Not Approved By The Vatican…

you’d come to pick up your husband from shift. your daughter on hip as you wait for him to finish. dana and a few other nurses loving on her when his name came up.

that's all it took before she was asking questions. as kids do. and when you explained ‘jack is dada,’ thats when the name drop came.

trinity sputters out a laugh as she grabs a tablet and leaves. “I'm sure he's gonna love that."

your husband had just walked over. tired smile making its way on his face as he presses a kiss to yours and your daughters temple.

"let me go get my stuff and we can go." barely puts one foot in front of the other before he skids to a halt.

"otay, jack."

the nurses puffing out laughs that they tried to surpress. you not any better.

your husband turns around slowly. eyes narrowing at his daughter who was still in your arms; finger in her mouth as she stares at him innocently.

jack tilts his head. lips pressed tightly together as he walks back up to you two.

"I know you just didn't say what I think you did, little miss."

“otay, jaaack” she sings it. drags it. as if she had to put emphasis on it because it didn’t sound right the first time. jack automatically shakes his head. “try again.”

you hide a smile behind her head. trying not to give any indication to her that you were finding it all way to amusing.

“jack.”

“no.”

“jack.”

“no.”

“ja-aaack.”

she was just pushing it now. already seeing that it was getting to your husband. his hands wipe down his face as he looks to you.

he was tired. stressed. your baby girl not helping.

“I explained to her who Jack was because she overheard your name and asked,” you say carefully. the initial words of ‘she doesn’t know any better,’ abandoned. seeing as your daughter did know better; she just liked abusing her dad.

by now, your beginning audience has dispersed.

“she’s a kid, jack. they repeat everything they hear. she knows who you are.” you reassure softly as your free hand caresses your daughters head.

“she’s just started calling me dada though.” his thumb wipes across her cheek as her eyes watch.

you give him a knowing smile.

“and she’ll keep calling you that but right now she’s taking a little too much pleasure in seeing you like this.”

“that doesn’t make me feel better.” jack says deadpanned.

“think of it as her prepping you for when she’s older.” you joke, the back of your hand patting his shoulder.

The day crawls by slowly and you end up back at Jack's house sometime around 6pm, surprised to find him in the house already making dinner for the both of you.

The mess of cleaned but not put away dishes has been cleaned up and the dens been cleaned along with with entryway.

A part of you feels really bad that he had to come home from a long trip just to clean up after you but you also thought youd have more time to at least try and convince him youd been taking care of yourself and his things before he got home.

"Hey there, sweet pea," jack tucks you under his arm near the stove when you make your way over to him.

"Hi." You wait a moment, "sorry 'bout the mess. I was planning to clean up, I promise. S'just hard sometimes."

Jack nods against you, presses a kiss to the top of your head and tells you, "s'okay, s'what im here for, huh?"

You eye him suspiciously but nod against him nonetheless. Turns out you had a right to be suspicious cos you end the night on your fourth orgasm and Jack's beginning to edge you again, pressing your hips down onto the sheets everytime you try and squirm away from his hold.

"Tell me again," he mumbles into your heat, "tell daddy what youre not gonna do next time he leaves."

Youre in tears. Your throats raw and your visions all blurry and your pussy's swollen and sensitive and youre not sure how much more you can take.

"M'gonna take care of myself," you blubber, thighs tensing around him when he slips two fingers back into your cunt, curling them towards him.

"And?" He probes, not even bothering to look up at you, watching the way your pussy flutters around his chubby digits.

"M'gonna tell you if need help. M'not gonna hide it from you. I promise!"

"Yeah," he nods, still watching your folds pulse around his fingers, "thats what I thought."

The air in Summerhall was a storm-lands special, humid, thick and exhausting. With the ever rising heat of the summer as the days drew longer it begun to become unbearable. And in being so suffocating, it became a weapon all in the house seemed to use against one another. Tempers flared, arguments ensued. It seemed no one in the house had a way of regulating themselves in the humidity, despite having grown up here the children of Maekar found themselves at the hand of it too. Brother turned on sister, Father turned on son, husband turned on wife. It was growing relentless. So much so that you had opted to reside in the guest wing of the house just to escape the bickering, the hugging heat, the misplaced words. 

The previous night had been your breaking point, in which yourself and your husband were unable to find comfort in your bed, Maekar claiming your close proximity to his own body was forcing him to sweat.

“And what would you have me do? Husband? Sleep on the floor?” You asked, sweat clung to your own sticky skin, thin chemise near turned sheer as it layered you. “Sleep on the other side of the bed, every time you touch me I get warmer.” He grumbled, turning on his side to face the window and the lack of cooling breeze. “I am sleeping on the other side of the bed!” Your voice exasperated, frustration radiated through you like a furnace- literally. You climbed out of the sheets, the stone floor barely cold to the touch anymore, limbs heavy with exhaustion that your body would not give into. This had to have been the hottest summer the Stormlands has seen in centuries, you had been married to Maekar for near four years now and never had any of you suffered like this because of it. “Where are you going!” He called, not even turning from his sanctuary to see you leave, “Away from you, husband, if my body next to yours is so repulsive it is causing you lack of sleep!” You hissed, opening the chamber door and slamming it shut behind you.

The pair of you had remained in separate bedchambers for near a week now, which is why you led in the canopy bed of the guest chambers, stripped of all quilts and covers in only a thin nightdress. You had been tossing and turning for hours, the skirts of your nightdress tangled around your legs as you huffed, drawing your hair up so that it was tied away from the nape of your neck- which it had too been stuck against. Maekar and yourself had not discussed the terms of this arrangement, and sure enough neither of you were ready to forgive the other yet. It was something petty, not meaningful. And when it was petty, it became a competition of who would be first to break. Yet as the night grew longer a longing feeling settled low in your stomach, perhaps if you snuck into your husbands bed he would not notice until he rose with the sun, which is what formulated your plan to sneak across the halls in the first place.

