understanding on your side of things. Why didn’t he want to do more than kiss you?

It was easy to forget about your own selfish desires again as soon as you got into the car and began the drive to your apartment, the smoke in the air and abandoned piles of firework scraps and ashes making your nose scrunch up in distaste.

You were once again washed with concern for him even though the festivities would be mostly over with now, still stuck with the image of him up on the roof with his mind elsewhere even when he was staring at you.

He parked in front of your building and cleared his throat in a way that let you know he didn’t plan to stick around and talk tonight.

Maybe it was the frustration from his slow pace and confusing signals or maybe it was out of sheer worry for him but regardless if it was selfishly motivated or not, your hand was sliding over his knee.

“Will you come up?” You said it quietly, an offer you’d never made before sounding foreign coming from your mouth.

He stared at you for a long few seconds that sucked any of the confidence you had a moment ago right out from you, retracting your hand and already preparing to apologize for assuming something like that just because he had kissed you a few dozen times.

You were cool and casual, you could do casual kissing even if it was done by somebody like Jack Abbot.

Thankfully he didn’t give you too much time to spiral, turning off the truck and pocketing the keys before he was silently getting out. He took advantage of your stunned frozen frame, circling around the front so he could open your door.

He kissed his teeth and took a step back to emphasize it was time to get out, the noise a little degrading like he was calling a dog. You should have been annoyed by the sound but shamefully you felt a heat rush over you and you eagerly followed the wordless order.

You followed him up to your floor like it was his apartment building and not yours, standing stupidly outside your door for a second like you were waiting for him to let you in. He leaned against the wall and raised an expectant eyebrow at you that made you jump into movement in realization, digging out your keys and flushing bright as you fumbled with the lock.

It had seemed like a grand thing to have him in your apartment, a monumental colliding of worlds you had been semi building up in your mind since the first time he slipped his hand under your unzipped jacket.

Any of your thoughts on what it would be like were immediately thrown out the window considering there wasn’t a moment to process him standing in your entryway before he was kissing you again.

It was somehow even more feverish than it had been in the parking lot, your mouths moving together in practiced clumsiness as you wrapped your arms around his neck to keep him as close as possible.

His sturdy palms pressed hard into your lower back and you whined in protest at the sensation, met with his fingers pressing in that now familiar pulsing motion in response. He didn’t seem at all ashamed to be reduced to a frantic state with you, easily mirroring your inexperienced desperation despite the opposite being true for him.

“Jack.” You panted it against his open mouth but you forgot what you were asking for as soon as you said it, maybe just longing to say his name and feel it on your tongue.

The syllables felt completely unnecessary considering he was back to rubbing his over yours, such an unexpectedly messy move from somebody as calm and collected as he typically was. It was almost boyish, nearing amateur and you felt like you could die from the feeling of it.

“You drive me crazy.” He whispered it and it felt like a different type of confession, both of his rough hands coming up to cup your cheeks.

He applied enough force that you felt them squish just enough to jut your lips out in a fishlike pout, annoyance flickering over your face that he immediately kissed away as he loosened his grip but kept the hold.

You stopped the urge to almost giggle, thankfully saving yourself the embarrassment in favor of rubbing your hands over his on either side of your face until you could wrap them in yours and bring them back down between you.

“Will you stay here?” You didn’t realize that’s what you wanted until you offered it, at the same time hit with the knowledge of how devastated you’d be if he said no.

“I’d never deny you anything.” He said it softly and despite how common it was becoming, especially in your stolen moments, you still weren’t used to it.

Occasionally you missed the sarcasm and easy banter, finding it a lot easier to navigate than those genuine whispers he was using more and more frequently.

“So I should be careful what I ask for?” You hummed in faux deep thought as you started to walk backwards again like you had on the rooftop, this time leading him down the dimly lit hallway towards your bedroom.

“Doesn’t matter.” He said back easily in a way that made you believe him, signed and sealed when he stopped in your doorway to press you against the wood and kiss you again.

You smiled into it, letting go of one of his hands in favor of running your palm through his greying curls. He made a noise of approval that felt like you’d won the lottery, curling your fingers just enough to be felt before you were sighing and pulling off fully.

