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lovableapocalypse · 2 months ago

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ty! 🥹

over and over

andrew "pope" cody x female!reader

wc: 3.6k (longest fic ive published lol)

summary: pope is let out on parole and seeks you out after 3 years

warnings: cursing, not canonically accurate, suggestive content (but no smut), mentions of canon level violence, childhood best friends/sort of established relationship

a/n: reader has a catherine vibe; but pope's affections fall to reader obvi. this takes place in the season one timeline/early episodes but still isn't 100% accurate. ik im so late to this show/fandom but i love pope and this idea was brewing for like 4 days so hope you enjoy! love u guys

Andrew Cody. Pope. A name you hadn’t spoken in years, but a face you would always remember. One that was ingrained in your mind since the age of 12. As a kid, you had found yourself wrapped up in the Cody family. Janine kept her house open to her children’s friends, and when you met Julia in the 6th grade you attached yourself instantly.

Julia was a year older than you, but she treated you like an equal, like her best friend. But where there was Julia, there was also her twin brother Andrew. Andrew was quiet and hard to read, even as a young teen, but he was kind to you. The three of you spent countless hours together. But, when Baz began living with the Codys, Julia spent most of her time with him. That left you and Andrew.

The two of you grew close and he became your closest friend in the matter of weeks. He looked out for you at school and protected you from your rough home life. He was there no matter what. You loved him. In a deep and integral way. He was a part of your life and a part of who you were becoming.

Janine knew you weren’t stupid. She knew you knew about their jobs. But you never mentioned it. They were criminals, but it didn’t matter. You brushed what you saw and heard under the rug, clinging to the time you spent with Pope.

As you got older you grew more wary of Smurf. She asked more and more of Pope and you knew it wasn’t your place to say anything, but you could see the effects it had on him. Her boundaries were almost non-existent with her children. She asked and they did.

You wanted no involvement in their crimes. Their “jobs.” Pope rarely talked about them and you didn’t ask. You’d come over and his face would be bruised, knuckles scabbed, and body scarred. You distracted him, gave him an escape.

Growing into an adult you tried to spend less time at Smurf’s. You would see Pope at his apartment or out in town. You wanted to distance yourself from her and she knew it. Despite knowing you since you were barely a teen, she became short with you. More harsh. And you let her.

When Pope was arrested, everything changed.

You had only been to Smurf’s once since. Right after you heard. You had rushed to the house, slamming your car door shut and banging your fist on the front door.

Baz had let you in and you silently followed him to the kitchen where Smurf was- head in her hands. Baz leaned against the fridge and you stood across from her, staring.

“You let him get arrested.” Your voice was cold.

She looked up and shook her head. You knew her words would sting and that she would try to make you feel stupid, “He let himself get arrested. He knew better than to wait. It’s nobody’s fault but his.”

Your jaw clenched and it took you a minute to respond. “If that’s what helps you sleep at night, Smurf.”

She laughed humorlessly. “You don’t know anything. You’re upset Andrew got himself thrown into jail and you blame me. I get it. You’ll understand in time.”

Her dismissiveness only frustrated you more and you shook your head. You saw no point in arguing with her. You glanced at Baz, whose head was down, avoiding your gaze. Your scoff was loud as you turned on your heel and left them behind.

That was the last time you saw her. You tried once to contact Pope in prison, but Smurf put a stop to it. You don’t know how, but you knew it was her. That was your last straw. You loved Pope and always had, but with his mother standing between you- you were losing hope. Your anger rooted and you saw no reason to contact the Codys again.

With the exception of Deran stopping by to crash periodically, you still don’t know how he found your apartment, you estranged yourself from the Codys. Including Pope. You didn’t write to him or visit him. You convinced yourself that it was over. You didn’t want to be a part of their lives anymore, and it hurt more than expected.

You tried to move on- or so you told yourself. You got a new job. A new apartment. Even went on a few dates. You convinced yourself this was better.

It was late one evening, already dark outside, when you left work. The office building behind you locking up for the night. You pulled out your keys and crossed the parking lot to your car. The breeze was cool and the street lamps were dim, needing replacing. As you approached your car the silhouette of a man leaning against it caused your steps to falter. You froze, your heart rate picking up.

You moved the keys between your fingers and took a step back as he pushed off the car. His hands were shoved into his pockets and your breath caught when the figure stepped into the yellow light.

He wasn’t supposed to be out yet.

Your lips parted and your voice was barely audible. “Andrew.”

He stepped closer again. He was right in front of you now. He looked older, but stronger. His hair was cut close to his head and his face was stony.

“Nice outfit.” His voice was hard, unreadable.

You tried to not let him affect you, but you felt embarrassed at his words. You were in nice business clothes, things you never would have worn before.

“I didn’t know you were out.” You respond.

He ignored you. “New job? Looks fancy.” He glanced at the building behind you.

“Andrew-“

He spoke over you. “They let me out on parole.”

Despite your history, you feel on edge. You didn’t know he was getting out. Or that he’d come find you.

“When?” Your voice is small.

“This morning.”

You nod and search his face, but find nothing. You can’t tell what he’s feeling and it irks you. The boy you used to be able to comfort without words, knowing what he needed, looked like a stranger.

There’s a pause between you two. Three years worth of words and life unknown to the other.

“Julia’s dead.” His voice sends a wave of nausea through you.

“What?”

“She OD’d.”

You swallow harshly and take a moment to blink away your emotions. “I’m- Andrew, I’m so sorry.”

He just nods and runs a hand over his mouth, taking in your expression.

“What about her son?” You whisper.

“Smurf took him in. He’s at the house.”

You don’t reply. That’s the last thing Julia would have wanted. You remember when Josh was a kid, when Julia would still come around. After Smurf all but exiled her, she kept her kid far far away from their life.

Before you can respond you see his jaw clench as he stares at you. “You didn’t write. Or visit.”

You don’t speak for a moment, steadying your breath. “I know.”

He doesn’t reply.

You continue, “I didn’t want to be near your family anymore. I thought it would be better if I stayed away. I’m sorry.”

It’s a half-truth, but you see no point in blaming Smurf for not contacting him when you didn’t try very hard either.

He only nods.

You stand across from him, frozen. Waiting for a reaction or response, but that’s wishful thinking and you know it. Pope had been like this since you were young. It used to be something you loved about him, but now it scared you a bit. You didn’t know what he was like now, what had happened in the years he was locked up.

His eyes trace over your form one last time before he stalks past you. His body brushes near yours and you feel his heat for a second, smell his familiar scent. You turn to watch him move through the lot. When he’s out of sight you release a shaky breath.

It takes you longer than normal to get home that night. Your thoughts are running wild and your feelings larger than life.

You spend the rest of the week on edge. You move through the days expecting to see him again and it surprises you when you don’t. It’s hard to admit that it hurts. Your past was complicated but completely intertwined. So when you don’t see him for another week, you have to remind yourself you wanted this. You don’t want to be near him- or any of the Codys anymore.