The corridors bore no more coolness than that of your temporary bed, the air hung sickeningly thick, willing you to choke on it, yet you did not give in. Only when your feet stopped outside your shared room did you hear what sounded like shuffling inside. Summerhall was a stronghold, a Targaryen settlement that was far apart from any immediate danger and had little to no enemies of the physical house itself. Guards were permitted to be more lax than they would have the RedKeep. They patrolled the outer grounds and lower floors, making sure no stragglers entered too close. There was no need for them to be positioned on the upper levels and corridors for nobody could enter unseen- in theory.

You opened the door near silent from the sight before you, a man in unrecognisable clothing held your shirtless husband in what appeared to be a headlock, a red gash down his chest. Had your husband not been so abled by lack of sleep he likely would have never fell victim to the intruder, yet tonight he had. Your lips parted, not in horror, but rather surprise. He had to have been quite a man to have the anvil on his knees. 

Maekar was a possessive man by nature, his eyes squeezed tightly shut as the welcoming scent of your bath oils wafted through the room from the quiet force of the door. You were here. And he did not know what to make of it.

A valyrian steel dagger led upon the dresser by the door, it was cold in your hands. A welcome feeling amongst the heat radiating through you, and around you. You were not unfamiliar to wielding a blade, Maekar had to give himself peace of mind that if he were not there to protect you, you could protect yourself. He despised the very thought of you ever having to use what you had been taught but it was a quiet comfort knowing you knew no hands safer than your own. 

The slit to this intruders throat was clean and quiet, he had been so pre-occupied with the anvil on his knees- a sight you adored yet you knew this man desired it for reasons very different to your own. The blood flowed freely without constriction, coating down his neck and soaking his shirts, he gargled as if he were drowning. Being submerged to the depths of a death so unwelcoming it clawed at him, like a hand grasped over his mouth to keep the water in so that he choked on it, only this water was not clean and fresh, it was crimson. A warm river provided by the very vessel that promised to give him life was taking it from him. When his knees gave out, his arms released your husband who wasted no time in standing shakily and turning to see the sight now before him. Your pupils were blown wide yet your breathing was steady, as if you were observing the act from a distant dream rather than committing it. When he keeled forward, blood soaking the expensive carpets he stopped convulsing, stopped fighting what was trying to claim him. He had complied in death, the Stranger accepting the gift your hand had provided these Gods. A sacrifice in untimely blood spilt to save the one you loved. A sacrifice many men had made on battlefields, grass adorned in bloodshed of young men fighting in wars that they had no choice in giving their lives to. But this man had made his choice the moment he decided your husband’s life was his to take, which is why you had not hesitated in making sure he knew the agony he had been grievously intending to cause.

“You should not have done that.”

“I was protecting you.”

“Let me rephrase that. You should not have had to do that.” Maekar was near heaving, the entire ordeal feeling so foreign to a man well accustomed to the sight of another’s blood. His own wife had slaughtered someone neither of them knew the name of, because she felt her husband was in danger. He was in danger. And she had not hesitated. You had not hesitated. “Are you alright?” he asked, stepping around the man and pulling you back away from the evermore staining carpet. “I should be asking you that, husband. You are bleeding.” Your hand grazed his chest, inches from the slice that had sort to tear him in two. It was not deep, but that did not mean it was not painful. Maekar took in the state of you, you appeared far too composed to have just taken the life of another, let alone it be the first time you had truly wielded a blade against a foe. Your eyes found his own, “Do not look at me as if I will fall apart. You needed me.” You spun the dagger between your fingers before tossing it onto the carpets next to the man. You had done what was needed, it should not have been at your hand but the man would have ended up dead from touching a crown Prince regardless. At least the one dealing the fatal blow here had done it to truly protect something they cared for, not a kingsguard doing what is expected of them. It was not expected of you yet you had willingly done it regardless.

“I never wanted you to have to take a life for me.” He frowned, thumb brushing your cheek as you pressed a kiss to his palm. You were concerned for the blood seeping from him, the only blood that now coated you was your husband’s from where his chest now pressed against yours as he caged you to the bedchamber wall. His teeth clashed against yours ferociously, tongue forcing its way into your mouth as you whimpered against him, startled by the sudden intrusion from your husband’s tongue. You managed to break-free for breath, “Maekar we need to get you to a maester.” He grunted, violet eyes glinting in the dim candlelight, “I needed my wife and you came without call. I don’t need a maester, I need you.”

A/N: guys i loved this request, i apologise if this is shitty i worked hard on it but like i just didn’t know how to do the request justice bc i can so see maekar with a badass wife!reader like ughhh i love it. anyway as always, requests open, likes, comments, reblogs and any interactions are always appreciated!! take care everyone!!

