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thepencilnerd · 2 months ago

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Your Man

thank you very much to @ananonymousaffair, @clubsoft, and @letsgobarbs for including me in the 𝘈 𝘋𝑂𝘊𝑇𝘖𝑅 𝐴 𝐷𝘈𝑌 writing event <3 i cannot wait to dive into the pieces written by my fellow writers (check out the full post for every tagged gem!) prompt: "I think to be so dumb must be nice." | colour: black 🖤 pairing: jack abbot x f!resident reader summary: You and Jack have been bickering your way through night shifts for ages now—until two flying trays, a stitched-up hand, and one too many almost-confessions turn everything into something neither of you can ignore. content/warnings: enemies to lovers (all the banter, jabs, & sarcasm), slow-burn, emotionally repressed idiots to emotionally repressed idiots in love, depiction of harassment towards healthcare workers, protective!reader & protective!jack, fluff, angst, Robby being done with both of you wc: 5.2k a/n: i def could have gone a certain direction *cough cough* but i was overcome with a sudden craving for enemies to lovers / "they're both stubborn and it's complicated tropes," so i present to you this emotionally constipated snippet of my heart 🩺🖤

It was a well-known fact that you always clocked in after Jack Abbot.

Not because you meant to. At least, not exactly.

It started one night during your first week on night shift. You’d been cramming for exams all day, convinced you could fit in just one more practice block before your shift—just one more. But you dozed off somewhere around question 43, mouth open against the back of your textbook, a puddle of drool collecting around what once was a diagram of the cardiac chambers.

You sprinted in at 6:45pm, flustered and un-caffeinated, only to find Jack already there. Leaning against the nurses’ station with a cup of coffee like he’d been born in that spot, annoyingly calm and smirking like he’d seen this coming.

"Cutting it close, Dr. L/N," he’d said, not even looking up from his chart. "Careful. That’s how habits start."

He was right.

At first, you were apologetic—nervous and over-eager, all stammered greetings and shuffled charts. Jack didn’t seem to notice you beyond the bare minimum, and you chalked that up to his status, his seniority, his general aura of don’t talk to me unless someone is actively dying.

But things changed. Somewhere between covering for each other during rounds, tagging out on disaster admits, and a running tally of how many times you each got paged during a single trauma night, familiarity set in. You became colleagues. Then reluctant allies. And somewhere along the line—rivals. Enemies, depending on who you asked and on how bad the night was going.

One time, you were both elbow-deep in post-codes, barely functioning off stale coffee and mutual spite, when he passed you a chart and muttered, "Try not to kill this one with your bedside manner."

You took it without looking up from the board above you. "I'll match your emotional range and we'll both be fine."

You were never late, but it soon became a silent game. He always beat you at it. Whether it was by five minutes or five steps, you never let yourself get there before him. A superstition, maybe. A routine. A rhythm. And because you liked to keep him on edge—just to get a reaction out of him.

Seeing Jack colored with shades of affect, even if it was playfully annoyed, was fun. It made him predictable, addictive, a full 180 from his usual stone-cold demeanor. He’d scowl, grumble something about professionalism, and still let you win half the time. It became a kind of game, and you were very good at it.

Now as a senior resident awaiting board licensure, it was practically tradition.

He was already at the nurses’ station, sipping black coffee like it was fuel and he was a half-full tank, eyes scanning over charts. His voice cut through the hum of bedlam as you approached. "Late again, Dr. L/N. At least you're consistent."

You flipped him off without breaking stride. "And yet, somehow, the hospital hasn't burned down yet. Miraculous, wouldn't you say so, Dr. Abbot?"

He raised a brow, the faintest smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth. "Not even ten minutes in and already have our claws out, do we?"

"Oh, Jack," you pouted, "this is just foreplay."

"Ah, is that what you call passive-aggressive incompetence now?"

"Bold of you to assume it’s passive," you fired back, picking up an iPad and scanning through your list of patients for the night. "Or that I’m incompetent, considering I actually round with patients instead of brooding in corners like a gargoyle."

"Gargoyle?" he echoed. "I’m flattered you’ve been staring long enough to come up with nicknames."

"Please," you scoffed. "Your aura of gloom is visible from space. NASA actually filed a complaint saying it was interfering with their ability to conduct research."

Jack paused for a beat, gaze flicking over you more intently than usual. "Did you eat before your shift?"

You eyes were glued on the iPad, your only response a single head bobble "no."

He didn’t like that. Robby could tell from the way his jaw flexed slightly—but he said nothing. Just hummed under his breath and looked back at his clipboard.

Robby had been watching through his glasses the entire time, arms crossed and eyes narrowed like a dad wrangling in two over-caffeinated siblings. He blinked at the two of you, then sighed—long, theatrical, the kind of sigh that said he had survived more codes than he could count but this was titrating his patience.

"You two ever gonna kiss, or just keep trying to murder each other with sarcasm?" He took his glasses off to bury his face in his hands with a groan.

Jack didn’t look up, turning the page over on his clipboard. "I prefer homicide. Cleaner paperwork."

"Honestly, I'd take an explosive diarrhea case over having this conversation," you muttered, half to Robby, half to yourself, rubbing at the bridge of your nose like the words might erase Jack from your field of vision.

Robby would be remiss if he didn't catch the way neither of you clocked his kiss and make up comment. He stared at you both, mouth frozen in a half-smile that said he couldn’t decide whether to laugh or launch you into separate time zones. He gave it two full seconds—long enough to confirm that you were both still hopeless—before shaking his head in defeat.

"I think," Robby hummed, patting both of your shoulders like a tired camp counselor, "to be so dumb must be nice."

You and Jack had the same unimpressed expression locked and loaded—scowls sharp and identical, contempt trained squarely on Robby, both of you about to mouth off in perfect sync.

He walked off before either of you could open your mouths.

—

By 3am, the fatigue and hunger were chewing holes in your composure.

Too many admits. Not enough staff. Shen being chronically unbothered. Myrna threatening to murder her wife—when you and Jack turned to ask if she had a wife, matching expressions of disbelief already locked in place, she looked at you deadpan and asked, "You wanna get hitched?"

And always—always—Jack.

Fucking Jack.

With his clipboard full of passive-aggressive notes in that damn attractive calligraphy handwriting.

His tone clipped like a warning and welcome all at once.

And his black scrubs making him look like the grim reaper of constructive criticism and deconstructive mental undressing.

"Patient in six?" you asked.

"CT just came back. Small bowel obstruction. Classic presentation, apparently."

You glanced his way. "Told you it wasn’t just post-op gas."

Jack didn’t miss a beat. "And yet, you were already quoting discharge guidelines to the new intern before radiology even called back."

You shot him a look. Walsh would be proud of you for that one. "I was outlining possibilities. It’s called methodical thinking—must not be a concept you’re familiar with."

He grinned, lazy and unbothered. "Chaos works for me. You panic without bullet points."

