⋆｡🦈 ˚.⋆ Summary: You went to the SAP Center to watch another Sharks game. During warm-ups, you expected to see Will Smith completely focused on the ice. What you didn't expect was that, between laps, his gaze would start searching for yours. And that a simple puck tossed over the glass could carry much more meaning than it should.
⋆｡🦈 ˚.⋆ The ice reflected the white lights as the players took their warm-up laps. The sound of skates scratched the surface, mingling with the echo of the crowd's lively chatter. You were leaning against the glass, your hands tucked inside the oversized sleeves of a jersey that seemed a bit too big for you, your fingertips brushing the cold glass. You hadn't planned on being so close to the rink, but from there, the view of the game made your heart race in a different way.
In the center of the rink, Will seemed to be in a world of his own, moving with that confidence as he alternated between rapid shots and playing around with his stick. But as the minutes ticked by, that concentration began to waver.
He rounded the curve at the back of the rink, and for a second, his visor tilted in your direction. At first, you thought it was just the reflection of the game, but on the third lap, he held your gaze for a split second longer. You felt those butterflies in your stomach, among the thousands of people there, he had chosen to focus all his attention exactly on you. There was a spark of curiosity there, a genuine interest that made your face flush. He seemed to have noticed the way you huddled into your oversized jersey, watching him with admiration.
The horn blared, signaling the end of the warm-up, and the organized chaos of players moving toward the tunnel. Will, however, slowed down, letting his teammates pass ahead. He came to a smooth stop right in front of you, his chest rising and falling under his pads, his breath forming small clouds of vapor in the cold air that fogged the glass. Sweat trickled down his temples, his cheeks were flushed from the cold and the exertion, and that spark in his eyes seemed to blend charm and audacity.
He scooped the puck off the ice and held it against the glass, right at the level of your hands tucked inside your jersey. He didn’t hand it over immediately: he waited for you to look up. His smile was wide and genuine, making your heart skip a beat. Will leaned in a bit closer, almost touching his helmet to the glass to close the distance between you. "For you." he said, almost imperceptibly, followed by a light sigh and a shake of his head, looking secretly pleased that he’d managed to get your attention.
When you took it, the weight of the puck in your hand felt cold and solid against your warm skin, contrasting with the chill of the arena. Your fingers trembled as you closed them around the object. "Thank you!" you said, your voice nearly fading into the noise of the crowd. Will didn’t just move on. He bit his lower lip, a distractedly charming gesture, and gave you a short nod with his glove. As he spun on his skates to head toward the tunnel, he looked back over his shoulder one last time, making sure you were still there with his puck in your hands.
That last glance over his shoulder implied that his true victory today wouldn't be reflected on the scoreboard, but in the moment he could find you again without the glass between you.
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Summary: Valentine’s Day was supposed to be different this year.
You had the outfit, the plans, the hope that maybe just once your boyfriend would choose you.
Instead, you’re left sitting alone in the warm Caribbean night, phone in hand, watching him live a life that doesn’t include you. A quick stop at a bodega turns into an unexpected conversation with a stranger who listens instead of excuses, who sees you instead of forgetting you.
Sometimes love doesn’t come in roses and reservations.
Sometimes it comes in the form of someone who stays.
Warnings: 18+ content,mdi ( minors do not interact) Smut, Hurt/comfort,
Sexual tension, P in V , Unprotected sex( wrap before you tap) , Exhibitionism, Oral sex ( F receiving), Emotional neglect,Disappointment, Loneliness ,Light angst, Hurt/comfort, Unhealthy relationship dynamics.
Word Count:
~2.12k
🍒 A/n: Hi loves. This is a Valentine’s Day hurt/comfort piece with a little heat and a lot of feelings.
——-
He Didn’t Show Up. Someone Else Did.
The humid Caribbean breeze carried the faint scent of salt and blooming jasmine through the open balcony doors of your San Juan apartment. Valentine’s Day had dawned with promise pink skies over the ocean, the kind that made you believe in second chances. You’d spent the afternoon perfecting your look, standing in front of the full-length mirror in your bedroom, appreciating the way your light skin glowed under the soft afternoon light filtering through the sheer curtains. Your heritage whispered through your features: full lips that curved into a natural pout, high cheekbones that caught the shadows just right, and those thick, bouncy curls that framed your face like a crown. As a plus sized woman, you carried your curves with confidence wide hips that swayed when you walked, a soft belly that spoke of real life and real beauty, and thighs that rubbed together in the most comforting way. Stretch marks traced silvery paths across your hips and breasts, like delicate lightning on your warm, light brown skin, badges of the body you'd grown into and loved fiercely.
You’d chosen a sleek black dress for tonight, one that hugged every inch of your voluptuous form. The fabric was stretchy and forgiving, clinging to the swell of your breasts, cinching at your waist to accentuate the flare of your hips, and ending mid-thigh to show off legs that could command a room. It was off-the-shoulder, exposing the smooth expanse of your collarbone and the gentle roll of your shoulders. Underneath, a lacy black bra and matching panties cradled your full figure, the kind that made you feel sexy even on off days. Your curls were pinned up in an elegant updo, a few tendrils escaping to brush your neck, and you’d slipped on strappy gold sandals that added a few inches to your height without sacrificing comfort. Jasmine perfume dotted your wrists and the hollow of your throat the scent he once said drove him wild. Dinner reservations at that cliffside spot in Old San Juan, where the waves crashed below like applause. This year, you told yourself, he’d show. He’d choose you over whatever pulled him away last time work, friends, the endless excuses.
But as the clock ticked past 8 PM, your phone stayed silent. No texts, no calls. You refreshed his socials out of habit, and there it was: a story from some club in Condado, him grinning with a bottle in hand, surrounded by people who weren’t you. The caption? “Vibes only.” Your chest tightened, that familiar ache blooming like a bruise across your soft curves. You typed out a message Where are you? and hit send. Dots appeared, then vanished. Nothing.
Tears pricked your eyes, but you blinked them back, careful not to smudge the winged liner that sharpened your almond shaped eyes a nod to the Black roots that gave them their depth and expressiveness. Not tonight. You grabbed your purse, a small black clutch that matched your dress, and slipped on a light cardigan to ward off the evening chill, though the night was anything but cold. Needing air, needing to move before the walls closed in, you stepped out. The streets of San Juan pulsed with life even at this hour couples strolling hand-in-hand, laughter spilling from open bars, reggaeton beats thumping from passing cars. Your dress swished against your thick thighs as you walked aimlessly, the warmth of the night wrapping around your plus-sized frame like a reluctant embrace, until your throat burned for something cold. A bodega glowed ahead, its neon sign flickering invitingly.
Inside, the air was cooler, stocked with shelves of plantains, sodas, and those little packets of tropical candy. You headed for the cooler, your hips brushing a display as you reached for a bottle of Medalla, when a voice broke the quiet hum of the fridge.
“Rough night?”
You turned, and there he was leaning against a rack of chips, a baseball cap pulled low over his eyes, but you’d know that face anywhere. Benito Antonio Martínez Ocasio. Bad Bunny. In the flesh, right here in this hole-in-the-wall store like it was no big deal. He was dressed down in a loose tank that showed off the tattoos snaking up his arms, baggy shorts, and those signature shades even indoors. His presence filled the space, magnetic and unassuming all at once.
You froze, bottle halfway to your lips, your full lips parting in surprise. “Uh, yeah. Something like that.” Your voice came out steadier than you felt, but your heart raced beneath the soft swell of your chest. Was this real? Or just the universe’s cruel joke on a lonely Valentine’s?
He chuckled, low and warm, grabbing a six-pack for himself. “Valentine’s sucks sometimes. Mi gente acts like it’s the end of the world if plans fall through.” His Spanish lilt wrapped around the words, easy and inviting. He nodded toward the counter. “Come on, let me get that for you. Stranger tax.”
You hesitated, but the kindness in his eyes—dark, searching—pulled you in, making your light skin flush with a warmth that spread to your cheeks. “Thanks. I’m... just trying not to think about it.”
The cashier rang you up without a second glance, and as you stepped back into the night, he fell into step beside you. Your cardigan slipped off one shoulder, revealing more of the dress's cling to your curves, and he glanced appreciatively but respectfully. “Walk with me? The beach is close. Better than pacing alone.”
You should’ve said no. Should’ve gone home, curled up with a rom-com and pretended it didn’t hurt. But his energy was a balm, steady where your boyfriend’s was chaos. So you nodded, and the two of you wandered toward the shore, the city lights fading behind you. The sand was still warm underfoot, your sandals sinking slightly as you sat on a weathered bench overlooking the water, your dress riding up just enough to expose the stretch marks on your thighs like subtle invitations.
He cracked open a beer and handed it over, his fingers brushing yours electric, but not pushy. “Wanna talk about it? Or nah?”
The words tumbled out before you could stop them. The plans, the dress, the endless waiting. How your boyfriend always promised more but delivered excuses—late nights at the studio, “bro time” that stretched into dawns. How you felt invisible, like your love was a placeholder until something better came along, your plus-sized body and all its beautiful imperfections overlooked. “It’s stupid,” you finished, staring at the foam in your bottle, your curls loosening slightly in the breeze. “Valentine’s is just a day, right? But it hurts. Like, really hurts.”
Benito listened, really listened no interruptions, no platitudes. His knee bumped yours lightly, a grounding touch against your soft thigh. “Nah, it’s not stupid. That shit builds up. Emotional neglect, they call it? Like you’re pouring into a cup with a hole in it. And he’s out there living like you don’t exist? That’s on him, mami. Not you. And look at you you’re stunning, every curve, every mark on that gorgeous skin.”
His words hit deep, cracking open the loneliness you’d buried. Tears slipped free this time, hot on your light cheeks, tracing paths that highlighted the subtle warmth of your undertone, a blend of sun-kissed light skin with the rich depth of Black ancestry in your features. He didn’t flinch. Instead, he shifted closer, his arm draping over the back of the bench, not quite touching but offering shelter. “Hey, you’re worth more than that. Someone who sees you, who stays. Those stretch marks? They’re like stories on your body, beautiful ones.”
The air between you thickened, charged with the salt and his cologne something earthy, like sandalwood mixed with sea. You turned to him, your faces inches apart, and in his eyes, you saw it: not pity, but hunger. For connection, for you. “Why are you being so nice to me?” you whispered, your full lips trembling slightly.
“Because you deserve it,” he murmured, his breath warm against your skin. “And because tonight, I’m choosing to be here, mi reina.”
His hand cupped your cheek, thumb tracing the curve of your jaw, and you leaned in, lips meeting his in a kiss that started soft tentative, tasting of beer and unspoken need. But the hurt in your chest fueled it, turning gentle into desperate. You kissed him like you were claiming something back, your fingers tangling in his shirt, pulling him closer, your soft belly pressing against him.
He groaned into your mouth, the sound vibrating through you, and his free hand slid to your waist, bunching the fabric of your dress over your hips. “You sure?” he asked, pulling back just enough to search your eyes, his gaze lingering on the way your light skin flushed.
“Yes,” you breathed, the loneliness twisting into something hotter, needier. “Please.”
That was all he needed. Benito stood, tugging you up with him, and led you down the beach a ways, away from the distant lights, to a secluded stretch where the palms curved like a natural alcove. The moon hung low, casting silver on the waves, and the sand felt like silk under your feet as you kicked off your sandals. He pressed you against a smooth palm trunk, his body pinning yours—solid, warm, alive. His mouth claimed your neck, lips sucking gently at first, then harder, marking the light skin that your boyfriend had ignored for too long, right above the faint stretch marks peeking from your dress's neckline.
You gasped, arching into him, your hands roaming his back, feeling the flex of muscles under ink, your full breasts heaving with each breath. “ mami, you taste divine ,” he whispered, nipping at your earlobe, his voice gravelly with that Puerto Rican fire. “Gonna make you forget all about that pendejo. Love how this dress hugs you, mami shows off every perfect curve.”
“Promise?” you teased back, your fingers slipping under his tank to trace the ridges of his abs, your own body responding with a heat that made your thighs clench.
He laughed softly, a rumble in his chest. “Oh, I promise, pretty girl . Spread those legs for me.”
You did, hiking your dress up as he dropped to his knees in the sand. The grains shifted cool against your skin as he hooked his fingers into your lacy panties and tugged them down, exposing your pussy to the night air, the stretch marks on your hips glowing faintly in the moonlight. He looked up at you, eyes dark with lust. “Fuck, look at you. So pretty and wet for me already.That skin... light and smooth, with those hints of fire underneath.”
Before you could respond, his mouth was on you tongue flat and broad, licking a slow stripe up your folds. You moaned, loud and unfiltered, your hands flying to the sand beside you, fingers digging in for purchase as he devoured you. He sucked your clit between his lips, flicking it with the tip of his tongue, then delved deeper, thrusting inside you like he was fucking you with his mouth. The wet sounds mixed with the waves, obscene and perfect, his hands gripping your thick thighs, thumbs tracing the silvery lines there appreciatively.
“Benito oh shit,” you whimpered, hips bucking against his face, your curls tumbling fully loose now, wild and framing your face. He reached up, grabbing a fistful of them, tugging just hard enough to arch your back, exposing more of your light skin to the night.
“That’s it, mami,” he growled against your core, the vibration sending sparks through you. “Grab that sand like you’re holding on for life. I’m gonna eat this pussy till you scream. You’re so soft, so real love these marks, like art on you.”
He did, relentless lapping at your entrance, circling your clit, his free hand gripping your thigh to hold you open, fingers pressing into the plush flesh. Pleasure coiled tight in your belly, your body trembling as you clawed deeper into the beach, sand caking your palms, your plus-sized frame quivering with building ecstasy.
