Cherry

“I know cities,” Lyanna replies back simply, “and a city that has more people hungry than people fed is not a good city.”

You can’t help but smile a bit at your sister’s naïveté. She knew as well as you did that isn’t how diplomacy worked. No king could snap his fingers and rid Westeros of hunger and strife. It is a nice thought, though.

“And your betrothed? What do you think of him?” you ask, your inflection curious but restrained. 

“I suppose we will see, won’t we?” Lyanna tries to sound unaffected by the responsibility placed upon her slight shoulders, but you notice her hands threading the fur of her coat incessantly, the slight tremble to her fingers.

There’s a lapse in conversation as you look down at your lap as if it holds the answer to all your worries. Lyanna is not your full sister, but she is your sister nonetheless. You worry for her more than anyone else in the seven kingdoms.

“Perhaps he will surprise you,” you tell her this in earnest, but even you recognize that your words ring hollow. 

In the farthest reaches of the north, whispers of the Targaryens were as commonplace as snow. One cannot wonder what the Red Keep is like without considering the people that live there. They have ruled on the Iron Throne since the time that dragons walked among people. Some were quick to call them “gods among men” whilst others claimed they were a stain upon the seven kingdoms

You cannot blame either side. It seems to be a bit like flipping a coin whether or not a Targaryen ruler would be corrupted by the weight of all it entails. You would never gamble on those odds.

“The castle,” your sister’s voice is tremulous and weak and it quickly shakes you from your thoughts. You look over at her and notice the widening of her eyes as she peers out the small window.

Your curiosity wins over your fear as you lean forward to take in the view. The castle is simultaneously beautiful as it is haunting. Landed on the precipice of an imposing cliff, your eyes slide down the brick side to the edge and your eyes make the jump over the rocky shoreline to the water below. You briefly wonder how many people had fallen to their deaths there. You shake your head to clear yourself of such thoughts.

The rest of the journey to the Red Keep moves slowly. Each rattle of the carriage has you clutching your gown in the hope you could steel your nerves. You are not the one being sold off like a breeding mare today, so why are you so nervous?

When the horses finally draw to a stop, you bite your lip so hard that you begin to taste copper. You release your lip when you meet Lyanna’s eyes from across the carriage; her eyes looking between yours in some semblance of comfort, some kind of bravery. You reach across the carriage to grasp her hand. Her palm is slick and trembling.

“No matter what happens,” you tell her softly, “I will be here for you. Always.”

Lyanna’s quivering lips pull into a soft smile at the corners. She averts her eyes.

“I know I have not always been the best to you.” She pulls at an invisible thread of her beautiful deep grey gown as she speaks, too afraid or embarrassed to meet your eyes. “But you have always been my closest friend.”

You purse your lips at the thought of you and Lyanna’s tempestuous relationship and nod. You squeeze her hand once and pull away just as the doors to the carriage open and a burst of light blinds you.

You lean back so as to escape the light’s reach and to show deference to your sister. Lyanna is the picture of elegance and beauty as she stands from her spot across from you and takes poised steps down to the path below. You move only once she has cleared herself completely out of the way.

You stand and grab the outstretched hand of a nearby guard to help escort you down. You squint your eyes to better focus on the outside as the light assaults your senses. In Winterfell, the sun is never this bright. And if it is, it is filtered through thick tree branches or clouds. This sun is aggressive and its light immediately heats your skin through your thick fur coat.

You keep your eyes respectfully averted as you join your sister and your father, but you allow them to trail upwards after you have taken your place and successfully escaped the spotlight.

Your eyes latch onto a feeble older man near the front of the line. You recognize him immediately by his deep red robes, violet eyes, and gold crown as King Daeron. His hair is white and his skin is aged and pale as the full moon on a deep starless night. His gaze sweeps across the dire wolves assembled in front of him like the round, intelligent eyes of an owl. When they reach you, his near-white eyebrows furrow only slightly. It is an imperceptible difference that not many would catch. A bastard always would, though. 

It is the same expression that other noble ladies would make after hearing of your parentage. The same face that suitors of your sister would pull when they noticed the stark differences between you and Lyanna. It was the same face Lord and Lady Stark made every time they looked upon your visage as a child.

You look back down at the ground, content to trace the lines in the cobble beneath your feet as they spoke.

“Lord Stark,” the King’s voice is light and youthful as he speaks, a difference to his weathered face, “it is a pleasure to welcome you to the Red Keep.”

You look over at your father as he nods. His beard moves as a smile splits his face. “No words can fully capture our deep gratitude for you having us.”

The king nods once before he looks back at your sister. Your eyes unconsciously drift across the gathered faces.

Each one you recognize from stories and vague descriptions from your studies. Maekar Targaryen, the youngest son–the anvil, strong and capable. His eldest children; Daeron, Aerion, and Daella. Two other young children. And then… Baelor Targaryen.

You startle when you realize his eyes are already centered on you. His eyes, the most recognizable of his features, one violet-blue and the other a deep brown, are extremely intimidating. Something lingers there, behind those mismatched eyes. Something that you cannot quite place. You look away just as his own flit toward his father.

“And those you have brought with you?” the king beckons.

Your father’s head turns in your direction. You do not look at him, but you can feel his gaze burning holes in the side of your face. You know what he is feeling. The embarrassment at having to present his beautiful, perfect daughter and then the walking depiction of his sins on the other. He looks back to the king and you let out a breath as his gaze is removed from your face.

“These are my daughters Lyanna and–” 

“You are Lady Snow,” a small voice interrupts your father. “You are the bastard.” Your heart pounds in your ears as your eyes seek to identify the speaker. 

Your gaze meets the violet ones of a young boy across from you. Prince Aegon, you guess. He can’t be older than eight or nine, a small, genuine smile pulling at the edges of his lips. He was smiling… at you?

His father immediately grabs his shoulder and the boy falls silent under his disapproving eyes. You do not fault the boy. If anything, he made the whole thing a bit easier. Now, everyone is on a level playing field. 

“My apologies,” the king says, and you are startled to find his gaze not on your father but on you. “The boy has yet to learn when to hold his tongue.”

You smile tensely. “It is quite all right, My Grace. Ae-the boy meant no harm.”

The king smiles at you, genuinely, and you think in that moment that perhaps you had judged his character too hastily. 

Your father steps forward. “She will not be of consequence to you or your family, My Grace. She knows well her place.” 

You swallow thickly and any happiness or feelings of acceptance you had been mulling in disappear. 

“Hm,” the king does not say more. Silence settles over the courtyard like snow blanketing a valley.

You hear the sound of boots clanking against cobble and your eyes drift up from the ground to the figure approaching. Baelor’s deep black and maroon coat swishes across the paving as he takes long strides toward Lyanna. You watch from the side of your sister as he looks deeply into her eyes and a small smile curls at the edges of his lips.

“My lady,” his voice is soft. It sounds like the crackle of fire warming a room. The sound of the crunch of snow underneath heavy boots through an old growth forest. The sound of a lone dire wolf howling from afar, searching for its missing half.

Lyanna smiles gently and curtsies. Her dark hair slips from the thick coat and tumbles into her vision like the waves of a waterfall slipping off the edge of a cliff. Everything she does is carefully measured and planned, from the slightest gesture of her hand to the expression on her face. Your sister carries an effortless grace you could only hopelessly dream of. She offers her dainty hand and Baelor reaches forward to grasp it within his own. A small smile slips across your mouth as he bends his head down to plant a curt kiss across her knuckles. You notice your sister’s lips tremble with delight.

Their hands slip away from each other and Baelor takes a step back. You think he is going to go back to his spot with his house, but then he surprises you by stepping forward toward you. 

He keeps a respectful distance as he nods his head in your direction. “Lady Snow.”

You hide your tremulous hands under your coat as you do your best attempt at a curtsy. His eyes wrinkle at the edges and a smile flirts at the edges of his lips. You do not return the gesture–it is already enough that he has singled you out in the way he has, no need to stoke the flame.

As he finally steps away, you realize what emotion it is he hid behind his mismatched eyes you saw before but could not place. Curiosity. 

If Winterfell is a sleeping den of wolves, then the Red Keep is charged like a viper’s nest. Everywhere you turn, there is someone lurking. You cannot ever fully escape the stares that follow you regardless of where you are or what you are doing. 

Suddenly, you find yourself seeking the most recluded spots in order to escape it. You find yourself backing out of arrangements and responsibilities more often than you ever have. Sometimes you sit in your chambers all day in the hopes that the quilts will simply swallow you whole.

Instead of your usual wallowing, that morrow you slip away with the first rays of light to the courtyard. You have traded your usual plethora of thick fur-lined gowns with airy dresses that you feel that you can actually move and breathe in. People pass you and give you cursory glances, but you realise that most do not recognise you as the Stark you are without your fur. You smile to yourself for a moment at the realization before your thoughts are shattered by the sight of your sister striding toward you.

“Lyanna,” you say, surprised by her appearance so early in the morning. She is one to not be so easily roused from her chambers, rather, she usually sleeps until the sun is high in the sky. 

She is dressed in a beautiful fur-lined coat and a deep emerald gown that draws eyes from every corner of the courtyard. That, along with her striking northern beauty compared to your plain commoner beauty, is the reason you shrink in on yourself when you see her headed your way.

She smiles and grasps your arm, threading it across her own in a secure hold. “Walk with me.” The statement is less of a question than it is an order. You are used to following your sister’s bidding and so you simply bite your tongue and follow her as she leads you across the courtyard.

“How have you been, sister?” she asks. You startle at the title she only scarcely afforded you. Being called Lyanna’s sister–the acknowledgement of it–was not something that you were used to.

“Just fine,” you tell her, though it could not be farther from the truth, “and you?”

The smile that whips across your sister’s face makes you realize that the question had been less a genuine one and rather a formality. What Lyanna really wanted was to tell you about her day, but she had to get all the boring questions of your own out of the way first so she didn’t come across as a complete bitch.

“I have had the best few days,” Lyanna says in hurried excitement, “the gods have really smiled down upon me as of late.”

You bite your lip to prevent yourself from questioning her. The Gods? Which, those of the Old or of the Sept? 

“I’m glad to hear that,” you say. You think you might actually mean it, but a part of you stews in jealousy. While your sister thrives like a flower underneath the oppressive sun of the Red Keep, you wilt and long for the wild outside the walls.

“Baelor is so sweet,” Lyanna continues unperturbed by your lackluster reply, “he took me on a walk around the gardens yesterday. He told me all about his duties as Lord Hand, which I mostly tuned out, but then he picked a flower and gave it to me and said that I was as pretty as a rose and I nearly cried.”

You almost laugh at the irony of the differences between you and Lyanna. You would have been thrilled to hear about the duties of a hand to the king–and probably extremely put-off by the cheesy flirting. 

“So your betrothed is kind?” you say, thinking back to your conversation only a few days prior and the fear you had felt on her behalf.

“Yes, oh, I couldn’t ask for anyone better.” Lyanna’s grin stretches from ear to ear as she continues. Then, it slips away as she seems to recall something. “But I will say he is awfully busy. I do not see of him nearly as much as one should their betrothed.”

Your lips twist. “Well, he is the hand of the king. I’m sure he is very busy.”

“That’s what father said,” Lyanna groans. “But my mother always said that nothing should be more important than one’s wife, or in this case, wife-to-be.”

You look over at Lyanna in amazement at her naïveté. You had distantly remembered her mother saying that, but you do not think she had meant it in respect to the situation at hand now. Surely she realized that the fate of the kingdoms held some weight against the fate of one young woman?

“Oh,” Lyanna suddenly gasps. You follow her gaze across the courtyard where an older lady in bright red robes stands under a pillar. “I have to go. I forgot I had lessons.”

“Lessons?” you say, confused.

She looks over at you as if she suddenly remembered something. Her face turns from surprised to guilty in a flash. “Yes, er, father has me in studies to become a better wife for Baelor.”

You nod even though a pit has formed in your stomach. Father had considered it all for his true daughter, but left naught for you. You try not to take it personally. You were not the one getting married, afterall. But a bitterness sweeps over you despite it.

Lyanna runs toward the septa and you watch her as she goes. Passing noblemen watch her with wide, lustful eyes, before they snap away at the realization of her status. You ball your hands into fists, but you are not sure what you are more angry about. The impropriety of the men’s reaction to your sister or the jealousy that you had never once been looked at like that before.

You turn your head away before your thoughts further circle toward destructive tendencies. You try to remember exactly what it is you had planned to do for the day when your eyes get caught on a beautiful black stallion crossing through the courtyard, led on a lead by a young boy. 

He’s all muscle and velvet. His long, wavy mane stretches past his forelocks down to the start of his legs, jumping and falling against his side in tandem with his heavy trot. You do not realize you are following him until you are led across the castle to the stables. The stableboy is busy removing his halter and he does not notice you as he does, hanging it up on the wall, and then crossing the stable and leaving through a small door.

You move as if in a trance toward the beautiful beast. His dark eyes are sharp and follow your every step as you inch closer. His velvet nostrils flair and a deep noise comes crawling out of them, a swell of hot, ashy air lifting your hair from your face.

He leans over his stall door curiously and you reach out a tentative hand toward his face. 

“You are beautiful,” you whisper. 

Suddenly, the stallion lets out a high pitched neigh and his ears pin themselves tightly against his skull. You step backward instinctually and draw your hand back to your side.

You are not sure what you have done to offend the animal. You watch him closely.

“...His name is Vaegon.”

You do not look to the unfamiliar voice, half-assuming it is the stableboy from earlier, as your eyes stay enraptured by the stallion. “Emā se brōzi hen iā rōvēgrie vala,” you whisper. (You have the name of a great man).

The horse seems to calm in the face of your fluency. His ears lift from their tense position into their upright form. He leans forward and you are able to lay your hand onto his snout. He does not only allow you, but encourages it by pushing his face wholeheartedly into your palm. You let out an amazed laugh at his eagerness to be stroked. 

You smile. “Iksan biare īlon shifang tolie sir.” (I’m glad we understand each other now).

“Skoriot gōntan ao gūrēñagon bisa?” The voice breaks in again. This time, though, the change of language makes your head spin to look at him. (Where did you learn this?)

Your hand falls from its position back to your side at the sight of the man before you. Prince Baelor. You fall to your knees automatically and drop your head. 

“Stand,” Baelor orders and you do not know why for a brief moment you believed him to be anyone else. His voice is completely unique and gentle in a way you had never known a man’s to be.

You follow his order but keep your eyes stubbornly on the silver broach in the shape of a dragon keeping his cloak together. 

“…Kessa ao udligon nyke?” (Will you answer me?)

Your mouth suddenly seems dry as you go to answer. “I… taught myself.” You draw your hands across your gown. “Issa daor qopsa skori emā jēda.” (It is not difficult when you have time).

The prince lets out a laugh. It is not like his speaking voice. Rather, it is loud and sharp and contradictory in every way. You assume he must be amused by the thought of a young bastard girl teaching herself High Valriyan as a choice of pleasure. Admittedly, stated so plainly, it does sound quite absurd.

He stops laughing and when you look up, his eyes are soft, held together by deep crow’s feet that reveal to you his seniority to your own years. 

You can feel your throat bob as you swallow harshly.

“Gaomas aōha mandia gīmigon ziry tolī?” his eyes continue to twinkle with amusement despite the laughter having fled far off his face. (Does your sister know it too?)

“Lyanna?” you say, even though you know who he speaks of. It is not often people refer to her as your sister. It is startling when put as plainly as the prince did. “Daor, gaoman daor pāsagon sīr.” (No, I do not believe so.)

“Hm,” Baelor seems to be considering something as his mismatched eyes draw down your face. “Pār iksā mēre hen iā sȳz.” (Then you are one of a kind.)

Your eyebrows furrow before you can prevent them from doing so. Your skin prickles with unease at the thought of the stableboy watching from slats in the wood. You nervously card your hands down your gown. 

“My apologies, my prince,” you say, “I have to excuse myself. I had forgotten but I made some arrangements…”

If he is offended by your response, Baelor does not show it. His lips curl only partially at the corners, a hint at the amusement he had felt before. 

He nods his permission and you hurry away, nearly tripping over your skirts in the process. You blame your pounding heart on the fear of getting caught in a compromising position with Lyanna’s betrothed, but even you are not sure how true that is.

You had thought that perhaps you may have a short reprieve from having to deal with the royal family, but that hope is shattered as quickly as it arrives when Lyanna bursts into your room later that evening.

“Why are you not dressed?” she says urgently, looking you up and down in your shift with thinly veiled contempt.

You frown from where you sit at your desk. You look down at yourself. “You mean why am I dressed to rest?”

“I told you,” she starts, “that King Daeron has requested we join them for dinner tonight...”

You startle and immediately you stand. “You did not.”

“I did,” Lyanna says angrily, “are you calling me a liar?”

You shake your head. No use in making her angrier than she already is. “Of course not,” you reply. “Just… I need to get dressed, can you step out?”

The fire that had been stoked in Lyanna’s eyes douses out like water being poured over her head. She smiles and nods and steps out of your room without any more ceremony.

And so this is how you find yourself in the midst of the dining hall and smiling, jovial faces and the celebrations of marriage and the bringing of families together. Unlike before, your sister is happy this time—joking with Egg and shooting coy glances across the table at her betrothed. 

You cannot find it within yourself to share in the celebration and you hate yourself for it. You are lucky to be included, to be treated more of an equal and less like the bastard you were always treated like at Winterfell and yet a part of you longs for the simplicity of fading into the background like you could so easily back home.

You are not sure why you have been included. You are not adding much to the conversation or atmosphere. Really, if anything, you’re detracting from it.

You pick at the roasted duck in front of you in mild interest. You push around sprigs of parsley and thick marinate to see the strips of white meat underneath. You take a small bite and force it down.

The back of your neck suddenly prickles with unease. You lift your eyes and immediately they clash with the deep brown of your father’s across the way.

He’s looking at you like he might an animal. Or worse, an insect. You have to remind yourself that he does not hate you, he hates what you stand for, but even that seems like a lie now.

You look back down at your plate and you feel the weight of his gaze leave you as he gets involved in conversation with Prince Maekar, if you had to guess by voice alone.

“Lady Snow,” someone says from down the table.

You immediately meet their eyes and recognize the sharp violet as belonging to Daella. Even at her young age, she is already strikingly beautiful. 

Most of the eyes at the table draw to you at Daella’s beckoning as if they only just realized you were there.

Daella continues to smile at you unperturbed by the stares. “What was it like growing up in Winterfell?”

You wonder why such a question was not aimed at Lyanna. As your eyes dart to your sister, you think she’s wondering the same thing. Your experience is not the average, and most of your memories are downtrodden by the fact of your existence being a stain upon Winterfell. 

If you were to be honest with Daella, which you never would be, you would tell her that your childhood was strife with heartache. That from your earliest memories you remembered being ostracized, pushed to the side for the better sister. That you always felt bitter for how you were treated and took it out on Lyanna, causing her to hate you for much of your youth. That other noble girls would turn their noses up at the idea of even touching you, much less being friends with you and that noble boys would tease others by saying that they had a crush on you, as if the very idea of courting you was the worst their mind could conjure. That your own father and step-mother were your own worst enemies. 

Instead, you smile pleasantly and say, “it is much colder than King’s Landing, that is for sure.”

That gets a few laughs from around the table.

“I’ve heard it’s all snow and wolves,” Daella continues innocently, “what did you do for fun?”

What should be a simple question makes you sweat. Your mind goes blank. What had you done? Embroidery? Weaving? Reading? They’re all trivial things that make your throat clam up and your palms slick. 

Lyanna leans forward when she notices you struggling. “We enjoyed the things that all noblewomen did. We are no different than you.”

You meet her eyes and give a small nod of thanks for her quick response. 

Daella smiles cordially, the picture of royalty, and nods. She turns her attention fully onto Lyanna and she begins to continue her conversation with the more social of the two Stark sisters. 

A few minutes pass before King Daeron stands from his position at the end of the table, raising his goblet into the air. Your eyes get caught on Baelor’s face as he sits near his father. He watches him like he hung the very stars in the sky; his eyes wide and his lips pulled into a small smile. You feel a spark of envy at your chest at the evidence of the close relationship Baelor has with his father, a relationship you would never have with your own, but you force the feeling away as Daeron begins to speak.

“I am so happy to have the North and the South united as one again,” Daeron says, “and as much as I enjoy talking. It is time to dance!”

Your breath catches in your throat as from the corner of the room a few stewards begin to pluck at lutes. A beautiful song begins to play, the chords oddly familiar but still exotic and even harder to place. You watch as Lyanna jumps to her feet, excitedly gesturing to her betrothed to dance.

You notice Baelor’s eyes linger on his father’s for a moment too long before he grabs your sister’s hand and leads her to the middle of the room. You wonder if perhaps the prince was just as embarrassed by attention like everyone else was.

He wraps his arm around your sister’s waist and Lyanna’s hands climb up to hang around his neck. They begin to four-step around the room as the music climbs and climbs and becomes jovial and intense.

As they continue to dance, others begin to join them. Baelor’s son Valarr takes his cousin Daella to the floor. Daeron swings Aegon around the room with a burst of laughter escaping his lips. The youngest princess dances with her grandfather.

You watch with solemn eyes at the display because you cannot bear to look at your father sitting across from you in the fear that he might suddenly get sentimental.

“Perhaps you’d like to dance, Lady Snow?”

Your eyes shoot toward the sudden voice by your side and you nervously clutch your gown when you see who is standing there. Prince Aerion. He’s handsome, smiling, the picture of cordiality. But you have heard things about him that makes your stomach twist at the sight of him.

You do not have the power to deny the prince. You nod and stand and take his hand as he leads you to the floor.

Prince Aerion does not say anything for a moment. You try to focus on not stepping on his feet as he guides you around the room. You had taken lessons as an adolescent, but your skills were definitely rusty.

You keep your hands a few inches from actually touching his body, partly in the fear that he may react badly if you do.

“Lady Lyanna is beautiful,” he says suddenly. Your eyes dart from watching your feet to his staring eyes. His violet ones are not the comforting presence like his uncle’s, his are predatory. A smirk licks at the edges of his lips. “But she is no match to you.”

His eyes trail from your face to your bust and his wet tongue slips from his mouth to trail a line of spit across his teeth. You stumble at the words and nearly fall backward in your attempt at creating distance when Aerion’s arm tightens around your waist to prevent you from falling.

“Careful there.” His grin splits across his face like an open wound. His teeth are like maggots wiggling inside decaying flesh. “Wouldn’t want you getting hurt.”

You don’t say a word as his eyes continue to trail over your body. You look over his shoulder and see your father staring at you with narrowed eyes. You clench your hands from where they sit frozen on Aerion’s shoulders, a well of helplessness coming forth from your chest.

“It is unfortunate you were born from a fleabottom whore,” Aerion continues, unperturbed by your horror. If anything, he seems fueled by it. “You certainly are not marriage potential by any means… but that does not mean you are not a good lay. Tell me, did your mother teach you any tricks—“

“Prince Aerion,” a voice startles your dance partner and his eyes widen and dart to the side. You follow his gaze to where his uncle stands, his eyebrows furrowed and his hands crossed behind his back.

At the opportunity given before you, you jump away from Aerion as if his very touch scalded your skin.

“Uncle,” Aerion’s response is deferential, but in it a touch of bite rounds off the word. No doubt, he is frustrated that his toy has been ripped from his hands.

You gaze at your unlikely savior with wide eyes. You can’t help seeking your sister from behind him, but find she seems to have been enraptured in conversation with Valarr across the hall.

“Perhaps I may dance with Lady Snow for a round?” Baelor asks, though you gather it is not as much a question as he tries to make it seem.

Aerion rolls his eyes, but does not argue. He does not say anything more before he turns his back and slinks away.

You stand, frozen, staring at the spot where he once stood. 

“Are you okay?” Baelor steps closer to you as he asks this.

You swallow back the desperate emotion clawing up your throat.

“I am just well,” you reply after too long a moment of hesitation.

“He will not bother you again.” your eyes snap up to meet his, and you are surprised by the anger in his clenched jaw and set gaze. “I will make sure of it.”

You are intimidated by the seriousness inflected in his voice and center your eyes on his broach again. Why should he care? It is not like Aerion had said that to your sister. You are a bastard second daughter. Your only benefit to your father is to how much dowry he can gain from the highest bidder. Baelor should not care about you. And yet, inexplicably, he does.

His hand enters your periphery and for a moment you stare, stunned, at the raised veins in his corded muscle and the rings on each of his fingers. 

“You do not have to dance with me,” you tell him in lieu of a reply.

Baelor’s lips twist. “And if I want to?”

“I would say that is incredibly improper,” you tell him. You watch for a moment as his face drops. Your heart pounds against your ribcage. He goes to lower his hand, but you intercept it and guide it to wrap around your waist.

The instantaneous brightening of his face makes you feel dizzy.

Unlike with Aerion, you place your hands gently on Baelor’s shoulders and the dance comes naturally to you. You tell yourself it is because Baelor is a good lead, but a part of you actually thinks it is something else—something deeper.

You smile despite yourself and avert your eyes. Baelor’s arm is warm around your waist. You tingle from where his fingers brush your exposed skin. You suddenly feel incredibly hot, and you chide yourself for feeling such a way with such a man.

“Why do you do that?”

Your eyes meet his, alarmed. You have to wet your lips before you can speak and his mismatched eyes dart to follow the movement. “Do what, My Grace?”

“Baelor,” he corrects quickly, “call me Baelor.”

You shake your head. “You must understand I cannot. My father would have my head.”

“In private then,” he says softly, and somehow that idea makes you even more uncomfortable. The idea seems like a secret shared between lovers, something fugitive and risqué. 

You nod just to appease him.

“Why do you not meet my eyes?” he clarifies.

You frown, unsure of how to answer the question. Unconsciously, your eyes drift to meet his own. His lips curl into a smile when you meet them and your heart stutters.

“I… I'm not sure, My Gra-Baelor,” you say, “it is something I have just always done.”

“You are a lady,” Baelor says and your heart leaps up to your throat when his arm tightens. “You should not be afraid to be yourself.”

“I am not a lady.” A flash of anger rips across you, so sudden it is dizzying. “I am a bastard. They are not the same.”

Something like amusement clouds Baelor’s face. Frustration makes you dig your nails into his cloak, but he only looks more joyed at the feeling. Like he’s finally gotten some kind of real emotion from you.

“My mother,” Baelor says and your grip loosens, “do you know of her?”

You try to remember, but the memory slips from you like an apparition. Your jaw clenches as you shake your head.

“She was of Dorne,” Baelor tells you, “and I do not know what you know of Dorne, but I will tell you that they do not ostracize bastards there. Any child of a royal is simply that — a child.”

You try to hide your surprise but you know he notices, for a self-satisfied smile crosses his face. How had you never known that? Had you truly missed that in your studies? You look over Baelor’s shoulder and meet your father’s gaze. Or had it been kept from you?

“All that to say,” Baelor continues, “I do not think your being a bastard should define you. I think that you let it define you more than anyone else does. I think you use it as a shield to keep yourself from feeling. I think you feel safe with it because it means that you will never have to feel anything for anyone in the way you have never known.”

Your feet stop abruptly in their dancing and you remove your hands from him. Tears spring to your eyes before you can stop them. You notice through bleary vision Lyanna’s gaze from across the room. You drop your head.

“You know nothing about me,” you whisper, “you know nothing.”

You push past Baelor and weave through the room to the doors at the far end of the hall. You do not look back once because you knew if you did you would say something that you would regret. 

Later that night, sitting in your bed, sleep evades you no matter how hard you chase it. Those words echo in your mind, relentlessly pursuing you. You know it is not true. It can’t be true. And yet your hands fist in the bed below you and your breaths come out in stuttered gulps as you try to recover from the hardest blow you have ever had to take.

“You look awful,” Lyanna says in lieu of a greeting as you step into the covered seating area at the edge of the garden. 

You roll your eyes. “Thanks. You really know how to make a girl feel good about herself.”

You cannot fault her statement. Your entire body pangs with exhaustion as you lower yourself into the seat across from her. The sun filtering through the leaves of the rose tree behind her gives a ring of gold around her figure that only further exemplifies her angelic demeanor.

Lyanna reaches over to pour you a cup of tea. You watch the dark liquid gather in the teacup with weary eyes.

You take a sip, and are pleasantly surprised by the warmth that immediately flows into your sore throat.

“This is lovely,” you tell her, “what flavor is it?”

She does not appear to have heard you as she stares out at the garden. You follow her gaze and jolt with surprise when you notice Baelor strolling down the path. Even though it is in the midst of summer, he wears at least three layers. 

You shrink in your seat as you recall your interaction with him from the previous night. You take another generous gulp of your tea to hide the cringe that comes with immediacy across your face.

“May I confide something in you?” Lyanna says.

You put down the tea cup and watch her with wide eyes as she threads her hands nervously through her hair.

“Okay…” 

“I do not want to marry Baelor.”

Your eyes widen. “What? Did you not just say the previous morrow that you cared for him?”

“…Yes,” Lyanna says, “but I was acting too hastily. Baelor is… how can I put this… boring.”

You pinch the bridge of your nose in between your fingers and try to will yourself to stay civil with your sister. She had always been this way. Lyanna would ask for a new dress one day, then it would sit rejected in her closet for years until it was eventually passed to you. Lyanna once asked for a horse and she got it, of course, but decided she did not like the way he rode and sold it as her earliest convenience. Why should she be any different with men? 

“All he wants to talk about is politics,” she continues, “I mean, what man talks about politics with his betrothed?”

“I imagine the Hand of the King does a lot of those types of talks.”

“—And then he won’t even ask how my day is,” Lyanna says, “and he won’t kiss my hand or pick me flowers or compliment my dress. It is like he does not care for me.”

“Perhaps he is just not romantic,” you say to her.

“But I want romance,” her voice quivers with emotion as she conveys this to you, “I want to be swooned and to be cared for and to be looked for in a crowd. As it stands now, he looks more at you than he does at me.”

You frown at the last statement. “That is not true.”

“Isn’t it?” Lyanna scoffs, “if we do talk about me it is about you. I was too foolish to realize that before, but now I see it clearly.”

You sigh, too tired to argue with her. As you saw it, she was just making a load of assumptions about nothing.

“Well,” you say, “what are you going to do?”

“What am I going to do?” Lyanna rolls her eyes hard. “Nothing. I can’t do anything.”

“Maybe you could talk to father,” you offer, “he always listens to you.”

Lyanna looks amused by the suggestion. “Does he? What kind of fantasy world have you been living in?”

You bite your lip.

Lyanna lets out a soft laugh and shakes her head. “Father hasn’t listened to me since I was two and ten. Ever since I got my first bleed, it’s been about what I can offer him rather than what I can get from him.”

“I… didn’t know this,” you say to her, and you truly didn’t. You had always thought Lyanna to be her father’s biggest accomplishment in life, his biggest love. You did not know his misogyny extended even onto her. “I’m sorry, Lyanna.”

She nods, taking a deep breath. “It is fine,” she says, though you are not sure it is, “I should be grateful. Many women do not get as nice a man as I am afforded.”

You smile tightly. You do not argue with that, because it is very true. Many women would die to marry as honorable and intelligent and handsome a man as Baelor Targaryen.

A moment of silence passes as you take small sips of your tea and watch the microexpressions on Lyanna’s face warp and twist as she thinks deeply about her pressing issue. Suddenly, you notice her eyes dart to something behind your head. You go to turn when she stands abruptly.

“You will excuse me, sister,” she says, “I do not want to speak to him at the moment. Maybe you could?”

Your mouth gapes helplessly like a fish as your sister quickly takes her leave. You turn your head only to see Prince Baelor Targaryen headed toward you. He looks over at your sister speed-walking away for only a brief moment before his eyes look onto yours. His hardened expression softens so quickly you may have missed it had you not keen eyes. You suddenly feel quite nauseous, but for what you are not sure.

Baelor strides forward and stops a few feet from you. He keeps his hands crossed behind his back as his eyes sweep over your form.

“You look nice in that color,” his eyes are locked onto the periwinkle of your dress, and you smile without fully meaning to. “I have never been one to enjoy the Stark colors.”

Your throat suddenly feels very dry. You do not have the heart to say that you did not like the Stark colors either. “Thank you,” you manage to reply.

Baelor, by contrast, is in the colors he always wore. Black and red. You suppose you could say something about how handsome he looks underneath the rising sun, but knowing you, it would probably come off creepy rather than genuine. 

“I… apologise my sister left in such a rush,” you force yourself to say, “she forgot her lessons.”

Baelor cocks a brow. “I do not mind.”

You notice as he draws closer a young kingsguard has accompanied him. He is far enough not to hear your conversation but close enough so he could quickly intervene should you get any funny thoughts. You nearly laugh at the idea of you attempting to overpower a man that went by the nickname“breakspear.”

“Gaomagon ao hae se rūklun?” he says, going to take a seat in the place your sister had just abdicated. (Do you like the gardens?)

“They are beautiful,” you reply with a tight smile, “as is most of the Red Keep.”

“Gaomagon ao daor ȳdragon eglie valriyan sir?” (Do you not know High Valyrian now?)

Despite his amusement at you pretending not to understand the language, you stay stoic.

“I do not find it appropriate to use it,” you tell him, “and I should have never learned it. It is not for common folk to know.”

“Qilōni vestras?” (who says?)

A flush of anger rushes over you at his continued questions. “Vestan. Sir keligon.” (I said. Now stop.)

A small smirk curls at his lips, but he listens and looks away. He seems to be watching a small butterfly flitting from flower to flower nearby. 

You smooth out a wrinkle on your gown. You feel an inexplicable rush of guilt.

“...I apologise,” you tell him after a moment of silence. “I did not sleep well the night prior.”

His eyes draw back to your expression. He tilts his head slightly as he considers your weary expression. You stare at his mismatched eyes and wonder how in the Seven such an anomaly of nature could occur.

“Is there a reason you did not sleep well?” he says and you realise with a jolt that his voice sounds like concern. “Are your chambers not to your liking?”

“They are just fine,” you are quick to remedy, “I just had some things on my mind.”

Things that were put into your mind by Baelor. Things that you would never admit had a greater impact on you than you could have ever imagined.

As you watch Baelor sitting across from you, you realise he is turning one of the rings on his hand incessantly. He notices your gaze and he stops.

“I did not mean to offend last night,” he tells you and you think his voice sounds earnest, “I just wished to comfort you.”

You frown and pull at a stray thread hanging off your dress. “I do not need comforting.”

“No, I’m sure you do not,” Baelor says with a toothy smile. “But perhaps you would like a friend.”

Your eyes dart up from where you had been pulling at your dress. You stare at him for a moment in shock. You have never… Perhaps this is some kind of sick joke? Does he think you a fool?

“For what purpose?” you finally settle on saying. “If you want a quick lay, I am sorry to disappoint.”

Baelor’s eyes widen. You bite your tongue until copper fills your mouth.

“Is that truly…” 

You feel sick at the pity that fills his expression in that moment so you avert your eyes.

“Do you truly believe every man that is kind to you wants to use you?”

The words hit like a slap against the face. Your blood runs cold. 

“Baelor,” you say finally, “every man wants to use women. And those who do not believe that are fools.”

You notice him lean forward in your periphery. He gently places his hand upon where yours continually pulls at the fringes of your dress. Your hand stills, but you do not pull away. His hand is warm, kind. It is as gentle as his voice when he speaks to you, as intelligent as his eyes when he realises your emotion. You look up at him to see his eyes narrowed in contemplation.

“Not all men,” he finally says.

He pulls away and you can only hopelessly watch as his hand rejoins his other on his lap.

You begin to think about Baelor in your every waking moment. When you walk the gardens, you watch butterflies and wonder if Baelor had seen them before. When you read your few books on High Valriyan, you think of him and the conversations you shared. When you speak with Lyanna, your mind always drifts to him.

It is a terrible thing, you think, to become friends with someone who can never fully understand you. Soon, you are talking with him during family gatherings. You are seeking him out to ask about the history of his family. You discuss the endings of popular fables. 

It becomes easy to like Baelor Targaryen. Contrastingly, it becomes harder and harder to acknowledge the fact that your relationship is only temporary until the wedding in a moon. You fear what will happen after it is all gone. Will you be able to recover?

You consider this as you weave through the hallways in the Red Keep, walking without a true purpose in mind. You keep your spine straight and your hands tucked behind your back as you walk. People watch you as you walk by with curious eyes. You do not flinch under the weight of the gazes anymore. They simply slid off you like water off a bird’s back.

As you continue to walk, you consider all that you have gained since coming to King’s Landing. You no longer shrink behind your sister and father and exist underneath the shadow of their impressively large fur coats. You do not try to hide your intelligence anymore, rather, you flaunt it to anyone who cares to listen. Most importantly, you do not think you are completely rotten anymore. You do not think you are doomed to a life of fear and ostracization anymore. Hope has sprung in your chest like blooming flowers at the start of spring.

“Lady Snow?” 

A voice says from behind you. You pause in your steps and cock your head in the direction of the tremulous noise. It is a little serving girl, no older than five and ten, her eyes wide and glassy like she was preparing for a hit. She could have been you. You could have been her. You swallow thickly and put on a gentle smile. You can see the girl’s shoulders drop with relief at your aparent kindness.

“Yes?” 

“Your father requests you in his chambers,” she tells you softly. 

Your face hardens without you even realising. You watch as the girl drops her eyes and scurries away. 

You begin your journey toward your father’s chambers with slow steps. You are not opposed to making him wait. Anyways, you could use the extra time to consider what he might say to you. 

Your father, Lord Stark, is not a particularly kind man. He is gruff and hardened by years of living in Winterfell’s unflinching cold. He had always been worse to you. He never hit you or was particularly cruel, but it was the little things. You were always cast aside. Your sister was doted on, you were a brief consideration. For many years, you thought your jealousy to be born of a place of wrong, for you were much better off than many bastards in the realm. You were not living on the streets, selling your body for scraps, proliferating with more bastards to carry on your name. But you were not equal, either. As you later realised, the rejection wore worse on you than one could ever imagine.

Lyanna’s mother died when she was five and ten. She’d had a persistent sickness that eventually stole her breath. You had not cried for her. Your father and sister thought you were a monster for not. But why should you? She had never loved you, she had borne you like a responsibility, not as the impressionable child you were.