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@noone1233nobody @antobooh @mikariell95 @kravitzwhore @vanillafan6 @ae-gax @galactict3a @aleemendoza2425-blog

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you do not recognize the room instantly, and worse—your head is pounding. it aches all around, from the back of your skull to your temples, at an intensity that you can only describe as blistering.

not the sort one receives after indulging in their cups, or the kind after a restless night of sleep. this is something else entirely. 

you sigh, your body sinking into the mattress further. it is more comfortable than you recall, your limbs stretching for a moment with a satisfying burn, the shield of sleep still thick in your mind.

everything seems a little numb, still. the sounds of the world outside your window are fairly quiet, save for a few birds chirping. it must not be early enough—usually you can hear the thunderous ring of steel on steel, courtesy of your brother and whatever household knight he is sparring with to begin his day.

even the noises outside the door seem duller than normal. your mother’s solar is only a few steps away, and usually you can hear the chatter radiating from there when you wake. her and your sister, no doubt, the one that rises early every morning with your parents and makes you look bad in comparison.

it could not be your other sister, not anymore. she has been married for almost the length of a year, nearly expecting her first child now, and yet when you are tired, you can almost forget.

the feeling is rather sweet, you think tiredly, when you wake up too early and it feels as though you are still in a dream altogether. one where you are still a girl, waiting for your septa to come wake you, one where all your siblings still live in your home, where everyone is still together.

if you were not so fatigued, you might smile.

you turn your head towards the door slightly, eyes attempting to fixate on the location of the noise, or at least, where the noise would be coming from. it is surprisingly silent, you think, at least for your family’s home. you are all an awfully noisy bunch, and yet—

that is odd, you reflect for a moment, stirring to rub at your eyes. 

the door is not… in the correct place? you look to the right of you, where the entrance to your small room has always been, just besides the vanity where you ready yourself. your eyes turn quickly in each direction, looking for those familiar objects—the vanity, the mirror, the wardrobe.

this room is not your own.

you jolt up in bed, sitting up and bringing your knees to your chest, as if you might be able to defend yourself against your confusion somehow. 

the only word you can think to describe this room is… morose. 

nothing like your bedchamber at home, which is lively and full of sun and color. here, the curtains are almost completely shut, just the barest bit of light pouring in. the fireplace glows dimly but it does little to brighten it enough for you to make sense of where you truly are.

how could that be? how could you have fallen asleep at your home and woken up in an entirely new place?

you turn your head again, looking in the other direction for the door to this chamber. instead you find—

“seven hells-” you shout, scrambling to move yourself from your position under the covers. you push yourself to the other side of the bed, away from the stranger sitting in a chair besides you.

he had been asleep, you think, your own head throbbing even more painfully now from the sudden movement. he had been sitting, but his elbow was against the arm of the seat, leaning against it in his slumber. you think he was even snoring.

you could not make out a face, just a flash of light colored hair, and now—

fuck. he stares for a moment, both of you gone silent, as he blinks wide, lilac eyes at you. and you think for a moment, scanning his features, that he looks almost… relieved. 

that is most odd, given that you are anything but relieved. you frantically tug down the hem of your night gown, trying to cover yourself. when you look back at him, he is still silent. 

worse—he is staring at your exposed skin. you could almost gasp at the indignation of it if you were not so confused. a sound like a scoff almost escapes you—you thought princes were supposed to be chivalrous. 

“your… your grace?” you question, your voice coming out raspy. your throat feels sore, almost, as though you have not drank enough water in some time. suddenly, you feel parched. “uh… where am i?”

“i…” the prince—one of them, you imagine, though you do not know his name since it is your first time ever meeting one in person, like this—begins, before trailing off. “i am glad you are awake now.”

his voice is filled with a sincerity you do not completely understand. he speaks with a seriousness of tone, as though there was a possibility of you not awaking, somehow.

“as am i, your grace,” you reply, blinking at him slowly. “pardon me, but-”

“i will fetch the maester. lay back down,” he orders, and you furrow your brows in confusion. 

“maester?” you ask, as he begins to step towards the door. “no, i do not require the maester. can you please call for my mother and father?”

the prince freezes, his hand stopping mid-air as he reaches for the doorknob. he turns around slowly, his violet eyes meeting yours. you notice it then as his jaw tightens, clenching slightly.

relax, ser, you think bleakly and unfiltered, you do not have to go chase them down yourself. i need only a maid to find them—

“your mother and father?” he repeats. you think for a moment that you can hear his teeth grinding against each other.

“yes, your grace. are they not here with me?”

“why would they be here?” he sounds listless, as though you are burdening him with questions he does not want to answer.

“well, my brother then? they did not send me off alone, did they?” you ask, panic rising in your voice as he continues to look at you with that expression on his face. “a-and where am i, if i may ask? i do not recognize these chambers.”

“i am going to fetch the maester. you are in need of his services,” the prince says quietly, and you can no longer discern what emotions exactly lies behind his voice.

“i… i-” you begin, before faltering. you are not even sure what you intend to say. 

you stare at him for another moment, breathing heavily. you pull on the cotton sheets to try and cover yourself further.

his grace steps away from the door, walking towards you for a moment. he walks until he is at the edge of the bed, leaning forward to look at you. you shudder under the intensity of his gaze, realizing quickly that this is not—

the prince glowers down at you, his purple eyes locked on yours. his expression is mostly unreadable, but from this close, you can see him very clearly.

it is not light hair, nor blond. it is silver, just as the history books describe it. his hair gleams where the light catches it, pure argentine the longer you stare. you rake your eyes down slowly, to the lilac of his eyes and the pale lashes that he blinks at you.

then the curve of his nose, which you look at for far too long. it seems almost oddly… intimate to study him this way, but you cannot help yourself, not as you take in the pink of his lips and the scars that mark his cheeks.

he must be one of the king’s sons. there is no one else he could be. the crown prince is more dornish than valyrian, you know, so it cannot be him. one of the three others then. perhaps you should have paid attention more closely when your septa would teach you. or even to your father’s conversations at the dinner table. 

there always seemed something more important to think about. and well—

your thought is interrupted by him.

“what is it?” he demands, his face much closer to you now.

“i, uh,” you start quietly, blinking rapidly. “you should call for a chaperone, at least. this is not proper.” 

the prince shifts from concerned to exasperated.

“what is not proper?”