“Feels so good , your tongue, fuck, right there!”
Just as you teetered on the edge, voices drifted from the path laughter, footsteps crunching shells. A group of late night strollers, probably tourists, heading your way. Panic and thrill mixed in your veins, your heart pounding against your full chest. “Wait someone’s coming!” you hissed, trying to pull back, your dress still bunched around your waist.
Benito didn’t stop. He sucked harder, eyes locked on yours with a wicked grin. “Let ’em hear how good I make you feel. Come on my face, quick.” His words were a dare, muffled but commanding, his grip on your curls tightening playfully.
The footsteps grew closer, a woman’s voice calling out about the stars. You bit your lip, but the orgasm hit anyway crashing through you like a rogue wave. Your pussy clenched, juices flooding his mouth as you shuddered, a muffled cry escaping despite your efforts. Sand flew from your grip as your body convulsed, waves of pleasure rippling through your curves.
The voices paused, then moved on, the group none the wiser. Benito licked you clean, slow and thorough, before rising with a smug wipe of his mouth. “See? Almost caught, but worth it. You taste like heaven, by the way. And damn, those thighs could stay between them all night.”
You laughed breathlessly, still buzzing, adjusting your dress over your stretch-marked hips. “You’re insane.”
“Insanely into you,” he shot back, pulling you into another kiss. You tasted yourself on his lips, salty and sweet, your light skin tingling from his touch.
But he wasn’t done. His hands roamed lower, shoving his shorts down to free his cock thick and hard, curving up with a bead of pre-cum at the tip. You stroked him, feeling the heat pulse in your palm, your soft hand contrasting his firmness. “Want you inside me,” you murmured, guiding him, your body aching for more.
He spun you around gently, bending you over against the palm, your hands bracing on the bark, dress hiked up to reveal the full glory of your ass and the silvery trails across it. “Gonna fuck you just like this, out here where anyone could see. You’re perfect, every inch.” His tip nudged your entrance, slick from his mouth. With a slow push, he sank in, inch by inch, stretching you wide, filling the softness of your plus-sized form.
“Fuck, so tight,” he groaned, bottoming out. You both stilled, savoring the fullness, the connection, his hands caressing your hips, thumbs brushing the stretch marks like treasures.
Then he started moving deep, steady thrusts that had you pushing back to meet him, your curves jiggling with each impact. His hand found your curls again, wrapping them around his fist like reins, pulling your head back just enough to expose your throat. “Look at you, taking my dick so well. You love it, don’t you? Being my dirty little secret on this beach, all that beautiful light skin glowing for me.”
“Yes harder, please,” you begged, the words tumbling out amid gasps, your body alive with sensation.
He obliged, pounding into you, the slap of his hips against your ass echoing softly. Sweat beaded on your skin, mixing with the sand, tracing down your back. Leaning in, he hovered over your shoulder, lips brushing your ear. “Open up,” he commanded, voice husky.
You parted your full lips, and he spat into your mouthhot, intimate, claiming. You swallowed, the act sending a fresh wave of heat through you, making your pussy clench around him. “That’s it ,” he praised, thrusting deeper. “Now come with me, mi amor.”
The rhythm built, frantic now, his grip on your hair tightening as he chased release. Your walls fluttered around him, the coil snapping again. You came with a whine, clenching hard, and he followed pulling out at the last second to spill across your ass, hot ropes painting your light skin and the stretch marks there.
Panting, he released your curls, spinning you for a lazy kiss, his hands gentle on your waist. “Damn, that was fire. You okay, mami? Felt amazing holding all of you.”
You grinned, adjusting your dress, feeling alive in a way you hadn’t in months, your body humming with satisfaction. “Understatement.”
He tucked himself away, then glanced toward the city lights. “Still early. I know a spot a little club in Condado. Low-key, good music. Wanna keep this night going? Can’t let a queen like you go home yet.”
“Why not?” you said, linking your arm with his, your cardigan draped over your shoulders now. The walk back was easy, filled with light banter about bad Valentine’s stories and his latest track ideas, his arm around your plush waist. Laughter bubbled up, warm and unexpected, easing the last remnants of ache.
The club was tucked down a side street, pulsing with bass that shook the ground. No velvet ropes, just a bouncer who nodded at Benito like an old friend. Inside, it was a swirl of bodies—sweaty dancers, colorful drinks, reggaeton blasting from hidden speakers. He pulled you to a corner booth, away from the crowd, ordering piña coladas that arrived frothy and strong, the sweetness matching the night.
You sipped, hips swaying to the beat in your dress, his hand on your thigh under the table, warm and reassuring. “Dance with me?” he asked, that smirk lighting his face, eyes twinkling at your curves.
Before you could answer, a squeal cut through the noise. “Girl! Is that you?”
Your heart dropped. There, weaving through the throng, were your friend three of them, dressed to kill, eyes wide as they zeroed in on you and your disheveled curls. “We’ve been texting you! Thought you were home crying over that loser!”
You froze, Benito’s hand stilling on your leg, but he squeezed gently, a silent we got this. He chuckled under his breath, cap pulled lower. “Friends, huh? Play it cool, mi vida.”
They piled into the booth, chattering about their night bad dates, spilled drinks one of them eyeing your flushed light skin and the way your dress clung post beach. “Wait, who’s this? New guy already? Spill! And girl, you look... glowy. What happened to the sad solo night?”
Benito leaned back, casual as ever. “Just a friend from the bodega. Keeping her company on this wild Valentine’s.” He flashed a grin, cute and disarming. “She’s too fine to be left alone, you know?”
Your friend squinted at him. “You look familiar... like, really familiar.” She pulled out her phone, scrolling. “Hold up—wait, is that...?”
Panic hit, your pulse racing as more heads turned subtly. If she recognized him, the whole club would swarm. Benito shot you a wink, then stood smoothly. “Hey, ladies, mind if I steal her for a dance? Emergency vibes only gotta show her some moves before the night ends.”
They laughed, waving you off with teasing whoops, but as he tugged you toward the floor, your friend yelled, “He kinda looks like Bad Bunny! No way! Girl, if that’s him, you win Valentine’s!”
You stifled a giggle, his arm around your waist as you melted into the crowd, your bodies grinding to the rhythm, his hands respectful on your hips. “Close call,” he murmured into your ear, spinning you with a playful twirl that made your dress flare. “But worth it for that laugh on your face.”
“Too close,” you admitted, laughing as another fan brushed past, double-taking but getting lost in the mob, the comedic tension dissolving into shared amusement.
“We gotta bounce before they start a riot or demand autographs,” he said, guiding you to a side exit with a dramatic flourish. Outside, the night air hit cool against your warm skin, and you both cracked up full bellied, relieved laughs that echoed down the alley, your stretch marks tingling faintly from the earlier passion.
“Best Valentine’s plot twist ever,” you said, leaning into him, your head on his shoulder.
He kissed your temple softly, pulling you close. “Told you I’d choose you tonight. And hey, next time, let’s make it a date no almost caughts, just you, me, and all that beautiful light in your eyes, mi sol.”
Summary: A cockroach, Abbot Bingo, and one very inconvenient wink. As you settle into the Night Crawlers, working with Jack starts to feel less like learning his rhythm and more like falling into it. It means nothing. Probably.
Warnings: Medical setting, insect in ear, assault involving a minor, head injury/subdural hematoma, age gap, attending/resident dynamic, slow-burn attraction.
Author's Note: Jack and Reader are getting a little too good at this whole working-together thing. Also: welcome to the inner circle. Abbot Bingo is now canon
Xoxo, Del
| Chpt. 1 |
Central was already loud when you came through the double doors.
Not bad loud.
Normal loud.
Monitors chirped from somewhere down South. A transport tech maneuvered an empty stretcher around the corner. Someone called for respiratory from one of the rooms near North. At the central workstation, Shen was staring into an enormous Dunkin cup with the betrayed expression of a man who had discovered corruption at the highest level. Crus stood beside him, peeling open the wrapper of a protein bar.
You adjusted the strap of your bag higher on your shoulder as you approached. “Should I ask?”
Shen lifted the cup and shook it once. Ice rattled loudly inside. “This is a scam.”
Crus took a bite of his protein bar. “You say that every night.”
“Because every night I am victimized,” Shen replied. He pointed accusingly at the cup. “More ice means less room for coffee. They are charging me for coffee and giving me frozen water.”
You dropped your bag beneath the workstation. “Have you considered asking for less ice?”
Shen ignored the question and lifted the cup toward you. “Look at this. Half the volume is ice.”
You leaned slightly closer to inspect it. “Maybe sixty percent.”
Shen’s expression sharpened with vindication. “Thank you.”
Crus looked at you. “Don’t encourage him.”
“I believe in consumer advocacy,” you told Crus as you pulled your badge forward.
A dry voice came from the workstation beside you. “You believe in making this conversation longer.”
You turned. Jack stood at the computer in dark scrubs, one hand resting beside the keyboard, his attention split between the tracking board and the argument happening around him. You had looked for him when you walked in.
You were choosing not to examine that too closely. Instead, you glanced toward the clock mounted above Central.
Jack followed your gaze before looking back at you. “You’re late.”
You stared at him. “I’m two minutes early.”
Jack shrugged with a smirk. “Could’ve been earlier.”
You logged into the workstation beside him. “Good evening to you too, Abbot.”
Shen lifted his coffee again. “Do you see what I deal with?”
Jack’s attention shifted toward him. “You’ve spent ten minutes complaining about ice.”
Shen cradled the cup protectively against his chest. “Because less coffee is not a trivial issue.”
Jack looked back at the computer. “It is at the moment.”
Crus nodded toward Jack. “He’s got you there.”
Shen pointed at Crus. “You stay out of this.”
Crus took another bite of his protein bar. “Gladly.”
Jack reached toward the tracking board and tapped one finger against a patient listed in Central.
“Central nine,” he said.
You followed the gesture. Forty-three-year-old male. Ear pain. Possible foreign body.
You looked back at Jack. “You say the sweetest things.”
The corner of his mouth moved. “You’re welcome.”
You picked up the tablet from beside the keyboard and opened the chart. “Any idea what kind of foreign body?”
Jack leaned one hip against the workstation. “Patient says something flew at him while he was taking the trash out.”
Your thumb stopped against the screen. “Something flew at him?”
“That’s what he told triage,” Jack said.
You skimmed the note. Right ear discomfort. Sensation of movement. Unable to visualize object at triage. You looked up. Jack was watching you. Not obviously. But enough.
Your eyes narrowed. “You have a theory.”
Jack’s expression stayed neutral. “I have several.”
“That is not comforting,” you told him.
He shrugged. “It wasn’t meant to be.”
You studied his face for another second. “What do you think it is?”
Jack tipped his chin toward the hallway. “Go look.”
You stared at him. “Abbot.”
“Doctor,” Jack corrected, entirely too calmly.
Shen turned away from his coffee long enough to glance between the two of you.
You pointed the tablet at Jack. “You know something.”
Jack folded his arms loosely across his chest. “I suspect something.”
You waited. Jack waited longer.
You exhaled through your nose. “You’re enjoying this already.”
His mouth twitched again. “A little.”
You narrowed your eyes. That only made the amusement in his expression worse.
“If whatever is in his ear bites me, I’m putting your name in the incident report,” you warned him.
Jack pushed away from the workstation. “If it bites you, I’ll read the incident report.”
You turned toward Central Nine. “I hate working with you.”
Shen lifted his cup toward you in sympathy. “Godspeed.”
You looked back at him. “Thank you, Shen.”
Crus glanced toward the patient room. “Now I kind of want to know what it is.”
You kept walking and lifted the tablet slightly. “I’ll find you if I need backup.”
Jack’s voice followed you down the hall. “Central nine.”
You lifted one hand over your shoulder without turning around. You could hear Shen laugh behind you. The patient was sitting rigidly upright on the stretcher when you entered, one hand hovering near his right ear without quite touching it.
His wife stood beside him. Both of them looked miserable. That did not inspire confidence.
You gave them a small smile as you stepped inside. “Hi. I’m one of the residents working tonight.”
The patient nodded carefully. “Hi.”
You sanitized your hands as you moved toward the stool. “I hear something happened while you were taking out the trash.”
His wife made a face.
The patient closed his eyes for a second. “Something flew at me.”
You rolled the stool closer. “Did you see what it was?”
“No,” he said, shaking his head carefully. “I felt it hit the side of my head, and then I felt something go into my ear.”
You kept your expression steady. Something in his ear. Great.
“And since then?” you asked.
The patient’s mouth tightened. “It moves.”
Your entire nervous system objected. You did not. You reached for the otoscope.
His wife rubbed both palms against her arms. “He keeps saying he can hear it.”
You paused for only a fraction of a second before nodding. “Okay.”
The patient looked at you anxiously. “Is that bad?”
You pulled on a pair of gloves. “It means I should probably take a look before I answer that.”
He turned his head for you. You adjusted the light and leaned closer. For the first second, all you saw was irritated skin.
Then something shifted deeper in the canal. You stopped breathing. Tiny legs scraped against the edge of your view.
No. Absolutely not. You drew the otoscope back with what you considered an impressive amount of professional dignity.
The patient immediately searched your face. “What is it?”
You smiled. Calmly. Competently. As if you had not just seen your own personal nightmare living inside another human being.
“There is definitely an insect in there,” you told him.
His wife covered her mouth. “Oh my God.”
The patient went pale. “What kind?”
You glanced once more through the otoscope. The insect moved. You pulled back again. Your soul attempted to leave your body.
“It looks like a cockroach,” you said.
