Katherine Luann Morrow

Story 12: Chibs/Juice

Summary: Summary: Part of the Three: The Magic Number Series. Reader/OC x 2 of the Sons/Mayans. Purely smut with occasional plot/humor. 18+. Smut below the cut!

Chibs sat sipping whiskey with his eyes closed as he stroked his cock. The sounds of your whines and moans teasing him through the gag in your mouth. He smiled as he heard the sharp sound of a smack and a strangled sob come from you. Opening one eye he took in the sight on the bed. Your expression was one of cock drunkness as drool pooled around the gag and dripped down your chin and neck. Glistening in the light as your head was pulled back farther making you moan. Tears mixed with your makeup running down your face.

You were bound in an intricate display of ropes. Tits bouncing with each powerful thrust of the man behind you. Skin littered with love bites. Ass bouncing back and turning red and blue from Juices hand. Juices breathing was ragged and his thrust were getting sloppy as his release built up. “Chibs” he grunted as the men made eye contact.

“Aye Laddie. I’m ready for my next go” replied Chibs as he stood up and moved towards the bed. Juice came with another deep thrust and smack to your ass that triggered your own release.

“Kitten is soaked” laughed Chibs as he watched a mix of your arousal and their cum flow down your thighs as Juice pulled out of you. Juice planted a kiss to your forehead as he moved to sit in the chair that Chibs had just vacated.

You squirmed trying to get away as you let out desperate please as Chibs slid the tip of his cock through your messy folds. It was too much. Your body couldn’t take anymore.

“Shh, its okay kitten.” Soothed Chibs as he pressed kisses to your back as his hands kneaded your bruised ass cheeks while his cock rested between them. “Been so good for me and Juice. Such a good girl” he cooed as he kept up his gentle kisses and kneading. Feeling your body relax underneath him. “Going to let her rest a bit yeah.” He stated as he rose back up and raised your hip slightly before spreading your ass cheeks open.

“You have another hole we can use” he murmured before spitting on your ass hole and using one of his thumbs to work it in. You whined and you’re back arched at the intrusion. After a few minutes of Chibs loosening you up you felt his cock head start to push in slowly. “Shits just as tight as her pussy” grunted Chibs to Juice who was watching intently as his cock bobbed up and down. He barely gave you a moment once he was completely in before he was fucking you with abandon. His hands keeping you pressed firmly down in the bed as he used you.

Later

“Did so good” whispered Juice as he sat behind you in the tub washing your hair as Chibs fed you pieces of cheese and grapes from the side of  it. “Very good love. Just like always” agreed Chibs as you smiled at him.

Return to Masterlist

Unexpected Visitor

Pairing: Spencer Reid x G!n Reader

WC: 788

A/N: A lil Spencer Xmas Blurb while I figure my shit out. Also! I'm imagining older seasons Spencer for this one.

"Hi! I'm, uh, so sorry to bug you but, um, do you know where Spe--Doctor Reid's desk is? Or, really, where D-Doctor Reid is?" .

Derek Morgan had to get his shit together because his jaw almost dropped when you walked in. What was some hot piece of ass doing, dressed like that, looking for Boy Genius.

He jumped up from his chair and strolled over to where you had stopped Garcia, who was just as flabbergasted as he was. "Reid is currently in a meeting sweetheart--may I ask what you, uh, want with him?"

You raised your eyebrows at the 'sweetheart', but smiled anyways. "He was supposed to be home about an hour ago and he wasn't answering his phone, so instead of panicking, because I know what you do for work, I wanted to come in and check before I lost my shit."

"Home?" Garcia squeaked out, still baffafled by how gorgeous you looked. It was like you were sent straight from heaven, a literal vision.

You nodded and tilted your head, slightly confused. "Y-Yeah...I'm sorry why is that---"

"We just didn't know Reid was living with anyone, let alone seeing someone."

"Ah." You nodded. "He's private like that, isn't he." Your smile warmed the two of them, and you shifted the coat from one arm to the other.

"y/n?"

You turned your head towards the back of the bullpen, and Spencer was walking out of Hatch's office. "What are you doing here?"

"Being introduced to your friends and coworkers since you haven't."

Spencer bit the inside of his cheeks and walked over to you both, placing his hand on the small of your back. You felt how tense he was.

"I'm here because our reservation is in twenty minutes and you said you'd be home over an hour ago." You looked at Spencer, whose eyes went a little wide.

"Shit. I-I didn't realize what time it was---"

"I have your suit in the car, and this is why I made the reservation for eight pm, instead of Seven."

"And this is why I love you." Spencer kissed your head and rushed over to his desk, scrambling to grab all of his papers and his bag and his coat and his scarf and his--

"Hi Y/n." Spencer looked up at the mention of your name, pausing in his frantic nature.

"Hi Aaron." You gave him a quick hug, but a bright smile. "How are you?"

"Well." He laughed a little. "I'd be better if we didn't have to work the day before Christmas Eve since I still need to wrap all of Jack's presents still."

"Oh how is Jack!"

"He's doing well. finally starting to enjoy reading, no thanks to you."

You laughed at his joke, all the while Derek and Garcia just shared an incredulous look. How the hell did you know Hotch? Jack?!? Why does Jack's reading habits connect to you--

"Ready sweetheart?" Spencer appeared at your side and you nodded. "It was lovely to see you Aaron. I'll stop by some time tomorrow to drop off Jack's gifts as well as yours. I got it when Spence I and went to Paris last month. I think you'll enjoy it!"

"That's why you weren't here for two weeks?" Penelope's jaw was on the floor. "I didn't take you to be a Parisian man Doctor Reid."

"W-Well, um--"

"It was for my birthday. My choice. I love art and museums so it made sense. Well, it was lovely to meet you all but we have a reservation to get to." You gave them all a quick smile before taking Spencer's hand and walking towards the elevator, your shoes clicking on the floor with every step you took.

"How long have the two of them been together?" Morgan turned to Hotch after you both had gotten in the elevator.

"I think today is their two year anniversary."

"TWO YEARS." Garcia clutched her hypothetical pearls. "How have I not known? How have WE not known?"

"He's private, and...well. You know Y/n."

"No we clearly do not know Hotch."

Hotch gave them a little smirk and a shrug. "Merry Christmas guys. I'll see you on the twenty-seventh."

As Hotch walked away, Garcia and Morgan just stared at one another. "So we're..."

"Going to spend then next ten minutes in my office finding everything out about this mystery person Spencer has been apparently dating for two years?"

"You read my mind mama. A little Christmas snooping never hurt anyone..."

filling an empty vase - roy kent x reader

pairing: roy kent x reader

word count: 3.4k (genuinely don't know how that happened)

warnings: language (duh) and some suggestive themes. the word shagging, which is too british not to include i'm afraid

a/n: this was an anonymous request that i'm not going to put here because it kinda ruins the whole plot! but it was such a fabulous request, so thank you anon, for giving me so much space to play. if you're not sure this is your request, you mentioned "Mr I Never Smile Kent" which funnily enough, made me smile!! enjoy sunflowers <3

---

You were such a professional in so many ways, but yet again you found your focus drifting during your meeting with the rest of the coaches. Your eyes find Roy’s face with such ease, lingering on the newly thicker beard he’s been sporting recently, then travelling down to broad shoulders, ones that fill out the door frame so nicely when he folds his arms. You’re so lucky he’s always folding his arms.

Before you can move onto admiring those arms, you see his head turn towards you and you look away before you can be caught. Instead of glancing at his face to see if he’s still looking at you, you decide it’s easier to join the conversation. As the goalkeeping coach, there isn’t always much you can contribute to these discussions, but they’re very insistent on including you.

“The only thing you need to be careful of is their counter-press,” you chime in, “Mind that the boys don’t get complacent in possession or my guy will be a sitting duck out there.”

“Good thinkin, Abe Lincoln. Why don’t we add that to our pre-game talk, coach, make sure someone’s watchin’ Zoreaux’s back at all times?”

“Already writing it down, coach,” Beard replied, gaining a double thumbs up from Ted who then continued talking. Even though you’d hardly been listening, you knew to do enough research beforehand so that you were free to let your mind wander and only speak up with a few key points.

You tune back in when you recognise the gruff tone of the very man you’re trying not to admire again.

“No. Y/N stole my fucking thing. I’ve gone over the rest in training,” he says dryly, and you duck your head to your lap to hide your smirk. Of course the two of you were on the same page about strategy, you always were. Usually he got to say it before you though, “Can we go now?”

“Unless anyone’s got anythin’ they want to add?” Ted looks around at everyone’s blank and frankly, very tired faces, “Not even somethin’ personal? Deep dark secret? Scandalous love affair, that kinda thing? Higgins, you look like there’s somethin’ right on the tip of that tongue.”

“I’m leaving,” Roy announced, walking into his office and shutting the door, even going so far as to shut the blinds on both windows before he presumably sat at his desk. You sighed and got up from your perch on the desk to take a step towards the dressing room.

“Afraid I’ve got some work to get done before I go home too,” you say, trying to be at least slightly nicer than Roy about it, “We can get personal tomorrow, alright Ted?”

He agrees with a happy grin on his face and you say goodbye to him, Beard and Trent collectively with a salute before turning on your heel and waving a goodbye to any of the team still around as you leave. You don’t go far. Unable to help yourself, you knock on Roy’s office door from the other side and shuffle your weight between your feet as you wait.

“Fuck off,” comes the greeting, so you open the door and slip inside.

“Even if it’s me?”

His head turns at the sound of your voice and suddenly his features look a special kind of soft, even in the harsh overhead lighting. He swivels his chair fully to face you, but makes no other move.

“Especially if it’s you,” he confirms, folding his arms again like he knew the effect he had on you, “You’re a fucking pervert.”

You gasp, clutching at the door handle behind you in a show of shock.

“I’m a what?”

“You heard me. Staring at me like you do in meetings wasn’t in your job description when we hired you, last I checked.”

“Last I checked, shagging your goalkeeping coach wasn’t in your job description, but you made pretty quick work of it.”

That was enough to get him moving. He’s quick out of his chair for a man with a bad knee, quick to crowd you against the wall just next to the door. Someone would have to really peer in to see the two of you, something he’d probably calculated even though your mind was already blank at the new proximity. 

“You’re right,” he says, voice sinfully low, hands either side of your hips but not touching you yet, “And I was staring at you the whole fucking meeting anyway, so I’m a pervert and a hypocrite.”

“Well, I don’t know if I can keep on with you if you’re both. One of them, maybe I can look past it, but both?”

Finally, one hand comes off the wall to stroke a line down your side with the backs of his knuckles. You try not to give him the satisfaction of shivering, but fail miserably.

“Think you can brave it?” he murmurs, that same hand brushing along your cheekbone, still all rough knuckles instead of his palm, “I’ll take you to Big Tesco later.”

Your whole face brightens despite the heavy tension that had settled like a mist in the room. You reach up to gently hold his wrist, stroking a thumb back and forth over the pulse that jumped there.

“Shit, you know the way to a girl’s heart, Kent,” you whisper, syrupy and cloying, “I take it all back. We can go as long as you like.”

The innuendo drew the growl from him that you’d been hoping for. The hand at your cheek was quick to turn until he was cupping your face and pulling you into him, kissing you deep and slow and longingly. Each kiss with him was better than the last. Yes, it had started hot and desperate after a month of unbearable electricity between you, a rushed encounter at a hotel after a particularly adrenaline-filled away game. 

Ever since, Roy had slowed things down. Not in the way you’d perhaps expected - he was still hot and heavy whenever the two of you got the chance, but he was taking his time with you. Teasing and learning. Nobody had ever treated you like this before, like you were something to be revered. Worshipped.

It was the same now, as he anchored himself with a hand on your back, pulling you further in, kissing you with genuine hunger.

“Roy? Can I come and get my stuff.”

Trent. It was always Trent. You liked the man so much, spent a lot of time with him, in fact, but if he interrupted you and Roy one more time, you had half a mind to hide his manuscript or something.

Roy did his special silent groan that he did whenever he couldn’t groan aloud, where he glared at the ceiling as he broke away from you and then clenched his fists in front of him. It was adorable, not that you would tell him that.

“All good,” you whisper, despite it definitely not being all good. It was entirely a joint decision not to tell the team about the two of you yet, but sometimes you wished you could announce it to the whole fucking world if it would get you some alone time.

You squeeze his hand and slip away to the adjoining door between his and Ted’s office. You hear Roy grunt for Ted to come in behind you, but you squeeze through into the other room before you hear any more of their inevitably one-sided conversation. Ted turns to you brightly as you enter.

“Decided you wanted to get personal sooner, Y/N?” he grins, and you can tell he isn’t really serious.

“Just forgot my keys,” you said sheepishly, retrieving them from the desk where you’d left them completely on purpose. It was always good to have a back-up plan and Roy wasn’t the only quick thinker between you, “See you tomorrow, Coach.”

“Can’t wait, coach!”

As you exit for real this time, glancing into Roy’s office as you pass, you take out your phone to shoot him a text. You’re saved under an unassuming name in his phone, so even if Trent sees it, he’ll be none the wiser.

We’re still on for tonight, right? The way I navigate a Big Tesco will blow your mind x

You press send with a smile to yourself, continuing on towards your office to pack up for the evening. Your phone buzzes before you even get there.

You blow my mind every fucking day. See you soon x

God, you could clutch your phone to your chest and squeal in the corridor, but instead, you speed up your walk to get home as quickly as possible. There was no harm in getting all dressed up to go to the supermarket when you were going with an insanely fit professional footballer, you reasoned.

