softstarlite - Tumblr blog

softstarlite · 1 month ago

Text

this is (not) fine [one-shot]

marvel au bucky x personal assistant!reader

personal assistant rules: don’t crush on bucky barnes. definitely don’t misinterpret a flower purchase and spiral into silent heartbreak, and absolutely never ever get stuck alone with him in an elevator.

Warnings: 18+ content minors dni, smut, oral (f receiving), public (ish) sex?, wall sex (?), okay they fuck in an elevator guys, kissing, angst, miscommunication (not badly), hurt/comfort, there's some plot if you squint, insecure/self-conscious reader undertones, reader is an overthinker, reader is horny lol, no use of y/n, lmk if i've missed anything

Word Count: 9.1k

A/N: hi, hopefully this will keep you all fed while i work on part five to lessons in lovemaking. finally getting around to some of these requests in my inbox. this one is based off this request, but i changed it up so the reader is a PA instead of an avenger. lmk your thoughts thanx for reading <3 sorry for any typos - not proof read.

main masterlist

You’d never pegged Natasha as the type who enjoyed flowers.

No, she struck you more as the encrypted-flash-drive-on-a-park-bench type, the kind of woman who appreciated mysteries with teeth. A custom leather jacket, stitched with the same precision she used to dismantle a glock. One of those sleek, low motorcycles. Not daisies. Not peonies. And definitely not whatever soft, pastel nonsense Bucky was currently handing over cash for.

You stood a few feet away, halfway hidden behind a sidewalk sign advertising oat milk lattes and gluten-free muffins, clutching a cardboard drink tray and a bag full of vegan pastries in a death grip. The barista had spelt ‘Bruce’ as ‘Broose’ again, and under any other circumstance, that would've made you laugh, but now it felt like the most irrelevant thing in the world.

You liked Natasha. You respected her. You just didn’t think she had it in her to giggle over roses like the girls in those sappy rom-coms Clint insisted he hated (right before he would watch three in a row, a beer in each hand). But there Bucky was, brushing pollen off a bouquet of pale pink ranunculus, face soft in a way you’d never seen during mission briefings or sparring sessions.

And suddenly, you were building a list in your head of all the things you were sure Natasha Romanoff would rather receive as a romantic gesture: a knife, balanced perfectly for throwing, an expensive bottle of vodka, a vintage chess set with hand-carved pieces, a bottle of expensive ink and a fountain pen with a sharp nib, cookies—messy ones—overloaded with chocolate chips, or simply just black coffee, straight from the pot, no sugar, no cream. Yet, as Bucky handed it over to the redhead, she smiled. Smiled. And suddenly you felt like you were witnessing a scene you were not welcome to.

Truthfully, it stung. Maybe it stung a little more than what was appropriate. You’d been harbouring a quiet crush on the dark-haired, sullen supersoldier from the moment he joined the team. Fresh out of Wakanda, new vibranium arm in tow, and god, he was handsome. Not in the polished, television commercial way Steve was, but in a way that made your pulse skip and your thoughts stall mid-sentence. He had the kind of face you didn’t know how to look at for too long, sharpened jaw, stormy-blue eyes, and a mouth that always looked on the verge of saying something he’d regret.

There was something electric about his stillness. Like if you leaned in close enough, you’d hear the hum of danger beneath his skin. He walked like a man who never quite trusted, drifting through the tower like he expected a fight around every corner. He barely spoke, but when he did, his voice was low and gravel-worn, something that settled right in your gut and made its home there.

He never smiled. Not really. But sometimes—sometimes—you’d catch a flicker of it when Sam teased him, or when Steve nudged him just right, and it was devastating.

And yeah, maybe you had a soft spot for broken things trying to heal.

As the Avengers’ personal assistant, it was your job to keep everyone comfortable, informed, and running like clockwork. You were a one-person organisational machine, constantly juggling the chaos that came with managing a tower full of enhanced individuals with the emotional range of a brick wall to a nuclear reactor. Your days were a blur of colour-coded schedules, back-to-back briefings, and the never-ending group chats.

You coordinated mission debriefs, booked international flights with military clearance, and handled press requests that would make most people cry. You endured complaints when Thor overloaded the power grid again, trying to make toast, and even replaced the mugs he shattered before anyone noticed. You wrangled Clint’s kids when they came to visit, sourced obscure snacks from remote parts of the world because Sam liked those protein bars, not the other ones, and Steve wouldn’t touch anything processed. You replaced a record number of coffee machines, hunted down whatever special detergent could get oil out of Tony’s designer shirts. You knew which brand of muscle balm Banner preferred and how to order it without triggering a random Homeland Security check.

And then there was Bucky.

With him, it was always a little extra, whether he noticed or not. His schedule came first in your Monday morning rounds. You made sure the pantry was stocked with the Eastern European tea he liked but never asked for, and remembered the exact setting he preferred on the tower’s training room temperature controls. You adjusted group plans so he’d be paired with Steve or Sam, just in case the crowds and questions became overwhelming. When he disappeared for a few hours, you didn’t ask questions, but you made sure no one came looking. You even swapped out the scratchy tags in his mission gear with soft ones, because he never complained, but you noticed the way he fidgeted with them.

Every day, you’d beam at him like some hopelessly love-struck idiot when you handed over his usual coffee—black, two brown sugars, just the way he liked it—and in return, he’d offer little more than a grunt. A low, barely-there sound that most people wouldn’t even register as a greeting. But you did. Somehow, that grunt became the highlight of your day.

So yeah, maybe seeing him hand over flowers to Natasha broke something in you. Not just a hairline fracture, but a quiet, splintering break that left your chest aching in places you didn’t know could hurt. Still, you understood. Natasha belonged to his world, effortlessly cool, all smoke, shadows and secrets. Yet she was kind. Not cold or unapproachable, just… carved from something rarer than you. The kind of woman who didn’t need to try to be extraordinary, she just was.

And you? You were the sweet, well-meaning assistant who made people laugh in the kitchen, who fetched dry cleaning and remembered everyone’s birthdays. You were the one who labelled tupperware and chased down Clint’s kids with bandaids. You were an afterthought, the background noise in the buzzing hive which was the Avengers Tower.

So maybe you could justify feeling jealous, but angry? No. Not really. They didn’t know. They couldn’t know. And it wasn’t their fault that you’d let yourself hope.

—

Two weeks later, and you timed it perfectly, like you always did.

Just as the door to Bucky’s apartment clicked open, you rounded the corner—folder in hand, clipboard tucked tight to your side. The hallway was quiet, save for the low hum of ventilation and the soft thud of your heels against the carpet. Bucky stepped out, his gym bag slung over his shoulder, hair tied back, and his hoodie sleeves shoved up just enough to show the gleam of vibranium. Predictable. It was routine, every morning just before six he would meet with Steve in the gym. On Mondays, you’d catch him just as he exited his apartment, unload the details for the week, a freshly printed schedule and all.

“Morning,” you said lightly, handing him the week’s itinerary. His reply was his usual, a grunt. Not annoyed. Not grateful. Just Bucky. That gruff, barely-there sound that once felt like a small victory. The kind of grunt that used to warm your chest when he followed it with a question, even if you knew the answer was printed in the folder you’d triple-checked. You always answered anyway. You liked having his attention, even just for a few seconds.

You used to dress the folders up with care, multicoloured sticky notes marking key tasks (blue for meetings, yellow for reminders, red for anything urgent and green for personal events). You’d highlight sections like traffic lights, add stickers you thought might make him smile, sometimes even scribble little crooked cartoons in the margins with cheesy encouragements—seize the day!

The folder looked rather sad today, just a plain manila folder packed with stapled papers. No colours. No stickers. No effort. Just the essentials. You didn’t let your fingers dawdle when he took it. Didn’t smile like you used to. Just handed it over and kept your gaze somewhere past his shoulder.

Bucky took it slowly, eyes flicking down at the cover like he was trying to spot something that wasn’t there. His brow pinched, barely, but enough for you to notice. His fingers lingered on the edge of the folder, like he thought maybe he’d missed a note tucked inside.

You nodded and turned to leave, forcing yourself to shift your mind to your next chore mentally, restocking med supplies in the Quinjet, cross-checking Clint’s revised travel forms, hunting down the coffee machine Tony had threatened to ‘repurpose as target practice’. You’d have to order a replacement before the morning debrief. Double-check everyone’s dietary preferences. Update Steve on the tech room schedule. Get maintenance to repaint the lines in the training room because someone (probably Thor) had scuffed them again.

You stayed busy. It helped. Kind of.

But the guilt still trailed you like a shadow.

It was probably obvious how abruptly you changed. The way your voice had lost its warmth. The way your gaze dodged his like it might burn you. You wondered if he noticed, if he thought you'd simply grown tired of him. Maybe he had. That was better than the truth that you couldn’t stand to be near him, not when every glance felt like pressing fingers to a bruise you’d caused yourself.

You had made your choice, professionalism. The kind of cool, curated detachment you admired in Natasha, only it felt all wrong on you, like an ill-fitting coat. You knew it was for the better, not mixing up work and matters of the heart. You’d already let your little crush spiral too far, thinking maybe—just maybe—if you tried hard enough, you’d earn more than a grunt. That he might see you as something more than the charming assistant with her clipboard and her stupid stickers. But he didn’t. And he wouldn’t. And that was fine. It had to be.

You couldn’t afford to fall apart over a man who had no idea he’d broken your heart.

But it was Bucky’s voice, soft and unsure, that startled you from your thoughts. “Hey.”

You paused mid-step and turned, forcing a tight smile that didn’t quite meet your eyes as your fingers curled against the clipboard. “What’s up?”

He shifted his weight, clearly caught off guard by the fact that you stopped walking at all. He was rather devastating to look at when he grew all shy and unsure, fingers fidgeting against the edge of the folder like he didn’t know what to do with them. He didn’t quite meet your eye as his weight shifted nervously, like he hadn’t thought before he called out.

“Uh. Nothin’. Just—” He raised the folder slightly, an awkward gesture. “You usually give me the rundown. Y’know… what everyone’s doing. Who’s where. Who I’m stuck with.”

You swallowed. Of course, he’d noticed. Of course, he’d grown used to your chatter about meetings and mission rosters, about who was off-world and who was due back, like it was the weather. The casual, effortless way you used to tell him what movie was playing, who cheated at Monopoly the night before, or which team member had stolen the last protein bar. You’d always done it to help, keep him grounded, and make him feel like part of the team, like he belonged.

But after what you’d seen two weeks ago, you were sure he didn’t need that from you anymore. Natasha would look out for him now. She’d keep him balanced, keep him fed, keep him from slipping through the cracks.

“Nothing interesting’s happening,” you shrugged. “Just the usual.”

He didn’t move. “Well… there’s that dinner. On Friday.”

You gave a curt nod, tone clipped. “Yes.”

“Wanda’s dinner,” he added, as if you hadn’t already acknowledged it.

“Correct.”

He hesitated again, brows drawing together in a faint crease of worry. You could see him floundering, stuck in some internal scramble. It made your chest ache because you knew that look. You’d helped talk him down from that look more times than anyone else in the tower probably realised.

You sighed quietly through your nose, against your better judgment, against every wall you’d tried to build in the past week, you caved. He looked five seconds away from spiralling.

“It’s in there,” you offered gently, nodding toward the folder. “On your schedule.”

“Right. It’s just… for me, you usually…” His voice trailed off, frustration and uncertainty knotting in his brow. “Sorry. You’re probably busy—”

That felt like a punch to the gut.

You shook your head and, before your pride could stop you, your feet were already moving back toward him. His eyes dropped as you reached into your pocket for a pen, scribbling ‘Wanda’s Dinner – Friday’ on a green sticky note. Green for personal events, always. You hesitated, then added a smiley face underneath. You peeled it off and stuck it neatly onto the folder in Bucky’s hands.

His eyes dropped to it, finger brushing over the paper like he didn’t quite understand why it mattered so much. “Thanks.”

You just nodded, already stepping back, spine straight, pretending your heart wasn’t hammering in your throat.

“She said…” Bucky cleared his throat, clearly not done with the conversation. “Wanda said she’s going to do curry.”

You paused, unsure what to do with the information. Why was he telling you that? Why was he still talking?

“That’s nice,” you said carefully, not sure what to do with this strange, lingering version of him.

“Are you going?” he asked suddenly, and you frowned.

“I wasn’t invited—” You began, already covering from the invasive thoughts, already working to mask the sting. You didn’t want to imagine them next to each other over curry, leaning close, whispering in the way people did when they thought no one else was watching. It would only make the crack in your chest worse.

“You should go,” Bucky said quickly, cutting across your thoughts. “I’ll tell Wanda you’re coming.”

“That’s not necessary. I’ll be busy that night anyway…” You lied through your teeth, heart thumping hard against your breastbone as Bucky’s face crumpled a bit. You cut in before he could argue any further. “You’re going to be late. For the gym. It’s nearly six.”

“Right, shit, yeah. Sorry, I just…” He trailed off again, rubbing the back of his neck. “Thanks. I’ll… I’ll see you around.”

You raised an eyebrow at him, unsure if you were more confused or stunned by his sudden jitters.

—

Before the whole flowers incident, you made it your unofficial mission to ‘accidentally’ bump into Bucky as many times as humanly possible in a day. Now? It was the opposite. Every hallway was a trap to avoid, every room a potential ambush. Navigating the Tower had turned into something between a tactical stealth op and a personal game of hide-and-seek.

Unfortunately, your strategy for quiet withdrawal hadn’t gone unnoticed.

In fact, Bucky had picked up on your sudden cold shoulder almost immediately. The folder debacle had only been the first of many increasingly awkward run-ins.

There was the time you’d practically sprinted away from the elevator when the doors slid open to reveal him standing inside, a brow raised and coffee in hand. Or when you turned a corner too fast and walked straight into him, muttering a rushed apology before disappearing again like you were being hunted. Then there was the silent, painful breakfast you’d shared at the communal kitchen counter, where you busied yourself with peeling an orange for ten minutes straight while he sat beside you, occasionally glancing over like he wanted to say something but didn’t know how to begin.

You’d even pretended to be asleep on the common room couch when he walked in one evening, piles of paperwork scattered, laptop still open, only for him to drape a throw blanket over you before quietly leaving again.

And yet, instead of giving you space like you’d expected and hoped for, he seemed to find any excuse to be around you. He trailed after you like some misplaced puppy whenever he wasn’t buried in a mission or holed up in a meeting.

You’d assumed that the moment you stepped back, he’d naturally gravitate toward spending more time with Natasha. It made sense. Why wouldn’t he want to be around her? They were obviously dating, even if they hadn’t made it official yet. Maybe it was one of those quiet, close things kept just between friends, like Steve and Sam. Who were you to come barreling in and expose their secret entanglement? You expected Bucky to be relieved to no longer be on the receiving end of your babbling, your perfectly-timed coffee deliveries, or the not-so-subtle gifts you littered around.

But if anything, Bucky seemed determined to figure you out. Like your sudden shift had become his new pet project, and he was personally committed to cracking the case.

You’d taken the back hallway, the long, winding route that steered well clear of the gym on your way to the shared office. High-traffic areas were too risky now—too many chances to run into him. But clearly, Bucky had caught onto your little detours, because as you turned the corner, there he was, headed straight toward you.

You froze for half a second, pulse quickening. Turning around would be too obvious. Suspicious. He’d know exactly what you were doing, and then your carefully-constructed avoidance strategy would unravel entirely. If he suspected anything now, you were one panicked backpedal away from confirming it.

It was a nightmare. And a daydream.

A part of you, some soft, hopelessly romantic piece, ached at the sight of him, at the quiet way he seemed to look for you, worry always etched into his brow like you were some puzzle he couldn’t quite solve. But the rational part of your mind, the part that had dragged you into this self-imposed emotional lockdown, screamed that letting him get closer again would only undo all the fragile healing you’d managed to piece together.

So you steeled yourself.

Shoulders squared. Laptop and paperwork clutched like a lifeline. Eyes locked on an imaginary point just past his shoulder. If you kept walking and moved quickly, calmly, maybe he’d let you go. Perhaps he’d pretend not to notice how your pace picked up and your gaze carefully avoided his.

You nearly made it.

But of course, he noticed.

“Hey, wait—”

His voice was hesitant, just enough pressure to pull you to a stop. Your footsteps faded into the hush of the corridor, your spine straightening instinctively as you turned. Bucky stood a few paces behind, one hand lifted halfway between reaching and retreating, like he’d almost grabbed your arm but lost the nerve.

He looked sheepish. Timid, even. It killed you.

You swallowed. “Yeah?”

He scratched the back of his neck, boots scuffing lightly against the floor. “Did I… forget to grab my coffee this morning? Or… did you not bring it?”

A pause. Too long. You could feel the beat of your pulse behind your sternum as you forced a casual shake of your head.

“No, sorry. That’s on me. Slipped my mind.”

The lie didn’t sit well in your mouth.

It hadn’t slipped your mind, in fact, it was still sitting on the corner of your desk, cooling beside a stack of unfinished paperwork. You’d brewed it, as always. Even used the brown sugar he liked. But then you’d walked away from it, deliberately, like some idiotic breadcrumb trail you hoped he might follow.

God, you were pathetic.

Your stupid fucking brain couldn’t even decide what it wanted anymore. One half of you was charting escape routes through the tower to avoid him, the other was fantasising about him pinning you to the nearest wall. From the way your thighs pressed together now, breath catching as his voice brushed over you, maybe the answer wasn’t distance at all. Perhaps you just wanted to taste him—

He didn’t move. Just stood there, one brow lifted, faint worry creasing the edge of his expression.

“You’re usually down by the gym by nine,” he said, his voice low. “It’s eleven.”

“I’m running a bit behind today.”

“You usually text me if you’re running behind.”

“Well,” you said, shrugging like it didn’t matter, “I didn’t this time.”

He paused, the silence between you laced with something dangerously close to concern. “Is everything alright?”

You forced a small laugh, trying to shake off how his low, worried voice made heat pool in your gut. “Yeah. Why?”

“You seem off.”

There it was. Soft, plain and far too knowing. He said it in that maddeningly sincere way that only he could manage. Like he actually gave a damn. Like this wasn’t unravelling you by the day.

Your shoulders tensed. “Off?”

“Yeah,” he said gently. “Just… I dunno. You’ve been quiet lately.”

He didn’t know. He couldn’t know about the hours you spent spinning in your head like a lunatic, trying to compartmentalise this crush until it shrank into something survivable. About the way you’d stared blankly at Tinder profiles, your phone clutched in your hand, wondering why no one else ever came close, why none of them were him.

Why you couldn’t stop thinking that if you’d just told him—confessed that stupid crush before Natasha did—maybe you wouldn’t be standing here now like some stray mutt, sniffing around for scraps of attention.

Maybe then he’d be yours.

Maybe then you wouldn’t be fantasising about quitting just to put yourself out of your own misery like some lame racehorse.

“I’ve just got a lot on my plate,” you finally mustered, tone strained. “Tony’s soirée. The fittings. Admin crap. Didn’t even have breakfast today.”

His brows furrowed further. “That’s not good.”

“I’ll survive.”

Would you, though?

Would you survive the heat that flared low in your stomach every time he got too close? Would you survive the ache that gnawed behind your ribs every time he glanced over at Natasha like you didn’t exist? Would you survive the constant, desperate craving to be touched by him? To be looked at like she was looked at?

He didn’t speak for a second, and for a moment, you were sure he could smell the reek of desperation on you.

“The oranges in the fridge are gone.”

You blinked. “What?”

“And the tea. The fancy one,” he added. “The one with the dried raspberries in it. You’re the one who always restocks them, aren’t you?”

You looked down, fingers clenching around your folder. “I’ll add it to the list.”

“I didn’t mean it like that,” he said quickly, stepping forward a half-inch, enough to make your breath hitch. “I just… I didn’t realise it was you. Doing all of that.”

Of course, he hadn’t because you’d made it invisible. Seamless. That was the kind of care you practised—silent, anticipatory, never asked for, never returned. You had cared for him with a thousand tiny efforts, but he never noticed until you stopped.

You looked up, and the hallway felt suddenly too narrow. His face was open in a way you hadn’t seen in a long time. Gentle, confused, like he was trying to work you out and couldn’t quite bear not knowing.

You dropped your gaze. “I said I’ll do it.”

He paused. You could feel him thinking again.

Then, to your disappointment, he slowly nodded. “Okay.”

But he didn’t move. Not right away. He lingered like someone who hadn’t yet decided if leaving was the right call, like he was caught between concern and curiosity.

“I’ll leave you to it, I guess.”

You didn’t answer. Couldn’t. You just nodded and turned, walking away quickly before he could see your face fall, before he could catch the naked want in your expression, the way your heart was clawing against your ribs, screaming for you to turn around and ruin everything.

—

If time travel were an option, you'd gladly launch yourself into a wormhole and strangle your past self for being stupid—no, lovesick—enough to organise this little errand. You deserve it, really. A swift kick to the gut from future-you for being this hopeless.

It had all started a month ago, when you, like a fool, volunteered to collect the tailored suits and dresses for some little soirée Tony Stark had decided to throw. Of course, in true Tony fashion, what was pitched as a ‘casual get-together’ had evolved into a full-blown, black-tie spectacle. The first warning sign? Tony footing the bill for everyone to have custom outfits made to their specifications. Translation…this was going to be a thing.

You’d spent weeks wrangling Avengers into fitting appointments, helping them choose fabrics and cuts, managing last-minute alterations and tracking shipments. It was exhausting but under control…until the catch. The aggravating, absurdly attractive, brooding catch currently sitting across from you in the tailor’s waiting room, his knee bounced like it was transmitting a detailed morse code manifesto on every possible way he planned to ruin your day.

The plan had been simple: grab an Uber, pick up the garments, pressed, stitched, and boxed to perfection and head back to the tower. But then you got the call. The one that told you Bucky Barnes had missed his final fitting, and that his suit needed some last-minute adjustments...

Of course he did.

Of all your perfectly laid plans, it only took one missed appointment to bring it all crashing down. Now here you were, stuck waiting beside the man who occupied far too much of your brain lately, silently praying the tailor would finish quickly so you could escape before your sanity, or your dignity, completely unravelled.

“I really am sorry,” Bucky said for what felt like the fiftieth time.

Between the brooding and the nervous leg tapping, he’d spent the last five minutes watching the side of your face with an expression so guilty it was practically carved into him.

“Like I said, it’s fine.” You replied, though it came out a little too tight, a little too forced, like you were speaking through clenched teeth. Which, maybe you were. Not that it mattered. Not when you could smell his cologne from how damn close he was sitting. God, you wanted to lean over and bury your face in his chest and just inhale—

You straightened abruptly, shoulders stiffening as the tailor entered the room, and mentally reacquainted yourself with the concept of boundaries.

It had been an hour—sixty minutes of waiting while Bucky’s suit got its final adjustments. An hour of you trying to distract yourself with work emails and unanswered texts, pretending the man beside you wasn’t single-handedly causing your emotional stability to nosedive. At least when he’d stepped away to get re-measured, you could breathe without risking spontaneous emotional combustion.

This wasn’t like you. You weren’t usually this wound up. Maybe it was the exhaustion, days of juggling your regular duties with Tony’s ever-growing list of soirée demands. Perhaps it was the heartbreak. Or the missed meals. Or the fact that you genuinely had no idea what day it was anymore.

“Would you like to try it on before we package it up for travel?” the tailor asked, her voice gentle. A measuring tape hung loosely around her neck, her pinned bun fraying slightly at the edges.

Bucky looked at you again, eyes flicking toward yours like he needed permission. You swallowed what was left of your pride and gave him a slight, strained nod.

“It’s okay,” you said quietly. “Go on.”

“I’m sorry—again—this is probably eating into your whole afternoon, I know how busy you are—”

“It’s fine. Really. Just go.”

He offered a sheepish smile before disappearing behind the velvet curtain, tugging it closed with a rustle. You pressed your fingers to your temples, let your head drop into your hands, and exhaled through your nose like it might stop your heart from trying to break out of your chest.

Across the counter, the tailor glanced up at you with a sympathetic look as she readied the boxes for the other garments. “Long day?” she asked gently.

You lifted your head, managing a tight smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes.

“Only going to get longer.”

You were still nursing the tail end of your sigh when the velvet curtain swished open again.

And then your brain stopped working.

