The Abbot Family - Pittfest Part 1

Episode twenty five- “The Test”

Michael Robinavitch x wife reader x kids

Warning ⚠️: overwhelmed Micheal and mention of pregnancy

Tagging: @happyfox43

It all starts with Michael walking into the upstairs bathroom after his shower. He grabs a towel and notices something sitting on the counter — a pregnancy test. Used. Positive.

His blood runs cold.

His brain? Short-circuits.

Michael’s Inner Monologue:

Sawyer. It’s Sawyer. She’s seventeen. Jeremy. That little—

I will call the FBI. I will call the CDC. I will call NASA. Nobody is safe.

He storms downstairs, face pale, clutching the test in one hand like it's nuclear-grade material.

In the kitchen:

Y/N is flipping pancakes. Diana sips her coffee. Spencer is feeding Kojo bits of scrambled egg. Alex, now 9 and more sarcastic than ever, is doodling in his anatomy sketchbook. Sawyer is texting at the table, humming to herself.

Michael walks in like a storm cloud. “Whose is this?!”

Everyone turns.

Spencer drops her fork. “Oh no, Dad found drugs.”

Y/N blinks. “What are you talking about?”

Michael holds up the test. “This. This is what I’m talking about. Positive. Pregnant. Our daughter. Pregnant.”

Sawyer chokes on orange juice. “What?! Are you serious?!”

Alex mutters, “I knew Jeremy looked suspicious.”

Y/N, blinking slowly, finally speaks. “Michael… that’s mine.”

Everyone freezes.

Michael: “...What?”

Y/N, a little flustered, but smiling: “I was going to tell you tonight. I was late. Took a test this morning. I’m pregnant.”

Michael’s jaw unhinges.

Reactions:

Michael: “I—oh thank God. I mean—oh my God. We’re—again? Four? I need to sit down.”

Sawyer: “Dad thought I was pregnant? I’m seventeen. Disgusting.”

Alex: “So… a new baby? Do I get promoted to middle child plus rank?”

Spencer: (gasps, then dramatically slides her clipboard across the table) “I have to start a whole new chart. Baby Robinavitch IV. Expected arrival: TBD. Operation Stork Drop has begun.”

Kojo: whines and barks once like he's already prepping to be a baby’s furry guard again.

Diana: sips her coffee, unfazed. “You do realize I’m going to have to move into the guest room for three months again.”

Y/N walks over and wraps her arms around Michael’s waist. “You okay?”

Michael looks down at her, still stunned, still processing, but a slow smile creeps in. “I thought I was going to be a teenage grandfather. I’ll take sleepless nights and diapers over that any day.”

Spencer jumps up on a chair and announces: “FAMILY MEETING! Project: New Baby is live. We need schedules, names, and Kojo needs a second badge!”

Death and the Lady: Chapter Seven: Chibs Telford x Reader

PREVIOUS CHAPTER FOUND HERE

Slightly NSFW 18+

TAG LIST:

@youngadult9016  @mrsfilipchibstelford @mamawiggers1980 @ravennaortiz @liveinsteadofdreaming @redwoodmaya

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Chapter Seven: Unconventional

Y/N was thankful that Skeeter had been willing to allow her to borrow his Toyota pick up truck as she was quite sure the old hearse would not even manage to make the short thirty mile drive from Charming to Lodi. 

Although it should reasonably only take her a couple of hours to travel from the funeral home in Charming to Saint Elizabeth’s Institute in Lodi, Y/N was not willing to take the risk of anything happening to the old hearse. 

Given that her Acura was still in the care of TM Auto, and would be for a while at least according to Chibs, she was not looking to add another broken down vehicle to her problems. 

Skeeter had not seemed to mind her borrowing his truck for a few hours at the very least. He knew she’d been putting this off for far too long now. 

Y/N would be lying if she tried to claim she had not been tempted to use her lack of reliable transportation as a reason to avoid making this trip today, but she knew she’d been putting it off for far too long now. 

The last time she’d made the trip had been two Christmases ago when she’d visited home for the holidays.  

She adjusted her coat pulling it closed tighter against her body as she made her way through the long hallways of Saint Elizabeth’s. 

It was a plain looking building, a little dull to be honest. It was a large structure that looked very much like any other hospital. The sign out front simply stated Saint Elizabeth’s Institute and stated the year it had been established. 

The inside of the building felt sterile and always held an odor of bleach and an undertone of something quite unpleasant that someone had attempted to cover with lavender air freshener. The scent always gave Y/N a headache. 

The entire place actually made her feel ill. The building always felt far too cold even in the winter. The sparse furniture in the hallway and the lack of decor only added to the feeling of cold. The walls were all either white or a pale blue. She’d assumed the color choices were meant to be calming, but it just made her feel lethargic.

The overhead lights gave the hallway a far too bright tone and patients and nurses alike passed Y/N on occasion as she slowly made her way through the halls, though the patients for the most part seemed to be escorted by a nurse or some other aide.

Y/N cringed as she neared the hospital’s recreation room having been told by the nurse on hand that this would be the best place to visit with her brother.

Lunch had ended not long ago and medications had just been given out. Most of the hospital’s residents were in their rooms or off to their daily therapy sessions. Y/N had been told simply to head to the recreation room and a nurse would fetch Daniel and bring him to her.

She sighed as she reached the room trying not to cringe as she took a seat in a plastic chair by a small table. She’d never grow accustomed to the strange furniture in the institute. It was all plastic and mostly bolted down to the floor.

She knew the reasoning of course; some patients might be prone to violent fits and it wasn’t wise to have heavy furniture that was not attached to the floor. A nurse had reassured Y/N, the first time she’d noticed the strange furniture, that it was intended both for the safety of the staff and residents alike.

The recreation room didn’t seem to have much for recreation. There was a television which was bolted up high against the wall, a few board games in a cabinet, a few books and magazines, and a few jigsaw puzzles. Y/N guessed that the staff kept most of the recreation locked away until it was time to use it. 

Y/N adjusted the visitors badge that had been attached to her coat, briefly debating taking the coat off but deciding against it as she noticed a chill to the air as the air conditioner switched on making the cold space all the more icy.

She shifted in her seat crossing and uncrossing her legs. She frowned slightly regretting not wearing something more casual. 

She’d chosen to wear an outfit she might usually wear at work; a black dress, tights, a dark coat, and a pair of black ballet flats. 

She was technically making this trip during a work-day after all, so she’d dressed for the work day.

She sighed, staring down at her hands as she placed them on the table in front of her. She resisted the urge to pull out the pocket mirror she carried in her purse and check her appearance. She silently debated if she should have worn her makeup a little lighter. The darker lipstick most likely made her look all too much like a woman in her late twenties instead of the girl Daniel at times remembered her as being.

A voice in the back of her head warned her that Daniel might not entirely recognize her today, though she’d been told by the nurse that he was having a good memory day.

Y/N knew that most of the time though Daniel most likely still pictured her as that eighteen year old girl with a nostril piercing and an honestly peachy tone of pink hair that had faded over the summer, her roots all too noticeable. He remembered her as she’d been back when he was 24 years old, the year he’d had his accident.

She knew she’d grown since then. She no longer appeared to be that rebellious punky teen girl. She looked like an elegant young lady. 

It felt strange to realize that though she was the younger sibling it felt as though she'd somehow taken the role of the older sibling. She was older now than her brother had been when he'd had his accident.

She was certain her more professional adult look might seem alarming to him if his memory happened to be struggling that day.

Y/N wouldn’t lie, at times she feared that a day would come where Daniel would no longer recognize her as his sister. As they grew older she knew her appearance would change all the more. 

The doctors didn’t seem to have any clear answers as to whether his memory would decline further with his head injury. For the most part she felt that the doctors seemed to stick to the line that no head injury was exactly alike. She’d heard the promise that they would monitor his symptoms but only time would tell what the future held for him. 

All they knew was that her brother struggled with his impulse control, his emotional control, and occasionally short term memory. He also struggled with self-care; remembering to do something as simple as bathing and brushing his teeth. Then there was the issue of the seizures, though they were rare. 

The medications he took were meant to control the seizures as well as his emotional outbursts.

For the most part Y/N felt that the medications only made him drowsy and slow. They’d caused him to put on weight as they increased his appetite. That was why he would not stay on them if he was left to his own devices. He didn’t like how they made him feel, but without them his symptoms only worsened. 

She knew that because of all of these issues that the hospitalization was necessary. It didn’t stop her from feeling guilty as hell though.

She tried to appear as though she was carefree as the nurse she’d spoken to entered the room guiding her brother over to the table.

Y/N hesitated to reach for him as he was sat down at the table across from her. She always feared touching him first, almost certain that one day he would only see her as a stranger.

Her brother was clean shaven; it was a stark contrast to how he’d been before the accident. He usually always wore some scruff. His hair was no longer shaggy the same way he’d once kept it; instead it was cut shorter than he’d ever keep it if it was entirely up to him. He seemed far too pale and the dark circles under his eyes were far too noticeable. He was wearing the same thing he usually wore each time she saw him; gray sweatpants and a white t- shirt with socks and houseshoes. 

He was at least clean; the staff made sure he bathed. 

Y/N at least made sure to send him clothing as often as she could, always initialing the tags with his name so that it would hopefully not be misplaced when the laundry was done. The hospital bracelet he wore on his wrist alerted staff of his name and his level of care along with some other information. The print was always too fine to read without making her feel like she had to strain her eyes. 

She was relieved as he seemed to recognize her after a moment of uncertainty. He spoke his voice a raspy sluggish tone as his hand reached out for hers. “What are you doing here?”

Y/N spoke her voice soft as she tried to pretend the nurse wasn’t lingering nearby clearly monitoring the situation. “I was in the area. I thought I’d come for a visit.”

“Is dad here too?” The question spilled from Daniel’s lips Y/N doing all she could not to outwardly grimace.

Telling her brother that their father was dead was not something that had stuck in his memory. He went back and forth between remembering their father was dead to forgetting it entirely.

His doctors had advised her not to tell him that their father was dead during the times he seemed to forget. It was too upsetting to him, she’d been told. It would only make him relive the fresh grief over and over again.

“No, he couldn’t make it…work is busy. Skeeter and he had a big funeral they had to prep for.” Y/N lied through her teeth hating that it had to be like this.

She knew it was the best case scenario of course. It was cruel to keep making him relive that grief in times like this.

However it was difficult to pretend that their father wasn’t dead and buried in Charming’s cemetery where he’d been for months now. She knew well enough he was dead. She’d embalmed his body at his request in his final wishes. She’d chosen the casket and the flowers as well as the pamphlets for the funeral. She’d found a minister to speak at his funeral. She’d written the obituary and paid to have it posted in Charming’s local newspaper. She had stood in a receiving line for mourners playing the role of the bereaved instead of the funeral director. She’d had to take on the emotional and financial burden of the funeral. She had to read his will and realize her life was changed forever. 

She had to do it all by herself, and now she had to carry on this act pretending that none of that emotional turmoil had happened. 

Daniel twisted his lips, his brow furrowing. “He’s mad at me.”

“Why would you say that, sweetheart?” Y/N asked managing to give his hand a gentle squeeze trying to keep her voice level.

She winced a voice in the back of her head taunting her that she was an awful sister, lying to her brother carrying on this charade that their father was alive.

Daniel scoffed at the question, his brow furrowing further. “I don’t know…he’s just mad at me. I must have done something awful. That's why he never visits.”

Y/N sighed that cruel voice in the back of her head insisting if their father was still living and had any reason to be mad at anyone then she would probably be the one in deep shit at the moment given her current ties to SAMCRO. She was quite sure she would be the reigning champion of being the family disappointment at the moment. 

She pushed the thought from her mind, her voice cracking somewhat as she struggled not to start crying. “That isn’t true, my darling. He’s not mad at you. He loves you very much. He loves both of us more than we know. Even if we upset him, he’d never deny us that love. You know he’s always been there for us…even when we mess up. That’s the kind of dad he is. Remember that time I broke that brand new urn that we had in the display room because I kept playing in the display room after he told me not to. He was so upset but he didn’t even yell or spank me. It was a super expensive urn too…uh had the gold edges to it…it probably cost a fortune, but he only gave me a firm talking to and didn’t make me feel bad for it for too long. I was barely grounded. You know dad’s heart. He wears it on his sleeve. Even if you upset him, he wouldn’t be a jerk about it.”

She paused, taking a deep breath once again lying through her teeth. “You know how he is, Danny. He’s a workaholic. Once he gets caught up with work there’s no pulling him away. I’m sure he’s going to visit soon…maybe once work slows down.”

“When can I go home? I want to go home.” Daniel remarked, apparently moving on from the subject of their father on to another difficult subject.

She sighed, shaking her head, not surprised by the choice in subject. They had this talk often and it was always difficult.  “I don’t know when, Danny. You’re still not well. You have to stay here a little longer. Just until you get better. I know it’s hard, but you have to stay here a little longer.”

“I feel fine though. I feel okay, I just want to go home. Please, Y/N take me home.” He insisted his voice cracking, he squeezing her hand almost hard enough it hurt.

She took a deep breath shaking her head, a stray tear working its way down her cheek. She wiped it quickly with her free hand. “I can’t. I wish I could, but I can’t…not yet.”

“Why not?” He snapped, squeezing her hand even harder enough to make her flinch the pain shooting through her nerve endings.

She sighed as the nurse stepped forward ready to step into action if things got too out of hand. 

She spoke, taking a deep breath. “Because you aren’t well. I know you think you feel fine, but you aren’t ready to go home yet. Just be patient, sweetheart.”

“It’s easy for you to say. You don’t have to stay here.” He snapped again his grip on her hand not loosening even slightly.

She took another deep breath, shooting the nurse a glance of reassurance before she spoke again. “I know. I’m so sorry. I would take you home if I could, in a heartbeat. We have to wait though.”

She spoke again trying to distract him knowing it was the best method to take when he got worked up like this. “In the meantime try to find things to keep you busy. The grounds here are nice, aren’t they? I saw some flower beds the last time I was here. I know you like going outside and seeing them when it's nice out. You should see the greenhouse back home. The tomatoes and cucumbers are getting big…the strawberries are looking good too. I can bring you some strawberries next time, if they’ll let me. You like those right? The strawberries were always your favorite. I know you didn’t care much for the gardening part of it…except for that time you grew that marijuana plant that you tried to hide behind my tomato plant. I was so annoyed when I found it…and it didn’t really work anyway because you couldn’t keep enough light on it to actually do anything. Remember that?”

“I don’t care, I want to go home.” Daniel snapped at her squeezing all the harder she audibly letting out a gasp the pain becoming a little too much to ignore.

With this the nurse stepped forward two orderlies seeming to appear out of nowhere.

Y/N cringed as her brother was yanked from her by two large orderlies while fighting against the pull. She held her aching hand trying to ignore the pain and keep her voice soothing as she spoke to him. “Daniel, please. Don’t fight them. Just take a deep breath and calm down. It’s okay, just calm down, please, my darling.”

Of course, her soothing did little good, her brother struggling against the hold. Y/N shrank away as the nurse stepped forward placing a hand on her shoulder. “We’ve got this handled, Miss. Y/L/N. Don’t worry. We’re going to give him something to relax him.”

Y/N parted her lips tempted to snap that she didn’t want him doped up more than he already was, but she kept the words at bay

She turned her eyes to the floor feeling helpless as the nurse guided her from the room. She felt the tears begin to fall at the words that were shouted at her by her big brother as she left the room. “I hate you! I don’t want you to come back! I hate you!”

—---

She didn’t allow the tears to fully fall until she left the building, practically collapsing against a bench on the walkway up to the entrance.

She took a deep breath trying her best to keep her composure as she wiped at her eyes furiously. 

She was thankful that there were seemingly no other visitors nearby though she had a feeling if there were they would not pay her any mind. She had a feeling her reaction was a normal one for those visiting loved ones at the institution.

She took another deep breath trying hard to push the last words she’d heard her brother say from her mind.

She knew he didn’t mean them, not really. That was the thing about his condition. The filter that should stop him from saying the first thing that came to his mind just didn’t exist anymore.

Y/N stared down at her purse, opening it and searching through it for the travel sized container of tissues she always carried, her hands brushing across her cell phone.

She was stunned as a thought crossed her mind; she wanted Filip.

It felt odd to admit, even if it was only in her head.

It had been a few weeks since that date they’d had and surprisingly Chibs had called her loyally every single day. Although the calls were never quite at the same time each day, they still managed to be a daily occurrence.

It was strange to admit that she’d found some comfort in the calls.

The calls were something she actually found herself looking forward to.

It was almost funny to consider how a few weeks before she had just wanted her admittedly criminally prone Scottish admirer to get lost, but now she happily anticipated the daily phone conversations they had.

She was a bit surprised that he had not pushed her to plan the second date she’d promised him. A small part of her had to wonder if perhaps he was waiting on her to make the next move. It felt almost amusing to consider that the scary outlaw was feeling nervous and waiting for her to make the next move. 

The phone conversations they'd had felt light, especially considering the way she’d practically dumped her past traumas into his lap on that first date.

They’d talked about their days, Y/N discussing whichever body she was prepping or her frustrations with the local florist who was always screwing up orders for funeral flowers. He’d talk about something dumb Half-Sack or Juice had done and a bike or car he was working on at the garage.

She’d found that she liked the clear sense of adoration she heard in his voice when he discussed his brothers even when he called them idiots. She’d also discovered that she liked the passion in his voice when he talked about whatever motorcycle he was repairing. 

She’d enjoyed listening to him discuss a terrible but healthy smoothie Juice had tried to get him to drink or something truly awkward Half-Sack had managed to say right in front of Clay. 

She was surprised to find that Chibs made her laugh. Even when she was stuck in the gloom of embalming a difficult case that felt honestly depressing; she was able to place Chibs on speaker phone and feel some sense of light through the gloom. 

The conversations had felt easy with him though they hadn’t necessarily been deep conversations.

It still felt nice; discussing her day with someone. It wasn’t something she’d had with someone in a very very long time.

She was stunned to admit that she had found a sense of comfort with Chibs. It was such a contradiction when she said it outloud; the dangerous outlaw biker felt comforting. 

She was surprised to find that he was sweet; it was something she’d not expected. She knew no one would believe her. It sounded like another huge contradiction; the admitted criminal was sweet.

She wasn’t naive of course. She knew that Chibs most likely had a side to himself that was far from sweet. She was aware enough to know that he had most likely done horrible things in the past and was capable of doing terrible things in the future.

It was a simple fact that she was surprised failed to invoke fear in her. If anything, a voice in the back of her head was quick to remind her that she’d done a few awful things of her own lately…even if those awful things were at SAMCRO’s request.

That voice in the back of her head still taunted her of course that Chibs would only lead her back to being the unhappy girl she was living in the chaos of SAMCRO. The voice was all quick to call Chibs a devil who’d tempt her back into being in that dark place she’d been in almost a decade before. The voice insisted he’d lead her right back into hell. It reminded her of something her grandmother used to say; you can’t dance with the devil and then keep wondering why you’re in hell. 

Another voice snapped that it was hard to believe she would be unhappy though. She certainly didn’t feel unhappy around him. Being around him didn’t feel like she was in hell. Sure, she was aware that the world he existed in came with a level of chaos. 

She reasoned that in a way she had already signed herself back up for that chaos. She’d signed herself up for it the second she’d agreed to help SAMCRO out and had insisted she would be their new funeral home contact for future favors.