You did not cry for those who caused you pain. But you held Lyanna still and allowed her tears to soak your gown.

You stop outside the door of your father’s chambers. You had not been inside before, but you remembered it from the tour when you first arrived. 

You place your knuckles across the mahogany door and rap them against it softly. A part of you hopes that it is quiet enough that he will not hear it. That you will have an excuse to escape before he notices.

The hopes are in vain, for he calls you in moments after you knock.

The chambers are quiet. Your father sits halfway leaned over a piece of parchment at his desk, a nearby candle casting great shadows across his face. You step closer. His eyes slowly draw up to your face and you are at once struck by the weariness in his expression.

He looks as if he hasn’t slept in weeks. Dark circles are under his eyes. His skin has an odd pallor to it. For a moment, you fear he might be sick like your step-mother.

Then his lips part.

“It took you long enough to get here.”

Your sympathy leaves you with the next breath that escapes your lips.

“I had not known you were searching for me.” 

He gestures toward the chair across from his desk and you lower yourself carefully onto it. Your father’s eyes watch you closely.

“How have you been?” 

Of all the questions you could have expected from your father, this was not one of them. You feel your eyebrows pinch together. 

“I’m sorry?”

“I said, how have you been?” he repeats.

“I have been… fine.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” he says. Then, his eyes go back down to his parchment and he begins to write something down.

You scoff at his audacity after a few seconds pass in silence. “I’m sorry, did you need something from me, father?”

His eyes slowly trail back up to your face. Suddenly, you feel incredibly uncomfortable. He looks… sympathetic? You frown, tingling fear spreading through your limbs.

“What is the matter?” you say urgently. “What has happened?”

Lord Stark’s throat bobs as he considers your question. “I have been speaking with Prince Maekar often these past few days,” he begins. “And he has made me a very… generous offer.”

You freeze. “You did not.”

His eyes soften. “It will be a good match for you.”

Your hands tremble as they go to cup your head. Your eyes slide closed at the realization. He allows you a few minutes to process this. You finally open your eyes and look up at him.

“Which one is it?” you say, “please… do not tell me it is the youngest.”

“Maekar believes that you and his second son will make a good match.”

“Second son,” your voice sounds not like your own. Everything feels like it is happening from outside of your body. You tremble all over, your heart pounding in your ears. “Aerion.”

Your eyes dart to his. Fear flees to your lips. “You cannot… Aerion will kill me.”

Your father cocks a brow. “You are being dramatic.”

“I am not,” you say quickly, desperately, “have you truly not heard of his exploits in the Street of Silk?”

“Your future husband’s hobbies will be of no consequence to you,” your father replies, “you cannot find one nobleman in the seven kingdoms that does not seek the company of women outside the marital bed.”

Anger, hot and rare and real, sweeps through you.

“Just because you sleep with any woman that gives you the time of day does not mean every man does,” you bite back. You stand. Your father does too.

“You will not speak to me in that way,” your father’s face is flush with anger, “no matter what you believe of me, I have done more for you than any man would in my position. I have gifted you with this.”

“Gifted me?!” your voice is shrill. You thrust your finger into his chest, pressing hard. “You have given me nothing. You have cursed me with this… this life.”

“Do not say that.”

“But it is true, is it not?” you continue, unperturbed, “if you had not slept with that whore we would not be in this mess. Your life would be better. My life would be.”

“Do not speak about your mother in that way.”

You shake your head. “What the fuck do you care? She was a fucking whore!”

His hand shoots out before you can react and he grabs your arm in a tight, unflinching hold. Your breath turns stuttery. You are frozen, forced to stare into his dark, encompassing eyes.

“Your mother was not a whore,” he says, his voice quiet. “She loved me.”

You lean forward until your noses are but a breath apart. “Is that what she told you when you spilled inside of her? When you gave her two silvers for her trouble at the end of the night?”

You think the anger is about to spill over. You think he might strangle you, slap you across the mouth for the audacity. Then, the fire leaves him all at once like water dousing a flame. He releases your arm and you take three hurried steps back.

He drops his head and turns his back from you. “You will marry Aerion. End of discussion.”

You feel the tears before you can prevent them. Time moves in a blur as your feet take you out of the room and through the winding halls. You keep your head down, shrink in on yourself when people stop to look at you. You are ruined. Your life is over.

You turn into an empty corridor and place yourself against the wall. The tears overflow and flood your vision, falling in rivulets down your cheeks and neck and the front of your dress. Your mind spins with the realization you will never live freely again. Becoming Aerion’s wife will be an execution of you mind, body, and soul. 

The tears do not stop even when you hear the sound of footsteps. You simply turn your back and continue to shake with sobs.

“Please leave,” you tell the approaching figure. 

They do not listen. A hand falls on your shoulder and you finally turn.

Your sobs become intertwined with a gasp. 

Baelor stands behind you. His eyes watch you with a mix of solemnity and understanding. His face is bathed in shadow from the ill-lit corridor, but even through it you can see his lips pulled into a soft frown. You watch him as his eyes trail slowly down your face.

“You knew,” your realization comes with another choked sob. “You knew and did not tell me.”

“I just found out this morning,” Baelor says. “My brother told me.”

You shake your head. “My life is over.”

“I will do everything I can to convince my brother and father it is a bad choice,” he says and your mouth gapes like a fish at the admission. “I will help you any way I can.”

“Why…” you feel like you could puke. “Why would you help me?”

His beautiful eyes dart between the two of yours. His jaw clenches and you trace the muscle as it disappears into his close-cropped shave. 

“Because you are my friend.”

You watch him as he offers this as an explanation in stunned silence. You trail from his gentle mismatched eyes to the mole that rests just beneath his eye to the dark salt-and-pepper beard to the faint wrinkles that pull at the sides of his lips as he offers you a smile. You can feel his breaths as they hit your skin, as they fan across your face and heat your blood. Your eyes become locked fixedly on his parted lips.

You lean forward before you can stop yourself and you fully place your lips upon his. He is frozen for a moment and your heart stutters. You suddenly feel like the biggest fool there is. Then, his hand lifts from your shoulder to cup the back of your neck and he is suddenly returning the kiss with full force.

He tastes sweet, like the blueberry tarts served in the morrow. You feel like you are drowning in him. His nose scrapes against the side of your own. His hand lifts and cradles your cheek, softly stroking the saltwater-slick skin.

You kiss him like you are drowning and he is your oxygen. It is raw, passionate, and self-preserving. You drag a hand up from his neck to scrape against his thin hair and he lets out a soft moan into your mouth.

You go to tilt your head to kiss him harder when you hear something from behind him.

You start to pull away when you suddenly hear a gasp. You rip yourself away and Baelor spins to see who has witnessed your indiscretions.

You recognise the face immediately. Her dark, curly hair. Her wide, angelic eyes. Her mouth, which has fallen into an oval.

You immediately launch forward away from Baelor, but the damage has already been done.

You go to reach for her but she moves away.

“Lyanna, please–”

She turns her head from you and brings a hand up to stifle her shock. She stumbles away.

“Lyanna!” you call.

But she does not turn around as she runs off. 

Your life is over. You are quite certain of that now.

"yeah you look sexy as hell," the other giggled, smoothing out her matching pink visor.

"we kinda look like a girl band." she laughed out as they walked in sync.

"a pickleball girl band." her friend sang.

"exactly."

the three of them checked in at the front desk before making their way toward the courts.

"wait." she frowned. "we only have three. is that.. like, okay?" she blinked.

"yeah! but we can see if someone will join just to even us out" her friend chirped.

the three girls looked around the busy courts. there were couples, families, groups of friends. but then they spotted man on the court beside them. he caught a ball one handed before casually serving it back.

he had big broad and brooding shoulders, grey athletic shorts that revealed his prosthetic and and a faded navy t-shirt that clung to him in all the dangerously right places.

she looked away almost immediately.

"oh my god, he's cute," one of her friends whispered.

the other was already waving.

"hey! excuse me!"

her eyes widened.

"w— what are you doing?" she panicked, thinking that they’d bother him for even asking. they’d never played the game before and he looked.. experienced.

the man turned around, paddle tucked under one muscled and tan arm.

"yeah?"

“my friends and i only have three people. would you wanna play with us?" her friend said, resting her hand on her hip as she looked up at him.

she wanted the ground to swallow her whole. she mentally cursed as she kicked at her tennis shoe expecting him to politely decline.

“he’s gonna say no.” she said under her breath.

her friend ignored her completely.

"it's just for fun! we haven’t played before and you look like you know what your doing.” she told him honestly.

the beautiful stranger said happily.

"i can do that."

he walked over, flashing an easy smile.

“i’m jack."

the girls all introduced themselves one by one and when it finally came to her, she smiled politely and shook his outstretched hand.

"hi."

jack waited, his brow cocked. a curious smile plastered across his lips as he peered down at her.

she said her name as she shielded her eyes with her paddle from the sun as she looked up at him, craning her neck.

"nice to meet you." he smiled.

she nodded once. “you too.” she let out as her ponytail swayed behind her.

and that was that.

her two friends glanced at one another, giving each other the knowing look. smiles itched into their features as they watched her and jack interact.

—

it became painfully obvious she had never played pickleball before. for some reason she wasn’t as good as her friends were as first timers, but she took it in stride.

she completely missed the ball, she swung too early or swung too late and when they first started, she accidentally hit the ball straight into the fence.

she told herself it was mainly because her friends pushed her onto his side of the court. how could they did this to her? she’d never know.

"oh my gosh," she groaned, covering her face. "i’m so sorry."

jack couldn't help but smiling.

"hey, you’re good.”

"no, i’m literally the reason we're losing."

"we're losing because apparently we’re playing against your two shark friends."

"yeah,” she chuckled. “they’re kinda competitive."

one of them yelled from across the net, waving her paddle violently, “aye! i heard that!”

jack let out a deep laugh making her smile without meaning to.

—

when she finally managed to return on of the serves the ball barely floated over the net. it really wasn't impressive but it landed and her eyes went wide as she felt how smooth the ball flew.

"ha!! i did it!” she yelled, jumping up and down.

she caught him looking at her with a smirk causing her to immediately clap both hands over her mouth, embarrassed she'd gotten so excited.

"nah, be excited. you absolutely did." he tutted.

she looked down, trying to hide her smile. "it was kind of a lucky shot."

"a point's a point." he pressed.

—

after another game, everyone agreed to take a water beak and she wandered over to the benches, unscrewing her water bottle.

"you don't have to keep apologizing." jack suddenly said, taking a swing from his water bottle.

she looked up as she watched him sit beside her, his legs subconsciously spreading out making her throat go dry. he was so big.

"...i know."

"yeah?” he chucked, “you've been apologized to me.. what,” he pretended to count on his fingers.

"like seven times?"

"it was at least seven." he blushed.

"i just—“ she shrugged, "obviously i'm not very good."

"you've never played before." he bumped his shoulder into hers.

"i— i know."

"so why are you expecting yourself to be good?" he wanted to know.

"i guess i never thought about it like that." she blinked.

he smiled, "well you smiled every time you hit the ball."

"even when it went out?"

"especially when it went out." he laughed making her join him.

he leaned back on the bench.

"I liked watching you smile." he said suddenly making her heart do a tiny flip.

"...oh." she said, her eyes diverting to the non existent camera to see if anyone caught that.

across the court, both of her friends exchanged identical looks.

"he's flirting." she smiled, smacking her friends shoulder.

"she's oblivious." the other swooned.

—

when they finished playing nearly two hours later, everyone was sweaty, sun-kissed, and laughing after the grueling last match.

she bent down to zip her tennis bag as jack huffed out around them, "well,” he rubbed the back of his neck. “i had fun."

she smiled as she stood back up.

"me too."

one of her friends cleared her throat dramatically from a few feet away.

“so..”

but neither of them looked over.

"so..." jack repeated, “if you ever need a fourth player again.."

she nodded.

"okay." she cut him off making her friends look at her in surprise. both biting the inside of their cheeks to keep from giggling at how cute they were.

"you should probably exchange numbers," one of her friends blurted out loudly so they could hear her.

she nearly dropped her water bottle as jack hummed

"i was actually gonna ask." he said.

she looked anywhere but at him.

"oh.. um— yeah.. yeah okay." she blabbed as she reached for her phone with shaky hands.

"great." he smiled as she handed him her phone.

he typed his number in before handing it back.

"there." he said lowly, rubbing his hand over his scruff as she looked down at the new contact.

Jack :)

a smile tugged at her lips before she could stop it.

"thank you."

he slung his bag over his shoulder. “i'll be waiting for my rematch." he pointed.

she tilted her head, her pretty eyes locking onto his as she spoke, "you think you'll win next time? against these two?”

"i think you'll stop apologizing next time."

she laughed, ducking her head. "no promises."

jack watched her walk away toward her friends. her pink skirt swaying with every step as it hugged her curves in every way that made him want to bite his finger to stop from groaning.

one of the girls immediately grabbed her arm, whispering something that made her hide her face in her hands.

It wasn't his night shift sleep schedule that kept him up, though. It was the nightmares.

It was the sand in his mouth after the IED that took his leg went off. The high pitched, loud ringing in his ears. The puddle in his pants. He had been so naive. He thought he had peed himself. He hadn't realized it was his own blood, bone, and flesh blown to smithereens until hours later - on a makeshift operating table while falling in and out of consciousness.

It was the memories of his buddies who lost far more than a limb. The wails of their families at their services. The buttons falling off of his formal army uniform. Worn to one too many funerals held for people who passed far too young.

It was his late wife. Although, those ones were a welcome visit, they still stung the worst of all. It left him with the kind of bone heavy sadness that felt like an excruciating hangover when he woke up.

If you would've told the Jack Abbot of five years ago that now he relished sleep, even looked forward to going to bed, he would have called you a liar. He would have never believed that he could fall asleep and stay asleep at the drop of a hat.

But it was true. On one condition, though. He could sleep soundly as long as she was in his bed. In his arms.

They had only officially been together for about four months but the second he had gotten a taste of what it was like to be with her, share a space with her - he couldn't give it up.

He had practically begged her to move in with him when her lease had been up at the end of the summer. Not that she had needed much convincing. Her only hang up had been not wanting to leave her roommate, Dr Ellis, high and dry with her half of the rent. So Jack paid a year's worth up front. Now that both her and Dr Ellis were on attending salaries, that was more than enough to get her through. They were both still thanking him profusely for it.

He felt like he should be thanking them. Now Jack and her shared an address and most importantly a bed. A bed where they got exceptional sleep - unless involved in other exceptional extracurricular activities.

Her back was to his shirtless chest, her hands tucked under her cheek and his arm slung over her waist. He was in one of those lucid states where he was asleep but he knew he was in a dream. He was hoping this dream wasn't a far off reality, though.

Oh yeah, he dreams now. No more nightmares.

A normal person probably wouldn't have even called what Jack had dreamt about that night anything particularly special. But it was to him.

With the leaves changing and Halloween only a week or so away, he had been having this dream all month - the details becoming sharper with each one.

He dreamt of them married, of course. A large, sparkling rock on her left ring finger. Probably one he at least had to get some help in picking out. She was the stylish one in the relationship - not him.

He dreamt of their new house. One big enough for the kids he dreamt about to grow up in. Not too big, though. Still homey and very much, unmistakably theirs.

In this particular dream, they had twins. One perfect boy and one perfect girl. It was Halloween and they were barely toddlers - dressed up in the same Harry Potter costumes as their parents.

He made her some cocktail she had found on Pinterest called 'Witches Brew' even though it was really just a festive Moscow Mule. He'd put it into portable mugs for them to sip on as they strolled the neighborhood, trick or treating with their kids.

Their kids had manners like their mom. Said please and thank you, all the time, not only when trick or treating. One would get tired way too early like their dad and retreat to their warm stroller while they waited for the other to finish up at the neighbors' doorstep.

It wasn’t cold outside - simply crisp. As they waited, he turned to her and opened up his arms, letting her cuddle into his chest. He wrapped her up in his coat, knowing she purposely hadn’t brought one so he would do this. He loved it. He loved her.

She kissed his collarbone, murmured an 'I love you'. He blushed. Then tugged at the Hogwarts school girl skirt she had on. It felt like a super power that he didn't even have to say anything to make her blush. She whispered 'Perv' in his ear and he cracked a laugh, blushing even more at the feel of her smile against his neck.

Then their perfect baby skipped down the neighbors' yard to them - beaming with pride at their new candy. Neither of them had ever acted so excited to see a Crunch bar in their life.

He had become more conscious than not. It was quiet outside. Wind softly knocking at their bedroom windows. The sun was low. Barely up - letting Jack know he had woken up before the alarm he had set for her. Dr Al-Hashimi had called her last night with the flu, asking her to fill in the rare day shift today.

He snuggled himself closer to her, tightening his grip around her waist and tangling their legs. His hand traveled up under his shirt that she was wearing. Stopped right below her boob, at her rib, feeling for her steady heartbeat. The thud lulled him to sleep every night and woke him up every morning. The beat of her heart was her literal lifeline and his metaphorical one.

He wouldn’t tell her about the dream. He didn't want to pressure her with the kid stuff. They had already moved pretty fast. And of course he would help as much as humanly possible, but with kids she would be doing most of the sacrifice - her body, her time, her hormones - everything. He'd like to have kids but he would be okay otherwise. It was up to her. As long as he had her - he was perfectly happy.

He indulged himself a bit. Moved his hand to splay against her stomach, imagining the same thud of a baby heartbeat. He relished in it for a moment and then went back up to cradle her rib.

He was content to stop there - was going to. Until her hand intertwined with his and placed his palm over her boob. Her nipple was already hard and a breathy moan tumbled from her parted lips.

Jack could take a hint - slowly kneading her boob as he placed soft kisses down her neck. Her hand reached behind her, finding its home in his curls and tugging just barely - like his chest wasn't already as close to her back as he could get. He rucked her tshirt up to give him better access to her tits as he planted his thigh between her legs. She was fucking soaked all the way through her panties.

"Dreaming about me?" Jack let out, gruff and far less awake than he thought he would sound.

"You have no idea." She breathed, needy.

"Trust me. I do." He grunted, pressed his already hard cock to her ass. She whined as he twisted her nipple.

"Sensitive, hm?" He mumbled into her neck, sucking lightly.

"I wonder why." She sassed, alluding to last night. Jack couldn't help that he liked marking her where no one else could see but him.

"Mm sorry, baby. Lemme make it up to you."

He flipped her over, her back hitting the mattress as he hovered. He lowered slowly, dropping down to suck on her tits. Keeping to himself that he was imagining them full. The same thing he was imagining about her stomach. He pressed down on it to stop her from squirming against his thigh.

"Patience." He rasped against her chest, "You gonna be good for me?”

"I am gonna be late." She tried to rock herself against his thigh again but he held her hips steady, tilted his chin up to look her in the eyes.

"I think we have time for a little breakfast in bed, don't you think?"

"No, I don't thi-" She moaned loudly as his tongue licked up her pulsing cunt, her vision blurring. He had kept eye contact as he kissed down her body, settled his face between her thighs, tugging her panties down with him and wasting no time in getting his mouth on her dripping center.

He made a mental note to ask her later what the hell she had been dreaming about. She was already halfway to her first orgasm and he had barely touched her properly yet.

He spit on her clit before tugging it gently between his teeth. This was his favorite view, her writhing above him. Tugging on his hair and pretty little noises falling from her lips. Jack slipped two fingers into her as his tongue swirled around her. Her drawn out wispy whines gave way to more concrete, high-pitched and quicker moans.

The second his fingers felt that familiar pressure and his tongue felt the same distinct quiver in the bundle of nerves, he pressed his tongue flat against it. He let her ride out her first orgasm against his tongue and fingers, pulling her hips down further onto his face, making her chase her high rather than run from it.

She had other plans, hurriedly tugging him back up to her. He barely got out a rough, "Ya taste fucking incredible, sweetheart." before she was slotting her mouth against his own.

He groaned into her. The thought of her tasting herself on his tongue really did it for him. His hand caressed her thigh, hooking it over his own hip. He squeezed her ass as she scratched at his freckled back. She reached to pull his boxers down. His erection slapped against his stomach as she lined herself up.

Jack whistled out a low, mocking laugh and stilled her hips, "What'd I say about patience, baby? You forget who's in charge here or what?"

He flipped her around, back to their original position - her back to his broad chest. Except this time he had one hand kneading her tit while the other put her in a headlock. His arm wrapped around her neck and his bicep pressed deliciously against her throat.

"Jack, c'mon. I am gonna be late."

"I know my good girl can be much more polite than that." His hand trailed to her clit, rubbing the sensitive bundle as she continued to whine.

"Need to feel you. Need it so bad, c'mon."

She rocked her hips back against him again, hoping for some kind of relief but he stopped her. Landed a hard slap to her ass before going back to her clit.

"Thought you were gonna be late?" Jack mused, lips preening in satisfaction. All he got was whiney babbles in return.

His hand traveled up to splay against her cheek, turning her face towards his own so he could press his lips onto hers. Her tongue found its way into his mouth almost immediately. Jack would’ve stopped and enjoyed it for a moment more if he didn’t know exactly what she was trying to do.

Her hips rolled again, desperately searching for any friction. He pulled away from her swollen lips, pursed his own as he slapped the tip of his hard cock against her dripping cunt. She whimpered at the sensation.

A trail of spit connected their lips, his words skidded roughly down her spine, “For someone who is so damn smart you’re sure having a tough time listening, huh?”

He dragged the tip of his cock against her again. Slower this time. Torturous. His tone was sickly sweet and bordering the kind of condescension he knew turned her on, “I’ll give you what you need if you show me you can listen. Can you do that for me, sweetheart?”

All she could manage was a whine and a barely there nod in response, her eyes fluttering closed. Jack swiped his thumb over her bottom lip, gently tugging her mouth open, “Eyes on me, baby.”

Her dazed eyes slowly came back to his own, a cocky smile spreading on Jack’s lips as they did. Not even 7 AM and he had her looking at him like that. He was one lucky bastard.

“Swallow.” He ordered, the same way he would if they were at work. The commanding way he knew got her worked up. He dribbled his own spit onto her tongue, cock hardening at the feeling of her throat swallowing against his headlock.

“Good job, baby. Knew my smart girl could listen.” He cooed, soothingly.

He placed a gentle kiss to her forehead and then her lips, his hand released her face and traveled back down to rub her clit. His tip rested right at her entrance.

She writhed against him, increasingly desperate for contact. Jack teasingly tutted at her best he could. He loved hearing her beg for him but he could only keep his composure for so long. He wanted her just as bad - if not more.

"Say please." He demanded.

"Please, please, please Jack." She begged. It sounded like music to his ears.

"There's my good girl. There she is." Jack murmured as he pressed kisses into her hair.

He couldn't keep his groan contained as he slid into her, "Ugh fuck mm fucking love you so much."

His pace was torturously slow for the both of them. He could feel her frustration in the way her soft, wet walls were gripping him. She tipped her head down and lightly bit onto his bicep at the stretch of him. That made Jack's head dizzy.

He dragged her free hand under his own and stopped at her sopping clit, "Touch yourself for me, baby. Wanna play with these pretty tits."

Her moan vibrated against his bicep, slobbery with her spit as he went back to kneading her tits, twisting and pinching at her nipples. He could tell she was close by the way she was squeezing him and the pace at which she was rubbing herself. God knew Jack was always fucking close when it came to her. All she had to do was breathe and he was turned on.

He knew he wasn’t gonna last long. He never did in the morning and she already had him so impossibly pent up.

"C'mon baby, want you to come with me. Can you be a good girl and do that for me?" Jack barely got the words out, his own release shuddering through him at the same time as hers, panting out yes yes yes as she did.

He collapsed down onto her boobs, placing feather light kisses on them. He didn't even bother to pull out as he wrapped his arms around her, laying right on top of her.

She pressed a kiss to the crown of his head, playing with his curls as she huffed, "How am I supposed to go to work after that?"

"Easy. You're not." Jack grumbled.

"I gotta go, baby. I am gonna be late."

"Okay. Go." Jack knew he was being petulant. She couldn't go anywhere with all of his body weight on top of her.

"Jack."

"Yes, my love?" He acted innocent, pressing more lingering kisses across her chest as he hummed.

"You're not playing fair." She whined.

"Well it's not fair that Robby gets to spend the day with you and I don't." Jack was not above pouting if it meant they got to spend the day together as they originally had planned.

"You'll see me later."

Yes, he would see her later. At the department Halloween party after shift. The department that had no idea they were actually together other than their respective best friends, Robby and Ellis.

"Yeah, but I have to behave there." He groaned at the torturous thought.

She was an attending now. They technically didn't have to hide but they figured it didn't hurt to push off going to HR. They were afraid it would impede on them being able to work the same shifts. Neither of them were ready to give that up. He didn't think they ever would be. They hoped they wouldn’t have to.

They were more than capable of keeping it professional at work. Honestly, he was probably worse the past couple years when he thought he was silently pining over her than he was now. He used to be so desperate for any time or interaction or attention he could get from her at work because that was all he got. But now he had her at home too.

"Honestly, one of us is bound to get us caught eventually." He didn’t miss her heavy implication that she meant him.

"Oh, I know you're not talking about me." Jack feigned offense and squeezed at her sides, starting to tickle her. A big grin spread across his face as the sounds of her laughter reverberated off the walls of their bedroom.

The trill of the alarm went off. Jack cursed himself for being a good boyfriend and setting it for her the night prior after she’d fallen asleep. He reluctantly moved off of her to reach for his phone and shut it off, "Saved by the bell." He grumbled.

He cleaned them both up with the tshirt she had slept in before she lazily rose from the bed. Then she gently helped him into his wheelchair. He didn't need the help. He had done it for years without her. But she had taught him to learn to accept the help. The same way he did for her. Because she loved him. The same way he did her.

They brushed their teeth together before she headed for a quick shower and Jack slipped to the kitchen to pack her breakfast. He knew she'd be rushing out the door and she wasn't missing a meal on his watch. He purposely didn't pack her lunch so he had an excuse to swing by and see her during the day.

He wheeled himself down the hallway to their shared bedroom. He could partially see her stood in front of their dresser, donned in a large tshirt she had thrown on after her shower in lieu of her robe being in the washer.

She was tugging on panties when he stopped in the doorway. She peeled off the tshirt next, leaving her in nothing but her underwear. Jesus Christ Jack thought. No wonder they never got anywhere on time.

"Oh and I am the one not playing fair?" Jack nodded his chin at her naked frame.

She balled the shirt and threw it at him, laughing.

"You are such a drama queen."

"I love your brother and all but I would much rather go golfing with you."

"Well, think of it this way - at least you'll actually finish the entire round without me there." She pulled her scrubs on and passed him in the doorway. Jack wheeled himself around to follow her.

Her and Jack hadn't started golfing because they were good at it. Quite the opposite, actually. They had started because he needed a hobby that wasn't life endangering. They had continued golfing because she liked wearing cute, short golf skirts and Jack really liked watching her in them.

They usually made it about halfway through the round before one of them would get a little too handsy in the golf cart. Jack would make some dumb joke about engaging in 'fore-play' and then they'd be dragging each other home. No recollection, or really care, for whatever the score was. It was quite the understatement that Jack was happy he had swapped the SWAT hobby for golf.

She flashed around their kitchen. Gathering the bag Jack had packed for her - full of snacks and her various beverages she swore she needed to make it through every shift. He watched her fondly, savoring her while he had her. Before the Pitt sucked her in for the day.

He handed her her coffee as she plopped herself down on his lap for a moment, "Thank you." She nodded to all the stuff he had done for her that morning and placed a sweet kiss on his lips.

Jack saw his opportunity and he took it. Securing her in his lap with one arm wrapped around her waist, the other cradling her cheek. She let him deepen the kiss for a minute before she pressed her hand to his chest, murmured against his lips, "I love you but if I let this go any further then I really am gonna be late and I would like to keep this job."

She reluctantly got up. He reluctantly let her. She was a flurry of 'love you' and 'thank you' and a 'have fun at golf!' before she was out the door. Her car rumbled alive in the garage and he accepted defeat.

Her loud pop music blasted for a split second before it went quiet. The door to their garage was opened again as she burst through it, "I knew you couldn't resist me!" Jack teased.

She playfully rolled her eyes as she snagged her badge off the counter in dramatic fashion, thankful she didn't forget it. She pecked him on the lips one more time and then the house was quiet again.

Jack checked his phone for the time. Only like twelve more hours till he got to see her again.

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

Jack was latching on the special prosthetic he wore for golf when his phone lit up with a text message from the Pitt ED group chat. It was from Robby.

From Robby: Documenting history - she is wearing the right uniform for once in her life. Only took like five years.

Attached was a photo of her. She sat at the hub, chatting with Donnie and ignoring Robby as she flipped her middle finger at his camera.

She had a very well known affinity for wearing anything but the black scrub top that was technically required for all physicians in the PTMC emergency department.

Jack let it slide on the night shift. Partially because that was the unspoken rule of being saddled with working the night shift. You got to wear what you wanted, your stethoscope could go around your neck, and you could eat at the hub without Dana castrating you.

But mostly for selfish reasons. She usually replaced the black scrub top with a much more form fitting Lululemon short sleeve. And if Jack was lucky and it was cold, she wore the extra sweatshirt he would bring for her. For years he pretended he brought it for himself but he ran hot.

He admitted that to her about a week into dating. She then confessed to never bringing her own sweatshirt, even though she ran cold, because she liked wearing his.

Her hair was in its usual half up half down style, clipped back and out of her face. Her undershirt was a bright, spring yellow - one of Jack's favorite colors on her. Her badge was tangled and clipped backwards against her shirt pocket. Another night shift habit. There had been one too many weirdly inappropriate patients who took a name badge as an invitation to look their doctor up through social media and ask them out.

A dopey smile tugged on his lips at the sight of her. He felt like a dork, grinning at his phone screen alone in their living room, but he couldn't help himself. Not when it came to her.

Jack Abbot loved an image

From Santos: Abbot ghosting the group chat for months and coming back just to love that picture is very on brand

From Shen: Fork found in kitchen

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

Jack was supposed to be having a relaxing day at the golf course. The eight year old boy who climbed up on top of a golf cart and fell off of it onto hard pavement - had other plans.

"Kid needs an airway before he arrests." Jack announced to the room. He knew she knew that but sometimes muscle memory took over his mouth in the trauma bay.

It earned Jack a look from her. Silently asking, 'Do you think I am stupid?'. He would never make that mistake. She was the smartest person he had ever met.

They worked in tandem - like they always did. Jack called for broselow tape, a pedes cart, and to set up suction. She called for a five and half ET tube, 30 of rock and 50 of ketamine - causing Whitaker to pause his rapid movements.

"You're gonna paralyze?" He asked.

"Yep." She gloved up as she answered.

"If we can't intubate...we crike?"

"He is too young for a crike."

"Needle crike?" Whitaker suggested, his voice wavering as he realized both their options and the kid’s time were very scarce.

"Can't ventilate through that." She answered calmly. Like she had access to a solution no one else did.

"Sats down to 78." Jack interrupted. This was her trauma bay right now but again, muscle memory. He couldn't help himself. He loved working with her. Even if he was technically off of the clock.

"I need an 11 blade, Kelly, and a pedes bougie, please. One quick look and then we cut." She directed sharply but also politely. It was not lost on Jack or the rest of the staff that she never forgot her pleases and thank you's no matter the stress of the situation.

They all muttered a low fuck when the scan came up blank. Jack studied her - trying to read her next move. Normally, he could, but right now it seemed like the kid was running out of options…and time.

"Okay - towel roll between the shoulder blades, please." She requested pointedly.

"Heart rate down to 49 - headed into cardiac arrest! Trake's gonna take 20 minutes. This kid isn't gonna last 60 seconds!" Robby trilled, needing no introduction as he burst into the trauma bay.

Jack bit back his laugh at the eye roll she gave Robby’s dramatics.

"Thank you, Captain Obvious. That is why we are doing a slash trake."

The air was sucked out of the room. She said it calmly. As if it was something they did everyday. Like it was as easy as an IV. They all froze, stared at her in disbelief.

"Don't know it." Jack admitted, breaking the silence. He could feel the eyes of everyone in the room on him. Shocked that he of all people didn't know the procedure. Especially, because she seemed to. He had been her attending for the previous four years. If she had learned this from somewhere - they just figured it had been him.

"Me neither. Boss?" Whitaker asked Robby who had taken up residence at the head of the bed.

Robby reluctantly shrugged. Seemingly thinking 'What the hell'. They had no other options, "Nope. Show me what you got, kid."

Not that she needed his permission, but she took that as her directive. Whitaker handed her the blade and in she went. Unhurried but precise. Slow is steady and steady is fast. Jack always told her that.

"Pull up the trachea between your thumb and middle finger. Vertical incision right over the trachea. Vertical. Not horizontal or you transect the trachea and cut the jugular veins."

"That's a lot of blood." Whitaker went sheet white.

"Now it's a tactile procedure. 2 centimeter incision through the tracheal rings. Finger in the trachea. Bougie into the airway. Thoughts on what's next, Dr Whitaker?"

Jack knew she noticed Whitaker's uneasiness and was purposely keeping him engaged in the job at hand with that question. That’s what made her such a great teacher. Usually people as smart as her were not good teachers. But she was. She was perceptive and empathetic and patient. Knew when to be firm but never unkind. It was one of the many, many things Jack loved about her.

"Insert the ET tube into the trachea."

She nodded her approval, "Suction. There is lots of blood in the airway."

Jack watched her study the pool of blood as it dried up. Diligently making sure it was gone before she spoke, "Okay, bag him. Check the CO2."

Her wish was his command. Jack answered, "Sats coming up. In the 80s. Bilateral breath sounds. End tidal CO2 is 70.”

“That's crazy high." Whitaker's voice shook as he spoke.

"It'll come down. Tie down the tube, control all the bleeders. Spray an amp of epi on a stack of four by fours." She showed not one sign of worry as she lifted her blood soaked, gloved hands from the kid's throat. Carefully peeling them off herself so as to not get blood on her new yellow undershirt.

"Okay, Sats are up to the 90s. Good. CO2's in the 50s. Good heart rate." Robby closed his eyes and rubbed his temples as he spoke. Jack couldn't remember the last time he had heard Robby sound that relieved.

A beat of silence and then, Whitaker blew out a huge, rattling breath. Wiping sweat off of his forehead, "You forgot the last step - change your underwear. Holy shit!"

The nerves and worry in the room fell to relief - everyone let out an exasperated, albeit tired, laugh.

"What the hell do you guys get up to on the night shift!?" Robby chuckled, hand swiping over his beard as he shook his head in disbelief.

"That was all her!" Jack shot his hands up in surrender, then pretended to bow down towards her, a proud smile plastered across his face.

"When have you done that before?" Robby asked her, genuinely curious.

"I haven't.”

Jack could have dropped to a knee and proposed right then.

The nonchalance dripping from her tone paired with the slightly cocky but mostly confident smirk on her face took him back to her first shift of her intern year. When she did an emergency reboa for the first time unattended and in the middle of the hallway during a mass casualty incident.

Jack remembered trying to look pissed off when Langdon told him. He knew he had to reprimand her - no matter how thoroughly impressed he was with her.

He wasn't even sure if he could reprimand her and she hadn't even been here for one full shift yet. That was bad. He had to prove to himself he could do it.

He marched over to her, uncharacteristically avoiding any eye contact because he knew he would fold the second she looked up at him. He leaned over her shoulder as she worked. Not wanting to make a show of it, whispered huskily, sternly into her ear, "You never should have done that on your own, ever.”

He expected her to look up at him with a scared expression. He was almost bracing himself for it. He'd reprimanded enough interns to know the kind of puppy pouty look that was coming his way. Usually, it would not phase him. But he knew with her - it would rip his heart out.

So when her eyes lifted to his, almost in amusement, and her full lips he definitely was not staring at quirked up into a barely there smirk - he was surprised. And that was to say the least.

Her curt nod had indicated her understanding but he was so thrown off by her atypical reaction he had to be sure. He leaned closer, their arms brushing, "Do you understand?"

She nodded again, kept her same expression steady like she saw right through him. Like she knew he was impressed but couldn't encourage her behavior because he was in charge. No matter how well they both knew she had performed that procedure.

She was lightyears ahead of every other intern in her year, almost everyone in the department. She was too humble to explicitly say it but they both knew it.

Jack could see the full grin fighting to appear on her pretty face. She was hiding it. Selfishly and probably unprofessionally, he wanted to see it, "But that was pretty badass. You saved a life. Good job."

And there it was. That smile. Coy and even more captivating than he remembered it being from that interview a couple months back.

It took everything in him to walk away then - but he did. Backed away like she was a hot stove he shouldn't touch. Jack knew he was in trouble the day she walked in for her residency interview but her first shift - that was the day he began free fall.

She had teased him about it a month into dating. They were stumbling into Jack's house after a nice dinner, all teeth and tongue. A little tipsy and very handsy. She had on a little black dress and had been rubbing her foot up his leg under the table all throughout dinner. How was Jack expected to keep his hands off of her?

Jack had paused his assault of his lips onto her neck and asked her if he had been too stern, genuine concern filling his face. She laughed. Said she had seen him be much more forbidding at work. Which he refuted with, "Yeah, but not to you. Never to you."

Then he pressed her back up against the hallway wall, tried to slot his mouth back on hers before she interrupted him, that same roguish grin playing on her lips.

"You literally told me good job and that it was badass."

"You have selective hearing."

"Or you have selective remembering." She practically purred in his ear, as she unbuttoned his slack pants, pulled down the zipper, and stroked his rock hard length through his boxers.

"So, I wasn't too harsh?" He was struggling to speak through the rough groan that reverberated up through his chest.

"No - it was hot."

Then she slipped out from under his hold, leaving him in the dust. Sauntered towards the bedroom as she slipped the dress straps down her shoulders, letting it fall to the floor.

Jack ran a hand through his silver curls. He didn’t think it was physically possible but he somehow had gotten even harder now that he knew she hadn't had anything on under that dress the whole time they had been at dinner. He could not believe this was his life.

Her words had caught him by surprise but once he had collected himself, he hurriedly followed her into the bedroom. She was already spread out for him. Leaning against his pillows - her hair a little mussed from him tugging at it, her center glistening, her lip combination smudged from Jack kissing her swollen the whole Uber ride home, and her eyes half lidded.

