summary: Baz hires you as Lena's nanny...but you and her want to spend more time with Pope
content/warnings: NSFW + MDNI! 18+ ONLY! violence towards reader, smurf, daddy kink, unprotected sex, light stalking (it's pope ofc), oral sex (f & m receiving), no use of y/n
wc: 4k
notes: Set between season one and two, I'm only on season 3 of Animal Kingdom, so apologies for the ooc of it all. pics used just for aesthetic purpose, not a reflection of what the reader looks like.
You always loved working with kids. Always knew that you were going to work with kids. You worked as an au pair around Europe in your early twenties. But after almost a decade raising rich brats in France and Italy and Spain, you decided that it was time to come home. Or close enough to home.
That's how you end up sitting looking out at the sea in Oceanside waiting to meet your new kid. Lena.
Her father, single dad, Barry Blackwell had put out an advertisement for a nanny. And you needed the job. You could handle a rich American brat too. The Strand was being gentrified. But Mr Blackwell seems more rough-and-tumble than hedge fund manager.
If you're being honest, he makes your skin crawl. But you need a job.
"This is a live-in position?" you clarify as you sit at the breakfast bar in his home.
He nods his head, "Yea, um, with my job I have to be away from home a lot. I don't like leaving Lena alone."
You blink, "Well yes, she's six. I wouldn't leave her alone either. That's fine. I'll just take Saturday afternoons until Monday mornings off."
The man before you frowns, "What if I need you to work weekends?"
"We can discuss overtime, Mr Blackwell. But I will be taking weekends. I'm being generous with Saturday mornings," you say with a frown.
His frown deepens but he nods.
"Lena's mother would do a grocery run-"
"Mr Blackwell, I'm not a maid. Of course, I'll cook for Lena. But I don't clean, I don't cook, I don't grocery shop."
"If I paid more?" he asks then.
You cock your head to the side, "If you paid more, then we can discuss that, of course."
So that's how you end up working for Barry Blackwell.
You don't mind living in the house by the beach. You get Lena up every morning, you make breakfast, bring her to school. You go clean the house when she's away, even do the damn grocery shopping with the wad of money he leaves on top of the microwave each week. When you pick Lena up from school, you always bring her to the beach.
"Daddy never takes me to the beach," she tells you one day as you eat ice cream.
Yea, you gather. You really don't like her dad. But he's rarely at home like he said.
"Uncle Pope brings me," she says. "We go to the swings."
You stroke her curls and smile, "Your uncle? Does he live around here?"
Lena shrugs, "I think so. Sometimes he's at Grandma Smurf's. But he was away for a really long time. I don't know where. But he's nice."
One morning after you drop Lena to school, you walk into the house to find a blonde woman sitting in the kitchen. You jump when you see her. Nobody has been in the house bar you and Lena since Baz left at the start of the week.
She sizes you up and down, "Where's my son?"
"Mr Blackwell?" you ask.
You've never seen this woman before. Baz told you not to let anyone into the house when he was away. Fuck. The older woman softens at your tone.
"Who are you exactly?" she asks, pursing her lips as she eyes you up.
"I'm Lena's nanny," you explain. "Mr Blackwell hired me a few weeks ago. He needed the help after his wife left. I just dropped her at school. Sorry, he never mentioned any family."
She frowns at your words, "Well that would be why I haven't seen my grandbaby in so long. I didn't know what Baz was doing with her. But he's got a pretty girl like you taking care of her.
"You can call me Smurf. Everyone else does. How about you bring Lena over to my house after school?"
"Oh, sure. I, well, don't know where you live," you confess.
Smurf smiles, "Well why don't you come over now. And we can go get Lena together. We have a pool," she tells you.
You brighten up immediately, "Oh! I was trying to teach Lena to swim. She loves to go to the beach but she can't swim. You think I could teach her in your pool?"
Smurf is delighted by the idea. Let's you gather your and Lena's things before driving you over to the Cody house. You've never been to this area of Oceanside. You don't expect the huge house. And you don't expect to meet Smurf's other sons.
Craig and Deran are making noise by the pool when you walk in. Smurf just ushers you into the kitchen.
"Have you had breakfast?" she asks you.
"Um, no I usually eat after I come back from dropping off Lena," you respond.
Smurf immediately starts cooking for you. You hate being doted on like that. You haven't been in so long. So you try to help but Smurf tells you to sit.
"Can I make you coffee at least?" you finally ask.
Smurf allows this, and you get to work with making fresh coffee for them. You look up when you hear heavy footsteps approaching. Your heart skips a beat when you look up to see a man storming into the kitchen handsome, auburn hair, hazel eyes and sun-kissed skin.
"Who's that?" he asks Smurf, ignoring you.
"Baz hired a nanny for Lena," his mother responds, introducing you.
He frowns as he sizes you up, "What did he do that for? We can take care of her."
Smurf scowls at him, at the suggestion. She doesn't want him to say something stupid in front of this stranger. She puts her arm around you, squeezing you gently.
"This is my eldest boy, Andrew," she tells you. "He's a bit rough around the edges but I promise, he's a sweetheart underneath it all. Now you go eat your breakfast while I speak to him."
You do as you're told. A part of you knows better than to go against what this woman says. It's a gut feeling. And you don't go against gut feelings.
When Smurf leaves you and Lena back to Baz's, Smurf grips your wrist, stopping you from getting out of her car.
"Let's not tell Baz about this visit. I think it's best if we just keep it between us," she says.
You nod your head. You're not stupid enough to disagree with her. And anyway, it's just swimming lessons.
Since Pope learned about you, he knew he needed to keep an eye on you. He spent a week following you. Watching as you brought Lena to school. Where you do your grocery shopping. He watches you when you go to the beach before you have to collect Lena. He likes watching how your body moves in the water when you go for a swim. He tries to ignore how his body reacts to you when you walk out of the sea, water sliding down your body.
You have no idea about Pope Cody. One morning, when you go to wake Lena up to get her ready for the day, you go into her room, and she's not there. Your heart drops. She's not watching TV. She's not in the bathroom. You search every inch of the house.
You're about to call Baz when the door opens and Lena walks in. You rush over to her, falling to your knees and cupping her little face in your hands.
"Where were you?" you ask. "You know you can't just wander outside on your own."
"I wasn't alone," she says as the door opens wider.
You look up from where you're kneeling on the ground to see a man come in. Andrew. The man who you met briefly at Smurf's house.
"Uncle Pope brought me to swings."
You lean back on your kneels with a frown as you look at him. He stares you down and you can't help the way your heart races. You blame it on the stress of Lena going missing.
"You shoulda woke me up," you say to her, stroking her cheeks again before standing up.
Andrew, Pope, looks at you. Cocking his head to the side.
"Where's Baz?" he asks, his voice rough.
Lena answers, "He's away..."
"And is he away a lot?" Pope asks, his eyes flicking to you.
"Lena, can you get ready for school, sweetie. I'll make you breakfast in a second," you say.
As soon as Lena rushes off you turn your attention to Pope.
"You can't just break in here and take off with her," you tell him. "I thought she was kidnapped. Mr Blackwell woulda killed me!"
Pope sizes you up, "She's my niece. I can see her whenever I want."
You look at him like he's crazy. He has to be crazy. It's barely 6am and he thought he'd pay a visit?!
"I knew Baz wasn't around. I was worried about Lena. I thought she was here alone."
"And you didn't call your brother?" you ask, folding your arms in annoyance.
"He didn't answer. Where is he?" he retorts.
You shrug as you turn to the kitchen, Pope's eyes fall to the swell of your ass under your sleep shorts.
"He told me he travels for work. Is that not true?" you ask as you pull out bacon from the fridge.
Pope just sniffs in return. He knows his brother is probably with Lucy in Mexico. Leaving his daughter with a stranger.
"You're a nanny?" he asks then.
"Yea, I worked in Europe as an au pair. I've done all my courses. Everything is above board, if that's what you're tryin' to get at," you say as you start making breakfast.
"And you live here? With Baz?"
You shake your head quickly.
"I'm a live-in nanny. But I don't live with Baz," you say, maybe a bit harsher than usual. "You want coffee?"
Pope's lips twitch, as close to a smile as you'll get. He likes you.
You don't expect Pope to still be there after you get home from dropping Lena to school. But he's there, cleaning the kitchen.
"Lena really likes you," you say. "When she goes to her grandmother's she's always asking if you'll be there. I'm teaching her how to swim. I can't believe she's a Cali girl and she can't swim!"
Pope just shrugs. He's not much of a talker.
"Look, I have no problem with you seeing her but I'd appreciate if you told me first."
He takes another minute before looking at you.
"So I need your number," you say offering him your phone.
That's how you end up texting Pope Cody.
Pope Cody: Hello. I can pick Lena up from school today. I'm in the area.
Pope Cody: Good Morning. I can take Lena for breakfast, she likes a pancake place on the way to school.
Pope Cody: Hello. I made too much spaghetti, I can bring some over for Lena and you if you'd like.
You smile whenever your phone vibrates. You like talking to Pope. Even if it is just about Lena.
Whenever Baz is there, the texts don't come in. Sometimes Pope will come over to hang out with Baz. But you never get to say too much to him as Baz suggests you take Lena somewhere else.
Although one day you walk in as Baz snarls in Pope's face, "No one is ever gonna have a kid with you."
Pope can't meet your eyes as he walks past you to leave.
You spend your Saturday afternoons and Sundays out of Oceanside. Unless Baz has requested that you stay. He pays you in cash beforehand, and you just spend the weekend with Lena. Sometimes at Smurf's. Sometimes with Pope.
You're on the beach one Saturday with Lena, Pope is pushing her on the swings and you are watching on. A woman comes up to you and smiles.
"Your little girl is so cute and your husband is so good with her," she says. "I have to drag my husband out with them."
You should correct her, but you don't. You want people to think that you're a family. It would be nice...
Soon you find yourself texting Pope, not just about Lena.
You: I watched a documentary about wolves I think you'd like
You: I was going to go to the beach tomorrow did you wanna come? Deran said you used to like surfing!
Baz comes in all flustered one afternoon. He hasn't been home in almost a month. It's the longest that he's been away. He rushes over to Lena and she's so happy to see her Daddy. You go back to cleaning as she babbles about everything that has happened since he's been away. You smile.
She's a great kid. One of the best you've taken care of.
You hear Baz ask her to repeat herself and your head shoots up.
"She's teaching me how to swim in Grandma Smurf's pool," you hear her say.
It's not her fault. She's just a kid. And even though you had told her not to say anything about Pope or Smurf, you can't blame her for spilling details. But the colour drains out of your face nevertheless. Especially when you hear Baz telling her to go to her room. She does as she's told.
You continue cleaning as you hear Baz's footsteps storm into the kitchen. He grabs your hair and pulls you backwards. He's pressed against your back and you're looking up at him, fear coursing through your body.
"I thought I told you not to let anyone in the house. And now I hear Smurf has been sniffing around. And you're bringing my kid around to her house," he hisses at you.
You whimper as his grip on your hair tightens.
"She's her grandmother. I didn't think-" you being before Baz slams your head against a cupboard.
"Yea, you didn't fuckin' think. When I tell you something, you fuckin' listen. You stupid bitch," he snarls, hitting your head against the cupboard again.
You're bracing yourself for another slam, but you're suddenly falling to the ground. Baz has been hauled off you. You collapse. You turn to see Pope dragging him off you. He punches him once before pushing him to the other side of the room.
You whimper when you hear footsteps coming towards you but it's not Baz. Pope scoops you up into his arms and carries you out of the house.
"Lena," you breathe shakily.
You don't wanna leave her alone in that house.
"She'll be okay. Baz isn't gonna hurt her," Pope promises as he brings you to his car.
He puts you into the passenger side and drives you to his home. You've never been to Pope's house before, even though you spend most days with him now. You start to get out of the car, but Pope once again gathers you in his arms, bringing you into the house.
"Are you okay?" he finally asks, his face a mask of anger.
He places you down on the couch. He strokes the cuts on your face, he can already see where the bruises will come up. Baz at least hadn't broken your nose.
"Let me clean you up," he breathes after you nod that you're okay.
You're shaken but it wasn't the first time that you've gotten hit. It's just been a while. Fuck, you thought you were over that stage of your life. Shouldn't have gone to fuckin' Oceanside to mind some kid.
"You promise Lena'll be okay?" you ask him when he finally returns with water and cotton pads.
Pope grunts as he cleans you up, "I wouldn't have left her there if I thought Baz would hurt her...I'll get her in the morning and bring her here. Is that okay?"
"Thank you, Andrew," you say softly. "You didn't have to do any of this. And thanks for being there."
You don't query how he knew you needed his help. You're just glad he was there. His large hands are still holding your face and his rough thumb slides over your lower lip. He is well aware that he shouldn't do this. But he can't help himself. You gently kiss the pad of his thumb, your eyes never leaving his.
He brushes his thumb slowly over your cheekbone. His eyes never leave yours. Pope has never been good with eye contact but he holds yours for what seems like hours. He doesn't want to push you. Not after what Baz did to you. But you're the one who finally breaks and presses your lips against his. Pope tentatively kisses you back but when he hears your little whimper, he's a goner. His hands drop from your face to your waist, pulling you onto his lap.
You've been waiting for months to run your fingers through his auburn curls. You tug at his curls as you deepen the kiss. You're suddenly dry-humping with Pope Cody on his couch like two teenagers. And you couldn't stop if you tried.
That is until his hands slide up your shirt and grasp your tits. You moan into his mouth as his rough palms press against the swell of your breasts, squeezing and releasing. He pulls your shirt over your head, breaking the kiss for just a second to do so. He doesn't even undo your bra, just pulls the cups down so your breasts fall free. He flips you onto your back. He kisses down your neck and then to your tits. He spends what feels like hours laving at your nipples. Whichever tit isn't in his mouth is being played with by his rough hands. Your arousal is all but rolling down your thighs when he finally pulls away from your tits.
His eyes are so blown out they're almost black. He pulls your jean shorts and panties down in one move. He groans at the sight of you.
"Lemme see that pretty pussy, baby," he tells you as he spreads your legs. You've never been this turned on in your life.
"Andrew Cody, if you don't fuck me right now," you whine out.
Your whines only result on him smacking you hard on your weeping cunt. Your back arches off the couch. Fuck you need him.
"Now lemme see that pussy."
Pope crawls between your legs, getting eye level down with your pussy.
"So pretty," he praises as he spreads you open, his eyes scanning you. He blows on you, causing you to shudder. His thumb teases your clit watching how you clench around nothing.
"So, so pretty," he praises.
Finally he presses kisses up your thighs and eventually presses his tongue inside you.
"Fuck, yes, right there," you whine out in pure need, grinding against his face.
Pope decides he needs to have you ride his face next. But not yet. He wants to play some more. He focuses his attention on your clit, hooking your legs over his wide shoulders. And within just a handful of ministrations, you're coming undone over his tongue. Your orgasm hits like a freight train. You're painfully turned on. You've been wound up for so long. And Pope Cody is just so happy to help you let loose.
Once you come down from your high, you pounce on him, pulling his clothes off. Desperate to see him. He chuckles softly as he helps you take his clothes off.
You follow his lead, kissing over the freckles on his neck, down his chest and stomach. He tenses under your movements and you smirk, nipping over his abs. His cock is leaking, standing to attention. And he's fucking huge. You should have expected that.
"Wanna fuck my face, daddy?" you coo up at him.
That name sends Pope wild, he grabs your hair and guides you down onto him. Once you've gotten used to him, he starts rocking his hips up. He holds onto you as he starts fucking into your mouth just like you asked.
"Fuck, sweetheart. Shit," he grunts after just a handful of thrusts. "I can't take this anymore. I need to be inside you. I need to fuck that pretty pussy of yours."
Pope grips you, flipping you back onto your back so he's on top of you again. He teases your clit with the head of his cock, smirking as you start to squirm.
"You want daddy's cock, huh? You gonna be a good girl and take my cock?" he growls in your ear.
You nod desperately, dumbly. Finally he's pressing inside you, inch by inch. You lock your legs around his hips as he finally bottoms out.
"Just like heaven, baby girl," he breathes in your ear.
He should be gentle, sweet, slow, after what Baz did to you. But he's desperate. So he starts jerking his hips in and out of you. The snap of skin on skin fills the room. Your pussy is so wet you can hear it just as well. You're so desperate for him.
"You gonna cum on daddy's cock?" he breathes as he fucks you. His hands palm at your tits with each thrust.
And as if on command, you cum again. You soak him and Pope looks victorious. But he's not finished with you yet. He pulls out to flip you onto your stomach and press inside you again.
"Fuck, so big, daddy," you whine for him as he pounds into you.
Pope kisses over your neck and down your spine, as best as he can from this angle. He buries his face into your neck as he hits that sweet spot inside you over and over again. Your eyes roll back in your head as your third orgasm hits you.
This time you clench so tightly over his cock, Pope can't move. Your cunt literally milks his cock, forcing his orgasm out of him. He hasn't cum in so long that his release his hot and thick. It starts sliding out of you as your abused pussy can't take it all.
And Pope, you hates mess, marvels at the sight. After you've both come down from your highs, he gathers you in his arms.
"Sorry...was that too much?" he breathes.
You shake your head, "No. It was perfect. Needed it. Needed you."
"I can sleep out here," he says suddenly.
You look at him in shock, "Oh no baby. I wanna sleep right next to you. What if I need daddy's cock in the middle of the night?"
Pope gives you a wolfish grin as he kisses you again.
Baz thinks everything is alright when he wakes up the next morning and sees that Lena is already gone to school. But then he realises that all your shit is gone. And he sees red.
He drives straight to Smurf. Planning on spreading some bullshit about the nanny. Some sly bitch you tried to swindle him. He walks into the house, crocodile tears at the ready so mommy can fix his mess.
He frowns when he sees Pope sitting on the couch looking like a fucking king and you curled into his side. He's running his hand up and down your arm as the cuts and bruises Baz left on your face are on display.
"Baz," Smurf tuts when she sees him. "We need to work on your temper."
a/n: thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed! any and all feedback appreciated. requests open
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
Summary: You and Pope have loved each other since you were teenagers. And then he went to prison, and cut you off. No apology, no explanation, nothing. Just a sledgehammer to your heart and utter radio silence.
Three years later, he's out, and he wants you back.
Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI: Swearing, Mentions of drugs, Mentions of violence, Alcohol use, Gun use, It's Animal Kingdom there's a little bit of everything, Character death (not a main/canon character), Vague descriptions of mental illness (it's Pope), Smut!! Unprotected pinv (wrap it up guys!), Loss of virginity in a flashback, Brief Craig/Reader (they're besties though), Age gaps/timelines might be a little wonky but oh well, Mentions of abuse (reader’s dad is a bad man), Please let me know if I forgot anything!
Author's Note: I hope you guys enjoy this one! I wanted to experiment with flashbacks, and then this exploded out of my brain. Special thanks to @flowersforbucky for proofreading and dealing with my indecisiveness on the pictures and layout because she is the best!! Please let me know what you think!!
Word Count: 21k
-
The bar is dimly lit. Sticky. Loud.
The guy sitting across from you has nice eyes. Pretty, even. They’re a light blue, crinkled a little in the corners and looking at you with something like adoration. You try to appreciate it, you really do, but all you can see is naivety. Maybe you’re too cynical. More likely too damaged. Whatever.
You prefer brown eyes, anyway.
Warm brown eyes looking into your own. Large fingers tucking your hair behind your ear. The ghost of warm breath against your lips and a small curve of a shy smile as he leans closer and closes the distance between you-
You blink, and force a smile.
The guy across from you, Ethan or something, clears his throat. “So, do you wanna maybe-“
A beer hits the table, loud enough to make the man - though you should really call him a boy, with that collared shirt and combed hair and those innocent eyes - jump nearly a foot in the air.
“Move it, pal.”
Craig Fucking Cody stands above you, and you bite back a groan.
The boy stammers, pales at the sight of the gigantic, tattooed man beside you, and takes maybe a full twenty seconds to stammer out his next words.
“I-I…are you her…”
“Oh yeah, I’m her husband. Fresh outta the psych ward and everything. Now beat it, before I smash your head against the table.”
The boy bolts like Craig set the booth on fire, and you glare up at him.
“I was on a date.”
Craig laughs, like you were genuinely joking. “Not exactly your type.”
“You don’t know what my type is.”
“Pretty sure I do. I shared a wall with your type for most of my life.”
You clench your jaw. “What do you want, Craig?”
He sits across from you, all friendly familiarity, and smiles. “I need your help.”
“I don’t do jobs anymore.”
He raises his eyebrow, and glances pointedly towards Ethan in the corner of the bar, trying to save face by ordering himself another drink.
“I told you, that was a date.”
“C’mon, don’t lie to me. You think I don’t know when you’re working an angle?”
You narrow your eyes a little. “Okay, fine. I don’t do jobs with the Codys anymore.”
Craig’s smile falls a little.
Burning rubber in your nose. Panic in your throat. The shriek of the tires drowned out by your own voice as you grab frantically at the wheel.
“Baz what the fuck are you doing? What are you doing? Turn around!”
Baz’s hand darts out, and he slams you back against the seat so hard your teeth knock together. “It’s too late.”
“What the fuck are you talking about? We can’t just leave him-“
“We have to. He was too late. You know the rules. It’s him or all of us.”
You’re frantic. Panicked. You even start to yank at your own car door, like you might jump out and run back to the bank on your own two feet, and Baz slams you backwards again.
When he makes it to the house, you punch him in the face before you even get out of the car. He takes it, head whipping to the side like he expected this reaction from you. When you get out, you punch him again. It takes both Craig and Deran to pull you away.
“He’s out of prison, you know.”
You take a sip of your drink. “Good for him.”
“He keeps asking about you.”
Yeah, bullshit. “I’ll bet he does.”
Craig sucks his teeth, and seems to decide to pick a different battle.
“So, it’s a good job. You barely have to do anything. We just need your help with-“
“I don’t do jobs with the Codys anymore, Craig. Also, I don’t know if you realize this, but using my ex as an incentive to help you isn’t really boosting my interest.” Ex. Your ex. It still feels so weird to think of him like that.
Because he’s just…Pope. Andrew Cody. The love of your life since you were a teenager. Even when you were together, ‘boyfriend’ felt like too simple of a word to describe what he was to you. It was too intense for such a lame title. Too full of a love so deep it bordered on obsession.
And then it was all over. Just like that.
Craig is making a face. You frown back at him. “What?”
“It’s my job, okay?” He runs a hand through his hair, flexes his fingers on his beer. “And it’s good. I’ve worked my ass off at planning it, and Baz is out, so I just…I need it to go well. And it will go well if you help.”
You grip your drink a little tighter. Fucking Craig. Fucking asshole with the terrible decision making skills and good heart. Fuck him for being your friend. For making you care about him. For giving you that look that’s making you feel like-
“Fuck. Fine.” God help you. “Fine. Fine. Okay. Fine.” He grins at you, and you glare back at him. “But I don’t want to see Pope.”
Now it’s Craig’s turn to give you a look. “About that…”
-
Your outfit is so fucking uncomfortable you want to die.
Okay, maybe it’s not the outfit. Maybe it’s the anxiety twisting in your stomach so intensely you think you might vomit in the driveway of the Cody house.
You’ve been here since he went to prison. Since you broke up. Not for long - you haven’t exactly been in the habit of hanging out by the pool or anything - but whether you’re here for a minute or an hour this damn driveway always whips the memory of that horrible day back into your mind more violently than a slap.
-
“Put me down. Put me the fuck down I’m gonna-“
“Jesus, relax!” Baz throws his hands up, angry and defensive and so very punchable right now. Deran’s got you locked against him, feet kicking in the air like you might be able to land a blow if you just try hard enough. “I had to go! He got held up or some shit, and if the cops caught us the whole family would have gone down.”
“You just fucking left him there! We could have-“
“We didn’t have a choice. I made a decision. I saved our asses. We knew this was a risk. It always is.”
“Fuck you.”
“Yeah, yeah. Fuck me.” Baz runs a hand through his hair, and you know he’s heartbroken too but you couldn’t give less of a shit right now. His nose is still bleeding from where you clocked him a minute ago. “Fuck me for making the hard decisions for this family.”
Rage rises up in your throat again, threatening to choke you as you kick harder. “Boo fucking hoo. You left him! You fucking left him and-“
“Calm down.” It’s Deran’s voice now. Deran, who sounds choked up and is still holding you locked in a vice grip. The sound of it makes you look up at Craig, whose eyes are shining with tears, and…
Your feet drop back to the pavement, the sound and sight of the boys’ pain deflating you almost alarmingly quickly, and you pat the arm around you in both comfort and reassurance.
“Okay.” You breathe, shaky, and Baz’s shoulders drop.
“Okay.” He repeats, and the sound of his voice makes you grit your teeth. “Now that we’re all calm, we need to figure out what to do.”
-
He’s in the yard.
Three years later, and he’s just… in the yard. Standing there. Staring at you. And what did you expect? That he would drag himself out of a grave? Appear before you in an explosion of fire and blood?
He looks at you. You look at him. He doesn’t move an inch.
He looks good. Just as beautiful as the day you lost him. You hate him for it.
“Hi.” His voice sounds even lower than it used to. He looks bigger. Like he worked out a lot in prison.
You raise your eyebrows. Something curls deep in your core at the sight of him. Three years later, and you still can’t look at this man without feeling a physical reaction. “Hi.”
-
“You’re bleeding.”
You reach up, swiping the back of your hand over your lip and frowning at the smear of red across your skin, illuminated by the moonlight reflecting off the pool.
“You’re not the only one who can get into fights.”
Andrew Cody looks at you, with those dark eyes that always seems to see through whatever lie you try to tell him or even yourself, but you meet his gaze with the defiance of a teenage girl who really doesn’t want to talk about it.
“Are you…staying here again?” He asks, standing still from his spot beside the pool. You’re on a chair. Your face hurts. Your body aches. You nod.
“Smurf says I can crash for a few days.” In exchange for help, of course. Help with jobs. Connections. Money. You don’t mind. It’s better than being home, or hiding out on the beach again.
He still hasn’t moved. “Are you…gonna stay in Craig’s room? With him?”
You almost laugh out loud. Craig, big and rowdy and often immature even for a teenager, is closest to you in age. He might be your best friend. He definitely has a crush on you, and you’re almost positive that Smurf is angling for the two of you to get together.
“Why? Would that bother you?”
“Yes.”
You look up at him. He looks down at you. Slowly, almost unaware that you’re doing it, scoot over on your chair to make room, and he takes the invitation. Your heart hammers in your chest.
His hand comes up. Fingers brushing over a bruise on your cheek and eyebrows twitching with…
“Stop looking at me like that.”
He doesn’t. “Like what?”
“Like you want to kill someone for me.”
“I do.”
“I know.”
He’s close. His thumb is still brushing over your cheek, and his eyes fall to your lips. You think he might kiss you. You don’t think you’ve ever wanted anything more.
But this…this house, as chaotic and dangerous as it may be, is the only somewhat stable thing you have right now. The only safe place to go when things get too fucked up at home. When your petty criminal of a father takes things too far, or debt collectors come banging on the door. Smurf lets you stay here, and Smurf is always working an angle. You’ve told yourself a thousand times that, in exchange for this, you’ll go along with whatever plan she has for you.
This is not that plan.
And yet, as his face ducks closer to yours, fingers curling in your hair, you wonder what it would be like. To feel Pope’s lips against your own. To feel his body against yours as he lies you down right here on this pool chair. You think, despite his violent tendencies and episodes of something your uneducated mind can only call insanity, that he would be gentle with you. Like he always is. You don’t have much experience with boys, but you think he would make sure that you felt comfortable. He’d probably kiss you through any nervousness, whisper reassurances into your skin as he peels off your clothing, make you feel safe the whole time and-
His lips brush over your own, and you pull back.
“I’ve gotta…go inside.”
He searches your face, and you know that his observant eyes see the want there. Still, he nods, and stays where he is as you pull yourself to your feet.
-
“We should talk.”
You laugh, humorless, and push past him into the house. You don’t get far before you feel his hand on your arm, turning you towards him.
“Let go of me.”
He does, but he tilts his head and furrows his brow in that intense way he has. The familiar sight makes you ache. “We should talk.”
“I think the time for talking passed somewhere around three years ago, Andrew.” You grumble, and he fixes you with an expression so filled with helplessness and pain that you almost crumble right then and there.
You ignore him, and push your way into the house. Craig whistles at the sight of your too-tight dress and heels, and Deran greets you with a familiar smile.
As you start to plan, to prepare for the day ahead, you don’t turn around. You don’t look at Pope. His eyes don’t leave you the entire time, and it’s almost physically impossible to keep yourself from leaning back against him like you have a million times, over the course of a million similar meetings.
But you don’t look at him, and when it’s time to leave, you storm out of the house before he has a chance to catch your arm again.
The job. Focus on the job.
You can do this.
-
You lost your virginity to Craig Cody two weeks after you and Pope nearly kissed by the pool.
You don’t know why you did it. Well, you do. It’s what Smurf wants. It’s what Craig wants. It’s what you should want. You and Craig are well matched. You love him in whatever way you do. He’s your best friend. You know how to keep him in check when he acts like an idiot, and he knows how to make you laugh when the weight of everything feels like it’s going to fucking crush you.
So you had a couple of beers at a party. You grabbed his hand before he could get too wasted. Even for a teenager, he’s already fucking huge. Handsome, too. You know the other girls stare at him. You should feel proud that he follows you like a lost puppy the moment you start tugging him towards his room.
It was awkward. And messy. And nothing like the movies say it’s supposed to be like. You know he tried to make it…special, or whatever. He was gentle. He asked if you were okay between kisses as he laid you back on his unmade bed and helped you out of your clothes. When he pushed in, you’d gasped and clawed at his back, and he’d mumbled apologies into your neck and waited until you nodded that you were okay, but he still moved just a little too fast. A little too clumsily. It didn’t hurt too badly, and it wasn’t exactly unpleasant the whole time, but you didn’t feel fireworks or any of the overwhelming pleasure you thought you were supposed to.
When it was over, he’d kissed you, and you’d smiled up at him, and then he’d rolled over and pulled you into his chest and laughed.
“That was awesome.” He breathed, and you nodded. “You’re awesome. Was it…did you?”
“Yeah.” You think you did. There was a minute, somewhere towards the end, when it had felt pretty good. Not the explosion of pleasure you’ve always heard about, but that’s fine.
“Awesome.” He kissed your forehead, and sat up a little. “Wanna beer?”
You’d smiled, heart swelling with affection that should definitely feel more…romantic than it does. But it’s still affection. You still care about him a lot. Maybe this is supposed to be right. “Yeah.”
~
Pope Cody hasn’t looked at you in a week.
Smurf seems more than happy with you sleeping in Craig’s room. With him wrapping an arm around you when you all sit on the couch together. He’s even developed a habit of ducking down and pressing a kiss to your cheek when you’re standing in the kitchen, or before he does a backflip into the pool. It’s fun. You think you can get used to it.
You haven’t had sex again. He’s asked, almost every night, but you’ve always come up with some kind of excuse and he’s always responded with nothing harsher than a disappointed smile. And yet, you both stay up almost all night every night, talking and laughing and playing video games like you always have since the day he first brought you to this house. This family.
But Pope won’t look at you, and you can’t ignore it anymore.
Because he came home from a job with a black eye and bruised knuckles, and now he’s standing in the yard and Smurf’s chastising him for being reckless is still ringing in the air. He didn’t talk. He didn’t argue. He just stared at the pool and refused to look at her. At you.
And now you’re alone with him, and everyone has left to go regroup or party or whatever, and he still. Won’t. Look. At. You.
“Andrew.” You rarely use his real name. He tenses, but he doesn’t turn around.
“Look at me.”
He doesn’t. You snap.
“Why won’t you look at me?” You grab his arm, and turn him toward you, and he pulls it away.
“Stop it.”
“No.” You grab him again, and this time he catches your arm, fingers around your wrist in a vice grip that is firm but nowhere close to painful. His eyes remain on the pavement.
“You haven’t talked to me since I got with Craig.” You say, and his jaw clenches at your words. You can see his cold expression, now, if not his eyes. He’s older than you, but his face still holds the smooth roundness of youth. He’s just as handsome as always. Your heart stutters a little, like it’s supposed to with Craig.
When he still doesn’t answer, you shove at his chest. The sudden movement makes him release your wrist, but he doesn’t budge. “Fucking look at me! Why won’t you at least look at me? Are you seriously this pissed off because I hooked up with him? Stop being an asshole and tell me why you’re acting like this!”
“Because it should have been me!” He finally snaps, finally looks at you, and the sharpness of his voice paired with the intensity behind his dark eyes is enough to nearly make you stumble backwards. “It should have been me. You know it should have.”
He looks almost crazed, now, shoulders hunched and fists clenched and feet moving towards you until you take an instinctive step backwards. The movement doesn’t stop him. He still comes closer.
“You…you let him touch you. And kiss you. And do all of the things I’ve…” he trails off, and your breath freezes in your lungs, “the things I’ve wanted to do since I met you.” His eyes drop to your mouth, back up to your eyes, and he’s close. So close. “It should have been me.”
You don’t move back again. You can feel the warmth of his proximity in the chilly night air. Your voice is too quiet to your own ears. “That’s…not the plan.”
He’s not breathing regularly. His hands are still clenched at his sides. He looks you over, like he’s trying to fight it, before something finally breaks.
“Fuck the plan.” His voice is almost a growl, and you don’t have time to respond before his hand is on the back of your head and his mouth is against yours.
The world explodes.
His lips are warm and rough, demanding and desperate and sending fire through every vein and pore in your body. You choke on a whimper, surprising yourself with the sound, and Pope groans in response as his tongue sweeps its way into your mouth. Your hands fly up, curling in the fabric of his shirt before moving up to his hair like you don’t know how to touch all of him at once. His own hands move down, lips only leaving yours long enough for him to grab the backs of your thighs to lift you against him before he’s kissing you again.
You don’t even register that you’re moving, too caught up in the desperation and the feeling of something hot burning in your core. He presses you against a wall, trails his lips down your throat until you’re gasping for air, before he kisses you again and moves deeper into the empty house.
And then he’s lowering you back onto his bed, crisp sheets smooth against your back, and you barely let him pull away enough to crawl over you before you’re kissing him again with so much need that it’s almost embarrassing.
His rough palms are sliding up beneath your shirt, breath turning shaky at the feeling of your skin against his, and it feels so good you think you might die.
“Is this okay?” He whispers, lips against your cheek, and you nod.
“Please.” You don’t know what you’re begging for, but the sound of it makes him moan as he pulls your t-shirt over your head and trails his mouth down over your collarbone.
His own shirt comes next. You roll on top of him, and kiss and bite down his chest until he’s tangling his fingers in your hair and pulling your mouth back up to his, rolling you both once more until you’re on your back and your hands are fumbling with his belt, unpracticed and clumsy, until he shushes you gently and reaches down to help you with a lingering kiss to your cheek.
“Tell me if it’s too much.” He rasps after a while, and you can barely breathe enough to tell him that you will. You settle for a nod, and his rough palm slides over your stomach, up over your body until he’s cradling your cheek.
“I’ve got you.” He whispers, and the soft words are almost comical with how hard he’s trembling with restraint. With how dark his eyes are, how intense his touch feels. “Breathe. I’ve got you.”
You nod, and when you smile he smiles back, shy and nervous behind that starved expression, and that one look alone makes you feel like you’re floating.
It’s nothing like Craig. It isn’t like Pope is a whole lot more practiced, or some kind of sex god or anything, but every movement feels so much more…right. He slides his hand beneath your thigh, guiding it around his waist and watching your face as your bodies join together for the first time, and the noise that pulls its way out of your throat barely sounds human.
His breath comes on a shaky exhale, eyes never leaving yours as he searches your face for signs of pain or discomfort, and when he finally starts to move you feel something coiling so tightly in your stomach it almost hurts.
Every slow thrust, every reverent touch, tightens that coil. Every kiss. Every whispered word against your skin as his fingers catch your own and he presses your joined hands into the pillow above your head.
You reach the edge so quickly it shocks you, free hand clawing at his back as you bite down on his shoulder and fireworks explode behind your vision.
The feeling is so intense that, for a moment, you forget where you even are. You forget your own name. All you know, all you feel, is Pope moving with you. Whispering praise and promises of adoration against your lips and throat. When he follows you into oblivion, it’s with a breathless moan of your name.
After, he holds you like you’re the most precious thing he’s ever touched. He traces his hands over your skin. He follows the caresses with his lips. And, when you finally remember how to breathe again, you giggle.
He pulls back from your throat with a raised eyebrow, a smile curling on his own lips, and nuzzles his nose into your cheek. “What?”
“I didn’t…” you didn’t know it could feel that good. You didn’t know anything could feel that good. “I…wow.”
He really does smile, now. He tucks you closer to him, barely letting you go as he pulls you beneath the blankets with him and curls his body around yours. Protective. Possessive, even. “Yeah.” He murmurs, pressing his lips to the side of your head. “Wow.”
-
The future Mr. and Mrs. Franklin need to be convincing. Happy. Overwhelmingly in love.
Your heels click against the dock. It takes years of practice and training from Smurf to keep yourself from fidgeting in your expensive dress. Pope’s eyes are on you, burning holes into your head from behind his sunglasses.
“Stop looking at me like that.”
“Like what?”
“You know like what.”
“You look nice.”
“Shut up.”
The door to the yacht opens, and you don’t have time to keep the argument going. Pope slides his arm around you, you grin wide, and he tugs you almost too-tightly into his side.
“Welcome!” The woman on the other side of the door is smiling in that fake and familiar way that people do when they’re trying to get a whole lotta money from rich people. “Mr. and Mrs. Franklin, right?”
“Soon to be.” Pope says, all confidence and practiced casualness. He catches your hand in his, the expensive ring glittering obnoxiously on your finger, and raises the back of your hand to his lips. You giggle like an airhead, tilt your head onto his shoulder, and grin up at him.
“Adorable.” The woman says, too emphatically, and you don’t miss the way her eyes rake over your ‘fiance’. You shouldn’t care. This isn’t real. He’s not… yours anymore. And yet, it’s hard to shake off the surge of possessiveness that nearly has you yanking him down and pressing your lips to his.
When she turns to lead you both into the yacht, you try to pull your hand out of Pope’s. He doesn’t let you go. You turn to glare, and he offers you a small smile and a squeeze of his fingers through your own.
Fine.
-
“I’m sorry. He refuses to see you.”
“I…” you blink, shake your head, and tell yourself you heard the guard wrong. “What?”
“Believe it or not, even prisoners have a right to refuse visitation. He said he doesn’t want to see you.”
You blink again. “That’s…that’s not true. That can’t be true.”
“You can try again next week, but in my experience you’ll probably have the same reaction.”
-
You try again the next week. And the next. You stop sleeping. You stop eating. You wait for a phone call. An explanation. You go to Smurf. You go back to the prison.
Six weeks later, he finally fucking agrees to see you.
You nearly rip the phone off of the wall. He doesn’t look right in a prison uniform. He doesn’t look like he’s been sleeping. “What the fuck, Andrew?”
At your use of his name, his real name, you swear you can see something like relief flicker in his eyes, like the sound of your voice is a drug he’s been deprived of for over a month. You’re about to keep talking, or even press your hand against the glass like some lame fucking cliche, the sight of his face lifting something heavy off of your soul.
“Stop calling.” He says simply, and your heart drops to your feet.
“What?”
“Stop calling. Stop showing up here. Stop.”
“I…” what? This isn’t happening. He wouldn’t do this. “What? Pope, Andrew, I didn’t leave you.” That’s almost, almost incriminating. You know that. But it could also mean anything. You’re his girlfriend, after all. He’s in prison. You’ve been trying to see him. You haven’t left him. The last thing they’ll probably assume is that you’re talking about leaving him to be arrested after robbing that fucking bank.
“I know.” He says simply, and meets your eyes. “I don’t care. Leave. Stop coming here. I’m not going to come see you again.”
You don’t know what to say. You don’t know how to breathe anymore. This is so fucking wrong and it doesn’t make sense and-
He places the phone on the receiver, stands up, and leaves.
That’s the last time you see Andrew Cody for three years.
-
“And here we have the reception deck. As you can see, the view will be absolutely spectacular, especially when you’re out on the water…”
Four exits. Three cameras. One, two…
“I’m so sorry. Is there a bathroom I can use?” You ask brightly, from where you’re hanging off of Pope’s arm. “Or I’m sorry, the head, right? Like they say on boats.” An airheaded giggle, a practiced bat of your eyes.
The moment you’re around the corner, you whip out your phone and start taking notes and pictures. Exits. Entrance points. Doors to the lower deck where Craig can-
“We need to talk.”
You actually yelp, whirling around and stumbling on your heels before Pope’s arm shoots out to curve around your middle and keep you from falling over.
“What the fuck are you doing?” You hiss, wide eyes shooting back towards the hall. “Now? Let me go.”
“You won’t talk to me. I have to-“
“So you’re gonna fuck up the job? They could be here any second. You’re supposed to be distracting them.” He’s lost his fucking mind. Clearly, prison has warped his brain and made him an irrational asshole who-
The click of heels against the hardwood floor. A familiar, professional voice calling out your fake names with too much curiosity and suspicion.
“Fuck.” You whisper, and start scrambling to pull away and hide your phone. “Fuck.”
In one swift movement, Pope snatches the device out of your hand, slides it into his back pocket, presses you against the wall and slams his mouth to yours.
Like always, even after all of this time, the feeling of his lips against your own sends a jolt of electricity through your entire body.
He kisses you like he hasn’t thought about anything else in the last three years. His lips move hungrily against yours, one large hand coming up to tangle in your perfectly-done hair as his body envelops yours until you can’t think of anything else.
His tongue traces over your lip, and you open for him instinctively until he groans and changes the angle so he can kiss you more deeply and it feels so fucking good you might-
“Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to…interrupt.” A bright, awkward voice breaks you out of your trance, and you gasp as you wrench your mouth away from Pope’s. He doesn’t even turn to the woman, thumb pressing into your cheek as he traces it over your skin like he’s trying to re-memorize the feeling.