It’s a Friday evening when you see him again. You park your car at your small apartment and sluggishly move up the stairs outside.

You stop when you see him. He’s sitting at the top of the stairs, right in front of your door.

He looks up, not surprised. He’s expecting you.

“You’re late.”

“What?” Your brows furrow and a deep confusion runs through you.

“This is the latest you’ve been home all week.”

You know you should be scared or concerned that he’s been watching you, but all you feel is anger.

“You’ve been stalking me?” Your jaw is tight.

He stands and he’s closer than he has been in years. His face is inches from yours and you can feel his warm body heat.

“No.”

“You don’t call this stalking?” You huff, voice raising. You continue before he can respond, “Pope, what the hell!”

He shifts awkwardly on his feet. “I wanted to know where you lived.”

You take a deep breath before responding, “I don’t want you here- any of you.”

“Smurf said you haven’t been around since I left.”

“I haven’t.”

“Why?” He sounds genuinely curious.

You push past him to the door, giving him your back. “Because I don’t want to be a part of that life.”

“You’re not. You never have been.”

You struggle with the keys in the door. “I don’t even want to be near it- associated with it.”

“That never bothered you before.”

Keeping your back to him you respond, “Times have changed, Pope. I don’t- I don’t want to be near a bunch of criminals.”

You hope your words will push him away. Offend him or build his walls up far enough to keep you away.

“Criminals? Jeez, is that what you really think now? No more ‘don’t ask, don’t tell.’”

You know you should just go inside, but you turn to face him. “I’m not a little kid anymore. I’m trying to do something with my life- get a grip on things.”

His face is neutral and he’s silent. Finally, he just gives you a firm nod.

You quickly step inside before you can say anything else.

The next morning, after a restless night of sleep, you go for a swim at the beach. Coming out of the water you walk back to where you left your towel, but it’s gone. You glance around but it’s missing, along with your discarded clothes and flip-flops.

You glance around the beach angrily. Someone stole your fucking clothes. You spin and move towards the sidewalk where you spot a familiar green truck. Cursing under your breath, you walk towards it.

Still dripping and standing only in your swimsuit you approach the car. You notice the surfboards and a bike in the truck bed and glance around for the inevitable owners.

“Look who it is.”

You can hear the grin in Craig’s voice as you turn to face him.

“Give me my stuff back.”

“Don’t know what you’re talking about.”

You take in his appearance for the first time in years. His hair and beard are longer, his body more filled out.

He does the same to you, eyes tracing over your figure.

“I’m not joking around, Craig-”

A younger boy walking up alongside Deran catches your eye and your words get stuck in your throat. Joshua. Julia’s son.

You feel your lips part involuntarily as he gets closer. He looks just like her and it throws you off kilter.

Deran smirks and reaches into the truck, pulling out your towel and clothes. “Looking for these?”

You ignore him and continue to stare at the teenager beside them. You glance at the Cody brothers, “Is that-”

Craig confirms, “In the flesh.” He smiles and claps Joshua’s shoulder. “J, you remember Y/n, don’t you?”

The boy looks uncomfortable and you shake your head. “Leave him alone.” You turn back to Deran and snatch your things back, shoving on your shorts.

“And don’t steal my shit off the fucking beach.”

As you shove your t-shirt back on you can hear the older boys chuckle. You glance at the young boy again, before turning to leave.

Deran calls after you, catching your arm.

“Don’t-”

“Come back to the house with us.”

“Are you crazy? No.” You pull your arm back.

He huffs and releases you, moving to pushing his hair back. “Please. I think it’d be good for Pope.”

You give him an incredulous look. “I’m not going over there. I've barely seen any of you the past few years and I’m not changing that now. I don’t want any part of this, and Pope being home isn’t going to change that.”

“C’mon.” He sighs.

You glance at J again. “No.”

“He isn’t sleeping.”

The statement causes you to pause for a moment, but you press on, “I don’t care.”

“Yes, you do.”

“Deran, drop it.” You snap. “And don’t bother me again.”

Craig sighs dramatically from the truck. “Just get in the damn car, princess.”

You scoff at the nickname, but before you can respond Deran speaks again. “Just come over for a little. See if you can talk to him.”

Your jaw clenches. “I don’t want to see her.”

“Smurf?” Deran raises a brow.

You nod.

He laughs softly. “C’mon that’s all water under the bridge. Smurf would be happy to see you.”

“Are you fucking joking?”

He shakes his head and grabs your elbow gently, leading you to the car. Despite yourself, you climb into the back seat next to J.

When you arrive at the scarily familiar house, your anxiety is at an all-time high. You hop out of the backseat and linger in the driveway as the boys wander into the backyard. You swallow down your emotions and step into the garage, looking around.

The door to inside the house opens and Baz steps out, jacket in hand. He stops in his tracks when he sees you. His eyes roam over your wet clothes and hair.

He whispers your name, unblinking.

You return his stare. “Baz.”

“You’re here.”

You nod, trying to keep your features schooled.

He clears his throat. “The guys, uh, they said they were gonna try and bring you over. I didn’t think it would work.”

You glance away and shrug.

He nods and steps closer. “It’s good to see you. Really.”

When you don’t respond he continues. “Pope’s out back. He’ll be glad you’re here.”

He stalks off and you watch him climb into his car.

Taking a moment to yourself before you enter the lion’s den for the first time in years, you take a deep breath.

You step out of the garage and tuck your drying hair behind your ears, pushing the back gate open.

It’s shocking how similar it is to the last time you were here. Everything seemed untouched, yet so unfamiliar now.

Pope’s back is to you. He’s shirtless and taking a sledgehammer to the firepit at the edge of the yard. You watch his back muscles tighten and move as he swings and breaks the bricks.

Steeling your back, you move closer to his oblivious form.

He takes a moment to catch his breath and you speak up.

“Andrew.”

His body visibly tightens, but he keeps his back to you. He turns slowly, dropping the hammer.

You keep your breaths calm and take in his appearance. He looks tired, exhausted even.

“You’re here.” His voice is rough.

You nod.

His eyes flick to your wet clothes, before moving back to your face.

“Baz said he’d fix this while I was locked up.” He gestures to the fire pit.

You hum in response, crossing your arms.

After a beat of silence you cut right to the chase. “Why aren’t you sleeping?”

He huffs an annoyed laugh. “Did Baz call you?”

“Deran.”

He blinks. “The kid is in my room.”

“J.”

He nods.

“Then go to your place.”

“They sold it while I was gone.”

You feel bad for him, even though you try to convince yourself you don’t.

“Can’t you get a hotel or something?”

“I’ve been staying at a motel.”

“And not sleeping?” You raise a brow.

He shakes his head.

“Pope.” Your voice is soft and your arms fall to your sides.