"I was..." Jack debated on what word to use as he stopped at the foot of the bed, admiring her. In awe, turned on, inspired - he could go on forever.

He settled on, “…impressed but I couldn’t necessarily send the message to the rest of the interns that they could start doing rogue reboas. And I was trying to prove to myself that I could treat you the same as everyone else."

She bit her lip as she giggled, teasing, “Oh yeah, how’d that work out for you?”

He held her eye contact as he kissed her ankle tenderly, before settling in between her legs, draping his body weight over hers and growling against her lips, “I’d say pretty damn good.”

Whitaker's voice took Jack out of the fond memory and back into the trauma bay.

"What do you mean you haven't done that before?" Whitaker questioned, in awe. Welcome to the club, Jack thought to himself.

"Well, not really. I just practiced in the sim lab when I was at Stanford." She shrugged, her tone respectful but almost bored - like she didn't see the big deal. Like she could have been doing something as simple as ordering lunch.

She pushed out the door with her shoulder, Jack hot on her heels, "Marry me? Please?"

"You know if you missed me so much - you could've just brought me lunch."

"Who said I didn't?"

She raised her eyebrows at him as he tugged a sandwich out from his back pocket and placed it on the hub counter in front of them. It was her favorite one from the country club's cafe.

"That's been in your pocket this whole time?”

"Well, we were a little busy. You were a little busy fucking rocking that shit in there. That was the hottest thing I've ever seen!" Jack hissed excitedly. He was trying to keep his voice low so no one would hear him but he wanted to shout how much he loved her from the goddamn roof.

"You have something seriously wrong with you to be turned on in the trauma bay.” She crossed her arms over her chest, leaning in closer to whisper in his ear.

“With you running around here - it wouldn’t be the first time.” He winked. He knew that always got her. She had a mutually beneficial habit of kissing on his crows feet before they went to sleep every night.

“Is that a double entendre?” His favorite little smirk of hers played on her lips. They had both gotten the other hot and bothered in the trauma bay on numerous occasions. Both intentionally and unintentionally.

“Your words - not mine, sweetheart. Now eat, please.”

She got one bite in before she was interrupted by Dana yelling about how not eating at the hub was another rule the night shift didn’t bother to follow.

They all laughed when Dana teased that Jack was a bad influence on her. Jack could read his girlfriend’s thoughts as she grinned to herself - if only Dana knew the half of it.

She got one more bite in before Javadi was tapping her on the shoulder, her big brown eyes filled with tears.

Jack studied his girlfriend closely as her face dropped - her lips curving into a frown and a crease notched between her brows. She nodded solemnly and her own eyes started to water as she followed Javadi away without another word. The pair seemed to have had a whole conversation with just their eyes.

Jack went sick to his stomach. For better or for worse, his girl did not cry often. She was unhealthily good at being able to handle the kind of trauma they experienced in the emergency department everyday.

He hadn't planned on hanging around for the rest of her shift. She was barely halfway through it and he had a text on his phone from her brother asking if 'Dr Sexy' wanted to be picked up from the ED so they could finish their golf round.

His eyes followed her across the ED. Her usual poised posture was replaced by a slight slump of her shoulders and a dragging of her feet. Her hand shook slightly as she grabbed the door handle. Jack's mind was made up as soon as she disappeared behind the patient’s door. He wasn't going anywhere until he knew she was okay.

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

Jack was running out of excuses for why he was choosing to stay for a slow shift that he was not scheduled to be on when he finally spotted her at a hub computer. She rubbed a hand over her face, trying to hide the fact that she was wiping tears from her eyes. Noone else would've noticed but Jack knew her too well for that.

Jack saddled up next to her as she charted. He waited a beat, checking their surroundings before deeming them alone. He grabbed her hand that rested on her thigh. The other was busy on the computer mouse.

He just held it for a moment. Waiting to see if she would say anything. He didn't want to push her. Especially in the middle of the department. She was already on the verge of tears. His heart ached for her.

He gently squeezed her hand under the desk, dipped his head, looking for eye contact “Hey.” he murmured low.

“I’m fine.” Was all she gave him. Not turning her gaze from the computer for a second.

“Look at me.”

“I’m fine.” She grit out again. Still not even sparing him a glance. It was killing him.

“Sweetheart-“

She turned her head to him, eyes glossy and as quick as one tear dropped she wiped it away. Jack hadn’t even had a chance to lift his hand nevertheless do it himself. She stood up, pushing her chair back roughly. A juxtaposition to the way she gently, finally squeezed his hand back before icing him out again, "I am fine."

And then she was gone. Off to another patient, Jack presumed. Again, he studied her as she walked away. What the hell was going on?

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

Jack had taken a picture of the board and was studying it in the break room. He was trying to find out which patient had his girl so upset and what had happened when he heard it. Heard her. Using a tone he was thankfully, incredibly unfamiliar with.

She always teased him about his eavesdropping habit. Called him Dr Nosy. He justified himself listening in on whatever this was from the break room doorway in the name of protecting her. From what? He had no idea.

"What the hell was that?" She hissed.

Oh, she was pissed.

"That was teaching her a lesson about why we don’t bring our personal issues within these walls.”

She laughed. He didn’t.

“Oh, you’re serious?” Her tone was dry and dark and Jack was scared for Robby even if Robby wasn't scared for himself.

“Why the fuck would I be joking?!”

“Open your eyes. You’re the poster child for bringing personal issues into this ER. Is it not weird to you that as the chief of the department and residency program - you haven’t been asked for one letter of recommendation this year?"

Robby took a beat. Jack could tell by his stuttering that he hadn’t even noticed.

“I didn’t. I didnt- I don’t. That's not true. I’ve written-“

“Who’s?”

“I don’t know - I think -“

“I don’t want to hear it. All I wanna hear is you apologizing to Samira. Unless you wanna berate me for my mommy issues too? She’s dead but I’m sure you’d be able to find something.” Her words dripped with sarcasm.

To keep quiet, Jack had to clamp his hand over his mouth at that one. He forgot how feisty she could get. She could shoot to kill with her words sometimes. Never directed at Jack, of course. Or anyone without good reason. That was how Jack knew Robby deserved whatever he was getting right now. She wasn’t like this often. Jack wondered what Robby had done. Didn't matter - Jack would always be on her side.

“Hey! I know you’re a junior attending now but I am still the chief of this department!”

Robby's gruff, raised tone and the emphasis of 'junior' made Jack want to step out from his hiding place. Who the fuck cared what her title was - she was the best doctor in this place. But he stayed put. He knew she wouldn't be happy with him trying to fight her battles for her.

“Well, here is an idea - start acting like it.” Jack admired the way her voice never wavered or even raised, despite Robby's insistent pushing - hoping she would stoop down to his level.

“Robby!” Jack heard Perlah call, distantly.

“I’ll apologize to Samira. I was out of line. Are we done here? Are we good?”

“Yeah, sure." Her tone was snippy but her cadence was languid. Jack could picture her pretending to pick at her nails just to look bored and get under Robby's skin, "As long as you apologize.”

“Robby!” Perlah again, closer this time.

Jack didn't hear footsteps. Robby seemed to have stayed right in place.

“Are you waiting for an invitation?" She questioned him, "Go!”

“No apology?” Robby asked. Jack could hear the cocky ass smile through the door.

“For what? Pulling your head out of your ass? Over my dead body, Robby."

They both huffed a laugh at that. Knowing the use of his nickname was a truce. A proverbial olive branch. If they were going to run this department together for the rest of the day - they couldn’t be fighting while doing so.

“You’re starting to sound like Jack.” Robby's voice sounded more distant now. He must've been moving towards wherever Perlah needed him.

“Jack is nicer.” She wasted no time in answering. A joke laced with a bit of a warning.

Jack was nicer than her when it came to Robby. And he probably shouldn't have been. As Jack was working through his own crap, he had let Robby get away with a lot of bullshit over the years.

He wasn't proud of it. He couldn't change the past. But he could change how he acted moving forward. And that was what he had begun doing.

He made sure the coast was clear before he popped out from the doorway, “And he is also incredibly turned on.”

She jumped - startled at his voice. She placed her hand over her chest, not realizing she and Robby had had an audience, “Jesus, Jack!”

He stalked towards her. Both their shoulders now leaned against the wall as they tried to keep an appropriate distance between themselves.

“You’re hot when you’re pissed.” Jack mused.

“I’m not pissed. I’m just over his bullshit.” She grumbled.

“Okay…” Jack drawled, not wanting to argue with her, “…you’re hot when you’re over Robby’s bullshit.”

“Are you done?”

His plan was working. He could see the one dimple on her right cheek, pulling her lips into a smile like a curtain.

“I mean I can keep going. You’re hot in an infinite number of scenarios.”

There it was. That smile. It didn’t reach her eyes but it was genuine. He’d take the win, “I know what you are doing.”

“I’m not doing anything.” Jack whistled, feigning ignorance to his attempts at cheering her up from whatever was going on today.

She placed her soft hand on his bicep, “Yes, you are. And I appreciate it. Appreciate you.”

“You wanna talk about it?” His eyes bored into her own, searching for any hint he could use to make this better.

His voice was soft and warm. She had told him once that it sounded like her own personal safety blanket. He hoped that was the case now.

“Not right now. Not with everyone -“ She waved her hand around and her sentence dropped. He knew what she meant. He always did.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry I blew you off earlier. At the hub. I was trying not to cry for my patient’s family and for Javadi. I knew if I talked to you about it I wouldn’t be able to...not cry.”

Her chin wobbled and that was all it took for Jack's chest to crack wide open. He knew he was one of, if not the only person, she felt safe enough to be this vulnerable with. He wore that as a badge of honor.

All he wanted to do was hold her. But he couldn’t. Not there. The break room hallway was secluded but still - not at work. Not without her permission. She had more to lose than he did. She closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose to stop any tears.

“Hey. I know everyone in here likes to pretend otherwise but you’re a human. It’s okay to be upset.”

“I know. I just - can you just hold me for a sec, please?”

"Hold you for a sec? Hold you for a sec!?" Jack asked low and incredulously. Like he would ever dare deny her such a thing? His arms wrapped around her instinctively.

He tugged her as tight against his chest as he could. She nuzzled into the crook of his neck as he held the back of her head, rubbing up and down her back with his other broad hand. She was squeezing around his waist tight, with a grip so firm on his golf polo - like he might disappear if she loosened it a bit.

“Hold you for a sec? Have you met me?” He whispered playfully into her ear, “I could hold you for the rest of my life. That would actually be my preferred way of spending it.”

He felt the ghost of a smile against his neck, then a soft kiss. He pressed slow kisses into her hair over and over again. Letting her know that he was here in this moment and would be in every other one. As long as she’d have him.

He pulled the clip from her hair and massaged her scalp. He waited as her deep, shaky breaths eventually turned to steady, peaceful ones. He felt a few wet tears against the collar of his shirt but he just squeezed her tighter. He'd hold her all the way home if she needed. For forever, really.

“Hey, kid! Robby said you were back here. Heard you gave him an earful. He deserved it. Good on ya but we need you in-“ Dana stopped as she looked up from her iPad to see them embraced.

Dana gave her a sympathetic smile as she separated herself from Jack. Dana technically didn't know they were together but Jack wouldn't be surprised if she intrinsically just knew. They weren’t exactly subtle. She'd watched everything unfold over the past couple years. She'd been witness to the mess he was years prior to that. Dana knew everything that went on in the department.

“You good, hon?” Dana asked, genuine concern lacing her features as well as her voice.

“Yeah, yeah." She blew out a breath as Jack handed her her hair clip back. He wanted to put her hair back up himself but he figured that would be pushing their luck.

She reclipped her hair, "Where do you need me?”

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

Jack peeled out of the locker room in a fresh pair of scrubs from his locker. If he was going to stay all shift - he may as well change out of his golf clothes.

His next order of business was to track down his girlfriend. He had made it his own personal mission to put her smile back on her face today. He was hoping that she wouldn't be able to resist making a quip at his purposely mismatched outfit of a brown undershirt, black scrub top, and navy blue cargo pants. Probably something along the lines of, "You get dressed in the dark today, Abbot?"

He accidentally ran right into Dana as he turned the corner back into the ED. Absolutely not who he was looking for.

"Just the man I was looking for! I've got someone I need you to take a look at in Room 14."

Jack groaned inwardly. He knew he shouldn't have changed into scrubs. He wasn't here to work - he was here to make sure his girlfriend was okay.

"Dana, I'm actually looking for-"

"I know," Dana gave him a wink and patted his shoulder as she walked off, "Room 14, Abbot."

Jack yelled a thank you over his shoulder at her and was off to Room 14 as quickly as his body would carry him.

He heard her before he saw her. He pulled back the curtain, revealing her. Curled into a ball in the bedside chair, tears streaming down her face as she held a piece of paper to her knees. Her whole body wracked with sobs. He drew the curtain back over the door and swiftly made his way to her. Crouching down so he was eye level with her. His heart broke at the sight.

"Oh sweetheart, come here." He took her hair clip out again and smoothed her hair over. Standing up, he placed his hands under her armpits to lift her up just enough so he could sit down on the chair and place her side saddle in his lap.

He held her for a bit, slightly rocking her. Wiping her tears with his thumbs, and then kissing over the spots where his fingers had just been. Her arms looped around his neck, gripping the curls at the nape for dear life. His shirt collar was soaked as she cried into him.

"You're okay, baby. I've got you, let it out." He cooed into her ear. He pressed kisses to her hairline as he rubbed soothingly up and down her back with one hand and her legs with the other.

Eventually the sobs reduced to stray tears. The cries waned to hiccups. He gently gripped her chin and tilted her face up to meet his.

"What's been going on with you today?"

He felt her chin quiver in his hold. Felt his own lip reflecting her pout. He just wanted to make it all better for her. She shook her head no. Jack knew what she meant. She didn't want to not tell him. But if she did - the water works would start again. She handed him the piece of paper she had been clutching.

He was confused at first. One side of the paper was collateral that was used in the patient passports. He didn't realize until he flipped it over. The usually blank side was scrawled all over. Messy, quick penmanship. Pieces of the paper had damp circles, as if someone had cried over the letter. He didn't know if it was her or whoever had wrote it.

It was a letter from her patient's husband. Now, her patient's widow. So she had lost someone today.

The man was profusely thanking her. Explaining that their family was so thankful that she was working today. That it was her who tenderly treated his wife through her last moments. That held his hand after he lost his other half. That treated him like a person rather than just another patient satisfaction score.

Jack's eye prickled with tears as he saw the army rank scrawled next to the man's signature.

"Mm sorry" She mumbled against his chest.

Jack tugged her back a bit so he could see her face. Her red, teary eyes glassy as he cradled her, wiping her tears, "You have nothing to be sorry for."

"You have to die first. Please. I still won't be able to live without you but you can't go through that again. You won't."

Jack didn't think he could love her any more. But then again he always did tell her, "I love you more than yesterday and less than tomorrow." before they fell asleep every night.

He thought she was upset about losing her patient. Which he was sure she was. But now everything made much more sense. She almost never got like this over losing patients. That was what had Jack so worried. But she was so upset because she was worried about him.

"Hey-" Jack started but stopped as soon as she cuddled her face back into his neck, hiding herself.

He gently pulled her back again, holding her eye contact and cradling her squished cheeks between his hands, "You listening?"

She nodded, sniffling.

"I love you, you know that? So much. More than I ever thought was even possible. So much it literally hurts. Loving you for five minutes would be worth the pain of going through that all over again." She turned her head slightly, placing a delicate kiss onto his palm that held her face.

Jack's voice broke a bit as he continued, "Through every stage of my life, of my grief, I’ve fallen more and more in love with you. Even if I didn’t know it yet. That pain is the reason I even have you. Is the reason I even know how to love and cherish you properly. The way you deserve, okay?”

He knew she knew that was true. Everyday was all there was. She had said that to him off hand one random day. She had a way of saying the most profound things in the most simplistic of ways. Like she didn't even notice the way she could change his life with a single sentence.

Everyday was all there was. He had since internalized it. The way he adored her showed in silly ways. Like when they'd go out to eat and when the server would ask them if they wanted dessert he would say, "Of course, it's her day!"

Which of course prompted the question if they were celebrating a birthday which Jack always shut down with, "No. S'just everyday is her day."

It usually earned him an eye roll and a shy, smiley lip bite that he'd kiss away when the server left.

He adored her in the serious ways too. Listened to her deepest, darkest thoughts. Inspired her to be a better person, a better doctor. Held her when she cried - like right now.

She propped herself up, ran a hand across his stubble and then placed a gentle kiss to his lips, spoke against them, "You're not going through that again. Not if I have anything to say about it"

“What are you gonna kill me or something?”

"Jack, I'm being serious"

"And I'm being serious. Neither of us are going anywhere for a long long long time, okay?"

She nodded. Absentmindedly kissing all over his neck, jaw, and face as she held onto him. He drew shapes across her thigh that was propped up over his lap.

"Thank you." She choked out, looking up at him with those big, bright eyes he loved so much.

Jack chuckled, "For what?"

"I think it kind of hit me how much you must love me for you to open yourself up to grief like that again. I know we've talked about it. And I watched my dad go through it but holding someone’s hand as they actually went through that today - I don't know. I don't know, I don't know." She rambled. Kissed him again and then settled on, "Just thank you for loving me. It's brave. You're brave. And I knew you were brave in the traditional way. But I don't think I have fully appreciated how brave you are in here." She tapped his chest where his heart was.

"You don't ever have to thank me for loving you. It's the honor of my lifetime. It's the easiest thing I do every day. It's like breathing. I could've used her passing as a way to sulk through life. And that's what I was doing. For a decade, until a certain someone," He lightly tickled at her sides before continuing, "waltzed into Robby's office a couple years ago and told me life should come from me and not at me. You saved my life. So if anyone should be thanking anyone it's me."

"I did not save your life. You did that, Jack. I may have just happened to be there but you did all of that. Don't sell yourself short."

"I scheduled my first therapy appointment after that interview. Because of what you said." Jack admitted.

Her breath hitched in her throat. She stuttered a bit before answering, clutching at his shirt collar. "You did?"

"Yeah, I used to go up to the roof all the time before you started here. Still do sometimes. Very rarely. But I never stand on the other side of the railing."

She gasped, "You used to stand on the other side?"

"Yeah - after almost every shift."

Her eyes were blown wide. Jack sometimes forgot how bad it was before her. The version of him that does not reconcile with the better one he was today. The version that she inspired.

"You...you don't do that anymore, right?"

"No baby, I'm not an idiot. Got something to live for now. Got you to live for. Our future to live for.”

She pressed her lips against his. Harder this time, her palm traveling to hold the back of his head, fingers latching onto his curls.

She rested her forehead on his as she spoke, "Keep that in mind because even though I said you could die first - you do still have to live till at least 100."

"I couldnt keep you out of my mind if I tried. Wouldn't wanna!" Jack placed a loud, sputtering kiss to her cheek. Popping off with a pucker that made her giggle. Finally Jack thought. He had desperately missed that sound all day.

"Smooth, Abbot."

Jack rubbed his hand up her back until one arm slung around her shoulders and the other pressed her bent legs tighter into his chest. He hugged her as tight as he could, rocked her back and forth in his lap, "I love you, I love you, I love you."

"I really love you. Like so much." She mumbled into his neck, placing a couple kisses there like she always did.

Jack hummed at the sensation and then laughed, "I know, baby. I love you too."

He held up the letter between two of his fingers, "Seems like you've got a way with widowed veterans."

"Only the old, disabled ones." She giggled.

He lightly pinched her thigh, "Well, now I know you're feeling better if you're making old jokes."

There was a slight knock on the door. She told him it was Dana. Dana had saw the man give her the letter and figured she would need some privacy to read it. Dana told her she'd hold the room for her as long as she could and that she would knock when time was up.

Jack lightly patted her ass to get her up. Hands not really ever leaving her body, just settling against her waist as they both stood up, facing eachother.

Jack stepped closer, hands sliding from her waist to the ends of her stethoscope at her chest.

He tugged, pulling her in as close as she could get by the ends of her stethoscope, “You know wearing your stethoscope like that is a choking hazard.”

That pulled a real smile from her. Jack's heart soared. It even reached her eyes as she rolled them at him. He wore his stethoscope the same way constantly - she had gotten the habit from him.

“You’re a choking hazard.” She mused at him.

“You could say that again, baby” His hands moved up to cradle her neck, thumbs lightly pressing on her throat as he placed a gentle kiss on her lips

She whispered against his lips grinning hard, putting her hands in his cargo pant pockets before kissing him again, “You’re such a dork.”

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

"Don't let him rub his loser off on you." Dr Ellis smacked Jack on the shoulder as she jutted her chin towards Robby. The whole crew had been giving the two older men shit for not wearing costumes to the Halloween party.

"You do realize you are in my house drinking my liquor, yes?" Robby laughed - playing along and in a much better mood than he had been earlier in the day.

They had all piled into Robby's kitchen after their shift. The locker room didn't leave much space for a costume contest so everyone was sizing eachother up now as they unpacked various food items across Robby's counter.

Jack wasn't surprised when his and everyone else's phones buzzed with a message from Shen in the Pitt groupchat. It was Shen’s turn to miss the Halloween party this year. They all took turns working it every year. He had to imagine Shen was bored at the Pitt.

His suspicisons were proven correct. There were a chorus of 'huh's' and 'what's?' as everyone was left confused by Shen's message. It was a response to the photo of her that Robby had sent this morning.

From Shen: You know impersonating a medical doctor is a felony

All she responded with was a bunch of ‘???????’

From Shen: Didn't know Abbot was on the sched today

Jack answered that he wasn’t. Shen sent a zoomed in photo of the one Robby had sent that morning. The one of her flipping him off. It was zoomed in on her badge. Or in this case, Jack’s badge.

The badge was tangled and clipped backwards against her shirt. But the way she was leaned forward tilted the badge - showing just enough of a headshot that was unmistakably Jack.

From Shen: Can't believe no one on day shift caught this all day. Y’all are a bunch of rookies. Run me my money ASAP. If I can't be at the party at least I can win the betting pool

Jack gasped. He heard her suck in a breath also. Both of them falling into nervous giggles as everyone stared back at them. He figured they weren't shocked that they were a couple. It was kind of an open secret that they had had it bad for eachother the past couple years. But he figured they were all shocked that Jack finally had the balls to do something about it.

The silence didn’t last for long before people were clapping them on the back, shouting “I knew it!”, and exchanging money.

Jack looked over at her, shrugging. A smile cracked his lips as he pointed at her from across the island where she was standing in her matching Cheetah Girls costume with Dr Ellis, "And you said I was gonna be the one to get us caught!”

Her eyebrows shot up to her hairline as she reached into her bag. She dug out the badge and lightly tossed it at Jack, feighning offense at his accusation, "This is your fault for rushing me this morning!"

Robby intercepted the badge. He clipped it on himself as he clipped his own onto Jack, "See - now we have costumes."

She crossed her arms, still adorably faking mad as she leveled at the two of them, "Impersonating a medical doctor is a felony."

"You would know." Jack winked and slid both her and Dr Ellis drinks across the island.

They both took a sip as Jack rounded the counter, slinging his arm around her shoulders as she groaned into his chest, hiding from everyone's hoots and hollers.

"Thank god. Now I can publically berate you for stealing my roommate." Dr Ellis smacked Jack lightly again, teasing. All three of them laughing as "You guys live together!?" echoed throughout the kitchen.

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

Everyone interrogated them for the better part of the party before families began to arrive and people started to disperse amongst Robby's first floor.

Jack's leg had been bugging him. He had been sat in one of the chairs in Robby's living room, thanking Dana for her help earlier today before she had gotten up to get herself a refill.

His face lit up at the sight of his girlfriend entering the room. He nodded at her, silently asking her to come sit with him. She didn't need to be asked twice. She sat on the arm of the chair but that wasn't close enough for Jack. He didn't have to pretend anymore. He pulled her down onto his lap - her arm wrapping around his shoulders.

They sat like that in silence for a bit. Just watching Cassie with Harrison. Princess with her new baby girl. Langdon with his two kids.

She mumbled into his ear. He could tell she was a little buzzed but definitely not drunk, "Kinda want one."

He stilled, his hand that was around her waist pausing the mindless shapes he had been tracing on her hip, "You do!?"

She chuckled breathlessly and then shrugged, "Yeah. Being a mom was the furthest thing from my mind but then...you happened. I thought maybe I didn't want kids but now I realize I just didn't want kids that weren't yours."

"I’m obsessed with you, ya know that?”

"So you don't think I am crazy for bringing that up four months in at our work Halloween party?"

Jack laughed, kissed her hard, "Oh no, you're definitely crazy," she giggled, lightly smacked his shoulder, "but fortunately for you - so am I. It's all I've been dreaming about for the past month or so. I didn't want to pressure you by telling you."

Jack froze again, speaking before she could even respond, "Wait - I have to plan a proposal first. You wanna get married, right?"

"No, I moved into your house for the ADA accommodations." She deadpanned.

"God, I want nothing more than to marry you and your smart ass mouth."

He kissed her into a fit of giggles, squirming all over his lap as his fingers ghosted up her sides, threatening to tickle. She did her best to speak through the laughter, "Is this all because of the slash trake?"

"Don't remind me of that - I'm gonna get turned on and you're already not helping." His arm that was wrapped around her waist tightened, stopping her from wiggling around in his lap.

He was already half hard at just the mere thought of her wanting to have his babies. He did not need the extra motivation while they were still in public.

"You wouldn't change your last name right?"

"Wouldn't dream of it. I don't recall you going through med school twice."

"Just wanted to make sure..." Jack's voice had a teasing lilt to it, "...you did practice all day as Dr Jack Abbot with my badge."

"You're annoying." She groaned.

Jack shrugged, placing a chaste kiss to her cheek, "We'll work on those vows."

"Are you gonna take me home and practice putting a baby in me or what?" She whispered, shifting so her ass was now fully on top of his bulge. To everyone else, they looked innocent but Jack was well aware of what she was up to.

They both knew she had an IUD. Didn’t mean Jack still didn’t choke on his sip of beer at her words.

"Can you behave?" He managed to wheeze out, squeezing her hip in warning.

"I mean...I could..." Her hand lifted from where it had been massaging the nape of his neck. Jack grabbed her wrist and placed it politely in her lap before she could tease him any further. He didn't even know where she was planning on putting that hand but he didn't want to find out until they were in private.

"I hate you." He sing-songed lowly, half hard as she began to make her way to standing.

She ran a seemingly innocent hand over his bulge in the transition - to 'steady' herself she had said. Jack hissed quietly. She giggled, sweetly kissed his cheek and then whispered, "Somehow, I am not convinced!" before running off to wherever Ellis was calling for her.

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

Jack found himself in the same position he had been in the previous morning. And every morning before that for the past couple months. A position he was oh so fortunate to be in. A position he had quite literally dreamt of.

He was halfway still asleep with her cuddled up against him. Except his dreams had been far more R-rated last night than the night prior.

His brain had fixated less on the kids and more so on how the kids were made. She was still fast asleep, he didn’t want to wake her up. He was doing his best not to get hard again but his brain couldn’t stop replaying last night.

Her breathy moans of his name - chanted for what felt like a heavenly eternity. His filthy words. She had a way of bringing that out in him.

“You’re such a tease, you know that? Would punish you if I didn’t want to fill you up so bad.”

She had dropped to her knees the second they made it through the front door last night - begging for him to fill her mouth before he filled her belly.

“So proud of you. Look at you. Taking me so well. Gonna look so pretty with my baby in your belly. Fuck these tits milky full. Just want you so. fucking. full.”

He’d enunciated his last couple words with each thrust of his hips. Every press of his lips against hers. Glued together from their foreheads down to their toes. They would crawl into eachother’s skin if they could.

“Want me to fuck a baby into you, huh? Gonna be a good girl and make me a daddy?”

She had begged him to fuck his cum back into her. He happily obliged as he pressed kisses to the corners of her teary eyes. She told him she had dreamt about this the previous night - was the reason she had woken up dripping for him.

“I’ll give it to you, baby. You know I will. Give you anything. Give you the whole fucking world - I love you.”

None of it was a lie. Or even an exaggeration. He would give her anything. She was his everything. He was too lost in thought. Hadn't realized she was awake until the sun reflected off of her phone screen, almost blinding him.

He trailed kisses up her neck, "What are you doing?"

She placed her phone back on the nightstand. Turned to him, wrapping her arms around his neck and her leg over his hip, "I just made an appointment to get my IUD taken out."

"For when?" Jack's smile was so bright the sun was probably reflecting off of him now. This was really happening.

"Six months from now."

He settled a hand on her upper thigh, squeezed it. He could barely get the words out before she was kissing him senseless, "Sounds like we’ve got a wedding to plan."

Jack knew he shouldn't have left you. He'd had a feeling. The looming dread that had been creeping up on him the past couple of weeks. 

You'd been feeling out of it for a while now. A lethargic and nauseating achiness you couldn't quite shake, no matter how much tylenol or herbal teas you’d tried. 

You had played it off as nothing. Just a headache that came and went. An upset stomach due to the day old chinese food you’d eaten. 

“It's fine, Jack. I’m just tired.”

“Are you sure?” 

“I’m okay. I’m here. You don't have to worry.”

But Jack worried. 

He was always worrying. 

He knew that little things sometimes added up to a bigger, meaner somethings. That if you missed the signs, you might catch it too late. 

What exactly? Jack wasn't sure. He didn’t particularly want to find out.

But he sure as hell wasn't gonna let you blow it off now. 

His heart pounds as the ambulance finally pulls into the bay, the emergency lights blaring an ugly red and orange. Jack bary registers the EMT saying hello to him, his eyes focused on your splayed out form, laying on the gurney. 

“Hey baby,” he says, voice cracking slightly. 

“Jack,” you look up at him blearily, your eyes hazy, a bandage already taped to your forehead. Jack is quick to come by your side as the EMT lowers the gurney, his hand running over the back of your hair.

“One of the bystanders said she hit her head going down. It's not too bad. Just needs some cleaning. Same for her legs,” the EMT says to Jack as she watches him carefully lift the bandage. 

Jack lets out a shaky breath, pressing a kiss to the top of your head and leading your gurney back into the Pitt. 

“What the hell Jack. You just ran off-” Robby calls out, watching Jack come back in. He stops once he sees you, your scraped up knees and bandaged head, the confused expression on your face. “What happened?” 

“She fainted. We’ll need to start her on an iv, get her fluids and run a couple of blood tests. Do you still feel dizzy?”

“I don’t… Jack, what’s going on?” You look up at Jack, confused, panic written across your face. Jack looks back at the EMT who shakes her head.

“She was having trouble remembering the fall. Only remembers her headache and feeling sick.” 

Jack remembers how you had looked this morning. The purple bruises around your eyes and the wince you'd tried to hide when he said goodbye. 

“I don't have to go in today. Shen can cover if Robby really needs him to.”

“Go Jack. They need you more than me.”

He should have known better. 

Robby comes beside the railing of the gurney, helping to pull it into a trauma room. You look around, your chest beginning to rise and fall quicker as your eyes begin to clear of the confused fog.

“What’s going on?” 

“Jack, stay with your wife.”

“I am with her,” he throws back at Robby, turning to grab the bag of fluids Princess was moving to hand him.

“No. Stay with her as Jack. Not Dr. Abbot,” Robby tosses back, gesturing to your wide and fearful eyes. Jack swallows thickly, torn. 

Especially when you groan, turning towards Robby and vomiting off the side of the gurney railing. 

Jack’s heart hurts, pounding heavily against his sternum. You were here. The one place he hated seeing you.

Jack knows he can help take care of you right now. Bandage you up and order labs. He can solve the mystery behind why you were suddenly so ill. Why you haven’t been feeling well lately. 

He can handle that. Dr. Jack Abbot, night attending and army vet, can handle bad news.

But just Jack. Mr. Jack Abbot, loving husband and worried widower, cannot. 

He can’t take another bad diagnosis.

Jack looks up at Robby who’s helping Princess clean up the vomit, and then back at you. And he makes a decision.

“Hey,” Jack says, pushing down the railing on his side of your gurney and sitting on the edge. “Hey, honey-” He takes your head in his hands, taking the damp cloth Robby hands him and helping to clean your face. 

Jack sits with you, his scrub top abandoned, his hand clasped tightly over yours. He watches as the color slowly comes back into your face, helps you take a sip of juice when your hand trembles too much to hold the cup. He stays silent for it all, Robby cleaning and bandaging your scrapes, Perlah coming in to draw your blood, the hospital gown Princess helps you into. He watches it all with a wariness. An awful churning in his gut.

A fear gnawing away at him. 

“Jack,” you whisper, squeezing his hand. He hums, glancing up at you from where he was sitting beside your gurney. “It’s going to be alright.” 

“I know,” he whispers back. You hadn’t said much to each other. Mostly hushed whispers and clinging to each other's hand. Like raising your voices was too much for the already overstimulating hospital room.

Jack’s knee is bouncing up and down anxiously. He couldn’t help it, his mind turning over the many diagnoses, the myriad of things that could be wrong with you. You gently wrangle your hand out of his iron grip, reaching over to rest it on his jostling knee. Jack stills at the feeling of your warm palm over the fabric of his scrub pants, swallowing. You smile.

“Whatever it is… we’ll be okay.” 

"I know," Jack repeats again. But it's hard to really believe it.

He's been here once before. A hospital room just like this. The woman he loves loved sitting by his side. Slowly wasting away. And he didn’t even know it. 

He sees the symptoms, too familiar and painful. The exhaustion and fatigue that wore you down. The migraines and brain fog, lethargicness and nausea that plagued you. He sees it and he knows. Whatever labs Robby is currently looking at holds a future he’s not sure he’s ready for. 

You sigh, your hand moving upwards to run through his salt and pepper curls. They had already been mussed and messed up from his own hand raking through them. Jack sighs at the feeling, closing his eyes and leaning his head against your side. You hum, holding him close.

“I didn’t even get to do any shopping. I just… passed out in the parking lot.” 

“Don’t worry about that,” Jack mumbles into your gown. “I’ll order some groceries for delivery later.”

“I really wanted to get that new cream cheese to try. The one with the jalapenos.” You sigh. “Gosh, I wish they could just inject that into my iv. Maybe I’d perk up faster.”

Jack can’t help but crack a smile. You hum happily, still petting his hair. 

“There he is.” Jack looks up at you, his mouth open to say something. To apologize for worrying. For being so scared.

But he doesn’t get a chance.

The door to your room opens, Robby’s familiar silhouette shadowing behind the curtain.

“Jack?”

Jack clears his throat. “Yeah?” 

Robby peeks his head through the fabric. 

“I’ve got the test results back.” He comes in and sits down on the stool by the foot of your bed with a grunt. You give Jack a nervous look, your hand finding his again. He takes it, squeezing gently. Grounding. Robby clears his throat. 

“Well, your blood panels came back fine. No signs of infection or disease.”

“So…what is it? What’s wrong with her?” Jack asks, swallowing thickly. Robby looks down at the lab work in his hands, peering over the frames of his glasses at the two of you.

“Nothing.” 

The word hits harder than Jack could have expected. Of all the things he had anticipated-

You frown, looking confused.

“Nothing,” you repeat, the question no louder than a breath of air. Robby smiles and nods.

“Well, nothing that won’t go away in nine months. Congratulations kids. You're gonna have a baby." 

Both of you go very still. Your mouth falls open, Jack’s eyes practically bug out of his head. Robby sits there smugly, folding the lab results over.

“A…” Jack starts, trailing off as he leans forward. Surely he’d heard Robby wrong.

“I- a baby?” You ask, dumbstruck. 

“Hmm.” Robby nods. “From what I can tell you’re roughly six weeks along. Of course, you’d need an ultrasound and larger blood panel to be able to tell more accurately.” 

“Pregnant,” Jack breathes. His eyes dart around the room, finally meeting Robby’s. “But how?”

Robby raises an eyebrow.

“It’s a simple process. I don’t think I have to explain the exact mechanics on conceiving to you Jack-”

"No, I know- I mean how... I can't even...

"We aren't exactly prime candidates for conceiving," you finish for Jack.

He can feel your fingers wrap tighter around his hand, your shoulder brushing against his.

Robby gives you a look, his features softening. “I know. I know, I don’t know why. It happens. Sometimes fertility problems resolve themselves. No on can pinpoint why exactly. Could be hormonal changes, medication changes, reduced stress-”

You and Jack finally glance over at each other. He looks at you, eyes raking over your face, the glimmer of hope you were trying to hide. And it hits him.

The sabbatical, he thinks. The long overdue vacation he'd finally gotten around to taking. 

Three months without either of you worrying about work or patients. Three months of just the two of you; long walks in the park, lazy mornings spent in bed. Decadent yet nutritious dinners and way too many trips to the ice cream shop down the street. 

Leaving behind the worries of your every day. 

The sabbatical he’d finally come back from not even a few weeks ago. Just before you had begun to get sick-

You're the first to smile. A small curve upwards, more nervous than anything. 

"I'm pregnant." 

Jack breathes heavily in his chair. 

“You are,” Robby smiles. You take a shaky breath, unsure of what to say. “There’s quite a few things we’ll have to go over. I’m sure Jack knows this speech like the back of his hand, but it’s still customary…”

Jack is half listening as Robby goes on about the usual procedure. The prenatal vitamins you’ll need, the appointments you’ll have to set up. The safety precautions and symptoms and internal changes. The risks considering Jack was older and you weren’t very young yourself.

Jack is so far zoned out he doesn’t even realize you’re calling his name.

“Jack. Honey," you shake his shoulder, frowning. “Are you okay?” 

Jack opens his mouth, looking between you and Robby. He glances once at your stomach. Hidden behind the hospital gown. Looking exactly like it had yesterday. 

But it was different. There wasn’t some disease growing inside you. Some foreign thing making you sick and slowly sucking the life out of you.

There was a baby growing there. You were sick because you were making another life. 

Jack is hit by the realization that for the next nine months, you were going to be going through all kinds of changes. All kinds of hurdles and milestones. 

A baby.

Jack suddenly feels sick.

“I have to go,” he blurts, shaking your hand off of his shoulder and beelining out of the hospital room.

“Jack!” You call out, your voice raising with surprise. 

“I just need some air!”

Jack doesn’t turn back. He can’t. He can’t let you see the utter terror written on his face. 