It takes a lot more effort than you want to admit to clear your throat and plaster a flustered and embarrassed look on your face. To fall back into the ditzy, wealthy fiance facade. To keep yourself from ignoring her completely and kissing Pope again to chase that euphoric fucking feeling for as long as you can.
“Oh geez. I’m so embarrassed.” You reach up, and pinch Pope’s cheek just a little too hard with one manicured hand, feigning bright affection. “I just can’t keep my hands off of him, you know?”
“It’s so nice to see a couple so…in love.” A tight lipped, professional smile. Another glance at Pope that has irritating possessiveness curling in your chest again. You don’t have a right to feel that way. Not anymore. Not even after…whatever that was. “Would you two like to continue the tour?”
-
When Craig found out, he punched Pope in the face.
Pope punched him back.
When you lurched forward, prepared to jump between them and stop the bullshit macho display, Smurf had stuck her arm out and pushed you back.
“Let them fight. They need it.” She said, voice even, and kept her eyes on her two sons as they wrestled each other near the pool.
“This is bullshit. They-“
“You know,” she interrupts, still not looking at you. “When I took you in off the street, I wasn’t expecting you to stir up so much trouble.”
You freeze, heart stilling in your chest. She could send you back to your family. Your father. Being thrown out on the street would be bad enough on its own, but Smurf doesn’t work that way. If she wanted to really hurt you, she would.
“I didn’t mean to…stir up anything.”
She looks at you now, assessing. “I believe you.” She hums, and pulls her arm back. “Go break them up now, baby. See if you can fix your mess.”
-
“What the fuck was that?”
“A distraction.” Pope’s hands are on the steering wheel. His eyes are on the road.
“And before that? Cornering me in the hallway when I’m trying to gather fucking intel?”
He frowns. His fingers flex on the steering wheel. “It’s been three years.”
“And whose fucking fault is that?”
His brow furrows like he genuinely doesn’t understand why you would ask that. “The…U.S. prison system.”
“You know exactly what I mean. Don’t be a dick.”
“I’m not being a dick.”
“Pull the truck over.”
He does look at you, now, and you can see surprise in his eyes from where they’re visible over his shades. “No. Why?”
“I’m walking. Pull the truck over.”
He turns back to the road. One hand drops off the steering wheel, like it might come to rest on your thigh the same way it has in almost every car ride for years, before he catches himself and returns it to its original spot. “You can barely stand in those shoes.”
“So I’ll take them off. Pull over.”
“Just let me talk to you. Please.”
“No.”
His head drops back against the seat, jaw clenching in frustration, and you feel a surge of pride that you still seem to be the only person who can break through his little bubble of stoicism. Yeah, take that asshole. Be as exasperated as you want.
You don’t speak to him for the rest of the car ride.
-
Craig’s nose is bleeding. His feet are in the pool. He’s holding an ice pack to his eye.
“Do you hate me?” You ask, feeling almost childish for the question.
He laughs. Actually laughs, like you just said something ridiculous.
“Nah. Couldn’t if I tried, I think.”
You frown. “Then why did you…”
He shrugs, takes a sip of his beer, and smiles at you. “I mean, he did fuck my girlfriend. I’d be a little bitch if I just let him get away with that.”
“I’m not your girlfriend.”
“Well, not anymore.”
“I was never-“
“C’mon. I’ve got a shiner and a broken nose. Don’t hit my ego, too.”
You laugh, and shake your head. “You’re an idiot.”
He holds up his beer in a silent cheers, and there’s nothing but affection in his eyes as he takes a swig. No pining. No longing. Not even hurt or betrayal. Just…affection.
You smile at him, and your heart swells in that way you once tried to convince yourself was romantic attraction.
“I thought Smurf was gonna throw me out.”
He frowns now, and shakes his head. “She won’t. And if she does, Pope and I’ll just come with you.”
You smile again. You know it doesn’t reach your eyes. Craig leans over, and bumps your shoulder with his own.
“No matter what, that asshole’s not gonna hurt you again. You’re gonna be okay.”
“And if Pope ever fucks up, I’ll be here. I know I’m the best sex you’ve ever had, anyway.”
You snort. “Craig-“
“Ego, remember? Lemme have this.”
You poke him in the bruised ribs, and he hisses in pain before he laughs again.
You believe him.
-
When you get back to the house, you lurch out of the car before he can even reach for you. You stumble on your heels, kick them off of your feet in the yard, and storm into the house.
“Woah, hey there Hurricane Lady.” Craig’s grin falls the second he sees your face. “Shit. What happened?”
“Nothing. Here’s the phone. It’s got the pictures. Exits. All of that shit.” You want to snap that maybe Craig could have just done this himself, having gotten himself a job there, but you know that he doesn’t get access to the same places you just did. “I’m off the job.”
“What?”
“She’s not off the job.” Pope’s voice, from the door, makes you prickle.
“You don’t get to decide whether I’m on or off the job.” You whirl, and glare. “You don’t get to decide shit about me. Not anymore.”
“Jesus.” Deran blows out a breath, eyes on Pope. “You didn’t tell her, man?”
“Tell me what?”
“She won’t let me tell her.” Pope looks frustrated. Pained, even. Like he has any fucking right to be.
“Tell me what?!”
“Just tell her.”
“I’ve been trying-“
“Tell. Me. What?”
“He cut you off in prison because the cops were coming after you.” Craig says, and the words shut you up. “They were investigating your involvement. He had to cut ties so you didn’t incriminate yourself.”
Oh. Oh.
‘Pope. Andrew. I didn’t leave you.’
“Can I talk to you now?” Pope’s voice is low, and he’s doing the head-tilt thing, and you swear your lips are still tingling from his kiss.
You stare. He stares back. You open your mouth. Close it.
And then you walk into his room.
You don’t even need to turn around to know he’s following you. You hear Craig whistle the wedding march behind you, and you flip him off over your shoulder.
Pope’s old room is empty. The bed is made like it always was before.
“Beautiful. So beautiful. All mine…”
He whispers the words into the flushed skin of your neck, reverent and laced with gravel as his body moves against yours like it was made to. You gasp his name, and he groans as he moves faster.
Some party rages down the hall. The sounds of it are distant and inconsequential. All you can hear is his shallow breathing. His whispered promises of love between presses of his lips to any part of your skin he can reach. You love him so much it hurts and you’re going to-
You shake the memory off. Clear your throat. When you turn to him, he’s looking at the bed like he’s remembering something similar. Well, there are a lot of memories like that in this house. In the house the two of you shared later. In his truck. By the pool. In the pool. On the beach. At the-
Fuck.
“Talk. You wanted to talk, so talk.”
He watches you. You watch back, tense.
“They were looking for a reason to arrest you. The cops thought they might have identified you on that job a few months before. The one at the dispensary.”
You just keep staring at him. He shifts on his feet. “I couldn’t tell you. They were listening to everything. I figured…it was the only way to keep you out of prison.”
“Three years.”
Guilt flickers across his expression. Something like desperation follows. His fingers flex by his side. “I didn’t know when they stopped investigating you. Just when they stopped asking me questions.”
“Three. Years.”
“I missed you every day.” He moves closer, hesitant, like he’s trying to make sure you don’t bolt. “Every fucking minute. I thought about you all the time. It…it killed me, to walk away like that. I still think about the look on your face. I…” his jaw clenches, and he reaches towards you.
You should pull back. You should slap him, maybe. You know he would let you.
“You risked the job.” You try. Try to find something to cling to your anger. Your hurt. You missed him so much and all of that pain doesn’t just go away with one explanation.
“Fuck the job.” He whispers, hand sliding up over your cheek. “It’s been three years.”
And then he’s kissing you. Rough. Hungry. Desperate in a way that makes your knees threaten to give out because holy shit nothing has ever felt as good as Pope Cody’s skin against yours.
For a moment, you forget. You forget to be angry and hurt and painfully confused in favor of tangling your fingers in his curls and dragging him closer to you. He groans, the sound rough and borderline desperate, and his hands drop to your waist, lifting you clean off your bare feet to spin you both until he has you pinned against the wall.
His chest is pressed against yours. His hand is moving down to the hem of your dress, and you think you can feel his fingers shaking as they skate up over your skin and a shiver falls down your spine.
But it isn’t enough. This isn’t enough. It feels so good that it kills you to pull away. But his fingers are sliding up the inside of your thigh and if they reach their intended destination there won’t be anything in the world that will be able to stop you. To stop him, either, if how hungrily he’s kissing you now is any indication.
Because his kiss doesn’t make up for the hours you spent alone, in the house you once shared, staring at a phone that wouldn’t ring. How humiliating it felt to cry yourself to sleep with your mind filled to the brim with questions that you would never have answers to.
His mouth is gliding over your jaw, down over your throat, and his grip on your waist is so wonderfully tight and his fingers are so close to where you need him so badly it hurts and-
You shove him away, breathless and flushed and almost shaking with hunger, and his dark eyes have never looked so predatory.
“You…you can’t do that.” You whisper, and he looks like he’s about to do exactly that again at any moment. You hold up a hand, warding him off, and force yourself to steady your breathing. “No, you don’t get to do that. You don’t get to just show up again and kiss me like that.”
“I’m sorry.” He starts, expression filled with a genuine pain.
“You made me think, for three years, that you didn’t love me anymore.”
“I’m sorry.” He moves closer like it’s instinct, and you back up a little more into the wall, and he looks like he’s about to drop to his knees before you. “I’m so fucking sorry. I did it to protect you. I promise. I couldn’t think of any other way.”
You push past him, and walk out the door.
For once, he doesn’t follow.
-
“Where is she?”
You’re not here. You haven’t come since he got out.
“She doesn’t really come around anymore, man.” Craig shrugs, like it’s casual, like your absence isn’t digging a hole into Pope’s soul even as he sits here by the pool and you should be here but you’re not and he fucking hates it. He should have apologized to you ten times over by now. You should be here with him.
“She comes around every now and then. Watches Lena. Grabs a beer with me on Tuesdays and surfs with us if we ask nicely.” Craig leans back, and Pope fights the urge to lean forward and beg for more information. “She doesn’t talk to Baz, though. I think the most I’ve seen them interact is her flipping him off or some shit.”
Yeah, sounds like you.
“So, you gonna talk to her?”
Yes. Of fucking course he is. He’ll be on his knees begging the second you’re in the room.
But you don’t come. You don’t show up at the house anymore. You changed your number, and he can’t call you. Despite what Craig said, it’s almost like you’ve made yourself into some kind of ghost, too far away for him to reach anymore.
When he was in prison, he would fantasize about the day he got out. In most of those fantasies, you were waiting for him at the house. In a good few of them, you weren’t wearing much clothing, but that part can be easily attributed to how long he went without seeing you.
Nevertheless, you were there. And he would take you into his arms, and you would smile and tell him you understood why he had to do what he did, and everything would be perfect.
But now, he has to track down your new house. On the beach, and not too far from his new place, but he doubts you know that.
He watches through your window and doesn’t even register that it might be a little fucked up of him. He makes sure you get home safe. Waits until he sees you climb into bed and flick off your lights, and often spends a good long while imagining all of the times he would be right there with you. How he would tuck you into his chest, and the two of you would have whispered conversations like you were still teenagers living in Smurf’s house and trying not to be overheard.
He doesn’t go to the door. It’s not the right time. Not yet. It isn’t like it has to be perfect, but… but it’s been three years. Three years of torture and an isolation that almost killed him. That may have killed a part of him, somewhere deep down where even he can’t reach. As badly as he wants to stand on your porch and beg and plead for you to understand, to love him again, he isn’t sure he would be able to handle you slamming a door in his face. He’s not sure he would be able to let you, and that thought alone almost frightens him more than anything else.
Not yet. The job. When Craig brings you in on the job, that’s when he’ll see you. Talk to you. Make you forgive him.
Just…not yet.
But that doesn’t mean he can’t keep an eye on you, until then.
-
The effort it took to get Ethan the Finance Bro to talk with you after Craig ruined it the first time is almost making this particular job too much of a pain in the ass.
It’s a little tricky to balance the work you have to put into the boat job with your own plans, but your own jobs are a little less complex than the ones enacted by the Cody boys. Less reward, sure, but it’s safer and easier. Find out a few things about Finance Bro Ethan’s rich dad, get access to an account or two, make a couple of unnoticeable transfers, and bing bang boom. You can afford rent and to fix your car, and maybe even a nice pair of shoes while you’re at it.
He’s jumpy. You have to smile a little more brightly at him, hold his hand across the table and bat your eyelashes as you insist that your friend from before is just terrible at making jokes, and he’s finally relaxing enough to-
His eyes trail up over your shoulder, and stop.
“Leave.” And that’s Pope’s low, furious voice. It is dripping with danger.
Ethan looks at you. Back at Pope. You smile, wide and sweet, and refuse to turn around. “Ignore him.”
“Do that, and I’ll cut your ears off.”
Son of a bitch.
“He’s joking.”
“Three.”
Ethan starts to scoot out of the booth.
“Don’t.” You say, jaw clenching and smile still forcefully bright.
“Two.”
And he’s gone. Just like that. Out the door and ruining your plans completely.
“Fucking Codys. Do you have any idea how hard it was to get him to talk to me again?”
“Who was that?”
“I had to bend over backwards to keep him from being terrified after Craig’s bullshit. This bra is so uncomfortable. You fucking-“
His hand comes down on the back of your chair, and he leans closer to you with a deadly and dark expression. You don’t flinch. You don’t even come close. In all the time you’ve known him, in all of his scariest moments, he’s never come anywhere close to harming you. The possibility simply doesn’t register in your mind. “Who was that?”
You look at him, deadpan. “My boyfriend.” It couldn’t be farther from the truth, but you may as well piss him off a little.
It works. His jaw clenches, and he leans a little closer. “I’m serious.”
Fine. You give up. “He was a mark. I’m on a job.”
“You’re already on a job.” Pope’s frown deepens, angry eyes moving up to the door again. “That guy was staring down the front of your shirt.”
“That’s kind of the point.” You glance down at your low cut top, at the aforementioned uncomfortable bra, and when Pope does the same you can see something twitch in his jaw. Feel his hand tighten imperceptibly on the booth behind you before he looks back up at your face.
“We’re leaving.”
“No, you’re leaving.” You correct, irritated, and move to turn away from him.
He catches you, turning you back towards him with a look so intense it makes your heart drop. “Come home with me.”
You pause, knocked off-kilter by his proximity and the desperation in his gaze. He looks…dangerous. Like a man in a desert who has been deprived of water for too long, and is starting to lose it enough to follow that water to a bar and ruin her weeks of work.
And yet, it’s annoyingly difficult to care. Not when it would be so easy to bring your hand up, curl your fingers in the soft curls on the back of his neck, and pull his lips down to yours. So, so easy, and yet…
You start to move back, and his hand catches your chin, thumb sliding over your jaw in that familiar and devoted way that always makes your toes curl a little. He saw it. He saw the hesitation. The want in your expression matching his own, and he’s too far gone to let it go.
“Come home with me.” He repeats, soft and close enough that his nose nearly brushes your temple. “We can do jobs together. Like we used to. You don’t have to…do this.”
You spent so long being a team. Being with him. Every job, every move, it was all with Pope and the Codys and while you can do these smaller jobs alone perfectly fine, you want…
Him. God, you want him. Not just sex, either. Though after three years and the way he’s standing so close you can feel the warmth radiating from him, you’re having a hard time not jumping his bones in the middle of this bar. You want to wake up with him in the mornings again. You want to watch him wash the dishes in that particular and concentrated way he has. You want to sit on the beach with him at night, and talk about everything and nothing until the sun peeks over the horizon.
His nose skates down your cheek. The noise of the bar fades away. Your eyes flutter closed as if of their own accord, head tilting to the side, and he makes a low noise as his fingers leave your face to move down your arm.
“I’m sorry.” He murmurs, lips pressing against the line of your jaw, and your next breath comes as a shaky exhale. His hand slides around the curve of your waist, and the angle of his body above yours is intoxicatingly overwhelming. He kisses your jaw again, a little higher, a little closer to your ear, and you melt. “I’ll apologize a thousand fuckin’ times, okay? Just come home with me. Let me show you how sorry I am.”
Your body relaxes beneath his, and you feel his mouth trailing over your skin like he couldn’t give less of a shit about the rest of the world around you. It’s so familiar. So nice. So warm and-
Goddammit.
“Stop.” You push on his chest, and he moves back with a genuinely pained expression. “Stop it, Pope. You just fucked up a month of work for me. I’m not going home with you.”
The look on his face would break your heart, if there was anything left of it to break.
You don’t say another word.
You just leave.
-
The girl sleeping on the couch is the most beautiful girl he’s ever seen.
Craig brought you here a few hours ago. Said something about you taking on three guys by the beach who were trying to rough him up over weed money. You hit the biggest one with a baseball bat. They knocked you out before Craig could take them down.
Smurf hadn’t said much when Craig walked in, eyes bright with lingering adrenaline as he’d placed you on the couch, but she’d seemed impressed when Craig had explained what happened. She’d told him to leave you on the couch for now, and to make sure you didn’t get any blood on her furniture. Your face is bruised. Your sneakers are dirty. You’re wearing a flannel that’s way too big and has holes in it.
“I think she’s been sleepin’ on the beach.” Craig says, brow furrowing a little as he looks down at you. You’re so still you could be dead. Pope wonders what color your eyes are, and then wonders why he wondered that.
“Junkie?” He asks, and resists the urge to brush the hair out of your eyes. Like Julia, maybe. Maybe you know her, wherever she might be right now. Maybe you already have that connection to him. Maybe…
Craig shakes his head. “Nah. Not a junkie. I dunno if she’s homeless, either. I just kinda see her around sometimes. She pickpockets tourists. Seems good at figuring out which ones are the L.A. douchebags.”
Pope frowns. Your face twitches a little, but you don’t wake.
“She’s hot.” His younger brother observes, and Pope’s frown deepens. “And badass. You shoulda seen her, dude. She went at them like a fuckin’ demon. She doesn’t even know me.”
You look so angelic, curled in on yourself on the couch with sand in your hair and dirt under your fingernails, that he finds it hard to believe.
Hard, but not impossible. Because there’s something about you, and the bruises on your face that look so much like the ones that often adorn his own, that screams…fighter. Survivor. Protector.
And he hasn’t even spoken to you yet, but there’s something else there. Something deep down and warm and intrinsic that he can’t exactly pinpoint but certainly can’t ignore.
His.
-
When you wake up, he’s watching you. He knows he probably shouldn’t be. He probably looks creepy, or whatever everyone says, but he can’t seem to pull his eyes away from the rise and fall of your breathing. The way your face twitches every now and then in sleep. The way your hair spills over the couch cushion. He wants to brush it away, but he’s afraid to wake you.
Your eyes flutter open. They’re beautiful.
And those beautiful eyes move dazedly around the room before they land on him, and widen. You bolt up, and hiss in pain as whatever injuries you sustained in that fight no doubt scream in protest.
You look at him. Look around. Look back at him.
Carefully, he passes you the baseball bat from his room. Craig said you had one before. You’re in a strange new place. It might make you feel safe.
You close your fingers around the handle, and watch him like a hawk as you pull it over to you.
“Where am I?” He likes the sound of your voice. Even cracked with sleep and shaky with nerves, it sounds as pretty as the rest of you.
“My house.” He says simply, cocking his head to the side. “Craig brought you here.”
Craig is passed out in his room down the hall. You took a while to wake up. You frown, and rub your head a little.
“Why did you do it?” The question leaves him before he can think, curiosity lying heavy in his chest. People in Oceanside don’t just help other people like that. Not when it could put them in the same state you ended up in.
“Three to one didn’t seem like fair odds.”
Pope takes this information, and holds it close to his heart. Keeps it there like a flame he’ll never let go out.
You sit in silence for a minute before he speaks again.
“Do you want a sandwich?”
You look up, surprised, and your lips quirk upwards just the smallest bit.
“Sure.”
-
The knocking is loud. Very loud. Angry, even.
When Pope opens the door, there you are.
Fuck, it’s like you don’t even know how beautiful you are. He’s always been surprised by that. Sure, you use your looks and pretty smiles to work people on jobs, but when that persona is lowered and you’re just…you, the sight of you could make him drop to his fucking knees.
“You fixed my door.”
He’s shirtless. It’s early. Your eyes drop down to his chest before they fly back up to his face, and he is two seconds away from yanking you into the house and taking you right here in the front hall.
Shit. Three years. Three long, long years of nothing but his hand and memories of you. He’s devolved into a fucking animal. All he can think about is ripping that t-shirt off of you. Of lifting you onto the table right here and dropping to his knees, hearing the noises he can pull from you when he buries his face between your-
“You fixed my door.” You repeat, angrier now, and he furrows his brow as he forces himself out of the fantasy.
“Yeah.”
“Pope, you don’t know where I live.”
His brow furrows a little more.
“Fine, I haven’t told you where I live.” Oh, that’s what you mean. Right.
“It was creaking.”
“How many times have you broken into my house?”
Seven. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Andrew.”
You should know better than to say his name. His real name. The sound of it shoots something molten through his veins, and his hand tightens on the doorframe.
“We’re broken up. You can’t break into my house.”
“We’re not broken up.” The fact comes easily. Simply. There’s no plea behind it. No question at all.
“We’re broken up. You broke up with me.”
“No, I didn’t. I said stop coming around. I didn’t break up with you.”
“Whatever you did, it was three years ago.”
“And you’re not in prison.” He wants to ask why you’re not getting it, but he knows that you do. Even if most wouldn’t, you know how he thinks. You’re just being deliberately obtuse because you’re angry. But he’ll spend the rest of his life apologizing to you, if that’s what you need. “I’m out. We still love each other.”
“You don’t know that I still love you.”
He raises an eyebrow. “Tell me you don’t.”
You open your mouth, like you just might try it, before closing it again and trying another tactic. He’s always found it…cute. The way you try to deflect your feelings like this. And he’ll never try to pretend that he doesn’t love how easily he can call you on it. There are two things in this world that Andrew Cody is absolutely confident in: jobs, and you.
“You fucked up my job.”
“You hate those jobs. They bore you.”
Your eyes narrow, and you’re gorgeous when you’re angry. “I don’t have a backup plan anymore. I need the boat job to go well.”
You’re stalling. You don’t want to leave. “It will.” He raises an eyebrow again. Your eyes drop back down to his bare chest, and it sends a thrill through him. “Want some breakfast?”
“No.” You’re still standing here, and he knows you too well to let you leave just yet. The tension crackling through the air, emanating from you and directing itself at him, is so fucking obvious it almost makes him grin.
“Coffee?”
You hesitate. Frown. “Fine.”
And with that word, you cross the threshold, and kiss him.
-
Your first job with the Cody family went well. Really well.
Smurf shocked all of them by inviting you in, building up her tests of your skills and your loyalty to the family until she suddenly just…made you a part of it. Sat you down at the family meeting with them and told you what your part in the job would be.
Baz protested. Deran was quiet. Craig, however, was thrilled. Pope is pretty sure his brother likes you a little too much, and he hates the way it makes jealousy and possessiveness curl black and vile in his throat. He hates the way Smurf seems to assess this. The way she watches you keep Craig in line and encourages the two of you to spend time together.
But you did well. Really well.
And then, after dinner, you disappeared.
Pope found you up the street, sitting on a small curve of beach and watching the moon like you were greeting an old friend. He’d hesitated to join you, like he might be interrupting, but…
“Hi.”
Shit. “Hi.”
“Wanna sit down?”
Yes. So fucking badly. He’d do anything in the world to just be close to you. “Do you want me to?”
“Yeah.”
He hesitates. You look back at him, illuminated by moonlight and so gorgeous it stops the breath in his lungs, and pat the sand beside you.
He sits, and you rest your head against his shoulder. Like it’s the easiest thing in the world.
“Are you…okay?” Do you expect him to function correctly right now? Do you expect him to be able to string a thought together? You’re so warm. So soft. He doesn’t have experience with this kind of thing.
“Oh yeah.” You hum, fingers curling in the sand beneath you. “I mean, if you’re asking if I’m upset about you holding an unloaded gun to my head while I pretended to freak out, don’t worry. I’m fine.” You mean it. Smurf would be impressed.
He could cover your hand with his own, right now. You might even let him. You might let him curl his fingers around yours, and even flip your palm to rest it against his. Your soft skin against his rough callouses, pillowed by the sand beneath you…
“So what’s wrong?”
You hum, and he feels it vibrate through his shoulder. “I don’t know. Smurf, the job, everything just feels like it’s going too well.”
“Too well?”
“Things change. They hurt when they change. It’s too…good.” He starts to say something, though he isn’t sure what, before you continue. “That’s why I like coming out here, though. I like looking at the water. It’s why I slept on the beach when things got too shitty at home, you know?”
He turns his head, and it brings his face so close to yours that he almost chokes. You don’t even look up, just keep watching the waves crash on the beach as you continue.
“It sounds kinda cheesy, but the ocean is so…big. And no matter what’s going on with me, no matter how bad things seem, it makes it all feel smaller, you know? All that ocean, everything going on beneath the surface, and whatever bullshit’s happening to me just feels…inconsequential. More manageable, I guess.”
Oh God. Fuck. He loves you. He loves you so much.
His hand, knuckles still bruised from some fight he got into earlier this week and already so much bigger than your own, covers yours. You stop picking at the sand, but you don’t pull away.
“I’ll always be here.” He murmurs, some part of him terrified that you’ll jump away from him. He means it. He really does.
And you mean it too, when you turn your palm and slide your fingers through his, and murmur back. “Thank you.”
-
It’s a fucking whirlwind.
You don’t know what possessed you. What you were thinking. Just that you are magnetized to this man, and he’s standing there looking at you like he knows every thought in your head and like he loves you more than anything in the world and you can’t spend another second without his lips against your own.
He meets you just as hard, hand coming up to grip at the hair at the base of your skull as you walk him backwards into his house. You realize, vaguely, between the blur of lips and teeth and desperate hands, that you haven’t even seen the inside of it yet. Even now, it’s weird for there to be any aspect of Pope’s life that you don’t know about.
The tour, however, is going to have to wait. Because Pope has you pressed against the counter and you barely have time to gasp his name before he’s lifting you onto it, tugging your shirt up over your head and tossing it aside before ducking down to trail desperate kisses over your neck. You tangle your fingers in his hair, and pull his mouth back up to yours, biting down on his lip until he groans and reaches down to start tugging your pants over your hips.
“Bedroom.” You manage, somewhere between a choked moan and a drag of your nails down his muscled back that has him sinking his teeth into your throat.
“Three years.” He replies, the words a starved growl, as he rips your pants and underwear down over your legs. All you can do is nod your understanding and drag his mouth back to yours, hands leaving his face to reach down and tug his sweatpants over his hips.
He pulls back, just enough to press his lips to your ear, and you can’t help but whimper when he murmurs his next words.
“Tell me you want this.”
You curl your fingers in his hair, pull him closer to you, and barely manage to gasp out a soft confirmation of “I want this, Andrew” before he’s pushing into you and it is everything you’ve missed for too long and it feels so good you might fucking die.
You gasp, and hold him tighter, and he breathes a shaky exhale into the hollow of your throat as he goes very very still.
You make a soft noise, needing more, and he understands immediately because he knows every inch of you better than he knows himself.
“Three years.” He murmurs again, hoarse and apologetic as his hands grip the counter on either side of you. You realize what he means through the haze of lust, and a bubble of laughter tears its way out of your throat. The sudden movement makes him hiss, cursing softly against your throat as his hands fly up to grip your hips. You clamp your lips together in an attempt to stop your giggling, and when he pulls back to look at you he starts laughing too.
And then, still smiling, he kisses you slow and deep, and begins to move. The moment he does, all humor flies out the window, and you gasp as you lock your legs around his hips and scramble for purchase against his back.
It’s fast and desperate, like he really and truly can’t help it, and it is absolutely perfect. Fuck, it’s everything you have ever needed in your entire life and more. You cling to him, wrapped in his arms and burying your face in his neck to try to muffle cries that might wake the entire Strand. He doesn’t stop, but his grip tightens as he adjusts his movements to grind deeper, fingers tangling in your hair to pull your head back from his shoulder until you can feel his ragged breaths against the shell of you ear.
“Yeah?” He whispers, hoarse and smiling and already wrecked as the force of his movements makes stars explode behind your vision. Then, closer, his nose against your temple and his grip almost bruising on your skin. “Yeah?”
You just nod, and hold on for dear life as you fall over the edge with a cry of his name, and he follows right after you with a choked moan of yours.
For a moment, you both just try to catch your breath, wrapped in each other’s arms with your legs shaking and Pope’s shoulder warm against your forehead. He kisses the side of your head, soft and loving, and huffs a laugh into your hair as he pulls back to press his lips to yours.
“I missed you.” He whispers, and you’re smiling too.
And then, without warning, he hoists you into his arms and starts walking.
“Where are we going?” You ask, still laughing, still smiling, still blissed out beyond words.
He kisses your forehead, your cheek, and kicks a door open. “Bedroom.”
-
Once the initial violent desperation has faded, Pope takes his time with you. He works you apart piece by piece, like he’s relearning every inch of your skin. He kisses every new scar. Every familiar freckle. He makes you forget every word that isn’t his name, tells you he loves you until he’s hoarse with it, and you do the same to him. In the confines of his room, in this new house on the beach, you forget about every morsel of pain you’ve felt in the past. Every tear you’ve shed. Every lonely moment.
At some point, when he’s trailing slow kisses up the inside of your thigh and your fingers are tangled in his curls, you manage to come back to yourself for half a second.
“We’re not back together.” You murmur, and he looks up long enough to raise a dark eyebrow at you.
“We’re not.” You repeat, and he gives you another look, this time with both eyebrows, before nudging your thigh further aside. He doesn’t speak, and he doesn’t need to, because in the next five seconds you completely forget how to form coherent thought.
-
The sun is setting by the time you’re both too exhausted to continue. A few minutes ago, you broke apart long enough to make your way to the shower, where you’d lasted about five minutes before he’d slipped in behind you. You managed to hold back long enough to shampoo each other’s hair before lathering off had turned into kissing beneath the stream, which had turned into…well, into you pressed up against the wall, his chest against your back and his teeth buried in your shoulder as your fingers clawed against the tile and your vision turned white for the umpteenth time today.
Now, his fingers card through your still-damp hair, and you wonder vaguely if you’ll ever walk again.
“Holy shit. We haven’t done that since…” you trail off, brain as mushy as your muscles seem to be, and you feel Pope’s proud smile against your forehead.
“Three years and forty nine days.” He supplies, and you can’t hold back your giggle. “Day after the jewelry store job.”
“Right.” Christ, it really is a miracle that you survived three years apart when you used to go at each other like coked out bunny rabbits. “Forgot about that.”
“I didn’t.”
You swat at his chest, and he tucks you closer to him, tilting your chin up to press his lips to yours.
-
For the first time in three years, you wake up in Andrew Cody’s arms.
And he’s asleep. He’s soundly, completely asleep. He’s always been a light sleeper, but despite that there are certain circumstances that have been known to knock him out like a log.
He’s completely out now, arms wrapped tightly around you and deep breaths tickling the top of your head.
There was always so much chaos in your lives. So many things that could go wrong at any moment, so many risks taken every single day. There was Smurf’s manipulations, Craig’s irresponsibility, Deran’s tendency to disappear and worry everyone, Julia being gone, and Baz…well, Baz being a raging douche most of the time. All of it was always so much, but right here, right like this…this was always where you felt safest. All of the insanity would always be a million miles away, blocked out by the circle of Andrew Cody’s arms.
Which is probably why it feels like a physical stab to your chest when you carefully wiggle out of them.
He grunts, one arm reaching out as if searching for you, but he doesn’t wake.
You allow yourself one moment to stare at him. One long, aching moment. He’s so beautiful in the moonlight that he almost hurts to look at.
And then you slip on one of his tshirts, wiggle into your jeans, and disappear out the door.
You don’t bother pulling your shoes back on, letting the sand cushion your feet as you wander down the beach, and listening to the waves crash against the shore.
He’ll wake up soon, and he’ll find you. And when he does, he’ll pull you back into his arms and the two of you will sit on this beach like you used to. Watch the waves and the stars like you used to. You’ll talk, and he’ll apologize, and he isn’t very good with words but you’ll understand him and you’ll forgive him. Just like that.
You’re not ready for that.
So you pull out your phone, and dial the only other number you have on speed dial. The only number besides Pope Cody’s.
“Where the hell have you been?” Craig shouts into the phone, mirth lacing his voice even through the tinny speaker.
You glance down at Pope’s t-shirt. Plain white. Too big for you. Soft and draped over your body like a flag with his name on it.
Oh well. “You’re gonna give me a whole lotta shit for it.”
He laughs, and you hear a bottle clink somewhere on the other side of the phone. “So why’re you callin’ me?”
“Cause I’m crazy, I guess. Or an idiot.”
“Or both.”
You hum, and bend down to scoop some sand into your palm, letting it trickle between your fingers as it falls back to the earth. You’re confused, and still hurting, and your heart aches heavy in your chest. In moments like this, you’ve always wondered what it would be like to have one of those girl best friends in rom-coms. The kind who would split a bottle of wine with you on the couch and talk for hours about boys with you. That must be nice. You wonder if they really exist, somewhere where life is normal.
Well, you don’t have that. You have Craig Cody.
“I’ve gotta go off grid for a minute.” You say, and trail your eyes back towards Pope’s darkened house. You have minutes before that light flicks on, and you cave. “Wanna get drunk?”
Craig blows out a long breath, and you can almost see him raising his eyebrows and resting his elbows on his knees.
“Sure. Where are you?”
-
Pope hasn’t seen you in three days.
Deran is the one who called him, frustrated and concerned and grouching about you not being able to handle your liquor.
“It’s weird, dude. The balance is gone. She’s not talking him out of shit anymore. They’re just kinda ramping each other up.” He hears the clink of bottles. Shouting in the background. Maybe, somewhere, your laughter. “Whatever you did, come fix it. Because your girlfriend is doing body shots on my bar and I’m not about to get shut down because those two are acting like fucking idiots.”
“I didn’t do anything.” He’s already grabbing his keys. You fell asleep in his arms, for fucks sake. You spent the entire day letting him whisper apologies and promises of love into your skin. He thought you were good. It felt like everything was back to normal, and then you were just…gone.
Sure, there was a moment where you insisted you weren’t back together, but when that sentence is quickly drowned out by “Oh God oh God Andrew please don’t stop” it’s a little hard to let the words sink in.
He’d searched the beach for hours. Called your phone even when it became blatantly obvious that you’d turned it off. He went to Craig’s house, and his brother wasn’t there. You didn’t take your car when you disappeared. He’s been worried sick about you and now you’ve been on some kind of bender?
“You did something.” Deran doesn’t seem to be grasping the gravity of this situation. Everything was fine. Why are you still upset? “They haven’t done this kind of shit since you dumped her in prison.”
“I didn’t fucking dump her.” He needs to focus on not breaking too many traffic laws, but he senses a few irritated comments coming his way. Annoyed as Deran may be right now, he fucking adores you almost as much as Craig does, and Pope can hear genuine worry in his tone.
“You should probably look up the definition of dumping, dude. Telling her to fuck off and not talking to her for three years is pretty-“
“Just tell me if she’s okay.” The words come out harsh. A snap of anger in the quiet car.
“Just get here.” The phone clicks off, and Pope almost throws it out the window.
-
Everything is nice and fuzzy, and you’re having a very fun time.
You don’t have anywhere near Craig’s tolerance, nor his penchant for anything stronger than alcohol and weed, so this ‘bender’ hasn’t exactly consisted of you partying straight through like he has. In fact, it took until tonight for him to pull you off of his couch and tell you to stop wallowing and have fun.
And you had listened. Oh boy, had you listened.
You started at Craig’s house, letting him amp you up and remind you to get angry between shots of tequila.
“Holy shit, just say it. Say it already!” Craig stands, waving the shot in front of your face before shoving it forward. “Are you mad? Sad? C’mon, quit bein’ such a closed book! Who the fuck is that helping?”
“I’m angry!” You take the shot, down it, and sputter.
And then you smash the glass against the wall.
“There she is!” Craig shouts, enveloping you in a drunken hug, and you let the rage build in the safety of your friend’s arms as you start to giggle like a fucking lunatic.
“Gimme another.”
He whoops, lets you go, and grabs the bottle.
And then you went to the Cove, and drank margaritas and let Craig convince you to get angrier. Angry because Pope left you. Because it hurt so bad it felt like a piece of you had broken off, and angry because he showed back up and brought all of that pain with him and just expected it all to be better.
And eventually, you ended up in Deran’s bar, hammered and laughing and trying to remember why you were mad in the first place.
That is, until Pope Cody shows up.
You’ve seen him look scary before, with that furrowed brow and those shark eyes, but now he looks downright murderous.
That’s okay. You can be angry too. You are angry.
“We’re leaving.” He says, simply, wrapping an arm around you before you shove him off.
“Nuh uh.” You step back, and his frown deepens.
“Dude, lay off. She’s just blowin’ off some steam-“
“What the fuck are you doing, man?” Pope stands too close to Craig. Looks way too angry. He doesn’t get to be mad. He broke your heart. He left you alone.
“What’re you doing?” Craig, larger than Pope and already too drunk and coked out to think rationally, matches the furious energy. “You think you’re cool just walkin’ in here and making her go home?”
Something twinges in your drunken mind. Tells you to step in. To stop this.
But you’re too late.
“Maybe I’m sick and tired of pickin’ her up off the floor because you did some shit to make her bawl her fucking eyes out.” Craig shoves Pope. Hard. “Seriously man, what’s the fuckin’ matter with you? You think she deserves this shit?”
Pope punches him in the face.
You just stand there for a moment, drunk and shocked, and it takes a good moment of them brawling and shoving each other into the bar before you realize that you should get in the middle of this.
Someone, some guy who was flirting with you a while back, tries to grab you and pull you away. You slam your elbow into his face, and he releases you long enough for you to leap onto Craig’s back, yanking him away from Pope just in time to feel your back slam into the corner of the bar hard enough to make you lose your grip.
You fall back, feel something smash beneath you, and groan as a bolt of agony shoots through your body. Fuck. Fuck, that’s gonna leave a mark.
The fight stops. The bar goes quiet.
Hands pull you up, slurred apologies spilling past Craig’s lips in a panic as he sets you on your feet and looks down at you with a horrified expression. You’ve had worse, sure, but the bruise isn’t gonna be pretty and you know damn well he’s gonna feel guilty about it tomorrow.
You look up at him, reach up to pat his chest…
And puke on his shoes.
You hear him mumble a quiet “oh, fuck” before he’s shoved aside, and Pope is there. Pope, who is scooping you up into his arms without a word and carrying you out of the bar.
“Sorry.” You mumble, and he doesn’t respond, but he squeezes you a little more tightly to him and that feels like enough.
He places you down in the passenger seat of his truck, and presses his lips to your forehead before he moves to the drivers side.
You’re suddenly very, very exhausted. You thunk your head against the window, and close your eyes as the engine starts.
You feel Pope’s hand on your leg, warm and comforting and familiar.
It feels like home.
-
“Look who finally decided to come home.”
Your father’s voice is nails on a chalkboard. A skin-prickling, hatred inducing rasp that makes your entire body tense.
“This isn’t home.” You drop your keys on the counter. It’s not home. It never has been, but now that you have a real home the difference has never been more obvious to you.
You left your home tonight. Left the warmth of Andrew Cody’s arms. He hadn’t woken, as exhausted after the job as you were, but he’d hummed sleepily into your neck and tried to squeeze you closer as you’d wiggled your way out of his embrace.
Your father scoffs, and doesn’t look up from the TV. “You think that place is home? You whore yourself out to that psycho Cody and now you can’t give half a shit about the guy who raised ya?”
It’s your turn to scoff. You don’t answer. He keeps going.
“You think that crazy kid loves you? You think you’ll get to leave and run off into the sunset with him? The ticking time bomb ain’t gonna love you. None of ‘em are. I know Smurf. She’s keepin’ you around because that shithead prefers to fuck you over going berserk and killin’ everyone in the house. They don’t give a shit about you. They use you. S’all you’re good for, anyway.”
That hits you. Harder than it should.
No. No, he’s wrong. He’s an asshole, and he’s wrong. Andrew Cody loves you more than life itself. There’s no question there.
…Right? It’s not like you even know what love is, being raised by this of shit. And Pope’s love is…obsessive. You don’t mind it. You like it, actually. But-
No. Fucking no. You’re not letting him get in your head. You can’t.
Because there’s Craig. And Deran. And even Baz, sometimes. Smurf likes you, and she most certainly sees you as a pawn, but… but Craig is your best friend. Craig laughs at your jokes. Hugs you so tightly your ribs might crack sometimes. Stays up to talk to you for hours by the pool.
And Pope loves you so much that it consumes him. Even you can’t doubt that. The way he looks at you, the way he touches you, the way he kisses you like he’ll never be able to get enough. His shoulders relax when you enter the room. His smile is the brightest thing you’ve ever seen. You even wake up to him watching you sleep, sometimes, tracing his calloused fingers over your skin with his eyes half-open like he’s fighting sleep just so he can look at you a little longer.
And the last time your father took things too far, the last time you came back with bruises…
You’d spent an hour talking Pope down from coming over here. You’d spent longer convincing Craig and even Deran to stop fucking encouraging him to, to stop insisting that they’ll help him end this asshole.
That’s love.
And that gives you the strength, the courage, to move over to your father and lean one hand on the back of the couch, glaring daggers into his eyes.
“The only reason you’re still alive, is because of me.” It sounds like a fucking growl, so angry and unlike you. “Don’t forget that.”
Your father just smiles, like you’re wrong and he knows it. You want to punch him. You want to prove him wrong, and let Andrew kill him.
You walk out the door, instead.
-
He sits you on the edge of his bed, and it’s just like before. Like every time you’ve been drunk or even sick since you were kids. He kisses your cheek, asks if it’s okay, and when you nod he pulls your t-shirt up over your head, quickly replacing it with one of his own. Your pants go next, and then he tucks you beneath the blankets of his bed and brushes your hair from your face.