You rolled your eyes. "You’re the only attending I know who thrives in complete chaos and calls it a ‘method.’"

"And you’re the only resident I know who color-codes her trauma alerts."

The edge of your lip curled. "That’s called being prepared."

He gestured vaguely. "It’s called being uptight."

You arched a brow. "Spoken like someone who thinks organized is a four-letter word that starts with 'f' and ends with 'k'."

He leaned in, voice dropping just slightly. "Spoken like someone who secretly enjoys cleaning up after my messes."

You blinked once. Then grinned wider. "One day, your beloved chaos is going to bite you in the ass."

He tapped your chart as he walked past. "I guess it’s a good thing you’ve already alphabetized the first aid supplies for me."

—

By 3:20, the storm hit.

Lightning cracked the sky. Power flickered. The backup generator hummed to life with a groan. You should've brought an extra jacket to keep in your locker but it would end up disappearing anyway. Jack was in the hallway already, flashlight in hand.

"OR’s shut down. We’re triaging manually. You good?"

You nodded, biting your tongue. This wasn’t the time.

You worked side by side in the makeshift command center. Tension simmered beneath the quiet coordination—until a grabby frat-boy type from bay four decided he didn’t like being told to sit still and wait.

It happened fast.

He flung the tray off his bed, sending instruments clattering across the floor. You instinctively raised your hand to shield your face—just as a stray scalpel nicked the back of your hand, slicing a sharp, shallow arc. The pain didn’t register immediately. Jack did.

He was on the guy in an instant, stepping in front of you, voice low and lethal. "Sit. Down." The words came out all but minced.

Security had already been called, but Jack looked like he wanted to break the guy’s face just for breathing in your direction. He didn’t even turn back to you until the orderlies dragged the patient away.

Then his hand was cupping your elbow, his voice much softer. "Let me see it."

You hissed as he inspected the cut. "It’s not deep."

"You’re bleeding on my chaos," he muttered, guiding you gently to an empty room.

You snorted through the blossoming pain. "Told you my color-coding wasn’t excessive."

He grabbed a suture kit, pulling gloves on with the kind of care you usually saw him reserve for crics and broken ribs. "Hold still."

"Bossy."

"Only when someone I like gets stabbed in the hand."

Your breathing hitched. "Like, huh?"

Jack’s attention was fixed on your hand. "Don’t make it weird."

You smiled, watching him thread the needle, so close, so focused. "Wouldn’t dream of it."

The quiet that followed wasn’t heavy. Quite the opposite. It felt warm. Easy. He worked methodically, hands sure, touch gentle, eyes flicking up every few seconds to check your expression like it mattered more than the wound. As he cleaned around the cut and prepped the lidocaine syringe, you both said it in unison—

"Slight prick and a burn."

You laughed under your breath, both at his expression of surprise and your synchrony. "God. That phrase is ingrained in my soul. I think I said it to a grapefruit during my 5th year."

Jack’s lips twitched. "I said it to a patient’s plush raccoon once."

You watched his hands move with steady precision, stitching you up like he had all the time in the world. The storm outside cracked again, but neither of you flinched.

"Make sure I don’t scar, Doc," you teased, settling in as he prepped the suture. "I need these hands to make magic and miracles happen. Might even become a hand model if this whole medicine thing doesn’t pan out."

Jack didn’t look up, but you caught the twitch at the corner of his mouth. "I’ll do my best, ma’am. But if you end up on a billboard somewhere, I expect royalties."

You snorted. "In your dreams."

Jack didn’t say anything at first—just gave you a small, private smile like he was tucking something away in the back of his mind. Like he was keeping it just for himself.

And this time, when you looked at him, he didn’t look away.

For a few minutes, the raindrops tapping against the windows were the only sound that filled the empty space. Jack didn't speak. He just kept his gaze on your hand, now bandaged, resting on the edge of the tray table like it had never been hurt. You watched him watching you, your heart thudding quietly in your throat.

"You always take care of your disasters this nicely?" you mumbled.

He smirked. "Only the pretty ones."

You didn’t speak of it.

Not until later, when the lights came back and the halls emptied and you were alone in the break room.

You noticed it as he leaned against the counter, scrubs rumpled, hair even more so. His scrubs were black, as always—just rumpled enough to prove he'd been moving all night, just fitted enough to be infuriating. You took a sip of water, eyeing him from across the break room table as you both took a seat. Something about the way the fluorescent light caught the curve of his jaw made the words slip out before you could stop them.

"Do you own anything that isn’t black?" you asked, voice light with sudden curiosity. "Or is your off-duty wardrobe just a series of increasingly gothic-toned hoodies that match your work-wear?"

Jack glanced up from his coffee, one brow arched. "It hides blood."

You stared. "You really don’t let anyone in, huh?"

He didn’t answer right away, just sipped his coffee and stared out at the empty hallway beyond the break room.

Finally, with a shrug that didn’t quite match the weight behind it, he said, "You’re one to talk."

That made you laugh, but it came out softer than expected. "Guess we’re both pretty terrible at normal."

Jack’s lips twitched. "Normal’s overrated."

You leaned back in your chair, legs stretched out in front of you, the tips of your sneakers barely brushing his. Neither of you moved.

Suddenly, Jack got up and yanked open a small drawer by the coffee machine and pulled out a sad-looking granola bar, handing it to you without meeting your eyes.

"Eat this."

Your brow furrowed, suspicious. "Seriously?"

"You haven’t eaten since yesterday," he muttered, brushing it off like it didn’t matter. Like he hadn’t noticed.

You stared at the wrapper, then at him. "You really had that locked and loaded?"

He didn’t answer. Just crossed his arms and stuck the bar out at you further. "It’s chocolate. Don’t make me regret it."

Instead of prying further, your hand reached out slowly and took it, eyes still narrowed, studying him like he’d just burnt out a fuse in your brain.

Silence washed over you again. Occasionally filled by the sound of you munching on your granola bar and taking measured sips of your coffee. After a few minutes and one crumpled granola bar later, you caught Jack sneaking a glance at you over the rim of his cup.

You didn’t say anything—just raised a brow.

He looked away like he hadn’t been watching you at all.

But the corner of his mouth betrayed him.

The words crept out of your mouth carefully. "Do you think..."

Jack looked up, gaze intent.

"Nevermind," you stopped yourself.

He leaned in closer, the space between you shrinking into something almost unbearable. Not quite touching, not even brushing—but the air thickened under the weight of his stare. That kind of eye contact that felt like it could crack glass. Steady. Searching.

You let the quiet spool between you like a thread someone might tug, if they were brave enough.

"It's rude to start things you don't intend on finishing," he stated simply.

You blinked, still caught in the current of that look, then leaned in a little—almost like you were about to whisper a secret. Jack mirrored you without hesitation, like it was instinct.

Your voice was barely above a murmur. "Do you think..."

He waited, gaze steady, maybe even a tinge of hope if you squinted.