The patient made a strangled sound. His wife whispered something under her breath. You set the otoscope down and lifted both hands slightly before either of them could panic further.
“The important part is that we can get it out,” you assured them.
The patient stared at you. “That’s the important part?”
“Yes,” you said, nodding firmly. “That is absolutely the important part right now.”
His wife looked at the equipment beside you. “Does this happen a lot?”
You considered lying.
Instead, you reached for what you needed. “More often than anybody would like.”
The patient looked horrified. You decided that was enough information. You talked him through the plan before you started, keeping your voice even despite the fact that every cell in your body still objected to what you had just seen.
“I’m going to put some lidocaine into your ear first,” you explained as you gathered what you needed. “It’ll help with the discomfort, and it should stop the insect from moving before I remove it.”
The patient’s face tightened. “Please make it stop moving.”
You gave him a reassuring nod. “That is absolutely the goal.”
You instilled the lidocaine carefully and gave it time to work. When you checked again, the cockroach was still. Significantly better.
Still a cockroach. Still in an ear. But still. You worked carefully under direct visualization until you were able to grasp it and draw it free. The cockroach dropped into the basin. Dead. Entirely motionless.
You stared at it for one second. That was enough. You covered the basin with a towel.
The patient let out a breath so hard his shoulders dropped. “Is it out?”
You peeled off your gloves. “Completely.”
His wife sagged against the edge of the stretcher. “Thank God.”
You checked his ear again, making sure the canal and tympanic membrane appeared intact before reviewing what irritation to expect and providing return precautions. By the time you stepped back into the hallway, your face was perfectly composed. The door shut behind you.
You made it approximately three steps. Then you shuddered so hard your shoulders came up around your ears. Jack looked up from the workstation.
You immediately looked down at yourself. Your hands swept over the front of your scrub top. Jack’s brows lifted.
You twisted, trying to see the back of your own shoulder. “Is there one on me?”
Jack stared at you. “What?”
“A cockroach.” You brushed rapidly at one sleeve. “I feel like there’s one on me.”
Jack’s mouth twitched.
You pointed at him. “Don’t.”
“I didn’t say anything,” he replied.
Your brow furrowed. “You were about to.”
Jack shook his head. “I wasn’t.”
You narrowed your eyes. “You absolutely were.”
Jack walked closer, his expression settling into something suspiciously composed. “There is not a cockroach on you.”
You looked down at your scrub pants. “You don’t know that.”
Jack’s left eyebrow rose. “I’m looking at you.”
“That means nothing,” you told him.
His mouth tightened.
You caught it immediately. “Stop smiling.”
“I’m not smiling,” Jack said.
You frowned. “You are trying very hard not to.”
Jack gave you a long look. “You’re being dramatic.”
You stared at him.
“There was a live cockroach inside someone’s ear, Abbot,” you said.
“And now there isn’t,” Jack replied.
You shook your head. “That does not undo what I saw.”
The corner of Jack’s mouth pulled upward.
You glared at him. “This isn’t funny.”
“It’s a little funny,” he said.
You looked genuinely wounded. “You suspected.”
Jack nodded once. “I suspected an insect.”
“And you didn’t warn me?” You asked, horrified.
He tipped his head slightly. “Would it have changed anything?”
“Emotionally?” You pressed one hand against your chest. “Yes.”
Jack’s smile grew.
“You’re horrible,” you told him.
Jack tipped his chin toward you. “You handled it.”
You gave him a flat look. “That is not the point.”
He gestured back toward the room. “You removed it.”
You folded your arms. “Also not the point.”
Jack’s eyes stayed on you, amusement warm now instead of hidden. “Patient’s fine.”
“I’m not,” you said.
You shifted your weight. A stray piece of hair brushed the back of your neck. You yelped.
Actually yelped. Your whole body jerked sideways as you slapped a hand over the spot. Jack stopped.
You froze with your palm pressed to your neck. For one terrible second, neither of you moved. Jack pressed his lips together.
Your eyes narrowed. “Do not.”
His shoulders moved once.
“Abbot,” you warned.
Jack looked away. That was worse.
Your mouth fell open. “Are you laughing at me?”
“No,” he said, his voice suspiciously tight.
You pointed at him. “You are.”
Jack shook his head, still fighting the smile. “I’m not.”
You stared at him in disbelief. “You can barely speak.”
Jack looked back at you. His face was mostly composed. His eyes were not. Neither was the corner of his mouth.
You stared at him. “I hate you.”
That did it. A laugh escaped him before he could stop it. Low and warm and completely unguarded.
Jack dropped his gaze for a second, one hand settling against his hip as another quiet laugh slipped free. You stared at him. Your annoyance remained. Mostly.
But underneath it was the unexpected realization that you had never heard him laugh like that before. You had made him laugh like that. That thought felt strangely good.
Jack finally looked back at you, still smiling. “You done?”
You straightened. “No.”
His smile deepened. “You sure?”
You straightened. “I’m considering filing a formal complaint.”
Jack’s brows lifted. “For laughing?”
You gave him a pointed look. “For emotional damages.”
Jack nodded thoughtfully. “Good luck with that.”
You started back toward Central beside him. “I still hate you.”
Jack glanced at you. His smile softened at the edges.
“No, you don’t,” he said.
Your step faltered. Just slightly. Jack kept walking like he had not said anything at all.
You followed him toward the workstation. And irritatingly, impossibly, you were smiling too. The emergency department did what it always did after allowing you approximately thirty seconds to enjoy anything.
It moved on. Central six needed discharge instructions. A patient in North wanted to know for the fourth time when radiology was coming. Someone in South had vomited on the floor despite having an emesis bag directly in his hand, and Shen spent several minutes insisting that this represented a personal betrayal. By the time you made it back to the central workstation, the phantom sensation of tiny legs crawling across your skin had mostly faded.
Mostly. You were finishing a note when a piece of hair shifted against your cheek. Your hand came up automatically.
Across the workstation, Jack looked up. You caught him. His mouth twitched.
You pointed at him without taking your other hand away from your hair. “Not a word.”
Jack lowered his gaze to his computer. “Wasn’t going to say anything.”
“You were thinking it.”
He clicked into another chart. “Can’t prove that.”
You dropped your hand. “Your face gives you away.”
Jack glanced toward you. “Does it?”
“Constantly,” you told him.
His expression suggested he disagreed. You smiled to yourself and went back to your note. A few minutes later, your name appeared beside a new patient in North.
Thirty-eight-year-old woman. Nausea. Epigastric pain. Dizziness. You opened the chart. Her vitals were reassuring. No fever. No significant medical history beyond hypertension. Triage described intermittent upper abdominal discomfort since that afternoon, nausea, and one episode of vomiting.
Nothing immediately alarming. Nothing particularly specific either. You pushed away from the workstation and headed toward North.
The patient was sitting upright when you entered, one hand pressed below her sternum.
You introduced yourself before moving to the computer mounted beside the bed. “Tell me what’s been going on.”
The woman shifted against the pillow. “I started feeling sick after lunch. I thought maybe I ate something bad.”
You glanced toward her. “What did you have?”
She made a face. “A cheeseburger.”
You nodded once. “A respectable suspect.”
The woman laughed weakly. “That’s what I thought.”
You moved closer to the stretcher. “And the pain started around then?”
She shook her head. “Maybe an hour later. It’s not terrible. Just uncomfortable.”
You asked her to show you where. Her hand settled over the upper middle portion of her abdomen, drifting slightly toward the right. You worked through the rest of the history.
No diarrhea. No fever. No urinary symptoms. No prior gallbladder problems. No significant shortness of breath. But when you asked about the dizziness, she hesitated.
“It’s more like I get kind of lightheaded,” she explained.
You nodded. “When you stand?”
“Sometimes,” she said. “But I felt it sitting down earlier too.”
That made you pause. You kept going. The discomfort had come and gone. She described it as pressure more than sharp pain. She had noticed some sweating earlier, but she had blamed that on feeling nauseated.
You finished the exam and stepped back. Gallbladder was possible. Gastritis was possible.
Reflux was possible. So were several other things. And there was one possibility sitting farther down your differential that you disliked enough not to ignore.
You thanked the patient and stepped back into the hallway. Jack was coming out of another room farther down North. His eyes found you almost immediately.
“There you are,” he said as he approached.
The words caught your attention more than they should have.
You tucked the tablet against your side. “Were you looking for me?”
Jack stopped beside you. “Yes.”
You had expected a denial. Something dry. Instead, he simply said it.
You blinked once. Jack seemed entirely unaware that there had been anything unusual about his answer.
He nodded toward the room behind you. “What do you have?”
You fell into step beside him as you headed toward Central. “Thirty-eight. Epigastric discomfort, nausea, one episode of vomiting, intermittent lightheadedness. Started this afternoon.”
Jack glanced toward you. “Tender?”
“Mild epigastric and right upper quadrant,” you said. “No guarding. No rebound. Murphy’s isn’t convincing.”
He nodded once. “Gallbladder?”
You tipped your hand from side to side. “Maybe.”
Jack looked at you. You knew that look. You had started to know several of them, apparently.
You narrowed your eyes. “You don’t think it’s gallbladder.”
Jack leaned one hip against the workstation. “I didn’t say that.”
You narrowed your eyes. “Your face did.”
His brows lifted. “My face?”
“Very opinionated,” you said.
Jack studied you for a beat. “You’re reading a lot into my face.”
“I’m reading exactly enough,” you replied.
His mouth twitched. “That sounds scientific.”
“It is,” you said.
Jack gestured toward the tablet in your hand. “What else?”
You glanced down at the chart. “Gastritis. Reflux. Pancreatitis, although I don’t love it. Gallbladder disease is still on the list.”
Jack waited. You looked up at him. He kept waiting.
You sighed. “And cardiac.”
“There it is,” Jack said.
You gave him a look. “I was getting there.”
“I didn’t say you weren’t,” he replied.
Your eyes narrowed. “You were thinking it.”
Jack folded his arms. “You’re doing the face thing again.”
“Because I’m right,” you said.
From the opposite side of the workstation, Shen slowly looked up from his computer. His gaze moved from you to Jack and back again.
“Are you two arguing?” Shen asked.
You shook your head. “No.”
“Yes,” Jack said at the same time.
You turned toward him. “We are not arguing.”
“You’re disagreeing with me,” Jack pointed out.
“Disagreement is not automatically an argument,” you said.
Crus glanced over from the other side of the workstation. “It kind of sounds like an argument.”
You pointed the tablet toward him. “You stay out of this.”
Crus lifted both hands. “See? Now it feels like an argument.”
Shen leaned back in his chair. “I’m still unclear on what the argument is.”
Jack tipped his chin toward you. “She thinks gallbladder.”
“I said gallbladder was one possibility,” you corrected.
“You led with it,” Jack said.
You tapped the tablet with one finger. “Because she has right upper quadrant tenderness.”
Shen looked toward Jack. “And you think?”
Jack gestured toward you. “Ask her.”
You stared at him. He was enjoying this. Again.
You looked back at Shen. “I think we get the EKG before we decide her stomach is the problem.”
Shen nodded. “So you agree.”
“Thank you,” you said, pointing toward him.
Jack shook his head. “That wasn’t the argument.”
Crus leaned one forearm against the counter. “I’m starting to think there was never an argument.”
“There was,” Jack said.
You looked at him. “There was not.”
Shen’s gaze moved between the two of you again before he turned back to his computer. “Whatever this is, I don’t want to be involved anymore.”
Crus returned to his own work. “That makes two of us.”
You looked back at Jack. “EKG.”
“EKG,” Jack agreed.
You smiled. “So we agree.”
“For now,” Jack said.
The EKG tech was already in the room when you returned. Your patient now looked more annoyed than frightened, which you took as a good sign. She lay back against the stretcher while the last leads were adjusted across her chest, one hand resting loosely over her upper abdomen.
You stepped beside the bed. “We’re just checking your heart while we sort out everything else.”
The woman glanced down at the leads. “Because of the dizziness?”
You nodded. “The dizziness, the nausea, the pressure you described. Sometimes cardiac symptoms don’t show up the way people expect.”
Her expression tightened. “You think I’m having a heart attack?”
“I think there are enough possibilities that I don’t want to assume,” you said. “This is one of the quick things we can check.”
She seemed to accept that. A minute later, the machine finished printing. The tech handed you the tracing, and you stepped into the hall.
You were halfway back to Central when you slowed. The EKG was not dramatic. It was not catastrophic. It was also not something you wanted to dismiss. Jack looked up when you stopped beside the workstation.
His gaze dropped to the tracing in your hand. “What?”
You held it out toward him. “Well.”
Jack took the EKG.
You folded your arms. “I officially like gallbladder less.”
His eyes moved over the tracing.
Jack tapped one section with his finger. “Yeah.”
You leaned slightly closer. “Subtle.”
“But there,” he said.
You nodded. “I want troponins.”
Jack handed the tracing back. “Good.”
There it was. One word. Simple. Quiet. Still enough to feel good. You turned toward the computer and started placing the orders.
Jack stayed beside you.
You glanced at him. “You can say it.”
His brows pulled together. “Say what?”
You clicked through the lab orders. “That your extremely opinionated face was right.”
Jack looked at you. “My face doesn’t say anything.”
“You are very committed to that position,” you said.
His mouth twitched. “And yet?”
You submitted the orders. “And yet, apparently, it has excellent diagnostic instincts.”
Jack folded his arms. “Good to know.”
You gave him a warning look. “Don’t get smug.”
“I’m not smug,” he said.
You pointed toward him. “That. Right there.”
Jack’s brows lifted. “What?”
“The face,” you said.
His mouth pulled faintly at one corner. Almost. You caught it.
