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I really fucking hated how that AI-generated picture spread, so I made this quick edit of Pope and Shawn like a week ago. Use the damn Photoshop instead of using AI, guys.
Snippet of Chapter 7:
Pittling Tech Support: Fueled by Red Bull
(Jack Abbot x IT worker!reader)
Special thanks to @thatfanficstuff for the quick beta read!
Masterlist ALT Masterlist
A maintenance worker arrives with two new monitors and a small portable workbench. You sign a few forms on the iPad and glance back at Nazely.
“Wow, isn’t that something to celebrate?” she asks.
“I’d love to,” you reply, “but it doesn’t feel like I earned it. It’s more like they thought, ‘We’ve had a big layoff—let’s promote the remaining five so they don’t leave too.’”
“Wait, your chief? Chief Snoopy?” Crus jokes as he pokes at your old badge. You know there’s someone ready to track you down and hand you the new card as soon as they realize you’re not in your office.
As you’re about to explain, one of the maintenance guys looks at you, clearly waiting impatiently for your attention. You tell the two maintenance workers to remove the old monitors, send them down to the basement, and install the new ones as soon as possible.
You can handle anything else.
Thankfully, they don’t ask any more questions and get straight to work. (Or they don’t even want to ask more questions because they don’t want to put in more effort than they already have to.)
"Don't call me Chief, please." You turn back to Cruz, but he seems like he already likes this bullshit.
“Come on, what? Are you collecting all the ranks around here? Captain? Chief? What's next, Mrs. Abbot—"
“HUH? "You raise your voice a little more than you meant to and quickly glance up from watching the maintenance crew.
“And where did you get that idea? See something I don’t?” You lift both hands, showing him clearly that you aren’t wearing any rings.
Jack leaves the trauma case in Trauma 2 and arrives at the Hub just in time to see you and Cruz joking about being single and unmarried. He is still wearing his late wife’s ring, which has become a lucky charm in his life instead of the wedding band he once vowed to wear in sickness and in health.
“I’m actually surprised—how are you not married yet?”
Cruz folds his arms across his chest, leaning back against the counter as he studies you with an exaggeratedly thoughtful expression. His eyes narrow slightly, like he’s examining a particularly interesting case file.
“Clearly you have potential,” he continues, ticking points off on his fingers. “Smart? Check. Sarcastic? Check. Very good at problem-solving? Definitely check.”
“Aww,” you coo, placing a hand over your heart as if deeply moved. “Is this a performance review or are you finally admitting you’re impressed by me?”
He ignores the interruption.
“Crippling coffee addiction? Check. Smoking when stressed—”
You gasp and straighten up. “Okay, wow. We were doing so well.”
“—terrible sleep schedule, emotionally constipated, avoids vulnerability with humor—”
You drop your shoulders in defeat, dragging a hand down your face. “I should’ve known. I should’ve known you were about to read me instead of hype me up.”
Cruz shrugs, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “I prefer ‘thorough evaluation.’”
But when you glance over at Jack—leaning against the nurses’ station with his glasses tipped low on his nose and an iPad balanced in his hands—something becomes painfully, undeniably obvious.
He isn’t reading whatever chart is pulled up on his screen. He isn’t even pretending very well. The intern beside him is mid-question, waiting for direction that clearly isn’t coming. Jack’s attention isn’t on the screen.
It’s on you.
More specifically—on your hands.
On your very bare, very unadorned ring finger.
There’s nothing subtle about the way his gaze lingers. It isn’t clinical. It isn’t absentminded. It’s searching. Like he’s double-checking something that matters far more than he wants it to.
Your stomach flips despite yourself.
You flex your fingers slightly, just to confirm what you already know—that he’s staring. His eyes track the movement. Slow. Intent. Almost hungry before he catches himself and shifts his weight, pretending to scroll.
You consider flipping him off.
Instead, you lift your hand deliberately and tap your ring finger several times, raising your brows as you lock eyes with him.
His breath visibly stalls.
“You know something I don’t, Dr. Abbot?” you call out, voice smooth but edged with challenge.
Cruz turns at once, following your line of sight. He clocks Jack’s expression immediately—and then your pointed gesture.
Jack straightens too fast. The iPad nearly slips from his hands before he fumbles and catches it against his chest. “I—what? No. I was just reviewing—”
“Reviewing my left hand?” you ask sweetly.
The intern wisely retreats.
For a moment, Jack looks completely undone. His gaze flickers back to your ring finger before he forces it upward, jaw tightening. There’s something unguarded there—something soft and aching that he can’t quite hide in time.
It’s not curiosity.
It’s longing.
He swallows hard and pushes his glasses up his nose, retreating behind professionalism like it’s armor. “Dr.Henderson,” he says, too quickly, “don’t you have a discharge summary to finish?”
Cruz doesn’t move. If anything, his grin widens.
“Oh, I’m staying for this,” Cruz says, folding his arms. “This is educational.”
“Cruz” Jack warns.
“What?” Cruz shrugs, clearly delighted. “I’m just saying—if we’re taking suggestions—Abbot’s very detail-oriented. Stable job. Good benefits. Cooks, too, I think.”
Jack’s ears go unmistakably red.
“Cruz” he repeats, lower now.
“You could do worse,” Cruz continues, looking at you thoughtfully.
a/n - this is forrr @cassierins ! i rlly like this one so i hope you do too hehe
warnings - childhood friends -> lovers, fluff, trinity mention, readers gender isn't specified unless you count the picture above where the little girl is wearing a dress, idk what else lmk if theres anything i should add here
Dennis Whitaker had always been bad at keeping secrets from you.
At eight years old, he lasted exactly four minutes before blurting out that he’d accidentally broken your favorite dinosaur toy and buried it behind the swing set because he thought “dead toys deserved funerals.” At twelve, he ruined your birthday surprise two weeks early because he got too excited watching you walk home from school.
And at sixteen, he tried — and failed miserably — to hide the fact he’d gotten into a fight after some guy called you annoying during lunch.
“You should see the other guy,” he’d muttered afterward, split lip curled into a grin while you dabbed antiseptic against his face.
“You are the other guy, Dennis.”
“Yeah, but I won.”
That was the thing about Dennis. Even when he was being awkward or impulsive or acting like a complete idiot, being around him felt easy. Familiar, like muscle memory. Like home.
He was why your parents stopped asking where you were whenever you disappeared from the house. If you weren’t in your room, you were probably with Dennis. And if Dennis wasn’t home, his mom automatically assumed he was sprawled across your bedroom floor stealing your snacks like he had done when you were kittle.
Childhood blurred into middle school, then high school, then college and being an adult and yet somehow Dennis was still there for every important moment of your life.
The first panic attack you ever had in tenth grade? Dennis skipped class to sit with you in the counselor’s office, talking nonsense about comic books until your breathing evened out and you laughed at whatever stupid thing he said. Like he was waiting to hear that laugh he had known his whole life.
Your first heartbreak? Dennis showed up outside your window at midnight holding gas station candy and three terrible romcom DVDs.
“You hate romcoms,” you’d said, climbing back inside with him.
“I’m making sacrifices for your emotional well-being.”
“So you brought the notebook then?"
“I said sacrifices, not an actuall death wish?"
And when his dad left during senior year, slamming the front door hard enough to shake the walls, Dennis climbed through your bedroom window at two in the morning without saying a word.
He just sat beside you on the bed while you held him together.
That was how it had always been with the two of you.
No matter what happened, you found each other again.
Even now, a years after dennjs moved to pittsburgh and out of nebraska, not much had changed because you moved to a town nearby.
You still spent most evenings at the place he moved into since his roomate Trinity actually seemed to like you. Dennis still stole fries off your plate even after ordering his own food. And he still looked at you with that same soft expression that made your stomach feel weird if you thought about it for too long.
Which you absolutely did not.
Mostly.
Okay, maybe constantly.
The realization hit you slowly, then all at once.
It happened on a random Thursday night while the two of you sat on the roof outside his bedroom window, sharing a blanket because Dennis insisted you looked “dramatic” shivering in the cold rain air.
“You know,” he said suddenly, staring up at the sky, “I think we’d survive a zombie apocalypse.”
You snorted. “Dennis, you cried when we watched Train to Busan.”
“That movie was actually sad.”
“You would die first.”
“No way. I’d protect you.”
The words were casual. Immediate. Like breathing.
Like there was never another option.
Your heart did something embarrassing inside your chest.
Dennis glanced over at you then, smiling a little. His hair fell into his eyes, messy from the wind, and for one horrible second you noticed everything all at once — the curve of his mouth, the warmth of his shoulder pressed against yours, the way he always looked happiest when he was with you.
“Oh,” you thought.
Oh, no.
Because you were completely, hopelessly in love with your best friend.
And honestly? That would’ve been manageable if Dennis wasn’t Dennis.
But he was.
Which meant he noticed immediately.
“You got quiet,” he said carefully.
“I’m thinking.”
“thats usually not a good idea.”
“Shut up.”
He grinned at that, bumping his knee against yours beneath the vlanket. “Seriously, though. What’s wrong?”
You opened your mouth.
Then closed it again.
Because what were you even supposed to say?
Hey Dennis, we’ve been inseparable since we were like 5 years old and somewhere along the way I started wanting to kiss you every time you smile at me?
Normal. Totally normal thing to admit.
“You ever think,” you started slowly, “that maybe we spend too much time together?”
Dennis blinked at you.
Then he looked genuinely horrified.
“No.”
You laughed despite yourself. “You answered that really fast.”
“Because the alternative is spending time with other people.”
“That sounds unhealthy.”
“I’m fine with that.”
Your chest tightened painfully.
God. He made this impossible.
The wind picked up around you, cool against your face, and Dennis reached up automatically to pull the blanket to cover more you than it did him.
The gesture was so instinctive he probably didn’t even think about it.
You did.
“Dennis,” you said quietly.
“Yeah?”
And maybe it was the late hour. Maybe it was the way the city lights blurred gold around him. Or maybe you were just tired of pretending your heart didn’t jump every time he touched you.
Whatever it was, suddenly the words were leaving your mouth before you could stop them.
“I think I’m in love with you.”
Silence.
Complete, horrifying silence.
Dennis stared at you.
You stared back.
Then, very softly, he said, “You think?”
“Oh my god, don’t make fun of me right now—”
“I’m not,” he interrupted quickly, eyes wide. “I just— seriously?”
Your stomach dropped. “Yeah. Sorry. I know that probably makes things weird—”
“You’re kidding, right?”
“What?”
Dennis actually laughed then, incredulous and breathless all at once. He dragged a hand down his face before looking at you like you’d personally offended him.
“I’ve been in love with you since I was like fourteen.”
You blinked.
“What?”
“You heard me.”
“No, I definitely didn’t, actually.”
Dennis groaned dramatically, falling back against the roof tiles. “I thought I was being obvious! Like last week!”
“When you bought me a sandwhich?”
“Yeah, because you were sad and like—!"