She had asked the devil to dance first hadn’t she?

She was still surprised she’d felt so comfortable explaining everything with her brother and dumping some of her childhood traumas onto Chibs. She was even more surprised that he’d not run screaming.

Y/N could admit she’d not exactly been open about the darker aspects of her childhood and teen years with past boyfriends.

She had only mentioned that she’d been raised in a funeral home and her brother was special needs. She’d casually mentioned she’d been rebellious at one point in her life not going into too much detail.

With Chibs, she’d realized that he’d find out the reality of her brother eventually. If she didn’t say something, surely someone around town would mention it. 

She’d guessed telling him herself would at least let her control the narrative. At least if it came from her lips then he’d get the truth and not whatever wild tale he might hear from someone else.

Somehow even with the truth about her brother and the darker aspects of her childhood, Chibs had not seemed to shy away.

It was something she was astonished by. She was accustomed to people leaving when she was too much.

She’d more often than not been told she was too exhausting to be around. She’d more than often been referenced to as being difficult by boyfriends and friends alike. She was too morbid, too snarky, too moody, and just flat out too much to put up with for the long-term.

Chibs didn’t seem to think that she was too much.

So maybe that was why she reached for her cell phone dialing the familiar number.

She let out a breath she’d not even realized she’d been holding at the sound of his voice on the other end of the line. “Hen, I was jus’ thinkin’ bout ya.”

She managed to feel a small tight smile cross her features at the statement. She was no longer tempted to tell him that he was full of shit and just trying to flatter his way into her pants.

He’d often started out the phone calls he made to her the same way I wanted to call because I was thinking about you.

It felt nice to believe that he thought about her enough to want to hear her voice.

She managed to speak grimacing as she realized her voice felt as weepy as she felt. “Hey.”

“What’s wrong? Ya sound rough, lass.” The concern was evident in his voice. She could distinctly hear the sounds of the garage in the background hinting he was at TM Auto.

The noise grew fainter indicating he seemed to be moving further from the garage most likely wanting to find some privacy for their conversation.

“I just…I’m out in Lodi…visiting my brother.” She admitted staring down at her lap the stark black of her clothing looking inky and harsh against the pale concrete below her feet.

“Aye, wasn’t a good visit I’m guessin’?” Chibs was fast to respond that concern still so clear in his voice.

She let out a weak laugh shaking her head as she responded. “No, no it wasn’t”

Chibs was fast to speak his voice taking a softer tone, the sound feeling soothing. “Ya wanna talk ‘bout it?” 

“I kind of want a good stiff drink to be honest…but uh…yeah…I mean, it’s just difficult. He doesn’t remember our dad is…gone…and he doesn’t get why he can’t go home. It’s just…it’s a shit situation. The last thing he said before I left was that he hates me and never wants me to come back.” She remarked a shaky sigh leaving her, her eyes still focused on the pavement below her trying hard to not let herself break down again.

“Oh, Hen, ya know that ain’ true righ’. He doesn’ mean it. He’s jus’...confused, love. Yer his sister. He loves ya.” was the reply she received. She was a bit surprised to hear a hint of shakiness in his own voice.

“I know, I know…he’s no longer has the ability to stop himself from saying the first thing that comes to his mind…I mean most people if they’re upset might first think they hate someone…but usually that filter in their head will stop them from just blurting that out…his filter…it just doesn’t do what it should. I just hate it…today was allegedly supposed to be a good memory day too…so much for that.” She remarked another shaky sigh escaping her lips.

She swallowed the lump developing in the back of her throat before she spoke again not having it in her to hate how needy her voice sounded. “Can you talk to me about something different…anything? Something nice?”

She was surprised by the response she got. “Ya ever had shortbread? Scottish Shortbread?”

“Uh, I mean…I’ve had shortbread cookies…from the grocery store.” She admitted, a bit thrown off by the conversation choice, but she had requested that he talk about literally anything else other than her current situation.

She rolled her eyes, unable to stop the hint of a genuine smile from crossing her lips at his quick reply. “Nah, not that. That’s pure shite, Hen. Leave that grocery store prepackaged stuff alone. I’m talkin’ real Scottish shortbread.”

“I guess, I’ve never had it then. What’s so special about it?” She dared to ask the misery she felt a moment before lifting by the second.

Chibs didn’t waste a moment to reply. “It’s amazin’, one of my favorites. My ma used to make it the best…I can’ get hers round here of course. The trick is ya gotta have it fresh, with tea or milk on the side. I’m gettin’ ya some real shortbread. Ya gotta try it at leas’ once.”

She spoke, shaking her head the words falling from her lips. “Maybe you should take me to get some then. I apparently need to see what I’m missing.”

“Aye, ya askin’ me out on a date, Hen?” The response came so naturally a flirty tone entering his voice.

She smirked it not taking her long to answer. “I am…and I won’t even bribe you with car repairs.”

She felt as though the misery she’d felt just moments ago was long gone as Chibs managed to laugh at the response he fast to respond. “Aye, ya don’ gotta bribe me to take ya out, love.”

She shook her head ignoring the cruel voice in the back of her head that claimed she belonged locked up right alongside her brother if she was agreeing to another date.

She distinctly remembered the comment Gemma had made the day she’d given Y/N a ride home. It's never just one date.

It would seem indeed that it was not destined to be just one date.

—--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Chibs sighed, his stomach churning as Tig gazed up at him as he passed by the bar in SAMCRO’s clubhouse. “You going to see Y/N again?”

Chibs let out a huff knowing that the cologne he’d put on had most likely given him away. He’d only worn it once afterall the last time he’d taken Y/N out. He was certain Juice must have blabbed his big mouth all about Chibs’ big date and the effort he’d put into his appearance for said date . “Aye, I am.”

“You’ve been talking to her a lot lately. Lots of phone calls.” Tig observed the comment making Chibs feel uneasy.

“Aye.” He kept the response short, shifting the box of shortbread he’d rode out to pick up from a bakery early this morning before they had a chance to sell out.

It wasn’t his mother’s shortbread but it was the closest thing he could find all the way out in California.

“So, you hitting that?” Tig dared to ask, Chibs narrowing his eyes at the question, his free hand that wasn’t holding the box of cookies forming a fist.

He pushed back the desire to throw a punch as he replied. “Ain’ none of yer business.”

Tig smirked, clearly spotting he’d maybe struck a nerve with his brother. Occasionally he could admit he liked pushing his brothers’ buttons…mostly out of boredom.

He’d taken notice of course, that Chibs had been skipping out on Friday night parties and had definitely been neglecting the croweaters.

There was only one possible thing keeping Chibs so distracted. He’d definitely noticed the little looks Chibs had sent SAMCRO’s new asset that night at the crematorium. 

Tig didn’t particularly care to be honest. He was struck by a sense of curiosity though.

He had been around almost a decade before when Y/N had been a frequent visitor to the clubhouse. He could remember the mouthy girl who had been more than willing to drink and smoke a joint. He could also distinctly remember that she’d been less than interested in letting him in her pants….and he’d tried quite hard to charm his way into them.

He could admit it was a bit of a knock to the ego to think that Chibs might very well be traversing territory Tig had failed to explore. He had to admit he felt envious of the Scot.

Tig shook his head. “Just saying, brother. Be careful with that one. She knows a million ways to get rid of a body. I wouldn’t piss her off.”

“Ya ain’ got nothin to worry bout.” Chibs snapped thinking back to the tense conversation he’d had with Clay before that first date he’d had with Y/N.

Tig shook his head a sigh leaving him not helping but to prod a little more even if he knew his next statement was an asshole move. He could admit that a sense of jealousy was maybe pushing him to run his mouth. “I’m guessing little Miss. Death doesn’t know about your wife back in Belfast…pretty sure you’d already be in a casket somewhere if she did. Didn’t think she’d be cool with being a mistress. I mean, she was wild back in the day, tight as hell and a great set of tits from what I heard too, but she still had some moral backbone.”

Chibs moved forward, his fist partially raising but he didn’t have a chance to get far, Juice taking enough notice to step in between Chibs and Tig. Juice maneuvered Chibs away quick to speak. “Let’s take a walk man, come on.”

“Ya keep yer fuckin mouth shut bout her. Ya don’ know what yer talkin bout.” Chibs snapped sending a warning glare at Tig's direction as Juice pushed him away.

Chibs yanked from Juice’s attempts he glaring down at the younger man. “I don’ need a fuckin’ walk. Ya tell that prick if he ever mentions her body or calls her a mistress again I’ll fuckin’ bash his head in.”

Juice groaned as he watched Chibs storm off towards his bike. He rolled his eyes as Tig approached him, the man shrugging his shoulders apparently not minding the death threat. “Was it something I said?”

Juice shook his head as he watched Chibs ride off. He sent Tig a look he speaking. “Really?”

Tig shrugged, playing innocent. “I’m just looking out for him. She finds out about his wife, he’s dead meat. Not to mention, if he pisses her off real good then we lose our funeral home contact.”

Juice shook his head, not responding as he made his way back into the clubhouse. He had to hope that if Chibs continued whatever he had going on with Y/N that he explained his complex past and she didn’t murder him.  

Even with as crude as Tig had been, Chibs most likely would be buried alive if he kept that tidbit of information from Y/N.

—-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Y/N sighed as a firm knock sounded at her office door, cracking slightly Skeeter’s head barely peeking in. 

The man spoke, his eyes rolling ever so slightly at the information he was about to share with his boss. “You have a gentleman caller.”

Chibs frowned, unable to see past Skeeter as Y/N let out a groan from behind the half closed door. “I can’t decide if that’s worse than calling him the outlaw biker. It sounds less panic inducing to anyone that might overhear it, but it makes me sound like I’m some sort of freaking Southern Belle.”

She paused before speaking again. “Well, let him in.”

Skeeter did as he was told though he looked as though he’d much rather deny Chibs entry. Chibs didn’t miss the stern look of disapproval as he passed by the mortician.

Y/N spoke, spotting that Skeeter was still lingering. “You can go, Skeet. I promise I’m fine all on my lonesome.”

Chibs didn’t miss the glare Skeeter sent his way before he shut the door behind him.

He took a deep breath trying to calm any rage that was still lingering around in his gut after his confrontation with Tig. He refused to let her see the enraged parts of him.

He studied her, the sight of her soothing him. She was dressed in another work outfit, another black dress similar to the one he’d seen her wear the first time he’d come to the funeral home.

He had to wonder how many black dresses she owned. He had a feeling it had to be quite a few.

She pushed back her chair standing up from her desk and rounded it as she made her way over to him.

She pressed a soft kiss to his cheek, the action soothing him further. She spoke, spotting the tension practically vibrating off him. ‘Are you okay? You seem…agitated.”

Chibs did his best to give her a smile though he knew it came out as more of a grimace. “Jus’ Tig bein a fuckin’ prick.”

She let out a small bitter laugh rolling her eyes at the comment. “I guess he hasn’t changed much in my time away.”

Chibs took a deep breath tempted to ask her if she’d ever been intimate with Tig, but he bit his tongue.

He had a feeling she’d not given Tig had only commented on what he’d heard about her.

Chibs silently reminded himself that he didn’t care what her past with SAMCRO was. She had said it herself. She was no longer a club hangaround.

A possessive little voice piped up in the back of Chibs’ head insisting she was his now. Another voice piped up that he’d meant what he’d said to Tig. He’d kill the man if he ever commented on her body ever again. He didn’t care if the man was his brother, he’d bash his face in. 

He took a few more deep breaths trying to calm himself. 

Another thing Tig had said had troubled Chibs; the mention of Fiona. It was something Chibs knew would have to come up sooner than later.

Chibs knew Tig was right about one thing…if he kept that part of his past hidden from Y/N she’d probably shove him in the ground. In fact, Chibs was sure that if he withheld this information from her then Y/N would bury him so deep that the devil himself would need a shovel to dig him back up again.

He took a deep breath holding out the box of shortbread he’d gotten; he was no longer as giddy about presenting it to her as he’d been moments before. “I got ya somethin.”

She took it from him, a soft laugh leaving her becoming distracted from his clearly tense mood. “Shortbread. I’m supposed to drink it with tea right, or milk?”

“Aye, whichever ya want. Try it tonigh’ and let me know what ya think.” Chibs replied, his strained mood fading by the second. 

She placed the box on her desk giving him a soft smile. “You didn’t have to come all the way over here just to give me some cookies.”

“Aye, I wanted to…I was hopin’ I could take ya out fer lunch too.” Chibs insisted, having made up his mind on the way to the Funeral Home.

He had to come clean about his past. He had to open up and pray she didn’t hate his guts or assume he was attempting to make her into the other woman.

She gave him a soft smile nodding down to her clothing. “Do you mind if I change shoes? I don’t think heels are a smart idea on the back of a bike.”

He nodded his head trying his best to give her a smile and hide the anxiety beginning to bubble in his stomach. “Aye, heels are probably not a good idea, Hen. I’ll wait on ya.”

She pressed another kiss to his cheek, that warm feeling washing over him again soothing a bit more of his agitation and anxiety.

He watched her leave the room, taking a deep breath as he dropped down into one of the chairs across from her desk.

He stared around the office studying the multitude of items. He clasped his hands together spotting a thick binder sitting on a shelf behind her desk that was labeled casket catalog 2007-2008.

He prayed to any God that might be listening that she wouldn’t shove him in any of those caskets after he broke the news about the life he’d been banished from in Belfast.

Chibs tried to find something less distressing to focus on. His eyes caught a photo on the wall it lifting his spirits momentarily. 

He barely recognized Y/N in the photo. She was so young, clearly barely a teenager. He could distinctly spot a pair of braces on her teeth and a t-shirt emblazoned with Charming’s nearest high school’s mascot. He guessed that perhaps it was a photo leftover from when the office had belonged to her father.

Another photo was framed beside it. Y/N was even younger in this one sat on the front porch of the Funeral Home with a little boy beside her. She looked quite miserable in the soft pink dress she was wearing judging by the clear scowl fixed into her little features. He felt his stomach turn realizing the boy sitting beside her had to be her older brother.

He sighed thinking back to the phone call they’d had the day before after she visited her brother, hoping he wasn’t about to give her another reason to cry. 

He didn’t have long to focus on the fear as the office door opened the object of his adoration reentering the room, a pair of black converse on her feet and a dark coat over her dress.

She spoke nodding to him. “Okay, I’m ready when you are.”

He stood up taking her hand in his once again praying to anyone who might happen to be listening that he wasn’t about to lose the woman he’d just barely managed to start winning over.

—---------------------------------------------------

The taco stand was a bit of a surprise. Y/N didn’t think much of it though, deciding that she was just happy to have a second date with Chibs even if it was a little more spontaneous than she’d expected.

They sat outside on benches the weather thankfully not cool enough for the outdoor space to feel uncomfortable. They seemed to be the only patrons at this stand and she hoped that this wasn’t a sign of the quality of their meal. 

Chibs himself was debating if the taco truck was the best plan. He’d decided that an outdoor space was probably best for the bombshell he was about to drop on her. 

He sighed as she spoke, raising an eyebrow at him taking notice of the fact that he seemed distracted. He’d not even touched his food yet and had seemed dazed as he’d ordered. “Are you sure everything is okay? I mean, how bad did Tig piss you off?”

She cringed worrying that she was pushing it. She imagined it had something to do with the club. She wasn’t sure if they were at the level where Chibs was going to be that open with her about anything related to the club despite her partnership with SAMCRO as a provider of favors.

Chibs let out another sigh deciding he wouldn’t repeat exactly what Tig had said. He had a feeling she’d probably kill the man for commenting on her body in that crude of a manner especially in relation to her past. “He’s jus’ an arse sometimes. It’s jus…I got somthin to tell ya.”

She felt her stomach roll hating that statement. It sounded so ominous. “What’s going on?”

Chibs sighed, deciding to ease into this. “I know I ain’ told ya much bout my family.”

Y/N spoke her cheeks flushing the words falling from her. “I haven’t given you much of a chance. I mean…I kind of turned our first date into a trauma dumping session. I didn’t leave you much room to talk about your own family.”

Chibs spoke, shaking his head reaching out his hand pressing over hers. “It’s fine, Hen. I didn’ mind it.”

He took a deep breath speaking again the words falling out of his lips. “I have a daughter.”

She widened her eyes, not expecting that. She guessed it shouldn’t be too surprising though. He was in his forties. He had to have some life before her. “How old is she?”

“Thirteen…Kerrianne…her name is Kerrianne.” Chibs responded a small smile crossing her features.

“That’s a pretty name, I don’t think I’ve ever heard it before. What’s she like?” Y/N asked genuinely curious to know.

She was surprised she didn’t mind the concept of dating a guy with a kid. She’d never really been around children, but she liked them. She had never really put much thought into if she wanted children of her own. She found that she liked Chibs enough to accept that he was a parent and to accept whatever role she played in that if their relationship should progress to that point. 

Chibs cringed the words falling from him. “I don’ know…I ain’ seen her since she was bout four.”

Y/N felt her stomach drop at this information. He was a deadbeat? She felt her stomach sour at the thought. 

Chibs sighed, shaking his head, spotting the look on her face only able to imagine the thoughts running through her mind. He had a feeling none of them were positive. He spoke again the words sliding from his lips before he could stop them. “She lives in Belfast…with my wife.”

Y/N was certain if she had a drink in her hand she would have tossed it in his face. She glared at him, yanking her hand from his her voice harsh. “You’re fucking married? Are you serious?” 

She scoffed getting up from the bench before he had a chance to register what was happening. 

She spoke, snatching up her purse and her coat as she prepared herself to leave her temper rising by the second. “What am I then? Am I just some stateside fun? Was I meant to be the girl you fucked in the US while your wife and kid sit back in Ireland? I mean, I knew you SAMCRO guys were kind of dysfunctional when it came to relationships and monogamy but this really takes the cake on fucked up. I don’t know what you’ve heard about me from Jackson and all your little friends down at the clubhouse. I know I haven’t always been smart about the guys I’ve hooked up with in the past, but I have developed way more of a sense of self worth than I had almost a decade ago. I am no one’s fucking mistress. Have a nice life Chibs…actually, no, you have the life you deserve. You are such an asshole.”

Chibs scrambled up from the bench moving quick to follow her. He reached out taking her hand in his not shocked as she yanked it away her voice raising. “Don’t you dare touch me!”

Chibs moved fast moving in front of her placing his hands on her shoulder he fast to speak. “Just give me five minutes…Jus’ five minutes to explain.”

“Explain what? You’re a married deadbeat dad, I’m the other woman. End of story. Good riddance.” She snapped moving aside trying to move past him.

Chibs moved just as fast stepping in front of her. “There’s more to the story, lass. Jus’ please, hear me out. If ya still hate me after I tell ya the entire story, I’ll fuck off.”

She groaned tempted to tell him that there was not a story on this planet he could tell to explain away the bombshell he’d just dropped on her.

She gazed up at him, hating to admit that she noticed the longing in his eyes. There was a sense of desperation there that she didn’t like. 

She let out a huff crossing her arms over her chest. “You have five minutes. If I sense even an ounce of bullshit, I’m leaving and not looking back.”

Chibs nodded his head nodding over to a nearby bench. “Can we sit?”

She scoffed, rolling her eyes. “Fine, but the time to go to the bench and sit deducts from the five minute timeline I set.”