---

Big Tesco. The place dreams are made of, or at least it was when you were younger and felt like you could get lost in the aisles and never return. Nowadays, it was likely nostalgia that kept you coming back, but it still felt like your first Big Tesco trip with Roy was a pretty big deal.

Mainly you needed snacks for movie night, but Roy was happy to indulge you and drive twenty minutes away for this if that’s what you wanted.

“If we’re doing Julia Roberts, we have to do Pretty Woman, obviously.”

“And Erin fucking Brockovich,” Roy agreed, “But if we do Sandra Bullock, we get the modern day masterpiece that is Miss Congeniality.”

“Oh, I still need to see that one!”

Roy stops, Pringles tube hovering above the trolley. He looks at you like he’s seeing you for the first time and he doesn’t like what he sees.

“Right, we’re doing Bullock then, if I have to fucking culture you as well as buy your snacks.”

“We’re splitting the snacks-”

“The fuck we are,” he cut in, already contradicting himself, “I was fucking joking, please can we not get into another snack debate. You bought them last time.”

“Fine. And I’m happy with Sandy, too, so you win twice, buddy,” you grin at him, not expecting him to grin back but ecstatic when he does. You have half a mind to press him up against the Doritos and finish what you’d started earlier, but you have plenty of time for that in appropriate places later.

You had all night, in fact, post-Sandra Bullock marathon. The thought brings a particular movie to mind.

“As long as we throw Two Weeks Notice in there too.”

“Hugh Grant? No.”

“Oh come on, he’s a national treasure,” you argue, sliding your arm through his as the two of you continue your journey through the aisles.

“He’s a fucking idiot, is what he is,” Roy bites back, as he picks up the chocolate he knows you love, “I’ll allow The Proposal.”

“You know what, that’s a better choice anyway. We have a deal if we can make a stop in the homeware section after this?” you say hopefully, excited when he sighs and nods. You kiss his shoulder as you continue walking, “We’re so fucking good at this compromising shit!”

You lean away from him enough to hold your hand up for a high five. He indulges you reluctantly with a light slap from his own.

“We are. It’s cause I’m so fucking nice.”

“To me,” you add, staring up at him as he slows the trolley to a stop beside the biscuits. He takes your face in his hands after a moment.

“To you, yeah,” he agrees, voice all soft like it had been earlier. You’re not going to kiss him senseless in a supermarket, the two of you had some shame and a lot of love for privacy, but it was nice to indulge in something like this, a sweet moment shared without fear of anyone seeing the two of you. You turn your head to kiss his palm, “You’ve sent me all fucking soft.”

“You love it.”

“Love you, more like,” he says, for the first fucking time, in a Big Tesco. You’d found out you were getting a party bus for your 10th birthday here too, so it was a location for big occasions. You kiss his palm; once, twice, three times.

“You have to say the I or it doesn’t mean anything,” you tease, but you’re beaming up at him as he strokes the skin underneath your eyes and you almost let them flutter shut.

“Who fucking told you that? Sounds like shit Jamie would say.”

“Jan Maas.”

“Fucking prick,” he says, then a moment later, “I love you, then, if you fucking insist.”

“I do insist,” you giggle, leaning forward until your face is in his chest so you can safely say: “I love you too.”

Its a little muffled, but thankfully he doesn’t ask you to repeat it again like you think he will. He just wraps his arms around your shoulders and keeps you close to him for a long while.

“Roy? Hey boyo!!”

You freeze in place, face still hidden. If anything, Roy’s arms tighten around you rather than letting go as he turns to see Colin waving at him, alongside Sam, Isaac, Jamie and the aforementioned Jan Maas. They all pile over towards him and you know its a matter of time before they realise its you. Jamie’s already bounding over as if he’s won the lottery.

“Roy’s got a girl! A real woman, like!” Jamie exclaims as he reaches them and you decide to get this over with sooner than later, lifting your head to stare at him wearily. He frowns, “Oh. Y/N, hiya.”

Of course he isn’t connecting any dots. He isn’t quite the connecting type, however much you love him to little pieces. Sam is staring at you a lot more knowingly, Isaac stuck with his mouth open. They’ve all caught on a little quicker than Jamie.

“The two of you together,” Jan muses, “I do not believe this is a pairing made to last.”

“Oi, Jan Maas,” Isaac pipes up, especially as Roy’s already stepped forward to threaten him, “Not cool.”

“I am just telling you the truth. You are both a little grumpy, you will not have the needed balance.”

“We’re balancing perfectly fucking well, thank you,” Roy says, and you can hear that he’s gritting his teeth, “As a team. Of coaches. Because that’s what we fucking are.”

Oh, he was going to play the ‘it wasn’t what it looked like’ card? You weren’t expecting it, but you’d happily back him up if he wanted you to.

“You are telling me that was a friend hug?” Sam asks, voice full of disbelief. You look up at Roy to see what he’ll say to that, but he’s already looking down at you with an untraceable look on his face. When he finally looks back at the boys, he takes your hand in his.

“No. It was a fucking boyfriend-girlfriend hug, alright? Any of you tell anyone before we do and I’ll feed you to a fucking monitor lizard.”

You’d watched a documentary about them last night that had likely led to that threat. Jamie’s snickering but tries to sober up when Roy immediately turns to him. He holds his hands up in surrender.

“I’m sorry mate, I am, I’ve jus’ never heard a grown man say ‘boyfriend-girlfriend’ before,” he says, back to giggling by the end of his sentence and Jan Maas is quick to dissolve into full blown laughter. You bring a hand up to your mouth to hide your own amusement, lest Roy feel betrayed by it.

“Right, fuck off and leave us alone then. We’re on a tight fucking movie night schedule and I won’t have you twats throwing us off.”

“Hey! That’s why we’re here! If we’re all doing movie night, why don’t you join us?” Sam asks, and you can see he’s teasing even if Roy can’t tell. Still, you take it as an opportunity to stake your claim as you wrap an arm around Roy’s bicep and cling to him.

“Look, you lot hog this man all day every day. I’m taking him home and we’ll see you tomorrow, alright?”

It was very Roy of you, just with the addition of a wink at the end that told the boys you were half-joking. Jamie seemed almost impressed, while Sam was trying not to laugh at you. That man never took you seriously, and you loved it.

“We’ll leave you to it then,” Isaac decided, dragging Jamie backwards a little by the collar when he opened his mouth to tease Roy one final time, “Enjoy your night, yeah? See you tomorrow.”

Roy grunted his goodbye, but you waved back at them when they waved, mostly at you. Jamie mouthed something at Roy but, luckily for you both, Roy couldn’t work it out.

“Pricks,” he mutters once they’re far away enough not to hear him and you let out a little snort.

“They were very nice about that, you know? I was expecting a lot worse,” you said, pleasantly surprised at the lack of proper teasing. You knew there was likely more to come once they’d had a while to process it, but still. There was a certain weight lifted knowing that someone had finally been told.

“Do people not say boyfriend-girlfriend anymore?” he asks abruptly, looking down at you from where you’re still clinging to him. You grin at up at him.

“We should bring it back. I love boyfriend-girlfriend. I think that’s how we should introduce ourselves to people from now on.”

He rolled his eyes at the sarcasm in your voice, but tugged you into a quick, public appropriate kiss nonetheless.

“Let’s get you some fucking hobnobs and then we can go and look at fancy glassware, yeah?,” he announces, shaking his head with such obvious fondness when you cheer and turn to the biscuits. He stays close, a hand hovering near your back, and you’re a little worried movie night might be forgotten when you get home given how handsy the two of you have been all day. You resume your shopping tucked into his side, and only bump into the boys twice more on your trip around the wonders of Big Tesco.

Later, when you’re eventually curled into Roy’s side during a movie night that started way later than intended, your phone buzzes a few too many times in a row to ignore. You glance at Roy quizzically as you grab it, seeing a bunch of texts coming in from Sam.

Couldn’t resist. Don’t let Roy hate me. I’ve deleted them on my phone now, so they’re just yours. Lunch tomorrow?

Roy grumbled a little beside you as he read over your shoulder, but really he should have gotten used to your occasional lunch plans with Sam by now, even if he liked having you all to himself for at least one hour during the day. You settle into him even more as you scroll through a bunch of photos Sam’s attached with wide eyes.

You staring up at Roy. Roy kissing you. The grins on both your faces when you part. Then one that has you reeling, where you’re facing the biscuits with your hands on your hips and Roy is looking at you. Enthralled. You’re not even fucking doing anything.

“That little shit,” Roy breathes, squeezing your thigh where his hand was already resting.

“I love them,” you say instead of responding, tilting your head back to look at Roy, “Our first proper photos together.”

“They look like a fucking pap took them,” he complains, but he's still studying them and you can tell he likes them really.

“Look how happy we look," you’re stuck on how he looks at you when you’re not even looking at him. When there’s nothing to be gained from it. You glance at the new vase sitting on your coffee table, with fresh flowers Roy had insisted on because 'if we're getting a fucking vase we have to fucking fill it'. Here he was, filling your life with so many little pieces of joy.

“Well we are fucking happy, aren’t we?”

There's a little bit of vulnerability in his question, like he needs confirmation. You lock your phone and toss it to the side, knowing you can reply to Sam in a bit. For now, you pause the movie and clamber to straddle Roy’s lap, seeing that look on his face again as he stares up at you. It only spurs you on.

“We’re very fucking happy, Roy.”

He grins, which is rare, but then he kisses you and that’s not rare at all.

(roy makes a mental note to thank sam for the pictures tomorrow, even if he tells him to do extra laps in the same sentence to maintain the balance)

Free Fallin' (jack abbot x f!reader)

18+ account - minors do not interact

jack abbot x university proffesor f!reader Word Count: 4.4K Rating: E

Summary: On your birthday, your best friend convinces you to celebrate in a big way. The night takes a wild turn when you get a little too rowdy and accidentally fall off a bar table, ending up in the emergency room. There, you meet the charming and handsome Doctor Abbot.

Or simply…

You’re hot for your doctor. And he’s hot for you too.

Warning: reader is 30 (adjunct professor & PhD candidate), meet-cute, language, alcohol use, implied age gap (jack is however old you want), internal thoughts about aging as a woman, mentions of a mild injury, sexual tension, smutty thoughts, mutual pining, flirting, brief jealousy (jack is not amused), banter (i hope its witty enough), romcom vibes, fluff, implied smut

A/N: This came to me, and I just had to write it. Brainrot is real. Also, I am not a doctor, so I apologize if anything is medically inaccurate. Thank you Google for your support while I researched. Ok, running away now!

Jack Abbot Masterlist

You woke up with a sharp, pounding ache behind my eyes, the kind that made your head feel like it was in a vice. Blinking against the sterile white ceiling, you immediately noticed the dull throbbing that told you that you had definitely taken a fucking fall. Your whole body felt sore, and a faint, lingering dizziness made the edges of your vision wobble.

Beside you, your best friend Naomi sat in a chair, her shoulders hunched, her face streaked with tears and sniffles. She looked up as you stirred, her eyes glassy with relief and worry. "Thank God," she whispered, her voice trembling. "You’re awake."

You wanted to ask what happened, why you were here, but the pain in your head made the words come out muffled and fuzzy. She reached over, grasping my hand tightly. "You had a pretty bad fall," she explained softly. "You slipped off the bar table during karaoke, and you hit your head pretty hard. One moment you were belting out the chorus, and the next, you were sprawled on the floor, auditioning for a new role as a human pancake,"

Your lips twisted into a weak smile at the absurdity of the situation. The image of yourself flopping onto the floor during karaoke—hit you. The pain made your head hurt, but you couldn’t stop the giggle from spilling out.

It was coming back to you. You really took singing Free Fallin’ a bit too literally—literally falling off the bar table. So, lesson learned: next time don’t mix your fucking liquor.

Just then, a calm, reassuring voice interrupted. "Excuse me,"

It was a very handsome man.

He was painfully good looking.

He stepped into view, his eyes kind and professional.

"I know you might not remember me since you were going in and out of consciousness, but I’m Dr. Abbot, and I’m the doctor on your case. When you were brought in by ambulance, I was the one who examined you. You suffered some bleeding on your forehead from the fall, so I bandaged it up to stop the bleeding. You’re experiencing a mild concussion, but there’s no internal bleeding or serious brain injury."

As Dr. Abbot moved closer—you felt a 'ga-gunk' in your chest and thought it was probably just related to your lingering dizziness. He carefully adjusted the monitor at the foot of your bed, attaching the leads to your chest and checking your pulse at your wrist.

He glanced at the chart hanging beside your bed, his brow furrowing slightly as he noted your vitals—heart rate, blood pressure, oxygen levels—all within normal ranges. The soft beeping of the monitor was a steady backdrop to his calm voice as he explained each finding.

But your eyes kept drifting upward, drawn to the broad curve of his shoulders in his black scrubs. The way his sleeves stretched slightly over his biceps caught your attention, and you couldn’t help but notice the subtle tension and strength in his arms as he moved.

Your eyes lingered a little longer than intended, caught on the lines of muscle beneath the fabric, the way his forearms flexed as he reached to check your IV. You quickly looked away when he caught your gaze, feeling a burn creeping up your cheeks.

"Typically, patients with concussions are observed overnight, at least for 24 hours, to monitor for any worsening symptoms. Since you’re stable and your symptoms are manageable, we’ll keep you here for a few hours for observation, and then we can reassess. Do you have any questions?"