Bucky stepped out in full formal attire, sharp navy suit, tailored within an inch of its life. The cut of it hugged his frame perfectly. Broad shoulders, tapered waist, long legs. A deep navy waistcoat peeked out beneath the jacket, the subtle sheen of the fabric catching the light just enough to look expensive without being flashy. His tie was already perfectly knotted, like he’d done this a hundred times, and the sleeves of his shirt revealed just enough of the polished metal edge of his vibranium arm to make your mouth dry.

He cleared his throat softly, tugging at one cuff. “How’s it look?”

You blinked. Opened your mouth. Closed it again.

Words? No. Words were gone. Your vocabulary had packed up and left the building.

Bucky shifted his weight, clearly mistaking your slack-jawed silence for disapproval. “It’s weird, right? The waistcoat maybe doesn’t work, I told her I wasn’t sure about it—”

“No,” you said quickly—too quickly. “No, it’s… It’s perfect. You look… great. Seriously.”

His brows lifted slightly, a flicker of something you couldn’t quite place crossing his face. Relief, maybe?

“Yeah?” he said, glancing down at himself, tugging slightly at the jacket hem. “I feel better about it now. The sleeves fit properly this time. Thanks for waiting.”

The tailor beamed from behind the counter, clearly proud of her work. “Wonderful. I’ll box it up immediately once you’re out of it.”

Bucky nodded, but the tailor turned to you with a friendly smile before he could disappear again.

“And for you, would you like to try your gown on as well before I pack it away?”

You blinked, suddenly snapped out of your holy-shit-Bucky-hot-hot-hot haze. “My what?”

She gestured toward the row of garment bags. “Mr. Stark sent over your measurements earlier this month. There’s a gown here for you.”

You frowned. “That must be a mistake. I’m just the assistant. None of those are for me.”

The tailor hesitated. “I don’t think so… He was very clear. Your name was attached to the order.”

Before you could argue, Bucky cut in smoothly, like he’d seen this train coming and stepped in to redirect it.

“Tony probably just wanted you to look the part, too,” he said, voice low and casual. “You’ve done all the work, he probably figured you deserved to enjoy the night a little. Might as well try it on, just in case.”

You glanced at him, but he didn’t look smug or teasing. Just… earnest. Calm. Like he meant it. Which made it all the harder to protest.

“Fine.” You sighed, scrubbing a hand down your face. “Just to check it fits.”

The tailor clapped her hands together. “Wonderful. It’s a beautiful gown, I promise.”

You gave Bucky one last side-eye before following her toward the changing rooms, the fabric bag already in her hands.

From behind, you could hear him chuckle under his breath.

“Just wait 'til you see her,” the tailor murmured to herself, and you weren’t sure whether to be flattered or deeply, deeply nervous.

The gown was heavier than you expected. Luxurious fabric slipped off the hanger like water, pooling in your arms as she handed it over with the kind of reverence usually reserved for wedding dresses.

“I’ll give you a minute,” she smiled, disappearing to finish boxing up the suits.

Left alone in the changing room, you peeled out of your clothes, letting the gown slide on over your hips, your waist, up past your ribs. It clung like it had been sewn directly onto your body, the bodice snug, the neckline just daring enough to make you blush.

You twisted to try to reach the zipper at the back, fingers fumbling and straining, but the angle was impossible. You spent the better part of five minutes twisting in the mirror like a lunatic, trying to reach the zipper that refused to budge. Your arms ached. The corset bodice was half-fastened. You were flushed, annoyed, and far too aware of the sliver of bare spine still exposed.

You were about to peek your head out and ask the tailor for help when a low voice cut in behind the curtain.

“Need a hand?”

You flinched, fabric clutched to your chest. “Jesus, Bucky! Don’t sneak up on me like that!”

“Didn’t mean to scare you.” His voice was rougher than usual, like he’d just cleared his throat. “Heard you cursing. Tailor said she’d be a minute out back.”

You hesitated, and your voice came out thin. “Yeah. I—I can’t get it up.”

“Okay,” he replied, oddly determined. “Turn around.”

You cracked the curtain open a pinch. He ducked inside, too broad for the narrow space, his frame practically filling it. He was careful not to look at you directly, at least at first.

You turned slowly, presenting your back. “Just the zipper,” you murmured, barely trusting your own voice.

“Sure,”

A single fingertip, cold metal, dragged up from the base of your spine to the dip between your shoulder blades. It barely touched the skin, but you shuddered from the sensation. Bucky wasn’t even fastening yet, just tracing the line the zipper would follow. The sound you made was too soft to catch.

The zipper came up slowly. Agonisingly. His knuckles brushed your skin every inch of the way, not by accident. No, this was too slow, too precise, to be innocent.

He was savouring it.

His other hand steadied you, palm ghosting just over your hip. His breath fanned warm against your shoulder.

“You’re trembling,” he commented.

You swallowed hard, unable to muster a response.

When he reached the top, his hand didn’t fall away. Instead, he swept your hair off your shoulder completely, fingertips grazing the line of your throat as he let it fall over one side.

He leaned in. Not touching, but close. Mouth just behind your ear. The heat of his breath against your neck.

“Should’ve let me help sooner,” he whispered, voice like a purr. “Would’ve had you dressed in seconds.”

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t. Your lips parted slightly, breath caught somewhere halfway as your lungs deflated in shock. And maybe it was the gown. Or the silence. Or the way your thighs pressed together of their own accord, but you didn’t move. You didn’t step away.

You leaned in.

Only a fraction. Just enough.

He noticed.

You could feel it in the slight shift of his stance. The faint sound of him exhaling a chuckle through his nose. The way his hand brushed ever-so-slightly along the small of your back before falling away.

And then he was gone.

He stepped back like nothing had happened. Like the tension wasn’t choking the air between you. You turned toward the mirror in a daze.

The dress shimmered in the soft light. Deep, elegant, form-fitting. The neckline exposed the curve of your breasts, the slit at your thigh scandalous enough to make you self-conscious.

You caught his reflection in the mirror. He was watching you, but not with the restrained professionalism you were used to. It was only the sudden reentrance of the tailor that made him hesitate in whatever words were forming on his tongue. He stepped aside, finally giving you space to exit. And you did—legs shaky, palms sweating—like a deer walking straight back into the forest fire, pretending it wasn’t about to burn.

—

Your plan to avoid Bucky after the tailor incident had gone off without a hitch, maybe a little too well. You'd buried yourself in helping Tony pull together the final touches for his ‘soirée’ (which, if you were honest, was less soirée and more ‘black tie circus in a penthouse’).

You'd been so laser-focused on your tasks that you'd almost managed not to think about Bucky in that goddamn changing room. His fingers ghosting up your bare spine like a spark setting fire to dry kindling. You’d folded instantly. Your body betrayed you instantly while your brain screamed to keep it together. Pathetic.

The moral implications of whatever that moment had been were filed away for another day. Were you the other woman? Was Natasha going to slit your throat in your sleep? What was Bucky doing, touching you like that—in a public changing room, no less—when he had a bombshell redhead waiting for him back at the Tower?

No time for that now. Not when Tony’s precious ‘soirée’ was already in full swing upstairs and the caterers had somehow forgotten an entire section of the food. You’d scrambled together an emergency order from some overpriced restaurant Tony swore he was ‘basically family’ with, and by some miracle, they came through in the nick of time.

Now you were in damage control mode, hauling three boxes of overpriced canapés up to the penthouse. Your heels bit into your feet with every step, your dress clung too tightly to bend properly without your tits spilling out, and your patience was hanging on by a single goddamn thread.

You pressed the elevator button with your elbow and exhaled as the doors slid open.

Drop off the food. Grab a free drink. Drown your Bucky-related sorrows. Maybe, just maybe, keep the beast between your legs from waking at the mere sight of him.

The doors began to close. You shifted your weight, careful with the boxes balanced in your arms—

Then someone slipped through at the last second.

Him.

Bucky fucking Barnes.

Tall and devastating as usual in his dark navy suit, his tie loosened just enough to suggest mischief, or maybe carelessness. You weren’t sure which one made you feel worse.

Your breath hitched. Instinctively, your gaze dropped to the floor, feigning sudden, all-consuming interest in the stability of your precarious tower of hors d'oeuvres. But teetering stacks of overpriced finger food or not, Bucky didn’t seem inclined to play along with your avoidance act. Not now. Not when the elevator doors had sealed you in together, finally, and you were without escape.

You winced at the sound of his sharp inhale, the question already pressing past his lips before the elevator even jolted into motion.

“Did I do something to piss you off?”

You didn’t look up. Eyes fixed firmly on the floor, you muttered, “What?”

“I just…” His voice was rough. Tired. “It feels like you’ve been avoiding me.”

Shit.

He stepped forward slightly. Not enough to be invasive. Just enough to make your stomach flip.

“You hardly talk to me anymore,” he continued. “Won’t even look at me unless it’s about work. And even then, it’s like you’re somewhere else. Did I do something to offend you? Hurt you? Just tell me what I did so I can fix it.”

The elevator hummed to life beneath your feet, gliding upward smoothly. You shifted your weight, bracing against the cool metal rail, eyes stubbornly fixed on the buttons, anywhere but his maddeningly perfect face.

“You haven’t done anything,” you said quietly, the words tasting sour the second they left your mouth.

“Then why are you doing it now?” he asked, eyes searching yours. “Why won’t you even look at me?”

“Bucky…”

“Please. Just tell me.”

You hesitated. His hand twitched like he meant to reach for your arm, then faltered, falling back to his side. Your grip tightened on the containers, your fingers slick with sweat. “It’s not you,” you murmured. “It’s me… I just…”

He didn’t move. Didn’t even blink.

“Please,” he said again, quieter now. “Tell me the truth.”

And that was what did it. The tremor in his voice. The way his brow creased like he couldn’t stand not knowing. Something broke open inside your chest, raw and unhealed. The dam cracked, split, then gave way completely, and the truth came spilling out before you had the chance to swallow it back down. You were exhausted. Wound tight. Running on fumes and nerves and far too many feelings. You’d tell him, you decided. Then drop off the canapés, quit on the spot, and flee the country if necessary. Stark would write you a killer reference. You’d survive.

“Okay,” you said, breath hitching as a nervous laugh bubbled out, half-bitter, half-resigned. “You want the truth? Fine. You’re going to think I’ve completely lost it.”

He stayed quiet, letting you spiral.

“This is so stupid,” you muttered. “I like you, Bucky. There. I said it. I like you. And it was fine—manageable—until it wasn’t. Until I started imagining things. Thinking maybe… maybe you liked me too.”

His eyebrows lifted, surprised but unreadable.

“I’ve had this massive, embarrassing crush on you since the moment I met you. And I know it’s weird, and probably unprofessional because you’re kinda my boss, but not. Technically, Tony’s my boss, but I basically manage everything around here, and—ugh, I’m rambling.” You squeezed your eyes shut. “I like you. And I’ve been avoiding you because it was getting out of hand. I couldn’t stop thinking about you. And it felt wrong. Especially since you’re dating Natasha, which just made everything worse—”

“What?” he interrupted, voice sharp. “I’m not dating Natasha.”

Your eyes snapped open. “That’s what you took from all of that?”

“No, I—wait. You think I’m dating Natasha?”

“Yes!” you burst out, cheeks flaming. “I saw you! At the Sunday market about a month ago with the flowers—”

His brow furrowed. “What flowers?”

“The bouquet you gave her.”

“I didn’t give Natasha flowers.”

You let out a dry, disbelieving laugh. “I saw you. It was that dumb little market Tony makes me go to for those overpriced vegan pastries Pepper loves—”

Bucky stared at you, confused. And then, slowly, understanding clicked into place. His face contorted like he’d just remembered he’d left his stove on.

“Oh my god,” he muttered, dragging a hand down his face. “The flowers. Those weren’t for Natasha. They were for Wanda.”

Your heart stuttered. “What?”

“Vision,” Bucky groaned. “It was their anniversary. He was stuck on the phone trying to get a fancy reservation and begged me to pick them up. Natasha tagged along because she was hunting for jewellery for Maria’s birthday. That’s all it was.”

You blinked at him. “You’re joking.”

“I’m not,” Bucky replied earnestly. “I didn’t know you thought that. I swear, I’m not with Natasha. I never was.”

Your stomach dropped. “Oh god.”

“Hey—”

“No. No-no-no.” You squeezed your eyes shut, wanting to sink straight through the floor. “This is mortifying. I literally thought you were in a secret relationship. I’ve been avoiding you like the plague. I’ve been thinking about moving cities. I googled how hard it is to change your name legally.”

He snorted. “You’re not serious.”

You opened your eyes, and the horror must have been plain on your face because Bucky’s expression melted into something far too amused. “Oh, you are.”

“I might never recover from this,” you mumbled.

“Hey, c’mon. It’s not that bad.”

“I confessed my undying crush and accused you of being in love with someone else in the span of like, sixty seconds.”

His mouth twitched, lips threatening a smile. “You’re kind of adorable when you’re spiralling.”

“I’m going to chuck these hors d'oeuvres at your head.”

As if mocking your attempt at dignity, the elevator gave a slight mechanical whirr, nearly at the top floor. The distant hum of the party pulsed just beyond those sleek doors.

You straightened suddenly, panic creeping into your chest. “Okay, I’m going to deliver these and then I’m leaving. Possibly forever. Please never speak to me again.”

But Bucky, ever faster than you, stepped in.

And before you could react, he pressed the emergency stop button.

The elevator jolted to a halt. The tower of overpriced hors d'oeuvres wobbled dangerously in your arms. “Oh my god,” you gasped, teetering.

Bucky was already moving, steady hands catching the top box before it could topple, plucking the rest from your shaking grasp. He crouched to stack them on the floor carefully, then rose slowly, smirking as you stood frozen, mouth agape in pure horrified disbelief.

“Bucky, what the hell are you doing?”

“No more running,” he said simply, as if that explained everything.

You could barely breathe. “You stopped the elevator?”

“Didn’t want to risk the doors opening and you disappearing into the night,” he said, a little too pleased with himself.

“I hate you,” you whispered, eyes wide.

He leaned in, just close enough for you to feel his breath. “No, you don’t.”

You were going to die right here in a metal box. With your dignity in ruins and the man of your dumb, desperate daydreams giving you that look.

And somehow, somehow, you didn’t even want to stop him.

“I’m serious,” he said, stepping closer. “Don’t shut down. Please.”

You glanced up at him, finally meeting his eyes and immediately wished you hadn’t. They were dark. Hungry. That gaze alone could melt you to the floor.

He stepped closer again. And again. Until his frame caged in you, his arms braced on either side of your head, the heat of his body swallowing you whole.

“I like you too,” he said, low, rough, like it was pulled from deep inside. “Christ, I was so blind. I didn’t see it. It didn’t click until that day at the tailor, until I saw you in this damn dress.”

Your breath hitched.

“I can’t stop thinking about you,” he murmured. “I’ve been looking for excuses just to be near you. I keep the notes you leave me with the stupid little drawings. I like looking at them. Thinking about you.”

Your heart felt like it might crack your ribs.

“I smelled every shampoo at the store one day,” he confessed, almost sheepish, almost proud. “Hoped I’d find the one you use. Because you smell so fucking good. It’s been driving me crazy.”

“Bucky…”

“I don’t know. You make me feel special. Seen. Like I’m not some monster, like I’m normal. And then one day you were just… gone. I didn’t realise all the little things you did for me that I never noticed.” He groaned, somehow pressing closer. “I missed the sound of your voice… and it made it hurt even more… I lie awake at night, every night, thinking about you and how much I want to kiss you—”

“Bucky.” You interrupted, and he looked back at you with a barely contained hunger. “Are you going to kiss me or not?”

And then his mouth was on yours.

Hot. Messy. Desperate.

You gasped into it, and he swallowed it whole, groaning as he pressed harder, deeper, hands sliding down to your thighs as he grabbed one and hitched it up around his waist. You clung to his shoulders, lips parted as he slotted himself between your legs, guiding you up until your ass was perched on the elevator’s handrail bar.

“Fuck,” he breathed against your mouth. “Tell me that you want this, tell me that you want me.”

Your head fell back against the wall, lips swollen, breath shaking. His mouth travelled to your jaw, your throat, hands digging into your hips.

It was dizzying. Chaotic. Perfect.

“I want you, Bucky.” You panted.

“Fuck,” Bucky muttered again, but this time it was different, lower. Hungrier.

His hand slid along your thigh, fingertips brushing beneath the hem of your dress. You panted as he kissed across your collarbone, his breath hot against your skin. His hands settled on your knees, then slowly, deliberately, he spread them apart.

“Bucky—” your voice was barely more than a whisper, a tremble of anticipation and disbelief.

But he didn’t answer. He dropped to his knees.

Right there. In the goddamn elevator.

You almost came on the spot at the sight, lips swollen and slick with saliva, pupils blown, the slight smudge of your lipstick on his chin. His hands slid up the back of your calves, kneading into the flesh like he was savouring the shape of you. Your dress inched upwards, his mouth suddenly pressing a kiss to the inside of your knee.

Your breath hitched. Your hands shot to the railing behind you, clutching tight.

“You have no idea,” he said, voice wrecked with want, “how long I’ve thought about this.”

His eyes flicked up to yours, dark with something dangerous. Devotion, desire, something molten and drowning. Then his mouth moved higher.

Another kiss. Inner thigh this time. Then another, and another, slow, lingering, like he was memorising you. He disappeared until the fabric of your skirt, only the back of his head, dark locks messy peaking out from between the slit.

You moaned, soft and involuntary, your hips twitching at the heat of his breath through the thin fabric of your panties. He nuzzled in close, his nose brushing against you, and his hands pressed firmly to your thighs to keep you spread.

“I’ve thought about how you’d taste,” he muttered, lips grazing the soaked lace. “How you’d sound.”

You whimpered.

And then, he peeled your panties to the side.

The groan that tore from him was obscene.

“Jesus,” he hissed, voice muffled. “You’re fucking perfect.”

And then, his mouth was on you.

Hot. Wet. Relentless. You cried out, one hand flying to his hair, tangling in it as his tongue licked into you with precision, with hunger, with something close to worship. He devoured you like he was starving. Slow circles, then quick flicks, his mouth dragging across your clit with maddening rhythm. You writhed against the rail, your leg still wrapped around his shoulder, the other trembling against the elevator wall.

“Oh my god—Bucky—fuck—”

Your words slurred together, breath coming in ragged gasps as he groaned into you, the vibration shooting straight through your core. One of his arms snaked around your thigh, pinning you in place, as if he thought you might try to escape. As if he’d let you.

His tongue slid down, dipping into you, then back up, his mouth latching onto your clit with a filthy, wet sound that made your spine arch. You were unravelling, fast, dizzy, overwhelmed.

He pulled back just enough to pant. “I could stay here all night.”

His mouth was merciless. His grip was unrelenting on your thighs, mouth working you over like a man possessed—

Bzzzzt.

A shrill, sudden buzz sounded from the elevator’s emergency panel, followed by a crackling voice.

“Hello? This is Tower Maintenance. We’re registering an emergency stop on lift three. Is there an issue?”

You froze. Every muscle in your body went rigid, as if someone had cracked open your spine and poured ice water down it. Dread spread like frost through your veins. Your heart thudded painfully in your throat, threatening to climb up and out entirely.

You could barely breathe. Could barely think.

This was it. This was how you died—legs spread, Bucky between them, and Tower Maintenance on the fucking line.

Bucky, in sharp contrast, did not freeze.

He groaned softly with wicked glee, his mouth still very much between your legs. The sound vibrated against the most sinful part of you, and then he doubled down. Mouth and hands working with infuriating, diabolical precision, like he’d just taken the intercom as a challenge.

You clamped a hand over your mouth, the other shaking as you reached blindly for the emergency call button, trying not to sound like you were seconds away from being ruined.

Your voice came out like a panicked squeak. “Hi! Uh—h-hi, yes, sorry! Must’ve been a—a small electrical fault. I’m fine! Everything’s… fine!”

Bucky nipped at your thigh in response.

There was a pause. You could feel the suspicion through the line.

“Ma’am, we’re not showing any electrical inconsistencies in that shaft. Did you press the stop button?”

You shot a wide-eyed glare down at the man currently devouring you.

Another wave of pleasure threatened to knock the air from your lungs. You were barely holding it together, every nerve ending aflame, skin flushed, thighs shaking. The cool metal of the elevator wall against your spine did little to ground you.

You cleared your throat, struggling to piece together something—anything—resembling human speech. “Oh. Oh, that—um, I must’ve bumped it. With my elbow. While holding a tray. It’s, uh—crowded. In here.”

Bucky chose that exact moment to suck hard, and you slapped your hand over your mouth to muffle the helpless sound that nearly escaped.

A longer pause. You could practically hear them frowning.

“…Right. Well, we’re releasing the stop now. Please remain calm.”

The line disconnected.

The elevator jolted slightly as it roared back to life.

Bucky gave a dark chuckle. “Crowded, huh?” Then—with zero mercy—he sped up.

“Bucky,” you gasped, head falling back against the wall, “I’m—I’m gonna—”

You shattered.

It hit hard, hot and blinding. You cried out, thighs clamping tight around his head as he groaned against you, mouth not stopping for a second, drawing it out, milking every twitch, every whimper. You barely had time to breathe, let alone moan, your hands flying to steady yourself just as the elevator dinged cheerily and the doors slid open.

Right into the penthouse. Packed full of people, who by some miracle, were utterly oblivious to your predicament.

You staggered slightly as Bucky stood smoothly, wiping his mouth with his sleeve, one arm slipping around your waist to steady you while the other casually reached down and grabbed the stack of forgotten canapés off the floor like he hadn’t just—

“Evening,” he greeted a passing staff member, utterly unbothered.

You were glowing crimson, pupils blown, lips parted, trying hard to fix your face. Bucky guided you forward, his hand warm on your back, keeping you between him and the crowd as your legs trembled. You barely managed to set the tray on the nearest table before someone whistled.

“Well, damn,” came Sam’s voice from the drinks bar. He gave you both a once-over, a wicked grin spreading. “Buck, next time you’re gonna eat face in the elevator, maybe wipe the lipstick off your chin first.”

Bucky only smirked and licked his bottom lip slow, on purpose, you were sure of it.

You nearly combusted on the spot.

“Bathroom?” he murmured into your ear, low and gravelly.

You nodded quickly and wordlessly.

He guided you with all the smugness of a man who had no regrets, his hand just a little too low on your back to be innocent.

---

hi, if you enjoyed please let me know! drop a comment below, reblog or send me something through my inbox! thank you for reading my work :) if you want to stay up to date with any series updates or new one-shots being posted, follow my sideblog @artficlly-updates and turn on notifications.

11K notes · View notes

softstarlite · 1 month ago

Text

Easy

Request: Could you do a fic with Jack Abbot and a female reader where she is a nurse and feels like she’s not good enough or is panicking at work even though she’s awesome at her job? Like she’s always too hard on herself.

A/N: I too get panic attacks sometimes and boy would it be nice to have Abbot there to talk me down! Anyway, hope this is okay! Let me know what ya'll think!

Warnings: Talks of death, description of panic attack, medical inaccuracies probably.

You loved being a nurse. You were always taking care of everyone so it made sense to go into nursing. You started out in family medicine, taking care of wellness exams and ear infections. The monotony made it feel like you were wasting away You respected your fellow nurses that thrived there, but something was missing. When you decided to try emergency medicine, you were fascinated. Watching the nurses run around, knowing exactly what to do, you wanted to do that.

You were careful. Too careful. Your superiors warned you that this was a field where you can’t be afraid of mistakes, you have to be able to trust your instincts. You were over prepared to the point that you wasted material and time.

You felt like you were drowning and even on good days, you felt like you were failing. No one could pull you out of the self-hatred spiral. You just hoped to keep the bad days at bay.

But everyone has bad days.

She was just 19 years old, coming in for a sore throat. You had assessed her and deemed her stable. You never entertained the thought that it was the beginning of toxic shock syndrome. Who would?

You were covered in her blood, she had coughed it up as you hooked her up to monitoring equipment. You called for anyone to help as she flatlined. You wouldn’t let anyone else do CPR. You missed this, you’d fix this.

But you didn’t.

“It’s an easy one to miss. You didn’t do this.” Dr. Abbot put a hand on your shoulder as he left the room.

You never had a groove, but what little bit you were starting to get was forgotten. That day shook you to your core. You were even more cautious. You would do everything to make sure that never happened again.

“Y/N, you can’t keep taking this long with patients! You are wasting resources. Why the hell did you do an EKG on Mr. Summers without an order?” Dana sighed as she took her glasses off. She had been on your ass for weeks, trying to get you to figure your shit out.