He spoke as they sat he sighing. “Fiona an I are estranged. I ain’ seen her in close to a decade now. I ain’ even spoke to her on the phone.”

“But you haven’t divorced her and you don’t see your kid.” Y/N snapped not entirely impressed if this was his attempt to explain himself.

Chibs cringed fast to speak again. “It ain' an option… neither the divorce or seein my Kerrianne.” 

He paused, spotting the look of annoyance on her features as she spoke. “Let me guess? Getting divorced is a huge Catholic no no? Is being a deadbeat dad just a passion project for you?”

Chibs let out a huff shaking his head. “I ain’ exactly practicin’ So, no’ entirely and I ain’t a deadbeat by choice.”

She glared at him her words harsh. “ Don’t you dare try to feed me that my ex is nuts and won’t let me see my kid bullshit. I have heard it from a guy before and I don’t believe the story.”

He spoke shaking his head. “This ain’t me being some arsehole da abandonin his kid. Fiona ain’t the one keepin me away.”

He paused, clearing his throat knowing he had to tell the entrie story, every painful detail. “I met Fiona when I was sixteen. I’d moved to Belfast with my ma an my sister Cait. We moved from one housin’ estate to another…we were poor…My da…he was a real prick…mean bastard who no one missed when he walked out…my ma worked herself to the bone to barely scrape by. I was angry, mad at the world. I was pissed at the government and establishment in general. Fiona…er family was involved in the cause. Third generation…True IRA.”

He paused not wanting to meet Y/N’s eyes as he explained this bit of information. He spoke again, a sigh leaving him. “She talked bout the cause…bout her family. Told me grand tales of the figh’ fer a free Ireland. I was entranced with her stories…entranced with her. By the time we were married I was fully involved in the cause.”

He took another deep breath taking a chance to peek over at Y/N not liking that a hint of fear had joined the rage in her eyes.

He spoke again hoping that even if she understood the history behind Fiona and him that the mention of his involvement with the cause wouldn’t destroy things anyhow. “There was this lad…an ol’ friend of Fiona’s…they were childhood friends. He knew her before I did…Jimmy O’Phalen. He loved her before I did…He hated me…hated that I won Fiona…hated that she loved me…hated my background. He claimed I couldn’t be loyal to the cause given my ancestry…I wasn’ Irish, so I wasn’t as dedicated…I didn’ pay him any mind. I kept on with the cause. Life went on. The years passed by. Fiona an I somehow survived all of our twenties intact..made it to our thirties.”

“Kerrianne…she was born and it was like my life…it got brighter. I loved bein’ her da. I saw it as a chance to be a better lad than my bastard of a da. I stopped bein’ so angry…I…Jimmy O’ called it a weakness…He rose up in the ranks of the cause…got himself into a pretty high spot on the food chain…He started sowing distrust among others involved…started sayin’ I was a loyalist to the crown…sayin I was not truly dedicated…and then when my Kerrianne was barely a year old…Jimmy O’ did this to me.” Chibs explained reaching up to slide along the scars embedded into the flesh along his cheeks.

He paused his throat growing tight still not wanting to meet Y/N’s eyes. He spoke again a shaky sigh leaving him. “I gotta nother scar, along my belly. He tried to gut me too…it was…I almost died…I los’ a lotta blood, lost consciousness. I think the face…the attack was a play on my birthplace…Glasgow…He…he changed his mind toward the end I guess, decided not to kill me. Decided to give me a chance to live. Had his crew drop me off at the front steps to a hospital. He excommunicated me from the cause.”

“Fiona…your daughter?” Y/N dared to ask amazed she found the words as she tried to absorb everything he’d told her thus far her mind going a million different directions all at once.

Chibs let out a shaky breath the words falling from his lips. “Jimmy O’ took em as his…Fer over a decade now…they’ve been with him. He took my wife an’ raised my little girl as his own. Told me if I ever tried to get em back he’d kill em.”

He shook his head a sigh leaving him. “I wished I’d died tha’ nigh’ fer a long time….i wished he’d just killed me instead of keeping me alive to torment me. I joined up with SAMBEL…Belfast Sons. I knew em from business with the cause. I was their firs’ prospect. They took care of me. I found my place in that world.  I…I tried to watch my Kerrianne from a’far…Jimmy O’ let me fer a wee bit…guess he liked dangling her round me…tormenting me with seein’ her from far away…I lasted in SAMBEL fer a few years…but it jus’ it got so…it hur’ seein’ my sweet wee Kerrianne…not bein’ able to even go near her. The chance to patch over to SAMCRO came up an I took it. I wanted to escape.”

He dared to look over at Y/N as he spoke, explaining himself. “Divorcin’ Fiona ain’ an option. Jimmy O’ won’ even let us speak on the phone…I ain’ seen her since I left Belfast. Ya ain’ my mistress. Ya can’t be the other woman when the only reason I ain’ divorced is ‘cause I can’t even talk to my estranged wife to start a divorce.”

Y/N let out a shaky sigh, her mind and her heart feeling heavy. She let everything he’d just told her soak into her brain, her mind going a million different directions. 

The rage she’d felt left her body making her feel exhausted. She felt as though she’d been hit by a mack truck. She felt so drained that all she wanted was to lie down and not move again for a long while. 

Those pesky voices in the back of her mind that screamed that Chibs would lead her to ruin were so fast to speak up insisting that everything he’d just told her was the only evidence she needed to know that he’d lead her to destruction.

Her heart spoke up easily picking up on the pain in his voice as he recalled the story. She thought of him lying in a hospital recovering from the attack all alone wishing for death knowing he’d lost everything. 

She thought of his reaction each time she’d kissed his cheek thus far, the look on his face that told her that no one had shown him that kind of softness. It hit her that she’d kissed a reminder of all that he’d lost.

She let the realization that he was still legally married roll through her brain debating his insistence that she was not his mistress. 

She thought of his daughter and his wife, what their lives must be with the man who had harmed Chibs. She questioned why Fiona had not fought for him though she cursed herself for having such a thought. She didn’t know how she would react if it had been her…if she’d been a mother. 

She felt her stomach turn, her mind flashing back to what he’d said about the True IRA. The thought frightened her. 

She sighed knowing that she’d already realized that Chibs had most likely done horrible things in the past and would do horrible things in the future. She knew he’d never pretended not to be a criminal…at least to her.

She felt a voice in the back of her mind perk up pointing out that Chibs had not given her a reason to think he might harm her. If he was going to harm her he would have killed her that night in the cemetery when she was burying those cremains.

Yes, his past involvement with the cause definitely made her stomach turn and she had a feeling that SAMCRO was still involved given his mention of SAMBEL being involved with the True IRA.

A voice in the back of her head piped up that she wasn’t exactly innocent. She’d done some pretty heinous things for the club lately.

The realization hit her that she didn’t feel afraid of him even with the past misdeeds he may have done for the cause. Even with what he’d done…what he would do in the future for the Sons; she was shocked to find that she didn’t fear for her life. 

Chibs felt as though he was the last person on this planet she expected might harm her. Filip Chibs Telford was no monster. 

She thought of how sweet he’d been on that first date and how lovely he continued to be. 

A monster wouldn’t hold her hand so gently while she spilled her heart about her brother  and her past. A monster wouldn’t bring her shortbread. A monster would never look at her like she was a fine work of art. 

Chibs dared to speak knowing he had to spill his heart as a last ditch effort to hopefully not lose her. “I ain’ been interested in a woman fer more than sex since I…since Fiona…I took advantage of all that came with the clubhouse.”

Y/N cringed decoding that he meant the croweaters. 

Chibs spoke again, a sigh leaving him. “I let myself get swallowed up by life in the Sons...I didn’ want to feel…din’ want to let my heart get involved…Then I met ya. I didn’t expect ya…didn’ expect I’d like ya as much as I do. All I know is yer the firs’ woman I met in over a decade who I wan’ more than just sex with. I like bein’ with ya. I love talkin’ to ya. I think bout ya more often than not. I feel good with ya around. I’m havin a good time with ya and I want to see where it takes us. I don’t want to lose ya when I’ve jus’ barely gotten to have ya. I know I ain’ conventional…I may not be able to give ya the traditional path mos’ relationships take…I jus’ know that when I’m with ya…I don’ want get swallowed up by chaos to escape the misery. So, all I’m askin’ fer is the chance even if it ain’ conventional.”

Y/N let the words marinate in her mind. She picked up on what he said about wanting to be swallowed by chaos to escape feeling awful. Wasn’t that what had led her to hanging around SAMCRO almost a decade before?

She sighed at the realization that no, Chibs would not exactly be able to offer her the stereotypical relationship path. If he was still married there would be no white wedding in the future.

She furrowed her brow knowing she wasn’t exactly in the place in this relationship with him to even consider marriage. The concept of even thinking that far into the future this soon in a relationship that was barely even beginning to bloom was preposterous. 

She glanced over at Chibs her heart telling her that she’d had fun with him. She didn’t want to sink into misery and isolation when he was around. 

She recalled the thought she’d had that first date when she had to leave to attend to the deceased that had fallen into the care of her funeral home.

For the first time in her life she preferred the company of someone living and didn’t want to avoid life to tend to the dead.

Her heart screamed that she didn’t want to go back to isolating herself and spending all her time with the dead.

She wanted to live. Chibs made her want to live.

She reached out, making up her mind, her hand sliding over his as she spoke. “Do you promise me every single thing you just said to me is the absolute truth? I am not the other woman?”

“I swear to ya. You are not a mistress. I may be a bastard, but I ain’ goin to lie bout that.” Chibs insisted his heart daring to lift just the slightest.

Y/N sighed telling the fears in the back of her head to shut up, deciding to listen to what her heart screamed. “Okay. I’m here…I’m not going anywhere Filip.”

She paused, shaking her head as she spoke again. “I’ve never been the conventional type…I don’t expect traditional from you…at least not in the white picket fence stereotype ... .I do expect monogamy, Filip. If you want someone who’s fine sitting by while you get your dick wet somewhere else then I’m not the girl for you.”

“I am fine with that. I don’ want anyone else, Hen. I haven’ even considered it since we met.” He replied being completely honest with her, surprised to find that he didn’t think he’d miss the freedom of not being committed. 

She paused, deciding to be honest. “Just promise me something Filip…Swear to me that I’m not a cheap replacement or a fill in for your estranged wife. I can’t be a substitute for what you want ... .I can’t just be the girl you bide your time with while you wait for what you really want to come back to you.  I have already filled the role as a substitute pussy for a guy in the past. I refuse to do that again. I don’t want to be used to fill a void in a man. I’m worth more than that.” 

Chibs furrowed his brow surprised by the anger that bubbled up in him at her admission about this man from her past. 

He gave her hand a squeeze, the words leaving him without hesitation. “Yer not fillin any void fer me…ya ain’ a substitute fer Fiona.  I ain’ bidin my time with ya. I want ya fully and completely fer exactly who ya are. Ya ain’ filling a spot fer anyone else.” 

She let out a shaky breath, her heart insisting that this was all she needed to know.

She leaned in her lips close to his cheek as she spoke. “Is this okay?”

He widened his eyes as he realized what she was asking. He nodded his head quick to reply. “Yes, please.”

She pressed her lips to his cheek he surprised by the dampness gathering at the corners of his eyes.

The kiss remained lingering, Y/N reaching up to wipe a stray tear from his face as she finally pulled back.

She spoke her voice soft, finding some humor in the moment. “Okay, next date no trauma. We aren’t allowed to cry on the third date.”

Chibs let the laugh leave him, he nodding his head agreeing wholeheartedly.

He wrapped an arm around her waist not helping but to tease her the horrible mood he’d been in all afternoon lifting. “So, I’m gettin a third date?”

She leaned into his embrace a small laugh leaving her. “So long as you promise we don’t cry.”

“Aye no tears from me.” He insisted, squeezing her all the tighter.

She relaxed against him, her eyes closing her body feeling lighter than it had felt in so long.

She knew this was far from conventional but she wasn’t lying. She’d never been a conventional girl.

𝐬𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐮𝐬𝐥𝐲𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐰𝐫𝐨𝐭𝐞'𝐬 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

(formerly @𝐦𝐮𝐥𝐭𝐢-𝐟𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐨𝐦-𝐢𝐢𝐦𝐚𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐬)

(𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐭 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭) - request something :)

𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐮𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

𝐩𝐞𝐚𝐤𝐲 𝐛𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

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!

———————————————————————————-

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.”

——————————————————————

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.

——————————————————————————-

🏷️ Tagging- @attapullman @mynameismckenziemae @bobgasm @sebsxphia @roosterforme @seitmai @sailor-aviator

Our Little Girl

Summary: 2 months after the Uranium Mission, Jake and Bradley confessed their love for one another because 'the sexual tension is too much'. They dated for 1 year and got engaged on their 2-year anniversary of dating and on their 4 year they married. After their honeymoon they decided they wanted to add to the small little family, they talked about adoption but Jake's identical twin sister, Dakota, said that she would be the surrogate for them with Bradley being the donor. 9 months later you, Y/N Carole Bradshaw-Seresin, were born.

Warnings: fluff, angst, plane crash, car crash, wrist grabbing, bruising, blood, death of a loved one, pregnancy, inaccurate medical talk, swearing

Pairings: Maverick x Iceman, Carole Bradshaw x Nick Bradshaw, Jake Seresin x Bradley Bradshaw, Jake Seresin x Daughter!Reader, Bradley Bradshaw x Daughter!Reader, Bob Floyd x OC!Judy Floyd, Y/N Bradshaw-Seresin x OC!Mason Floyd

Masterlist

A/N: Can be read as stand-alone. Ages range.

This awesome banner is brought to you by: @callsigns-haze ! Thank you so much!

Welcome Our Sweet Girl

Meeting Everyone

Feeding Time Adventures

Welcome to Parenthood

First Family Vacation

Thunderstorms

Traveling Adventures

Mocking Pops

Daddy Don't Go

Pops is Hurt

Nightmares

Deployment Surprise

New House

Prank Wars

Goose and Maverick babysitting? What could go wrong?

Lake House

Grandpa Ice

First Swear Word

Halloween

Daycare Mishaps

Baking with Grandma Carole

Cookout

Family Game Night

First Huge Fight:

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

First Boyfriend

First Breakup

In Love with My Bestfriend

Love's Awakening

"Wait. What?!"

Lake Trip and Secrets Revealed

Love's Unexpected Gift

The Gift of Love's Arrival

Career Path? Navy

Pilot or WSO?

Home for Christmas? Doubt It

Our Little Girl's Wedding

Aircraft Mishap

Alternate Universes

Welcome Our Sweet Girl

Jealous (jack abbott x f!reader)

18+ account - minors do not interact

jack abbott x f!reader Word Count: 2.3K Rating: E

Summary: You’re jealous of Dr. Walsh.

Warning: newly established relationship, a sir mention, insecurity, jealousy, pet names, love confessions, commanding jack? dirty talk (he’s filthy your honor), sexual touching, some nipple play, 1 pussy slap, praise, oral sex (f receiving), description and mentions of p in v sex and creampie

A/N: I'm really nervous to be writing for a new man, but y’all have convinced me to write some Jack. I need him. Competency kink activated. Also there are so many spellings for his last name. Maybe I fucked up the tagging. Don’t yell at me, this is a world where he’s not working overnight shifts. I need him on the same schedule as me lol. And I know the title isn’t creative at all, but I hope you guys like it and that the characterization feels right. Ok, I'm going to run away now!

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

The hospital was busy.

You were reviewing your messages with Jack to see if he had responded to your most recent text.

Jack: Lunch. 1200 hours. Hospital cafeteria. Confirm you’re en route.

You: Got it, Sir. On my way :)

Jack: Sounds good. See you soon.

You: Which cafeteria should I meet you at, handsome? Main or West wing?

To the average person, his texts would seem blunt—no emojis, no small talk, just clear instructions. But you were used to it. Jack’s communication style was efficient, to the point, and reassuring in its simplicity.

As you strolled down the hallway, you spotted him at the reception, engaged in a conversation with Dr. Walsh. You had met her recently at a gala event Jack had invited you to—an event that felt like a big deal, especially since Jack never explicitly defined your relationship.

He never asked you to be his girlfriend, never put a label on what you had, but the way he introduced you to his colleagues made it clear that you mattered to him. Still, you couldn’t help but compare yourself to Dr. Walsh. She was a surgeon like Jack. She was beautiful, confident, and clearly intelligent—someone who moved through her world with ease and authority. And you… well, you were just… you.

You worked for a dermatologist at a medical spa as an esthetician and were primarily trained in skincare treatments for facials, laser treatments, and other cosmetic procedures. As you watched Jack chatting with Dr. Walsh, a strange tightness settled in your chest. You felt a flicker of insecurity that you hadn't anticipated.

Your job at the medical spa was fulfilling, but it was different. You helped people feel beautiful and confident, while he and his colleagues worked tirelessly behind the scenes in surgeries to save lives. Sometimes, you wondered what Jack thought of your work when he was surrounded by women with 'real careers' as you sometimes called them in your mind—women with medical degrees, impressive resumes, and professional accomplishments that seemed to tower over your own. You caught yourself questioning if your job was enough, if it made you seem less serious or less worthy of his attention.

You watched as Jack laughed at something Dr. Walsh said, a genuine smile lighting up his face. It was easy and unguarded. Suddenly, a surge of jealousy washed over you.

Is this why he hadn’t answered you?

You looked away, feeling a flicker of discomfort.

Without thinking, you pulled out your phone and quickly typed out a message. Your fingers hesitated for a moment before you pressed send:

You: Something came up at work. I have to turn around. Sorry, I’ll catch up later.

A moment later, your phone buzzed with a reply from Jack.

Jack: I’ll see you later tonight?

You stared at the screen, your heart pounding. You didn’t respond. Instead, you slipped the phone into your pocket and turned around.

As the clock edged toward the end of your shift, you sighed softly, finally able to relax after a busy day. Slipping out of your professional attire, you changed into comfortable leggings and a tank top, the kind you loved to lounge in after a long day.

You moved around your apartment, tidying up casually, your mind still drifting back to the encounter earlier with Jack and Dr. Walsh. Just as you settled onto your sofa with a cup of tea, the faint sound of a knock at the door startled you. You sat up and lazily scratched your head, walked over, and opened the door to find Jack standing there.

He was holding a bag of takeout from your favorite Thai place—the one where you first met.

"Hey, sweetheart," he said softly, holding out the bag. "I thought you might be hungry."

Your eyes widened slightly in surprise. You hadn’t responded to his text, and yet here he was at your door with your favorite food. For a moment, you remembered that night—accidentally grabbing his take-out order at the restaurant, and how he had tapped on your shoulder with that confident smile, saying, "Excuse me miss, I think that’s mine." You had been blown away by his handsome face and easy charm.

Without thinking too much, you leaned in and quickly pressed a soft, quick kiss to his cheek, murmuring, "Thanks, Jack."

His eyes, sharp and steady, studied you as you took the takeout bag from his hands and invited him inside. "So, you couldn’t make it to the hospital. What happened at work? Everything alright?"

You offered a small, somewhat evasive smile as you set the takeout on the table and began arranging the dishes. "Oh, you know, just some stuff that came up. Nothing serious."

Jack’s brow furrowed slightly. A subtle crease.