“I thought you didn’t want anything to do with us anymore.”

You shift on your feet. “I didn’t. But then I saw J at the beach, and all I could think about was Julia. When we were all little.”

His nod is tiny but you see it.

“You should sleep, Pope.”

You notice his eyes shift behind you and you turn. Smurf stands in the doorway to the kitchen, watching.

You feel your jaw tighten and you turn back to Pope.

“Take care of yourself, okay?” You move to go back to the gate, keeping an eye on Smurf.

You’re halfway up the driveway when Pope calls out to you. You turn and see him exiting the garage, a dark t-shirt thrown over his chest, sunglasses on, and keys in his hand.

“I’ll drive you.”

Too tired to argue you follow him to the dark truck and hop in the passenger seat. He rolls the windows down and turns the radio up loud. You feel like a kid again. Pope driving you wherever you needed, blasting his CDs with the sunroof down.

You keep your eyes out the window, watching the familiar town pass. He arrives at your apartment and you unbuckle silently.

“Thanks.”

He throws the truck into park and pulls his sunglasses off. You watch him for a moment and feel your heart crack. You had missed him, and it hurt now that he was right in front of you again, yet so far away.

You were an open book to him, it seemed. He opened his door and hopped out and you followed. He walked up the stairs to your apartment and you followed. You even let him take the keys from you and followed him inside.

He shut the door and you glanced away from him quickly. You moved to your bathroom and turned the shower on. You could see him behind you in the mirror, still near the door, watching you.

Watching him back, you pulled your t-shirt over your head and stepped out of your shorts. The damp clothes fell to the floor and you reached behind you to undo your swimsuit. You kept your eyes on Pope as the fabric joined the other clothes. After a beat, you stepped into the warm spray of water.

You knew what you were doing. He knew what you were doing. And just like a bad habit picked up for the one-hundredth time, you heard him enter the bathroom. You heard his clothes join yours on the tile and you relished in the spray falling over you.

He pulled the curtain back slowly, stepping in behind you. You kept your face under the spray, eyes closed for a moment. His rough hand met your waist gently, tracing almost. You spun around to face him.

This was all too familiar. A scenario that had happened countless times, but it felt different. More raw. More sensitive.

His touch was feather-like against your waist. Soft and controlled. Your breaths were airy and erratic. You had spent the last three years convincing yourself that this man was not good for you. That you were better off without him. But you were wrong. Pope was everything to you. He was a part of your soul and livelihood, and you were surprised you had made it this long avoiding him.

You let your hands fall to his shoulders and move over his chest. His breath caught and his eyes sought yours out.

His face moved closer to yours and his lips found yours in a familiar, soft way. He kissed you and you felt your heart give in.

Your lips moved against his and it became more urgent. More frenzied. You hadn’t seen each other in three years. Touched each other. Loved each other.

His hands found your hair and yours gripped his waist. His lips were hasty against yours and his tongue slipped into your mouth as he pressed you against the cold tiles. You moved against him urgently, a heat spreading through you almost as much as your emotions were.

You missed his touch. His taste. His attention.

You moved against each other in tandem. A long-lost dance. Pope was a rough man. He didn’t ask questions. But when he was with you, his armor fell. Even with your bodies clashing and teeth hitting he was somehow gentle. In his own way.

You let him touch you and re-explore your body. Your movements were familiar yet new all the same. His hands touched and traced and you let yourself fall into him completely.

After, when the water ran cold and your emotions ran high, you stepped out and handed him a towel. He watched you dry off and followed you to your bedroom.

You lay next to him, tracing his features and counting the scars on his face. Some new, some old. He held you close, his grip almost painfully tight, but you didn’t mind. You found comfort in it- in him.

His breathing slowed and his eyes fell heavy and you watched as he finally fell asleep. A feeling of nostalgia washed over you, quickly followed by longing. You couldn’t escape him, and you were starting to remember that you didn’t want to.

#thanks for reading #comment reblog

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lovableapocalypse · 2 months ago

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Lewis Pullman in Water Rises (2023) dir. Wyatt Winborne

#hey so that’s my man #lewis pullman #loml

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lovableapocalypse · 2 months ago

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ok. i have been so busy this month but i want to crack down on the requests you guys have sent. im sorry i haven’t gotten to them yet but trust i love them!!! so. catch me getting to work

#i suck im sorry #i will get to them!!!!#asap #love u guys #requests

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lovableapocalypse · 2 months ago

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1,000 notes wtf thank you!!!! 😭

weather the storm

dr. jack abbot x female!wife!reader

wc: 1.8k

summary: you take you and jack's son to the er in the middle of the night when he's sick, but your marriage happens to be on the rocks atm

warnings: reader and jack have 11 year old son, medical inaccuracies, mentions of marital differences/separation, mentions of surgery/medical procedures, established relationship, light angst but happy ending, not canonically accurate, reader has her dogs out

a/n: i don't know why i'm struggling so bad to characterize/write for abbot but i hope this does him justice. i def think he's more goofy in the show but this is a more sensitive situation so idk? i hope you like it okay!!! ugh!!!! i want to write sm more for him so maybe it will come easier to me

You were deep in sleep when you felt a familiar small hand grasp your shoulder. Your eyes shot open and you inhaled sharply as you sat up on your elbow. Your son’s face came into your weary vision. He was grasping your arm and bent over the bed, a distressed look on his face.

“Mom.” He spoke in a pained whisper.

“Benjamin?” You blink and clear your eyes, anxiety skyrocketing at the sight of Jack and your son’s form. You grab onto his arm that’s gripping your body and squeeze. “What’s wrong? Are you hurt?”

His voice is soft and broken, “My side. My side really hurts.”

You sit up immediately and push the covers back. “Your side?”

You run your hands over his arms and move the one that’s covering his midsection, lifting his pajama top. It looks normal to the eye.

“Here?” You place a gentle hand on him.

He nods, grimacing.

You curse under your breath and stand, guiding Ben to sit on the edge of your mattress. It’s definitely his appendix and you’re praying to yourself it hasn’t ruptured.

You grab your phone off the nightstand. “You’re okay, baby.” You reassure him as you dial Jack’s number.

You know it’s a shot in the dark. Jack was working an overnight shift again and you had been separated for two months now. Your marriage was one full of love and a deep connection to each other, but lately you’d been struggling. He’d been working nights full time and barely saw you. He tried to make time for Ben, which you appreciated, but it was a different story for you.

You started spending more time at work in his absence and found yourself desperate for his attention. And when you reached a breaking point you pushed him away. You two fought like you’d never fought before and things buried deep inside came to the surface. After the two of you cooled down, you spoke with a marriage counselor and a brief separation was suggested.

So, here you were. At home in the house you used to share, the bed that you still kept to your side of. Jack had gotten a small townhouse closer to the hospital and stopped by for the occasional dinner and to pick up Ben. But, as the phone rang you internally begged him to pick up, all drama aside.