You hesitated, your tongue feeling heavy and awkward. The words caught in your throat, and instead of trying to speak, you simply shook your head, your eyes flickering downward as if the answer was written there instead.

"I’ll be back soon." He offered a gentle smile and stepped out of the room, leaving you alone with Naomi.

Naomi immediately perked up, her tear-streaked face softening as she watched you settle back into the pillows. Her eyes twinkled mischievously as she leaned closer and lowered her voice. "I overheard the nurses talking," she said, a smirk tugging at her lips. "They say Dr. Abbot’s single."

You rolled your eyes, pinching her, and Naomi chuckled softly, stretching her arms above her head.

"You should go home," you told her. "You look like shit."

She scoffed, stubborn as ever. "Fuck off," she shot back, but her eyes softened as she reached out, giving your hand a reassuring squeeze. "But seriously, I’m glad you’re okay."

"Thanks, girl. Go get some rest—you might need it more than I do right now."

"Happy Birthday!"

Your eyes drifted toward the clock on the wall. The minute hand had just reached the twelve—midnight. The second hand swept steadily, marking the moment when your birthday officially began.

You let out a dry chuckle, sarcasm curling around your words as you glanced at the clock. "Well, nothing screams celebration like a concussion and a hospital stay." Internally, though, your stomach clenched. Honestly, you’d been dreading this birthday—more than you cared to admit. There was something about turning 30 as a woman that felt... stressful. Sure, aging was a privilege—something to be grateful for—but lately, you’d been feeling scared about it. Thirty wasn’t old, not by any stretch, but it definitely didn’t feel young anymore. You weren’t in your 20s anymore, and that realization was going to take some getting used to.

Naomi leaned in for a quick hug. "I’ll check in later tonight. Or I guess it’s today now? But if you need anything—anything at all—just text me or call me."

"Thanks. Love you."

"Love you too. Rest up. You’ve got an entire new decade to conquer," she teased.

As the door swung open again, Dr. Abbot stepped in, a small tray in hand with a syringe and a couple of pill bottles.  He set the tray down carefully on the bedside table and looked at you with a slight smile. "Just some more medication to help you with the pain," he said softly. "And to help you sleep and make sure you’re comfortable. To be safe, we’re going to keep you here for 24 hours for observation."

A strange wave of embarrassment washed over you at his words. The reality of your situation sank in—this wasn’t just a quick bump and a bandage; they wanted to monitor you overnight. The thought of being stuck in the hospital made you feel like a dumbass.

You blinked, then hesitated before speaking. "You know, I… I almost never drink,"

Dr. Abbot paused for a moment. "Oh?" he prompted softly, a slight arch of his brow as he prepared to hear what you had to say.

You shifted uncomfortably, feeling the heat rise in your face. "I feel like a fucking idiot," you admitted quickly, the words tumbling out before you could second-guess yourself. "I’m the boring one in my friend group. I’m an adjunct professor at Carnegie Mellon, while I complete my PhD dissertation, so I’m usually grading papers, preparing lectures, or doing research—you know? I’m not the type to get drunk on a Thursday night. I don’t really go out much. I’m usually the type to stay in, read a book, or binge-watch some murder mystery documentary."

You sighed, a little embarrassed now. "My best friend convinced me to throw a birthday party with my closest friends, even though I didn’t want to celebrate. I hate birthdays, honestly. Always have. But she said it was important and that I needed to let loose… and well, here we are." You looked down at your hands, feeling exposed and a bit vulnerable, wondering if your doctor thought you were pathetic.

He paused for a beat, then offered a gentle, reassuring smile. "You know," he began, trying to lighten the mood, "I don’t even remember my 30th birthday. The only thing I remember is waking up in a bathtub after what I can only assume was a pretty wild night. No idea how I got there. Next thing I knew, I had to go in for a shift—completely hungover. Shit happens."

You glanced up, surprised by his openness. His tone was easy, almost amused, as if sharing a little secret. He gave a small, deliberate nod and reached for the syringe on the tray. His eyes briefly flicked to your face, studying you with an almost clinical attentiveness, but beneath that, there was a subtle softness—an unspoken kindness that lingered in his gaze. He gently inserted the syringe into your IV port, administering the medication with careful steadiness. His fingers, though deliberate, brushed lightly against your wrist as he checked your veins.

"You mentioned you’re an adjunct. What do you teach?"

"Economics. Specifically, game theory."

A small, almost appreciative smile touched his lips. "Ah, game theory. That’s a fascinating field—complex, strategic, and very precise. I imagine your classes must be quite engaging. Do you find it challenging to keep your students interested with such abstract concepts?"

"It depends on the class, but I try to make it as interactive as possible," you said, forcing a smile. Inside, though, you were in pain, and you winced as you spoke, hoping he wouldn’t notice.

As Dr. Abbot finished administering the medication, he paused for a moment, his eyes lingering on yours with a subtle, almost inscrutable expression. He seemed to sense something was off.

"Game theory," he began softly, his voice smooth and deliberate, "is all about understanding the strategies of others—predicting their moves, and then choosing your own accordingly. Maybe I can apply that here." He tilted his head slightly. "In this hospital room, I suppose we're both playing a kind of game. You're trying to recover, and I’m trying to ensure you're safe. My goal is to make sure you're not in any pain, and yours—" he paused "—is to let me know if anything feels off.”

He leaned in just slightly, his tone still light but precise. "You could try to hide discomfort, acting as if everything’s fine—maybe bluffing to keep the game going. Or, you might be straightforward, signaling clearly if something's bothering you. But I’m watching for those signals—every subtle shift, every reaction." His eyes pierced into your soul. "I’m trying to read your moves—predicting whether you’re in pain or just playing it cool."

There was a brief pause before he continued, his voice soft but focused. "And I suppose I’m deciding whether to make a move now—maybe ask more directly—or wait and see if you reveal your hand." His beautiful eyes flicked over your face, measuring, attentive, as if probing for clues.

You started to feel the effects of the medication—your thoughts drifting, your senses slightly dulled, yet the way he looked at you made your heartbeat quicken. The combination of his words and the gentle sedation created a strange, intoxicating feeling.

Suddenly, with a breathless laugh, you blurted out, "You know... you’re really fucking handsome." The words tumbled out despite the pain you were trying to hide. The medication made your voice softer, your words more honest and unfiltered. You winced again, silently telling him you were in pain, your face betraying your attempt to keep up the act.

A flicker of surprise crossed his face for just a moment before he composed himself again, a subtle, knowing smirk forming, rubbing his scruff to hide his smile. "Well," he replied, voice steady and measured, as if he’d been waiting for that admission all along. "It seems you’re quite good at playing your hand."

As the medication’s gentle grip began to take hold, your eyelids grew heavier, the edges of your vision softening into a haze. The steady rhythm of the monitor seemed to lull you further into a drowsy state. Your head sank slightly into the pillow, and your breathing slowed, each inhale more relaxed than the last.

With a faint, breathless whisper, you managed to voice the question that had been lingering in your mind. "What’s your name?"

"Jack," he replied quietly.

You paused, savoring the sound of his name on your tongue, a soft, almost breathless repetition. "Jack," you echoed, the word slipping out with a tender, lingering tone before your eyelids fluttered shut, and the room gently faded into darkness.

The next morning, the hospital room was quiet but busy with the steady hum of activity outside your door. You woke slowly, the lingering fog of medication still dulling your senses, but feeling surprisingly clearer than the night before. Your body was less sore, and the pounding in your head had abated to a dull throb.

You waited a few hours before calling your parents, who lived in New York, because if you had reached out last night, they would have thought you were dying. You didn’t want them to worry, since they already didn’t love the fact that you lived in Pittsburg away from family.

After finally summoning the courage to call, you could hear your mother’s voice cracking when she spoke, trying to sound stable but failing. You could almost see her clutching the phone tightly. Meanwhile, your father’s voice burst with a flurry of questions—how you were feeling, what exactly happened, which hospital you were at, and what the doctors were saying. His tone was urgent, almost frantic, and you could tell he was weighing the options in his mind, close to booking a flight himself just to make sure you were okay.

You had to remind them both that it was just a concussion, that Naomi would be keeping a close eye on you, and that you were in good hands. You reassured them that you were doing fine, and that you would rest and follow the doctor’s instructions.

Still, you understood their worry—distance made everything worse.

Dr. Abbot—or Jack came in a few times throughout the day, each visit brief but impactful. He checked your vitals meticulously, his eyes flicking between the monitor and your face. Each time, he seemed to study you carefully as if trying to gauge how well you were really doing.

He was so attentive.

It was making you feel crazy inside. And horny.

You had to remind yourself he was just doing his job.

Your nurses, Dana and Princess, meanwhile, cast subtle glances in his direction when they thought you weren’t looking. You noticed the way they exchanged knowing looks, lips pressed into thin lines, or small smirks that seemed to carry some unspoken joke. Once or twice, you caught him with a slight blush when he thought you weren’t watching—an odd, almost humanizing detail that made him seem more approachable, more real.

You learned a few things about him—some through conversations with him, and others from the nurses. He told you he was a veteran and had been a combat medic. Princess mentioned that he’d volunteer and come in on his days off sometimes.

Dana even shared a story about him giving blood while actively treating patients, emphasizing that you had one of the best doctors on your case. It was clear he was dedicated, going above and beyond in ways that went beyond just doing his job.

Friends from your party last night trickled in over the course of the day—Naomi, of course, first and most persistent. She brought flowers, a card, and a bag of snacks. Other friends arrived in small groups, some cracking jokes, others just sitting quietly, holding your hand, or showing you embarrassing pictures and videos from last night.

At one point, you were sitting up a little with your close friend, Max. You’d been chatting lightly, everyone else had left at this point, when the door swung open again.

In stepped Jack, a serious but composed look on his face. His eyes immediately landed on you, then shifted toward Max, who was mid-laugh, clearly enjoying a joke you’d just told.

Jack’s eyes narrowed slightly as he took in the scene—your relaxed posture, the way this man was leaning toward you, his hand resting lightly on your shoulder. It wasn’t an overt gesture, but enough for Jack to notice.

"Visiting hours are over," Jack said curtly, voice even but with an unmistakable edge, as he stepped into the room and looked directly at Max. His tone was firm, controlled—more a command than a suggestion.

You glanced at the clock—there was still about an hour left before visiting hours officially ended, but you didn’t bother correcting him. Max looked at Jack with a hint of surprise, then nodded politely.

"See you later," Max leaned down and gave you a quick kiss on the cheek before stepping out of the room.

Jack’s sharp eyes lingered on Max for a moment longer until the door closed before turning to you. "Boyfriend?"

You let out a soft, amused laugh, shaking your head. "Oh my god. No, no. Just a buddy."

He blinked, clearing his throat, and then softly pulled a chair closer to the side of your bed. "In about an hour, you’re going to hit that 24-hour observation window. How are you feeling? Ready to sign some discharge papers, or do you think you might need a little more time here to rest?"

"Honestly, as lovely as this hospital stay has been—really, I’ve enjoyed the cocoon of this really sterile environment and the constant soundtrack of beeping monitors. But, I have to admit, I miss my bed. The king-size throne I call my own. Nothing beats the plush comfort of my mattress after a long day of pretending to be a responsible adult."

Jack raised an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at his lips. "Plush? Nothing beats the support of a good foam mattress. I mean, have you ever tried those memory foam wonders? They contour to your body, cradle you like a baby, and make you forget all your troubles."

You snorted. "Please. Foam beds are overrated. Give me a sturdy, springy mattress any day. Something that bounces back when I flop onto it, and doesn’t sink me into a deep abyss where I’ll never be found."

Jack chuckled softly, leaning back in his chair. "A bounce, huh? I’m more of a memory foam person myself. Plus, it’s scientifically proven to align your spine. You know, for healthy back support."

You rolled your eyes. "Support is overrated."

Jack grinned, crossing his arms. "Foam beds are like having a personal cloud that you can mold to your exact liking. Plus, no metal springs poking you in the middle of the night—unlike some of us who grew up sleeping on ancient mattresses that felt like a medieval torture device."

"Well, Dr. Abbot," you murmured softly, "maybe next time I need a little more support, I should find someone who can make sure I’m comfortable—preferably someone with a very gentle touch." Your gaze lingered on his, eyes flickering with a hint of invitation. "And I have a feeling you’d be pretty good at that."

His eyebrows lifted, and he gave you this look that clearly said he was surprised by your bold comment. Honestly, you were a little shocked yourself; maybe the drugs hadn’t fully worn off yet.

Fuck… why did you say that?

You could have sworn he was staring at your lips, but maybe you were just imagining it. He didn’t look like he was so much older than you that it would be out of the question for him to find you attractive, but enough that you knew he might think you were too young for him.

You shifted slightly in the bed, feeling the faint ache in your muscles as you prepared to sit up. You knew the moment had come to get yourself ready to leave. "Alright," you said softly, your voice a little hoarse. "I need to get changed before I sign the discharge papers."

Jack leaned forward slightly. "Take your time, I’ll bring those discharge papers for you."

You carefully swung your legs over the side of the bed and stood up slowly, making your way to the small bathroom in the corner of the room, closing the door behind you. You peeled off the hospital gown, feeling the cool air on your skin, and then slipped into your own clothes that Naomi had brought over for you earlier—comfortable jeans, a cozy sweater, and your favorite sneakers. Once dressed, you took a moment to compose yourself, steadying your breath.