He stepped a little closer, his eyes narrowing just enough to suggest he wasn’t buying your quick brush-off. He reached out to gently cup your chin, turning your face towards his so he could assess your expression more closely. "Why are you lying?"

"I’m not—"

"I saw you leave the hospital. That means you weren’t in your car, turning around when you sent your text. Just to be clear, I saw you walk out and head back the way you came." His words were blunt, matter of fact, as if stating a simple observation rather than questioning. There was no anger in his voice.

You felt your cheeks burn slightly at his directness, the weight of his gaze pressing into you. Looking down slightly, you bit your lip nervously before murmuring, "It's stupid."

Jack’s hand lingered on your chin for a moment longer. Then, with a measured motion, he lowered his hand, his fingers sliding away from your face. Without hesitation, he reached around your waist, pulling you gently but firmly closer to him.

"Talk to me." His words were deliberate, each syllable carefully chosen, embodying his disciplined, no-nonsense demeanor. You knew you couldn't keep hiding your feelings from Jack, especially because he was so perceptive when it came to you. After only three months together, he had you memorized.

You hesitated for a moment, then muttered, "She's pretty."

He looked confused. "Who?"

"Dr. Walsh," you replied simply. "Emery." It felt weird saying her name.

There was a brief pause before he responded, "Some might find her attractive." His words were straightforward, devoid of unnecessary emotion.

"Do you?" you asked softly, searching his face for an answer.

Your hands flew to his shoulders in surprise when he grabbed you just below your ass and sat you on the edge of your dining table. "Where is this coming from?" he asked, a puzzled look on his face. He was waiting for you to explain.

"Listen, maybe I’ve watched too much Grey’s Anatomy or something, but don’t doctors like fucking other doctors? I mean, you and her, Emery—Dr. Walsh—you guys understand each other’s jobs, schedules, and lives. Sometimes, you talk to me about your work, and I feel like a dumbass. I barely passed biology in high school," you admitted with a nervous laugh, your eyes flickering with uncertainty. "I’m just an esthetician. I just think—"

You saw his eyes tighten slightly, and then he cut you off by leaning in and capturing your lips in a firm kiss. When he pulled back just enough, his jaw, usually set with a composed firmness, relaxed just a fraction. He reached up, his fingers brushing lightly against your cheek, his touch steady—every movement controlled, precise, almost methodical in its tenderness.

"You know," he began, voice smooth but firm, "I like that you’re not a doctor."

"You do?"

"Yes. I respect what you do. It’s honest, it’s real. I really love hearing about your work. It’s different from what I do, and honestly, I don’t always fully understand it. Sometimes, I’m not even sure I get all the skincare stuff or the procedures you do. But that doesn’t matter to me. Because I see how passionate you are, and how much you love what you do."

He paused briefly, his brow slightly furrowed in a gesture of thoughtfulness, the kind of measured, meticulous expression that signaled he was choosing his words carefully—like he was preparing for a precise incision. "And I want you to know—the only person I find pretty is you. I’m not looking at anyone else. I don’t want anyone else. I only want you. I love you."

I love you.

I love you.

I love you.

You blinked since you couldn’t quite believe what you’d just heard. "You love me?"

Jack’s expression remained calm, every line of his face composed and controlled. "You’re asking if I love you? Well, you’re the only thing I want to keep at the center of my life. You are my top priority. No extraneous variables. No distractions. Just you. So—yes. I love you. Because everything else in my world orbits around that truth."

You felt your heart pounding in your chest. His words left no room for doubt; they were full of certainty. You had never been with a man who made you feel so clearly that he was sure of you. Slowly, your voice broke through the silence. "Jack," you whispered. "I… I love you, too. I feel like I’ve always loved you. Is that strange?"

Jack’s military background and his disciplined exterior had always been his armor, a way to keep his feelings in check. But in this moment, as your eyes met and your declaration hung softly between you, you saw his armor waver. His breath hitched slightly, a fleeting hitch in his otherwise controlled breathing. He cleared his throat, a low, almost imperceptible sound, and with a final, measured breath, he pulled you gently into his arms to kiss you slowly.

Your mouth fell open the second his tongue probed softly at your lips. You closed your eyes, enjoying the warmth of his tongue, tasting his desperation, and your body reacted immediately, throwing your arms and legs around him. A soft groan slid through his lips when your fingers pulled through his hair, and he pressed himself against you, grinding his hard cock between your legs.

He shoved your tank top up above your breasts, teasing your nipples with his thumbs, causing you to moan loudly. You watched as he drank in your naked upper half, and then he took the swell of one of your breasts in his hand and dropped his mouth over one nipple, circling his tongue around it.

"Fuck, yes Jack!" the words spilled from you in a breathless wrecked moan when he began to suck on your breast and make a mess out of you before switching to the other one. Your clothed pussy was desperate for the friction of his cock through his scrub bottoms, and he groaned deliciously when he felt your hips roll upward, chasing his cock. Suddenly, he pushed you down so that you were lying on your back of the dining room table while he was on top of you. You weren’t sure how it had happened, but suddenly your leggings had been ripped off your body, and he had pulled off your tank top.

You observed him with hooded eyes as his large, warm hands trailed back up your legs, and then he gently pushed at your thighs, spreading them apart. He let out a low groan when his gaze devoured you pussy.

"I only want your pussy. Do you understand me?" he said, collecting some of your slick with his fingers and rubbing them against your clit.

"Jack—"

"Repeat after me: You only want my pussy," he commanded.

You were dripping on the table at his voice. At his words. You felt them in your skin. You couldn’t speak, and he took your silence as shyness. And well, that wasn’t going to fly with Jack.

"Don’t like repeating myself," he murmured and lifted his hand to give a stinging smack to your pussy, the impact making you let out a soft, breathy moan, your voice quivering with ecstasy as pleasure washed over you.

You kept your eyes on him, and your mind went fuzzy. "You only want my pussy."

He hummed his approval. “Good girl,” He kissed the sensitive skin on the inside of your thighs, and you squirmed on the table, hips bucking slightly in anticipation.

"I think I need a little appetizer before dinner." He smirked, and licked a long wide stripe along your pussy, groaning at the taste of you, eyes closing and brows furrowing in concentration. He ate at you like a man starved, the wet muscle of his tongue giving you so much pleasure, and you started to rock your hips against his mouth.

He was always so good at this. Just as competent and sure as he was in everything else.

Minutes later, you came so hard, your vision blurred.

And later that night when he fucked you after giving you another mind-numbing orgasm, you felt tears fill your eyes at the strangled "Oh fuck, I love you," that left his lips when his body erupted, and you felt his spend dripping down your thighs.

"I love you too, Jack,"

He lied on top of you, face buried in the curve of your neck. Both of you were sticky hot and hot, exhaustion pulling at your eyelids. A wave of dizziness washed over you, and you could feel the vibration of him saying something against your throat, but your brain was mush.

Tomorrow, you would surprise him and visit him during lunch. His smile would paralyze you. And he would tell everyone sitting at the cafeteria table with him: "you guys remember my girl?"

A/N: Should I do a version where Jack is jealous? Where are the jealous jack abbott fics!?

dividers by @saradika-graphics

Overactive Empathy

Pairing: Dr. Jack Abbot x Nurse!Reader

Summary: A story of an ex-army doctor still haunted by his past who strives to maintain control of his emotions at every turn and a nurse with a sixth sense for the emotions of others that everyone has come to rely on- will a traumatic event force them to confront their true feelings for each other or pull them apart forever?

Tags/Warnings: age gap, yearning, too scared to admit they're in love, empath!reader, angst, panic attacks, comfort, descriptions of blood and pittfest, trauma, happy ending

Word Count: 4.3K & AO3 link

Author’s Note: This may not be everyone’s cup of tea but I could not stop thinking about writing this. I also have absolutely no medical knowledge so enjoy! 

The Pitt - Night Shift

The faint beeping of monitors and clicks of the keyboard mesh with the sounds of patients and staff. The fluorescent lights aren’t the only thing landing on your skin, you feel his stare from chairs away. It doesn’t make you uncomfortable, quite the opposite, it sends a warm feeling rushing through you and when you peek up you catch sight of his silver curls twinkling in the light. 

Dr. Jack Abbott can’t help it, after two years of working alongside you he doesn’t get tired of tracing the slope of your nose or watching the way you bite your lip in concentration. He stopped trying to be discreet a long time ago even after repeatedly being caught by Dr. Robby or Dr. Ellis. You’re both snapped out of your thoughts by the sirens approaching the ambulance bay. By the time the EMTs enter the Pitt you’re standing next to Jack at the ready. 

“Man in his late sixties- disoriented and aggressive. He was distributing patrons outside of a nightclub and eventually someone knocked him down,” the EMT summarized as they wheeled in the man who was strapped down to the gurney. He wasn’t saying anything comprehensible, only letting out grunts as he attempted to free himself. 

“Psych eval?” Jack tilts his head. 

“Yup, no ID or other identification found with him. Probably homeless and off his meds,” the EMT replied. 

“Give me a moment with him,” you step forward, not entirely convinced. Jack’s eyes narrow slightly at the patient who began to twist in his restraints again. Unease grows in his gut but he learned a long time ago not to question you. 

“Don’t get too close to him yet, we may need sedation.” 

He stands at the door watching the interaction closely, his body taut in preparation to intervene. The soldier inside him never left him, those instincts embedded into his bones. 

Slowly you approach the older man, quietly assessing him. Jack watches your hand hover over the patient’s arm for a moment, but what you do is still a mystery to him. 

Eventually it becomes clear to you what he needs. “You must be very tired and thirsty. It’s been a long day,” you murmur softly. This made the man go still, eyes widening as he nodded urgently. He was mute, everything he wanted to say stuck inside him at this moment but his emotions were clear. 

“We’re here to help you,” you give him a reassuring smile as you back away towards the door. The moment you turn, you’re face to face with Jack. You force yourself to stay concentrated on your task and not on Jack’s handsome features. “He’s not homeless, he feels lost and he misses home. He’s also extremely thirsty, so he’s dehydrated which is why he was disoriented and acting out. He wasn’t able to ask for help because he’s mute,” you explain. 

“Not a Psych case then,” he concurs, impressed once more. 

“The usual tests will let us know how dehydrated he is and if there’s other underlying causes. This is a case for the night shift social worker to help with, they just need to find out who he is and where he lives. I think he has family,” you reach for the IV kit. 

“Thanks Sherlock Holmes.” 

There’s no malice or sarcasm in his tone, just his usual dry wit which you’ve come to love. You can see the wheels turning in his head and although he’s never asked questions, you know he keeps trying to figure out how you’re so good at reading patients. 

Intuition, your grandmother winked at you one day when you asked if she had what you had. A curse, your mother declared before she had left for good, not able to handle what she was born with. Overactive empathy was what you had come to call it. It had been overwhelming at first, discovering that as you got in close proximity to someone you could identify their emotions and feel them yourself, all of them. It took many years to build up your control to a point where you felt you could be around people. Out of nursing school you spent your first few years in hospice care, holding the hand of those making their way out of this world, watching the hazy colors around them fade into nothing. Soon the time came to try something new and you found yourself standing in the Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center Emergency Department, hoping to make a difference and make use of your ability in a new way. 

It was an open secret, the little trick you had up your sleeve. No one put a specific label on it and on one questioned it. Anytime you interacted with a patient who needed that extra level of support, with a simple glance or press of your hand to their shoulder you seemed to read their emotions to a tee. It had also helped de-escalate potentially dangerous situations, preventing many fights in the halls of the Pitt. In this world, it was all about the patient and being able to read them was an asset. Their feelings and experiences are half of the story when they walk in through the doors. 

Grabbing your backpack from your locker you take your time walking back to the nursing station to clock out. It gives you time to admire Jack who stands at the counter, his blue eyes flickering across the screen. Dr. Abbot - the broody, stalwart and incredibly selfless man who captured your heart. Not that you would ever admit it, you were years younger and convinced he could do much better. What catches your attention is his posture, he’s leaning heavily against the counter hoping no one can notice his discomfort. 

“Is it bothering you again?” you whisper as you stand next to him. Jack grimaces as he flexes the prosthetic foot under his khakis, internally kicking himself for showing a trace of weakness.  

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he grits out. 

“Liar,” you muse, swiping your badge to clock out for the night. 

His face turns stoic as he stares you down, intimidating as hell to others but not to you. You stare right back, waiting until one of you inevitably cracks. His dimples pop out as he lets out a hearty laugh. Several people send you curious looks, an Abbot laugh was rare. 

“It's not fair if you use that trick on me,” he pretends to sound mad. Not that you would ever intentionally violate his privacy by delving further than his surface area emotions. 

“It’s not like I can read minds.”

“It’s close enough.”

“I don’t have to use anything on you Abbot. It's clear as day.”

He feels that familiar swoop in his stomach at your words, forcing himself to not say anything stupid. 

“Will you be here tomorrow?”

“I’ll be here, just in case you pick up another shift,” you tease, finally starting to walk away. He winks at you and you feel like you’re floating on clouds all the way home. 

The Pitt - Day Shift

Today was a never ending roller coaster and it was going to give you whiplash. Angry patients, argumentative family members, interpersonal drama, fucking rats. Then Dana had gotten punched, which had rattled all of the nurses. It had brought you to tears seeing her bruised face and bloody nose, your mentor and dear friend. She had shushed you in a motherly fashion, assuring you and everyone else she would live long enough to finish the shift as long as she had another cigarette. 

It was also the first day for new residents and medical students, another layer to the never ending day. You took it in stride as always offering helpful advice and keeping an eye on them for Robby making sure they didn’t mess up too badly. Some had already latched onto you, King and Whittaker frequently asking you to join them on patient care. 

You could immediately sense that today was an off day for Robby, as you assisted with his difficult cases you could see the strain behind his eyes and his increasing use of the word fuck. He also kept asking you about what the patients were feeling long after they had died. It wasn’t a good sign. 

“Is he asking you about dead people again?” Dana hands you a cup of tea. You nod. 

“Christ Almighty he’s a morbid one,” she shakes her head with a sad smile. “Wish Collins hadn’t left early, she knows how to get him back on track.”

....

“Do you think he feels anything? Even if he’s brain dead?” Robby asked you as you stood side by side, about to enter to give the parents of the overdose victim the final verdict on their son. 

“No...he doesn’t feel anything. There’s nothing,” you replied truthfully.

“What do you think she felt while she drowned?” he asked as they wheeled the young girl's body out of the trauma room. You think back to when you had held onto her tiny cold hand as they worked to bring her back. 

“She felt scared and exhausted but she also felt certain. Certain that she had saved her sister.”

Robby finds comfort in your candidness to his morbid questions, you’ve always been honest with him and a shoulder for him to lean on. He knew he was being extra hard on you today and he would apologize with your favorite snack by the end of the shift. 

None of this compared to what came next. 

“What’s going on?” you can feel the anxiety spike in the room as phones and pagers go off. Gloria is talking to Robby and Dana on the side in a serious manner, their faces pinching with worry. Shooting, Pittfest, mass casualties, are words that fill the air. It seems to suck the oxygen out of the room, a sobering reminder of the world you lived in. Taking a deep breath you steady your nerves as instructions are being shared to the whole team. Suddenly a familiar warmth settles next to you, calloused hands brushing against yours. 

“You okay?” Jack asks quietly. 

“I’m fine...but all of those people that are going to come in-,” you shudder at the thought. 

“You don’t have to, you know, get too close to them if it gets too much,” he finally faces you as people start to rush around you. With his eyes trained on you it feels like you’re both in your own world for a moment. 

“I know, but I want to help them. Anyway I can,” you reply, eyes filling with determination. It reminds him why he does this job, why he comes back. 

Reality breaks apart your bubble as Dana calls out your name and Robby pulls Jack towards the team of doctors. Everything after that is a whirlwind, a mass casualty event hitting an already understaffed ED like a hurricane. Every ounce of training is in use as you work tirelessly alongside your colleagues to save every life that passed through those doors. It soon becomes clear there's not enough blood, medications or supplies. Only sheer willpower will get you all through this. 

“Everyone please use the sedatives and morphine sparingly! More is coming but it's minutes out!” Dana shouted from the nurses station. 

Following her announcement, a flurry of movement caught your attention in the Red Zone. The patient was thrashing on the gurney, arms flying around wildly as she shouted in pain, begging them to stop from pressing against her broken legs. Without hesitation you rushed over, hands slipping into the fray until they pressed against the woman’s face. Jack watched as you brought your head closely against hers, eyes scrunching tightly in concentration. 

“You feel tired, so tired,” you repeated softly over and over again.

Slowly her shouts became nothing but disgruntled murmurs, her eyes closing and arms falling sluggishly at her side. No one else seemed to notice what you had done, preoccupied with her impending blood loss and shattered bones. Jack could do nothing more than send you a grateful nod before you slipped away once more to assist on the next patient. 

Unfortunately she had not been the last patient you had helped calm down, dozens more streamed into the Pitt in various states of emotional distress and you did your best to keep them from overwhelming the rest of the staff. It was starting to wear you down, drain your energy reserves as you still ran from zone to zone, arms full of supplies and bags of blood. Dry blood mixed with your sweat caked your arms, and your lungs burned from the smell of antiseptic and alcohol in the air. Give me strength, you begged the universe. 

You had been standing by the ambulance bay doors, replenishing supplies for the Red Zone when another wave of gurneys and patients flooded in once more. You hadn’t even had a chance to set down the IV bags in your hands when a tall man stumbled straight into your body. Blood stained hands clasped onto your shoulders with such force you could feel the bruises start to form. His eyes were wild and he kept repeating someone's name over and over. Time seemed to slow around you as his emotions flowed into your body like a dam had broken- hair raising panic, paralyzing fear, and pain that brought you to your knees. Your vision swam, all you could see now was bodies piled upon each other and hear the cries of those hit by the spray of bullets. A high pitched ringing filled your ears and your throat was suddenly raw. 

Your ear splitting screams snapped Jack out of his concentration, his heart lurching at the scene before him. He barely had time to make sure Dr. Mohan had a handle on the patient before he was running full speed towards you, Robby at his side. The man was ripped away from you by Robby and one of the security guards who wrangled him onto a gurney. All you could do was cover your eyes as if that would stop the horrific visions in your head. 

“Look at me, you gotta breathe (Y/N),” Jack begged as he stood in front of you, hands hovering over your shoulders not wanting to make it worse. His heart was beating a million miles per minute and he felt as if he was staring in the mirror, the traumatized medic in the throes of a panic attack staring back at him. Except now it was you. 

You shook your head, stumbling backwards blindly into the wall. There was only one option he could think of at that moment. Without missing a beat, Jack grabbed you by the waist and hoisted you over his shoulder as you let out another desperate cry. The whole Pitt had frozen, shocked at the turn of events. 

“Get back to work dammit!” Jack roared, making everyone flinch as they rushed to return back to the task at hand, averting their eyes. 

In a few strides he made it to the end of the wing and into the empty on-call bathroom, slamming the door behind him with his foot. By this point you had gone limp over his shoulder, letting out the occasional whimper. He set you down lightly onto the shower floor, hand reaching up to the shower knob. 

“I’m sorry baby but it will help I promise,” Jack couldn’t stop the term of endearment from slipping out. 

You seemed to be stuck in some sort of trance, another agonizing scream slipping past your lips as you hunched over. Suddenly ice cold water flowed from the shower head hitting your body in a forceful gush. A high pitched gasp filled the air as your eyes flew open from the shock. Shivering hands immediately reached out to find Jack’s arms, needing something to ground you as the temperature of the water numbed your frayed nerves. 