He hesitates to pull his own shirt off, wonders if you might be too drunk and upset to want him near you. You never have before, but he’s realizing pretty quickly that before is more removed from the present than he expected it to be. Three years in prison, daydreaming every day about coming home to you and explaining why he did that he did and having you forgive him right away was…well, a daydream. He may have been able to lose himself in the fantasy of your unconditional love and forgiveness for three years, but you were here. Alone. Wondering what you did wrong and missing him on a level completely separate from his. He didn’t experience any of the confusion. The lack of understanding. The pain that comes with that.
You reach out, and push the hem of his shirt up. He pulls it over his head, a slave to your needs and whims, and helps you unbuckle his pants until he’s sliding into bed beside you and pulling you into his arms.
“You’re mad at me.”
You tilt your head into his hand, and nod.
His heart breaks, eyes softening and hand smoothing over your cheek as he leans closer and presses his forehead against yours.
“Why?” He asks, a genuine desperate pain cracking the word as it leaves his throat. “I thought…I thought we were good.”
You make a soft noise, and lean against him a little more.
He whispers your name, presses a kiss to your cheek, and inhales deep, trying to memorize your scent.
“I’m not good at this. You always tell me.” Another kiss. Fingers curling in your hair. “Tell me what to do. Tell me how to make you stop hurting.”
You curl a little closer.
“You left me.” You finally whisper. “You promised you never would, and then you left. I worried about you for three years.”
He pulls you closer. Feels tears prickle in his eyes and guilt churn in his stomach.
“I went to the beach, and it didn’t feel better, because you weren’t there.” Your fingers curl against his chest, right over his breaking heart. “I thought you didn’t love me anymore. For three years.”
Fuck. “I’ll never stop loving you.” If he holds you any more tightly, it might hurt the bruise on your back. He’s gonna fucking kill Craig for that, accident or not. “Never.”
And then, quietly, almost a whisper as you drift off but just loud enough for him to hear it and almost die right there, “…I don’t know if I believe you, anymore…”
-
The boat job goes well. Really fucking well. Save for Marco cutting a woman’s fucking finger off, everything goes off without a hitch.
And you’re proud. Really fucking proud. Craig was always capable of this kind of thing if he just applied himself, and here you all are. Richer than before and still riding that all-too-familiar adrenaline high.
“Geez, Pope really did a number on you.” You reach up now, poking lightly at his black eye. He flinches, and huffs out a sheepish laugh. You saw this coming when you decided someone would have to beat Craig up, and Pope volunteered a little…emphatically. But still.
“Pretty sure he’s got some pent up anger.” He rubs the back of his neck, eyes scanning over you. “How’s your back?”
You cringe, and resist the urge to rub the still-bruised area. “It’s fine. The hangover was worse.”
Craig looks like he’s about to turn you around inspect the injury himself, but one glance over your shoulder to where Pope is no doubt glaring from across the bar is enough to make him cave with one last guilty look. He’s apologized maybe a hundred times for the mistake, and you’ve forgiven him every time. After all, he didn’t mean it, and you’ve definitely had worse. “Damn, how bad?”
Your head is pounding, and you just barely managed to make it into the bathroom before the rest of last night’s tequila expels itself from your stomach.
Not five seconds later, you feel a large hand curl in your hair, pulling it back into a makeshift ponytail while another palm rubs small circles on your back.
“Oh, the humanity.” You whimper, pulling back to lean against the wall. You flinch at the movement, and give Pope a miserable look. “Christ, did I get hit by a truck last night?”
“You broke up a bar fight.”
“Why the fuck would I do that?”
“It was…between me and Craig.”
You frown, and try to piece the fuzzy memories together. “Did you kill him?”
“No. He fell back against the bar with you on his back, so I’m going to.”
Ah, that’s where the pain is coming from. You look him over, shirtless and beautiful and achingly familiar, but…
“Have you slept?”
He frowns, and looks like he’s fighting the urge to reach for you. “No.”
Ugh. This is stupid. Bad idea. You should leave. You are not together anymore. You will not-
“Okay. My head hurts. You need to sleep. Back to bed, big guy.” You reach out, and make grabby hands at him, just like you’ve done a million times before. Every time you were hungover, every time you were sick, or even one time when you just twisted your ankle trying to dive into the pool.
His smile is so full of adoration and relief that it nearly makes you cry. He doesn’t hesitate, moving to scoop you into his arms with a soft grunt of “c’mere…”
He lays you down, and you pull him with you, tugging the covers around you both before tucking yourself into his chest and reaching up to scratch your nails lightly over his back in the way that’s always made him melt.
“I love you.” He murmurs, warm fingers brushing through your hair. “I’m sorry-“
“Shhh. Go to sleep.” You press your lips to his shoulder, and feel him shiver a little at the feeling. “Head hurts, and you need to sleep.”
He takes a moment to speak, but then he nuzzles his nose into your hair and drops his arms down to pull you closer to him. “Okay.”
“I’ve had worse.” You smile, and clink your beer against Craig’s. “Thanks, though. You did fucking amazing today.”
Your friend’s smile, despite the damage to his face, lights up the entire room. “Fuck yeah I did. You did, too.”
“Aw, shucks.” You grin, and it’s just like before. Just like when you were kids, riding the adrenaline high together and laughing your way through the car chases and the gunfights despite Pope and Baz and even Deran’s concern. You nudge him, and smile a little wider as you gesture towards the door. “Renn’s here.”
He turns, and the way his eyes light up makes your heart swell impossibly more. That, right there. That’s how you look at Pope. How he looks at you. That little spark behind his eyes is exactly what he’s always deserved.
“You two back together?”
“Nah. I mean, I dunno. Maybe. We’re…you know.”
You clink your beer against his, and meet his eyes. “Just don’t fuck it up again, okay? You’ll be fine. Don’t overthink.”
His eyes trail behind you, to where Pope is most certainly still watching you, and he raises a pointed eyebrow.
You scoff. “Shut up.”
-
That’s the problem with good things. They always end.
You’re at the bar, sitting beside Pope like you have after a thousand jobs, and despite your conviction to keep your heart safe you can’t help the way it melts when his hand covers yours, large fingers threading through your own.
“Do you wanna go home?”
You hum, and lean into his side despite yourself. It was a pretty big day, after all, and nothing sounds better than curling up in bed with him and sleeping until noon tomorrow.
You open your mouth to agree, feeling his thumb trace lightly over your knuckles, and-
Your phone dings. A specific ringtone. One that makes you feel like an anvil has been dropped into your stomach.
“I’ll be right back.” You murmur, and when Pope’s brow furrows you lean forward and press your lips to the corner of his mouth. Not quite a kiss, but close enough that his hand squeezes yours one last time. “Just gotta go to the bathroom, first.”
You leave before he can follow.
-
“You look like shit.” You greet the old man in the alley with a frown, crossing your arms and standing a good few feet back. He does. Your father, piece of shit that he is, has probably pissed off a debt collector or two again, judging by the bruises on his face and arms. You have no sympathy for the man who once left similar marks on you.
“Heard your psycho boyfriend is outta prison.” His retort makes you grit your teeth. “Still sluttin’ yourself out to the Codys?”
“What the fuck do you want this time?”
“Just an exchange. Heard about that boat robbery today.” Fuck. “Wouldn’t be too great for good ol’ Dope’s probation if someone were to put in an anonymous tip, would it?”
“Pope had nothing to do with that.”
Your father smiles, all stained teeth and greedy eyes. “Shouldn’t be a problem, then.”
“Fuck you.”
“How ‘bout we make a trade? I don’t gotta call nobody, and you help cover my debt.”
You want to kill him. You hate him so much it makes you feel sick. “Like I said, fuck you.”
You turn to walk inside, and the move is a mistake. Fingers close too-tightly on your wrist, and before you know it you’re being slammed against the alley wall with your arm twisted agonizingly tightly behind your back. You bite hard on the inside of your cheek to keep from crying out, and remind yourself to breathe through the pain.
“Thought I raised you better than that.” The fingers on your wrist feel like they’re going to snap it in half. You want to bite something back, preferably something poetically sarcastic, but you can’t let your voice betray the pain you’re in. All these years, and you hate that he can still hurt you. “You got three days, kid. Sure you can spend enough time on your knees to get the money out of the crazy one. Maybe the cokehead, too.”
He lets you go with a shove that makes your cheek scratch against the wall, and you turn to glare defiant daggers as he walks away.
-
“Where did you go?” Pope’s dark eyes are curious, almost innocent as he reaches up to pull you closer to him by your hips.
You move back a little, and his brow furrows with concern. “I need my cut.”
“Yeah. You’ll get it when we-“
“I need it now.”
He stands, and you step back when he looks you over, but you’re too late. He knows you too well.
His hands are on your waist, tugging you close to him, and his fingers fly up to the scrape on your cheek. Down to pull up your sleeve, exposing angry red marks in the shape of fingerprints.
“Where is he?” He asks, voice dripping with danger, and you try to pull away but he just grips you more firmly. His grip is gentle, and you know he would let you go in a second if you asked, but he’s not letting you run from this. “Is he here?”
“Not anymore.” His fingers are curling around your arm, pulling it up to inspect your wrist. His eyes are almost black, and his jaw is clenched so tightly you’re worried he might crack a damn tooth. “Hey, Andrew. Look at me.”
His eyes don’t leave the bruises on your arm. “I should have killed him.”
“Beating him half to death caused enough problems.” Piece of shit that he is, your father has one too many connections in Oceanside, and the damage control from when Pope snapped on him years ago nearly got all of you arrested or killed.
It’s been proven safer to just give him what he wants, and try to keep it as secretive as possible, lest Pope or even Craig try to pound him into the pavement again.
Speaking of which, Pope is still holding you too tightly. You reach up, and turn his face towards yours. “I’m fine. We’re fine. Let’s…” God, you’re supposed to keep up with this ‘not together anymore’ thing, but “can we just go home?”
He melts. His eyes soften, and his arms slide around you to pull you closer to him. You feel his cheek against the side of your head, his hand sliding gently up over your back, and you melt too.
“Yeah. Yeah, let’s go.”
-
Split lip. Black eye. Ringing ears.
God, everything hurts. That asshole really did a number on you this time.
Bruised if not cracked ribs. A slight limp from where your leg hit weird when you were tossed across the floor. An aching arm that was grabbed a little too hard.
“Holy shit.” Craig. Craig’s voice, as familiar as your own.
“I got hit.” You worked on this lie. Practiced it the whole limping walk down here. “…by a car.” As bad as it is this time, it might be the only thing that’s believable.
“You’re a shit liar.” Now you know that’s not true, but your friend is already by your side, holding you up and helping you walk into the house. “I’m gonna kill him.”
You’ve definitely got a black eye. Your lip is swollen and bleeding. It’s becoming more exhausting to take stock of your injuries than it would be to note what isn’t hurting.
“Don’t. Just…don’t.” You wince on a step, and when Craig huffs and tries to scoop you up you swat him off.
“Fuck that. You look like you’re about to keel the fuck over.” He frowns, concern lacing every one of his features. “You’re not going back there.”
“I hit him with a fuckin’ frying pan.” You mumble, knocking your head against his shoulder. “So I figure I’m not welcome back any time soon.”
“Smurf is gonna shit.” He mumbles, and leans you back against the kitchen counter to inspect your face. “Fuck, Pope is gonna blow a gasket, dude. How are you gonna explain this to him?”
“I don’t know.” You mumble, reaching up to push the hair out of your face. All you want to do right now is see him. To be held by him and to maybe even just lay down in his twin bed and feel him tuck you into his arms. You’ve been with him for a little over a year, now, and it still feels like you’ve been dating for a week. Like your relationship is just one never ending honeymoon phase. Even these last few days, helping your father out with his bullshit scam, you’ve missed him so much it’s almost concerning.
Fuck.
“Beer, please.” You mumble, and when Craig hands it to you you take a moment to rest the cool glass against your bruised cheek. “I don’t know. I’ll tell him I got in an accident.”
Craig’s answer is immediate, lifting your arm to show the bruises in the shape of fingerprints dented into your skin. “Yeah, real fuckin’ believable.”
You pull you arm back, panic rising in your throat. “Okay. I…give me a sweatshirt.”
“He’ll just take it off.”
“Fuck.” He’s right. You shouldn’t have come here. You should have hidden out on the beach for a few days like you used to, and waited for some of these injuries to fade. Fuck. “I’ve gotta go.”
“Fat fuckin’ chance.” Craig grabs you, more firmly than usual, and keeps you still against the counter. “You think I’m gonna let you walk outta this house while that asshole is still breathing? Look, I ain’t Pope, but I’m not gonna let you into a situation where you could-“
You sense him before you see him. You didn’t even hear the door open.
“Get. Away. From. Her.”
Shit.
“Shit.” Craig releases you, and takes three large steps back like he might be attacked by a mountain lion.
Pope is on you in a second, one large hand cradling your bruised face, and in a moment you can see in his eyes that he’s not entirely there. That line in him has snapped, like it has on those nights you’ve found him in the yard, distant and empty and staring at the moon. When you’ve pulled him from fights, and he took a minute to even remember your name. Took him longer to remember his own.
“Please.” You whisper, reaching up to slide your fingers through his hair and force him to look at you. “Please be okay about this.”
He doesn’t answer you. He just moves his hand over your face, looks at you with those murderous eyes, and presses his forehead against yours.
“Where is he?”
“Pope. Andrew. Please.” Your heart cracks on his name, and he grips you more tightly. “Please, just take me to bed.” You turn his face to yours, squeeze your eyes shut. “I just wanna go to bed.”
And he does.
One hour later, he leaves that bed. You don’t open your eyes. Keep your breathing slow and steady as you feel him kiss your forehead, then your cheek, sliding his fingers through your hair like pulling away from you is physically painful.
But he does, and you feel him stand. You hear him leave.
And you let him.
Two hours later, he walks through the door of Smurf’s house with blood on his knuckles and sweat on his brow.
You’re waiting for him in the hall.
You look down at his hand. Back up to his eyes.
“Is he dead?” Your voice is quiet. He doesn’t look guilty, but he doesn’t look away from you, either.
“No.”
You just nod, and move forward to slide your hand over his cheek. He leans helplessly closer to you.
“Next time you do that,” you murmur, guiding his lips down to your own as his swollen knuckles curl against the back of your borrowed shirt, tugging you closer to him, “take me with you.”
He releases a shuddering breath, and his kiss is so full of love and devotion that it buckles your knees.
-
A warehouse is a cheesy place to meet. The fact that the asshole brought backup makes it worse. Granted, you brought Pope, Craig, and Deran with you, but…well, they’re more here for emotional support. And because they wouldn’t let you come alone.
When you got home, you told Pope everything. The threats, the money you’ve sent him, the amount of time he’s still been able to keep you under his thumb despite how hard you’ve worked to break away…
To your surprise, he hadn’t snapped. He hadn’t stormed out of his house to find the old man. He’d…
He’d kissed you. He’d wrapped his arms around you, tilted your head back, and kissed you.
You make a muffled noise against his mouth, eyes flying open in surprise before fluttering shut as your body melts into the embrace before your mind can even catch up.
When you finally break for air, still confused but certainly unable to complain, you blink your eyes open again.
“What was that for?”
He just kisses you again. Slow. Warm. Wonderful. “I’m sorry I wasn’t here.” He whispers, lips moving down to your jaw. Your neck. “I’m sorry you had to be so fuckin’ brave on your own.”
“Andrew, I…” this is a much different reaction than you were expecting. You haven’t mentally prepared for it. Your mind is still on the defensive.
He shushes you. Pushes his hands up under your shirt to trace them over your skin. “I love you. You don’t wanna be together? That’s okay. We can do whatever you want.” He kisses the hollow of your throat, scrapes his teeth against the sensitive skin, and you make a soft noise in the back of your throat that has him tightening his grip on you. “I’m not going anywhere, and you’re not dealing with this alone.”
You’re not alone. He’s not going anywhere. Never again.
You believe him. You really, really believe him.
“Take off your clothes, please.”
He smiles against your collarbone, and trails his nose up your throat until his lips are hovering over your own. “Are you sure?”
“Positive.” You’re already tugging at his shirt, already pulling him down to kiss you, and he meets you with a hunger that feels like a satisfied craving. “I love you. I trust you.” The words are murmured between kisses, “now please take off your clothes.”
“Christ, it’s like you think you’re Tony Soprano or some shit.” You grumble, feeling surprisingly petulant despite the intensity of the situation. Your father has connections, sure, but you grew up with Smurf Cody. The comparison between the way he operates and what you’re used to is absolutely insane.
Your father is a drunk, and an asshole, and he thinks he’s tough shit. You happen to know what it looks like to actually know what you’re doing. Shocker, that you’re the one who makes the actual fucking money. Even less shocking that he makes most of his income leeching off of you.
Well, not anymore.
“I told you to come alone. You brought your fuckin’ guard dog.”
“Yeah, you’re one to talk.” You gesture to the man beside him, the wall of muscle holding the gun and glaring at you like this is a gangster movie and he genuinely believes himself to be the most badass character. “Did you give your Steroid Humunculus his pay already, or is he gonna be banging on your door in a week looking for it?” You’re guessing the latter, if past experience is anything to go by.
“Enough.” Your father snaps, like he has any authority at all. It makes you furious. “Tell the psycho to leave.”
“Call him a psycho one more time, and this time it won’t be him who beats you to a fucking pulp.”
“Are you threatening me, you little shit?”
“Like father, like daughter.”
“I should teach you a fuckin’ lesson-“ he starts toward you, only to back up when Pope steps forward. His jaw ticks, fury flashing in his eyes, and you hear the click of something loading in the cavernous room.
It all happens so fast.
In all the times this kind of thing has happened, all of the times he’s made threats, it’s always been diffused. He’s always held up a gun, maybe loaded it, and said some bullshit until money was tossed his way.
This time, he brought the wrong backup. And that backup panics.
The man raises the gun, and aims it at Pope.
You move before you think, jerking instinctively in front of him and pushing him back, already beginning to move towards the money to end this bullshit. They always point the gun. Always shout a threat. Always shut up when they see the money and-
And then the gun goes off.
-
You wake to an empty bed.
Your first instinct is to reach out to the space Pope usually occupies, hand sliding over the cool sheets like you might be able to pull him out of thin air. It’s not morning, and the house is silent. If there was some kind of emergency, he would have woken you.
Huh.
The mystery doesn’t stay a mystery for long. You shuffle into the yard, and there he is.
Naked. Staring at the moon.
He seemed fine last night. Well, as fine as Pope Cody can be. A little more quiet, maybe. A little clingier than usual, and that would be saying something, but fine.
“Hey, handsome.” You hum, casual and sleepy, and move to stand beside him. He doesn’t move. He doesn’t break his eyes from the night sky. “What are we looking at?”
“Everything.” He murmurs, absent, and you can already tell that he isn’t here. Isn’t entirely inside his own head. That’s alright. This isn’t the first time something like this has happened, and it probably won’t be the last. At least he’s not smashing anything with a hammer.
“Sounds like a lot.” You move to stand in front of him, lifting your hand to brush your fingers through the soft curls on the back of his neck and turn his gaze down to yours. “How ‘bout you just look at me instead?”
When his eyes meet your own, still hazy and distant, his breath catches in his lungs. His hand moves up, guiding yours so he can press his cheek into your palm like the touch is some sort of coveted blessing. You smile, soft and gentle, and bring up your other hand to mirror the first and cradle his other cheek.
“You’re an angel.” The words come out as a reverent whisper. He’s not trying to flatter you, not trying for pretty compliments, but rather stating a fact. Like he often does, when he’s in this state.
“Not quite.” You press your lips to the underside of his jaw, and you feel a shiver travel through his entire body. “But I appreciate the compliment.”
Large hands hover over your waist, and his eyes don’t leave you. “Can I…touch you?”
You nod, and bring his forehead down to rest against yours as his arms slide around you, tugging you against him as calloused fingers trail up beneath your sleep shirt, the touch just as familiar as the rest of him.
“Will you come to bed with me?” You ask softly, moving your own hands down to smooth over the skin of his chest. “I’m not an overly jealous person, but I’d prefer to keep this view for myself. Don’t wanna share with the neighbors.”
“I’ll do anything for you.”
“Tell me that again in the morning when I remind you to take your meds, okay?”
He follows you back inside, and allows you to pull him back into bed with you. Allows you to pull the covers up around you both as he envelops you in his arms, and trails his lips along your hairline as he whispers soft words against your skin. You can’t make them out, but you wonder from his tone if they might be some kind of prayer.
“I love you.” You murmur, and his arms tighten around you. “Every part of you. You know that?”
“I don’t deserve it.” He whispers, and you pull back to look at him.
“You do.” You kiss his nose. His cheek. “You really, really do.”
-
For a moment, you think a car might have backfired somewhere nearby.
It’s not like you don’t know what a gun sounds like. Fuck, with your childhood, you could recognize the sound faster than your own voice. And yet, in this moment, your mind can’t seem to keep up. Can’t seem to process exactly what just happened.
You feel like you got punched in the stomach. There’s an intense, knock-the-wind-out-of-you pressure, and then…
Your hand comes up to the point of that pressure, to the dull burn, and comes away red.
“Fuck.” Your father breathes, and then he starts shouting. “Fuck! You idiot! What the fuck did you do?!”
You’ve heard that voice before. When he’s lost an exceptionally lucrative bet. When a deal has gone wrong. That’s the tone of a man who is losing his meal ticket, not even close to the tone of a concerned father.
You didn’t even get to do your little speech. Your whole ‘fuck you, I owe you less than nothing and this is the last time you’re getting a cent from me’ speech. You were kind of looking forward to it.
Your whole body feels a little numb. When your knees finally give out, warm arms wrap around you before you can collapse.
“No. No no no no no!”
Now that…that isn’t concern either. It’s worse. So much worse. It’s the realest and most raw fear you’ve ever heard.
There’s too much blood. Fuck. So much blood. It’s spilling out between your fingers faster than should be possible. Vaguely, you remember when you were small, and the faucet broke at whatever house you and your dad were squatting in at the time. You were so scared of his ire, of him blaming you for the burst, that you’d tried to hold it together with your small hands until your entire body was soaked.
Andrew Cody is gathering you into his arms, lowering you to the ground, and the pain is starting to slice it’s way through the shock and it is absolutely fucking overwhelming.
“It’s okay. It’s okay. I’ve got you. You’re gonna be okay. Look at me. C’mon, y-you’ve gotta look at me.”
Your father is still yelling at the guy who shot you. Screaming about the money. Not about you. The sound is loud, cutting through the ringing in your ears, and Andrew’s arms tighten around you.
“Close your eyes.” The words are murmured by your ear. Soft and warm and gentle despite the chaos. When he speaks again, his voice is shaking. “Close your eyes, sweetheart. It’s gonna be okay.” He rarely calls you that. This must be bad.
When you do, you hear a gun fire, and the shouting stops.
Your eyes fly open, and you try to turn towards the sound of two bodies hitting the floor, but Pope is there before you can move, dropping a gun to the pavement and cradling your face in his hands.
“Don’t look at that. Look at me. Look at me, okay? You’re gonna be okay.”
He shouts for Craig. For Deran. Everything is still in a sharp, dizzy sort of focus.
-
“Holy shit. What happened?”
Craig is hunched over the toilet. There’s a bottle of tequila on the floor.
He turns his face towards you, hair messy and cheek resting against his arm. “Go away.”
“Nah.” You’re already sitting beside him, tugging his hair into a ponytail and tying it off.
“M’a fuckup.” He mumbles. “Jus’ a…drunk idiot. Deran said.”
You hum, and rub a soothing hand over his back. “Definitely acting like one.”
“See?” He tilts his head miserably back into his arm. “Even you say it.”
“Shut up. You know that’s not what I’m saying.” You move over to the bottle, and take a swig before throwing the rest into the trash. “Hey, look at me.”
He does. He looks like he might have been crying.
“You’re one of the smartest people I know, you know that?”
“You’re not funny.”
“I’m not lying.”
He looks at you now. Really, really looks at you. “You gotta stop seein’ the best in me.”
“Too late. You done puking?”
He grunts, and you reach down to help him stand with a significant amount of effort and bitching that he weighs a million pounds.
And you get him into bed, and even tuck him in, and before you leave to go back to Pope’s room he catches your wrist.
“I love you.”
You stop, and furrow your brow.
“Not in like, a weird way. M’not tryna fuck you or anything. I don’t even know how…” he frowns, and releases you to rub a hand over his face. “I dunno how to say it.”
Your heart swells, in that familiar way, and you laugh a little as you move over and sit on the edge of his bed. “I think you’re telling me I’m you’re best friend.”
“Well, obviously. S’more than that, though. You don’t…you don’t think I’m a fuckup. You actually like me.”
You think back to that kid on the beach, surrounded by three angry assholes and fully prepared to stand his fucking ground. The kid who you were knocked out defending. Who didn’t think twice before he brought you back to his home. To the only safe space he knew. Who brought you into his family.
Who loved you like you loved him, and wasn’t sure what it meant. Who assumed, as teenagers do, that it might be romantic. Who didn’t think twice when he realized that it wasn’t romantic, and still pushed his pride aside and kept on loving you. And even now, budding your own ways into adulthood together, he’s drunk and still trying to put into words that he loves you platonically.
“You have the biggest heart.” You say, honest and raw, and his hazy blue eyes fill with tears again. “Even if you can be an idiot sometimes.”
He swipes his hand over his eyes, and tries to hide a sniffle. He looks young like this. He’s only in his early twenties, sure, but he looks younger than that. Vulnerable in a way only you ever really get to see.
“Promise you won’t go anywhere.” He mumbles, like he’s nervous to say it.
He smells like puke, and he’s sweaty, but fuck it. You hug him, making sure to flop down on top of him a little so he groans miserably before he wraps a large arm around you to pat your back.
“Can’t get rid of me if you tried, jackass.”
-
Craig is freaking out. He’s in the back of the car, where Pope is still holding you, and he’s freaking out.
Oh, no. That won’t do, will it? You take care of them. You always do. You keep Craig level-headed, and you keep Andrew from freaking out. Or…or is it the other way around? It’s concerningly difficult to think. You feel like you’re floating.
“Almost there. Almost there. Don’t leave me, okay?” God, Andrew Cody’s voice is the best thing you’ve ever heard. You want to sink into it, but he’s shaking and you can hear tears in his voice and you’re supposed to fix that.
“Drive fucking faster!” Craig is pushing on your stomach too hard. It hurts. You wheeze, and he doesn’t let up. “Deran, the IV isn’t working. It’s not working, she’s too fuckin’ pale.”
He’s covered in blood. You can’t see Pope, but you think he is too. Everything is tainted a horrible shade of red, and it’s getting really hard to think.
“M’here.” You try, scratchy and raw. “M’here. You’re okay. Don’t…be a dumbass.”
“Fuck. Fuck, don’t die. Please don’t die. Look at me, okay? Look at me.” You try, but Pope is whispering near-nonsense into your hair and trembling so hard it’s almost starting to hurt more than the pressure on your stomach. Still, Craig brushes the hair from your face, and you can see tears tracking their way down his cheeks. “They’re all dead, okay? All those assholes are dead. You’re not going with them, you hear me? You’re not going with them.”
There’s shouting. There’s panic. It’s all fading. Pope’s lips are warm against your skin, and the sound of his voice is soothing and…
-
“I love you.”
The words are whispered into your hair, so soft that you almost don’t hear them through the haze of sleep. But you’re awake, now. He doesn’t know it, but you’re awake.
You blink, and feel his fingers trace slow, warm patterns over the bare skin of your back.
“I love you.” He whispers again, just as low and just as quiet.
You shift, and he goes very, very still.
“Hi.” You whisper, pulling back, and he looks fucking terrified.
“…Hi.”
“You just said you loved me.”
“I…thought you were sleeping.”
You reach up, and turn his face to yours. Feel soft curls between your fingers.
“How long have you been telling me you love me when I’m asleep?”
He’s silent. He doesn’t look away.
“Andrew?”
“…a while.”
You smile, and the way his eyes spark at the sight makes your heart melt. “I love you, too.”
His hand flies up almost too fast, cradling your cheek and brushing his thumb over your cheekbone as he stares into your eyes with an intensity that makes your blood tingle in your veins. “You do?”
“Yeah.” How could you not? How could he not know? “Of course I do.”
-
A sharp sting brings you back, this time. You think someone might have hit you.
“Fuck, thank God. You looked like…shit, okay. Pope, let her go. You’ve gotta let her go, man.”
“Where were you?” He’s whispering against your cheek, and he’s out of his mind. Shit, he’s really out of his mind. His arms are still around you, and he’s speaking like he used to when things got really bad. When whatever was in his mind snapped, and it would take you hours to bring him back to you. “Where did you go? Don’t go. Take me with you.”
Every instinct, every cell in your body, tells you to fight. To stay here. To be here with him. To make this better.
But you’re losing time, and he’s not letting you go.
“Don’t touch her.” Lips on your temple. Your cheek. Arms tight around you. “Don’t touch her. Don’t take her away.”
You try to speak, but convulse instead. The sight of it seems to trigger something, and Craig starts to yank you out of Pope’s arms in such a panicked rush that you whimper as another bolt of agony fires through you.
Andrew holds you tighter. Your mouth tastes like copper. You feel blood trickling past your lips.
“Fuck it. Fuck it. Deran, hold him down.” Craig says, and he’s still crying and you should fix that, before he reaches forward and slams Pope’s head against the window. The arms around you go limp as he loses consciousness, and then you’re being lifted out of the car.
“I got you. It’s okay.” You choke out a soft noise, grab at his arm, and he just tucks you closer to him. “Pope’s okay, too. Everything’s gonna be fine, yeah? Just…just don’t die. Please, please don’t die.”
You’re so tired. You want Andrew. If you’re going to drift into oblivion, he should be here. But…
-
When you open your eyes, it’s to a cracked ceiling and a heavy, distant pain in your stomach.
You feel the drugs in your system. Blurred and heavy and warm. Tijuana. They managed to get you to Tijuana. And you’re alive. Bullet wound in the gut and all, and you’re alive.
Andrew Cody is beside you, head resting on his hands like he may have been living up to his nickname and praying. When you stir, he does too, red-rimmed eyes blinking open and looking at you like you’re the only other person in the world. There is so much relief in his gaze that the sight makes you feel dizzy.
“Hi.” You murmur, hoarse, and reach up to tap gently at the side of his head. “Are you here?” You remember his mumbled words against your skin. The way he needed to be knocked out before he would let you go. He can go so far away, sometimes. But he looks like he’s here now. He looks like he’s your Andrew.
He nods, and catches your hand to press his lips to your palm. His breath shudders on a silent sob.
“I thought…I thought you were-“
“I think we should get married on the beach.” You cut him off with a gentle squeeze to his hand. “S’that okay?”
He looks at you, at your stomach, and back at your face like he’s trying to judge how full of painkillers you are. “You wanna get married?”
“Do you?”
“Yes.” There’s no hesitation. Not an ounce of it. “But you’re on-“
“I know. Still want to. I can ask you again when I’m off them, if you want.”
“I think you should.” He murmurs, but he’s smiling. It’s a small, hesitant thing. Like he was pretty sure, not too long ago, that he would never smile again. Like he’s already re-learning the expression.
“Mm.” You squeeze his hand, and lean your head back against the pillows. “You wanna marry me?”
“Since I first met you.”
“Softie.” You turn your head, and furrow your brow a little. “You never asked, though.”
“I planned it.” He admits, tracing his thumb over your knuckles. “Bought a ring.”
“When?”
“Five years ago.”
You raise your eyebrows, and say again, “you never asked.”
“Never found a perfect time.”
“Mm. Sorry for stealing your thunder then.”
He squeezes your hand, and brings it up to his lips so he can trail kisses over your knuckles. He looks back up at you after a moment, and his dark eyes are so beautiful. “I killed your father.”
Those four words should definitely make you feel something. Anything. Instead, you just feel a surge of love for the man before you. “Okay.”
“I’m glad I did it.”
“I know.”
And, like he just can’t help it anymore, he moves forward and presses his lips to yours. You kiss him back, and wrap your arms around his neck even as the movement makes you wince. Worth it.
“Can we get married now?” You ask, the words muffled by his lips, and he smiles down at you.
“When the drugs wear off.”
You frown, and shrug. “Okay. Can we go home?”
“When they say you can.”
Hm. “Can we have sex?”
He laughs. It’s a beautiful sound. “Go to sleep.”
“You’re no fun.”
“Promise I will be.” He kisses your cheek. “For the rest of your life.”
“I like where this is going.”
“I’ll never leave you again.”
“Keep talkin’, Cody.”
“When we get home, I’ll stock the fridge with that ice cream you like.”
“Take me now.”
The love in his eyes is so beautiful, so pure, so raw, that you know without a doubt that those eyes alone were worth living for. “Go to sleep.”
-
You and Pope rent a house in Tijuana for a while. There’s no need to go back to Oceanside. Not yet. Smurf doesn’t love it, but she doesn’t fight it. It wouldn’t be great optics, after all, for her son’s girlfriend to be recovering from a bullet wound while her father, whom Pope has nearly killed before, was recently found dead in a warehouse.
He fusses over you endlessly. He barely lets you stand on your own, even when you’re fully capable of doing so. You wake up to him watching you sleep more often than ever, and he barely spends more than a minute not touching you.
It’s nice. Really nice. Kind of like a honeymoon before the honeymoon. Just with less sex due to an annoying bullet wound, and a little more crankiness from you than usual due to both of the former issues.
But you stay up all night on the beach, talking until the sun rises and making out like teenagers. You try to make breakfast, burn it, and get to ogle him from your spot on the counter as he makes it for the both of you. You plan for the future, count down the days until your wound is healed, and just…enjoy being happy. No jobs, no strings, no stress.
A little over a month later, you wake him up by rolling on top of him, the familiar pain in your stomach reduced to much less than a dull ache.
His eyebrows raise before his eyes even open, a sleepy smile curling on his lips as his hand trails down your back and your lips move to press teasing kisses down his neck.
“Good morning.” You hum, and he seems more than happy to return the sentiment. “I officially think I’m healed enough for…strenuous activities.”
He makes a low noise, and kisses you slowly. Hungrily. You grin, triumphant and happy, and feel his hands come up to shift you on top of him, sitting himself up against the wall and-
And pulling back.
You actually whine, chasing his lips with your own, but he holds you firm with a smile so wide it’s almost silly.
“I have another idea.”
“It’s been over a month, Andrew. I challenge you to name one thing better than sex right now.”
His smile grows impossibly wider. He reaches into the pocket of his sweatpants, mischief sparking in his sleepy eyes like he was hoping you’d say something like that, and…
And pulls out a ring.
“Oh.” You breathe, eyes locked on the little diamond in his palm. It’s simple. Beautiful. Perfect.
“Bought a new one.” He says, hand coming up to brush your hair back from your face.
content warning: 18+, MDNI. smut - phone sex, fingering (reader fingers self), jack talking reader through it, use of petnames (sweetheart, baby), dom!jack x sub!reader
a/n: seventh prompt :3 prompt: phone sex, jack abbot. i don’t think this is as good as what i usually post but i hope u guys like it nontheless 😓 pictures used above are used only for aesthetic purposes and do not indicate reader’s appearance at all! not proofread!!!! lmk about any mistakes to change
masterlist
20 prompts for 100
the disappointed sigh jack abbot let out once he sat down in on a chair in the break room could be heard down the phone.
“you’re lucky i wasn’t dealing with a real emergency here.“ he growled lowly. “i said only to ring me at work if you had an emergency.”
“this is an emergency!” you countered, voice whiny and smug all in one. “i need you. i miss your touch.” you whispered, listening to the way his breath hitched.
you were laid out on the bed you and jack shared, clad in only one of his t shirts while you toyed with your clit in a way that was teasing.
it wasn’t your fault! you just couldn’t finish without jack. and you had gotten yourself all worked up from watching the video you two had made a week earlier.
jack glanced around the break room and to the door for the fifth time before relaxing slightly in the chair. he was glad you weren’t actually having a serious emergency, but he had to work all the same.
“okay, sweetheart. but we have to be quick. we need to be finished before anyone realises im gone.” jack spoke quietly into the phone. you nodded in response despite the fact he could only hear you.
“are you touching yourself already? wishing it was my fingers instead?” you let out a shaky breath at his questions, eyes flitting down to where your hand was between your thighs.
you hummed in response down the line, gathering some of the arousal that was already beginning to leak out of you from jack’s words.
“i am. i’m so wet just thinking of you.” you told him shakily.
jack wasted no time in responding, feeling himself harden from imagining you lying there all alone.
“i want you to start with one finger, just like i would.” he told you, his instructions clear and firm. “though i think it would take more than one of your fingers to feel like mine.” he added in a teasing down that drew a weak laugh from you.
jack heard the soft hum as you pushed a finger past your folds, feeling your own cunt clench around you.
he talked you through fitting two more fingers in, the phone pressed against your ear so firmly it felt like jack was actually there whispering in your ear.
the second you stopped responding to his quiet words and started whining, jack knew you were close. he knew the telltale signs of his girl getting close to finishing.
“use your other hand to touch your clit for me, baby. do it slow just like i would.” jack told you, straightening up in the plastic chair that was too small for his large frame. he had to cover his obvious bulge with his free hand.
you resisted the urge to give yourself exactly what you needed, but you knew how jack would rub your clit teasingly slow, whispering in your ear teasingly until you came on his fingers.
“‘m really close, jack.” you whimpered, shutting your eyes tightly and trying your hardest to imagine jack was sitting between your thighs and not at work.
“yeah, baby? make yourself cum for me. i wanna hear you.” jack grunted deeply, biting his inner cheek as the sound of you getting closer to your orgasm reached down the phone.
the phone dropped from your shoulder when you reached your peak, lips parted with soft moan and hips stuttering into your own hand.
jack ended the call with the promise of making it up to you the second he walked in the door after his shift.
he walked out of the break room with his posture stiff and his hands covering his crotch. it didn’t take robby long to notice his friend was distracted.
“are you okay?” robby asked him with a raised eyebrow. “you look tense.” he commented. “i’m fine. just ready to get home.” jack grumbled, a light flush tinging at his ears.
💞Tags/Warnings💞: fluff, lots of flirting, SMUT ( brief mentions of intercourse/oral and hand humping ), Insecure!Jack Abbot, SoftGirly!Reader, age gap crush, not just friends/not yet lovers, Widow!Jack Abbot
💞Plot💞: Jack Abbot really likes the confidence boost the new night shift nurse gives him with her playful flirting. But… She’s not playing..
💞Characters💞: Jack Abbot x Fem!Reader
💞Title💞: STOP!
💞A/N💞: based off of the song “Stop!” by Bella Kay bc I can NOT get that song out of my head and every time I listen to it, I just think about Jack.. 🤭 nobody asked for this, but I hope you like it!
((Requests are ALWAYS open))
Masterlist
* * * *
“ You’re a lot a bit older, I'm a lot more green..
I'm sure you know that, baby, you just got the
thing about ya
Well, I swear that I can really learn my way
around ya
It's not my fault that you, you turn it on and I
Can't turn it off and I don't really want to.. ”
* * * *
“What’s this?” Y/N chuckles a bit as she sees a yellow envelope waiting for her at her desk.
It’d been an iffy start to her birthday.. With the rain and chilly wind carrying throughout Pittsburgh and the ‘all hands on deck’ text she’d received from Robby, she thought for sure, this birthday would be a let down.
But!
All the text messages from friends, coworkers, and family alike had brightened her day. And.. The little café breakfast and birthday flowers Uber-ed to her place by Jack had also put a smile on her face..
“Just a lil somethin dropped there by a bird..” Dana teases from her post behind the nurse’s station. Y/N doesn’t even have to see the name on the envelope. She knew only one person in this ED was old enough to find cards more sentimental than a text message.
“So that’s why he didn’t message me..” She smirks as she opens the card and reads the cute little note left inside along with a gift card to Ulta. She didn’t even wanna check the balance on it. She knew she’d freak if she saw.
In the five months of her working here, she’d become a real favorite for Jack Abbot. It was very clear for everyone to see, and Dana and Robby had taken to referring to them as the Bonnie and Clyde of the ED. Just always up to no good while working cases together.
Even if Y/N was ‘just an RN’, Jack entrusted her with things that were way out of her job expectations. This wasn’t a mentor/mentee relationship, though. Don’t get that twisted.
No. Y/N wanted that old man. Badly.
“Got the breakfast, B?” She hears from behind her just as she sets the card down neatly on her desk for a keepsake. Turning to face him, a smirk is already playing on her lips.
“Yes. I did. Would’ve been tastier if you were feeding it to me, though.” She says casually.
This is their norm.
Flirtatious banter here, a wink or two there. Y/N had made it clear from the first day they met, she found Jack extremely attractive. And she didn’t hide it for anyone. Jack enjoyed the attention. As a widower, he couldn’t remember the last time a woman had so openly checked him out.
Sure, he’d have the occasional glances, maybe the common and casual one liner by a woman he’d held the door open for at a local coffee shop, but Y/N looked at him like she wanted to eat him half the time.
And it did something to his ego.
He hadn’t been so openly yearned for in.. So long. It felt nice to have this younger woman humor him. But that’s all it was.
Right?
“I’ll keep a note for next time. But.. Something tells me if I was there, the food wouldn’t have gotten eaten..” Jack jokes back as Y/N takes off her jacket to hang on the back of her chair. She laughs softly and walks to the break room, knowing he’ll follow.
“Yeah, I’m sure you would’ve had a plan for it..” Jack snorts, never missing a beat when it comes to her.
“Oh, Jackie boy..” Y/N shakes her head as she stops at the break room doorway to fully turn and look up at him, both hands on the doorway to lean in a bit more. “If you could just see the things we do in my head..” She shakes her head a bit, making Jack’s ears turn pink.
She takes note..
“That a threat?” Jack raises an eyebrow as he crosses his arms, leaning in closer to show he’s not afraid.
Y/N giggles at that, playfully pushing at his chest to back him away. “I have to behave while on the clock. Robby’s warned me too many times already...” She smirks before turning to walk into the break room and set her lunch bag in the fridge.