When you stepped back into the room, Jack was standing near your bedside table and had set the discharge papers there. You grabbed the discharge papers from the bedside table, glancing over them briefly—your signature was required here, a few checkboxes, and some instructions.

You picked up the pen, your hand steady despite the lingering fatigue. With a few deliberate strokes, you signed your name.

"Who’s picking you up from the hospital?"

"Naomi."

Jack nodded.

You looked up at him, offering a small, tentative smile as you extended your hand. "It was nice to meet you, Dr. Abbot,"

He paused for a moment, studying your face before reaching out to take your hand in his. His grip was firm but gentle, and for a brief second, there was a flicker of something in the air. You could sense the shift—the way his eyes darkened slightly, the way the corners of his mouth twitched as if he was struggling to maintain his composure.

"Likewise," he replied, exhaling through his nose. "But you can call me Jack. You’re not my patient anymore."

The words hung in the air, heavy and charged, as if he was about to say more—maybe lean in, maybe close the distance between you with a kiss. You could sense the shift in the atmosphere—but just as that moment seemed inevitable, his pager chirped insistently from his belt, breaking the spell. The sound was intrusive, almost cruel as it echoed in the stillness of the room. You both jumped slightly, the surprise breaking the spell that had wrapped around you. His brow furrowed slightly as he glanced at the device, then looked back at you.

"I’m sorry," he said quickly, voice returning to a professional tone. "Something urgent just came up,"

You nodded slowly, trying to mask the disappointment that threatened to spill over. "No worries. Go save some lives,"

With a slight nod, he stepped back, giving you one last, lingering look before turning on his heel and heading out the door.

One Week Later

It was Friday, and your classroom was finally emptying out, students gathering their belongings, whispering excitedly or yawning as they headed toward the exits. Towards their weekends. The late afternoon sunlight spilled through the windows, and you leaned against the podium, watching the last of your students shuffle past, their chatter fading into the hallway.

One voice drifted over the murmur of footsteps.

"You know, I had the biggest crush on one of my professors back when I was in college."

You turned slightly, catching a glimpse of a figure leaning casually against the back wall, a familiar, easy smile on his face. It was Dr. Abbot—Jack—standing there with a relaxed posture.

Your heart still skipped a beat.

But you decided to play it cool. And not show your hand quite yet.

You raised an eyebrow, a playful smirk tugging at your lips. "What class did your professor teach?"

One corner of his mouth lifted. "Anatomy,"

Your mouth suddenly felt dry, and your mind went directly to the gutter.

Stepping forward, you called out casually, "Dr. Abbot."

He looked over at you, eyes crinkling when his smile widened as he pushed off the wall and approached you.

"Call me Jack," he reminded you, voice even, no nonsense.

"Right. Jack," you repeated, chewing on the inside of your cheek.

He gently lifted his hand and reached out to touch your forehead, "This okay?"

You nodded.

His touch was reassuring yet delicate. It felt intimate in a way that went beyond medical concern. You closed your eyes as he shifted into doctor mode, asking you quick questions, and how you’d been feeling. Despite the clinical tone, you couldn’t help but feel a pang in your heart at the tender way he looked at you and asked about your recovery. After a moment, he slowly withdrew his hand, letting it fall to his side and slipping his hands into his pockets.

"I hope I’m not overstepping," he hesitated slightly, then offered a nervous chuckle. "With just your name, Google made it pretty easy to find out what days and times you teach on campus when I found your syllabus online." His smile was genuine, but there was a gentle caution in his tone—like he meant no harm and didn’t want to push any boundaries. He paused for a moment before adding, "And I have to say, your rating on RateMyProfessor is stellar. Clearly, students think very highly of you."

You felt the heat creep onto your cheeks at the compliment.

"Well, Jack," you said with a playful tone, "I’m glad to know my privacy is so easily compromised. Maybe I should just start handing out my home address next." Your eyes twinkled with amusement, clearly teasing him.

"Or maybe," he said softly, a smirk tugging at his lips, "you should just hand out your phone number next. So, that I can take you out to dinner."

The grin that stretched across your face was massive.

There was just something about him.

Normally, making the first move wasn’t something you would do. But right now, you didn’t care. You hooked your fingers into the collar of his Henley and tugged him forward, pressing your lips to his. He hesitated for a beat, not reacting right away. Jack’s expression was unreadable. Then, slowly, he brought his lips back to yours, a deep guttural groan escaping him as he finally responded. Your tongue traced over his lower lip, and he took that as an invitation to intensify the kiss. Your fingers tangled in his hair, and he cupped your face with his hands as the kiss grew hotter and more frantic.

By the third date, you discovered that his bed really was as comfortable as he claimed.

Maybe foam beds weren’t so bad after all.

dividers by @saradika-graphics

NPT (folks who interacted with Jealous): @abbotjack. @takingitdaybyday-1. @houseofodd. @midniqhtt. @letsgobarbs. @chixkencxrry. @akgirl1993. @roses-and-grasses. @hansfics. @strange-hyperfixations. @la-vie-est-une-fleur29. @ozarkthedog. @stellamarielu. @emmalyn2233

Thank you so much for reading! If you like this, please consider leaving a comment or reblogging thots.

I just wanna say thank you to the people who continuously write for The PITT.

Thank you for feeding my obsession! I love you all 🥰

Oh Crap

Prologue of Unexpected

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Fem! Mitchell! Reader

Summary: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw and Y/N "Starling" Mitchell have been childhood friends due to their dads, but since Maverick pulled both your papers you guys were pushed back 4 years. After 4 years, you guys finally got into the Naval Academy together. During their time in the Academy, they decide to become friends with benefits, but Y/N accidentally gets pregnant by Bradley. They agreed to raise their kid together as friends, but what happens when Bradley is stationed in Virginia and you are stationed in Lemoore? 

Series Warnings: accidental pregnancy, angst, fluff, there will be NO SMUT! (I suck at writing that)

Word Count: 1935

"Oh, crap."

You were in the Naval Academy restroom looking at the positive pregnancy test in your hands. How did this happen!? 

" Hey Y/N, are you okay?" Natasha "Phoenix" Trace, knocks on the bathroom stall door you were in.

"No, not at all." You open the door and show her the pregnancy test.

Showing her the pregnancy test, you see her face go wide. "Oh shoot Y/N. Does he know?" She asks not knowing who the father is.

"No, we were using protection." You explain to Phoenix. " I can't believe this is happening! We're graduating in a couple of weeks and I'm getting stationed in Lemoore. For Heaven's Sake, He's getting stationed in Virginia!!" 

"Getting stationed in Virginia? Is Rooster the father?!" 

Nodding yes to Phoenix, she was in disbelief and put her hands on her forehead. "My goodness, Y/N. How did this happen?"

You then explain to her how this happened. You and Bradley have been childhood friends due to your dad, but since your dad pulled both your papers you guys were sent back 4 years. After 4 years, you guys finally got into the Naval Academy together. Since you guys were pushed back 4 years, you were under a lot of stress. So you both decided to let off some steam and become Friends with Benefits.

"Hey, girls, class is about to start." You hear Mickey "Fanboy" Garcia calling you two outside of the woman's bathroom. 

"Okay, we'll be there," Phoenix yells to Fanboy. "Okay, we'll talk about this later. But you need to talk to Rooster as soon as possible." You nod yes as you both leave to go to class.

As you enter class, you see Bradley in his regular seat. " Good morning Y/N." 

"Hey, we need to talk later. It's really important." You say as you sit right next to you.

Later that Day

"Hey Y/N." You hear Bradley call you in the parking lot. "You said we needed to talk?"

"Oh yeah," You say nervously, becoming quiet.

"Okay, what is it?" Bradley asks. " You said it was important."

You take a deep breath before you start to speak. " I'm pregnant and you're the father. " 

Bradley stayed quiet, he was in utter shock. You were pregnant and he was the father. 

" Bradley. Tell me how you feel?" You ask your long-time best friend.

"This is a surprise. When did you find out?" He asks you.

"I found out this morning with Phoenix in the bathroom." You start explaining to Bradley. " I haven't been feeling good and then I remembered that my period hasn't come. So I bought a test and took it in the bathroom. It came out positive."

"Oh crap!" Bradley puts his hand on his forehead in frustration. "Are you sure you're pregnant?"

" I only took that test but I was about to go to the doctor on base to confirm it." 

He puts his hand on yours in comfort. " Okay, let's go and we'll go from there." 

Navy Clinic

" Y/N Mitchell, the doctor is ready to see you." A navy nurse calls you to go in.

You and Bradley walk to the navy nurse and she guides you to the exam room. She takes regular tests on you such as blood pressure, and heartbeat, and asks you questions about how you were feeling. Once she is done, she tells you that the doctor will see them when she is done with another patient.

"Are you going to keep it?" Bradley asks you while you two are waiting for the doctor.

" I want to keep it. If you don't want this baby, I'm not forcing you to stay." 

"No, I want this baby too. I know this happened because of our friends-with-benefits deal but I still want this baby." You're so grateful that he said he wants to be in this baby's life.

You hear a knock on the door. " May I come in?" You both respond yes and she opens the door. " Good afternoon you two. I'm Lieutenant Melissa Taylor and I'll be your doctor. So what are we here for ?"

"I've been feeling sick for a while and I thought I was getting sick. But then I remembered that I haven't had my period for a while. I took a test this morning and it came out positive. So I just want to make sure it wasn't a false positive." You explain to Lieutenant Doctor Melissa.

" Well let's take a pee sample and if it comes out positive we'll do an ultrasound to see how far you are." Doctor Melissa explains to you and you both nod.

Once the doctor leaves, the nurse from earlier comes back and gives you a cup to put your pee sample. She explains that when she gets your sample it takes 15 minutes to know your results.

You take the cup and head to the bathroom. Once you put your pee in the cup you give the sample to the nurse so you can get your results. After 15 minutes the Doctor comes back to the exam room and tells you the results.

" Congratulations Ms. Mitchell. You're Pregnant." Doctor Melissa congratulates you and Bradley. " Would you like to see the baby?" You look at Bradley and see him nod yes. 

Doctor Melissa calls the nurse to bring the ultrasound machine to the room, once it's set up the Doctor tells you to lie down. " Okay Ms. Mitchell I'm going to put this on your stomach and it's going to be cold." She warns you as she puts the gel on your stomach. It was cold for a bit until she moved the scanner on your stomach.

The Doctor points to the ultrasound screen to show the baby. "So this is your baby. They're about 12 weeks old. Since your last period was May 26 they'll be due in March." Doctor Melissa explains this to you and Bradley.

"When can we find out the gender?" You ask Doctor Melissa. She explains that on week 18 you can find out what gender the baby will be.

"Do you have any more questions?" The Doctor asks you both.

" Will Y/N be grounded until the baby is born?" You look at Bradley when he asks that question.

" Unfortunately, yes. Ms. Mitchell will have to be grounded until the baby is at least a year old." She answers Bradley's question with sympathy. "This won't affect her graduation status. She'll graduate when you guys graduate and then she'll be put on the base to do on-ground assignments."

Bradley was shocked, he felt guilty that you would be grounded for almost two years because of him. “Okay thank you. We’ll see you at the next appointment.” Once you thank Doctor Melissa, you and Bradley check out and go to your car. 

“Are you sure you want to keep this baby?” Bradley asks you politely not wanting to offend you. “You’re barely graduating and now you’re going to be grounded for almost two years Y/N!”

You gently place a hand on Bradley’s hand to comfort him. “I know what I’m getting myself into and honestly I’m fine with it. This job doesn’t give us the chance to get married or start a family. Your parents had you before your dad got into the Navy. Why can’t we do the same? I don’t want to be my dad and do it at the last minute.” 

Bringing up your dad brought up some resentment in Bradley. Growing up Maverick was in and out of the picture so that left you with your mom, Penny, and later with your half-sister Amelia. You also had Aunt Carole and Bradley growing up, but there was still a place in your heart for your dad. 

Your dad was the person that inspired you to go to the Navy. But one day that came crashing down when he decided not only to pull your papers but Bradley's too. You were pissed at first,  but when he told you the reason why he did it. You forgave him eventually. 

"Don't bring up Maverick. I'm still pissed off at what he did to us." Bradley says upset. He always does this to you whenever you talk about your dad.

" Well, no matter what, he is my dad and he'll be the grandfather of our child." You remind him. " I know that what he did to us still hurts you but I've forgiven him." 

"Are you going to tell him?" 

You take a deep breath before you answer him. "Yes. He's my dad and I want him in our child's life." As you say that your phone goes off, it was your dad calling. You look at Bradley and put your pointer finger on your mouth to tell him to be quiet.

"Hey, Sweetie. How are you? Hope I'm not bothering you." Your dad says as you answer the phone.

"I'm doing okay dad. Just hanging in there right before I graduate." You tell your dad. "How are you doing dad? It's kinda early over there in Okinawa." You question your dad.

Your dad was currently stationed in Okinawa. You two called every day at a reasonable time over there and in San Diego.

" It is. I took some time off so I can visit you." Maverick tells Y/N why he's calling her at this hour. "I know your graduation is in a couple of weeks but I want to spend time with You and hopefully Bradley."

You look out at Bradley and see that he's in utter disgust. " Oh, that sounds fun."

" How's Bradley by the way? I've been trying to reach out to him but it goes straight to voicemail." 

" He's doing fine. We're both tired and ready for graduation."  You say pretending to be exhausted.

" He's still mad at me isn't he?"

"Yeah, I think so. He's sensitive whenever I bring up something about you."  You tell your father the truth. You hear your dad sigh sadly, " I know it hurts but time will heal." 