“That’s not flirting, Dennis!”
“It is for me!”
You couldn’t help it. you started laughing. Full-on, can’t-breathe laughter that had Dennis laughing too despite himself.
“You are unbelievable,” you managed.
“Yeah, well.” He looked at you then, softer now. Nervous in a way you’d almost never seen him. “You still love me, though, right?”
Something warm cracked open inside your chest.
Always, you thought.
Always.
Instead of answering, you leaned forward and kissed him.
Dennis made the most pathetic surprised noise against your mouth before kissing you back immediately, one hand cupping your face like he’d wanted to do it forever.
Maybe he had.
When you finally pulled away, both of you smiling like idiots, Dennis rested his forehead against yours and laughed quietly.
“Took us long enough.”
You smiled. “You could’ve said something first.”
“Mm no I made it obvious, that was on you.”
“Yeah, because apparently i was supposed to know that you flirt by giving out sandwhiches."
“It worked, didn’t it?”
Unfortunately for you and your point, it absolutely had.
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when series masterlist - jack abbot x autistic! reader - WIP
accidently deleted the original series masterlist so here it is again!
autistic! reader, an aspiring archaeologist, moves to pittsburgh for an internship where she meets the pitt's one and only, jack abbot
cross posted on AO3
CHAPTERS
chapter one - series teaser ( march 9th, 2026)
chapter two - episode 1 preview (april 29th, 2026) - full chapter coming soon!
SIDE-STORIES, DRABBLES AND BLURBS
burnt pancakes and breakdowns - coming soon! and yes, it's going to be in second person pov because apparently i'm not suppose to write in first person?
for context:
i identify as having high-functioning autism - this story and behavior of the reader character are based on my personal experiences living with autism, especially when i was undiagnosed. my experiences cannot speak for the whole of the autistic community - if you have met one autistic person, then you know one autistic person. autism is a spectrum and the things that come with one person's autism may not apply to another.
also this is my first time writing creatively in nearly a decade! so please be gentle with me!
this is my own writing - i do not use or support the use of artificial intelligence ( ai ). i do not own any characters associated with the pitt television series - i only own the plot of this story. do NOT repost my work without my consent. do NOT put my writing into any ai programs. support authors by commenting, liking, and ( where applicable ) reblogging - it helps more than you know! thank you! all banners and separators made by me! ( had to make them a couple times before i was happy )
synopsis: It's been months since you've arrived in Pittsburgh. You've moved in with Dennis and are having a small get-together to celebrate it. Here's a glimpse of your life now that you live in the same city after years of long distance.
word count: 2k
content: established relationshion, fluff, domestic fluff, the pittlings.
a/n: I can't believe how much attention part one has gotten! It's pretty short, but I hope you like this. I might do a last part later, but I have other WIPs to finish first haha
lemme know what you thought in the comments or in my inbox! reading your comments make my day <3
-> navigation | masterlist | part 1
Months had passed since you'd first arrived in Pittsburgh, and somewhere along the way, everything had changed. The city that you used to visit only for a few days here and there had become so much more familiar —home, even. You'd grown used to PTMC and the overwhelming size of the building, the hospitals you had done internships at previously weren't nearly as big. You'd settled and built a new life here.
But most of all, you had changed.
Things with Dennis were better than you could have ever imagined. No more counting down the days before you could see him again and no more falling asleep with your phone pressed to your ear. There were no hundreds of miles separating you now, there was no trying to keep your relationship alive through texts and Facetimes. For the first time since high school, the two of you got to exist in the same space without an expiration date hanging over every moment spent together.
Moving to Pittsburgh had easily been the best decision you'd ever made. Somehow, the city had pulled something new out of you. You were thriving in every way you could, you had grown more confident, and you felt more alive than you'd ever felt before. Pittsburgh had changed you for the better.
Somewhere deep inside you, there was still a lingering feeling of guilt for leaving your family behind. You'd only see them for holidays and important events. But another part of you knew that Dennis was it. He was the love of your life, and you wouldn't have survived the distance any longer.
Maybe someday you'd move closer to your families, maybe you'd find somewhere in-between, or maybe you'd end back home, but for now, you had built your own home in Pennsylvania.
The strange part was that, on paper, your life wasn't all that different from what it had been back in Omaha. You still spent most of your days in scrubs, still survived on caffeine and little to no sleep, and were still the same person you had always been.
But now, working in the ICU instead of studying for exams, building a real life outside of the busy healthcare worker lifestyle, and waking up every day knowing Dennis wasn't states away anymore changed things—it changed you.
And since you moved to Pittsburgh, you've felt like you were finally blooming instead of barely making it through.
"So how did the two of you meet?" Victoria asked, glancing between you and Dennis. It was a question everyone had itched to ask, and they'd never really gotten an answer for before.
Everyone was gathered in the living room of the apartment Dennis and you had moved into a few days ago. The apartment you rented was located in Squirrel Hill South, about twenty minutes away from PTMC by car. You sat next to Dennis on the couch while Samira and Trinity lounged on the floor by the coffee table. Mel and Joy were occupying the armchairs opposite you.
Originally you hadn't planned on hosting a housewarming party, it wasn't really a tradition you had intended to follow, but Trinity had insisted. Dennis was pretty sure she didn't care one bit about the tradition and that she just wanted an excuse to party.
So here you all were. Even if it was an excuse to gather, you agreed that the party was definitely needed after the harsh weeks you'd had. Summer in a major city's hospital wasn't for the weak.
The coffee table was a disaster: alcohol and soft drink bottles cluttered the surface, empty plates where snacks had once been and card games which were quickly abandoned after Trinity and Victoria lost one too many times (they were both sore losers).
"Oh, we've known each other pretty much our whole lives." you answered, glancing over to Dennis.
"Pretty much." Dennis confirmed with a nod. "Our families are really close. Her brothers are friends with mine, and our mums are basically best friends."
"Aw," Victoria and Samira cooed. "You guys were practically made to be together."
You two chuckled. It wasn't the first time that you had got that reaction from people. The foundations of your relationship sounded like something straight out of a cliché romance novel: childhood friends, small town, brothers' friend, and mums who were best friends.
"Maybe." You smiled. "We got together in our sophomore year in high school. He brought me to our favourite spot, where we always hung out, and confessed to me," your smile softened, "We've been inseparable since then."
"Before that, she had the biggest crush on my eldest brother," Dennis said with a teasing smile on his lips.
"I did not!" You protested with wide eyes, swatting his arm lightly.
Even if it was true, you would never admit it out loud. No matter how you tried to deny it, nobody ever believed you. It had practically been known fact between your families, something your mums had found endlessly endearing. No one had had really taken it seriously, it had simply been a case of puppy love, and Liam was around a decade older than you anyways.
"Yes, you did!" he insisted. "You followed Liam around like a lost puppy!"
"Don't listen to him." You turned your head toward your friends, your cheeks warming slightly. "He's lying!"
Your friends watched the two of you bicker with obvious amusement. The two of you had been close long before you started dating, and it showed in the easy affection between you.
"Why am I dating you, again?" you huffed dramatically, side-eyeing your boyfriend.
"Because I'm hot, and I'm gonna be a doctor."
"Right."
You two exchanged a look, smiling with affection before breaking into laughter.
"You two are disgustingly perfect for each other." Victoria said. "I hope I can have that with Mateo someday."
"You will!" Samira assured her, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. Victoria leaned her head onto her shoulder, a small pout on her face.
"He'd be a dumbass not to like you." Trinity commented dryly, taking a sip of her beer.
"Okay, but talking about dumbasses, what's up between you and Langdon?" Victoria bounced back, turning to look at Mel.
"Langdon?" she frowned, tilting her head slightly. "What about him?"
"I mean, you basically tackled him when he came back to work on the fourth…" Dennis said coolly.
"And you're always together," Samira noted.
"He follows you around like a lost puppy," Trinity added.
Mel froze like a deer in headlights, staring at everyone. A slight blush spread on her cheeks as she stumbled on her words. "There's nothing going on," she answered quickly, adjusting her glasses with a small nudge to the bridge, "and he's married anyway."
"Is he happily married or just married?" you asked innocently over the rim of your glass. A hand smacked the back of your head lightly as soon as the words came out of your mouth.
"Oi!"
"You can't say things like that!" Dennis scolded lightly, sounding exasperated despite the amusement in his voice.
You pouted.
"You're funny," Javadi said. "Can I keep her?"
"She's all yours." Dennis answered with a sigh.
"Not even a second of hesitation." you turned your head to look at Dennis with mock offence.
He chuckled lightly, wrapping an arm around your shoulders and bringing you to his side. "I'm just kidding," he said softly, kissing your temple. "Who would annoy me all day long?"
"Trin." you answered with a serious expression.
"that doesn't count, she already does."
Trinity didn't answer, simply quirking an eyebrow up at Dennis.
"But seriously, though," you said, switching topics again. "Why not just ask what's his deal?"
"It's complicated," Mel pressed her lips together, "No matter how his relationship with his wife is, he's still married and he has kids.I don't think it's a good idea."
"Probably not." Samira nodded in agreement.
Mel let out a deep sigh, it was clear that it was weighing her more than she let on.
Trinity suddenly stood up, pulling Mel with her. "Don't be sad over a man."
She walked to the TV and turned on the sound system. Then she connected her phone to it and put on a song before she threw a remote toward Mel.
"You know the drill," Trinity smirked, taking another remote to use as a microphone as the first notes of Savage by Megan Thee Stallion sounded out.
"Bye!"
You closed the door after the last of your friends finally left the room, letting out a long sigh as the apartment fell silent. The evening had been great, you had had a lot of fun, but hosting was exhausting, your social batteries were completely drained.
"Tired?" Dennis asked softly as he wrapped his arms around you.
"Hmm," you hummed, burying your face into his neck and melting into his arms. You inhaled deeply, as if trying to breath him in.
"Let's just clean up a little, then head to bed, yeah?" he said, kissing the top of your head.
Thankfully, cleaning up wasn't as exhausting as you'd imagined. The girls had helped gather the empty glasses into the kitchen, and the empty bottles were stacked by the door so you could take them out to the glass bin later. Most of the snacks had been completely demolished or put away before everyone left.
"They're fun," you said gently, rinsing soap from a plate while Dennis wiped down the coffee table, "your friends."
"Yeah." He smiled to himself. "They were actually pretty calm tonight."
You glanced at him over your shoulder. "Really?"
"Mm. Probably didn't want to scare you off."
You laughed at his words and set the sponge down to dry your hands. For a moment, the apartment fell quiet again, filled only with the distant noises of the city and the rustle of Dennis moving around the living room.
"I was a little scared before moving here," you admitted quietly, "I thought it'd feel a bit lonely for a while."
Dennis paused in the kitchen doorway and leaned against the doorframe, his attention immediately shifting back to you. He had always been attentive, he never rushed you or interrupted you. He gave you time and space to express whatever was on your mind.