“What about.. Off the clock?” Jack asks, making her movements slow.
“Excuse me?” She asks with an amused raised eyebrow. Jack walks over, hands slipping into his cargo pants.
“You heard me?” He shrugs. “My apartment. 9pm. I took the night partially off.” He explains as Y/N eyes him closer.
Was this finally happening?!
“I’ll be there. Gives me time to get out of these scrubs..” She says. This storm had dampened any dinner plans with friends, so this was honestly more of a blessing.
Thank you, Mother Nature..
Jack smiles warmly, giving a little nod. “Great..” He says softly, walking out of the break room. Y/N soon follows suite, walking back to the nurse’s station as her head spins.
Five months. Five months of constant flirting and blunt sexual tension, would all be leading to tonight. Y/N figured it would only be a matter of time when she noticed at the same time they began getting referred to as the ‘Bonnie and Clyde of the ED’, Jack began wearing his wedding ring on a chain around his neck instead of on his finger..
“Happy birthday, pretty girl..” She hears beside her and turns to see Emma walking over with a small takeout box from the bakery across the street. She gasps happily.
“Ugh, you shouldn’t have..” She says as the two nurses hug. Given their ages and the fact that they’d started on the same day, the two grew a bond that Y/N had joked came from trauma. But she was a nurse, not a psychologist…
“What do you have planned after shift?” Emma asks curiously as Y/N smiles brightly, remembering.
“Hot date..” She smirks as she nods to Jack who’s now helping staff move the giant bins of medical supplies that would be needed for the definite wave of patients they’d be getting today.
“No… Really?!” Emma asks in shock, making Y/N nod certainly while still checking him out.
“Best. Birthday. Ever.” Y/N confirms. “I mean.. Do you see that man? God..” She continues, as if at a loss for words. Emma giggles at her friend’s obvious longing stare.
“Be careful before you drool..” She teases her with a soft nudge.
“Hey.” She begins simply. “All I’m saying is.. I have a dad, so.. I don’t know what the hell my problem is..” She mutters with a shake of her head.
“You’re insane..” Emma states in amusement before straightening up more at the sight behind Y/N.
“It’s not my fault he walks like it’s big!” Y/N shrugs shamelessly.
“Ms. Y/N…” Robby says in false pleasantries to get her attention. Y/N stiffens fast, quieting a groan before glaring at a sheepish looking Emma.
“You couldn’t warn me?” She hisses quietly to her fellow nurse who’s now covering her mouth as to not laugh out right. She shakes her head slightly and straightens up.
“Dr. Robby.” Y/N turns fully to face him, a bright and innocent smile on her face. Robby falsely returns a polite grin.
“I understand it’s your birthday, but Dr. Abbot is not your cake..” He says simply.
“Sadly.” Y/N clarifies, dropping the innocent act for now.
Robby narrows his eyes at that, muttering for her to get back to work before leaving. Emma bursts out laughing and Y/N swats at her while fussing..
*
*
*
“Thank you! Thank you for coming..” Y/N calls down the hallway of Jack’s apartment building, smiling as she sees a few mutual friends wave goodbye before getting on the elevator.
When Jack had invited her over, he hadn’t told her it’d been for a surprise birthday party that he had organized. Thank god Emma had talked her out of doing the cliché ‘nothing on under the trench coat’ routine..
Instead, she’d shown up in a dress that was fiery red. The material was silky smooth. It had a sweetheart neckline with lace detailing that extended up to a sweetheart-shaped bustier. The sleeves, long and sheer, were made up of lace. The skirt, short and flared out.
Shutting the front door, Y/N glances at the clock on the living room wall. 1am. Jack would be clocking in for his shift in the next hour, and Y/N was already assured she could spend the night here.
Her heels click against the floor as she walks into the kitchen, watching Jack as he cleans up the dishes from the dinner party. “You’re the sweetest man alive.” Y/N notes finally.
“Hey, what kind of person would I be if I let you do dishes on your birthday..?” Jack shrugs it off.
“No. Everything. The breakfast, the flowers, the cheesy card..” She says as she walks closer now.
“Yeah, well.. Birthdays, holidays, special events.. Kind of my time to shine.” He chuckles a bit. Jack loved putting thought into stuff like that. It was the best part about being married. After his wife passed, he kind of lost that whimsy. But.. When Y/N playfully started counting down to her birthday last month, it.. Reminded him how much fun it felt to spoil someone.
From the look she gave him when he surprised her with the party, it was nice to know he hadn’t lost his touch…
“You know. When you first texted me to come over, I thought you were finally gonna give me what I’ve been wanting..” Y/N points out, completely honest as she hops up on to the counter top right next to the sink so she could watch him clean up and appreciate the way his arms flex while he scrubs those dishes..
Jack chuckles at that and shakes his head. “Yeah, I’m sure you were..” He teases back.
This time though, Y/N doesn’t smile or even laugh back.
No. She’s grown tired of the banter. It was getting her nowhere, and she was beginning to feel like some silly school girl that was more of a nuisance than a potential love interest.
So instead, she obviously checks him out before nodding.
“Yeah. I was.” She says simply. Jack stops his chuckling when he hears that. He turn away from the dishes now to look at her. Maybe to check if she was messing with him.
By the look on her face? She clearly wasn’t.
“Oh come on..” Jack finally says, putting the smile back on. But it’s more of a mask now..
“What?” She asks.
“You’re.. Messing around.” He states.
“When have I ever?” She asks now, arms loosely crossing as he shifts a bit on his feet.
“I mean, just like when we’re at work. When you… Make those jokes..” He tries to remind her.
“I’m never joking.” Y/N finally says bluntly, eyeing him closer as if he should know that.
“What?” Jack asks after a moment of silence.
There’s no way he heard that right..
“Is that what you’ve thought this was? Me just messing around?” Y/N asks in amusement as she leans closer, both hands gripping the edge of the counter top on either side of her.
“I…” Jack pauses and blinks as if still trying to get his footing. “Listen.. B..” He finally tries to begin as she only smirks at him.
“You don’t.. You don’t want me..” He continues, sheepishly motioning to himself. Y/N has half a mind to pause this conversation and check around this man’s apartment for mirrors, because he clearly doesn’t have any!
“Oh?” She raises an eyebrow. “I don’t?” She challenges.
“No.” Jack says quickly before chuckling at how silly this all is. He shakes his head, trying to focus back on the dishes. “No, you.. You don’t..” He mutters.
Y/N hums before gently grabbing Jack’s hand and pulling him closer. His breath is caught in his throat the second she puts his hand on her bare thigh. Fuck, her skin is soft. And fuck, it’s been so long since he’s touched a woman like this.
Y/N doesn’t break eye contact as she slowly slides his hand between her legs. She watches the way his eyes darken the minute his fingers are pressed up against lace and silk. Y/N slowly rolls her hips so she’s basically sitting on his hand, his palm pressed against her covered clit. She gasps softly, free arm going around his neck to keep him close.
“You feel that?” She breathes out, thumb pressing against the pulse point on his wrist. It’s racing..
Jack can barely speak. He’s already hard against his pants. “Still think I don’t want you?” She taunts quietly between shallow breaths as she grinds slowly against his hand.
“Fuck…” Jack grunts, voice rough. “B. You can… You can do so much better..” He tries reasoning, but he’s at the end of his rope and Y/N can definitely feel it..
"Better than you? Impossible..” Y/N breathes out. She doesn't stop the slow, torturous roll of her hips, feeling exactly how his control is snapping. She knows he’s trying to be rational, trying to push her away because of that damn insecurity regarding their age difference. But his hand betrays him.. His fingers press deeper against the lace of her underwear, making her moan out.
“God, Jack…” She breathes out as he feels a wet spot beginning to grow on her underwear.
He groans quietly, head rolling back slightly as he feels the warmth seep through her underwear and against his palm. His free hand grips the counter top as he can’t stop himself from looking down at his hand between her legs. It’s been so long since he’s felt a woman’s arousal, and he’s starved for it.
“Lean back..” He growls a bit, making Y/N shudder. He doesn’t need to tell her twice. She’s intently leaning back against his kitchen counter, hands set behind her to prop her up as Jack yanks up her dress.
Fuck being rational right now.
He stares down at her underwear after yanking her legs wide and up. “Look at what you did to yourself..” He whispers. Y/N can feel herself getting wetter at just his eyes being on her.
“Please..” She breathes out.
“You’re lucky it’s your birthday. I would’ve loved to tease you till you cry..” He taunts quietly as he leans down, putting her legs over his shoulders so he can really get his face deep. He pulls her underwear to the side, eyeing her most intimate area like a prize.
“You’ve done five months of teasing..” Y/N whispers in anticipation. No more teasing. No more imagining.
Just finally some relief..
*
*
*
Neither have moved from the bed.
Jack knows Shen is gonna kill him. It’s almost 4am and he could only manage a quick ‘sorry, can’t make it in’ text about an hour ago while Y/N was… Occupied with his manhood.
Both individuals had lost count of how many times they’d ripped open a new condom, but Jack is sure he’ll find the wrappers later to confirm. Right now, his money is on six. Six rounds, six different positions, six different surfaces..
The bed was their final resting place.
“Are you okay? Your leg?” Y/N finally breaks the peaceful silence. She looks exhausted, hair and makeup a mess, but Jack watches in awe as she makes herself sit up so she can start take off his prosthetic for him.
“I can do it, I..” His voice falls flat as she effortlessly removes the leg, putting it off to the side, no reaction on her tired face.
“Let me be sweet to you..” She teases quietly as she moves over him to lay limp on his chest, practically using his toned body for her bed.
Looking down at her, he watches as she gently plays with his chain the holds his wedding ring on it. “I don’t want you to regret this..” She finally whispers. All joking and teasing is off to the side as he realizes she’s terrified of the morning sun coming out. With it will come the end of this fantastic night.
“I used every candle on my cake for this. And I don’t want… I don’t want it to just be a moment..” Y/N admits, not looking up at him. Instead, her face stays turned to stare at the bedroom wall.
Jack’s room is exactly how she’d imagined it to be. Jack’s body pressed against hers is exactly how she’d imagined it to be. She wanted to bask in this for as long as possible, which meant fighting her sleep.
Jack’s mouth goes dry. “You wasted your candles on a one legged, widowed, veteran with PTSD?” He whispers, using humor as his shield. A swift swat to the chest brings him back to the reality of this situation. He was in bed with a woman for the first time in 12 years. And he felt seen… He felt.. Cared for.
“Not a waste if you agree to breakfast in bed tomorrow morning..” Y/N whispers, stretching a bit to nuzzle into his neck.
He turns his face, getting lost in her hair that always smelled so good from his brief brushes with her in the ED. From this close proximity though, he could now smell it as cinnamon vanilla. Interesting to note..
“If you’re still here when I wake up..” He mumbles, voice light, but his heart is heavy. He sure hopes that she is.
“Mm.. Jackie, Jackie..” Y/N playfully shakes her head before looking up at him. “With the way you were tossing me around? This is my bed now..” She declares quietly before sweetly kissing his blushing form…
“That boldness must come from your age..” He jokes quietly against her lips, making her giggle.
“Yeah, yeah. Go to sleep, old man..” She taunts back as she playfully covers his eyes.
“Old man? Old man?! Do I have to remind you so soon?” Jack jokingly threatens as he flips them so he’s back on top, making Y/N playfully scream.
summary: when your ex-boyfriend makes a surprise visit to ptmc, your boyfriend and the rest of your co-workers realise you might have a type…
pairing: jack abbot x fem!reader & ex bf!mark sloan x fem!reader
warnings/tags: established relationship, implied age gap between abbot & reader and mark & reader, flirting, fluff, swearing, mark don’t give a fuck that the reader is in a relationship, but reader is respectful of boundaries, defs a bit of jealous and insecure Jack if you squint
notes: hot hot hot hot hot give them both to me now thanks!! also massive shoutout to the anon that requested this 🙂↕️
likes, reblogs, comments are very much appreciated!
Enjoy my work? Tip me! 🤍
masterlist
“Ew.”
The word left you before you could stop it as you sunk your teeth into a granola bar.
You grimaced as you turned over the wrapper, examining it like it might explain why you felt like you were currently eating a stick of glue.
“Are these expired?” You asked through the mouthful.
McKay barely glanced up from where she had half her body buried in the fridge, rummaging past several abandoned containers and a suspiciously wet paper bag.
“Nope, they’re just a by product of the drywall factory down the road.” She answered.
You stared at the bar for another second, trying to muster up enough willpower to finish it given you hadn’t eaten lunch.
After abandoning that mission in under 10 seconds, you leant over the bin and spat out the mouthful with as much decorum as you could before unceremoniously dumping the rest of the bar after it.
“Those things aren’t that bad.” Whitaker mused as he wandered into the breakroom with Santos hot on his heels.
“That’s because you were raised on hay.” Santos remarked dryly.
“They’re raspberry flavoured.”
“That’s not helping you Huckleberry.”
You huffed a laugh as the two of them started bickering just as your phone buzzed in your pocket. You leant against the wall, only half listening as you pulled it out of your scrubs and saw a notification from Jack.
He must have just woken up from his pre-shift nap. The corner of your mouth lifted as you read his reply.
You: Are you coming in early today?
JA ❤️: Always.
You quickly typed out another message.
You: any chance u could bring in a protein bar for me? the ones at work are inedible
The reply came almost instantly.
JA ❤️: I know. I’ve told Robby they are a serious health hazard.
You smiled at that as you watched the three dots blink back at you.
JA ❤️: I’ll be in soon. I already have some in my bag for you.
You: are you psychic?
JA ❤️: Just good at pattern recognition.
Your smile widened as his reply came through.
You: thank u 🩷
JA ❤️: 👍
“What are you smiling at?”
You looked up to find McKay watching you over the fridge door.
“What?”
“That.” She pointed vaguely at your face. “Whatever that was.”
“Nothing.”
Santos and Whitaker paused their arguing to focus on you.
Santos studied you, her face contorting into a grimace. “Gross.”
“What?”
“I just can’t get over the fact that Abott reduces you to…” She trailed off, waving vaguely at you.
“That?” Whitaker supplied.
“Yeah.” Santos nodded gravely. “That.”
You rolled your eyes, sliding your phone back into your scrub pocket.
“I think the two of you are starting to fuse into one brain cell.”
Santos’ expression went still. “….that was genuinely hurtful.”
You turned to Whitaker. “There’s your new button to press.”
Whitaker’s grin widened as he crossed his arms over his chest and turned to Santos. “Oh I cannot wait to bring this up multiple times a day.”
Santos glared at you. "You're a traitor."
You pushed off the wall, shaking your head as you made your way towards the door.
“Never give your triggers away Santos.”
“You’re still a traitor!” She called out.
You waved her off without looking back, escaping before she could start another argument.
You barely made it two steps before nearly colliding with Samira.
“Oh sorry.” She came to an abrupt halt, the usual frazzled expression etched onto her features as she looked up at you.
“You all good?”
“Yeah um- have you seen Joy?”
“Not for a little while.”
“No worries, if you see her can you tell her I need her in Room 3?”
“Sure.” You nodded, tilting your head slightly as you studied her. “Are you sure you’re ok?”
“Yeah fine.” She brushed you off as she tucked a loose curl behind her ear. “Haven’t had lunch so I’m a bit cranky.”
You nodded in understanding. “Word of warning, don’t eat the protein bars.”
Samira’s nose wrinkled as she stepped around you. “Why on earth would I do that?”
You threw your arms up dramatically. “Am I the only one who didn’t know they were inedible?”
“Apparently so.”
You huffed, pulling your hair out from under your collar as you made your way over to the status board which was currently glowing above the chaos that was the ED like a cruel little scoreboard.
Your hands settled on your stethoscope as you scanned the board. Less than an hour till your shift was over, at least officially. Which given your track record of overtime, meant close to nothing.
“Hey.”
You glanced over to see Perlah leaning against one of the desks.
“What?” You asked warily.
Her smirk widened. “Have you seen the hot visitor?”
“The what?”
Princess appeared beside her, equally delighted.
“Absolute smoke show.”
Princess nodded towards the far end of the station. “Follow the sounds of Joy giggling.”
Your brows knitted together.
“Joy? As in our intern, Joy? As in the complete antithesis of her name, Joy?” You queried.
“See for yourself.” Perlah grinned.
You followed their line of sight to the other end of the nurses station where a tall figure stood, leaning an arm on one of the benches.
At first, all you saw was the back of a leather jacket, familiar in a way that made your stomach drop before your brain had fully caught up. The man shifted slightly, turning just enough for a familiar profile to come into view. The same hair coifed to perfection, the same self-satisfied slant of his mouth.
And sure enough standing beside him, blushing furiously as she giggled, actually giggled, at whatever he had just said, was Joy.
“I didn’t even know she was capable of laughter.” Princess remarked.
You closed your eyes for one brief, pained second. “You have got to be kidding me.” You grumbled.
Before either Princess or Perlah could ask what was wrong, you were already moving, making a beeline towards them.
Princess and Perlah exchanged a look behind your back. “What just happened?” Princess asked in Tagalog.
“I don’t know." Perlah muttered. "But I think it’s going to be good.”
By the time you were close enough to hear the familiar deep drawl of his voice, Mark Sloan had inched in just enough to make Joy look like she might pass out.
“So, is that the only piercing you have or...?”
You rolled your eyes.
“Still shamelessly hitting on interns I see.”
Mark turned at the sound of your voice. For half a second, there was nothing but surprise. And then his eyes lit up in recognition.
“Well I’ll be.”
That familiar grin spread slowly across his face as his eyes travelled down your body with the same shameless appreciation he’d had years ago, like he was undressing you from memory.
“Cupid.” He said the nickname lowly, like he’d never stopped saying it. “Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes.”
You shot him a fake smile. “Wish I could say the same.”
Joy looked between the two of you, blinking rapidly, as if she was trying to decipher a complex math problem. You turned your attention to her, offering her a polite smile.
“Dr Mohan's looking for you, something to do with your patient in room 3.”
“Oh right.” Joy nodded, adjusting her glasses as she glanced at Mark. “On it.”
“Bye Joy.” Mark called out lazily, watching her blush as she scurried away, nearly walking into a wall in the process.
He turned to you, looking pleased with himself as he leant forward. “Why do you always have to ruin my fun?” He pouted once she was out of earshot.
"Someone has to."
Meanwhile, McKay, Whitaker and Santos had exited the breakroom, not even bothering to conceal their ogling as they clustered around a monitor.
“Ok who on earth is that?” Santos queried.
"And why does he look like he just walked off a photoshoot?" McKay muttered.
“And how do they know eachother?” Whitaker added.
“He called her Cupid.” Joy casually commented as she walked past them.
Whitaker’s brow furrowed. "....Cupid?"
Santos froze. The faint amusement dropped away, replaced by the sharp, dawning horror of someone remembering a detail they were never supposed to need.
“Oh my god.”
“What?” McKay and Whitaker asked simultaneously.
"Do you guys remember that time at karaoke?"
"....the one where she sang No Scrubs at Abbot?"
"No. The one when she accidentally admitted she had an ex at Seattle Grace that used to call her Cupid."
McKay and Whitaker both slowly turned to stare at Mark, then at you, then back at Mark.
Back at the nurses’ station, you folded your arms, ignoring Mark's attempts at getting under your skin.
“What are you doing here?”
“Oh some conference.” He waived his hand dismissively. “Thought I’d take the opportunity to come see Robinavitch.”
You blinked. “You know Dr Robby.” You said slowly.
“Since med school.” He answered smoothly. “Why? Hoping I was here to see you?”
You snorted. “Please.”
“Oh c’mon Cupid don’t act like you don’t miss me.” He smirked as he stepped closer. “You wouldn’t have moved across the other side of the country to forget about me if you didn’t.”
You leant in slightly, shooting him a dry smile. “I wouldn’t touch you again even if my life depended on it Sloan.”
He let out a genuine chuckle. “I’ve missed this.” He gestured between the two of you. “Us."
He placed his chin in the palm of his hand, leaning even closer. "Why did it ever end?”
You pretended to think for a moment. "Maybe because you’re physiologically incapable of staying monogamous?”
“Oh yeah right that.” He nodded. “Speaking of monogamous..."
"No."
"... I’ve heard you’ve got a new boy toy right here at PTMC.”
Your eyes narrowed. “Jesus Christ Meredith needs to learn to keep her mouth shut.”
“Well in her defence she told Derek who then told me so….” Mark trailed off, turning his body around to survey the room. “Which one is he?”
"I'm not playing this game." You answered, folding your arms over your chest.
“Wait let me guess.”
Before you could stop him, Mark placed both hands on your shoulders and gently turned you so you were both facing the floor of the pitt.
His eyes landed on Frank first. “Too pretty boy.”
He guided your shoulders slightly towards Whitaker. “Too scrawny.”
From across the room, Whitaker stiffened. “…Why is he looking at me?”
Santos didn’t look away. “Don’t wave.” She murmured.
“I wasn’t going to.”
“You were thinking about it.”
Then the ambulance bay doors opened. Jack walked in with a thermos in one hand, his bicep bulging as he shifted the backpack slung over his other shoulder on full display under his dark fitted shirt.
Your stomach dropped as his eyes scanned the room, no doubt looking for you. It didn't take long for his eyes to find yours. You watched as they shifted to Mark, then dropped to Mark's hands resting on your shoulders.
For a moment, his expression barely changed, only the faintest tightening around his jaw gave him away. Then he kept walking.
Mark smiled slowly. “….bingo.”
Your body stiffened as Mark glanced sideways at you.
“I’m right."
You didn't answer.
"I am."
“I’m not talking about my love life with you of all people.”
“Cupid, don’t be like that.” He nudged your shoulder. "Come on, what’s he like?”
“Well for starters, he volunteers as a medic for the SWAT team.” You said sweetly. “So he’s got at least one gun on him at all times.”
Mark nodded slowly, dropping his hands from your shoulders. "Noted."
"He also has excellent aim."
"Message received." Mark held his hands up. "I'll behave."
And then, for the first time since he had appeared, the teasing faded.
"But seriously..." His face softened slightly as his eyes settled on your face properly, no longer performing for the room.
“You’re happy?”
You exhaled slowly, your defences lowering slightly by the unexpected tone of his voice.
“I am.”
“He good to you?"
You smiled softly despite yourself. “He is.”
Something flickered across Mark’s face then, softening the usual sharp lines of his smirk, scarily close to being something sincere. “Good.”
For a moment, the years between you settled there. It didn’t feel painful or bitter or even sad. In fact, it seemed absurd to think that you'd cried over him once upon a time. Now he was just a story you told after one too many drinks, something you reflected on and shook your head, chalking it up to the foolishness of youth.
You cleared your throat, looking away first. “How’s work?”
“Busy, chaotic, dramatic.” Mark shrugged.
"So the usual then?"
“The usual.”
He glanced around the emergency department, frowing slightly as he took in the noise, the movement, the organised disaster of it all. “How’s the ED?”
“Busy, chaotic.” You echoed. “Somehow still much less dramatic than Seattle Grace."
Mark barked out a laugh. “Yeah that checks out.”
“Sloan.”
The two of you turned to see Robby making his way towards you, Jack beside him.
Mark's grin returned instantly.
“Robinavitch.” He broke away from you and pulled Robby into a hug with the force of someone who had never respected personal space in his life.
"A lot less hair since I last saw you."
Robby snorted, clapping him on the back. "The Pitt will do that to you.”
Jack caught your eye over Robby’s shoulder, his expression running a fine line between faint amusement and annoyance.
Robby stepped back, shaking his head before gesturing to Jack.
“This is Jack Abbot, night attending.”
“Nice to meet you. Mark Sloan.” Mark stuck his hand out. “Head of Plastic Surgery at Seattle Grace.”
“Plastic surgery?” Jack's brow lifted slightly as he shook Mark’s hand. “Explains the soft hands.”
Mark laughed loudly enough that several people looked over.
“Oh my god.” Whitaker mumbled as he watched Jack and Mark shake hands. “It’s like I’m seeing double.”
Santos shook her head. “She’s got some serious issues.”
McKay folded her arms over her chest as she studied the two men. “Or just good taste.”
“I second the good taste thing.” Princess murmured as she appeared beside McKay.
Perlah took a sip of her drink and nodded. “I third that.”
The handshake lasted just a fraction longer than necessary as Mark glanced over at you. “I get it."
Robby’s eyes narrowed as he gestured between you and Mark.
“You two know eachother?”
“I was an intern at Seattle Grace." You supplied quickly.
“Oh yes, Cupid and I go wayyy back.” Mark smirked.
Robby's confusion only deepened. “Cupid…?”
You shot Mark a warning glare, which he very intentionally ignored.
“Yeah Cupid.” He answered smoothly. “'cause you know she’s got these little angel wings tattooed right above her-“
“Okayyy you know what.” Robby clapped his hands letting out a bark of awkward laughter. “I think a hospital tour sounds like a great idea right about now."
Mark's eyes gleamed as he shoved his hands into his pockets. "I was going to say shoulder blade."
“You are going to walk with me." Robby said, already steering him away, “And tell me absolutely none of the rest of that story.”
Mark let himself be guided down the hall, still grinning smugly as he glanced back over his shoulder at you and winked, making you roll your eyes once more.
You dragged your eyes away from him to look at Jack who was yet to move. He watched Mark disappear down the corridor, then looked back at you.
He slowly stepped forward, eyes scanning your figure as he placed his hands casually behind his back.
"Ex?"
You sighed. "...Ex."
Jack nodded curtly. “Got it.”
“Abbot.” You looked over to see Dana studying both of you. “Dr King needs an attending in Room 8.”
Jack's eyes never left you. You watched him intently, waiting to see if he would say anything further. Instead he simply reached into his pocket and produced a protein bar.
You swallowed as he slid it into the front pocket of your scrub top, his fingers lightly against your side subtly.
“Eat.” Was all he said, unable to hide the affection in his voice.
Your throat tightened around a smile as you nodded. He held your gaze for one more second, then turned and headed in the direction of Room 8.
You watched him go, your hand subconsciously brushing over the side that he’d just touched.
When you looked back, Dana was still standing there, one hand on her hip as she watched you over her glasses with an expression far too knowing for your liking.
“Don’t you dare say a word.”
She raised her hands up in mock surrender. “Wasn’t gonna.”
You huffed as you turned, suddenly desperate to busy yourself in order to keep your mind off the cluster fuck that was your two worlds colliding.
For the next twenty minutes, you threw yourself back into work. Every few minutes though, your gaze betrayed you, either drifting towards the corridor where Robby had taken Mark or towards Room 8, where Jack had disappeared. The protein bar sat heavily in your pocket, your appetite now completely non-existent.
By the time you ended up at a computer to finish off your charting, your shift was close enough to ending that you had started to believe you might actually survive it.
“Oh damn, the patient in room 7 died.”
You glanced up to see Whitaker staring at a chart from the workstation beside you.
“The old lady with the chest pain?”
“Yeah.” Whitaker sighed.
You frowned. "That sucks."
“She had a husband right?” Santos chimed in from across from you, not bothering to look up from her own computer.
“Yeah she did, married nearly fifty years."
Without missing a beat, Santos glanced up at you. “Abbot better watch out.”
Your eyes narrowed.
"Nice. Very respectful." Whitaker shook his head, although you could see he was trying not to laugh.
"What?" Santos shrugged. "Our girl clearly has a type."
"Silver foxes?" McKay suggested as she walked past grinning like a cheshire cat.
"I hate all of you."
Whitaker looked over at you like he was genuinely offended. "What did I do?!"
Across the hallway, Jack had just emerged from Room 8. Your eyes met his. He didn’t react beyond the faintest lift of one eyebrow, but you could tell he'd heard every word.
You tipped your head slightly towards the supply closet. Jack looked at you for half a beat, then gave the smallest nod.
You waited a couple minutes before moving.
The supply closet was narrow, overstocked, and smelled faintly of antiseptic and cardboard. You shut the door behind you and leaned against a shelf, exhaling slowly for what felt like the first time in an hour.
A few minutes later, the handle turned. Jack stepped inside and closed the door quietly behind him. He leaned back against the opposite shelf, folding his arms loosely across his chest as the two of you studied eachother.
“Hi.”
“Hi.”
“So… that’s your ex.”
“That’s my ex.”
He nodded. "You left out a few details."
"Such as?"
His gaze dropped briefly, then returned to your face.
“Well first of all I wasn’t expecting Mark Sloan.”
Your brows lifted in surprise. “You know who he is?”
“I’ve heard of him.”
“Of course you have.” You paused for a moment before your voice dropped slightly, unable to hide the insecurity in your tone. "Do you think less of me because I dated someone like him?"
Jack's brows knitted together. "Absolutely not." He said immediately. "It's just that I wasn't expecting your ex to be..."
Your brow furrowed. “Be what?”
“…old.” Was what Jack settled on.
You let out a disbelieving laugh. “He’s not old, he’s like your age.”
“Exactly.” Jack nodded. “I'm practically from the stone age compared to you.”
“You’re not.” You insisted.
Jack’s mouth twitched, but the smile didn’t quite hold as he looked down at the floor.
You studied him for a moment, admiring the lines etched deep into his face that you’d had memorised for as long as you’d known him. “Does it bother you that he’s older?”
“No it doesn’t bother me it’s just...” He sighed. “I thought I was the exception.” He confessed.
Your face softened instantly as you pushed off the wall and took a step towards him.
"Jack."
"I know it’s irrational.” He said, giving a small, self-deprecating shrug. “I just thought I was the first older doctor you’d made questionable life choices over.”
You huffed a small laugh as you closed the gap between the two of you, reaching up to cradle his jaw.
“Hey.” You said gently, guiding his eyes up to meet yours.
“When I met Mark I was young and overwhelmed and had just moved to a new city and he was…” You trailed off, glancing at the door like Mark might somehow materialise on cue.
“…well you’ve seen what he’s like.”
You brushed a thumb over his stubble that lined his jaw. “It barely even qualified as a relationship. And then it ended and we worked together for months. And then I moved.”
Jack leant into your touch slightly, his eyes never leaving your face as you spoke, attentive in the way that always made your heart ache a little.
“And then on my first day here I met a grumpy doctor up on the roof while I was mid meltdown.”
His brows drew together in feigned disbelief. “I don’t think he was grumpy.”
“He told me if I was thinking of jumping I shouldn’t because it’d be a shame to ruin a face like mine.”
The frown that had a hold on his face loosened just a fraction. “Why on earth would he think that line would work.”
“In his defence, I think he was a little out of practice.”
His hands settled at your waist, warm and steady through the thin fabric of your scrubs. “Or his brain short circuited when he saw you.”
Your smile widened as you slid your arms around the back of his neck, entwining your fingers absentmindedly around the silver curls at the nape of his neck.
“Well, lucky for him it worked.”
The reluctant smile finally reached his eyes. “Very lucky.” He corrected.
He glanced down, playing with the tie of your scrub pants.
“I just can’t believe you dated a plastic surgeon.”
You snorted softly. “Is that seriously what’s bothering you the most?”
“Yes.” He answered plainly.
You shook your head, a wry smile on your lips. “Not the stupid nickname?”
Jack glanced down at you, his grip on your hips tightening ever so slightly.
“If he calls you that again I may have no choice but to punch him.” He conceded casually as he brushed a strand of hair behind your ear.
His head tilted slightly as he studied you for a moment. “But at least he can fix his own nose up after.”
You let out a laugh, running a hand over his chest. “Don’t worry.” You soothed. “I already told him you volunteer with the SWAT team.”
Jack smirked down at you proudly. “Atta girl.”
Then he leant down and finally pressed his lips to yours in a slow, reverent kiss. When he pulled back, his eyes narrowed immediately.
“Did you eat?”
You winced slightly. “Not yet.” You patted the pocket that contained the protein bar. “I’ll eat this and then go.”
Jack frowned, clearly unsatisfied with your solution. “Go home and eat something more substantial.”
“I will.”
“There’s pasta in the fridge for you, all you have to do is chuck it in the microwave.”
Your interest piqued immediately. “The pesto one I love?”
“Of course.”
You grinned, pressing your forehead against his. “You’re very good to me Dr Abbot.”
His smile softened into something private, something reserved just for you. “Anything for my girl.”
You kissed him again, deeper this time, enjoying the feeling of his warmth seeping into you.
“Alright.” He muttered reluctantly against your lips as he pulled away. “Get going before I end up locking you in here.”
You smirked. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”
He shot you a warning glare with absolutely no bite to it.
You huffed dramatically, “alright alright.”
You reached for the door, then paused, glancing back at him.
“And for the record, if you’re worried about feeling old…”
Jack raised a brow.
“You should meet my other ex, he checked into the nursing home down the road last week.”
“Very funny.” He muttered, trying but failing to look unamused.
“I know I am.”
“Go.” He urged as he tapped your backside affectionately.
You raised your hands in mock defeat, slipping back into the pitt without another word.
Jack shook his head as the door shut softly behind you, a lovesick smile spreading across his face.
As always always always, feedback is always appreciated because I thrive off praise. Please give it back here and consider tipping me! 🤍
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
Pairing: Dr. Jack Abbot x mom!wife!reader x twins!toddlers
Warnings: mild angst, high fevers, sick children, needles, IVs, fluff ending
Summary: A midnight fever transforms an ordinary bedtime into every parent's worst nightmare, leaving you with no choice but to rush your four year old twins, Luca and Lily, to the Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center.
Disclaimer: This story is pure fiction and written solely for entertainment purposes.
🎀 based on this request 🎀
It was 2 AM. Your head throbbed in time with Lily’s relentless and exhausting whimpers.
The field trip to the local farm earlier that day had been a cute disaster of heat, animals and pollen, but by bedtime, it had mutated into something worse.
A spiking fever of 103.4°F, a fiery red rash creeping up Lily's neck, and a terrifyingly lethargic demeanor that left you with no choice. You had thrown coats over their pajamas, scooped them up, and driven to the one place you hoped you wouldn’t have to visit tonight.
"Mama, it hurts," Lily sobbed into your neck, her body radiating heat. One of her little hands was clamped in a death grip around her tattered Jellycat bunny, its ears damp from her tears.
"I know, baby. I know. The doctor is going to help make it stop," you murmured, rocking her back and forth in the hard plastic waiting room chair. Your arms felt like lead.
Next to you, four year old Luca pressed himself tightly against your side. He wasn't crying, but his knuckles were white where he held his book. He was trying desperately to tune out the chaos of the ER; the blaring ambulance sirens outside, the coughs of a man three seats down, the hurried footsteps of the staff. He stared hard at the cartoon pictures, his lips moving silently as he tried to read the words he’d memorized.
For the sixth time, you pulled out your phone and hit dial.
Hello, this is Dr. Abbot-
You cut it off, swallowing the lump of frustration and fear in your throat. Jack was on the night shift, but the ER was absolutely slammed. You knew how it went; when the department red lined, personal phones were non-existent. But right now, you didn’t care about hospital protocols. You just wanted your husband.
"Mrs. Abbot?"
You snapped your head up. Lena, the night shift charge nurse, was standing there with a clipboard, her eyes widening in recognition as she looked at you, then down at the twins in their matching pajamas.
"Lena," you breathed, a wave of relief washing over you.
"Oh, honey, what are you doing here? Is it Lily?" Lena instantly dropped into a crouch, pressing the back of her hand to Lily's flushed forehead. She cursed softly under her breath. "She’s burning up. Come on, let’s get you guys out of this waiting room right now. I'm putting you straight into Exam Room 4."
You gathered Lily in one arm and grabbed Luca’s small, trembling hand with the other, following Lena through the double doors into the chaotic centre of the ER.
The noise doubled. Trays clattered, monitors beeped frantically, and doctors shouted orders. Luca clung to your coat, burying his face in your hip, while Lily just wailed, terrified by the commotion.
"Jack is in the middle of a trauma in Bay 2, maybe that's why he hasn't answered," Lena explained hurriedly as she guided you down the hallway. "But as soon as he's—"
"Daddy!"
A desperate scream tore from Lily’s throat, cutting through the ambient noise of the corridor.
You froze. A few yards ahead, the doors to Trauma Bay 2 swung open. Jack stepped out, tearing off a pair of bloody surgical gloves and tossing them into a biohazard bin. His hair messy and his scrubs disheveled.
Before you could tighten your grip, Lily’s adrenaline kicked in. She wriggled violently out of your arms, her bare feet hitting the cold floor. Dropping her Jellycat bunny, she ran toward him, her tiny pajama clad frame shaking with shuddering sobs.
"Daddy! Daddy, it hurts!"
Jack snapped his head toward the sound of the voice, his entire body going rigid.
"Lily?" his voice cracked. "Princess, what are you doing here?"
He didn't care who was watching. He scooped her up and Lily collapsed against him.
"H-Hurts, daddy, all hurts." she cried against him.
"Okay, I’ve got you, princess. Daddy’s here." Jack choked out, his eyes instantly tracking over her flushed skin.
He looked up, his gaze finding yours across the hallway. The sheer panic and heartbreak in his eyes mirrored your own, the heavy weight of the night crashing down on both of you in the middle of the crowded ER floor.
The door to Exam Room 4 clicked shut, muting the hallway chaos, but the tension inside the room was palpable.
Jack had Lily up on the examination table, but she was having none of it. The high fever made her sensitive, irritable, and completely uncooperative.
Every time Jack tried to bring the stethoscope near her chest, she shrieked, kicking her legs and thrashing against the paper lining of the table.
"No! No, Daddy, don't wanna!" she wailed, her face purple, tears soaking the front of her pajamas. She was clutching her Jellycat bunny to her chest like a shield, burying her nose into its plush fur.
"Lily, baby, please. Daddy just needs to listen to your lungs," Jack pleaded. He reached out to gently hold her shoulder, but she twisted away, sobbing harder. "Hey, look at me, princess. Look at Daddy. I need you to take a big breath for me."
"No! Go 'way! Mommy help!"
Across the room, you sat holding Luca tightly on your lap. He had abandoned his book on the counter; his small hands were now hooked securely into the collar of your shirt. He was staring at his sister with wide eyes, his own chest heaving in sync with her jagged breaths.
"Mama?" Luca whispered, his voice trembling as he leaned his head back against your shoulder. "Is Lily gonna be okay?"
"She's going to be fine, baby," you murmured, kissing the top of his head, though your eyes were locked on Jack’s stressed jawline. "Daddy is looking at her. He's going to fix it."
Luca shook his head, his tiny brow furrowing. "My tummy feels hot, Mama. Right here." He pressed a small hand against his center. "Like Lily's. She feels real bad. I can feel it."
The twin connection had always been something you joked about when they were toddlers, how they’d wake up at the exact same second or cry when the other fell, but tonight, looking at Luca’s pale face, it wasn't a joke.
He was absorbing her distress, carrying the ghost of her fever in his own quiet way.
Jack caught Luca's words and glanced over his shoulder. The sight of his son looking so small and frightened, paired with Lily’s hysterical crying, made a muscle twitch in his jaw.
He looked back at Lily and gently tried to check the lymph nodes in her neck.
"Don't!" Lily screamed, slapping at his hand with a sudden burst of frantic feverish energy. She kicked out, her foot catching Jack squarely in the chest.
Jack didn't even flinch at the impact, but he dropped his hands, letting out a defeated breath. He ran a hand through his hair, turning to look at you with absolute desperation in his eyes.
"Baby, her heart rate is too high, and I need to get blood draws, but she won't even let me look at her throat," Jack said, his voice dropping to a low whisper so he wouldn't scare her further. He looked completely helpless, a man torn between his medical training and his paternal instinct to just hold his crying daughter and make the world stop hurting. "I don't want to have to restrain her, but she’s burning up, and I need answers."
"Let me try," you said softly, trying to sound steady in the middle of the room’s rising panic.
Carefully easing Luca off your lap, you gave his hand a squeeze. "Stay right here with your book for a second, okay, buddy?" He nodded solemnly, sitting on the edge of the chair and hugging the book tight against his chest, his eyes never leaving his twin.
You walked over to the exam table and gently stepped into Jack’s space. He looked at you and stepped back just enough to let you through.
"Hi, my beautiful girl," you cooed. You didn't try to touch her right away. Instead, you smoothed down the ears of her bunny. "Bunny is so brave today, Lily. But Bunny told me he’s really tired, and he wants to rest."
Lily’s screaming hitched into little hiccups. She looked at you through tear soaked eyes. "B-Bunny is tired?"
"So tired," you murmured, gently scooping Lily up into your arms. The heat radiating off her small body struck you, making your chest tight with a surge of adrenaline. You sat down on the edge of the exam table, rocking her against your chest, burying your face in her hair. "You can hold Bunny, but you need to calm down so he can rest. We need you to take a big breath. Like we're blowing out birthday candles. Ready? Let's do it together."
Lily copied you, a shaky breath rattling in her chest. Slowly, the rigid tension in her muscles began to melt, her heavy head dropping onto your shoulder. She stopped fighting.
Jack didn't waste a second. He stepped back in. With you holding her still and whispering reassurances into her ear, he was finally able to check her throat, listen to her lungs, and gently feel the rash.
When it came time for the blood draw, you blocked Lily's view, pressing her face into your neck while Jack placed the needle. Lily cried out, a sharp heartbroken sound, but she didn't thrash.
"We're going to do some tests, ultrasounds, and the labs will be in an hour."
It felt like hours, though it was only forty five minutes, before Jack read the results, and the tension in his shoulders visibly shifted.
He approached you and, as he passed by a sleepy Luca he gently placed a hand on his head.
"The labs came back," Jack said, his voice quiet. He pulled up a stool and sat directly in front of you, taking Lily's limp hand in his. "It’s a severe bacterial infection, likely from something she came into contact with at the farm, compounded by an allergic reaction that triggered the rash. That’s why the fever spiked so fast."
You let out a breath.
"You can treat her, right, love? Give her medicine? Can we go home?"
Jack shook his head. "No. Because her fever is so high and she's dehydrated, I want her on continuous IV antibiotics and fluids overnight. Lena is already arranging a pediatric room upstairs for us. We're keeping her."
The word keeping felt wrong.