“Do you want a shower?” You asked and he wagged an eyebrow at you, making you laugh softly but shake your head so he understood you were being genuine.

“Can’t here.” He said back shortly, gaze flickering downwards before meeting yours again with a lot less comfortability than his face had held a second ago.

“There’s a stool in the closet.” You responded back as casually as possible, hand rubbing over his chest almost soothingly on instinct even though you figured he’d been a little defensive if he realized that’s why you were doing it. His eyebrows furrowed like he was trying to figure out if you had any different intentions than just letting him clean up. “I can’t reach the smoke alarm.”

You shrugged at the end of the statement and he huffed out a surprised laugh, like how easily you’d come to a solution for his leg shocked him. Truthfully you hadn’t made any adjustments because you didn’t plan for this to happen, for him to be here and for you to be so afraid he’d leave.

You wished he’d let you make space for him and his disability without feeling like you were pitying him but the day was tough enough without that conversation added on.

So instead you shifted closer and pressed light kisses against his jaw, feeling his breath hitch at the rare first move from you. You waited until you felt his body relax, his hands back on your body and his neck slightly bared for you to continue your exploration.

“I want you to stay Jack.” You said against his warm skin, voice a low whisper that made him visibly shudder. “I know what that means so take a shower and get into bed with me.”

He moved a hand up to your hair, tightening enough that you got the idea he wanted you to look at him. You pulled your face from his neck and peered up patiently, feeling pleased when he pressed into another deep kiss.

His tongue was back in your mouth instantly and you gasped at the immediate fast pace, only granting him more access to you. You clung to him tightly when his hands went lower than your hips, smoothing over the back pockets of your pants before he was cupping your ass and pulling you tight against him.

Your own were desperately smoothing over his back and shoulders, grasping any strong part of him you could.

“You’re so good to me.” He muttered against your mouth but you were a little too dazed to process what he was saying and the reasoning behind it, why your simple gesture of treating him like he was normal might affect him like this. “Good for me. You know that, right sweetheart?”

You nodded dumbly and tried to kiss him again, making a noise of protest when he dodged it with a smile and a quick peck to the top of your head.

“Showers.” He reminded you and you sighed but nodded in agreement, fully aware you both were still disgusting after a long hot shift.

“Be quick.” You meant it to be a teasing jab but it was breathy and tight, his eyes darkening a little at the sound of it before he was nodding.

Luckily you had a guest bathroom so you didn’t have to wait for each other to finish, showing him where everything was before you were washing up as quickly as you could with the overt awareness he was only across the hallway fully undressed.

You had more embarrassment than self control so you waited for him patiently on your bed once you were finished, sitting on the edge of it like it wasn’t your own. Your wet hair was soaking through the straps on your tank top but you definitely weren’t patient enough to let it dry and he clearly wasn’t either considering he was stepping out with damp curls that made your stomach clench.

Thankfully you had some clothes from your brothers last visit still in your dresser so he had a fresh outfit but you almost wished he had been forced to stay in his scrubs, a little dizzy from the black shirt that was a little too tight on him and the sweatpants.

He was a little too domestic, a little too casual and a lot of Jack Abbot in your bedroom with that longing look in his eyes.

You didn’t even need to say anything before he was on you, pressing you flat on your back against the bed as he settled above you, holding himself up with a forearm next to your head as he kissed you deeply.

He tasted like toothpaste and smelled like your shampoo, so deliciously a combination of the two of you that you almost felt drunk. Your hands tugged at his curls as you fell into the dozenth makeout session of the night, the heat steadily rising again as he pressed against you.

A light wince made you pause, turning your head to stop him from kissing you further and distracting you from the obvious discomfort in his lower half.

“Take it off.” You said it softly but there was no room for argument.

He had put his leg back on to make the walk from your bathroom back to the bedroom, not having his crutches on hand clearly considering how short notice of a sleep over this was, but you frowned at the way he was awkwardly hovering on the opposite side to keep himself above you.