"I thought I'd only have you until I found my footing around here," you continued, lifting your head to look at him, "but they welcomed me so fast."
Your expression softened, and a small smile tugged at the corner of your lips. "It makes me really happy."
Dennis stayed silent for a second, simply looking at you with a gentle and soft expression that never failed to made your heart stutter. Then, he crossed the kitchen and pulled you into his arms once again, pressing a lingering kiss at the top of your head.
"They love you already," he murmured against your hair.
You let out a soft laugh.
"Honestly, you already have them wrapped around your finger," he continued, "they might like you more than me."
"You're exaggerating."
"I'm not!" he said with a smile. "I swear, they warmed up to you so fast. It's like they've known you forever."
The words made warmth spread in your chest and a smile curl on your lips. Your arms tightened around him as he held you there in the middle of the messy kitchen.
You stayed like that for a moment, soaking in his warmth and comfort while he gently swayed the two of you side to side. Neither of you spoke, but you didn't feel the need to.
Eventually, you pulled away just slightly but still kept a lose hold around his waist.
"I'm really glad I could move to Pittsburgh." you said softly.
"I'm glad too." He replied, smiling tenderly at you and brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. He leaned in, pressing his lips against yours into a short, affectionate and lingering kiss before pulling away.
"Come on," he murmured, "time for bed."
Before you could answer, he scooped you up from the floor, earning a surprised squeal from you as he carried you toward the bedroom you shared.
The past few months you'd spent in Pittsburgh had made every mile of distance you endured worth it. And as you looked ahead now, there was nothing but certainty in the life you were building together.
You couldn't change it for anything, and all you could think about was what came next.
credits for dividers: blueberries, scalopped dividers
synopis: Long distance with your high school sweetheart is rough. The distance between Omaha and Pittsburgh is great, and being students made it difficult for the two of you to visit. But, after eight months and seventeen days, you finally manage to visit Dennis as a surprise.
word count: 1.4k
content: fluff, established relationship, not proofread!
a/n: this is actually the first fic I have ever written for the pitt, but it isn't the first I am publishing haha.
I hope you like this one, it's very short but still cute (˶˃ ᵕ ˂˶)
-> navigation | masterlist | part 2 (coming soon)
Eight months and seventeen days.
You hadn't seen your boyfriend in eight months and seventeen unbearably long days. It felt both ridiculous and devastating to be separated by time zones and flight prices, but money had been tight for the both of you, and reality didn't bend simply because you missed each other.
Dennis and you had been dating since you were seventeen. You've known each other your whole lives: both being born and raised in Broken Bow, attending the same schools and classes, your brothers were friends with his, and his mother was friends with yours.
No one had really been surprised when you two started dating.
Before he went to med school and you to nursing school, the two of you had never been separated more than a few days at a time, and even then, the two of you were still in the same small Nebraskan town. The drive from your family home to his was only ten minutes. You used to be able to see him anytime you wished.
Needless to say, college had been a shock, and it had been really difficult. The two of you had cried a lot when it had been time to go on separate ways: Dennis went to Pittsburgh while you went to Omaha. It was a fourteen-hour drive or a four-hour flight if you wished to see one another.
However, it wasn't really realistic, both time-wise and money-wise. Dennis and you agreed to visit less to be able to afford longer trips. It wasn't ideal, but at least you still saw each other during holidays. It was pointless to be worrying about money and flights when you'd have eternity to spend together after you graduated.
Years passed and the two of you only got busier, but never once did your relationship fail. You made sure to text each other daily even if it was only simple things like "good morning"s and "goodnight"s, at least it was a reminder that you were thinking of one another. You made sure to call and FaceTime whenever your schedule allowed it.
Plus, studying in similar fields allowed the two of you to call simply to study together. Neither of you would talk, it was mostly silent except for the sound of rustling pages and pens scribbling on notebooks.
Fast forward to today, Dennis had started his residency at PTMC, and you had graduated as an APRN a few weeks ago.
You were free from your studies, finally being able to increase your time and budget allotted to your boyfriend. Seeing Dennis only twice to thrice a year was rough, and you were glad that it wouldn't have to go on longer.
You wanted nothing but to hold him and kiss him. You missed the scent of his cologne, the warmth of his embrace, and the comfort of his presence. You wanted to be able to feel him, to have him close and never let him go. You wanted to wake up by his side in the mornings, to fall asleep in his arms in the evenings and everything in between.
But you held on, knowing you would see him soon.
Very soon.
"Whitaker!"
The voice cut through the low hum of the ER, pulling Dennis away from the charts on his computer screen. He had been completing some of his charts now that the department had settled, giving him time to breathe and work calmly.
He glanced over his shoulder to see Dana, the blonde charge nurse, standing a few feet behind him.
"What's up?" He asked, swivelling slightly in his chair.
"Someone's here for you, darling," she said. "Sent them to the staff room." Dana's lips curved into a knowing smile, something almost teasing but sweet flickering in her eyes.
Dennis frowned.
It was rare for him, or anyone, to have visits.
Occasionally, Donny's wife passed by when he forgot his lunch or when their baby had some check-ups upstairs, and Javadi's mom often came down to the ER to check on her.
But for him?
"Alright, thanks." He answered slowly, logging off the computer.
His mind raced as he walked down the hall, searching for who it could be.
Sometimes Santos came back to the ER when he forgot something at home, but they were on the same shift. And Amy Miller, who often invited him for dinner at her farm, never came by the ER except if her baby was sick. Even then, she'd call to inform him she was on the way.
He pushed the staff door open.
And forgot how to breathe.
You were sitting at one of the tables, a plastic cup of iced coffee in your hands, waiting for him with excitement and anticipation. You looked almost too normal, too real, like you'd just stepped out to run a quick errand instead of crossing states to be here.
When you heard the door, you lifted your head.
Your eyes met his.
Dennis froze in the doorway.
For a split second, he genuinely thought he was hallucinating, that it was sleep deprivation playing a trick on him. He blinked once, twice.
You were still there.
"Oh my god, you're here!" He breathed out.
Then he moved, pulling you to your feet and into his arms with enough force to make you gasp. His arms wrapped around you like he was anchoring himself, like if he loosened his grip even slightly, you would vanish.
"You're here." His voice broke against your hair. "You're really here."
You hadn't realised that you'd been holding your breath until that moment. The second his arms wrapped around you, everything inside you melted. The months apart, the late-night calls, the lonely mornings—it all dissolved in the warmth of his embrace.
You buried your face into his chest, inhaling deeply. He smelt of soap and hospital antiseptic, but beneath it all, it was him.
"I'm here," you whispered.
He pulled back just enough to look at you, but his hands didn't leave you. They came up to cradle your face, thumbs brushing gently over your cheeks. His eyes scanned over every detail: your hair, your eyes, and the familiar curve of your smile. He was committing you to memory all over again.
"God," he murmured, voice soft and wrecked with emotions. "I missed you so, so much."
You smiled at him affectionately, even though your vision had gone blurry.
"I missed you too," you admitted in a soft voice.
Dennis let out a shaky breath, almost as if he had been holding his breath for months. His thumbs continued to brush against your skin, and he was unable to look away.
"I thought I was imagining you," he confessed, a small, breathless laugh escaping him. "I'm working a double. Haven't slept in 32 hours. Figured I finally lost it."
You huffed a quiet laugh, your hands sliding up the front of his scrubs, fingers curling into the fabric at his waist. "No hallucination," you murmured. "I promise."
For a moment, neither of you moved.
You were close, so close you could feel the warmth of his breath against your lips. His eyes dropped to your lips without him even realising it, like muscle memory.
His forehead rested gently against yours.
"Can I?" he started, then stopped, suddenly feeling shy in a way that made you smile.
You closed the distance first.
The kiss was soft. His lips were warm and familiar, and the second they pressed against yours, something inside your chest unclenched.
Dennis exhaled against you, and the sound melted into the kiss.
One of his hands slid from your cheek to the back of your neck, fingers tangling gently in your hair, holding you like he needed the reassurance. Like he needed to feel you there.
It wasn’t desperate. It wasn’t rushed.
It was slow.
Tender.
A quiet reunion spoken in a language you'd both been missing.
When he finally pulled back, it wasn’t far. His nose brushed yours, lips still hovering close enough to steal another kiss at any second.
"I'm never letting you go." He whispered against your lips, his forehead resting against yours.
"Good thing I got a job in the ICU at PTMC, then," you answered him with a smile, searching his face for a reaction.
The way his eyes widened before he pulled you into his arms again made you laugh loudly, a wide smile on your face.
Eight months and seventeen days was a long time, but it was all worth it because now, you didn't have to ever let him go.
summary: you’ve been helping smurf and the boys with jobs for three years now. on your third year you’re sent to mexico, once again to prove your loyalty to the family. when you return, there’s news. the addition that was missing inside the family when you first came to know them, pope cody.
notes: suggestive content, afab reader, mention of drugs and alchool, curse words, darren and reader hooked up before he came out as gay but now they’re bff!! craig isn’t in the group chat because him and reader have beef, age gap, based off season 2/3 of animal kingdom, minor spoilers.
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Bad writing means you took the time to write something, you, a real human being. It means you created something! And you have the awareness to see that there's room for improvement, too!!!
Bad writing is wonderful!!! Bad writing is a platform from which you can build your masterpiece! Bad writing is the backbone of good writing!
Give yourself permission to write badly. No, actually- give yourself permission to write something TERRIBLE. Give yourself permission to write such drivel that you can barely read it.
Nothing comes out a masterpiece the first time!! You think Isaac Asimov never wrote a total stinker he had to rebuild from the ground up? You think Jules Verne never wrote utter slop for a first draft?
WRITE SOMETHING AWFUL!!! Write something so bad you cringe about it years later!!! And then when that's done, write some more!!!!!
“You get more attractive every time you open your mouth.”
“Widespread societal and systematic change does not happen by antagonising every person with outdated, prejudiced views.” You stuck your fork into your pie to carve out a huge bit to pop into your mouth. “It happens when people like me continue to exist, loud, bright, unapologetic. It happens when we continue to put pressure on lawmakers to do better, and it happens when we continue to show up to show the world they are wrong in all their assumptions, and when girls like Marigold are raised to know they can be whatever they choose to be.”
“Yep… it’s not just in my head. You just got more attractive.”
Masterlist | previous chapter| next chapter
Words: 7,3k
Content: Older Man/Younger Woman, Slow Burn, Eventually Sexually Explicit Content, Grief, Loss, PTSD, Yearning, Jack Abbot would be a great girl dad and you can't change my mind
No use of y/n!
Read on Ao3 or below the cut:
A/N: Roadtrip shenanigans and a new banner, here's to the next ten chapters, I guess haha. Also, we have officially surprassed the 50k word mark with this chapter!
“Jackson Abbot!”
A wide, bordering on delirious grin split across Jack’s lips. He turned around, shoving his hands into the pockets of his cargo pants. He didn’t even try to put on an apologetic expression.