“He said that his arm was bothering him, I just wanted to be safe!” You argued.

“His arm bothers him because he has arthritis.” She shook her head, giving you a sympathetic look.

“I’ll do better, I’m sorry.” You shuffled off. Your chest tightened, the world felt too close. Why couldn’t you be like everyone else in the department? They all knew exactly what to do all the time? What was wrong with you?

You ran to the stairwell, thinking you had been able to slip away unnoticed.

You tried to breathe but your mind racing caused your chest to heave and wheeze with effort. You felt yourself spiraling and couldn’t stop it. The tears streamed down your face, your hands shook. You were on the verge of passing out, your vison blurring and the edges going dark.

“Easy! Calm down, Y/N. You’re okay.” You could hear the familiar voice, but couldn’t focus on it.

“I can’t….I can’t…” You wheezed. A rough hand grabbed yours and you looked up to see Dr. Abbot. He put your hand to his chest.

“Follow my breaths. In and out. Nice and easy.” He said, keeping hard eye contact. You did your best to follow the rhythm of his chest.

“Good. You’re doing good.” He said as he pulled a stray stool over and sat you down.

“I-I’m sorry, I don’t know what happened.” You mumbled, your hands still shaking.

“You don’t have anything to apologize for. We all have our moments. I don’t believe that you don’t know what triggered this. You want to start being honest here?” He crossed his arms.

“I…I don’t think I’m good enough to be here.” Your voice small and frail. You heard Dr. Abbot snort a small laugh. You looked up at him confused.

“You think you aren’t good enough. That’s a crock of shit if I ever heard it.” He said, his face never changing. You never could figure out when he was joking with you.

“Everyone tells me how slow I am, I waste time and resources. Dana is always on my ass. I lost that patient and I should have known something was going on! I failed, I constantly fail!” The sobs wracked your body.

“Hey! Easy! You aren’t a failure.” He grabbed your hands. “Y/N, that girl was stable when you admitted her. I saw the records. You did everything right. It’s part of this job, no matter how right we are, people will die. You didn’t fail her. You fought for her when she needed you to.” He said tipping your chin up to look at him.

“Dana is on your ass because she knows you’re the best we got. She wants you to reach your full potential. Hell, last week you caught that silent heart attack, no one else would have done that EKG. They all breeze through patients and you take your time. Nothing wrong with either way of working. But you see things others don’t.” He almost smiled.

“I’m so scared all the time.”

“Everyone is. You learn to deal with it. Don’t let that be the thing that takes you out of here. You’re good, you should be here.” He said, his thumb rubbing circles on your hand.

“I didn’t think anyone saw me.” You said to yourself, you knew he heard.

“Believe me, we see you. I see you.” He said, his eyes kinder than you had ever seen them. Your cheeks flushed.

“You have patients, you shouldn’t be here with me.” You cleared your throat.

“No one is dying and if they are, they’ll find me. You needed me.” He nodded. “It’s okay to break sometimes.” He shrugs.

“I feel weak when I do.” You stand up and tighten your arms around yourself.

“It feels like that, but it’s just part of the strengthening process. Each break down makes you a better nurse. Means you care. The only time you get to leave is when you stop caring.” Dr. Abbott put a hand on your arm. “If you leave before that, I’ll personally kick your ass.” He smiled.

“Thank you, Dr. Abbot.” You smiled, wiping your face.

“Anytime. Get back out there. Find me if you need me.” He nodded as he watched you head back into the pitt. He wandered back in and went to his computer.

“You going soft on me, Jack?” Dana looked at him over her glasses.

“I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.” He said without looking up.

“You got a soft spot for that girl.” She smirked.

“She’s good. She’s got something we need and I’m not letting her fail.” He shrugged.

“I’m not disagreeing. I feel the same. But mind you don’t get too close. HR will have a field day.” She cocked an eyebrow.

“I’m a professional, Dana.”

“Yeah, you also a man and that lends itself to mischief. Don’t break my nurses hearts, I have to deal with it.” She laughed.

“I wouldn’t. I wouldn’t hurt her.” He cleared his throat, looking up to watch you rush around the ER.

“You’re screwed.” Dana chuckled as she typed at her computer. “That girl is going to flip your world upside down, Abbot.”

“I can only hope.” He whispered to himself.

495 notes · View notes

softstarlite · 1 month ago

Text

if you guys don't laugh at this i'll cry

374 notes · View notes

softstarlite · 1 month ago

Text

soft-spoken but bright shy reader who loves day shift. she can hide behind the scenes, take her time with the waiting room patients while letting the other residents duke it out for the more urgent, trauma cases that roll in. her skills aren’t rusty but she just prefers a different approach, still in love with the quickness and urgency of the er but not in the right mind set for the competition and favoritism. but after pitt-fest she really can’t look at day shift the same again. becomes even quieter, even more withdrawn, flinches at every noise and not defending herself when the occasional patient chews her out for taking too long.

it’s not good for you. not sustainable. robby thinks the solution is to give you a change of scenery. asks if you’d want to give night shift a try for a week or two. it’s quieter—though he makes sure to mouth that word instead of actually saying it—and in a twisted way, a little more balanced. it actually calms down eventually, gets into a lull where you can catch up on notes and eat granola bars while the place fills with some snores. you can’t lie, it does sound pretty appealing. so you take a chance and switch with some other resident who grumbles something about finally being able to get some sleep. but you’re not phased. maybe this is what you need.

you know the night shift. you thought you knew them well, but it turns out you just know them regular. you’ve interacted during trade offs, those group bonding activities they really try to push every other month, and throughout little stories during the day, reports of something funny or crazy that happened during the hours of the infamous night shift. but actually being one of them takes you a little by surprise.

shen has a secret drawer of snacks in central. underneath the handle there's a label that says something inconspicuous, and even then, the food is hidden under a stack of papers and a box of pens. your second night he shows you the hiding spot, so you don't have to run to your locker for your protein bar like yesterday. ellis is the one you reminds you not to get sloppy just because it's late. you don't know how she can tell, but your body hasn't really adjusted yet. you got a few hours of sleep but the sun was really bright and the dark grey curtains that had always been sufficiently dark were suddenly not. she's the one who airdrops you the link to proper black-out curtains, standing somewhere across the room when you look up to thank her, giving you a nod.

but you're still deciding if this is really better for you. it's hard to leave the routine you've known for almost two years and expect a decision overnight, even though you do expect it.

at the end of your first week, the curtains have been delivered and you're sleeping a lot more soundly. from seven to ten you handle the overflow from the chairs until it's more or less settled. you're never really going to catch up, but there's more movement some nights than others. you report your orders to ellis, make sure to debrief shen every hour on the status of your beds. the charge nurse tells you who next up and where to take them, and you do, no cherry-picking allowed. it might be a fraction less busy, but it just seems a little more organized, more managable. you might be able to see yourself here for a little longer.

and of course, he doesn't help matters. dr. abbot. shen and ellis and the other handful of residents keep the place running but dr. jack abbot is what keeps all of you running. you knew that robby had told him something about you, something about how you need an eye on you for now, that you're not acting like yourself. you know this because abbot checks in on you no less than once every two hours, more if you're swarmed.

you didn't think he'd be interested in hearing about the allergic reaction in bed eight or the sprained wrist in six, but he does. watches you with that gaze from across the room, observing, noticing. you don't know exactly what, but you hope it's good. he stays a couple steps behind you for some of the first few shifts. when you closes the curtain and move too quickly, you've even bumped into him, not realizing how close he was. you stammer out an apology while his hand is on your shoulder, steadying you from losing any more of your balance.

"doin' okay, kid?" he asks, and you hope the heat on your face isn't as visible to him as it feels to you.

"y-yeah. i'm good. sorry-"

he settles down eventually. then there's the other things.

a hot cup of coffee at nine-thirty, closer to the ending half of one of the bigger rushes. you're getting your bearings, yawning at the screen while you type out some orders. he just sets it in front of you and walks away, doesn't even stay long enough to hear your thank you. (but he does hear it, and walks away from you smiling. not that you could see it.)

tea closer to one in the morning. you could try to get sleep but that's pretty impossible, and you think mostly frowned upon. the day shift doesn't get to sleep, so it'd be unfair if you snuck off for a nap. and besides, the er never really quiets down that much—there's always some car accident or late-night injury while making dessert. the middle of the night is a haven for falls—in the hallway on the way to the bathroom, getting out of the car in the dark, missing a step in a sleepy state.

so tea. energy drinks aren't really your thing, but english breakfast or earl grey has just enough caffeine to get you through to another hot cup of coffee around four or five. but somehow, without you ever telling abbot how you take your coffee and tea, he's figured it out. each cup is always perfect, always exactly what you needed.

the silly girl inside you thinks it's so sweet. your attending is so caring, so attentive to everyone on his night shift. you hear him take over for shen when he's had four or five back to back, interrupting ellis before she takes on another, instructing her to go take five minutes and that he'll deal with it.

and now you're one of them, and you get cups of coffee and tea, gentle encouragement with nods from across the room, asking you questions throughout so you don't feel like you're missing anything from the day shift. he's even gotten you to trend to incoming traumas with him. at first you'd tried what worked during the day—letting the others fight for it, but it's not like that past a certain time. in fact, shen and ellis think you should take all the incoming traumas, get more experience that way.

"incoming," jack says, and you look up at him, and then around to see if you can find who he's talking to. there's no one else but you and the nurses. "with me, kid, let's go."

shit. you follow his lead, not exactly sure how to tell him that this isn't the part of the job that you're perfect at. you're better with patients who are awake and alert, families that want answers, people that need things explained to them with patience.

"you sure you don't want someone else to assist? i'm-i'm not-"

"i want you to assist," he says, handing you a gown and then pulling one on himself. "turn," and you comply immediately. he ties the neck and back for you, and then you tie his. you reach for gloves but he's already pulled ones in your size.

the paramedics roll in, rattling off a long list of things that you try to organize in your mind. the patient is groaning and bloody, shirt ripped in half and mumbling something you can't make out from over the oxygen mask. you realize the last time you'd really been forced to deal with incoming traumas was the day of the shooting, and your mind wanders briefly. what if he liked this shirt? where is his family at? it's two in the morning, they're probably sound asleep, about to wake up to the worst news in the world if you don't get it together and save him.

"hey," you hear jack's voice over the milion other noises in the room. it's grounding. it whips you into shape, answering his questions and ordering scans and drugs and not stopping until his heart is stable and surgery is aware that he's coming.

outside of the trauma room, you rip off the bloody gown and gloves. when you turn to confront jack, he's already right behind you, the two of you almost colliding.

"i'm so sorry. i-i don't know what happens in there, i just, i freeze, and-"

you feel a hand guiding you, hovering over your lower back. so warm that you can almost feel the heat radiating from him. he takes you into a quiet, empty little corner and doesn't start talking until you meet his eyes.

"what you went through, it's not nothing. it's scary for all of us, but especially if it's the first time."

"i've been here two years. it's not the first time. i shouldn't be reacting like this."

"and if this was happening to me, would you tell me that i was overreacting? hm?" the way he asks the question and the way his eyes don't leave yours makes your face feel warm again. "there's nothing wrong with needing to ease yourself back into it. i'm not gonna lose it if you can't answer every question. no one's judging you for needing a minute to get started. but if you don't stop judging yourself, you'll never get better. and i need you to get better, okay? the whole night shift does."

you nod, coming to terms with what he said. and for the first time in a long time, you do feel better. the patient's fine. jack's fine. you're fine.

until one day, he refills your water bottle for you. cold water, a little bit of ice but not too much. the bottle is easter yellow, the brightest thing at the desks at central, and it looks weird in your attending's hands.

"oh," you get out, a little softly. it's two in the morning, and your tea is almost empty, but you might need another cup. you're not alert enough to notice that your bottle even went missing. maybe fifteen minutes ago, you tried to take a sip but it was empty. your eyes flick between the yellow of your bottle and the brown of jack's eyes for a moment, brain not functioning. "thank you."

"no problem," he says, walking away before you can even process what happened. besides you, the nurses try to conceal their laugh. across from you, you see ellis and shen whispering to each other, but you can't put two and two together.

"is everything okay?" you call out to them. they make their way over, leaning against the counter while stretching. when you look next to you again, the nurses are gone.

"yeah," ellis starts. "it's nothing-" you interrupt.

"-what? did i do something-" those little fears creep their way in, starting at the back of your neck, spreading like ice water throughout you. it seems stupid, but you've always been anxious, and sometimes your field helps you stop being anxious, and instead puts you in go-mode. it's what you used to like about the day shift. so much to do, there's not enough time to sit and think about what everyone else is doing and thinking all the time. but night shift is just a smidge different.

"no-"

"really, it's nothing-"

"-it's just that he's never filled my water-"

"-or gotten me coffee-"

"-i don't even think he knows what my water bottle looks like-"

"-and he's definitely never asked me if i drink tea-"

"oh."

oh.

2K notes · View notes

softstarlite · 1 month ago

Text

scarlet johannson did not spend an entire decade fighting tooth and nail to make natasha into an actual character instead of the sex object writers wanted her to be while also having to endure the most vile, misogynistic questions during press tours for people to now disrespect her legacy because yelena is 'better'. the only reason why that is, is because of everything scarlet went through. natasha singlehandedly paved the way for every other female superhero in the mcu and don't you forget that

19K notes · View notes

softstarlite · 2 months ago

Text

They Know Best

This is a new Buddie x reader imagine I had an idea for, I'm really excited about this one.

Please let me know if you like it and would like another part.

Taglist: @justagirlthatlovedtoread @musicistheway @avada-kedavra-bitch-187 @luula @missdreamofendless @bradleybeachbabe @woderfulkawaii @amberpanda99 @daggersquadphantom @marvel-and-chicago-fan @angryknightstatesmantrash @minjix @lyje @kmc1989 @itsmytimetoodream @noonenuts @hiireadstuff @ashie-babie @jayyeahthatsme @sp1ritssz @dumb-fawkin-bitch @oliverstarksbae @gimatida @heart-35 @supernaturalstilinski @kyky9103 @gay4hotmilfs @itshamleth @chaoticnosleepinfluencer @gs29 @wh0reforsmutstuff @mel-vaz @natashamea18 @chrisevansdaughter @alexandra848484 @deena-beena-weena @targaryenluvs @kpoplover-19 @marvelmenarebeautiful @gillybear17

@zoeybennett @mrspeacem1nusone @zephyrmonkey @estella-novella @eleventhdoctorsangel @kniselle @senjoritanana @shauna-carsley @dottierose @cfdhouse51 @darkfemme1 @rainechase45 @lolalolsstuff @jupiter1700 @ashdoctor @an-aliens-ghost @lunaroserites @houseoftwistedspirits @callsignwidow @winterreader-nowwriter @reneinii @bellsbomb @western-pyro @itsgigikay @harry-satellite @midsummereve1993 @babyqueen17 @buckyyyismahhlife @sammiejane22 @mrsyixingunicorn10 @op-81-lvr-reblogs @talicat713 @niamhmbt @strawberry-canyon @bieberhoodforever @911fangirlie @hollandxxmix @jasmineee05 @creat1venat1onn @devilslittlehelper @darlingcharling-blog @bear8585 @nickie-amore @elliott-calls @person-005 @mbioooo0000 @amara-mars @teenwolfbitches28

Buddie Masterlist

Summary: Evan's parents visit to see the kids, and while he and Eddie are at work (Y/n) and his parents take the kids out. But things get out of hand when the Buckleys try and intervene with Bonnie, who is autistic.

Enjoy.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A deep frown set into (Y/n)'s features and she locked her jaw tight as if to ensure that she didn't say any of the thoughts rattling around in her mind right now. Her lips pressed together tightly to stop herself from saying something she shouldn't when she looked up at Evan.

The way he was stood with his arms folded over his chest made him look authoritiative yet his fingers were constantly tapping away at his biceps, showing he was nervous. And he was biting down on his lip while his head was tilted at an angle. Her eyes danced up and down Evan's frame, watching the way he stood there in the bedroom doorway and simply watched her.

And those eyes. Those piercing blue eyes looked uneasy and almost like they were starting to flood with sorrow and it was making (Y/n) feel bad.

She didn't want to be arguing with Evan, but she couldn't help how annoyed this whole situation was making her feel.

"Baby, you know I haven't planned this."

With a deep breath, Evan sighed and dropped his arms from over his chest when (Y/n) looked up at him like she was desperate to glare at him but she couldn't quite find it in herself to continue being mad with him.

He stepped forward so he wasn't in the doorway and he aimed towards both girls who he had been watching for the last few minutes.

He and (Y/n) had been in the middle of a discussion until Bonnie bounded in with the hairbrush in hand that she almost whacked (Y/n) with. That was her way of saying she wanted her hair doing. Bonnie found it very theraputic to have her hair brushed or plaited and done in styles. She would sit for hours and let her parents play with her hair.

And she was their first girl, so Eddie and Evan had both had to learn how to style her hair because she loved her hair being brushed and they wanted to connect with her any way they could.

A small glimmer of a smile started to pull at Evan's lips when he looked down at Bonnie. The four year old was sitting on the end of the bed in between (Y/n)'s thighs. One hand was waving in front of her with her fingers pressing together in her manner of stimming, and her other hand was slowly running up and down (Y/n)'s thigh. Clearly feeling the material of her leggings that she was finding sensory and calming.

There was a bright smile on Bonnie's lips and every few seconds she kept closing her eyes and tilting her head further back until she was leaning into (Y/n)'s chest. Whenever she tilted her head too far, (Y/n) would smile and ease Bonnie forwards again or she couldn't plait her hair properly.

Aiming towards them, Evan slowly crouched down in front of the bed and reached his hand out to glide his finger across Bonnie's cheek to gain her attention. He loved how she grinned down at him and how she stopped shaking her hand so she could grip his hand instead which she confiscated like it was one of her numerous teddies.

When Evan rested his other hand on (Y/n)'s thigh, she looked down at him sharply and raised one brow. "Sucking up won't help you, mister."

A sheepish look flooded Evan's face and he adverted his eyes down for a moment before he sighed and leant forward until his cheek was resting on (Y/n)'s thigh.

He couldn't help but grin when Bonnie giggled and let go of his hand so she could start running her fingers through Evan's curls and tugging on them. The four year old had gone through a stage last year of pulling hair, but not in a cruel way. She liked people playing with her hair so Bonnie tried to return the favour, but she started to yank and pull on each parent's hair when she was trying to interact with them.

(Y/n) rolled her eyes and leaned forward to kiss Bonnie's head since she was nearly done putting her hair into two plaits now. She mumbled "Poor daddy," which caused Evan to look up at her with those puppy dog eyes that she could never resist.

"I'm sorry." Sincerity flooded Evan's voice but it only made (Y/n) feel even more annoyed, because she knew he wasn't lying. She knew he was sorry and that he wasn't happy about this situation either, but it was still irritating to (Y/n).

"I just don't see why you can't be off too. They're your parents, Evan, not mine." The way she said his name caused Evan to wince and he finally lifted his head off her thigh when he noticed she was done with Bonnie's hair.

He straightened up and scooped their daughter up, settling her on his chest so he could kiss her cheek and she could ruffle his hair as much as she liked.

"My pretty baby."

"Pretty."

A broad grin lit up Evan's face and he nodded, briefly looking up at (Y/n) to see her smiling too because Bonnie didn't say that many words. It irritated Evan that they had to write 'nonverbal' on all the forms they filled out when they got Bonnie into nursery and for when they would enroll her into a special school.

Because technically she could speak, she could say her name, she said mama and daddy and papa. She could say Chris and a slurred version of Johnny and she could say drink. Bonnie understood what was being said to her and sometimes, she would sporadically repeat words.

But because she couldn't answer questions- and most of the time she didn't know how to respond- and she couldn't say more than a few words, she was classed as nonverbal. It grated on Evan to have people say that when in his mind she was verbal because she could say a few words, and they were all praying that when she went to school, they would help Bonnie develop speech and sentences.

"Yep, you're so pretty. Go find papa, tell him how pretty you are." With a kiss to her cheek, Evan gently set Bonnie down to her feet and watched her trot out of the room. A slurred rendition of 'pretty' leaving her lips as she went.

When she was gone and safely out of earshot, Evan moved both his hands out and held onto (Y/n)'s hips. He pushed up on his knees so he was knelt between her thighs and he tilted his head back so he was looking up at her. He knew he wasn't totally in bad books when (Y/n) looped an arm around the back of his neck and finally kept eye contact with him.

"Why can't you have the day off?" (Y/n) murmured quietly even though there were no kids in the room anymore to listen in and eavesdrop.

Evan's parents were in town, and they wanted to see the kids tomorrow which happened to be the day that both Eddie and Evan would be working.

(Y/n) didn't get along with the Buckley parents. They weren't very happy about the poly relationship between Evan, (Y/n) and Eddie. It had been hard enough to convince them to be civil when (Y/n) was pregnant and gave birth to Johnny. They were under the impression that the kids couldn't have more than one dad and they barely talked to Eddie whenever they saw him and they were less than kind to (Y/n).

It was the reason whenever they were in town that Evan would be there when they visited the kids, which didn't happen too often.

(Y/n) didn't want to be the only one there when his parents came to town. She didn't want them to be abrupt with her and rude and she didn't like how they interfered and tried to boss the kids around. And they didn't understand Bonnie's autism either.

"If I'd of known I would of swapped the shift, but it's too short notice now baby. Eddie's on call, if I call in he has to stay late to cover my shift so either way no one wins."

If Evan had been given some prior notice, he would have talked to Bobby and either swapped or cancelled his shift tomorrow. He didn't want to leave (Y/n) to deal with his parents on her own, it wasn't fair and he knew how crude his parents could be. But he didn't have a choice.

If he called in sick tomorrow then Eddie would have to stay and cover because Eddie was on the early shift and Evan was on the midday shift. They would make Eddie stay to cover him and that wasn't a good or fair solution.

"No, either way I don't win." (Y/n) moved her hand to rub at her temple as she tried to calm down. "They don't like me, it's so hard to try and be polite and be inclusive when they don't want to be around me. They won't even talk to Eddie when he's home."

"You think I don't know that?"

If Evan stayed home, Eddie would have to pull a double shift which wouldn't be fair but (Y/n) would still have to be there to deal with Evan's parents. If both of them went to their respective shifts, (Y/n) still got left with her in-laws. Either way, she lost the game and had to put up the Buckley parents.

And it was hard, it was harder than she ever thought it would be because they weren't open-minded, they weren't warm and caring or loving, not even towards their own son.

They seemed to think (Y/n) was the problem, that she was playing both men and they made it clear they didn't like the fact that all the kids had double barrell names. Even Chris had asked to have Evan's name too so he would match Johnny and Bonnie. The Buckleys didn't like this because in their views, Eddie and Evan couldn't both be father to the kids.

And they barely spoke to Eddie when he was around because they knew he wouldn't hold his tongue with them. He didn't care if they were rude to him, but he wouldn't have them disrespect (Y/n) or the kids or talk about their family in front of the kids and upset them.

"What about Maddie?"

"Hm?" (Y/n) moved her hand to cup the back of Evan's neck and she started to glide her thumb up and down over his hair as she waited for him to explain.

"I can ask her to spend the day with you too, she's not at work tomorrow." Evan knew his sister wasn't at work this week and he knew their parents would most likely spend their time with her rather than with Evan's family. Something that was both a relief and an insult at the same time.

He could ask Maddie if she would come over with Jee so (Y/n) didn't have to deal with his parents alone. They would be easier to handle if Maddie was here playing referee and steering conversation and telling their parents when to stop and be quiet. They listened to her, they respected Maddie because she was their own and she was the child they were closest to.

(Y/n) nodded and muttered "Please," before she leant forward until they were level and their noses were touching. Her eyes closed when their lips pressed together and she tried to stop herself from tilting too far forward since she was sitting on the very edge of their bed.

She felt Evan's hands squeezing her hips as he pushed up until their chests were pressed together. And she could feel Evan smiling against her lips, especially when he scraped his teeth against her lower lip and caused her to gasp into his mouth.

When their lips parted, Evan kept his eyes closed and basked in the feeling of their lips almost touching, until something caught his attention.

"It's too quiet. Come on." He couldn't hear the boys playing a video game or arguing over a colouring book or asking to go to the park. And he couldn't hear Bonnie giggling or running around crashing into things or stimming. He didn't like it when the house was quiet, that was a bad indicator.

He pushed up to his feet and held his hands out for (Y/n) to take and he pulled her up with him. When (Y/n) looked up at him and realised where his line of sight was trained on, she found herself smiling again, especially when one of his hands let go of hers in favour of reaching out for her stomach.