“No it’s fine.” He mumbled, kissing wetly against your neck and almost successfully getting you to forget what you were talking about.

“Jack stop.” You continued firmly, feeling a tinge of guilt when he sighed and tucked his face down into the curve of your shoulder. “Please?”

He groaned at the interference but thankfully listened to you, shifting over onto his side beside you so he could sit up enough to maneuver his leg off. You watched him curiously although you could feel his lighthearted glare pointed at your face when he noticed you observing

“Sorry.” You say sheepishly, voice soft as you rub a hand over his chest and guide him back until he’s the one laying flat instead of you.

There’s no protest or reply to your apology due to your mouth pressing against his again, resting your full weight on his chest and letting one of your legs slot between his. You try to ignore the fact this position means your thigh is pressed into his crotch but your body naturally heats up with interest as you kiss.

It feels like an eternity of your mouths moving together, the soft noises he’s drawing out of you so easily sounding so unlike yourself it makes you dizzy.

“You drive me crazy.” He half groans with a fistful of your hair and you can’t help but laugh, a little bit delirious from it all. “I didn’t know I could feel like this again.”

“Yeah?” You practically whisper it, not able to stay smug for long considering he’s playfully growling at your response and flipping you back over so you’re underneath him again.

You sigh in relief when he kisses across your neck and collarbones, thick fingers moving to pull the straps of your tank top down your arms so he can bunch it around your ribs. The constriction of the fabric only adds to the breathlessness you feel when he starts to kiss lower and lower, a sharp gaps ripping from your throat when he lets his tongue smooth over your hardened nipple.

His free hand comes up to the other side of your chest, almost rough in the way he gropes and pulls. You’re half sitting up to try and watch him, mouth parted in a constant steam of high pitched sounds that you can’t focus enough to be embarrassed by.

“So pretty sweetheart.” He finally takes a second to actually take you in, helping you pull the tank top over your head in between kisses on your skin. “There we go baby, let me see.”

“You too Jack.” You don’t even recognize your voice, the whine and high pitch so unlike your usual cadence that you almost went to laugh at yourself if you weren’t so busy trying to tug his shirt off. He smiles down at you in that crooked weathered way that makes you feel insane, clearly amused by how desperate you are.

Your eyes raked over his torso once it’s bare in front of you, a low sound coming from your throat as your breathing picks up. You could tell Jack was fit from the way his shirts fit a little too tight around the arms and chest but he’s so solid and thick, so much more of a man than you ever expected to be hovering above you with a gentle wanting gaze.

He’s back down against you and kissing you hotter now, tongues sliding together as your hands roam wherever you can reach. You rub his biceps and back muscles, shuddering out a harsh breath when his own go back down to cup your ass and adjust you underneath him so he can slot between your legs comfortably.

You nearly whimper when he finally settles and you can feel the whole heat of him on top of you, pressing against your core that had been aching since you first left the hospital.

He chuckles into your mouth in that low addicting way, shifting his hips far enough forward to really apply some pressure just to test your reaction. It’s a whine of his name that follows, half annoyance and half mindless pleading for something more.

“I don’t know if you can handle it baby.” He says in a sugary sweet tone like he’s genuinely concerned for your well being, moving his hands around the waistband of your shorts. You feel him press down lightly on your stomach and you sigh in frustration, lifting your hips to try and get him to continue undressing you.

“You’re supposed to teach me.” You say back, half delirious.

His eyes darkened at that, at the obvious implication and reminder of not only your inexperience but of his position of authority above you. Your words seemed to spur him into action and it wasn’t long before you were both undressed, taking your time to take in each other’s bodies in a way that almost felt too romantic.

You felt like lovers on your honeymoon, not at all the energy of a scandalous and impulsive hookup with your boss.

He kissed down your body gently, letting his hands touch every part of your skin like he was committing it to memory as he praised you in soft murmurs that felt more exhilarating than any thing you could have imagined before this. You could probably get off just from his low voice telling you how beautiful you were for him, for him.

Then there was the way he let you scan over him too, a hint of insecurity on his face when it came to his lower half and the blank space where his limb used to be. You didn’t hesitate, didn’t treat it like a foreign alien in the bed with you and you could visibly see the relief in the way he sighed and slumped back against the pillows.