"...that the real reason you thrive in chaos is because it matches your personality?" you deadpanned.

Jack exhaled sharply, the ghost of a scoff tugging at his mouth. He sat back, shaking his head. "Unbelievable."

You grinned, eyes bright and playful. "What? I finished it."

"Barely," he muttered, but he was smiling too.

A few beats passed. You both sat in the lingering quiet, the kind that settled in only after long shifts and half-spoken things.

Then he leaned in—just a little—mirroring what you'd done earlier. You furrowed your brows, curious.

He lowered his voice, almost conspiratorial. "Do you think..."

You leaned in too, expecting something real, something heavy.

"...that you secretly enjoy being wrong? Because, statistically, it’s seems like your favorite hobby."

Your jaw dropped to let out a puff of air, baffled by his audacity, and pushed his arm. "God, you’re insufferable."

He chuckled under his breath. "And yet, here you are."

You gave him a sideways glance, lips quirking. "I will admit that it’s in my top five favorite hobbies. But it still doesn’t beat ‘annoying Jack Abbot.’ That one’s undefeated."

Jack shook his head, eyes warm and lips softened in a grin. "You’d miss me if I ever stopped letting you win."

Your only response was a coy smile. You nudged his foot with yours beneath the table, and he glanced down at the contact. He nudged back, subtle and sure, like he didn’t want the moment to end just yet—then looked back up at you. Something passed between the pair of you—unspoken, tentative, curious.

The room fell quiet again, comfortable this time. Neither of you moved to leave.

Until Jack's phone buzzed.

He glanced at it, then cursed under his breath. "Room seven. It's that kid who demanded to speak to the 'head doctor' because I wouldn't give him dilaudid for a tension headache."

You raised a brow. "So... a normal Friday?"

"Basically."

You watched him go, expecting a quick de-escalation. Room seven. You knew who that was. Height rivaled only by his ego. Frat letters drawn across his bare chest like illiterate war paint. Barked at nurses like he owned the floor. The kind of guy who made everything someone else's problem, backed by daddy’s legal team and a two-semester record of hazing infractions.

Jack had said he’d handle it. He always did. Especially with these types. It was like they were on a rotation—every Friday night, a new brand of uninhibited pre-frontal cortex, privileged chaos.

But then you heard his voice—Jack’s—sharp and too loud from down the hall. A clatter followed, unmistakable. Tray to tile. A chair scraping. Then another crash. A shout that definitely wasn’t Jack’s.

You were already moving.

By the time you rounded the corner, the frat boy was mid-lunge, fury twisting his face as he hurled a tray toward Jack’s head like he was reenacting some half-remembered bar fight. Jack ducked, barely—but he was boxed in, too close to the wall.

You didn’t think. Just moved.

"Hey!" you barked, adrenaline surging. You threw yourself at him, coming at him like a freight train and making him fall back onto the bed with a grunt. A nurse hit the emergency call. Security swarmed seconds later.

Jack had grabbed your arm and pulled you back—tight but not painful—pulling you just out of the fray. "What the hell?"

You glared at him, chest heaving. "Returning the favor."

He didn’t let go.

"On-call room. Now."

He practically hauled you down the hall, his hand never leaving yours. You were both silent until the door shut behind you. He pressed his palms to the counter and stared at it like it had personally offended him.

"What was that?" His voice was sharp, unfiltered, pissed in a way you didn’t see often—not like this. Not when it was about you. "You could’ve gotten hurt."

"So could you." You leaned against the metal bunkbed frame, still catching your breath. "A simple 'thank you' would suffice."

His Adam's apple bobbed, slow, like the movement itself took restraint. His jaw was tight, eyes darker than usual.

"You're reckless," he said quietly.

"Takes one to know one," you laughed.

Jack didn’t.

He stepped forward instead, jaw clenched. "You have no regard for your safety and only for that of others."

You took a step back.

"You will go out of your way to treat and protect everyone around you at the expense of your own well-being."

Another step back. Any closer and—

"Do you understand," he said, each word measured, devastating, "how much I worry about you?"

Your heartbeat was a war drum now—loud, insistent, thunderous.

"Do you know how much I think about you? How much I plan for the worst every time you throw yourself between danger and someone else without a second thought?" he added, voice cracking just enough to reveal the truth beneath it. Laid bare.

"When you walk into the ER and you haven't eaten since the night before and I can see it—you're running on caffeine and impulse and whatever scraps of adrenaline are left."

You opened your mouth, but no sound came out.

He didn’t stop there. "When you give your jacket to a freezing patient and spend the next six hours shivering without saying a word—like that’s normal."

You swallowed. "It wasn’t cold..."

Jack’s voice sharpened. "You forget your umbrella and show up soaked but act like it's fine. Like it’s not freezing. Like you didn’t just volunteer to get sick."

Your fingers twitched against your side.

"And when you blow off your own wound care to finish a chart. Or cover a code blue for someone else even though your shift ended twenty minutes ago."

You looked away. His eyes never left you.

He stepped even closer, willing you to look at him. "When you pretend you’re made of steel. And then crack alone in the stairwell when you think no one’s looking."

It felt like ice cold water had dropped from the ceiling.

"Jack—" you managed to force out.

He held up a hand and turned around, cutting you off. "Please."

He couldn’t hear it. Not unless you felt the same. Not unless you'd listened, actually listened, for once. He’d rather bleed out not knowing than survive a rejection he couldn’t patch. Just colleagues. He'd switch over to day shift if he had to. Robby could put in a word for him. Temporary, at least until he found a new hospital. Maybe in a different city. Of a different state.

He looked anywhere but you, turning like he meant to leave, like he could walk it off and pretend none of this ever happened.

"Jack, please..." The words came out desperate, begging, pleading for him to stop.

He didn't meet your eyes—couldn't. "I'll see you at the nurses station."

"Oh, for the love of God—" You reached forward and yanked him back by his forearm.

And then your lips were on his.

It wasn’t clean or careful. It was a crash—years of tension detonating all at once. He froze for half a second, eyes wide open like his brain was short-circuiting, then kissed you back with everything he had and more. Desperation, disbelief, hunger—it all poured out of him like water breaking through a dam.

Your hands cradled his face, thumbs grazing over the light stubble along his jaw, fingertips brushing the sharp edges of his cheekbones like you were learning him by touch alone. He kissed you like he couldn’t stand to stop, and you held him like you weren’t going to let him. He tasted like spearmint—sharp and stubborn—the gum he always carried in his pocket, and behind that, burnt coffee and something so distinctly Jack it made your limbs tingle.

His hands found your waist, your jaw, your back—grasping like he didn’t trust the moment to be real unless he mapped every inch of you with his fingertips. You were pressed chest to chest, and it still didn’t feel close enough.