He marches down the hall, ignoring the looks the nurses give him, the confusion Trinity and Mel share as he storms out down the crowded hallway and to the stairwell.

------------------------------------------------------

You find Jack outside. Not on the roof like you’d panicked he’d be. 

Robby had come back, shaking his head, trying to calm your racing heart.

No. After finally convincing Robby to let you help him look, You find Jack sitting on one of the benches in the park across the way from PTMC. He’s sitting there, elbows braced against his knees, staring off into the distance.

You approach him carefully, blades of grass crunching beneath the slip on clogs the hospital provided. Your clothes feel cold against you, comforting and familiar after the scratchy hospital gown. You glance back at Robby who stands at the edge of the park. He nods, encouraging you to keep going. 

As you get closer, you realize Jack’s not just staring off at nothing. You catch sight of his eyes, focused and glistening beneath the late afternoon light. You follow his sight line, watching a little family on the other side of the park. A broad shouldered man tossing a foam ball to a toddler girl, her mother laughing as her girl toddles about. 

You watch Jack for a moment, staying out of his sight line. You don't have to try very hard to guess what he's thinking about. The sheer amount of worry and confusion he's feeling. 

You felt it yourself. The whiplash of expecting the worst outcome only to learn you were carrying something wonderful. There was still the nervousness of what the future would look like. 

The schedules that would need rearranging, the house child proofed, your office room cleared out in space for another little person. Doctors appointments and ultrasound photos taped to the fridge, onesies and books and diapers tucked away in a closet. 

In spite of the excitement you felt, the confused yet exhilarating feeling of knowing you were going to be a mother, you were scared. 

There was a whole person you'd have to take care of. You'd have to grow and birth. You weren't exactly a spry chicken. Neither was Jack. And there were more risks and complications that came with that.

On top of all the things that came with pregnancy. 

You might not be dying from some malady. But pregnancy was no small thing either. 

You finally take a step forward, placing your hand gently on Jack’s shoulder. He snaps out of his stupor, back straightening, a panic written in his eyes.

“You shouldn’t be up-”

“I’m okay.” He frowns. You point to the space beside him on the bench. “Can I sit?” 

Jack nods, scooting over a bit. You sit. Jack wipes his eyes with the palm of his hand; being closer now, you can see they’re red rimmed and glassy. He doesn’t look at you. Not at first.

But he’s the first to open his mouth again.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have run out of there. That was a dick move."

You swallow against the thick lump in your throat, trying to keep the well of anger rising at bay. It wasn’t hard to. The fear and anxiety laid bare in Jack’s voice. The thoughts he tried so hard to hide from you unveiled. 

You nod. “Yeah. It kinda was." 

He takes a breath, reaching out to hold your hand. You take it, his thumb brushing along the ridge of your knuckles.

"I just... this whole time I was worried I was going to lose you. I kept thinking about all the ways I’d have to watch you die. All the treatments or surgeries…” he chuckles dryly. “I was so worried about you. And now all I’m thinking about is how we’re going to have a kid walking down the aisle in a cap and gown when I’m 70.” 

You sigh, the breeze a gentle comfort as it blows against your cheeks.

“That's all you’re thinking about? College already?” You give his hand a small, loving squeeze. Teasing. A clearing amidst the stormy turmoil you both had been worrying over.

“Well,” he shrugs slowly. “You know, between wondering if the pregnancy will hold. Or birth. Or what elementary school drop offs will look like and dinners and the house and my crazy schedule-”

“I know. I know, it’s a lot.”

Jack nods. “It is… and I’m scared.”

You look at him. Your heart aches with the pure sincerity written on his face. Jack was never one to hide his feelings. But he rarely gave them away easily. Not like this.

Truth written in the glassy mist of his eyes, the worry carried in the tightness of his hand around yours.

“I know,” you nod. “I know it’s not going to be easy. Robby explained the risks.” 

The long list of complications and genetic disorders and risky side effects run through your mind. You hadn’t known just how fragile pregnancy became the older you got. It was just never something that had crossed your mind. To think or worry about. But now…

You continue.

“I know this wasn’t what we had planned, Jack. Us. Having kids… and I know you may not want- may not think we can do this. But I don’t think this is such a bad thing.”

Jack’s eyes widen, his frown deepening.

“What, woah. No I don’t want you thinking that. I don’t- I don’t think that.” 

“Really?” You take a deep breath, hopeful. Jack finally smiles. A small and gentle quirk of his mouth.

“Really. And I’m sorry if I made you feel that way. I just… I didn’t think that I could have one.” 

“A baby?” You clarify. He nods.

“I told you about what happened in the army. With my leg and, well, everything else. And you told me having kids wasn’t exactly going to be easy for you.” It’s your turn to nod.

Between Jack’s injury and age, your genetics and seemingly lackluster fertility, a baby had just never been a part of your plan. And you were fine with it. Life was crazy enough as it was.

“I know. But here we are.”

Jack nods, looking out into the park again. He’s watching the small family again, eyes glued to the man as he hoists his giggling daughter into his arms.

“Here we are,” he mumbles. 

“We don’t have to figure everything out right now Jack. There’s still time.” 

“Seven months and two weeks,” he huffs. You chuckle.

“Right. Plenty of time.”

------------------------------------------------------

Robby makes Jack leave the hospital early with you. 

Although Jack would use the term ‘make’ loosely, considering he had already decided he wasn’t staying the moment he saw you in the ambulance’s hull. You’re cleared to leave not long after Robby drags the both of you back into the ED, making sure to stop by the pharmacy to pick up your new prescriptions. 

The prenatal vitamins and nausea medication sit among Jack’s own clutter of meds on the kitchen counter. Jack told you not to worry about groceries or the car still at the store. He’d take care of all of it in the morning.

For now, he just wanted to clean away the sterile smell of the hospital lingering on both of your clothes and get to bed.

He’s grateful, for once, that you're exhausted enough to fall asleep the minute your head hits the pillow. You’re breathing softly beneath the sheets before Jack can even pull his prosthetic off, your hand lain out on his side, like you still wanted him to hold it unconsciously. 

But sleep doesn’t come for him. Jack lays awake for a long while. 

The moonlight casts wispy shadows along the wall and he watches them, thinking. He plays with his wedding ring, twirling it between his fingers with mesmerizing ease. 

Not the ring you'd slipped onto his left hand years ago, the dark amber band that still glistens on his ring finger. Jack plays with the wedding ring he wore a long time ago, still a young man figuring things out. From his first marriage. His first wife.

It wasn't often he pulled the ring out. Sometimes it hurt too much to even look at it; to think about and remember her. Jack fiddles with the ring now, holding it against his lips as if he could whisper all his worries into it.

The worries which still rested in the side of his ribs, changed but there all the same. Jack can’t help but think of all the things he never got to do with her. The future they’d planned cut short by an illness he couldn’t cure. Maybe it’s why he felt so scared now. 

This unplanned thing laid out before him. Far out of his control.

Jack tosses and turns, his mind reeling with memories and thoughts about the future. He quietly gets up, setting the ring on his nightstand and fitting his prosthetic back on. He slips out of your bedroom, making sure you were still settled before wandering down the hall.

He’d always wanted to be a father. That wasn’t the problem. Hearing that you were pregnant had resurfaced those feelings like they’d never been buried. The idea of having a mini him, with matching curls and crooked smile. Or a mini you, with your bright eyes and pretty nose.

The problem was that desire had been locked away for a very long time. After he got injured in the army. After he became a widow. Even after he met you. Jack had begun to accept that being someone’s parent was just not in the cards he’d been dealt. But now…

Jack stands in the living room, staring around the dark room. He moves quietly, picking up a random glass and setting it in the kitchen, moving the tossed couch pillows back into their designated places. He can’t sit still when he tries. The air suffocating inside in spite of the cooling system blowing gently.

Jack ends up sitting outside on the back porch, his head in his hands. 

What would she have thought? After all this time. 

A baby. 

Jack’s not even sure he should begin to want this. To let himself hope. There was so much uncertainty with a later in life pregnancy, of an older parent conceiving a child. The constant what ifs and complications. So much to worry about.

Jack sighs, running a hand through his mussed curls as he realizes how tired he is. Of feeling on edge. Of never feeling like he could settle. The worry of something bad happening again. Of being all alone-

A noise sounds from the bushes running along the fence.

Leaves rustle softly, twigs crunching beneath something weighty. Jack looks up, brows furrowing. He squints, standing and flipping on the porch light to illuminate the dark backyard. The rustling sounds again, and Jack inches closer.

He pauses. And then he lets out a disbelieving laugh, instantly quieting himself.

The rabbit which had ducked back into the foliage at the sound of his voice peeks it’s head out again in the new silence. Her nose twitching, beady black eyes staring straight into Jack. He lets out a breath, in awe of the rare sight. He knew there were plenty of rabbits that lived around the neighborhood. He often saw where they burrowed through your garden or ate certain plants. But actually seeing one was rarer.

Of all the nights…

He goes still when the rabbit moves. Inching slowly out of the bush. She turns back, snuffling softly and moving forward again. A baby in tow.

Now, Jack was not a very superstitious man. At least, not by nature. He laughed when Ellis chastised him for saying the “q” word in the ED, rolled his eyes when Joy and Nazely talked about karma.

But if life had taught Jack anything, it was to never ignore the signs. 

He watches the pair of rabbits hop through the backyard, eyes following their path until they squeeze through the cracked boards of the fence, disappearing into the night. Jack lets out a slow and much needed exhale, the cool air of the night finally feeling fresh.

New.

Second chances that don't always happen every day.

Baby rabbit. 

Baby Abbot.

He liked the sound of that. And maybe, this time, there wouldn’t be so much to worry about. Not with you by his side. 

------------------------------------------------------

Bonus:

"Jaack!" You call out from the kicthen, where you're putting the first few bags of groceries away.

"Yeah?" Jack's voice echoes down the hall, the sound of more paper bags rustling.

"Did you get- never mind!" You grin as you find the tub of cream cheese you'd been dying to get your hands on, practically tearing the package open and digging in. You let out a satisfied hum as you eat a spoonful of the spicy spread, nodding in satisfaction.

Jack enters the kitchen, arms full of groceries, an amused look on his face.

"As good as you'd hoped it'd be?" You hum again.

"Better. I think your child already has great taste in cuisine."

Jack stills for a fraction of a second, then smiles. He sets down the bags and moves over by your side, pressing a kiss to your forehead, carefully around the tender cut still hidden by a bandage.

"Yeah they do."

You both put away the food and various household items you'd needed to stock up on. Trash bags and pasta, that lavender creamer you loved and Jack's protein bars he always carried in his scrub pockets.

You munch on a bagel- properly toasted and spread with your cream cheese because Jack insisted on at least being civilized about your cravings- going through the last bag. The bag crinkles as you feel around inside; you frown as your hand comes into contact with something soft. Fluffy. You peer inside.

A little stuffed bunny peers back at you. You stare at it for a moment, and then you laugh.

"Jack?"

"What?" He asks, folding the towel he'd just used to wash his hands. You smile, holding up the bunny. His ears go pink and he gives you a bashful grin.

"I just thought... well I thought it might be cute for the baby. You know, rabbits are thought to be good luck charms or something."

You laugh, bright and hopeful and so in love.

"You're so sweet, you know that Jack Abbot?"

------------------------------------------------------

I am actually so obsessed with peter rabbit, it's not even funny. and I love the silly "jack rabbot" joke.

Jack Abbot knew what he was doing was wrong.

Well, maybe not wrong per se—but it wasn't typical attending behaviour. He knew for a fact he wouldn't guide Crus to an empty patient room if he caught him with a slight limp, knew he wouldn't touch Ellis' bare leg let alone fucking massage it.

The first time it happened he convinced himself that no, it was typical attending behaviour—he was concerned that your pain would affect your ability to treat patients. And yeah, there was a sliver of understanding as well—he knew how hard it was to ignore the physical ache, how once it reached a point it became an obsessive loop of pain, pain, pain.

Having an excuse to touch you, to get close to you—that was just a bonus, it wasn't the sole reason he was helping you. At least that's what he kept on telling himself, to convince himself that the professional boundaries were still there.

The second time he dragged you into an empty patient room, he was able to admit to himself that it wasn't typical attending behaviour. And while helping to relieve your pain wasn't wrong, the thoughts he had with your leg on his lap definitely were.

The thoughts he carried home with him after every shift with you, they were wrong. But, fuck, did they feel so right. Touching himself remembering how your skin felt under his hands, replaying your small pained whimpers and the look of relief on your face —he knew that was wrong. Moaning your name out as he came over his fist and stomach, he knew that was wrong. But no one would ever know—you would never know.

"So," he started, his fingers pressing into the spots on your calf he knew were the worst. "Any more first date horror stories?"

He didn't know why he was asking. He didn't want to know about you going out with other men. But it was on the long list of things about you that kept him up as he tried to sleep—the incessant thoughts about you spending your time with a man that was undeserving. Endless thoughts about another man's hands tending to your knee, hands that were allowed to drift higher and pull sounds from you he could only dream about hearing.

You placed your hands behind you on the patient bed, leaning back on them. "No, I've learned my lesson. Think I might get started early on that whole single, crazy cat lady thing."

His breathy laugh brushed across your bare shin. "Oh, yeah? How's that going?"

You pretended to think for a second with a hum. "I went to an animal shelter the other day, there was a cute three legged cat that I wanted to adopt."

He felt his chest crack open with something warm at the thought of you with a little amputee cat.

"Why didn't you?" His hazel eyes were tender when they met yours.

"Just…don't know if it's the right time. They're much less work than dogs, but it's still a pet—something that would rely on me." You shrugged, looking up at the ceiling because his eyes were too intense. A small wince left you as he worked on a tight knot.

"You're a very reliable person, I'm sure you could manage just fine. Plus, it's a three legged cat—those guys are adorable." He finished with a half smile.

You looked at him again, a small smile gracing your lips. "It sounds like you really want me to adopt this cat."

Jack was ready to go to every animal shelter in Pittsburgh to find that cat himself, if it guaranteed you wouldn't waste any more time on a man that wasn't him.

He finished off the massage with a soft pat to your shin. "If it means that you won't date any more assholes, then yeah, I want you to adopt the damn cat."

You were aware of the eyes on you and Dr. Abbot since he began helping with your knee. It was obvious when Ellis' and Shen's eyes trailed after you both as Abbot steered you towards South seventeen the second time he noticed your pained wince and limp. And it was especially obvious when Nurse Vivi came into what she thought was an empty room, intending to prep it for a patient from chairs.

"Oh! I'm sorry, doctors." She shot you a peculiar smile, her eyes flicking down to your exposed leg. "You okay?"

Dr. Abbot stood up and approached the door that Vivi was half standing in. "Yep. Just an old injury flare up." He said casually, like he did this for every one of his staff. He gave you a single nod before walking back into the ED.

The few hours until the end of your shift after that incident were full of raised eyebrows from Lena and Bridget—mainly directed at Dr. Abbot—and curious side-eyes from Ellis.

Lena approached you in the staff locker room as you grabbed your bag, Ellis doing the same at her locker next to yours.

"Hey, sweetie," she gave you a warm smile. "You know you can tell me if anything, if anyone, is making you uncomfortable, right?"

You felt heat rush up your neck—you understood what she was insinuating immediately. "Yes, of course!"

She tilted her head to the side, a look of suspicion pulling at her features.

You sighed, "it's nothing, really. I have an old sports injury that's been acting up, and Dr. Abbot has been helping when it slows me down."

Lena nodded slightly with a small smile. "He's a good man."

You didn't need the reminder. It was something that had you spiralling while trying to sleep more often than not lately.

"Let us know when it acts up again, okay? An ex once told me I have the hands of a masseuse." She ended with a wink before exiting, throwing a wave at you two over her shoulder.

The fourth and last time Dr. Abbot sat on a stool in front of you, it felt like you were under a microscope. You caught the double takes nurses did as they walked past the open curtain, and the small smirk on Ellis' lips had you wanting to shrink in on yourself.

You couldn't even enjoy the feel of his hands on your skin.

You couldn't enjoy the way his scrub sleeves were pulled taut around his biceps, the fabric straining against his thick muscles. You couldn't enjoy how every tendon in his arm tensed and moved while he massaged your calf, a sight that normally left you speechless—that left you with an ache you could only satiate with your hand between your thighs, imagining it was his instead.

Then there was the way Dr. Abbot looked at you in those brief moments you were alone—like he was memorising every detail about you. It made you want to crawl out of your skin. He was so goddamn attentive, catching every micro-flash of pain your face betrayed. And despite the sinking feeling that what you were doing was wrong, his hands on your skin felt so right—they left you feeling dizzy and flustered every time.

His voice was always softer, the rough edge of his professional doctor side falling away. He spoke to you almost as if you were a friend, and made it seem like this was something he often did with friends.

It was in that soft voice of his that he opened up about his own pain with his amputated leg—telling you the small things he did to help alleviate the pain, recommending you the cream he used, reminding you to take a small break whenever the chaos quietened enough.

"Can't have my best resident suffering," he mumbled, his eyes flicking to your mouth when one of your pained whimpers slipped free.

You chuckled through the tightness in your chest from his praise. "Don't let Ellis or Crus hear you say that—they might swap to the day shift in retaliation."

He let out a scoff. "Nah, they're too weird for the day shift," he gave you one of his signature winks. "Besides, I think Ellis would end up in a fist fight with Robby if she had to spend a full twelve hour shift with him. God knows how many times I've been close to punching him."

You threw your head back with a loud laugh, your body shaking from the intensity. You gave him a teasing smile after you caught your breath. "Isn't he one of your closest friends?"

Jack couldn't stop the full blown grin on his face, the sound of your laughter filling his body with a warmth he hadn't felt in a long time.

"And? You telling me you haven't wanted to cause your friends physical harm when they were being dicks?"

Another giggle slipped out of you. "Yeah, you've got me there. Santos has a photo of a bruise I gave her when we went out a few weeks ago." You held up a finger as his eyes shot up to yours, his eyebrows raised in surprise and his mouth parting to no doubt give you shit. "Before you say anything, she totally deserved it."

He shook his head with a small laugh, squinting his eyes at you. "I'm sure she did."

He finished massaging your leg, rolling your scrub pant down over your knee. He flashed you a small smirk before giving your calf a light pinch.

"I always knew you had a fiery side."

Fuck.

At the end of your next shift was when you realised how serious it really was. You were standing in the ambulance bay before morning rounds, catching a breath of fresh air when Dana joined you outside.

"I can already feel this is gonna be a long one," she huffed, pulling out a cigarette and lighter.

She lit the cigarette and took a long drag before looking at you with a glint in her eye. "You nightcrawlers are great at leaving a mess behind."

"Hey, that's not on me. I clean up after my weirdos." You crossed your arms over your chest and leaned against the exterior wall.

"You ever think about coming back to us, kid?" She flicked the butt of her cigarette, bringing it to her lips for another puff. "Step back into the light, you need the sunshine." She patted your cheek lightly.

You rolled your eyes fondly. "Always the mama bear, Dana. I get plenty of light, seeing as how my shift finishes when the sun comes up."

She let out a soft chuckle. "Touché."

She cleared her throat softly before taking a step closer and laying a hand on your arm. Her voice dropped low, soft. "Nurses, they like to talk. And you have been a hot topic lately, missy."

You tensed immediately, a nervous laugh slipping past your lips. "What—what are you talking about? Has my…work been called into question?"

She rubbed your arm with a squeeze. "No, no, nothing like that. People are just worried, maybe a little intrigued. Is there anything I should know, doll?"

"Is this about Dr. Abbot?"

She gave you a brief nod and you sighed, your head dropping forward. The exhaustion from the twelve hour shift was bordering on unbearable and all you wanted was to crawl into bed.

"I swear, nothing is happening. I would never do that, would never jeopardise my career like that. He just happened to notice my knee injury a few weeks back and has been helping when it hurts. I told Lena all this…" you trailed off, your voice dropping to a mumble.

She finished her cigarette, pressing the butt against the wall before chucking it in the bin next to her. She turned back to you, a look of understanding on her face and a glimmer in her eye.

"Okay, I just wanted to hear it from you." She pulled you into a side hug, squeezing tight. "I'll tell the rumour mill to pipe down, don't want you running off before you become an attending."

You both walked back into the ED, only one of you aware of the conversation that was happening on the hospital's rooftop.

The brisk morning air was biting on the roof, tingling Robby's cheeks as he pushed the door open and let it swing shut with a loud thud behind him.

Jack was leaning against the roof's railing, both arms braced against the cold metal with tension lining his shoulders. He didn't bother turning—there was only one person who knew to find him on the roof at this hour.

"What are you doing, brother?" Came Robby's gruff voice, partially swallowed by the early morning sounds from the city around them.

"Engaging in quiet contemplation. You?"

"Not what I'm talking about." Robby stopped beside his friend, resting his side against the railing with his hands in his pockets.

Jack shot him a side glance, "I have many talents; mind reading isn't one of them."

Robby raised his eyebrows, giving Jack a pointed look. "I'm talking about your resident."

"Crus? I've left him in charge for ten minutes tops, he can't have caused that much damage."

"Don't play dumb. It's not a good look on you."

"You're wrong, everything is a good look on me." Jack shot his friend a half smirk, the tension in his shoulders betraying his nonchalant behaviour.

Robby let out a frustrated scoff, growing tired of Jack's obvious deflecting. He straightened his posture and crossed his arms over his chest, showing his friend that he was serious.

"You know what's not a good look? Dragging your resident into empty patient rooms and massaging her fucking leg." Robby said, a sharp bite to his words.

Jack winced, dropping his head forward slightly. He didn't think word would get to Robby that fast.

"I'm just trying to help her." Jack grumbled, feeling like a child caught with his hand in the cookie jar. "It's not a big deal."

Robby let out a loud incredulous laugh. "Tell her to go see a goddamn physio, Jack!"

Jack sighed and shook his head, growing frustrated at this conversation. Tell you to waste money seeing a physio? When he was more than willing to help, to provide the relief you need?

"I want to help her."

For a second, everything around them froze. The wind came to a halt, the sounds of early morning traffic dissipated. All that was distinguishable was the sincerity in Jack's voice, the conviction behind his words. And that's when Robby knew that this—whatever it was, whatever Jack was feeling—ran deeper than what Lena had insinuated to him and Dana the day before.

Robby shook his head with a small, disbelieving laugh. "You're fucking screwed, my friend."

Jack twisted his wedding ring around his finger, trying to ground himself. He didn't want to accept his feelings for you, didn't want to unlock the door that was clearly labelled 'DANGER' in bright red letters.

"I'm moving her to the day shift."

Jack's reaction was instant.

He pushed off from the railing, crossing his arms over his chest and levelling a cold glare at Robby.

"No. She's my best resident." His tone was sharp, his annoyance bleeding through.

"It's just for a week, while Whitaker is visiting his family." Robby sighed as Jack stood strong, his shoulders moving in a shrug that said 'why should I care'. "You know we need all the help we can get on the day shift—you nightcrawlers can survive without her."

Jack didn't believe that for a second. He needed you on the night shift with him—needed it like he needed air to breathe. The thought struck him deep in his chest, a cold realisation seeping into his bones.

Robby clapped him harshly on the back, throwing an arm over his shoulders as he pivoted them to walk to the rooftop door.

"You could be more grateful—I'm saving your sorry ass from a gruelling trip to HR."

When Robby told you they needed you back on the day shift to cover for Whitaker you were hesitant at first. Not that you had much say in the matter, but the timing of it felt suspicious—Dana had just questioned you about the Abbot situation, and not even thirty minutes later Robby was pulling you aside for a chat about your schedule.

It didn't help that multiple pairs of eyes were not so subtly watching your conversation with your chief attending. You tried your best to not let your surprise show, offering Robby a small smile and a "no problem". One pair of eyes was harder to ignore than the others—eyes that you fantasised about more often than not, eyes that you had to pinch yourself from getting lost in.

Eyes that followed you as you said goodbye to your colleagues, engaging in excited conversation with Mohan and McKay who were ecstatic to have you back on the day shift. Eyes that didn't care that their obvious staring had drawn unwanted attention.

Ellis was finishing up her notes on a patient, tablet in hand as she prepared to pass them off to Santos. She was watching her night shift attending with a small smirk on her face—his forlorn puppy dog expression making her disturbingly pleased. Santos let out a snicker beside Ellis, her own eyes clocking Dr. Abbot's yearning disposition.

Ellis turned to Santos, both sporting matching smirks on their faces with a mischievous gleam in their eyes.

"Want to start a new bet?"

Jack was furious with Robby.

Actually, he was angry with a lot of people lately. He was quicker to snap, his patience wearing thin—on track to lose his title of being the 'fun dad' of the PTMC Emergency Department.

Robby had told him that you were only going to be back on the day shift for one week, just to cover while Whitaker was away. It had been three weeks since Whitaker had returned to the Pitt, and you were still on the day shift.

The night shift had been surviving without you, though barely hanging on by a thread. The main issue they were having? Abbot's perpetual foul mood.

The only time the night shift ever saw a flicker of something warm cross their attending's face was during shift change. It had them all raising their eyebrows, looking at each other knowingly, and digging into their wallets.

"Thirty bucks on Abbot making a move after a paramedic hits on her." Shen murmured to the group gathered at the Hub during shift change, him and Ellis keeping watch in case you or Dr. Abbot appeared. He had witnessed a paramedic hit on you once before, right in front of Abbot. He thought he heard a bone in Abbot's hand fracture from how tightly clenched his fists were.

"Nah," Princess breathed out. "I'm putting twenty on them being together for at least a month."

Perlah hummed next to her. "You thinking they got together after that bad date?"

Dana peered at the group huddled at the counter over the top of her glasses. "Have you seen how he's pining after her? There's no way they're together."

Ellis let out a little whistle, the signal for one of you nearby. The group split off in different directions, Shen slipping a handful of cash into Ellis' hand as they passed each other.

Robby hummed from his spot next to Dana, eyebrows raised as he read over a chart. "You know you shouldn't be entertaining them…"

Dana scoffed, her eyes tracking you as you stepped into Central nine. "You're one to talk—I heard you bet fifty on him confessing after she gets hurt."

"I bet twenty," Dana gave Robby a knowing look, raising her eyebrows at him. "What? I know my friend and I know his white knight complex."

"Yeah," Dana murmured quietly, "that's going to catch up to him one day." She gathered a stack of papers on the counter, stamping them down on the surface to straighten them. Her eyes flicked back up to Robby. "You really think he's going to do somethin' before she becomes an attending?"

Robby sighed, dragging a hand down the side of his face—his beard audibly scratching against his palm. "He stopped wearing his wedding ring a couple weeks ago. I think he's been holding himself back longer than he'd ever care to admit."

The first week you were on the day shift, Jack found himself walking into the ED twenty minutes earlier than he usually did. By the third week, he was standing at the Hub over an hour before shift change. He quickly found out his early arrivals were both a blessing and a curse.

A blessing because it was an extra hour he got to see you; to hear you laugh at something Princess said, to admire you as you cared for your patients, to be by your side the second you let out a wince.

A curse because Santos was hell bent on torturing him. He knew she was doing it on purpose—she had a whole twelve hour shift to talk to you, to gossip about your personal lives, yet it seemed that whenever he was near you two all she wanted to talk about was your dating life.

"I know you're still pissed about Mark," Santos started, slinging an arm around your shoulder as you checked the board at the Hub. "But—hear me out—there's a pedes attending at Presby I want to set you up with."

Jack slowed down on the other side of the Hub, pulling up a random chart on a discarded tablet to act busy while his ears strained to hear the rest of your conversation with Santos. A pedes attending? Really?

You let out a disbelieving laugh. "You're joking, right? I am not going out with anyone you suggest ever again."

Santos groaned, throwing her head back dramatically. "How many times do I need to apologise? I'm sorry, okay—I promise Ben is the real deal, he won't make you pay for anything."

You shrugged her arm off your shoulder, turning to face her with your arms crossed. "Wow, that's a real high bar you got there, Trin. I feel spoiled," you drawled sarcastically.

She held her hands up in defence. "Fine, don't believe me. You're the one who's going to be sorry you let a catch slip through your fingers."

Her eyes glanced over to the other side of the Hub, catching the way Abbot was standing still with rigid shoulders and a frown pulling at his face. She couldn't stop the small smirk twitching her lips—he was definitely listening.

"Garcia can vouch for him, they did their residency together." She watched, delighted, as your arms loosened, your mouth moving side to side like you were considering it. "And," she dragged out, "he's exactly your type."

You rolled your eyes, but the small bite to your bottom lip gave away your interest. "What, emotionally unavailable?"

You watched as Santos eyes lit up, a slow smirk taking over her face as she subtly nodded towards where Dr. Abbot was standing.

"Old."

A rush of heat crawled up your neck and you elbowed her in the ribs. "Shut up," you hissed with wide eyes.

"You two done gossiping over there?" Dr. Abbot's voice barked out. "I'm sure your patients would love to know they bled out because you were busy planning a date."

You whipped your head to the side, your shocked eyes meeting his cold glare. His hands were gripping the counter's edge, his eyebrows raised as he gave you a pointed look.

You scrambled under his attention. "Sorry, Dr. Abbot, won't happen again." You shot Santos a sharp look before turning on your heels and hurrying towards the North nurses station.

Santos jutted her hip out and crossed her arms over her chest, levelling her superior with a knowing look across the Hub.

"What's the matter? You jealous, Abbot?"

He straightened up, clasping his hands behind his back. Everything about his posture screamed composed—except for the muscle that flexed his jaw.

"Get back to work."

Trinity turned back to the board with a hum, satisfaction thrumming through her veins. She was definitely going to win the bet.

The torture didn't stop there. No, that would have been too easy. Instead, Jack had to hear more about your dating life—this time at the end of a punishing twelve hour shift.

You were walking through the ambulance bay doors with Santos on your right and Mohan on your left. The three of you were fresh-faced in the early morning hours, each of you holding a cup of coffee in your hands. Jack's eyes were drawn to you instantly, catching the way the fluorescent lights brightened your eyes and highlighted the sleepy smile stretching your lips.

He was too busy getting lost in the mere sight of you to notice the sly look Santos threw his way.

"What is it that you like about older guys?" Trinity asked, nudging you with her elbow. Mohan let out a chuckle from your other side, suddenly finding her coffee very fascinating.

You shot Santos a bewildered look, your brows furrowing and mouth parting slightly. Before you could express your confusion, she continued.

"Is it the knee thing?"

"What?" You asked, a puzzled laugh lacing your words. "What are you talking about?"

"Do you bond with them over your upcoming knee replacements?" Santos asked with a cocky grin.

"Oh, shut up," you shove her shoulder lightly. "It's way too early for me to deal with your abuse."

The three of you reached the Hub, exchanging soft smiles and greetings with the night shift nurses. Your eyes flickered to Dr. Abbot briefly, his broad frame hard to ignore. He met your eyes for a second, giving you a small nod before turning to Lena.

"But seriously, I'm curious," Santos said, resting her elbows on the counter and cocking her head to the side. She didn't bother lowering her voice, gaining the attention of your colleagues scattered around the Hub—which, unbeknownst to you, was her full intention.

You narrowed your eyes at the mischievous smile on her face, a sense of dread tightening your throat. That look never meant anything good for you.

"How do you fuck your geriatric boyfriends when you've both got bad knees?"

A chorus of sounds echoed around the Hub.

Mateo snickered loudly behind his hand.

Samira let out a shocked gasp beside you.

Lena muttered, "oh dear."

Robby let out a long exhale, his mouth trembling in effort to not bark out a laugh.

"What the fuck, Trinity!" You exclaimed, slapping her arm harshly. Your response earned a few chuckles to sound out around you, causing the embarrassment you were feeling to clog your throat. Your wide eyes found Dr. Abbot's, his blank expression giving nothing away.

You quickly brushed past your amused coworkers, shoulder checking Santos on your way to the lockers. For a brief second, mortified tears blurred your vision. It was one thing for her to talk about setting you up on dates while working, but to make a joke about your sex life—in front of the unattainable attending she knew you had a crush on—was a step too far.

Jack watched as you bolted through the ED, a mix of emotions storming within him. He was irate with Santos, jealous about whoever these 'boyfriends' were, and concerned about you. He caught the flicker of hurt that crossed your face at Santos' question, the panic in your eyes when you looked at him.

And, he couldn't ignore the desire pooling low in his gut. Because it was something he had thought about—what position would feel best for you, what would guarantee you the most pleasure without hurting your knee. And he knew that if he ever was lucky enough to have you writhing under him, he wouldn't give a fuck about his leg.

Whilst Santos' jabbing was uncouth, it did confirm one important thing for him—you liked older men. Enough to want to fuck them.

That fact had his cock twitching in his scrub pants.

"You hear that, brother?" Robby murmured quietly, standing closer to Jack than he was a second before. "You might have a chance." Robby chuckled and gave Jack a pat on the shoulder before turning to the staff gathered at the Hub.

"Alright," he exclaimed, clapping his hands together once, "day shift, gather round."

The PTMC Emergency Department was a high stress, fast paced environment. You had seen multiple of your fellow coworkers take a tumble, faint from exhaustion, or be injured due to a patient's aggression. Every time it happened, Dana sternly directed them to the staff break room without fail. You had made it to your fourth year of residency without being dragged there once. That's not to say you didn't get injured, you just hid your pain better than others—one of the pros of living with chronic pain for so long (or a con, depending on who you asked). You were just two months away from becoming an attending, and you were determined to keep the record for the least amount of injuries endured during your time at PTMC—even if it was a record that you were the only one keeping track of.

Stupid Ogilvie and his lack of spatial awareness.

You let out a hiss as Dana pressed an ice pack against your knee. You were sitting at the small round table in the break room with your injured leg resting on one of the uncomfortable plastic chairs.

"Oh, hush, you big sook," Dana said with a small teasing smile. The faint line between her eyebrows gave away her concern, though.

A small rush of air left your nose—something that might've been a laugh if you weren't preoccupied with the unbearable throbbing in your knee.

Dana brushed a stray hair back from your forehead, fixing you with a pointed stare. "I need to get back out there or else the whole place is going to fall apart." She poked your forehead gently, "you need to stay put, missy. Understood?"

You nodded with a small pout. "Yes, understood. No more life saving today," you grumbled out.

"Good. If you need anything…you're Ogilvie's patient now," she said over her shoulder, throwing you a wink before closing the door behind her.

"I never want to see his face again," you mumbled petulantly to the empty break room.

With nothing else to do but sit, you grabbed the tablet off the table and started to catch up on charting—or what you could catch up on without a hospital computer. Twenty minutes later you were groaning with your head in your hands, your good leg on the ground bouncing impatiently. Ten minutes of doing nothing and you were already bored shitless. You could hear the symphony of a busy ED calling to you through the closed door—voices shouting over one another, an urgent page being called over the speaker system, a child with a healthy set of lungs screaming.

Back in the ED, Jack was ripping off his blood soaked gloves in Trauma two. He had just finished performing a clamshell thoracotomy on his buddy Officer Riveria, who had been shot in the chest from crossfire during an armed bank robbery. Jack walked the short path towards Central, tearing off his SWAT vest and dumping it on a chair in the Hub—barely paying any attention to Dana who scoffed at his appearance.

He could feel his t-shirt clinging to his skin uncomfortably, sweat soaking through to his SWAT uniform leaving visible patches—which he couldn't care less about in that moment. He had been in the ED for half an hour already, and he had yet to hear your voice. It was unsettling.

Even during the most adrenaline inducing, hectic shifts he could still make out your voice above the noise. And last time he looked at the schedule, you were meant to be working the day shift.

"Hello to you, too," Dana mumbled, raising her eyebrows at Abbot's swivelling head.

"Hi," he glanced at her briefly before looking at the board, trying to see if you were assigned to any patients. "Where is she?"

Dana chuckled, shaking her head. Of course he noticed you weren't on the floor. "Who?"

Jack responded with your name quickly, just as McKay stopped next to him at the Hub—letting Dana know a patient was ready for discharge.

"Oh," McKay snorted, "Ogilvie knocked her down with a gurney earlier."

"What?" Jack seethed, levelling a glare at Dana—why wasn't that the first thing she said to him?

"Take it easy, soldier." Dana gave him a sharp look. "She's in the break room, she's fi—"

Jack didn't wait to hear the rest of her sentence, darting through the ED in a rush to get to you. He flung the door open to the break room with force, making you look up at him with startled eyes.

"Dr. Abbot? What are you doing here?"

He ignored your question, making his way to you in two long strides and squatting down next to your injured leg. You watched as his nostrils flared and his jaw clenched tightly, an irritated huff leaving him. Your eyes wandered from his face to his shoulders, your eyebrows scrunching at his camo sleeves—was he wearing fucking SWAT gear?

"What are you wearing—"

"I'm going to fucking kill Robby," he seethed.

"Robby? What did he do?" You asked, your head swirling with more questions.

Dr. Abbot lifted the ice pack off your knee gently, drawing in a sharp breath at your red, swollen joint. His eyes snapped up to yours, a battle of concern and anger warring in the hazel depths.

"This wouldn't have happened if you were with me."

Jack realised his slip a second too late, watching your eyes widen in surprise at his words.

"If you were on the night shift," he mumbled quickly, his eyes darting back down to your injured leg.

A calloused finger pressed softly to the bottom of your knee, just below the swelling. A pained wince left you at the barely there touch.

"Fuck, sweetheart." Abbot whispered, his brows pulling together in worry. "This doesn't look good."

"I'm fine," you breathed out quickly, your heartbeat picking up at him calling you sweetheart again. "It's fine, it was an accident."

"It's not fine," he said sternly. "You're hurt."

"I've dealt with worse."

He let out a deep sigh, shaking his head at your stubbornness. He stood back up—his leg twinging briefly in complaint. He took a few steps back, leaning against the kitchenette and crossing his arms over his chest.

"Alright—if you say you're fine, stand up."

You met his raised eyebrows with a deadpan stare—your bruised pride fighting against the desire to submit to him, to let him take care of you.

You sucked in a breath, lifting your injured leg off the chair and placing it on the floor hesitantly. The pull of gravity had your knee aching in an instant, the swollen joint throbbing incessantly. You tried to keep your face blank as you braced both hands on the table, using it to support yourself as you rose to your feet. You put all your weight on your good leg, and Dr. Abbot clocked it immediately—his eyes glued to your legs as you tried to stand nonchalantly.