You kissed against the wrinkles on his face, practically obsessed over the grey hair on his stomach leading down to his length that you could barely look at without turning bright red in the face.

The heat was still undeniable beneath the softness of the moment, the way his breath stuttered as he took your hand in his and placed it between his legs.

Your voice was needy and high as you asked him, begged him, for his approval with your wrist moving the best you could. He kept his hand over yours and the size difference made you a little faint, barely able to see the fact you were the one wrapped around him and stroking him tightly.

He’d stopped you after a short amount of time, muttering into your mouth that it had been a long time for him and he didn’t want to finish without being inside of you.

“Can you take it baby?” He asked sweetly once he had you back under him, thick fingers rubbing between your legs in a slow way that was bringing tears to your eyes. “Look at you, getting so worked up.”

“Please Jack.” You gasped and shook your head, trying to keep your thighs open so you didn’t bury his hand between them. He was barely touching you yet but that was both the problem and a relief. “Please touch me already, I want it so bad.”

“I know you want it babygirl but you need to let me take care of you.” He kissed his teeth in disapproval to your begging and now you full out sobbed, being comforted by his finger finally pressing into you.

It was a slow stretch and already a bit much for you, far more than anything you could do with your own hands or a pillow especially when attached to a face and voice like his. He tried to kiss you through the second one but you could barely stop your whines long enough to respond, opting for sucking across your neck instead.

“Fuck you’re so tight.” It was a low growl right in your ear once the third finger was pressed in, your own wetness so loud in the quiet room you could feel your face heating up. “Don’t know if I’ll fit kid.”

“Make it fit please please.” You were helplessly begging now despite knowing he was just mocking you, struck hard by the mere suggestion he might not give you what you needed tonight. “No more Jack, can’t take it anymore.”

He practically cooed as he finally got you to focus enough to kiss him back, waiting until you were relaxed enough again before he was pulling his fingers out. You whined in protest but he shushed you immediately, so firm and authoritative that you immediately pressed your lips closed tightly.

“Just shut up for me baby.” His tone was still as sweet as it had been the entire night but there was an edge to it that made you inhale shakily. “You wanted to take it so you’ll take it.”

You nod eagerly at his words, entire body stiffening when you actually feel him pressing against you below, already clenching before he could even move forward. He sighed at the resistance and kissed you again, rubbing your sides and clearly trying his best to get your body to the point it needed to be.

“You’re so good sweetheart.” He whispered into your mouth and you felt your heart inflate at the praise. “Know you’ll take cock so perfectly.”

You audibly whimpered at the lewd word which was a bit ridiculous considering the state you were currently in, distracted enough by the things he was saying that he was able to slide deeper into you.

He groaned and tucked his head into your neck at the same time you winced in pain from the stretch, no amount of preparation with his thick fingers could prepare for the new sensation and you started to really doubt your ability to handle it for the first time.

“Don’t do that babygirl.” He grunted and it took you a second to realized you were getting even tighter around him from the pain. “Gotta relax for me okay?”

You nodded and did your best to listen to what he was saying, knowing that regardless it was your instinct by now to follow his orders. It had been engrained in you, a desperate need to please him and make him feel proud of you that clearly carried over to the bedroom just as smoothly.

It took a few minutes of kissing before he was able to move, room falling into a heated silence other than his low grunts and your constant stream of his name and whatever else you were able to babble out.

“This what you needed?” His voice was tight and strained and the sound of it alone was enough for you to know you weren’t going to last long with him over you like this. “Just some cock baby? Now you’re all better?”

You kissed against his mouth both from pure need and because you couldn’t take hearing him talk anymore, the filth coming from his mouth the most intoxicating things you’ve ever heard.

It was easy to forget about everything other than him, easy to forget your responsibilities and the heavy burden to always be better than you were the day before because he didn’t expect anything from you, especially right now. Jack was holding you like you couldn’t do a single thing wrong in his eyes and you felt like you’d finally found the impossible ceiling to your need to succeed.