You just wanted to take your babies home.
You had managed to stay strong for the last hours, but the reality of spending the night in a hospital room broke through your defenses.
You tried to nod, tried to say okay, but your jaw trembled. You reached down to adjust the blanket over Lily, who had finally drifted into a restless medical sleep, and your hands were shaking so violently you couldn't grip the fabric.
A tear spilled over your lashes, tracking down your cheek.
Jack noticed instantly. He reached out, his hands wrapping completely over yours, capping the tremor.
"Hey, doll," he whispered, standing up. "She’s going to be okay. We caught it. We know exactly what it is, and we know how to fix it. But she need to stay a few hours."
"I was so scared, Jack," you choked out, your voice barely audible. "You weren't answering, and i didn't want to bother you neither, but she was so hot, and Luca was very anxious about coming here, you know how he feels about hospitals and I—"
"I know. I'm so sorry I wasn't there," Jack interrupted you, his own voice cracking as he tightened his grip on your trembling hands, kissing your forehead. "But I'm here now. I'm signing off my shift. I'm going upstairs with you, and I'm not leaving the room until they discharge her."
-
The pediatric room felt.. calm, some way. The steady sound of the monitors was finally pulling everyone into a sense of calm.
On the small pull out couch against the far wall, you sank deeply into the cushions, pulling a thin hospital blanket up to your chin. The absolute exhaustion of the night had finally caught up to you. Your muscles ached from hours of carrying the weight of a sick child.
You rested your head back, watching the scene unfold by the bedside.
Lily was tucked into the hospital bed, her color slowly returning to a normal pale. Her breathing was deep and even, one hand still draped over the ear of her Jellycat bunny.
Jack'd pulled a recliner right up against the edge of the hospital bed so he could stay within arm’s reach of his daughter.
Luca, having endured the terrifying night, was on his father's lap, looking over the bed rail. He had been so brave all night, and now that the danger had passed, he refused to leave his sister's side.
"She's sleeping," Luca whispered.
"She is, bud," Jack said as he reached up, gently lifting Luca so he could sit safely on the mattress edge, tucked against Lily’s side. "She’s resting, Lu. The medicine is doing its work."
Luca reached out, his hand trembling slightly as he brushed a stray hair away from his sister’s forehead. He didn't pull away; he seemed to be checking the temperature for himself, satisfied that the fire was gone. Then, he did the sweetest thing: he carefully slid his own little hand into Lily’s, locking their fingers together.
"I knew what she was feeling... bad. Twin power," Luca whispered, a small proud smile touching his lips.
Jack let out a smile. He reached over, covering their joined hands with his own large, steady one. "Yeah, buddy. Twin power. She knows you're here. That’s why she’s resting so well."
"Is she having good dreams now, Daddy?" Luca whispered.
Jack leaned forward, pressing a soft kiss to the top of Luca’s head, his hand sliding up to rub his son's back. "I think she is. Especially since you're holding her. You're keeping the bad dreams away."
Luca nodded seriously, accepting the job of taking care of his sister.
From the couch, you let out a breath. Jack’s gaze drifted away from the bed, his eyes searching the room until they found yours. He saw the dark circles under your eyes, the way your shoulders finally relaxed against the cushions, completely spent.
He didn't speak, he didn't want to break the fragile quiet, but the look he gave you was filled with gratitude.
He mouthed a silent, 'I love you,' his eyes promising that he had the watch now. You could finally sleep.
You nodded, and mouthed an 'I love you,' back.
When the morning light filtered through the hospital blinds, the room was filled with the sound of plastic clattering, tiny giggles, and a familiar deep laugh.
You blinked against the light, shifting the scratchy blanket, and looked over at the bed.
Lily was sitting propped up against a mountain of pillows, the flushed fever entirely gone from her cheeks. She was in a fantastic mood, her eyes bright as she happily swung her unencumbered leg. Luca had abandoned his chair and was curled right up on the mattress beside her, the two of them sharing a massive hospital breakfast tray.
"Look, Lulu! A smiley face!" Lily chirped, pointing a syrup covered finger at a pancake.
"I like the bacon better," Luca replied, stuffing a piece into his mouth. The tattered Jellycat bunny was currently sitting between them, acting as a guest at their breakfast party.
Your heart swelled at the sight.
"Morning, my sleepyhead."
The voice came from beside you. You turned your head to find Jack sitting on the couch. At some point during the early morning hours, he must have slipped away from the bedside to join you, curling his frame around yours to keep you warm. His arms were wrapped securely around your waist, pulling your back flush against his chest. He looked exhausted but the sheer relief radiating off him was palpable.
"Morning, handsome," you rasped. You shifted, turning in his embrace so you could look up at him. "How long have they been up? How is she?"
"About an hour," Jack murmured, leaning down to press a warm kiss to your cheek. His hands slid under the blanket, rubbing soothing circles into your lower back to work out the knots from the stiff couch. "The pediatric team came in at six. Her vitals are perfect, the rash is fading, and her bloodwork is clearing up. We're getting discharged after lunch."
"Thank you," you whispered, wrapping your arms around him, burying your face in the crook of his collarbone. "For taking care of her. For being here."
Jack tightened his grip on you, burying his face in your messy hair, inhaling deeply. "You're the one who calmed her down, sweetheart. You were incredible. I'm just sorry I wasn't there from the start."
"You're here now," you murmured, pulling back just enough to look into his eyes. He leaned in, his lips meeting yours in a slow, tender, deeply affectionate kiss, a quiet celebration that the storm had passed.
"Eww, Daddy and Mommy are kissing!"
A high pitched giggle broke the silence. You both pulled apart, laughing, to see Lily and Luca staring at you from the bed.
Jack didn't let you go, keeping you tucked securely against his side as he looked over at the twins with a bright smile. "Well, Mama deserves all the kisses of the world. And as soon as you two finish those pancakes, you're next."
The twins erupted into giggles, turning back to their breakfast tray, completely happy to have their world back to normal.
True to Jack’s word, the discharge papers were signed and ready after lunch. You left the hospital with Luca for a while, to change into something clean and to dress Lily in new clothes after they removed her IV. Inside the room, the atmosphere shifted the moment a knock sounded at the door.
A nurse entered, holding a small tray with medical tape remover, gauze, and a colorful bandage. "Hi there, Lily! I'm just here to take that little straw out of your arm so you can go home."
The moment Lily saw the tray, her eyes went wide. The residual trauma of the frantic night rushed back all at once. She scrambled backward on the hospital bed, her back hitting the headboard as she tucked her arm tightly against her chest.
"No! No more needles! Daddy!" she cried, her voice cracking as tears instantly flooded her eyes. She reached out blindly with her free hand, grabbing the ear of her Jellycat bunny and squeezing it like a lifeline. "I want Mama! No needles!"
"Hey, princess, come here," Jack said instantly. He stepped right up to the side of the bed and climbing onto the mattress with her. He pulled her trembling body directly into his lap, wrapping his arms around her so she felt completely safe. "There are no more needles, Lily. I promise you. The nurse is just taking it off."
"It's gonna hurt!" she sobbed, burying her face into Jack’s shirt.
"I'm going to hold you the whole time," Jack murmured. He gently coaxed her arm out, holding her hand firmly but gently, keeping her fingers locked in his so she couldn't pull away or look at what the nurse was doing. "Do you remember the story Luca was reading last weekend? About the animals going to the sea?"
Lily gave a hiccuping nod against his chest.
"What color was the boat?" Jack asked softly, his thumb rubbing the back of her hand, creating a soothing friction to distract her.
"R-Red," she whispered.
"That's right. And who was on the boat?" Jack kept his voice low and conversational, nodding to the nurse, who moved with efficiency. She applied the tape remover, peeling back the plastic dressing smoothly.
"A bear," Lily snuffled, her grip tightening on Jack’s fingers as she felt the tape lift. "And-And a... a p-pig."
"And a pig. Good job," Jack praised, pressing a kiss to the side of her head. He could feel her tiny heart racing against his ribs, but she wasn't thrashing. "Look at that, almost done, brave girl."
The nurse smiled warmly, pressing a bright pink patterned bandage over the tiny puncture site. "All done! You were so brave, sweetie."
Lily blinked, sniffing hard as she looked down at her arm. The scary tube was gone. She let out a breath and looked up at Jack, her eyes still watery but the panic entirely gone. "Stings. Didn't hurt."
"See? Daddy told you," Jack smiled as he wiped a tear from her cheek. He squeezed her tight, rocking her for a long moment. "You're all done, princess. Let's wait for Mom and Luca for come back so we can go home."
A few minutes later, the door pushed open. "We're back!" Luca announced proudly, stepping into the room first.
You followed close behind, carrying a tote bag. You had slipped home for forty five minutes while Jack handled the discharge paperwork, giving you and Luca just enough time to wash off and change out of your rumpled clothes. Now, you were holding a pair of clean, tiny denim overalls and a bright yellow t-shirt for Lily, a replacement for her pajamas.
The moment the door opened, Lily snapped her head around. She was sitting on the edge of the bed, swinging her legs, looking entirely renewed.
"Mama! Look!" Lily squealed, scrambling off the mattress before Jack could even catch her.
She sprinted across the room, her bare feet pattering against the linoleum floor, and skidded to a halt right in front of you. She thrust her left forearm directly into your face, pointing proudly to a bright pink heart patterned bandage.
"The nurse gave me a heart band!" Lily beamed, all the terror of the needle completely forgotten. "And Daddy held my hand the whole time and it didn't even hurt, and the bad straw is gone!"
"Oh, wow! Look at that," you laughed, dropping to your knees so you were eye level with her. You gently pressed a kiss right next to the bandage, making her giggle. "That is the cutest bandage I’ve ever seen. You are so brave, my girl."
Jack stepped up behind her, his hands tucked casually into his pockets. He caught your eye over Lily's head, a soft smirk playing on his lips. He gave you a subtle nod that let you know the IV removal had been a success, despite the initial tears.
"I'm brave too, right Mama?" Luca asked, tapping your arm. He was wearing his favorite superhero shirt now. "I kept the bad dreams away last night with twin power."
"The bravest," you promised, pulling him into a one armed hug.
"Yeah! Twin power!" Lily cheered. She suddenly grabbed Luca’s hand, her mood completely doing a 180 from the crying toddler of the night before. Now that she was free of the wires and the fever, her baseline four year old energy was back. "Luca! Come look at the big truck out the window! Hurry!"
"A truck?!" Luca’s eyes went wide.
Before you or Jack could even utter a word of caution, Lily dropped her Jellycat bunny onto the floor, spun on her heel, and the two of them bolted out the open door of the hospital room, their laughter echoing down the hallway toward the playroom windows.
You stayed on your knees for a second, staring at the empty doorway, then slowly stood up. You looked at the tattered bunny on the floor, then turned to look at your husband.
Jack stood there, a stray piece of medical tape stuck to his pants, his hair wildly messy, and his shoulders slumped in utter exhaustion.
He stared at the empty hallway, blinked, and then let out a chuckle.
"Well," Jack murmured, rubbing the back of his neck as he walked over to scoop up the abandoned stuffed animal. "Her energy levels seem back to normal."
"Yeah," you laughed softly as he wrapped his arms around your waist and you wrapped yours around his neck. "I think she’s officially fine."
synopsisa patient tells you older is always better, Jack wants to know if you can confirm that.
warningsSMUT. MDNI. Oral (f and m receiving) fingering, dirty talk, slight dom Jack, penetration, p in v. language
authornotei dont even think god will take me after this one. this aint proofread
“So you think older is better?”
“Like anything good,” said Lu as you cleaned out her leg, pulling the light over to find the grit. “Like cheese... wine... sex.”
Your lips quipped up and you nodded. You didn't know how you started talking about this- you'd only asked what she was doing and how she fell. Date with an older guy, she said, was walking back from his when I fell. It must have been more of a tumble, roll and fall from the state of her leg that had got her through the waiting room and triage.
The next thing you knew she was highlighting how good sex was with an older man.
“It's like they have the experience and the confidence and they care more about getting you off than they do themselves,” she said.
“How many dates have you been on with the guy?” you asked, only trying to keep conversation while you plucked out the gravel. Trying to distract yourself from thinking about sex and older.
“Oh, this was the first one,” said Lu, laid back on the bed with a dreamy look in her eyes. “We've been talking for a few months on this app for older guys to meet women who are younger and interested. We met tonight and I had the best sex ever.”
The pling of gravel on the metal tray echoed out.
“You got a boyfriend?” she asked you.
You were silent, acting as if you were focused on the gravel. “I don't.”
Lu smirked at your silence. “But you got somebody?”
To that you had nothing to say. Maybe you did have somebody- or at least someone came to mind. Grey hair, stubbled chin and dark eyes in the shape of a doctor.
“Oh you got somebody,” said Lu.
You managed two more pieces of gravel and glass before she opened her mouth to speak again, to probably ask you another question but at the same time the door opened, bringing with it a small snap of the bustling sounds of the Pitt at night and the faint air of woodland and grease.
“How we doing in here?”
Jack walked in like he was un-aware to how you'd thought about him and then he came like you'd conjured him up. His grey hair, short stubble at the chin that he quickly rubbed at and dark eyes evaluating.
You betrayed yourself in looking to Lu.
“Is this him?” she asked, eyes lighting up.
Jack looked between the two of you. “Talking about me again, doc?” Jack asked.
You were focused on the task at hand but you didn't need to look to find him at your side, diligently watching you work.
“All good things,” said Lu.
He huffed out a little smile, hands held behind his back. His eyes bore into your head. “I'm Doctor Jack Abbott, I see you're in good hands here. How're her bloods?”
“Bloods are all clear though blood pressure is a bit high, we wanna keep an eye on that,” you said.
Jack nodded. “Well I'm sorry you're night took an unfortunate turn, Miss Marigold.”
She shrugged, rumpling her black dress. It was sleek and fit her in ways you could never imagine the dress fitting you. “Meh, it was pretty much done anyway.”
You were too caught up in the gossip she had been giving you that you didn't think about Jack not being informed. “He kicked you out?”
“No,” she said. “I left. Didn't want that awkward after sex small talk.”
“That's called aftercare.”
It was such a thrown away comment in Jack's words. He said it like he was prescribing her morphine. But the words rushed to your body, jolted you awake and alert to his presence.
Aftercare to some may have been normal, you didn't know other peoples sexual habits- you only knew yours and aftercare wasn't part of it. Your... sexual partners were few and far between and also loved to use your bathroom and sleep it off. Besides that was months ago before you started night shifts. Now your sex life was nothing but dry dry dry with the only occasional fantasy of your attending keeping you going.
“How old are you, Doctor Abbott?” asked your patient.
You caught Jack's smirk.
“Don't you know you should never ask a gentleman his age?” he said.
“Forties? Fifties?”
“Well I'm glad you ruled out thirties.”
You laughed.
“Are you single?”
“You asking?”
“And what do you think about younger women?” Lu asked with seemingly no shame. You carried it all in the blaze of heat in your cheeks.
“I don't know if this is an appropriate conversation to be having,” you said, trying to deflect. Looking between them, you found Lu waiting with curious eyes, not at all uncomfortable and Jack... surprisingly much of the same.
“You mean how do I feel about dating younger women?” asked Jack, standing at the other side of her bed.
In your eyeline.
“There's this app, called 'Always go older' it's catered for men over forty meeting younger women with similar interests. Go on dates, have long term relationships, or just sex.”
You couldn't believe the conversation you had been having with her before Jack came in, making the small space of the exam room even smaller. Having it with him in the room was your idea of a nightmare.
Jack nodded slowly, considering. “An app for... sugar daddies?”
You looked up at him. “You know what sugar daddies are?”
He pursed his lips at you in disappointment. “I'm old, I'm not clueless.”
“If you're interested I can get you a great discount,” said Lu like this was a business meeting. “Both of you.”
Jack looked at you but you missed whatever his eyes were trying to convey when you realised this app cost.
“You have to pay?”
“To be a member yeah, there can be a lot of creeps out there and they do real good work to make sure they're not in the club. You interested?”
“Not if I have to pay,” you said, thinking first of your bank account and nothing else. You only realised once you'd said it what it sounded like.
That you were interested. That older men and dating for you were hand in hand.
You looked up hoping at least Jack wouldn't have noticed. His eyes were on you, an amused tilt to his lips. “Okay!” you stood up, pulling off your gloves. “All the gravel and glass is out but I'm gonna get another blood test in to check your alcohol levels. I'll call a nurse to dress you up and we'll keep you for observation on that blood pressure.”
She nodded. “Do you think I could do a pregnancy test too? Just, while I'm here.”
Jack approached your side, watching you again. His head was tilted up but his eyes were down on you. He was attending but as always he waited on your say. He never overstepped, never made assumptions, always let you lead with your gut.
You wondered if that was what younger women were looking for...
“Sure, I'll get you a pot for a urine sample and we can get those tests.”
“Were you practising safe sex?” asked Jack.
Lu stretched out on the bed, pulling at the seams of her dress at her cleavage. “It feels better without.”
Jack seemed un-bothered, if anything understanding as his head slowly bobbed in a nod.
You'd never had sex without a condom before. Never wanted to risk it.
Jack held the door open for you, letting you lead the way out.
It was noisier and busier yet it was easier to breath. At least for a second before Jack's body brushed yours as he walked next to you.
“Is she a cop? Feel like we were being interrogated in there.”
“That or she gets paid to promote the app.”
You slid into a chair desperately trying not to look at the clock. You had a bad habit of doing so and the night would drag on. You pulled up her chart and distracted yourself with repeating what you'd already said to avoid the inevitable conversation you were gonna be having with Jack.
His mouth opened and you beat him to it.
“I swear we just started talking about that, I was just asking her how she fell and she told me about the guy and started talking about sex and the date and the app, I... I did not invite that conversation.”
He nodded. “It's okay if you did.”
“I didn't.”
“Okay.”
There was silence between you. Your finger moves quickly over the keyboard and Abbott stayed stood there, watching.
“If you're interested-”
“- I'm not,” you said, quickly, without really knowing what he was asking for.
Jack held his hands up in surrender. “Older men aren't too bad.”
“Oh no, I'm-I'm sure they're great, I have nothing against age, you know, old's great! Like.... like wine! Or-or cheese! I just, I mean, my love life- sex life is kinda, urm-” you stumbled over your words. It was annoying how Jack just stood there, letting you, without stopping or helping. “I just don't really have the time for dating.”
You worked nights and in the day you were catching up on sleeping and eating. The furthest your date life got was phone calls with Jack when he was grocery shopping and wanted your opinion, or sometimes in the morning when you got breakfast together before heading back.
He always walked you home, even if it meant an extra half hour before he got home. He was a gentleman like that.
He was still calm as he held his hands behind his back and watched you. “Are you looking to date?”
You chuckled. “Ha, you know a guy who works as crazy shifts as me?”
Jack's eyes lowered to yours. “Maybe. Might be a bit older though.”
You realised what he meant just as an ETA was called in.
The ETA had turned into five and for the rest of the night you and Abbott were too busy with the rest of the team to brush by each other. Every move was a hard move of shoulders to not bump or ripping of the gowns off and the harsh change of gloves. There was no time to talk about anything through the night, let alone whatever the hell had happened at the start of shift.
Your small reprise came when a man dressed in the makings of a rushed man walked in as the clock was striking past five in the morning.
“Excuse me, I'm looking for Lu Mari-gold?”
His hair was silver and growing at the back of his neck. It was brushed back handsomely and though he clearly must have been in his fifties (at least) he had a head full of hair and stubble growing on his chin.
He was handsome and even more so when you saw the bouquet of flowers he held in hand.
“Are you- are you family?”
“No I'm uh- I'm her partner.”
So you escorted him to her room, letting him in and giving him a small update on her care. He set the flowers next to her and you lingered, diligently checking her chart.
“Why'd you leave, honey?” he asked, sitting on the edge of her bed and petting back her hair.
“Oh you know,” she said, casually. “Didn't want to do the whole awkward morning after thing.”
“There'd be nothing awkward about it. I was gonna make you breakfast, had plans to make love two you in the morning.”
Your cheeks flamed up as he said it so casually, like he was laying out a list for morning plans which.... he well was.
You decided to give them some privacy and save yourself form listening. You gently closed the door over and watched them through. He kissed her gently on the forehead, cradling her and Lu soaked it all in in adoring eyes and gentle touches.
It was a sort of tender touch you weren't used to even seeing, let alone feeling.
“Hey,” there was a ghost of a touch on the small of your back and Jack came to stand next to you. “That her boyfriend?”
“Yeah, though I don't know if they're their yet,” you admitted. “They only met tonight- well, last night. But she ran out.”
“And he came to her,” observed Jack. “They'll be just fine.”
“How'd you know?”
“The way he looks at her.”
When you looked at Jack he was already looking at you.
The thousand moments between the two of you played out. The gentle ghosts of a hand, the watchful moments but Jack was like that with a lot of people, attentive.
Your eyes fluttered as you looked away from him to the scene playing out again. “Are you some sort of relationship whisperer?”
He huffed a small amused laugh and followed your eyes to look ahead. “I just know things.”
It wasn't long before Lu and her partner were walking out, the flowers in hand as his arm was around her waist, supporting her.
They stopped off by the nurses counter where both you and Jack lingered working on separate cases.
“We just wanted to say thank you,” said Lu. “And here. There's a ninety percent success rate.”
She handed you a business card with the app name and promo code applied.
“Oh, er, thank you,” you said, un-sure on what to say other than a thanks.
Lu smiled kindly, leaning in to you as subtle as possible. Her eyes lingered somewhere over your shoulder. “Though I don't think you'll need it.”
You turned, catching sight of what she was watching.
Jack stood with Crus who was thrusting a tablet to him but he was looking at you.
“I'll- er- put it to good use. I'll see you in a couple days to check out those stitches.”
Slowly they left and you were stood frozen, staring down at the card. Ten dollars a month wasn't so bad if you didn't count the subscriptions you already had at the student loan and bills and such. You got three months half price, maybe three months to meet the love of your life or at least get some-
The card was plucked from you fingers.
Jack twirled it around. “You thinking about it?” he said, an edge to his voice.
“What? No- I don't know, she just- it was a parting gift?”
He nodded, reading the card. “Always go older,” he read.
“It's the app, younger women with, um, older men.”
“Interested?”
The way he looked at you felt more like an invitation than a general question. His eyes were hooded as he looked at you. It was the way he always looked at you but it felt weighted.
“It's just an app,” you excused.
Jack held the card out between the two of you, letting you chose.
It should've been your choice but it felt like there was a right and wrong answer.
Slowly, you plucked it from his fingers.
Two days later you found Jack Abbott on the app.
You were scrolling in the bathroom on your three minute pee break. You'd got the app that morning, caving in after spending a night tossing and turning and dreaming. You could say the dream was any old man, a faceless sort but even if that were true you felt the hard press of the chest, the tickle of the stubble. You imagined the freckles along the arms and the low rumble of his voice in your ear.
“That's it... that's it... take me in... all the way... god you feel beautiful,”
You woke wet between your legs and hot all over with little to no time to do anything about it.
You were desperate, you told yourself as you hastily built up a profile, picking what small pictures you had of yourself not in scrubs.
You hadn't had time to check it until the bathroom break and you don't make it three profiles before you were faced with Abbott.
The pictures of him were pictures you'd seen before, a selfie with his stupid smirk, the peek of army uniform there. There was another of him that seemed to a couple years ago and the third and final was a picture of him in scrubs.
It was a picture of the night shift but you could tell there were several cropped out, but you who stood next to him were still there.
You stared down at the picture of you two, his arm was thrown over your shoulders casually. He was grinning at the camera and you had a small smile to, your body leant into him. You hadn't even realised you did that.
Didn't Abbott know it wasn't a good sign to have a picture of another woman on the dating app? Unless it was your mother and you were a mamas boy.
There was knocking on the bathroom stool doors.
“Have you coded in there?” Crus called out.
You huffed and got off the toilet, pulling up your pants and pocketing your phone.
“If only.”
The night continued as usual, abdominal pains, charting, lacerations, charting, traumas and charting.
You'd hardly got a look at Jack when it was turning to six in the morning and day shifters started piling in.
You were passing the break room when the door swung open.
Jack popped out, catching you, his arms braced at the door. “Get in here, now.”
You were worried, reading through every patient you'd seen that day. You were sure you dealt with them all attentively, you'd never misdiagnosed someone before and today couldn't have been the day.
Jack closed the door behind him, checking nobody was on their way to find you before speaking. He was calm as he walked over to you, leaning his hand on the table and crowding you. “Why do you think I need to talk to you?”
You tried to think of something you'd done wrong. Anything. “Trauma came in, I er, didn't intubate quick enough?”
He shook his head and you tried to think again.
Before you could hazard a guess, he spoke. “I thought if you were interested, you'd have said something.”
There was a beat of silence.
“Interested?”
Jack's chest rose and fell in a deep breath. “In going older.”
“In going-” your mind short-circuited to his profile. If you'd seen him just a few hours ago, he could have seen you before then.
“I thought I had made my invitation clear,” he uttered.
“Invitation?” you repeated, feeling like a stuck record player.
“To go older,” Jack stepped closer and you could feel the warmth of his breath. “I was inviting you to try it.”
His breath somehow still smelt of mint freshness whereas you were sure yours was coffee stained from the three cups you'd already drunk.
“And not through the app,” he added.
You gulped. “You saw me on the app?”
“I saw you on the app.”
“But you're on the app,” you pointed out, eyes flickering up to his.
“I got it two days ago to make sure you didn't get it,” he said. His eyes weren't focused on yours. They were flickering between your eyes and your lips.
You wondered if you were still dreaming. If you were still in your bed, still dampening your panties and sheets with this crazy dream of him. You pinched yourself slowly but you felt the pain and didn't wake.
You squeezed your eyes shut and opened them and he was still there. Still calm. “You want to have sex with me?”
Jack's jaw clenched. “Honey, I want so much more than that.”
His finger was light as it brushed the back of your hand that rested on the table there.
“I want what you want, and maybe even more,” said Jack, his hand cradled your face. thumb dragging over your cheekbone. “You just got to tell me what you want and I'll make it happen.”
You'd thought that being with an older man meant being told what to do, that you wouldn't get a word in edge ways and yes, it was hot to think about.
You imagined Jack would be that, gently guiding you through your pleasure like he understood it better than you did. “You, I want you.”
Jack's lips were soft on yours, his head tilted at the perfect angle that meant he reached every edge of your lips at once. He didn't push against you, annoyingly so, he just let you feel the press of his lips like a fresh summers breeze.
It was your hands that fell on his chest, it was you that tilted your head back so he could reach deeper. It was your tongue tracing the bottom of his lips to get in deeper.
The door clattered and you jumped from Jack like he'd scorched you.
Jack only opened his eyes slowly, turning.
Robby leant on the door frame, arms crossed over his chest and a smirk on his lips as he sipped from his coffee cup. “Good morning, brother.”
Jack took you home to his and carefully man handled you through the door. Once it was closed his lips sort yours in a hunger even a twelve hour shift couldn't kill.
He breathed against you hard as he kissed you, stirring you through his house with his hands migrating from your cheeks, to your neck, to your waist, to your hips, to anyplace he could get a hold of you.
Your hands made his neatly combed hair a mess as you leant against him, letting yourself be moved around like a rag doll.
“Is this your house?” you asked against his lips. You couldn't look around to study his space, he was hardly letting you go to catch your breath let alone turn your head.
He nodded, kissing you. His tongue entered the warmth of your mouth and he moaned into you. “We didn't break and enter, baby.”
“But you-” you gasped as his hands travelled under your shirt, sending a chill. “You don't rent.”
This wasn't your best dirty talk.
Jack smiled against your lips. “No, I have a mortage.”
You kissed him again, holding him close as your hand slithered to the back of his neck.
He was still navigating you through his house till you felt your back hit a wall. “Does that turn you on?”
Slowly he pulled at the ties of your scrub pants and he slid his hand in enough to get a feel of the warmth of your cunt through your panties. You were wet, impossibly so just by kissing him.
“Yeah,” he said, breathless. “It turns you on.”
Jack's teeth scraped down your neck, his tongue soothing where he nipped.
You tilted your head back, a silent invite for more.
A thigh of his slotted between your legs and you fell onto it.
“You wanna- wanna tell me about tax returns next?” you teased.
“Maybe,” he said, lifting his head back to yours. “I kinda wanna taste you first.”
With strong hands on your hips he turned you and pushed you through the open door into a master of a bedroom. The bed was in the middle, a four postered type thing with clean and made sheets. There was nothing messy about it, nothing to signify the exhaustion of a night shift.
Jack held your body into his, hips rutting against yours.
You acknowledged somewhere in the back of your head that he'd told you years ago he moved into a bungalow. No stairs- easier on his leg.
“Do you know how many times I've touched myself thinking about you, on that bed?” he whispered into your skin, kissing the words there.
“You-You have?”
You felt his hair tickle you as he nodded. “Do you like knowing that?”
“Yes.” You reached over, cupping the back of his head till your tongues were meeting in a sloppy kiss.
Jack's hands slipped down your waist, down your underwear and spread at your cunt till he could easily slip in a finger.
You gasped against him, body curling in pleasure you'd never felt.
He moved with you as if he was chasing you, sucking on your bottom lip.
“You like that?” he uttered, dragging out your bottom lip.
You nodded as he slowly withdrew his finger to slip another in.
“Need to hear you like it, baby.”
“I like it, Jack, like your fingers inside of me.”
The fingers on his free hand moved to wrap around your neck, tilting your head back till it rested on his shoulder. With this advantage he could like on the skin, feel the heat of you and the jump of your pulse as he slowly worked his fingers in and out, curling at the spots that got you shaking.
Your held onto his arm, fingers digging into the skin.
“You're gonna like it,” he whispered. “You're gonna like it so much you'll never go back, never want anyone else.”
His fingers worked quicker as you felt him leave marks at your neck, in places you knew people would be able to see. “Still like my fingers inside of you?”
“Yes, god, yes!”
“How'd they make you feel, baby?”
“Good, so good.”
Jack withdrew his hands and turned you, guiding you up on the bed. He leant back on his knees, slowly undoing the ties of his scrub bants.
You'd never been happier that they were black, showing the outline of his cock, hard and begging for attention.
“Take your top off.” He gestured.
You did and his eyes grew darker though didn't know how that was possible. Your hands trembled with eager excitement to get your hands on him or for him to get his hands on you. You moved to un-clasp your bra but Jack shook his head.
“Keep it on. Take my shirt off.”
His chest was broad and slightly defined. Freckles dotted around and one or two scares you'd never seen before were littered there too.
It was instinct to move in to his neck to kiss him but his hand wrapped around your neck and pushed you down till you bounced off the mattress.
“Eyes on me, keep your eyes on me.”
You followed his order as he slowly dragged down your scrub pants and panties, getting a glimpse of how wet they were before they were chucked aside.
Hopefully that was the time Jack let you see all of him. No.
Like a prized possession Jack laid you out and spread your legs.
It was suddenly all too real. The haste of the drive over, his hand on your thigh, everything he said about being with an older guy and how Lu had told you how experienced they were. Would he expect something you couldn't deliver? Did you expect something?
“Jack,” you said only his name but you didn't know what else you were trying to lead on anyhow.
His eyes were earnest though clouded by desire as he pushed your legs up till you were sprawled out for him. “I'll stop any time you want.”
You watched him get closer to your heat. Felt yourself cry out for his attention.
“You're gonna like it, gonna love it,” he promised, eyes focused on you as he slid his middle finger inside of you. “Relax... relax.”
You tried to but as another one of his fingers slid into you, creating a slow thrusting pattern and his other hand kept playing with your cunt to get your lips spread you could do anything but relax.
Your breathing kicked up, your pulse was high.
As Jack leant down to slowly flick his tongue against your clit you threw your head back and moaned.
“Oh shit, Jack- Jack!”
His gaze flickered up to you, daring you to try to speak.
When you did it came out as another moan, his tongue flattening against your bud of nerves.
He played with you like that, moulding your legs around to where he wanted them. Flat on the bed, over his shoulders, up in the air. Anything to get him deeper inside of you.
All the while you alternated between watching him and falling back on the bed in aches of pleasure.
Jack watched where his fingers disappeared inside of you. “Swallowing me up, can't wait to get my cock inside of you.”
“Want it.... want it....” you mumbled, head back on the softness of his quilt.
“Yeah?” he whimpered.
Your hand fisted the quilt that smelt like him and you smothered your face in it as his fingers curled.
“Oh my god, honey... yeah....” Jack moaned before you felt the wet of his tongue on the heat of you.
You couldn't tell where one ended and the other began. Whether it was his spit on your cunt or your want that was pooling into wetness on his sheets.
There was no warning, only your moans, as you came around his fingers and tongue. You had no idea you could come so quick, had no idea it could be pulled from your head to your toes.
Jack let your orgasm play out, pulling back to watch it leak. “Oh yeah... yeah...” his fingers swept up the mess lightly. “You're so sweet, oh yeah... moan like that...”
His tongue went in, licking up all the mess around you.
“Jack please, I can't- I can't!”
Your body was trembling beyond your control and he was still playing around with you and your sensitive bud. Your arms wrapped around yourself as if you could hold yourself together from breaking out in cries.
You hadn't noticed your eyes were screwed shut until you felt him move and heard the demand in his voice.
“Look at me.”
When you did you found Jack standing at the foot of his bed, scrub pants deserted and hand wrapped around his own cock.
You looked at him and then some.
“Touch me, touch me,” he said gently, prying your hands away from your chest with care.
With guidance he helped you sit up and helped you feel his cock.
You'd done this before but your mouth had never watered by the idea, your body never wept with the need to suck another guy off. Nothing about him disgusted you. Not the scars around his knee where he lost his leg, not the hair that dusted the base of his cock in tamed grey.
It moved you on.
You only jerked him off slow, only a little at first but his breath became laboured.
Jack's eyes closed as he grabbed a hold of your legs like they were his anchor.
You wanted to speed up.
“Go easy on me,” he said with a drunk grin. “It's been a while.”
You moaned and inched your body closer to the edge of the bed, your heat wanting to swallow him up.
Jack's eyes watched as you withered. He held onto your wrist that stayed wrapped around the base of his cock. “No, no, no, don't put it in yet.” Slowly he came to lean over you. “I want you to suck on it. You want it? Want to suck this old mans cock?”
In answer, the two of you moved quickly till he was lying flat on the bed and you were over him, slowly taking the tip in your mouth.
“Oh my god... oh yeah...” he moaned. Jack petted back your hair. “Take the tip.... take the tip... swirl your tongue...”
You took in his tip and swirled the tongue just as he said, watching him as you took him deeper with his careful help.
A string of 'oh yeah, don't stop' fell from him like a mantra as you took him deeper and faster, the need growing in you again.
“It's not- it's not too much?” he checked in, his head falling back.
You only took yourself off him to shake your head before sucking him into your mouth again, holding the base of him and working what you couldn't manage.
Jack groaned, hands flying to his head as his fists clenched. “You're so good... oh you're so good, baby.”
You took him deep and hollowed your cheeks.
Jack lurched. “Fuck! Fuck- shit, don't do that,” he moaned, guiding you off with pink cheeks. He chuckled, guiding you up to him. “I'll finish if you do that.”
He kissed you, never minding the both of your arousal on each other's lips. “They're are so many ways I want to be inside of you.”
You moaned against his lips. “I want you inside me, Jack.”
“I know, I know.” His brows pulled together as he seemed to have a battle in his own mind about just how to have you.
You didn't make it easier. In temptation you lied back on his bed and spread yourself out. All the while he was still caught up in thinking.
You almost started playing with yourself to relieve the build up when Jack grabbed your wrist and guided your fingers into his mouth.
He gently kissed the pads of your finger tips. “Turn around.”
Jack lied next to you, your back flush with his chest. He lined his cock up with your cunt, slowly sliding the length of it between your folds.
“Con-condom?” you mumbled, dreading the feel of anything that wasn't completely him.
Jake kissed your shoulder. “It feels better without. I'm clean.”
You nodded, breathless at the promise of feeling him. All of him. “I'm clean and I have a, an IUD.”
He kissed you again as he nudged the head of his cock into you.
Your moans echoed around the room as he held onto you, inching himself in further and further.
Only once you'd just got the feel of all of him he was slowly retreating to push back in again. For a moment it was only the sound of the both of you breathless and the gentle sounds of skin on skin as he moved at a steady pace, growing needier, getting deeper by every thrust.
“Oh my god... oh my god...” you moaned.
Jack's hands grabbed your hips, helping you meet his thrusts in urgency. The sun was just peeking through the blinds and a thin layer of sweat glowed off both your bodies.
You tried to grind your backside into him, desperate to feel relief as his pace remained steady.
Jack gripped your hip, leaning into your ear. “Don't rush it, don't rush it,” he nipped at your ear. “Don't be greedy, we'll go slow.”
You didn't want slow. You wanted fast. You wanted hard.
The slow drag of his cock through your walls drove you mad. He reached around, fingers circling your clit as his other hand finally un-hooked your bra.
It wasn't long before Jack was slamming into you, harder, your body rocking with his movements and the head of his bed hitting the wall.
“God, it's been so long.... you feel amazing...” said Jack as his fingers circled your clit hard.
“Jack I'm gonna-”
At the warning he stilled himself inside of you.
“Not yet, honey, not yet.”
You whined, hand moving round to grab at his ass and hold him in.
Jack groaned and bit into your neck. “I know, I know. Just gimme a minute.”
You had no choice as he slid out of you and moved you around so you were flat on the bed. You felt his fingers thrust inside of you again harder than before.
His breath was hard, chest rising and falling quickly. “I wanna make you come in so many ways I can't chose how.”
He was a man starved, ravenous as he dedicated time to licking you up again, if only for a minute. But he moaned around you, sucked in your nerves and released it to the mercy of his fingers.
“Jack!” you yelled, screw the neighbours.
There was a growl somewhere in the back of his throat as he loomed over you.
“You wanna fuck me?”
“Yes, Jack, bad so bad!”
“Okay, okay honey, fuck me then, come one baby.... I know you can.”
Jack pushed into you as the both of your eyes clashed watching the pleasure in each others eyes. He set a brutal pace, holding a leg up as he peppered kisses along your chest.
“J-Jack-”
“Tell me how good I feel.”
“So good.”
“So good, yeah baby, so good,” he gasped. “Oh fuck, god baby!” He reached over and gripped the headboard, body tight in pleasure.
You arched off the bed.
“I need you to come,” he announced, eyes screwed up in pleasure as he thrusted into you hard, the slap of his balls on you.
You watched where he met you as your legs shook.
“I need you to come so I can come.... one more time, baby.... one more time, please....” he begged.
The sight of him sweating, his body rigid, eyes shut in pleasure and mouth hanging open only to voice obscene moans was enough to have you coming over the edge.
Your walls tightened.
Jack must have felt it as he steadied himself over you, fingers falling between your bodies to work you through it. “That's it.... that's it.... that's it...” He kissed along your collarbone.
You released over him, gasping, body melting into him as Jack rode out your orgasm.
“Arg... oh god... you feel so good, I-urg-”
Dirty words spilled from your mouth as Jack latched onto your mouth and let go inside of you.
The both of you were a panting, sweating mess as he calmed down, slowly slipping out of you but kissing away every whine and protest.
Your breathes slowed and slowly Jack slipped out of you, watching his release leave you.
His eyes flickered back up to you, brushing away hair that had stuck. “I've never come like that in my life.”
You were still catching your breath, still waiting for the race of your heart to dull. “Your welcome?”
Jack chuckled, falling beside you and throwing an arm over you. “I think you can delete that app now.”
You groaned with a wave of embarrassment, covering your face. Gently, Jack pried away your hands and kissed the palms of them. You turned on your side. “Are you going to delete it too?”
“Honey I only got it cause I couldn't stand the thought of you getting it, and some other gut thinking he can treat you better.”
“I always hoped it would be you.”
Jack kissed you tenderly. “So?” he asked against you. “You think older is better?”
summary: pope has spent so long convinced he’d never have this: a family, a daughter, a reason to stay. now that he does, he’s still learning to believe it’s real.
wc: 1.5k
requested!
my masterlist!
The first thing you did after waking up was reach with your hand to the other side of the bed, only to find it empty, the sheets cold.
Still completely groggy, you carefully shifted in bed, turning your head towards the bathroom’s door to see if you could catch a hint of light from underneath the door that would indicate if he’s in the bathroom, but it was pitch black. All of it, he isn’t there or in the room.
And yet, you didn’t panic, you knew exactly where to find your husband.
Carefully, you shifted again on the bed, this time to sit down. The movements were slow and somewhat hesitant at first, since everything hurt you in ways you couldn’t describe, everything ached and was ultra sensitive. Once you were sitting down, you gently gripped the headboard and stood up.
That was always the worst part.
Taking a deep breath to handle the small surge of pain and the uncomfortableness caused by standing up, you made your way out of your shared bedroom and right next door, where the nursery was located.
And there he was, exactly where you expected him to be.
Pope was sitting down in the rocking chair right next to the bassinet, back straight, hands resting on his thighs as his eyes remained focused on your newborn baby, on her tiny little features, on the rhythmic movement of her little chest, up and down with her soft breaths.
He didn't notice you right away, lost in quiet thought, but when he did, he briefly turned his head to look at you, his expression soft and yet filled with so many emotions.
“You okay?” he asked softly, mindful of his tone to not wake up the newborn baby girl.
“I’m fine,” you gently assured him, knowing he worries out of his mind for you, especially now, with the labor being so recent and all. If Pope was an attentive husband before? It had definitely tripled now. “Don’t worry, love. Are you okay? Why are you still up? Did she fuss?”
“I’m okay, and she’s okay too,” he murmured, his voice and expression softening to a degree you’d never had the pleasure of witnessing before when he looked at your baby girl. “I just… wanted to be here, with her.”
You understood exactly what he meant, he wasn’t there because the baby had cried or because she needed tending to, but because the reality had yet to fully sink in for him, and he needed these quiet moments to come to terms with it.
Your baby girl is here. She's safe and sound, at home with you. She exists, she lives and she’s not a figment of his dreams.