"Take a step."

That stupid stubbornness flared hot despite the agony you were in, not wanting someone—especially the attending you thought about obsessively—to take care of you. Well, the problem was how badly you wanted him to take care of you, and you refused to let that show—to be the damsel in distress.

You took a small step forward on your injured leg and crumbled in a second, trying to bite back a pained whimper and failing. Abbot was there before you could catch yourself on the table, one strong arm wrapping around your waist and a steady hand supporting your upper back.

"Yeah, that's what I thought," he mumbled low, his body so close to yours that you could feel his voice rumble through you.

Jack stood still, relishing the feeling of you in his arms. Your breath was warm against his neck, your curves soft beneath his hands, and he could feel you leaning into him. It was fucked up—you were injured, biting down your pain to try not be an inconvenience, and he wanted more. He wanted so much more.

Keeping his arm around your waist, he grabbed your bag hanging off the chair and hiked it up his shoulder. He grabbed his phone out of his pocket, drawing your attention to the gun on his hip—

What the fuck, since when was that there?

"What's your address?"

Your eyes snapped up to his face, your mind trying to process the sight of him in sweaty SWAT gear with a fucking handgun strapped to his hip. "Huh?"

He didn't look at you, thumb tapping on his phone. "I'm getting you an uber home. Give me your address."

"N-no, thank you, but I—"

He levelled you with a hard look, his eyes unrelenting. "This is not a discussion. Your address, now."

A thrill shot up your spine, his bossiness doing concerning things to your mind and body. You gave in, mumbling out your address—your body still actively aware of his thick arm wrapped around your waist, his warmth radiating through your clothes.

Jack grabbed your arm, slinging it over his shoulder and bringing you closer to his body—your perfume and something uniquely you cutting through the antiseptic and settling in his chest. His body screamed at him to turn his head, to bury his nose in your hair and inhale your scent like it was oxygen. His hand on your waist gripped tighter.

"What are you—" you started, shocked by his sudden closeness. The lines and freckles on his face were even more deadly this close.

"It's either this or I carry you. Your choice."

You slowly limped your way towards the door, consciously leaning as little weight on Dr. Abbot as possible—worrying about the strain you were putting on his prosthetic leg. Pain shot through your knee with every step you took.

"That's not gonna do, sweetheart."

He pulled you closer to him, essentially lifting you with every step. It took the weight off your leg, and had your breath stuttering at his strength.

Heat flushed throughout your body as you neared the Hub, your head dropping to ignore the curious and teasing stares from your coworkers.

"Hey, prince charming!" Dana's voice called over the rush of the ED. "This isn't your dumping ground!" Both your heads turned to see her holding his SWAT vest, shaking it with a pointed look before swinging her arm back and throwing it.

The hand steadying your arm on his shoulder lifted, catching the vest with ease. He handed it to you without a word, your free hand clasping around the slightly damp fabric.

It felt like it took hours to get to the ambulance bay, all the eyes on you two making you feel like an animal on display at the zoo. As you reached the doors, you faintly heard Javadi's voice behind you.

"Why didn't he grab a wheelchair?"

The uber was already waiting and Dr. Abbot helped you in the backseat before rounding the boot and getting in the other side. The door slammed shut, leaving you enclosed in the small space with your devastatingly attractive attending and crush.

"What are you doing?"

He grabbed your bag off his shoulder and the vest from your hand, putting them on the floor in front of him. His fingers clasped around your injured leg gently, lifting it and resting it on his lap.

"Making sure you get home safe."

The twenty minute drive to your apartment was quiet, the soft music droning from the car's speakers the only noise filling the uber. Dr. Abbot's hands rested on your leg the whole time, his thumbs rubbing absentminded patterns on your scrub covered shin.

Your brain stopped functioning approximately two minutes after the car pulled away from PTMC, when the first slow circle of his thumbs started. Instead of feeling the throbbing pain of your knee, you felt a throb grow north of it—slow strokes of fire coursing up your leg and gathering at the apex of your thighs. It was embarrassing, how desperately your body reacted to him and he wasn't even touching your skin.

You stared out the window the whole ride, despite how badly all the cells in your body ached to look at him—to map the lines of his face, to catch the way the sunlight coming through the window highlighted his stubbled jaw and changed the colour of his eyes. God, his eyes. You wanted to get lost in them, to watch them shift from honey amber to sunlit green—you wanted to know what colour they shifted to when dark with hunger, when dilated pupils eclipsed the sunburst irises.

Jack tried to keep his gaze locked on the seat in front of him, distracting himself with counting every individual stitch in the fabric. This was the fifth time he had placed your leg in his lap, but it felt different than the times previous. Maybe it was the protective anger curdling his gut—he had already drafted three carefully worded texts to Robby in his head—or the dangerous pull in his chest telling him that you were right where you belonged, next to him. All he knew was that the aching need to take care of you was now etched into his bones. Sitting next to you in the uber on the way to your place had nothing to do with him worrying about you as your attending—he was just a man needing to look after the woman he cared about deeply.

He couldn't stop his eyes finding the side of your face even if he tried—he was a moth to a radiant flame. He stored more details away in the overflowing file cabinet with your name on it; how the sunlight made your hair glow, how your lashes fluttered as you fought off fatigue, how despite the exhaustion and pain shadowing your face you still looked beautiful—ethereal. He wanted to worship at your altar.

Once the uber parked outside your building, he was quick to lower your leg—hands oh so gentle, again—and grab the bag and vest off the floor. He was out of the car before you could blink, opening your door and helping you out of the car with the strong hands you fantasised about daily. He offered the driver a quick thank you and it struck you deep in the chest—such a simple, kind act that you had watched men fail to do time and time again.

Your arm was back over his broad shoulders, one of his securely wrapped around your waist. It only hit you then how badly your body had missed the warmth of his pressed against you. And then something more frightening—exhilarating—hit you: Dr. Jack Abbot was going to be in your apartment.

Your step faltered, your heartbeat picking up in terror—or anticipation, only god knows.

"Thank you for your help—for the uber—but you should go—"

"No."

"Your shift is in a few hours, you should rest."

He let out a frustrated huff through his nose, turning his head to shoot you a hard look—his fingers on your waist tightening.

"Quit being stubborn and let me help you."

You opened your mouth to protest more, to say he's helped you enough, but the words died on your tongue before they had formed. You were sore and exhausted—that was the excuse you told yourself for letting your attending guide you into the building.

Your place was exactly how you left it—half a dozen medical textbooks littering your coffee table, your laptop still open on the dining table with sticky notes of varying colours covering the surface, a few dirty dishes stacked next to the sink. Your basket of clean underwear sitting on the couch waiting for you to put away. Because, of course the day Dr. Jack Abbot helps you home is your lingerie wash day.

Heat rushed up your neck as he helped you limp towards the couch, dumping his SWAT vest on the coffee table before grabbing the basket and putting it on the floor out of the way. You watched, intrigued, as red dusted along his neck and cheeks, his eyes looking everywhere but you.

His hand lingered on your waist as you sat down, before he cleared his throat and helped you get situated—placing a throw pillow under your injured knee and another behind your back. He started to take off your shoes, and it hit you at a dizzying speed how natural and domestic this all felt.

How nice it felt to have him in your home, taking care of you with no fuss. You can't remember the last time someone treated you with such care—the few times you asked your exes for help with your knee pain they made you feel like a burden.

Having Abbot treat you so gently, so delicately, only made the butterflies storming in your stomach increase tenfold. You were starting to feel sick, overcome with dangerous emotions at the hands of your attending.

You dropped your eyes to your hands fidgeting in your lap. "Thank you again, Dr. Abbot. For—"

"Jack."

You looked up at him to find him already staring down at you. Your hands started to shake.

"What?"

His voice was soft, low. "When it's just you and me, it's Jack."

You heart decided to find a home in your throat. "Oh…well, I appreciate your help," you smiled up at him softly, "Jack."

In that moment, Jack knew he was done for. He had noticed you only ever called him by his doctor title or last name, and now he knew why. His name sounded like it was made to slip from your tongue, like everyone else before you had said it wrong. He had to be careful—if you said his name with that little smile again, he was sure he would drop to his knees before you.

He stepped away from the couch, needing to do something else to distract his brain from the fantasy of you gasping out his name as he tasted you. He grabbed his vest and walked towards the kitchen—the open plan layout allowing him to keep an eye on you still.

You watched as he removed his gun from its holster, checking the safety was on before pulling the clip out, disarming it—the act alone sending a shiver racing up your spine. He didn't need to do that, but you figured he did it for your peace of mind—to ensure you felt safe in your own home. It had no right being that hot.

Your eyes landed on the gun and vest now sitting on your kitchen counter before you ran them over his sweaty uniform again, unconsciously biting your lip.

"So, you moonlight as a…SWAT medic?"

He started to look through your kitchen cabinets, pulling out a water glass. "My therapist said I needed a hobby."

"And all the men's shed's in Pittsburgh were at full capacity?"

He filled the glass with water, the side of his mouth quirking with a smirk. "Didn't meet the age requirement. I'll try again next year."

He brought the glass of water over to you, an amused glint in his eye.

"That where you scout for your dates? The men's shed?"

Your cheeks grew warm. "I am going to kill Santos," you muttered.

Your phone vibrated in your pocket and you pulled it out to see multiple texts from Santos. Speak of the devil.

Trin: (412) 858-5725 Trin: Ben's phone number Trin: If your knight in sweaty swat gear doesn't make a move

You put your phone away quickly, grabbing the glass from the coffee table and taking a deep gulp to try soothe your nerves.

"Where do you keep your pain meds?"

Jack was still standing next to the couch, looking down at you with his hands in his pockets.

"There's a box under the bathroom sink," you told him. "First door on the left."

Jack returned less than a minute later, carrying your overflowing plastic container of pain medication—an eyebrow raised in surprise.

"Should I be concerned you're going to start a meth lab with these?"

"Medical textbooks are ridiculously expensive."

He chuckled in response, putting the container on the kitchen counter and grabbing a handful of pills for you. You accepted them with a small thank you, watching as he sat on the small armchair diagonal to you.

He nodded towards the textbooks splayed out on your coffee table. "How's the studying going?"

An involuntary sigh slipped out of you. "It's going fine, I guess." His furrowed eyebrows prompted you to elaborate more. "I'm—being on the day shift, I'm struggling to find the time to study." You watched his jaw clench and you quickly backpedalled. "I mean, that's not an excuse—I'm not trying to blame being on the day shift! It's my own poor time management, Samira seems to be doing fine. I just think the night shift suited me more…I miss you—it. I miss the night shift."

Your face was a furnace by the time you finally shut your mouth, refusing to look at Jack and instead glaring at the textbooks on the table like they had caused you grave pain.

"We miss you too."

Jack was struggling to control his breathing, feeling angry at Robby for keeping you off the night shift for the past month. Angry at himself for not pushing harder to keep you with him. It was obvious the day shift was not what was best for your well-being; here you were in front of him injured—by a day shift intern—, exhausted from the long shifts, and barely finding the time to study for your attending boards. He would bet his good leg that the only thing in your pantry was packets of ramen.

He took the lull in conversation to look around your apartment properly, a faint smile curving his lips as he spotted the decorations and trinkets that were very you. Something fond gripped his chest at the photos on your bookshelf. There was one of you and Santos on a night out—tipsy smiles and arms slung over shoulders—another of you and Ellis in your scrubs pulling the finger at the camera, and one on a higher shelf that had his heart tumbling.

It was of the night shift, everyone crammed into a small diner booth after a particularly rough shift. You two were sat next to each other, his head leaning back on the booth seat as he slept and your head turned to him with a soft smile on your face. He remembered the day it was taken—everyone called him grandpa for a week afterwards for falling asleep—but he didn't remember you looking at him like that. Like he hung the moon and the stars.

He cleared his throat, trying to get rid of the emotion clogging it. He opened his mouth and said the first thing he thought of. "No cat?"

You lifted your head, looking at him quizzically. "I've never had a cat."

"What about the one we talked about?"

"Oh, that cat." You shrugged, "someone else adopted the little guy before I could."

"That sucks." And because his jealously won out over his logical mind when he was near you, he continued. "Does that mean you're still dating assholes?"

You laughed nervously, crossing your arms over your chest. "Do we have to talk about my sorry excuse of a dating life?"

Jack stayed quiet, not sure how to downplay his interest in your dating life—in you.

You sighed. "No, I'm not dating assholes—I'm not dating anyone at the moment, despite Trin's persistence."

Jack let out a gruff hum, feeling both pleased that you're not wasting your time dating and annoyed at the reminder of Santos' terrible matchmaking. "So I've noticed."

You winced. "Sorry, I'll tell her to stop talking about it at work. Not that she listens to anything I say, but it's unprofessional."

Jack dragged a hand along his scruff, tempted to tell you that it was the jealously souring his gut that bothered him, not the unprofessionalism.

"How's your knee?"

You shifted your injured knee on the pillow, relieved when you only felt a dull ache instead of sharp throbbing. "Stiff, but the meds are kicking in at least."

"Did you get that cream I recommended?"

You started to get up from the couch, lifting your leg and clenching your teeth when the pain came back."Yeah, but I can go get it. You've done more than enough, you should—"

Jack was by the couch in less than a second, putting a gentle but firm hand on your shoulder to keep you seated. "If you tell me to go one more time, I swear to god."

 You looked up at him, your breath catching at his broad frame towering over you.

"I don't want you to think I'm a burden." Your voice was smaller than you would've liked, a crack lacing through.

Jack's heart fractured at your words, his walls starting to crash down. "You're not a burden to me. I want to help you."

The sincerity in his voice made yours shake. "Why?"

He took a deep breath. "For reasons I shouldn't say out loud."

Your heart stumbled before picking up, feeling like it was going to beat out of your chest.

"Jack…"

"Don't. Don't say my name like that."

"Like what?"

"Like you have no clue what you do to me."

But, you didn't know what you did to him. This was the first time you were aware he might've shared a fraction of the feelings you had for him.

"Let me take care of you and then I'll go, okay?"

You gulped, now feeling unsure of where you stood with your older attending. You gave him a small nod.

"Okay."

He stepped back, looking both satisfied and torn at your response. "Good."

"The cream, it's in my bedroom—but I'll go get it."

"No, you can't even walk by yourself. Stay there, I'll get it." He raised an eyebrow at the panicked look on your face. "Unless, you don't want me in your bedroom. You hiding dead bodies in there or something?"

That got a small laugh out of you, and he felt his shoulders relax the slightest—some of the tension from his almost confession dissipating.

Jack Abbot in your bedroom was a thought you had way too frequently, but that wasn't what had you stubbornly trying to stop him from getting the pain relief cream. It was because you knew the cream was in your nightstand—the same one your small collection of vibrators were in.

You were an adult. Owning a vibrator or two was normal. Jack was also an adult, you're sure he's seen sex toy's before. So, you sucked in a breath and put your big girl pants on.

"No, it's fine. I just—the cream's in the top drawer of the nightstand on the left."

Jack found your bedroom easily in your small apartment, your perfume and scent hitting him hard as soon as he pushed the door open wider. He stood still for a second, breathing in a deep lungful and feeling himself get even more addicted—if that was possible. He beelined for the nightstand, opening it and finding the cream he had recommended to you what felt like a lifetime ago. His hand faltered, his gaze finding the toys next to the cream—sticking out like a sore thumb. Your hesitation about him coming into your room suddenly made complete sense.

His cock twitched in his pants at the sight of them alone, and his traitorous mind didn't take long to supply him with the fantasy of you using the toys on yourself—laid out on your bed in front of him, listening to his commands as he told you how to fuck yourself.

He adjusted himself in his pants, shaking his head to try rid himself of the thoughts before walking back into your lounge.

You watched as Jack came back with the cream in hand, nerves tightening your throat at the deep red covering his neck and cheeks. He definitely saw the vibrators.

He didn't say a word, just waved the cream at you and sat on the other end of the couch—moving the pillow under your leg aside so he could move closer and rest your leg in his lap. Despite this not being the first time he's helped with your knee, it felt entirely different. Maybe it was his half confession lingering in the air, or the fact that you've been wound tightly for so long. Either way, the first touch of his fingers on your bare skin as he rolled your scrub pant over your knee had your core clenching desperately, embarrassingly.

The late afternoon sun streamed through your sheer curtains softly, painting your apartment in a dreamy haze that softened the edges of your mind. Neither of you spoke, the soft sounds of your breathing filling the room. His touch was featherlight on your knee, gently prodding to assess your pain—his intense gaze never leaving your face.

The first slide of the cream on your inflamed joint offered a small reprieve, a small sigh leaving your lips.

"This okay?"

You nodded, staring down at his hands on your leg—noticing the absence of his wedding ring. They drifted higher, rubbing the cream into the tight thigh muscles above your knee. A gasp slipped from you as his fingers pressed deeper, rolling a knot that had formed due to the tension from your injury.

Your eyes flicked up from watching his hands, finding his glued to your parted lips. They stayed there for a second longer before meeting yours and your breath caught in your throat. You could see where the amber bled into green, the faint blue ring on the edge of his irises. You watched his pupils dilate, his eyes darkening like a storm rolling through a forest.

Your eyes dropped to his lips, the soft light highlighting the stubble framing his face and making the cupids bow on his top lip stand out—looking incredibly enticing and kissable.

You both leaned in slowly, the thread between you pulling tighter. His breath brushed against your lips and the tension you'd been harbouring for months—years, even—snapped. You closed the distance, pressing your lips to his in what you wanted to be a tender kiss but was anything but—your desperation bleeding out of you.

He breathed in through his nose sharply, his hands on your thigh tightening before he returned your kiss slowly. One of your hands bunched the fabric of his SWAT top, the other sliding up the back of his neck and finding its place in his silver curls. You pulled him closer, kissing him with more urgency.

A moan rumbled in Jack's throat at the feeling of your hand tugging his hair, and he brought a hand up to cup your jaw—losing himself in the press of your soft lips against yours. His hand on your thigh gripped tight and pulled you closer, briefly forgetting that you were in pain.

He sucked your bottom lip between his, nibbling on the plump flesh and drawing a soft whimper out of you—your hips trying to rock despite the awkward position of you half pulled onto his lap.

The sound had Jack's cock jumping eagerly, still half hard from thinking about you fucking yourself with your toys. His hand on your jaw slipped to grasp the back of your neck, tilting your head back. His tongue ran along your bottom lip and you opened for him without hesitation. The first caress of your tongue's against each other drew matching, low moans from both your chests.

You felt your core grow wetter and you needed more, your hand fisting his top travelling down to slide under his layers of clothes and touching his solid, yet soft, abdomen.

The feeling of your hand touching his skin had reality crashing down on Jack, making him pull away from your lips with visible effort. Your mouth chased after his with a small whine, the hand in his curls trying to yank him back to you.

"We shouldn't," he panted, his breath hot against your lips.

"Please," you whispered, not caring how desperate you sounded.

He dropped his forehead to your collarbone, a shaky moan leaving him at how needy you sounded and the intoxicating scent of you wrapping around him.

"You're injured, I'm your attending, this is—"

You grabbed his hand clutching your thigh, dragging it up until his fingers grazed your scrub covered core. All logic and reasoning faded from his mind as he felt the heat radiating through your clothes. He was shocked for a brief moment, that your aching need for him matched his own for you.

"Touch me, please. Make me feel good."

Jack thought he had died and gone to heaven—those sweet words whispered into his ear sounding even better than he had dreamed.

"Fuck," he breathed into your scrub top, his hand moving and cupping your core. A gasp shot out of you and you ground your hips against his hand.

His head lifted and he peppered light kisses on the side of your neck—his stubble scratching your skin lightly. You pushed his head harder into your neck, desperate for him to take more. He let out a chuckle at your eagerness.

"You always this needy?"

His teeth sinking into your neck stole any response you may have had, a moan leaving your lips instead. His kisses grew in confidence, his mouth leaving trails of spit across your skin as he relished in the sounds he was pulling from you. His hand on your core moved, his palm pressing harder against your clothed clit—your hips rocking faster in response.

You pulled his head from your neck, his dark eyes meeting yours before he lunged for your mouth, his kisses turning punishing—teeth clashing, tongues fighting for dominance, stubble scratching and burning your skin.

The warmth in your core transformed into a raging fire—you had never been this turned on by a kiss before. You could feel slick oozing from your cunt, your underwear sticking to your core where his hand was moving against you. You were sure you were leaking through your scrubs, and you might've been embarrassed if it weren't for the lust lighting up your body.

Jack pulled back, his hand stilling against you causing you to let out a displeased whine. He looked down at his hand, an expression of awe on his face as he saw his palm with a light sheen of wetness and the dark patch on your pants.

"You're wet." He said, like it was a miracle.

You nodded, both hands gripping his jaw to pull his lips back to yours. He turned his head, still looking at his hand in amazement. It had been a long time since he last touched a woman, but he didn't remember them getting this wet from some kissing and light groping.

Your lips found his neck, lavishing the wrinkled and freckled skin with the same attention he gave you. You bit along his jaw gently, soothing the bites with a wet glide of your tongue. His chest vibrated with a deep groan and you doubled your efforts, sucking on a spot below his ear. The sounds he was making made you even more wet, small whines getting stuck in your throat as your need for him ricocheted.

"Fucking hell, sweetheart." He groaned, his dick starting to leak from your mouth on his neck and the little sounds you let out. "You're gonna make me come in my pants if you keep doing that."

His words stroked the fire in you higher, your nerves singing with pleasure at the fact you were unravelling him just as he was you.

He pulled you away from him and stood up, watching as your hazy eyes blinked up at him unfocused, a small frown pulling your kiss swollen lips down.

He hooked an arm around your back and the other under your thighs, lifting you off the couch.

"Jack, your leg—"

"Is fine. Let me do this."

He ignored the strain on his amputated leg, carrying you the short distance to your bedroom. He laid you down on your bed gently, taking extra care to not jostle your knee.

You sat up on your elbows, biting your lip as he stood at the edge of your bed—not moving, just staring down at you with his mouth slightly agape.

"You have no idea how long I've thought about this. How long I've spent wanting you."

Your chest stuttered at his admission, heat licking up your spine at the raw want in his voice.

He leaned down, placing his hands either side of your head and kissing you slowly, tenderly. Your hands settled in his curls, your lips responding in kind—your chest aching with something far more dangerous than need.

He trailed kisses down your jaw and neck, nuzzling his nose into the junction where your neck met your shoulder and inhaling deeply. An almost pained groan tore from his throat and it made you arch up into him in need.

His hands gripped your hips and lifted you further up the bed, your head resting on your pillow. His thumbs rubbed on the sliver of bare skin your bunched scrub top exposed, his questioning eyes meeting yours. You lifted your arms up before he could ask, and he pulled the fabric over your head—throwing it somewhere behind him.

His eyes dropped to your chest and he licked his lips, his hand slipping behind your back to undo your bra clasp. He pulled your bra straps down your shoulders slowly, like he was unwrapping a delicate present.

"Jack," you breathed out, impatience lacing your tone.

He dropped his head, kissing along the swell of your breasts.

"Didn't know my name could sound so sweet until you said it." He mumbled into your skin.

He finally pulled your bra away, throwing it in the same direction as your top. He sucked in a sharp breath at your exposed breasts, his eyes closing briefly as he gathered himself.

"You're beautiful."

Then he latched onto one of your nipples, sucking lightly and pulling a gasp from you. A large hand cupped your other breast, his thumb rubbing circles around your nipple—the dual simulation making fire sprint down your abdomen to your core. Your hips rocked underneath him, and he chuckled at your desperation—the sound vibrating through your body.

Your hands found the hem of his SWAT top and pulled, wanting to see the thick muscle he hid underneath scrubs. His touch left you for a second as he pulled his top off, exposing the black t-shirt underneath. And you swear you'd never seen a simple t-shirt look so hot before. It was tight around his bulging biceps, his muscular abdomen pressing through the fabric. You only had a second to ogle before he was stripping it off as well, leaving you with a sight you had only dreamed about.

The only word in your head at that moment to describe Jack Abbot was thick. You knew he was big, but seeing it without clothes felt surreal. You ran your hands over his bare chest, marvelling at the muscles jumping beneath your touch. His skin was dusted in freckles, a patch of light hair covering his chest that was soft under your fingers. His shoulders were broad and your jaw ached to cover the sturdy flesh with bites.

You gripped his shoulders and pulled him down, your lips meeting in a desperate kiss that had you both moaning. Your hands travelled down his shoulders to his back, pulling his bare chest down to meet yours. The feeling of his pecks against your breasts had you sucking his bottom lip with need.

You slid a hand down his bulky abdomen, revelling in his body jerking under your hand. You dipped a finger in the waistband of his camo pants, pulling slightly before moving your hand down and cupping his hard cock through the fabric. The feel of him had your core clenching—he was big, bigger than you had ever taken. It sent a thrill coursing through you and you gripped him harder.

"Shit," he hissed, grasping your hand and pulling it away from him. "Not today, sweetheart. It's all about you now, okay?"

He kissed down your chest, lavishing at your breasts again and you let out an impatient whine, pushing his head down to where you needed him most.

"Stop teasing."

You could feel his lips curve into a smirk against your skin. "But you sound so pretty."

He sucked harshly on your nipple, pulling it between his teeth and biting down. Your hips shot off the bed with a gasp, your knee throbbing from the sudden jolt but you didn't care. He repeated his ministrations on your neglected nipple before—finally— his kisses travelled down your stomach and stopped at the waistband of your scrub pants.

His lips sucked light marks along your lower stomach and hips, his fingers toying with your waistband and dipping under before tracing the marks his mouth left.

"Jack, please." You whined, your need echoing in your quiet room.

"You sound so good begging, baby."

He pulled away, hooking his fingers around your pants and underwear—slowly pulling them down your legs like he had all the time in the world. A groan rumbled out of him at the sight of your slick clinging to your underwear, a line keeping them connected to you until they reached your knees. He doesn't think he's seen anything hotter.

He was careful pulling your pants down over your injured knee, pressing a light kiss to your inflamed skin before your pants were finally off of you. He grabbed a spare pillow near your head, propping it under your knee and adjusting you so you were comfortably spread open with no weight bearing down on your knee. He kept his eyes on your face the whole time, checking for any hint of discomfort.

"You tell me if it starts to hurt, okay?"

You nodded in response.

"Words. I need words, sweetheart."

"Yes, I'll tell you, Jack. Just touch me already, please."

His eyes left your face, travelling down your heaving body and ending at your core. Your need was glistening all over your mound and a moan vibrated through him at the sight. He brought a hand to your core, his fingers lightly trailing down your wet slit making your hips jump off the bed. His other hand pressed flat against your lower stomach, his weight holding your hips down.

"You're fucking soaked. This all for me?"

You nodded quickly, your breaths coming quick—pent up from months of wanting and his merciless teasing.

"Yeah? I get you this wet?"

"Yes, Jack—only you. Been wet since I saw the SWAT uniform." The confession slipped from you, need obliterating your filter.

His face morphed into a shit-eating grin. "That right, pretty girl? I'll make sure to wear it more often."

He pulled away from you and you groaned in annoyance.

"What the fuck, Jack!"

He chuckled at your impatience, a cocky smirk plastered across his face. He sat on the edge of your bed, quickly pulling the leg of his pants up to take off his prosthetic leg and leaning it against your bed. He turned back to you, lowering himself between your legs—the feeling of his breath against your core making your thighs twitch.

"Just getting comfortable. No more teasing, promise."

And then he was licking a long strip up your dripping slit, his dark eyes holding your gaze captive. You threw your head back, a sigh of relief leaving you. One of his hands gripped the thigh of your injured leg, keeping you steady as the other pressed down on your lower stomach again. He licked torturous and slow, his eyes closing as he made out with your lower lips.

"Taste so fucking good, better than I imagined." He moaned into your core, eliciting a gasp from you.

Your hands found his soft curls, gripping tight as he feasted on you. You tried rocking your hips to chase the friction but his strong hand kept you still, making you whine pathetically.

His tongue found your clit, alternating between flicking it and drawing circles around it. Fire built up in your core quickly, gasps of his name and please falling from your lips.

Jack's cock was painfully hard, precum leaking and dampening his pants as he listened to the sweet noises you let out because of him. He knew this was going to be ingrained in his brain forever—you panting beneath him, all desperate and needy, his taste buds overloaded with your delectable nectar. You were better than any drug and he was irrevocably hooked.

His tongue dipped down to your entrance, circling it twice before plunging inside your walls. Your core clenched down at the intrusion and he moaned into your core—delicious vibrations spreading up to your clit.

"Yes," you gasped, hips trying to chase the pleasure his mouth was unleashing. His tongue started to thrust in and out of you and a hand left his hair to grip his hand on your stomach. "Please, feels so good."

Obscene slick sounds filled your room, your core drenched from your arousal and Jack's spit. His tongue went back to your clit, the hand on your thigh moving up and tracing light fingers around your entrance. Jack watched in hunger and fascination as your core clenched in anticipation.

"You want my fingers? Be a good girl and tell me how bad you need them."

Your whole body lit up at him calling you a good girl. You opened your eyes to see him already staring at you, his gaze heavy and hungry.

"Yes—fuck, please—Jack I need them so badly. Want you to fuck me with them, please."

You didn't need to beg for long, one of his fingers dipping into you and curling against your walls. A moan slipped out at you, your walls clamping down on the single digit.

"Fuck, you're tight." He moaned into your clit, sucking it into his mouth harshly. You let out a wanton moan, your hips pushing against his hand holding you down. Another finger slipped inside you and he pushed them deeper, thrusting them against the spongy spot that no other man cared to find. You mewled, embarrassingly needy as a familiar tension built in your core.

"Oh my god, right there," you moaned out and his fingers picked up their speed, curling to stroke against that spot over and over. A third finger joined in and your eyes shot open at the stretch. His mouth doubled down on your clit, sucking harshly and nibbling gently.

"You gonna come for me?"

Incoherent babbling spilled from you—his name, please, and fuck being the only words your brain seemed capable of forming.

Jack was grinding his hips on your bed, feeling like a teenager ready to bust from the first moan that you let slip free. His cock was pulsing in his pants, so close to coming already.

"Yeah, that's a good girl. Come on my fingers."

The hand on your stomach pressed harder and the tension in your core shifted, still familiar but also different—tight and overwhelming. One last sharp suck to your clit had you soaring off the edge, your whole body tensing and head throwing back as pleasure rushed through you like a roaring fire. You came with a loud cry of his name, your ears ringing and white spotting your vision. You felt wetness gushing from your cunt, warm and sticky—amplifying and drawing out your release until it bordered on painful.

Jack groaned against your core as you gripped his fingers tight, sucking them in deeper as you squirted over his face, his hand, your bedsheets. Your fingers in his hair pulled as you panted and heaved beneath him. He pulled his mouth off your clit, moaning out your name as he spilled in his pants—your release making him come untouched. He continued moving his fingers inside you, drawing out your orgasm with his eyes focused on where release was squirting out of you with every thrust of his fingers.

"Good girl. You did so good."

Your fingers in his hair trembled, yanking softly as you tried to squirm away from his touch. "It's too much, Jack." You whined and he finally relented, drawing his fingers out of you with a loud, sinful pop. Your half open eyes met his, watching through a hazy fog as he lifted his soaked fingers to his mouth and sucked them clean—a deep groan tearing through him and you almost moaned at the sight.

He kissed up your body slowly, sucking and biting on a nipple and drawing a yelp out of you—your overstimulated body shaking underneath him.

"That was fucking incredible," he whispered into your neck, sounding starstruck. "You're incredible."

You giggled softly, his stubble tickling your neck. "That was all you." One of your hands brushed along the broad expanse of his shoulders, the other toying with the curls at the top of his neck. "I've never done that before," you admitted in a small and dazed voice.

He continued to nibble on your neck. "What, hook up with your boss or squirt?"

You slapped his shoulder lightly. "Both."

"Pleasure was all mine, sweetheart."

He removed his head from your neck, soft eyes gazing into yours before he leaned in and kissed you sweetly. His arms wrapped around your back, pulling your chest to his as he kissed you deeply—pouring everything he couldn't say yet into the kiss.

He pulled back, his eyes roaming around your face trying to memorialise this moment in his brain. He caught sight of the clock on your nightstand, a frustrated groan vibrating his chest as he saw he had to be at work in just over an hour. He dropped his forehead to yours for a few seconds, before pushing himself off of you with pained effort.

"I gotta go get ready for work. I—uh, need to clean myself up."

You furrowed your eyebrows in confusion before looking down, finally spotting the dark wet patch on his camo pants.

"Oh."

He put his prosthetic leg back on, standing and looking back at you still naked on your bed—spread out and glistening in your own release. He quickly walked to your bathroom, grabbing a clean towel from the cupboard and wetting it in the sink. He returned to your room, hit with the overwhelming smell of you—your perfume, your natural scent, your release. It had him debating calling in sick to lay tangled in the sheets with you, making you feel good until you passed out.

He cleaned you up gently, the soft press of the damp towel on your sensitive cunt making you twitch and flinch away.

"Easy, baby. Almost done."

He pressed a kiss to your forehead once he was done, a thumb brushing across your cheek.

"Okay, now I really have to go or Robby will send out a search party."

You bit your lip, your come down leaving you feeling exposed and vulnerable. "What…what does this mean?"

Jack didn't want to leave you alone, the uncertainty in your eyes making his chest ache. "We'll talk about it properly later, yeah? Just rest now—I'll order you some food."

He grabbed you some pyjamas out of your dresser, leaving them folded next to you on the bed. He left you with instructions on how to look after your knee—despite your insistence that you had been living with the pain for over a decade and you were a doctor as well, you knew how to take care of your injury.

After your front door clicked softly behind him you stared up at the ceiling for what felt like hours, your mind still not comprehending that you had hooked up with Jack Abbot—and he had made you come harder than you ever have in your life. So much was still left unsaid, but there wasn't a cold ache in your heart like you expected at the uncertainty. You trusted Jack, and you trusted that he wouldn't leave you spiralling for too long.

Just after seven pm your phone lit up with a text from Robby.

Robby: You're back on the night shift once your knee is better. Rest up.

A smile took over your face, a sigh of relief leaving you. You knew Jack was responsible for the shift change, and it had warmth spreading through your body from your chest.

Not even twenty minutes later, your screen flashed with texts from Trinity.

Trin: DID YOU AND ABBOT FUCK Trin: Don't even try to lie to me

You: We didn't fuck

Trin: Then why is he smiling like he won the lottery

Your lips stretched into a grin.

You: Maybe he did?

Trin: Tell me what happened right now Trin: I'm gonna be pissed if Robby won the bet

You: What bet, Trinity?

Trin: Shit gotta go! Someone's dying

You: Someone is always dying. Did you guys make a bet about Jack and I?

Trin: SMS ERROR: The phone number you are trying to reach is no longer in service. Trin: …did you just call him Jack?!?!?!?

You were drafting a profanity filled response to her when a text from Jack came through.

Abbot: Dinner is 10 minutes away. Hope Vietnamese is all good. Abbot: Ice your knee afterwards.

You didn't see Jack for seven days after that. He text you throughout the week, checking in and assuring you that you would talk but not over the phone—that you deserved more than that. The swelling in your knee eased by day three, and by day six it barely hurt anymore. You were under strict orders to not even think about the hospital, and you only left your apartment to go for walks around your neighbourhood—you didn't even go to the grocery store, there was no need to when Jack arranged groceries to be delivered to your front door.

He called you a couple times after a long shift, just wanting to listen to your voice as he struggled to sleep. He sat on the phone while you studied for your boards, giving his input when you started to ramble and spiral about a topic you thought you didn't understand—to which he reminded you that you were one of the most capable residents he'd seen walk through the PTMC doors. His confidence in you helped with the spiralling, and only made your need for him build to dizzying heights.

Neither of you brought up what happened at yours, both silently agreeing that it was a face to face conversation. It didn't stop you from thinking about it every night though, about him. You didn't ask him to come over before or after his shifts, not wanting to come on too strong despite how badly you wanted to see him again.

It was on day seven of not seeing him that you said fuck it. You were basically climbing the walls by that point, growing restless from doing nothing but sitting and studying and dreaming about all the ways Jack could fuck senseless. You knew it was his first scheduled day off in two weeks and while you should've let him rest, the demon he had unlocked inside of you didn't care.

You made it to mid afternoon before you sent him a text.

You: Hey, you busy?

Jack: No. What's up?

You: Think you could come over so we can have that talk?

Jack: I'll be there in 30.

True to his word, Jack knocked on your door twenty-eight minutes later with a takeout bag in his hand.

"Hey, I got us some sandwiches from the new deli on—"

You didn't give him time to finish, yanking on his sweatshirt's collar and dragging his lips down to yours. A shocked noise sounded in the back of his throat before he responded in earnest, his free hand wrapping around you waist and pulling you into his body. He staggered into your apartment, blindly closing the door behind him as you kissed him with a bruising intensity.

He pulled back to catch his breath, his chest rising and falling rapidly. You moved your mouth to his neck, sucking and nipping his neck as the desperation you'd been feeling for the past week clawed at your chest and core. You slipped your hands under the hem of his sweatshirt, relishing in the heat of his bare skin beneath it.

"Slow down, sweetheart." He chuckled, his hand moving from your waist to grip your jaw and pull you back. You let out a small whine, your brows furrowing in annoyance. "Did you ask me to come 'round for a booty call?"

You huffed. "No—I mean yes, but I wanted to talk too." You stepped back from him, feeling a drop of embarrassment for how you pounced on him. You took the takeout bag from his hand, offering him a soft smile. "Thank you for getting food."

"Of course."

He followed you as you made your way to the kitchen, putting the food on the counter and turning back to him with a sheepish expression.

"Thank you for everything this past week. The groceries, the late night—for you—study sessions. It…means a lot."

He stepped forward, resting his hands on your hips before pulling you into a hug—his strong arms wrapping around your back making you melt into his embrace. Your arms wrapped around his shoulders and you nuzzled into his neck with a soft, content hum.

"Anything for you, sweetheart." He mumbled into your hair. Your heart soared in your chest.

He felt the tension from the last week dissipate from his body now that you were back in his arms. He hadn't realised just how stressed he was until that moment.

He pulled back slightly, keeping an arm wrapped around your back as a hand cupped your jaw. He leaned in, kissing you softly before resting his forehead against yours.

"Hi."