You didn’t need to worry about a thing when he was kissing you and telling you how good you were doing for him all the way through your release, reminding you how good you made him feel and how beautiful you were as he cleaned you up and gently tucked you into bed after.

There was a half second where you panicked as you watched him step near the hallway door, sitting up halfway in bed covered in the shirt he had been wearing earlier and nothing else.

You didn’t need to say anything, the look on your face explaining enough for him to soften and shift back over to you, holding your face and kissing you gently.

“Just getting you some water.” He mumbled against your lips and you felt another wave of warmth run through you.

Competent, smart, helpful without being showy. The kind of doctor who made chaos look organized just by stepping into it. You had started as an intern on days, spending three straight years under Robby’s orbit before asking to switch to nights for your final year. Apparently, you wanted the full ED experience before finishing residency.

Jack had heard about you long before he properly met you, mostly from Robby.

At first it was little things, slipped into handoff reports or post-shift complaints over stale coffee.

"She caught the PE before cards did."

"She stayed four hours late to help clear the waiting room."

"I didn’t even ask her to comfort that kid; she just knew what to say."

Then it became constant.

Robby talked about you the way attendings talked about once-in-a-career residents — with equal parts pride and disbelief. How you could run a trauma without freezing. How nurses trusted you instinctively. How med students followed you around like ducklings because you actually taught them instead of using them as free labor. Apparently you could calm psych patients, charm consultants, and somehow convince surgeons to answer pages without starting a fight.

Jack had assumed Robby was exaggerating.

Not maliciously. Just… Robby loved mentoring. Loved finding potential and polishing it until it shined. Every few years he picked up a resident he swore would become the future of emergency medicine. Jack figured you were simply the newest addition to the collection.

Then he worked a crossover shift with you. And, annoyingly, Robby hadn’t been exaggerating at all.

You moved through the department like you belonged there. Not rushed, not frantic — just steady. You remembered every nurse’s name, every patient’s lab values, every family member lingering anxiously by a doorway. You anticipated orders before attendings asked for them. You caught mistakes quietly, corrected them without embarrassing anyone, and somehow still found time to explain things to terrified interns.

The thing that got him, though, was that you never seemed aware of how good you were.

No ego. No performance. No desperate need to prove yourself smartest in the room.

Just competence.

Jack hated how quickly he noticed you after that.

The occasional shifts when you covered nights started becoming something he looked forward to. He’d walk into the ED expecting the usual grind and find you already there, coffee in hand, updating the board with that focused little crease between your brows. Sometimes he’d sub into days and catch glimpses of the life you’d built there — nurses lighting up when you arrived, Robby throwing you impossible cases because he knew you could handle them, med students practically competing for your attention.

Even Santos, who disliked nearly everyone on principle, admitted you were “annoyingly reliable.”

By your fourth year, Jack knew your habits better than he should’ve. The way you bounced lightly on your heels when waiting for any results. The fact you always stole strawberry popsicles from pediatrics during rough shifts. How you tucked loose strands of hair behind your ear while concentrating. The soft, exhausted smile you gave environmental services workers at 3 a.m. when everyone else had definitely forgotten they existed.

Then you switched to nights permanently. Just after the start of your R4 year.

And Jack was done for.

Somewhere between watching you run a multiple-GSW trauma with blood on your shoes and complete calm in your voice… and hearing you laugh in the ambulance bay at five in the morning, sleep-deprived and radiant under ugly fluorescent lights… admiration turned into something far more dangerous.

Because the worst part was that you fit into nights effortlessly.

The night shift could smell weakness. It chewed people up. Burned out good doctors in months. But you walked into the madness like you’d always belonged there beside them — beside him.

And Jack, who rarely impressed easily and trusted even less easily, found himself watching you across crowded hallways with something dangerously close to reverence.

Robby, unfortunately, noticed immediately.

A week after you officially switched to nights, during handoff after a particularly rough shift, Robby glanced over at Jack while they stood at the board.

“See?” he said quietly, smug satisfaction written all over his face. “Told you she was special.”