“Jack.”

“You’re safe, you’re in the bathroom now. You’re not there,” he assured you, hand smoothing your drenched hair out of your face. Tears swam in your eyes and you nodded numbly, trying to reorient yourself. His hand settled on your cheek, watching the water pour down your red cheeks. Even now, he thought you were the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.  He was only a few short seconds away from climbing into the shower with you when the door squeaked open. 

“Dr. Abbot, they need you out there,” Princess frowns as she takes in your state. He gives her his harshest stare, about to protest but you push his arms weakly. 

“Go,” you say. “Princess and I will handle it from here,” you look up at her. She gives a nod of affirmation. 

“I’ll get her cleaned up, Dr. Abbot,” she promises, reaching for towels. 

I need to stay with you and protect you, he wants to say to you. I can’t live another moment without you. 

So many unsaid words stuck in his throat. Jack wishes you would just look into him and decipher his emotions so he wouldn’t have to say them out loud. It wasn’t the right time, it never was. He couldn’t stand risking everything you had just to lose you if you didn’t feel the same way. Instead of staying as his heart begged him to, he stands, ignoring the pain in his leg as he walks out without a word feeling like a coward. 

Your heart squeezes painfully as you watch Jack go but you can’t stop him. By the time Princess helps you change into clean scrubs it feels like hours have passed. She stays silent the whole time, giving you space as you rebuild the mental blocks in your head. Eventually you walk out onto the floor which is still wet with blood, doctors and nurses running to and fro with urgency. Sirens blare in the distance without stopping. Smoothing your hands over your new scrubs you hoped you looked better than you felt. 

“Go home,” Robby’s baritone voice is the first thing you hear. 

“I don’t believe you can send me home Dr. Robby,” you glance up at him. He looks absolutely wrecked, likely the same as you. 

“Dana-,” he turns to Dana who is by your side next. Dana knows you well, knows you wouldn't be standing here if you couldn’t handle it. 

“I can’t force her to leave Robby. Trust that she knows her own limits,” Dana squeezes your hand. You squeeze it back in thanks. “We still have patients to help, let’s go kiddo,” she guides you back into the disaster zone, arm over your shoulder.  

It’s when the emergency protocol is finally at an end and the last Pittfest patient is stabilized that you spot Robby again. Robby had been walking on a tight line today, Leah’s death finally pushing him over the edge. You had heard the terrible things Jake had yelled at him moments ago. 

“Hard day yeah?” 

“For both of us I’d say,” he laughs dryly, tears beginning to leak once again from the corners of his eyes. 

“You’ve shouldered the burden of so much today Robby. Let me help you,” you extend your hand to him. 

“I can’t do that to you,” he shakes his head, knowing what you’re offering. 

“This may be the only time I offer this to you Robby. Trust me,” you say. He shifts uneasily in place before finally making his decision. He takes your hand. The colors around him darken, his frustration, grief, anger and disappointment swirling around him like a storm. 

“Go home soon and sleep. It will come easy tonight,” you say. Robby feels a warm sensation run up his arm, filling his chest with a lightness he hadn’t felt in years. The tension in his shoulders visibly eases and he feels like he can properly breathe again. Before he can thank you, you’re gone. 

You hand found a quiet space in the supply closet to unwind, taking advantage of the day shift and night shift switching places. Sitting in the dim room you allow the events of the day to wash over you, taking steadying breaths to settle your emotions. Then you would find Jack and hope he didn’t look at you differently like you were something that had been crushed into tiny pieces. 

You hadn’t left Jack’s mind since he had left you in the shower, your screams echoing in his mind. Compartmentalizing all of his emotions and stuffing them into the back of his mind was the only thing that kept him sane for the remaining shift. The moment he finally handed off the last patient to Shen and Ellis he was on the lookout for you. Unable to find you yet, Jack makes his way up to the roof as he does after most shifts, muscle memory taking over. He’s not surprised to see Robby staring at the city skyline from the ledge. 

“I think I finally understand why I keep coming back now,” Jack calls out to Robby. “It's in our DNA. It's what we do. We can't help it. Not everyone can do it, it takes a special type of person,” he says, thinking of you. 

“Maybe you, not me,” Robby shakes his head as he steps back onto the roof. 

“What are you talking about?” Jack’s tone is incredulous. 

“You know damn well what I'm talking about. I broke. I shut down. At the moment everybody needed me the most, I wasn't there. I couldn't do it. I choked,” Robby hangs his head.  

“Don’t say that you broke in there because if that was you breaking apart then that means (Y/N)-,” he stops himself, unable to finish the sentence. “You’re not broken, you’re just human. We all are.”

Robby sighs. “I didn’t mean it like that.” 

“You’re stronger than you think. She’s stronger than she thinks. Just because you both got overwhelmed today doesn’t mean you’re broken, not even close,” Jack says. “I used to think there was a weakness in feeling too much. Never allowed myself to cry or grieve even when-,” he pauses thinking back to his time after he came back from the army, what had happened to his ex wife and her untimely death years ago. 

“This is starting to sound less like a pep talk and more like you need to go find her,” Robby crosses his arms. Jack remains silent, running his hand through his messy curls as he paces back and forth. 

“What are you going to do Jack? It’s been months of you pining after her. We all saw it on that karaoke night-.”

“Don’t even,” Jack scowls at the memory which makes Robby laugh for the first time tonight.  

You had been singing alongside Dana and McKay, your smile infectious as you swayed your hips to the beat. Jack had scoffed at the idea of karaoke night with the team but seeing you up there, he was entranced by the lights making your skin shimmer, your smudged lipstick and sweet voice. The only thing that snapped him out of it was watching a young guy approach you with a shot and a flirtatious grin. It had taken both Robby and Shen to hold him back, dragging him back to the booth by the scruff of his neck. 

There wasn’t anything more to say so they descended back down to reality, one step at a time. By the time he and Robby exit the Pitt doors, there was only one thing on Jack’s mind. 

“You gonna grab a beer with us?” Robby asks as they cross the street but he already knows the answer. 

“I have to do something first. Something long overdue,” Jack stations himself at the entrance of the park. 

“Fucking finally,” Robby claps his shoulder. “Tell her I said goodnight.”

“I heard you’ve been asking her about dead people again, not cool man!”

“Sorry! Sorry, I’ll make an effort to stop that,” Robby throws his hands up before disappearing into the park. 

Jack steels himself in place, waiting and praying he hadn’t missed you. His instincts were correct as usual, you soon appeared before him with a tired smile gracing your lips, backpack hanging off your hand. For a moment the only sound is the wind rustling through the trees. Slowly he takes measured steps closer to you, until he can see the small scar on your top lip. You take the moment to admire the freckles that adorn his nose and cheeks. You were nervous seconds ago, but not anymore. 

Finally Jack speaks. “You wanna know what I see when I look at you?” he whispers, his strong hand coming up to cup your cheek. “I see the woman that I love, who makes me want to live life, not just survive it. I see a woman with the endless capacity to help others, the strongest person I know.”

“I- you saw what happened to me today. It may not always be easy,” your voice is thick with emotion. 

“You know me better than anyone, it won’t be easy with me either, but we have each other.”

“That’s all I need - you.” 

Lifting yourself on your tiptoes you press your nose to his, your lips hovering over one another. Electricity crackles between you, months of yearning and unspoken tension threatening to break free. His muscular arm wraps around your waist, tethering you to him. 

“Come home with me, where you belong.” 

“I thought you’d never ask,” you whisper. 

Then something blooms in his chest, a feeling he hadn’t felt in a long time - hope. You can see the fuzzy color around him lighten into a beautiful blue color, like the sky on a sunny day. 

“Feel it with me?” 

You wrap your arms around his neck, letting the mental blocks down momentarily. The moments your lips touch bursts of colors fill your mind and you feel it all. His love encompasses you, his hope for the future with you and passion makes your skin tingle. 

“I love you Jack Abbot.”

“I love you more."

The Worst Kinda Day: Donnie Donahue x Reader (NSFW)

Tagging: @kmc1989

It’s been a day. The worst kinda day and somehow Donnie is still standing, still managing to put one foot in front of the other despite the exhaustion that envelops his bones when he enters into the apartment.

Gregory Porter plays from the Alexa in the bedroom, serenading him over the sound of running water from the shower you’re taking. He sheds his clothes with every step, his jacket, his t-shirt, his jeans until he’s standing gloriously naked on the opposite side of the glass listening to your perfectly pitched voice, the one he fell in love with before he even laid eyes on you.

It’s an age old story, man walks into a bar, falls in love with that first song.

Three years down the line he marries the singer and they live happily ever after.

That’s the way it’s supposed to go but his love story it nearly ended tonight because some asshole decided to shoot up Pittfest while you were on stage. He’s lucky you weren’t hurt, that you aren’t dead.

That’s the thought he takes into the shower with him after he removes his glasses.

How he can’t imagine a world without you in it.

You smile when he steps inside the wet room with you, the hot water soaking his aching muscles as he steps under the stream, his hands coming to rest on your waist, his mouth claiming yours.

There are no words in this moment only the intense want that comes with almost losing the one you love.

Your hand wraps around his cock guiding it to just the right place and  he moans into your mouth as he breeches you, filling you slowly. Your fingers chase up his back, cupping the nape of his neck keeping him close and he pulls out and thrusts again, harder this time, faster. You bite his lower lip in response, signalling you’re in the mood to play a little rough and he gets the message loud and clear.

His palms rove over your skin as he drives into you. Grasping, squeezing, kneading all the right places until your tightening around his dick, gripping him so tight he sees stars as he comes in hot white spurts, pumping them deep.

“I was so fucking worried about you.” He whispers, his forehead coming to rest upon yours. “When people started flooding in I thought…”

He trails off unable to say anything else as your hands caress his shoulders, sweeping over the broad muscles.

“I’m ok.” You promise him, your thumb tracing over his bearded jaw. “Nothing happened to me, I’m right here.”

“I know, the whole thing just fucked me up a bit.” He admits, his mouth ghosting over yours. “It’s better now I’ve seen you for myself.”

“Well I think it’ll be even better once you get yourself onto that bed so I can use that massage oil on your shoulders, help you relieve a little tension…” You have that look in your eyes, the one that gets him hard all over again because the massaging always leads to slick hands somewhere else, to burying himself deep within that perfect pussy.

“Go get it warmed up.” He smiles, slapping your ass lightly as you reach for your towel. “I’ll be finished up in here in a sec.”

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Don't Make Me Someone You Can't Have

pairing : dr. jack abbot x resident!reader (afab!reader)

summary : The fallout didn’t start the day of Pitt Fest—it started when you told Jack Abbot how you felt and he told you he didn’t want you. A week later, grief, jealousy, and everything unsaid ignite into something impossible to bury. (Lowkey inspired by Big Love by Fleetwood Mac—because obviously.)

warnings/content : trauma aftermath (mass casualty event), hospital setting, attending x resident dynamic, mutual pining, emotional repression, angst, jealousy, possessive behavior, verbal rejection, explicit sexual content (f!receiving, protected sex), semi-public/backseat sex, emotionally loaded dialogue, swearing

word count : 4,212

18+ ONLY, not beta read. Please read responsibly.

a/n : I am just so obsessed with Abbot, like oml I do not need a new hyperfixation at this point of the semester but here we are. Hope you guys enjoy this!

There’s blood on your forearms.

Not a lot—just the dried trace of a life you couldn’t save, stuck to your skin even after the first scrub. You’ve already changed out of your soiled gloves and gown. You sanitized twice. But still, you scrub again, because your hands won’t stop shaking and focusing on the motion keeps you upright.

The shooting at Pitt Fest has left the trauma bay soaked with the sound of screams you can’t forget. The floors were slick. Supplies ran out faster than anyone could track. You can still hear the rhythmic buzz of the trauma pager, the overhead call for more gurneys, the shrill monitor that never quieted until it did.

Your white coat is somewhere in the hallway—discarded and stained, a casualty of triage. There’s a bruise blossoming on your cheekbone, just beneath your eye. It’s from when the mother of the boy thrashed in panic, her elbow colliding with your face. You didn’t notice it at first, not until someone pointed it out with a grimace. Said it was turning purple, already swelling. Said you should ice it. You didn’t.

You press harder on your hands.

Jack Abbot hasn’t spoken to you since he snapped orders across the gurney three hours ago, voice razor-sharp, eyes like flint. He’d taken over compressions without blinking. His personal protection gear streaked in blood. His shoulders set like stone. His voice—steady, calm, cold.

You’d hesitated.

Just a second. Maybe less. But he’d seen it.

“You’re too shallow—switch out. Now.”

He hadn’t looked at you when he said it. Just stepped in, hands already moving, chest compressing with the precision of someone who’d done it a hundred times before. Because he has.

He moves like he did on the field. You’ve heard stories—Jack the soldier, desert heat in his lungs, fingers suturing flesh with a kind of brutal grace. You’ve seen glimpses of it before, but tonight? Tonight, it wasn’t a glimpse. It was a full transformation.

You backed away, stunned into silence. Not because he took over. But because of how he did it. Like you were a liability. Like you didn’t belong.

You told yourself it was adrenaline. It wasn’t.

The door creaks open behind you, and you don’t have to turn to know it’s him.

You keep your eyes on the mirror—don’t move, don’t breathe—until his reflection comes into focus beside yours.

His eyes go straight to your cheek.

The bruise.

His posture changes. Shoulders tense, mouth tightening. He doesn’t say anything, but the flicker of something behind his eyes is unmistakable. Not surprise. Not guilt.

Anger. Not at you—but at the fact that you’re hurt.

He doesn’t speak. Just leans against the counter. His eyes flick to your cheekbone again. The bruise is deeper now, ugly in the fluorescent light.

“You paused,” he says finally, voice low.

You dry your hands slowly. The paper towel crinkles between your fingers.

You turn, sharp. “I froze because I’ve never had to treat a gunshot wound in a fifteen-year-old while their mother screamed in my ear.”

You don’t stop.

“She was grabbing my sleeves, pulling at my hands, sobbing and shouting his name—over and over. She kept trying to touch his face. I could barely see where the blood was coming from. I wasn’t even sure where to start.”

Jack doesn’t flinch. “That’s what the job is.”

You laugh, and it sounds like it’s clawing its way out of your chest. “Don’t lecture me on what the job is, Jack. I’ve been here three years. I know what this place does to people.”

His jaw tightens. There’s something in his eyes—anger, maybe. Or guilt. You can’t tell with him. You never can.

He pushes off the counter.

“You think I don’t know what it does to people?”

You don’t answer. You can’t. Not when he steps closer, the air between you tight enough to snap.

“You think I wanted you in the bay?” he asks.

You blink. “What?”

Jack’s voice dips lower. “I saw your name on the call sheet. I almost pulled you off rotation.”

Your breath hitches. “You don’t get to do that.”

He’s close now—too close. He smells like hospital soap and something else beneath it—deep, expensive cologne that cuts through the sterile air. Teakwood. Mahogany. That warm, slightly spiced scent that always lingers a second too long after he leaves a room. Clean. Controlled. Intentionally chosen. Just like him.

“I don’t want to watch you fall apart,” he says.

Your heart slams. The words hit harder than they should, because they’re the first ones he’s offered that sound like anything real. Not just protocol. Not just war-worn discipline.

“I already have,” you whisper. “And you didn’t notice. Not when I told you how I felt. Not when you shut me down like it meant nothing. Like I meant nothing.”

He swallows hard. His posture stiffens.

“You didn’t even look at me after that,” you say, voice shaking. “I told you I had feelings for you, and you acted like I’d crossed some unspoken line. Like caring about you was a mistake I should be embarrassed by.”

Jack doesn’t say anything.

You shake your head, eyes burning. “For you, it’s easier to pretend this thing—whatever it is between us—doesn’t exist than admit you’re scared of something real.”

You don’t have to spell it out. You’ve seen the way he distances himself—the way he locks things down before anyone even gets close. You’ve felt it.

The silence now is a living thing. Loud. Brutal. The air is laced with too many unsaid things.

You can feel it—beneath the calm, beneath the scrub shirt and military precision—Jack is burning.

But he still doesn’t reach for you.

So you do what you always do.

You leave before he can stop you.

You don’t get far.

The trauma bay doors hiss shut behind you and the night air hits your face like a slap—cool, sharp, soaked in hospital exhaust and rain-soaked concrete. You pace once. Twice. You don’t cry.

You breathe. You think you might scream. Instead, you lean back against the cold exterior wall of the hospital and close your eyes. And there it is—the echo of his voice, thick with something too raw to name.

“I don’t want to watch you fall apart.”

But it wasn’t just tonight that gutted you. It started before. When you said too much and he gave you nothing.

It was three days ago. Late enough that the hospital had gone quiet—the kind of quiet where your thoughts get too loud, and nothing feels safe to admit.

You were both at the nurses’ station. Jack sat at one of the desktops, the screen glowing pale blue in front of him, his fingers motionless on the trackpad. You were across from him, one hand hovering over the keyboard, the other absently toying with a pen.

You’d been circling it for weeks—maybe longer. This thing between you. It wasn’t loud. It didn’t need to be. It lived in the quiet, in the unspoken, in the almosts. In the way your skin prickled when he entered a room. The way air shifted when he stood behind you—close, but never touching.

It was in the way his gaze found you during rounds, lingering just a heartbeat too long. The way his voice dipped when he said your name, soft and unreadable—like a secret slipping between his teeth. The way your breath caught when he brushed past you in the hallway, the fabric of his scrubs grazing yours, sending a bolt of something electric down your spine.

It was professional. It had to be. But it never felt neutral.

Every look felt like contact. Every silence, a dare.

The tension wasn’t dramatic. It didn’t need to be. It sat just under the surface—constant, quiet, undeniable. Like gravity. Like something pulling you toward him whether you wanted it or not.

But it wasn’t just you.

Jack watched you, too. Carefully. Deliberately. Like he was trying not to want you and failing anyway. He always looked away too slowly. Cleared his throat when your laugh caught him off guard. Said your name differently than everyone else—lower, rougher, like he was holding it in his mouth too long.

There were moments you caught him looking at you like he was already sorry for it.

Like he knew what it would cost if he gave in.

There were nights you couldn’t sleep without replaying the way his hand brushed yours, or the heat of his body behind you in the elevator, or the flicker of something in his eyes before he shut it down again.

You weren’t supposed to notice.

He wasn’t supposed to let you.

But you did.

And he did.

And both of you kept pretending it wasn’t real—even as it took up more and more space inside your chest.

You hadn’t planned to say anything. You hadn’t rehearsed it. It just… happened.

“I care about you,” you’d said, voice soft but steady. “I’m not trying to ruin anything. I just need you to know.”

Jack didn’t look up. Not at first. He just sat there, shoulders stiff, jaw set like someone had flipped a switch inside him. When he did meet your eyes, it wasn’t with warmth. It was with something colder. Sharper. Like he was bracing for impact.

“This can’t happen,” he’d said. Quiet. Controlled. Like he was reciting a rule he’d memorized a long time ago. “You’re a resident. I’m your attending. You know that.”

You’d nodded, tried to smile, tried to make it easy for him. Tried to act like it didn’t sting.

But he kept going.

“And even if you weren’t… it’s not a good idea.”