You giggled in response. "Hi."

"I haven't stopped thinking about you, about this."

Your hands gripped his curls, pulling him down for another bruising kiss. His hands slid down your back before resting on your ass, giving it a light squeeze and making you sigh into his mouth. You traced your tongue along his lips and he opened willingly, his moan ringing throughout the kitchen as he tasted you again. You pushed your hips flush to his, grinding against the hard length you could feel growing in his pants.

You whimpered into his mouth. "Please, I need you."

He pulled his mouth back from yours an inch, his hands still groping and squeezing your ass. "Thought we were gonna talk?"

"After."

He laughed, the wrinkles on his face deepening. "You're a little minx, you know that?"

"Only for you."

He raised an eyebrow. "Oh, really?" He pressed a kiss to your cheek, another to your jaw, a line down your throat. "I heard you've got a thing for old men."

You sighed, tilting your head back to give him better access. "Thought I did, but I think it's just a thing for you."

He groaned against your throat. "You can't just that, baby."

"Why not?"

Jack's mouth moved to your ear, catching your lobe between his teeth and tugging. "Makes me want to skip the talking." He whispered low into your ear, your body wracking with shivers.

"Jack Abbot, you're a goddamn tease."

He pulled back fully, hazel eyes swirling with desire locking onto yours. "If we do this, it changes everything. I'm not—you're it for me. I'm not letting go of you."

"Fine by me."

He smiled, shaking his head lightly before diving back down to kiss you. He walked you backwards through your apartment, leading you to your bedroom like he had done it a thousand times before.

"How's the knee?" He mumbled against your mouth, pushing you back against your bedroom door once he closed it.

"Better. Swelling's gone, minimal pain."

He pulled back, squinting his eyes at you. "And you wouldn't be lying to me?"

"Never."

His mouth quirked up, an appraising look in his eyes. "Good girl."

A whimper slipped out of you and his eyes lit up.

"You like that? You like when I call you a good girl?"

You nodded, one of your hands gripping his shoulder and the other slipping into his curls. He gave you a peck on the lips before moving down to kiss your neck, mouthing at the spot below your ear that had you unleashing sighs and soft moans. One of his thick thighs slotted between your legs, pressing against your core and making you dizzy.

His hands grasped your hips, dragging you back and forth on his strong thigh. Your hips followed his lead, sparks shooting throughout your body from your clit. You could feel the wetness starting to leak out of you, making the friction even more delicious. Breathy pants and sighs slipped from your lips, your hips rocking faster as your body lit up under his touch. His fingers pressed harder into your hips, grunts tickling the skin of your neck as he got achingly hard from you getting yourself off on his thigh.

"Yeah, like that, pretty girl."

He latched his mouth onto your pulse point, sucking hard and making your head drop with a thud against the door.

"Jack," you breathed out. "Please."

"Tell me what you need."

Your hand on his shoulder trailed down the front of his sweatshirt, landing on his hard bulge and squeezing. His broken moan sounded in the quiet room.

"You. Fuck me, please."

"You need it that bad, huh?"

You nodded eagerly, giving him another squeeze before his hand gripped your wrist and pulled it away.

"Shit—yeah, okay. I'll give you what you need."

He spun you around, walking you towards the bed and pulling your top off. He let out a groan as he saw you were braless, your already hard nipples ready for him to feast on. He pushed you down to sit on the bed, pulling his sweatshirt over his head. Your hands grasped the waistband of his pants, trembling with anticipation as you worked the button open and zipper down. His hands found yours, pulling them away from him and you huffed in annoyance.

He moved his hands to the waistband of your leggings and pulling them down slowly. You fought back the frustrated groan working it's way up your throat—you didn't need his slow hands, you wanted him to fuck you dumb.

He ran a finger down your underwear, a damp spot already formed. He pressed down on it, earning a soft moan from you and his cock twitched in his pants. His finger moved faster, more slick soaking your underwear and he became addicted to the sight—addicted to the way your hips moved forward eagerly. He gripped both hands around the fabric and pulled them down your legs, much to your relief.

"No foreplay. Trust me, I'm already wet enough." Your desperate voice sounded out, your hands making their way back to his pants. He let you pull his pants and boxer briefs down to his knees, your wide eyes latching onto his cock as it sprung free against his stomach.

You were right. He was really well hung; thick and long, curving slightly to the left. You felt your mouth watering, wanting nothing more than to choke and drool on his length. Maybe next time.

"Did you pop a viagra before you came over?" You teased, your lips curving into a smirk as your eyes met his.

He squinted at you, giving your thigh a light smack. "Watch it, sweetheart."

Your nerves sang from his smack, and you felt the strong urge to roll over onto all fours and ask him to slap you again—though you knew he would just flip you back over because of your knee.

He toed his shoes off before pulling his pants off all the way, giving you a good look at his stupidly big thighs and his prosthetic leg. Your breath caught at him standing fully naked before you—he was beautiful; his freckles, wrinkles, and scars telling you a story of a long life that you hoped you would continue to be a part of.

"Don't need a little blue pill when I've got you. Just need to think of you and I'm already half hard."

"That was strangely sweet."

He leaned down, capturing your lips in a searing kiss. One of your hands found his cock, using the precum leaking from the tip as lube to slowly drag your hand up and down his length. He groaned into your mouth, his hips jerking forward into your touch.

He pushed at your shoulders, encouraging you to lay back on the bed with your legs dangling off the edge. He grabbed a pillow, slotting it under your hips so they were tilted up.

"I'm gonna take the leg off, okay?"

"Whatever is comfortable for you, I really don't mind."

He took his prosthetic off, the process quick and like second nature. He rested his amputated leg on the bed beside your thigh. "There might be a bit of adjusting, but we just need to communicate. That okay with you?" You nodded your agreement.

He leaned over you, one hand next to your head as the other came up to squeeze your breast and roll your nipple between his fingers. He kissed you passionately, his tongue slipping into your mouth and stubble scratching your skin. You moaned into his mouth, grabbing his cock and tugging it slowly, teasingly.

His kisses grew sloppy as your pace picked up before he pulled back, resting his head on your collarbone.

"You got a condom?" His warm breath elicited goosebumps across your skin.

"I'm on the pill. And clean."

His cock jumped in your hand at your insinuation and he stood back up to get a good look at you. His sweet girl laid out on her bed before him, telling him he could fuck her raw. Yeah, he was pretty sure he had died and gone to heaven—or hell, either worked.

"You sure?"

"Please," you breathed out, dark and lidded eyes gazing up at him desperately.

"Fuck, don't know how I got so lucky."

He brought his cock to your soaked core, dragging it back and forth with ease—the tip catching on your clit making you gasp. He repeated the motions until you were writhing under him, pretty mouth falling open and moaning out his name.

"Tell me you want this. Tell me you want me." He rasped out, his control thinning by the second.

"God, I want this so badly. I want you—I have for so long, please." You whined, snapping his restraint.

He grabbed your legs, resting your ankles on his shoulders in the butterfly position. He gripped your hips before he brought his tip to your entrance, captivated by your tight hole clenching at the slight press of him. He pushed in slowly, a guttural moan leaving him as your walls gripped tightly.

"Shit—fuck, you're tight."

You let out a whine, your cunt stretching to accommodate his girth. Your chest heaved with heavy pants, your core lighting up with pleasure and only half his length was in you. Your hands found his forearms, your fingers digging in as he pressed into you more. A wail left you once he was fully in, your walls clenching impossibly tight. You both stayed still for a few seconds, both your staggered breaths filling the room. You squeezed around him and he let out a pained groan.

"That's—you feel so fucking good."

"Move, please." You begged.

He pulled his hips back, leaving just the tip in before he thrust back in harshly.

"Fuck!" You yelled, his cock hitting against your sweet spot perfectly. He picked up the pace, his hips alternating between slow, dragging thrusts and harsh, quick thrusts—his eyes watching your face carefully, learning what made you whimper and your eyes roll back. His grip on your hips tightened, tilting them up as he delivered a harsh thrust that had a cry leaving your lips.

"You like that? Does that feel good?" You nodded mindlessly, pressure building in your core as your room filled with the sounds of your pleasure and skin slapping against skin.

"Don't stop, Jack—oh, god—"

He groaned out as you squeezed even tighter around him, his release nearing embarrassingly fast. Your nails dug into his skin, a hiss leaving him at the burning sensation. He moved a hand from your hip to your core, rubbing tight circles on your clit. Your back arched as a loud moan escaped your chest, echoing throughout your room and probably being heard by the neighbours.

He kept his pace on your clit as his thrusts sped up, the effort making his face shine with a sheen of sweat.

"That's a good girl. You close, sweetheart?"

You mewled at his praise, nodding your head and uh-huhing as the fire licked higher. Your stomach clenched as your orgasm built, and you could feel Jack's nearing—his thrusts starting to lose rhythm.

"Come inside me. Please, Jack." Your eyes shining with tears met his as you begged, and he almost blew his load right then.

"Tell me you're mine," he gritted out through clenched teeth.

"I'm yours—only yours," you gasped out.

"Fuck, I'm gonna come. Shit, sweetheart—oh fuck." Jack moaned out, and the sound combined with the dual simulation on your cunt had you coming with a sharp cry—warmth spreading out from your core, your body feeling weightless and mind going fuzzy with pleasure.

You clenched down on his cock as you came, your slick walls keeping him locked deep and he rutted two times before coming—spilling in you with a long groan.

He brought your legs down from his shoulders and collapsed on top of you, peppering your chest with kisses as his cock softened inside you.

"That was…" He started.

"Yeah," you laughed softly, your arms wrapping around his shoulders and holding him to your chest. "Pretty good for an old man," you couldn't help but tease him, earning another smack to your hip.

"Smartass."

After showering and eating you found yourself back in bed with Jack, lying next to him with your head on his bicep, one leg slung over his hip and a finger lazily tracing his chest—mapping his freckles like constellations. His free hand was running a path up and down your thigh and hip, goosebumps erupting from his touch.

You turned your head slightly to look at his face. "Did you know there was a bet about us?"

He turned to give you a bewildered look, before realisation slowly dawned on him.

"Well, that explains Robby pestering me with questions all week. Kept asking if I was getting laid, apparently the smile on my face was concerning."

You laughed softly, your heart glowing at the fact he was caught smiling at work because of you. "What did you tell him?"

"That I'm flattered but don't see him that way."

“Need my doctor.” 

You extend the hand not occupied by your drink, doing that little opening and closing thing, an absent-minded gesture you’ve practiced without realizing, like a baby bird begging for food.

The diamond ring refracts prismatic rainbows scattering across the bar, making your little palm injury look even more silly. One tiny scratch in the grand universe of human suffering, hardly deserving of sympathy.

Jack regards it silently for a moment, that telltale flex of his jaw showing his hand, the usual internal crossroads he possesses around you: deciding if your smallest inconvenience warrants his indulgence or a scold. 

Eventually, kindness wins, as it always does with him, and he wraps his fingers gently around your wrist, thumb smoothing over the veins there.

“Honey, this doesn’t exactly qualify as a medical emergency.”

“Didn’t say it did. Just said I needed my doctor,” you clarify, wrinkling your nose.

He exhales, already humoring you despite the unimpressed set of his mouth. 

“I see,” he hums. “Cause of injury?”

You nod downward, the diamond sparkling prettily under the lights. “Your taste in jewelry, actually.” 

Jack lifts your palm closer, squinting his eyes to examine the cut with exaggerated importance. “Ah. So the patient blames the doctor’s impeccable taste, rather than acknowledging her own lack of coordination. Interesting.”

You narrow your eyes in return, sticking your tongue out. “So mean.”

“The meanest.” The adoration dripping from his tone like honey undermines whatever faux-stern reprimand he might’ve intended.

You’re fairly sure Jack isn’t the least bit surprised by the ring’s little attack.

Honestly, it’s too large to be trusted, a glittering monument to extravagance sitting pretty on your finger. You didn’t even want to bring it on vacation, too scared of losing it.

Jack’s idea of moderation, at least when it comes to you, has always been skewed. Nothing smaller could have matched what he felt; he told you so himself once. 

The downside, of course, is that a diamond that size is also designed to cause minor bodily harm.

Jack’s seen its wrath too, after all.

His cheekbone marked by a tiny red crescent when you yanked him down for an overeager kiss; his arm grazed by a bright scarlet stripe when your hand reached out for him clumsily in the pitch dark; his thigh bearing a faint, stinging mark when you were using him for balance while on your knees sucking him off.

He didn’t mind it too much then.

“Let me see,” you murmur, bringing your palm toward your face as if it’s some delicate artifact of terrible significance. Which it is.

Jack releases a breathy laugh. “I think you’ll survive, baby.”

You lift your gaze to meet his, playing wounded, eyes big and imploring through lowered lashes. “But doctor, it hurts badly. Are you sure you’re taking this seriously enough?”

He pretends to weigh it. “Would you prefer I call in a second opinion? I’m sure Dr. Robby wouldn’t mind examining you.”

You laugh. “Absolutely not.”

Jack chuckles, hooking one foot around the leg of your chair and drawing you closer until the gap between you is gone. His fingertips glide in a slow, feather-light path down your forearm, leaving goosebumps behind, before finally settling on your hips.

“Had a feeling.” His thumb strokes idly along the bone there, tracing invisible shapes as he holds your gaze. “But I suppose, if you promise to be extremely brave, I might be persuaded to kiss it better.” 

You perk up at once, leaning toward him slightly, as if the idea had only just occurred to you. “I promise.”

You lift your hand up between you both, palm upturned. A solider seeking a medal for bravery.

Jack takes your wrist again, pressing his lips against the tiny mark, an apology of sorts for his earlier teasing. His eyes never leave yours, each subsequent kiss placed higher along your palm, moving up and up and up.

They finally meet your wrist, seeking out the rhythmic fluttering pulse beneath your cool skin and following it. Each kiss seems to intensify your heartbeat.

Amazing how he still has such an effect on you.

“Better?” he murmurs against you, nose nudging the sensitive skin there.

You smile softly, free hand sliding up his chest to curl into the collar of his shirt.“Almost.”

He smiles into your wrist, lips moving once again, this time to your forearm then elbow. His teeth graze ever so often, enacting shivers all over your body.

Once he’s near your ear, he whispers, “How about now?”

“Closer,” you breathe back, voice trembling in a way you try to disguise.

He sighs, shaking his head even as he dips back toward your face this time.

“Always my most demanding patient,” he mutters hoarsely, lips barely brushing yours. “Luckily, I happen to love complicated cases.”

He kisses you earnestly now, everything abandoned for something more consuming. His tongue slides forward to taste and claim.

Coworkers and bar-goers be damned. 

Your arms wrap around his neck, pulling him even closer.

Eventually, he retreats back just enough to break the kiss, eyes dark and heavy-lidded. His thumb slides along your lower lip, swollen from his attention, and he smiles.

“Still hurting?” 

You shake your head. “I—, uh, I think you cured me.”

Jack’s grin deepens as he takes your hand and kisses your palm once last time. “Good to know I haven’t lost my touch.”

this fic was part of my 2 year celebration: maria's summer in santorini 𓆉°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ to learn more, click here!

Being back home felt good, you didn’t have to worry about not knowing anyone, about when you were next gonna eat. Everyone loved you, so when your daddy told the town you were coming home, it was like you’d never left. Three years gone, four months back, and nothing felt different. You were just a woman now.

“Now I’m not kickin’ you out, okay? But you’re gonna have to get a job here soon.” He says, laying a newspaper on your bed. And it’s not like you haven’t been looking, but no one wanted your help. Not the grocery store, not the children’s center.

You’d spent your days helping around the house, the land and with the older neighbors, keeping them company like you used to always do. You were circling ads at breakfast, a small one catching your eye. “6/XX ACTIVE. Looking for a hand around my land. Has to be good with animals and know your way around a crop field. Pay weekly. Call at—” you look for the name, Andrew Cody.

“Daddy do you know of a ‘Andrew Cody’?” You say, shoveling eggs into your mouth as you hold the paper. He looks up at you with a confused look. “..Pope? Yeah uh…yeah he’s been down here a while, good friend of mine. You’ve seen him at the market a few times. Why?”

“He has an ad in the paper for a farmhand. Should I do it? Seems easy enough. Doesn’t sound like somethin’ I’m not used to.” You shrug, not noticing the look you were getting shot as you finish breakfast.

Andrew wasn’t a…bad role model per se, he was just an odd fella. Quiet, always wary of anyone he met, shacked up in that house all alone. Honestly, to anybody that didn’t already make good friends with him he seemed kinda mean. He never talked about where he came from, all anyone knew was that he came up one day and popped out the prettiest flowers you’d ever seen, and the reddest tomatoes.

“Yeah sweetheart, go for it. I’m sure you’d do good and keep him great company.” He says, and you smile, hopping up to the telephone around the corner and dialing the number, holding the phone up to your ear.

It rings a few seconds before it picks up, and you’re nervous immediately. “Go for Andrew Cody.” A gruff voice answers with a sigh. “Hel-Hello Mr. Cody,” you clear your throat before saying your name to him, “I saw your ad for a farm hand, I wanted to take you up on the position. I’m free all the time, and I’ve got some experience behind my belt.” You say, and he recognizes your last name.

“[last name] you said? This is his daughter? how are you,” “Oh i’m doing alright, having breakfast. How are you sir?” You say politely. “I’m doin’ alright miss, feedin’ the litter. What time can you come over? I’ve got a lot of stuff to get started on.”

“Oh-I can head on over after I freshen up and finish breakfast!” You smile. “Okay, well go ahead and finish your breakfast and I’ll see you soon.” He finishes off with telling you the address, and you politely thank him.

“So?” Your dad asks as you clean off your plate. “He said come over when I can, I guess he’ll show me around and stuff. The pay is weekly, and I’m sure he’ll tell me how much when I get there.” You smile.

Pope sat back in his recliner with a sigh, rubbing his head. He was happy someone finally picked up on his ad. He didn’t think of himself as friendly, but he wanted..the community. He just didn’t know how to get there.

He volunteered as much as he could, went to church, spoke to anyone who spoke to him. But it still just seemed like no one wanted him around, at least as much as he could pick up on, he knew he was self kept. And for the most part it was fine, it wasn’t something he was foreign to, people noticing he was offputting. But he wanted this fresh start.

Pope moved on from the life his mom gave him years ago, almost a decade now. He left with nothing but cash, a few outfits and distant land waiting for him, a small farmhouse on the outskirts of town, away from any smog being produced that would fuck up his crops.

He made luck with good people, working for his own seed, cattle and other animals which over time allowed him to sell independently. His name grew, as mysterious as he was.

“That man down the road sold em to me. Sweet as hell he is, right?”

“His prices are reasonable too, not like xyz. Think he goes by Andrew?”

Nobody really cared how he just planted his feet into the ground and became a shoulder to the poeple, they just knew they weren’t letting go. It wasn’t much, and sure he wanted more people in his life now that he was healing, but it kept him alive.

“Go down to Andrew and ask him if I could get some sugar, and an egg or two. He knows I’m good for it.”

“Go over there n’ tell Andrew that the milks ready for him when he needs it.”

“Ask Mr. Cody if I can ride along to church with him.”

He never told nobody no, not for the right price at least. He didn’t care about money, as long as he got by he never worried.

He was quiet, didn’t go out unless it was to the bar for a quick drink, into town for the market or to church, and you’d be drunk off your tail if you ever thought you saw him with a women. Just him and his livestock.

Don’t get it wrong, though. He was aged, but Pope was far from ugly. No, he had a beautiful head of auburn curls that shined red and a bit silver in the light when he didn’t have a cap on, a chiseled face and the body of a heavyweight champ, the kind you see on television.

Older ladies he grew to knew always had a daughter or niece waiting on his hand but he always, always said he was too busy with work, and that he already had a girl in his life. His pup, Lucky. A beautiful golden girl.

His face was sunkissed and led with freckles that trailed everywhere for miles, and he put up well. You’d never see Pope around the town looking like he came from hell. He was tidy, white shirt tight against his body, tucked under his belt and jeans that outlines his tight ass and strong legs.

The small town was ran by majority older people, so he wasn’t surprised when very few even glanced at his ad. The people that did were growing teens lookin’ for quick summer jobs, or someone thinkin’ they could slack off on his property. Not on his watch.

He sat on the porch when you came, parking your little car next to his truck, shushing his dog that barked at the new arrival. You waved as you walked up, your little frilly top rustling in the wind a little. He knew who you were, your dad talked about you often before you got back, and even after.

He listened when your dad vented about you moving upstate, and was there for your family when times got tough in the winter. Though he never got a good look at you up until now, he always heard good things.

Bright young lady, wanting something more for yourself. You knew just about everyone in town, never fussed or fought, always lended a hand. He saw you in church a few times since you got back, never up close since you sat in the front. But seeing you now, you were beautiful.

Pretty thing, with chubby apple red cheeks he could take a bite of. Your dark skin glistened under the sun, your pearly smile bright as you come up the porch, eyes squinted. “Goodmorning to you sir,” you say as he stands, calming his dog down.

“Goodmorning missy, you have a good breakfast?” He shakes your hand, it’s firm. “Yes sir, I’m ready for the day. What’re we gettin’ up to?” You say, and he cracks a smile at your enthusiasm. “Well let me show you ‘round first, then imma introduce you to everything I call mine. Then we might get started, that sound good? Alright, let’s get to it.” He cocks his head for you to follow him, watching you eye his girl.

“She’s friendly, you’re just a new face so don’t worry. Lucky.” He tells you her name as she clops beside you, enjoying the head scratches you give her. “Now, imma warn you first. If you’re looking for a quick job for the summer, or you think you can get off scratch free by standin’ around here you’re sadly mistaken. My ship is tight, and my work is honest, okay? So when I give you tasks, you need to be on it.”

“Yes sir,” you nod earnestly. “Okay, great. What you got under your belt girlfriend, I know your old man so I know you know somethin.” “Mhm! I know how to tend to gardens and chickens, but it’s..been a while. So I’m rusty but I could get it again in no time.” You say and he nods.

“What about a tractor, you think you can get on onea’ those? And do you know how to shuck?” “Uhm…never got on a tractor before but I can drive..? And yeah that’s light work.” You say, watching nod and look around, deciding with himself if he wanted to teach you or not.

“Alright, well I got pigs, cows, chickens, and a horse that’ll come by every so often,” he jokes. “So I need to know that you’re not gonna be shy with them. They’re my girls and guys but they’re not easy company. Can you handle that?” He says, and you nod enthusiastically.

“I’ve never wrestled with pigs, but I’ve handled a cow once or twice, and get along with chicks well. Daddy has em’.” You chirp, and he smiled internally at your bubbliness. “Good, good,” he examines your small frame, eyes poking at your bicep, weary of how you’re gonna be handling any heavy loads.

“Stay here, imma get you somethin.” He walks off the lawn and around back, and at first you think he’s getting you a shirt for your exposed arms, but he comes back hailing a big tin pale, huffing as he sits it in front of you. It was almost filled to the brim with brown slop, and smelled of something almost rotten.

“This is for my pigs, their breakfast is near. Go carry this to their bin.” He points, and you realize he’s pointing to the back of his house. You examine it, trying to eye if it was gonna be a hassle or not as you tuck your braids behind your ears.

You grab the pail by its handles and lift into the air with a small groan, waddling round his lawn as quick as you could. “Don’t be scared to spill it either, or hold it to your chest. It doesn’t smell like flowers but it won’t kill ya’.” He follows close behind you, watching as you reach the fence of his pigs.

You sit it on top and pour it over, bending slightly to make sure it all goes in their slop bucket. Your little top goes up slightly with the wind, exposing the small of your back and your tiny shorts. He tried not to look too hard.

Once you’re done you look back at him, catching your breath. “Good?” You ask, and he nods, taking it from you and throwing it somewhere out his eyesight. “These guys you’ll feed once, only in the morning when you get here. I’ll feed them again but you’ll be gone before I do. You feed them first, then my chicks. You don’t feed my cows, I handle them. Don’t touch my girls,” he jokes, throwing a playful nudge your way.

“You can handle that? It won’t be like that everyday.” He shakes his head, and you nod. “Yeah, sounds like no trouble really.” You say, and he almost wants to laugh.

“Good, cmon. Crops are on the side.” He says, letting his arms fall on the side. You find yourself staring as he took lead, his wide frame that tore out of his dirty shirt, bulging muscles with veins so big it would only take a dull knife to get into em. You didn’t know why you didn’t notice it sooner, he was hot.

“I have cucumbers, lettuce, tomatoes, squash, zucchini, cabbage, and onions in the ground. I have em all marked so you shouldn’t have a problem. In my trees, I just recently started sprouting oranges, peaches.” He pointed around before facing you.

“Over there,” he pointed to a small space away from all his crops, a little patch that was tented by a clear tarp, seeing some bushes being occupied with a few sticks. “You don’t touch that. That’s something else, and you will never have to touch that ever in the whole time you’ll be here. Understood?” He says, and you nod earnestly, your eyes big and attentive on his.

“Do you know what it is, just by maybe looking at it? Or can you guess?” He asks you, a little smile creeping on his face. From where you are you squint, playing with your hands as you think as to what it could’ve been. There was no color besides green that you could see, and even then you still had no clue.

You shake your head, “A type of flower?” You guess, and his brows raise in shock that you almost had an idea. “Yeah,” he nodded. “Yeah. A flower.” He starts to chuckle lightly, shaking his head at you as he walks off, and you follow.

“Your routine will never be something straightforward, I could have you tending to the animals one day only or I could have you doin’ it all while I kick back and watch.” He takes you back to his porch.

“But, that doesn’t mean you won’t be working. You will most likely always have something to do. You’ll be here only a few hours, from 9, maybe 10 am to nightfall. You don’t have to be here every day, though work is gonna be tough whenever you get back, but any days you won’t, just let me know. We’ll trade off on work, you’ll never be doing just something while I do another. Any questions so far?” He pays for you to sit next to him on his bench.

“Will there any days I absolutely have to be here? I don’t like..do much anyway, but if there is I’d wanna be there.” “Yeah uh, I need you Sundays, every Sunday. Sundays market day, so me and you will go on down for a few hours and sell whatever we can. I got church and I know you do too, so I’ll let you go home with your folks to change becuase—god help us—it’ll be hot, and then I’ll come by to get you. It’s imperative that you’re there with me, becuase it does get hectic. And, that’s also your pay day. Every week, every Sunday, in cash.”

Every Sunday, in cash, got it. “Okay, okay that sounds easy enough. Does this mean I’m hired?” You ask,, and he finally lets out a laugh, his eyes closing slightly. “Yes sweetheart, you’re hired. And I want you here startin’ nine sharp.” He flinched slightly when you squeal, stomping your feet happily.

He smiled and pushed his head back when you hop onto him for a hug, holding you carefully respectfully in his grasp, your knee crossing over his thigh slightly in the act. You pull off, arms still around his shoulders, seated where his knee met his thick thigh, your foot that wasn’t propped up on him holding yourself against the floorboard.

“Thank you so much Mr. Cody, I’ll be good I promise, and I’ll do you even better! I’ve been lookin’ for a job for so long, and I really appreciate it, I do. No one would hire me at all, not even the daycares. But I think I’ll like working with you, I always liked working on..” You ramble on, not noticing Popes uncomfortable expression growing, even though he tried his best to hide it.

His hand just barely rests on your back, still lingering from the hug. He let you talk, shifting in his seat so he’d be more comfortable, ignoring the growing heat within him as he watched you ramble contently. Yes, it was inappropriate. Yes, he knew just about anyone could ride by and see it. Yes, he let you keep going.

“And daddy always told me that being around animals anyway was therapeutic. Which is why I moved to the city…” he tilts his head, skimming down your frame quickly before landing back on your face, he could tell you had been wantin’ to talk the whole time, and it was odd for him too, he was never one for leading conversation. He liked listening, though. So it wasn’t much trouble, even if you were practically on top of him.

“So you like the animals? Imma start you with them first then. And then I’ll get you on that tractor.” He finds a second to interject. He noticed your hesitation, “It’s not hard, and it’s not scary, promise. It’ll be like ridin’ a big ass bike.” He shrugged, and you giggle at his language.

“Do you need me today?” You ask, and he shrugs. “Not really, I mean, today I have laundry to run down and some deliveries. Boring stuff, I’ll just get you started tomorrow.” He starts to bounce his leg, and it hits you. Where you were, what you were doing.

You feel heat rush over you, his hard thigh nudging against your cunt, immediately feeling the rush of heat pool in your panties, and had you not been in the right mind you would’ve almost grinded against it. You look away from his eyes and unfist his shirt from his hands, something you didn’t even notice you were doing as you get up, trying to act casual as you pull your purse back on your body.

“Okay!” Is all you say to him, and his expression twists, he could tell you were flustered, but by what? “O-okay Mr. Cody, I’m gonna get on home then, hang out and stuff. Thank you for having me and everything.” You gulp and stare everywhere but at him as you stumble off his porch, not giving him a second glance as he gives you a confused farewell, watching you pull out and skirt off.

He wondered if it was something he did, did he touch you the wrong way when you were on him? He tried to be good, not let his hands wander. Tried not to look too into your body, admiring how you filled out the dip of your blouse you wore. He noticed how you bunched up his shirt for a split second, your lashes flickering as you went quiet. You had seem just fine, it was like something flushed over you.

He found himself staring into space again like he used to, but this time, he was looking at the thigh of his jeans, which coincidentally was right where you were rested on him. The spot was…warm. Warm with a different heat that radiated from the heat the sun provided. The same sort of heat that came from his growing bulge.

Gross, he thought, cringing at himself. For fucks sake, she’s 20 years younger than you. Keep it tucked. He sighs as he stands, wanting to go adjust himself, but he finds he has no time as a different car pulls into his driveway, a patron of the town. Business comes first, then pleasure.

You went home in a frenzy, your mind racing. No, he hadn’t meant to do that, no way. You thought, gripping the steering wheel. He’s old, he was probably tired. I was all over him too, I probably got too heavy. I didn’t even realize it until… the feeling rushed over you again, your heartbeat fluttering, legs feeling like they were sticking together.

You take a deep breath, you were driving for Pete’s sake. His hands were on me, on my back. He didn’t seem to mind it I guess..he even looked into—You shake your head, no, no. Not happening. Not with your boss. Your day goes by foggy, you couldn’t help yourself.

Your head was filled with Mr. Cody, it was…weird. It felt like when you were in high school and you’d gained a crush on one of your male teachers for simply being nice to you. As you lay your head to rest, there it goes again. That feeling of butterflies in your stomach, the wetness pooling to your panties.

You reminisced on his gaze he had on you, the one you thought you saw peek down your shirt. You found yourself creeping into your panties, eyes flickering to the door, scared someone was gonna wanna check up on you even in the dead of night.

Your head brings you back to his arms, the small shirt hugging against his big biceps and riding up just enough for you to see his exposed v-line. You moan behind your bit lip, circling your clit faster as your legs fall on the side of you.

“Yes, sweetheart,” “I’m doin’ alright miss,” you hear his gruff voice in your head, sweat beading down your forehead as your other hand lodges a finger into yourself, as awkward as the position is you work on yourself with a quickness, almost imagining it was Mr. Cody’s rough, dirty hand in you. His working man hands on you.

You wondered if he could ever think of you how you were thinking of him. If he could get all hot in bothered in the night like this, maybe palming himself at the thought of getting you under him? Hearing you squeal for him like you were in the moment, maybe cumming with your name under his breath.

And with that your climax runs at you fast, trying to conceal your gasps of air and tiny moans as you bring yourself to your high. Juices stain the sheets as you dirty up your fingers until you can’t move no more, catching up to your breath and letting your scent fill the room as sleep overtakes you.

You’re up and at ‘em early for your first day, greeting the day with a nice shower and a quick breakfast before you get ready, conversing with daddy about what you might get into today, as well as what your new schedule looks like.

He’s happy for you, telling you how now that you’re getting paid your own you can buy your own clothes, which you laugh off. You put on small shorts and an even smaller shirt for the day, seeing the sun beam down on the green already.

You rub lotion on your newly shaved legs (fresh shave=just in case, in girl terms) before going in with some sunscreen and pulling your hair back cutely, dabbing on some blush and gloss before heading out with a water.

You talk yourself into being normal on the way there, not gonna be weird again, you reflect on how you scurried out of his place just yesterday. And no staring, no holding onto him, no licking your lips, don’t even think about anything but work actually. Actually just don’t even look at him, at all. Don’t make eye contact either.

You park next to his truck, searching the green for him from the front, though he’s no where to be seen. Not an issue. Sitting your purse on the porch, you give Lucky a little kiss and scratch before heading to your first duty, feeding time.

You were a little early, by the time you got there it was only just hitting ten till nine, but early is on time, something you were always told. You were thankful seeing he set the feed out for you by the barn, a quick walk from each pen.

You speak sweetly to the pigs and chickens as you feed em, giving them little, “Y’all ain’t ate since last night, must’ve been starving.” “Don’t get angry with me, you gotta get in there. Push ‘em out the way if you’re that hungry.” And when you’re done, you stand back to gander at the cows contently, listening to their conversations between another.

“Good morning young lady.” You turn your head to see Pope approach from your right, his chest already wet with sweat through his white beater and dirt kissing his knees and below. “Good morning sir. Sleep alright?” You hold your hands behind your back respectfully, he walks up to you like whatever’s in his pants is heavy against him.

“Tried my best, I’m always gettin’ torn outta sleep though. And yourself?” “It-it was alright,” you swallow back drool pooling in your mouth, “My brothers, they got a few new toys so they were up longer than I anticipated.” You lie with ease, your hand coming up to cover your eyes, squinting at him as he takes in your clothes. What was he gonna do with you.

“We’ll keep your eyes open, don’t want you fallin in the dirt,” he says, looking over you to look at what you’ve gotten done. “Atta girl.” He coos, patting your back. “You ain’t touch my girls did you?” “N-no sir, just takin’ a look,” you giggle, kicking at the dirt.

“They’re beautiful, nice pretty lashes. You take care of ‘em I can tell.” “Hell yeah I do, these are my babies. And, one day if you get well acquainted I’ll have you milk ‘em, but they’re uhm…” he snaps his fingers like he’s trying to remember something.

“Divas.” He points at you, and you laugh, you wouldn’t expect a man of his age to even know that word. “They are divas, they don’t even like me half the time, so I know it’ll take you a little while. But you’re here, earlier than I expected actually. I’m on the side gettin’ ahead of the field, but since you’ve got the animals all good, you can let em roam around in the fences. Cows shouldn’t bother you, they got their own little patch, and if they get near my flowers Lucky will handle em.” He says, whistling her over quickly.

“When I call you for somethin’ else, that’s when they go back in. Lucky can heard em in, you won’t have to do nothin’ but tell her go, and close the gates. That sounds easy enough?” “Like a Sunday morning sir. After that?” “I haven’t decided, I might have you collect eggs, I might have you on the side with me. But don’t let it trouble you, I’ll get you when I get you okay?” He rubs your back and you nod, looking into his eyes.

They’re pretty, a nice hazel that illuminated in the sunlight even as he squinted. “Atta girl, you got this. My door is never ever locked, so you need anything just run it by me and run inside. And if you need a second to cool off don’t hesitate, if you faint, those pigs won’t waste a second on your lil’ bones,” he pops a smile at you, making you giggle again.

He wipes his forehead off before turning his back to you and off to his duties, “If anyone pulls up, holler for me.” Is all he says. You do as told and let your new buddies out, watching Lucy run with glee, her tongue in the wind as she rips and runs around the yard.

You were kinda sad you guys weren’t working together directly, you only saw him when he went inside, sending a little wave your way. You whine, you were bored and you missed looking at him. You tell Lucky go, watching her wrangle up the livestock before you close the pens.

“Mr. Cody,” you come up behind him as he’s down on one knee, your hands behind your back as he looks up at you, dirt on his cheek and hands. “Can I uhh..get the eggs? I’m bored.” You say, and he scoffs a laugh as he stands. “Bored? Clearly I’m goin too easy on you, on your first day at that.” He pats your back as he looks around.

“You put the animals up, that’s good. Yeah, go get the eggs. The bins are in the barn next to the opening, get as much as you can, just be gentle. When you’re done, put ‘em on the porch then come find me. I’ll give you somethin’ else to do.” He winks and sends you off, watching you jog up to his barn.

He thought about giving you something to do alright. He couldn’t believe how much you’ve grown, you weren’t that young when you left but you’re..much more. Fuller, a..woman. You were never introduced to him when you were home, never ran to his house, saw him like he saw you, but in your defense he saw everyone.

You weren’t sheltered, just protected. So your dad did the runs to Popes, took you to and from anywhere you needed, and god help his heart if he ever found out about a damn “boyfriend”.

Pope thought about what you might’ve gotten up to when you went up into the city, if you’ve had your first drinks yet, how you spent your birthdays, if you found a boyfriend up there or anything. If you blossomed, if your sounds were high or not. If your cunt was as plump as your rosey cheeks were.

God, ew, he thought. He didn’t know what was coming over him, he saw beautiful women everyday, women that threw themselves onto him even after timeless rejections. He never felt compelled to do something so..lustful, not in a long time at least.

You pull him out of his thoughts as you call out to him from the porch, watching him pull that big dusty tractor out the shed. “You done?” He pulls it up to the side of his house, stretching his arms. “Yes sir, I only filled one bin though. They kept biting me.” You frown, making him chuckle. “That’s ok sugar, you did good anyway. Cmon, imma show you somethin’ before we get started.”

He walks you to his flower beds, colors shining under the sun, yellows, pinks, reds, purples. “So pretty!” You tell him, bending down to smell. “Thank you. I take good care of everything you see on this grass, and a lot of people depend on me. You wouldn’t believe how many men and women get in an uproar over these flowers.” He lifts his cap up to rustle his hair.

“So when I get you on that thing,” he points to his tractor, “I need you careful, okay? You go over any one of them flowers, and you gon’ have about four or five ladies here lining up to rip you a new one.” He says and you giggle, nodding.

“Now imma’ teach you of course,” he walks you over with him. “She’s not the newest one out. But she’s good, she’s reliable and she gets the job done. She’s bout as old as me,” he says, hopping over and sitting down with a huff, arm over the back of the seat. “She’s a little bumpy too, but it won’t be a problem. The problem is the gear shifts.” He says, and he waits for you to step on, nodding you over.