You get his voicemail. Realistically, you know the ER can get chaotic at night, but you can’t help the curse that escapes again. You toss the phone down and grab your shoes from near the closet, the ones you swore you’d pick up days ago.

You help Ben move to the car, holding his groaning form up. You hide your fear and anxiety and whisper reassurances to him.

The dashboard reads 2:38 am as you drive the fastest and safest way you can to the hospital. You park and help your son to the familiar ED’s waiting room. It’s less busy than you would have thought, the night shift seeming to usually catch the weirdest cases.

The receptionist is one you recognize thankfully, and her eyes shoot up when she sees you and Ben.

“I think it’s his appendix.” Your voice shakes.

Ben leans into you, his eyes tearing. “Mom-”

“It’s okay. You’re okay. We’re here now.” You repeat.

The receptionist pages back and Dr. Ellis exits the locked doors with a nurse not a moment later.

“Abbot?” She uses your last name as she rushes over and assesses Ben’s state. The nurse follows with a wheelchair and she helps you sit Ben in it.

“I think it’s his appendix. Jack didn’t pick up and I have no idea if it’s ruptured-”

Ellis cuts off your rambling, “Don’t worry, we got him.”

You follow her as they put Ben in a room and start an IV. You step forward and run a hand over your son’s hair, trying to comfort him.

“Is Dad here?” He groans.

“He’s in Trauma 1.” Ellis answers, giving you a look as she pulls the ultrasound over.

“He’ll be here in a little, baby.”

Ben nods but drops his head back defeatedly.

Ellis moves closer to her boss’s son and speaks gently. “I’m going to lift your shirt and check out what’s going on, okay, kid?”

Ben nods and she puts the soft gel on the wand, moving it over his abdomen. She watches the screen and Ben holds onto your hand, wincing softly.

Ellis hums to herself, before placing the wand back and wiping your son’s side. “Good news is it’s not ruptured yet. I’m going to admit him to General Surgery and they’ll get him in pre-op.”

“He needs surgery?” You thought you’d heard of doctors being able to reverse appendicitis with medication.

She nods. “It’s pretty inflamed, I’m not sure the antibiotics would work in time to stop a rupture.”

“Okay, yeah, yeah. Thank you. Can- can you just get Jack when you have a chance?” You know he’s working and you’re not in the best place but you want him here.

“Of course.” She takes a moment to explain what’s going on to Ben before exiting. You sit on the edge of the mattress and squeeze Ben’s hand, trying to soothe him.

Jack had been in Trauma 1 when you had entered the ER. A GSW had come in through the ambulance bay and the patient was critical. He had spent the first 10 minutes coding him, then working to stabilize him enough to send him up to the OR.

When he finally exited and shoved off his gown, exhaling a deep sigh, he wasn’t in the mood to find out why Ellis was moving towards him in such a grim way.

He went to glance up at the board but Ellis’ tone caught him off guard.

“Dr. Abbot,” Her inhale was shaky, “Your son is in South 15.”

His world stopped. His years of training and education abandoned him in that singular moment. “What?” His voice was barely audible.

“Your wife brought him in, looks like appendicitis. It’s inflamed and I don’t think there’s time for antibiotic treatment. He’s getting prepped for General Surgery-” He didn’t stay to hear her finish. His movements were controlled but hurried as he moved to the curtain he would find you behind.

He shoved the curtain back and took in the scene before him. You were sitting on the small hospital bed, still in your tank top, striped pajama pants, and familiar worn flip-flops you’d had since before Ben was even born. You were whispering soft words to your son. Your son, whose face was scrunched up and who was lying back in a hospital gown, IV dripping into his arm.

You turned at the curtain’s movement and sighed deeply in relief. Ben glanced up.

“Dad.”

Jack was by his side in an instant. “You okay, buddy? What happened?”

You stood and watched Jack run his hand over Ben’s hair, pushing the curls he’d inherited from the man back.

Ben spoke softly, “My side started hurting, it woke me up. I woke Mom up and she brought me here.”

“I tried to call. I got here as quick as I could-” You continued.

“You did everything right.” Jack nodded, his voice soft and eyes firm.

He grabbed a pair of gloves from the box on the wall and pulled the ultrasound machine back over.

You knew he trusted Ellis and her professional opinion, but he also wanted to make sure his son was okay for himself.

Ben laid back as his dad examined his abdomen. You ran a hand over your bedhead and watched Jack shift into the all too familiar doctor he was. His expression unreadable, his movements precise.

He wiped the machine and his son’s stomach before speaking, “You’ll be okay, kid. One less appendix for you.” He smirked, winking at the young boy.

Ben smiled weakly at his dad and you let out the breath you’d been holding. Hearing that everything would be okay from Jack was the most reassurance you could get at that moment.

A few more nurses came in, giving Jack sympathetic glances and prepping Ben to head to the OR. When Ellis came back in and gave the all good, you pressed a long kiss to your son’s head. Jack squeezed his hand and whispered ‘I love yous’ in his ear. You watched as they wheeled him towards the elevator.

You knew he would be okay and that he was in the best hands, but your eyes watered. The night was catching up with you. A sob wracked through you and Jack watched your shoulders shake.

He stepped close behind you, his hands finding your shoulders and his mouth pressing a soft kiss to your head.

“It’s okay.” His voice was quiet and that was all you needed to let the tears fall.

Turning in his arms, you fell into his chest. His familiar hands, rough and calloused, wrapped around your crying form and his head came to rest on yours.

It was overwhelming. Ben needing surgery in the middle of the night and Jack not being there next to you to know or help. You let yourself cry for a while, before pulling back. You said nothing as you let Jack lead you to the elevator.

He kept his arm around you as you moved to the surgical floor. He sat with you in the waiting room, even finding a PTMC hoodie to wrap around your shoulders. He didn’t push you. He let you lean on him and intertwine your fingers with his.

“Do you need to go back down to the ER?” You sniffle, head on his shoulder.

“Shen can manage. I told him to page me only if there’s an emergency. I’m not going anywhere.” He squeezed your hand.

You lift your head and his eyes meet yours, serious and soft.

“I’m sorry,” you start, “about everything. Tonight- the whole night, I just kept wishing you were there with me. That I didn’t have to worry about calling or you being across town if something happened.”

A tear escapes as you continue, “I don’t like this. Not knowing where we stand. It’s killing me. I miss you, Jack. All the time.”

His face contorts in emotion and he swallows before responding in that soft tone of his. “I miss you too. All the time. I’m sorry, baby. I thought- I thought this would help. That you’d feel better away from me.”

Your head shakes and a few more tears fall. “I don’t, I don’t. I want you to come home.”

His thumb catches your tears as he takes in your words. His touch is soft and casual, a motion you’d found comfort in for years.