“I got a fake full name. This feels like a promotion.”
“It should feel like you’re about to get your ass kicked.”
You crossed your arms in front of your chest. Jack knew by your tone and expression that he messed up, though he could not quite figure out what or what to do about it now that he had already messed up, too busy staring at you.
You were wearing a black lace blouse with a corset belt wrapped snugly around your middle and skinny jeans. The plateau boots you favoured outside work had been swapped for your well-worn, beloved steel-toed combat boots for the sake of driving.
A long leather coat hung down your frame, hiding parts of your silhouette, yet it only served to enhance that delicious confidence that oozed off you, no matter what you did.
Jack felt his knees go weak.
“We’ve been waiting for thirty minutes!” Marigold complained, crossing her arms just like you did. Next to you, looking as if you just stepped out of Lost Boys - god, Jack loved that movie as a boy - Marigold could almost be mistaken for a cotton candy cloud in her favourite pastel turquoise overall dress over a Fall Out Boy band shirt with ruffled white socks peeking out over the top of her brown boots.
“Is it that late-” Jack glanced at his wrist watch and cursed. “I’m sorry, Boots! I forgot the time. We had a trauma come in.”
You sighed, shoulders relaxing. You’d never truly been angry with him. You expected this. That was simply the way of the ER.
“Marigold?”
Marigold did not share your inclination towards mercy.
“I waited for you!”
“She was sitting on the steps, couldn’t persuade her to come inside. She said she wanted to be the first to say hi to you.”
“I’m sorry.” Jack’s face bore all the heartbreak only a disappointed little girl could make a grown man feel.
Jack had been so kind to work last night’s shift alone to give you the chance to pack with Marigold and get her ready in the morning. You knew the day was bound to come when Gloria would come to collect what you owed her. It had come three weeks ago, when she showed up out of the blue at shift change to announce you’d be going to an emergency medicine convention in Florida.
Robby was a workaholic who never stepped away from work longer than twelve hours at a time, and Jack volunteered before Shen even made it into work.
You didn’t want to go, and you certainly were not looking forward to people possibly recognising who you were, but you’d been prepared for something like this to be demanded of you and didn't argue.
At least Gloria had no issue with you taking Marigold, as long as you paid the expenses for her yourself.
And the prospect of getting to spend some time with Jack outside the hospital was nice. With you both working the night shift, there wasn’t really room for date nights or getting drinks together. When you weren’t working or sleeping, your time was dedicated to Marigold, and even though Jack kept insisting he loved spending time with Marigold, you sometimes couldn’t help but feel a little disillusioned.
Could a relationship develop the way you wanted this relationship to develop when all the time you and Jack ever got together was either shared with a little kid or dying patients?
The real trouble had come last week, when Gloria came down to deliver the tickets.
The plane tickets.
You stared at the tickets on the counter in front of you, wide-eyed, panic crawling up the back of your throat like a spider, hand trembling, and tried not to slip into a full-blown anxiety attack in the middle of the department when Jack found you.
“I haven’t- I didn’t- haven’t been on a plane since- since Iraq-” You somehow manage to stammer out. Between heaving, laboured breaths and struggling to make any sound at all, you told him about how you’d stepped onto the landing strip, just to be met by the USMC Casualty Assistance Calls Officer informing you of your husband’s death.
That flight had been the worst few hours of your entire life.
You hadn’t seen the inside of an airport, let alone of a plane, since.
“Okay.” Jack had whispered, brushing the hair from your face and pulling you into his arms. “We don’t have to fly. It’s okay, Boots. We’ll just go on a road trip. Marigold will love that. Roadside attractions and shitty gas station food and sleeping in a motel. Please don’t cry, sweetheart.”
He took care of everything from there.
He talked to Robby and Shen to rearrange shifts around the extra days you’d be gone because of the travel. He figured something out with Gloria about the plane tickets too. You didn’t know if the hospital could be reimbursed for them or if Jack simply paid for them. He got his truck to a mechanic for a checkup before the trip. He already told Marigold about stopping by the NASCAR Hall of Fame.
Marigold was very excited, which made up for your anxiety regarding the whole convention and the presentation Gloria had volunteered you for.
Needless to say, as big as her excitement was, her disappointment when Jack was late was even bigger.
“Oh, Marigold, I am so sorry. I didn’t mean to be late!” Jack struggled to the ground, adjusting his prosthesis so he could kneel in front of her, and swiped some hair out of her face. “Don’t be mad at me, Peanut. Please.”
“Mommy says I don’t have to accept apologies.” Marigold huffed. You could see Jack deflate, and you wondered if this seasoned veteran, for whom no catastrophe was big enough to make him lose his cool, had ever looked so small.
“Of course you don’t.” He murmured and tucked her hair behind her ear.
A smile cracked her frown. “But I accept yours.” She wrapped her arms around his neck and buried her face against his shoulder. The relief washing over Jack was instant. “Don’t make me wait again!”
“Never.”
You clapped your hands. “Chop, chop, old man! Get your ass moving before the ER drags you back under.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Jack chuckled and forced himself back onto his feet. You offer your hand, which he only reluctantly accepts, letting you help pull him.
“Marigold and I finished our road trip playlist last night. You are in for an experience.” You grinned, and it did not bode well for him. “The best of Avril Lavigne, Black Veil Brides, Motionless in White, In This Moment-”
“Fall out boy!” Marigold chimed in.
“-Depeche Mode, The Cure, Siouxsie and the Banshees, The Sisters of Mercy, and not to forget, the greatest hits Disney has to offer.”
“I shudder.” Jack smirked. “I’ll be right back then. Can’t miss that.”
“And take a shower!” You called after him. “I’m not spending the day trapped in a car with you after a twelve-hour shift!”
“You sayin’ I stink?”
“Yes!” Both you and Marigold shouted at once, the latter giggling madly. Jack saluted and disappeared around a corner towards the changing rooms. You picked up Marigold and set her down on the counter. Dana pushed her glasses up into her hair and lowered her clipboard.
“You seem relaxed considering your travel plans are being delayed.”
“Oh please, I told Jack the wrong time on purpose. I know how the ER works. We’ve got another hour before we absolutely have to be on the road.”
“Mommy is smart.” Marigold swung her feet. “Do you want to see my snack box?”
“Of course, I do.” Dana flipped her glasses back down while Marigold dug the box out of her backpack. She listened patiently while Marigold pointed to all the different snacks and sweets she chose and why - “I wanted Snickers bars too, but I already had the M&Ms and mommy said I can only take what fits in the box and it has to last the whoooole ride. Well, I can eat everything now if I want, but then I have nothing left for tomorrow.”
“That looks like a very good selection, kid.” Dana commented, smirking up at you while she patted Marigold’s hat.
“These are for Jack.” Marigold tapped against the lid above the compartment she filled with Werther’s Originals.
“Are they?”
Marigold nodded. “He likes them. My grandpa likes them too.”
You could tell Dana was struggling not to laugh. “Well, that is awfully sweet of you. Did you pack something for your mommy too?”
“Nu-uh. Mommy has her own box. I don’t share with mommy anymore since she ate all my Halloween candy!”
“It was an accident, baby!”
“You ate all of it.”
“I was on my period. Daddy ate it too! And daddy didn’t even get his period, so he has no excuses.”
“I told you you can have a few! A few!”
“Yeah, and then it was really good.” You said sheepishly. “We replaced it!”
Marigold scrunched up her nose. She was still convinced the candy she collected herself tasted better than the things mommy and daddy bought to replace her loot with, and who knows, maybe she was onto something, because you had never again inhaled a huge bag of mini chocolate bars like that again since then.
Or maybe the stomach ache was to blame for that.
Marigold hugged her snack box to her chest as if she feared you might steal it too. You laughed and took her tiny face into your hands to press a kiss to her forehead. “I love you so much, my little gummy bear.”
“I hope you’re not on your period so you won’t eat me like you ate all my Halloween candy!” She muttered into your neck, but it carried no real ire.
“Gremlin.” You pinched her side, making her squeal.
Jack returned, droplets of water still clinging to his silvery curls, dressed in a - hopefully different - pair of cargo pants and a black, unfairly tight t-shirt - seriously, how were you supposed to focus on driving with him looking like that next to you? - and a bag slung over his shoulder.
“I hope the rest of your clothes are in your truck.”
Jack frowned. He looked from his backpack to you. “This is just my go-bag, sweetheart. How would I fit everything I need for almost two weeks into this thing?”
“Functioning adults are so attractive…” You hummed. Jack shot you an irritated look. You ignored it.
“Well then!” You picked Marigold up and swirled her around. She squealed and clung to you, wrapping her tiny limbs around you. “Let’s get out of here. We’ll see you guys in ten days! Try not to burn down the department!” You turned towards Jack with a wicked grin. “I hope you are ready for the musical education of your life, Jacky boy. Marigold and I plan to be insufferable.”
“And here I was hoping I’d get to sleep in the car after my shift.” Jack’s smile didn’t waver. He watched you jump on the spot as though you’d been transported into the middle of a mosh pit, with Marigold still in your arms, singing shamelessly, uncaring of the fact that it was seven a.m. and you in the middle of a busy ER.
“He was a boy, she was a girl. Can I make it any more obvious? He was a punk, she did ballet. What more can I say?”
You sang to Marigold, off-key, laughing almost as much as the giggling child in your arms, as if Marigold were the only one in the room. And Jack… Jack was simply staring at you.
“You know, I skate.” He heard himself call out to you.
You looked over to him, grinning. "Yeah?"
“But you only have one leg.” Marigold frowned.
“So?” Jack crossed his arms, grinning at her. “Nothing you can’t do if you’re okay with falling on your nose a few times and looking like a fool for a bit.”
“Hear that, babygirl?” You smirk. “Motivational speaker Jack Abbot. We should print that on one of those posters with the dolphins in front of the sunset.”
“Can you teach me?”
“No!” You said at the same time as Jack said yes. You glared at him, though it really lacked its punch. Jack shrugged.
You left with Marigold, belting the chorus. Jack chuckled to himself and turned back to the station to sign the last few charts waiting for him.
“I’m not sure what’s more chaotic, this Department or those two.” Robby muttered without looking up from his tablet. He had yet to take his jacket off since arriving for handovers.
“Yeah.” Jack looked like a man who was exactly where he wanted to be. Robby looked at him over the rim of his glasses.
“She’s really gotten to you, hasn’t she, man?”
“I love her.” Jack said, dragging his pen over the paper one last time before pushing down on the clicker and shoving it into his pocket. Robby was stunned to hear him admit it, though he wasn’t sure why. The way you two acted around each other made your mutual feelings very obvious to the entire department.
Ahmad was taking bets for your wedding date and how many kids you’ll have.
“Man, I’m fifty, and the thing I’m looking forward to most is the Disney World tickets I bought as a surprise for Marigold and Boots, because Marigold has never been, and Boots never really got the chance to take her to these kinds of things. I’m more than in love. I’m completely whipped.” And he didn’t look the least bit regretful about it.