Jack had kissed people before. He had slept with people before. He'd been married, for God's sake. But this—this—was unreal. This was heat and gravity and every inch of restraint he’d stitched into place finally tearing wide open. This was the reason human beings fought in wars. Why people wrote poetry and ruined perfectly stable lives for one perfect, maddening kiss. Why everything else material and immaterial suddenly paled in comparison.

Your hands were in his hair, tugging salt and pepper curls just enough to make him groan, low and wrecked against your lips.

He kissed you like he was trying to memorize the shape of your mouth, share the oxygen in your lungs, the little gasp you made when his thumb grazed the spot behind your ear just right. He devoured everything you gave him and kissed you like a man who had run out of time and patience.

Because he had.

He’d wanted this too long to pretend otherwise, and he'd sooner die than deprive either of you from this any longer.

You pulled back just enough to breathe, your forehead resting lightly against his. Both of you were gasping, eyes locked in the kind of dazed silence that usually followed adrenaline crashes.

"Took you long enough, old man," you whispered, lips still brushing his.

Jack blinked once, twice. Like he couldn’t believe this was real. Like the thought had crossed his mind a thousand times, but the reality of you—this—hit harder than he’d prepared for.

"You feel the same?" he asked quietly, in a tone that was more awe than question.

You nodded. "Since before either of us were brave enough to say it."

Jack let out a breath that shook at the edges. "I thought if I let it slip—if I looked too long, said too much—you’d shut me out."

"I thought if I admitted it, it would ruin everything."

"It didn’t," he murmured, leaning his forehead against yours.

"No," you whispered. "It finally made sense of everything."

Jack blinked again, almost like he hadn’t fully registered it until now. His gaze swept over your face, pausing at your lips, then your eyes, as if searching for the lie he couldn’t find.

"You really mean that?" he asked, quieter now. Not disbelieving—just internalizing.

You nodded again, slower this time. "I don’t do this if I don’t."

Jack let out another breath, but it wasn’t shaky this time—it was solid. Grounded. Relieved. He laughed under it, the sound warm and slightly incredulous.

"You really are impossible," he murmured, brushing his nose against yours.

"And you’re dramatic," you whispered back, smiling.

"Fair," he said. "But you’re still mine."

"Yeah," you said. "I think I always was."

Jack huffed a breath, the ghost of a smile tugging at his mouth. "Careful. You just kissed your attending. That kind of power could go to your head."

You grinned, still breathless. "Please. You kissed me back like your life depended on it."

"Who says it didn't?" he asked rhetorically, so quietly it almost got lost in the air between you.

Your fingers drifted to the back of his neck, fingertips brushing softly along the hairline, anchoring him there. Jack shivered. Not from cold—never from cold.

"Thank you," you admitted. "For taking care of me while I was busy taking care of everyone else."

His grip on your waist tightened, grounding himself, and then he leaned in again. This time it was slower. Less frantic. His lips found the curve of your neck, warm and reverent. You gasped—quietly—but it was enough. He kissed lower, just beneath your jaw, and your hands curled in the fabric at his shoulders.

"Always." The word left his lips like a prayer.

His fingers traced the hem of your scrub top, ghosting up your sides like he was overriding any and all memories of anything else other than you. No dissonance. Just Jack, desperate to feel something real in a world that never gave him space to.

You pressed closer, kissed the corner of his mouth. "You taste like that godawful spearmint gum."

He grinned against your skin. "You love it."

Another scoff. "If throwing myself in front of a raging frat boy was all it took to get you to shut up and kiss me, I would've done it ages ago."

Jack pulled back just enough to look at you, smug. "If you do that again, I’m going to make you do my charting for a week."

You snorted. "With pleasure."

He didn’t argue. Just dipped his head and kissed you again.

—

You woke in the on-call room, a mess of tangled limbs and haphazardly strewn clothes. Your cheek pressed to the rise and fall of his chest. The storm had long passed, but its echo lingered in the hush around you. Jack’s arm was slung low around your waist, fingers drawing lazy, absent-minded shapes against your hip like he didn’t know how to stop touching you now that he’d started.

"For what it’s worth, I still think you’re a pain in the ass," you murmured, voice thick with sleep.

His chest rumbled beneath your cheek. "Likewise," he said, but it came out softer than usual.

You shifted just enough to look up at him, your hand brushing gently across his ribs, then settling over his heart. "Don’t get used to this."

His brow arched. "This?" If you looked hard enough, you might have seen worry flash across his face.

"Me being nice."

Relief painted his expression. He smiled, full and rare. "You’re the one curled into me like a particularly mouthy cat."

You buried your face in his chest. "Shut up."

His fingers tightened slightly at your hip. "Not complaining. Just saying... I could get used to this."

You looked up again, caught the vulnerability flickering there before he blinked it away. Your thumb brushed his jaw, and you leaned in, pressing a slow kiss to the corner of his mouth, a smile blooming in its wake.

"Yeah," you whispered. "Me too."

—

A few weeks and an undetermined number of shifts later, you walked through the double doors of the ER wearing a black hoodie—oversized and unassuming to anyone else, but unmistakable to anyone who knew him.

Robby and Dana spotted it from a mile away. The frayed drawstring, the hole near the front pocket, the faded cuff seams—the one he always reached for when the weather dropped below 60 degrees, too tired to bother, or too raw to pretend. Jack’s favorite and now second most prized possession.

The first being the shirt you wore when you stayed the night for the first time—oversized and soft, probably older than the first year med students—borrowed without asking. He never washed it. Claimed it smelled like you now and he'd keep it that way.

No one said a word.

Except Robby, who walked past and muttered, "Finally." Then, as you and Jack strolled side by side toward the nurses’ station—still bickering, now with smiles tucked behind every jab—he held out a fist to Jack.

Jack bumped it without hesitation.

Robby grinned. "Took you long enough."

"Shut up," you and Jack muttered in unison, but neither of you stopped smiling.

Jack's hand brushed yours between steps, a casual touch that lingered just long enough to say everything he couldn't say out loud in front of witnesses. You let your pinky hook around his for a second before letting go—just a flash of something soft beneath the usual snark.

"Didn't know we allowed pets in the ER," Dana remarked from her chair before looking up through her glasses. "Or are those lovebirds I hear?"

You smirked. "We’re just evolving."

Jack raised a brow. "Into better people?"

"No," you replied. "Into slightly better-functioning disasters. I am, anyway. Jack’s still somewhere between disaster and cryptid."

He bumped your shoulder gently before giving you a playful wink. "Speak for yourself. I was already perfect."

You rolled your eyes but didn’t argue. A smile crept up like second nature. You'd get him next time.

Robby snorted. "God, you two are insufferable."

You turned just enough to shoot him a smug look. "You love it."

He held up his hands in mock surrender. "I do. But if I walk in on you making out in the supply closet, I’m blackmailing both of you. With photos."

Jack didn’t even flinch. "Make sure you get our good angles."

You could definitely get used to this.