“well, us, of course. we cannot be alone in a room together,” you state plainly, confused why he is not understanding what you are saying.

are the dragon princes truly so high in the in-step that they do not remember any of the customs of society? just because he is royalty does not excuse him from requiring a maid or some guard to oversee the encounter. to make sure something untoward does not occur, the sort of thing that could ruin you.

gods above—the man was in here while you were asleep. how could that possibly be proper?

the prince brings his fingers to his face, pinching his nose, his fingers forming a fist when he finally brings them back down to his side. he looks frustrated, you think.

and he is not the only one. you pause, your mouth hanging open slightly, waiting for him to say something. 

“do you know who i am?” he demands again, the words lingering in the air for a moment before you nod slowly.

“of course. you are a prince.”

he blinks at you.

“i am… a prince? that is all?” his handsome face contorts into an entirely unpleasant expression.

you had not thought your forgetfulness would impact him so deeply. in fact, you cannot even remember ever being introduced to him.

he is not making a good first impression upon you. he cannot expect every lady of the kingdom to be able to tell him apart from his brothers on the first interaction? 

you try to think harder, but your head hurts deeply. there are only two silver-haired princes, you finally recall, because the other two have dark hair. 

but even of the two, you do not know which stands before you.

“i apologize, your grace,” you start. “my head is ailing me. if i am forgetting our introduction, then i am truly very sorry. i hope you will not judge me too harshly.”

the prince swallows, staring at you. he does not look pleased, not that he ever did.

in fact, he looks as the sort of man who might never be pleased, not about anything. lines of worry are seemingly permanently etched into his face, surrounding his eyes most notably. 

you suppose he must have many duties as a prince. children to take care of, surely. you do not know which of the targaryen brood belong to him, but you have seen them before. you think it was a tourney, but you cannot recall exactly now. there is only a few of them with that silver hair that your prince possesses.

those must be his sons, no? the ones possessing the hands and the lances that your younger sister was dying to get her prettily made favor into?

you look at him again, pushing away your thoughts. he sighs, his broad shoulders rising and falling for a moment beneath his doublet. 

“i will return with the maester and a chaperone.”

“thank you, your grace.” 

you move yourself back slightly, settling against the bed, sliding your legs under the covers again. he watches you as you move, and you suddenly feel warm at the realization.

when his hand reaches the handle, he pauses for a moment. you steal the opportunity before it evades you. 

“my prince?” you ask hesitantly. 

“yes?” 

is that… eagerness? in his voice? you blink, trying to decide if your mind is deceiving you. why would a prince be eager to speak with you, anyhow?

“can i ask for your name? i apologize again, i… i am having trouble remembering.”

the prince looks at you again, but it is unlike the other glances and gazes from just now. he stares intensely, his purple eyes boring through you, the feeling almost hot and fierce.

“maekar,” he says, though the word is strained. “i am maekar.”

oh. yes, you think, that makes sense. the one from the song.

“thank you, prince maekar.” 

you turn away, staring out the window of this strange room for a moment. you hear the prince sigh, and then he opens the door and steps outside.

once the door is shut, maekar waits. his head rushes with thoughts that he does not want to think about, and questions that he does not have answers for.

a servant boy walks towards him, no doubt to ask what he requires, but maekar has just lost the last of what remained of his patience.

“get the fucking maester,” he snaps, and the servant almost flinches.

“right away, your grace,” the boys, before hesitating for a moment. “-and what should i tell him?”

That earned an eye roll from Jack, but you didn’t have to look up from your task to know that he was wearing a smile matching your own. He paced around the kitchen island, hands landing on your hips and sliding around your waist in a loose hug as he dipped his head to kiss your shoulder.

“I’d buy you as many bananas as you could ever want,” he murmured against the soft fabric of your sleep shirt. You chuckled, leaning back against his chest for a moment and craning your neck to press an awkward kiss to his temple.

“You’re going to be late,” you chided, glancing at the microwave clock behind him. 

Jack exhaled dramatically. You’d think he was going off to war for a second time, not meeting Robby to watch a Steelers game. 

“Robby can wait.” His hands landed on your hips again, spinning you around before you had time to process or put up a halfhearted fight. His lips found yours, any protests you had planned to raise dying on your tongue as his found yours, the entire world disappearing until it was just the two of you. His grip on you tightened, a low sound coming from the back of your throat and your hands moved instinctively, one curling into the fabric of his t-shirt while the other fisted at his hair. Only when you realized the weird sticky feeling on your fingers did you pull back, pressing back against his chest with your wrists to prevent further damage.

“Jack,” you all but whined, “I banana-ed you.”

He laughed, full bellied and loud, his head falling forward to rest against your shoulder and his arms circling your waist loosely again.

“It’s not funny,” you protested, unable to hide the laugh from your own voice. “You can’t go over there with banana goop all over your shirt. And your poor hair!” You patted at the beautiful mixture of dark and silver curls with the back of your hand, as if apologizing to them for sullying them with your sticky banana-laced fingers.

Jack only pulled back for a moment, still grinning but looking down at you with that familiar smug look you’d fallen for so long ago.

“Believe it or not, they have this great new invention for that,” he drawled, ducking his head to peck you on the cheek. “It’s called shampoo,” he murmured. “Supposed to really be something.”

You rolled your eyes, half heartedly pushing him off so you could wash your hands. “It’s only new to you, old timer.”

You felt almost silly walking through the ED with a paper plate of banana bread muffins, all wrapped up in saran wrap. The clean antiseptic smell in the air stung your nostrils, and you could hear crying from down the hall. It always amazed you how Jack could come back to this, day after day and night after night. It wore him down, sure, no one could leave completely unaffected by the things they saw, but he remained steadfast and stubborn, the same headstrong man who insisted on your fourth date that you’d be married someday with the confidence of a man who knew he was right.