His jaw visibly clenches and his nod is firm, but it carries the emotion you know he’s feeling. “I want that, too. I want you, Ben, all of us together.”

“Together.” You repeat and clutch his hand tighter.

He pulls you into his arms and you let him. You fall into him for the first time in months with no second guesses. No imaginary lines being crossed.

You feel his lips graze your hairline and you pull back slightly, hands cupping his face. His lips find yours easily and it feels brand new again. Your heart full and your mind at ease.

“We’ll be okay.” His words wrap around you like his arms and you know in all certainty they’re true.

#seriously tysm #i’ll cry

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lovableapocalypse · 2 months ago

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sammy bryant x miserable state defense attorney - follow up. 2.6k

the two of you don't run through with it as it would usually go. you almost never call but your door is always open for him to come and go as he pleases. you are both good at waiting— sammy a little less, but that’s just a matter of balance. he notices you thrive on this stretching of time that separates your encounters. though sometimes he catches you looking across the hall, and its only on very special moments, when he makes sure there's no one around, that he winks at you and you go all bashful and you lightly shake your head, trying to hide the smile that blossoms in your face. sammy notices it’s on those nights you kiss him a little more desperately, tug at his shirt, press yourself a little more against him, say things like i wish i had more time with you, like you both are running out of it.

you don't talk about your life too much. not in the way sammy is used to at least, with his friends and nate and tammy. you are not secretive, per se, but you don't like being asked too many questions. but it's not like you don't want to share, because you do tell him things when he is least expecting them. it's one of the things he likes the most about you, because it shows him that you trust him.

he learns that you come from a family of attorneys. your mom and your dad still hold important roles in the east coast. you've got a brother a couple of years younger. you never really say why you chose to work all across the country but he can imagine. a way to prove yourself far from the shadow of your parents, though you never imagined you would hate it.

you don't have many friends in LA because you are relatively new and you work all day but you got a couple of good college friends who lead a successful life in new york. and there's a bitterness in your words when you mention off handedly how they always seem to make you feel a little less— this is his take though, you word it differently. your eyes get a bit teary and he peppers gentle kisses all over your face, and you always thank him for that.

***

he thinks it would be unfair to bring the subject of his wife up, maybe so as not to create any false expectations. he thinks of how the guys at the station with their mistresses, the ones who are always whisper-screaming on the phone that they will divorce soon enough, would be ecstatic by what sammy has going on. you never say anything about her, you don't ask, you don't mention anything about tammy. and though it avoids uncomfortable conversations, in a way he is almost disappointed that you don't. he knows he should leave her, he just needs the push. your push. it never comes.

there's something deep-rooted inside him that needs to make his marriage work to prove that he can be like they taught him to be. a good man. but lately— mostly the nights with you curled up by his side, not even fucking, just you listening to him— he thinks that maybe he wasn't born to be a good man at all.

but then at home he keeps trying for a baby with tammy. and they do it like they are forced. like sammy doesn't breathe with relief every time the pregnancy test comes out negative.

there’s one time. he is at a bar with the guys from the stakeout. they are all saying stupid shit, drunk talk. and then someone, one of the guys in the gang division— all of them following gail’s lead to pester him, says: remember when sammy used to have a crush on that defence attorney.

they say used to because he has stopped ogling you so often. he has learned to be more careful now. he is diplomatic in his reactions as well. sammy just turns his head and sees that nate doesn't laugh nor says anything, he drinks from his beer and looks the other way.

and gail, like he always does, just trashes on him

man. you are not so smart ain't you? cops and defence attorneys are sworn enemies, everybody knows that

that gets a smirk out of sammy. because they don't know he is going straight to your house after this. he finishes his drink with a gulp, takes his jacket and ignores the way they insist he doesn't take offence. as he leaves, gail says something like you should think of that hot lawyer tonight, maybe you'll finally get your wife knocked up.

sammy doesn't hit him only because he doesn't want to get home to you with bruised fists. but the words keep ricocheting around his head. and that night as he looks at his cum spilling out of you, he has the urge to stuff it back in so you are the one that carries his baby.

***

you are waiting. well, he is waiting really. but you are both taking a quick break. he had made himself cum too fast, too pent up after a whole two weeks of not seeing you.

he has one arm spread open and you have your head on it. his bicep as a pillow. your curtains are drawn but the window is open allowing the sound of distant sirens and firecrackers to accompany the otherwise silent apartment. the room is lightened by the warm, soft glow of your lamp and sammy is almost afraid of taking a look at the clock, dreading the moment this will end.

you are playing with his fingers and he is watching you watch the ceiling. you look different without your glasses on— he has never actually found glasses hot until he met you. this new obsession of his sometimes comes to bite him on the ass, like when he is constantly thinking of that look you give him, the rim of your glasses partially hiding your warning eyes whenever you guys have a situation at the station. (these moments could be attributed to the fact that you have started to stand up for yourself a bit more since you two became a thing. he has been almost like, coaching you. not in a condescending way. pumping you up like mickey goldmill did to rocky. because he believes in you. he truly does.)

what are you thinking?

mmh. is it too much if i say you?

sammy smiles his boyish smile he knows you like so much and you give him a quick peck before you go back to your spot on his arm, hiding your face. (you don't say that you are always thinking of him. of this married man that has been so eager to sweep you up your feet. but he is somehow the only steady thing in your life, apart from that job that you hate)

can i ask what are you thinking about me?

just you, how warm you feel.

you get me this warm.

thats another thing he loves. how shy you still get. he coils his arms around your frame as you hide your face on his chest, and then kisses your head softly.

walk me through how you use the tie when you are alone. he presses, wanting to reel you up further. feels how your whole body gets hot besides him. you look at him and shake your head.

come on. you plead, the faintest hint of a smile on your lips. are you serious?

hey, you stole it. i need to know you haven’t done anything illegal with it and then use it as evidence against me.

you stretch over him to get the tie off your bedside table drawer and while you searchsa, sammy puts his attention on your breasts, nibbles the sweet skin and then kisses the spot with a wet kiss. he keeps thinking he is getting too used to this.

when you finally get it, you sit up on your thighs and he makes himself comfortable, arms behind his head, like he is about to watch a show.

are you really gonna make me do this?

i’m recharging and you need to cum.

you could make me cum.

aah i could yeah. but i don’t really feel like it right now. i wanna watch.

you tell him asshole. but you don't mean it because you are always doing what he tells you to do. so, you wrap his tie around your neck two times, leaving the rest hanging between your breasts. it’s a long one, so it falls on your lap. the motion, so quick and so natural, has him a bit shocked. he wonders how many times you have done this. sammy watches you tug lightly, the fabric tightening around your throat. a quiet hmm filtering through your closed mouth. oh that little thing already has him getting hard again.

this is how you use it then? he breathes, trying to contain himself. you nod.

okay. walk me through it. you put on my tie and what do you think about?