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vanilladove · 2 years ago

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❤︎ ₊ ⊹ get free (3/3)

pic creds luvpngs | gif creds akashi-tetsuki

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ pairing: asylum patient!nikolai x asylum attendant!fem!reader

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ genre: smut w/ plot + dark content; 18+ only pls!

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ content warnings: smut/nsfw, kidnapping, mentions of abuse + death, manipulation, violence, unhealthy relationships, infidelity (revenge hehe), slightly yandere!nikolai, dubious consent, husband yapping🤓

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ summary: you've been kidnapped by your patient and taken to meet "dos" and another member of the doa. you notice someone familiar and are forced to make a quick decision. will you free yourself or stay in another man's cage? ˚₊‧꒰ა read pt 1 & pt 2 & bonus (bad ending) ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ word count: 5.6k

Your head was pounding and your eyelids felt heavy, along with the intense soreness coursing through your body, especially on the left side of your waist. Trying to open your eyes through the blinding light, you could barely make out two figures in front of you--they looked like they were talking, so you tried to listen to the warped voices as much as you could with the remaining consciousness you could muster.

"Nikolai, I've meaning to ask you..." A deep, disinterested voice inquired. "What are you planning to do with that?"

"That? Don't be rude, Dos! This is Dove, I wrote to you about her in our letters, remember?" You could make out Nikolai's whines.

"Yes, but what use does she have for the Decay of Angels? If she's just another plaything, then she doesn't belong at the base. Besides, that woman is just another liability."

Nikolai sighed annoyedly, "She's my lover. I intend to keep her with me. I'm sure we can find a way for her to contribute later," he smirked, "I guess you wouldn't understand though...When's the last time you felt the touch of a woman, anyways?

You heard Dos scoff loudly at Nikolai's remark, "Fine, do what you like with her. Also, Sigma and I have finished getting information out of the target, so he's ready for disposal in the basement. He was a real pain to deal with."

Nikolai giggled at that, joking more with Dos. The exhaustion was taking over you again, though, so you couldn't keep yourself awake to glean anymore information from their conversation.

You heard the two men's voices fade out into the background as sleep overtook you once again.

˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

When you finally woke up, it was dim. You winced as you got up and took in your surroundings: the silk sheets you were under, a large bed, a spacious gothic-style room, cream curtains covering tall windows, and cuddled next to you...Nikolai?

You flinched lightly when you looked down to see his eyes staring directly into yours. He got up slowly and pulled you into his strong arms, moving the stray hairs--which had been mysteriously braided--out of your face and kissing your forehead lovingly. "How are you feeling, myla? Did some of the pain go away?"

You blushed as you felt his warm chest against you. He was shirtless, and all of the passionate hickeys you'd given him were exposed. Nikolai smirked cheekily when you stared at them for too long and watched your blush deepen when you realized you were wearing his white button up with nothing underneath. You looked so cute in the oversized shirt, so his.

Confusion coming back to you, you pulled away a bit, "Wait, Nikolai, where are we?" You frowned, last remembering being in the bath house, "The asylum...what happened?"

A sigh left his lips as he placed your head on his shoulder, "Well, after we had sex in the tub--by the way, you're pretty good at riding--" heat rose in your cheeks from his dirty comment, "back up was on their way and I didn't have enough time to explain things, so I needed to subdue you quickly for us to escape. That was why I had to use the tranquilizer on you. Sorry, you must've been shocked..." Nikolai stroked your hair softly, but you pulled back in bewilderment, staring into his softened eyes.

"Wait, why couldn't you just tell me that before? And how did you escape so fast? Where is this pl--" Nikolai cut you off suddenly, dramatically pressing a finger to your lips, "This is the Decay of Angel's temporary base...we're pretty far from the asylum and ran away like you wanted. I couldn't tell you anything because we needed to know if we could trust you." You tried to object at that, but your ex-patient only pushed his finger further to silence you. "And how we got here? Hmmm..." he paused to giggle manically, "Well, dove, that's a secret I can't tell yet...I'm a jester after all. I have tricks up my sleeve that I can't reveal to the audience--even to pretty girls like you~" You groaned as he replaced his finger with his lips and peppered kisses all over your flustered face.

He clearly wasn't telling you everything, but you didn't have any choice but to believe him. After all, you were still in one piece and out of the asylum, and he'd at least taken you to a nice place with silk sheets and roses. Nikolai wouldn't lie to you or harm you without a good reason, would he?

You pouted, "Fine, I believe you..." Nikolai grinned proudly and rolled off the bed. He stretched and threw you your black biker shorts and underwear that he'd pulled seemingly out of nowhere along with a loose white shirt that matched his uniform linen pants.

"Come on, pryntsesa, there's someone I want you to see."

˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

You shakily stepped forward as Nikolai led you deeper into what seemed to be a basement. The walls were covered in pale bricks and dimly lit lanterns--keeping up with the medieval theme of the overall base. In the barely illuminated darkness, you could make out what looked like a jail cell. You kept trying to peer at Nikolai to ask him where exactly you were going and who he was taking you to see, but he only stared ahead with the same proud smirk on his face.

Maybe he was taking you to meet Sigma? Or the other members of the Decay of Angels? You shivered thinking about the fact you really were in their base; Nikolai's files had included that he used to work with a terrorist organization and the various atrocities they'd committed. Now that you were with them, you wondered if that made you a hostage or co-conspirator. You briefly recalled Dos mentioning "the target" in the basement. Was that who you were going to see?

You were snapped out of your thoughts when you bumped into Nikolai's back, his soft braid tickling your nose. You muttered out a quiet apology as he flipped on a switch to brightly light up the jail cell you stood outside of. He turned slightly to face you and smiled gently at you as he brought you in front of him, putting his hands on your shoulders and making you blush. Some sudden cries grabbed your attention to what was in front of you, causing you to instinctively recoil at the familiar face staring back at you.

The boss of the asylum--your husband.

"Dear, is that you?" His raspy voice called out. Getting a full look at him, he looked worse than ever--sweaty disheveled hair clinging to his forehead; uniform tattered and stained with dirt, sweat, and what appeared to be ash; and a desperate, blown out expression on his face. You couldn't believe your eyes--Why was he here?

"T-that man kidnapped you, didn't he?" He got up from the floor and stepped closer in response to your silence, "L-look, I don't know w-what those terrorists told you, but that f-freak--" your husband shrieked, pointing at Nikolai but quickly bringing his finger down in fear, "--burned down the entire asylum and dragged us here. The new girls, the guards, they all got burned or severely injured." Your eyes widened as he started crying and wailing miserably, "A-and Lacey...sh-she's dead...what a brutal way to die...Oh God...Lacey--" The boss clutched his face as tears streamed down his face, mixing with the ash and further sullying his appearance.