You paused as you neared the central desk, looking around and trying to decide where the best place was to drop off the muffins. You hoped you’d see Jack, just to say a quick hello and tell him about the treat you’d made for him, but you didn’t want to distract him when there was work to be done and lives to be saved. The staff lounge was always a safe bet, but you hadn’t thought to bring a note to leave with them. You didn’t want them sitting there untouched, knowing only a few of the staff who’d been there for years would recognize your form of offering to the kind and dedicated staff of the Pitt. Even the med students deserved a muffin though, especially after the stories Jack had told you about the new recruits struggling with proper nutrition, shoving a few protein bars into their bags at the beginning of their shift and hoping it would be enough to sustain them for 12 hours.

Not on your watch. You would find some spare paper and a pen, and make sure everyone knew they were welcome to a snack. You might even draw an embarrassing heart or write a love letter and slip it into Jack’s locker for him to find at the end of shift.

You were hugging the wall, looking around for Lena or another familiar face not wearing anything bloodstained when someone approached you.

“Excuse me?” the woman asked. “Ma’am, you can’t be here. Only active patients are allowed back here, you have to wait your turn in chairs until someone brings you back.” You laughed. This wasn’t the first time you’d been mistaken for someone drifting through the wrong door just to end up in the middle of the ED.

“Oh no,” you started, “I’m not a patient. I’m actually here to see a doctor.”

The woman, a pretty woman you’d guess to be somewhere in her forties, glanced over you, as if she was weighing the odds between believing you or not. The plate of securely wrapped muffins in your hands seemed to sway her in your favor.

“Which doctor?” she asked, suspicion leaking into her voice.

“Dr. Jack Abbot,” you answer. “He’s my-”

“Oh, Jack!” she all but squealed, instantly brightening at your husband’s name. “I love Jack, he’s practically my work husband.” The warm smile on your face flickered at that, a bitter taste forming in your mouth that you weren’t familiar with.

“Is that so?”

The woman, Cheryl, it said on the ID badge clipped to her pocket, seemed to need very little prompting to launch into a tirade of reasons to love Jack. All of which were right, you knew, but somehow that did little to stop the growing knot in your stomach.

“Jack’s the best,” she said, guiding you towards the desk she must have been occupying when she noticed you standing by the wall. “He’s always helping me with my patients, checking it to make sure I’m doing alright, making little jokes just for us,” she looked down almost bashfully, a faint pink rising to her cheeks, though she found no issue continuing to talk.“He walks me to my car at night sometimes. He’s just always there, helping me, looking out for me.”

“Y-yeah,” you fumbled for words. All of that sounds like Jack, in a way. “He’s a great attending. The PTMC is lucky to have him.” You realized with a clench in your stomach that his coffee mug was on her desk, the same goofy travel mug that read Best Doctor on One Leg that you’d gotten him as a joke Christmas present one year. You’d just washed it the night before, still shocked he still used the damn thing outside of the house. Cheryl snorted a quiet laugh. “Yeah,” she said, leaning across the desk and speaking with an almost conspiratorial hush. “But he’s really here for me in particular, if you know what I mean.” If she can tell from your expression that your stomach drops, the plate of muffins now set aside on the central desk because they feel too heavy for your tired wrists, she doesn’t give any indication. “It’s crazy, it’s like every time I look behind me he’s just staring at me.”

She seemed to remember she was at work and not with her friends at a bar gushing over the cute boys they liked, suddenly looking a bit sheepish.

“So, why are you here to see Jack? Did he treat you?”

You plastered on a fake smile, suddenly wishing you’d taken those acting classes in high school. “Oh, uh, no. No, I just know him. I wanted to bring these by for everyone working today,” you tap the plate of muffins, your hands feeling too unsteady to risk holding them. “I figured I would say hi if I saw him, but he’s got to be busy, y’know, saving lives!”

Cheryl gave you an odd smile then, noticing for the first time that something was wrong. There was something concerned in her eyes, almost pitying, that made you want to crawl out of your skin. 

“Okay, well, I’ll tell him someone stopped by,” she offered, using a comforting tone usually reserved for children and people more upset than the situation called for. 

Someone. You were “someone.”

You nodded, too sharply, already turning on your heels. “Thanks, you do that.” You grimaced as you began to walk away, cursing yourself for everything that had happened in the last ten minutes.

You were curled up on the couch when Jack came home the next morning. It wasn’t unusual for you to be up so early, preparing a quick breakfast for your husband so you’d be sure he actually ate something and took some time to rest before heading to the gym to work off some stress or collapsing in bed after a quick shower. This morning you’d done none of that though. You had slept like shit, laying awake on Jack’s side of the bed, head pressed to his pillow to breathe in the smell of his shampoo and something distinctly him, watching the ceiling fan spin in endless circles above you. You’d tossed and turned, only slipping under for a few hours at a time before you realized with an uncomfortable ache that you were awake again. 