In the background of the phone call, you hear an announcement go off. "Well Sweetie, it's time for me to board the plane. I'll be in San Diego tomorrow afternoon. Do you mind picking me up?" 

"I'll pick you up tomorrow and we can have dinner at my place. I'll even bring Bradley." You say out of nowhere and Bradley looks at you. "Bye, dad. Love you." You both say goodbye to each other and hang up the phone.

" ARE YOU CRAZY!?" Bradley asks you frantically. " I'm not going to that dinner."

" Oh yes, you are." You answer back at him. "Besides, my mom and Amelia will be there. You won't be alone."

"Why do I have to be there? Your mom and Amelia will be there!!" 

" We're going to tell them together about the baby." You tell him why you want him to be there. " I know you're still mad at him but can you at least get along with our child!?"

Bradley sees how upset you are at this. It must have hurt you that your best friend and your father weren't on speaking terms. " Fine but I'm only doing this for our child." You give him a thankful smile and say goodbye to him.

On your way home, you call your mom. You ask her if she and Amelia were available tomorrow for dinner with your dad. Thank God she said yes. Once you catch up with her, you both say your goodbyes and hang up.

Tomorrow is going to be a long dinner.

A/N: Sorry for the wait!! I was supposed to post this earlier today but I was spending time with family. Hope y'all like this!

Here's to be added to the taglist

Taglist: @topguncortez @one-sweet-gubler @carsgeek24 @theliterarybeldam @sandyys-posts @merakiaes @adoringsebstan @wishingtobeforeveryoung1019 @lilmonstrjedi

A/N 2: I'M FREAKING OUT THAT @topguncortez WAS THE FIRST PERSON THAT WANTED TO BE ADDED TO THE TAGLIST!!! I love your writing @topguncortez 🥹🫶

sun to me, masterlist.

summary: tatum james abandons her life on the wahewa reservation to kickstart a future in charming, bringing her right into the mouth of the lions’ den, and the arms of her estranged father. when happy’s sentenced with fourteen months in prison after breaking the terms of his probation, he tasks chibs with keeping an eye on his only child. unfortunately for happy, chibs telford takes his job a bit too seriously.

pairings: chibs telford x fem!oc & happy lowman x daughter!oc

warnings: casual dom/sub dynamics, age gap, may/december relationship, canon typical violence & such, AU, every chapter will have it’s own warnings.

author’s note: i’m so bad at summaries, forgive me.

chapter i. need to know: tatum and happy say goodbye, again.

chapter ii. riding bitch: chibs is sort of a gentleman. maybe.

to be continued.

a series / masterlist of works based on being the only female mechanic at TM and everyone being in love with you. Reblogs, comments and feedback are very highly appreciated. Please feel free to send ideas my way or inbox me (even if just for anonymous feedback). Hope you all enjoy!

The OG Post

Being the only female mechanic at TM and everyone being in love with you.

The favorite.

A customer gets too bold and puts hands on you, suddenly everyone is reminded you're untouchable when the guys step in.

When the Sun Hits

summary: What begins as a hospital-wide power outage leaves you trapped in a supply closet with your emotionally unavailable attending. But when the lights come back on, what lingers between you can’t be shut off so easily. genre/notes: forced proximity, slow burn, panic attack + trauma comfort, domestic fluff, my fave kind of intimacy, mutual pining, humor/crack, soft!Jack that can't flirt for shit, idiots in love but neither of them will admit it, you discover you have a praise kink in the most inconvenient of ways warnings: references to trauma, depiction of a panic attack, mentions of grief and burnout, implied but not explicit smut, praise kink word count: ~ 7.1k a/n: down bad for whipped Jack Abbot

You had just turned to ask Jack if he could grab another tray of 32 French chest tubes when the lights cut out.

One second, the supply closet was bathed in its usual flickering overhead light—and the next, everything dropped into darkness. Sharp. Sudden.

You froze, one hand on the bin. Jack swore behind you.

"Shit," he muttered, somewhere just inside the door. The backup emergency lights flickered red from the hallway, but barely touched the cramped space around you.

Then the intercom crackled overhead: Code Yellow. Facility-wide outage. All staff remain on current floors. Secure all medications and patients.

The door clicked shut behind him.

Automatic lock.

You turned just as Jack tried the handle. It didn’t budge.

He sighed. "Well. That’s one way to guarantee a five-minute break."

You looked at him sharply, but he was already scanning the room, looking for anything useful, keeping his voice light.

"Guess we’re stuck for a bit," he added.

You didn’t respond. You couldn’t. The air felt too tight in your lungs, too warm all of a sudden.

Because now, the supply closet didn’t just feel small.

It felt like it was closing in.

It had been a normal day.

Or as normal as anything ever was around here—high-pressure shifts balanced by the strange rhythm you and Jack had settled into over the past few years. You worked together well—efficient, quick to anticipate each other's needs, almost telepathic during traumas. Partners in crime, someone had once joked. Probably Robby.

You’d learned how to read his silences—the kind that weren’t dismissive but deliberate, like he was giving you space without needing to say it aloud. He’d learned how to decode your muttered curses and side glances, how to step in behind you without crowding, how to let his shoulder bump yours during charting when words failed you both.

There was a kind of ease between you, a rhythm that didn’t require explanation. He’d hand you tools before you asked for them. You’d finish his sentences when he gave consults. Even in chaos, your partnership felt oddly... quiet. Intimate, in a way that crept in slowly, like warmth from a mug clasped between two hands after a long shift.

When you were paired on trauma, nurses and med students stopped asking who was lead. They knew you moved as one.

People had started to notice—how the two of you always seemed to stay overtime on the same days, how Jack would make dry, cutting jokes around others but soften them just enough when talking to you. Robby, in particular, teased him about it relentlessly.

"Jack, blink twice if this is you flirting," he’d once called across the ER after Jack mumbled, "Great work Dr. L/N," while watching you tie off a flawless stitch or nailing a differential.

Jack huffed. "It’s efficient. She's efficient."

"God, you’re hopeless," Robby laughed.

"She’s my best resident," Jack shot back, like it explained everything. Like it wasn’t a deflection.

You snorted into your coffee. "You say that like it’s not the fifth time this week."

Jack, without missing a beat: "That’s because it’s true. I value consistency."

He was awful at flirting—stiff and dry and chronically understated—but you’d grown to read the fondness buried in the flat delivery.

Like the morning he handed you your favorite protein bar without a word and then said, as you blinked at him, "Don’t faint. You’ll ruin my numbers."

Or the time he stood outside your call room after a brutal night shift, coffee in hand, and muttered, "You deserve a nap, but I guess you’ll have to settle for caffeine and my sparkling company."

He always made sure to loop you in on the interesting cases—"Figure it’s good for your development," he’d say. But then linger just a little too long after rounds, just to hear your thoughts.

And when you were quiet too long, when something in you withdrew, he never asked outright. Just gave you space—and a clipboard he’d pre-filled, or a shift swap you hadn’t requested, or the gentlest, "You good?" when you passed each other by the scrub sinks.

And now, here you were. Trapped in a closet with the man who rarely made jokes—and never blushed—except when you were around.

Now, you were stuck. Together.

The air felt thin but simultaneously stuffed to the brim.

Jack turned on his penlight, sweeping the beam across the room. "We’re fine," he said, calm and certain. "Generator will kick in soon."

You nodded. Tried to match his steadiness. Failed.

The closet was small. Smaller than it had ever felt before.

The walls crept in.

You didn’t notice the way your hands started to shake until he said your name.

Your vision tunneled. The room blurred at the edges, corners shrinking in like someone was folding the walls inward. The air felt heavy, every breath catching at the top of your throat before it could sink deep enough to matter. It felt like someone had filled your veins with liquid lead, your entire body suddenly weighing too much to hold upright. You staggered back a step, hand scrambling blindly for something to anchor you—shelf, handle, Jack. Your heart was pounding—loud, ragged, out of sync with time itself.

You tried to swallow. Couldn’t.

Sweat prickled your scalp. Your fingers tingled, every nerve on fire. Your knees gave out beneath you, and you crumbled to the floor—head buried between your knees, hands clasped behind your neck, trying to fold yourself into a singularity. Anything to disappear. Anything to slip away from this moment and the way it pressed in on all sides. There was no exit. No sound but your own spiraling thoughts and the slow, careful way Jack said your name again.

You blinked. Your eyes wouldn’t focus.

"Hey," Jack coaxed, his voice cutting through the static—low and steady, somehow still distant. His full attention was on you now, gaze locked in, unmoving. "Breathe."

You couldn’t.

It hit like a wave—sharp and silent, rising in your chest like pressure, no space, no air, no exit.

Jack’s hands found your shoulders. "I’ve got you. You’re okay. Stay with me, yeah?"

He crouched in front of you, grounding you with steady pressure and careful, deliberate calm. His hands—firm, callused, the kind that had seen years of split-second decisions and endless sutures—gripped your upper arms with a touch that was impossibly gentle. Like he could mold you back into yourself with his palms alone. His thumbs brushed lightly, not demanding, just present. Just there.

"Can you breathe with me?" he asked. "In for four. Okay? One, two, three…"

You tried. You really did.

Your chest still felt locked, ribs tight around panic like a vice, but his voice—low and even—threaded through the chaos.

"Out for four," he murmured, exhaling slowly, deliberately, like the sound alone could show your body how to follow. "Good. Just like that."

The faint light dimmed between you, casting his face in half-shadow. He was close now—close enough for you to catch the scent of antiseptic and something warm underneath, something that reminded you of winter nights and clean laundry.

"You’re here," he said again, softer this time. "You’re safe. Nothing’s coming. You’ve got space."

You reached out blindly, fingers finding the edge of his sleeve and clutching it like a lifeline.

"Good girl," Jack said softly, instinctively, like it slipped out without permission.

Your brain short-circuited. Of all things, in all moments—that was what hooked your attention. You let out a strangled little laugh, shaky and almost hysterical. "Fucking hell," you murmured, pressing your face into your arm. "Why is that what got me breathing again?"

Jack blinked, startled for a second—then let out the smallest huff of relief, like he was holding back a smirk. "Hey, if it works, I’ll say it again," he said, a thread of warmth sneaking into his voice.

You groaned, half-burying your face in your elbow. "Please don’t."

He was still crouched in front of you, his tone gentler now, teasing on purpose, like he was giving you something else to hold onto. "Admit it—you just wanted to hear me say something nice for once."

"Jack," you warned, half-laughing, half-crying.

"You’re doing great," he said quietly, real again. "You’re okay. I’ve got you."

And eventually—one shaky inhale at a time—your lungs obeyed.

When the power came back on, you stood side-by-side in the wash of fluorescent light, blinking against it.

You were still trembling faintly, your breaths shallow but more even now. Jack didn’t step away. Not right away.

"Feeling better?" he asked, voice low, steady.

You nodded, not trusting your voice.

Jack stood slowly, offering a hand. You took it, letting him pull you up. His grip lingered just a second longer than necessary.

Then he tried, awkwardly, to lighten the mood. "If calling you a good girl was really all it took, then I’ve been severely underutilizing my motivational toolkit."

You let out a startled laugh, breath catching mid-sound. "Jesus, don’t start."

He gave you a crooked smile—relieved, even if the corners of it were still tight with concern. "Whatever works, right? Next time I’ll try it with more enthusiasm."

"Next time?" Your eyes widened like saucers—absolutely flabbergasted, half-tempted to dissolve into laughter or hit him with the nearest supply tray.

He shrugged, another smug grin threatening to cross his lips. "Just saying. If you’re going to unravel in a closet, might as well do it with someone who knows where to find the defibrillator."

You rolled your eyes but didn’t let go of his hand until the light flickered again.

Only then did you both step apart.

You didn’t say much.

He didn’t ask you to.

You’d made it as far as the locker room before the adrenaline crash hit. You rinsed your face, changed into sweats, and shoved your scrubs into your bag with trembling fingers. Jack had walked you out of the department without a word, just a hand hovering near your lower back.

"Thanks," you said quietly, as you scanned out. "For earlier."

Jack shook his head, like it was nothing. "You don’t need to thank me."

"Still," you said. "Just… please don’t mention it to anyone?"

He looked over at you, mouth twitching at the corner. "Mention what?"

That made you laugh—brief, breathless. "Right."

You parted ways near the waiting room, sharing your usual post-shift goodbyes.

Or so you thought.

Jack had been about to leave when he saw you—doubling back through the double doors, slipping through the staff-only entrance and back into the ER.

His brow furrowed.

He hesitated, then turned to follow.

The corridor was quiet. Most of the day shift hadn’t arrived yet, and the call room hallway echoed faintly under his footsteps. He paused outside the on-call room and knocked once, gently. When there was no response, he eased the door open.

The room was cramped and windowless, just enough space for a narrow bunk bed and a scuffed metal chair in the corner. The mattress dipped in the middle, the kind of sag that never quite let you forget your own weight. The attached bathroom offered a stall that barely passed for a shower—low pressure, eternally lukewarm, and loud enough to make you question whether it was working or crying for help. It felt more like a last resort than a place to rest.

Your bag was on the bed. Half-unpacked. Toothbrush laid out. Socks tucked into the corner. Like you were staying in a hotel. Like you’d been staying here.

He was still standing there when the bathroom door cracked open and you stepped out—hair damp, towel knotted tightly around your torso.

You both froze.

Your eyes widened. Jack’s went comically wide before he spun around on instinct, shielding his eyes like it was second nature. "Shit—sorry, I didn’t—"

"What are you doing here?" you asked at the exact same time he blurted, "What are you doing here?"