“You bought Disney World tickets?” Robby raised a brow.
“Marigold is a Covid baby.” Jack shrugged. “Boots couldn’t even have her husband in the delivery room with her. She had to choose between her doula and him, and obviously she chose the one who would be most knowledgeable in advocating for her wishes.”
“Imagine giving birth during all that fucked-upness.” Robby muttered.
“Marigold can’t even swim because there were no infant swimming courses, and now that the swim courses have started back up, they are all booked out for the next five years or something.” Jack rolled his shoulders. “Thought I might teach her at the pool.”
“You’re not beating those girl-dad allegations, brothers.”
“What allegations?”
“I-” Mel stammered. “I just pointed out how good you are with Marigold, Dr Abbot. I didn’t know everyone would start talking about it.” She blushed.
“Don’t worry about it, Dr King.” Jack thrummed his fingers against the counter. “Well, you’re all set here, brother? I should get going then before Boots hotwires my truck and leaves without me.”
“She knows how to hotwire cars?”
“I would not be surprised if that woman knew the nuclear launch codes, brother. Don’t forget to feed my cat!”
Your complaints about the stick shift dwindled out once Pittsburgh was behind you. After three hours, your and Marigold’s private concert for Jack mellowed out as well, leaving you to turn down the stereo and humming along to the songs of your teen years as you drove. Marigold was out cold in the back. The poor girl had barely slept all night, too excited for the big trip with her Jack and mommy.
Jack sat sunken in the passenger seat, his arms crossed in front of his chest, struggling to keep his eyes open.
He should sleep.
In a few hours, you’d want to switch, no doubt. Probably move to Marigold on the backseat to give her some attention too, and keep her entertained. None of you would survive the next two days if Marigold devolved into a cranky, bored gremlin melting down at the slightest thing overwhelming her tiny nervous system.
Jack should really sleep.
It had been the plan all along. He worked the night shift alone so you could get Marigold ready and take the first shift driving. Jack would catch up on sleep in the car.
The problem just was… you were too damn beautiful to look away from.
You were at ease. Your focus lay on the street and the thinning traffic just the same as you’d concentrate on a gunshot wound bleeding out beneath you, but your posture was utterly at ease. Your hand lay casually against your thighs near the stick shift, the other curled around the steering wheel as you thrummed a rhythm that had nothing to do with the song playing over your phone.
Marigold emitted a soft sigh in her sleep. Immediately, your attention was divided between the road and your child. You glanced over your shoulder to make sure she was alright. Your eyes back on the road, you reached behind you, contorting in a way surely only a mother caring for her child could ever manage, and saved her favourite plushy from falling, tucking it back into her arm before returning your full attention to the road.
“What?” You murmur, glancing at him from the corner of your eye.
“Can’t I look at you?”
“You’ve been staring at me for the last hour.”
“Yeah.” He didn’t even want to deny it. “You’re beautiful.”
A red sheen spread across your cheeks, and the sight only made Jack’s grin grow wider. He loved it when he managed to get you all flustered.
“Haven’t taken more than two days off from the hospital in forever.” He stretched with a low groan just to slip back into the same back-killing position as before. You’d called him a shrimp earlier, whatever the fuck that was supposed to mean.
“We are going to a medical conference.” You pointed out. “Shit will be boring as fuck. I think. Never been to one before.”
“Really?”
“When?” You laugh. “When would I have had that time? When I was pregnant during residency? Or when I went to Haiti? This is the first time since I took the boards that I’ve been working in an actual hospital.”
“I keep forgetting how young you are.”
“You callin’ me old, old man?”
Jack chuckled, shaking his head. “You just seem to have it all together. Shit, I was a mess at your age. I just lost my leg. You wouldn’t have liked that man very much. It’s a wonder Nicole stuck around… or that Robby could even stand to talk to me after meeting me.”
“She will have known that that wasn’t really you. Just the result of an extraordinarily difficult situation.”
“Mh. Yeah, I guess. She was a saint.” Absentmindedly, he played with the black wedding band curled around his finger. The same place it had sat in for the past thirty years. Never before had he thought about taking it off, but recently the thought snuck up on him more and more.
He looked back at you, your hair tucked behind your ears, revealing a sliver of your side cut. Some of your purple strands rested against your shoulder. The dramatic black eyeliner accentuates your irises.
Your hand reached across the center console to put your hand on his thigh, your thumb rubbing soothingly back and forth.
“People don’t deserve having their loved ones walk out on them when they are at their lowest, Jack.”
“She didn’t deserve the things I said to her.”
“And I am sure once you started digging yourself out of your crisis, you made sure to show her every day how sorry you were. That’s just the kind of man you are.”
Jack threw a glance over his shoulder. Marigold slept with her mouth open, sitting slack in her car seat like a bag of water strapped into a seatbelt.
“Was she very sad? When I didn’t show?”
“She’s five, Jack. She’s heartbroken whenever she misses an episode of Bluey or that time she had to come to terms with the fact we aren’t Australian! Oh! Or when we found a dried-up earthworm on the sidewalk.” You glanced at him briefly. Your expression softened. “You’re such a softie. She’s fine! Kids get sad when things don’t go the way they anticipated, but you’re here now, and that is what truly matters.”
“I don’t want to be the first man in her life who disappoints her.”
Your heart ached at the easy vulnerability in Jack’s voice and turned to goop at hearing just how much this man you’d let into your life adored your daughter. Would just any first boyfriend after becoming a widow embrace your daughter like this? Worry for her happiness?
“You want to be ‘a man in her life’ then?”
“I want to be the last in yours.”
You stared at Jack, eyes wide.
Jack didn’t quite know what had gotten into him today.
“Eyes on the road, darlin’.”
Traffic had only continued to die down as the morning moved into early noon, with most people at work and only the long-haul truckers bypassing you from time to time.
Jack sat in the quiet, your playlist running in the background, Marigold sighing in her sleep from time to time, you next to him. Your hand still lingered on his thigh.
“Too much?” He asked softly, barely daring to let the words fall into the space between you that suddenly felt more terse than before.
You shook your head.
“I kind of don’t know whether to believe you.”
“You could never be too much for me, Jack.” You whispered. “I’m just afraid of wanting too much too fast and messing everything up when I realise too late I’m in over my head.”
“Baby, you could come at me with a knife, and I’d apologise for bleeding on your shoes.”
You snorted. “That’s not toxic at all.”
Jack placed his hand over yours, nudging his fingers in between yours and closing them around you. “I’m serious. I’m all in.”
“I never doubted your commitment, I’m just… you’re too important to me to take this lightly.” You turned your hand in his grasp and intertwined your fingers again. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
Jack shook his head and brought your hand to his mouth to press a kiss to the back of it. “You could never.”
“Go get some shut-eye. I don’t wanna be driving the next ten hours straight.”
“Your wish is my command.” Jack chuckled, though despite his words, it took him another fifteen minutes to be able to tear his eyes from you and finally lean his head back against the headrest and catch a few hours of sleep.
Marigold was wide awake by the time Jack woke up again.
The candy wrappers littering the center console alongside the empty energy drink illustrated the passage of time better than the position of the sun in the sky ever could.
“Morning, sleepy hat. Can you check Yelp for some decent truck stops?”
“That goes against the very spirit of the road trip, Boots.” Jack yawned and stretched as well as he could in the passenger seat.
“Well, I don’t want to arrive at the conference with food poisoning.”
“Touché.” Jack pulled his phone out of his pocket and wondered how he hadn’t thought of that. He’d planned every second of this trip, especially the time he would get with you and Marigold alone, but not once had he considered checking where they’d best stop for food on the way from Pittsburgh to Florida. You and Jack would not mind driving until the evening and getting some shitty burgers or pizza delivered to the motel, but Marigold needed a proper lunch.
Jack found a decently rated roadside diner and slid his phone into the holder attached to the dashboard, letting the GPS guide you there.
A book poked his arm.
“Can you read to me, Jack?”
“Sure, kiddo.”
Jack still wasn’t entirely awake. He forgot his water bottle in his duffle bag on the truck bed, and he really needed to take a piss.
“Let me just find my readers.”
Next to him, you snorted, muttering something about him being old. Jack bit back a smirk. Why did it endear him so much to hear you call him old?
“You got a problem with my readers?”
“They make your eyes look huge.”
“What?” Jack stared straight at you, and sure enough, the lenses of his reading glasses magnified his eyes comically. You burst out laughing. Marigold asked why mommy was laughing from the back, prompting Jack to turn around to her. She doubled over with laughter.
“You’re so blind, Jack!”
“Oh, that’s just great. Bully the old man, why don’t you?”
Marigold’s giggles were delightful.
“Stop looking at me!” You lifted a hand and put it in front of Jack’s face. “My bladder isn’t what it used to be since that one.”
“Perhaps that’s just the kind of payback you deserve for being mean to me.”
“Pissing myself because you look like a giant house fly with your readers on?”
“Yeah!” Jack flipped open the children’s book. “And hey! You hear that, Marigold? Hear how mean mommy is to me?”
Marigold was still giggling. You grinned, eyes pinned to the road. Jack cleared his throat and looked down at the book-
“I want to see the pictures!”
Jack was left to figure out how to hold up the book so Marigold could see the picture, while also being able to read the story to her. His neck cramped up with the first two pages, but if Jack could endure the heat of the desert, sand that somehow made its way into everything, and heavy gear pulling him towards the ground, then reading to a child was, well, child's play.
You arrived at the diner and parked the car. Jack kept micromanaging you and telling you to be careful with his truck until you slapped your hand over his mouth and told him to shut it.
Marigold obviously found it all hilarious. You grabbed your purse before exiting the car and opening the back door to lean over the seat and try to contain some of the chaos Marigold had created. Jack kept his truck in pristine condition, but now there were finger and nose prints all over the window and crumbs covering the floor.
Jack just shrugged. “Nothing a vacuum can’t fix. Seriously, Boots! Leave it. It’s not a big deal.”
You still felt bad for leaving his car ransacked by a preschooler.
You gathered Marigold, a book, some crayons and an activity booklet before letting Jack lock up and heading towards the diner. Jack sprinted ahead so he’d get to hold the door open for you.
“Coffee?” He asked you.
“Coke.”
“I want lemonade!”
“You got it, Peanut.”
You headed to the bathroom with Marigold first. You returned to the booth Jack had chosen at the same time as he. Marigold insisted on sitting next to him, and getting to not sit next to a five-year-old, thus being forced to be the one helping her with her food? You weren’t going to complain.
You sipped your coke and enjoyed not having to sit behind a wheel.
“Travelling?” The sweet older lady asked you when she brought the menus over.
“Yeah. Florida. For a conference.”
Jack had the habit of chatting with random people.
At the register. In the park. In the line waiting for tickets to the cinema. He found something to talk about with everyone he met.
“What do you do for work?”