By four in the morning you’d given up, hauling yourself unceremoniously out of bed and trudging to the couch. With a blanket wrapped around your shoulders and a book in hand, you collapsed with a huff, wincing as you turned on the lamp on the end table, even the low light feeling like a sudden intrusion. You stared at the lamp once your eyes adjusted, taking in the smooth porcelain and the small imperfections in the glaze. It was a gift, you remembered, something off your and Jack’s wedding registry. You had loved the set of lamps you’d found at a local farmer’s market, the other part of the pair sitting on a table at the far end of the couch, where you usually sat tucked under your husband’s arm, pressed against his chest to listen to his heart beating, but you had a hard time justifying the cost. Weddings were already so expensive, and even with the modest way you’d chosen to have your ceremony, you didn’t want to go overboard. Jack had laughed at you, teasingly daring you to find handmade lamps at a better price anywhere else, let alone ones that had you so immediately enamored. It wasn’t until two years into your marriage that Jack had admitted during a quiet moment, curled up around each other in bed, that he had been the one to buy the lamps. He had given you that easy smile, all crinkled edges and sleep-tussled hair, when he explained it like it was simple. You had wanted them, but didn’t think you’d deserved them. He disagreed, and, being Jack Abbot, went about fixing it in the most him way possible, treating you with the kindness you’d always yearned for even though you hadn’t even realized it at the time.

You still loved the lamps. Imperfections and all.

Jack kicked off one of his shoes at the door, leaving the other on his prosthesis until he could sit down. He shrugged off his heavy army backpack, laden with all the tools you knew he carried and hoped he never needed, and rested it in the seat of one of the dining room chairs. He moved towards the couch, stepping unevenly at the height difference from still having one shoe on.

“Goodmorning, beautiful.” His hands swept through your hair, gently brushing it out of your face. He pressed a kiss to the crown of your head, lingering for a moment before straightening back up.

“Have you slept at all?”

You shrugged lazily, giving him a weak smile.

“Some. Definitely not enough though.” You patted the space on the couch next to you, uncurling your legs to make room for him.

Jack joined you on the couch, lowering himself down carefully with a faint grimace. His hands moved to his pant leg, tugging up the fabric to undo the fastenings of his prosthesis. Once it was off, and he’d let out a deep sigh of relief he’d never let anyone else hear, his artificial limb propped up to stand on the floor beside him, he held an arm out to you. You eagerly moved towards him, letting him wrap an arm around your shoulder to draw you closer and press a whiskery kiss to your temple.

“Welcome home,” you said, giving him an easier smile as you settled into your spot against him. He leaned back into the couch, letting the soft cushions welcome him like an embrace.

“I missed you,” you continued, no longer trying to hide just how tired you were, physically and emotionally. “I always sleep better when you’re here.”

“I know, sweetheart.” His hand moved soothingly up and down your arm. “I sleep better with you too.”

“Shen said he saw you during our shift.” There was no accusation to his statement, just a light lilting tone of confusion. You’d never go in and not ask to see him, even if you only had time to press a kiss to his cheek and tell him how proud you were of him before sending him off again with a cheeky wink and the occasional slap to his ass if no one was around.

“Yeah, I made some banana bread muffins and thought you and the troops could use a pick me up.” 

Jack didn’t acknowledge how you side stepped the question he hadn’t asked.

“So I saw. They were delicious, by the way,” he added. “We almost had to intervene so Joy wouldn’t get too territorial over them. Thank you, for bringing them in.” Another kiss was pressed to your temple, lingering a little longer than the last. “I’ve gotta admit, I had my doubts when you started freezing bananas, but I stand corrected.” You chuckled softly. “Damn right you do,” you murmured into his scrub top. The antiseptic smell still clung to him, but you could pick up enough of him that it didn’t matter. “Never question my freezer organizer skills against mister.”

Jack chuckled, his nose pressing into your hair and drawing in a deep breath. His hand drew lazily up and down your arm for a few moments as you sat in silence, just taking each other in again after a long day. 

“Want to tell me why you didn’t wait to see me today?” Jack’s voice was quiet, his low tone rumbling in a way you always loved. There was no pressure in his question, just genuine interest and a tinge of concern. You could tell him no, and he’d accept it, just draw you into a firm hug and hold you until he went to shower before joining you back in bed.

“It’s stupid,” you confessed. You toyed idly with the drawstring of his scrub pants, knowing your frown looked more like a pout than you wanted it to. 

“Nothing about you is stupid,” he said seriously, tipping his head a bit lower to press his forehead against the crown of your downturned head. “Sometimes questionable in the moment,” he continued, that gruff humorous lilt coming back, “but if we’ve learned anything from the bananas, you have your reasons.”

You rolled your eyes, lifting your head to look at him. He had a self-satisfied look on his face, giving you a sweet smile and a quick peck on the lips when you shook your head at him. 

“You haven’t had, like, a super terrible day, right?” You would kick yourself later if you didn’t ask. Some days he came home barely able to anything but shrug and mumble responses, the ED bleeding him dry of any semblance of emotional energy.

Jack smiled softly. “No, sweetheart. Just regular terrible.” His hand found yours, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “Not so terrible I can’t hear about yours.”

You gave him a small but appreciative smile, returning the squeeze of his hand. 

“I ran into one of your coworkers before I could find Lena,” you began, voice coming out slightly quieter than usual. Even with his reassurance, you felt silly acting like it was a real problem. “She was nice. New, I think. I’d never met her before, anyway, and I don’t think you’ve mentioned her.” Jack hummed, his broad hand slowly rubbing your back, urging you gently when you paused. “I was going to ask if you were around, but she didn’t really give me a chance. She was talking about you, how great you are and how much she loves being around you.” Jack kept his expression neutral, his brow still furrowed as he nodded along, not letting the praise get to him or stroke his ego.

“Obviously she’s right to think all that and say all that,” you add, giving your husband a shy smile to say that it was okay to smile or joke about it. “Honestly, you deserve way more than anything she or I could ever say, but…I don’t know. Something about it felt off.” Jack frowned. “Off how?” he prompted.

You shook your head, trying to guide the pieces together in your sleepless mind. 