The silence that followed was deafening.

Jack cleared his throat, ears bright red. "I… saw you come back in. Just wanted to check."

You were still standing in place like a deer in headlights, towel clutched in a death grip.

Jack rubbed the back of his neck, eyes very pointedly still on the wall, as if the peeling paint had suddenly become the most fascinating thing he'd ever seen.

Fingers clenched around the edge of the towel, embarrassment prickled across your chest like static. "One second," you murmured, disappearing back into the bathroom before either of you could say anything more.

A minute later, the door creaked open and you stepped out again—now wrapped in an oversized hoodie and soft, baggy sweatpants that made you look small, almost swallowed whole by comfort. Jack’s brain did something deeply inconvenient at the sight.

You lingered in the doorway, sleeves tugged down over your hands, damp hair framing your face. "You can look now," you said, voice softer this time.

Jack didn’t move at first. He shifted his weight, cleared his throat in a way that sounded more like a stall tactic than anything physiological. Only after a beat did he finally turn, cautiously, eyes flicking up to meet yours.

He caught himself staring. Made a mental note not to think about it later. Failed almost immediately.

A breath left your lungs, quieter than the room deserved. You crossed to the bunk and sat down on the edge, fingers fidgeting with the seam of your sweatpants. "You can sit, if you want," you said, barely above a whisper.

The mattress shifted a second later as Jack lowered himself beside you, careful, slow—like he wasn’t sure how close he was allowed to get. His knee brushed yours. He didn’t move it. You didn't pull away. 

Your eyes fluttered shut, a long exhale dragging out of you like it had been caught behind your ribs all night. "I’ve been staying here," you said finally. "Not every night. Just... enough of them."

You looked over at him, then down at your hands. "It’s not about work. I just... I didn’t want to go back to an empty place and hear it echo. Didn’t want to hear myself think. Breathe. This place—at least there’s always noise. Even if it’s bad, it’s something."

That made him pause.

"I don’t want to be alone..." you added, quieter.

Jack was quiet for a moment, then nodded once, slow. "Why didn’t you tell me?" he asked, voice quieter than before. "You know I’m always here for you."

You looked down at your lap. "I didn’t want to be a burden."

Your fingers twitched, and before you realized it, you’d started picking at a loose thread along your cuff. Jack’s hands came up gently, catching yours before you could do more than graze your skin. He held them between his palms—warm, steady. Soothing.

His thumbs brushed over your knuckles. "You never have to earn being cared about," he said softly. "Not with me."

A few moments passed in silence. He still hadn’t let go of your hand.

Then, quietly, Jack reached into his pocket.

And handed you a key.

"I have a spare room," he said, voice low. "No expectations. No questions. Just… if you need it."

You stared at the key. Then at him.

He still didn’t look away, even as his voice gentled. "Don’t sleep here. Not if it hurts."

You took the key.

Not right away—but you did. Slipped it into the front pocket of your hoodie like it might vanish otherwise, like the metal might burn a hole through the fabric if you held it too long.

Jack didn’t press. Didn’t ask for promises.

He stood to leave and paused in the doorway.

"I’ll leave the light on," he said. "Just in case."

You didn’t answer right away. Just nodded, barely, and stared at the key in your lap long after the door shut behind him.

The call room was quiet after he left.

Too quiet.

You stared at the key until your fingers itched, then tucked it beneath your pillow like it needed protecting—from you, from the space, from the hollow echo of loneliness that filled the room once Jack was gone.

You didn’t sleep that night. Not really.

And two days later—after another long shift, after you’d showered in the same miserable excuse for plumbing, after you’d sat cross-legged on the cot trying to convince yourself to just go home—you took the key out of your pocket.

You didn’t text him.

You just went.

The last time you'd been to his place was different. Less quiet. More raw.

It was the night after a shift that left the entire ER shell-shocked. You'd both ended up at Jack’s apartment with takeout containers and too much to drink. You’d lost a kid—ten years old, blunt trauma, thirty-eight minutes of resuscitation, and it still wasn’t enough. Jack had lost a veteran. OD. The kind of case that stuck to his ribs.

He’d handed you a beer without a word. The two of you had sat on opposite ends of his couch, silence stretching between you like a third presence until you broke it with a hoarse, "I keep hearing his mother scream."

Jack didn’t look away. "I keep thinking I should’ve caught it sooner."

The conversation didn’t get lighter. But it got easier.

At some point, you’d both ended up sitting on the floor, backs against the couch, knees bent and shoulders almost brushing.

He told you about Iraq. About the first time he held pressure on someone’s chest and knew it wouldn’t matter.

You told him about your first code as an intern and the way it rewired something you’ve never quite gotten back.

He didn’t touch you. Didn’t need to. Just passed you another drink and said, "I’m glad you were there today."

And for a while, it was enough—being there, even if neither of you knew how to say why.

You’d gotten absolutely wasted that night. The kind of drunk that swung from giggles to tears and back again. Somewhere between your third drink and fourth emotional whiplash, you started dancing around his living room barefoot, music crackling from his ancient Bluetooth speaker. Tears for Fears was playing—Everybody Wants to Rule the World—and you twirled with your arms raised like the only way to survive grief was to outpace it.

Jack watched from the floor, amused. Smiling to himself. Maybe a little enamored.

You beckoned him up with exaggerated jazz hands. "C’mon, dance with me."

He shook his head, raising both palms. "No one needs to see that."

You marched over, grabbed his hands, and tugged hard enough to get him upright. He stumbled, laughing under his breath, and let you spin him like a carousel horse. It wasn’t graceful. It wasn’t even really dancing. But it was you—vivid and loud and alive—and something in him ached with the sight of it.

He didn’t say anything that night.

But the way he looked at you said enough.

You were still holding his hands from the dance, your breathing slowing, your laughter softening into something tender. The overhead light had gone dim, the playlist shifting into quieter melodies, but you didn’t let go. Your fingers stayed laced behind his neck, your forehead nearly resting against his chest.

Jack’s palms found your waist—not possessive, just steady. Grounding. His thumbs pressed gently against your sides, and for a moment, you swayed in place like the world wasn’t full of ghosts. You were sobering up, but not rushing. Not running.

You hadn’t meant for the dance to turn into this. But he didn’t step away.

Didn’t look away either.

Just held you, as if the act itself might keep you both tethered to something real.

You woke the next morning to the sound of soft clinking—metal against ceramic, a pan being set down gently on the stovetop.

The smell of coffee drifted in first. Then eggs. Something buttery. Your head pounded—dull, insistent—but your body felt warm under the blanket someone had pulled up around your shoulders during the night.

Padding quietly down the hall, you peeked into the kitchen.

Jack stood at the stove, hair ever so slightly tousled from sleep, wearing the same faded t-shirt and a pair of plaid pajama pants that made your chest ache with something you couldn’t name. He hadn’t seen you yet—was humming under his breath, absently stirring a pan with practiced rhythm.

You leaned against the doorframe.

"Are you seriously making breakfast?"

He turned, eyes crinkling. "You say that like it’s not a medically necessary intervention."

You snorted, stepping in. "You’re using a cast iron. I didn’t even know you owned one."

"Don’t tell Robby. He thinks I survive on rage and vending machine coffee."

You slid onto one of the stools, blinking blearily against the light. Jack set a mug in front of you without being asked—just the way you liked it. Just like always.

"You were a menace last night," he said lightly, pouring eggs into the pan.

You groaned, cupping your hands around the mug. "Oh god. Please don’t recap."

He grinned. "No promises. But the dance moves were impressive. You almost took me out during that one twirl."

"That’s because you wouldn’t dance with me!"

"I was trying to protect my knees."

You laughed, head tipping back slightly. Jack just watched you, eyes soft, like the sound of it made something settle inside him.

And for a moment, the silence that settled between you wasn’t hollow at all.

It was full.

If only tonight's circumstances were different. 

Jack opened the door in sweatpants and a black v-neck that looked older than his medical degree. He blinked when he saw you—then smiled, just a little. Not wide. Not obvious. But real. The kind of expression that said he hadn’t realized how much he’d wanted to see you until you were there.

He said nothing.

After a slow smile: "Didn’t expect to see you again so soon," he said lightly, trying to break the ice. "Unless you’re here to critique my towel-folding technique."

Lifting your hand slowly, the key warm against your skin, you tilted your head with a deadpan expression. "Wouldn’t dream of it," you said, tone dry—almost too dry—but not quite hiding the twitch of a smile. Jack’s mouth quirked at the corner.

Then you held the key out fully, and he stepped aside without a word.

"Spare room’s on the left," he said. “Bathroom’s across from it. The towels are clean. I think."

You smiled, a little helplessly. "Thanks."

Jack’s voice was soft behind you. "That was a joke, by the way. The towel thing."

You turned slightly. "What?"

He shrugged, almost sheepish. "Trying to lighten the mood," he said, rubbing the back of his neck and looking anywhere but at you. "Make it... easier. Or, y'know. Less weird. That was the goal."

The admission caught you off guard. Jack Abbot had a tendency to ramble when he was nervous, and this was definitely that.

You didn’t say anything right away, but your smile—this time—was a little steadier. A little sweeter.

"Careful, Jack," you murmured, feigning seriousness. "If you keep being charming, I might start expecting it."

He looked like he wanted to say something else. His mouth opened, then closed again as he rubbed the back of his neck, clearly debating whether to double down or play it cool.

"Guess I’ll go work on my stand-up material," he mumbled, half under his breath.

You bit back a laugh.

He ran a hand through his hair again—classic stall tactic—then finally nodded and disappeared into the kitchen.

The room he offered you was small, clearly unused, but tidy in a way that suggested recent care. A folded towel sat at the foot of the bed. A new toothbrush—still in its packaging—rested on the nightstand. The faint scent of cedar lingered in the air, mixing with the soft clean trace of his detergent. The air had that faint freshness of a recently opened window, and the corners were free of dust. Someone had aired it out. Someone had taken the time to make space—room that hadn’t existed before, cleared just enough to let another person in.

You set your bag down and sat on the edge of the bed, fingers brushing over the blanket. Everything felt soft. Considered. You stared at the corner of the room like it might give you answers.

It didn’t.

But it didn’t feel like a hospital either.

You took your time in the shower, letting the heat soak into your skin until the mirror fogged over and your thoughts slowed just enough to feel manageable. Jack's body wash smelled different on you—deeper, warmer somehow—and the scent clung faintly to your skin as you pulled on the softest clothes you had packed: shorts and an oversized shirt you barely remembered grabbing.

When you stepped out of the guest room, damp hair still clinging to your neck, the smell of garlic and something gently sizzling greeted you first. Jack was in the kitchen, stirring a pot with practiced ease, the kind of domestic ease that tugged at something inside you.

He turned when he heard your footsteps—and froze for a beat too long.

His eyes swept over you and caught on your hair, your shirt, the visible curve of your collarbone, the quietness about you that hadn't been there earlier. He blinked, clearly trying to recover, and failed miserably.

"Hey," you said gently, brushing some damp strands behind your ear. "Need help with anything?"

Jack cleared his throat—once, then again—and turned back to the stove, ears visibly reddening. "I think I’m good," he said. "Unless you want to make sure I don’t burn the rice."

You crossed the room and leaned against the counter next to him, still slightly flushed yourself. The scent of his soap clung to your sleeves, and Jack caught a trace of it on the air. He said nothing—but stirred a little slower. A little more carefully.

"Your apartment’s just as nice as I remembered," you said, soft and genuine, fingers brushing the edge of the countertop.

Jack glanced over at you, a flicker of something warm behind his eyes. "You mean the sterile surfaces and suspiciously outdated spice rack?"

You gave him a knowing smile. "I mean the parts that feel like you."

That stopped him for a second. His stirring slowed to a halt. He looked back down at the pot, a faint smile ghosting over his lips.

"Careful," he murmured, voice low. "If you keep saying things like that, I might start thinking you actually like me."

You nudged his elbow gently. "I might. Don’t let it go to your head."

He smiled to himself, the kind of expression that didn't need to be seen to be felt. And in the soft space between those words, something settled. Easier. Closer.

Dinner was simple—pan-seared salmon, rice, roasted vegetables. Nothing fancy, but everything assembled with care. Jack Abbot, it turned out, could cook.

You said so after the first bite—and let out a soft, involuntary moan. Jack froze mid-chew, raised a brow, and gave you a look.

"Wow," he said dryly, lips twitching. "Should I be offended or flattered?"

You flushed, laughing as you covered your mouth with your napkin. "Don't tell me you're jealous of a piece of salmon?"

He grinned. "I’m a man of many talents," he said dryly, passing you the pepper mill. "Just don’t ask me to bake."

You smiled over your glass of water, a little more relaxed now. "No offense, but I didn’t exactly have ‘culinary savant’ on my Jack Abbot bingo card."

He shot you a look. "What was on the card?"

You hummed, pretending to think. "Chronic insomniac. Secret softie. Closet hoarder of protein bars. Dad joke connoisseur."

Jack snorted, setting down his fork. "You’re lucky the salmon’s good or I’d be deeply offended."

You grinned. "So you admit it."

And he did—not in words, but in the way his gaze lingered a moment too long across the table. In the way he refilled your glass as soon as it dipped below halfway. In the quiet, sheepish curve of his smile when you caught him looking. In the way his laugh lost its usual edge and softened, like maybe—just maybe—he could get used to this.