“I’m an emergency physician.”
“Oh, and the missus comes along so the little one doesn’t have to miss her daddy, that’s precious.” She didn’t say it to be condescending. Just an old lady stuck in her view of the world, endeared by what she perceived.
You were content to let it pass.
Marigold wasn’t.
“He’s not my daddy. Daddy was shot by evil men after they wanted to kill mommy. Mommy operated on him in the back of a car in the middle of the desert! He’s my Jack!”
“Not my wife either.” Jack smirked. “Sadly.” He turned back to the waitress. “She’s the real deal here anyway. The conference people want her presentation, I’m just the plus one.”
The poor lady was too stunned to speak. Her eyes fell on the rings you were both still wearing, no doubt assuming the worst.
“Ignore him. He’s impossible.” You shot him a playful glare. “We are both widowed.” You didn’t quite know why you added that part. It certainly wasn’t any of this stranger's business, but she was sweet and innocently assuming you were a real family travelling together, just to now no doubt assume you were both having an affair with each other and pulling an innocent child into the middle of it.
And how terrible would you be if you let this poor woman’s positive view of the world die like that?
“I’d like the grilled cheese with tomato soup, please.” You closed your menu and handed it back. Marigold wanted chicken fingers and - for some reason - coleslaw? Not fries, not mashed potatoes. Coleslaw. She was such a weird kid, and you adored it. Jack, never beating the old man allegations, ordered a Monte Cristo sandwich. With a side of fries. Fries that he slid towards you the second they arrived, and you started eyeing them greedily.
“I knew you’d want fries.”
“I would have ordered them had I wanted them.”
Jack merely raised a brow.
“Yeah, okay, fine. I didn’t realise I wanted them until they were here.”
Jack smiled at you fondly and nudged the ketchup over to you as well.
Marigold was done eating first, inhaling her food like a goddamn vacuum before asking for dessert (being told she had to wait for Jack and you to finish), just to promptly lose herself in solving a maze in her activity booklet.
“They stare any harder, their eyes gonna get stuck like that.” Jack hissed suddenly out of the blue. It took you a moment to realise he was referring to the two older guys sitting at the counter. His knuckles had gone white around his fork, as if he meant to stab his banana cream pie (yuck, by the way).
“Let it go.” You mused. “Really, Jack. It’s not worth it. I’m used to it. When people see me with Marigold, they usually assume I’m the mistress, or that I’m an addict, or a terrible mother for some other made-up reason just because of my ink and piercings. You’re not going to change their minds by making a scene either.”
“I’m surprised you, of all people, would let that shit go.”
“What am I going to do? Start a fight with every dickhead? I’m a twenty-nine-year-old single mom, one of the youngest emergency attendings, pursuing my career in a very competitive field. Women make up about 70% of the global healthcare workforce, yet only hold roughly 25% of the senior executive roles. In 2019, only 17,8% of department chairs in US academic medical centers were women. With even lower representation in surgical subspecialties. And even less women of color. My whole existence, everything I do pisses those small-minded people off, and the work I do is so much more effective in not letting that shit go than starting fights in some small town diner ever will, baby.”
Jack felt his face flush at the casual way that pet name slipped off your tongue.
“Now, if those dickheads come over here to start shit? I’m breaking their fucking nose. I’m not a violent person, but I don’t roll over for the hurt ego of some small-dicked assholes. These rings? They are not just pretty. They hurt almost as much as brass knuckles.”
“You get more attractive every time you open your mouth.”
“Widespread societal and systematic change does not happen by antagonising every person with outdated, prejudiced views.” You stuck your fork into your pie to carve out a huge bit to pop into your mouth. “It happens when people like me continue to exist, loud, bright, unapologetic. It happens when we continue to put pressure on lawmakers to do better, and it happens when we continue to show up to show the world they are wrong in all their assumptions, and when girls like Marigold are raised to know they can be whatever they choose to be.”
“Yep… it’s not just in my head. You just got more attractive.”
“Stop.” You laughed and looked down at your table to hide the blush rapidly spreading across your cheek.
“What do you think, Marigold? Mommy is very pretty, isn’t she?”
“Mommy is the prettiest, nicestes, amazing mommy ever!”
Jack grinned at you. “She’s right. You are the nicestes.”
You lifted your fork threateningly. “I’ll chuck this cake at you, Jack.”
“You wouldn’t. You’d never waste dessert!”
He wasn’t wrong.
“Jack?” You popped your head out of the bathroom. Jack, sitting on one of the rather shitty motel beds, lowered the TV remote and disregarded the evening news to look at you.
“Can you watch Marigold in the tub for a bit? The conference coordinator tried to call me, but I don’t have any service here. Only- only if you’re comfortable with that. I asked her, and she’s okay with it.”
Jack hesitated. He didn’t like that he hesitated. Marigold was a child, and she was just sitting in her bubble bath. He cut the clothes of injured people at work all day long. He’d worked on children before. The human body was just that, a body.
“It’s-” Jack cleared his throat. “That’s okay for you? I’m not her dad. Or even her uncle.”
“Jack.” Your expression softened. “If I had any concerns or doubts about you, you think I’d let you near my child? But it’s totally fine if you want to set a boundary here. You’re right, she’s not your daughter and not your responsibility. I won’t ask you for help with parenting tasks if that’s what you want.”
“No, that’s not it. I just- I want to do everything right. I’ll- I’ll watch her.”
Jack set the remote aside and got up.
“Ten minutes, tops.” You murmur, setting your hands against his shoulders.
“Take your time.”
“Thanks.” You press a soft kiss to his lips. “You’re doing so well, Jack. You have all the makings of a great dad.” You kissed his cheek. “And I hope you are aware that if you - or anyone - ever did anything to my baby girl, I will kill you and nobody will ever find the body. My grandpa worked for the CIA and then the NSA after leaving the Corps.”
You stepped back, grinning, and clapped him on the shoulder before calling a goodbye to Marigold over your shoulder. You headed outside to find a place with better reception.
Jack slipped into the bathroom.
Marigold's wet hair was a mess, and the ground already bore the evidence of a rowdy preschooler. Soaked towels littered the ground in a rather desperate attempt to contain the flood of splashing water he’d heard earlier, accompanied by shrieking laughter from his two favourite girls.
“You’ve made quite the mess here.”
“I made a potion.” Marigold declared without looking up from the bubbles she trapped in front of her chest with her arms. Jack lowered himself onto the edge of the tub. “It summoned a storm and - whoosh - the waves got soooo big.”
“Oh my.”
“The boat sank.” She pointed at an empty, travel-sized bottle of shower gel she held under water with her foot.
“I see.”
“The crew drowned.”
Jack chuckled. “Jesus, kid.”
“What? That’s what happens when boats sink. People drown.”
Jack sat on the edge of the tub while Marigold played, making up stories about pirates and fairies and mermaids saving drowning seamen. She had such a vivid, bright imagination. It was genuinely such fun to listen to her wild muttering.
“I want out.” She said out of nowhere, dropping the shampoo bottles she’d been playing with.
“Let me get a towel.”
“Mommy didn’t wash my hair yet.”
“Right.” Jack blinked down at Marigold.
“I can’t do it.”
“Oh.”
He sat back down on the edge of the tub. “Did you leave any shampoo, or did it all go into the potion?”
Marigold pointed at a bottle filled with pink, glitter soap and a princess on the label. “That’s mine.”
“You sure? I think that’s mommy’s.”
“No! Mommy’s has bats on it!”
“Ah.” Jack reached for the princess shampoo.
“Don’t put it in my eyes.”
“I wasn’t- planning on doing that.” Jack frowned. Her confidence in him was truly staggering.
He did his best to massage the shampoo into her hair without tugging or pulling on it. Memories of helping his wife when her muscles had been too badly atrophied to permit her to do even something as mundane as this resurfaced with a bitter violence he had not expected.
Jack hadn’t thought about the time he spent as her caregiver before accepting that there was no way around employing a full-time nurse anymore in years.
Marigold hummed and played with the bubble swirling around her, unaware of the tears suddenly burning in Jack’s eyes. He cleared his throat and held the back of Marigold’s head in his hand gently while she leaned back. He washed the shampoo out, taking extra care to ensure none of the soapy water dribbled down her forehead before picking her up and out of the tub to wrap a giant towel around her.
By the time you returned, Jack and Marigold had snuggled up in the bed, Marigold with her hair combed and braided, wearing her pyjamas and holding her plushie in her arm. They were watching a nature documentary.
“All sorted out?” Jack asked.
“Yeah. Just the same old administrative bullshit.” You groaned and slumped down on the bed, pressing a kiss to Marigold’s temple. “Time to sleep, baby. Mommy needs a shower. I smell like car.”
“My car doesn’t smell.”
“All cars have that car smell.”
“Mine doesn’t.”
“Hm-mh. Sure.” You picked Marigold up and carried her over to the other bed to tuck her in. Jack watched you read to her, smiling softly at the silly voices you came up with for all the different characters. Marigold was too tired even to laugh at them. She spent the last five minutes yawning ceaselessly, but she had insisted on waiting up for you.
“I think I need a shower too.” Jack hummed, stretching. “We could conserve water.” His voice dipped into a suggestive, playful purr.
“Smooth.” You laughed as you gathered your things and headed to the bathroom. Jack watched you disappear. He listened to the sound of the water turning on-
“You coming?”
His heart did a somersault in his chest before promptly plunging to his stomach.
“You- serious?”
Your head popped out. A pretty pink plush grazed your cheeks. “Wouldn’t have asked otherwise, big guy.”
Jack was up faster than his mind could process all the contingencies.
You pushed the door closed after he slipped inside, leaving it ajar so you could hear Marigold if anything happened.
“I’m not having sex with you tonight.” You said firmly. “Not with Marigold just next door.”
“Wasn’t expecting it.” His mouth felt dry. His eyes fell on the shower, and as if someone dumped a bucket of cold water over his head, he froze.
You were already unlacing your corset belt and shrugging off your blouse. You took off your husband’s dog tags and set them aside carefully, your fingers resting against the metal bearing his name.
“Boots-”
You looked up, frowning at his strained tone.
“Fuck-” Jack whispered under his breath, wishing he hadn’t let his cock do the thinking. “I-”
Everything inside him revolted against the mere notion of saying the words shower chair out loud in your presence.
“Do you need help?” You stepped closer, and Jack tried to resist looking down at you, only in your bra and tight jeans.
Another man would be able to just hop into the shower with you.
Another man wouldn't have to first take off his leg.
Another man, a younger, better, complete man-
Your lips brushing against his overrode his thought spiral. Your hands settled against his chest, stroking softly up and down until some of the tension oozed off him.
“The tub.” He managed to croak out between two kisses, but he didn’t need to explain further.
You undid his belt and the button of his cargo pants. Jack pulled his shirt over his head. You pushed him towards the edge of the tub to sit down while you slipped out of your jeans.