"You have told your parents about this one too, right? I don't want to be giving them a big surprise when I see them tomorrow."

(Y/n) moved her hand down to cup Evan's wrist and she followed his line of sight to where he was looking at her bump. She and Eddie always left it down to Evan to tell his parents whereas when they told the team or (Y/n) and Eddie's parents they were having a baby, the three of them did it together.

Evan's parents were the only ones who were never as congratulating or pleased or warming when (Y/n) got pregnant. And she certainly didn't want to see his parents tomorrow and find out that he hadn't mentioned this third pregnancy to them yet.

"Didn't need to, Maddie let it slip last month… don't think mum was too happy that Maddie got a scan photo and they didn't."

It had been an inward relief to Evan that Maddie had accidentally told their parents the news. She had presumed Evan would have mentioned it already and with a slip of the tongue over the phone, she ended up telling them that (Y/n) was pregnant again.

And as always, Evan had given Maddie a copy of the scan photos because she was his parental figure and he loved to show her and bubble over and be giddy about his family. He did find it ironic that his parents had been dismayed not to get a sonogram, despite not being very involved grandparents as it was.

"Oh, good." As long as (Y/n) didn't have to tell them or give them a shock, she didn't care who had let it slip.

Their hands stayed entwined as they headed out the bedroom and down the hall, wondering where the rest of their family were and what they were up to.

The pair of them barely got down the hall before they heard Eddie's deep voice ring out through the air. "Go show dad, that's his area of expertise, not mine."

Whatever Eddie was talking about, it was clear in his voice that he wasn't too keen on the topic of conversation.

Evan unlatched his hand from (Y/n)'s just as Johnny bolted from the kitchen and nearly barelled into the pair of them in the hall. The seven year old had such a bright grin on his face that rivalled the sun and his hands were clasped together with his arms outstretched in front of him.

"Dad! Look, look!"

Johnny pushed up on his tiptoes and presented his cupped hands as close as he could to Evan to try and get his attention. And his smile broadened when Evan obliged and crouched down in front of him to see what he was cradling so tenderly.

"Oh wow, where'd you find this little guy?"

When she heard Evan's words (Y/n) couldn't help but lean forward to see what Johnny had found. Her hand rested on his shoulder and she slouched her hip into Evan's side as she looked down to see that Johnny was presenting them with a lime green caterpillar with fuzzy spikes which looked like a Mohican.

"Um, that little guy lives outside, boys." (Y/n) reminded them as she pressed a kiss to the back of Evan's head and did the same to Johnny while she passed and headed into the kitchen.

Both the boys were nature lovers, they were interested in creatures and science and the Earth, the same as Evan. He did their science projects with them and they read science magaines together and always went to the zoo and the museums together. So it was only natural that they had a little 'out house' in the garden where they kept any creatures and little insect pets the boys found.

They had all built a small bee house together last month and although they hadn't gotten any bees yet, they were all still hopeful.

"Come on, let's go put him in his new home." Evan turned Johnny around and scooped him up beneath his arms to take him through the kitchen and out into the back garden.

They couldn't keep any little creatures like that inside where Bonnie was around. It was safer to have them outside because Bonnie had Pica, she would eat things that weren't food and even though she had never eaten any insects before, they couldn't risk it. She had tried eating mud when playing in the garden and she had eaten a handful of sand when they were on the beach. They had to keep a close eye on her.

(Y/n) watched the pair of them head out the back door with a fond smile, but her head whipped to the left to look over at Eddie when she heard his voice.

"Ow- hey, madam don't do that." Eddie tried to tilt his head back but he couldn't lean out the way before Bonnie got her hand fisted in his hair again.

A high pitch giggle left her lips as she pulled on his locks and pressed her lips to the side of his temple like she was trying to give him a kiss.

The sight was endearing and caused a smile to flood (Y/n)'s face as she walked over to Eddie. He had their youngest perched on his right hip, and his head was now bent down against Bonnie's shoulder from the sudden force she had grabbed and pulled on his hair.

He hissed again when she yanked on his roots and he muttered "Help?" and waved his free hand out towards (Y/n) before he tried to grab their daughter's hand to get her to release him.

Out of them all, Eddie seemed to be the one Bonnie loved to pull hair with. She would end up yanking his head from side to side or scratching his scalp or giving him a strain in his neck from how she grabbed at him. It was one of the reasons Evan always switched between long curls and short, shaved hair because when Bonnie started grabbing, he got a haircut. She didn't seem to pull on (Y/n)'s hair quite like she did with Eddie.

"Baby, let papa go or you'll hurt him." (Y/n) held onto Bonnie's wrist and gently pulled her hand back until she finally released his hair with a whine. But she ceased when (Y/n) kissed the back of her hand and Eddie tilted his head as far back as possible so he wouldn't be a target again.

"You're mean, you know that?" It was clear Bonnie didn't agree or understand because a round of giggles left her lips and she began to clap her hands since she couldn't entertain herself with Eddie's hair anymore.

And her cheeky grin only broadened when Eddie kissed her cheek and bounced her on his hip. And she seemed even more delighted when (Y/n) leaned against Eddie's chest and he encased them both to his chest like he was giving them a bear hug.

The four year old was all for cuddles and games and close contact, the more cuddles she got the better. Which was a relief considering some of the kids at Bonnie's nursery didn't like physical touch, even with their own parents and families.

But Bonnie wasn't like that, and she leant more into Eddie's chest as she reached out for (Y/n)'s hair this time with a cheeky giggle that told them she knew exactly what she was doing. She wanted to play.

***

Unease tore through (Y/n) as their little group continued on their walk through the park. She thought she had been doing well at hiding her unamused and rather unsettled expression, until she looked across at Maddie. The sympathetic look (Y/n) received told her that she looked outwardly uncomfortable and it was crystal clear.

She wished Evan or at least Eddie had been off today or that the Buckleys had come down a few days ago. They should have talked to Evan first, found out what everyone was working or asked in advance so they had time to ask for a day off or switch their shifts around.

Just turning up unannounced wasn't the right way to go about it and (Y/n) wished she could crawl into a hole and disappear.

At least when she was around Eddie's parents, they were inclusive and kind. They had been against the relationship at first, being devout Catholics. But once they saw how happy (Y/n) and Evan made Eddie and Chris, they had come around. They were kind to (Y/n), they treated her like she was actually family, like she was one of their daughters and they made the effort.

The Buckleys didn't.

(Y/n) wasn't sure what to do with herself. Whatever she did, whatever she said seemed to make them huff or look at her gone out and even the kids didn't know what to say or how to act.

The only one who wasn't affected was Bonnie, but (Y/n) knew if Margaret or Phillip tried to pick Bonnie up or get too close, she would retreat. It took her a while to form a bond with people, and she hadn't been around these grandparents enough to be comfortable with them and interact with them. Whereas Maddie could pick her up and play and sing with her and Bonnie would be happy as ever.

"Can we go to the play park?" Johnny looked up between his mum and his aunt with an inquizitive look and he timidly pointed ahead to where the fenced off playground was.

"Sure, lead the way." Maddie let go of Jee's hand so she could run ahead with Johnny, seeing as though they were in the middle of the park and not near any roads.

When (Y/n) looked down to her left, she could see Chris was smiling and nodding, they all loved the park, even Bonnie. Chris leaned his cheek against (Y/n)'s arm while he had his right hand holding onto the stroller (Y/n) was pushing where Bonnie was happily sat clapping and stimming.

Chris usually liked to push the stroller, it help him with coordination and it was sometimes easier to lean on the stroller than to walk unaided or with his crutches.

They walked in tandem with Maddie beside Chris and Margaret and Phillip two steps ahead of them, watching Jee and Johnny. For a minute or two, the atmosphere was calm and almost serene around them.

And when Margaret turned to look behind her, she had a somewhat pleasant smile as she looked between Chris and Bonnie. But then her gaze lingered on Bonnie for a moment too long, and her head angled to the side like she was scrutinising her granddaughter, and something inquizitive passed over her face.

"Why don't you let her walk for a bit?" Margaret pointed between the stroller and the grass surrounding them as if it wasn't clear who and what she was talking about. But (Y/n) shook her head and tried to smile all the same.

"She's fine." She didn't bother to lean over and look at her daughter because she knew Bonnie wouldn't get out.

That didn't stop Margaret from tutting and smiling down at Bonnie like she thought (Y/n) was making some kind of mistake. She held her hand out and waved her fingers towards Bonnie and the four year old looked up at her for a second or two before she went back to clapping.

With the way that Bonnie was constantly rocking her head back and forth and sometimes her shoulders too, she was shaking the stroller every now and then. But it was a movement that (Y/n) was used to, her daughter could never stay still. Even when she was having a cuddle or settling down at night with one of her parents, she was either humming, tapping her fingers or twitching her foot.

"Oh but look at little Jee, she's walking and she's the same age." Margaret looked back ahead towards her other granddaughter, the one who clearly got more attention and affection and even her smile brightened when she looked towards her.

Sometimes it didn't bother (Y/n). She could see that Margaret and Phillip didn't know how to interact with Bonnie because she was autistic, she needed different approaches and they weren't grasping that yet. It wasn't such a big deal either because Bonnie didn't need that bond with them, she had (Y/n)'s parents, Eddie's parents and Bobby who was like another grandparent to her. But when (Y/n) saw them favour Jee over the boys too, then it started to annoy her.

Glancing her eyes to the left once again, (Y/n) shared a look with Maddie who simply rolled her eyes. She knew her parents didn't understand and it was starting to get tiresome trying to explain things to them.

A sigh bubbled up in (Y/n)'s chest but she tried to force it down as she folded her arms over the stroller and arched her back out.

"She doesn't like walking when she doesn't know where she is, it scares her. She feels safe in the stroller."

"She can't use that forever."

Something stabbed at (Y/n)'s chest when Margaret shook her head and even looked towards Maddie as if she expected her to agree.

(Y/n) knew that. She knew that this wasn't a long-term solution and she would never want to confine Bonnie to her stroller and give her that assumption that she was only ever safe like this. But for now, this was how they all coped. Bonnie was four, she was a toddler and the world was a scary place when she didn't understand it.

Being in her stroller was a comfort, she was strapped in, she was being controlled by her parents. She didn't have to get lost or panic or get overwhelmed by the world and the sensory objects around her. She got to be pushed around and go out in the fresh air without that sense of panic.

Whenever they tried to get Bonnie to walk, she would get overwhelmed. She seemed to panic, even if she was holding someone's hand.

Sometimes, on rare occasions when she was in a familiar place or she was walking around the block surrounding their home, she would walk. She would have one hand tangled with either her parents or her brothers and she would stim and rock, but she would walk.

She walked round the house and garden just fine, she would go to the station and trot around happily, she went to nursery because now that was familiar to her just like the swimming pool.

But walking out in the community she didn't know or a busy shop was different and (Y/n) wouldn't let Bonnie get upset and go into a meltdown.

"Well for now, I'd rather her feel safe than get distressed. I know what I'm doing." Bonnie was her daughter and she knew how to look after her.

(Y/n) and the boys were in agreement that once Bonnie got a bit older, they would do strategies with her. They would get her to walk a few steps outside somewhere new, and then build up her resiliance and when she went to school that would help too. But for now, she got carried or went in her stroller because it was safe and she was still a little toddler.

Their group continued walking towards the playground, but (Y/n) felt cold shudders running through her blood when she heard Margaret mutter "If you say so," under her breath.

What did they know about raising a child like Bonnie? What parent groups had they gone to like (Y/n) and the boys did? What teachers and doctors and social workers did they ask for advice and how best to calm down Bonnie's anxiety?

They didn't know how hard (Y/n) tried to do what was right for Bonnie or how she agonised over whether or not she was doing what everyone else would deem as right. They were trying to make Bonnie happy and comfortable and do what was best for her and put her first. They would never do this if they thought it wasn't right. They couldn't just pick Bonnie up and demand that she walk like her brothers and Jee. They couldn't expect Bonnie to understand or forget her worries and do something everyone else thought was simple.

They had to take other precautions and approaches, and that was what (Y/n), Evan and Eddie were doing each and every day.

(Y/n) almost jumped when she felt a hand resting on her arm but she simmered down a little when she realised it was Maddie. "Ignore them, they clearly don't know what they're talking about."

With a warming smile, Maddie gave (Y/n)'s arm a squeeze before she stepped forward and opened the playground gate so she could get the stroller through.

Once they were inside the relatively empty playground, everyone seemed to filter off in their own direction.

Chris confiscated Maddie and aimed for the tyre swing that was currently unoccupied. Something that he loved because the spinning motion was calming to him, the same as it probably would be to Bonnie when she was a bit older.

Johnny aimed for the slide and to (Y/n)'s surprise, Margaret was following him. She wasn't sure how she felt about that. On one hand it was good that Margaret was trying to make an effort with the boys, but at the same time it was unnerving when (Y/n) didn't exactly trust them around the kids and when she didn't know what they would say to them.

With both boys happy and Jee directing Phillip towards the baby swings, (Y/n) rested the stroller up beside the fence and crouched down in front of Bonnie.

The four year old had a bright smile on her face and she was clinging to the new toy Evan had found for her. It was a baby chew toy, designed to look like a zebra with plastic feet and different cloth materials so Bonnie could chew and bite it without damaging it or hurting herself. It was for teething babies, but all teething toys were great for Bonnie as they gave her something to focus on and stopped her from trying to chew and eat things she shouldn't.

"Shall we go play?"

Bonnie giggled and kicked her feet out excitedly and once (Y/n) unclipped the buckle, she reached down and scooped her up.

It was getting a bit harder each week to be picking and carrying Bonnie around when her bump was getting in the way. (Y/n) was twenty weeks along now and she was surprised Bonnie didn't seem too bothered or disgruntled at her changing shape. Every now and then Bonnie would tap her stomach or try prodding it if she thought it was in the way, but so far she wasn't bothered. (Y/n) had a feeling that would change once her bump got bigger and she wouldn't be able to carry Bonnie anymore.

She sat Bonnie on her hip and headed towards the swings, keeping her eyes down because she didn't know how to act or what to say to Phillip.

Once Bonnie was settled in the swing, (Y/n) slowly started to push her back and forth. Looking between both girls who were giggling and kicking their legs out.

Phillip looked between both granddaughters with a fondness in his eyes and a bright smile before he leaned a bit closer to (Y/n). "Will she walk, you know, in here?"

He moved his hand to motion to the park and for the first time in a while, (Y/n) looked up at him. He always seemed less intimidating and disappointed than Margaret, but he still wasn't the easiest person to approach and sometimes the way he was so dismissive with Evan made (Y/n) less inclined to want to talk to him. But if he was making the effort today, then so would she.

"Yeah, it's small and has a barrier, she must think seeing the perimeter is safe."

The park was relatively small and there was an old red metal fence all the way around to stop kids from running off or going to far from their parents. Something like this showed Bonnie that she was enclosed, she was safe and she couldn't get lost in here.

She could trot from the slide to the swings or to the roundabout and wait for someone to push her and help her. But she still liked to see her stroller nearby, like a safety net, or if she got too overwhelmed or too tired she would hold her arms out and wait for someone to carry her.

And most of the time, the person she would go to be carried would be Evan. She knew he would always pick her up. Bonnie was his little girl, his 'Bonnie baby' as he used to call her when she had first been born and he loved carrying her around and having her cuddled up in his arms. And if she needed to feel protected and safe, Evan would always oblige and have her engulfed in his arms.

Being at the park seemed to calm everybody down and they stayed there for near on an hour. All the kids could spend the day there, even Bonnie who had a short attention span, but when Chris took her on the roundabout or helped her on the small toddler slide, she had been in fits of giggles.

Everyone was ready to leave now though, especially because the kids knew that they were going to the station. Evan had texted Maddie to say that they were having a slow day and that they were all welcome to drop by the station if they wanted.

The kids loved the station and it would give his parents a chance to see where he worked and try to be civil to him and Eddie in front of the team. They would never want to embarrass themselves.

"Daddy. Papa. Papa." Bonnie began to tap her hand down on Maddie's shoulder who was currently carrying her along the path since they were all on their way out the park towards the street.

"I know, we're going to see daddy and papa and Captain Bobby."

"Papa." The little girl nodded her head, but that was the main word she was focused on at the moment. It would be the one word she kept saying on repeat until they went to see Eddie. (Y/n) sincerely hoped he didn't go out on a call before they got there or Bonnie would have a tantrum if she didn't get to see him for at least a minute.

Looking down to her right, (Y/n) smiled as Johnny entwined their hands and began swaying their hands back and forth between them. He leant his cheek against (Y/n)'s arm as they walked together while Maddie was in front of them with Bonnie in her arms and Chris was to (Y/n)'s right, pushing the empty stroller. Phillip and Margaret seemed to be leading their little group as Jee was pulling on Phillip's hand, telling him she knew the way to the station from here.

A small chuckle left (Y/n)'s lips when she looked at Maddie and Bonnie. When Bonnie started to hum, Maddie did the same and tried to match the tune she was creating. This really made Bonnie smile and she began to gently tap her fingers against Maddie's lips, maybe to feel the sound and vibrations as some kind of stim. Whatever the reason, it was making her happy and Maddie was grinning, clearly unbothered by the touch.

(Y/n) looked down at Chris when he stepped towards her and leaned into her side causing her to be safely sandwiched between her boys. His hands were tapping and clenching around the stroller handle but his eyes were drifting around like he was looking for something to entertain himself with.

"Are they coming back to our house for tea?" The air of caution in Chris's voice showed he wasn't too keen on that idea, and he wasn't the only one. He seemed a bit more at ease when (Y/n) looped her arm around his shoulders and pecked the top of his head.

"I don't think so, not when your dad won't be there." (Y/n) highly doubted they would want to stay when Evan- and Eddie- would both still be at work. And even if they were home, (Y/n) wasn't so sure they would stay that much longer, at least not in the same day.

This was a lot of interaction for them all and the kids weren't as close or keen on Margaret and Phillip as their other grandparents. They wouldn't be so happy and settled if they stayed at their home. (Y/n) had a feeling that all the kids would disappear to their rooms the moment they had eaten if Margaret and Phillip joined them for tea. It was more plausable that they would go home with Maddie.

When (Y/n) lifted her head as they all left the park and headed onto the main street, her heart momentarily jumped up into her throat and clogged her breathing when she looked at Maddie and noticed her arms were now empty. She scanned around to find that Bonnie was now in Margaret's arms, and that didn't make (Y/n) feel much better.

Bonnie loved being carried, but she wasn't so keen on being with people she didn't know well or bond with. And she wasn't humming anymore. The four year old was twirling and stimming her hands and she wasn't looking at Margaret, a sign that she wasn't too settled.

"Can we sit in the truck when we get there?" Johnny kept swaying from left to right as they walked down the path and turned the corner. They were only a few minutes away from the station now.

They hadn't been down to the station in a while, and although they were always on their best behaviour when they were there, they always got to look around. They could go down the pole, look in the truck and the ambulance and sometimes have something to eat. He wanted to sit in the truck again.

"You'll have to ask Bobby when we get there." That wasn't something (Y/n) could agree to, but she couldn't see Bobby denying it, he was all for the kids coming to the station.

A strange sort of smile formed on Margaret's lips as she looked at the little girl in her arms. Bonnie still hadn't looked at her yet, and she was humming away to herself as she looked around and it made Margaret wonder if she knew where she was. After all, the station was just down the road, the red shutters were visible from where they were now. Maybe she knew the way. She could probably walk it from here.

Crouching down, she gently set Bonnie down to her feet and took her hand, promptly stopping her from bending her fingers and stimming. She tried to start walking again, but three steps ahead was where Bonnie stopped.

Her head tilted down so she was staring at the floor and she began to try and pull her hand out of Margaret's hold. A small whine left Bonnie's lips as she turned on the spot and tried to look around. She didn't want to walk, it was written across her face that she wasn't happy.

"Mum, she's gonna get upset." Maddie stepped forward, promptly tugging on Jee's hand since she had switched from walking with her grandad to walking with her mum. If Bonnie was going to panic then Maddie would happily carry her to the station or get her back in her stroller, but she wasn't going to walk.

"She has to learn."

Once again, Margaret tried pulling on Bonnie's hand but it was more like dragging her when the little girl whined and tried not to. Her feet skidded against the pavement and she kicked her feet out as she tried leaning forwards. She didn't want to.

In an instant she dropped down to her knees with a bang and started to rock back and forth, continuing to look at the floor like she was too unhappy to try and look at any of her family. The word 'no' muttered beneath Bonnie's breath until it was barely eligible with how fast she was muttering and it turned into a hum rather than a word she was expressing.

(Y/n) felt both boys cling to her arms as she tried to look around Maddie and see why they had stopped walking and what they were all doing. But she could feel a fire burning within her chest when she saw that Bonnie was kneeling on the floor. She did that when she was upset or about to have a meltdown. She was trying to make herself feel safe and block out the world.

What were they doing?

"Now let's not be a silly girl. Come on, walk with nanny." Margaret scooped her hands beneath Bonnie's arms and tried to set her back on her feet, but the toddler's legs were turning floppy.

She was getting distressed and if this carried on and she wasn't calmed down she would have a meltdown and begin to scream. They didn't need people stopping to ask what they were doing or give them dirty looks and it wasn't fair on Bonnie when her grandparents were the ones causing her distress.

"You're upsetting her, she can go back in her stroller." It was hard to control her tone when (Y/n) could feel her temper rising within her.

They were frightening her daughter and she wouldn't let them drag her like she was a child having a temper tantrum. She was autistic and they were upsetting her and not adjusting to her needs. They couldn't just expect Bonnie to walk and ignore her anxiety and feel the same way they did when she was programmed differently.

(Y/n) tugged on Johnny's hand to get him to stand closer to the wall rather than near the road on their left. She needed him to stand with Jee and Maddie so she could go get Bonnie and carry her or put her in the stroller. She wouldn't have Margaret dragging her around like a puppet.

She shook her head with a growl when Margaret still tried to pull on Bonnie's hand and get her to walk. And she could feel herself beginning to shake when Phillip tried to take her other hand too. They clearly thought dragging her between them would somehow make her feel safe and secure rather than like she was a prisoner being taken away. And they were stopping her from stimming, she was trying to shake and twist and pull her hands out of their grip but they weren't letting her.

"She needs to learn not to be naughty-"

"She's frightened!" The wheel of the stroller screeched as Chris tried to shove it forward to get to his sister.

They were frightening her and dragging her around like a doll. If his dads were here he knew for a fact that Eddie would have picked Bonnie up by now and Evan would have stormed in and shouted at them for what they were doing.

(Y/n) was almost within reach of her daughter, even with her in-laws trying to pull her forward despite the way she was clearly whining and shaking her head and scuffing her feet into the floor. She could see Maddie out the corner of her eye, wanting so badly to argue with her parents but she was trying to usher the rest of the kids to one side to give Bonnie some space.

It was clear to Maddie and (Y/n) that the four year old was about to have a meltdown. When Bonnie had meltdowns, if she was at home she would slam doors and scream and throw herself on the floor. Out in public she wasn't always predictable, she might scream, she might stomp her feet or lay on the floor or start hitting whatever was close to her. Sometimes she had a tendency to scratch her neck if she was really upset.

There was no chance for (Y/n) to reach out for her girl.

With a violent scream, Bonnie bent her knees and started to bounce and waver until her hands were finally free from their constraints. Her hands began to shake and twitch at her sides and before (Y/n) could call her name, Bonnie bolted.

"Bonnie no!"

Reaching her hands out, (Y/n) roughly pushed past both Margaret and Phillip to take off after Bonnie. For being only four and having rather bad coordination, Bonnie was fast and light on her feet. Her head was shaking from side to side as she screamed at the top of her lungs and if (Y/n) had to guess, she would say that Bonnie had her eyes closed. Something she often did when she was upset like this.

(Y/n) couldn't keep up with her. She couldn't reach out for her and grab her quick enough and Bonnie was light on her feet. Whereas (Y/n) was trying to run off the pure adrenaline coursing through her system, but she was barely catching a proper breath.

"Stop! Baby stop!" Tears were starting to blur (Y/n)'s vision and whip against her skin from the wind hitting her face.

If Bonnie didn't look where she was going and she started to veer left, she would end up on the road.

Droplets of sweat glistened on Eddie's skin as "Bloody shutters." mumbled past his lips. He lifted his arm to swipe his forearm against his temple. The station shutters kept getting stuck and wouldn't open on one side, so he had been trying to fix it. But the most he had managed to do was get them to lift up a few more feet.