Pope had spent so long believing he would never get to have a family of his own, that he would never be a father, that the reality of it actually happening needs its space to settle.
With a tender expression, you made your way closer to them, stopping next to the chair where your husband sat, your hand immediately finding his shoulder, sliding along the strong line of it and up the back of his neck, finding his soft curls, which had grown in the last couple of weeks.
He immediately relaxed, shoulders slumping a little, his head tilting back to rest against your palm. You wanted to reassure him somehow, remind him that your baby is safe and sound, that she’s not going anywhere and that he can relax and not feel guilty about it, but then again, this is how Pope is.
You gently sat down on the rocking chair’s armrest, still running your fingers through his soft hair. Pope immediately reacted to that, moving his arm to wrap it around you, his hand resting on the curve where your thigh met your hip, gently caressing the skin with his thumb. Additionally, he turned his head and pressed a soft kiss to your shoulder, which you reciprocated by leaning to the side slightly and pressing a small kiss to his temple.
“She’s so little,” he said, half in awe and adoration, half with anxiety and perhaps even a bit of fear.
Having a tiny little life to look after was overwhelming, you shared the sentiment. Babies are just… so small and precious, so fragile, and it isn’t until you have your own that you’re truly hit with the reality of how vulnerable they are, the world out there isn’t always nice. Reconciling that with the existence of a newborn takes time.
“She is,” you agreed, peering down at the innocent little bundle of joy, sleeping peacefully in her little bassinet without a care in the world. You admired the shape of her adorable little nose, the shape of her small mouth, her long lashes, those endearing little cheeks that made you want to kiss them again and again. She's so precious. “She's also incredibly beautiful. and cute, let’s not forget that, she’s so freaking adorable.”
Pope hums with amusement, absentmindedly tracing invisible shapes on your hip with light fingertips. “Mmm yeah, she looks just like you already, just like her pretty mama.”
“You think?” you indulge him, even if it is a little silly to suggest she looks like either of you, she’s barely three days old, she doesn’t look like anyone but her tiny little self, new to this world. “Dunno, I think she has your nose.”
At that, Pope scoffed, he wasn’t being mean, it was just disbelief, as if he still couldn’t imagine his features or even the smallest part of him being replicated in this perfect little being.
There's only a small night light on the distant corner of the room, which means the light is pretty limited, so he leaned forward a bit more to get a clearer view of the newborn. With tenderness flooding your heart, you noticed how his hand twitched slightly over his thigh, his fingers digging into his skin, holding himself back.
You knew that’s what he was doing. This precedent was set the very first day, when he’d been absolutely terrified of holding her back in the hospital, afraid of doing it wrong, of dropping her or causing her harm in any way. Apparently, the fear remained.
“You know you can hold her, right?” You reminded gently, your hand sliding down from his hair to his broad back, rubbing gentle circles there.
He looked up at you with what was, without doubt, the most vulnerable look you’d ever seen on his face, high up there with the expression he’d made at your wedding when he saw you wearing the white dress for the first time, walking down the aisle.
“I don’t want to disturb her.”
Your heart squeezed in your chest at that.
“You won’t disturb her, love, I promise,” you encouraged him softly, pushing gently on his back so he moved closer to the bassinet. “Just slide your hands under her, make sure to cradle her head with one hand and her little body with the other, just as we practiced, and she’ll be alright. I'm sure she would sleep even comfier in papa’s arms.”
His expression relaxed even more at that, then he nodded. He moved to stand up from the rocking chair, his hand cradling your side to make sure you wouldn’t jostle too much when his weight was removed from the chair. Once he made sure you were safe, he turned to the bassinet.
With the utmost care and a delicate touch, Pope leaned forward. His left hand pressed back first against the soft cushion of the bassinet, then smoothly slid under the baby’s tiny head, gently cradling it, adjusting his hold there so the neck would be supported, then with the same care, he slid his other hand under the baby’s little bottom, making sure to cradle her small body properly, and after taking a deep breath, he lifted slowly.
Your precious baby girl let out a soft little sound at that, a soft squeaky grunt that immediately made you smile. Pope froze for a couple of seconds, probably fearing the little sound would lead to a cry, but it never came, she settled. He took that as his cue and brought her delicate body up to his chest, safely tucking her there. The baby immediately settled there, instinctively curling up against his warmth, tiny little hand resting on his chest.
Pope's shoulders relaxed, letting out the breath he’d been holding, his hands held her safely, making sure to cradle her fragile body as if she were the most precious thing ever. Which to be fair, she is to you both.
There was no need for you to say ‘see? told you so’ because Pope’s expression already told you all you needed to know. He looked down at her, his thumb brushed her soft little head, and he leant in slightly, pressing a soft kiss to her small forehead.
"Papa's here,” he whispered to her. “Mama and papa will always be here for you.”
And just like that, reality was finally starting to settle for him.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
Warnings: periods, using that gif bc of his little dad bod belly for his dad energy
————
“Hey dad? Did mom leave yet?” Your daughter Elizabeth called from the doorway. Jack heard the tremble in her throat and his head snapped up immediately. His daughter stood biting her lip, desperate to hide the worry etched in her brow.
“Yeah, she had to leave early. Traffic is backed up on 19. What’s wrong, Lizzie?” He stood, balancing on the arm of the couch while reaching for his crutches.
“Nothing, I’m fine.”
“You don’t look fine. Honey wha-”
“I’m fine!” She snapped before turning down the hall back to her room. Shutting the door with a loud slam, the frames on the wall rattling from the force.
As soon as you set your stuff down in the nurses station, your phone buzzed in your back pocket.
Lizzie Abbot 🎀
“Hey honey, what’s up?” You asked while multitasking and checking the nights caseload.
“Mama?” She whimpered, causing you to direct all attention to your little girl. She never called you ‘mama’ unless she was scared or upset. She sounded both.
“Lizzie? What’s wrong.”
“I got my period.”
You felt your whole body relax and you let out an audible sigh of relief. Thank god it was only that, but you’d been in her position before. You knew that to her, this was absolutely the end of the world, and you weren’t there to help.
“Okay, okay. Calm down, you’re okay. Did you check my bathroom?”
“Yeah, you only had tampons. I don’t know how to use them.”
“Okay, that’s fine, does Dad know?”
“No no no! Please don’t tell him!”
“Honey he’s a doctor, AND your father. This is nothing to him.”
“Exactly, he’s my dad. I’d rather die.”
“Dana just left. I can see if she can drop something off on her way home. I’ll text you. But your father is gonna have to find out eventually”
Before you could even hang up, Jacks call came through on the other line.
Jack Abbot 💍
“Hey, Jack.”
“Hey, did Lizzie say anything before you left? She’s upset about something and won’t talk to me.”
You sighed. As much as you wanted to respect her wishes, remembering how absolutely mortifying it was when your father learned about your entry to womanhood, Jack needed to know.
“Yeah um—I just got off the phone with her. Hold on let me go somewhere more private.” You hurried away from the nurses station and into a free room. “She got her period. All I have are tampons in the bathroom. I should have been better prepared for this moment… but it’s hard to believe we have a teenager.”
“Oh— oh uh—right, okay, d-do you need me to run to the store?”
You chuckled to yourself at how flustered he seemed to be.
“Well that’s the problem. She is absolutely dead set on me not telling you, and she’d probably have my head on a stake if she knew we were having this conversation right now.”
“Are you sure it’s her period?”
“Jack.”
“Alright, alright yeah. It’s just weird. I feels like yesterday she was doing ballet routines for me in the leotard we’d have to bribe her with candy to take off and wash.”
“Looking back, she probably knew she’d get a lollipop if she put up a fight. I think we were played, Jack Abbot.”
“By a toddler at that”
“I’m just waiting on Dana to get back to me to see if she can drop som— hold on she just texted back— shit she has her daughter’s basketball game.”
“I’ll run to the drugstore it’s not a problem.”
“But Elizabeth is gonna make it everyone’s problem when I get home in the morning if you do…”
————
After a brief back and forth with your daughter, about how she’d never talk to you again, you were the worst mother in the world, “Janies mom would never do this”, yada yada, you got a text from Jack.
A photo of the feminine hygiene aisle:
Jack Abbot 💍:
“Why the fuck are there that many pads and tampon choices? Wings? No wings? Scented. Unscented? Why would there even be scented ones? Which do I buy her?”
“You should see the shampoo aisle… just get her some regular and overnight pads for now. With wings. ‘Always’ is usually the brand I go for. Drop them outside her door like it’s a bomb and do not engage with the enemy.”
“Should I be scared?”
“Probably.”
“If you don’t hear from me in an hour, send the search party.”
“Just watch your other leg, soldier.”
“🙄”
45 minutes later your daughter heard the rustle of a plastic bag and her dad’s uneven gait down the hallway. She sat on her bed with her knees to her chest until she heard his footsteps retreat to his bedroom for the night. Her phone lit up.
Dad 💙🦿
“Let me know if you need anything else.”
She crept to the door and opened it slowly, at her feet was the Target bag and her favorite chocolate chip frappe from Starbucks (or a milkshake disguised as coffee as her dad calls it). Inside were the pads but also some candy, her favorite chips, a new book she told him about last week, and some ibuprofen with a post-it note on it that says “take two” in his chicken scratch.
Jacks phone chimed (on full blast may I add. He’s the only one in the family who wont have his phone on vibrate “in case they need me at the hospital”)
Lizzie ⚽️👩🏻🦰:
“Thanks”
“When you stop being scary, can I have some sour patch kids? I was in such a hurry I forgot to get a sweet treat for myself from the store :( “
“lol yes”
And then a text from you
Wife 😍:
“You make it out okay? Should I send search and rescue?”
“Survived. Barely.”
“I knew marrying an army vet with hostage negotiation skills would pay off eventually.”
summary: a night out with some coworkers after a medical conference leads to you accidentally texting your attending about how hot you think he is.
word count: 4.6k
contains: smut, oral (f receiving), unprotected sex, reader is a doctor, no use of y/n.
a/n: i know nothing about being a doctor or going to medical conferences but i tried my best here. If something is disgustingly inaccurate plz let me know :)
If you were being honest, you hated these things. Conferences, galas, all of it. You loved being a doctor, it was your life’s passion after all, but it was the incessant obligations outside of the hospital— the networking, the dressing up, the horrid small talk with other doctors— piled on top of your already packed schedule that had you dreading this particular medical conference more than usual.
There was one small silver lining, at least. This time, you had friends.
You’d only begun working at Pittsburg Trauma Medical Center a few months ago, looking for more of a challenge after spending the past few years of your career in dermatology. You didn’t hate it, per se, but you felt deep in your bones that you were meant for more high stakes work.
Not only did the job suit you better, but the people did too. Sure, you’d met some nice people in dermatology, even met your best friend there, but working in the ER surrounded you with people much like yourself. Adrenaline junkies.
Unfortunately, adrenaline junkies and medical conferences did not mix.
That’s how you found yourself at some dodgy dive bar down the street from your hotel the last night of your conference with two of your coworkers, Trinity and Victoria. The three of you had been bored out of your minds at the last lecture of the day, where some old pretentious man droned on and on and onnnnn about medical research that was about 25 years outdated. You really needed a drink.
“Okay, I know we agreed on vodka crans, but I got us green tea shots too. My treat, alright? I fucking need a shot after whatever that lecture was,” Trinity explains as she returns from the bar, setting three drinks and three shots down on the center of the table. You were able to snag some seats in the back corner of the bar, thankfully, because the last thing you want to deal with is any more people today.
“Oh god, it was horrible, wasn’t it? I was just about ready to rip my hair out. Didn’t think that guy would ever stop talking,” Victoria replies as she reaches for one of the shots.
The three of you clink glasses, tapping them down onto the wooden surface of the table before knocking them back.
“God, that’s fucking good,” you wince, the alcohol burning at the bottom of your throat.
The night continues in a cycle of work gossip and ordering vodka cranberries for the table. By the time you guys are leaving, you’re thoroughly buzzed.
You walk back to the hotel together, arm and arm, when you get back onto the topic of work. Feeling a little more truthful than usual due to the alcohol coursing through your system, you decide to tell your friends about an awkward moment you had during one of your shifts last week.
“Oh it was awful, you guys. I was assisting Dr. Abbot with a perforating GSW and he asked me to hand him hemostatic gauze, and I dropped the package all over the floor trying to open it. I’m talking gauze everywhere. I had to rush to get a new one, my hands were shaking like hell when I gave it to him,” you ramble. “And the worst part? He noticed. Pulled me into one of the on-call rooms afterward to ask what was up with me. I was horrified.”
Victoria furrows her brows, and Trinity slows her steps until the three of you are standing still in the middle of the dimly lit sidewalk.
“What’s wrong? Why are we stopping?” you ask, confused.
“Sorry, you were nervous?” Victoria questions.
“I didn’t even know that was possible for you,” Trinity admits, shock displayed on her face.
“I mean, yeah. If you guys had been there, you’d understand. The whole room was tense, you could hear a pin drop,” you explain.
“Don’t think that’s how I’d describe the Pitt, but okay,” Victoria concedes, falling back into step toward the hotel as you and Trinity trail close behind.
“Y’know, I don’t think it was the GSW that had you all worked up. I’ve seen you in action. You’re not one to falter, especially not like that. I think maybe a certain night shift attending has you all hot and bothered,” Trinity prods, landing a playful punch against your shoulder.
Victoria whips her head around at that. “Oh my god. That’s totally it!” she squeals. “Are you guys hooking up? I’ll be soooo jealous, he’s a total silver fox.”
Heat blooms in your chest and creeps up to your cheeks. You’re suddenly very, very hot.
“Jesus, no. I’m not hooking up with him. I’m not even into him, not like that. I can promise you he’s not what made me nervous,” you ramble. “We work a high stress job, it’s normal to make mistakes. And that’s all it was, a mistake,” you babble on, hoping your friends won’t pick up on the fact that you’re lying straight through your teeth.
While the part about not hooking up with him is true, you can’t deny the fact that you definitely have feelings for Doctor Jack Abbot.
It’s all his fault, really. From the start, he was charming. Good at conversation. Never made you feel less than, despite being the newbie of the department.
And it definitely didn’t help that he looked like that. Salt and pepper curls that framed his angular face which was dusted with freckles. Wrinkles around his eyes and mouth that made themselves known when he smiled. Biceps that bulged underneath his scrub top sleeve, which was far too tight considering the size of his muscles.
It got worse once you guys fell into a rhythm, able to work in tandem. Sometimes you didn’t even need words. It only took one look at each other for you to know exactly where he needed you, how to best assist him with a procedure.
If it wasn’t a look, it was a touch. A gloved hand overtop yours, guiding you on where to make an incision. A warm, large hand braced against your back as you intubate. A pat on the shoulder after you successfully stabilize a patient.
But undoubtedly, the worst part was the way he spoke to you. Whether it be a “Nice work, Kiddo,” after a particularly stressful chest tube placement, or a “What’s goin’ on up there?” with a featherlight touch to your temple when you were lost in thought. It was like he could sense what you were feeling before you’d even figured it out for yourself.
Clearly, whatever feelings you have for Dr. Abbot are written all over your face, because Trinity and Victoria seem wholly unconvinced.
“Okay, well if you’re not hooking up with him, then you should be. I’ve seen your dynamic, there’s some clear tension between you guys, babe,” Trinity argues as you finally approach the doors of your hotel.
“Yeah, that’s not happening. Even if I wanted it to, which I don’t, there’s no way he’d be into it,” you explain, the warmth in your cheeks only growing.
Victoria lets out a dramatic sigh as you make your way through the hotel lobby toward the elevators. “And I thought I was clueless.”
“Sorry?” you ask, pressing the button for the elevator. It dings and the doors open, the three of you piling in. You quickly push the button for floor three. You want to escape this situation as fast as possible, if you’re being honest. Your emotions are too heightened from the drinks to be having this conversation right now.
“If you can’t see it, there’s nothing we can do to help you,” Trinity replies. “Anyway, it might not be the brightest idea to sleep with a coworker. We all know how that went for me…”
“Oh Trin it wasn’t that bad. At least she doesn’t work in the same department,” Victoria remarks, then gestures vaguely at you. “Imagine if this hypothetical hookup with Abbot really did happen. She’d have to work with him all the time and he’s her attending. Now that’s bad.”
You groan. “Gee, thanks guys. I feel really supported right now.”
“So you do want to sleep with him then?” Victoria quips.
“No! My god, you guys. I’m done with the conversation,” you exclaim. The elevator finally reaches your floor and you waste no time stepping out into the warmly lit hallway.
“Well, I’ll see you both bright and early tomorrow. Still want to get coffee before the airport?” Trinity asks as she fumbles with her keycard outside of her room door.
Victoria, one door down from Trinity, follows suit in swiping her card. “Sure, how’s 7:00 sound?”
“Works for me, see you guys tomorrow!” you reply with a smile and a wave, making your way down to the end of the hallway to your room.
It hits you as you struggle to get your door unlocked that you’re a lot drunker than you thought. Not enough to warrant a hangover, but inebriated enough that you stumble toward your bed as you kick off your shoes.
After taking a much needed shower, washing away the grime of a long day, and putting on a pair of cotton shorts and a tank top, you cuddle up into bed and check your texts.
There’s multiple from your best friend, Jackie. The one you met when you worked in dermatology.
Jackie: girl i haven’t heard from you all day
Jackie: is the conference terrible
Jackie: so glad i don’t have to go to those lol
Jackie: is dr hottie there at least
You chuckle at her messages. Of course she’d bring him up. She’s the only person you’ve confided in about your attraction to Dr. Abbot, and she’s become obsessed with him ever since. Even gave him that ridiculous nickname.
You swipe back to check your other notifications, reading a text from your mom and watching a Tik Tok that Trinity sent you from her room before you finally go back to reply to Jackie.
Unfortunately, in your inebriated state, your finger slides on your screen and deletes your text chain with her.
“Shit!” you exclaim. At least you remember what she said. You quickly click the “New Message” button and start typing out her name.
j… a… c…
You click on her contact and begin typing.
You: sry i’ve been busy but yes the conference was shit
You: got drinks after im a ltitle drunk lol
You: and yes dr hottie is here thank god
You: i sat behind him during a talk this mornign and had to fight urges to run my hands through his sexy silver hair
You: i didnrt do it tho. i am brave
Sighing, you shuffle in bed so you’re no longer sitting up against the headboard but laying on your side. You reach toward the nightstand and flick the lamp off, filling the room with darkness.
Well, the room is dark until your phone buzzes on the mattress next to you and the screen lights up, emitting a soft glow.
Rather quickly, it buzzes again. You reach for it, expecting Jackie’s replies. While it’s not very late, she’s a night owl through and through, so of course she’d answer you immediately.
Instead, you see two notifications from… Jack Abbot? The only times you’ve ever texted him were about coming in early or that one time you’d forgotten your sweater in the break room and asked if he could hide it in one of the cabinets until your shift the next morning. Why would he be texting you at 11:00pm on a night you were both off?
You unlock your phone and click into your text thread with him.
Jack: I think you meant to send those to someone else.
Jack: I’ll try and sit farther away next time. Wouldn’t want my hair distracting you.
You shoot up in bed, breath catching in your throat. Immediately, your chest is on fire. There’s no fucking way you sent those messages to him.
You: oh my god
You: im so fuckign sorry
You: i was trying to text my friend
Jack: It’s OK.
You: its not
You: its extremely unprofessional
You: im so so sorry
Jack: Stop apologizing.
Your breathing still hasn’t calmed down. You’re mortified. How are you ever going to face him again?
For a minute, there’s no other reply. You debate texting him again, but what could you even say? “I’m sorry I think your hair is sexy”?
Instead, you try to focus on calming down. Everything will be fine. You can blame it on the drinks, even if you’re not really drunk. He won’t know that you’re lying.
Your eye catches on the three little dots at the corner of your text thread. He’s typing again. A lump forms in the base of your throat.
Jack: Where are you?
Confused, you type out a reply.
You: my room
You: why
Jack: How much did you drink?
You: not much
You: a few vodka crans with trinity and victoria
You: im mostly sober now
It wasn’t necessarily a lie. This interaction definitely sobered you up.
Jack: So you’re OK?
You: yep
You: safe and sound
Jack: Good.
Jack: Dr. Hottie, huh?
You: oh god pls dont remind me
You: im mortified
Jack: Don’t be.
Jack: Are you in bed?
Your eyebrows furrow at that last message. At first it seemed like he was just checking in on you, making sure you weren’t stranded and drunk at some shady bar. But what kind of question is that?
You: yes
Jack: Send me a picture.
Eyebrows knitting together in confusion, you open your camera and take a photo of the foot of your bed. You can make out the shape of the chair in the corner of the room and the TV mounted to the wall. You go back to your texts and send him the photo.
You: [1 attachment]
You: see
You: exactly where i said i am
Jack: No, a picture of you.
Oh.
With shaking hands, you swipe back to the camera app, this time flipping it so it’s front facing. You snap a photo of yourself, angling the phone so it captures your face and part of your torso.
You examine the photograph, taking in the pouty expression on your face and noting the way your tank top rides up at your stomach, exposing your midriff. Considering you didn’t put on a bra, you can see the faint outline of your nipples through the thin material.
Without overthinking it, you send him the picture.
You: [1 attachment]
Jack: Jesus.
Jack: You always sleep like that?
Feeling bold, the remnants of your night out still coursing through your veins, you type out a reply.
You: no
You: i usually sleep naked
You: but that feels a bit too exposing for a hotel
Jack: Fuck, Sweetheart.
Jack: You have no idea what you’re doing to me.
You: send a pic
You: i wanna see
Heat pools between your legs. There’s no way this is happening. You’ll wake up tomorrow and realize you dreamt up this entire conversation.
An image from Dr. Abbot comes through.
Jack: [1 attachment]
He’s laying in his hotel bed in nothing but his underwear. You can’t see his face, but his chest is on full display. God, his muscles were something else.
But the real star of the show is his bulge, straining hard against the fabric of his boxers. One of his veiny hands rests atop it, and you can’t help but notice the wet spot pooling where his erection sits.
Fuck.
You hold your phone in one hand and slide the other one underneath your shorts and panties, rubbing slow, methodic circles against your core. Your phone pings with another message.
Jack: What’re you doing now?
You: touching myself
You: are u
Jack: Fuck, yes.
Growing warm, you kick the bedsheets aside. Your hand continues to circle, pressure building deep in your belly.
You: wish i could see u rn
Jack: [1 attachment - 0:21]
Oh, God.
Suddenly, everything starts feeling a little too real. You should not be doing this. He’s your attending. You’re sacrificing your career, everything you’ve worked so hard for, for what? One meaningless night?
But the way your hand is creating friction against your clit combined with Jack’s messages have you too horny to care, if you’re being honest.
Nervously, you click play on the video.
You almost regret doing it.
But you can’t look away from the sight of him pumping his cock up and down in the dim lighting of his hotel room.
It’s long, longer than you were expecting. And thick.
You watch as he drags his hand from the base up to the head, uses his thumb to circle the precum that's built up at the slit, and then works it up and down his length.
If the sight of that wasn’t enough, the sounds he’s making have you groaning into your pillow. He’s practically growling, the noises coming ragged from the depths of his throat.
You can’t even think straight, you’re so desperate for more. For anything. Without even thinking about it, you open your phone camera again and start recording.
It’s nothing special, considering how worked up you are. You really can’t even see much since your shorts and panties are still on.
You film as your hand moves underneath the fabric a few times, breathy moans escaping your lips. You pull it out slowly, showing off the sticky mess left on your fingers for the camera.
You: oh my god
You: thats so fucking hot
You: [1 attachment - 0:14]
You: this is how badly i want u
There’s no response for a minute, and you worry that you went too far. Maybe he realized how fucking crazy this whole situation is. Because that’s exactly what it is. Crazy.
Before you can begin to spiral too hard, your phone buzzes in your hand.
He’s fucking calling you.
You let it ring a few times, working up the courage to answer.
With a shaking hand, you click accept.
He doesn’t say anything at first, but you can hear his heavy breathing and the sound of something wet in the background.
“How are you doing it?” he mumbles into the phone, abruptly.
“What?”
“How are you touching yourself? Tell me.”
“Oh, I’m– I’m rubbing circles on my clit,” you can barely make out the words, feeling embarrassed.
“Oh fuck,” he groans. “Slip a finger in.”
“Jack, I–”
“Fuck, I need you to,” he begs. “Please do it for me, Kiddo.”
“O-Okay,” you stutter, lining up your middle finger with your entrance and sinking it in. You release a moan at the sensation, pumping your finger in and out a few times before adding another.
“God, that sound. You sound so pretty when you touch yourself. Can you hear me? Hear me pumping my cock? It wants you so bad, Sweetheart. You have no idea.”
His words make you shudder, more needy sounds escaping from your throat. The sound of his hand working against his length combined with his breathy moans have you bucking your hips into your hand.
“I want you too,” you whimper.
“What’s your room number?” Jack grunts.
“What?”
“I can’t do this. Knowing you’re right down the hall. What room are you in?”
You blink.
“302.”
The line clicks.
He hung up.
You stare at the dark phone screen in front of you, fingers coming to a stop under your panties.
What the actual fuck just happened.
Is he coming here? Like right now?
Suddenly, there’s three sharp knocks at the door. You readjust your panties and shorts and nervously make your way to the door, fumbling to open it because of how hard you’re shaking.
As you expected, Jack Abbot stands in front of you clad in a white t-shirt and a pair of sweats. He’s using his crutches, didn’t even waste time putting on his leg. His left foot dons one white sock. No shoe.
Just looking at his face makes the ache between your legs grow. His skin’s coated in a thin sheen of sweat, curls sticking to his forehead. His breathing is uneven, chest heaving against the tight fabric of his shirt.
Without a word, you open the door wide enough to let him through and he wastes no time heading directly for the center of the room, placing his crutches against the nightstand and sitting on the edge of the bed. You click the door shut and lock it.
“C’mere,” he whispers.
You take one step toward him. Measured, careful. Then another.
“Jack, I don’t know if we should…”
“Fuck, don’t say that. Would you just come here?” he growls.
You move closer until you’re standing in front of him. He reaches for you, placing his broad hands on your hips and tugging you closer to him, between his thighs. His thumbs move back and forth against your hip bone.
“Do you want this?” He asks, quiet.
“Yes.”
“Then let me make you feel good. Please,” he murmurs, pulling you even closer so he can press open mouthed kisses to the base of your throat and down your chest.
You moan into his touch, hands coming up to tug his hair.
“Is it as good as you imagined?” he teases.
“Sorry?”
“Running your hands through my ‘sexy silver hair’? Your words, not mine.”
A laugh escapes from his lips and you groan, dropping your head on top of his so he can’t see how horrified you are.
“Yeah, I’m going to regret that text for the rest of my life.”
Jack brings his hands up from your waist to the back of your head so he can pull you back to look at him.
“I’m not,” he says, maintaining such an intense eye contact that you begin to tremble underneath his gaze. “You have no idea how many times I’ve thought about it. Your hands in my hair. Your mouth on me. How you’d sound when I fuck you,” he whispers, leaning to continue sucking marks on your chest, just above the neckline of your tank top.
You moan at his words. If that’s the case, you should’ve been fucking him for months now.
Something snaps inside of you, and you give up on holding back. You want this. You can deal with the repercussions tomorrow.
You bring your hands down from his hair to his shoulders and push him back slightly on the bed so you have enough room to climb on top of him, straddling his thighs. He moves his hands back to your waist, keeping you stabilized against him.
“Hi,” you whisper.
“Hi,” he responds, breathless.
“Can I kiss you?”
“Fuck, please.”
You dip your head down and hover your lips over his, inches apart. You can feel his warm breath fan over your mouth as he exhales.
Fed up, Jack closes the distance, connecting his lips with yours.
And fuck, he tastes good.
You whimper into his mouth, quickening your pace, desperate for more.
The sound you make causes his grip to tighten around your waist, his kisses becoming sloppier. He darts his tongue out, seeking entry to your mouth.
You swirl your tongue against his and he releases a deep, guttural groan. Your bodies move together, hips grinding over the bulge in his sweatpants.
Between frantic kisses, he manages to lift your tank top over your head, pulling back only to admire your bare chest.
“Been dreaming about these,” he admits, taking his right hand off your hip to palm at one of your breasts. “They’re even better than I imagined.”
You throw your head back as he rolls your nipple between his knuckles. He dips his head and uses his mouth to suck on the other one, and the sensation has you rocking your hips even harder against him.
“So fucking sexy,” he breathes as he swirls his tongue around your nipple. You dig your nails into his shoulder, overwhelmed by his hands and mouth.
He kisses his way back up your chest and neck until his lips connect with yours again, hand still squeezing at your breast.
“Can I taste you?” he groans into your mouth.
You nod against him and he takes that as permission to lift you from his lap and toss you on the bed next to him, head hitting the pillow. You giggle at the sudden movement, Jack crawling above you to keep peppering your lips and jaw with kisses.
He pulls back so he’s sitting on his haunches and fiddles with the waistband of your shorts. Slowly, he peels the fabric down your legs and tosses them aside. He pushes your knees apart so you’re spread for him, ducking his head to kiss his way up your thighs.
“Jack, please,” you beg.
He places a few kisses over the lacy fabric of your panties before he pulls them to the side, face to face with your dripping center.
He licks one slow, agonizing stripe up your core, causing you to buck your hips up in the air.
“Fuck, you taste so good, Kiddo,” he mumbles into your cunt, lapping up the wetness that’s gathered there. He takes his time sucking and kissing at your clit, dipping his tongue into you, building you up to your first orgasm.
“Jack, I–I’m gonna come,” you whine, teetering over the edge.
“Let it happen, Sweetheart. Want you to come on my tongue.”
His words send you over the edge, riding out your orgasm against his mouth as he keeps swirling his tongue inside of you. He continues to leave soft kisses against your core as you come down from your high.
Once you’ve settled, Jack kisses his way back up your stomach and chest until you’re face to face.
“I can’t believe this is happening,” you admit, still in shock.
“Me neither,” he whispers, brushing a stray hair from your face and tucking it behind your ear.
“I need you inside of me,” you breathe against him, desperate.
“Fuck, okay.”
Jack makes quick work of removing his shirt and sweatpants, then drags your panties down your legs, exposing you fully to the cool air of the room.
He strips himself of his boxers and pumps his length a few times with his hand, adjusting his position so he can line up with your entrance.
He pushes forward, seating himself inside you down to the hilt in one fell swoop. You moan loudly at the feeling of him, how he fills you entirely.
“Oh God, Jack,” you mumble.
“You okay?” he asks, hesitating to move.
“Yes, God, yes. Please move.”
With a grunt he begins working himself in and out of you, setting the pace. The head of his cock keeps hitting that spongy spot deep inside you so hard that it’s making you see stars.
“Fuck, Jack, just like that,” you babble, clawing at his back to stabilize yourself against his frantic thrusts.
“Jesus, Kid. You feel so good,” he mumbles into your neck. “I’m not going to last. Where do you want me?”
“Inside, do it inside,” you beg.
Those words alone are enough to make him falter, his pace becoming uneven and sloppy as he releases thick spurts of cum inside of you.
The warmth of his release combined with the feeling of his dick twitching inside of you has you hitting your peak, coming again with a garbled moan.
Exhausted, Jack collapses on top of you, head still nuzzled into your shoulder. The two of you are panting heavily, chests heaving against one another.
After catching his breath and leaving a trail of kisses beneath your ear, Jack lifts his head so he can look at you.
you lose your bikini top and decide to use jack as a human shield
𓆉°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ interested in how the pitt crew got approved for a week in greece? the original invitation is still posted
PAIRING: jack abbot x reader
WARNINGS: fem!reader, reader is topless, nipple mention, flirting, sexual tension, partial nudity, alcohol mention, both jack and r are tipsy, kissing!!
PROMPT: here!
WC: 1.2k
“You made me lose it.”
The complaint is half-swallowed against the wet skin of Jack’s back and the dull crash of the waves.
You cling tighter as Jack wades through the surf, arms hooked around his neck, cheek pressed between his shoulder blades where the sea has left him slick and gold and gleaming.
Every step moves you against him, your body sliding closer, nipples flattening to the hard line of him, and when he laughs, the sound moves under your skin before it reaches your ears.
A small, private earthquake.
He turns his head just enough that water slides off the edge of his jaw. “I did not make you do anything. You did that all on your own to avoid my excellent points about tiger sharks.”
“That’s not a true recollection of the events and they only sounded excellent because you were saying them in your stupid doctor voice,” you grumble, chin now hooked over his shoulder while the waterline drops lower and lower around his legs, the drag of the tide giving up on both of you inch by inch. Near the shore he slows, more careful now, one hand firm beneath your thigh while his prosthetic sinks a little into the uneven sand before he shifts and steadies and steps again. “You were supposed to agree with me.”
Jack smiles.
“I’ll try to remember that next time.” He steps out of the water, dragging both of you into the moonlit shallows. “Agree with you first. Correct the shark misinformation second. Recover the missing bikini top…never.”
He puts emphasis on the misinformation part.
You roll yours eyes and cinch your arms tighter around his neck.
The second you clear the waterline you seem to realize the ocean was doing more for you than you gave it credit for. In the water, at least, there had been plausible visual confusion. Distortion.
Out here there is only the moon, a waxing gibbous tonight, and your own bad luck.
Your bikini top had not come off in any glamorous way either.
A wave basically clotheslined you mid-argument, you went under still debating your point, and by the time you surfaced your top had been ripped clean off.
You had crossed both arms over your chest and stared at Jack with horror.
He, to his credit, or maybe to his deep private enjoyment, had just turned around so you could climb onto his back and use him as a human wall and shield.
“Convenient,” you murmur. “I’m starting to think you have a vested interest in the bikini top staying missing.”
“Trust me,” he says, voice dry, “if I had a vested interest in seeing you topless, I’d prefer it happen under circumstances that involved fewer opportunities for you to drown.”
You glance toward the vacant stripe of shoreline, suddenly grateful for the hour. Almost midnight. No passing strangers, no coworkers smoking in little clusters on the sand, no one to witness you wrapped around your attending in wet bikini bottoms and not much else besides nerve.
Lucky. Because this whole thing seemed like a very good idea twenty minutes ago and now feels a little less airtight.
You’re both tipsy, brined with salt and that strange vacation logic that makes every bad idea glow with intrigue. This was not among the more sensible things either of you had ever done.
But you had tilted your glass toward him, smiled over the rim, and said please in that sweetly loaded voice that seems to dissolve whatever remains of his better judgment on impact.
Cause and effect. Something you love to keep in your back pocket for emergencies.
You bite back a grin. “Jack, are you trying to tell me there are circumstances under which you’d find this whole situation acceptable?”
The beach house looms closer with each step. Most of it is dark now, but one light still burns upstairs. His room, you think.
Jack lets out a low, quiet laugh and hikes you a little higher on his back.
“Yes,” he says simply. “Ideally somewhere private. Dry. Preferably with you in my bed.”
A little startled giggle escapes you before you can stop it. You press your face at once in the curve of his neck. You’re not sure you can believe he’d say something like that so plainly.
As if that was the most ordinary thing in the world to tell you.
“Oh.”
Entire vocabulary gone. Reduced to a single syllable by one middle-aged man with a good mouth and a bad attitude.
“That’s all you’ve got?” he asks, dry amusement curling through the words. “Interesting. You seemed a lot more talkative in the ocean.”
“I was talkative because we were discussing facts,” you mumble. “Tiger sharks are mostly found in tropical and subtropical water, yes, but sharks generally can end up in weird places sometimes, so I feel like I was making a broader point about ocean unpredictability, which was valid.”
“Uh-huh.”
The sound is mild, but dismissive enough to make it clear he is not entertaining your argument as anything but cute deflection.
By then the porch is beneath him, old boards washed pale under a flickering lamp to the right of his shoulder. You worry about splinters on his bare foot.
He lowers you carefully from his back, slowly enough that your hands trail over him in stages, shoulder to arm to chest, your palms smoothing there as though your body is reluctant to stop touching his.
He doesn’t let it.
Instead of setting you down and stepping away, he catches you before your balance can settle, your feet coming to rest over his, your toes tucked against the tops of them so you never quite have to meet the porch at all.
You stay suspended against him, your naked chest pressed to the front of him, every chilled inch of skin suddenly aware of where he is warm.
Your nipples tighten into points almost immediately.
“You get shy when I’m direct,” he says, eyes on your face like he’s studying something newly confirmed. “That’s useful information.”
“Why? Do you like making me nervous? I don’t know what that says about you.”Your fingers flex once against his chest.
He tilts his head.
“I think I like knowing I can,” he says. “There’s a difference.”
“And what exactly are you planning to do with that information now that you have it?”
Jack’s eyes flick once to your mouth, then back up.
“Depends. How cooperative are you feeling?”
It is a ridiculous question, considering your current position, considering the fact that you’re still practically draped over him, and maybe that’s why you don’t answer fast enough — because he takes the pause as permission and closes the distance himself.
His mouth is warm and salt-touched and far too certain, and when he kisses you it feels less like a question than a decision, one he’s been circling for a while and has finally chosen to act on.
For one strange second you forget every single thing you’ve ever known, including your own name, the year, and the fact that human beings typically continue breathing through moments like this.
Then the air comes back all at once and you pull in a startled breath against his lips.
When he draws back, his forehead stays close to yours.
You can still feel the shape of the kiss still in your lips, in your throat, in the pit of your stomach where everything has gone loose and sparkling.
“Oh, that’s horrible,” you say.
Jack’s brow lifts in surprise. “Horrible?”
“Yes. Very manipulative.” His hands slide up and down your bare sides. “You lured me into a vulnerable conversational position and then took advantage of the pause.”
His mouth twitches. “That’s one interpretation.”
“It’s the correct interpretation.”
He laughs again, hand shifting higher on your back, feeling the goosebumps there.
“C’mon,” he says. “You can keep telling me how wrong I am inside.”
“Good,” you mutter, ignoring the impulse to reach up and kiss him again. “Because I was planning to.”
“I know.”
this fic was part of my 2 year celebration: maria's summer in santorini
𓆉°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ to learn more, click here!
when the crew discovers your secret tramp stamp, jack accidentally reveals he knows far more about it than he should
𓆉°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ interested in how the pitt crew got approved for a week in greece? the original invitation is still posted
PAIRING: jack abbot x shy!reader
WARNINGS: fem!reader, reader wearing a bikini, shy!reader, secret relationship, tramp stamp, nosy coworkers, suggestive banter, implied intimacy
PROMPT: here!
WC: 1.2k
It’s too bright out today. Blindingly so. Like the sun crawled out of bed nursing a petty grudge specifically against your corneas and decided today was the day it would exact revenge.
Your palms form an ineffective visor above your eyes, everything still burns despite this.
The sand throws light back at you in sharp, splintering flashes, like someone crushed up a chandelier and scattered it along the shore, sea spread out before you in that lurid, too-perfect blue that does not look real anywhere outside of vacation brochures and edited Instagram posts.
You squint toward the shoreline, blinking against the glare until Emma and Joy emerge in pieces.
A moving arm. Emma springing up and down at the edge of the surf. Joy beside her, louder, both hands around her mouth with the grave urgency of someone trying to rescue you from land.
Which is ironic because you are on land. And land is safe.
Land is reasonable. Land is not going to seize your ankles with freezing water and stop your heart out of spite.
Whitaker’s speaker thuds behind you, the bass breaking open in the breeze as Joy yells, “Stop being such a wuss!” and Emma adds, a little gentler, “Come on, it’s really not that cold!”
“They're just gonna keep bugging you, you know,” Jack butts in, flipping another page of his book with a flick of his wrist. “Might as well rip the band-aid off.”
You glance sideways at him, stretched beneath the umbrella like some indolent deity, skin still glistening from the generous layer of sunscreen you smeared into his chest earlier, fingertips skittering shyly over muscles and bones as he tolerated it with begrudging patience.
His shoulders, however, still blush pink at the edges, a physical monument to yesterday’s disregard for your very detailed and considerate planning.
Jack Abbot would rather burn a little than admit you might know best. The eternal martyr, sacrificing comfort at the altar of pride.
You didn’t give him the chance today.
“But the sand,” you protest, words coming out a little more whiny than intended, each syllable a tiny balloon of anxiety popping mid-air. “It gets wet, Jack, and then it sticks in between my toes, and dries in weird little crusty patches, and then I’m stuck thinking about that all afternoon instead of, I don’t know, enjoying myself, which is the entire point of a vacation — at least as far as I understand vacations, and —”
Jack’s book snaps shut decisively, interrupting your spiraling train of thought.
He stares at you, expression caught somewhere between amused tolerance and weary affection, as though he’s watched you spin yourself dizzy like this too many times before. And he has.
“Hey.” His voice is level, gently pulling you back to earth by the scruff of your neck. “We’re at a beach. Sand is inevitable. Rinse it off, dry your feet, move on. You’re preemptively ruining your own day, you realize that, right?”
A helpless little pout blooms across your mouth, the tired-and-true expression you reserve for only the direst emergencies. Which, admittedly, occurs more often than you’d like to acknowledge.
It’s practically foolproof.
And the way Jack’s gaze softens in increments demonstrates that.
He sighs in response, an unconvincing performance of irritation, eyes half-lidded in exaggerated exasperation.
“Look,” he mutters, resignation thickening his voice, “if it gets that bad, just come back up here and I’ll...I don’t know, help rinse the sand off myself, if that’s what it takes.”
“Kay,” you mumble, the concession melting off your tongue in the most petulant way possible, fingers fussing at the edges of your cover-up, dragging it upwards.
“There we are,” he drawls, squinting to look at you. “Atta girl.”
You resist the urge to stick out your tongue at him as you pull it fully off.
And when you do, a sudden, piercing wolf-whistle splits emerges from somewhere in the sea of your peers.
You reel backwards until the backs of your legs nearly knock into Jack’s chair.
You freeze when you get your bearings, cover-up still bunched in your fists, shoulders crawling toward your ears as Dana’s voice sails across the beach.
You think it might be loud enough to alert passing boats.
“Well, damn. Didn’t have you pegged as the type.”