Something pleased curled quietly in your chest. There. Almost. You immediately decided not to examine why you had apparently started keeping score.
Instead, you tucked the EKG beneath the tablet. “Enjoy being right while it lasts.”
Jack’s brows lifted. “I usually do.”
You stared at him. “That confidence is upsetting.”
His mouth twitched. “You’ll adjust.”
You started toward North. “I hope not.”
The first troponin result came less than an hour later. Elevated. Not dramatically. Enough to matter. You pulled up the result and turned the screen slightly toward Jack.
He stepped closer.
You tapped the result. “There.”
Jack read it. “Call cardiology.”
You nodded. “Already paged.”
His gaze shifted toward you.
You lifted one shoulder. “Your face told me you were going to say that too.”
Jack stared at you. You waited. His mouth twitched. You smiled.
Jack shook his head and turned back toward his computer. “You’re becoming a problem.”
“I thought I already was one,” you said.
“You’re becoming a different problem,” Jack replied.
Your fingers paused against the edge of the workstation. You looked at him. Jack was already back in the chart.
Naturally.
You leaned one hip against the counter. “Should I be concerned?”
Jack glanced sideways at you. “Probably.”
You smiled. “Good.”
For half a second, his eyes stayed on yours. Then Lena appeared at the end of the workstation. The expression on her face wiped the smile from yours.
Lena nodded toward North. “Seventeen-year-old in twelve. Assault at a party.”
You straightened. “Stable?”
“For now,” Lena said. “Awake, talking, vitals are okay.”
You tucked the tablet beneath your arm. “What happened?”
Lena fell into step beside you as you started toward North. “Sounds like she got shoved or hit. Went down and struck her head. Dad brought her in.”
You glanced toward room twelve. “Loss of consciousness?”
“Unclear,” Lena replied. “That’s part of why I’m sending you in.”
You looked at her. “What else?”
Lena’s mouth tightened. “I don’t know.”
That made you slow.
She looked toward the room. “I just don’t like how she looks.”
You nodded once. That was enough. You changed direction toward North Seven. North Seven was quieter than the rest of the department.
The girl on the stretcher looked younger than seventeen. Maybe it was the oversized sweatshirt swallowing her hands. Maybe it was the way she sat slightly folded into herself, one knee drawn up beneath the blanket. A red mark had started to darken along one side of her forehead. Her father stood near the foot of the bed with his arms crossed.
He looked tired. And angry. Not at her, necessarily. At the night. At the hospital. At whoever had put his daughter here.
You sanitized your hands as you stepped inside. “Hi. I’m one of the residents working tonight.”
The girl looked toward you. “Hi.”
Her father straightened. “How long is this going to take?”
You glanced toward him. “I’m going to examine her first, then I can give you a better idea.”
He nodded, though not happily.
You pulled the stool closer to the stretcher and looked back at the girl. “Can you tell me what happened tonight?”
She picked at the cuff of her sweatshirt. “I was at a party.”
You waited.
The girl swallowed. “There was this girl there. We got into it.”
Her father let out a breath through his nose. “She got into a fight.”
The girl’s jaw tightened.
You kept your attention on her. “What happened during the fight?”
“She shoved me,” the girl said. “I think.”
You caught the hesitation. “You think?”
The girl looked toward her father.
He answered for her. “One of her friends said she got shoved and fell backward.”
You looked back at the girl. “Do you remember falling?”
Her eyebrows drew together.
“I remember arguing,” she said slowly. “And then I remember being on the ground.”
You leaned forward slightly. “Do you remember hitting your head?”
She shook her head. “No.”
Her father shifted at the end of the stretcher. “She’d been drinking.”
The girl looked irritated. “I had two drinks.”
“You’re seventeen,” her father said.
You held up one hand before the argument could build. “We can come back to that part.”
The girl looked at you.
You gave her a small nod. “Right now I just need to know what you remember.”
She relaxed a fraction. You continued through the history. Headache. Nausea. One episode of vomiting in the car. No seizure. No known medical problems. No blood thinners. The headache had gotten worse since the party.
That mattered.
You stood and moved closer. “I’m going to check your eyes and do a quick neurologic exam.”
The girl nodded. “Okay.”
You checked her pupils. Equal. Reactive. You had her follow your finger. No obvious gaze abnormality. You tested strength. Sensation. Coordination. Nothing dramatic. Nothing that screamed emergency.
And still— Something bothered you. You stepped back. The girl rubbed one hand against her forehead. You watched her.
“Has the headache changed since you got here?” you asked.
She took a second too long to answer.
“I don’t know,” she said.
Her father sighed. “She’s exhausted.”
You looked at the girl. “Do you feel exhausted?”
She blinked at you. Then nodded. “Yeah.”
You waited another second. “How about dizzy?” you asked.
“A little,” she said.
“When you stand?”
She frowned. “Sometimes.”
You glanced at the monitor. Vitals still reassuring. You looked back at her.
“Can you tell me what month it is?” you asked.
The girl gave you a confused look. “August.”
You nodded. “And where are we?”
“PTMC,” she answered.
You smiled slightly. “Good. And who’s president?”
Her father looked annoyed now. “She knows where she is.”
You kept your voice even. “I’m checking a few things.”
The girl answered correctly. You moved on. But when you asked her to repeat three words back to you a few minutes later, she missed one.
Not dramatic. Not definitive. Just enough to add to the growing discomfort in your gut.
Her father shifted again. “She’s been up all day. She drank. She got into a fight. Of course she’s tired.”
You looked at him. “That may be all this is.”
He seemed to latch onto that. “Exactly.”
You held his gaze. “But I don’t want to assume that.”
His mouth tightened.
You turned back toward the girl. “Did anybody tell you if you passed out?”
She shook her head. “I don’t know.”
Her father answered instead. “Her friends said she got up.”
You looked at him. “Right away?”
He hesitated. “I think so,” he said.
You looked back at the girl. “Do you remember getting up?”
She stared at you. Then her expression changed. Not fear exactly. Recognition.
“No,” she said quietly.
You nodded once. There it was. You finished the exam without rushing. Then you stepped toward the door.
“I’m going to talk with my attending,” you told them. “I’ll be back in a few minutes.”
The girl nodded.
Her father looked toward you. “Are we talking about a concussion?”
“It’s possible,” you said. “I just want to make sure we aren’t missing anything else.”
He exhaled, but he let you go. You stepped into the hallway and pulled the door mostly closed behind you. Jack was coming down North.
His eyes found you. You didn’t have to call him over. He changed direction immediately.
“What do you have?” Jack asked when he reached you.
You glanced through the narrow window in the door before looking back at him. “Seventeen. Assault at a party. Shoved or hit, fell backward, struck her head.”
Jack nodded once. “Loss of consciousness?”
“Unknown,” you said. “She doesn’t remember the fall or getting up afterward.”
His attention sharpened. “Vomiting?”
“One episode,” you replied. “Worsening headache. Mild dizziness. Neuro exam is mostly reassuring.”
Jack caught the word. “Mostly?”
You folded your arms loosely. “She’s slow.”
He waited. You looked toward the room again.
“Not dramatically,” you continued. “She’s oriented. Strength is equal. Pupils are fine. Coordination is okay. But her responses are delayed, and she missed one on delayed recall.”
Jack watched you for a moment. “Walk me through it.”
You nodded.
“The mechanism is enough to make me cautious,” you said. “Add the memory gap, vomiting, worsening headache, and the fact that I don’t think her mental status is completely baseline.”
Jack looked through the window toward the girl.
You continued, quieter now. “I know the exam isn’t dramatic. I just don’t like it.”
He looked back at you. “Neither do I,” Jack said.
Relief came quickly. Not because you needed him to tell you what to think. Because he had listened.
Jack tipped his chin toward the room. “CT.”
You nodded. “That’s what I want.”
He gestured for you to go back in. “Then order it.”
You pushed the door open again. Her father looked up immediately.
“What’s going on?” he asked.
You moved back toward the stretcher. “I want to get a CT of her head.”
His expression hardened. “Why?”
You kept your voice calm. “Because she has a gap in her memory around the fall, she’s vomited, her headache is getting worse, and she’s a little slower to respond than I’d expect.”
“She’s tired,” her father said.
“She may be,” you replied. “But those symptoms overlap with things I don’t want to miss.”
He glanced toward Jack, who had stepped into the room behind you. You noticed it. So did Jack.
The father looked directly at him. “Do you really think she needs a scan?”
Jack didn’t step forward. He didn’t repeat your explanation. He didn’t take the case away from you. He simply looked at the man.
“She’s right,” Jack said.
The room went quiet. You looked at him. Just for a second. Jack’s attention was already back on the patient.
Her father exhaled and rubbed one hand over his face. “Okay.”
You nodded. “We’ll get it moving.”
The girl looked at you. “Am I going to be okay?”
You stepped closer to the bed. “Right now, you’re awake, you’re talking to me, and your exam is reassuring in a lot of ways.”
Her eyes stayed on yours.
You softened your voice. “The scan is how we make sure we’re not missing something that needs more attention.”
She nodded slowly. “Okay.”
You gave her a small smile. “Okay.”
Then you stepped back toward the computer to place the order. Jack moved toward the door. As he passed you, his hand paused briefly against the edge of the workstation beside your hip. Not touching you. Just close.
“Good,” he said quietly.
You looked up. Jack held your gaze for a moment. Then he stepped back into the hall.
You watched him go for half a second before returning to the order. The patient still needed you. The CT results came twenty-three minutes later.
You were at Central when the notification appeared. You opened the report. Then stopped. Small acute subdural hematoma. No significant midline shift. You read it twice anyway.
Jack came up beside you. “What?”
You turned the screen toward him. His eyes moved across the report.
You exhaled slowly. “There it is.”
Jack nodded once. “Call neurosurgery.”
You reached for the pager clipped at your waist. “Already doing it.”
His gaze shifted toward you.
You looked at him. “What?”
Jack’s mouth moved faintly at one corner. “Nothing.”
You narrowed your eyes. “Your face disagrees.”
“That again?” he asked.
“You started it,” you said.
Jack glanced back at the CT report. “Good catch.”
The teasing left you. You looked at the screen.
“It wasn’t much,” you said.
Jack’s attention returned to you. “It was enough.”
You were quiet for a second. He didn’t fill it.
You looked back toward North Seven. “I should update them.”
Jack nodded. “Go.”
You pushed away from the workstation and headed down the hall. The girl’s father stood when you entered. His expression changed the second he saw your face.
“What did it show?” he asked.
You moved closer to the bed. “The scan shows a small subdural hematoma, which means there’s a small amount of bleeding between the brain and one of the protective layers around it.”
The girl went still.
Her father stared at you. “Bleeding?”
You nodded. “It’s small, and there’s no significant pressure or shift on the scan right now. That’s reassuring.”
The girl swallowed. “Do I need surgery?”
“Not based on what we’re seeing right now,” you said. “I’ve paged neurosurgery so they can review the imaging and examine you too.”
Her father rubbed one hand over his mouth. “Jesus.”
You gave him a moment.
Then you looked back at the girl. “We’re going to keep a close eye on you, repeat neurologic checks, and make sure nothing changes.”
She nodded slowly. Her father looked at you again. Some of the defensiveness from earlier was gone now.
“I thought she was just tired,” he said.
You kept your voice gentle. “There was a lot going on tonight. The important thing is that you brought her in.”
His shoulders dropped slightly. You turned your attention back to the girl and answered the rest of her questions before stepping out. The door clicked shut behind you.
You stood there for a second. Not long. Just long enough to breathe. Then you started back toward Central. Jack was there when you returned. Of course he was. He looked up as you approached.
“You good?” he asked.
You nodded too quickly. “Yeah.”
Jack watched you. You waited for him to challenge it. He didn’t.
“Okay,” he said.
That was all. No interrogation. No lecture about taking care of yourself. Just okay.
You sat down at the workstation and opened the chart again. A bottle of water appeared beside your keyboard. You looked at it.
Then at Jack. His attention was already on another screen.
“Did you put this here?” you asked.
Jack kept typing. “Maybe.”
You picked up the bottle. “Are you monitoring my hydration now?”
“Someone has to,” he said.
You stared at him. “That is deeply invasive.”
Jack glanced toward the unopened bottle. “You haven’t had anything since you got here.”
“You don’t know that,” you said.
“I do,” he replied.
You narrowed your eyes. “That’s creepy.”
“That’s observable,” Jack said.
You held the bottle up. “Do you do this to everyone?”
Jack finally looked at you. “Only the ones who get useless when they’re dehydrated.”
Your mouth fell open. “Useless?”
His eyes dropped deliberately to the bottle. Then back to you.
“Prove me wrong,” he said.
You unscrewed the cap while glaring at him. “I liked you better when you were laughing at me.”
Jack’s mouth twitched. “No, you didn’t.”
You took a drink. He turned back toward the computer. And somehow, annoyingly, that made you feel a little better.
By the time you made it back to Central, the department had settled into one of those strange stretches of relative quiet that never lasted long enough to trust. Shen, Crus, and Ellis were gathered around the far end of the workstation. That alone was suspicious.
The fact that all three of them stopped talking when you approached made it worse.
You slowed beside your computer. “Why do I feel like I just interrupted something illegal?”
Ellis glanced at you, then made the decision for all of them. “I think she’s ready.”
You stared at her. “That sounds ominous.”
Shen pushed his chair back and reached beneath a stack of printed downtime forms beside the workstation. “You’ve been on nights long enough.”
Crus nodded solemnly. “You’ve survived us.”
Ellis folded her arms. “More importantly, you’ve survived him.”