He started to climb down the small step-ladder he had found in the inventory cupboard, but his head snapped to the right and a frown settled in his features when he heard a round of screams. The high pitch noise started to get closer and it caused the hairs on the back of Eddie's neck to stick up.

He felt it in his blood before his eyes managed to confirm his suspicions. That was Bonnie's scream.

Sure enough, there was his little girl. Bolting down the street with another scream and her little shoes stamping against the pavement creating an awful echo behind her.

The heel of Eddie's boot caught on the step-ladder when he jumped down. He could feel his heart pounding through his body and igniting his skin on fire as his sights set on his daughter. He could just about see (Y/n) a few feet behind her, pointing and practically screaming herself as she just couldn't reach her.

"Bonnie- Bonnie stop!" Eddie's guttural voice must have chilled Bonnie to the bone because she almost jumped from the ground at the sound of his voice. She hadn't been expecting to see him, and she hated when any parent used that tone of voice or she thought they were angry with her.

Eddie's boots hammered against the floor but he held his breath when Bonnie veered to her left. Towards the road.

She stumbled off the curb, clearly having no awareness of where she was going or what she was doing. She just wanted to get away.

Determination set into Eddie's bones as he heard (Y/n) scream; the desperate sound rattling through him and making him want to be sick. He jumped down the curb, his arms stretched out in front of him and he swooped down and hoisted Bonnie up into the air.

Her back became pinned against Eddie's chest and he pivoted on his heels, aiming for the pavement again just as a car horn blared out. With Bonnie pinned to his chest, Eddie pressed his lips to her temple and briefly waved his hand towards the car because at least the driver her slowed down to check that everything was okay in case he had to stop.

The moment Eddie stepped back onto the pavement he felt like his legs had turned to jelly. His knees started to tremble and his arms were shaking as he bound Bonnie to his chest.

She stopped writhing and kicking the moment she realised who had grabbed her and that it wasn't a stranger or the grandparents she had tried to run away from. And when Eddie carefully turned her around in his arms so they were face to face, Bonnie bound her arms around his neck.

He felt her shaking hands knot in his hair which caused his head to angle back a bit, but right now he didn't care. She could tug on his hair and scream into his neck like this and he wouldn't argue or say one thing. She was safe in his arms, that was all he cared about.

Both (Y/n)'s hands cupped her face and she doubled forward, creasing over until her stomach ached and the sickness rising within her started to fade. She didn't bother to stop herself when she felt like screaming; she let the sound vibrate through her fingers as tears continued to trickle down her face.

She could hear Maddie shouting behind them, clearly trying to hurry along with the rest of the kids. She could hear Johnny crying and Chris calling out for all of them now that he could see Eddie was here too. And she tried to block out the sound of Phillip and Margaret's voices.

"Okay, ooh baby. Papa's got you." Eddie pressed a dozen kisses to Bonnie's temple as he moved over to (Y/n).

It was hard trying to move one arm when both arms felt like stone and were deadlocked around his daughter, but he reached out and curled his hand around (Y/n)'s arm as he stood at her side. His eyes raked up and down her frame, trying to see whether she was about to be sick, whether she was somehow hurt or if this was just adrenaline and terror taking over her system.

"What the Hell happened? W-why was she running?" Eddie had never seen Bonnie bolt that fast before. They all knew if something frightened her she might run or scuttle, but she had never pelted down the street like that or wandered onto the road. But she had no road sense, she was only four.

And Eddie couldn't fathom why she hadn't been in her stroller when he could see Chris up ahead, running as he pushed the empty stroller Bonnie should have been safely strapped into.

"I- I shouldn't keep her in the stroller apparently, so Margaret tried to make her walk. She had a meltdown, she… she bolted, because they know best."

(Y/n) pressed one hand to her temple as she tried to straighten up, but her lips creased and she couldn't stop herself from crying and gasping for breath. Her stomach was churning like a cement mixer and she could feel the baby kicking and wriggling to the point it was starting to hurt and she felt like she was going to collapse.

She had almost been too late. If Eddie hadn't been outside when he was, if he had been inside or a second too late at seeing Bonnie, she might not have made it across the road. She could have been hit by a car or crossed the road and gotten even further away from (Y/n).

If they just let Maddie or (Y/n) pick Bonnie up or put her back in the stroller then everything would have been alright. They had pushed Bonnie into this meltdown, they had caused this and almost got her hurt.

When she looked up through her watering lashes, she could see the fury written across Eddie's face.

He had never looked so furious.

His lips were curled into a snarl and were pressed together so tightly his nostrils were flaring as he tried to catch his breath back. A dark shade of rouge was quickly slithering up his neck and clouding his face and his shoulders were quaking with each heaving breath he took.

His hand was trembling as he tightened his hold around (Y/n)'s arm and carefully tugged her to the side so she was stood near the station door. And his head angled to one side as he looked over at the boys.

Johnny was clinging to Maddie's hand, still sniffling and gasping as he tried not to cry. Eddie wasn't sure if his boy knew what had happened or if he was crying from all the panic, Johnny got scared easily. But Chris was seething, he was bashing his palms down against the stroller and he was rocking back and forth to try and calm himself down.

While Maddie was stood with Jee on her hip and a concerned expression that was mixed with grief and torment. Why couldn't her parents listen to them?

Letting go of (Y/n), Eddie moved his hand to point towards the doors and he clicked his fingers. "Everyone inside."

No one dared argue with him. Maddie led the way, guiding Johnny inside while Chris steamed in and shoved the stroller into the corner so it wasn't blocking the entrance in case the trucks had to go.

(Y/n) tried to head inside but she could feel herself going lightheaded once she was through the doors. The adrenaline was wearing off and it was making her feel sick. Every part of her was shaking. She pressed her hand against her stomach and turned away just in case the kids were looking, she didn't want them to look if she was going to be sick. She leant forward and closed her eyes, breathing through her nose to try and ward off the bile rising in her throat.

Loud footsteps echoed through the station as Evan picked up the pace when he saw his family flocking through the open shutters.

A broad grin spread across his face, right until he looked around his loved ones and realised that not a single one of them was smiling back. Chris looked furious, stood with his hands balled into fists and his lips formed into a pout. Johnny was tucked into Maddie's side with a tear stained face and quaking shoulders, giving away that he had been crying.

His sister had that kind of expression Evan used to see when their parents didn't celebrate his birthday or when they forgot about his football games or didn't turn up at school when he hurt himself. She looked disappointed and enraged and tormented all at once, and it made Evan want to cry.

But it was his partners he found himself focusing on. (Y/n) had her back to everyone and she was doubled forward like she was in some kind of pain or like she didn't feel well.

And there was something in Eddie's eyes that set Evan off-kilter. Those maroon eyes were almost black. His jaw was locked and clicking from side to side and he was actually shaking as he cupped the back of Bonnie's head and tried to calm her down. And when Evan looked at their daughter, he realised she was whimpering. She was tugging on Eddie's hair, her legs were thrashing into his abdomen and she was hitting her other hand down on his shoulder.

"Hey… what's wrong?" Evan wasn't quite sure who to approach first, his partners, their kids or his sister.

The only people he didn't want to go near was his parents who were stood off to one side, clinging to each other like they had witnessed a massacre. They wouldn't meet Evan's eyes, they wouldn't look anywhere but at the fire truck like it was some kind of omen or beacon of hope for them.

He watched with wide eyes that were quickly being consumed by panic as Eddie advanced over to him with a face like thunder, but Evan wasn't expecting the words that came out of his mouth.

"Get your parents away from the kids. Now."

What on Earth did that mean? What had they done that was so bad that Eddie didn't want them around the kids? Had they hurt one of them, lashed out at one of the kids, shouted at them? Had they acted inappropriately?

Evan stood with an open mouth and blank expression, unsure what he was supposed to say in response to that. So he just stood and watched as Maddie set Jee down and gently ushered the kids to go and find Chimney because he would be able to find some sweets for them. They didn't need to be around to witness this.

The only child that needed to be with them right now was Bonnie because she was still trembling and whimpering in Eddie's arms.

When Eddie turned his back on Evan to look in (Y/n)'s direction, Evan reached out and held onto his bicep. "Babe I don't understand."

Chills roamed through Evan's body when Eddie spun back around so fast that Evan got whiplash. He quickly reached out when Eddie handed their daughter over to him and motioned to her once she was then trembling and clutching at Evan so tightly he could barely breathe.

"She almost got run over, thanks to your folks."

All the blood drained down to Evan's toes and his skin turned a milky shade of white as he looked down at his daughter in panic. He juggled her higher on his chest and gently cupped her cheek, tilting her head back so he could observe her and scour for any injuries or signs of blood or scrapes and bruises.

He hushed her when a rendition of "Daddy," babbled past her lips and he obliged and leaned forward when Bonnie cupped his face and pulled him closer so she could start kissing his cheek. Something that she was clearly doing to try and calm herself down as she was still rocking her upper body back and forth against Evan's chest, desperate to regulate her system and calm down.

"What did you do?" Evan's tone was harsh but his expression was cruel as he stepped in front of his parents, staring them down until someone decided to fill him in.

Why had his daughter almost been caught up in an accident? How was that his parents fault? What had they done today?

"Baby sit down." Eddie grabbed a plastic chair from the corner and dragged it over to (Y/n). He could see that she didn't want to, she tried shaking her head but he held onto her elbow and waist and guided her to the chair. She looked like she was going to be sick, she needed to sit down before she fainted or threw up.

He wouldn't have her collapsing or making herself any worse, not on account of Evan's parents who had caused this whole mishap today. Once she was sat down, Eddie stood beside her and moved his hands to her shoulders and he leaned down to press his lips to the top of her head. One hand slid up to cup her neck and he started counting as he felt her pulse but he was relieved to feel that her heartbeat was starting to simmer back down. The last thing they needed was a trip to the hospital.

"Tell me what happened." It was hard for Evan not to raise his voice when everything inside of him was setting on fire and he could feel himself getting riled up. But with Bonnie still trying to kiss his cheek and cuddle into him, he had to control his temper or he would frighten her.

"We were only trying to get Bonnie to walk with us, like Jee and the boys. She's perfectly capable of walking, she ran off-"

"She ran into the fucking road." Margaret's shoulders slumped when Eddie cut her off with a viper's tone and a snapping jaw.

"You wouldn't listen to me," (Y/n) hated how broken her voice sounded and she tried her best not to shout or let the tears force her into a sob, but they were riling her up so much. "I explained, I told you she has the stroller, that she was scared. You told her to stop being naughty and tried to drag her down the street, no wonder she ran."

The look on Evan's face was one that couldn't be deciphered and one that Maddie had never seen before. She tried to observe her brother, to figure out what was running through his head and what he was going to do, but she didn't expect tears to start trickling down his face.

His lips attached to the top of Bonnie's head as he bounced her up and down in his arms and turned his back to his parents so he could go over to Eddie. He didn't feel like setting Bonnie down and he wouldn't go over and argue with his parents with her still in his arms, that wouldn't be fair.

He eased Bonnie down once he was next to (Y/n) and their girl instantly scuttled in between (Y/n)'s thighs and cuddled up into her like she was hiding away in a cocoon.

It gave Evan a sense of glee to watch his parents lock hands and see how his mother leaned into his father like she thought she needed protection. Like she thought Evan would really lash out at her or raise his voice at her in front of his family, in his place of work. But she didn't like the look on his face, or the heartbreak welling up in his eyes.

"Why?"

"Evan… we, we just want to teach her, to get her integrated into the world…" Phillip stopped short when Evan shook his head and held his hand out because he wouldn't stand and be lectured by people who barely knew his children.

"You don't know what's best for my daughter!"

The gritty, furious tone to Evan's voice was enough to have everyone shrinking back in fear and those words sent his parents reeling. Evan never got upset or aggressive with them, he had never bothered to defend himself or plead with his parents to love him or show him some respect and attention that he deserved but never received. He wouldn't bother to get them to love him, but he would go to the ends of the Earth to defend each of his kids.

Especially when Bonnie didn't have a voice to defend herself.

"You dragged my girl down the street, you frightened her to the point she ran off and I'm guessing by the state of (Y/n) that she's the only one who ran after Bonnie. You have no right to come down here and pretend you know anything about raising an autistic child."

"We wanted to help-"

"Then listen to us! If you wanna help, you- fuck, you learn, okay? Bonnie doesn't see the world like you, she can't communicate your way. She sees the world as scary, it's unknown and frightening and walking is scary. Being carried or strapped in her chair is safe, she knows she's protected if she's in my arms or she's being pushed and steered and shown where she's going."

If they wanted to help then they needed to listen, they needed to understand and read about autism and try to see things from Bonnie's point of view. They had to listen when (Y/n) or Eddie or Evan told them something and not question them and their methods in raising their girl.

"You don't drag her, you don't force her to do something she doesn't understand or she's frightened of and you certainly don't call her naughty for being upset."

Evan locked his hands into fists and took a step back to prevent himself from lashing out in front of them and Bonnie.

He took a second to glance to the right, but it only made his heart ache to see (Y/n) cuddling Bonnie yet trying her best not to throw up or curl into a ball. And seeing Eddie wrapping around her and glaring holes into the Buckley parents made Evan feel even worse. His parents had upset everyone, and they still had the nerve to pretend that they hadn't done anything wrong.

"Leave."

"Evan, we don't want to argue."

Their pleading expressions did nothing to make Evan feel relieved or sorry for them and he certainly didn't feel like they had earned any forgiveness. Not wanting to argue wasn't commendable considering they had caused this row and they were the ones who were in the wrong. They would be arguing if they thought they were in the right here.

They had done enough. Evan didn't want them around his kids anymore, he didn't want Bonnie becoming any more distressed than she already was and the boys were both clearly upset and worried. This visit had been a disaster and it wouldn't be happening again.

"Good, so get out. I don't want you going anywhere near Bonnie and the boys certainly don't need to be around you either. You don't respect either of my partners or my kids so leave. I'm done with whatever this is."

When he turned around so his back was facing his parents, Evan headed over and reached out for Bonnie again. He picked her up, glad that she was a lot calmer now, although she was still looking at him with those frightened eyes and her usual beautiful smile was nowhere to be seen.

He cuddled her into his chest and attached his lips to the side of her head while he watched Eddie help (Y/n) up.

She looked drained. Tears were splashed across her face, her arms were wrapped around her middle and she was still breathing deeply like she hadn't been able to catch her breath back yet. The way she leaned back into Eddie showed she was losing what little energy she had left and Evan had never been more glad that his shift was coming to an end so he would be able to take his family home.

"Let's go get the boys." Eddie whispered the words against (Y/n)'s temple, keeping his arms looped around her waist as they followed after Evan.

(Y/n) had the urge to look over her shoulder, to see whether Margaret and Phillip looked as down-trodden and guilty as she expected them to feel. And she wanted to look over at Maddie and make sure she knew they weren't arguing with her. But she resisted the urge. Looking at her in-laws wasn't going to make a difference and seeing them look so surprised and sorrowful wasn't going to help.

They all knew that Maddie was going to stay and chat with her parents, to try and get them to see this from Evan's point of view and let them understand what they had done was wrong. She would be trying to smooth things over and she would get her parents to leave.

But Maddie wouldn't be able to change Evan's mind on this. She wouldn't get him to draw a truce with their parents and she would have a hard time convincing the three of them to give the Buckleys another chance to be around Bonnie and the boys.

They hadn't listened to (Y/n) and they had belittled her. Eddie would throw fists before he let them near Bonnie after how they had treated her. And Evan wouldn't forgive them for this.

585 notes · View notes

softstarlite · 2 months ago

Text

possessive - jack abbot

a/n: so i have this scenario in my head but idk if i love it or hate it, it’s up to you at this point 😭 sorry for any misspellings, english is not my first language

pairing: jack abbot x f!pediatrician!reader

summary: jack abbot is a possessive man and we love that

warnings: dr abbot being hot, myrna being inconvenient as always, medical inaccuracies, let me know if i missed something (gif not mine i just find it here)

Possessive is a word referred to ownership or a relationship of belonging between one thing and another.

Is the state of having, owning, or controlling something.

Jack Abbot was a possessive man.

Not an inconvenient possessive man. He was subtle. One hand at the end of your back. Picking you up at the end of your shift when he isn’t working. Talking to you with the softest voice. Sharing coffee or a granola bar he had in his pocket for you. The glances to other men when you’re walking by.

He had nothing to fear with you. You sleep and wake up with him every day. He knew exactly how to show someone that you belonged to him without saying a word. He hasn't put a ring on your finger and yet everybody in the ED understands you’re his girl and nobody was crazy to question him.

It was supposed to be your day off. You already made plans with Emery and Parker to go out for dinner and have some drinks like you do every month. That’s your way of gossiping and keeping the bond stronger, especially working at male dominated fields. Keeping the girls together makes the job easier and better. You were even planning to invite Samara to the next dinner.

The best thing about the trio was initially to piss Jack off and because you worked so well together and a friendship naturally bloomed - and thank god it did. The funniest, dirtiest and best conversations came out so easily between you that it was impossible to keep track of the actual dialogue topic when you combined.

Unfortunately your phone vibrated in your purse during dinner with a message from Robby letting you know there was an emergency of a child that fell and the parents were asking for you. These things were pretty normal in your routine when you work with pediatrics emergencies. In less than fifteen minutes you were walking towards the ED entrance like you weren't just discussing panties over drinks.

Worst part of it? You had no time to change your clothes. So you were standing at the nursing station with the most expensive Valentino dress you own, brand new shoes and your favorite coat to protect you from the cold.

The scrubs were a protocol when you’re working and you were not. You hated to work without them and hated even more that your backup scrubs were not in your car. Jack must’ve taken them to wash and didn’t put them back.

Jack didn’t see you coming and he had no idea of the dress you chose for your girls night. Bridget was already laughing when you entered, holding you something to cover up until you have to leave again. She quickly took your overcoat and gave you a white coat, which helped a little but not too much because of your heels clicking at the floor.

“Wow doc, didn’t know you could look that hot.” You heard Garcia teased and shook your head laughing. “You should show up like this more often, as an experiment of course.”

“I appreciate your words Yoyo. Maybe next time I'll show up with your favorite color.” She blew you a kiss and walked away laughing.

“He’s going to need to be sedated when he hears you’re in his ED looking like this” Robby chuckled when he found at the nursing station. “Sorry I've called you, they insisted on being you. They are barely letting Mel work there.’

“It’s fine, Robby. I don’t like my day off anyway.” You winked and went straight to the room they were in.

The child parents came running to you the moment you entered their plain sight. Dr. King was accompanying them before you arrived, describing the situation in detail and how she dealt with them. And for her face you knew how those parents weren’t easy to deal with.

“Dr (Y/L/N), this is Jamie, 10 month old, previously healthy, fell from the crib around 9 p.m.. According to the mother, he tried to pull himself up using the crib rails, lost his balance, and fell over the side of the crib, landing directly on the floor. He cried immediately for about fifteen minutes, with no loss of consciousness and no vomiting. The mother noted only mild bruises in the right frontotemporal region, with no other signs of trauma. He remained active, fed normally, and showed no changes in consciousness or behavior. “ You heard Mel's words with attention while examining the child.

“You ordered any exams, doctor King?” She nodded and passed you the chart to look at.”

“A CT, x-ray and some labs just to make sure everything is perfectly fine.” You nodded, shaking your head.

“Excellent.” You smiled at her and turned your attention to the parents.

“Does he cry when he moves? Has he had any seizures? Allergies or something we need to know?” They kept denying. “Why don’t you bring him early? It’s almost one in the morning.” The parents kept their silence and you shrugged your shoulders, looking at them. “Alright then. Doctor King will accompany you to the CT and the x-ray.”

Something you loved about yourself was the way you’re pretty centered and rigid about your job, especially working around and with children. Fighting with parents? You do every shift. Making the little ones laugh? You did it too. You were tough and nice but at the same time the children absolutely loved you. The most common thing to see was you holding a child mid shift and laughing about it with the nurses.

He was waiting for you at the nursing station. Coffee in hand. Jaws tighten when his eyes land on you. Eyebrows raised while he analyzed your shoes. You leaned closer to him, enough to look professional and only a little mischievous so he could smell your new perfume - the one he bought you.

“Hi there, doctor Abbot.” You touched his arm and smiled, knowing exactly what he was going to ask. “Peds emergency, they have to call the best.”

“This is not workplace clothing.” His hand reached yours, quickly brushing your finger.

“I had a nice time at dinner, thanks for asking, by the way.” He rolled his eyes. “I’ll go home when his exams are finished. I won’t even leave this spot.” You sit in the vague chair and cross your arms.

“Nice coat, actually.” Dr. Jack Abbot. It was his coat. “You should work with this more often since you don’t want to change your last name.”

Before you can even replied you heard Myrna screaming at the other side of the room.

“Nice ass, MacDreamy.” She pointed at you.

“Been working out lately, Myrna. Do you like it?” You teased her and she giggled.

“Watch out or I’ll steal your girl, Abbot. I killed a man before and I can do it again.”

When you turned to look at Jack again, he was serious. His forehead was tense and his knuckles white from holding his coffee mug. His hair was a little messy and there was some blood in his scrubs.

Hot. Really hot.

He didn’t care when your friends, female friends, flirted with you because he knew you flirted back joking. He respected your boundaries and you respected him too. You still find it pretty amusing how he gets all possessive over small things, lucky you he didn’t see the dress you were wearing underneath the white coat.

Vintage Valentino, sheer black chiffon, off-the-shoulder neckline with the fabric draped down the arms, creating a dramatic, sophisticated look. At the bust, a large central bow, asymmetrical and flowing skirt, with soft, layered fabric and a high front slit that reveals the left leg. Jack never complained or talked badly about your clothing, he actually enjoyed seeing you wearing the clothes you liked - he enjoyed taking off more. He describes being an extension of your personality.

“Want to talk about that dress?” He lifted up the white coat a little. “Showing legs and neck like crazy, hm?”

“Nope, we’re not doing this here. You’re working.”

“Why not? I thought you like showing off a little too much.” He crossed his arms and you sigh.

“Oh my God, is this foreplay?” His eyes locked on yours. “Fuck it, I’m into it.”

“Just stay here until the boy it’s back.” He stared at you for a few seconds and you tried to control your smile.

“Are you jealous, Abbot?” You heard Shen comment and buried your face in your hands. He just gave him the nastiest look you’ve ever seen in your life and you can tell he already gave you some looks at you in the bedroom.

The exams took a while to get ready and when they returned to the emergency room, you met them again holding a tablet to explain the situation to them. Immediately the little boy was already in your arms, resting his head over your shoulder.

“The CT and the x-ray both came normal, no injury or other systemic trauma. He’s safe and sound. If you notice something is different, bring him immediately.” You hold his little hand and smile brightly. “You’re lucky to be here today, Jamie.”

The parents asked a few questions about the exams and the therapy you chose for him and after they left you stayed inside the empty room for a while before you left to grab the rest of your stuff.

Jack was talking something with Robby when you approached them, taking off the white coat that belonged to your man and putting on your warm and cozy overcoat. His eyes went straight to your almost bare chest, he had to scan the room pretty quickly for perverts watching you. One drunk guy screamed that he wanted you to talk to him, Myrna said something about your ass again and this time Mel came in complementing your legs.

“You should be grateful you weren’t there when Emery and Parker saw me, you probably be in jail now.” He helped you close the buttons of your coat.

“Remind me to put a goddamn ring on your finger.” He whispered closer to you, making you burst out laughing.

“What a romantic proposal. I’m really emotional.” Jack rolled his eyes, tucking your hair behind your ear.

“I already heard some jerks talking about you and I didn’t appreciate their tone.” You passed your arms around his shoulder - ignoring the PDA rule you established for work.

“Yeah, I’m still sleeping in your bed tho.” He agreed, laughing softly. “Gotta go now. Emery is waiting for me at Five Guys and I could kill for a burger now.”

“Be careful, beautiful.”

“Try to go home in one piece.” You squeezed his shoulder and winked before walking away.

When you arrived for your next shift there was a big diamond on your finger and the biggest smirk on Jack's face when people started to talk about it.

2K notes · View notes

softstarlite · 2 months ago

Note

(Desperately) begging for a fic where reader is experiencing Whitaker-levels of a bad day including a stubborn argument with Jack and she just crashes out on the rooftop and he’s just like comforting her 🙏

⨳ REALLY VERY BAD DAY

pairing: jack abbot x chief resident!reader warnings: gross fluids (blood, vomit, etc.), minor injury, severe second hand embarrassment, injections, suicidal ideation, but not rlly. this isn't beta'd. author's note: this man is canonically sooo bad at comfort, so this gets a lil silly!

