Three-Point Diagnosis

The Long Game - Masterlist

Ongoing Series Pairing: Dr. Michael “Robby” Robinavitch x F!SeniorResident!Reader Summary: Dr. Michael “Robby” Robinavitch, a brilliant but emotionally guarded 50 year-old ER attending at Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center, is known for his restraint, his integrity, and the shadows he carries from past losses. Enter Dr. Y/N Sheridan, a 29-year-old fourth-year resident, stoic, soft-spoken, and far wiser than her years. 

Their relationship begins as mentorship, layered with quiet admiration and mutual respect. But as years pass, unspoken tension simmers beneath the surface, giving way to a forbidden, powerful connection neither of them can deny. From stolen glances in trauma rooms to whispered promises behind closed doors, the two navigate an increasingly complicated emotional and physical bond, tested by hospital politics, personal ghosts, and the sheer intensity of loving someone you were never supposed to fall for.

word count: 29K Content Warning: Age-gap relationship, Power dynamics, Explicit sexual content, Auditory kink, PTSD and Trauma, Survival’s guilt,  Panic attacks, Grief and Death, Discussion of burnout, loss, and emotional repression, Medical Procedures, Graphic depictions of medical procedures, Blood. 

The Beginning Of The End

Dr. Michael Robinavitch 

Day One 

Silent Admittance 

The Quiet Fury 

Zugzwang

The Opening Gambit

Knight to E5

Check

Checkmate

The Anatomy of Want

The Long Shift 

Somatic Response

Catharsis

Eros and Empirics

Auscultation

Uncharted Territory

Night Float Feelings

The Endgame

Eyes On Me | Jack Abbot x Popstar ! Reader

Jack Abbot x f!Popstar !  Reader

Summary: You’re a breakout popstar on your first headlining tour. Fame hit fast—sold-out shows, screaming fans, and nonstop momentum. But behind the scenes, it’s overwhelming. You’re struggling to keep up with the pressure and pace. After collapsing backstage after a show in Pittsburg, you’re rushed to the ER—where you meet Dr. Jack Abbott.

Word Count: 6491

Warning: Age Gap (mid 20’s/late 40’s or early 50’s,) Mentions of mental health struggles discussions of suicidal thoughts/behavior

Author's Notes: Hi I’m ryn. Honestly this fanfic was is for myself LOL. Jack Abbot x Popstar ! Reader has been circling in my brain for the last 3 days and I just had to brain dump a story. Sorry for any grammatical errors and/or inaccuracies and unrealistic aspects. Like I said brain dump I just needed to get this out of my head before I went crazy. This is just for fun. Okay, enjoy.

Pittsburgh—night 22 of 36 shows on your tour across North America, all crammed into two relentless months. 

Your career had skyrocketed overnight. One day, you dropped your first single, Hands and the next, your song was all over the radio. Suddenly, you were doing live performances on late-night shows, Hollywood events, and festivals, posing for magazine covers, releasing your debut album Sultry, and now headlining your first tour. 

Performing and creating music was everything you ever wanted, but it came at a cost. You’ve been silently struggling for a while now. The pace, the preassure, expectations, the sheer magnitude of it all were starting to wear down—physically, mentally, and emotionally. You just wished you could hit pause. Slow it all down. Everything was happening so fast. You were trying to figure out how to process it all. And beneath all that, you felt incredibly lonely. 

You were exhausted, but you kept going anyway. You had to. People depended on you, your fans, your team, the crew, your label. You didn’t want to let anyone down, so you pushed through, running on fumes, but after tonight's show, it finally caught up to you. Once the curtains closed and your adrenaline wore off, you collapsed. 

—-

11:25 pm Dr. Jack Abbot reads on the computer at the ER’s Central station. His shift had started three hours ago, and so far, it had been uneventful. A few drunkards in a bar fight, some run-of-the-mill illnesses, the occasional kitchen mishap—nothing out of the ordinary. The night was still young. 

“We got the bus coming from PGG Paints Arena. ETA 5 minutes” a nurse calls out. 

“Heard!” Jack shouts as he types. 

“Oh skin to skin, your touch feels like a sin- I want you can’t you see, I need your hands all over me…” Doctor John Shen sang under his breath a high pitch voice as he picked up a clipboard off the central counter and scans through it. 

John continued to mumble words. Jack raised an eyebrow, glancing up from the report he was typing up to look at his fellow attending.

John could feel Jack's eyes and looked up at him. John shrugs “Hey, Hands is a catchy song…gulity pleasure” he said, unbothered by being caught singing something vaguely suggestive. Jack didn’t ask—he just assumed it was some pop song.

“Never heard of it…” 

John was shocked. “You’re kidding! You never heard of Hands?” It’s all over the radio- pretty sure it's ranked at number 3 on Billboard Hot 100.” 

Jack sighs, “I don’t listen to the radio, or pop music for that matter, Shen” 

“Right, you listen to a police scanner in your free time like you’re-” John drops his voice into a gravelly imitation and makes a grump face “Batman”

Jack rolls his eyes, continuing to type.

“Honestly, if nightshift were a superheros you’d definitely be Batman- you know, you finding comfort in the dark and all-” John was a talker, already veering into one of his usual tangents. 

“Anyway, the singer of Hands, biggest Popstar in the world right now- she had a concert tonight at the area- she’s sold out 36 shows across North America– impressive honestly–”

Jack was only half-listening—actually, not even that. He hummed and nodded anyway, pretending he was following along. Jack usually zoned out when John was on his tangents when it was something not related to work. 