the first time we met. you start by spreading your thighs apart, place his tie right on your clit. i was waiting at the door, something about a clearance before they let me in.

you breathe a laugh that borders on a moan. your eyes flutter shut.

come on, go on.

you walked past me and it was a bit crowded. i was in the middle too. it was my first day and you didn't even look at me but you put your hands on my waist gently, barely hovering, to move past me and you said; excuse me sweetheart.

he remembers that day. and he had looked at you, you just didn't see him.

i couldn't look at you in the face that day because i wanted to fuck you so bad.

i thought you were angry that day

yeah. at you. first day, already thirsting over a detective.

it goes on like that for a while. you touching yourself with his tie until your arousal starts to soak the bedsheets and the only thing sammy can do is watch you, this beautiful creature in front of him.

and then he knows, that you are getting closer and closer. he has learned to read every move of your face and tilt of your head, every shake of your breath. still your eyes stay glued to him. like you don't want to lose track of him at all. he grabs you by the long lap of the tie and brings you to him in a swift motion. he is half sitting half lying on the bed and you climb into his lap and continue to grind against his dick.

normally i would use a pillow, but— ah. this— this is much better.

sammy wraps the tie around his fist and tugs gently, is this okay? you nod. you even put your hand on his to make him squeeze further. you just rub yourself on him and he kisses and licks your neck, your skin red from the friction. and tonight's all just too much and you cum so hard on top of him he has to mentally stop himself to cum again from the sight alone. it doesn't really work, his own orgasm sneaks up on him.

in the moment he has to finally leave your side, you watch him as he buttons up his shirt. sprawled out on your bed, your expression riddled with tiredness. he sits and he lets his thumb trace your cheekbone. just to stretch time a few minutes more.

***

that night after he has to put away the casper and tammy begs for his forgiveness as he tries to contain himself. he grabs his things and leaves.

he doesn't mean to end up with you, truly. because that would raise questions if he took longer than needed and tammy called nate or his folks and he wasn't there and they all started looking for him.

you make him a cup of tea and he tells you about casper. how he took him to the movies and then to eat something and how heartbreaking it all is. he isn't even sure how to show up to work tomorrow.

after you kiss his tears off and he calms down in your arms, you say you'll ask a colleague to take the kids' case. so he doesn't get further lost. sammy asks, with a quiet, broken voice. really? and you nod softly. your fingers running sweetly through his curls. you explain that a friend of your father's has a program that could help a kid like casper, they would be glad to help. and in that moment he looks at you and he thinks that he doesn't really deserve you.

so a few days later, when he buys that copy of the road, he leaves it on your bedside table instead of on his at home.

***

sammy has not been robbed of choice and that's why it’s only bound to happen. that he hurts you. the cliché of it makes the very destiny of your fate known. he tells you that tammy is pregnant and you just sit on the bed looking at him with tears brimming down your eyes. you don't scream you don't curse at him you don't tell him to get the fuck out. you look at him like you have mourned this from the very beginning and maybe you have— sammy has always known you hold a bit more wisdom than him. still, he wants to shake your shoulders, he wants to beg you to react.

you stop seeing each other. and without you everything just falls apart.

the only reaction he gets from you is when he finally files for divorce and finds out that you went back to the east coast thanks to the asshole that takes over your cases. he says you are scheduled to return, a break, he calls it. and sammy has the not-so-fleeting thought of taking a plane and going looking for you.

but things are always harder before they get any easier. months pass and it all accumulates. all the shit with tammy and the baby being his or not. and then,

nate.

at first he thinks he made you up. that it is his brain conjuring up a familiar, comforting imagine to claw through this forsaken nightmare. but you are there, standing by the hospital door on your work clothes, looking disheveled as always. you must have been working all night. you came back? when? he thought you were gone for good. but you are still there for him.

you still put your hand on his back even after he hurt you. saying i was at the station, salinger said… and then you call him baby and he just unfolds in your arms, face hidden on your lap as he lets it all out. you kiss his hair and then place your cheek against the top of his head. and im here, im here, is all he can hear.

you take his hand and he lets himself be dragged to your place. you still got some of his clothes tucked safely in your wardrobe, on a corner in the first drawer you are always opening and closing, always dedicating at least a second to looking at them fondly. you get him in the shower, get him comfortable and you curl next to him. the small room is quiet except for the distant sirens outside. his tears stain the fresh linen of your pillowcase. neither of you say anything, but he presses himself a bit harder against your side. you let him.

#18+#oh my goddddddd #this pairing has been on my mind 24/7 #i need more of them #this was so good!!!!#feeding my sammy brain rot #fic recs #sammy bryant

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lovableapocalypse · 2 months ago

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he holds me in his big arms, drunk and i am seeing stars, this is all i think of!!!!

#this is my idea of fun!!!!!#yes #pope cody #animal kingdom tnt #tv

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lovableapocalypse · 2 months ago

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Riley Keough as Daisy Jones in DAISY JONES & THE SIX (2023)

#i want to go back to my djats era #need this vibe for summer #plz!!!!#djats #tv

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lovableapocalypse · 2 months ago

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18+

andddddddd thinking about if season one pope who just got out of prison saw you for the first time in 3 years again…

you hadn't spoken to him since he was locked up. you didn't know.

you were a waitress at a small cafe near the beach. pope stopped in one morning months before and was enamored with you. you looked so focused and a little scrunch had formed between your brows. you had taken his order and placed the cup of coffee in front of him with a determined concentration and a sickly sweet smile. he thanked you and you laughed softly, saying of course.

he came in the same day every week for a month. you recognized him each time and even began to look forward to seeing him. eventually you got the balls to start talking to him. he introduced himself as pope and your nose scrunched at the nickname. a few weeks later you found out his real name. he had smirked. you were sitting at his table outside on your 15 minute break. andrew? the scrunch was back, but your smile was bright. he nodded and couldn’t help the upward tug at his lips.

one day he didn’t show up. you hated to admit you were disappointed and cursed yourself mentally for letting yourself get attached to a customer in the first place. because that’s what he was. he was a paying customer. not your friend or whatever you wanted to call the infatuation you had begun to harbor for him.

you were moody the rest of your shift- mad at yourself, mad at him. you were locking up for the night when his voice came from behind you. it scared you and you jumped, spinning to face him. sorry was all he said. you whispered his name, his real name. his face was bruised, a bandage slated over his eyebrow.

he stepped forward and your breath sped up. his knuckles were raw. bloody. you asked him if he was okay. he nodded. you tried to press, ask what had happened, but he stepped closer again. his chest nearly touching yours.

his mouth was so close you could feel his breath. you whispered his name again, air hitting his lips. he was on you in an instant. no explanation for his appearance or earlier absence, no hesitation in his actions. he kissed you and his scraped hands cupped your face as his lips moved against yours.

that was the first night you slept together. and for the next few months you had a routine. he’d come into the cafe the same as usual, then later that night you’d go back to his apartment or yours. he’d touch you and make you feel things you’d never felt before.