“It felt personal to her,” you settle on. “Almost intimate.” You scowled before you could help yourself. “She called herself your work wife. Said you spent more time with her than the others, that you were always looking at her and hovering around her.” You shook your head again, trying in vain to dislodge the ill feelings that were blooming in your chest again. 

“And I know you’re a diligent teacher,” you added, looking up at Jack’s concentrated frown. “I know you stare when you don’t mean to, and you have more of a presence than you know-” “This is starting to feel like an attack,” Jack interrupted, soft grin spreading across his tired face. 

You scoffed, hand moving up to cup his cheek, already prickly with the ghost of morning stubble. 

“I love your staring and your presence,” you said, firm enough for him to know you meant it, but soft enough to still be teasing. You kissed him once for good measure, enjoying the humorous glint in his eye when you pulled back. 

“But they’re for you,” he supplied, putting together the threads between your ramblings. “Not her.”

You gave a small nod, gaze dropping again as a wave of guilt washed over you. You didn’t want to be the person movies and books had trained you to hate for so long, the jealous woman who lashed out when someone looked at her man too long. You didn’t want to be possessive, or read into things that weren’t there, or even worse, punish Jack, your dear Jack, just because you couldn’t get a grip on your own insecurities.

“I don’t want to be crazy,” you all but whispered, hand finding the draw string on his scrubs again and spinning the knot idly between your fingers. “But I didn’t like it. She looked at me decided she had me all figured out. And it felt like she thought she really had a chance with you, and…I don’t know. Maybe I still don’t feel like I deserve you. Maybe I’ve just been missing you more with all the doubles you’ve had to pull. And I know that’s not fair-”

Jack cut you off with one finger held to your lips, shushing you like a child in a way that had your eyes narrowing and looking up to find his. When you did, you found an endearingly soft smile on his lips, looking just as in love with you as he did the day he’d proposed. 

“First off,” he said, speaking like he was instructing a new medical student, using only objective facts, “your feelings are always fair. They’re never crazy, or overblown. They always have their reasons, even if you can’t see them right away. Reactions are what matter, and you’re reacting perfectly normally by telling me this so I can help. Alright?” He looked at you, corner of his lip quirking up when you gave a reluctant nod, but raised his eyebrows, giving you a cocky look that you knew meant he wanted a verbal answer. You huffed dramatically, but gave him what he was looking for. 

“Yeah.”

He gave you a real smile, hand squeezing your upper arm as a reward. 

“Second, you’re not crazy. No one should be talking about me like that at work, even if I was single. And certainly not when I have a foxy wife at home.” His broad hands gripped you as you scoffed out a laugh, dragging you onto his lap so he could wrap his arms around you, smiling smugly at the genuine laugh he’d earned. 

“Don’t you dare laugh at that,” he’d added, poking you gently in the ribs. “No one laughs at my woman, not even my woman.” You grin stupidly wide, arms circling around his neck in a show of surrender. 

“Your woman?” you question, clicking your tongue scoldingly. “Guess I’m not the only possessive one then.” Jack shook his head, his even gaze never leaving yours. “Far from it.” His fingers brushed a strand of hair away from your face where it had fallen from his manhandling. They lingered on the apple of your cheek, gently holding you as you leaned into the touch.

“I’ll say no to any more doubles for a while,” he said, barely above a whisper. Your brow furrows, but you don’t interrupt as he continues. “I didn’t realize how long it had been since we’ve gotten time for us. I’m sorry about that.” You could see that he meant it, his face serious as a ghost.  You leaned forward, kissing the tip of his nose.

“Okay,” you agreed. “I think you need the break, if I’m honest. You’ve been stiffer recently, and I’ve been worried about you.”

Jack let out an exaggerated groan, stretching his legs underneath you. 

“God, you’re right,” he sighed, settling a little lower on the couch, and pulling you down with him. 

You grinned. “I’m always right.”

He nodded. “That’s why I married you.”

“And my baking skills,” you added, holding up a finger defiantly.

Jack shrugged, pretending to think about it.

“You’ve developed skills,” he settled on.

You gasped drastically, mustering up as much betrayal as you could in your fatigue, clutching your chest as if he’d wounded you.

“Developed?”

“Yeah. You’ve gotten better.”

You scoffed. “You don’t deserve my muffins.” His voice was low. “Hey now-” “Next time I’ll make a sign, For anyone but Jack,” you pretended to write across the air, voice trembling with laughter at the way his jaw dropped open.

“That has to be a violation of your wedding vows.” You smirked. “No sirree, Jack-ass.” He groaned at the nickname usually reserved for when he was being extra pestering. He slumped his head forward, burying his face in your neck as you continued. “Sickness and health, richer or poorer, but nothing about when your husband doesn’t appreciate homemade muffins made with very resourceful banana preservation tactics.” The side of your neck warmed from the sudden laugh he let out, muscled arms tugging you tighter to his chest.

“Robby will even get to take home the leftovers.” Jack feigned a cry at that, raising his head and giving you the most betrayed look he could.

“You wouldn’t dare.”

You paused, trying to find it in you to continue the bit when he looked at you so sweetly, eyebrows knit together like his best friend stealing the muffins his wife made would wound his heart beyond repair.

You deflated with a small sigh. 

“No,” you admitted, a smile pulling at your lips at how quickly he brightened. “But I might leave a note saying Cheryl doesn’t get any if you don’t get a work divorce.” 

Jack’s eyes widened. “Oh, it was Cheryl?”