“Fuck…” Jack whispered again, eyes roaming over you. He cursed his failing eyesight for making it so he struggled to make out all of the intricate works of art unfurling across your skin. He could scarcely find a patch of skin that wasn’t covered in ink. He wanted to trace every line with his tongue, map out this obscure, breathtaking collection you’ve curated over the years.
You lowered yourself to your knees between his thighs and reached for his prosthesis.
“Boots-”
“I don’t care.” You whispered, forcing yourself to smile through the pain the vulnerability and fear in his voice caused in you. As if to emphasise your words, you bent down to press a soft kiss to his thigh, just above his knee. With your help, Jack tugged the prosthesis, the socks and liner off. You set the leg aside carefully before stabilising Jack so he could swing his leg over the edge of the tub.
Jack watched you shimmy out of your panties and bra, utterly in awe over the fact that a creature of such painful beauty would ever choose to be with his geriatric ass. You closed the shower curtain and turned the water on.
“I can hold you.”
“I can stand on one leg.” Jack huffed. “The tub just gets slippery and then…” He trailed off, shrugging, unwilling to relive the humiliation of having to relearn how to take a fucking shower.
“You can hold onto me anyway.” You murmured and reached for his arms to put his hands on your waist. Perhaps it was good that humiliation and embarrassment were burning in his veins like acid, or he would have melted into a pathetic little puddle and been swept down the drain from finally feeling your bare body pressed up against him.
He didn’t even care about the stream of hot water scorching his skin.
“Aren’t you going to kiss me, Jack?”
“I’m trying not to lose my balance and break my neck.” Jack leaned back against the wall and lifted a hand to your face to brush the soaked hair out of your face.
You smiled and wrapped your arms around his middle. “I’ll catch you, old man. Finally, all that pilates is useful for something.”
“I love you.”
That was not how Jack had planned for this to happen.
Not at all.
He hadn’t planned on telling you at all yet, but certainly not while he was struggling to not lose his grip in a dingy motel shower and end up bleeding on the ground with the shower curtain wrapped around his ankles.
Ankle.
“You don’t have to say it.” Jack whispered into the awkward silence. “Just- I wanted you to know.”
You looked up at him with a sad smile on your lips and leaned forward to nuzzle his jaw with your forehead.
“I’m falling in love with you.”
The distinction was gentle, but he could tell it was important.
Jack pressed a kiss to the crown of your head. He held you in his arms, basking in the feeling of your body pressed against his, your warm skin sliding against his, and for a moment, the world shrank down to this.
You and him, and Marigold sleeping peacefully in the next room.
Next Chapter
A/N: The glasses stay ON (peepaw wants to be able to see the tats)
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synopsis: getting ready for date night with your boyfriend.
word count: 530
content: established relationship, fluff, domestic fluff, no mention of gender for reader
a/n: just a small blurb I thought of while putting on makeup this morning <3
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Getting ready for a date with Jack, you played music from your phone while sitting at your vanity, humming softly to Earrings by Malcolm Todd as it drifted through the house.
No matter how exhausting the week had been, the two of you always made some time on Friday evenings just for each other. While during the week you couldn't always dedicate time to each other, Friday nights were yours.
Jack worked long shifts as an emergency physician at PTMC, and you spent your days running calls at the fire station. It wasn't ideal, but you made it work somehow.
Friday date nights were one of the ways you made it work. Sometimes your dates were quiet nights at home with a warm, home-cooked meal, sometimes it was going to some fancy restaurant or open-air movies. Manual activities remained your favourites, even though you both lacked the creativity and coordination necessary for it.
Pottery was one of your go-to activities, even if you'd both go home with lopsided bowls and misshapen mugs. You loved to tease Jack for the things he'd make during those nights: out of the two of you, he was the worst at pottery. Though, you weren't much better.
You were applying blush across your cheeks, deep in thoughts, when Jack slipped inside the bedroom. The two of you had been dating for two years now, and you had moved in a few months ago. It still felt surreal to think you two now shared a home.
"What's that?"
You jumped at the sound of his voice beside your ear, warm breath brushing your skin. You looked at him through the mirror.
"What?"
He pointed at a round container on the vanity before sitting down beside you on the vanity bench seat, shoulder pressed against yours.
"That," he pointed again.
"Oh," you looked down, picking it up. "It's baking powder."
You opened the container and held it toward him to show him.
"…baking powder?" he repeated slowly. "Isn't that for cooking…?"
A laugh slipped out before you could stop it.
"You're thinking of a different kind of baking powder."
Jack nodded once like he understood, though the crease between his brows told you otherwise.
"What does it do, then?"
"It keeps makeup smooth and stops it from creasing." You tried explaining as simply as you could.
"Right," he murmured seriously, inspecting thoroughly before handing it back.
He didn't ask anything else, but he didn't move away either. He simply stayed and observed you.
You didn't mind it. Jack had always loved watching you, like he was trying to memorise every little thing you did. The room settled into a warm, comfortable silence.
"You're beautiful," he murmured after a few moments, resting his chin on your shoulder as he looked at you through the mirror while you applied lip gloss. It was difficult to contain the smile tugging at your lips.
You leaned your head gently against his, smiling without meaning to.
Living together still felt new.
And it was in moments like this, with music humming softly in the background and Jack beside you, where your heart felt painfully, wonderfully full.
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Series Summary: Taking Lena under your wing leads to you developing a relationship with her Uncle Pope. You might be just the thing they've needed to feel like a real family.
Chapter Summary: When you catch a preteen trying to shoplift from the makeup boutique where you work, you step in to stop her from getting in serious trouble. You decide to talk to her uncle, Pope, about it so she learns the lesson an easier way.
Tags/Notes: fluff, meet-cute, parent!pope, influencer!reader, femme!reader, lena blackwell, this whole thing is gonna be a pope and lena fix-it fic bc fuck the canon i hate that bitch
Content Warnings: canon-typical topics discussed
Author's Note: "oh jay why would you start another series when you have 800 WIPs" because fuck you and fuck me that's why! i just wanna make pope happy and you can't stop me!!!
Word Count: 3.2k
You’re just finished restocking a new order of some celebrity’s perfume that you find absolutely vile when you see your manager (arguably even more vile) stalking across the store toward a girl, maybe 11 or 12, who definitely just pocketed an expensive lipstick. The maneuver is practiced, clearly, but awkward enough to catch the eyes of devil-incarnate Katie. If her free hand didn’t have a stuffed-full reusable shopping bag, she probably would’ve gotten away with sneaking it into her denim shorts.
As Katie begins to chew the poor kid out, you step in between the two of them with a wide, reassuring smile. “Katie, I’m so sorry for the misunderstanding. This is one of my friends’ daughters. I told her she could pick something out while she’s waiting for her ride and I’d buy it for her as a present.” Your eyes carefully scan her and you catch a necklace with her name on it. “Right, Lena?”
At a sign that you might actually know her, your manager’s posture eases up. The girl gives you an absolutely adoring look. Almost prayerful, like she sent up a bat signal to be rescued by a pretty girl with a full face of shiny makeup, a swinging babydoll dress, and the tallest chunky pink heels she’s ever seen with an oversized bow to boot. She swallows hard and lies, “Yeah, my uncle’s on his way to get me right now. I was supposed to wait here with her instead of outside.”
She even pulls the same move as you, noticing your name tag, and adds it as an extra detail. You’re almost impressed with the little shoplifter. Katie huffs, rolls her eyes, and says to the kid, “Just don’t go putting things in your pockets if you’re planning on paying for them, alright?”
“Yeah, of course, I’m sorry. Thank you.” Lena then pretends to check her phone and awkwardly announces, “My uncle’s here to get me now.”
You narrow your eyes at her and call her bluff. “C’mon, Lena, I’ll walk you out so I can say hi to him. It’s been a while. That okay, Katie? I’m due for my fifteen, anyway.”
Your manager sighs heavily but nods and waves her hand dismissively before clicking across the store to another customer. With a knowing look, you take the lipstick from Lena, ring it up at the counter, and then hand it back to her. She follows you out of the store and back into the mall, where you cross your arms, lean down closer to make eye contact, and say, “Now, how about you actually call your parents to get you and I talk to them with you?”
“Uncle Pope’s my, um, my guardian. I hate that word.” Still, Lena swallows hard and takes her phone out. This time, she dials, putting it on speaker to prove she’s actually doing it.
A man with a gravelly voice picks up not even halfway through the first ring. “Ready for me to get you, Bean?”
She puts on a brave face and tells him, “Yeah, all done. Kyra and Kylie got picked up by their mom a few minutes ago.”
On the other end, you hear him slide into a car, gun the loud engine, and peel out. He asks, “You got new shoes for gym class like I said?”
“Yeah, I did.”
“Alright, good. I’m five minutes away. Just picked up some charcoal for the grill and shit.” Your eyebrows go up to your hairline at how easily he swears. “Meet you at the entrance by the Macy’s?”
“I’ll walk over there now. See you soon, Uncle Pope.”
You can hear the softness come through his dark voice as he confirms, “See you soon, kiddo.”
Once she’s hung up, you look pointedly at Lena and nod toward the Macy’s. “Let’s go.”
Clearly on the verge of tears, she gives you a wide-eyed begging expression and squeaks out, “Are you gonna get me in trouble?”
“Puppy-dog eyes aren’t gonna get you out of this one.” You start walking her toward the exit and nudge, “I’ve got a feeling this isn’t your first time going for the five-finger discount. Am I right?”
She averts her eyes, staring straight down at her shiny white sneakers, and nods.
“Look,” you sigh, “I was the same way when I was a teenager. I wanted to wear makeup and pretty jewelry and push-up bras, but my dad wouldn’t buy any girly stuff for me, so I stole it. I’d put my makeup on at school in the morning, change my clothes in the bathroom before first period and after last, and wipe off the makeup during the bus ride home. It was a great system until a mall security guard called the real police on me when I got too cocky.” You touch her shoulder briefly so she’ll look you in the eyes. “Trust me: It’ll be better to get in trouble with your uncle than with the cops. Cops really suck.”
She snickers under her breath. “My uncle says that, too.”
“Smart man,” you chuckle as you lead her through the big two-story department store and out to the curb. Leaning against the wall with her, you ask, “Now tell me honestly: Is your uncle an asshole? Or is he nice? I don’t want you to get in too much trouble if he sucks.”
Lena grins and laughs. “He’s nice. My grandma says he’s too nice to me.” Then, getting somber fast, she tells you, “He’s kind of weird, though, so go easy on him.”
You hold back your own laugh at her frankness. “Who told you he’s weird?”
She shrugs happily, paying the idea no mind. “He did. My parents did. My friends did. Even my favorite teacher Miss Margaret says he’s weird. You’ll see.”
And then a massive matte black G-Wagon pulls up to the curb, the windows tinted illegally dark and the whole rig jacked up an extra foot to make it even bigger and more intimidating. The front window rolls down, revealing a handsome guy with dark sunglasses and auburn curls. Taking in the two of you, he yanks the sunglasses off and gives you a cold look before asking Lena, “Who’s your friend?”