that was until he stopped showing up. he stopped coming to the cafe. he wasn’t at his apartment. he was gone without a trace.

you tried to not let it affect you, but it did. and three years later, here you were. still working at the cafe, but having long left andrew “pope” cody in the rearview.

he was driving past when he first saw you again. you were outside, a tray in your hands. your hair was longer, but you still had that same scrunch between your brows as you bent over to grab a mug off the table.

he didn’t stop. he wanted to, but he thought better. until he couldn’t stop thinking about it. about you. after another night of no sleep, he showed up.

it was early. you were still waking up, your movements slow as you took orders and made drinks.

he pushed the once familiar doors open and just watched you for a moment. your back was to him as you messed with the machine.

when you turned, your heart stopped. you froze behind the counter, eyes widening. you blinked and took a deep drag of air. his name tumbled from your lips.

his hair was cut short. he looked stronger and more rugged. different. he did the same to you, eyes running over your features to see what had changed.

you stared at each other for a moment before he stepped forward and ordered his usual. not that you had remembered after all this time.

you stared at him blankly. you rounded the counter and stopped in front of him. he followed you out back, the sea breeze blowing the cool morning air against your frames.

where were you? the words are soft, genuine. he had disappeared yet here he was, same as always.

he ran a calloused hand over his face. folsom.

your brows raise. jail? he had been in jail this whole time? you take a moment to process his words. he watches you, eyes predatory and squinted.

you just nod, accepting his answer. what else could you do? he tells you he wants to see you again. you tell him that's probably a bad idea, but you give him your new address anyway.

he comes by that night. late. you open the door timidly. standing only in your tank top and sleep shorts.

he steps through the threshold like he knows exactly where he belongs. his hands find your waist. his mouth finds yours. his touch is rough and desperate. he paws at your skin and his warm hands send fire running through you.

he traces a familiar path down your neck, his mouth sucking and kissing as he whispers about how he thought of you every night. your skin, your hair, your perfect pussy.

you moan at his words, at his touch, at his everything. you don’t even make it to the bedroom. he presses you against the wall by the door. your back pinned between him and the drywall as he slides inside you for the first time in years.

his groan is deep and guttural and your nails dig into whatever they can catch on to. he moves against you, his thrusts deep and fast, hitting every spot that sends your eyes rolling back. you moan against him, teeth digging into his shoulder as his pace sends you closer to the edge.

his grip on your body is borderline painful, bruising inevitable. he somehow pushes you farther into the wall, his words echoing around you, yeah- you thought about this every night, huh? c’mon, baby. come. show me how you used to-

you curse as your orgasm wracks through you. you sag into him and he holds you upright, fucking you through the aftershocks at his same pace.

he finishes with a curse and the two of you stay tangled for a long while. after, you shower and he fucks you again. slower this time.

your routine falls back into place like no time has passed. he orders the same drink and you fuck him whenever you can. three years fading into nothing.

a/n: this started as a small thought and just then just kept going so. my bad. but hope you like and if not just ignore this…

#thinking thoughts #thought #18+#andrew “pope” cody #andrew pope cody x reader #pope cody x reader #andrew pope cody #pope cody #animal kingdom fanfic #animal kingdom tnt #animal kingdom x reader #animal kingdom

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lovableapocalypse · 2 months ago

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500 notes thank you all sm 😭😚

scar tissue

dr. jack abbot x female!resident!reader

wc: 2k

summary: an unexpected patient arrives in the er and turmoil arises

warnings: medical inaccuracies, mentions of injuries and medical procedures, mentions of alcohol abuse aka reader has a shitty alcoholic dad who yells, mentions of brief sexual content but nothing explicit (mdni!), power dynamic in relationship/reader is a 3rd year resident jack is an attending, unspecified age gap, wrote this at 4am

a/n: this is soooo inspired by greys specifically the scenes where meredith's mom is a patient at sgh and then the mark and lexie (deleted?) scene of them after the shooting. i struggled a lot with the ending of this one so sorry if it sucks lol. hope you like and enjoy and thank you guys for all the love

Tonight’s shift hadn’t been too wild, but you would never risk speaking the words aloud. Jinxing the remaining 3 hours would only ruin the night you’d had so far.

A few random cases had come through and one drunk driver who was already stable and moved up to the ICU. One of the more chill night shifts you’d had in a while.

Glancing up from your seat at the nurse’s station, you watch him move from South 15 to the curtain over- checking on patients.

Your cheeks heat unprofessionally and unintentionally at the sight of him. A habit you needed to kick soon for you worked with the man 4 nights a week. That, and your flustered appearance was becoming more obvious than you’d realized.

Dr. Abbot has been your attending for over 2 years now. Starting as an intern on an emergency med rotation and thrown to the night shift due to scheduling conflicts- you found yourself working closely under the army vet.

His dynamic teaching and advantageous reassurance drew you to the emergency department. Deadset on surgery, you completely pivoted after working with the doctor. Declaring your specialty, you were now well into your third year of residency in the pit.

You felt confident when you worked under Abbot. He gave you the room to make decisions and he trusted your opinions- only stepping in to assist during especially challenging moments.

He glanced at you as his eyes passed over the board above your head. You shifted your gaze away, crumbling under the slightest look from him.

This was new. This nervousness. You had always thought Abbot was attractive, harboring a small crush, but he was your superior and that was a boundary you would never feel comfortable crossing.

Or so you thought.

It happened 11 days ago. Not that you were counting.

Your shifts had aligned that week to where you had three days off in a row, a rare occurrence.

Since residency had put your social life on the back burner you took the opportunity to call up a couple of friends and go out.

By some means of the universe, you had ended up at the same bar as Jack that night. How you ended up in the back of his car was a blur. Skirt bunched around your waist, hips thrusting roughly into yours, hands pulling and grasping at anything they could touch, his mouth whispering dirty words and kissing soft desperate kisses against your skin.

It was the heat of the moment. That’s what you kept telling yourself. It was a one-time thing. A mistake that wouldn’t happen again. Despite how much you secretly wanted it to.

So you glanced away. You kept it professional. You avoided him like the plague and spent as little time as you could in his presence.

You even traded a day shift with McKay to get a night away from him. You didn’t feel guilty or ashamed, you just didn’t want Jack to treat you differently. To see you differently.

The calm of the ED was short-lived as the charge nurse shouted out, “Incoming ped versus vehicle. 3 minutes.”

You stood from the desk and Jack stepped out of the room he was in. You reached for gloves and moved much slower than you should’ve.

The ambulance doors opened in a rush and the paramedics pushed in the patient on a stretcher. You were focused on snapping on your gloves. One tore as you pulled it on and you cursed under your breath, reaching for another. You listened to the paramedics as you grabbed a new one.