You nodded, giving him a confused smile. “That change things?” He hummed in thought. “Doesn’t change them, but it does explain them. She’s new to the Pitt. Doesn’t have a lot of friends, it seems. Don’t remember where she transferred from, but they had different practices, so we’ve been watching her pretty closely to make sure she follows proper procedure.” You nodded slowly, putting together the pieces in your mind. The feeling like he was watching her, the hovering and checking in, it all made sense. Not that you had doubted his intentions for even a moment. Even if she was the most beautiful woman on the planet, Jack was a man with a strict moral code, and adultery lay far outside the scope of his rules. 

“Is it going to be weird working with her? Now that you know everything she said about you?”

Jack frowned. “Nah. I’ll go to HR at the start of next shift, file an anonymous report. They’ll sort things out with her, not make a scene or embarrass her. WIth any luck the whole thing will blow over.” The corner of his mouth twitched. “I’ll make sure the work marriage is annulled, sweetheart. Can’t be a workplace bigamist, can I?” 

You sighed wearily. “You can try, but if you open that door, every woman, man, and person in between is going to try to jump your bones, doc.” You gave him an overly concerned look. “You think your old joints can handle all of that at once?”

He had the good grace to look offended at that, giving you only a moment to look pleased with yourself before his hands were on your hips, giving you a great heave to flip you both so you were pinned beneath him on your back. You yelped at the sudden motion, but one of his hands made its way behind you, bracing you to cushion your fall on the already soft couch. His full weight trapped you, pressing you firmly into the cushions.

“What was that you were saying?” he teased, the tip of his nose grazing yours.

You could feel your cheeks warm. 

“If you think I’m able to think at all like this, you don’t know me very well, Jack.”

His lips twitched again, too busy taking in your expression to give a proper reaction of his own.

He watched you and Baelor converse further down the dais with a clenched jaw. Why did the two of you need to lean so closely into each other’s orbit? His brother was not yet fifty, and certainly not hard of hearing.

But Maekar knew why. You hadn’t been meant for him, not at all. A pretty maiden from a powerful house, you’d been chosen for Baelor – to be the Crown Prince’s second bride – instead of stepmother to a fourth son’s brood of children.

At some point in your stay at the Keep, during courting, things had changed and Maekar had been faced with his brother, asking him to marry you instead. He had accepted, of course he had. Maekar was no fool, despite what some might say; you were young and radiant, a true beauty.

It had not been a hardship to take you under his protection earlier today. He remembered your blush as he had taken your maiden’s cloak from you and replaced it with the crimson and black of House Targaryen. Perhaps you had pretended it had been Baelor who had done so.

Maekar could not blame you. Anyone would prefer the Prince of Dragonstone over his dour, scarred younger brother. Who would want him, when they could have been Queen instead?

You had still been talking with Baelor when Maekar had stepped up to announce that you would retire. There was to be no bedding, a small mercy. He could not have been able to watch as Baelor spearheaded the charge, and tore your dress from you. Could not have survived seeing you shoot desirous eyes at his brother.

You were his wife. His. Not Baelor’s. If Baelor had wanted you, he should not have all but given you away.

There was silence when the two of you entered his chambers. Yours now, too, he supposed.

You moved to loosen your laces, sitting at the edge of the bed. Maekar stopped you, trapping your wrists against his long-fingered hands.

“I will not take you unwilling,” he said, breathing out slowly through his nose, determined not to be the kind of man who took out his frustrations on his wife. “Nor will I take you while you imagine me to be another.”

You tilted your head, brows arched in surprise. Your eyes were wide and confused. “Unwilling?” you squeaked, before you added, “And who else would I think of?”

“You need not pretend,” he huffed. “I know I am no great prize compared to Baelor.”

Immediately, you squinted. “What has given you the idea that I want Baelor?”

“It is only natural that you would resent this, the Crown Prince was promised to you–” The rest of his words were muffled in a kiss as you surged to your feet.

He allowed you to nip at his lips clumsily, your tongue a wild thing, curious and eager. Then you separated to breathe.

“I asked to marry you,” you admitted, cheeks gaining a rosy hue, “I saw you and I thought you the handsomest man I had ever seen. I begged my father to change the betrothal. I went so far as to go to Prince Baelor himself and confess my feelings for you.”

You smiled, a hesitant, brittle thing, and it filled his heart full of hope. “I have thought of nothing but this night for weeks. So please, let us continue and allow me to have my husband. Show me what the Anvil is capable of.”

And show you, he did. Repeatedly, thoroughly. No crevice of you did he leave untouched as he took you. He made sure to make you scream his name, and let everyone know just who was giving you such pleasure.

asleep.

his eyes narrow slightly and then he stands.

the screen door slides open so quietly as he walks outside, freckled shoulders catching the sunlight while he stalks towards her. up close, he can already see the pink starting to blossom across her shoulders.

“hey,” he says lowly.

nothing.

his brow furrows.

“hey.”

she stirs, nose scrunching sleepily. “mmm?”

“you’re burning.”

her eyes barely crack open. “m’not.”

“you are.”

“five more minutes.”

pope stares at her for a second and then, without another word, he bends down and slides one arm behind her knees, the other around her back.

she lets out a sleepy noise immediately, eyes opening wider. “andrew—”

“shh.”

like that explains everything.

she melts against him almost instantly even though she doesn’t care that she’s getting burnt. the sun just feels so good.

she’s warm to the touch from the sun as he carries her across the patio toward the house like she weighs nothing.

“i can walk,” she mumbles weakly against his warm shoulder.

“you’re half asleep.”

“c’mon baby.”

he ignores her plea.

inside, the air conditioning hits her skin coolly and she sighs into his chest, fingers curling lazily into the front of his shirt.

pope glances down at her and sighs at his view— her breasts are perfectly perked beneath the cotton as she breaths in and out in his muscled arms.

“sun’s too hot for you.”

the way he says it makes her smile sleepily and caress his chest with her index finger.