Disgust and shock hit you, partly from the mess in front of you that was still reminiscing about the home wrecker he'd cheated on you with and partly because of the events you'd just learned--assuming your husband wasn't lying, Nikolai committing arson and presumably killing Lacey were details that he kept from you. You turned to face the jester, but he only kept his smile from earlier--eyes now devoid of warmth and stoically cold, gazing back into your dilated pupils before turning your head around back to the cell. You shuddered lightly: that was him confirming it was true.

Your husband's eyes twitched at your lack of reaction. He abruptly lunged towards the jail cell, clinging onto the cell bars and struggling against them to try to reach out to you. You screamed as his arm extended in your direction, and Nikolai stepped back to wrap his arms protectively around you, pulling you into his chest.

Your husband was banging against the bars, "Please! L-listen to me, darling!" You cringed at the fake nickname. "Forgive me for what I did in the past and save me--I'm sure h-help's coming. After this, I-I'll...buy you a new car and w-we can go on a nice vacation, start a f-family--start over, y'know?" He gave you a distraught smile, and you cringed at his pathetic display of promises. There was absolutely no way you could willingly go back to a man who'd abused and betrayed you.

Snot was now falling down his nose as he tried to fix his hair and steady his voice; he was practically yelling at you now. "Look, I'm sorry for cheating on you. Lacey was just too tempting...but I regret it, a-and now I know that I really love you." You weren't convinced, he was clearly just trying to save face. "S-shit!" He clanged against the bars again, knuckles turning white from how hard he was gripping them, "I'm trying to apologize to you, dear. I love you--I'm wearing my ring for fuck's sake! C-can't you see that that freak's manipulating you?" He tried to make eye contact again with the white-haired man in front of him, but only cowered back in fright after meeting his intimidating gaze.

You could sense Nikolai glaring back as he tightened his grip around you. It made you frown seeing your husband trying to act like he knew everything about your relationship...Nikolai wasn't manipulating you; he loved you in the way your unfaithful husband never could.

"What are you talking about?" You asked sadly, completely shattering whatever pitiful resolve your husband had left. He gasped horribly and fell to his knees, realizing that you were too far gone, too in love with Gogol.

He stopped when he looked up and noticed your bare neck. "Your ring...why isn't your necklace on?" You traced around the empty space, feeling how light it was now that it was gone. Nikolai smirked in response.

"I--"

"She doesn't need it anymore." Nikolai replied darkly, cutting you off. He laughed a bit, the expression not quite reaching his eyes. He turned to you, startling you a bit. "Actually, you threw it away yourself, didn't you, dove? 'Cause you don't love him anymore." You nodded affirmatively, exasperating your husband even more as he resumed his sobs. Nikolai only curled his lip up coyly at his reaction and brought one of hands down to stroke your inner thigh provocatively as another brought your chin up to kiss you passionately. Heat flowed throughout your body as you blushed deeply. You couldn't tell how much time passed as you felt dizzy after he slipped his tongue in. The anguished cries in the background were drowned out as Nikolai pulled away slowly, making you flustered from the string of saliva left behind.

He licked his lips satisfyingly and gave you a peck before whispering in your ear, "Go on, ptashka, tell him how you feel."

Flush still on your cheeks, you looked directly at your old partner, who was now shaking in agony, "He's right--he's not manipulating me, either. I'm not yours anymore, and I don't want our old life back. I--" Nikolai was still stroking your thigh and was dangerously close to your panties. "I--mmh--I'm in love with Kolya now, and I want to be with him." You missed the pink on Nikolai's face as you saw your husband practically collapse, banging on the ground as he bawled awfully.

"Y-you fucking slut! How could you betray me like this? A-nd your p-parents--w-what would they think about this?" You backed away from the cell, bothered by his yelling. You wished he would shut up already.

Your husband's rambling was stopped suddenly as the sound of a gun cocking reverberated off the brick walls. It was from Nikolai. He placed it in your hands while gazing into your eyes sincerely. "Dove, you've been trapped in this man's cage--stuck on a ride you want to get off, but you keep riding. I want you to decide...If you want to keep playing his game or live your own life."

Your eyes widened at that. This was your chance to change your life and free yourself from the burden of your old life. There was no more chasing rainbows and hoping for an end to them, no more waiting for an inconsiderate man to love you. There was no sure promise of a better life if you saved him and went back to him...

Shit, what the hell were you thinking about? Could you really kill someone by yourself so easily?

Brain an absolute conflicting mess, you felt like you had a war in your mind. You couldn't think clearly as your thoughts jumbled together, and the intensity of the cold metal was making you unsteady. Nikolai noticed and wrapped his warm hand around your shaky one, bringing it up to aim at your husband's head.

"Do you want him gone, myla?" He whispered into your ear, placing your finger over the trigger. "All you have to do is shoot, and it'll all be over." His soft whispers drowned out the sound of your husband begging for his life and backing away desperately in the background. Nikolai gave you the same warm smile as before and his usually dull right green eye was sparkling with emotion. In a strange way, it was comforting, reminding you that you weren't alone.

You didn't remember much after that, just feeling the gun go off and Nikolai's hand over yours, followed by a deafening silence. You winced as you felt something wet against the side of your skin and blood splattered across Nikolai's white clothes. You didn't dare look at your own shirt. Your heartbeat was so loud in your ears, and you swore you were about to explode. Nikolai was grinning and laughing maniacally, while you could barely register your own emotions. You slowly turned your head to peer into the cell, but Nikolai put his hand out to block your sight. It was probably for the better, anyways. The stillness already confirmed your husband was dead.

Instead, Nikolai put his hands around your face and crashed his lips onto yours possessively. You closed your eyes as he muttered sweet nothings in between kisses and wrapped your arms around his torso, collapsing as your body slowly gave out and the gun dropped to the floor.

˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

Nikolai kissed your forehead gently again as he wrapped a warm towel around your shivering body. After leaving the murder scene, you'd taken a shower together. You guessed it was like 'washing away your crimes' and getting clean again. It was strange, despite how lovesick he was over you, he didn't touch you sexually at all while washing your body. You thanked him and mustered up a small smile as you turned away from towards the mirror.

"Are you still shaken up, myla?" From your--no, our--first kill?" You stared into your reflection and looked down, basically giving him your answer. "It's okay, it's human to feel guilt and remorse after a death...even a horrible monster like me still feels that way, too!" He beamed at you, giggling contagiously.

You pouted back at him, feeling a slight burden lifted off of you, "Don't call yourself that--you're my lover now..." You mumbled, blushing slightly. You could love each other openly now.

He smirked and hugged your waist, the fabric of his clean white button-up--unbuttoned and exposing his toned six pack--and black slacks pressing against your skin. He'd gotten ready while you were spacing out in front of the fogged-up mirror, but you couldn't help stopping to admire how handsome he was.