For a second you think she means the bikini, which is revealing, yes, but nothing crazy.
And that would be bad on it’s own, honestly, because it’s weird enough to have your coworkers perceive you in swimwear, but then Santos gasps from your left.
“Little Miss Prim-and-Proper has a tramp stamp?”
You can feel your eyes double in size.
You release a strangled little laugh. At least, you meant for it to be laughter. You think it sounds more like a sparrow smacking headfirst into a glass window.
“Oh, it’s — it’s nothing,” you insist, swatting a hand. You hope no one notices that the pitch of your voice has risen several octaves. “I honestly forgot it was there.”
A lie. A terrible one at that. Because yes, obviously, people forget about permanent body art all the time. Perfectly normal. Perfectly believable.
You turn so your back is toward the ocean, blocking the majority of everyone’s view of the damning evidence as your palm flutters helplessly near your hip.
Whitaker rolls slowly onto one elbow from his spot on a towel, eyes narrowing. “Is it, like, supposed to be symbolic?”
“Is — what?”
“The tattoo,” he elaborates, waving a hand in your general vicinity, like he’s reluctant to approach it directly, wary of frightening you off. Valid concern. You do feel like a flight risk at this exact given moment. “Does it represent something meaningful?”
Dana snorts into her drink. “Yeah, kid. It means she had a wild semester and access to eighty dollars.”
You part your lips, words half-formed. Explanations or possibly just meaningless static. More likely the latter.
Because with everyone’s eyes suddenly looking at you waiting for you to say something, the attention feels a little too overwhelming.
“It’s a pomegranate,” Jack announces suddenly, rescuing you from yourself. You could kiss him right then and there. “For Persephone. Rebirth, renewal, growth, all of that. She got it sophomore year of college.”
“Yeah,” you agree faintly. You glance helplessly from face to face, feeling every glance bounce painfully between you and Jack, dissecting the air between you into tiny, fragile pieces. “It’s, um — exactly that.”
Samira’s the first one to offer a reassuring smile. “Oh, that’s actually really beautiful.”
You release another round of nervous laughter, shoulders inching down cautiously. A little uncertain whether you’re in the clear just yet.
Apparently not.
Langdon jerks his head toward Jack in one jerky movement, sunglasses nearly tumbling from the bridge of his nose. “Hang on. Why the hell does he know that?”
Your stomach does a violent drop. Like someone yanked a trapdoor beneath you and forgot to cushion you fall.
Shit.
Of course. Why wouldn’t this happen?
Because clearly, the tattoo itself was only a minor humiliation, the polite opening number before the headline act of Jack publicly revealing his encyclopedic awareness of the ink approximately one inch above your ass.
But this is salvageable, right? It’s plausible that you would’ve told him this on a night shift after too much adrenaline and too little sleep.
Your gaze swings toward Jack, wordlessly pleading, imploring him to explain this all away, practically mentally gripping him by the collar and begging for mercy, but he only shrugs. Lazy and indifferent with the tilt of his burnt shoulders.
“Kind of hard to miss from certain angles.”
You watch everyone’s faces go slack jawed.
You don’t wait around the witness the dawning realization behind you.
There’s no need; you can feel it spreading through the air like spilled ink soaking silently into paper.
A terrible little chain of silence, then gasps, then hissed laughter like matches flicking alight one by one. You’ll never live it down, you think.
Someone’s voice calls after you, but you’re already moving towards the ocean.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
Summary: you help jack get through a holiday that he finds difficult, an iconic summer party, & share some exciting news.
Warnings: mentions of deployment, ptsd, & deployment. TONS of fluff, age-gap, established-relationship, mentions of pregnancy, soft dad to be!jack & medical inaccuracies.
Word Count: 2k+
Author’s Note: here’s the anticipated memorial day jack fic !! full of fluff & comforting him !! sorry if it’s kinda lame, i wasn’t really sure how to end it/have it play out. but i hope you all still enjoy it !! <3
It was that time of the year again; the first of Jack Abbot’s annual summer parties of the year—Memorial Day to be specific. It was just now hot enough in Pittsburgh that the pool had been opened, cleaned, and fully maintenanced.
The second that pool cover came off, you and Jack spent every free moment you got in it. Mostly just lounging in the slightly shallower end or on the pool steps; lemonade or waters in hand. The garden by the fence was coming up well; speckles of various plants growing up the length of the faded and chipped wood.
The grass had been mowed, grill cleaned off and ready for anything Jack would throw at it. The pool bar was stocked and cleaned. Jack was ready for it. He handled backyard parties the same way he handled the ED; meticulously and efficiently. He wiped down counters like he was cleaning up an OR. Mowed grass like he was threading a suture needle, and tended to the garden with hands so gentle you’d think he was performing an emergency procedure.
With about an hour until guests arrived, Jack opened the back sliding glass door—padding his way inside the air conditioned house. He wiped sweat already building at his brow and tugged off his shirt. He was going in the pool the second guests arrived anyways.
If there was one thing about Jack Abbot, it’s that he’s gonna be shirtless at his own home in the warm weather. He didn’t care who saw or was coming over. He lived in basketball shorts and swim trunks, sometimes just his boxers when it was only the two of you at home.
Jack grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge, letting ice cold condensation drip onto his neck and hands before untwisting the cap to take a long and needed sip. He huffed his way up the stairs, shaking his head about how it was too damn hot for stairs.
When he rounded the corner into your shared bedroom, he found it empty. The covers were thrown back on both sides; waiting to be made. The curtains were pushed back to let sunlight in, your vanity mirror light was on, and soft humming came from the cracked bathroom door.
“Sweetheart?”, Jack called out, “You in here?”
You poked your head around the corner; “Mhm, just finishing putting my hair up.”
Jack plopped down on the bed, unhooking his prosthesis and reaching for the waterproof attachment you had already left out on the bed for him. He rubbed at his residual limb for a moment before attaching the new leg. It took him a second longer, hesitation with the weight of what the day actually was.
Memorial Day was never easy for Jack—he hadn’t slept as well as he’d liked the night before. Better than he would’ve if he were still deployed, better than he would’ve if you hadn’t been there. His leg had thankfully decided not to send phantom pain up and down his limb and spine like lightning strikes. Still, you knew he was in his head; you could always tell before it fully even settled in for him where he was drifting.
His shoulders would get slightly stiffer, movements more rigid like he really had to try to stay upright. But the moment you reassured him with hands on his shoulders or around his waist to pull him close—a soothing hand on his back; it all melted away for a moment.
When you finally came out of the bathroom, your hair was pulled up in a yellow claw clip. One of Jack’s favorite colors on you. Your bikini bottoms hugged your hips at the ties on each side; the top matched the same. Also a favorite of his.
You pulled a pair of striped flowy shorts on, and a tube top to match. Jack could only watch you in awe, taking in how you looked so relaxed and at ease. Jack could only describe you as glowing.
It was only when you bent slightly over your vanity to get a pair of earrings and then above your head for your sunglasses that Jack froze. His heartbeat immediately picked up as his eyes wandered over the tiny—but now obvious—bump at the bottom of your belly. A soft curve that was finally showing proof of—what you had both known for a few months—was a little life.
You caught him staring when you looked back, stopping mid sentence when you caught his gaze.
“So Robby said he’ll bring some extra sodas if we need, but i don’t think—Jack?”, You trail off as you try to bend slightly to catch his eye; “What’s wrong?”
Jack shakes his head, swallowing once—his eyes barely flicking up to yours before they find their way back to your exposed skin.
“Baby…”, He breathes, pulling you close by your hips. He hesitates for a moment before carefully letting his palm splay out against the small roundness of your skin; “You’ve popped.”
The touch was so soft, almost hovering like he was afraid he’d break you. His fingers twitched slightly against you as he moved his hand around, like he’s expecting to feel something; even though you both know it’s too early.
“You think so?”, You ask, scrunching your nose up at him in disbelief.
He only nods, rising to his feet and carefully guiding you over to the mirror. Standing sideways with him behind you, staring at your small bump in the reflection—you finally see it.
A small swell that starts at your waist band and ends just above your navel. Not really there unless you’re looking for it, but still there.
“Oh”, You breathe, your eyes going wide as you find Jack’s for a moment in the mirror.
His hand splays over your bump again, covering it entirely as he lets his thumb rub soft circles into your skin. He bites his lower lip, eyes glued to the spot that has both of your attention now.
“I swear it was still flat yesterday”, You say, poking at your skin like it’ll go away, not that you want it too.
Jack shakes his head; “Certainly wasn’t…’would’ve seen it.”
His brows furrow a little, like he’s wrapping his head around it all over again; “There’s actually a baby in there…”
You catch his expression and spin around in his arms, cupping his cheeks carefully in your hands; “Our baby, honey.”
Jack sighs and lets his eyes flutter close, forehead dipping against yours. You bump your noses together.
“Hey…”, You say softly, guiding him gently to look at you; “You’re not there anymore, you’re here, you’re safe, you’re home.”
His breath stuttered a little, a long sigh leaving his lips. His eyes stayed closed a moment longer.
Then, when he thought his knees couldn’t buckle any more at the absolute weakness he had for you, you spoke; “We’ve got you, baby. We’re right here.”
You place a soft hand over his, guiding him to lay it flat against your tiny bump again.
“Thank you…”, He breathes, his spiral coming down before it could even fully start—all the noise in his brain drifting away.
“You sure you’re up to this today?”, You asks softly.
He nods almost immediately; “Yeah…yeah”, you watch the small smirk climb onto his lips; “Can’t leave all the kids hanging, now can we?”
As much as he hid behind the humor of it, Jack wouldn’t know what to do without himself if he cancelled everything. The party was a tradition of his, yes, but he also threw it as a distraction. A distraction to keep his head above water in a place he could actually enjoy himself on days like today that reminded him of way too much; and it worked.
No, Jack wasn’t going to let himself think about all the what-ifs of how things should’ve went in his life or how he never thought he’d get this; not when he had you reminding him he deserved every second of what he had now, right in front of him.
“I love you”, You whisper.
He smiles softly at that; “I love you too.”
He kisses you then, lips soft against yours. He tastes like faint coffee and the watermelon he snuck a few pieces of while cutting it earlier. Sweet and so uniquely Jack.
“Guess we’re telling everyone today then, huh?”, You ask when the kiss breaks; “Can’t really hide it anymore, especially in this suit.”
Jack laughs with a tsk of his tongue; “Afraid not, sweetheart…and you’re not changing that bikini, it’s my favorite.”
You pull at the curls on the back of his neck, just a small tug that you know he loves; “Trust me, I know it is.”
That’s when he lets his hand fall down your back and smacks your ass once, making you gasp into him; “Jack!”
But he’s beaming; bottom lip between his teeth; “What? Gotta get it out before everyone gets here.”
You roll your eyes, but can’t help from leaning forward to kiss him again. You wouldn’t change him, not in a million years. Not when he’s so perfectly Jack. Your Jack.
─ ─── ─── ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─── ─── ─── ─
The guests start to trickle in a little while later; Robby with a few extra cases of different sodas in tow as promised. Jack lead most of them to the backyard, letting you lounge in one of the chairs by the pool. With the way your laying all stretched out, your bump isn’t very visible; easily passable as bloating or having a big breakfast.
You can hear Robby teasing Jack about something having to do with him being shirtless behind you, but you certainly weren’t going to complain about it. Not with the view it gave you.
Guests settled in around you; mingling at the bar, surrounding Robby—who insisted on cooking something—around the grill, some starting to make their way into the pool.
It was mostly night shift staff, a few stragglers from day shift that you and Jack had gotten close with over your time there. Dana appeared next to you shortly after greeting Jack; sitting in the lounge chair next to you.
“You just gonna let him walk around looking like that?”, She smirks, peering over her glasses in Jack’s direction.
Every single freckle he has on his torso, back and arms are on display. His farmers tan that’s slowly morphing into an entire body tan looks ridiculously good, and his biceps and pecs—don’t even get started on those.
“Oh hell yeah”, You say, gaze flickering between her and your husband, who you’re pretty much ogling now; “What a view.”
Dana laughs, shaking her head as she settles into the chair; “Hey if he wasn’t taken, I wasn’t married and about fifteen years younger…”
“Dana!”, You scold, but it’s all in fun.
You catch Jack’s eye then, whose expression immediately softens before he mouths a small; “You ok?”
You nod in return, biting your lip before you relax further back into your chair; taking a sip of your lemonade that Jack had apparently made fresh that morning.
The chatter around you was music to your ears. Drinks clinking, people laughing, the soft humming of a lawn mower a few houses down. Getting in the pool later would be the icing on the cake for you, especially if Jack joined you.
Next thing you know, Jack’s standing over you, holding out a plate of food; “Your burger, m’lady.”
He bows in a dramatic fashion as you take it from him, leaning up to kiss him softly; “Thank you, Jack. You didn’t have to bring it to me.”
His brows furrow for a second before he’s smiling softly again, plopping down next to you and pulling your feet into his lap; “I know. But I want to, gotta take care of my girl.”
“You gonna eat?”, You hum to which Jack nods.
“In a little bit.”
Jack, ever the caring man; always making sure everyone was taken care of before himself.
You don’t notice Dana and Robby’s eyes on you from across the yard as Jack puts his hands to work massaging your legs, or the quiet whispers between them. Sure, Jack had always taken care of you, but ever since you told him you were pregnant? He waited on you hand and foot, didn’t want you to move unless you absolutely had to, wouldn’t let you lift a finger unless you beat him to it. To him, the two lives you carried were the most fragile and precious thing to him.
He made sure you were taken care of; and it was noticeable.
Robby noticed immediately when you were already in a lounge chair upon his arrival, how Jack intercepted the heavy soda he was carrying before you could move; throwing a soft look your way and a quiet; “I got it, you relax, sweetheart.”
Dana noticed the same, and more importantly; how you weren’t in the pool yet. How you laid on the pool lounger, legs bunched up slightly like you were trying to hide something precious.
─ ─── ─── ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─── ─── ─── ─
It wouldn’t be long before your secret was out; just as the sun was starting dip behind the skyline and the deep blue of the warm summer sky starting peeking out—Jack stood with his arm draped across your shoulder, clearing his throat.
At first you don’t hear what he’s saying, despite the silence in the backyard. You bite your bottom lip, having made its way between your teeth as you held onto the last few seconds you’d have before everyone was all over you.
With a warm hand Jack pulled you carefully up from the lounge chair, letting your body fully stretch out. His hand found your waist and pulled you closer; other hand finding the small swell of your belly again.
“I couldn’t imagine a better group of people to share this news with. A found family that’s been there through so much more than I ever imagined”, Jack exhales shakily, eyes flicking to you; “The night shift crew is expanding…we’re having a baby!”
Gasps echoed through the backyard; Dana’s hand flew to her mouth with watery eyes, Robby choked out a wet laugh of disbelief, the med students and residents all exchanged looks of excitement. But Jack was looking at you.
You, who had given him the best gift he ever could’ve dreamt of.
Robby was clapping Jack on the shoulder with a strong hand, shaking him gently as he pulled him into a hug; “Congratulations, brother”, and then softer into his ear; “You deserve every second of this.”
He finds you next, hug softer and gentle as he looks you up and down in a similar protective fashion that Jack would.
“Congratulations, kid”, Robby hums, and then laughs softly; “Guess I can’t call you that anymore though.”
You shove him playfully, startling slightly when Dana steers you towards her.
“I knew it! I knew you were hiding something”, She laughs.
“Mother’s intuition?”, You smirk.
She shakes her head, hugging you close.
“Congratulations, honey. You two are going to be the best parents”, She whispers.
─ ─── ─── ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─── ─── ─── ─
When the party dies down and the sun has finally dipped low, you snuggle into Jack’s side on the couch that sits on the backyard patio. Your swimsuit and hair damp after finally getting in the pool; Jack’s trunks the same. Robby sits across from you, nursing another beer; no doubt planning to spend the night. You wouldn’t have it any other way.
Your hand slips under Jack’s shirt—the first one he’s worn for more than an hour all day—rubbing softly at the firmness of his stomach. He looks down at you with fond eyes, leaning forward to press a kiss to your temple.
“Did you have a good day?”, You ask him, quiet enough so only he can hear you.
He nods, dipping his ear down closer to you; “Best day in a long while, sweetheart”, He says, thumb rubbing circles above your navel; “Except finding out about them.”
“Head ok? Not too loud?”
Jack hums softly; “I’m ok, sweetheart.”
You watch his thumb for a moment, the circles sending goosebumps up your spine in the cool evening air.
Jack notices, because of course he does; “You cold?”
You shake your head; “No, just enjoying you.”
Jack continues rubbing soft circles.
Robby scoffs behind his beer; “Get a room.”
“Already did, how do you think she got pregnant?”
Robby almost chokes on his beer as Jack turns back to you, kissing your lips softly.
You snuggle into him closer, perfectly content to be just where you are; with your little family.
Summary: After a pediatric patient panics during an IV start, you end up in the ED with a dislocated shoulder, a lot of pain meds, and absolutely no filter. The day shift learns three things very quickly: Jack Abbot is your husband, you picked that one, and apparently, his forearms are medically relevant.
Warnings: established relationship, married Jack and reader, injury, shoulder dislocation, medical procedure/reduction, pain medication/loopy reader, swearing, suggestive humor, sexual jokes, Jack being hot as a clinical intervention, Robby being Robby, fluff, crack treated seriously, hospital setting, peds nurse reader, very unserious wedding lore
Author’s Note: This is very much the sister fic in spirit to Where Is My Husband? Same deeply married chaos, same loopy wife energy, same Jack Abbot being forced to endure public affection against his will. Except this time, Robby discovers that “sexy doctor husband” is not just a title — it is, unfortunately for Jack, a clinically useful intervention. This one is ridiculous, soft, unhinged, and honestly exactly the kind of nonsense I love putting these two through. Jack is trying so hard to be a serious, worried husband; Robby is having the best shift of his life; Dana is quietly enabling chaos under the guise of professionalism; and Reader is simply telling the truth. Loudly. On medication.
You’re welcome.
Xoxo, Del
The first rule of pediatrics was that fear moved faster than pain. You had learned that early.
Pain made kids cry. Fear made them bolt.
Eli Mereiter had been trying very hard not to do either for almost twenty minutes.
He sat in the center of the peds exam bed with his knees tucked under the thin blanket, his left wrist cradled against his chest, his cheeks blotchy from the effort of pretending he was fine. His mother stood near the head of the bed, one hand on his shoulder and the other twisting the strap of her purse so tightly her knuckles had gone white.
“You’re doing great,” you told him.
Eli looked at the IV tray and swallowed. “No, I’m not.”
You crouched beside the bed so you were closer to eye level.
“You are. Great doesn’t mean you aren’t scared. It means you’re still here with me even though you are.”
His eyes flicked to yours.
The honesty helped. It usually did. Kids could smell a lie faster than adults could dress one up.
“It’s gonna hurt,” he said.
You nodded.
“It’s going to pinch. I won’t call it nothing.” You rested one hand on the mattress, close but not touching him without warning. “But it’ll be fast, and you don’t have to watch.”
His mouth trembled once before he pressed it flat. “I don’t want it.”
“I know.” You gave him a serious nod. “That’s fair. We can hate it together.”
Eli looked at you like that was suspicious. “You hate it?”
“I hate it when kids have to do scary things,” you said. “But I like when they get through them and realize they were braver than they thought.”
His mom made a quiet sound behind him.
You glanced up at her and gave a small, reassuring smile before looking back at Eli.
“How about this,” you said. “You pick where you look. Mom’s face, the ceiling tile that kind of looks like a potato, or me.”
Eli’s brows pinched together. “The ceiling tile doesn’t look like a potato.”
You looked up. “It absolutely does.”
He glanced up despite himself. For one second, his attention shifted. Not enough to make him calm, but enough to give him somewhere else to put the fear.
“That one?” he asked.
You nodded. “Very potato.” His mom gave a wet little laugh.
The nurse beside you finished prepping the IV with practiced quiet. You saw Eli clock the movement anyway. His eyes cut to the tourniquet. Then the alcohol wipe. Then the catheter.
His breathing changed. You leaned in slightly. “Eli. Look at me.” His gaze snapped back to yours.
You kept your voice low and even. “Can you breathe in with me?”
He tried. His breath caught halfway.
“That’s okay,” you said. “Again. Smaller this time.”
The nurse reached for his arm. Eli saw the flash of the needle. Fear got there first.
“No,” he said.
His mother tightened her hand on his shoulder. “Eli—”
“No!” He jerked backward, fast and hard, trying to get away from the tray, from the nurse, from the whole room.
“Hey, hey.” You moved with him. “You’re okay.”
But he was already twisting. His sneaker slid against the paper sheet. His hip caught the edge of the mattress. The bed rail was down on your side because you had been sitting there with him, and his small body tipped toward the open space between the bed and the floor.
You moved before thought could catch up.
Your hand caught the back of his gown. Your other arm shot across his chest, bracing him before he could fall.
For half a second, you had him. Then his weight hit your shoulder wrong. Something shifted. Not cracked. Not snapped.
Slipped.
White-hot pain tore through your shoulder and down your arm so violently that the room went gray at the edges. You made a sound you did not recognize.
Someone grabbed Eli from the other side.
“I’ve got him,” the other nurse said. “I’ve got him.”
Good, you thought. That was good.
You went down hard on one knee, your right arm hanging wrong, breath gone from your chest.
Eli was crying now. Not the scared kind. The guilty kind.
“I hurt her,” he sobbed.
You tried to lift your head. Bad idea. Pain slammed up the side of your neck and behind your teeth.
“No,” you forced out. Your voice sounded thin. Far away. “No, honey. You didn’t.”
A hand touched your back. “Don’t move,” someone said.
You tried to breathe through your nose. “Is he okay?”
“He’s okay,” she repeated, firmer this time. “We have him.”
Eli’s mother had him against her now, both arms wrapped around his shaking body. His face was turned toward you, wet and horrified.
You managed to focus on him. “Eli.”
His crying hitched. “I didn’t mean to.”
“I know.” You swallowed down nausea. “I know you didn’t. You got scared. That’s different.”
His face crumpled harder. You looked at his mom. “Tell him I’m not mad.”
“We will,” she said quickly.
You closed your eyes for half a second. “Please tell him.”
“We will,” the nurse said beside you. “But right now, we need to get you downstairs.”
You opened your eyes. “No, he needs—”
“He has his mom,” she said gently. “And he has Megan. We’ve got him.”
You wanted to argue. Your shoulder pulsed once, deep and sickening, and the rest of the sentence disappeared. Someone called down to the ED before they moved you. You heard pieces of it through the pain and the blood rushing in your ears.
“Staff injury coming down from peds.”
“Likely right shoulder dislocation.”
“Caught a pediatric patient who panicked during IV prep.”
“Vitals stable.”
“Severe pain.”
Nobody said your name. Or maybe they did, and it got swallowed somewhere between the exam room and the elevator. Either way, by the time they got you into a wheelchair, your scrubs were damp at the collar, your vision kept narrowing at the corners, and your arm had become a separate, terrible country you refused to look at.
You hated being the patient.
You hated it so much you almost missed the part where you were terrified. Almost.
The elevator ride downstairs felt both too fast and too slow. Someone kept telling you to breathe. Someone else kept asking your pain number. You gave a number that was probably too low because saying the real one made it feel more real.
The ED doors opened.
The familiar noise hit first. Monitors. Shoes. Voices. The distant roll of a cart.
Robby was already at the mouth of a bay when they wheeled you in, tablet in hand, chief-of-the-ER face on. Dana stood beside him with gloves already pulled on, calm and unsmiling in the way that meant she had already cleared the room in her head. Santos hovered just behind her like she could smell a procedure from three bays away. Princess was at the computer, and Javadi stood near the supply cart, trying very hard to look like someone who was not internally rehearsing every step of a shoulder reduction.
“Peds called down,” Robby said. “Likely right shoulder disloca—”
Then he saw your face. The chief of the ER expression dropped clean off.
For one second, he was not chief of anything. He was just your friend. “What the fuck, dude?”
You tried to glare at him. “Great bedside manner.”
Robby was already moving. He came to your side, one hand bracing the wheelchair arm, his eyes sweeping over your face.
“Look at me,” he said. “You with me?”
You blinked at him through the pain. “No, Robby, I thought I’d dissociate recreationally.”
His jaw tightened. “Answer me like less of a pain in my ass.”
You sighed. “I’m with you.”
“Good.” He glanced at the peds nurse behind your chair. “They called down a peds nurse. They did not say it was you.”
“Would that have changed your medical plan?” you asked.
“No.” His eyes flicked to your shoulder, and the doctor came back into him all at once. “It would have given me thirty more seconds to emotionally prepare for both my friend being injured and Jack killing me.”
“Jack is not going to kill you,” you replied.
Dana made a quiet sound. Robby pointed at her without looking. “Do not contribute.”
Dana lifted both gloved hands. “I said nothing.”
“You thought loudly.”
Santos leaned slightly to see your arm better. “Is it anterior?”
You swallowed through the pain. “Is Eli okay?”
Robby’s attention snapped back to you. Then he looked to the peds nurse. “Eli is the kid?”
The peds nurse nodded quickly. “Eight-year-old. Wrist injury. He’s okay. Megan stayed with him and his mom.”
Your eyes closed. “Did someone tell him I’m not mad?”
Robby went still for half a beat. His expression changed again. Softer this time. Worried in a way he could not hide behind sarcasm fast enough.
“Yeah,” he said. “They told him.”
“He won’t believe them,” you murmured.
Robby looked at you. “He might.”
“He’s eight.” Your voice thinned around the pain. “Eight-year-olds think everything is their fault.”
Robby looked at you for one second too long. Then he nodded once, like he was putting that away for later. “Okay,” he said. “We’re going to get you on the bed. Slow. Dana, support the arm. Javadi, do not look terrified.”
Javadi straightened. “I’m not terrified.” Robby looked at her.
You hated the careful hands and the count of three and the way pain still broke through your teeth when they moved you.
You hated that Robby’s face stayed calm. That meant it looked bad.
Once you were on the bed, Dana slid a pillow under your arm with the clean precision of a woman who did not waste motion. Princess clipped a monitor to your finger. Javadi asked about allergies, her voice only a little too bright. Santos hovered at the foot of the bed, watching your shoulder with open interest until Dana glanced at her.
Santos lifted her hands. “I’m not touching anything.”
“Correct,” Dana said.
Robby looked up from your shoulder. “Pain number.” You hesitated.
He gave you a look. “Do not make me ask like I don’t know you.” You told the truth.
Robby’s mouth tightened. “Thank you for not lying to me twice.”
“I lied once,” you admitted.
Robby shook his head. “You lied badly once.” Your breathing hitched. “Did someone tell Eli?”
The peds nurse, still lingering near the curtain, nodded. “Megan did. His mom did too.”
“But did he believe them?” you pushed.
Robby braced one hand lightly on the bed rail. “Do not try to sit up.”
You looked at him. “I wasn’t.”
“You thought about it,” Robby replied.
Your eyes narrowed. “You can’t prove that.”
“I’m chief of emergency medicine,” he said. “I can prove anything if I chart creatively.”
A laugh tried to escape you. It did not make it past the pain. Robby saw that too. His voice shifted.
“IV, x-ray, then pain meds before we reduce it,” he said. “Let’s get films and make sure we know exactly what we’re dealing with.”
“Love being discussed like a broken chair,” you muttered.
Robby leaned over you, penlight in hand. “I have never met a chair this mouthy.”
Princess found a vein in your good arm. You looked away while she taped the line down. That felt ridiculous, considering you had started hundreds of IVs yourself, but today your body had decided to be dramatic, and you were not giving it more material.
Robby watched your face. “You okay?”
“No,” you answered honestly.
Robby almost smiled. “Good answer.”
Princess glanced up from your IV. “Do you want us to call someone?”
“Yes,” you said immediately.
Robby’s eyes narrowed like he already knew where this was going.
Princess kept her hands near the computer. “Who should we call?”
“Jack Abbot.”
The room did not stop. Not yet. Princess typed, then paused.
Her eyes moved from the screen to you. “Dr. Abbot?”
You breathed through your teeth. “Yes.”
The room went a little too quiet. You opened one eye. “What?”
Santos looked from you to Robby. “Night-shift Abbot?”
“How many Jack Abbots do you know?” you asked.
Javadi made the mistake of whispering, “Dr. Abbot is her emergency contact?”
“He’s my husband,” you said, like that explained the entire universe.
It did, actually. Just not to the room. Santos stared.
Javadi looked like someone had changed the laws of physics in front of her.
Princess’s mouth opened, then closed, then opened again. Dana, somehow, did not move at all.
Then her eyes narrowed. “The sandwich.” You closed your eyes. “Dana.”
Santos looked at her. “What sandwich?”
Dana didn’t look away from the monitor. “Shift change. Three weeks ago. Abbot was coming off nights. She was passing the desk with a stack of peds charts.”
Princess leaned around Javadi. “I remember that.”
“He had half a sandwich in his hand,” Dana said. “Tore the crust off without breaking conversation, held it up, and she took it on the way by.”
You breathed carefully through your teeth. “I was hungry.”
“You said thanks,” Dana added.
Santos blinked. “That’s it?” Dana finally looked up.
“That’s the point.” A beat passed.
Then Princess pointed toward you. “Wait. The parking lot.”
You opened one eye. “Please don’t.”
“I saw you two by the employee parking last month,” Princess said. “He switched sides with you near the cars.”
Javadi blinked. “Switched sides?” Princess looked at her like this was obvious. “The sidewalk rule.”
Javadi’s brows pulled together. “The what?”
“When the guy walks closer to the street,” Princess said. “Protective thing. Old-school. Very romantic if he’s hot.”
Santos made a face. “That sounds fake.”
Dana adjusted the pulse ox cord. “It’s not fake.”
Princess pointed at Dana. “Thank you.”
You stared at the ceiling. “Can we not analyze my husband’s walking patterns while my shoulder is in another fucking zip code?”
“And he had your bag,” Princess added.
“It was heavy,” you said.
She looked at you. “It had little strawberries on it.”
Robby’s mouth twitched. “Jack carried a strawberry bag?”
You gave him the best glare you could manage while lying flat with your arm attempting secession. “You are supposed to be my doctor.”
Santos’s face changed. “Oh, my god. The fire alarm drill.”
“No,” you said.
“You had his jacket,” she said.
“It was cold.”
“No.” Santos pointed, too delighted to stop herself. “He put it around your shoulders before you asked.”
Dana’s gaze sharpened with recognition.
Santos nodded hard. “And took your clipboard so you could get your arms through the sleeves.”
Princess looked at Robby. “You knew?”
Robby held up one hand. “I was at the wedding.”
The room shifted again. Javadi whispered, “There was a wedding?”
You stared at the ceiling. “I’m starting to think day shift needs hobbies.”
Robby looked at you, and this time his humor was gentle around the edges. “You married a night-shift attending and then wandered around this hospital accepting crustless sandwich halves like that was normal.”
“It is normal,” you replied.
“For married people,” Dana said.
Santos looked personally offended. “I am usually very good at noticing things.”
You swallowed through another pulse of pain. “Sorry my marriage was inconvenient for your brand.”
Robby pointed at you. “Pain has not made her less mean. Excellent prognostic sign.”
Princess was still looking at you like she had discovered treasure. “So Dr. Abbot is your husband.”
“Yes.”
“And he brings you coffee,” Princess added.
You inhaled. “Yes.”
“And the sandwich,” she continued.
“Yes.”
Princess’s eyebrows rose. “And the parking lot.” You closed your eyes. “I would like drugs now.”
Robby’s smile faded enough for his concern to show again. “Soon,” he said. “We’re moving.”
Then he held out his hand toward Princess. “I’ll call him.”
You looked at him. “You don’t have to.”
“I do, actually,” Robby replied.
“Why?”
Robby’s face softened around the edges, just enough that your chest hurt for reasons that had nothing to do with your shoulder.
“Because he’s going to be worried,” he said. “And if a stranger calls him, he’s going to scare somebody.”
You sighed. “Jack doesn’t scare people.”
“No,” Robby said. “But when he’s worried about you, he gets very concise.”
Dana hummed. “That’s true.”
You closed your eyes. “Tell him not to speed.”
Robby shook his head. “I’m not promising that.”
“Robby,” you said, trying to sound reasonable.
He sighed. “I’ll suggest moderation.”
Robby stepped a few feet away from the bed and tapped Jack’s contact. You watched him through the pain, sweat cooling at the back of your neck. He pointed at you without lowering the phone. “Try not to dislocate anything else while I’m gone.” The call rang once. Twice. Three times. On the fourth ring, Jack answered.
His voice came rough with sleep and irritation. “What, Robby?”
Robby glanced back at you. You were pale on the bed, jaw tight, your good hand fisted in the sheet while Dana adjusted the monitor.
“Your wife is in the ED,” Robby said. “She’s fine. I’ve got her.”
The line went silent. Then Jack’s voice came back low and awake. “What happened?”
“Right shoulder dislocation,” Robby said. “Peds incident. She caught a kid before he fell and took the force the wrong way. She’s conscious, stable, and pissed off, which I’m taking as a good sign.”
Another pause. Jack breathed out once, sharply. “Of course she caught the kid.”
“Yeah,” Robby said, softer. “That was my reaction too.”
You lifted your head an inch off the pillow. “Tell him not to speed.”
Robby looked over his shoulder. You stared back, sweaty and serious.
“She says not to speed.”
Jack was already moving. Robby could hear it through the phone: sheets, a drawer, something hitting the floor. “Tell her I’m coming.”
“Jack,” Robby said carefully.
“I heard her,” Jack said sharply.
Robby nodded once. “Good.”
“Thanks, brother. I’m on my way,” Jack replied.
Robby’s mouth softened. “Yeah,” he said.
He ended the call and came back to the side of the bed. “He’s coming.”
You let your head fall back against the pillow. “Good.” The word came out smaller than you meant it to. Robby heard that too. For a second, he was quiet.
Then he nodded to Princess. “Now give her the good stuff before she remembers she’s trying to be reasonable.”
Princess pushed medication into your IV. Warmth moved up your arm a few seconds later, strange and soft. The pain did not vanish, but the edges of the room began to loosen. The lights blurred a little. The monitor beep sounded farther away.
You blinked. “Wow.”
Santos leaned closer. “How’s that?”
You turned your head toward her slowly. “You have two faces.”
Robby’s mouth twitched. “Better?”
You inhaled. “I can still feel my skeleton making bad choices.”
“So, somewhat.” Robby grinned.
You looked toward the curtain. “Did someone tell Eli I’m not mad?”
Robby exhaled. “Yes.”
“I’m not mad,” you repeated.
“I know.”
You blinked hard. “No, but he needs to know.”
“He knows,” Robby replied gently.
You frowned. “You’re just saying that.”
“I am saying many things,” Robby said. “This one happens to be true.”
You tried to sit up. Every person in the room reacted.
Dana touched your good shoulder. “Nope. Stay back.”
“I should tell him,” you told her.
“You should keep your shoulder still,” Robby said.
You frowned at him. “You’re being bossy.” Robby shrugged. “It’s on the mug.”
“Jack has a mug that says World’s Sexiest Doctor,” you replied without thinking. The pain meds were softening things too much now. Words had started wandering into places you had not invited them.
Robby slowly turned his head. “I’m sorry. He has a what?”
You winced. “It was a joke. I got it for him when we were dating.”
Princess looked delighted. “And he kept it?”
You breathed through another pulse of pain. “He drinks out of it every morning.”
Santos stared. “Abbot drinks coffee out of a World’s Sexiest Doctor mug?”
Dana, dry as dust, added, “That explains more than I wanted it to.”
Robby pressed his fingers to his mouth like he was trying to hold in actual joy.
You glared at him. “You’re supposed to be my doctor.”
“I am,” Robby said. “And this is healing me.”
You narrowed your eyes at him. The ED lights drifted above you. Your body felt heavy against the bed, but your mind kept circling the same places. Eli crying. Your shoulder slipping. Jack coming. You blinked slowly. “Did someone tell Eli?”
Dana adjusted the blanket around your legs. “Yes.”
“Did someone tell Jack?” you asked.
Robby’s mouth twitched. “Yes.” You nodded, satisfied for exactly one second.
Then you frowned. “Which one is coming to see me?”
Robby stared at you. “What?”
“Eli or Jack?” you asked.
Princess turned toward the computer with suspicious speed. Santos looked openly delighted. Robby’s expression brightened with pure, terrible affection.
“Oh,” he said softly. “This is going to be a great drug for you.”
You frowned. “Don’t be weird.”
Robby patted the bed rail. “Try not to say anything incriminating before your husband gets here.”
Your eyes closed, but you could still hear the smile in his voice. “Jack already knows everything.”
Robby made a thoughtful sound. “Sure,” he said. “Let’s test that.”
Robby stayed beside the bed after Princess pushed the medication. One hand rested on the rail. His eyes moved from your face to the monitor, then to your shoulder, then back to your face again. He was not joking as much now.
You hated that. “Stop looking worried,” you said.
His mouth twitched, but it did not quite become a smile. “Stop giving me reasons.”
You blinked at him, the lights blurring softly around the edges. “Rude.”
“Consistent,” Robby said.
Dana adjusted the blanket over your legs, brisk yet careful. “That’s one word for it.”
The medication had made the room strange. Softer, but not kinder. The monitors sounded farther away, and the overhead lights had started to bloom at the edges. Your shoulder still hurts. Not as sharply as before, maybe, but it was there under everything, pulsing and wrong. You tried to shift away from it. Your body disagreed. “Bad,” you muttered.
Robby leaned in a fraction. “Pain?”
You shook your head. “Existence.”
He nodded once. “Fair.”
Dana checked the line of your IV, then glanced at him.
Robby’s eyes returned to yours, and something in his face softened. “Hey,” he said. “World’s Sexiest Doctor.”
You frowned. “What?”
“The mug,” Robby said, voice lighter on purpose. “You said he drinks out of it every morning.”
Your face softened before you could stop it. “He does.” Princess turned from the computer with immediate interest. Santos, who had been pretending not to hover near the foot of the bed, stopped pretending. Dana’s expression did not change, but her eyes flicked toward you.
Robby leaned one forearm against the rail. “Still can’t believe he committed to the bit.”
“It’s not a bit,” you said.
Robby’s eyebrows lifted. “No?”
You looked at him like he was missing the obvious. “It’s true.”
Santos’s mouth curved. Dana looked down at the monitor. Princess pressed her lips together like she was holding something very large behind her teeth. You blinked at the ceiling, dreamy and annoyed all at once. “He is the sexiest doctor.”
Robby drew back like you had slapped him. “Rude.”
You turned your head toward him slowly. “You’re right.”
His expression softened. “Thank you.”
“Ellis is pretty hot, too,” you murmured happily.
Robby froze. Princess made a sound and turned sharply toward the computer. Santos whispered, “Wow.”
Dana closed her eyes. Robby stared at you. “That was not the correction I was requesting.”
You considered him through the pleasant fog around your thoughts. “You have nice hair.”
Robby’s hand went to his chest. “That was devastatingly lukewarm.”
“It is nice.”
“Nice hair,” he repeated, wounded. “That’s what I get after years of friendship.”
“You’re my friend,” you said.
His expression shifted. For one second, the joke left his face. “I know.”
You watched him through the blur. “You’re a good doctor.”
Robby’s hand tightened slightly on the rail. “You’re on excellent medication.”
“I mean it.”
“I know,” he said, quieter.
Dana looked away first. Santos suddenly found the supply tray very interesting. Robby cleared his throat and straightened. “Okay,” he said, his voice returning to a steady tone. “Let’s get ready.”
The words landed wrong. Your smile faded. The room shifted back into medicine too quickly. Gloves. Positioning. Dana adjusting the bed. Santos watching Robby’s hands intently. Javadi standing too still by the supplies, trying to look prepared. Your stomach dropped through the medication. “Wait.” Robby looked back at you. “Yeah?”
Your good hand tightened in the sheet. “You’re doing it now?” His expression softened. “Soon.”
“No.”
Dana’s hand settled lightly near your good shoulder. Not holding you down. Just there.
Robby stepped closer. “I know.”
“No, Robby.” Your voice stayed even, but barely. “I don’t want to do it.”
Robby did not flinch. “I know you don’t.”
“I mean it.”
“I know you mean it.”
You swallowed hard, throat suddenly tight. “I don’t want it to hurt.”
Robby’s face changed again, not much, just enough to show you he hated this part too. “I’m going to be as gentle as I can.”
You frowned. “That’s what people say before they do stuff that sucks.” Santos muttered, “Accurate.”
Dana looked at her. Santos lifted both hands. “I’m validating.”
Robby ignored her and kept his eyes on you. “It is going to suck,” he said. “But the longer it stays out, the worse it’s going to feel. I want to get it back where it belongs.”
Your breathing went shallow. The medication had made everything loose except the fear. That stayed sharp. Clear. Mean. You looked toward the hallway. “Fine.” Robby waited. You glared at him, sweaty and medicated and angry enough to hide behind it. “I’ll do it if Jack is my doctor.”
The room paused. Dana looked at Robby. Princess looked at the hallway. Javadi looked like she had just realized this was not covered in any textbook.
Robby let out a slow breath. “Yeah,” he said carefully. “That’s not how this works.”
You frowned at him. “He’s a doctor.”
“He is.” Dana’s voice stayed calm beside you. “He’s also your husband.”
You looked at her like she had helped your case. “Exactly.” Robby’s mouth twitched despite himself.
Before he could answer, Jack’s voice cut through the department. “Where is she?”
Your head turned. Completely. All the thoughts in your brain scattered like startled birds. Jack was halfway down the hall, moving fast and trying not to look like he was moving fast, a hoodie under his unzipped jacket. His hair was sleep-rough on one side. His jaw was tight, his eyes already searching, already locked on the room. The second he saw you, his pace changed.
Your good hand lifted off the sheet. “That one.”
Robby followed your gaze. For the first time since the reduction tray came out, true humor broke through his worry. “Oh,” he said softly. “Okay.”
Jack stepped into the bay. You pointed at him, certain now. “I want that one.”
Jack froze for half a second. His eyes moved over you. Face. IV. Monitor. Shoulder. Robby. Dana. Back to your face.