You followed her gaze across Central. Jack was halfway down the hall, speaking with Mateo outside one of the rooms.
You looked back at them. “I’m afraid to ask.”
Shen placed a sheet of paper facedown on the counter in front of you. “Welcome to the inner circle.”
You looked at the paper. Then at Shen.
“You have an inner circle?” you asked.
Crus shrugged. “Apparently.”
Shen pointed at him. “Don’t cheapen this.”
You reached for the paper. “What exactly am I being initiated into?”
Shen grinned. “Abbot Bingo.”
You turned the page over. A five-by-five grid stared back at you. For several seconds, you said nothing.
Then you looked up. “You made bingo cards about Abbot?”
Ellis corrected you from across the workstation. “We all made our own.”
Crus pulled his from his scrub pocket. “Same basic premise. Different squares.”
You looked back down at Shen’s card.
Says “Absolutely not.”
Asks “What did you do?”
Tells someone to go home.
Says ‘Shen’ like a threat.
The center square read:
FREE SPACE: Visibly regrets choosing medicine.
A laugh escaped you.
Shen tapped the paper. “First person to get five in a row wins.”
You looked at him. “What do they win?”
“The other three each owe the winner one coffee or snack,” Ellis explained.
Your interest sharpened immediately. “Each?”
Crus nodded. “Three total.”
You looked between them. “Redeemable whenever?”
Shen pointed toward you. “See? This is why we knew she was ready.”
Ellis smiled. “Any shift. No expiration.”
You pulled an empty sheet of paper toward yourself. “Give me a pen.”
Crus handed one over. “Welcome aboard.”
Something warm caught quietly beneath your ribs. It was stupid. Completely stupid. A homemade bingo game devoted to tormenting an attending physician should not have meant anything. But Shen had said inner circle.
And apparently you were in it.
You uncapped the pen. “What are the rules?”
Shen leaned closer. “Has to happen naturally. You cannot directly provoke the square.”
Crus pointed toward him. “That rule exists because of Shen.”
You looked at Shen. “What did you do?”
Shen’s expression turned defensive. “I needed him to say ‘absolutely not.’”
Ellis shook her head. “So he asked Abbot if he could intubate someone from across the room.”
Your mouth fell open. “You did not.”
Shen lifted one shoulder. “It worked.”
Crus gave him a flat look. “And then we instituted the rule.”
You laughed and started filling in your card. A minute later, Shen leaned over your shoulder. His brow furrowed. Then he leaned closer.
“Why are yours so specific?” Shen asked.
You glanced at him. “They’re not.”
Shen pointed to the upper-left square. “Abbot raises his left eyebrow judgmentally.”
You nodded. “Yeah.”
Ellis leaned over from the other side. “Left eyebrow specifically?”
“The left one is judgment,” you explained. “Both eyebrows are disbelief.”
Silence settled around you. You looked up. All three of them were staring at you.
“What?” you asked.
Crus glanced toward Shen. “She might be better at this than we are.”
Shen looked personally threatened. “She’s been here five minutes.”
“I pay attention,” you said.
Ellis pointed farther down the card. “Abbot crosses his arms menacingly.”
You nodded. “That happens constantly.”
Crus pointed farther down your card. “Abbot winks.”
Shen looked at you. “Abbot winks?”
You nodded. “I’ve seen him do it.”
Shen’s expression turned skeptical. “When?”
You glanced toward Jack’s side of the department. “That pregnant patient who came in with the headache and blurred vision. The one who seized.”
Ellis looked up. “The HELLP case?”
You nodded. “Robby asked if Abbot had it.”
Crus frowned. “And?”
You smiled at the memory. “Abbot said, ‘Yeah, I’m good. I got it with my eyes closed.’”
Shen waited.
You lifted one finger. “Then he went, ‘But I won’t. Maybe one eye.’”
You winked. Ellis started laughing.
Crus nodded slowly. “Okay. Documented wink.”
Shen pointed at your card. “Fine. That one stays.”
A dry voice came from behind the four of you. “What are you doing?”
Everyone froze. You turned first. Jack stood a few feet away.
His gaze moved across the group crowded around the workstation. Then down to the papers. Then back up. His left eyebrow rose.
Your eyes widened. “Oh, yes.”
You immediately marked the square.
Jack’s attention snapped to you. “What?”
You held up the card. “Left eyebrow. Judgmentally.”
Crus burst out laughing.
Shen pointed accusingly at your paper. “She already got one.”
Jack looked at him. “Got one what?”
Ellis lifted her card. “Abbot Bingo.”
Jack stared at her. His expression went completely blank. You bit the inside of your cheek.
Jack looked toward Shen. “Abbot Bingo.”
Shen nodded once. “Correct.”
Jack crossed his arms over his chest. You gasped again. His eyes went directly to you.
You marked another square. “Crosses arms menacingly.”
Jack looked down at his arms. Then back at you.
“This is menacing?” he asked.
You considered him carefully. “A little.”
Crus leaned toward your card. “Does ‘a little’ qualify?”
You pulled the card away from him. “It absolutely qualifies.”
Jack looked around at the four of you. “Explain.”
Shen straightened in his chair. “We each have a card containing things you regularly say or do during a shift.”
Ellis held hers up. “First person to five in a row wins.”
Crus gestured toward the cards. “The losers each owe the winner a coffee or snack.”
Jack looked from Ellis to Crus. “You’ve been doing this during work?”
Shen shook his head. “Only during periods of appropriate clinical downtime.”
Jack stared at him.
Shen shifted slightly. “Mostly.”
Jack extended one hand toward you. “Let me see that.”
You hesitated.
His fingers curled once. “Card.”
You handed it over. “Don’t judge my methodology.”
Jack looked down at the grid. His eyes moved slowly across your squares.
Raises left eyebrow judgmentally.
Winks.
Crosses arms menacingly.
Says “Doctor” in that tone.
Points toward a room instead of telling someone to go.
One-word praise: “Good.”
Looks over his shoulder instead of turning around.
Tiny almost-smile he immediately gets rid of.
Jack stopped. Then he looked at you. You waited. His gaze dropped to the card again.
“This is disturbingly specific,” he said.
You held out your hand. “It’s accurate.”
Jack gave the card back. “That doesn’t help.”
You smiled as you took it. “I disagree.”
His mouth twitched. Your gaze dropped immediately to the corresponding square. Jack saw you look. His mouth flattened. Too late.
You marked it.
“That counts,” you said.
Jack pointed toward your card. “No.”
Shen made a strangled noise. Crus immediately checked his own card. Ellis grabbed her pen.
Jack realized his mistake.
Shen slapped the counter. “Anybody have ‘No’?”
Crus marked a square. “Got it.”
Jack closed his eyes for one long second.
Ellis laughed. “Does that count as visibly regretting choosing medicine?”
“It should,” Shen said.
Jack opened his eyes. “Nothing I do while discussing this game counts toward the game.”
You shook your head. “You can’t add rules after the game has started.”
Jack looked at you. “Apparently I can.”
“You’re not playing,” you pointed out.
His stare sharpened. You smiled sweetly.
Jack looked around the workstation at all four of you. “I hate all of you.”
Your smile widened.
You held his gaze. “No, you don’t.”
For half a second, Jack said nothing. Then his left eyebrow rose. You looked down at your card.
Shen immediately grabbed your wrist. “Absolutely not. You already used that one.”
You started laughing. “He did it again.”
Crus sided with Shen. “One occurrence per square.”
Ellis nodded. “I agree.”
You pulled your hand free. “This game is corrupt.”
Jack shook his head and started away from the workstation. Shen looked at the retreating figure, then down at his own card. His expression turned calculating.
Jack made it four steps before stopping. He turned just enough to look over his shoulder at the group. Your eyes dropped instantly to your card.
You marked another square. Jack saw you do it. His eyes narrowed.
You lifted the paper toward him. “That one was on here too.”
Jack stared at you for a long second. Then he walked away.
Shen leaned over to inspect your card. “You’re going to be a problem.”
You looked down at the growing collection of marks and smiled. Apparently, you already were. By four-thirty, Abbot Bingo had disappeared beneath actual work.
Your card was still tucked under the edge of the keyboard, one square short of a win. You had stopped thinking about it somewhere around the second trauma. Mostly because you no longer had enough functioning brain cells to think about anything that was not directly in front of you.
You were standing at Central with a cup of coffee that had gone cold an hour ago when Jack came out of Trauma Two. He looked about as tired as you felt. His gaze found yours across the workstation.
You lifted your cup slightly. “How bad?”
Jack glanced toward the tracking board. “You really want an answer?”
You looked at the wall of yellow and red. “No.”
“Smart,” he said.
You took a miserable sip of cold coffee.
Jack watched you swallow. “That’s disgusting.”
You looked down at the cup. “It’s caffeine.”
“It was caffeine,” he corrected.
You gave him a tired look. “Don’t ruin this for me.”
His mouth pulled into a small smile.
Jack lifted his own cup and tapped it lightly against yours. “Hang in there.”
You smiled. “You too.”
Someone called for him from Trauma One.
Jack started backing away. “Duty calls.”
You lifted your cup toward him. “Try not to have too much fun.”
His eyes met yours. Then he winked. Quick. Easy. That same cocky little one-eyed wink you had seen him throw at the patient during the HELLP case.
Except this one was for you. You stared after him for half a second. Beside you, Shen sucked in a sharp breath.
Your head snapped toward him.
Shen pointed at you. “The wink.”
Oh. You dropped your coffee onto the counter and grabbed for the card beneath the keyboard.
Crus looked up. “Did he just do it?”
Ellis was already laughing. “He did.”
You found the last empty square and slashed an X through it.
Then you held up the card. “Bingo.”
Shen groaned. “Unbelievable.”
Crus pointed toward Trauma One. “He handed you the win.”
You folded the card. “I didn’t ask him to.”
Ellis gave you a knowing look. “Nobody said you did.”
You tucked the card into your scrub pocket. “Three free snacks.”
Shen stared at you. “You are remarkably focused on the wrong thing.”
You picked your coffee back up. “I won. That is the thing.”
Crus shook his head. “She’s going to be unbearable.”
You smiled over the rim of your cup. “You invited me.”
By the time the board finally started thinning, the sky outside the narrow windows near the ambulance entrance had begun to lighten. Not sunrise yet. Just the first gray hint that morning was coming.
You finished your last note, signed it, and leaned back in your chair. For the first time in hours, nothing immediately needed you. The realization lasted approximately five seconds before your stomach growled.
Loudly. You looked down. Across the workstation, Shen looked up.
His eyebrows rose. “Was that you?”
You pressed one hand against your stomach. “Mind your business.”
Crus glanced over from his computer. “That sounded medically significant.”
You gave him a tired look. “I haven’t eaten an actual meal since yesterday.”
Ellis zipped her bag closed. “That explains a lot.”
You pointed at her. “You’re supposed to be on my side.”
Ellis slung the bag over her shoulder. “I am. Eat something.”
Shen stood and stretched. “I would offer to buy you something, but you already have a legally binding snack voucher from me.”
You smiled. “I’m saving that.”
His expression immediately turned wary. “For what?”
You pushed back from the workstation. “I haven’t decided yet.”
Crus shook his head. “Creating the no-expiration rule was a mistake.”
“You invited me,” you reminded him.
Ellis laughed as she started toward the hall. “And now we live with the consequences.”
The three of them began filtering out one by one, still arguing about whether your Abbot Bingo win had been assisted. You let them go ahead. Your bag had somehow migrated beneath a chair during the shift, and you crouched to retrieve it.
When you straightened, Jack was still at Central. Of course he was. He was finishing something at the computer, shoulders slightly rounded with exhaustion now that the adrenaline of the shift had worn off.
You hooked the strap of your bag over your shoulder. Your stomach growled again. Loud enough that Jack glanced over from the computer.
You closed your eyes for a second. “Don’t.”
His brows lifted. “Don’t what?”
You sighed. “You heard that.”
“I think the entire department heard that,” Jack said.
You pressed a hand over your stomach. “Traitor.”
Jack looked back at the computer. “Go eat.”
You leaned one hip against the workstation. “Any suggestions?”
He paused.
Then Jack glanced toward you. “There’s a diner two blocks east.”
You waited. Jack went back to typing.
You stared at him. “That’s all I get?”
His fingers stopped. “What else do you want?”
“A name would be helpful,” you said.
Jack glanced toward you. “The Beacon. Two blocks east.”
You nodded slowly. “Is it good?”
His expression turned thoughtful. “It’s open.”
You laughed. “Glowing review.”
Jack’s mouth twitched.
You adjusted your bag. “What do you get?”
He looked at you. You waited.
Jack seemed mildly suspicious of the question. “Why?”
“Because you’re recommending it,” you said. “I need to know whether your judgment can be trusted outside this building.”
His eyes narrowed slightly. “You trusted it all night.”
“Medically,” you corrected. “Breakfast is different.”
Jack considered that. Then he nodded once. “Pancakes.”
You stared at him.
His brows drew together. “What?”
“You eat pancakes?” you asked.
Jack gave you a look. “I do. Why is that surprising?”
You smiled. “I don’t know. They just don’t feel very Abbot.”
His mouth twitched. “You have strong opinions about me.”
You adjusted the strap of your bag. “I have strong opinions about most things.”
Jack nodded. “I noticed.”
You smiled before you could stop yourself.
Jack shook his head. “Their pancakes are decent.”
“Decent,” you repeated.
Jack looked at you. “That’s what I said.”
You started backing toward the hallway. “High praise from you.”
Jack pointed toward the exit. “Go.”
You smiled. “There it is.”
His expression flattened. “What?”
You reached into your pocket and pulled out the folded bingo card. Jack stared at it.