“Oh-you-you want me to get on now or after?” “Yeah now, I gotta show you how to do it don’t I?” He says, and you nod, duh. You swallow back spit as you reach your leg over and into his lap, looking back at him as you put your hands on the wheel.

“This good?” You ask, and you don’t get an answer as he fixes your positioning, putting your feet in the slots of the vehicle, leaning himself back as he pulls you more onto him, “Like this. I’m only gonna sit with you on it for a little while before you take over on your own, and it’s okay for me but a little big for you. Is that okay?” He asks, and you just barely tune back in to nod a little.

You were too focused on the bulge of his jeans pressing against your crotch, the only thing saving you from sitting on his cock directly was the thick denim you both wore, and though you couldn’t see it, he thought the same. “M’kay,” he holds your hip gently as he pulls the tractor on, bracing you for the bumps that follow.

“Oh!” Your body flushed, heat racing through you as you feel his bulge nudge against you every half second, your grip on the wheel tightening. “Mhm.” He clears his throat, watching your hips, “Yeah, she’s rough n’ loud. You’ll get used to it, it won’t be too bad after a while. Now,” he pulls a lever from the side, which jolts as you wheel forward.

“That’s how you go, and that button is how you start and stop. You can’t go forward without that button first.” He exhaled hard through his nose, feeling your legs spread a little more against him, to get more comfortable he assumed, but it was all the more distracting as you bounce against him.

You fight to keep your eyes open, trying not to get tied up in the pleasure thrusted upon you as you listen to Mr. Cody’s voice over the loud engine of it. “You’re gonna uhm,” he swallows hard, looking away from your body rocking against him, trying to remember what he was gonna say.

“I’m always gonna push it out to where we were, and when you get on you’re gonna always go to the end of the lawn, turn and snake it. You know what I mean by snake it?” “Yeah,” you respond absentmindedly, licking your lips and swallowing hard before you realized what was said. “I-I mean no, no I don’t. Sorry.” You try and lock in, straightening up and tightening on the steering wheel.

He takes in the whiney sound you’d let out, “It’s okay.” He says gently, trying to get a good look at your face from behind, failing. “What I mean is, when you turn,” he pulls the turning lever for you, placing his hands on yours and turning the wheel, his back against yours now that he’s more sat up.

“You’re gonna go all the way down till you meet the rocks of my driveway, and then turn again, restarting. Like a snake.” He puts his arm over the seat, his other hand steady on your body, shirt bunched up under his grip. “O-okay, yeah. Sounds easy enough.” You nod, fighting the little noises that desperately wanna come out of you.

He’s eyeing you, so hard you can almost feel it bore into your head. He just hoped you didn’t feel him hardening under you, though, how could he not? Your hips rock against him so much with this thing he’d thought you were doing it on purpose, and sure the tractor was noisy, but his ears worked fine. Were you doin’ that on purpose too?

And the thing is..you were rocking against him more on purpose, and though you didn’t mean to whine and moan, you did. You couldn’t help it. It felt so, incredibly good against your aching cunt, feeling the friction you hadn’t felt in so long. As much as you tried to shush yourself especially over the loud tractor, a sound or two slipped out every once in a while.

All you could do was pray he didn’t hear you, and pray he didn’t see how your hips roll with every bounce, or your hands that grip the wheel. You’re only snapped out your head when he calls your name louder over the tractor, making you flinch. “Yes sir?” You look back, and his face is flushed as his brows come together.

“You hear me? I asked if you were ok.” He rubs your back, bucking up and adjusting his place. “Yeah, yeah I’m ok. Sorry.” You nod, eyes bouncing back between him, the lawn in front and his bicep that lays on the head of the seat. “You sure? You want me to get off?” He asks, and you shake your head with a quickness.

“No, I’m okay. This is good. Am I too heavy?” You ask, and he gives you a slow nod, assuring you. “Not at all sweetheart, light as a feather.” His hands drifts downwards as he ran his eyes down your body, the curve of your back peaking out of the small cropped tee you had on.

He could see your little panty band peak above your shorts, his head resting on his shoulder. He doesn’t even realize his hand was resting against where your thigh and hip met until he had to pull you back a bit from sliding off him. His hand wrapping around the fat with ease, finding his finger trace along where your thigh busts out the denim.

He sucks in a breath, reminding himself to behave. He wanted to say sorry for touching up on you, but you didn’t seem to mind, in fact, you didn’t seem to have a care in the world. From his view of you, it’d seemed you were really into the work you were putting into his lawn.

Your posture straight, face forward with a hard grip on the wheel, focused. He didn’t even know how you bit into your lip like you wanted it to bleed, forcing your silence as you ride his bulge as sneakily as you could, humping against lightly with each bump against the piece of shit tractor hit.

How were you supposed to manage? He made your brain so fuzzy, his sweat stained shirt, shining muscles, big, rough hands that latched onto your body. And then that face, his gorgeous eyes, chiseled jaw and dimples that just barely shine through.

He was perfect for your sexually neglected cunt, perfect to look at, to think about. Even with the little bit of friction his jeans gave you, you took it in full, it’d been so long. And he could say that same.

Pope didn’t even remember the last time he got some actual tail, it had to have been before he left. He didn’t pursue anyone, it wasn’t what he came for, and he wasn’t ready for anything serious yet. But your plump body perched against him made him want it, he felt like he was drooling over the sight of you, even if it was something as innocent as you simply on his lap.

He found himself pulling you back against his bulge, rocking you against him slightly. And he knew it was wrong, but you wouldn’t notice, right? Not with how the tractor bumped and thumped, no. He felt perverse, he knew it was, but he couldn’t stop.

His mouth parted slightly as he watched your ass against him, almost finding the nerve to grab at you or something. Keeping his hand on your thigh, he sighs harsh, a short whisper to Jesus falling off his tongue. He wants to tell you to get off, that you don’t need him to “help you” anymore. But the more his cock strained against his jeans, the more the thought disappeared, and turned into..something it shouldn’t.

Turning into imagining you on top of him in his recliner, riding him just like this. Ass nudging against his stomach while he bounced you on his cock, hearing you moan into the room while you hold onto his knees. He bites his lip, feeling heat overcome his chest as his mouth parts, blinking harsh.

He thought about how you sounded over the phone, how that word came off your tongue so effortlessly. Daddy. He heard you in his head, actually. Heard you say, “it feels so good, daddy,” “daddy m’gonna cum,” in his ears, and he shudders at the thought.

And before he knew it, his thighs twitches under you, a cold sweat ran down his torso to his aching balls, and he stammered out a shakes gasp, feeling himself cum in his boxers, grabbing at your hips roughly to hoist you off. “Stop, stop the tractor.” He says hurriedly, his foggy mind running a mile a minute. And you obey with a quickness, nervousness running over your body as you stay in the air, your ass in his direct eye sight.

It only makes it harder for him as he sighs, looking down at his pants that haven’t made a spot yet. “Are..are you okay, Mr. Cody? Did I do something?” You look back, seeing his face a deep shade of red as he looks around nervously. “Yeah uh..y-yeah,” he hops up and off the tractor, making you fall back into the seat abruptly, he doesn’t face you, not as he looks down at the mess that grows dark on the denim. “I uhm..sorry babydoll, I gotta run and do something. You finish up, ok?”

He doesn’t wait for your answer as he beelines for the door, cursing himself for something so gross, so..lustful of himself. He stomps to his room, peeling his pants off to see the oozing of his cum stain his boxers, cursing again and running his hands down his face. “God..fucking dammit Pope..” he sighs, throwing his hat down.

She’s his daughter, Pope. Just a little girl, a familiar voice in his head says. Shaking his head, he readies himself, changing out the messy garments and into something fresh, watching you through the blinds to see if you suspected anything, thankfully it seemed foggy to you. He’d die if you found out he came in his pants, because he thought about you calling him daddy, the way you do for your actual dad.

When he looks out the window again, you’re no where to be seen. The tractor still in its spot, unfinished lawn in his face. “Mr. Cody?” Pope hears your voice down the hall, and he quickly fixes his belt before exiting. “I’m down here, honey!” He meets you halfway, catching you in his hallway as if you were gonna come find him yourself.

“Sorry for coming in unannounced..but are you alright? You seem kind of agitated..” you twiddle with the belt loops of your shorts, a nerved expression tainting your face. He should die, for making you worry. He thinks. “Yeah I..yeah, I didn’t mean to startle you. I had to use the bathroom.” He tucks his shirt back in, and you give him a once over. His cheeks are still flushed, his hats discarded behind him, and he’s..in new jeans?

“Okay..I didn’t do anything wrong, right?” Did you feel me throbbing? Did you feel me grind on your bulge, did you hear my moans?? I didn’t mean to, Mr. Cody. I just couldn’t help myself. “No, of course not. How bout we get some water, then we can go back on the land, ok?” He guides you down the hall, his hand on the small of your back, which makes you tingle.

“Are we getting back on the tractor?” You look up at him, and the images that flash in his mind are hellish. “Uh..you can. I think you got it, I’m just taking up space. Then we can work on my hedges.” He’s gotta learn to keep an arms length. Who knows what he’ll do if that happens again.

You wake to the sensation of soft kisses brushed against your skin—your forehead, your cheek, and your chin. It's the best sleep you've had in months, muscles warm and at ease. The feeling grows with each kiss as you're reminded of the fact that last night was real.

Jack loves you.

It wasn't just a vivid dream; the tender kisses he places on your skin confirm that. You're tempted to pretend to stay asleep just to enjoy more of this, but you instinctively scrunch your nose as his lips land on it, his scruff tickling you gently.

"Morning," he murmurs warmly, his voice husky with sleep, as he breathes against your cheek. You can feel his smile before your eyes fully open as he presses another soft kiss to your face.

Jack rests on one elbow, his hair tousled, with the soft morning light catching the strands that are more white than grey. God, he's handsome.

Yesterday, you might have convinced yourself that this look of adoration he’s giving you is just a figment of your imagination, but today, you know it’s real. He’s actually gazing at you like this, as if nothing else matters—not your messy morning hair nor yesterday’s mascara remnants around your eyes. He simply looks like he’s glad you’re here with him.

"Morning," you grin back, stifling a yawn into your hand.

His smile broadens. "Hi."

You chuckle softly. "Hi."

He keeps staring at you with a smile on his face. His other hand finds your waist, and your cheeks flush in response as he drags you closer. Although his touch isn’t new, the familiarity feels different now—seeing as you now know the intent behind it means what you want it to.

"What?" you ask, a bit self-conscious, rubbing your eyes in hopes of wiping away the stubborn mascara stains.

"Nothing," he shrugs, yet the grin on his face suggests otherwise.

"Jack." You pout at him and watch as his gaze drops down to your lips.

"I just..." he laughs lightly and shakes his head. "I can’t believe this is real."

You know exactly how he feels, and you hope he's able to see it in your eyes. If he doesn't, then you hope he feels it as your hand brushes through his wild strands. His eyes flutter shut under your touch, and when he opens them again, you’re convinced he does.

You both lock eyes for a moment before he leans forward. At the last moment, you turn your head, and his kiss lands on your cheek instead. He makes a comically disgruntled noise.

"I haven't brushed my teeth yet," you lament, though unable to suppress your laughter at his pouty face.

"I don't care," Jack says, placing a kiss against your jaw.

"Jack," you giggle louder. "I’m serious. My breath stinks."

"I've wanted to do this for months," he says, pressing another kiss to your cheek. "A little morning breath won’t stop me. Honestly, you could have rotten teeth, and I’d still kiss you."

"Ew," you grimace, but he just laughs and plants another kiss at the corner of your mouth.

You debate it for a second, then your cringe morphs into a grin as you lean in, stealing a quick kiss from his lips.

When you pull back, Jack stares at you with wide eyes. You can see when realisation hits him; his eyes darken, and he leans in quickly, giving you no chance to dodge him again. His mouth meets yours, soft yet persistent, each kiss lingering a bit longer than the last. He swallows your giggles with his lips, but he can't help but laugh, too.

Eventually, he presses his forehead against yours, and you stay there for a little while, wrapped up in each other, letting the reality of last night fully settle. The room is quiet except for your breathing, and for the first time since yesterday, the silence feels comfortable.

"I missed waking up next to you," Jack confesses, his voice low in your ear.

You press a kiss to his cheek before resting your head against his shoulder. "Me too."

You breathe in, nose buried deep in the crook of his throat, and his arms tighten around you when he realises what you're doing—breathing in the scent that's purely him. You've never been able to do this freely, and it feels surreal to be able to be this close with no excuses needed.

The moment's broken when your alarm rings softly. Jack shifts to turn it off while still holding you close, and makes no move to let you go or get up.

"We need to get up," you say after a minute, trying to pull back.

"Says who?" he answers cheekily, pulling you in even closer.

"Check-out, for one," you reply, pushing gently against his chest. "And I’d like to shower before we have to sit in an enclosed space for two hours."

"What if I like the way you smell?" he says, and usually, your stomach would be fluttering at a sentence like that, but you know him too well—

"—Fritos are my favourite chips," he continues. His chest bounces a bit as you playfully swat him.

"Rude," you grin, and this time he allows you to slip out of his grasp. "And you’re a liar. I know your favourite isn’t Fritos."

"Says who?" he repeats with a grin as he watches you sit up. You move to the edge of the bed, and he sits up to be able to see you better.

"Says the several bags of Doritos in your cabinets," you counter with a raised eyebrow. You move to slide off the bed, but he catches your arm, pulling you back over to him.

"Ja-ack," you laugh as you land against his chest.

"Those are for Robby," Jack says, and before you can argue, his mouth captures yours again. He keeps you there for another five minutes before your alarm blares again.

"Fine," he concedes when you pull back again. "Just leave me all alone here."

You shuffle forward, but pause at the doorway to the bathroom, meeting his eyes with a mischievous smile. "You could always join me."

Jack freezes, and you can see him process the offer—the way his eyes darken and the slight swallow as his gaze trails over you.

"Or not," you shrug, stifling a grin as you turn away.

He's got his crutches in his hands before your sentence finishes.

The checkout line is ridiculously long, and under normal circumstances, you’d complain about it—after all, how hard can it be to hand over a keycard and walk out? But with Jack’s arm wrapped around your waist and soft kisses peppered onto your hairline, you just can’t find the energy to care.

Even as Jack offers to give you his car keys, so you can wait in the car, you shake your head. You want to stay close to him despite the line barely moving. The lobby is crowded, and it really makes no sense for both of you to be standing here. Still, after spending weeks keeping your distance, torturing yourself, the thought of being apart now feels absurd.

Jack doesn’t push the issue; he simply nods and pulls you closer again. You're plastered to his side for the ten minutes it takes before you finally reach the desk.

"Hey," a warm voice greets you just as Jack hands over the keycard. Jeremy stands off to the side, a bag slung over his shoulder, sunglasses pushed up into his hair.

"Hi," you respond with a smile, stepping out of the queue to approach him.

He returns your smile. "I’m glad I caught you—you left before I could tell you how nice it was to see you again yesterday."

"Oh, sorry about that," you start, embarrassment flaring at the reminder of your jealous outburst. "I had—"

"We had some stuff to do," Jack interjects, slipping an arm around your waist again. He gives Jeremy a tight smile.

"Oh, don't worry about it," Jeremy responds. "Warren was asking about you, but honestly, I’m not sure she even remembers anything now." He leans in a little closer, lowering his voice to a whisper. "I had to extend her hotel room for her—she got pretty wasted after you left. The ushers had to escort her to her room after she threw up in the plants in the hallway."

"What? Really?" Laughter bubbles out of you. "Well, that's very professional."

Jack squeezes your waist admonishingly but still huffs an amused breath.

Jeremy grins. "Anyway, it was great to see you again. You’ve really done well for yourself, Sleepy." He nods at you, then glances at Jack, offering him a nod as well.

"You too," you say, and you mean it. Jeremy was a great guy in med school, even if he wasn't the best at relationships back then, but you're sure he's grown up more. You certainly have.

You're more certain of what you want, more certain of what you deserve, and somehow, that has landed you with Jack.

"Maybe we'll see you around," you finish. Presby isn't that far from PTMC after all.

"Yeah, I hope so," Jeremy replies, pulling his sunglasses down. He smiles at you one last time before he walks off. "Get home safe."

Jack grumbles something under his breath that sounds suspiciously like 'yeah, I hope so' as he steers you towards the exit. He keeps a neutral face until you're outside, where it turns sullen. A laugh escapes you the moment you’re near the car, and away from prying eyes.

Jack narrows his eyes at you as he pops open the trunk. "What’s so funny?"

Another laugh leaves you. "You're just a silly, jealous man."

"I'm not silly," he replies immediately as he places your bags inside the trunk before shutting it again.

"That's the part you focus on?"

"I'm not jealous," he insists, crossing his arms.

You tilt your head, raising an eyebrow.

"I'm not."

"Hey," you say, stepping closer. His arms drop the moment you gently press down on them. You curl your fingers into the front of his t-shirt. "You have nothing to be jealous of."

Jack huffs, staring at your hands.

"Jack."

His eyes lift to yours.

"I love you." The words still feel new in your mouth, but no less right.

His eyes search yours, still checking after everything revealed yesterday that you mean it. The tight line of his mouth softens when he finds a satisfying answer.

You draw him in closer. "Okay?"

"Okay." His hand slides to your cheek and you meet him halfway, your lips pressing together in a tender kiss.

A smile tugs at the corner of his mouth when he pulls back. "Let's go home."

Coming home feels strange.

Not in a bad way, but it feels different than it did when you left. The air has shifted inside, the furniture moved without being an inch out of place, and the smell is different, and yet everything is exactly the same.

Jack's sweater still hangs over the back of the dining room chair. Your blanket is still draped across the couch, unfolded in that way Jack always grumbles over, but never does anything about.

Everything feels new and somehow the exact same. The only different thing is you and Jack. There's finally nothing unspoken between you, with all cards on the table. No uncertainty, no wondering, no pretending.

There's still the question of what this means for you, but it doesn't feel pressing. It's just there in the background, waiting until the moment feels right. There's no rush to speak.

You're free to enjoy this moment for what it is. The pleasantness from the drive, where Jack spent the entire trip with his hand firmly planted on your thigh, carries into the house.

The bags get unpacked together, clothes thrown into the washer by four hands rather than two. You follow Jack to the bedroom when he puts the bags away; he follows you into the bathroom when you put your toiletries back. You make lunch together, hips nudging, shoulders brushing—a task that normally takes ten stretches into thirty because neither of you can stop talking and laughing.

He keeps looking at you like he still can't believe it's real. You can keep leaning in close to prove to him that it is.

The day settles eventually as you both curl up on the couch with books. The laundry tumbles quietly in the background as warm sunlight spills in through the living room windows.

You're leaning against his chest, reading, but more focused on the hand that's trailing slowly up and down your arm. Every so often, you glance at him out of the corner of your eye, catching the scruff on his jaw that's slightly longer than usual, the way he scrunches his nose at passages in his book, and how his face is relaxed in a way you haven't seen before.

As if sensing you, he glances over at you. His mouth immediately curves into a smile when he catches you swiftly looking away. He huffs a little cute sound, squeezing your shoulder.

You grin into your book, nudging his leg with your hand. You try to refocus on the pages, but it doesn't take long before you're blinking heavily. Without even really thinking about it, you slide down until your head is resting on his lap instead.

Jack's hand follows soundly, petting your head softly and lulling you to sleep.

By evening, neither of you has spent more than a few minutes apart.

Dinner comes and goes. The dishes get washed. The laundry gets folded. Around you, the house gradually darkens, shadows stretching across familiar rooms. You try to stay awake as long as possible, hoping to drag your sleeping schedule back toward something resembling normal before your next shift. By the seventh yawn in under a minute, Jack gives you a look.

"Okay," he says with an amused huff. "Time for bed."

You grumble half-heartedly but still let him steer you toward the bedroom. Blearily, you grab at clothes in the closet. Jack doesn't comment on the fact that you grab one of his shirts, just glances at it with a pleased smile before he heads into the bathroom.

When he's done, you brush past him in just his shirt and underwear that he can't see, biting back a smile at when he swallows harshly. You don't fight the grin once you're alone in the bathroom, letting the giddy feeling take over.

Your phone vibrates against the counter, just as you've put your toothbrush into your mouth.

>> Hello??? Are you alive?!

It's Olivia. Fuck. She's already texted you three times earlier today, and you'd ignored her, unsure of what to say that won't reveal everything immediately.

<< Yes

>> That's it??

<< Yes, I'm fine <3

You add the heart, toothbrush hanging loosely from your mouth as you try to act normal.

>> Uh huh. How did it go?

You can picture her narrowed eyes when you read it. Your thumbs hover over the screen for a minute, thinking of what to say.

<< It was fine. Nothing worth mentioning.

You can see her typing, deleting, then typing again several times.

>> And what about Jack?

<< He's fine, too.

You pause before adding:

<< We're fine. Things are okay again.

>> What does that mean??

You take too long to answer her, but her following text shows that it doesn't really matter anyway—she knows you too well.

>> oh😏

When you reemerge, you've decided to keep this to yourself until the morning. No need to reveal to Jack that the plan has failed immediately. This can still be just yours tonight.

He sits against the headboard, prosthetic off, and duvet covering his lap. He looks nervous. "Are you gonna—?" He gestures vaguely toward the empty side of the bed before clearing his throat. "I mean..."

The uncertainty in his voice surprises you. You'd just spent the entire day together, and he's unsure if you want to share the bed. It's kinda cute.

"Yeah," you say softly. "If that's okay?"

His answer comes fast. "Of course it's okay." He pauses. "I just didn't know if—" he shrugs, trailing off.

You climb into bed, into the arm that was waiting for you. You both sink down until your head settles against his chest, listening to the familiar rhythm of his heartbeat.

You guess this is as good a moment as any other to finally have the conversation.

"I...uh—" you start. "I have the divorce papers printed on my desk."

Jack goes very still.

"I also still have that apartment viewing on Thursday." You stare at a loose thread on his shirt. "I know we've done this in a weird order. Getting married, moving in together, and then confessing."

You force out a laugh. "If you want to do this properly, we can."

The room goes quiet. Jack's arm tightens around you. "Properly?"

"You know." You shrug. "Dating. Separate places. Normal people stuff."

For a moment, he doesn't say anything; then, he says: "Do you want that?"

The question catches you off guard. You hesitate but answer truthfully. "No."

Jack lets out a breath. Just a small exhale that sounds suspiciously like relief. "Oh."

You lift your head. "Oh?"

Jack's mouth twitches. "I don't either." He rubs the back of his neck. "But I don't want you staying because you think you have to."

Your chest squeezes. "Jack."

"You've spent months trying to make decisions based on what you thought I wanted." His fingers trace idle patterns against your arm. "I'd rather know what you want."

You stare at him for a second. "I want to stay. I want to stay here."

His eyes soften immediately. "Okay."

"Okay?"

"Okay." A smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. "We don't have to rush to figure things out. I like having you here. We can't figure the rest out later."

"Yeah?"

"Mm," he hums, his grip tightening around you. "I slept like shit when you weren't here. I'd prefer not to do that again."

You huff a breath. "Me too."

Even though the apartment had been nicer than the others you'd looked at, you really didn't want to move. You're happy he feels the same as you do. Maybe it doesn't matter if you do this in an order that doesn't make the most sense—as long as it makes sense to you, that's all that matters.

The room quiets again until Jack speaks again. "Can I ask you something?"

Your chest tightens, but you still nod.

"Why Lily?"

You knew he was going to ask eventually, but it doesn't make it any less embarrassing. You sigh into his chest. "That day—" you don't have to specify which, he already knows. "The way you ran inside looking terrified—"

You swallow. "And how you yelled at me after..." The memory of it still stings now, even after his countless apologies. "It was the difference in how you treated me and her."

"I'm sorry," he says again.

"I know."

"No." His voice is quiet. "I need you to understand what happened."

You lift your head enough to look at him.

"I got there seconds after—" His jaw tightens. "I barely managed to pull you away. I was already petrified when I heard the code being called. I could only imagine you—" he stops, breathing heavily. "...I can't explain what that felt like."

He continues, "When I realised it wasn't you, I was relieved. And then I felt guilty for being relieved because someone had still gotten hurt, but all I could think about was how happy I was that it wasn't you."

The confession lands heavily between you.

"I was scared out of my mind. Angry at the patient. Relieved that you weren't hurt. Guilty that I was relieved. All at once. And I took it out on you. I'm sorry."

You squeeze his hand.

His eyes find yours. "It was never about Lily."

You believe him. Now, you do. But back then? Back then, you'd been drowning in uncertainty.

You shrug helplessly, revealing more of how you felt. "After that, I started noticing every little thing. The way you talked to her. The way she made you laugh."

"You make me laugh," he says firmly.

You roll your eyes at him, a slight smile tugging on your lips. "I think I was trying to make peace with losing you. If I wasn't the one for you, then she could be. She could be better for you. Kinder than me. Easier than me."

Jack's face falls. "Sweetheart..."

Your mouth twitches sadly, looking down at his shirt again.

"You genuinely thought that?"

You nod.

His hand comes up to cradle your cheek, lifting your gaze back to his. "Do you have any idea how much time I spent wishing you'd look at me the way I looked at you?" His thumb brushes across your skin. "It was always you."

You close your eyes, leaning into his touch. You sigh. "We wasted so much time."

"Yeah."

Moments stolen by fear and assumptions and bad timing. You think about every dinner that could have been a date. Every movie night spent pretending not to notice how close he sat. Every almost-confession. Every chance that slipped away.

But now, everything's finally out in the open. The conversation drifts after that. You talk about everything. The first dinner. The first kiss. The kiss cam. The bar. Every misunderstanding. Every moment one of you had walked away convinced the other didn't feel the same.

Sometimes you laugh until your stomach hurts. Sometimes you bury your face in a pillow because neither of you can believe how oblivious you've been. Sometimes there's silence while you mourn all the things that could have been.

By the time the conversation finally slows, pale morning light is spilling through the curtains. Your eyes burn with exhaustion, but your chest feels lighter than it has in months.

You don't know what happens next.

You don't know what being married and newly confessed and hopelessly in love is supposed to look like. But for the first time, that uncertainty doesn't scare you. You'll figure it out together.

Beside you, Jack shifts closer beneath the blankets until there's barely any space left between you.

His lips brush your hair. "I love you."

You smile immediately. The confession still feels unreal. "I love you too."

The smile you feel against your forehead is warm and content. And wrapped in his arms, with the future still unwritten and endless possibilities stretching ahead of you, sleep finally finds you both.

The next evening finds you faster than you'd like.

As you step in through the door to the hospital, side by side, it reminds you of the first time you walked in carrying a secret on your shoulders—only this time, your shoulders are light, and your stomach is fluttering with happy jitters.

Somehow, you manage to make your way to the lockers without meeting anyone. With your bags dropped, you sneak a brief kiss against the door before you reenter the Pitt. Jack's hand brushes yours, your pinky catching his for a second, before you take a step apart.

You try to bite back the smile that threatens to break through. If you want this work, you need to stop acting like a lovestruck teenager. It's incredibly hard, though.

Robby stands at the hub, tablet in hand and a frown on his face.

"Rough day?" Jack says, clapping his back. He leans against the counter as you trail closer.

"Yeah... Good luck." Robby rubs his face, dropping the tablet on the counter. When his eyes open, they narrow in on the space between you and Jack—or rather the lack of it.

You shift to the side, trying to act nonchalant, but Robby's a hound. His eyes follow the movement immediately, nose twitching as he tries to sniff out everything you're trying to keep quiet.

"How was the conference?"

"Fine," Jack replies, glancing up at the board. He taps his fingers rhythmically on the counter.

"It was?" Robby raises an eyebrow, staring at him. Jack nods at him, shifting his gaze away quickly. Robby watches him for a moment, then turns to you.

"Mm," you nod, offering a tight smile. "The usual."

Robby stays silent, shifting his gaze from Jack to you, and then he grins widely. He chuckles, "If you so."

"Yeah," Jack nods with an awkward smile.

"Well, that's good." Robby keeps grinning as he pats the counter twice. "I'll see you later." He salutes you, still smiling, then walks off without any further questions.

You stare at his disappearing figure with a sense of dread. With a hand around Jack's wrist, you pull him into a quiet corner, hissing: "He knows."

Jack frowns. "How could he? We were acting normal."

You stare at him. "Normal? If you call 'you not looking at him at all' normal, then yes. Very normal."

"I did look at him."

"For two seconds. Normally, you don't look away at all," you counter.

Jack crosses his arms. "Well...You gave it away to Olivia."

"I didn't—I told her nothing."

"Exactly!" Jack points out. "That's not normal for you."

You stare at him with pinched eyebrows and then sigh. "...Yeah, okay. Maybe I did."

Jack sighs, too. "I guess I did, too." He shrugs, a smile tugging at his lips as he leans closer. "But to be fair, I think we forgot that they've spent months dealing with our sorry asses. Of course, they know. They knew we were in love before we did."

"—Abbot, there you are! Stop hiding in corners with your missus—trauma incoming," Lena interrupts with a wink. She doesn't even look back as she disappears down the hallway.

Jack squeezes your hand briefly on the way out, sending you a soft smile. "See you on the other side."

You watch him disappear around the corner before you head after him. The familiar knot of anxiety never comes. For weeks, every shift had felt like walking a tightrope. Every glance from Jack had meant something, and every action had been dissected. Now, the uncertainty is gone.

The Pitt is still loud. Still chaotic. The same as it always was. It's you who is different.

Across the department, Jack glances back. Just for a second, but long enough to catch your eye. Long enough to smile, and then he's gone into a trauma room.

“want some help with your patient?” dr abbot asked as you went to see him.

“no, it’s a simple 2 cm superficial laceration to the left palm from a kitchen knife,” you were letting abbot look at you as he waited for more of a description than this simple presentation. “sorry… i’m tired…”

“i’ll grab you a coffee. now, tell me what you can.”

you took a deep breath before restarting. “19-year-old male, no past medical history, presenting a 2 cm superficial laceration to the palmar aspect of the left hand, sustained while cutting vegetables. No tendon involvement, nerves and blood vessels intact, bleeding controlled, and last tdap unknown.”

“atta girl, now what’s your plan?”

“i’ll irrigate and throw in a few 4-0 nylon simple interrupted sutures and make sure he gets his tetanus shot updated.”

“good job,” he finished before going to a patient.

you never understood what it was with him. did he think you were incompetent and that he needed to check everything you did? you were always jealous of ellis and shen. they were the ones you were the closest to, and they barely presented anything to abbot.

after the patient was treated, you went to charting with a coffee at your place.

“crazy how caring he is, huh?” lena started with a knowing smile while she looked at the coffee abbot put on your desk.

some time later, your shift ended, and you just wanted to go home. you took your things from your locker when you saw his salt and pepper hair.

“want a ride?”

“yes, please,” you immediately accepted..

you didn’t even have time to walk to the exit door that abbot stopped you both on your track.

“hey robby, i’m here, man,” jack informed robby who was going up the stairs for whatever reason.

“oh, didn’t know you worked with her today,” he smirked to abbot as he turned to you. “hey, nice shift?”

“not too bad…” you mumbled, remembering the bus schedule and how much you wanted to go home. “i’ll go, the bus is-”

“no, no, no, we’re going. bye, robby!” abbot said grabbing your arm as if you were a porcelain doll he was scared to break.

the car ride was always the same. you talked about everything, and you sometimes fell asleep and got woken up by him when he arrived at your place.

at first, you thought it was maybe inappropriate to be in the same car as your boss. however, you saw how caring he is. he would do the same for anyone, really.

anyway, why would he even want to date you? you’re spending your nights working twelve hour shifts. your hair is messed up most of the time, you barely have makeup on and your scrub is clearly not the cutest outfit.

when you were a teenager, you really wanted to date someone. you didn’t want to fall behind on anything including the boyfriend experience. you desperately tried to get any guy who wanted you. it only led to heartbreaks and rejection. nobody wanted you so it wasn’t a surprise when you completely stopped dating in your 20s. any attention from guys was suddenly seen as friendliness unless they were bold enough to make you face their undeniable love. even then, you politely rejected them. never wanting to get hurt again.

you have everything going on for you right now: a nice career, apartment, and family. whenever you had that itch for somebody to hold you, you just went to bed. it was better to push it aside than to go back to the hell teenage boys made you go through.

“kid? you listening?” abbot said, snapping you out of your thoughts.

“sorry…”

“it’s fine, just go to bed, alright? you did a good job out there,” he smiled as he parked the car close to your apartment.

──୨୧──

“hi honey, how are you feeling today? had a good sleep and good dreams?” dana welcomes you as you come in the er.

even if you briefly talked to her, you weren’t focused. your period just started and it was a bit more painful than usual. the constant stress and pressure from the er messed your cycle for good.

once you were ready to work, you joined abbot and javadi. she was presenting a case from her day shift to him.

“there’s an adult male in 12 with something stuck in his throat. it’s probably esophageal food impaction. i’m going home, but you can do a NPO and GI consult for a possible endoscopy.”

you knew abbot was going to ask for way more details than that. to your surprise, he just let her go with a smile. you remembered the last shift when he waited for you to give a detailed presentation even when you were tired. she didn’t talk about vitals, about age or anything else. all of the informations he was bothering you about.

with a scoff, you walked away.

maybe it was your period that made you this petty. you’d like to think so because you avoided him for the whole shift.

“kid, you didn’t give me a presentation in hours,” abbot complained as he walked in your direction.

“huh… yeah, i presented to shen, couldn’t find you,” you lied and went to a patient. unfortunately, he came along.

as you treated this older lady, abbot was watching. the patient kept talking about her husband.

“he was always staring at me when we worked. at first, i thought it was because i was a darn good secretary. it’s only later that i realized that he liked me.” she chuckled, remembering the good memory while abbot stared at you.

“wow, that’s romantic mrs. wilson! how did he ask you out?” abbot asked as you did all of the work.

you were pissed off. you were monitored all of the time and he couldn’t even trust you to do a simple job.

once she was discharged, you went to the bathroom only to have abbot following you on your way there.

“kid, you can’t ignore me forever! did i do something wrong?”

“javadi gave a terrible presentation and you let it slide but when it comes to me i have to redo it?!” you were aware of how petty and stupid it sounded.

“she’s not mine to take care of, you are. she’s under robby… you okay?”

“yes! i just need you to stop monitoring me for two seconds!” you exploded before leaving.

for the rest of the shift, you completely avoided him.

when you were at your locker and he would usually ask you if you wanted a ride, you were alone.

you found him at his desk while he was charting.

“you should go home, doc…”

“yes, probably, did you come for me to drive you home?” you slightly nodded, and he added: “what you said earlier is true, i don’t treat you like everyone else, and i monitor you more. it’s not professional of me in any way and i’ll pay attention to that.”

“it’s fine, i was just irritated…”

“i just think you’re extremely talented, and i don’t want you to make a mistake that will make you think otherwise.”

“oh… well, thanks…”

he quickly got up and took his things. he spoke again in a more relaxed tone. “let’s go to the car, what was that song you wanted to make me listen to already?”

──୨୧──

as you got to your apartment, firefighters were all around the building.

“fuck, no!” you yelled. it has been fourteen hours since you slept. you couldn’t need it more.

“what’s happening?”

you both got out of the car and walked to the building. you saw one of your neighbor and asked her what was going on.

“there was a fire… the whole place is burned down!”

you felt the tears building up in your eyes. the only thing you wanted was to go home. now, you had no place to call home.

“can’t you go at your boyfriends?” your neighbor asked.

you furrowed your brows in misunderstanding before realizing that she was talking about your attending. he was standing behind you.

“no, he’s my boss.”

“whatever suits your boat, i just think you need a safe place to go for today. you’ll figure it out later, okay?” she comforted you with a reassuring smile.

her brother was waiting for her to get in the car. she’ll probably sleep go there for the day.

you nodded and gave her a smile in return before turning to abbot. you wanted to know if you could crash on his couch for today at least.

“can i-”

“yes.”

──୨୧──

his apartment was definitely on the pricier side. it looked nice but the dust on most furniture showed how little it was lived in. you didn’t judge though. your apartment is the same.

“you okay, kid?” he gently whispered as you shook your head with tears in your eyes. “come here…”

he grabbed you into the best hug you’ve ever had. your head was in his chest and his big arms were wrapped around you.

“i’ll get you something to change in. you can take a nice shower,”

he quickly went to his room and he took a shirt and sweatpants.

“the bathroom is on your left,” he showed with his pointer finger before giving you the clothes.

you thanked him and took a long and hot shower. you tried to ignore the bad. it was quite difficult to be honest but you managed to focus on how inappropriate it is to spend the night at your attending’s house.

he had a body wash. it was embarrassing, but you loved the scent. everything that smelled like him was a comforting smell.

you came out with his t-shirt and your panties.

“the sweatpants were too big…”

he nodded and went to the shower to clean himself.

you didn’t know what to do while he was gone. you sat down and scrolled on your phone, but it bore you pretty quick. then, you knocked on the bathroom’s door before talking.

“should i order something?”

“yeah, good idea, kid,”

once he finished his shower and you waited for the chinese food to arrive, you watched a tv show you talked to him about.

“thank you, abbot. i don’t know what i would’ve done without you.”

“jack, not abbot. just jack”

you both looked at each other for what felt like a second too long. your eyes were closing themselves.

you woke up panicked at 8p.m. only to realize it was your day off. it was apparently also his because he also fell asleep on the couch like you.

you weren’t touching, but gosh, it felt so intimate. the leftovers of chinese food were on the coffee table and a blanket was over the two of you. his prosthetic leg was laying on the floor.

you randomly had that itch to get hold and touched by someone. this time was worse than usual. more specific even. it needed to be a certain person.

──୨୧──

“kid, we need you in t1!” jack’s voice yelled across the er as you ran to the room.

“what do we have?”

“25-years-old, male, high-speed rollover mvc. he was found unrestrained, ejected from 20 feet, gcs 9, bp 82 over palp, hr 138. diminished breath sounds left.”

you treated the patient the best you could. it was long and difficult, but you stabilized him. it was nice to finally quit the room to go charting when he was stabilized.

“amazing work, i’ll get you coffee and a snack, you take a break” jack ordered with his hand on your back to gently guide you to your desk.

you smiled to dr ellis as she came your way to compliment your skills.

“you were good back there”

“thanks!”