He hesitated. Just a second. But enough.

"You don’t know me," he added, eyes hard. "You think you do, but you don’t. You see what I let you see. And that version of me—that's not real."

And then, like he needed to twist the knife just to make sure it stuck :

“Whatever you think this is—I don’t want it. I don’t want you.”

You knew, even as he said it—he didn’t mean it. Not like that. But he wanted it to hurt. Needed it to. Like if he made you hate him, it would make walking away easier. That was the part that stayed with you.

You hadn’t cried then. Not in front of him. You nodded again, eyes dry, throat burning, and told him you understood. But you hadn’t said anything else. Didn’t argue. Didn’t ask him why.

And he hadn’t offered.

Not an apology. Not an explanation.

He hadn’t said a single word to you since—not until today, when his voice finally cut through the chaos to order you off the boy’s chest. Cold. Clinical. Like nothing had ever passed between you at all. Like you were just another resident.

But you’d felt it. In the way he walked into a room and wouldn’t look at you. In the way his voice would hitch when you brushed past. In the way his fists curled tight at his sides, like he wanted to reach for you but refused to let himself.

He was trying to be cold. Trying to keep the line drawn.

And still—still—he’d almost pulled you from trauma rotation tonight.

You open your eyes. The ache in your chest feels ancient. Familiar.

Big love. That’s what it was. The kind that never had a chance to grow, but still bloomed under your skin like it owned you.

And Jack? Jack let it die before it ever had the chance to live.

It’s been a week since Pitt Fest.

The hospital has started to settle into something like normal, but you haven’t. You still flinch when a trauma page comes over the comms. Still hear that mother’s voice, shrill and ragged. Still feel the ghost of Jack’s hand brushing yours when he took over compressions. That wasn’t the moment you broke, but it was the moment you knew you couldn’t pretend anymore.

So tonight, you go out. Against your better judgment.

Whitaker begged you. Santos threatened to show up at your apartment with a bottle of tequila. King and Mohan promised only one drink, just one, come on, you need it. Javadi was supposed to come too, but she bailed last minute—something about studying for boards and not wanting to get caught at another bar underage.

So now it’s the five of you crammed into a booth at this dive bar near the hospital in downtown Pittsburgh, the one with sticky floors and pool tables missing half the balls. The music is too loud, but the company is easy. Whitaker is doing some elaborate retelling of a patient who tried to fake a heart attack to get out of paying his copay. Mohan is crying from laughter. You’re sipping something sweet and strong and trying to let it all melt away.

It’s working.

Until you see him.

Jack.

He’s across the bar, half-shadowed under the neon sign, nursing a beer like he doesn’t want to be seen. But he’s not alone.

Robby’s with him. Of course he is.

They’re leaned in close, not talking much. Just sitting. Watching.

No—he’s watching.

You.

Your drink stills halfway to your mouth. Your stomach twists, not violently, but enough to knock the wind out of you. Jack doesn’t look away. Not immediately. Just holds your gaze like it hurts him. Like it should.

You force yourself to blink, to laugh at something Whitaker says. You pretend your hands aren’t shaking. You pretend you don’t feel your entire body tuning itself to the sound of his silence.

He rejected you. You know that.

But the way he’s looking at you now? It doesn’t feel like rejection.

It feels like longing.

And maybe that’s worse.

You down the rest of your drink in one go. It burns less than it should.

There’s a man at the bar. Mid-forties, maybe older. Salt-and-pepper beard. Expensive watch. He catches your glance and offers a smile that’s a little too polished, a little too practiced—but you return it anyway. Because he’s older. Because he’s sharp-eyed. Because he reminds you, in all the wrong ways, of someone else.

You excuse yourself from the table before anyone can stop you.

You take your drink, your heels, and your broken pride, and you slide onto the stool next to him.

Jack sees. Of course he does.

You make sure he does.

“Can I buy you another?” the man asks, nodding to your empty glass.

You smile. “Yeah. Why not?”

You laugh too easily. Let your shoulder brush his as he leans in. He says something you don’t hear because your pulse is thundering in your ears.

Across the bar, Jack’s jaw is tight. His hand clenches around his beer bottle, the label peeling beneath his thumb.

You tilt your head back and laugh again—this time louder, brighter, crueler.

Because if you’re going to hurt, you want him to feel it too.

And he does.

You can see it in the way he breaks eye contact first.

You can see it in the way Robby says something and Jack doesn’t respond.

You can see it in the way he stands up a minute later, like he can’t stand to watch anymore.

But he doesn’t leave.

He moves.

Across the bar. Slow, deliberate. Controlled rage in every step.

Robby calls after him, eyebrows lifted, confused—but Jack doesn’t answer.

He stops a foot away from you, the stranger mid-sentence, and you feel it before you even look up—heat rolling off of him like a storm about to break.

“Can I talk to you?” Jack says. Voice low. Measured. Barely held together.

You arch an eyebrow, take a long sip of your drink. “Busy.”

The man beside you glances between the two of you, sensing something sharp in the air. He doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t need to.

Jack’s eyes are locked on yours. Not the stranger’s. Not anyone else’s.

“You need to come with me,” he says, lower now. “Now.”

And it’s not a command. It’s not even a plea. It’s desperation wrapped in control, fraying at the edges.

You consider refusing. You want to.

But you rise anyway.

And follow him out the door.

The air outside is colder than you expected. Or maybe that’s just him.

Jack doesn’t speak right away. He walks fast—toward the lot behind the bar, where his car is parked beneath a crooked streetlamp. When he finally stops, it’s with his back to you. One hand on his hip, the other raking through his hair. The kind of stillness that comes right before something breaks.

You follow, heart hammering. He turns.

“What the hell was that?”

Your arms fold across your chest. “You’ll have to be more specific.”

His eyes flash. “The guy. The flirting. You were trying to—”

“Trying to what?” you snap. “Move on? Isn’t that what you wanted?”

Jack exhales, sharp and uneven. “You don’t get it.”

“No, Jack. I really don’t. You said this couldn’t happen. You told me to forget it, forget you. And then you stare at me like that? Like you’ve got any right to be angry?”

“I’m not angry,” he bites out. “I’m—”

“Don’t lie to me.”

Silence stretches. You can hear the distant music from inside, laughter spilling through the front entrance. But here? It’s just you and him, and everything you haven’t said.

“I didn’t want to do that to you,” he says finally, voice frayed. “Push you away. I just… I didn’t know how else to make it stop.”

Your voice lowers. “Why would you want it to stop?”

He steps forward once. Close, but not touching. His hands stay at his sides like he’s afraid of what will happen if he reaches for you.

“Because it scares the shit out of me,” Jack says. “Because you matter more than you should. And because I don’t trust myself not to fuck that up.”

Your heart twists. “So instead you say things to make me hate you?”

“I thought if you hated me, it would be easier for both of us.”

You laugh—soft, bitter. “It’s not.”

His voice breaks. “I know.”

You look at him. Really look at him. There’s pain there—old and festering. The kind that has nothing to do with you and everything to do with whatever he’s been dragging behind him since the war, since before.

You take a breath. “So what now?”

Jack steps even closer. You can feel the heat of him again. His eyes drop to your mouth, then snap back up like he’s furious with himself for even looking.

“You came out here,” you say.

“I didn’t want to watch someone else touch you,” he admits.

“Then don’t make me someone you can’t have.”

There’s a beat.

And then he’s kissing you.

Rough. Desperate. Like he’s been holding it in for years and it’s finally breaking loose. You answer it without hesitation, fisting your hands in his shirt, dragging him down like you’re daring him to finally stop pretending.

He presses you back against the car, one hand braced beside your head, the other gripping your waist like it’s the only thing keeping him grounded. His mouth is on yours—hungry, ragged—like if he slows down, this will disappear.

“Back seat,” he growls. His voice scrapes through your chest.

He opens the rear door behind you, hand never leaving your hip, guiding you with him. You climb in first, crawling across the backseat with your heart in your throat. By the time you turn, he’s already sliding in after you, pulling the door shut behind him with a solid, final thud.

He grabs your face with both hands and kisses you again, harder this time, like his life depends on it. You climb into his lap, straddling him now, knees on either side of his thighs, your bodies pressed close and flushed with heat. He shoves your coat off your shoulders, pushes your shirt up. You tug his top over his head and toss it somewhere in the car.

“God,” he mutters, eyes raking over you. “You’ve been driving me insane.”

“Then do something about it.”

He does.

He unhooks your bra with one hand—like muscle memory—his mouth already on your chest, teeth and tongue working in tandem. His other hand splays across your lower back, holding you close as your hips grind down into his.

You’re panting. He’s shaking.

You reach between you, working open his belt, and feel him throb beneath the fabric. Jack shudders when your hand slips inside, groaning low into your skin.

“Wallet,” he mutters against your neck, voice breathless. “Inside pocket.”

You grab it. Your fingers move fast, practiced by adrenaline. You find the condom tucked there, tear it open, and hand it to him. His eyes meet yours as he rolls it on—slow, deliberate. Controlled, even now.

You brace yourself on his shoulders and lower down onto him, taking him inch by inch until he’s seated fully inside you.

The stretch burns in the best way. You gasp. He swears.

You don’t move. Not yet.

He kisses your jaw, your collarbone. Holds your hips steady with both hands like he’s savoring the feel of you. And when you start to move—hips rolling slow and deep—he leans his head back and groans your name like it’s the only word he knows.

“You feel—fuck, you feel like heaven,” he breathes.

You ride him hard, your rhythm building, mouths colliding again and again between moans. His grip bruises your thighs as he thrusts up to meet every movement, his control slipping with every second you stay on top of him.

Then suddenly—he shifts.

His arms wrap under your thighs, and in one smooth, powerful motion, he lifts you.

You gasp as he turns, guiding you onto your back across the seat. He stays inside you the whole time, never letting go, until your back hits the cool leather and he’s towering over you, braced between your legs.

“You okay?” he asks, breath ragged.

You nod, already whining for more.

Then he starts to move again—deep, relentless, rocking the car with every thrust.

He shifts, bracing one hand beneath your thigh to push your leg higher, opening you up to take him deeper. The angle hits something devastating—you cry out, fingers clutching at his shoulders.

Jack leans down, mouth hot at your neck, breath ragged.

“You’re mine,” he says, voice cracked and raw. “Say it.”

“Yours,” you gasp. “I’m yours, Jack.”

His hand slides down your side, gripping your hip for leverage—then slips between your bodies. His fingers find your clit and start to circle, firm and focused, his pace never faltering.

It sends you over the edge.

You break apart beneath him—back arching, thighs trembling, his name ripped from your mouth like a prayer you didn’t know you were saying.

You’re still shaking when he comes—groaning into your shoulder, his rhythm faltering as he buries himself deep one last time and lets go.

Afterward, you don’t speak right away.

You’re tangled together. His chest is against yours. His arms still hold you like he’s afraid you’ll vanish if he loosens his grip. Your heartbeat stutters beneath his palm. The windows are fogged, the car soaked in heat and the weight of everything that just happened.

You stroke a hand through the back of his hair, calming him more than you.

Finally, he shifts, settling beside you, your body still half-curled on top of him.

And quietly, you say:

“I followed you out because I thought you were going to leave again.”

He freezes.

You feel his breath catch against your shoulder.

“You left once,” you say. “After I told you how I felt. You didn’t look at me. Didn’t say anything. Just made it clear I’d imagined all of it. And tonight? I thought you were about to do it again.”

His voice is tight when he finally speaks.

“I almost did.”

You nod slowly. “Why didn’t you?”

Jack exhales hard. “Because I saw you with him, and I knew—if I walked away again, I wouldn’t just lose you. I’d be choosing to.”

He turns your face toward him.

“And I couldn’t live with that.”

You search his expression. His hand brushes a strand of hair from your face, and then settles on your cheek.

“I tried to kill it,” he says. “Tried to convince myself it wasn’t real. But it is. And it’s too big to ignore.”

“Big love,” you whisper.

He nods. “Yeah. The kind that burns everything else down.”

You press your forehead to his.

“I waited. Through all of it—every time you pretended you didn’t feel this, too.”

His eyes close. Like the truth hurts more than anything else tonight.

“I don’t know how to want you without wanting all of it,” he admits.

And you don’t need him to explain what all of it means.

The chaos. The risk. The weight.

You nod. “Good. Because I don’t want halfway.”

He leans in—presses a kiss to your cheek, then your lips, soft now. Careful.

And finally—finally—he says, “Then I won’t run anymore.”

You believe him.

But only because Big Love doesn’t let you run.

It lives. Loud. Messy. Permanent.

And tonight, in the heat of a parked car, Jack finally lets it have him.

you're a superhero | jack abbot x reader

summary: part 2 to 'you're gonna be a dad, congrats'. snippets of reader's and jack's relationship, reader's pregnancy and birth

pairing: dr. jack abbot x f!resident!reader

tw: no use of y/n (still don't like her in this house), attending/resident relationship, age gap, pregnancy, talks of birth, birth, blood, medical inaccuracies (emergency med), medical accuracies (ob/gyn), whitaker (i love him your honor), twilight is mentioned. not proof read

wc: 10k

author's note: i loved loved loved writing this!! i hope i did the pregnancy and birth scenes justice, cause it's heavily inspired by my own clinical experience in the ob/gyn field (in eu tho)... nvm, i couldn't leave out the pregnancy and just write the birth. hope you like it! feedback is always appreciated and thanks for all the love on the previous fics!

gif not mine

you always knew that jack abbot was careful and protective. from the very start of your relationship, he always made sure you ate well after your shifts, slept well before them and everything in between. on the rare occasions that you found yourself on the same shift as him, he made sure to almost never leave your side, always ready to protect you from a patient or their family if they became aggressive. how you managed to keep the relationship secret through all this, was a mystery.

but now that you were pregnant, it became a little too much. at first jack wanted you to take leave immediately, to not put any pressure on yourself or your developing baby. you laughed it off, but then saw his serious face. you two argued almost the whole night about it.

“you cannot be serious jack,” you scoffed. it was early morning and you were preparing for yet another day shift. jack had a night off so it was a perfect opportunity for him to talk you out of going to work.

“i don’t want anything to happen to you or the baby,” he says and crosses his arms over his chest.

“anything can happen even if i’m at home. i could slip down the stairs and bang my head,” you say with disbelief, packing your stuff into a backpack.

“you’re right. i’m moving the bedroom downstairs. the second floor is off limits.”

you looked at him completely deadpan. but jack’s face did not move. at all. was he actually serious. he can’t be, can he?

“okay, you’re overreacting. and i’m not in the mood to fight, so now i’m gonna leave for work and when you decide to become rational again, we can have a conversation about this,” you say, lean over to give him a quick kiss, before you’re out the door and then the house.

you come in, saying hi to all the nurses that are gathering around central and quickly leave your things in your locker, before coming back so you don’t miss hand off. the night shift seemed to have gone by smoothly, only leaving you with a few patients that were waiting for a room upstairs. 

as you’re doing rounds with the night shift residents, your stomach starts acting up. the morning sickness was a bitch. sometimes you threw up before you came to work, sometimes she let you have a whole day without showing up and on some days, like right now, you had to excuse yourself in the middle of rounds only to run to the restroom and throw your guts up. luckily no one seemed to care enough to follow you or ask you afterwards, either too busy with leaving their shift or getting settled in for another 12 hours of the madness that the ER brought.

your shift started off strong. a mvc with four seriously injured patients. there was no time for you to be sick again. you listened for robby’s instructions as him, you, langdon and collins each took over one of the patients. whitaker, the year 4 med student, follows you to help you with the patient. the fact that he brought you the pregnancy tests was a real bonding moment for the both of you, and you decided you needed to keep an eye on him, so he wouldn’t just blab around about you being pregnant with jack’s baby. no one knew about your relationship still. the baby would be just another bomb and it was the last thing you needed right now.

you rolled the patient into the trauma bay with the help of the emt’s. you and whitaker started with your assessments. the patient’s had broken both his legs, caused by the impact when his car drove into the back of the other car. the legs got stuck under the dashboard and the bones just couldn’t withstand the pressure of the crash. 

just as you were assessing the patient for any hidden injuries, the door opened and robby stepped in, already putting on a fresh pair of gloves. 

“what do we have here?” he asks and the nurse helps him into the white protective gown.

“male, late twenties, driver of the second car. unconciouss, head lacs from hitting the wheel, his airbag didn’t open. have to rule out brain contusion. possible tib-fib fractures on both legs, won’t know exactly without an x-ray. the abdomen is bruised, from the impact with the steering wheel. already called surgery.”

whitaker takes the ultrasound probe and robby helps him examine the patient’s abdomen. 

“there you see,” robby points to the screen and you and whitaker take a look. the patient’s spleen has ruptured and is now bleeding heavily into the abdomen. just as you’re about to say something, the door to the bay opens again and dr. garcia steps in.

“what do you got for me?” she looks at you and puts on gloves. at first she lifts the cover on the patient’s leg to look at them. you then show her the ultrasound.

“spleen rupture.”

“send him up to surgery, through CT stat. i’ll have an OR waiting for him,” she says without hesitation and then promptly leaves the room to look at the other patients involved in the car crash.

you leave the patient in the care of nurses and whitaker and you exit the trauma bay. you find yourself standing next to dr. langdon, leaning on the table at the nurse’s station, when the adrenaline rush from earlier catches up to you at the same time as your morning sickness and your head spins. you can feel your heartbeat in your head and ears. you close your eyes and try to take a deep breath but everything seems to be going darker by the second. 

langdon notices and calls out your name, but you’re going down. you’re expecting some sort of impact, but instead fall into a strong pair of arms and then everything becomes dark.

when you wake up again there’s a strong white light beaming straight into your eyes and a finger holding up one of your eyelid. you turn your head away and blink a few times.

“she’s waking up,” you recognize the voice as robby’s. just then you take a good look around you. robby and dana are standing next to you, laid in a bed in one of the exam rooms. robby is putting his pen light away, worry written all over his and dana’s face. 

“what happened?” you ask and sit up slowly.

“you fainted. would probably hit the table if langdon didn’t catch you,” robby explains and dana just nods to emphasize how lucky you were.

“are you okay?” dana asks and you nod frantically.

“yeah, it’s just…” you try to explain, but robby steps in.

“can you leave us for a minute, please,” he gives dana a smile and she nods and then leaves the exam room.

“is there something wrong?” he asks and sits himself at the end of the bed and looking straight at you.

“why would there be something wrong? it was probably just a drop in my blood pressure, i’ve always been in the lower numbers. also i didn’t have a breakfast. i’ll just grab a juice box and go back to work.”

“okay. now try to be honest with me, and yourself. i can’t have my residents going around throwing up and fainting after every case,” he says. it hits you. he knew, he saw you. but it only happened a few times, the throwing up, you want to reply, but you are silent. under his gaze you feel like a small child, being reprimanded for something.

there’s a moment of silence between you and robby. he just looks at you, with those sad brown eyes that hold so much pain. and honestly, you don’t want to cause him any more stress so you just decide to tell him. also, he’s jack’s friend, he would definitely understand, right? oh, how you wish jack was there to tell him himself and you didn’t have to do it alone.

“i’m pregnant…” you say and smile shyly.

robby doesn’t seem to be surprised. he probably puts two and two together. finding you in the restroom, throwing up. seeing you sick again and then fainting.

“well, congratulations. i didn’t know you were in a relationship.”