Jack had rolled his eyes, muttered something to get Robby off his case, and gone back to talking about handoffs.

x

Tonight the ER was unusually still for a Tuesday. A couple minor cases, one drunk college kid with a sprained wrist insisting he was “built different,” and otherwise the kind of eerie calm that made everyone suspicious the universe was winding up for something catastrophic around 3 a.m.

Which was probably why he found you asleep in the break room.

Your cheek was squished against your folded arms at the table, hair slightly mussed from sleep, your abandoned energy drink sitting untouched beside you. The overhead fluorescent lights softened everything just enough to make the scene feel strangely intimate.

Jack paused in the doorway longer than he should have.

It was ridiculous, really, how fond he’d gotten of looking at you.

Not in a creepy way, he told himself immediately. Christ. He was forty-nine years old. He was your attending.

He just… appreciated you.

That was all.

The fact that he’d recently downloaded TikTok under a fake name to “understand references” meant absolutely nothing. Neither did the Spotify playlist currently saved on his phone called Not Your Grandpa’s Rock, courtesy of a laughing Santos who’d almost choked trying not to tease him about it.

He’d even asked one of the nurses what “lowkey” meant earlier this week. Humiliating.

Your watch beeped softly. You jerked awake with a tiny inhale, blinking blearily around the room for a second like you’d forgotten where you were.

Jack immediately turned toward the coffee machine so it didn’t look like he’d been staring at you sleep.

Smooth.

Behind him he heard you stretch, the quiet rustle of scrubs filling the silence.

“You want some?” he asked, gesturing vaguely with the stale hospital coffee pot. Casual. Totally casual.

“I’m okay right now, thanks, Dr. Abbot.” Your voice was still rough with sleep, and somehow that did something deeply unfortunate to his heartbeat. “Nothing like a suspiciously slow Tuesday to try to catch up on some sleep.”

“Yeah, don’t say that too loud,” he muttered, sitting across from you. “The universe hears arrogance.”

You smiled sleepily at him, rubbing at one eye. “Sorry Parker let me crash in here. She said she’d drag me out if a trauma came in.” You and Parker had developed a really close friendship, even before you switched to nights. He couldn’t blame Parker, honestly. You were hard not to like.

“You’re fine, kid.” His mouth twitched. “Half of this department has slept in worse places.”

You laughed softly, and he found himself mentally saving the sound before he could stop himself. There’d been a time when every conversation between you stayed strictly clinical. Differential diagnoses. Labs. Consults. Efficient. Professional.

Lately, though, he kept finding excuses to linger. A question that didn’t really need asking. A comment stretched a little longer than necessary. Tiny conversational bridges thrown between you because, against all common sense, he wanted to know you outside of medicine. Which was dangerous territory.

You were 29, of course you’d be chronically online in the way that made his brain hurt. He’d been psyching himself up for days. Keep up, old man. Don’t be the dinosaur they all think you are. He cleared his throat. “Alright. Important question.”

You looked up expectantly.

“You kids and your weird internet language. I've had cases where I don't really get what the kids are saying. So I was looking some of it up you know? To make sure I understand them better when they're in my ED? ” This was the lamest excuse he could find, and he leaned back in his chair trying to make it seem like he was genuinely curious about this and not just finding any excuse he could find to talk to you. “Hit me with some slang. I can keep up. I’ve been practicing. ”

Your eyebrows shot up immediately, delighted. “Are you serious?”

“I’m evolving.”

“This I have to see.” You sat up straighter. “Okay. What’s ‘rizz’?”

“Charisma,” he answered instantly. “Game. Flirting ability.”

“Okayyy, Dr. Abbot!” Your eyes widened a little and you gave him a lopsided smile. He tried not to look too smug.

“What about ‘brain rot’?” You carried on.

“Too much internet so your brain feels dead?” He tried to remove the unsure tone from his voice but wasn't sure if he'd managed. Why was he so nervous? It was just you.

“Been there. ‘Aura?’”

“Confidence. Presence.”

You stared at him for a beat longer now, squinting your eyes, suspicion creeping in. “Did you actually study this?”