You grinned. “Tells someone to go home.”
“That game is over,” he said.
You tucked the card away again. “Still counts in my heart.”
Jack shook his head. “Goodnight.”
You turned toward the doors. “Goodnight, Abbot.”
You made it several steps before his voice stopped you. “Try the pancakes.”
You looked back. Jack had already turned toward the computer again. You smiled.
“I will,” you said.
Then you headed for the elevators. Working with Abbot had gotten easy. That was all.
You liked his judgment. You liked arguing with his face. You liked making him laugh.
And apparently, somewhere along the way, you had learned that he ate pancakes after bad shifts. None of that meant anything. Probably.
To celebrate may I ask for a P1h scenario where they are at the send off doing their usual stuff (Jongseob back hug😩) with the s/o, and they basically fall in love at first sight.
Yes im delulu
pairing: P1Harmony x reader
warnings: unrealistic male expectations, pure fluff eheheh
disclaimer: not my pic!
I did a mix between send off and fan sign :) Hope you don't mind!
Keeho
You had been fine all morning—totally fine, perfectly normal—until you got within five people of Keeho. Then your hands started trembling, your stomach twisted itself into a sailor’s knot, and you began rehearsing basic English like you'd never spoken it before.
By the time it was your turn, your heart was thumping so loudly you were sure he could hear it.
But the second Keeho’s eyes found you, something in you shifted. He lit up like someone had just plugged him in.
“There you are!” he said, as if he'd been looking for you all day.
You blinked. “Here I am,” you replied, matching his energy before your nerves had the chance to stop you.
His grin stretched wider. “You look too calm for someone meeting me,” he teased.
“Oh, trust me,” you shot back, leaning in just slightly, “the panic is very much internal.”
He laughed—loud, warm, delighted. “Okay, I like you already.”
Your brain short-circuited for a moment, but your mouth kept up somehow. “I try to be likable in public.”
He shook his head as he signed your album, eyes flicking up to you more than necessary. “No, but seriously, you’re funny. You’re keeping up with me. That never happens.”
Your pulse skipped, but you crossed your arms dramatically. “Are you saying people usually can’t handle you?”
“Oh, absolutely,” he said without hesitation. “I’m a lot.”
“Good thing I’m also a lot,” you said, and his expression softened like he found that unexpectedly charming.
When it came time for your selfie, Keeho adjusted his chair and leaned closer. “Is it okay if I touch you?” he asked, hand hovering hesitantly near your shoulder.
You raised a brow. “Aren’t I supposed to ask you that?”
He froze. Then burst into the brightest, cutest laugh, head thrown back. “Okay, okay, you’re right! You win this one.”
“So you admit defeat,” you said smugly.
“I admit nothing,” he said, still laughing, “but I will take a cute picture with you.”
He rested his hand lightly against your arm—gentle, careful—and the two of you leaned in. The camera clicked as you both smiled in a way that wasn’t posed at all.
When your turn ended, he passed your album back, but didn’t immediately look away.
“Thanks for making my day interesting,” he said softly—less performative, more real.
“You’re welcome,” you answered, suddenly shy again.
He didn’t move on right away. His gaze lingered on you, lingering a moment too long to be accidental.
You stepped away slowly, still smiling, and he watched you until the staff nudged him forward.
And even then, he glanced back once more—just to meet your eyes again.
Theo
You stepped forward when the staff waved you in, rehearsing a calm smile—only for it to vanish the moment Theo looked up at you.
He froze. Literally froze.
Then a soft pink flushed up his neck and into his cheeks so quickly you almost gasped.
“Hi…” he said, voice gentler than you expected, eyes widening like he hadn’t prepared for you specifically.
You blinked, unsure what to do with the sudden intensity. “Hi,” you echoed, and your voice came out warmer than planned.
Theo cleared his throat and tried—unsuccessfully—to hide his blush by focusing very hard on your album. But every couple of seconds, his gaze flicked back up to you, and each time, the blush returned like it was determined to embarrass him.
When it was time for your photo, he scooted closer, trying to act natural.
But the moment your faces neared each other, he stiffened slightly, breath catching. You felt his warmth, his shyness, the tiny tremble of someone who wasn’t expecting to be this affected.
Then he frowned—not in a bad way, just with soft concern.
“Wait… what happened here?” he murmured, lifting a finger to gesture near your cheek without touching. “Is that a bruise?”
You laughed immediately, because of course he noticed.
“Oh—yeah! I play volleyball. I got smacked in the face with a ball a few days ago.”
The relief on his face was instant… followed by a surprised spark in his eyes.
“Volleyball? Really? I love volleyball.”
You grinned. “I know.”
He blinked. “You… know?”
“I’ve watched your interviews,” you said lightly. “You talk about it a lot.”
The blush came back with a vengeance, spreading across his cheekbones. “Oh. Right. I—I guess I do.”
That made you laugh again, and Theo looked at you like it was one of his new favorite sounds.
You two talked for a short moment—about positions, favorite plays, whether you preferred spikes or blocks. Theo got unexpectedly animated, hands gesturing, eyes brightening in that understated way of his. You could feel him relaxing, settling into the conversation like it was natural. Easy.
At one point he said, “I feel like you’d be a hitter. You have that energy.”
“Oh, absolutely,” you said. “I live to intimidate people at the net.”
Theo laughed softly, a warm, breathy sound, almost shy but undeniably fond.
When your time was up, he handed your album back but didn’t pull his hand away right away.
“It was… really nice to meet you,” he said quietly, eyes dipping for a second before returning to yours.
“Really nice to meet you too,” you said.
And he smiled—small, sweet, a little bit bashful—as if he wasn’t quite ready to stop looking at you.
Jiung
You stepped toward Jiung’s table, trying to steady your breath. He was even more beautiful up close—soft eyes, sharp features, that calm, magnetic presence that always seemed to draw people in without him trying.
When he looked up at you, his expression shifted immediately.
His eyes widened just a little, and a small, almost shy smile curved onto his lips.
“Oh,” he said quietly, voice warm. “Your nose piercing… it looks really good on you.”
You touched the jewelry out of habit, smiling. “Thank you! I just got it done recently.”
Jiung nodded, gaze lingering a second longer than necessary. “It suits you a lot. Very elegant.”
“You know,” you said, leaning a little closer across the table, “your nose would also look amazing with a piercing.”
His head snapped up so fast you almost laughed.
“Me?” he asked, eyes widening further. A blush started dusting the tops of his cheeks. “I—I don’t know about that.”
“Oh, come on.” You tilted your head, studying him for a moment. “You have such a pretty face. Very… interesting. A piercing would look incredible on you.”
Jiung froze. Actually froze.
His pen hung in midair above your album, and he stared at you like you had just said something he wasn’t prepared to hear for at least the next decade.
“Pretty?” he repeated, voice pitched slightly higher. “Interesting?”
“Very,” you confirmed without hesitation. “Your features are already perfect. A piercing would just make people suffer more.”
His blush deepened instantly—soft pink blooming across sharp cheekbones, down to the tips of his ears. His eyes dropped to the table, suddenly timid in the cutest way.
“I… um…” He cleared his throat, trying to find his voice again. “You’re very pretty too.”
You blinked.
Then you froze.
For a moment, neither of you spoke.
The noise of the venue blurred into the background. All that existed was his shy smile, your tightening heartbeat, and the warm flush spreading across both of your faces.
You laughed softly—not mocking, just surprised, touched, a little breathless. “Thank you,” you said, quieter than before.
Jiung finally finished signing your album, but his movements were slower, almost hesitant, like he didn’t want to break the moment. He held the album out to you, fingers brushing yours for the briefest second.
He immediately looked down again, flustered by the tiny contact.
You felt your own cheeks burning, matching his shade perfectly.
For a long moment—longer than a send-off usually allowed—your eyes met again. No words, just an unspoken warmth passing between you, a subtle but undeniable spark.
Then the staff nudged him, and Jiung blinked himself back to reality, though he still looked adorably dazed.
“It was really… nice talking to you,” he said softly.
“You too,” you whispered.
And you walked away knowing you’d left him just as flustered as he had left you.
Intak
You stepped into Intak’s line, reminding yourself that send-offs were quick, simple, nothing to panic over.
But the moment he spotted you approaching, his entire expression lit up—bright, curious, that signature spark coming alive in his eyes.
“Hi!” he greeted, leaning forward slightly. “You look excited. Or nervous. Or both?”
You laughed. “Both is probably correct.”
He grinned, delighted. “Same. All the time.”
There was no album signing for this send-off, so it was just you, him, and a few precious seconds of real conversation.
You took a breath. “I wanted to say… your dancing is incredible. Really. I’m a ballroom dancer, and watching you move is always so inspiring.”
His reaction was immediate—shock first, then awe, then this wide, amazed smile that made your heart stumble.
“You’re a ballroom dancer?” he repeated, eyes going huge. “No way. That’s so cool.”
You shrugged, suddenly shy under the weight of his attention. “I’ve been learning for a long time.”
“That’s amazing!” He placed a hand dramatically over his chest. “I feel honored. A real dancer complimented me.”
You laughed, flustered. “Intak, you’re definitely a real dancer.”
He pointed at you with playful insistence. “Okay, but ballroom is different. Ballroom is elegant. Ballroom is classy. Ballroom is—”
“Dancing,” you finished, teasing.
He paused. “Okay, fair.”
When the staff signaled it was time for your picture, he perked up suddenly.
“Should we do a dancing pose?” he asked. “Since we both are ballroom dancers?”
Your brain short-circuited so hard you almost forgot how to speak.
“A—A dancing pose?”
“Yeah!” Intak laughed, extending a hand as if asking you to dance for real. “Only if you want to, of course.”
Your face warmed instantly. “No, I want to. Let’s do it.”
He stepped closer, placing a light hand on your waist with a gentleness that surprised you, letting you set the distance. You took his other hand, falling naturally into position.
“Ready?” he asked, a soft blush coloring his cheeks.
“Ready.”
You dipped into a quick, simple pose—nothing dramatic, just a clean ballroom frame—but the moment was full of laughter, shared nerves, and something sweeter you didn’t dare name. The camera clicked just as both of you smiled a little too shyly at each other.
When you stepped back, he exhaled a breathy laugh.
“You’re really good,” he said, voice lower, more sincere. “Honestly… you’re probably a better dancer than me.”
You felt your cheeks burn instantly. “Thank you. That means a lot.”
You tried to recover with a joke. “So… will you dance with me again next time?”
Intak’s answer was immediate, without hesitation.
“Yes. Absolutely yes.”
Then he added, softer, “I’d like that.”
And as you walked away, you could still feel the warmth of his hand in yours.
Soul
You barely had time to collect yourself before Soul spotted you in line—because the moment he did, he lit up like a sparkler. He bounced a little in his seat, waving both hands as if he’d been waiting specifically for you to reach him.
When you stepped forward, he immediately leaned in, eyes sparkling with pure excitement.
“Your outfit!” he exclaimed. “So cool!”
You laughed. “Thank you. It’s… very me, I guess.”
Then his eyes dropped to your belt, and he gasped dramatically.
“A McDonald’s toy?!” he said, sounding genuinely amazed. “It’s so cute!”
You glanced around quickly, then lowered your voice conspiratorially.
“I, um… actually brought one for you too. But I know you’re not allowed to accept gifts.”
Soul’s head snapped up, and he looked at you with the biggest, most delighted grin.
“You brought one for me?” he whispered, like you’d just told him a precious secret.
You nodded, biting back a smile. “I did.”
Before anything else could happen, the staff signaled for your selfie. Soul scooted so close to you that you felt his hair brush your cheek—soft, faintly ticklish. He held the phone up, but before taking the picture, he leaned toward your ear.
“Just secretly give it to me,” he whispered mischievously, voice bubbling with suppressed laughter.
Your breath caught in your throat, partly from surprise, partly from how close he suddenly was. But you reached into your pocket and slid the small toy into your hand.
When he extended his own hand under the table, you gently placed the toy into his palm.
Your fingers brushed—light, brief, but enough to send a shiver up your spine.
Soul giggled. An adorable, quiet, I-shouldn’t-be-doing-this giggle.
He hid the toy under the tablecloth with the smoothness of someone who had absolutely done this sort of thing before.
Then he looked at you again, eyes squinting with the brightest smile.
“Thank you,” he whispered. “I love it.”
You smiled softly. “I wasn’t sure if you’d actually want it.”
“I do!” he insisted, nodding so fast his hair bounced. “I’m going to wear it on stage.”
Your eyes widened. “You don’t have to do that. Really.”
“I want to,” Soul said firmly, still smiling. “For you.”
The photo finally snapped—both of you grinning like you were sharing something wonderfully secret.
When your time was up, he gave you a tiny wave, the kind that seemed meant only for you. Under the table, he clutched the toy like it was treasure.
And as you walked away, you heard him giggle again—soft, warm, and absolutely thrilled.
Jongseob
You stepped forward, trying to compose yourself, but the moment Jongseob looked up, his eyes widened in surprise. He tilted his head, studying you for a second with a soft, curious smile.
“You’re really small,” he said, almost to himself. Then, with a playful squint, “You look like an elf.”
Your face heated instantly. “An… an elf?”
“In a cute way,” he added quickly, grin growing. “Like a tiny forest elf.”
You covered your cheeks with your hands for half a second, which only made him laugh—soft, low, undeniably fond.
When the staff signaled for the photo, Jongseob stepped behind you without hesitation. “Let’s do something fitting,” he said, mischief dancing in his eyes.
Before you could ask what he meant, he gently wrapped his arms around you from behind. His chin hovered near your shoulder, close enough that you felt the warmth of his breath. Your heart nearly jumped out of your chest.