“don’t think we didn’t hear you call abbot by his first name though,” she smirked before giving you a wink and leaving.

you put your hand on your forehead before having your coffee and snack given by jack.

“are you alright?”

“mhm, just tired…”

“don’t think about it, you have all of the essentials at my place and you’ll find a place to move into soon,”

you nodded at the memories of jack and you visiting your burnt apartment. you had some stuff that you could keep, and you brought them all to his place.

“yeah… you’re right…”

“i’ll cook some pasta for dinner, does that sound good?”

“yes, and we need to pass by the drugstore.”

over the past few weeks, you were basically living at jack’s house. you really didn’t have any energy to find a new place and he was not very helpful. after every shift, you shower and eat something nice before sleeping on the couch in-front of a show or in his bed while he’s on the couch.

if you didn’t before, now you did, you had the biggest and more embarrassing crush on jack abbot.

──୨୧──

as you arrived home, you had your habits. your stuff used to be kept at one place, but jack was quick to spread your things all over the place.

he loved to live with you.

you sat on the couch to watch your usual tv show before bed. you’re looking for a new apartment on your laptop. jack looked at you before rubbing your shoulder blade with his hand.

“you don’t have to rush it…”

“yeah, i’ll go to bed, you’re fine with the couch tonight?” you asked while getting up.

“of course, have a good night.”

before closing your eyes, you found the perfect apartment.

“jack! come!”

he came right away with a yawn. “what’s going on?”

“i found the perfect apartment! take a look,” you said making room for him in the bed as he laid down next to you.

you couldn’t help, but close your eyes as he looked at the pictures. it was the first time that you slept in the same bed. even if it was accidental, even if you already slept on the same couch, this time felt different.

──୨୧──

back at work, you treated a patient and presented the case to jack. he became a little more relaxed on the presentations. you could give less details, and it was a blessing when you were about to fall asleep on the job.

“perfect plan as usual, kid.”

“jack, do you have any recommendations? i haven’t done this procedure before,”

“i can assist you if you want, but i’m sure my best resident can do it right,” he said before winking.

what was that? you never saw him wink before, and it made you smile.

“are you flirting with me, dr abbot?”

“have been for ages,” he confessed before going to another patient.

wow, so you really are oblivious.

join my taglist!!

It was a shit day in the Pitt.

When asked about your day, that was always your reply.

The patients were either monumentally stupid, disrespectful, verbally abusive assholes, intoxicated to the point they could not even hear the questions you asked, or the most precious, sweetest people ever - and the sweet, precious ones were always the sickest.

It was a cruel running gag of the universe, you were sure of it. The stupid assholes survived, and the sweet grandmas who called you hun and made you compliments, the polite single mums tearing themselves apart to keep their children’s worlds whole, died.

PTMC was chronically underfunded, the staff chronically overworked, running on shitty coffee, insomnia, saviour complexes and fumes, and the air conditioning unit perpetually shit.

What was there to love about this job?

You sat on the low wall by the ambulance bay, tucked away from the chaos of the ER against the corner by the wall with your knees drawn up to your chest and your head resting against the brick wall behind you.

It was your own personal little safe haven.

Everyone on staff had one.

Trinity and Dennis had the break room. Donnie and Jessy the hallways leading down into the subbasement where only the generators, central supply and the IT gremlins (as you affectionately called them) hid. Abbot and Robby had the roof.

You had this corner.

You took another sip from the can of soda you held in your lap. The late summer heat was oppressive, squeezing in around you until the air felt too heavy, too thick. The can was sweating as much as you, condensation seeping through the cheap fabric of your scrubs. Your feet were aching, your head too. Your hoodie lay discarded next to you on the wall. The ER itself was freezing cold, but the outside smoldering, and the waiting room was somehow even hotter.

ER waiting rooms often defied all laws of physics.

Yeah, when asked about your day, you always replied with shit. 

The pay wasn’t enough for the backbreaking labour expected of you to keep the crumbling healthcare system afloat on your compassion and spite alone. The patients were ungrateful or so gut-wrenchingly tragic you couldn’t breathe. You woke in cold sweats most nights, remembering the faces of patients you’d lost years ago. The air conditioning unit might as well have come straight from hell with how it savoured torturing you. You were still paying off student loans and would continue to do so for many years just to have parents argue with you that vaccines were a hoax, their children lying in the next room as they slowly died from preventable diseases.

And yet, despite it all, you kept coming back. You came back every day. You picked up shifts when colleagues called out. You volunteered for holidays so those who actually had a family could spend the day with them. You stayed longer when the Pitt was swamped.

Perhaps you had some masochistic tendencies (you definitely had those).

Perhaps you were simply insane.

For some inexplicable reason, staying away from the hospital longer than two days in a row drove you mad with boredom. You stood in the front row of every mass casualty, swirling through the ER, past bloodied gurneys and screaming patients, blood pounding in your ears and feeling alive like never before amidst the death and devastation.

There was another perk to being an absolute, hopeless workaholic, and it was currently arriving for his shift.

Robby started riding his new motorcycle to work a few weeks back, and with the shock of PittFest still deep in everyone’s bones, it took a few days for people to even realise. It started with Dana pursing her lips. It ended with you somehow finding time to sneak away for your ‘lunch’ break every day at seven a.m. when Robby arrived for his shift. 

He didn’t always notice you sitting on your wall with your packed lunch and ice-cold can of soda, no matter the weather. When he did, he shot you one of his strained, tight-lipped smiles or waved before heading inside to do handovers with Abbot.

You worked the midnight to noon shift, your time at the hospital overlapping with Abbot’s, Shen’s and Robby’s shift, a new system being tested by the hospital to provide greater continuity of care. The second-you worked from noon to midnight.

You didn’t mind. 

You got to watch Robby arrive for work and wave him goodbye when you left to go home.

You looked forward to it. To these slammed eight hours you got to see him, be near him, work at his side, sometimes close enough to smell the scent of soap he used still clinging to his skin.

Robby never wore a helmet. 

In front of Dana, he pretended he did. When you were around for one of their arguments on the matter, Robby always glanced over to you, sharing a private, conspiratorial smirk with you and winking.

Your knees went weak every single time.

It was pathetic really, how huge your crush on your much older attending had grown.

It started as fawning admiration for his skill and calm even amidst the shittiest, harshest shifts when you were nothing but a flustered med student who, no matter what she did, always stood in the way. When you were a resident, still overwhelmed that you actually got placed with your dream hospital, you worked tirelessly, making it your whole existence to prove to Dr Robby you could be trusted, that you were good, that you’d earned your spot here. That you soaked up everything he taught you. That you had not wasted the time he spent teaching you. You wanted to make him proud. You craved his approval and praise.

You were pathetic.

But when he’d been the first to congratulate you when you passed the boards, and he’d been the one to tell you your application for the attending position at PTMC’s ED had been accepted - those were your most cherished memories…

Robby parked in the same spot as always, close to the entrance of the ambulance bay. Sweat clung to his brow. The corners of his eyes were crinkled from a lifetime of smiling. You wondered when he stopped. What had sucked the joy and happiness out of him? Perhaps it was this job.

I’d make him happy again, that unhelpful, ridiculous little voice in your head whispered. You shoved it away roughly. What did you even have to offer a man at least twenty years your senior?

I’d suck him off so good he’d forget how to breathe.

“Oh my god.” You muttered to yourself, biting the inside of your cheek to fight off the heat creeping up your neck. When had you become such a fucking pervert? Lusting after some old man. Your former teacher. Your boss!

You were still watching Robby, like the unhinged little freak you’d become for him. He was checking his phone, still sitting on his bike. You watched him shove the phone back into the side pocket of his cargo pants and then, as if time had turned to molasses, you watched him shove his hand under the hem of his shirt and lift it up to wipe the sweat off his face and beard.

Your eyes glued themselves to the sight unfolding before you, to Robby’s soft, round stomach on full display, protruding over his belt like the most delicious fucking muffin you’d ever seen. You stared at his sweaty skin, the liberal dusting of coarse dark hair covering it, mouth quite literally watering at the sight.

Robby dropped his shirt again. It caught on his belly, leaving a delicious sliver uncovered, the same slivers you had stolen glances of every time he stretched his back in the ER, causing his scrubs to ride up.

Robby looked up and froze. Your eyes met across the ambulance bay. You couldn’t look away. What was wrong with you? Ogling his belly in public like some- some belly fetishist!

Heat suffused your face and neck, making even the scorching temperatures around you go green with envy. 

Robby stared back at you. A slight pink tinge spread across his cheeks. He tugged on his shirt, even when it sat normally again and averted his eyes, twisting his head away with more force than necessary.

You were still staring at him.

You couldn’t stop.

Seeing his naked belly had broken something, fried some essential wiring in your brain, you were sure of it.

Robby didn’t look at you when he stalked past to disappear into the Pitt.

You stayed. Trapped between mortification at being caught ogling him and depraved delight at the sight that had burnt itself into your retinas.

This was not good.

This was not at all helpful with regards to your concerning, lecherous crush - though crush was far too tame a word to describe the absolutely filthy thoughts that came to haunt you every time you lay down in bed to catch some sleep between shifts.

You finished your soda, ate the last of your ‘lunch’ while desperately trying to remember how to act normal before heading back inside.

The scent of Robby’s aftershave, still fresh in the morning, still hung in the air. You felt yourself blush again. Oh god. You were fucked. You were so royally, monumentally FUCKED.

I want to fuck him.

“Oh my god, shut the fuck up.” You hissed to yourself.

Dana shot you an incredulous look over the edge of her glasses, one brow raised, no doubt seeing the blush still darkening your skin when you went to check the board. You forced yourself not to look for Robby before grabbing a tablet to throw yourself back into the ER madness - a mistake, you realised as you turned around and collided with another person.

A solid, soft, very good-smelling person.

“Dr- Dr Robby.” You muttered, backing away quickly. Could this day get any worse?

You looked up on reflex - it was impossible not to look at Robby, not to look for Robby, but all you could think about as you were peering up at your old mentor and object of all your desires was how you would ride your pillow tonight while thinking about the mouth-watering show he’d inadvertently put on for you this morning.

Your blush only darkened further.

Had you been any more sane in the moment, you’d have noticed Robby’s own flushed skin, or the fidgedy, uneasy energy surrounding him.

Dana looked from you to him and promptly decided she was not paid enough to deal with whatever was going on between the two attendings.

You were called away to one of your cases and quickly ducked around Robby to scurry away, taking all your perverted thoughts and shame with you.

Good thing mind-readers don’t exist. And in case they do, please don’t tell on me.

Your shift dragged on, tugging you along at the most infuriating, pointless pace ever. You liked your shift time slot. You liked that you got to spend one half with the nightshift crew and the second half with the dayshift. Nights were slower and somewhat calmer but also batshit crazy. Days were turbulent and demanding. You never wanted to go back to twelve uninterrupted hours of this shit ever again. Eight were more than enough. 

You’d been avoiding Robby, and you’d almost made it to the end of your shift without interacting with him. You’d even voluntarily exiled yourself to chairs.

Just another hour to go before you could slink out, taking your shame with you and hopefully, hopefully Robby would have forgotten all about this by tomorrow. Or at least you could both pretend it had never happened.

You swirled around at the sound of your name being called - and cursed.

Robby made his way through the flow of staff and patients towards you.

“A word.” It was a question. He pushed the door to an empty exam room open and, hanging your head in defeat and embarrassment, you ducked under his arm and slipped into the room. Robby followed. The door fell shut. The chaos and noise of the ER faded away, leaving you alone with your stupid blush and stupid, feral thoughts and rapid heartbeat pounding in your ears.

Robby towered over you with his arms crossed, ridiculously tall and handsome and looking at you with that stern, sexy disappointed-teacher-look. You both shrunk under it and internally purred like a cat getting exactly what it wanted. He tilted his head and tipped it forward, looking down at you with those delicious dark puppy eyes-

“I expected more professionalism from you. If you have an issue, I thought you would have enough respect for me to bring it up with me personally, instead of doing this fucking charade of playing cat and mouse!”

Your eyes flicked down to his belly. Your severely unhelpful brain supplied pictures of you kneeling in front of him, feeling his belly against your forehead, choking on his cock while he berated you in exactly that tone.

Robby hissed your name. You flinched, head whipping up to meet his eyes again.

I’m no better than a man.

“I-” You mumbled unhelpfully, unsure of how to save yourself from the mess you were sinking into deeper and deeper the longer you were alone with him.

He was still going. Working himself up into a right frenzy while tearing into you in this new stress-fuelled way of his he never used to do before. You remember well how he knocked a former R4, who’d long since moved to another hospital after making attending, down a peg for shouting at you so hard after you made a harmless mistake you started crying and hyperventilating.

He was a very different man back then.

Not that you minded this new, rougher, meaner version of him.

“I know I am not the youngest man anymore-” An edge of insecurity slipped into his voice. “-but you are a doctor for Christ’s sake! I didn’t do anything inappropriate, so I don’t get what the fuck is going on with you that you can’t even do your fucking job today! Are you thinking about going to HR? Gloria? Is that it? Some snowflake shit about not being able to see some skin without getting offended?”

He was still going.

I want you to call me a filthy slut while I ride your sexy belly.

Silence.

No-

Oh god no-

“Did I say that-”

“Yep.”

You wanted to disappear. To stop existing. Better yet, for you to never have existed in the first place.

“I-” Your mouth went dry, so dry that every swallow felt like trying to force sand down your throat. “Fuck- I’m sorry-” You hid your face behind your hands and fought against the tears burning in your eyes.

Fuck.

Fucking stupid.

How could a decently smart person - and you had to at least be decently smart to have made it through med school and residency - be so fucking stupid?!

“Dr Robby, please- I-”

You bolted out of the room, leaving behind a stunned, slightly flushed Robby.

***

It was almost eight pm when a knock on your door tore you from your spiralling thoughts that shifted from berating yourself to considering resignation - because what else was there left to do at this point?

You’d stayed hidden in chairs until your shift was over and used the noon rush of people using their lunch break to see a doctor to slip out without bumping into Robby.

You barely slept, and you still had not decided whether you’d be showing up for your shift at midnight.

Peering through the peephole made your blood run cold.

Robby.

A dishevelled, sweaty, irritated-looking Robby. At your door.

You opened the door a crack, hiding behind it with only your head popping out. You felt Robby stare down at you, but you had no bravado left to face him. You didn’t have any bravado. You would have never said that to him, never confessed to your raunchy thoughts and fantasies. You still had no idea how the words slipped out.

“Can we talk?”

You nodded, still not looking up and stepped aside enough for him to slip into your apartment. You shut the door and slunk back down the hall and into the living room, where you sat down on your sofa, curling up into a tight ball with your knees to your chest and a pillow clutched in your arms.

Silence stretched between you, thick and loaded.

“Look…” Robby ran his hands through his hair and slumped down in the armchair on the other side of the coffee table with an audible sigh. “I don’t appreciate being ridiculed.”

Your head snapped up, brows dipping into a frown, lips parting as though to say something, but Robby lifted his hand, cutting you off.

“I made you uncomfortable, and instead of being a man about it and acknowledging it and apologising, I was a dick. That wasn’t right, but paying me back like that? That wasn’t cool either.”

“I- I didn’t-”

Robby snorted, a bitter, self-deprecating sound that sent a pang through your heart. “Right. Because I’m supposed to believe you meant that.”

“I did.” Your voice was a tiny, fragile little thing, bearing the evidence of the hours you’d spent panicking, thinking about what you were supposed to do to fix this, and no negligible amount of crying.

It was Robby’s turn to stare at you, opening and closing his mouth in a futile attempt to come up with something to say.

“I shouldn’t have- I never thought I’d say something like that to you, and that was so inappropriate, and I am sorry, but I won’t sit here and let you claim I was lying. Because I wasn’t.” Your cheeks burnt, but you forced yourself to hold eye contact even when your throat felt as though it was swelling shut.

“You- meant it?”

You nodded.

“You want to ride my belly?”

You looked away. Heat surrounded your face. “I think you look good. Really good.”

“Then you have very questionable taste, kid.”

You put the pillow down and got up, moving past your coffee table to stand in front of Robby. He watched you with a mixture of trepidation and anticipation. You set your knee against the edge of the cushion, right between his spread legs.

“Do you have a problem with my taste?”

Robby whispered your name, a warning that was already hanging on by a thread, brittle, too weak to conceal his own yearning he’d been fighting to keep hidden from you.

You were too young, too pure for him to drag you down with his own messiness and inability to commit. He didn’t care about workplace relationships, he should as department chair and man who’d been frozen out by scorned nurses to the point Dana had to berate everyone involved into restoring some semblance of professionalism, but you- he didn’t want to mess you up, and everything he touched got messed up.

“Maybe it’s not my taste that’s the issue.” You placed your hand against his shoulders, curling the fingers of the other around his chin softly to force him to look at you. “Maybe it’s your perception.”

You bent down further. Robby bristled, taking a sudden, deep inhale. He looked like a man trapped between resisting and breaking, and a wicked, depraved part of you desperately wanted to see him snap.

You dropped to your knees. Robby groaned and pinched the bridge of his nose, trying and failing to resist the temptation of looking at you, watching you huddled between his spread legs in your skimpy sleep shorts and loose shirt that did nothing to conceal the fact you weren’t wearing a bra.

You nuzzled the inside of his thigh with your head while dragging your hands down his chest, over his soft, warm belly-

You bit your lip to stifle a groan. You were too far gone to be embarrassed by how wet you already were for him, how needy and addled with pure, carnal lust that had been building for years, had grown to such devastating heights you apparently blurted it out in the middle of getting your ass handed to you - unfairly - by your attending.

You toyed with the hem of Robby’s scrub top.

“You’re crazy.”

“It would seem that way.” You murmured as you pushed his shirt up, eyes latching onto the delicious sight of soft, warm, hairy flesh. His body looked like the epitome of comfort. Lived-in, functional, not like those overly polished, eating disorder-driven fuck boys that clogged up your timeline on social media and flooded the dating apps, talking about discipline while eating unseasoned chicken with rice and making women feel shit about their very normal, very natural bodies. You could picture yourself curling up against Robby to leech off his warmth at night. Or resting your head on him while he ran his fingers through your hair.

“But since I already made a fucking spectacle of myself at work, I might as well do this.” You pressed your lips against his stomach and bit back a needy moan. Robby’s hand shot up to thread through your hair. He watched you mouth at his belly as if it was the hottest thing you’d ever seen, lavishing kisses and teasing kitten licks all over his squishy flesh.

He could not fathom how someone as pretty as you could ever be attracted to the worst part of him. Though perhaps these days the worst part of him was his steadily worsening temper… not that you seemed especially opposed to that too.

“Can I?” You looked up at him through your lashes.

“What?” Robby struggled to keep up with you, his mind preoccupied with trying to process how he’d ended up in your apartment with you kneeling between his legs and still somehow not to suck his cock.

“Ride your belly.” You painted languid patterns onto his exposed belly with your fingers, kempt nails scraping softly over his skin, making him shiver.

“Yeah.”

His reply came out breathless, without him really thinking about it. You emitted a squeaking noise of pure delight, and any inhibitions he might still have had melted away under it. You got to your feet, shimmying out of your shorts and panties before straddling him. You tugged and pulled impatiently on his shirt, but Robby needed a moment to get over the way your tits were in his face.

His shirt joined your shirts on the ground. Your fingers found their way into his hair and beard, toying with the coarse hair while rolling your hips against him. You stifled a moan against his temple, insides clenching violently around nothing as you dragged your soaked folds over his soft flesh. You applied more pressure, and his flesh gave way for you, allowing you more friction without it hurting or overstimulating your already swollen clit. You felt his hair against your inner thighs and heated flesh, a teasing tickle that sent prickling shivers of desire and need down your spine.

“Robby-” You moaned breathlessly. His face caught in your hands, you tipped his head back and slanted your lips over his. It was a messy kiss, uncoordinated and frankly, pathetically eager.

But was it your fault this sad old man underneath you was so fucking hot it burnt your neurons to just look at him?

After a stunned moment, Robby reciprocated. He cupped the back of your head with one hand while the other settled on the small of your back to pull you closer. He slipped down on the armchair a little, making it easier for you to grind against him.

“Fuck, sweetheart-” He muttered against your lips when you pulled back to gasp for air. “This what you wanted? You young people have some fucking issues…”

You shuddered above him.

Robby’s eyes lit up with mirth.

“Right… no, this is not all you wanted, is it? What was it you said? You want me to call you a filthy slut?”

You could only nod.

“Tell me, baby.” His hands fell to your hips, fingertips digging into your flesh as he pulled you down harder against him. “What is it your deranged mind pictured when you thought about this? Did you get yourself off to the thoughts of an old man’s floppy stomach?”

You nodded again.

“Words, sweetheart. Can’t help you if you don’t talk. Come on, be a big girl and use your words.”

You moaned.

Robby forcibly stilled the movement of your hips.

“I-” You couldn’t meet his eyes. Embarrassment burnt a path up your throat, and for some terrible, filthy reason it turned you on all the more. “You’re pulling my hair, holding my arms behind my back, and degrade me. Sometimes- sometimes you tell me to stroke your cock while I get myself off. To make myself useful.”

Robby inhaled a hissing breath through his teeth.

Slowly, he ran his hand up your spine, just to drag it back down and catch the hem of your shirt. You lift your arms to help him peel it off you. His eyes flicked down to your breasts immediately, mentally cataloguing the sight of you, saving it to his memory.

He threaded his fingers through your hair, palms flush against your scalp, just to curl his fingers, gripping your hair tightly at the root, and you thought you could have come right then, just from finding out Robby knew how to properly pull a girl’s hair.

He caught your wrist and twisted your arm behind your back, just enough to hurt but not so much he would dislocate your shoulder, dragging another stuttering moan from you.

“Go on then.” Robby purred, voice lower than before, eyes dark with hunger. “If you’re getting yourself off by rubbing your little cunt all over me like a fucking slut, you might as well make it worth my while.”

You could barely move. Between the silent threat of your arm twisted behind your back, forcing you to arch your back and lewdly present your breasts to Robby, and his hand in your hair, you were trapped.

It was so much better than you ever thought it would be.

Robby chuckled. “Fucking hell… and here I thought you were this innocent, well-behaved little thing.”

You finally managed to reach the waistband of his pants. It took you several attempts to manage to slip your hand under it, straining in Robby’s grasp and gasping when a movement had your shoulder aching. Robby, all the while, mocked you for struggling, for dripping all over him like a fucking whore, for getting so turned on by being man-handled.

“There you go… see, that wasn’t hard, was it? Pretending to be a useless, dumb bitch isn’t going to get you out of this, sweetheart. You put yourself in this situation, now be a big girl about it, hm-” Robby was cut off by a groan when you managed to close your fingers around his hard length. You tugged, forcing him out of the confines of his boxers. He felt big - long and heavy in your hand. Robby’s grip tightened around your wrist, dragging another stuttering moan from your lips.

You rolled your hips, rutting helplessly against his belly, immobilised by his strong arms around you, his cock throbbing against your palm-

“That’s all you can do? Hm? You get your hand around a cock, and suddenly that brain of yours doesn’t work anymore? Come on, sweetheart, put some effort in it. I thought you were going to make this worth my while? Why should I sit here and watch some whore get off?”

Pleasure pounded through your veins and rose to your head, wrapping your brain into a fuzzy blanket of bliss. Robby’s words made shame and embarrassment skyrocket in your chest. His hand around your wrist, twisting your arm behind your back, had sharp pain shooting through you, gasoline to the already raging storm of desire and need wreaking havoc over you.

“Robby- Robby, fuck- don’t stop-”

Tears clung to your lashes and rolled down your cheeks. Your chest rose and fell with each laboured breath you forced into your lungs. Your skin prickled as though you’d touched a live wire.

Robby’s dark eyes were glued to you, glinting with desire and wonder at the discovery of your own depravity. Never, never would he have expected the bubbly, sweet, innocent girl who’d been his med student all those years ago would get up to shit like this.

In all the years he’d spent pining after you, he never dared to think you would be this fucking perfect for him.

“Are you going to come? Are you seriously going to come from this? Fucking hell, sweetheart… such a disgusting, filthy fucking whore…”

“Y-yes-” You threw your head back, just for him to pull on your hair tighter, force your head back further until your toes were curling and your lips falling open around a suffocated moan. Your hand, already slick with pre-cum, tensed around his throbbing cock. “I’m a disgusting whore- your- your filthy whore- Robby- ah-”

“Oh, mine, are you? Am I to believe you won’t crawl to another man to have him throw you around the second I leave here?”

You tried to nod, but you could barely move your head.

“You can pretend to be a good girl all you want, baby, I don’t fucking believe you.”

“Daddy-”

A shudder tore through Robby, followed by a grin splitting across his face.

“Daddy? Oh ho ho, sweetheart.”

Your cheeks heated up under a fierce, bright red blush spreading across them.

“No no no, don’t you dare pretend you didn’t say that. Jesus, you’re such a fucking mess… no wonder you’re getting off to me tossing you around like you’re nothing but a used cum rag.”

“Robby-”

“No, baby.” Robby let go of your hair just to grab your chin. “No backpaddling now. Address me properly, pet.”

“D-daddy-”

“There you go. So there is some brain in that pretty head of yours after all.”

“Fuck me, daddy- please- ohmygod- I want to come on your dick-”

Robby was too far gone to question anything at this point. He was far too old to act like this, far too old to not waste a single thought of contraception or STIs or just the fact that he was your boss and you were far too young for him.

Robby let go of your arm. He had enough mental wherewithal about him still to ease it out of the uncomfortable position he held it in. He watched you for a second to make sure he’d not done any damage. You might be a little sore tomorrow, but from the way you moved it and rolled your shoulder to shake off the tension clinging to your muscles, he was sure you were fine.

You emitted a surprised squeal when Robby stood up with you in his arms, effortlessly, as though you weighed nothing. He turned you around and pushed you face-first onto the armchair. Your knees sank into the cushion. You clung to the backrest, just for Robby to grab your hair and push your face down. His fingers dug into your side, thumb pressing down on the small of your back viciously until you arched your back for him.

“Fuck- don’t even need any training, huh?”

You felt his blunt head rub through your soaked folds, heard the sharp intake of air he took in your ear as he bent over you, his front moulding to your back, belly pressed flush against your back-

“Keep that up and I might let you come.”

“Daddy-”

“Yeah, yeah, I know. Can’t trust a stupid slut to do as she’s told.” Robby forced your head to the side. You met his eyes through tear-soaked lashes. His lips brushed harshly against your cheek, his beard scratching your skin deliciously. “Tell me what you want, sweetheart. Come on. Beg me. I know you want to.”

“I want you-” You moaned, bucking against him, desperately seeking some friction to ease the painful pressure between your legs. “I want you to fuck me, daddy- I’ve wanted you- ah- wanted you for so long-”

“Yeah? How long, baby? How long have you been thinking about my cock stretching out that slutty little cunt?”

“Years-” Your nails dug into the fabric of your armchair, the material straining beneath your desperate grip, tears tumbling down your cheeks and falling off your jaw. A desperate sob tore through your chest. “Robby, please-”

You were cut off by the overwhelming stretch of his cock breaching you, pushing forward in a single, devastating thrust that had you trembling and whimpering under Robby. He felt so good- so fucking good- The stretch of him forcing your body to open up to him was just short of too much. He filled you up so good, thick and hot and heavy, a solid, throbbing weight inside your quivering, sopping cunt you could not forget.

“Shut up.” Robby hissed in your ear, knowing his sharp tone would only drag more delicious, high-pitched whines from you. “You got yourself into this mess, now be a good girl and take what daddy gives you. I don’t want to fucking hear you complain, sweetheart. You didn’t have to act like a fucking whore, you chose to, and now you see what daddy does to pathetic sluts throwing themselves at him.”

He fucked you in quick, jostling thrusts that had the feet of the armchair scraping across your flood. A distant, very distant part of you worried about Robby knocking the whole thing over from how hard he was pounding into you, but it quickly shut up when he let go of your hair to hold onto your waist, face nuzzling into the back of your neck.

He was panting, breathing loud and heavily, only interrupted by low, deep, rumbling grunts. His hips slammed into you, slamming you into the worn cushions. His star of david necklace tapped against your shoulder blade on every thrust while he mouthed at your ear and the side of your face, beard scraping deliciously over your sweaty skin.

The feeling of your cunt clamped down around him like a vice had apparently melted away every nasty word he could have thrown at you for your own sick, twisted pleasure, replacing the severe, struggling man you’d grown used to interacting with with a much softer version.

He muttered sweet nothings and tender praise into your skin while clinging to your waist as if you were a life raft. 

And fuck, you’d be his raft, life preserver and stress relief if only he kept fucking you like this.

A younger version of you made a vow what felt like lifetimes ago to not waste any more of your time on toxic, unstable men, but for Robby you might just throw every common sense out the window.

Robby’s big nose smushed into your cheek, he kissed the tears off your skin, telling you how good you were doing for him, how good you felt for him, while a ceaseless, barely comprehensible string of daddy and please tumbled off your lips and into the cushion he’d shoved your face into.

Within minutes - or had it been hours? You weren’t sure. You sure as hell couldn’t trust your mind in this situation - Robby had reduced you to a whimpering, drooling mess. Your own arousal mixed with his pre-cum ran down your thighs and slicked up every thrust, causing an obscene symphony of wet noises paired with the telltale slap slap slap of skin hitting skin to fill up your dim living room.

Robby pressed his face into the space between your shoulder blades. He reached around you, pressing two fingers to your swollen clit, rubbing the pads of his fingers over it at just the right rhythm to make you fall apart with a strangled scream, his name still on your lips.

He thrust into you once, twice more before following you, grunting against your skin and coming inside you. His hips kept moving, almost automatically, fucking his cum deeper inside you until it covered his whole length and dripped down his balls.

You’d turned to putty under him. Drooling, happy, satisfied putty. You let your body slide down the backrest, collapsing on the armchair that was no doubt traumatised now, covered in your own arousal, cum, tears and drool as it was now.

You rubbed a hand over your face, humming in contentment.

“Where’s your bedroom?”

Robby’s voice was soft, caring, the way it only got with injured, scared children and hearing him address you with it after he just wrecked you and called you a useless, disgusting slut had your insides turn all mushy and warm.

You gestured down the hall, unable to get enough of your bearing to talk. You didn’t expect him to stay. You certainly didn’t expect him to pick you up bridal style and carry you to your bedroom, or to fetch a warm washcloth from your bathroom and use it and his tongue to carefully but thoroughly clean you up.

He set you down on your unmade bed and dragged the warm cloth over your thighs before, almost as an afterthought, cleaning himself up. He settled himself between your legs, face smushed against your heated flesh and lapped at your cunt until every last drop of him was gone and you were clinging to his hair, whimpering his name sweetly.

And because Robby was apparently a depraved, wretched old man, he stayed there. He stayed there, kissing and licking and sucking at your skin until he’d dragged another orgasm from you and Jesus, you sounded so fucking sweet and tasted so fucking good- Robby couldn’t pull himself away. No matter how much he should. No matter how much guilt crashed down on him now that the lust and hunger had subsided. 

You wanted it, but how could he talk to you like that? Use you like that? You were such a sweet, young thing… how could you even know whether this was something you truly wanted? Not something you were made to believe you should enjoy? Robby had seen it before, and he had never wanted to be a part of it.

Even when you smiled at him, fingers playing with his hair and beard absentmindedly, he couldn’t help but feel like he’d done something terrible to you.

“Stay.” You croaked, and Robby felt himself nod before he could really think about the request, but yeah… what else was he going to do? Leave you? Fuck no.

He tossed the washcloth into your hamper and fetched you a glass of water. You gulped it down greedily before settling down, curling up against his side and nuzzling your face into his chest, your hand resting on his belly, drawing lazy circles onto his skin and playing with his hair. Robby buried his nose in your hair, the exhaustion of his shift finally crushing down on him, eyes falling shut…

Your alarm dragged you out of the easy, content, warm nap you’d slipped into. Your body felt pleasantly loosened, limbs still tingling faintly. Your arm felt sore, and a sharp, but not entirely unpleasant sting between your legs tore through you when you shifted.

Robby had wrapped his arms around you tightly, and it took some effort to extract yourself from him without waking him.

You tried to be as silent as you could as you took a shower and gathered your things for work. You left a note on the bedside table, telling Robby to stay as long as he wanted, and off you were.

You had an extra pep to your step as you strolled into the ER at midnight, just in time for your shift, and Lena commented on it right away - of course she did - gifting you one of her warm grins and peering at you over the edge of her glasses.

“Who’s the lucky guy?”

“A girl doesn’t kiss and tell.” You smirked and promptly slipped away to put your lunch in the fridge and your things into your locker before jumping into the nightly madness.

Your good mood stayed, and it did not go unnoticed by the rest of the Pitt either. Abbot shot you a questioning glance, a brow raised when your reply to his question came out a little more chirped than it should have. Ellis slapped you on the shoulder, grinning at you. Shen seemed a little intimidated, if not downright scared.

Seven a.m. rolled around, and you snuck away, grabbing your food and soda from the fridge, and made your way outside for your break you did not negotiate on. Seated on your wall by the entrance, you waited, perhaps with a little more anticipation than usual.

You watched Robby pull up on his motorcycle, the same motorcycle you saw parked outside your place when you left, a sight that put a grin onto your lips.

Whatever giddy, girlish delighted joy had carried you through the night, it withered the moment Robby got off his bike.

He didn’t look at you.

He didn’t acknowledge you.

He got off his bike, grabbed the helmet he never wore and marched right past you into the ER.

Tears stung in your eyes, and you didn’t know whether you hated yourself more for crying or for having had sex with him in the first place.

You knew he never committed to anyone. You knew his dating pool was basically limited to the hospital and the women who got into ill-advised affairs with him despite his reputation. You hadn’t even asked for anything. You had just had sex. Of course that didn’t have to mean anything you expected- you thought- that he’d at least look at you.

You chewed on your bottom lip, fingers trembling around your can of soda, trying not to let your thoughts spiral into self-loathing or self-deprecating versions of He is disgusted with you, of course he is. You are disgusting, playing on repeat in your head.

You finished your soda despite the nausea welling up inside your throat and dumped the rest of your lunch before heading back inside.

The change in your mood was felt viscerally by the whole ER, questioning looks following you on your way to your locker to deposit your lunch box. You didn’t notice Robby following you with his eyes, nor the concerned crease forming between his brows, but he was pulled away on an urgent case before he could make up his mind about whether to talk to you.

It was two hours into his shift when the silence between you became too much for him. The first chance he got, he slipped away, grabbed your wrist and tugged you with him into the family room.

You steeled yourself for another lecture.

It didn’t come.

“I-” Robby started, but stopped himself. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah. I was. Until you started ignoring me again.” You shrugged.

Robby winced. “Look- I shouldn’t have come to your place. We shouldn’t have- that-” He sighed. “It can’t happen again.”

“Why? Am I that disgusting to you?”

“Wh-what? No! How would you even come to that conclusion?!”

“Well, everything was fine last night, and now you’re back to being a dick. What else am I supposed to think? I’m sure most women don’t ask you to call them a slut while fucking them.”

“I don’t- Do you think most guys get off on calling the woman they’re with a slut?”

“Yeah, actually, they probably do.”

Robby hesitated. “Okay… point taken. Not that it was about calling you awful things for me. It was about you- about knowing I was making you feel good…”

You crossed your arms. “Then where’s the issue, Robby?”

He gestured vaguely at you. “You. All of you.”

“Wow. Thanks.” You deadpanned, glaring up at him.

“No! Not like that! Jesus. Look, you’re too young, yeah? And far too good to waste your time on someone like me. You deserve someone who’s kind and sweet and gentle. Not whatever the fuck I did to you last night.”

“You don’t get to tell me what’s good enough for me.” You sniffed. “You did what I asked you to do, you don’t think I deserve someone who does what I ask?”

“Come on, sweetheart, you don’t have to pretend with me. You didn’t actually enjoy that-”

“Why not? Oh, so you can be into BDSM but not me? Is that it? Leave me alone with that internalised sexism bullshit!”

“Woah, I’m not sexist.” Robby blinked at you.

You snorted.

“I’m not! I respect women.”

“Yeah, the thing with internalised things is you are not usually aware of them, but I’m not fucking getting into that with you now. Are you coming over tonight?”

Robby opened his mouth just to close it again. He had an odd resemblance to a fish in a moment, and you briefly wondered how it was fair for a man to be so handsome that even that didn’t turn you off.

“What?”

You rolled your eyes. “You need hearing aids or something? I asked if you’re coming over tonight.”

“Why?”

You shrugged and took a step forward, letting your hand trail over his protruding, soft belly. “I want to feel this against my forehead while I choke on you.”

Robby all but sputtered. He looked around frantically, as though to make extra sure the family room was empty, just to hiss your name under his breath.

You grinned.

Slowly, you lowered yourself to your knees. Robby didn’t stop you. You popped open the button of his cargo pants and dragged down the zipper, all the while looking up at Robby. He glanced from you to the door and back to you.

“I wanna suck you dick, daddy.” You purred. Robby cursed under his breath. He braced his hand against the door before slumping against it with his back when you curled your hand around his soft dick to pull it from his boxers.

“Jesus, kid-”

“Is that a yes?” You asked in a painfully fake, high-pitched, whiny tone.

“Yeah-”

You grinned to yourself as you parted your lips to take him into your mouth. He grew hard under your touch, under the insistent drag of your tongue over his velvety skin. You sucked on his tip until he was cursing, and giggled around him when he grabbed your hair to force you down, burying himself as deep in your throat as he could. He squished your nose into the coarse, dark curls at his base and your forehead into his soft belly.

You moaned around him, eyes fluttering shut.

It was so much better than you ever thought it would be.

A few minutes later, throat sore and hair more or less smoothed down, you emerged from the family room with a renewed pep in your step. Robby slunk out behind you a while later, once you’d cleared the hallway and hopefully nobody would put two and two together.

Dana shot him a withering, disapproving glare from central, Jack next to her merely raising his brow before shaking his head.

Robby blushed.

That night, after his shift, he found his way back to your apartment, and the night after that, and the night after… He was fucking addicted, and he didn’t even care when you sucked his cock like that or cried his name out so sweetly while coming around him - and especially not when you lay in bed next to him, playing with his stomach hair and smiling up at him so prettily…