Lena starts to mumble out an introduction on your behalf, but you stand up straight and ask, “Are you Lena’s uncle?”
“Yeah. Call me Pope.” His voice is harsh and protective, “Now who the fuck are you?”
You can tell right away that he’s only brusque because he wants to make sure Lena’s safe. So you’re simple and honest, “I work at Ocean Beauty, the makeup boutique inside. I caught Lena trying to steal a lipstick. Can we talk for a minute?”
“Shit,” he mutters under his breath. He puts the car in park, shoves the door open, and hops out. You can’t help noticing the way his biceps strain against his dark short-sleeve button-down and the way his clenched jaw is razor sharp. He shuts the car door so softly, stopping it from making almost any noise, then he opens his arms for Lena to step into. With a sheepish expression, she accepts his warm, tight hug, standing up on her tiptoes as he bends down. Then, with a heavy sigh, he turns back to you and says in a much softer tone, “Tell me what happened.”
“I was just working on the floor and saw her trying to get away with the old palm-to-pocket routine. I would’ve just told her to put it back, but my manager – Katie, she’s the worst – always calls security on shoplifters and then tells them to call the cops if they repeat-offend. Owner’s orders, I guess, but she’s a little too gleeful carrying them out, if you ask me.” As you stop yourself with a nervous laugh, his lips tick up into a smirk. You swallow hard and tell him quickly, “Anyway, I didn’t want that to happen. So I thought I’d come out and tell you directly. Have her learn the lesson the much-less-hard way.”
Pope nods slowly for a moment, eyebrows pinched together. His hazel eyes catch the sun, gold and green hues coming to the forefront. “Thanks. She’s too young to get in that kind of trouble. Gets good grades, does her chores. She’s not like- She’s not a bad kid.” Then he turns his attention to Lena. Drops down almost to his knees to look her in the eyes, treating her less like a kid and more like an equal. “Why would you want to steal, Lena? I gave you plenty of cash. You know you can get whatever you want as long as you’re not hurting anyone.”
“I didn’t want to spend too much,” she says softly. Ashamed of herself. You look on in curiosity; you’ve never heard a parent talk to their kid like that or vice versa. “Grandma Smurf says that store is for rich kids.”
With his hands on her shoulders, Pope gives her a small smile and presses, “And what exactly do you think you are?”
She gives him a bashful giggle; you get the sense they’ve had this debate before. Then she pokes him in the chest and says, “Okay, but I shouldn’t be in trouble because you and Dad used to steal all the time. He told me.”
Pope’s face turns cloudy. Like he wishes he could erase her memories – maybe his own, too. “Yeah, and you know what happened to both of us, right?”
“Dad didn’t die because he stole,” she scoffs with an impressive level of teenage angst for how young she is.
“Not…directly, no.” Then his eyes flicker ever so briefly up to yours before he reminds her, “But I went to prison for stealing. You remember what I told you about prison, right?”
She gives him a solemn nod and repeats, “That I never, ever want to go there and you’re never, ever going back.”
“And stealing can get you sent to prison,” he explains. “Even at your age, you can go to a special kind of prison for kids. That happened to your Uncle Deran; he stole something, and he went to jail for five months. That’s a whole summer vacation and then some.”
Her eyes widen like such a horror had never occurred to her. “I didn’t know they had jail for kids.”
“Yeah, they do.” Pope explains in a tone that makes it clear he’s dead serious, “In there, they make you eat vegetables at every single meal, you never get to watch Beat Bobby Flay, and you wouldn’t get to take Mr. Snuggles.”
She smacks him on the shoulder, nods toward you, and hisses, “I told you not to mention him in public anymore.”
“Sorry, sorry,” he says, suppressing a laugh. Then he tells her, “Look, Bean, prison isn’t the only reason you shouldn’t take stuff. When you take something, someone else still has to pay for it. Whoever picked out that pretty lipstick and decided to sell it loses money for you to have it. That’s less money they have for their own family. That’s not very fair, is it?”
“But Grandma Smurf says-”
“We don’t talk to Grandma Smurf anymore, though, and that’s a big part of why.” His voice cracks a touch as he says, “Grandma Smurf says lots and lots of stuff that isn’t true or good or nice. Trust me, you don’t wanna be like her.”
After a minute, Lena nods. She seems genuinely apologetic as she looks up at you. “I’m really sorry. I won’t do it again.”
Your heart breaks – not because of the apology but because you can see all the brokenness that Lena’s uncle is trying to protect her from. Their family history must be incredibly dark, considering the few snippets he’s given away. You gently touch Lena on the shoulder and tell her, “I forgive you. I can tell you have a good heart and that’s really important.”
Pope stands up straight again and murmurs, “Thank you. I appreciate it.” After another sigh – the sigh of a parent who has no idea what he’s doing; you’ve heard it before countless times in the makeup store – he tells Lena, “And if you wanna try out makeup, I’ll get you whatever you want, alright? I don’t know anything about this stuff, but I’ll figure it out.”
Your ears perk up and you cut in, “I’d be happy to help, if you want. With the makeup. I do some tutorials on TikTok and I could teach you how to get started with some drugstore stuff or-”
“No, no,” Pope cuts you off with a shake of his head, voice confused at the prospect but gentle and supportive, “she can get the good stuff. Whatever she wants. But that would be- Lena, would you like that? Would that be…helpful?”
Lena looks at you with huge excited eyes. “You make TikToks about makeup? What’s your account? Can I see?”
A little sheepish, you take your phone from your pocket, open up your TikTok, and show her the page where you create makeup tutorials, lookbooks, and other cute, girly content for nearly half a million followers.
Her eyes get even wider. “Holy shit, you have, like, a billion followers!”
“It’s not that many,” you reply with an unintentional glance at Pope. It’s weird. This isn’t something you’re ever ashamed to talk about – Why should you be hesitant to talk about your success and your passion? – but his presence makes you…nervous. You don’t think he’s judging you. If anything, he’s studying you especially carefully, checking your every interaction with his niece. But his eyes are intense. Really intense. You feel them creeping over every inch of you, creating a thorough 3D model.
Lena pulls you back to the present by pointing to one of your videos where you have a sparkly, dramatic eye look on. “Woah. Could you show me how to do that?”
“I could show you whatever you wanted to learn,” you confirm, stealing a glance at Pope, “as long as your uncle’s okay with it.”
When Pope meets your eyes, you can see relief settling on his handsome features, turning them softer and sweeter. You realize he must be a single parent. If he had a girlfriend or a wife, this would be her job. “That would be amazing. Really.”
“Okay, great!” You push your phone in his direction and almost squeal, “Give me your number. I’ll text you my work schedule; you could bring her at the end of my shift so I could help her pick things out and then I could hang out with her a while? My niece is about your age, Lena, and I watch her sometimes for my sister.”
Lena gives Pope a big, shiny smile and tugs on his shirt sleeve while he puts his number into your phone. “Please, Uncle Pope, that would be so cool.”
He laughs and puts his hands up. “I already said yes, Bean.” Handing your phone back, he offers gently, “We’ll, ah, we’ll figure it out, alright?”
You send him a text from your phone – just your name and a pink heart – and reply, “Yeah, definitely. I need to get back to my shift, but you’ll hear from me after.”
Lena very seriously raises her pinky to you. “Promise?”
You link up. “Promise.”
While you turn around and walk back into the mall, you hear the last few seconds of their interaction. Lena tells him, sounding all bubbly and gossipy, “She’s really pretty, Pope, you should totally ask her out.”
He laughs as he slings an arm over her shoulder, guiding her around to the front seat of the Mercedes, “Let’s stick to you learning how to do your eyeliner or whatever first, alright?”
“Okay, fine,” she concedes, “but I still want a new aunt whenever you’re ready and it would be awesome if she also had a bajillion TikTok followers and lots of pretty dresses and stuff.”
“I’m glad your priorities are in order, kiddo.”
After work, you head home to your small but very cute and homey two-bedroom apartment and start up a TikTok live like you do most nights. About a hundred people hop on in the first few minutes as you start your ‘get unready with me’ routine, phone propped on its stand inside its ring light on your bathroom counter. While you remove your fake eyelashes and begin to wipe off your makeup, you tell them about your day, starting with another bitch-fest about Katie and ending with the story about the adorable shoplifter with the hunky uncle.
“Yes, I swear it was a G-Wagon,” you laugh as you try to keep track of the chat while more and more people join. You waggle your eyebrows, one still darkened with product and the other bare. “I’d recognize those sexy headlights anywhere.”
kellyistalking: so uncle biceps is loaded??
callmedana: poke a hole in that condom babe
“Jesus!” You laugh as you rinse out your reusable makeup wipe and start to unclip your jewelry. “I literally just met the guy. I think he’s looking for more of a cool babysitter for his niece.”
callmedana: you know we just wanna see you finally get man
dumbforlorde: yeah it’s getting kinda sad
With a mock pout, you pick up your phone to bring them into the kitchen. Setting your phone down on another stand that lives on your kitchen island, you chastise, “You guys are mean tonight.”
kellyistalking: only because we want you to be happy!!!
https.freckle: yeah ur too pretty and nice to be single all this time you deserve a good man
callmedana: or at least some dick
Before you can respond, your phone dings. “That’s him, guys,” you laugh, tabbing over to the next app. Then you read off from your messages, “‘How’s Friday afternoon work for you? P.S. Do you really think my car has sexy headlights?’”
You half-shriek and nearly throw your phone across the room as the chat explodes.
kellyistalking: HE’S WATCHING I REPEAT UNCLE BICEPS IS WATCHING THE STREAM
callmedana: SHOW YOURSELF DADDY
callmedana: SHOW HIM YOUR BOOBS SPARKLE
You read a few more texts from Pope, this time checking them yourself before showing your hand to the whole world. Then you tell the chat, “His niece pulled up my page. I guess he’s making sure I’m not a psycho, which is totally fair.”
callmedana: okay okay everyone calm down we have to make a good impression
https.freckle: yeah we have to lock this down for sparkle be cool
Another text lights up your screen while you just about die from laughter. “‘Why do they call you sparkle?’ It’s kind of my whole brand, uncle biceps.” You take a step back from the camera and gesture broadly to your apartment, which is absolutely decked out with glittery elements that throw the evening light around in rainbows and patterns. “I like to be sparkly. Keeps life fun.” When he texts you back this time, you just smile and tell chat, “Alright, everyone, I need to actually make my dinner.”
kellyistalking: we heard that ding!! what did he say???
callmedana: pretty sure that was the ding of wedding bells guys
You shake your head at the screen and grin. “Goodnight, everyone!”
I think I could use some more fun in my life.
Gotta go put Lena to bed. She still likes having story time. Don't tell her I told you.
See you Friday, sparkle.
In lieu of my ko-fi, please consider donating to my mother's long-term dementia care fund.