“with jack’s baby,” you add quickly. 

now he’s surprised and his eyes almost fall out. he starts opening and closing his mouth like a fish, and you’re afraid you’re gonna have to pick him up from the floor after he collapses from the information you just dropped.

“before you say anything else. we know it’s not the best situation. the relationship and now the baby, so we kept it a secret. but we’re on different shifts, he’s not my mentor anymore…”

a smile takes over robby’s face and he leans in, to trap you in a hug. his hands curl around your shoulders and he says: “i’m not mad. i’m happy for you both. i just wish you told me sooner. jack’s my friend. hell, you’re my friend.”

“sorry,” you laugh a little when he lets go of you. “but can you…”

“sure. it’s your business, not mine,” he gives you a wink and stands up from the bed.

“rest for a minute, grab something to eat, not just juice and then you can come back,” he instructs and you smile.

jack isn’t mad when you tell him that robby knows. he’s excited. he doesn’t have to pretend in front of his friend anymore and can talk to him if anything bothers him. he can also tell him to look after you in the day shifts as it seems you are not quitting anytime soon, though he’d want that. he just wants you to focus on yourself and the baby, not having you running around the ER with another life at stake. he’d always blame himself if anything happened to either of you.

it’s hard maintaining it a secret though. much harder when you start showing. first mckay and dana find out. you’re changing in the locker room, both women doing the same. you try to hide behind the locker as you put on the scrub top, when you hear a loud sharp sigh. you quickly pull the top over your head and turn to the noise and meet mckay’s big green eyes.

“oh my god, are you pregnant?” she asks rather loudly, which only attracts dana’s attention. both women are now looking you up and down. there is no point in lying. okay, maybe you could talk mckay out of thinking you were pregnant, but not dana. that woman knows everything. you don’t even know how you managed to keep it a secret from her that long.

“you are aren’t you?” dana adds.

“okay. maybe i am,” you just let out a sigh, but smile a little. their eyes beam with happiness as they shower you with questions and congratulations. a second after you reveal the father of your child and your boyfriend and you’re sure mckay must’ve dislocated her jaw with how low it dropped.

so it becomes more of a public secret. you decide to only tell your dayshift co-workers but you’re sure the whole hospital (including gloria) knows too. and at the twenty four week mark, when the scrubs become a little too tight, you can just start wearing a shirt that says  “yes i fucked my attending (multiple times). yes i’m having his child. stop with the questions.”

and as if that wasn’t enough, robby and langdon become protective of you the same way jack is. you’re sure he has something to do with that, because he’s still working nights. you can assure them all you want that you feel fine and are more than capable of working the big trauma cases. but robby is firm in his tone when he says that until further notice, you’re working triage together with mckay.

“you could get hurt. or worse. the baby could get hurt,” he explains when you start having one of your hormonal fits and try to talk him out of it.

“i’m sure the idea is all yours,” you say with a touch or irony in your voice. robby just looks at you apologetically and leaves to take care of his patients. 

you don’t mind working triage. if it was for a few hours. you needed the adrenaline. needed to feel the rush in your veins when you know someone’s on the verge of death and you help them come back. dealing with the headaches, colds and hypochondriacs wasn’t on your 2025 bingo card. but at the same time, getting pregnant also wasn’t.

…

“i’m so big,” you pout. 

you’re laying in the bath, jack’s big, strong chest behind you, your head resting on his shoulder. his hands are around you, holding onto your pregnant belly asi if it was just gonna float away. your’re resting your hands on top of his when the realisation hits you.

“no you’re not,” he objects and moves his hands around, caressing the skin of your belly. 

“you should’ve seen me in the black scrubs. i looked like straight out of the ‘free willy’. they could do another sequel with me as the main character,” you say and huff. 

jack’s chest shake with a laugh. his head then dips down to give you a kiss on the cheek.

“you'd be the hottest orca i know,” he says in a low tone and when you turn back, to poke him in the shoulder for calling you ‘an orca’ you can see the biggest smirk on his face. 

“you don’t wanna anger this orca even more,” you warn him but jack is still smirking. and before you turn back around, he gives you a proper kiss. you lean into him, and when he deepens the kiss, you let out a silent moan. his hands are moving upward, thumb swiping gently over your sensitive nipples. you let out another moan and jack takes it as an invite. 

you’d love for things to go further, but the baby has its plans and kicks you straight in the bladder. you wince and jack moves away, worry in his eyes. 

“are you okay? did i do something?” he asks. 

“no, everything’s fine. the baby is just dancing around and got me in the bladder,” you explain. jack smiles and gives you one last peck, before you both settle in the bath again. 

…

“i see in your papers that you don’t know the gender yet. do you want to find out now?” the OB who’s on shift asks. you decided to have all the check-ups at the hospital, well, since you’re basically living there.

“no.” 

“yes.”

you and jack look at each other in an instant.

“i thought we were gonna keep it a surprise,” you scowled at him. 

“what? i told you i wanted to know,” says jack. 

“you know what, why don’t you talk about it and then call me when you’re ready,” the OB says, lets go of the ultrasound probe and leaves the exam room.

you sit up and jack hands you a bunch of paper towels so you don’t get the gel all over your fresh scrubs. he was leaving the night shift when you came in and informed him of the OB check up you arranged for the morning.

“i really wanted it to be a surprise,” you pout and tears started to build up in the corner of your eyes. you were getting more and more emotional by the day. jack thought he could keep up with your mood swings, for his sake and yours, but sometimes it was too unpredictable even for him.

“i’m sorry baby, if i knew you felt so strongly about that i’d have kept my mouth shut,” jack tries to save the situation before you have a complete breakdown. but it’s a little too late. few of the tears escape and run down your cheeks. his hand is quick to dry them and he reaches for more paper towels. you sob quietly and rub your eyes. 

“no, i’m sorry. i’m a mess. it’s the hormones,” you say between sobs, trying to stop yourself. jack stands up from the chair he’s been sat in and hugs your sitting figure. your belly is half covered, the scrub top getting stuck in the middle of you trying to pull it down.

jack’s hand touches the skin of your stomach and caresses it gently.

“don’t ever apologize for that baby. i love you, let’s wait to find out okay?” he assures and you just nod, wiping the tears away.

jack makes sure you leave safely and returns to the emergency department just in time for hand offs. the start to their shift is slow, they move some of the patients upwards and clear some beds for the night crazies that are sure to come. 

and they don’t wait for too long. it’s a little after 10pm when the ambulances bring some people from a birthday party. apparently choosing a sushi restaurant is as important as choosing a life partner. you have to make sure they don’t poison you. jack lets the residents handle it as he’s checking on a patient from the day shift who’s still waiting for an icu bed.

but it’s after midnight when the real crazies start coming in. ambulance along with police bring in a man who tried to burgle a store and then decided to leave through the glass window. yes, straight through it. the other ambulances come in with patients from pedestrians vs. vehicle.

it takes them two hours to sort through everyone and when jack finally sits down, the door open once again, but this time there’s no rush, no shouting, no red and blue lights from the ambulance bay. it’s you. 

he stands up straight, almost running your way. you stand in the main door, tears running down your face and hands shaking. he quickly asses you with his eyes, worry settling in his face. he cannot see anything being wrong, apart from the tears that are streaming down your face. but there could be something going on inside. the baby. worry is eating him alive but he tries to keep a straight face, he cannot crumble. not in front of you.

“baby what are you doing here? what’s wrong?” he asks, grabbing your hands in his and finding your crying eyes. 

“i-i…” you sob, unable to form any words. 

“come,” he instructs and take you by your hands into an empty exam room. once you’re in, he helps you to sit on the bed and then automatically starts the ultrasound machine. 

“is everything okay with the baby? are you in any pain? are you bleeding?” he showers you in questions. you dry your eyes in the sleeve of his hoodie, because that’s the only thing you can wear over your growing bump. then your hands fall down to your growing belly and jack stops in his movements and stands in front of you.

“i’m sorry if that was too much, you just scared me,” he explains and with a small smile and holds your hands in his, gently moving his thumbs over your knuckles, to ease whatever you were feeling right now.

“i ju-just, couldn’t sleep,” you start and jack stops himself from saying that you could’ve just called instead of making the drive to the ER in the middle of night, not to upset you even more.

“i was thinking about our fight. and i just don’t want you to be upset. it’s your baby too. if you want to know the gender you should be able to,” you manage to say in between sobs. you wipe your nose in the sleeve and look up at jack. your eyes are red and tired, because it’s 2am in the morning. you expect to find jack’s always serious face, but instead, relief takes over. he gives you a smile and takes a seat right next to you, on the bed.

“god, baby. i thought something happened to you. i’m not upset with you, i could never. i was just worried,” he says, hand coming up to cup your face. his thumb wipes away the remains of tears that were still there. 

“i don’t want you to be worried,” you say and new tears start pooling in your eyes. jack grabs a tissue from a nearby cart and hands it to you. you wipe your tears and blow your nose. you feel like a little kid, being comforted by a parent after doing something stupid. 

“i’ll always be worried, baby. i love you. and i’m perfectly fine to wait to find out if you want,” he reassures you and leans in to kiss you on the forehead. you calm down at the touch of his lips to your skin and close your eyes for a second.

“i kind of want to know now though,” you say and look down into your lap, embarrassed by the sudden change of mind. jack doesn’t show it, but he’s smirking inside, throwing hands up in a winning gesture. he knew you’d wanna wait, but something inside was telling him that eventually you’d cave in. you were too curious to wait for the actual birth.

“want me to do it?” he asks with a raised brow.

“well i didn’t come here to chit chat.” 

now he’s smirking. you’re back to your good old pregnant sassy yourself. you’re pulling up the hoodie as jack takes the always cold ultrasound gel and puts it all over your bump. you wiggle excitedly and jack laughs a little before grabbing the probe and angling the screen your way also, so you can look at the baby together.

“okay, let’s find out,” he says in a low voice, moving the probe around.

“wait!” you say suddenly and jack jerks his hand away from your abdomen, afraid he’s done something wrong.

“what do you think it’s gonna be? wanna bet?” you smirk his way and he has to take a deep breath to get over the small adrenaline rush you just gave him.

“i don’t know. i was thinking a girl, but i’m fine with whatever as long as the baby is healthy,” he says, returning the probe to your belly, the baby’s spine appearing on the screen again.

“oh my god. i was thinking boy. we gotta bet!”

“okay, okay, it’s a bet,” jack laughs at your sudden excitement to find out the baby’s gender. “let me make a few measurements thought, to make sure everything is fine.”

“jack, we were at the OB in the morning, just focus on the important part.”

“you can never be too careful,” he objects, but gives you a smirk. “okay, pay attention,” he instructs and you can see on the screen that he’s moving down to the baby’s parts.

you both squint at the screen, silent race between the two of you, of who’s gonna be the first to see it. jack’s steady hand continues to move, but the baby’s movement are making it a little hard until…

“there!” you yell out, almost sitting up, and point at the screen. jack almost flinches again, but keeps his hand on your abdomen, trying to focus the picture better by pressing all the different buttons on the ultrasound.

“that’s just the cord,” jack smirks when taking a better look at the screen.

“fuck,” you breathe out, settling back on the bed. you rub your eyes with your hand. it’s 2am, you’re heavily pregnant and tired. no one would expect you to see everything clearly at the ultrasound. well, you would, because you’re always expecting 110% of yourself. jack always tells you to cut yourself a little slack. right after telling you to just take the damn maternity leave and not go to work.

“but this. this is it,” jack says, freezing the picture. you turn your head to the screen and look at it closely, before a wide smile settles on your face. tears are starting to pool at your eyes again, and you cannot stop them.

“i win,” you say triumphantly. “i was right.”

“you’re always right,” jack’s smile is just as wide as your, not a hint of disappointment or sadness at the results of the bet.

“true,” you give him a wink and sit up at the bed, hanging your legs down. jack turns off the ultrasound machine, but not before printing out the picture of your son’s genitals. you don’t question that choice, too busy with smiling and wiggling your legs.

jack stands between your legs, as close as the bump allows him and cups your face in his hands. he looks into your eyes, intensely, with all the emotion that he’s feeling. happiness, joy, bliss. everything.

“we are going to have a son,” he accentuates every word.

his thumb swipes across your bottom lip and he dips his head down to kiss you. it surprises you, how deep the kiss is, but you don’t complain. one of jack’s hand moves from your face down to the bump. you are both too invested in the kiss to realise there’s still a whole lot of gel on your abdomen. you’re the first to break the kiss, after a moment.

“fuck, your hoodie is gonna be ruined,” you exhale, looking down at your bump. the gel is a bitch. it seems to find its way everywhere it’s not supposed to be. and it ruined a few of your tops already, because you just couldn’t get it washed out properly. 

“i don’t care, i have others,” he says and leans in for another kiss, but then his pager goes off. he stops midway, taking a look at it, and then gives you one last kiss.

“sorry baby they’re bringing in more patients. are you okay to go home by yourself? should i send someone with you? call you an uber?”

“jack, go. i’ll be fine.”

“drive safely. text me when you’re home.”

…

jack is unable to convince you to stay home even after the 36 week mark. there’s only one month to go, until your baby boy’s here, but you’re stubborn as ever. you’re waddling around the ER, staying on top of triage, where robby put you. him and langdon and dana and well, almost everyone on the day shift, including whitaker, is keeping an eye on you. jack isn’t texting just you, but he’s bombarding robby with messages when you don’t respond or pick up your phone and robby has to reassure him that you’re fine, you’re wearing your compression socks, eating and drinking water and taking breaks regularly.

now you’re 38 weeks, feeling like a balloon that’s about to blow. and the braxton hicks you’ve been experiencing for the past week or so certainly aren’t helping. you’re in for another day shift, clutching an apple juice box in your hands as you go around listening to the hand offs, though frank told you, you could sit down and he’ll update you on everything afterwards. the last thing you wanted to do was sit. standing up, you felt like a balloon, but sitting down, you felt like that weird sea animal called blobfish. its sad, pink, shiny face embedded in your mind from high school biology.

you’re lucky to get a slow start into the shift. you sit in the nurses station, feet propped up on a chair that is currently not occupied by anyone, a labour and parenthood book in your hand. you’re currently reading up on the labour chapters and sigh suddenly.

“i can’t believe how much i’ve forgotten about this stuff,” you say and dana laughs from behind you. 

“the only thing you wanna know is get all the pain relief you can get and don’t listen to anyone. your body is gonna tell you everything,” she says and you see langdon’s confused face. he’s standing in front of a computer, putting some patient information in.

“don’t listen to anyone? what kind of advice is that,” he scoffs.

“oh, just another man all up in a women’s business,” dana replies annoyingly, which makes langdon shut up and not say another word. you just laugh at their interaction and go back to your book. then whitaker shows up out of nowhere.

“doc, could you help me with a case?”

you look up at him. it doesn’t seem that serious, so you let go of the book and beckon to him.

“sure, but help me stand up, these chairs are madly low.” he jumps forward, catching your hands in his and pulling you up from the chair. you exhale when you’re up, having to adjust to the change of positions.

to say you’d made whitaker kind of your servant would be an understatement. but you didn’t really consider it a bad thing. and he didn’t mind too, or so you believed. if he did, he never said a thing. so yeah, maybe you took a little advantage of that.

“i have a young male, complaining of chest pains since this morning. the pain is worse when he’s laying down, no recent trauma or illness, no fever, cough, shortness of breath. i did a cardiopulmonary exam, found decreased breath sounds on the right side,” whitaker presents while you’re walking to the exam room. 

“what test did you order?” you ask and rub your back while walking. you were sore from the night, not getting enough sleep, because the baby decided to have a dance party at midnight.

“basic labs and chest x-ray, should we do an ecg?” he asks and you enter the room. you both disinfect your hands and grab gloves from the cart. you introduce yourself to the patient and almost instantly, you can tell what is going to be wrong with him. nevertheless, you repeat whitaker’s exam, to make sure for yourself. grabbing your stethoscope, you listen to the patients lungs and heart.

“let’s do an ecg, just to be sure it’s not something heart related. are the x-rays back?” you ask. whitaker goes to the computer, sound of clicking filling the room.

“yes, they’re here.”

“bring them up, let’s look at them,” you say and stand next to him. 

“oh my god. a pneumothorax? how’s that possible, there’s no injury.”

“do you know what a primary spontaneous pneumothorax is?” you ask. whitaker nods and start babbling away all the fact he knows about psp.

“it can occur in young males, with a tall and thin build. often caused by the rupture of bullae.”

“right, how do you treat them?”

“100% oxygen to let it resorb on itself and observe. if it gets worse… chest tube?”

“very right. you do that and i’ll just be back there if you need me. if he gets worse, call me right away.”

with that you leave the room. in the hall, you have to stop for a minute, taking a deep breat in. the baby boy is really enjoying torturing you, kicking you in the ribs and punching your bladder every opportunity he gets. now it’s not any different and you go to the restroom, as the urgency builds up. shouldn’t have down that apple juice in one sitting.

you feel like you barely make it and sit down at the toilet as quickly as you can without breaking your back. you really don’t want to have that bella swan bathroom moment. surely not in the workplace, that would be embarrassing. and you don’t know if whitaker alone would be capable of getting you up from the floor. your mind starts going in spirals imagining the mortification if you had fallen down in the restroom with your pants down. just when you think you’re done, you feel a light ‘pop’. you feel a warm fluid streaming down into the toilet and you freeze. was that just what you think it was?

right after that, a quite strong braxton-hicks hits you and you have to keep sitting on the toilet to breathe through it. after, you exit the stall washing your hands in the sink, looking at the clock. it seems that what you’ve now had was two contractions in an hour. that’s not labour yet, but could be turning into it soon. you also needed to make sure that what you just felt streaming down your leg was or was not amniotic fluid. 

coming out of the restroom, you find whitaker in the crowd. yes, you could go to robby or dana or langdon but they would probably freak out, call jack and make you lie down until you gave birth. you didn’t exactly want that. so whitaker it is.

he’s standing in front of a computer, looking at some patient stuff when you approach him. 

“oh, hey. just so you know, our patient responded well to the oxygen, i think the pneumothorax will go away on its own.”

“yeah great, i need you to do something for me.”

whitaker’s eyes grow even bigger, if that’s even possible and he opens his mouth in question.

“you’ll now go up to the third floor, subtly, labour & delivery is there and grab one of the amnisure kits. subtly. do you get what the keyword is? no one can know.”

you’re almost sure whitaker’s eyes are gonna pop out when you drop your request. 

“did your water break?” he squeals and you hit him in the shoulder, trying to shut him up.

“well, we won’t know without the test will we? so go, please,” you plead and after a moment whitaker nods and strides away towards the elevators.

“everything okay?” a voice appears behind you. you turn around at the surprise and see robby standing behind you, his hands in the pockets of the signature blue hoodie, the stethoscope hanging around his neck. you instinctively touch yours and swing on your feet. 

“sure, why wouldn’t it be?” you ask, hoping to sound as innocent as you can.

“just checking in,” robby replies, following you into the nurses station.

“did jack tell you to check in on me again?”

“no, this one is purely on me,” robby laughs. “so why is whitaker running around the whole hospital?”

“taking care of a patient, i reckon,” you answer and sit down on the chair, sighing with relief, when you can finally rest your back.

“and you? did you eat something? drink water?” robby swarms you with the questions and you just rolled your eyes.