Your entire shift is exactly 12 hours. Somehow, you managed to have six different catastrophes happen to you in that limited time. That's an average of one every two hours. The odds have got to be completely stacked against you.

You should've known, when the first hour of your shift ended with a kid, who'd come in with a stomachache, throwing up all over your scrubs. It happens all the time, so you weren't too pessimistic about how the rest of the night would go by that point.

Little did you know, that was a sign from the universe. You should've taken it and clocked out instead of using your first scrub credit of the night.

By 11:00, you were slowly losing your optimism. You'd been taking out a patient's IV cannula when you apparently pricked yourself through your gloves. You only realized much later, when the antiseptic sanitizer you were using stung a little too much.

The moment you noticed, you checked the patient's medical record for any blood-borne diseases that might spread to you. And lo and behold, he had HBV.

You found Jack at the nurse's station, picking up some labs for a patient.

“I'm gonna need you to give me an HBV PEP injection. Please,” you'd whispered, as close to him as possible.

“Why would you need that?” he asked casually.

“I have a needle-stick injury.”

He looked over at you, finally. There's a silent disappointment in his eyes. Jack's one of the most composed people you know, but you also know he's a worrier. He won't let it show now, but he'll definitely be all over you the moment you're both back home.

The night shift's charge nurse walked into the station you're both standing at. She let Jack know his patient needed emergency surgery, and would be admitted to general surgery in a few minutes. When he told her he'd be right there, he turned to you again.

“You can't give it to yourself?” you know he isn't asking out of reluctance to do it, just curiosity.

“I need... some comfort.”

It wasn't a complete lie. The night'd already been getting difficult. You just wanted his hands on you for a minute. It'd make you feel better. You're afraid you haven't gotten to that point in the relationship where you could admit all of that out loud, though. But he seems to have gotten it.

“Alright. Go wait in there,” he pointed to a curtained corner of the ER, and then turned to walk away.

The words made you almost kiss him on the mouth. Instead, you walked to sit on the recliner and prepared the shot.

It took three minutes of waiting, before he's walked in and pulled the curtain half closed behind him. You swung your legs, staring down at your feet the entire time he's prepping to get this done.

“You have to be more careful,” he whispered, uncovering the syringe.

His voice was a little tense. You know he doesn't like reprimanding you. It puts you both in an awkward situation, but as your superior, he has to do it. You appreciate the criticism, but Jack happens to think it adds an uncomfortable impersonality to your relationship.

You could only offer a nod back. He let you hold onto his arm the whole time. You pulled his hand onto yours, as he used a plaster to cover the injection site. He pressed a kiss right above it before covering your arm with your sleeve again. The whole affair only took about five minutes, but it was the best part of your night.

When he was done, Jack stepped in front of you, his hand still holding onto yours. He leaned in, the proximity meaning you couldn't possibly look anywhere but his eyes.

“You'll be more careful?” he asked. He wanted you to repeat it.

“Yeah, I'll take care,” you affirmed. There was a thinly veiled promise in the affirmation. You were telling him you won't make any more of these mistakes that are completely beneath you. It was more for his peace of mind than anything else.

He pulled your conjoined hands up to his lips, lowering his lips to the back of yours.

The dull pain in your shoulder from the injection made it infinitely harder to hold your patient's jugular closed with your fingers.

It isn't very common for a patient to come in with a knife to his throat. Needless to say, you've never had to pull a carving knife out of someone's jugular, and then use your fingers to keep it closed.

The blood everywhere is a given, considering the severity of the injury, but the crimson droplets streaking your face and scrub top are all thanks to your unsteady grip.

You were hyperaware of the fact that this guy had been dead. He was dead long before he came into the ER. He'd only still been alive on a technicality. One that was long gone by this point.

He'd lost too much blood on the way to the PTMC, and there's no amount of available blood bags that could replenish it all. You couldn't stop holding onto him, though. Not when the steady stream stopped. Not when his pulse faded into nothing.

Not until Jack slipped behind you and pulled your hands away with a firm grip. He'd whispered meaningless encouragements into your ear, telling you to go take a minute for yourself. He might've offered to help, but you were too out of it to remember exactly what was said.

You were barely there the whole time. Washing the blood out of your hair, and changing your scrubs in the ER bathroom. It all didn't feel real. It took you a good hour to get back to normal. As normal as ‘normal’ gets after whatever the fuck that was.

You were glad when tripped over some spilt saline fluid and fell face-first on the ER's cold floor. Your chin was busted, but you actually felt something. It'd been hours of walking around stitching wounds up, looking over x-rays and blood work results, and feeling like a ghost who floats around the floor with no purpose.

Thankfully, when you looked in the mirror, it appeared like there were no broken bones. Just a scratch on your forehead, and a bleeding chin. No one wants a doctor who looks like they just got beat up, so your number one priority was disinfecting your mess of a face and covering up all of the nastiness.

When you reached for some normal, adult plaster, though, it was all gone. The storage locker wouldn't be open for another few hours, either. You let out the biggest sigh known to mankind when you spotted the children's bandaids.

Looking back into the mirror, you saw how ridiculous it looked to have farm animals plastered on your forehead, and a family of brightly colored elephants on your chin.

You couldn't seem to find it in yourself to care. You do almost snap at Chen when he tries to crack a joke at your expense, though.

The lock on the blood bank refrigerator had been broken for months.

You keep filing complaint after complaint, for the higher-ups to send someone to fix it. You and everyone in the department, in fact. But to no avail. It took you five minutes longer than it should to finally grab a fresh bag of donated blood out of the shelf.

So, you rushed back to Ellis. It's stupid, considering you'd just fell an hour ago. The patient's more important than logic.

The moment you crashed into an intern standing in the middle of the ER played in slow motion. You watched the bag drop to the floor, saw the plastic snap, felt the blood seep into your black work sneakers.

The ‘O-’ label on the bag stared back up at you, as you stood there in shock for a moment. Every muscle in your body started aching. It was suddenly painful to even breathe. You were barely holding yourself together, and this relatively small inconvenience was your very last straw.

“Fuck,” you whispered, not even registering the intern's profuse apologies, aimed at you.

You let out one long sigh, and your shoulders started shaking. Your chin came into contact with your chest, as you felt something painful stir within you. The feeling of helpless disappointment had been gnawing at you for hours. Now, it engulfed you completely. You'd had no idea how long you stood there, your eyes screwed tight, as the rest of the ER kept buzzing around you.

Familiar hands gripping your shoulders and pulling you away is the first thing you felt. Looking down at your feet as they lead you wherever you were being guided was a fatal mistake. You saw the bloodied shoe prints you left behind and felt even worse, if that was possible. So, you let your eyes flutter shut again.

When you were finally sat down on the edge somewhere, your face felt undeniably cold. That's when you realized you'd been shedding tears the entire time. The familiar feeling of embarrassment that bubbled up in your throat when you were vulnerable around big groups of people never arrived. Just a steady numbness.

The heavy breeze on the PTMC's roof made the salty tears on your face feel like tiny pinpricks of despair. You hoped it could also make you fly very far away from this building, never to return again. Alas, not all dreams come true.

“I did so, so badly today,” you confessed, your voice sounding thick and foreign to your own ears.

Jack frowned at you, his eyes scanning your entire face. You noticed his frown deepen almost imperceptibly when he landed on the bandaids covering your face. You were sure he'd make fun of them if today hadn't gone so badly.

He looked like he was calculating his next words very carefully, “That's alright. We have tomorrow. And the day after that. And the day after that.”

Oh boy, that wasn't making you feel any better. In fact, it might've made you want to jump off of the very same roof you sat on right now. You stared off into the distance, calculating the height of the jump.

Apparently, Jack didn't get the memo.

“You'll always have chances to do better. You're still young. The worst day of your life can never define your entire being,” he rambled on. It was starting to seem like he was just trying to find it along the way.

Your eyes screwed shut in an attempt to tune your very sweet, but very misguided, boyfriend out. When it didn't work, you resorted to just blurting out the words on your mind.

Unfortunately, it had come out meaner than intended, “Shut up. Just stop talking, please.”

Jack was just about to talk again when you interrupted him with a plea, “I'll pay you.”

His eyes were sad. You knew he was trying, it just wasn't what you needed at all. You swung your legs, trying to play off the shame you felt at the way you spoke to him earlier. You couldn't apologize just yet though, lest he go on another tangent.

His voice was raw, but not hurt, “Do you need me to leave?”

You shook your head frantically. Just the thought of it hurt your brain.

“No. No. Just stay right here,” you whispered, and pulled his arm close.

You let your head fall onto his shoulder, the scent of his drug-store shampoo filling your nose. It worked wonders for your nerves.

“Just no more talking, please,” you begged, voice growing heavy with exhaustion.

Jack laughed. In that moment, it was like hearing the angels sing. You could listen to the sound for hours.

You could feel him nod against your head, and then press his lips into your hair.

“Alright, honey. Whatever you need.”

You were fully hugging his arm, now. Shamelessly letting yourself snuggle against his body heat. You knew you had to go downstairs and clock out to get home.

But right here, with the first rays of dawn slowly making their way onto your face, and Jack's free hand coming up to stroke your hair, it felt like you were already home.

A thousand horrible motivational speeches couldn't change that.

1K notes · View notes

softstarlite · 2 months ago

Text

rusty

jack abbot x female reader

summary: after a dry spell in his sex life, jack would’ve never imagined the next women he’d have naked in his bed would be his favorite first year resident.

content: nsfw, 18+, mdni, resident!reader, touch starved!jack, established relationship, a little bit of fluff smushed in there, but mostly smut, jack being nervous to have sex for the first time in years, but then ofc something in him snaps and he gets a little freaky with it, jack uses the nickname kid for the reader (1) time, also uses the nickname sweetheart, fingering, handjob (if you blink you’ll miss it), p in v sex, dirty talk, condom use and the crowd boos (sorry had to keep it realistic! if i’m having sex with someone for the first time and they’re not wrapping it….questionable)

word count: 4.5k

author’s note: wanted to write something about big tough jack abbot being a little nervy to see you naked but i also wanted to write something about him having an inappropriate relationship with his resident…. so alas this was born. enjoy!

“I haven’t done this in a while.”

The words stumble from Jack’s lips in an exasperated sigh. They nearly get lost between kisses, the confession hidden amidst the steamy exchange as your bodies barrel through his front door.

Reaching up to thread your fingers through the curls at the nape of his neck, your forearms rest on his shoulders to steady yourself as he maneuvers you into his bedroom.

You don’t reply to his admission, just smile into the kiss as your hands trail down his torso finding the hem of his shirt. Your fingertips carefully tracing his skin underneath the material.

He wanted to tell you it had been years since he’d been with a woman like this— wanted to apologize in advance for being a bit rusty, but the light touch of your hands exploring the skin just above the waistband of his jeans, had him losing his previous train of thought.

He couldn’t think about how long it’d been since he’d brought a woman back to his place, couldn’t even think about how insanely wrong it was to be kissing you in his bedroom.

With that being said, he should be proud of himself for holding out this long.

It had been months of having you on his shift.

Week after week of watching you prance around the ER with that cute little smile on your face, following every last one of his orders. Always meeting his sarcastic remarks with witty comments of your own, the two of you working effortlessly together like there was some sort of magnetic field between you that pulled him to every case you worked on.

It was so innocent at first, shared inside jokes and granola bars in the breakroom. Him giving you a hard time for your absurd coffee intake through the night, making comments about how the quad shot of espresso you walked in with was going to send you into cardiac arrest.

But then, there was the time he put his hand on your lower back to squeeze behind you at the triage desk. The second his touch met the polyester of your scrubs, applying just enough pressure to seep through the thin fabric, your head turned in his direction.

You didn’t mean to look at him, but you couldn’t help it. His fingers stayed splayed out on your back for one second too long, and your eyes shot to his, the electric current running through your body impossible to ignore.

A sudden tension emerged in the small space between you, his stare raking down your body to where his hand sat just above your waist, taking his time trailing them back up with a knowing smirk on his lips.

The moment was fleeting but it played out in slow motion before his hand was gone and he was breezing past you into the trauma bay.

After that it became a game of cat and mouse, both of you sensing a pull of desire toward the other but almost too afraid to do anything about it.

For Jack, it was because you were his intern, just a first-year resident looking to him for guidance and education. His apprentice. It felt wrong to look at you in any other way. He wouldn’t be able to sleep at night if he took advantage of the obvious power imbalance at play in the situation.

Not to mention he was off his game.

He had no problem coming across abundantly confident at work, but as far as dating went, Jack hadn’t waded into those waters for years. There was a part of him that gave up on his love life. Maybe that’s why he threw himself into work, to avoid the loneliness that found him in his lack of companionship.

You could sense his apprehension.

The way he would subtly flirt with you and then walk away from the conversation like nothing happened. He was trying to avoid the guilt of getting too familiar, but it left you confused about his intentions.

It wasn’t until one morning that you decided to rip off the band aid entirely, asking him to join you for breakfast after your shift.

It was a simple invitation, one that could’ve been strictly friendly, but the way he smiled when you asked, looking around to see if anyone else heard, told you it was the start of something else entirely.

And it was.

The two of you went to breakfast, talking for hours in a corner booth, over a stack of pancakes and a few slices of bacon.

It was the first time you saw each other outside of the hospital.

Everyone else in that restaurant could recognize the two of you for what you were; happy. Finding joy in each other’s presence through constant laughs and affectionate smiles. But Jack couldn’t see it that way— couldn’t shake the conflicting feelings of guilt.

It wasn’t until you reached over him to dip your bacon in a pool of syrup on his plate that he finally relaxed. He soaked it in, sitting with you like that, because when the nagging thoughts of how inappropriate it all was began to cloud his mind, the gentle touch of your hand brushing his thigh chased them away. Your fingertips curled just above his knee as you continued telling him a story, the hold making him forget why he was even worried about saying yes to your invitation in the first place.

That was the first time he crossed a boundary with you. Allowing himself to get lost in your voice, hidden away in some diner down the street from the hospital. But it didn’t stop there.

The next time was when he walked you home after work, only three days after your shared breakfast date.

He knew he shouldn’t have done it, but you parted ways outside the sliding hospital doors and he watched as you walked down the street, all by yourself.

For a split second he could imagine what his frame would look like walking next to you, and so he followed, catching up to your stride with satisfaction running through his veins at your surprised smile to see him standing at your shoulder. You lived in an apartment building a block away, he knew because you mentioned it one time, and even though his leg was killing him after such a brutal shift, he walked next to you all the way to the front door of your complex.

Your bodies lingered on the sidewalk, palpable tension bouncing between them through prolonged goodbyes.

That was the first time your gaze fell to his lips.

The curiously hopeful look in your eyes made his mouth go completely dry, because Surely you weren’t going to kiss him in broad daylight… right? The world spun around him while your eyes stayed fixed on the straight line of his mouth, until they fluttered back up, meeting his line of sight and smiling brightly.

“Goodnight Jack.” Your hand met his bicep, squeezing lightly as you turned to walk into the building with a small wave.

Goodnight, even though it was nearly eight in the morning.

It was something you said to everyone after each shift, bidding your coworkers a good stretch of sleep, knowing you all shared a fucked-up sleep schedule due to working the night shift.

Jack found the greeting endearing. Smiling wide every time he heard the sing-song chime of your voice wishing everyone a restful day before leaving work in the morning.

His days were hardly restful though, he never got much sleep when he went home, because you were always on his mind.

After that day in front of your apartment building, he went out of his way to walk you home nearly every morning, if only for a few extra minutes of hearing your voice, and a small hope that you would look at his lips like that again.

When you finally did kiss him, it was well worth the wait.

It happened on the roof.

An especially hard night landed you outside for some fresh air, overlooking the city as you tried your best to clear your mind.

Jack came up to check on you.

Avoiding him entirely, your apathetic stare stayed plastered on the lights of the city. He stood next to you in silence for a while before placing a gentle hand of reassurance on your cheek, bringing your gaze to his and searching your eyes to make sure you were okay.

It was emotionally charged, the way you crashed your lips into his.

He held your face delicately in his hands, using his jaw to dive into the kiss, hungry and sloppy and undeniably passionate.

More than anything he wanted to explore every inch of you— to let his hands travel your entire body, but instead his palms stayed strictly on your face, careful not to push things too far.

In fact, weeks of suppression followed while Jack tried to respect the unknown undercurrents of your relationship.

A few more kisses were shared, even some heated make out sessions and heavy petting in the on-call room at work, but nothing more.

He’d be lying if he said his trepidation wasn’t slightly due to the rather lengthy sexual hiatus taking place in his life. But he could only deny his urges for so long, and this morning after breakfast, instead of walking you back to your apartment, he invited you over to his place for the first time.

An unspoken agreement hung in the air the whole way home, one laced with heavy sexual tension.

That’s what landed you here— barely two feet past the threshold of his bedroom door with your hands dangerously close to the waistband of his pants, and Jack couldn’t dare to think straight.

The only thoughts he could muster revolved around how much he fucking liked you. This other worldly figure standing before him, toying with the ties on his pants, fingertips brushing his abdomen and fuck- he was on another planet. Your touch was sending a vaguely familiar heat rushing through his body and he wanted more— needed it.

Something about the situation sent him on a power trip. His cock pushing against the lose restraint of his scrubs at the sudden realization that he finally had you right where he wanted you after all this time. Months of getting to know each other and countless dates ending in polite kisses and lingering goodbyes— all of it leading to this moment with his fingertips curling into your waist.

But there was still a little sliver of him that felt nervous, slightly unsure of venturing into unknown territory with you.

He was still trying to convince himself that you were genuinely interested in him, because when he looked at you he saw this beautiful woman, all radiant and self-assured, on the arm of some guy nearly twice her age who rarely smiled and always had a grumpy wise-ass remark on his tongue.

His hands went rigid at the thought, the doubts taking him out of the moment for a few seconds, and you could sense the uneasiness in his touch.

Pulling away from the kiss, you watched his expression, his lips parted to make way for fast shallow breaths as he stared back at you, his eyes hooded with desire but swimming with hesitation.

“We don’t have to do anything Jack.” Your words were sincere as you continued looking for any sign of regret in the hazel of his eyes.

“No, I want this.” His brows furrowed as the winded confession fell from his lips. His hands grasped at your hips, holding firm while his thumbs rubbed into your sides.

“You sure?” Voice changing slightly, you moved into a more playful state, fingers coming to the tie on his pants as you kept your eyes trained on his face.

“We could just talk.”

A playful whisper slid between your lips as you undid the drawstring between your fingertips.

“Or maybe watch a movie.”

Then, your hand slid into the waistband of his underwear, only a few inches, just enough to make his breath hitch.

He tried to cover his surprise at your touch, now dangerously close to the base of his cock. Mustering enough self-control to speak, his words come out calm and collected despite the dizzying effect of your hand down his pants.

“You’re funny, kid. You know that?”

Kid.

A nickname he'd been calling you since the day you were assigned to his shift.

You were just an intern; young, hungry, and passionate. Had he known you’d end up with your hands halfway down his pants in the middle of his bedroom, he might've opted for a different title of endearment.

“Seriously Jack, we can take things slow-“

A low chuckle interrupts your attempt to comfort him, trying to give him a chance to back out.

He guides you back to sit on the edge of his bed, smirking and shaking his head from side to side.

“Stop talking.” The words are rushed. A deep rasp from his lips as he leans in to kiss you, pushing your body until your back meets his mattress.

“I don’t think you realize how long I’ve thought about this.” It was apparent that Jack was hungry— starving even— to see more of you. His hands working quickly to get your pants down your legs and onto his bedroom floor.

“And what do you think about Jack?” He’d never heard that tone in your voice before, low and sultry while you leaned up on your elbows to look at him through your lashes.

“Jesus- I’ve thought about having you on my bed like this,” There was nothing subtle about the way his eyes scraped over your as he paused between words. Eyes drifting to your lower half, legs parted slightly, a pair of black panties acting as the only barrier between his eyes and your naked body. “all spread out for me like this.”

At his words, your legs open further, sending a muffled growl straight to Jack’s closed mouth as he lets his hand fall on your inner thigh. Trailing upwards, his fingertips come in contact with the hem of your underwear.

“Can’t tell you how many times I’ve thought about pulling you into the on-call room after our shift.” He’s leaning above you, eyes glued to your clothed core, fingers toying with the thin material of your panties at the inside of your thighs.

“How badly I’ve wanted to fuck you on one of those shitty beds, or maybe even against the wall…”

“But you deserve better. To be treated right, on a real bed.” Suddenly the smooth linen of his comforter feels much warmer beneath you, your hands splaying over the pillowy fabric at your palms.

Jack watches the way your shoulders relax, and your head falls an inch to the side at his words, your body melting into the moment of shared desire.

“Want to take my time with you. Make you feel good. Watch you fall apart.” He leans in to kiss you, right as one of his fingertip’s dip below the fabric of your panties to run along your slit. You gasp into the kiss, and he takes the opportunity to pull away.

“To hear the little noises you make for me.” His lips are only inches from yours as his breathless whisper fills the space between them. His hand fully pushes your panties to the side, his touch light as a feather, and lingering at your core.

“Bet you sound so pretty when you cum.”

Your mouth falls open and you’re not sure what triggered it, his words, or the way he pushes a single finger into you. The movement is slow and precise as he watches your eyes flutter in pleasure.

For someone who’s sex life was currently non-existent, Jack didn’t miss a beat when it came to the rhythm of your gratification. The moan dripping from your tongue coming right on cue as he slips another finger in with the first, stroking with purpose and dedication as his name comes floating from your lips.

“Jack.”

The word was foggy and desperate as his touch subdued you, his fingers curling at the sweet call of his name, hooking at just the right spot.

“Fuck that’s it.” A whine of pleasure rippled through you at the pressure of his fingers against your walls. With one stroke after another, the building tension in your abdomen threatened to overflow.

Jack’s stare falls on his fingers as they work you open.

He can hardly handle how responsive you are to his touch; your hips bucking into his palm, little pleas falling from your lips— It’s enough to make him cum right there in his damn pants.

“God- you sound gorgeous.” The compliment is almost primal, his voice nearing a growl as he looks down at your body writhing on the simple motion of his fingers inside you, a slave to his touch.

He lets himself get lost in the noises flowing from your mouth, allowing each moan to act as a signal, showing him exactly where and how you want him.

“Even better than I could’ve imagined.” He finishes his thought and brings his stare back to yours, the fucked-out expression in your eyes telling him just how close you are.

His words send you reeling, acting as a catalyst for the strain pulling in your abdomen.

He can feel your body preparing to tumble over the edge, walls clenching around his fingers, and thighs flexing.

“There you go sweetheart.”

Sweetheart. That’s new.

It surprises you both the second it leaves his lips. But the surprise of it barely registers, instead the word is unleashing a flutter in your chest and a warmth between your legs. You’re obsessed with the way it sounds in the rasp of Jack’s voice. In fact, you like it so much your body trembles and whimpers fill the air as you come undone on his fingers.

His eyes watch as his movements slow, digits coated in your slick and pushing into you continuously even after your body finishes shuddering.

It’s almost sadistic the small smirk he’s wearing as his eyes stay fixated on his fingers sliding in and out of your body.

He was starved. Starved of touch— the warmth of another’s body. The way you pulled him in with each thrust of his fingers made him want to stay there all night, making you cum over and over again to feed his craving of your body at his mercy.

If it weren’t for your delicate hands gripping at his forearm, forcing him back to reality, he would’ve kept going, would’ve seen just how much more you could take.

“Jack.” Your voice breaks him from his trance, hand wrapping around his arm and pulling him back to hover parallel over your body.

An unsolicited grunt erupts from deep in his throat as your hands, once again, slide into his underwear. Only this time, they fall far enough to envelop his cock in your soft touch.

His hand comes down forcefully next to your head, palm flat against the mattress to hold himself steady as pleasure washes over him.

You’ve only pumped over his length once and he’s already squeezing his eyes shut in focus, trying not to spill into your hand.

“Sweetheart.”

In retrospect, he probably shouldn’t have used that nickname again. Not right now, when he was seconds away from having an embarrassingly quick orgasm.

Your grip tightened slightly at the word, hand working a little faster, and paying extra close attention to his overly sensitive tip. He has to put a hand over yours to conceal your efforts.

“I’m not gonna last long if you keep that up.” His brows raise at your smug expression, your hand still stroking him despite his attempt to stop you.