“Male. 64. Was hit by a driver. Multiple femoral fractures and a blood alcohol level higher than I’ve ever seen.” The paramedic huffed and the patient slurred aggressively in response.

You glanced up, approaching the stretcher, and your heart fell out of your chest. Your throat closed up on instinct. The patient was spewing nonsense but his demeanor was obvious. He was angry and drunk. And he was your father.

Abbot calls out your last name, voice sharper than normal as he motions for your frozen self to come help. To do your job.

You don’t move. Your heart races uncomfortably. You hadn’t seen your dad in a few weeks. He was a drunk who had treated you like the biggest regret of his life from as far back as you could remember.

You avoided him and only checked in on him every once and a while. Mostly to see if he was still alive.

Even in his drunken state, your father recognized the last name Jack had spoken. The one you shared with him.

Your father stopped squirming enough to glance up, directly at you.

“Look who it is.” His sneer was exaggerated and he threw his head back on the gurney.

Abbot’s brows furrowed and he looked between the man and you.

“You know this guy?” He spoke as they moved the gurney to the trauma bay.

The nurses tried to ask for his name and information but your father was shouting nonsense- mostly about giving him drugs to stop the pain.

You swallow harshly and follow into Trauma 2.

You feel like you’re in a daze. Watching your worst childhood memories clash with reality.

“Y/n. I need your help here.” Jack snaps.

They’re already working. Moving your dad to the bed, cutting his clothes. And you’re useless. Watching and trying not to break down.

Your dad shouts and you flinch involuntarily. He yells at the nurse for morphine. Jack is frustrated at your lack of help, but more so concerned about your behavior.

Your dad’s head snaps up and he glares right at you. “I’m talking to you! Give me something for the fucking pain-” His words are a jumble, but you understand him loud and clear.

“Sir-” The nurse starts and your dad shouts over her.

He keeps his head up, his gaze and words directed at you.

“Do you know him?” Abbot repeats his question from earlier, harsher this time as he works over the chaos.

Your dad answers for you unintentionally, shouting your name, “Give me something, here. I’m your father for fuck’s sake!”

The room falls quiet for a beat and your stomach twists.

“This is your dad?” Abbot’s eyebrows meet his forehead.

“Is he an addict?” The nurse asks you.

“Only alcohol. That I know of.” Your voice is a whisper.

Abbot sighs harshly and the nurse moves to give your dad a stronger painkiller.

“Right, get her out of here and send in Ellis, please.” Jack nods to another nurse.

She grips your arm softly and you watch as your father finally stops shouting and lays his head back in a morphine-induced haze.

The nurse squeezes your arm and sits you in a chair before rushing off to get the other resident.

You watch numbly as Ellis goes into the bay. You don’t know how long you stare at the wall for, your mind seeming to shut off.

You hear Shen’s voice behind you and it sounds like he’s asking you a question but you’re not registering anything.

Your stomach lurches violently and you stand, walking to the ambulance bay doors.

They slide open and Shen calls out to you.

You stagger to the bushes and the contents of your stomach come up.

You cough and wipe your mouth, catching your breath.

You grip the wall, needing something to stabilize your influx of emotions.

His voice comes from behind you after a moment.

“You okay?”

You turn to him and nod.

He stands across the bay, hands on his hips. He’s unconvinced.

He approaches you carefully, like a wounded animal, and you hate it.

“I’m fine. I just need a minute.” You call back.

You turn away from him and run a hand over your hair, gasping for a breath.

His hand finds your elbow in a gentle grip and you glance his way. He doesn’t say anything. He just grabs your arm and slowly moves you to the curb outside the building.

He sits you down and moves beside you, his knee brushing yours.

Your eyes well up despite your best efforts. Your breath wracks and your head sags.

You wipe at your tears as they begin to fall and try to hide your face in your shoulder. You feel his arm come around you, wrapping you in warmth.

“You’re okay.” His voice is so steady and reassuring that you almost believe him.

You nod, but the tears keep falling.

“I’m sorry.”

You feel his head shake beside you. “Don’t apologize.”

Tears stream down your face and his arm squeezes you closer. You let your head fall to his shoulder and let his comfort consume you.

Processing what just happened, you let Abbot ease your emotional toll. You feel his lips brush your hairline and your eyes squeeze shut.

Sniffling, you sit upright again. Abbot’s hand stays on you, sliding down to rest on your back.

“I didn’t know what to do. Or why I reacted like that. I didn’t- I wasn’t expecting to see him. Not here.” You wipe a stray tear away as you try to explain yourself.

“From what I witnessed, your reaction tells me there’s a whole other story to your relationship with that man. You don’t have to explain yourself to me. You’re a good doctor, but everyone has their limits. Things that hit close to home- or things that come from home.”

He sends you a sympathetic look and you nod at his words.

“I can’t have my best resident freezing up again. Or avoiding me. Which I know you’re doing by the way.” He raises a knowing brow.

The sigh that escapes you is full of embarrassment and nerves.

“I don’t want to talk about it-”

“About the fact that we slept together or that your dad is an abusive drunk?”

“Jack.”

“Either topic is up for debate.” His lips rise slightly and you can’t help but shake your head at his persistence.

“I want to forget it ever happened. All of it.”

It’s silent for a moment and at his lack of response you turn your head to look at him.

His words are quiet, “If that’s really what you want, I’ll never bring it up again. But if it’s not, I can’t keep pretending that I don’t care deeply for you. In a way that I definitely shouldn’t.”

His words are a punch to the gut. A reality check.

“You do?”

He nods, “Have for a while now.”

He reaches up to brush a rouge hair off your forehead and you lean into the touch.

“I do too. I care about you.”

His smile is small, “I figured.”

“Was it that obvious?” You cringe.

He shakes his head, “You’re just easy to read sometimes.”

“It’s inappropriate. Us.” You state the obvious, though you know the words are a useless feat.

“Very.” Jack huffs a laugh.

You can’t help the small laugh that escapes you.

After a moment you speak up again, “Is my dad okay?”

“He will be. He needs surgery, but he’ll live.”

You nod.

Jack runs his hand up your back, his lips meeting your head. He stands slowly, reaching down to grasp your hand. He pulls you to your feet gently.

“You don’t have to see him, but if you want to I can go with you.”

“Thank you.”

He nods and starts back towards the automatic doors.

“Jack.” You call.

He turns, eyebrows raised in question.

You step closer to him and repeat the sentiment.

“I’ll look after you.” He squeezes your hand and moves back inside.

He drives you home that night. And many more nights after that. Your dynamic changes. While still supportive and professional, it’s deeper and fervent- your relationship building a whole new layer of trust. You loved him and it was easy. No more glancing away or avoidant behaviors. You let Jack into every aspect of your life and he cherished it- nurtured it.

He was everything you needed and more. You accepted each other in whole, scar tissue and all.

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lovableapocalypse · 2 months ago

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RAHHHH you and me both