“yes, boss, don’t worry. i’m fine. you can let jack know when he asks,” you reply and robby just gives you a tired smile.

you didn’t mind the attention at first. but now it was becoming more and more annoying. you’re not a little kid. you can ask for help when you need it. hell, you just asked. yes, you asked whitaker and in secret, but you did anyways. and that counts for something.

everytime the elevator dings, you turn your head around. dana is asking if you’re expecting someone soon, but you hit her with the ‘yes a beautiful baby boy’ and she just shakes her head, but you can see her smile. it takes like seven elevator rides, for the doors to finally open and reveal whitaker, who looks like he just ran a marathon. 

“doc, i hope this was worth it,” he says silently, when you meet him halfway on the way from the elevator. “i had to flirt and lie to some L&D nurse to get the kit.” 

“perfect. now let’s go, you need to do it for me,” you say and grab him by his shoulder to take him into an empty exam room.

“what?” he stops abruptly and looks at you with wide eyes. they might pop out any moment, the second time in under an hour. “i-i-i don’t think… i-i’m not the right person. shouldn’t we ask dr. robby for help?”

“no way. you can do it. it’s just like sticking a long q-tip up someone’s… well you know what. i’d do it myself, but you can see i’m kind of indisposed right now,” you rub your belly to accentuate what you’re trying to say.

whitaker cringes visibly, but you don’t allow him to protest any more and you go inside the empty room. before anything happens, you both read through the instructions.

“seems pretty easy,” you say and close the brochure that was inside the kit. “you just swab it around, then we put it in the solvent and then test it. just like with covid tests.”

your joke doesn’t exactly land, because when you look at whitaker, his hands are shaking. you place a hand on his shoulder, trying to sound reassuring, but your own voice shakes. you’re not sure if you want to know. maybe it would be better to wait for the contractions and forget all about the possible membranes rupture.

“it’s gonna be okay,” you say for both of you. then you take a blanket that’s on the bed and wrap it around you, discarding of your scrub pants and underwear. whitaker, like a gentleman he is, turns around and puts on a clean pair of gloves.

“okay, let’s get this over with,” you say as you position yourself on the bed, with your knees bent. whitaker takes a deep breath in but complies. it’s over in a minute. you then put your pants back on and help whitaker with the other steps of the test. 

“okay, now we wait for 5 to 10 minutes and we’ll know,” you say, putting your hands on your hips looking at the vial, where the test is submerged. 

“i don’t think we have to wait that long,” whitaker points out to the obvious two lines forming on the test stripe. these damn two lines, they’re gonna ruin your life. guess it starts with two lines and ends with two lines, you think to yourself.

“you’re in labour,” he says plainly and you think he’s gonna faint, from the way he’s looking at you. his skin was fair to begin with, but now whitaker looks like a ghost.

“labour starts with regular contractions, whitaker. not with membranes rupture. and i don’t got th-...” you have to stop, because another strong cramp hits your lower back. grabbing the edge of the bed, you have to breathe through it for a few seconds, before being to able finish your sentence. “as you can see, i don’t have regular contractions yet.” 

you look at the clock in the exam room. how far apart were they. 30 maybe 40 minutes? they hit hard, but you still had some time before the active stage of labour started.

“you sure?” whitaker asks, worry in his voice.

“100%. let’s get back to work.”

robby needs your help with an end-of-life care patient who the ambulance brought in from a senior care facility. taking care of them and talking to the family can be emotionally draining, but at least you aren’t risking getting hurt in the midst of a serious trauma case.

those damn braxton-hicks are catching up to you as you go back and forth between the nurses station, the patient’s room and family room and when you finally have a moment for yourself, you ground yourself on the table where the computer sits, and breathe through one of the stronger ones. they’re starting to get a bit more regular and strong, and you don’t think you can call them braxton-hicks anymore. fuck, you cannot be labouring in the middle of your shift. jack’s at home, fast asleep after a rough night shift, but you know he’s only a phone call away. still, you don’t wanna disturb anyone, since the pain is still quite bearable.

but those little stops and you breathing a little too deeply, cannot hide from robby’s eyes. he’s seen you walk around with one hand either on your back or front, having to stop occasionally and focus on your breathing. he knew something was up, but he wanted you to admit it first. he couldn’t pressure you into saying anything. he can ask though.

“what’s up with you,” he rolls forward on the chair in the nurses station to face you. “should i be calling jack?”

you’re in the middle of trying to breathe through another contraction subtly, when his voice interrupts. you look up at him. “what?”

“are you having contractions?” he asks blatantly.

“no.”

“don’t… i’ve seen you needed to take breaks more often. you’ve been breathing as if you’re practicing for a deep dive. how far apart they are?”

you take a look at your watch. “like fifteen minutes? they’re still pretty irregular. some i can just ignore, some i need to breathe through. it’s nothing.”

“it’s not nothing,” robby scoffs. “i’m calling jack. and getting you a fetal heartbeat monitor for now.”

“no, robby. don’t call him just yet, he’ll freak out. i’ll call him myself, when i’m actually in labour.”

robby rubs his face with his hands in desperation. “why are you so stubborn?”

“i’m not. i’m asserting my autonomy,” you smile innocently, batting your eyelashes. robby just laughs at your actions.

“okay, but if the contractions are closer together or your water breaks, tell me immediately,” he instructs. you’re taken aback by his words, staring at him wide eyed and he instantly catches on. you wish you could control your face better.

“oh, god. don’t tell me…” he rubs his face again. “you’re unbelievable. how long? was it clear?”

“i don’t know, maybe two hours ago. we did an amnisure.”

“we?” robby looks at you with a surprise. 

“well, whitaker might’ve helped.”

“poor kid,” robby laughs. “but that changes the situation. i’m getting you up to L&D now.”

“noooo,” you protest. “i wanna be here.”

“what’s going on?” dana intercepts your conversation.

“she’s in labour,” robby says.

“what?” dana asks with a surprise. 

“god, robby, does the whole floor need to know?” you ask, but you’re interrupted by a contraction. 

“that was not fifteen minutes,” he points out. 

“i told you they’re irregular,” you say in between breaths, clutching at your lower back. maybe you are gonna have a bella swan moment with how the pain is stabbing you in the back.

“i don’t believe you, frankly. you’ve been lying the whole morning. we’re taking you up and calling jack. i’m revoking your autonomy,” robby says and you know he means it as a joke but the way he says it, makes you only wanna fight him more. you’re not going anywhere.

“no.”

“yes.”

“no.”

“i’m your attending, you gotta listen.”

“honey, he’s got a point. let’s just go upstairs to get you checked out and then we’ll see what we can do next. don’t you wanna know if the baby is okay?” dana tries to mediate the whole situation. “donnie, a wheelchair please?”

“how dare you use my own child against me. and i can walk just fine,” you say. another contractions comes and everybody knows that what you just said is bullshit. 

so you let them sit you in a wheelchair and before they can roll you into the elevator, you manage to yell at whitaker to follow you. nor dana neither robby question your choice of company, so all four of you just ride silently to the third floor.

robby wheels you into one of the exam rooms, your OB taking in the escort that came with you. you just brush it off, when they leave you alone in the room, for your check up. but before they can leave, you give whitaker your phone and tell him to text jack.

the OB does both an ultrasound and a vaginal exam. the verdict is, yes, your water broke, yes, you’re having contractions like ten minutes apart and you’re 3 centimeters dilated.

“perfect, i can go back to work right?”

“you were serious about that?” your OB asks with a surprised tone. you start nodding your head.

“i’d strongly suggest against that. we can give you a room in our department, your co-workers can come visit if they want, but unless you plan on delivering the baby in the ER…”

“shit,” you sigh, one of the stronger contractions hits you. the doctor is kind enough to wait while you breathe through it. 

suddenly the door opens and whitaker is standing with your phone to his ear. double shit, you think. 

“i’m sorry. i texted him, he started calling so i picked up and now he’s mad at me, and possibly you and-...” you don’t have to think twice to know who’s he talking about.

“just give me the fucking phone, dennis.”

you put the phone to your ear and before you can say anything, jack does.

“why didn’t you call me sooner. and why does whitaker have your phone?” you can hear him packing stuff, probably getting ready to come to the hospital.

“i didn’t wanna worry you. it was nothing.”

“water breaking is not nothing. how was the check up?”

“everything is fine. i’m at 3 centimeters, you don’t have to rush. still a long way to go.”

“well i’m on my way anyway. hold on. i love you both,” he says and with that he hangs up.

you let the nice OB convince you to stay in L&D and you convince robby to let whitaker stay with you until jack arrives. robby asks the student if it’s okay with him and to your surprise he just nods, rubbing your back when a contraction comes.

“how was the pneumothorax patient?” you ask whitaker as you’re walking around the room, already dressed in one of the pale blue hospital gowns, fetal heartbeat monitor strapped to your belly.

“good, good. he got a bed upstairs, for observation,” whitaker says and holds your phone, where you showed him an app for timing your contractions. he takes the job very seriously.

“so, you know what you are naming your son yet?” he asks, to take your attention off the pain as much as he can. you shake your head, inhaling and exhaling deeply, but not too deeply to send yourself into hyperventilation. the room is filled by the sound of your breathing and the soft beats of your baby’s heart.

“we haven’t thought about it yet. we’ll just decide on the spot.”

minutes pass, you feel like the contractions are coming more and more frequently and each time more and more intense than the last ones. breathing isn’t enough, you have to groan and moan to feel some sort of relief. whitaker is still clutching your phone, timing them patiently.

“how far apart are they?”

“three minutes.”

“fuck. where is jack?” you cry, the pain sending a few tears down your face. you’re standing by the bed, bent over, holding onto the edge and moving your hips, to ease at least some of it. it is becoming more and more unbearable. and you refuse to let the midwife check you. you don’t want to know how close you are to pushing a watermelon out of your lady parts. you like your lady parts. jack likes them. or at least you hope. and you don’t want to know, in case jack wasn’t gonna make it. where the hell was he anyway?

“should i call him?” whitaker asks.

“get him here. now. or i’m gonna kill someone.”

whitaker’s eyes are threatening to pop out once again, as he excuses himself and leaves the room to call jack. it takes a moment and he’s back. 

“could you put pressure on my lower back?” you ask, gritting your teeth. whitakers is by you in a second, but doesn’t know exactly what to do.

“just place your hands on my lower back. and put a lot of pressure. what’s there to not understand?”

whitaker does as you instruct and you sigh. the pressure feels so good. it’s like someone’s fighting the contractions with you.

there’s a knock on the door and without really waiting for the answer, the person knocking enters. it’s jack. just seeing him makes you feel 100% better. his calm but serious presence making itself known.

“what the fuck, whitaker?” is the first thing he says. the med student jumps away from you, putting his hands into the pockets of his scrubs. 

“i asked him, jack, let him go,” you say on whitaker’s behalf. he doesn’t need much persuading. jack raises an eyebrow at him and he leaves the room.

“finally, you’re here,” you sigh happily, when jack approaches you.

“yes, i’m here baby,” he says and you lean into him, head resting on his chest, still bent over slightly. his hands are rubbing your back and hips, helping you breathe through the contractions. 

a minute later the midwife knocks, asking you if you hadn’t changed your mind about the vaginal exam. you agree to one, now that jack’s here. the midwife greets him and they both help you up on bed for the exam. 

“well isn’t it wonderful? you’re about 8 centimeters and looking at the fetal monitor, baby is doing just fine. just hold on a little more while, and you’ll have him here with you.”

“what? more? please no,” you cry and jack bends down to kiss your head.

“don’t kiss me. you did this to me. now i have to push a fucking watermelon out of my vagina,” you scowl at jack and he cannot help himself but smile at your actions.

“i’m sorry, baby,” he says as he’s helping you down from the bed in between contractions, because you cannot bear laying down in this state.

you feel like your abdomen is contracting all the time, giving you no breaks. you walk around the room, jack following you like a puppy, holding your hands or the whole lot of you when you need him, handing you the water bottle when you’re thirsty and popping the green apple bears in your mouth when you’re in need of some quick energy. apparently the others taste like vomit, but not the green bears. he doesn’t comment on that and just hands you more gummies when you ask, like the gentleman he is.

there’s a stage at which you start pleading and protesting, thinking it would get you out of this mess, but it’s too late. you know it, he knows it, but you do it nevertheless. the pain is becoming unbearable, no amount of breathing and moving around helping to ease it. 

“fucking kill me. i cannot do it.”

“don’t talk like that, of course you can. look how far you’ve gotten, a little bit more and the baby’s here,” jack tells you reassuringly.

“it’s always ‘a little more’ and never ‘you’re ready to push’ or ‘we can see the head’,” you say with a lot of sarcasm and jack just wanna laugh, but stops himself, when he sees your glare.

a contractions hits you, this one even more intense than the last ones, if it’s even possible and you feel pressure down there. the need to put yourself into it and push a little is surprising, but your body does what it needs without you really controlling it anymore. you feel like your whole body is contracting and helping push out this baby. you lean into the bed, still standing up.

“jack…” you breathe out. “i think i need to push.”

he’s quick in his actions, pressing the call button to alert the midwife who’s taking care of you. 

“do you want to go up on the bed?”

“no,” you reply at the same time as the midwife enters the room. you don’t really recognise her presence in the room as you turn more and more inwards, focusing on you and getting this baby out. another contraction washes over you like a ocean wave.

“oh god, it’s coming,” you cry out and you can feel the midwife putting a sheet under you and kneeling down to see what’s going on. 

“you’re doing great, doctor, i can already see a bit of the baby’s head. on the next contraction, give me your biggest push.”

you push as hard as you can, jack whispering in your hair how you’re the strongest woman he’s ever met. one of his hands never leaves your lower back and the other is caressing your hair, getting the short ones out of your sweaty face. 

“perfect. one more big push and the baby’s here,” the midwife says and you can feel her hands on your lady parts, though you don’t care. it actually gives you a nice sense of where to concentrate all the strength you have left.

and on the next contraction, with jack still whispering encouraging words into your ear, you push so hard, your vision almost goes black. you feel like you’re on fire and are about to blow up. with a loud cry, you give the last push everything you can and somewhere from under you, you can hear the midwife telling you to breathe.

“baby, his head is out, just breathe, you’re doing amazing,” jack repeats her words and when you look at him, you can see tears in his eyes. you don’t ever recall seeing jack crying. you give him a weak smile.

“now we wait for the shoulders. on the next contractions, push just a little and your baby will be here,” the midwife gives you instructions and you can already feel the next contraction building up. 

“oh god,” you give into the sensation one last time and suddenly all the pain is away. you feel like every organ in your body dropped back into its original place and relief washes over you. you take in a sharp breath, the euphoria taking over your body.

“congratulations, doctor. your baby boy is here,” the midwife exclaims from underneath you and you feel a sudden urge to hold him. you need to hold your baby now.

“where is he?” you ask with a weak voice. the midwife instructs you to turn around carefully and sit on the bed, as she’s holding the baby boy, because he’s still connected to you by the cord. at the same time jack is helping you undress the hospital gown and before you know it, a warm, little, pink bundle with surprisingly lot of curls, is laid down on your chest, squirming under every touch. you fall in love. hard.

“why is he not crying?” you ask, worry lacing your voice.

“he’s still on the cord, he might not cry until we cut it. it’s perfectly normal,” the midwife says.

“god. baby. he’s perfect, you’re perfect,” jack says from beside you and you finally turn your head to look at him properly. a wide smile is on his face and he’s rubbing his eyes, to stop himself from crying. he’s looking at you wit love in his eyes. like you hung the moon and stars and even more.

“i’m sorry, i didn’t mean to be rude before,” you apologise, raising your hand to touch his face, recalling the things you said. you wipe away a tear that’s streaming down his cheek with your thumb.

“what? i didn’t even notice,” jack brushes you off, his hand caressing your face, before lightly touching the baby’s back. he squirms once again under jack’s touch and for the first time, opens his eyes just a bit. 

“he looks just like you,” jack almost whispers. 

“what do you mean,” you laugh. “he’s just like you. look at his hair. look how much there is.”

jack looks lovingly at the little bundle in your arms. it’s almost unbelievable. you’ve never seen him so… vulnerable, emotional. yes, he’s been vulnerable with you many times during your relationship, though never like this. something has changed. 

“do you want to cut the cord? it’s collapsed,” the midwife says and you want to protest, because you don’t want jack anywhere near your destroyed lady parts, but when you see the excitement in his eyes, you don’t say anything. 

she hands jack the scissors and instructs him on where to cut. with a doctor’s precision he cuts through it and immediately after, your son starts to get fussy and lets out his first cry. you feel relief, though you knew he was okay, because you could feel him moving and breathing on you, but the moment you hear his cry, you’re certain.

you feel a slight pressure down there and the midwife says, it’s probably the placenta. when she checks, and is right, she instructs you to give a little push to deliver it. it’s nothing like delivering the baby, but your lady parts have had enough for one day. or so you thought.

“okay, perfect. i’m just gonna do a quick check now and then leave you all three to enjoy each other,” she says. you grimace. are you ever gonna catch a break? jack holds your hand through the whole check up and when the midwife tells you everything is fine and you didn’t even tear, you smile widely. 

“you’re a superhero,” jack says with a smile, giving you a quick kiss.

“have you thought of a name for him? or do you need more time?” she asks before leaving the room.

…

all the name choosing was giving him a headache, even after all this time passed. you just couldn’t find a common ground on any of the options.

“jack is a nice name,” he says as a joke, though you take it seriously and glare at his back.

jack is standing by the stove, preparing dinner for the both of you, while you just sit at the table, munching on the green gummy bears you love so much.

“yeah so your ego can go through the roof? i don’t think so,” you say with a drop of sarcasm.

“you don’t like my name?”

“i like your name. but it’s yours. i’m not naming our son the same.”

“why not? i’d name our daughter after you,” he opposes and you laugh at the absurdity of the conversation. 

“even i wouldn’t name our daughter after me,” you reply and laugh, chewing off a head of the gummy bear. jack smirks back at you, grabbing two plates from the cupboard, putting the food on them and walking over to the table.

“let’s eat some real food,” he says and puts the plate in front of you. there’s a piece of chicken tender, potatoes and a salad, because jack insists eating green stuff is good for you. duh, why does he think you’re always snacking on the green gummy bears?

“i like aaron. or spencer,” you say.

“you might not name our kid after me. but i’m certainly not naming him after a criminal minds character.”

“why not though?” you pout and poke the chicken with your fork.

“no, way,” jack says with a serious face and you know you’re not getting this idea past him.

“not even derek? you liked derek.”

jack just rolls his eyes and tells you to eat. you stuff your cheeks full of the delicious food he prepared for you.

“what about william?”

“can you stop with the criminal minds characters?”

“what do you mean? i certainly meant prince william.”

“certainly,” jack scoffs with disbelief and laughs at your ideas.

…

“we haven-...”

“yes.” you say at the same time as jack. he looks at you with a surprise in his eyes. he didn’t realise you had decided on a name. even if you did, it was definitely without him knowing. he just hoped it was not a criminal minds character’s name.

“dennis…” jack’s eyes widen at your answer. 

“i hope you’re kidding. i’m not gonna name my child after-...” he wants to protest, but you interrupt him, looking him straight in the eyes, deadly serious.

“dennis michael abbot.” 

and there it is again. jack’s face soften. he sighs and then nods. “dennis michael abbot it is.”