“No.” He scoffs. A pause.

“…That sounded like a lie.”

Jack took a sip of coffee to hide the fact that it absolutely was. He had used some flashcards he still had at home. Turns out memorizing medical terms was not all that different from… whatever this was.

You laughed lightly, shaking your head. “Alright then. ‘Skibidi.’”

He pointed a finger at you. “That one’s fake! It doesn’t mean anything! You people made that up specifically to torture everyone over forty.”

You nearly choked laughing. And God, there it was again—that feeling in his chest. Warm and dangerously addictive. You were just adorable, his brain supplied unhelpfully. No. Absolutely not. You were young and brilliant and kind and deserved someone uncomplicated. Someone without old scars and ghosts and a limp that acted up in the rain sometimes. Not him.

He set his coffee down on the table in front of you, leaned back, crossing his arms and looking at you with a small smile. “See? I’m not hopeless.”

You tilted your head, with sleepy amusement still lingering in your expression. “You’re trying really hard.” You finished with your small lopsided smile again. “It’s cute.”

Jack felt his ears heat and he looked away from you. Cute. Jesus Christ. He was forty nine. He was a widower and had a prosthetic leg from a war injury and a permanent scowl that made residents scatter. He’d been called intimidating. Gruff. Occasionally terrifying. One intern had once described him as “emotionally haunted in a hot way,” which he was still pretending he never heard. He was absolutely not cute.

“Alright, smartass,” he muttered, pulling out his phone mostly to regain control of the conversation. “I even got music recommendations.” 

Your grin widened instantly. “No way.”

He ignored the sudden urge to throw his phone directly into the Allegheny River.

“One of the nurses made me a playlist,” he admitted reluctantly. “Current stuff.” He would never admit how much he had talked to Santos about all of this.

“You have a playlist?” you repeated, visibly trying not to laugh.

“They told me it's related to TikTok or something? That slang comes from the songs too and that I had to learn this stuff.” And then he pressed play before he could lose his nerve.

Some aggressively auto-tuned song filled the break room, all distorted bass and lyrics that sounded vaguely threatening toward women. He didn’t really like it but he was being strong and powering through.

Jack lasted about twenty seconds before he noticed your expression slowly turning skeptical. Were you laughing? No… you were scrunching your nose and looking…midly bored?

“…What?” he asked defensively 

“This is… technically music.” You looked genuinely distressed trying to be polite. “But I think this is objectively terrible.”

Relief washed through him so fast it was embarrassing.

You stood abruptly and moved around the table toward him, phone already in hand. “Scoot over.”

Jack obeyed before his brain caught up, moving his chair so you could pull up another chair next to him. The second you sat beside him, your shoulder brushing lightly against his arm, every coherent thought in his head immediately packed its bags and evacuated the premises.

You smelled faintly like vanilla and the hospital soap.

This was fine. Totally fine.

You scrolled through your phone for a second before familiar sounds filled the room.

He expected whatever the algorithm had told him was “hot right now.” Instead, you played Abbey Road on your phone, and he was surprised to hear Come Together from your phone.

“Forgive the terrible speaker of my phone, I have a much better sound system at home.”

The Beatles?

Jack blinked at you. You grinned without looking up. “What? You thought I only listened to stuff from TikTok?”

“I had a whole speech prepared,” he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. “About broadening my horizons.”

“That’s adorable.”

There was that word again.

You laughed softly, brushing your hands on your scrub pants. “That’s nice? I guess? But… I basically only listen to music from before I was born,” you confessed. “Beatles, Queen, Zeppelin, Bee Gees. Santos tries to “educate” me on newer stuff but mostly I ignore her.”

Jack stared at you.

You tugged at your scrub shirt up — there was a vintage Queen tee, the News of the World robot faded but unmistakable. “I pretty much only wear only band tees. Ask Whitaker and Santos. Thrift stores are my happy place. I have 1971 White Album pressing at home. You’d be surprised at the quality of the record, only a couple minor scratches.”

His brain finally catches up to all you've been saying. “You’re telling me I spent a week listening to that glitch-pop nightmare for nothing?”