After dinner, you moved to the sink before Jack could protest. He tried, weakly, something about guests and hospitality, but you waved him off and started rinsing plates.

Jack came up behind you, handing over dishes one by one as you scrubbed and loaded them into the dishwasher to dry. His presence was warm at your back, the occasional graze of his hand or arm sending tiny shivers up your spine. The silence between you was companionable, laced with unspoken things neither of you quite knew how to name.

"You’re seriously not gonna let me help?" he asked, bumping your hip with his.

"This is letting you help," you shot back. "You’re the designated passer."

"Such a glamorous title," he murmured, his voice low near your ear. "Do I get a badge?"

You glanced at him over your shoulder, a smile tugging at your lips. "Only if you survive the suds.

Jack leaned in just as you turned back to the sink, and for a moment, your arms brushed, your shoulders aligned. His gaze lingered on you again—your profile, your damp hair starting to curl at the edges, the stretch of your hoodie down your back.

You glanced back at him, close enough now to kiss, breath caught halfway between surprise and anticipation when—

Jack dipped his finger into the soap bubbles and tapped the tip of your nose.

You blinked, stunned. "Did you just—"

Jack held your wide-eyed gaze a beat longer, then said it like it was the most obvious thing in the world, "Nice look, Bubbles."

And the dam broke. You laughed, bright and unguarded, flicking water in his direction.

He dodged each droplet as best he could with a grin, triumphant. "I stand by my methods."

You scooped a pile of bubbles into your hand with deliberate menace.

Jack immediately backed away, holding both palms up like he was under arrest. "No. No no no—"

You grinned, nodding slowly with mock gravity. The chase ensued. He darted around the counter, nearly tripping on the rug as you chased after him, suds in hand and laughter trailing like a siren’s call. He was fast—but you were relentless.

"Truce!" he yelped, dropping to his knees in front of you, hands held high in mock surrender.

You smirked, one brow raised. "Hmm. I don’t know… this feels like a trap."

Jack looked up at you with wide, pleading eyes. "Mercy. Have mercy. I’ll do whatever you want—just don’t soap me."

You hummed, pretending to consider it. "Anything?"

"Within reason. And dignity. Maybe."

You tilted your head, letting the moment draw out. Jack watched you carefully, breath held, the corners of his mouth twitching.

"I mean…" he started. "If praise is your thing, you’re doing a fantastic job intimidating me right now."

Your mouth parted, stunned. "Did you just—"

Jack smirked, sensing an opening. "You excel at it. Really. Top tier menace."

You laughed, nearly doubling over. "Oh my god. You’re the worst." The bubbles had dissipated by now, leaving you with only damp hands. 

"And yet, here you are," he said, still kneeling, still grinning.

You shook your head, stray droplets slipping from your hand, your laughter easing into something softer. "Get up, you idiot."

But Jack didn’t—not right away. Still on his knees, he shifted closer, hands resting lightly on your knees. His touch was featherlight, reverent, thumbs brushing along the curve where your thigh met fabric.

"I mean it," he said, voice quieter now, almost solemn. "You terrify me."

Your breath caught.

"In the best way," he added, gaze lifting. "You walk into a trauma bay like you own it. You fight like hell for your patients. You get under my skin without even trying."

His hands slid up slowly, still gentle, still hesitant, like waiting for permission. "Sometimes I think the only thing I believe in anymore is you."

Your heart thudded. Your hands, still damp, twitched against your sides.

"You deserve to be worshipped," he murmured, and that was when your knees nearly buckled.

The joke was long forgotten. The laughter faded. All that was left was the way Jack looked at you now—like he wasn’t afraid of the quiet anymore.

His hands had made a slow, reverent climb to your bare skin, thumbs sweeping small, anchoring circles into your skin. You felt the heat of him everywhere, your body taut with anticipation, nerves stretched thin. He didn’t rush. Just looked up at you, drinking in every unsteady breath, every flicker of hesitation in your gaze.

"You’re shaking," he murmured, voice low, hoarse. "You want to stop?"

You shook your head—barely—and he nodded like he understood something sacred.

"I want you to feel good," he said softly, leaning in to press the lightest kiss to your thigh, just below the hem of your shirt. "I want to take my time with you. If you’ll let me?"

The question lodged in your chest like a plea. You couldn’t speak, only nodded, and his hands flexed slightly in response. 

Jack stood first, rising fluidly, eyes never leaving yours. As he straightened, your hands found his hair, fingers threading through the soft strands at the base of his neck. That was all it took—the smallest pull, the softest touch—and the space between you collapsed.

Not in chaos, not in desperation, but in something careful. Like reverence wrapped in desire. Like he’d been waiting for this, quietly, for longer than he dared admit.

And when his lips met yours, it was a live wire.

Deep. Soft. Unapologetically tender.

But it didn’t stay chaste. Jack’s hands found your hips, drawing you closer, fitting your bodies together like a secret only the two of you knew how to keep. His tongue brushed yours in a slow, exploratory sweep, and you gasped against his mouth, fingers fisting in the back of his shirt.

The kiss turned hungry, molten—slow-burning restraint giving way to a need you both had held too tightly for too long. Jack’s hand slid beneath the hem of your shirt, tracing the curve of your spine, and you arched into him, a quiet gasp slipping free.

"Tell me if you want me to stop," he murmured between kisses, voice thick, reverent.

You pulled back just enough to whisper, "Don’t you dare."

That was all he needed.

And when he kissed you again, it was like promise and prayer and everything you hadn’t let yourself want until now.

His hands moved with aching care—one sliding up your spine to cradle the back of your neck, the other splaying wide at your waist, pulling you flush against him. The heat between you was slow and encompassing, more smolder than spark, until it wasn’t—until it ignited all at once.

Jack walked you backward until your hips bumped the counter, and he pressed into the space you gave him, forehead resting against yours. "You undo me," he whispered, breath trembling against your lips. "Every single time."

You were already breathless, clinging to his shirt, heart pounding in your throat.

His mouth found yours again, deeper this time, hands exploring—confident now, reverent, like he was learning every part of you for the first time and never wanted to forget. You moaned softly into the kiss, and Jack cursed under his breath, low and ragged, like the sound had torn through his composure.

And then there was no more space. No more distance. Just heat, and hunger, and the slow unraveling of restraint as Jack lifted you gently onto the counter, your knees parting for him, his name spilling from your lips like a secret.

You kissed like the world was ending. Like this was your only chance to get it right. He needed to feel you pressed against him to believe it wasn’t just a dream.

The kiss deepened, urgent and breathless, until Jack was devouring every sound you made, like he could live off the way you whimpered into his mouth. He groaned low in his throat when your nails scraped lightly down his back, your body arching into his hands like instinct.

He touched you like a man memorizing, devout and thorough—hands mapping the curve of your waist, mouth dragging heat across your throat. He tasted sweat and shampoo and you, and that alone nearly undid him. You felt the tension coil in his spine, the restraint he was holding like a dam, every movement deliberate.

"God," he rasped, lips at your ear, "you have no idea what you do to me."

And when you gasped again, hips shifting, he exhaled a shaky breath like he was trying not to fall apart just from the sound.

"You smell like my soap," he murmured with a rough chuckle, nosing along your jaw. "But you still taste like you."

You whimpered, and he kissed you again—harder now, letting the hunger break through, swallowing your reaction like a man starved.

He praised you in murmured fragments, over and over, voice low and wrecked.

Beautiful.

Brave.

So fucking good.

Mine.

Each word making your skin feel like it was glowing beneath his hands.

And when he finally took you to bed, it wasn’t rushed or careless—it was everything he hadn’t said before now, every ounce of feeling poured into his mouth on your skin, every whispered breath of worship like he was praying into the hollow of your throat.

Jack kissed you like he needed to memorize the taste of every sound you made, like your skin was the answer to every question he’d never asked out loud. His hands roamed slowly, confidently, with that same quiet focus he wore in trauma bays—except now it was all for you. Every inch of you. His mouth lingered at your collarbone, your ribs, the soft curve of your stomach—pressing his devotion into the places you tried to hide.

You felt undone by how gently he worshipped you, how much he wanted—not just your body, but your breath, your closeness, your everything. He murmured praise against your skin like it was sacred, like you were something holy in his arms.

And when he finally moved over you, hands braced on either side of your head, eyes searching yours like he was asking permission one more time—you nodded.

He exhaled like it hurt to hold back. Then gave you everything.

Later, tangled in blankets and the afterglow, Jack pulled you closer without a word. One hand splayed wide against your back, the other curled around your fingers like he wasn’t ready to let you go—not now, maybe not ever. You buried your face into the crook of his neck, breathing in the warmth of him, the scent of skin and comfort and safety.

"I’m gonna need you to stop making that noise when you taste food," he murmured eventually, voice sleep-thick and amused.

You huffed a laugh into his shoulder. "Or what?"

"I’ll marry you on the spot. No warning. Just a salmon fillet and a ring pop."

Your laughter shook the bed.

Jack smirked, the ghost of a tease already forming. "If I’d known praise got you going, I’d have started ages ago."

You swatted at his chest, heat blooming across your cheeks. "Don’t you dare weaponize this."

He grinned into your hair, voice low and wrecked and entirely too fond. "Too late. I’m gonna ruin you with kindness."

You huffed, hiding your face in his shoulder.

Jack chuckled and pulled you closer, murmuring, "You make blushing look really good, by the way."

You were never going to live this down. And maybe, just maybe, you didn’t want to.

Because Jack Abbot being a secret softie had officially made its triumphant return to your bingo card—and if you were being honest, it had probably been the center square since day one.

"You know," you murmured against his chest, lips curving into a grin, "for someone who acts so stoic at work, you sure have a lot of secrets."

Jack stirred slightly, arm tightening around your waist. "Yeah? Like what?"

You propped yourself up on one elbow, counting off on your fingers. "Secret softie. Great cook. Total sex god."

Jack groaned into your shoulder, bashful. "Jesus."

"I'm just saying," you teased. "If there’s a hidden talent for needlepoint or poetry, now would be the time to confess."

He lifted his head, eyes heavy with sleep and amusement. "I used to write really bad song lyrics in middle school. That count?"

You laughed, light and easy, your fingers tracing idle circles on his chest. "God, I bet they were terrible."

Jack smirked. "You’ll never know."

"I’ll find them," you said with mock determination. "I’ll unearth them. Just wait."

He kissed your forehead, chuckling softly. "I’m terrified."

And he was—just not of you. Only of how much he wanted this to last.

Jack smiled into your hair, pressing a kiss to your temple. "You're incredible, you know that?"

You shook your head, bashful, eyes cast toward the sheets—but Jack didn’t let it slide. His hand curled tighter around yours, his voice still soft but firm. "Hey. I meant that. You are."

When you didn’t answer right away, he leaned in a little closer, his thumb brushing along your wrist. "I need you to hear it. And believe it. You’re—extraordinary."

The earnestness in his voice left you no room to hide. Slowly, your eyes lifted to meet his.

Jack held your gaze like a promise. "Say okay."

"Okay," you whispered, cheeks burning.

He smiled again, slower this time, and kissed your temple once more. "Good girl."

You didn’t answer—just smiled you were on cloud nine and squeezed his hand a little tighter.

Outside, the city was quiet. Inside, you drifted in and out of sleep wrapped in warm limbs and steadier breath, heart finally quiet for the first time in days. Jack’s hand never left yours, his thumb tracing lazy, grounding circles over your knuckles like he needed the reassurance just as much as you did.

Your limbs were tangled with his beneath the softened hush of early morning, the sheets kicked messily down to the foot of the bed. Skin to skin, steady breathing, fingers still loosely clasped where they had found each other in the dark. He shifted just enough to press a kiss to your shoulder, murmured something you didn’t quite catch—but it didn’t matter. The weight of the night had passed. What remained was warmth. Stillness. Something whole.

You fell asleep like that, curled into each other without pretense. Closer than you'd ever planned, safer than you thought possible. And for the first time in what felt like ages, the quiet wasn’t heavy.

It was home.

Guilty Eyes and Little White Lies

Pairing-Bob Floyd x reader, Bob Floyd x Natasha Trace, Jake Seresin x reader

Warnings-talk of sexual activity, language, drinking, adultery, angst

Summary- you’d thought you had the perfect marriage, what happens when you’re betrayed by the one you love most, and how do you piece yourself back together? Sometimes a little revenge isn’t a bad thing.

A/N- This one has been sitting in the vault for a while! Not my usual at all, but I’m feeling the angsty vibe lately and rolling with it!

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He truly hadn’t meant to let it get this far. The bird strike incident a few weeks ago had them both on edge, feeling their mortality and in a moment of weakness he’d let her kiss him. He’d blamed it on nerves, claimed it didn’t mean anything and continued to push down the gnawing feeling that it might be something more. Then the mission had happened, they’d nearly lost Maverick and then Bradley, and when everyone came back safely everyone had gotten a little too drunk on the carrier that night and he’d somehow found his way to her bunk. They’d fit together in a way that scared him, and when he woke up the next morning he looked down at her sleeping form and didn’t think of you once. But reality hit when they got home, and the wedding ring on his left hand felt like a 1,000 lb weight.