The camera clicked, but neither of you moved right away.
“You smell amazing,” he murmured, just loud enough for you to hear.
You turned slightly, flustered. “Oh—thank you. It’s, um… it’s this perfume I use.” You told him the brand, hoping it would explain your blush.
Jongseob leaned in again, closer this time, his nose brushing the air near your neck. He inhaled softly—just once, subtle but unmistakably intimate.
Then he shook his head.
“No,” he said quietly, confidently. “That’s not the perfume. You smell good.”
Your breath caught. Your brain flatlined. You didn’t know what to do besides stare at him with wide eyes.
So you did what you always did when overwhelmed—you joked.
“Do you… want some?” you asked, half laughing, half dying inside. You expected him to tease you, maybe brush it off.
But instead, Jongseob straightened slightly, eyes brightening.
“Yes,” he said immediately.
You blinked. “Wait—really?”
He nodded eagerly, stepping closer. “Yeah. Put some on me.”
You fumbled for the small perfume bottle in your bag, still unsure if this was allowed, but the staff didn’t stop you, and Jongseob looked far too excited for you to refuse.
“Okay,” you said softly.
He tilted his head toward you, offering his wrist first. You sprayed lightly, watching the fine mist settle against his skin.
He lifted his wrist and sniffed it, smiling so wide you almost melted.
“It smells really good,” he said. “Now I match you.”
Your chest tightened in the sweetest, most dangerous way.
“I’m glad you like it,” you managed.
“Like it?” he repeated, still beaming. “I love it.”
He gave you one last smile—a soft, lingering one—as the staff nudged him to move on. But even as you walked away, you felt his gaze follow you, warm and quietly captivated.
Summary: You and Derek go undercover as newlyweds to try and track down an unsub.
Warnings: none
A/N: This story was based on a request. It's mainly a taste, but I'm looking to expand this into a full, multi-part fic when I get the chance.
Derek Morgan Masterlist | Character Masterlist
The undercover op should've been an easy one.
It's not like you hadn't done one during your time in your old unit.
Playing the newlywed should've been a walk in the park. To catch an unsub targeting such couples during the honeymoon period in one of the most iconic destinations for such occasions.
In the forty-eight hours since your team's arrival, the local police had discovered the latest couple that had fallen victim to the unsub. The cooling off period had decreased significantly, and it wouldn't be long before another couple was snatched. Hence, the undercover op.
But then, you'd never quite gone undercover like this before.
You'd never been partnered in such an op with Derek Morgan as your 'husband'.
Maybe it would've been easier if you hadn't overheard Morgan in Hotch's little office within the precinct. Maybe if you hadn't heard him ask for Spencer to take the assignment instead. Maybe then you wouldn't feel so much on pins and needles around Derek, the man you've been crushing on for near a year. Ever since you'd joined the BAU anyway.
Hotch had overriden Derek's reasons.
You'd listened to each one of Hotch's counter-reasons, taking them to heart. Almost as much as you'd taken the very reasons Derek didn't want to work with you.
The latter shouldn't have hurt as much as it did.
It's not like you two were more than work colleagues with some pretty blurred friendship boundaries. It didn't matter that the two of you spent a lot of time together outside the office. The fact was you'd had to assure Penelope on multiple occasions that you could never replace her as Derek's 'Babygirl', but you had wormed your way into becoming his 'Sweetheart' and 'Pretty Girl'. You didn't want to give those up, even if it seemed like Derek now wanted to.
Hearing him ask for Spencer to be your partner on this op had hurt worse if you were being truthful.
At least it did until Pen snuck up on you, having joined the team for this latest case.
"He's up to it again," she said in such a disappointing tone. Sparing her a glance showed you just how deep that disappointment and a flare of anger had sparked within her. Yet, all she said when she met your gaze was, "He's an idiot. Don't worry. I'll talk to him."
After that, everything seemed to line up.
Derek and you were set to play the bait.
Everything had been lined up based on the profile the team had created about the unsub. No detail was left undone from the suite booked at one of the main hotels to the ring shop and more.
The two of you would make an appearance at them all.
Spencer and Emily had done their homework and laid out each couple's itinerary. They'd even gone so far as to have them all dotted across the map that took up almost an entire wall of the precinct's conference room. Not a single stop was left out, allowing you and Derek to see the overlaps.
There were quite a few of them, surprisingly.
You hadn't expected that with the town being such a newlywed destination.
None of them stayed at the same hotel, yet they'd found some way to have almost everything else in common. So there had to be some type of overlap that your team was missing. That the police had been missing.
Hence, the undercover op.
Now, you were sitting beside Derek in a borrowed higher-end vehicle from the police impound. Everything about the car had been dummied to make the vehicle appear as a rental rather than something confiscated. Nobody would question it as long as they didn't dive in too deep.
The same could be said for the gold bands now adorning both your fingers alongside a simple diamond ring on your left hand. The slight weight shouldn't have been really noticable, yet you couldn't help but feel it.
Your quiet didn't go unnoticed, either.
"You okay?" Derek asked, his gaze leaving the road for a second to meet yours. "You're never this quiet in the car. Worried about this assignment?"
You shook your head.
Of all the things you worried about, the assignment itself was pretty straightforward. No, it was all the tangled emotions that were sure to arise from it. The aftermath even. Now, those were what had you concerned.
Not that you could tell him that.
Instead, you offered him a small grin, making sure your teeth peeked through. Profiler and best friend, Derek would be sure to pick up on your microexpressions, so you made sure they didn't give anything away. At least you hoped they didn't as you said, "Just thinking. That's all."
"About?"
"This and that."
It wasn't your intention to remain vague, but you also weren't ready to speak words you couldn't take back. To voice feelings that might not be returned. Now, that would've been too much to bear, especially when the two of you had barely begun this assignment.
Besides, you'd had enough practice over the last months to keep those words in check.
Thankfully, he didn't get the chance to push you further.
The hotel where you two would be carrying out this assignment came into view.
Morgan pulled into the guest parking lot and soon found a place closest to the main doors.
It's during these final moments alone that you decide to make the most of this undercover op. If you couldn't show Derek how you felt on a normal day, then maybe you could get away with showing him during this small period of what's ultimately pretend. Maybe it'll be enough to get it out of your system, slow the daily pining that's slowly grown from crush to full-blown love.
You could hope, right?
*****
Your hastily put-together plan worked well in the lobby.
It was rather easy in the expectation to play the role of doting, clingy newlywed with the front desk staff. What newlywed couple didn't play up that they were newlyweds and showcase a bit more PDA than usually acceptable in polite society?
As much as Derek tensed briefly, he rolled with it just as quickly. His smile and amusement at your antics actually spurred you on a bit more. His arm even tightened around your waist when you might've pulled away. It was almost as if he wanted you as close as possible. Almost like this wasn't necessarily all a show for the benefit of drawing out an unsub.
Almost.
The short elevator ride provided a small refuge from the public showing.
Stepping back, you flashed Derek a quick grin before sinking against the back wall of the elevator car. "Think we convinced them?"
"Oh, yeah," he chuckled. "I have no doubt they'll be gossiping about us for a while."
"Think the unsub's among them?"
He shrugged. "Would almost be nice if he was. Make our jobs easier if he showed himself sooner than later."
"Already ready to get rid of your bride?" you teased even as nerves skittered at the thought.
The last thing you wanted was for this to be already over, even as temporary as it was. A tiny part of you wanted at least the weekend to continue this charade. Another larger part of you hated that you wanted this time. The longer this unsub ran loose, the greater the chance another couple was taken, tortured, and tossed like garbage as the others.
He shook his head, his grin sliding still in place. "Nah, she's one of my best friends. Couldn't ever see myself wanting to get rid of her."
Well, now that was something you didn't expect. Especially not having overheard his conversation with Hotch and wanting to switch with Spencer. Was he playing with you? Did he know you'd overheard and hoped to make up to you in some way? That, you seriously doubted. If he'd known, he would've confronted you about it already. He wouldn't be playing like he didn't know.
Or would he?
Derek was a master of keeping his deeper feelings to himself. He was also a master of pushing away people who got too close to meaning something to him. You'd learned that not long after joining the team, and you'd seen it in action with the few relationships he's had. When things got serious, he found someway to force a fight, force a breakup. Not in a mean kind of way, but in a way to show he wasn't right for that person. In a way he could still walk away a hero in his own right.
Why these thoughts hit you right then, you couldn't say.
Or could you?
That short ride on the elevator ended your thoughts before they could delve any further.
It was just as well, too, as you quickly nestled into his side. You couldn't be too prepared in case someone stood on the other side of the opening doors.
Giggling as if he'd said something funny or perhaps a bit scandalous, you leaned into him. Your face rested in the crook of his shoulder and neck even as you scanned your surroundings quickly.
When it was clear no one was around, you pulled away, not far but enough to give you both some space.
At least, you tried to, but Derek's arm, which had returned to your waist, tightened again. It was enough to keep you next to him as you two moved towards your room. Your steps remained in sync as you soon located your room and Derek, chivalrous as ever, unlocked the door and shoved it open to allow you in first.
A soft giggle escaped you at his antics.
You even rewarded him with a bit more genuine kiss on his cheek, something that wasn't meant to be pretend at that moment. Something real shared between friends, even if one friend longed for more.
Unknown to you both, a door further down the hall opened and caught sight of you two.
The unsub watched you both for the few seconds it took you both to enter your room. To decide you two were perfect as their next selection. To start figuring out their next moves to get you two into their snare where they could play with you both at their leisure.
No, you two moved into the room, blissfully unaware and even grinning foolishly at each other.
It was clear the two of you enjoyed each other's company to anyone passing by. Even if they didn't clock you as newlyweds, those same would believe you two loved each other, cared about each other.
Thankfully, your room's door had shut quickly behind you.
Otherwise, your ruse might've been discovered, especially when you both spotted the problem at the same time.
You both might've been playing newlyweds to draw out an unsub.
Yet, that didn't prepare either of you for the room having only one bed.
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pairing: Owen Grady x f!reader
genre: coworkers to lovers • tensions • adventure • forced proximity
notes: You are finally living your dream as a Mosasaur handler at Jurassic World. While, technically, only wanting to pursue your career of studying aquatic giants, your coworker Owen has taking quite the liking to you...
After your house got invested by the local insect population he extends his invitation for you to stay with him in his bungalow and... things start getting tense between the two of you from there.
MINORS DNI!!
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─── ꒰ 💚 ꒱ ───
part 1 – Bugs and a couch offer
The afternoon sun hung high over Isla Nublar. Humid air rolled across the island while distant dinosaur calls echoed through the park, blending with the crash of waves of the lagoons.
Owen wiped sweat from the back of his neck as he crossed the pathways near the raptor paddock. The earlier training session had already come and gone, leaving dirt and dust on his boots and the lingering smell of raw meat and sweat on his clothes.
Days around this time of year on the island were always hotter.
The concrete pathways radiated heat beneath his feet while tourists crowded the main sections of the park farther off in the distance.
Owen barely paid attention.
He preferred the quieter areas.
He couldn’t be asked with the many tourists.
That was what eventually led him toward the Mosasaurus lagoons, hands resting loosely at his sides.
He liked it there this time of day.
The endless stretch of blue water. It almost made the island feel natural again.
Also, he got news that the lab popped out a new Mosasaurus, which greatly interested him.
Maybe not only because of the dinosaur, but also because of the… handler.
As he approached the smaller holding pool near the main tank, movement caught his attention.
…You.
You sat balanced on a paddleboard in the water, dark swimsuit clinging to your skin as the young Mosasaurus circled lazily beneath you.
“Young” was a generous term. The creature was still big, even as a juvenile, easily as large as a grown Freshwater Crocodile.
And yet you looked completely at ease beside it.
Owen slowed near the fence, resting his forearms against the railing as he watched.
The baby Mosasaurus surfaced beside your board with a splash.
“Hold,” you instructed firmly, using a clicker to make the training clicking sound.
The creature froze almost immediately.
Owen’s eyebrows lifted slightly.
You reached down, placing a hand carefully above its snout.
“Hold…”
Another click.
Then you tapped the front of its jaw.
The Mosasaurus opened its mouth instantly, and you tossed a piece of raw chicken inside. Its jaws snapped shut with enough force to echo across the pool before it disappeared beneath the surface again.
“Good girl,” you praised warmly.
Owen found himself staring a little longer than he probably should have.
Most people around the dinosaurs were nervous and hesitant.
You weren’t.
You were careful, obviously, but you handled the animal with confidence, like you understood it.
The Mosasaurus circled back around your board, nudging it from beneath.
“Ah-ah,” you laughed softly. “I see you. No sneaking up.”
The sound made something tug at the corner of Owen’s mouth.
You paddled back toward the edge of the pool before climbing out, water dripping from your legs onto the concrete. The young Mosasaurus surfaced again immediately, resting its snout against the side expectantly.
“Someone’s hungry today, hm?” you hummed.
You clicked again.
“Open.”
The animal didn’t move.
“No, I said open.”
This time the jaws slowly fell open.
“Better.”
You let the creature wait a moment before tossing the final reward, a large chunk of fish, into its mouth. It vanished underwater instantly, thrashing excitedly beneath the surface.
“Good girl…”
You sighed afterward, pushing wet hair back from your face as you reached for a towel nearby.
That was when Owen finally pushed himself off the railing.
He walked over with that familiar confidence to his stride, boots heavy against the concrete. Hands settled briefly on his hips before one arm hooked casually over the fence beside you.
“You’re pretty good with the young one,” he said, a crooked smirk pulling at his mouth.
You and Owen already knew each other.