Your smile softened.

“It's nice that you tried?” you said softly, shruging one shoulder.

And there it was again—that dangerous warmth low in his chest. Because suddenly this didn’t feel like casual break room conversation anymore. Closer. He was close enough now that he could see the different shades in your eyes beneath the fluorescent lights. Close enough to notice the faint crease sleep still left against your cheek.

Jack was a bit loss for words. “All this time I’ve been killing myself trying to figure out what people even see in this stuff—”

“Couldn't tell you, by the way.” You say with a smile his way again.

“—and you’re over here with better taste in music than I had at your age.”

“I only know current slang from talking to Santos and Javadi and the others. Otherwise I’m probably reading books or the news on my phone.”

His pulse was loud in his ears. Before he could say anything back to you the song changed.

George Harrison’s guitar filled the room, warm and aching and familiar. Something.

You smiled faintly at your phone over the opening chords. “Frank Sinatra called this the best love song ever written.”

Jack swallowed. The irony was not lost on him.

“Did he?” Jack cleared his throat, voice a little lower than he meant it to be.

“Mhm.”

You were fiddling absently with your ID badge now, suddenly quieter yourself. And for one completely insane second, Jack wondered if you could feel it too—that strange charged pull settling between you. Dangerous territory. Very dangerous. You were just sleepy. It couldn't possibly be anything else. Nope. It couldn't. So he tightened his grip on his coffee cup instead.

He wanted to say more. He wanted to lean in, to tell you that your laugh cut through his exhaustion better than any coffee. That the way you lit up talking about music just now made his day. Instead he stayed rooted in his chair, one hand gripping his coffee cup like an anchor.

“We’ve all seen you trying to speak Gen Z with Santos, by the way,” you added after a moment, glancing at him again. “You’re not nearly as out-of-touch as you pretend to be.”

He huffed softly, suddenly very confident. “You been paying attention, huh?” He couldn’t help the slight teasing.

Your eyes dropped back to your phone immediately, fingers stilling against your badge. You seemed to… were you blushing? It couldn’t be.

“You know me Dr. Abbot,” you said quietly. “I'm always paying attention.” That did not help his situation at all. 

Then you looked back up, and the teasing in your eyes was just enough to save him from drowning in the moment entirely.

“Are you gonna keep pretending you’re into whatever glitch-pop nonsense Santos told you to listen to, or are we gonna put on A Night at the Opera and you’ll prove to me that you actually know all the words to ‘Bohemian Rhapsody’?”

Jack gasped theatrically. “You questioning my knowledge of Queen right now?” 

Your eyes gleamed with mischief. 

“Shen told me that apparently you and Robby killed it at the last Pitt karaoke night,” you said. “I told him I needed proof.”

He leaned in just a fraction, “I’ll have you know I was 15 when Wayne’s World came out, thank you very much. ”

“I’’ll believe it when I see it.” You challenged with a smirk.

He leaned in more before he could stop himself, now close enough that your knees touched.

“I know every word,” he said quietly, smirk on, staring down your eyes with a confidence he didn't know he had in him right now.

“Even the operatic part?” He wasn't sure if you were just teasing or if you actually doubted him.

“C'mon kid,” he murmured, with a little shake to his head, brows furrowed, “don’t insult me.”

And for a moment neither of you moved.

Just music humming softly through terrible phone speakers. The distant hospital intercom crackling somewhere outside the break room. Your eyes holding his a beat too long, soft, teasing smile still on your face.

Jack could almost imagine crossing the remaining inches between you. Could almost imagine what it would feel like to touch your face, to kiss that teasing smile right out of existence.

Instead he leaned back in his chair before he did something catastrophically stupid.

“I should warn you,” he said roughly, “my air guitar skills are elite.” 

You grinned wide immediately. “Oh, this I need to see.”

“And if Joy calls me cringe one more time, I’m filing workplace harassment paperwork.”

Your laughter filled the room again, bright and easy, the sound making his chest tighten in a way that had nothing to do with the long shift. And somewhere deep down, beneath every warning siren still going off in his head, Jack realized he was already in far too deep.