"Ahhhh, I almost forgot...I never told you why I fell in love with you in the first place, did I, dove? You looked up at him curiously and he kissed the tip of your nose, "It's because you reminded me of my past self. Unknowingly in a cage, slightly different from the rest--I still remember the pretty little smile you flashed me the day we met and how sweetly you treated me...kinda unprofessional by the way...flirting with a crazy man..." Nikolai slowly trailed his kisses over your jaw and down your neck, making you start to feel warm inside, "I wanted to free you from the control of the outside world...I could tell you already had the willingness to change and just needed a small push." You yelped as Nikolai bit down softly to mark your collarbone and dropped the towel from your body.

You instinctively tried to cover up your body, but Nikolai stopped your arms, placing them on the rim of the sink instead. His hands left your waist to fondle your tit, drawing circles around the hardened bud while his other hand crept down your stomach to slip over your slit. A familiar rose dusted your cheeks as he kissed your neck softly and a moan slipped out from you, "A-ahhh, K-Kolya..." He nudged your jaw up towards the mirror.

The fog had evaporated away, so you could now see your reflection. To see yourself in such a lewd, shameless state, completely naked while Nikolai was basically fully dressed was...you couldn't describe it. He tenderly kissed your skin again before grinning at the mirror and taking his hand off your chest to lift up your face.

"Look how cute you are, dove. You really love my touch, huh~?" He pulled his slick-covered fingers out from your thighs and licked them clean. Watching him do it through the mirror was an enticing sight: it made you want more. Nikolai wasn't oblivious to your slight panting and trembling either. "Watch clearly as I make love to you, pryntsesa." His fingers dipped back into your cunt, parting your folds as his middle finger slipped inside of you while his thumb played with your clit. His other hand resumed massaging your breasts as he licked down his trail of kisses. You couldn't help but mewl at his actions, getting wetter watching the sight in front of you.

It was strange, he was typically rough and forward, but he was unusually soft with you this time. You didn't have time to think about why as he inserted another finger and went at a slightly faster pace, making you start to rock your hips against his hand. You moaned as the sensation coursed through your lower half, fingers gripping the rim of the sink and ass arching into his back, making you blush when you brushed against his clothed bulge.

"Mmmm~Kolya...your fingers...they're--ahh--s'good--"

"Y-yeah? You like 'em, pretty girl?" He heaved into your ear. He wanted to be gentle with you today, but the sight of you in the mirror and the way you were moaning his name so angelically was making him more hot and bothered than he wanted to admit. "C-cum whenever you want, 'kay?" Nikolai pumped his fingers more intensely into you, needy to make you finish as you struggled against his hold, the pressure making you lose balance and lean forward. He sturdied you against his chest again and captured your lips to pull you into a deep kiss, your tongues wrapping around each other.

The coil in your stomach got tighter as his long fingers pressed against your sweet spot, and his pointer and thumb coming together to pinch your sensitive clit finally sent you over the edge. You cried out his name as you came all over his fingers, staining the front of his pants and shaking from the intensity of your orgasm. Nikolai gently kissed away your tears as you came down from your high, hugging your waist and caressing your sides.

You gasped as you heard him unzipping his damp slacks, and you looked in the mirror, your eyes traveling straight down to his hardened member. Nikolai started stroking his length slowly, pale pink tip sticky with pre-cum, as he lowly groaned your name. "S-sorry dove, I--fuck--wanted to play with you more, but I--ah--can't wait any longer..." Heat went straight to your core upon hearing that.

"I-it's fine, p-put it in..." You looked back at him sweetly before parting your folds with your pretty nails, and he grunted after seeing some of your arousal drip down your thighs.

"F-fuck, myla, you're so beautiful~" You hissed at the feeling of Nikolai teasing past your slit before entering you slowly. Even though he'd prepped you more than last time, you still whimpered lightly from the stretch, secretly making him smirk pridefully. He silenced your moans with another gentle kiss as he started thrusting inside of you, lewd sounds bouncing off the walls. Both of his hands went back to your tits to play with them again as he broke away from the kiss, groaning into your neck as he pushed deeper into your pussy. It wasn't enough for him, though.

He lifted your leg up slightly and bent it slightly at an angle before drilling his cock harder into your cunt, your hands pressing close to the mirror as your back arched, so he could go deeper inside you. Nikolai groaned and bit his lip as your walls clenched around his length. He soothed your pleasured cries by kissing down your back, pressing his abs against your hot skin. The foggy reflection of your tits bouncing up and down with his movements and the fucked-out expression on your face made him moan lowly, praising you for taking him so well.

You whined at the tight feeling in your core as your pussy sucked in his cock. The feeling was so good you were moving your hips back and forth to meet his thrusts, ass recoiling perfectly in response. Nikolai was still hyper-focused on leaving hickeys on your skin and squeezing your tender nipples, and his hot breath tickling your neck was driving you crazy. He groaned as you squeezed his length again, pre-cum starting to leave a creamy ring at the base of his cock.

"A-ahh~ I'm close--keep going, p-please--" You begged, desperate to cum and hoping he wouldn't edge you like last time. He smirked, pleased by how needy you were. He nodded, locking you in another messy kiss as his free hand traveled down to your hips. Nikolai pulled away from you slightly before re-entering you harshly, making you see stars.

You choked on your moans as you whimpered his name, pussy clenching around him even more. He was breathing heavily, and his thrusts were getting slower and messier, signaling that he was close, too. You got up slightly on your elbows and looked back at him affectionately, "I love you, Nikolai."

His eyes widened as he pulled your back against his chiseled stomach and buried his face into the crook of your neck, secretly blushing like crazy. His strong arms came back to wrap around your waist, making you yelp when you felt him all the way inside you. "L-love you, too, dove~" He rasped quietly as he came in your pretty cunt.

The warmth made you moan as you followed with your second orgasm, panting at the euphoric sensation. Only Nikolai could make you feel like this. He pulled out slowly and turned your fragile body around towards him, hugging you intimately and kissing your forehead softly. He tucked your damp hair behind your ear and kissed the spot again, "You did so good, myla." You hugged him back, nuzzling into his chest and blushing when you heard his frantic heartbeat.

"I'm so happy you're mine now..." He whispered quietly, kissing your head again before steadying you against the sink to wet a towel and clean himself off. Nikolai bent down a bit to wipe you down, and you impulsively ruffled his fluffy white hair, making him giggle and plant a small kiss on your inner thigh. You smiled adoringly.

So he has his soft moments, too, huh.

˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

Your and Nikolai's hands were intertwined as he led you to a grand dining room. Apparently, you were supposed to have dinner and meet two other members of the Decay of Angels. You fidgeted nervously as you approached the grand dining table, which was decorated with gold candelabras and a cream cloth table runner. Despite the warm decorations, the room still had a slight eerie feel.

The two men seated at the end of the dining table looked up at you. Nikolai had given you some fresh clothes, lending you one of his oversized chunky cream sweaters and a silk midi skirt that he'd quickly sewn out of the sheets. From the occasion, you'd learned about his surprising little hobby. On the other hand, he kept on his white button-up--now loosely buttoned--and just changed into a different pair of black and white striped pants.