Bob Floyd had royally fucked up, he’d broken protocol by sleeping with his front seater, and the worst part of it all? He’d cheated on his wife. His sweet, beautiful, faithful wife who was waiting for him back in Lemoore. The one he’d sworn to love until he died, and it brought on another wave of nausea as he paced the floor of his barracks room just thinking about how far he’d let things go. He’d fallen for Natasha Trace in the weeks he’d been at Top Gun, he hadn’t meant to truly but she got under his skin in a way that he couldn’t shake. She knew he was married, knew what they were doing was wrong and had agreed to stay apart until he could figure out what to do, but seeing her every day made it more and more difficult to do the right thing. The right thing…the right thing would have been to end it immediately and tell you the truth right when it happened. The right thing would have been to request an immediate transfer back home after the mission ended, but he didn’t do that either. He’d been dodging your calls for days, making up excuses while he tried to find the right things to say, but he knew you were too smart to believe him. You knew something was wrong, and it wouldn’t be long before it all came toppling down.

——————————————————————

When you’d both been stationed at Lemoore two years ago it had been like a dream, finally in the stationed in the same place after years of long distance. You’d soaked up all the quality time, getting to work together every day and go home together every night had always been the goal and it had been everything you’d hoped for. Nothing is ever perfect though, and Jake Seresin was the very definition of throwing a wrench in the machine. He lived to rile Bob up, and nothing ruffled his feathers more than when Jake flirted with you. He always joked that you were far too good for Bob, that you needed someone wild to balance you out and keep you on your toes, you’d constantly shut his flirting down and asked him to be nicer to your husband and for a while Jake did back off. That is until he and Bob got called back to Top Gun for this mission, and most especially when his jabs had been confirmed, opening an empty conference room door one evening to find your husband pressed against Phoenix with her hand down his pants. After they’d been caught he had ended it, he hated himself for what he’d done but couldn’t bring himself to find the words to tell you the truth.

Bob knew there was no point in begging Jake to keep his mouth shut, so he simply asked to be able to explain to you himself. You’d been devastated, but not surprised. He’d been avoiding you for weeks, every time you’d discussed coming down for the weekend he’d claimed he had things to do and didn’t want to drag you down to San Diego just to sit in a barracks room. You’d held it together as best you could but you were furious, you’d never given him any reason to stray and to watch him throw 5 years down the drain for a woman he barely knew set a fire in you. So one Friday you packed an overnight bag and drove down to North Island, pulling into the unfamiliar apartment complex late in the afternoon. The ridiculous jacked up truck in front of the building told you he was home from work, and you made your way to his door still shaking with nerves despite feeling so confident all day. Jake Seresin in nothing but sweatpants was a sight to see, and the shock on his face was even better. He had texted you a few days before to make sure you were ok, offered you a place to crash if you decided to come down and discuss things with Bob in person, he certainly didn’t expect you to show up and had to say he was glad he got to reap the benefits of Bob’s shitty lapse in judgement.

“As happy as I am to see you Sweetheart, are you sure you’re up for all this? You don’t have to do this yet if you aren’t.”

“It needs to be done Jake, I need closure and I want to move on. So take me out to this bar you guys keep talking about, and let’s burn the rest of my marriage to the ground.”

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Just a few hours later you and Jake were perched at the bar, nice and tipsy and feeling lighter than you had in days. You knew Bob and Phoenix would be there soon and the thought suddenly had you white knuckling the bar stool, maybe you’d been too bold in thinking you could handle catching him in some other woman’s arms, maybe you weren’t as brave as you thought you’d been after all. Jake seemed to notice the shift in you, knocking his knee into yours to pull you out of your head. He gave you a wink and peeled your hands from the stool, taking them both in his.

“You sure you still want this? I am totally fine with us heading home with some ice cream and letting you cry it out, but I’m also down to kick his ass if you need me to. Whatever you want to do we’ll do it, just say the word and we’re out of here.”

You heard him before you saw him, the group of aviators from his squad calling his name and you knew it was too late to run. You shook your head, plucking Jake’s tequila shot from his hand and downed it, revenge was all you had left and you’d be damned if he took that from you too. Standing up and smoothing the material of the dress that was your husband’s favorite you backed yourself up against the bar, settling yourself between Jake’s legs and wrapped your arms around his neck.

“Put your money where your mouth is Seresin, show me what I’ve been missing.”

——————————————————————

Meanwhile on the opposite side of the bar everyone is saying their hellos, none of the squad know what’s been going on behind the scenes and as far as they can tell it’s just a normal Friday night meetup. Phoenix is the first to notice that Hangman is missing from the crew, Rooster nodding towards the bar letting them know he’s on a date with some girl from out of town.

“Hangman has a girlfriend?! Since when?”

“Beats me, he just said she’d come down to visit for the weekend and he’d bring her over when she was up for it.”

Bob is clueless to it all, and offers to grab the next round as everyone sets the table up for a new game.

He’s settling into a bar seat with Phoenix to wait for their beers as she nods in your general direction.

“Well they look cozy, but I swear I’ve seen that girl before, she looks so familiar. Bob, have you seen her before? I feel like we know her.

He looks up towards the direction she’s pointed and it feels as if his world has been upturned. Because just across the bar from him is Lieutenant Jake Seresin with his tongue down his wife’s throat, bodies pressed together with a handful of your ass.

“I know exactly where you know her from Phoenix, that’s y/n. That’s my fucking wife.”

——————————————————————

Jake is having the time of his life if he’s honest, he’d always been fond of you but he had enough respect for the sanctity of marriage to keep his hands to himself. You’d always belonged to someone else, that is until Baby on Board had done exactly what he expected and fumbled the bag. He knew you were hurt and that his chances would be slim for a while, but he’d bide his time if that meant he got to hold you like this tonight. And if it helps satisfy your need for revenge? He certainly wouldn’t mind helping you out with that. He was just a philanthropic kind of guy after all. You were a little tipsy now, giggling while he kissed you and he decided to play up the game a little and slide a hand down to grope your ass. You yelped but leaned into his touch, and he had to keep reminding himself this was just a game, that you weren’t his and that he still had to win you over.

“Jakeeee, you’re gonna get us in trouble if you keep this up, I don’t want us catching an indecent exposure charge” you said a little breathlessly into his mouth, maybe this hadn’t been the best idea; you could definitely see the appeal, and as it turned out Hangman wasn’t just all talk- he was very good.

“Sweets if I had it my way we’d already be halfway to my bedroom, but I’ll save that for another night. ‘Sides it looks like we’ve struck that nerve you were looking for, your husband’s looking our way and I think he’s getting a taste of his own medicine.” Jake cocked his head in the direction of Bob and Phoenix, winking at them as he continued to press kisses into your neck.

“Oh-oh shit, maybe we should go outside before we start a bar brawl.” You were wide eyed as you pushed him back a little, but he could see you were still comfortable with him continuing the plan so he looped an arm around your waist and tossed a 50 on the bar as he led you towards the back exit.

——————————————————————

“What do you mean that’s your wife?! What is she doing here, and what is she doing with Seresin?”

Natasha is spiraling, meanwhile Bob can barely hear her. He can only hear the rush of blood in his ears and his heart thumping out of his chest, nausea rising up in his throat as he catches Jake’s eye. The motherfucking gall of Jake Seresin, he’d spent months jabbing at Bob about how you were too good for him and while it had stung he’d been confident that you’d never be interested in him, but now to see your body pressed to his, kissing someone else? It confirmed every fear he’d had, he absolutely deserves this; you’d given him everything and he’d burnt it down but damn if it didn’t hurt to watch you walk away in the arms of someone else.

“Nat- I can’t do this right now. Can you find a ride home? I need to talk to her, see if she’ll let me apologize in person.”

She looks hurt, but she knows damn well she has no reason to be, this is on the both of them and she has to respect whatever choices he makes.

Bob follows the path you and Jake took towards the back exit, no idea what he’s going to say or if you’ll even listen but his feet carry him anyways, into the balmy night air and across the lot where he can see the two of you talking.

—————————————————————————

“Alright pretty girl, had enough revenge for tonight? Think it’s about time we get you home.” Jake said with a grin as he ushered you towards the truck at the back of the parking lot, you were a little unsteady in your wedge sandals but it had felt good to let loose tonight. You didn’t give a shit what Robert Floyd thought of your behavior, you’d tried to be his everything for so long and knowing that he could throw it out the window so quickly just solidified that it had never had anything to do with you. Something in him was broken, he could have had a long lasting love and he took it for granted. You wrapped both arms around Jake’s bicep and leaned into him with a sigh; you didn’t know what this was with him but you definitely knew you weren’t ready to get your heart broken by another handsome face anytime soon. All you could hope was that he’d settle for friends in the meantime, but you couldn’t dwell on it now, because through the buzz of the alcohol you suddenly heard a voice you knew all too well calling your name above the crash of the waves. Of course he was, he couldn’t just let you have this one night to have the upper hand, he’d actively avoided you for weeks and the second someone else paid you attention he suddenly had something to say.

You went ramrod straight and froze, Jake turning slightly to see what had you so tense and scoffed as he watched Bob make his way towards you both. He tugged a little to shield you from Bob but you looked up at him and shook your head, you could handle this; there was no need to delay it like he had and you had plenty to say.

“Y/n, can I just have a minute-“

“You don’t deserve a second of her time Floyd and you know it.” Jake snapped, but the gentle touch of your hand on his arm gave him pause; it wasn’t his job to be the white knight and he knew damn well you could handle yourself, but he couldn’t help but want to shield you from anymore pain.

“I’ve got this Jake, give me some time ok? I’ll be back.” You squeezed his arm and stepped away, and you thought you saw pain flash over Bob’s features at the familiarity between you two, but he had no right and he knew it. You followed him down the rickety wooden ramp to the beach, the sound of the crashing waves filling the awkward silence.

“I’m sorry.” He said, so quietly you could barely even hear it, tears pricking the corners of his eyes as he looked down at you, and all it did was make you see red.

“You're… Sorry? After shutting me out for weeks and then telling me what happened in an e-mail, you’re sorry? Well I’ll be, that’s gotta be the biggest pile of horse shit I’ve ever heard Bob.” You laughed, but it was harsh, it had him wincing from the coldness in your tone.

“You’ve got to be shitting me, I get an adrenaline rush, I get feeling your mortality, hell I’d even get it if you just kissed her. But you slept with her, you gave pieces of yourself to her that were only ever supposed to belong to me, and then to make it worse you hid it from me…for weeks! You have always been someone I considered to be honorable, and this? This betrayal? This is slimy. This is cowardly, and you fucking know it.”

You didn’t cry, you didn’t scream, you simply said your peace and when you looked back at him his eyes were full of tears and regret.

“I broke us, I know that. I’ve always known you deserved better, tried to be better, and I don’t have an excuse for any of it. I don’t know how I got here, I just know that I’m sorry. I ended it, we are just friends now, and I know that means shit to you but I’m trying. I just didn’t know if you’d even listen if I called, and then you came in tonight, with him and I realized just how much it hurt. God, seeing you with him- it makes me sick. I get it now, I get how much it must’ve hurt you. I know that’s why you did it, and I deserve it, I deserve it all. I don’t know where we go from here, but I don’t want you out of my life, I know it’s unfair to ask.” He couldn’t even look at you, it was infuriating to think that the man you loved had become this shell, a person you couldn’t even recognize.

“I wish you well Robert, I would never wish harm on you, but no. You clearly need to work on yourself, and so do I. Wherever that journey takes us, it’s not us against the world anymore. I don’t think I could ever look at you the same, and it’s not fair to ask me to try. I’ll speak with our lawyer, see if we can wrap this up as smoothly as possible, but there is no more us. I hope you find what you’re looking for.” You say with a sigh and a small tear rolls down your face before you can swipe it away, one last tear shed for the end of a life you’d always dreamed of. As you walked away from him and made your way back to the lot, you could hear his broken sobs, and you prayed whatever higher power existed would help him move past this, because you couldn’t stay.

Jake helped you get in the truck and the two of you drove in silence on the short trip back to his home, he could see you lost in thought so he let you drown in it for a few minutes until he pulled into the parking area. You swiped more stray tears, and then with a deep breath let your body sag into the plush leather of his f-150.

“You know why I was always on him about not being good enough for you?” Jake said quietly, causing you to turn and face him. You had always wondered, and begged him to stop more than once, he’d always said it was just fucking around but you had a suspicion it was something more.

“It wasn’t because I was trying to put a wedge between you two, well…maybe some of it was, but really it was because he never really saw you. It was always about him and you seemed sad, like you were ornamental, a box to be checked off on his list (and he did love to make lists), but never like he truly saw what he had. It drove me nuts, I’d kill for that, and I knew it was wrong, but I wanted it with you. And then when he fucked it all up I knew it would hurt you, but I couldn’t help but think that I could be the one to show you how much better you deserved to be treated. I can love you better, maybe not today, maybe not for a while, but I’ll wait y/n. You’re worth the wait.”

He looked wrung out from his confession, you knew he’d had some kind of schoolboy crush but it had never occurred to you that his feelings were genuine. He was the Hangman for gods sake, he’d always seemed like this larger than life flirt, why on earth would he be into some mousy little jag lawyer who was already married to one of his teammates? Maybe he was right, you did have a habit of putting yourself in small boxes to let Bob shine, he’d never asked you to but you’d done it anyway; you’d always put him first but he’d never thought to do the same.

“I’m not ready yet Jake, and I can’t promise I’ll be ready anytime soon. I’ve got to find me again, I don’t even know how I got here. But someday…someday I think I might like to know what it’s like to be loved by you. If you can wait for me, I’d really love that.”

He grinned at you and you couldn’t help but smile back, there was just something about him that lit you up in a way you’d never felt before. Friends would have to be enough for now, but someday you’d let yourself really appreciate just what it could be like to be truly loved.

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