“I’m serious.” A breathless snarl meets your ear as his head falls lower, nearly resting in the crook of your neck.

You hum in response, one hand continuing its work between his legs, the other pushing at the pants still around his hips.

He was quick to oblige your unspoken request, bringing his own hand down to rid himself of his pants and underwear. His hands are then at your hips yanking your panties down your legs.

In a heated frenzy both of you took a few seconds to take off any remaining clothes. Sitting up to swiftly pull off shirts, and while you’re reaching to take off your bra, Jack stretches to his bedside table, fishing out a condom from its box that’s been sitting untouched in his drawer for far too long.

Then, you’re back to square one, his body hovering over yours, and his lips kissing down your neck.

Your hand finds him again, palm encircling his member as he freezes under your touch.

“You sure you wanna do this?” His voice is lost in the skin of your chest, his lips melting against your collarbone.

“You’re asking me? I thought you were the one who needed convincing.” The giggle in your voice has Jack nipping playfully at your skin, his hand confidently fitting between your legs.

“What can I say, you’ve persuaded me.” A teasing tone slips through his lust clouded whisper, fingers collecting the slick at your core with a groan on his tongue.

You grab the condom out of his hand, tearing it open and rolling it onto him with ease, the feeling causing him to lean further into your touch.

This was one of the reasons Jack was so drawn to you.

You held such discreet authority. Always taking charge with a charming smile and a sweet command in your voice.

He couldn’t have imagined the same power he witnessed at work would roll over into the bedroom. Your captivating ability to take quiet control was suddenly so obvious in the way you were guiding his now protected length to line up with your entrance, body shimmying down the bed to coerce him into you.

When the head of his cock finally pushes into you, you both let out noises of relief.

The placated gasp from your lips, and the profound groan on his, proves that you’d both been longing for this exact moment for weeks.

He takes his time. Learning the hug of your body. Savoring every inch of pure bliss, as he fills you at a painstaking pace. Your hands shoot to his back, fingertips digging into the broad expanse of his shoulder blades, just enough to encourage his movement until he enters you completely, pushed in to the hilt.

His eyes stay on yours, watching the way your lids almost close while you adjust to him, your mouth parted slightly at the stretch.

Then he’s pulling out and thrusting back in, moaning at the way you feel wrapped around him.

Your head tilts back into his comforter at the sweet friction of his strokes, and the sight beneath him has another moan bubbling up Jack’s throat.

It was exactly how he’d dreamt this moment— your back on his bed, with your head thrown back in pleasure. Getting to watch your body respond to him his perch above you, your naked figure far more beautiful than anything he could’ve imagined. It was all so perfect. You were perfect.

He picked up the pace of his thrusts, not too fast, but perfectly timed with the squeeze of your fingers on his back. He knew he must be hitting something right in the way you were gripping his shoulders and crying out for him. Crying out for him. Your voice was strained and winded as his name fell from your lips in a chant.

His self-control must’ve been at an all-time high, because he closed his eyes for a moment, gaining his bearings and talking himself down from cumming at the sounds of your whines.

He collects whatever composure is left in his body and brings a hand down between the two of you, fingertips finding that sensitive spot just above where his cock is driving into you.

He rubs steady circles into your clit, and judging by the way his name jumps from you an octave higher than before, he knows he’ll get to watch you cum again.

He makes it his goal. Setting his thrusts at a fixed pace, as his fingers deliberately stroke your bundle of nerves. He focuses completely on your pleasure to distract himself from the pulsing pressure running through his veins.

He needs to see you let go for him one more time before he can finish. An easy task given the way your back is arching off his bed, sending your hips further into him.

“I’m gonna-“ The words are hardly coherent as they slip between your gasps and moans— wanting to tell him you’re close but unable to string more than two words together.

“Come on sweetheart.” His words were directed straight to your core, eyes back down and watching between your bodies as he slides into you. His mind growing hazy at the sight of you taking his cock so well.

His encouragement was all you needed to let go. Your release washing over you in waves of bliss.

Jack’s eyes make the journey back to your face, watching in awe at your expression as it takes on a state of utter relief, your head falling even deeper into the blanket underneath you.

That image is what finally makes him succumb to the persistent chase of his release.

He’s groaning and panting, one of his hands coming to grip your hips, the other balancing himself on the mattress, pressed flat on the space next to your face.

He’s grunting profanities as he spills through his orgasm, allowing his elbow to bend so he can rest his forehead against yours. Both of you breathing heavy, eyes meeting in a moment of vulnerability and understanding as you bring a hand up to lace through his hair. Almost petting his grey curls, you lazily smile through the puffs of breath on your lips.

He doesn’t think he’ll ever get over seeing you like this, an angel laid out on his bedspread— just for him. Giving you both a moment to recover, he stays like that for a minute. He’s leaning into you, listening to your soft breaths even out, and he can feel himself getting hard again. His dick is still throbbing, not even fully soft and he’s already ready for another round.

His cock getting hard again, that fast after sex, was something he hadn’t experienced in over a decade.

These days Jack needed plenty of time between orgasms to even think about getting another erection, but in this moment, still buried in you and hearing the tiny gasps of breath coming from your heaving chest, he wanted more. He could feel his addiction to you growing stronger, reminding him of the forbidden nature of your budding relationship.

“What are we getting ourselves into.” Speaking his thoughts aloud, his voice fills the room, a grin lingering in his lips.

He can’t help but smile as he imagines what the future holds for your relationship, his forehead still pressed gently against yours.

my masterlist

3K notes · View notes

softstarlite · 2 months ago

Text

Anatomy of Want

summary: Jack Abbot never thought he'd be this undone over a resident. But you were unlike anyone he'd met—brilliant under pressure, quick on your feet, and impossible to ignore. What begins as admiration quickly becomes something deeper, something that simmers beneath every shared shift, until it threatens to boil over. warnings/notes: 18+ MDNI, age gap, slow burn, mutual pining, jealousy, praise kink, shameless smut, oral sex (f&m receiving), body worship, depictions of war scars, literally just an excuse to write jack abbot smut & you kissing his scars bc that man lives in my head rent free wc: 5.4k a/n: forgot i posted this on ao3 but not here :}

You joined the night shift in a flurry of quiet confidence and dazzling competence, and Jack noticed you immediately. It wasn’t just the way you handled patient load like clockwork, or how you navigated the trauma bay with a calm assurance usually reserved for seasoned attendings. It was the way you asked questions, the way you looked at problems sideways, the way you never folded, even when things got messy.

He told himself he was just impressed. That it was his responsibility, as your mentor, to push you. And he did—assigned you the trickiest cases, brought you into every complicated intubation, every crashing patient. You rose to each occasion like you'd been waiting for it, and Jack couldn't stop himself from watching.

"Nice call on that bleed in bay three," he said one night, as you stripped off your gloves, blood spattered on your gown. "You didn’t hesitate."

You shrugged, a wry smile on your lips. "Wasn't much time to, I could've acted faster."

He looked at you a beat longer than necessary. "Take the win, Dr. L/N."

That was how it went for months. Shifts passed in a rhythm he hadn’t felt in years. He trusted you. Relied on you. Admired you, yes, but more than that. There were moments—lingering looks across trauma bays, soft laughs shared over half-spilled coffee at 3 a.m., casual brushes of your hands when passing charts that lingered a beat too long.

Once, when you struggled with a stubborn intubation, he’d leaned in close, murmuring, "You've got this," low enough that it was meant just for you. His hand steadied your elbow, brief but grounding. You’d nailed the tube placement. He’d smiled the whole rest of the shift.

After the harder nights, he started climbing to the roof again. The first time he found you there—legs dangling off the ledge, coffee in hand, still in scrubs—he thought it was coincidence.

It wasn’t.

"Couldn't sleep either?" you'd said without looking at him, voice soft with exhaustion.

He didn’t answer right away. Just sat beside you, shoulder brushing yours.

You didn’t say much after that. Neither did he. Just silence, and the hum of the city below, and a sense of belonging he hadn’t realized he’d been missing.

Some nights, you’d pass a bag of vending machine pretzels back and forth in companionable quiet. Other nights, you'd trade war stories—the worst consults, the craziest saves—your voices low, private, confessions to the stars.

It was easy. Natural. Dangerous.

Jack tried to tell himself it didn’t mean anything. That it was just friendship. Just exhaustion.

But then there were the nights he caught himself watching you laugh at something small, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear, and his chest tightened with something he couldn’t name.

The tension built slowly, like pressure behind a dam.

Then came the morning you were signing out charts at the nurse’s station, still in your scrubs and rubbing at a bruise forming on your shoulder. Samira Mohan breezed in, bright-eyed, coffee in hand.

"Don’t forget," she said, pulling up beside you. "8pm tonight. David from anesthesia."

"Shit." You'd totally blanked. "I almost forgot, I'm sorry."

"You’re gonna be great," she assured. "He’s nice. And hot. Like... surgery hot."

You couldn't help the snort that escaped you. "What do I even wear? It’s been so long. I bought that one thing..."

Samira's eyes lit up. "Oh, the black lace set?"

"Samira!" Your hands flew up to cover her mouth, cheeks pink and lips pressed tight. "Keep your voice down!" The words came out tight.

"It’s classy!" she laughed, prying your hands off her mouth. "I stand by it. Black is always a good call."

Neither of you noticed Jack at the far end of the nurses' station, flipping through charts but not actually reading them.

He stood there longer than he needed to. Long enough to hear about the date. Long enough to hear about the lingerie. Long enough for his mind to start betraying him—already picturing you in it, delicate black lace against your skin, curves he'd only admired from a respectful distance until now. He wasn't sure whether he'd be more desperate to tear it off you with his hands or his teeth.

And something in him shifted. Just a little. But enough to curl his fingers tighter around the chart in his hands, to clench his jaw until it ached. You sounded hesitant, unsure, nervous in a way that didn’t track with the woman who could crack a diagnosis under pressure without breaking a sweat.

He heard the waver in your voice when you said, "I’m just… worried," and it rang in his head like bolded text. Jack knew you too well not to read between the lines. You weren’t worried about the guy—you were worried because someone else already occupied your mind.

And damn it, he wanted nothing more than for it to be him.

He didn’t want anyone else to be close to you like that. Not because he thought you needed protecting, but because he’d never met someone whose mind, whose hands, whose presence made him feel like maybe—just maybe—he could let someone in again.

Samira nudged you with her elbow, oblivious to the ripple effect her words had left in their wake. "Go home, take a nap, put on something that makes you feel good, and just... have fun, okay? It's your first night off in weeks—you deserve to enjoy it."

You hesitated, biting your lip. "I don't know... it's been a while. What if it's awkward? What if I forgot how to do this?"

She grinned like the devil herself. "You don't forget. It's like muscle memory. Besides, you’re hot. And smart. And wearing black lace. You'll be fine."

You laughed weakly, dropping your voice. "It's just... first date sex? After a dry spell? I feel like I'll crash and burn."

Samira waggled her eyebrows. "Best way to crash. Trust me."

A snap echoed through the room—the sharp, unmistakable crack of plastic breaking.

You and Samira both glanced up.

Jack bent calmly, retrieved the shattered halves of a pen from the floor, and tucked them into his pocket like nothing had happened.

You blinked. Samira blinked. Then shrugged and kept talking.

"Go have fun," she repeated, nudging you again. "Tonight's about you. No pressure, no expectations. Just... have a good time."

You nodded, though your heart wasn't in it. The twist in your stomach wasn't nerves about the date.

It was the thought of someone else entirely.

You smiled weakly and nodded, though your stomach twisted in ways that had nothing to do with nerves and everything to do with someone else entirely.

On your way out, you passed Jack by the charting station, offered him a quiet, "See you on Monday, Dr. Abbot." He gave you a tight-lipped smile, one that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

Eight o’clock rolled around faster than you expected.

You stood outside the restaurant, already regretting your decision. The lace set beneath your outfit felt less like a confidence boost and more like a secret that didn’t belong to this version of the night. Still, you squared your shoulders and walked in, searching the tables until you saw a man wave—clean cut, kind smile, textbook charming.

David was, by all accounts, exactly what Samira had described. Funny, intelligent, a bit pretentious, but typical for your average resident. He complimented your dress. Asked about your shift schedule. Talked about scuba diving in Belize, his past summer at his parent's beach house.

But your smile stopped at your cheeks. You laughed at the right moments. You answered questions politely. And every so often, your mind wandered back to a different voice—rougher, lower, more familiar.

You thought of Jack’s dry wit. The way he tucked his hands into his scrub pockets when he was thinking. The sound of his laugh, more of a chuckle, rare but always sincere. The heat in his gaze when he really looked at you, like he was trying to hear what colors tinted your thoughts.

You forced yourself back to the conversation with rapid blinks, nodding at whatever David was saying about residency rotations and placements. He was nice. He really was.

So why did you feel like you were somewhere you didn’t belong?

Maybe it was the way David's hand reached for yours across the table, smooth and tentative, and how you instinctively pulled back before you could stop yourself. It wasn’t rude—just reflex. It didn’t feel right. It didn’t feel familiar.

Not like Jack’s hands—callused and warm—when they’d guided your wrist during your first real incision, steadying your nerves with his quiet presence. His grip had been firm, reassuring. You could still remember the way his fingers curled gently but purposefully around yours, the scent of antiseptic and adrenaline in the air.

David’s hand was too small. Too soft. Too unsure. There was no strength in it. No certainty. No experience.

God you were going insane.

"Sorry," you exhaled, offering him a polite smile. But your attention was already drifting, your eyes drawn to a familiar silhouette across the room.

Salt and pepper curls caught the neon light just right. Jack Abbot stood at the far end of the bar, one hand wrapped around a beer, the other resting on the wood tabletop, eyes cast toward the floor—until he looked up.

And found you.

Your breath caught. The background noise dulled to static. For a suspended moment, the two of you just stared. Time slowed. Jack didn’t blink. He didn’t look away.

He didn’t have to.

You felt it in your gut—the electric pull of something intangible.

David started talking again, but it was white noise. The clink of a glass, the hum of conversation, all drowned out by the weight of that look, of Jack watching you like you were the only person in the room.

And suddenly, you were.

You raised your wine glass slowly, holding his gaze as you took a sip. Jack mirrored you, bringing his beer to his lips with a quiet intensity that made your chest tighten. The silence stretched between you like a live wire.

Fingers tightening around the stem, you set your glass down with a little too much force, feigning a glance at your phone as if a sudden messaged had triggered a vibration. "Shit, it's an emergency," you lied, offering a rushed, apologetic smile. "Something came up at the hospital. I have to go. I'm so sorry."

David looked disappointed, but nodded, ever the gentleman. "Of course! Rain check?"

A small, apologetic smile tugged at your lips as you rose, shrugging into your coat. Pulse pounding in your ears, you threaded your way through the maze of tables, slipping out the door with a tight exhale.

Behind you, the scrape of a barstool echoed a second later—quick, deliberate.

Out in the cool night air, you rounded the corner into the alley beside the building, your breath misting as you leaned against the brick wall. The adrenaline had only just begun to settle in your bloodstream when you heard the trailing of familiar footsteps.

Jack Abbot appeared a moment later, turning the corner with his hands outstretched, his brow furrowed like he wasn’t sure what he was doing there until his eyes found yours.

"You okay?" he asked, his voice low. He shifted closer to you, arms now crossed.

You nodded. "Yeah. I just... needed air."

A pause. Eyes dipped, then lifted again, something unspoken skating between you.

You cleared your throat. "How was your evening?"

Jack blinked at the pivot, letting it settle between you. "Uneventful."

"What were you doing at that bar?" you asked, an arch to your brow that softened the tension.

He allowed himself a grin, shoulders relaxing just slightly. "It’s my usual spot. Popular with the old folks."

"Samira did say it had a vintage charm to it when she picked it out," you replied with a smirk.

Jack scoffed at the poke at his age, making both of you laugh.

"Alright then," he countered, eyes narrowing with a spark of mischief. "What were you doing there?"

You hesitated, then exhaled a slow breath. "Ruining my chances of settling down."

His expression flickered.

"What?" You gave a half-laugh, smile twisted with self-deprecation. "Isn't that the whole point of dating as a doctor? Just a long game of figuring out how emotionally unavailable I still am and forever will be?"

Abbot sighed, long and quiet, like it came from somewhere deeper than just the moment.

You tilted your head slightly, watching him, curiosity tugging at your features. "Were you… waiting on someone?"

That gave him pause.

Jack stilled. The corner of his mouth twitched—not quite a frown, not quite a smile. His gaze didn’t meet yours at first. He looked past you, to the mouth of the alley, like the answer might be written in the shadows or the neon lights beyond. Like if he stalled long enough, you might forget you asked.

"Not exactly," he started, voice rougher than usual.

You lifted a brow.

He exhaled again, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck. "I didn’t come here for that. But when I saw you…" He trailed off, eyes finally locking onto yours. "Guess I started waiting."

Your breath caught. The weight of his words settled in your chest—slow and warm and heavy. Something about the way he said it made it feel less like a confession and more like an inevitability.

He’d been waiting. Watching. Wanting. The same way you’d been tiptoeing around the truth since you'd stepped foot into that ER—since the very first time your fingers brushed as he passed you a chart, since the first time your eyes met across the trauma bay, since that first quiet moment together on the roof.

With the dim alley light casting soft gold between you, something gave. Tension melted into gravity, and gravity into pull, pull into a quiet explosion. You stepped forward just as he did, meeting in the middle, neither of you saying a word. The kiss hit like floodgates bursting—urgent, aching, years of held-back desire finally snapping loose.

His mouth was warm, tasting of beer and something deeply Jack. His cologne clung to the collar of his coat, smoky and crisp, and you inhaled it like oxygen. Hands found your waist, large and steady, trailing down to your hips and cupping your curves like he'd memorized them long before ever touching. Your fingers curled around the lapels of his jacket, pulling him closer, needing more.

It felt like one of those messy makeouts from college—reckless, hungry, impossibly heady. But this wasn't some clumsy hookup. This was the culmination of every stolen glance, every almost-touch, every moment spent not saying the thing that burned between you.

You were both sober enough to know what this was—what it meant. When Jack pulled away, just slightly, his breath brushing your lips, his voice dropped into something gravel-soft. "You're not drunk?"

You shook your head, words catching in your throat. "One glass of wine. I've never been more sure of anything in my life."

That was all he needed.

You surged forward, capturing his mouth again with a need that bordered on desperate. Jack backed into the wall with a soft grunt, pulling you in like the space between you had always belonged to him. His hands roamed—one sliding up to cup your jaw, the other finding your lower back, anchoring you like he was terrified you'd disappear.

The kiss deepened, his tongue brushing yours, tasting of mint and longing and everything unspoken between you. You whimpered into his mouth, fingers threading through the curls at the nape of his neck, feeling him shiver at the contact. He devoured you like a man starved, and when he pulled back, just enough to look at you, lips swollen and voice rough, he rasped, "Let me take you home."

You nodded, breathless, pulse thundering in your throat. The walk back to your apartment was quiet, the tension between you humming like electricity under your skin. Jack simply held your hand the entire way. The air crackled, your hand brushing his once, twice, before he finally laced your fingers together.

Arriving at your front door, your hands trembled slightly as you unlocked it. The weight of what was about to happen anchored itself deep in your stomach. You stepped inside, the warm light of your living room spilling over the hardwood floors. Jack hovered in the doorway, hesitant, until you reached for his hand again.

"Come in," you said softly.

He followed.

You led him to the couch, asking quietly if he wanted anything to drink. Jack shook his head, stepping closer until your bodies were barely apart.

"I don’t need anything," he murmured. "Except you."

You inhaled sharply, but before you could speak, his lips were on yours again—slower this time, reverent, like he was memorizing every contour of your mouth. His hands cupped your face as he pulled you closer, until you felt the full heat of him against you.

You reached for the hem of his jacket, pushing it off his shoulders, then your fingers found the buttons of his shirt, fumbling slightly. Jack took over, shrugging out of it with ease. Beneath, his skin was warm and firm beneath your wandering hands, the light dusting of chest hair catching the soft glow of your floor lamp.

Jack’s hands slid under the hem of your top, brushing up your sides, warm palms skating over bare skin. When he pulled it over your head and saw the black lace lingerie beneath—filigree against your skin, delicate and dark—his breath caught in his throat.

"That kid," he spat, "wouldn’t know how to take care you."

You managed a breathless laugh, the tension and heat between you turning reckless. "And what exactly does taking care of me imply, Dr. Abbot?" you teased, voice low and daring.

Jack's eyes darkened immediately, his fingers tightening slightly where they gripped your waist. "Everything you need," he rasped. "And more."

You smiled, bold with adrenaline, tipping your chin up toward him. "And you think you can handle me?"

He leaned in, mouth grazing your ear, voice wrecked and certain. "Sweetheart," Jack said, "I'm counting on it."

He unclasped your bra with one hand, letting it fall away before sliding his palms across your breasts, his thumbs brushing over your nipples in slow, deliberate strokes. "You’re perfect."

You arched into him with a quiet gasp, his touch both soothing and incendiary. He kissed your neck, down your collarbone, until he was lowering you gently onto the couch.

"Let me take care of you," he said, voice hoarse with restraint.

Your only answer was a nod, a whispered, "Please."

Jack kneeled between your thighs, kissing his way down your stomach, murmuring soft nothings against your skin. He slipped your underwear down slowly, eyes locked with yours. He paused only briefly, kissing the inside of your thigh before taking two fingers and teasing them along your entrance.

You gasped, hips bucking as he gently eased a finger inside, curling it expertly. "So wet for me," he murmured, awed. "God, you’re dripping."

And then he was lowering his mouth to you, tongue parting you gently. When he sucked your clit into his mouth, your back arched and your fingers dove into his hair, holding tight.

Jack groaned against you, the sound vibrating through your core. "I could live here," he muttered. "Die happy between your thighs."

You whimpered, tugging harder at his hair. "Jack—please—"

He didn’t stop. His tongue moved in rhythm with his fingers, slow at first and then faster, guided by your every gasp and shudder. The sound of him—soft groans muffled against your slick, the wet sounds of his mouth working you over—had your skin tingling. The taste of you seemed to drive him wild, his chin slick with your arousal as he murmured, "Fucking incredible," into your core.

His fingers curled just right, finding that perfect spot with unerring precision. Your moans spilled out freely, hands clutching at his hair, holding him there. He groaned again, a sound of pure pleasure. "That’s it, sweetheart. Let go for me."

When it broke—when you shattered with a breathless, keening cry—Jack held you through it, grounding you with his strong hands bracketing your hips. His lips never left you, drawing out every tremble, every ripple of your climax until it became too much. Your thighs twitched, pleasure tipping toward the edge of pain, and with trembling fingers, you tapped gently at his shoulder. A silent plea for mercy.

He stilled instantly, pulling back with his mouth slick and eyes dark, but gentle.

You could only scoff, breath shaky and a smile of bliss coloring your face. Jack leaned forward to press a kiss to your thigh, tender and unhurried. "You’re unbelievable," he whispered, voice rough with awe and restraint.

He pulled back slowly, face glistening, licking his fingers clean before sucking them into his mouth, savoring every bit of your taste. Then he looked up at you like you were the only thing that existed. Like he'd just touched heaven.

As he kissed up your body, his breath fanned across your damp skin—each kiss a pause, a confession. His facial hair scraped lightly in contrast to the softness of his lips, leaving trails of heat along your ribs, then your collarbone. When he reached your neck, he lingered there, nuzzling the hollow beneath your jaw before pressing a kiss to it, like he couldn't get enough of the way you tasted, the way you felt, the way you breathed beneath him.

"Can I undress you?" you whisper, running your fingers through his hair. He looks up at you like the morning sky, warmth, admiration, and affection—but there's hesitation there too.

He swallows, jaw flexing slightly, before nodding. "Yeah," he says quietly. "Just... heads up."

You pause, thumb brushing the edge of his cheek. "Jack?"

His voice is rough. "You’ll see scars. From before. It’s not a big deal, just... some of them are pretty bad." He tries to laugh it off, but his eyes flicker away and his shoulders tense. Your heart cracks open at the vulnerability he rarely lets anyone see.

"Hey," you murmur, tilting his face back toward yours. "Whatever you’ve been through, whatever you carry—I want to see all of you. Every piece."

Jack's throat bobbed with a swallow, eyes glassy as he searched your face for doubt—and found none. His fingers brushed lightly along your jaw.