Well… sort of.
Jurassic World was massive, and most departments stayed within their own corners of the island. Owen spent most of his days out at the raptor paddock miles away from the lagoon facilities, while you practically lived around the Mosasaurus tanks.
Still, staff meetings happened.
Shared coffee lines. Passing greetings in hallways. The occasional sarcastic comment exchanged during safety briefings.
Enough to know each other’s names.
Enough to recognize each other when passing by.
But not much more than that.
You smiled slightly at his comment, rubbing the towel over your face before glancing back toward the pool.
“Thank you,” you said softly. “She’s still… manageable. And smaller.”
Your eyes drifted toward the deeper lagoon beyond the facility walls, toward where a fully grown Mosasaurus could swallow boats whole without effort.
“Give her a few years and I probably won’t be climbing into the water anymore.”
Owen huffed out a quiet laugh at that.
You looked back toward him again, still drying water from your hair.
“Didn’t realize you were standing there watching.” you said with a smile tugged faintly at your lips.
Owen’s gaze lingered on you for half a second too long.
The dark swimsuit clung to your still-damp skin, water glistening along your shoulders under the afternoon sunlight.
He cleared his throat subtly, dragging his attention back upward before you noticed.
“How’re things with the raptors?” you asked.
“The raptors?” he repeated with that crooked smirk of his. “They’re stubborn as hell. Same as always...”
His gaze shifted toward the water.
“But they’re doing good.”
You nodded thoughtfully before glancing back toward the young Mosasaurus circling beneath the surface.
“Do you want to come inside and see her up close?” you offered.
Owen looked back at you, mildly surprised.
There was no chance he was turning that offer down.
“Sure,” he said easily, pushing himself off the railing. “Why not?”
You walked toward the security gate beside the enclosure, keycard already in hand. The heavy lock buzzed before the gate slid open just enough for him to step through.
Once he was inside, you closed it securely behind him.
You sat down on the bench near the edge of the enclosure, towel draped around your shoulders as you continued drying your hair.
“She’s been making really good progress,” you explained. “Honestly, it’s mostly just like training a prehistoric crocodile.”
Owen let out a low chuckle as he sat beside you.
“A prehistoric crocodile,” he repeated. “Yeah… she definitely has teeth like one.”
The young Mosasaurus glided through the water below, its massive body moving beneath the sunlight. Even at this age, there was something intimidating about her.
Beautiful and dangerous.
Owen watched her swim for a moment before his eyes flicked back toward you.
“You’re really good with her,” he admitted. “You make it look easy.”
You laughed softly at that, rolling your eyes.
“Says the raptor guy.”
Owen grinned immediately.
“You’re literally the alpha of a raptor pack,” you continued with a smile. “My oversized swimming pool puppy isn’t nearly as impressive as that.”
That got a real laugh out of him.
“Alright, … fair point.”
He shook his head, smirk widening.
“Yeah, those raptors are quite a handful…”
He sighed, “Especially Echo. She’s been giving me hell lately.”
You patted your hair dry slowly as you listened, genuinely curious.
“Really?” you asked, turning slightly toward him. “What’ve they been doing now?”
Owen sighed heavily, dragging a hand back through his hair.
“Well,” he started, “Echo’s been challenging me lately. She keeps breaking formation during training, ignoring commands whenever she feels like it.”
He let out a tired exhale.
“It’s like dealing with a pack of rebellious teenagers,” he muttered. “Except teenagers don’t usually come with six-inch razorsharp teeth.”
“I guess the raptors don’t slam their bedroom doors and listen to emo music,” you teased between giggles.
Owen shook his head, laughing, “Honestly? I’d take the emo music at this point.”
Your smile lingered as you looked back toward the pool, watching Navy glide beneath the water.
“Well… Navy’s still learning,” you said softly. “Not yet teenage-diva age…”
The young Mosasaurus circled lazily near the edge of the enclosure, occasionally surfacing before disappearing beneath the water again.
“We wanted to introduce her to the adult Mosasaurus eventually,” you explained, “but there’s a pretty high chance she’d just get eaten instead of adopted.”
Owen grimaced slightly.
“Yeah. That tracks.”
You sighed before finally standing from the bench, stretching your arms over your head as you reached for your bag and folded clothes nearby.
“Sorry, Owen, but I kinda have to close up here,” you said apologetically. “Got a situation to deal with.”
You rubbed at your forehead with visible annoyance.
“Bug infestation at my bungalow.”
Your expression twisted immediately into mild disgust.
Owen stood as well, one eyebrow lifting.
“Bugs?” he repeated. “Sounds fun.”
“Yeah, apparently they’re ‘temporarily relocating me,’” you said, adding exaggerated air quotes around the words. “So maintenance can fumigate the place.”
You grabbed your paddleboard, slipping your shoes back on near the gate.
“And guess where they’re putting me.”
Owen already had a bad feeling, “The guest resort?”
You rolled your eyes dramatically.
Owen immediately laughed under his breath.
“Oh, wow. Luxury.” he said sarcastically.
You groaned softly.
The guest resort was … endless noise, screaming kids running through hallways, exhausted parents barely hanging on by a thread, music playing at all hours.
For you?
Absolute hell.
“Kind of the worst thing that’s happened to me in a while,” you muttered, adjusting the strap of your bag over your shoulder.
“Well,” he said with a crooked smirk, “look on the bright side.”
You narrowed your eyes immediately.
“That’s never a good start.”
“At least now you get to spend twenty-four hours a day surrounded by crying children and parents on the edge of a mental breakdown.”
He shoved his hands into his pockets casually, “Sounds relaxing, eh?”
You deadpanned immediately, “Ha. Ha.”
Owen grinned shamelessly.
You shook your head as you unlocked the security gate, motioning for him to follow you out of the enclosure.
“Come on, raptor boy.”
You waited for Owen to step through the security gate before pulling it shut behind him with a heavy metallic clang.
“Bye, Navy!” you called back toward the pool automatically.
The young Mosasaurus surfaced briefly at the sound of your voice, dark shape cutting through the water before disappearing beneath the surface again.
Owen glanced back over his shoulder and chuckled quietly.
“You say goodbye to her every day?”
“Obviously,” you replied as if it were the most normal thing in the world. “She gets offended otherwise…” you joked.
“Right,” Owen said seriously. “Wouldn’t wanna upset the giant aquatic murder submarine.”
You grinned despite yourself as the two of you started down the pathway together.
Owen walked beside you easily, hands shoved into his pockets.
Every now and then his eyes drifted toward you again without meaning to.
Your wet hair still clung slightly to your shoulders, the dark swimsuit disappearing beneath the oversized towel wrapped loosely around you. Sunlight caught against the droplets of water still lingering on your skin.
He forced himself to look ahead again.
“So,” he said casually, “when do you have to move into the magnificent guest resort?”
The mock excitement in his voice made you sigh again.
“Like… right now.”
Owen laughed under his breath.
“Oh, wow. Immediate relocation. They’re really rolling out the red carpet for you.”
You groaned quietly at just the thought of moving there.
“I’m going to lose my mind listening to screaming children through paper-thin hotel walls.”
“I give you two days before you lose it.”
“Bold of you to assume I’ll last two days.”
Owen smirked to himself as he glanced at you again.
Then, before his brain could fully catch up with his mouth, he spoke.
“You could always stay at my place instead.”
Owen blinked, seemingly surprised as well, by his own words.
You looked over at him immediately, clearly surprised.
He rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly, suddenly very aware of how impulsive that sounded.
“I mean…” he cleared his throat, “I’ve got a couch. Plenty of space. It’s quiet out there.”
─── ꒰ 💚 ꒱ ───
a/n: yes I love jurassic world so sue me! also I just make up dinosaur training because I can! this is my blog and I post what I want... also Owen Grady is kinda... biting my lip
so yes this is a thing now, probably will have a few parts so... stay tuned for that!
also if you are interested in being tagged in the tag list let me know :3
Jungkook is your new stepbrother, and living under the same roof quickly creates tension between the two of you.
Pairing - Jungkook x fem!reader (Y/N used)
Warnings: N/A
Intro: Your mother is about to marry a wealthy man, which means moving into his mansion. What she forgot to mention is that you’d be sharing it with his son, Jungkook.
The car drives down the long road as your mother takes a deep breath turning to the final street.
“Ugh do we really have to move in with them?” You ask, rolling your eyes.
Your mom sighs, gripping the steering wheel tighter as the iron gates open ahead. “Yes, Y/N. Stop whining—it’s already done. Be nice, okay?”
The car crunches over the gravel, and through the windshield you catch a glimpse of him first: tall, black-haired, leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed.
You don’t notice him at first.
The boy’s eyes flick to the vehicle, dark and unreadable. A Doberman pads out beside him.
You glare in the direction of the guy staring from the doorway. “Whoa, who is that?”
Your mom parks the car. “That’s Jungkook. Your stepbrother now.”
The door opens - your ‘stepfather’ - waves, cheerful, but Jungkook doesn’t move from his spot. He just stares back at you through the window, one eyebrow lifting slightly. The corner of his mouth twitches.
“He seems like trouble.” You say with a strong tone, staring back.
Jungkook tilts his head, amusement flickering across his face. He pushes off the doorframe, slow, deliberate - Bam follows.
Your mom nudges your shoulder. “Out. Go say hi.”
When you step out, the heat hits first, then his gaze drags over you, assessing. He doesn’t speak immediately. Just watches you with dark eyes, one hand sliding into his pocket.
“Trouble? That’s subjective.”
You tuck the hair behind your ear before rubbing the back of your neck, your cheeks slightly pink in embarrassment.
“Sorry, I didn’t think you could hear me,” you say, reaching out your hand.
“Nice to meet you, I’m Y/N.”
The boy’s fingers close around yours-warm, firm grip that lasts a second too long. He doesn’t smile with his mouth, just a small crinkle in his eyes.
“Jungkook,” he says stepping back. His gaze drops to where your hand just was before flicking up again.
“Don’t apologize if you mean it.”
A slight sigh leaves your mouth as you hear him say that. “I do though,” you whisper.
Bam circles your legs once, sniffing. Jungkook watches that, then looks at your facial expression.
“And who is this cutie?” you ask gently, reaching for the dog at your feet.
“May I pet... her? him?”
“Him. Bam.” Jungkook’s eyes narrow slightly as he nods.
The dog leans into your touch before Jungkook adds, “He bites strangers. Not you though. I guess.” his voice flat.
His tongue presses his cheek from inside his mouth. You notice. “We’ll see.”
“Welcome to your new home.” Your stepfather interrupts, reaching out for a hug.
As you hug him back you make direct eye contact with Jungkook. Unintentional, but there.
A sudden chuckle erupts from your nose, not necessarily in a funny way, but an awkward way.
Your mom interrupts, “How about a tour of our new home?”
The boy still watches your hand resting on Bam’s head, his expression unreadable except for the faint smirk.
You look up from the dog, flashing a soft smile to the boy staring.
“Shall we go in?”
“After you.”
He turns toward the door, allowing you to pass. Your shoulder brushes his as you pass, a faint smell of his cologne catches your full attention.
The mansion opens up inside: marble floor, high ceilings, minimalist, and very cold.
After following your stepfather around the mansion, you make it back to the front door where you left your luggage.
“Jungkook,” He starts. “Please show Y/N her room.”
“Yes, father,” the boy replies. “Follow me, your room is on the second floor.”
You follow behind -not too close, not too far- dragging your suitcase and bags up the stairs.
A beat.
Once you’re at the top of the stairs his voice drops. “We share a bathroom. It’s in between our rooms.”
“Oh, um okay. I guess it’ll be alright.”
Without looking back again, he leads you to your door–steps measured, unhurried. At the landing steps, he gestures left. “Last door. Don’t slam it.”
A smile forms at the corners of your mouth as you walk past into the room.
He watches as you enter, eyes dragging down your suitcase. Something flickers there—curiosity, maybe mockery.
“You always this quiet, or just nervous?”
A deep breath leaves your mouth, “Sorry… this is just really awkward. My mom didn’t tell me about the move until last minute, and didn’t tell me anything about having a stepbrother.”
Your turn, now facing him.
His body is leaning against the door frame with his arms crossed again–complete mirror of when you pulled up. His lips quirk.
“Yeah? Typical.”
His gaze never leaves yours. He tracks your face, lingering on the tension in your jaw.
“My father didn’t tell me either. Said I’d have a roommate.”
A pause, weighted.
“Guess we’re both surprised then,” you say, breaking the silence.
“I’m sorry about this whole thing, it was probably my moms idea. She usually likes to keep her choices a secret up until the last minute.”
He huffs–not quite a laugh. Pushing off the door, he steps closer, invading the space you’ve kept.
“Sorry again? You must say that a lot.” His head tilts, eyes locking yours, reading.
“I guess I never realized I said it so much.”
“Look, I don’t care what you do here. Just don’t cause any problems, and we’re good. Got it?”
“Yeah, sure. Whatever,” you mutter, shifting backward.
Bam trots down the hall. His footsteps echo faintly.
Jungkook’s gaze drops to your lips for half a second before snapping back up to meet your eyes.
“Unless you make it interesting.”
Scooting back farther, you realize the dresser is closer than you thought.
“There it is.” His eyes catch your movement–your glance, the way your back hits the dresser.
Your eyes drop to his lips as he becomes closer than before.
Something shifts in his expression, sharper now. He doesn’t move away, just watches you trapped there with a lazy smile.
“You’re jumpy. I like that.”
One of his hands lifts, pressing the top of the dresser at your side–not touching, but close enough you feel the heat. “Rooms yours. Dinner’s at seven. Don’t be late.”