Nikolai placed his hand on your waist and beamed excitedly, "Sigma, Dos, meet Dove! She's my lover and is going to be staying with us from now on!" He pushed you forward a bit and you nervously bowed.

"N-nice to meet you both. Thanks for accepting me, and I hope we all get along." You cursed yourself mentally for not coming off as confident as you wanted, but you couldn't help but crack slightly under the two men's stares.

Dos, who was sitting at the head of the table merely sneered silently and continued glaring at you as you sat down next to Nikolai. The man sitting across from you offered you a bashful smile instead, "N-nice to meet you, too. I'm Sigma." You smiled back at him, secretly grateful that he was trying to cut the tension.

Nikolai clapped his hands, "Okay, we've gotten introductions out of the way! Let's eat now~" Your eyes drifted to the bowl of pelmeni soup and borodinsky bread in front of you. To be honest, you were starving but concerned since Dos hadn't touched his food at all and was still intently staring you down.

Sigma cleared his throat and spoke up again, "Y-you can eat the food. It isn't poisoned or anything. Ivan made it." Ivan? You didn't know who that was, but you nodded and thanked him quietly, trying a spoonful of the soup. You wished you could just scarf it down, but you decided to eat in a ladylike manner as to leave a good impression.

You weren't quite sure if you'd impressed Dos, though, who had finally introduced himself as Fyodor Dostoyevsky a few minutes later, resting his chin on his linked hands.

"Welcome. We're the Decay of Angels, a terrorist organization that commits murders and causes great fear and suffering--find a way to make yourself useful or you'll be disposed of--" He stared straight into your eyes, "--by me personally." Your heartbeat increased in fear and your hands went slightly clammy upon hearing that.

Nikolai put down his spoon, "Oi! Be a bit more gentle with her, will you?" Fyodor's gaze left you and he turned to Nikolai, "I know this is the first woman you've interacted with face-to-face in years, but you're already threatening her? Seriously? No wonder you're single..."

Fyodor's eyebrow twitched in response as Sigma turned away, obviously trying to stifle a laugh, and he and Nikolai glared daggers at each other. You hid your face in embarrassment as Fyodor scoffed annoyedly and dismissed himself from the table, taking his dinner with him. So much for getting along.

"God, he hates me now...he's probably going to murder me in my sleep..." You looked sadly at Nikolai, but he only grinned snidely.

"Don't worry about it, ptashka, Dos is just like that. Anyways, the mood's lightened up so much now that he's gone, right?" He giggled maniacally--unserious as always. Sigma chimed in as well, trying to cheer you up,

"Y-yeah! To be honest, I haven't spoken to him much, either, and I've been here for a while. He's just the serious, loner type." You weren't convinced fully, which he noticed. "I-I'm the general manager of the sky casino." You looked up and nodded, hearing about it before--a luxurious place for people to gamble away their fortunes and essentially be ungoverned and off-the-grid. "If you're not doing anything tomorrow, why don't you come and visit? I'll give you some money, on the house!" You perked up at that, taking up Sigma on his offer, much to his relief.

"I'll be going, too, just so you know." Nikolai butted in, making Sigma sigh and tell Nikolai he wasn't invited didn't have to come with. The two bickered back and forth, Nikolai being insistent on going to the casino with you two.

You giggled at that, they were just like real friends. Perhaps your stay here wouldn't be too bad--at least now one more person liked you. Sigma and Nikolai stopped arguing after hearing you laugh and looked at each other before smiling softly at you. You yelped as Nikolai jumped at you suddenly to attack your face with kisses, making Sigma cringe.

˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

You'd finished dinner with Nikolai and Sigma, successfully being cheered up from the previous tension. It wasn't too long-lived though, as Nikolai had asked you to get Fyodor's dirty dishes. You tried to object, but he'd simply just waved his hand at you while he resumed washing the dishes with Sigma.

Knocking on the door to Dos's room, you hesitantly cleared your throat and spoke, "Can I come in? I just need to get your dishes." You heard him shuffle around and click his tongue,

"The door's unlocked. Come in." You gulped before turning the knob and entering. The stone room was cold and barren, with the only 'decoration' being a table holding several different monitors and keyboards. The room was only lit by the screens, which were circling with code and all sorts of data. Fyodor didn't even try to acknowledge your presence or turn around, so you just tried to step around the various cords on the floor and grab his bowl in front of him.

He was reading a book in his chair and still didn't speak a word, but you could feel his glares cutting into the back of your neck, sending shivers down your spine. You grabbed the bowl and turned back around--again trying to avoid stepping on any cords--and your eyes curiously tried to see what book he was reading.

He rotated his chair briefly, "You know, being a housewife isn't--"

"Crime and Punishment?! Oh, I remember reading that book in the asylum's library. It's a great commentary on the transformative power of guilt and the possibility of redemption, isn't it?" You chirped, instantly regretting your impulsive input on the book. Why did you have to be such a bookworm?

Fyodor's eyes widened slightly as he closed his mouth, truly caught off-guard, "Yes, it is." He went back to his book as you shyly smiled and made your way through the cords, back finally turned away from him. He paused, "You can borrow it if you like. I can give it to you tomorrow after breakfast."

You stopped in your tracks, turning your head slightly. You were only met with the sight of his chair, though. "R-really? T-that would be nice, actually...Thank you." You trailed slowly towards the door before leaving. "G-goodnight!" Flustered, you closed the door quickly, missing him saying it back and the pale rose that was dusting his cheeks.

˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

Life with the Decay of Angels had been going surprisingly well. It had been two months since Nikolai had taken you to the base, and you'd adjusted in that time span.

You got close with Sigma, who admitted he was a bit intimidated and scared of you at first because you were Nikolai's lover, but he was relieved you weren't exactly like him. Fyodor had become more open and accepting of you, and you both mostly connected over the literature he would share with you. Nikolai tried to keep you away from him as much as possible, though he would never tell you why...

You had become a decoy of sorts and helped Nikolai on the ground with disguises and espionage. Currently, you were both infiltrating Mersault. You had learned that the true reason for Nikolai coming to the asylum was to get a hold of the space-creating ability that both Mersault and the asylum were built with. Fyodor was hoping to harness it to build a secret, impenetrable base for the Decay of Angels.

Criminal profiling and socialization skills from your previous attendant position had come in handy when going undercover, along with your "feminine charm" that none of the other members possessed. Of course, Nikolai was all too excited to have you working with him, never missing the chance for quickies or subtle flirting and teasing. You couldn't exactly say that you hated it, though...

Whenever you walked around in public, you would occasionally see a "missing" poster with your face and information on it. You would always discreetly rip up and toss them, though, having no desire to be found or go back to your old life.

After all, you'd finally crossed the threshold from the ordinary world to a new life with your true lover. You'd been freed, and you were never going back.

˚₊‧꒰ა bad ending໒꒱ ‧₊˚

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