You undressed him slowly, fingers trembling as you tugged his belt open, then popped the button of his slacks. His cock strained against the fabric, an eager outline that made your mouth water. When you pushed his pants down, the sight made you pause—he was perfect. Not too much, not too little—cut, well-groomed, thick and just the right length. A light trail of hair led up to a stomach carved with muscle, the kind earned by years of hard work, not vanity.

You wrapped your fingers around him, gave him a few slow pumps, marveling at the weight of him in your hand. When you ducked your head and pressed a kiss to the flushed tip, he hissed softly, hand threading into your hair. You licked him experimentally, kitten licks at first, savoring the velvet softness of his skin, the way he twitched at every flick of your tongue.

You took him into your mouth, slowly, a few shallow bobs that had him groaning low in his throat. His other hand gripped the back of the couch behind you as his hips twitched forward, but just when you began to settle into a rhythm, he gently but firmly pulled you back.

Jack crushed his mouth to yours, desperate and breathless, his hands cradling your face. "Not like that," he murmured, voice trembling against your lips. "I’m not coming anywhere but inside you. I want to feel you, every inch, every heartbeat." He drew back just enough to look at you, something raw and uncertain flickering in his eyes.

"If you're sure," he whispered, thumb stroking your cheek, "I want to take care of you. Let you shut everything else out—just feel me."

You nodded, breath catching. "I need you."

His breath shuddered out, the last thread of restraint snapping in his chest. With worship and heat in his eyes, Jack kissed you again—slower this time, deeper, as if trying to memorize the very shape of your mouth. Reaching over to the end table, you pulled out a condom wrapper and tore it open, your fingers trembling with anticipation.

With a breathless murmur of his name, you rolled it onto his length—slowly, deliberately—giving him a few teasing strokes first. His cock twitched in your hand, heavy and perfect, and your thumb brushed over the slick tip, spreading the pre-cum like a promise. Jack's breath caught, eyes dark as he watched you, jaw clenched with restraint, like you’d just lit a match in a room full of gasoline.

He guided you down gently, his body pressing into yours, firm and certain, a grounding weight that promised not just desire, but devotion.

You moved first, hips sliding up and down in slow, deliberate strokes, and Jack almost exploded at how good you felt. Every part of him molded to you, surrounding you like safety and fire all at once. His hands cradled your face like something sacred, and the press of his chest against yours ignited sparks beneath your skin. You couldn't remember sex ever feeling like this—like your very soul was unraveling. It was almost a religious experience, divine and consuming, the way he fit with you, moved with you. It felt like surrender.

"Fuck." It punched out of Jack Abbot like a confession, like he’d been holding it in for months. You felt like pure velvet around him—tight, warm, impossibly soft, dragging him to the edge with every glide of your hips. His head tipped back for a moment, jaw clenched, trying to hold on. The sounds spilling from your lips—soft gasps, high whimpers, breathy moans—were branded into his memory already. God, he thought, if he could bottle them, he’d keep them forever. Hoard them. Pray to them for forgiveness.

Your hands were grasping onto whatever they could—his shoulders, the cushions, the curve of his neck—anything to anchor yourself. When your nails dug into his back, Jack groaned low and deep, the sound vibrating against your skin like a warning and a reward. He definitely had a thing for rough, and that knowledge thrilled you.

You leaned in, breathless, and whispered praises against his ear—how good he felt, how perfect he was, how he filled you like no one else ever had.

"Please," you begged, voice shaking.

Jack groaned, the sound catching in his throat. "You’re everything I've ever dreamed of," he rasped, pressing his forehead to yours. "You feel like heaven."

Your nails raked down his back, and he hissed through clenched teeth, clearly loving it. "You take me so well," he murmured, lips brushing your temple, his hand smoothing along your spine. "So fucking good—perfect, you’re made for me."

"Jack—God, please—don’t stop," you whimpered, arching into him. His rhythm faltered for a heartbeat at your words, his grip on your waist tightening like a man barely holding on.

"Never," he whispered. "Gonna keep you like this. You're mine."

Each word wrapped around you like silk, the praise as intoxicating as the rhythm of his hips. You drank him in like water in a desert, letting it fill every hollow part of you until you were burning with it—consumed, adored, alive.

Jack shifted, pulling you with him, guiding you until your hands were braced against the couch and your body arched for him. The air thickened as he pressed behind you, one hand splaying over your lower back, the other skimming down to grip your hip firmly.

He slid back inside slowly, a groan torn from his throat at the new angle. "Fuck, look at you—" he breathed, eyes roaming over the arch of your spine, the flush of your skin.

Your breath caught at the intensity. He moved with purpose now, hips snapping against yours, the sound of skin on skin echoing in the dim light. His grip bruised in the best way, grounding you, guiding you, adoring you with every thrust.

Every movement lit you up, sending shocks through your body until you were keening, meeting him stroke for stroke. Jack leaned over you, one hand splaying across your lower back while the other slipped beneath to rub tight, teasing circles over your clit. The added pressure was too much, the timing of his thrusts too perfect. You were a whining mess, trembling and begging for release, the pleasure cresting like a tidal wave.

"That's it, baby," he groaned, his voice wrecked. "Let go for me. Give it to me."

You clawed at the cushions, barely able to hold yourself upright, your body burning at every point of contact. And when his teeth sank gently into your shoulder, scraping over sensitive skin and biting down with a growled praise, everything inside you shattered.

You came with a strangled cry, ears ringing, vision going white around the edges, the force of your orgasm crashing over you like fire and light. Jack held you steady, worshipful even now, as you pulsed around him—his voice in your ear, a low whisper of your name like a prayer he’d never stop saying. He pressed kisses down your shoulder blades, pausing to give you a break, his breath shaky with restraint.

Then, without a word, he gathered you into his arms, shifting you with care. He carried you up effortlessly, propping your legs over the edge of the couch so you were just hanging off, perfectly open for him. Nestled into the crook of your neck, Jack rocked into you with purpose, his thrusts slow but relentless, chasing his own release. Your hands wrapped protectively around his head, fingers stroking through his hair, grounding him.

"Are you going to fill me up?" you edged, voice breathless, lips brushing the shell of his ear. "Have me dripping for days so everyone knows who I belong to?"

"Jesus Christ, Y/N," he gasped.

That was it.

Jack shuddered, a low, desperate groan escaping him as he pressed himself deeper into you. He trembled, a broken moan tearing from his throat. His fingers clutched your thighs as he buried himself to the hilt, the sound of your voice—the permission, the trust—pushing him over the edge. His release surged through him, hips stuttering as he spilled into you, heart hammering as he held you close, breathless and undone. He collapsed gently against you, all tension melting as he pressed a kiss into your neck, lost in the aftershocks of something that felt like more than just pleasure.

A long moment passed before he pulled back just enough to look at you. His pupils were blown wide, the edges of his eyes glistening with overwhelmed want, cheeks flushed with effort and awe.

"What did I do to deserve you?" he murmured, cracking with disbelief. His gaze searched yours—earnest, sincere, undone.

He leaned in again, kissing the corner of your mouth, then your cheek, as if he couldn't stop reassuring himself you were real. "You okay?" he asked softly, still breathing hard. "Was that too much?"

You smiled through the afterglow, brushing your fingertips over his jaw. "I've never felt anything like that. It was perfect."

Jack exhaled a shuddering breath of relief, then smiled too—soft and disbelieving, like he’d just found something sacred.

Later, after the two of you had cleaned up and slipped beneath the covers, the world slowed to a hush. Jack lay beside you, one arm tucked beneath your shoulders, the other lazily tracing shapes across your skin. Hearts, spirals, question marks—he wasn’t thinking, just moving, touching, grounding himself in your presence.

The silence between you was full—not empty—with comfort and understanding, the kind only found in someone who sees every scar and stays anyway.

Your body ached in the sweetest way, muscles languid and sated. You felt Jack’s chest rise and fall with slow, steady breaths against your back, the heat of his body a constant balm. You turned slightly to glance at him, catching the way his eyes fluttered closed, then opened again to meet yours.

"Stay with me?" you whispered, though it wasn’t really a question.

He leaned in, pressed a kiss to your temple. "Always."

Every quiet morning after that was a sort of miracle—waking tangled in his warmth, with the sun filtering through the curtains and the scent of coffee already brewing. Even the hardest days felt lighter, the sharp edges dulled by his steady presence, by the simple truth that he was yours, and you were his.

And in that stillness, that shared understanding, you knew: this was only the beginning.

1K notes · View notes

softstarlite · 2 months ago

Text

𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐰𝐨, 𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞

summary: jack abbot thinks he's too broken to fix. you just want to take care of him the way he takes care of you.

author's note: here it is! the first longer night shift reader and jack fic ♡ i hope everyone enjoys!

word count: 3.7k

tags: night shift reader x attending jack, comfort and angst, people are making bets (guess who wins!), patient death/loss, age gap relationship (implied but no ages specified!), idk i went a little crazy for two hours

it’s not an easy thing to take care of him.

he knows that. there haven’t been that many people in his life who have been able to manage it. his wife was one, robby’s sort of another. jack has this thing—he has to at least try to take care of those around him before he can accept any of their help for himself. it’s almost a test of worth, to determine that it’s not a burden he’s placing unduly on anyone. it’s an exchange, he decides, a fair exchange. that way he’s not forcing anyone, because he knows how hard it is, how hard it can be. robby sees a side of it. his wife saw another.

and out of the black, heading into the blue, you are beginning to see it. he doesn’t know how it happened this way, just knows that the sweet resident who had come onto his night-shift because the day shift was beginning to be too much, was now the very reason he doesn’t head straight up to the roof after a very, very long night.

he knows it’s not easy, that every time he loses a patient, he glances at the clock. the moment someone’s life was over, and the very moment that is going to ruin the lives of all the people who loved them. before he’d start the countdown—how many hours left on this shift? how many until he can go to the roof and breathe, scream and yell and sit in silence and watch the city wake up beneath him.

it’s selfish. he momentarily checks out after time of death is called. robby does moments of reflections. maybe that’s how he’s able to manage it sometimes, break up the grief into little pieces throughout the day.

jack isn’t like that. he’s always been the kind to bury, nestle it somewhere deep inside and keep adding, adding, adding. add until it’s about to burst, and then go to the roof and let some of it out. maybe if he tried robby’s way, he wouldn’t have felt like this for so long.

where can so much grief go? there’s no outlet for it, not the way jack does it. some of the things he buries are lost inside him forever, no escape, no exit.

and then you come along.

jack’s prided himself in the fact that he’s good to the residents. they get more confident under his tutelage, make decisions more firmly, make them quickly and execute them correctly. that’s why robby had sent you over to him, hadn’t it? because you doubted yourself too much. because you felt like you weren’t making the right call.

from seven in the morning to seven at night, the place is crowded. it’s all hands on deck but there’s just a smidge too many hands, especially when there’s students. you were able to blend into the background for a couple months, but it’s just plainly wrong to let it hinder your education.

that’s why robby had sent you to him, right? for your education. to make you a better doctor, better than you already were, which was saying something.

because jack abbot thinks that you’re incredibly gifted. gifted in the things that he can’t teach someone, in ways that he can’t explain. you have a special touch. patient-care is your forte. if he had to pick the nicest resident, it would be you. but you don’t believe in yourself.

and he had sent himself to the task of fixing that. it’s what jack does, what he’s always done. patch it up and send it out.

(you’re a little different—he wants to make you believe in yourself more. he wants you to prove it to yourself. make yourself say it and mean it, not just because he’s telling you. that you are capable, that you were meant for this. that this is where you belong. that you have a safety net in the form of your attending—that he’ll be there with an outstretched arm, waiting incase you need him. you won’t, he knows. but you still need to feel him there. it’s working, he knows it is.)

it had been working perfectly fine so far. you build your routine, get yourself settled, start answering trauma calls with a run.

one time he has you and ellis start the incoming together. tells parker to ask you questions, justify all of your decisions to her, but let you call the shots. when the charge nurse tells you the details, you head straight outside. you pull a yellow gown for yourself and the gloves in your size—those ones are baby blue. and then you pull another gown and the black gloves—the ones in his size. he watches from the nurse’s station, watches ellis take them and watches you look around, like you’re waiting for him to show up. he doesn’t, not this time.

you handle the case perfectly. oddly enough, he can’t seem to remember any of the specifics about it, even though he’s the one who signed off on your detailed note.

jack watches from the door. you’ve got your back to him, and ellis looks up and sees him, but he shakes his head. he wants to see how you do without him, after so many with him. and you’re perfect—just like he knew you would be. the nurses move in tandem around you, listening closely to your orders. ellis asks questions and you answer, and you don’t sound like your answers are questions themselves—though you had at one point, not too long ago.

that’s something he’d worked you out of, he thinks, a certain smugness seeping into his veins, satisfaction rolling through every muscle.

you look out the other door, the opposite of where he’s standing. you stretch your neck like you’re trying to see what’s out there, and then you turn your attention back to your patient right away.

and once the patient is stable, that’s when he comes in. you’re doing it again, looking out the wrong door and as much as he wants to deny it, as wrong as it is, he knows you’re looking for him.

“good work, doctor,” he says, and you jump a little. you turn to look at him, but he’s looking at your senior resident for the assessment.

“dr. abbot, i-”

“she did great,” parker comments, and you stop to beam at her.

“thank you.” ellis peels off her gloves and gown, black gloves that had been meant for him going into the bin. she gives you further instructions and you nod, and when it’s just the two of you, he finally turns to meet your eyes.

and the way you smile at him blows him away. it’s all over your face—from your gleaming eyes to the cheeks that must hurt, the lips that he can’t stop thinking about. there’s something else there too. neither of you want to say it, though you try.

“thank you, dr. abbot. i-” the words falter and die on your tongue. but in your joy, how pleased you are with yourself for once, you find the confidence he’s been wanting you to have all along. “i was looking for you.”

and jack swallows hard. it’s one thing to have a flirtation, to teach you, to mentor you. to make you cups of coffee and tea and buy a box of those protein bars that you like the best, because the other ones taste weird. to defend your yellow cup with his best glare, to stop in the aisle at costco and buy a duplicate pair just incase he ever needs to replace it. you love that yellow mug, and well, he loves—

“dr. abbot? you okay?”

and it’s normally him asking you that.

“i’m fine, kid. you did great.”

“so did you.”

when jack walks by dana at around seven-ten, her and the other nurses go remarkably silent.

“yes?” he asks, grabbing the black thermos from the counter where he’d been finishing his notes. it’s also from costco—chipped and bent all over the place, little flecks of silver making an appearance around the bottom. you’d made a joke about it once—even your cup is salt and pepper. and now he thinks about it every time he picks it up.

“what? i didn’t say anything,” dana replies, settling an ipad back in the charging port, moving around papers at the station. “but just so you know, the pool’s up to three hundred.”

jack sets his cup down a little harder than he means to, forearms resting on the sterile counter.

“what pool?” he demands, and dana shrugs. if he didn’t love her so much he would kill her.

“i’m just saying. if you’d like to help your favorite nurse contribute to her retirement fund, then you can—”

“oh? i can what?”

it’s just not this easy for him anymore. you are full of all the good things that he so clearly lacks, made of so much sunshine it’s pouring out of you. you have love in stores, ready to be doled out at any time, to anyone. patients, coworkers, even the medical students you just met a couple minutes ago. he hears you—offering the flashcards you made for boards and the interview tips that got you to match at your top choice.

he is entirely unworthy of your love. he knows it, deep down. loving him would break you. trying to piece him back together would drain you dry. and he doesn’t want to do that to you, you deserve better. maybe he can take care of you at work, but outside of these four walls, if you saw what he was like with idle hands and an empty apartment, or if you saw him up on that roof-

“dr. abbot?”

your voice seems to always be enough to snap him out of it.

“goodbye, dana,” he says, walking up next to you, thermos in hand. your eyes briefly glance down at it, smiling. “what’s going on, kid?”

“remember what you had said? about breakfast?” and you smile at him like getting breakfast with jack abbot sounds like the great thing in the world right now. it’s almost seven-thirty and you probably haven’t slept in fifteen hours, and yet you keep smiling, big eyes blinking at him while you wait patiently for an answer.

“yeah.” he clears his throat, looking back at dana momentarily. she’s smiling at him, and then she turns to smack the side of robby’s arm, pointing him the direction of you two. “that sounds great. after you.”

he shouldn’t have said yes. he knows what’ll happen if you start thinking that you can fix whatever is wrong with jack abbot, and he would like to avoid that entirely. but you beam at him again like you had earlier with ellis, and jack is a lot of things, but one thing is he is not, is a jerk. he won’t disappoint you about this, not when he’s secretly relieved you’re eating after shift. he’s seen you with sugary granola bars and pastries when you should be filling up on protein after a shift like this.

so he follows you out, ignoring the exchange of money behind him.

breakfast is nice. you get chocolate-chip pancakes and he makes you get eggs too, and then hands you strips of bacon from his plate too. he hasn’t seen you like this before, and he tries to soak it into his memory.

(something deep inside says that he should cut the tether before you get too attached. it’ll only hurt more to prolong it, to let it linger. the possibility of something between the two of you. and then you offer him a bite of a pancake drenched in syrup and everything in his head goes silent.)

breakfast becomes a weekly recurrence. there’s a twenty-four seven diner he loves just up the road from the hospital, and he’s been before with shen once, robby a couple times if their schedules lined up. it’s not particularly unusual to see him there with you, though he feels like he’s committing some sort of a crime.

you wear pullovers from your alma mater. the backpack you bring to work is the same one you used all four years of college and medical school, a fact you are very proud of. when he looks at it—his chest hurts. it’s hardly worn, looks like it’s in great condition—a couple of pins tacked on the side where your water bottle sits and a pocket for your badge and wallet in the front. he has to force himself to remember that you’re younger than any woman he’s seriously talked to before. his wife had been two months older than him, something he used to tease her about all the time.

would you do that? would you tease him about the age difference? or would you prefer to ignore it, set it aside and try to forget about it? it’s a heavy question for breakfast after twelve hours on.

you take him to another place that you like, too, closer to your apartment. you both eat bagels and sip on juice—orange for him, apple for you—and that’s where you learn more about his time as a medic. the breakfast burrito place near the park is where you tell him about how you’ve wanted to be a doctor since you were twelve, that you thought you’d had a calling for pediatrics and you’d even been the president of the peds club in medical school. and then you’d rotated through the emergency department third year and completely changed your plan.

you share a stack of waffles—chocolate chip with strawberries and whipped cream, at your insistence. he doesn’t know how he’s supposed to say no to you, not when you ask him so sweetly. he learns about your kitten and how you’ve always been scared that you’re going to do the wrong thing and until very recently, that you’ve just been playing pretend and you’ll get caught one day.

and back at the diner is where he tells you about his wife. and you listen intently and nod and hold his hands when his voice breaks and run your fingers over his knuckles. you don’t let go of his hand the entire walk back to your apartment, and outside the door, you give him a hug. and the two of you stay like that for a while. that’s when you and jack kiss for the first time. slow, steady, a kiss that you’ve been dreaming of for months. it takes all the air out of your lungs and when you finally go inside, you realize your shoulder is a little wet and your lips are swollen.

even hours later, jack can still taste apple juice on his tongue.

another week after that, you both answer the incoming trauma together. it’s six-thirty, so someone might come and take over, but it doesn’t work out that way. it’s a man who got t-boned at an intersection on the way to school drop-off. his wife and daughter are getting their cuts stitched, you think, and the patient had been slurring at you when he came in. thank god i put her behind her mom today. thank god, thank god- and jack does something he doesn’t always do.

“get the mom, get the kid. let-let them talk.”

and while you do the ultrasound and the e-fast and order for type and cross-match, you hear his daughter crying and a wife telling her husband how much she loves him.

and you and jack try everything, everything you can think of, but sometimes, there’s just no coming back. he doesn’t even make it to surgery. jack walks out first, and then you, and you see his daughter turn away from the medical student that’s tending to her wound, standing up with hopeful eyes like you and jack have good news for her.

and you feel incredibly broken. your day hasn’t even started yet. and you lock eyes with jack for a second—just a second, and he stares back at you, hardened, in a way you haven’t seen before. you’ve both lost patients, lost patients together. sometimes it’s just different, in a way that you can’t explain.

it must have been an hour, an hour and a half you spent in the trauma room. the entire day shift is there now.

“head home, kid,” jack says. “i’ll talk to the family.”

you bring your hand to his shoulder, pulling back until he turns to face you.

“i’ll talk to the family.”

it’s not an easy thing to take care of. he tries to tell you something but you shake your head at him, the hand on his shoulder lingering. people are looking, he thinks. but then again, he’s never cared that much. and in this moment, neither do you.

you head over to the family, excuse the nurses and the student doing the stitches. you pull the curtains, and all he hears is sobbing.

and when you come back out, he know you held it together in front of them, but your shoulders are shaking, your chin is wobbling. and in front of all those people, he brings you in for a hug.

a real hug—like the one you had in front of your apartment. jack’s grip is tight on you, his arms caging you in, covering everything so you can’t see anything, can’t think about anything else but him. he rests his chin on your head, and closes his eyes, and then the two of you walk back to the lockers together.

it’s not an easy thing to take care of him. and somehow, without ever telling you, you know all about how to do it. you know a lot of things about him. you know what this job does to him and that if he had gone to tell that family they lost their father and husband, that he would’ve ended up on the roof this morning. you know that jack abbot doesn’t halve any of his burdens, that he’s been afraid to rely on you like how you rely on him. to need you in the way that you need him. and you know that he won’t tell you what he needs, but you’ve gotten somewhat adept at figuring him out, just like how he has with you.

that day you leave holding hands. neither of you are in the right mood to go out for breakfast, so he elects to take you back to his apartment, an arm swung around your shoulder the entire walk there. you’re still a little teary-eyed, wiping them away at his front door while you head inside with him.

you’ve never seen the inside of jack’s apartment, but he’s mentioned it in one of your many conversations. the record collection, his wife’s plants that he takes care of, the kitchen that’s too big for one person.

the morning light hits the place beautifully. you stare out of his window while he heads to the kitchen, and you look around. first the records, then the plants, just like he’d described. there’s pothos and peace lily and little succulents along the windowsill. you look at the rest of it—incredibly fitting. a brown leather couch and a bookshelf with medical textbooks and a couple of mystery thrillers. you laugh to yourself, imagining jack curling up with one of those books at night.

when you turn back, he’s cracking eggs and laying out strips of bacon on the pan. you head over to the other side of the island, taking a seat on one of the stools.

“no pancakes?”

“you’re gonna get cavities, y’know,” jack says, and you smile at him.

“it’s worth it.”

“i love your smile the way it is right now. don’t go changing it on me.” and that does make you smile, staring at jack making breakfast for the two of you. it all feels so domestic. like you’re just walking into the life that was meant for you all along.

you’ve only been on the night shift for a couple of months.

how could he have been so stupid? trying to fight what you did to him when it was like gravity, like the tide, like every other force in this world that he knows about and cannot control. you’re exactly where you’re meant to be, and so is he.

“mel texted me. she won the bet,” you say, setting your phone down. you lean against your hand, inhaling the smell of the first of many home-cooked meals you’ll eat, made by jack abbot.

“that so? i thought dana was a shoo-in.”

“dana got the timing wrong. thought it’d happen during the night shift. but technically, you hugged me at eight-thirty, so..”

“and what was the winning combo?” he stares at you, probably for the millionth time since you met him. and still, somehow, it’s enough that you feel it in your bones. you want to look away but you don’t. “you want toast, kid?”

“yes please. she didn’t say, but i’ll ask. later.”

you and jack settle at his wooden dining table ten minutes later, a plate full of protein and a promise that he’ll get you something sweet when you wake up later. jack lifts up his pant leg and takes off his prosthetic, setting it against the chair and relaxing a little bit more. you can see his shoulders loosen up. when he catches you staring, he smiles back.

“what?”

“nothing. do you have juice?”

“i think there’s some apple in there. i can-”

“no, i got it.” you get up, walking towards to the fridge. “i thought you didn’t like apple.” you know he doesn’t—he prefers orange.

“i changed my mind.” you smile back at him, finding the apple juice and setting it on the counter.

“cups?”

“the cabinet on your right. no, your other right.”

you laugh and open it up, your laugh dying in your throat as you stare at two yellow mugs sitting front and center in the cupboard. you pick them up, bringing them over to the table with jack, and stare at him.

“oh,” he says. “i can explain. it’s incase-” but you don’t want to listen for another second, so you sit on his lap, pressing your lips together and forgetting all about breakfast and apple juice.

♡ thanks for reading!

963 notes · View notes