Then he was at your side. “Baby.”
The word hit the room like a dropped instrument. Santos stared very hard at the floor. Princess pressed her lips together. Javadi’s eyes went wide, then wider, like she was watching hospital folklore become sentient.
You smiled up at him. “Hi.”
Jack took your good hand, his palm warm and familiar around yours. “Hi.”
His thumb moved once over your knuckles. You exhaled. You felt it happen before you could stop it. Your shoulders did not relax, not really, but your breathing changed. Your grip loosened from the sheet. The sharp edge of panic moved back by an inch.
Robby saw it. His eyes flicked to the monitor, then to Jack’s hand. “Interesting.”
Jack did not look away from you. “Don’t.”
“I’m observing.”
“You observe too loudly.”
Robby’s mouth curved. “I am her physician.”
Jack’s jaw tightened. “You are enjoying being her physician too much.”
“I was worried,” Robby said.
The joke thinned for a second. Jack looked up. Robby held his gaze. “Still am.”
Jack’s face shifted.
You squeezed his hand. “Don’t do serious faces.”
Jack looked back down at you. His thumb moved again. “Sorry.”
You studied him, hazy and affectionate. “You came.”
“Of course I came.”
You turned your head toward Dana, solemn and proud. “I picked that one.”
Dana’s mouth twitched. “So I’m hearing.”
Jack closed his eyes. “What did you give her?”
“Pain control,” Robby said. “Not enough to explain all of this.”
You tugged lightly on Jack’s hand. “He’s being rude.”
Jack looked at Robby. “Stop being rude.”
Robby pointed at him. “You weren’t even here.”
“I believe my wife.”
Princess turned toward the computer again, but not fast enough to hide her smile.
Santos murmured, “That was hot.”
Dana said, “Santos.”
“What? It was,” Santos replied with a shrug.
Jack ignored all of them and leaned closer to you. “How bad?”
“Bad.”
His face softened. “Yeah?”
You nodded, then regretted it. “Don’t let me do head stuff.”
“I won’t,” Jack promised.
You frowned. “Having a head is bad.”
“I’ll make a note,” Jack said with a soft smile.
Robby stepped closer to your injured side. “Okay,” he said. “We’re going to try Cunningham.”
“No.” Your response was immediate.
Jack’s hand tightened around yours. Robby did not react like the word surprised him. “I know.”
“No, I don’t want Cunningham. It sounds smug,” you told him.
Robby’s brow raised. “It’s a reduction technique, not a man at a country club.”
You frowned at him. “Still smug.”
Jack’s thumb brushed your knuckles. “Look at me.”
You turned your eyes back to him. “No.”
Jack’s eyes softened. “You’re already doing it.”
You glared. “That’s annoying.”
His mouth almost smiled. “I know.”
Robby looked between you and Jack. Then his eyes moved to the monitor again. A thought entered his face.
Jack saw it immediately. “No.”
Robby blinked. “I didn’t say anything.”
Dana adjusted the bed so you were sitting up more, angled slightly back against the raised mattress. The movement sent a pain-sparking sensation down your arm. “Fuck.” Your eyes squeezed shut. “Fuck, this is worse than my fucking IUD insertion.”
The room went silent. Jack’s thumb stilled against your hand. “Okay,” he said carefully.
You opened your eyes and glared at the ceiling. “I thought I knew pain. I was wrong.”
Dana’s mouth twitched near the monitor. Princess turned very deliberately toward the computer.
Jack leaned closer. “Baby.”
“No.” You turned your glare on him. “This is your fault.”
His brows pulled together. “My fault?”
“Yes.”
Jack blinked once. “How is this my fault?”
“Because,” you said, furious and medicated, “if it wasn’t for you, I wouldn’t know this was worse.”
Robby looked up. Jack did not move.
“I was doing fine,” you continued. “I was in my celibate phase. I was at peace.”
Jack’s face changed by exactly one dangerous millimeter. “You were not at peace.”
“I was close.” Your eyes narrowed. “Then you came along with your stupid handsome face and your stupid arms, and then I got the stupid IUD, and I thought that was pain. But no.”
Robby nodded slowly. “That is a clinically fascinating chain of blame.”
Jack did not look away from you. “So your shoulder hurts because I’m handsome.”
Dana did not look away from the monitor. “Do not repeat Mrs. Abbot.” Your face softened immediately.
Jack noticed. His eyes dropped back to yours, something warm cutting through the mortification. “What?”
You blinked up at him, drug-soft and suddenly pleased. “She called me Mrs. Abbot.”
Jack’s thumb moved once over your hand. “Yeah, baby.”
A small smile pulled at your mouth. “That’s me.”
Robby looked from you to Dana. Dana adjusted the pulse ox cord with perfect neutrality. “What?”
“You’re enjoying this,” Robby said.
“I am maintaining room discipline.”
“You called her Mrs. Abbot.”
Dana’s mouth barely moved. “That is her name.” Your smile widened.
Jack looked at Dana, then back at you, and his face softened despite himself. Dana glanced at the monitor. “See? Therapeutic.” Robby’s eyes dropped to Jack’s sleeve.
Jack saw it happen. “No.”
Robby smiled. “I didn’t say anything.”
Jack’s eyes narrowed. “You looked at my sleeve.”
“Clinically,” Robby replied.
Jack shook his head. “Absolutely not.”
You blinked up at Jack, still angry, still hazy, still betrayed by the entire medical system. “He does have nice forearms.”
Jack stared at the ceiling. Robby nodded toward Jack’s arm. “Roll up your sleeve.”
Jack looked at him. “Excuse me?”
“She’s tensing.”
Jack gave Robby a look. “You want me to roll up my sleeves.”
“I want patient compliance,” Robby corrected.
Jack looked at Dana. Dana glanced at the monitor, then at you. “It would probably help.”
Jack’s face went flat. “Not you too.”
Dana shrugged. “I’m practical.”
Robby looked delighted. “See? Medicine.”
Jack exhaled through his nose, then dragged one sleeve of his hoodie up his forearm. Your eyes followed the movement immediately. You hated yourself a little. Not enough to look away. His forearm flexed as he pushed the fabric past his elbow, tendons shifting under skin, the veins at his wrist standing out when his fingers curled once around the bed rail. Your mouth went soft.
Robby pointed at you. “There.”
Jack’s eyes cut to him. “Do not point at my wife while she’s objectifying me.”
“I am pointing at a response to treatment,” Robby replied with glee.
You looked at Jack’s arm. “Treatment is good.”
Princess made a strangled sound. Javadi stared straight ahead like a resident determined to survive rounds with her soul intact.
Jack leaned closer to you. “You are making this very difficult.”
You blinked. “Me?”
“You.” His thumb brushed your cheek. “Very stubborn. Very pretty. Extremely bad at being a patient.”
The giggle came before you could stop it. Soft. Helpless. Embarrassing. Jack’s eyes warmed. Robby looked like he had just discovered a new antibiotic. “Oh, that’s excellent.”
Jack did not look away from you. “Ignore him.”
“You think I’m pretty,” you said.
“I married you,” Jack replied.
“That’s not an answer.”
His mouth curved. “Yes, baby. I think you’re pretty.”
You melted. Completely. It was humiliating. It was also his fault. Robby adjusted your injured arm, careful and slow, guiding your hand toward his shoulder. The position made pain spark hot and immediate. “No.” You tried to pull back. “No, fuck this.”
Jack’s face sharpened. Robby’s tone stayed calm. “I need thirty seconds.”
“I don’t want thirty seconds,” you said, frowning.
Robby’s expression softened, “I know.”
“No, I want that one to do it,” you said, looking from Robby to Jack.
Jack leaned closer. “You have that one.”
“I want that one to doctor me.” Your lower lip jutted out.
Robby, far too cheerful, said, “We’ve covered the conflict of interest.”
You frowned at him. “Sexy doctor husband.”
Jack looked at Robby. “Fix her shoulder.”
Robby looked at Jack’s hoodie. Jack saw it. His whole body went still. “No.”
Robby lifted both hands. “I didn’t say anything.” Jack stared at him.
Robby smiled. “She responded well to forearm.”
“Forearm is not a drug,” Jack shot back.
Robby shrugged. “It is today.”
Jack dragged a hand down his face. “Fuck me.”
You, who had been blinking hazily at the ceiling, turned your head with alarming speed. “Yes.”
The room stopped. Completely. Jack’s hand froze halfway down his face. “No.”
You frowned, offended. “Rude.”
Princess turned toward the computer with the focus of a woman fighting for her life. Santos stared at the floor, shoulders shaking.
Dana checked the monitor. “Heart rate response noted.”
Jack looked at her. “Dana.”
She did not look up. “I report data.”
Robby pressed his lips together. “For the record, that was the fastest she’s oriented to verbal stimulus since the medication.”
You reached weakly for Jack’s hand. “Sexy doctor husband.”
Jack looked down at you. Your eyes were glassy from medication and pain, your good hand tight around his, your face still trying so hard to stay mad because scared was too vulnerable, and both of you knew it. His irritation lost some of its shape. “Fine,” he muttered. Robby brightened. Jack glared at him. “Don’t look so happy.”
“I’m a scientist observing results,” Robby replied, delighted.
Jack stood beside the bed and reached back, fingers catching the sweatshirt at the back of his neck. Your eyes locked onto the movement. He pulled it over his head in one smooth drag, the hem catching for half a second on the white T-shirt underneath. The shirt stretched across his chest and shoulders when he lifted his arms. His biceps shifted under the fabric. His forearms flexed as he dragged the sweatshirt free.
The room went very quiet. You stared. Completely gone. Jack paused with the sweatshirt in one hand. Just for a second. Long enough to let you look. His mouth tilted, barely. “Better?”
You nodded slowly. “Wow.”
Robby made a sound that might have been spiritual.
Jack dropped back into the chair beside you and took your hand again. “Eyes on me.”
You obeyed immediately. “Sexy doctor husband.”
Jack closed his eyes. “Good Lord.”
Robby looked at the monitor, then at Jack. “That was outstanding.”
Robby grinned. “You removed clothing, and her heart rate stabilized.”
“That is not what happened,” Jack replied with a sigh.
Dana glanced at the monitor. “It sort of is.” J
ack looked betrayed. “Dana.”
She shrugged. “I report data.”
Robby gestured toward you, far too pleased with the entire clinical situation. “Magic Mike: ED Edition.”
Jack’s head snapped up. “No.”
Robby’s grin spread slowly. “I don’t know, brother. You danced at your wedding. Pretty risky, if memory serves.”
Jack’s stare went flat. “Robby.”
“There was a certain Eminem song involved,” Robby continued.
Your head turned on the pillow. “Shake That.”
Jack closed his eyes. “Do not help him.”
Robby pointed at you, delighted. “That’s the one.”
Dana looked up from the monitor. “You danced to ‘Shake That’ at your wedding?”
“No,” Jack said immediately.
You turned toward him with surprising speed. “Jack.”
His eyes opened. “Baby.”
Your brow furrowed, “Don’t you dare deny that.”
Princess pressed both lips together and turned toward the computer as if it had suddenly become fascinating. Santos stared between you and Jack, openly thrilled. You lifted your good hand as much as the IV allowed and pointed at him. “That moment changed my brain chemistry.”
Jack looked toward the ceiling. “Good Lord.”
Robby nodded solemnly. “For the record, I was there. It changed several people’s brain chemistry.”
Jack’s head turned slowly. “You cried during the father-daughter dance.”
“You and your wife offended decent people everywhere with that dance,” Robby said.
You nodded, glassy-eyed and completely unashamed. “Yep. My grandma left.”
Jack looked down at you, horror flickering across his face. “Your grandmother left?”
You blinked up at him. “You didn’t know that?”
“No,” Jack said. “I did not know that.”
“She came back for cake,” you added.
Jack looked at you. “That does not make it better.”
Robby’s grin widened. “I’m just saying. It was a lot of wedding.”
Jack’s eyes cut to him. “You ended that night with half your shirt unbuttoned because a bridesmaid took your tie off with her teeth.”
Santos’s head snapped up. “With her teeth?”
Dana did not look away from the monitor. “Do not repeat wedding lore.”
Princess turned from the computer, delighted. “Did he go home with her?”
Robby pointed sharply at your shoulder. “We have a patient.”
Jack’s mouth curved, barely. “He did.”
Robby stared at him. “Betrayal.”
Jack shrugged. “You started this.”
“I started a medical discussion,” Robby defended.
Jack narrowed his eyes. “You called me Magic Mike.”
Robby frowned. “In a medical context.”
You looked between them, soft and dreamy now, the medication turning the memory warm around the edges. “It was perfect.”
Jack’s expression shifted. “Our wedding?”
You nodded. “You danced. I danced. Robby got slutty.”
Robby pointed at you. “For the record, ‘Robby got slutty’ is not medically relevant.”
Your eyes drifted back to Jack. You studied him for one long, medicated second. “You got slutty.”
Jack’s brows lifted. “I did not.”
You gave him a look. “Tell that to your hips.” You kept looking at Jack, still dreamy and deeply serious. “And hands.”
Jack closed his eyes again.
Santos made a tiny sound. “He got slutty.”
Dana did not look away from the monitor. “Do not repeat Mrs. Abbot.”
Your face softened immediately. Jack noticed. Of course, he noticed. His thumb moved once over your hand. “She called me Mrs. Abbot.”
“I heard,” Jack said, quieter now.
A small smile pulled at your mouth. “That’s me.” Jack’s expression softened before he could stop it.
Robby looked from you to Dana. “You’re enjoying this.”
Dana adjusted the pulse ox cord with perfect neutrality. “I am maintaining room discipline.”
Jack looked at you slowly. He looked down at you, and something in his expression changed. Not embarrassed now. Worse. Amused. “You know, baby,” he said, voice low, “I didn’t hear you complaining that night.”
Your mouth parted. For one blessed second, the medication actually managed to quiet you.
Robby looked delighted. “Oh, that worked.”
Jack did not look away from you. “Don’t.”
You blinked up at Jack, soft and glassy-eyed and deeply sincere. “I was thoroughly enjoying it.”
Dana closed her eyes. Princess turned fully toward the computer.
Robby pressed a hand to his chest. “That is a lot of marriage for a workplace.”
Jack’s jaw flexed, but his thumb moved over your hand again. “Trouble.”
You smiled faintly. “You started it.”
Robby pointed at Jack. “She’s right.”
Jack looked at him. “You started it.” Robby nodded. “Also true. Still worth it.”
Dana adjusted the bed, then looked at both of them. “Shoulder now. Wedding crimes later.”
You frowned. “They’re not crimes if everyone had fun.”
“Your grandmother left,” Jack said.
“She came back for cake.”
Robby nodded. “Strong recovery.”
Jack looked at him. “You are done.”
Robby smiled. “Brother, I have barely begun.”
Dana’s voice cut through, calm and final. “Robby.”
Robby lifted both hands. “Shoulder now.”
Jack leaned closer to you, resigned and soft all at once. “Eyes on me, trouble.”
You looked at his white T-shirt, then his face. “I am looking,” you said. “That’s the problem.”
For half a second, he looked like he might say something that would make the entire situation worse.
Robby must have seen it coming, because he clapped once, sharp and quiet. “Okay,” he said. “Shoulder.”
Jack’s eyes stayed on yours. “You heard the man.”
You frowned at him. “I don’t like the man.”
Robby adjusted his gloves at your injured side. “The man is hurt by that.”
Dana moved closer to the bed, one hand resting near your good shoulder. “Mrs. Abbot,” she said, calm and even. “We’re going to sit you up a little more.”
Your face softened immediately. Jack saw it again. His thumb brushed over your knuckles. “You like that.”
You blinked at him. “Like what?”
His voice went quieter. “Mrs. Abbot.”
A small, helpless smile pulled at your mouth. “That’s me.”
Jack’s expression changed. Not enough for anyone else to call him out on it, maybe, but enough for you to feel warmer than the medication could explain. “Yeah, baby,” he said. “That’s you.”
Robby looked at Dana. Dana kept her face neutral. “Therapeutic,” she said.
Jack did not look away from you. “Do not note that.”
Robby shrugged. “I have a whole mental chart now.”
“Delete it,” Jack shot back.
Robby grinned. “HIPAA doesn’t apply to my thoughts.”
Dana raised the bed before Jack could answer. The motion sent your shoulder into a hot, mean pulse. Your good hand tightened around Jack’s. “Nope.”
Jack stepped in closer immediately. “I’ve got you.”
“Nope,” you said again, sharper this time. “I changed my mind.”
Robby’s voice stayed steady from your side. “You can hate it.”
“I do hate it. I hate the concept. I hate whoever invented Cunningham,” you groaned.
Robby nodded once. “Probably fair.” You went on, “I hate that his name is Cunningham.”
“It is a useful medical procedure,” Robby replied.
You turned your glare on him. “Don’t defend Cunningham to me right now.”
Jack leaned into your line of sight. “Look at me.”
You looked at him. Mostly because he was very close. Also, because the T-shirt was still doing hateful things across his chest. Jack’s eyes narrowed faintly, like he knew exactly where your attention had gone.
“My face,” he said.
You sighed. “Your face is also a problem.”
Robby glanced at the monitor. “Problem appears effective.” Jack turned his head a fraction. “Robby.”
“Data,” Dana said.
Jack gave her a betrayed look. Dana’s brows lifted. “I report it.”
Robby slid your injured hand carefully toward his shoulder. The second your arm shifted, pain sparked bright and fast down your side.
“Fuck.” Your eyes squeezed shut. “No, no, no, fuck that.”
Jack’s free hand came to your cheek. Warm palm. Steady fingers. No pressure, just contact. “Hey.”
You shook your head. “No, Jack, I really don’t—”
“I know.”
Robby paused, his hands still supporting your arm.
Jack’s thumb moved once beneath your cheekbone. “I know, sweetheart.”
You opened your eyes. His face was right there. Close enough to blur at the edges. Worried in that contained way that made your chest hurt. Soft in the places no one else knew to look.
“I don’t want it to hurt,” you whispered.
Jack’s expression gentled. “I know.” Your throat tightened. “I’m being so stupid.”
“No,” he said immediately.
Robby’s voice came from your side, quieter now. “You’re not.”
Dana’s hand stayed light near your shoulder. “You are allowed to be in pain, Mrs. Abbot.”
Your mouth trembled. That was rude of her, honestly. Using the name like that.
Jack watched your face, and something in him settled. “Be mad,” he said softly. “Swear at Robby. Insult Cunningham.”
Robby lifted one hand. “I would like to opt out of one third of that.”
Jack ignored him. “But keep looking at me.” You swallowed. “You’re bossy.”
“I know.” Jack smiled softly.
You narrowed your eyes. “You like being bossy.” His mouth curved, barely. “With you?”
Your eyes widened a little. Jack’s thumb moved along your cheek. “Yeah.”
The room went dangerously still. Robby’s face brightened. “Oh, that was good.”
Jack’s eyes cut toward him. “Do not grade me.”
“I’m not grading. I’m appreciating the technique.”
Dana looked at the monitor. “Heart rate improved.” Jack exhaled through his nose. “Good Lord.”
You stared at him, caught between pain and medication and the unfair fact of him. “Sexy doctor husband.”
His jaw flexed. “Apparently.” Robby moved your elbow another careful inch. You tensed immediately.
Jack’s hand slid from your cheek to the back of your head, fingers threading gently into your hair. “Eyes on me.”
You tried. You really did. Your gaze dropped to his mouth first.
Jack noticed. His mouth twitched. “My eyes, trouble.”
“I’m trying,” you groaned.
He smirked. “You’re doing terrible.” You made a small, offended sound.
Jack’s thumb stroked lightly at the base of your skull. “But you’re very pretty while you do it.”
A giggle escaped you before you could stop it. It came out wet, shaky, and ridiculous.
Robby froze. Dana glanced at the monitor. Princess made a tiny sound near the computer.
Santos looked like she might need to sit down. Jack’s eyes softened. “There she is.”
You frowned at him. “You’re flirting medically again.”
“I am not,” Jack replied.
Robby adjusted his grip on your elbow. “You are.”
Jack kept his face angled toward you. “No one asked you.”
“I did,” you said.
Jack looked back at you. “You did not.”
“I spiritually asked,” you said with a sigh.
Robby pointed at you. “She gets me.”
Jack’s hand tightened carefully at the back of your head. “That is what worries me.”
The laugh that tried to leave you broke into a gasp when Robby began working at the muscles around your shoulder.
Pain rose again, deep and threatening. “No,” you said, voice thin now.
Jack’s teasing vanished. Just gone. His face steadied. “Breathe with me.”
“I don’t want to breathe.”
He raised a brow. “Do it anyway.” You frowned. “That’s mean.”
“I know,” Jack agreed.
“Fuck, Jack.”
His eyes held yours. “I’ve got you.”
Robby’s voice came low and focused. “Good. Just like that. Try not to fight me.”
You turned your eyes toward him in outrage. “Try not to fight you?”
Jack’s hand at the back of your head guided you back. “Me.”
You sucked in a breath. “Robby is saying stupid things.”
“I know.” Jack nodded.
“I can hear you,” Robby said.
Jack’s thumb swept once under your eye. “Ignore him.”
“He’s touching my shoulder,” you said, miserable.
Jack tilted his head closer to you. “Because he’s fixing it.”
“I don’t like him,” you said with a frown.
Jack smiled softly at you. “You love him.”
“Not right now,” you said, brows furrowed.
Robby nodded without looking up. “Temporary friendship suspension. Accepted.”
Dana looked at you. “Hold still, Mrs. Abbot.”
The name hit exactly where it had before. Your breathing hitched, but this time it hitched softer.
Jack saw it. Robby saw it. Dana absolutely saw it. Robby looked at Dana. “You’re good.”
Dana didn’t look away from the monitor. “I know.” Jack leaned closer. “You’re doing good.”
You stared at him. “I am?”
“Yeah,” he replied.
Your eyes burned. “I’m making this difficult.” Jack nodded once. “You’re scared.”
“I’m swearing,” you continued.
He shrugged a shoulder. “I’ve heard worse.”
“I told everyone about our wedding crimes.” Your lower lip wobbled.
His mouth moved like he was fighting a smile. “That one we’ll discuss later.”
“You got slutty.”
Jack closed his eyes. “Not now.” Robby’s shoulders shook once.
Jack’s eyes opened. “Do not laugh during my wife’s reduction.”
Robby’s expression snapped back into focus. “Guilty.”
Pain flared again, sharper this time, and your whole body tried to pull away.
Jack’s hand held steady at the back of your head. Not forcing you. Keeping you with him. “Look at me.”
You blinked away tears. “I am.”
“No.” His voice dropped. “Really look.”
You did.
His eyes were dark and close and worried. His thumb moved against your cheek, slow and sure.
“There you go,” he murmured. “Stay right there.”
Your breath shook. “This fucking sucks.”
“I know,” Jack murmured.
You went on. “Cunningham is a bad man.”
“Probably.” Jack nodded with a soft smile.
Robby glanced up. “Cunningham did not personally do this to you.”
You glared at him through tears. “He knows what he did.” Robby nodded. “I’ll allow it.”
Jack’s mouth brushed the edge of a smile.
You caught it. Even through pain. Even through fear. Even through the medication making the room swim around the edges. “You’re laughing.”
“I’m not,” Jack replied.
You glared at him. “You are.”
“Only because you’re mean on drugs,” he said, smiling softly at you.
You inhaled sharply. “I’m allowed to be mean right now.”
“Yeah,” Jack said, impossibly soft. “You are.”
Robby’s hands shifted. The pressure changed. Your body knew before your brain did.
You went rigid. “No.” Jack’s face sharpened. “Baby.”
“No, no, no, I don’t want—” You shook your head despite the pain.
His hand cupped your face more firmly. “Look at me.” Your eyes found his. “I am looking.”
“Good,” Jack said, his voice low and steady.
Your eyes burned as you stared up at him. “Jack.”
His hand stayed firm at the back of your head, fingers threaded carefully into your hair. “I’ve got you.”
You swallowed hard, trying not to pull away from Robby’s hands. “I hate this.”
“I know.” Jack’s thumb moved along your cheek.
Your breath hitched, half pain and half panic. “I hate your stupid face for helping.”
His mouth curved just enough to ruin you. “Use it.”
“What?”
“My stupid face.” His thumb brushed beneath your eye. “Look at it instead of your shoulder.”
You stared at him. “I hate that that works.”
“I know,” Jack murmured.
You glared at him. “Your face is medically annoying.” Robby murmured, “Groundbreaking terminology.”
Jack did not look away from you. “Not now.”
Robby’s hands shifted again. You felt the pressure build. Slow, careful, awful.
Jack saw you brace. Of course he did. His voice dropped. “Be good for me.”
Your face went soft immediately. “Oh, that’s unfair.”
Jack’s thumb brushed beneath your eye. “I know.”
“You’re cheating.” You tried to glare at him, but the medication and his hand in your hair made it a weak attempt.
His mouth curved, barely there and deeply unrepentant. “I know.”
Robby, without missing a beat, said, “Cheating is medically allowed right now.”
Jack’s jaw flexed. “Do it now.”
For one suspended second, there was only Jack’s face, his hand in your hair, his thumb on your cheek, and Robby’s steady pressure on your arm.
Then the joint shifted. Not violently. Not with a dramatic crack.
Just a deep, sickening slide, followed by sudden release. You gasped.
The wrongness vanished all at once. Your whole body folded toward Jack on a broken little sob.
He caught you carefully, one hand still cradling your head, the other braced at your good shoulder. “I’ve got you,” he said immediately. “I’ve got you.”
Robby exhaled. “Shoulder’s back.”
You breathed hard against Jack’s white T-shirt, your face pressed into the warmth of his chest, tears leaking more from relief than pain now. “Holy shit.”
Jack’s mouth brushed your hair before he seemed to remember there were witnesses. “Yeah.”
“That was awful,” you breathed, tears falling.
Jack kissed your head. “I know.” You turned your face enough to look up at him. “You were helpful.”
His expression softened. “Yeah?”
You nodded, still floating, still furious, still very much on drugs. “Sexy doctor husband.”
Robby pulled off his gloves with great satisfaction. “For the record, Cunningham with targeted husband exposure: wildly effective.”
Jack did not look away from you. “Document that and die.”
Robby smiled. “Brother, this is medicine now.”
You blinked up at Jack, wet-eyed and dazed. “I picked that one.”
The room went quiet around the softness in your voice. Jack’s thumb moved once along your cheek. “Yeah,” he said. “You did.”
You stared at him for another long, drug-soft second. “I picked good.”
His face changed. Not a lot. Enough. “Yeah, baby,” he said quietly. “You did.”
Robby pressed a hand to his chest. “I need everyone to know I am handling this with incredible maturity.”
Dana looked at him. “You are not.”
“No,” Robby agreed. “But I almost did.”
Jack’s hand stayed against the side of your face for another second before he seemed to remember the rest of the room existed.
“Post-reduction films?” he asked, glancing toward Robby.
Robby pulled his gloves off and dropped them into the trash. “Already ordered.” Jack nodded once.
Robby gave him a look as he stepped back to your injured side. “Neurovascular was intact before. Checking again now.”
“I know you are,” Jack said.
Robby lifted his brows. “Do you?” Jack’s mouth flattened. “I’m standing right here.”
“Great,” Robby said. “Then stand there husbandly and let me be her doctor.”
You turned your head slowly against Jack’s palm. “You’re both doctors.”
Robby leaned closer, careful as he checked your hand. “Only one of us is currently allowed to practice medicine on you.”
You looked at Jack. “I vote that one.” Jack closed his eyes. “Baby.”
Robby did not look up from your fingers. “Your vote has been received and rejected by the ethics committee.”
You frowned at him. “I don’t like the ethics committee.”
“The ethics committee is me,” Robby said.
You blinked at him. “That tracks.”
Santos made a tiny sound near the foot of the bed. Dana glanced at her. Santos pressed her lips together and looked at the floor.
Robby touched your fingers gently. “Can you wiggle these for me?” You wiggled them.
Robby nodded. “Good. Any numbness or tingling?”
You stared at him, still dazed. “Just in my dignity.”
“That is not innervated by the axillary nerve,” Robby said.
You blinked. “Show-off.”
Jack’s thumb moved over your cheek again. The motion was small. Your body noticed anyway.
Robby saw that too, because of course he did, but for once he did not comment.
Dana adjusted the sling on the tray beside the bed. “We’ll get her immobilized once Robby’s done checking you,” she said. Jack’s attention shifted to the sling. His jaw tightened by a fraction.
You saw it even through the medication. “You’re doing the face.”
Jack looked back down at you. “What face?”
“The face,” you said.
Robby glanced over. “Oh, I know the face.” Jack did not look at him. “No one asked you.”
Robby’s voice stayed light, but not careless. “It’s the face he makes when he wishes he could make it easier for you.”
Jack went quiet. So did you. Your fingers tightened around his. “You did,” you said.
Jack looked down at you. “What?” Your smile was small and drug-soft. “You made it easier.”
His thumb moved once over your hand. “Yeah?”
You nodded, eyes glassy and sincere. “Yeah. Because you’re hot. And a doctor. And smart. And sexy. And my husband. And I love you.”
The room went very still. Jack’s face softened all at once.
Then you added, very seriously, “And you’re hot.”
Robby’s mouth opened. Dana looked at the monitor like it had become essential to her survival.
Jack brushed his thumb over your knuckles. “Is that all?”
You blinked up at him, exhausted and earnest. “No.” His mouth curved. “No?”
You shook your head once, barely. “But I’m tired and drugged.”
Jack’s expression warmed into something painfully fond. “Okay, baby.”
Robby pressed a hand to his chest. You swallowed, the edges of the room still warm and watery.
“And Eli?”
Robby’s expression gentled before the joke could get there.
“Megan called down while we were getting the films ordered. He’s okay.”
You stared at him. “She told him?”
“She told him,” Robby said. “His mom told him. He knows you’re not mad.”
You blinked hard. Jack’s hand tightened around yours.
Robby leaned a hip lightly against the counter, his voice quieter now. “He drew you a picture.”
Your throat closed. “He did?”
“Apparently it’s you with a cape,” Robby said.
Princess smiled from the computer. “And a very large arm.”
You made a sound that tried to be a laugh and almost became something else. “Is it anatomically correct?”
Robby looked at Princess. Princess shook her head. “Not even close.” You closed your eyes. “Good.”
Jack brushed his thumb over your knuckles.
Your eyes burned again, but softer this time. “He doesn’t think I’m mad?”
Robby shook his head. “He thinks you’re a superhero.”
You went very still. Jack felt your hand tighten around his. Then your face crumpled. “Oh, no.”
Jack leaned in immediately. “Baby?” Your eyes filled too fast for you to stop them. “I’m leaking.”
Jack’s expression softened all at once. “You’re crying.”
“I know.” Your mouth trembled. “I don’t want to.”
“That’s okay,” he murmured.
You shook your head. “It’s embarrassing.”
“No, it isn’t,” Jack replied, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead.
You sniffled. “It is in front of the day shift.”
Robby’s face softened from the counter. “Day shift can handle feelings.”
Santos looked suspiciously focused on the floor. Princess turned toward the computer, blinking too much.
Dana adjusted the sling on the tray without looking up. “Mrs. Abbot,” she said evenly, “day shift has seen worse.”
Your smile wobbled through the tears. “She called me Mrs. Abbot.”
Jack’s thumb brushed beneath your eye, catching a tear before it reached your cheek. “Yeah, baby.”
You looked up at him, wet-eyed and overwhelmed. “He thinks I’m a superhero.”
Jack’s face changed. Not a lot. Enough to make you cry harder. “He’s right.”
Your chin trembled. “Jack.”
“He is,” Jack said, voice low. “You protected him.”
A tear slipped hot down your cheek. “I scared him.”
“You helped him.”
The words landed so gently that they hurt. You made a broken little sound and tried to wipe your face with your good hand, but Jack caught your fingers before you could tug at the IV.
“I’ve got it.” He brushed another tear away with his thumb.
You sniffed. “I’m leaking a lot.”
His mouth softened. “I know.”
You exhaled. “I hate this drug.”
“No, you don’t.” He smiled gently.
You thought about it, tears still sliding down your cheeks. “I kind of love this drug.”
Robby nodded from the counter. “There she is.”
Jack did not look away from you. “Let her leak.”
Dana smiled gently. “Mrs. Abbot,” she said, crisp and even, “I’m going to help support your arm while we get this situated.”
Your eyes opened the rest of the way. A smile pulled at your mouth immediately, even through the tears.
Jack looked down at you. “There it is.” You blinked at him. “What?”
He brushed one knuckle lightly along your jaw. “That smile.”
You looked toward Dana, pleased and hazy. “She called me Mrs. Abbot again.”
Dana did not look up from the sling. “That is your name.”
Robby pointed at her. “You’re doing it on purpose.” Dana kept her hands steady. “I am doing my job.”
“You are weaponizing legal marriage,” Robby said.
Dana fitted the strap carefully behind your neck. “I am supporting patient cooperation.”
You sighed happily. “It is working.”
Jack’s mouth twitched. “Clearly.”
Dana adjusted the sling around your injured arm. “This may pull a little.” Your smile vanished.
Jack saw it instantly. “Hey.”
“Nope,” you said.
His hand found your good one again. “Look at me.”
You frowned. “I already did that.”
“Do it again.”
You looked at him.
His eyes stayed steady on yours while Dana adjusted the last strap. There was a brief tug, a hot little spark of discomfort, and then your arm was held against you, supported and still.
You exhaled shakily. Jack’s thumb brushed once over your hand. “There you go.”
You swallowed. “I swore a lot.”
Jack’s mouth softened. “You were allowed.”
You leaned and whispered poorly. “In front of Dana.”
Dana stepped back from the sling. “I’ve heard worse, Mrs. Abbot.” Your smile came back immediately.
Jack glanced at Dana. “Therapeutic.”
Dana picked up the chart. “Accurate.”
Robby checked the sling with a quick glance, then nodded to Dana. “Looks good.”
Dana stepped back. “It’ll do until ortho tells her the same thing in a more expensive voice.”
Princess laughed under her breath. Santos rocked back on her heels.
“So she’s going home?” Santos asked.
Jack looked at Robby before Robby could answer, the same question reflected in his eyes
Robby lifted his brows. “You asking as her husband or as the night attending who has forgotten he is not on shift?”
Jack stared at him. “Husband.”
Robby smiled. “Good choice.”
Jack’s jaw flexed. “Robby.”
“We’ll watch her a bit after the follow-up films, make sure pain is controlled, then yes,” Robby said. “Home. Ice. Sling. Ortho follow-up. No lifting. No heroic catching of children for a while.”
You frowned at him. “That feels targeted.”
“It is,” Robby confirmed.
Your frown deepened. “Eli was falling.”
“And you caught him,” Robby said. “And now your shoulder is in a sling.”
You looked away. Jack’s voice softened. “You did good.”
You looked back up at him. “I broke myself.”
Jack shook his head. “You protected him.”
You pressed your lips together. “That sounds like something you say when I broke myself.”
Jack held your gaze. “It can be both.”
You considered him through the medication. “You’re very pretty when you’re reasonable.”
Robby made a wounded sound. “Not this again.”
Jack did not look away from you. “Thank you.”
Your smile went soft. “Sexy doctor husband.”
Jack lowered his head for half a second like he was gathering strength.
Dana picked up the chart. “Do not repeat Mrs. Abbot.”
Santos closed her mouth so fast her teeth clicked.
Princess turned toward the computer, shoulders shaking. Robby looked between Dana and the monitor.
“Therapeutic and preventative.”
Dana’s eyes flicked to him. “Exactly.”
Jack gave her a long look. “I don’t know whether to thank you or be concerned.”
“Both is usually safest,” Dana said.
A little while later, after the films confirmed what Robby already knew, after Princess brought discharge paperwork, after Santos was banished from asking any more questions about the wedding, the room finally thinned out.
Dana left with one last check of your sling and one more calm, devastating, “Take it easy, Mrs. Abbot.”
You smiled so hard your eyes closed.
Jack watched Dana go, then looked down at you. “She did that on purpose.”
You leaned into the pillow. “She likes me.”
“She likes making me suffer,” Jack said.
You nodded solemnly. “People contain multitudes.” Jack huffed a quiet laugh.
Robby came back with the discharge papers and a pen. “Okay,” he said. “Because apparently I am the only person in this room still committed to medicine.”
Jack was sitting beside your bed now, his sweatshirt back on but unzipped, one hand wrapped around yours. “You loved every second of this.”
Robby held up the paperwork. “I loved several medically relevant seconds of this.”
“You called me Magic Mike,” Jack said.
Robby nodded. “In a medically relevant context.”
“You threatened to chart targeted husband exposure,” Jack added.
“I still might,” Robby said.
Jack stared at him. Robby smiled. “I won’t.”
“You better not,” Jack warned.
“I’ll save it for the group chat,” Robby said with a shrug.
Jack’s expression went blank. “There is no group chat.”
Robby looked at you. “He thinks there’s no group chat.”
You turned to Jack, horrified. “You think there’s no group chat?”
Jack looked between you and Robby. “I hate this family.”
Your smile went dreamy. “You said family.”
Robby’s expression softened before he covered it with a cough.
Jack looked down at your joined hands. “I did.”
The air warmed around that. For one second, nobody ruined it.
Then Robby clicked the pen. “Anyway,” he said. “Sling stays on. Ice twenty minutes at a time. Pain meds as prescribed, not as creatively interpreted by the patient. Ortho follow-up within the week. No work until cleared.”
You opened your eyes. “No work?” Jack’s hand tightened.
Robby looked at you. “No work.”
“But peds is short,” you replied.
“Peds will survive,” Robby said.
You frowned. “You don’t know that.”
Robby leaned closer, his sarcasm gone soft around the edges. “I know you cannot care for children with a freshly reduced shoulder.”
You looked at Jack for backup. Jack shook his head. “No.”
“You didn’t even let me ask,” you said, brows furrowed.
Jack just gave you a look. “I know where you were going.”
“You always know where I’m going,” you sighed.
Jack shrugged. “Usually because it’s somewhere you shouldn’t.” Robby nodded. “Marriage.”
You sighed again and let your head fall back against the pillow. “This is oppressive.”
“This is discharge planning,” Robby said.
“Oppressive discharge planning,” you mumbled.
Jack stood slowly, keeping hold of your hand. You looked up at him. “We’re leaving?”
He nodded. “Soon.”
“Are you taking me home?” you asked, hopefully.
His expression softened. “Yeah, baby.”
Your whole face relaxed. “Good. I want that one.”
Robby pressed the paperwork to his chest. “She’s still doing it.”
Jack took the papers from him. “She’s on medication.”
He folded the paperwork and tucked it into his jacket pocket.
Robby watched him for a moment, the humor easing out of his face. “You good to get her home?”
Jack looked at you. You were blinking slowly, exhausted now, the adrenaline finally draining out of your body.
His voice gentled. “Yeah.”
Robby nodded. “Call me if anything changes.”
Jack met his eyes. “I will.”
The two men looked at each other for half a second longer than the words required.
You noticed even through the fog. “You two are having feelings.”
Robby looked down at you. “We are absolutely not.”
Jack’s mouth twitched. “No feelings.”
“Lies,” you murmured.
Robby pointed at you. “Pain meds have made her too powerful.”
Jack helped you sit up carefully. The room tilted as soon as you moved. You made a small sound and grabbed for him with your good hand.
He was already there. One arm came around your waist, careful not to jostle the sling, his body solid beside yours. “I’ve got you.”
You leaned into him. “I know.”
That seemed to hit him somewhere. His hand spread warm at your side. Robby stepped closer, but Jack had you steady.
“Slow,” Jack said.
“I am slow,” you grumbled.
The room tilted. You caught Jack’s shirt with your good hand, and his arm came around your waist before you could wobble any farther.
His mouth twitched. “That’s why I said go slow.”
You rolled your eyes. “Smartass.”
Robby nodded from beside the bed. “Fair assessment.” Jack shot him a look.
“Supportive environment,” Robby said.
Jack eased you carefully off the bed. Your knees felt uncertain, and the room stayed too bright, but his arm held you steady.
Dana reappeared at the curtain like she had sensed movement. “You good?”
Jack nodded. “I’ve got her.”
Dana looked at you. “Mrs. Abbot?”
Your smile came back, sleepy and immediate.
“I’m good.”
Dana’s mouth barely moved. “Clearly.”
Robby narrowed his eyes at her. “You did it again.”
Dana checked the hallway. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“You absolutely do.”
Jack adjusted his hold at your waist. “Can we leave before anyone learns anything else about my wedding?”
Princess, still at the computer, lifted one finger. “I have follow-up questions.”
“No,” Jack said.
Santos leaned against the counter. “I have several.”
Jack shook his head. “Absolutely not.”
Robby grinned. “I have photos.”
Jack went still. You gasped softly. “You have photos?”
Robby’s grin widened. “And videos.”
Jack pointed at him. “Delete them.”
“Never,” Robby responded immediately.
“You have videos of the dance?” you asked, unable to contain your excitement.
Robby gave you a look. “You think I would witness neurological history and not document it?”
Your eyes went glassy again. “Can you send them to me?”
Jack looked down at you. “Baby.”
“What? I was there. I should have them,” you defended yourself.
Robby tapped his phone. “Already sent.”
Jack closed his eyes. “Good Lord.”
Your phone buzzed somewhere in the plastic belongings bag.
You looked up at Jack, delighted. “Brain chemistry.”
Dana held up one hand before Santos could speak. “Do not repeat Mrs. Abbot.”
Santos sighed. “I didn’t even say it.”
Dana looked at her. “You thought loudly.”
Jack shook his head and started guiding you toward the hallway. “We’re going home.”
You leaned into him, warm and sore and still floating enough that the ED lights looked like stars smeared across glass. “Home with you?”
Jack glanced down. His face softened. “Yeah.”
You smiled. “I picked good.”
This time, there were no monitors beeping too loud, no hands at your shoulder, no room full of witnesses waiting for the next outrageous thing you might say.
Just Jack’s hand at your waist, his body steady beside yours, his voice low near your ear.