 “You should listen to her stuff, it’s actually really good! Her album Sultry—I’ve been playing it on my way to work some nights. For a debut album, it’s pretty solid. Bop after bop, banger after banger—”

“Don’t you have patients to attend to, Shen?” Jack cut in, needing him to stop yapping.

Jack looks over his shoulder, his attention drawn to sudden commotion in the ambulance bay behind him. Muffled noise, shouting, screaming, and strobe of camera flashes lit up the glass of the automatic doors. The chaos was visible—but just barely contained.

“What the hell is going on?” He furrowed his eyebrows as he fully turned around, and straightened himself from hunching over one of the computer monitors.

“The bus just pulled up,” John says

“Yeah, but-”

Before Jack could take a step or say anything more, the automatic bay doors slid open. The muffled noise from outside crashed into the ER like a wave.

The paramedics burst through, wheeling in the gurney. The head of the gurney was propped at an angle. 

“Well I be damned, it's her” John said casually, like Jack was supposed to know exactly who she was.

Jack furrowed his eyebrows as he looked over John “Who?” 

John shot Jack an annoyed You weren’t listening look and said your name. “Only the biggest popstars in the world right now—ring any bells? The whole conversation we just had- came on, old man, weren’t you listening?” 

From where Jack stood, he could see a young woman—you—trembling, your breaths shallow and rapid.

Your hair was disheveled, makeup smudged and streaked. A bomber jacket draped loosely over your shoulders. But beneath it, he caught a flash of purple sparkles—stagewear, most likely.

Beside the two paramedics wheeling you in, three people buzzed around you like bees, talking over one another, yet you looked numb. Not registering or taking anything they were saying. 

The paramedic shouted over all the noise and commotion  "Twenty-five-year-old female, syncopal episode post-performance. Now conscious and alert—”

Somehow, through the rush and chaos, your eyes managed to find Jack’s. They say the eyes are the windows to the soul—and in that moment, yours didn’t lie.

Jack didn’t see a popstar. He saw a human. A woman who looked disassociated, exhausted. Sad. Worn thin.

He’d seen that same look before—in the military, and even here, on the job. That quiet, aching kind of broken. The kind that creeps in when you’ve been running on empty for too long.

Time seemed to slow as you were wheeled past him. He was an older man, a doctor you assumed. You couldn’t look away from his dark eyes. The look in his eyes. No one had ever looked at you like that—not the way he was in that moment. Different from every glance, every stare you’d ever known. And for a moment, you thought he could see you. Really see you. The weight of it made you sit up slightly, still staring back at him.

“I got this one- South Wing, Exam Room 4 —move her!” John barked, falling in step beside the gurney as it sped past, your eye contact with Jack breaking. 

Snapping out what felt like a trance, Jack gets back to work. 

“Call for more security-” Jack snaps one of the nurses as he bolts from central, heading to the ambulance bay. The two security guards on duty were overwhelmed, struggling to control the crowd.

 “Hey! HEY! you can’t be here unless you are sick, injured, dying or are here for someone that is!” He shouts over the chaos “If not get the hell out of my ER and ambulance bay!!!” 

The commotion only grows—cameras flashing, people yelling, shoving for a better view, the frenzy thick with screams and blinding light.

More security comes to help push everyone back out, managing the crowd. Jack exhales, knowing they’ve got it under control. Without another word, he turns on his heel and makes his way back inside, the chaos fading behind him like background noise.

He was going to head to your exam room—something about you lingered. That look in your eyes. He’d seen people in pain before, but this was something different. Quieter. Deeper. And he couldn’t shake it.

He was gonna head over to your exam room, but he was cut off by another nurse.

“Doctor Abbot! Trauma Room 1—stabbing victim”

Jack glanced down the South Wing, hesitating for half a second.

“Copy that,” he said, before turning and rushing toward Trauma Room 1.

___

The exam room was loud and overcrowded. Your manager, publicist, and assistant hovered around you as a nurse tried to take your vitals and ask you basic intake questions. Doctor Shen was trying–unsuccessfully– to get your team to leave so their staff could do their job, but my manager refused. 

“It’s best if you wait outside-” The doctor states. 

Your manager protested “No!” 

“Look, we can’t do our job effectively and efficiently if-” the doctor is cut off by your manager. 

“Well your medical professionals! I’m pretty sure you can handle extra people in a room! Hello, you do surgeries and what not with more than five people in a room!”

Your chest heaved as you sat there, still listening, your breathing shallow and uneven.

“For the sake of the patient—”

“Well, the sake of my client—”

I couldn’t take it anymore.

“Stop!” You said sharply. “Mac, give them space-”

“What?” Your  manager blinked, stunned. 

“Let them do their job. I—I feel fine, like I told the paramedics,” You said quickly, forcing a shaky smile. “They just need to check me out. Once they see everything’s okay, I’ll be out of here in no time. And we’ll hit the road”

That was a lie. You didn’t feel fine. 

All these eyes on you—the world—and yet none of them truly saw you.

They couldn’t tell you were faking it. Couldn’t see how much you were silently struggling. How you really felt. Not even the people you saw every day. Part of you felt guilty for even being here—for slowing everything down, for putting yourself and your team behind schedule. Everyone was counting on you. And you were falling apart.

Your manager sighed “Alright.” nodded in agreement, and the rest of your team quietly made their way out of your exam room and directed to the family room. 

You let out a sigh.

“Sorry about them, I didn't mean to cause any trouble.” You apologized to Doctor Shen and the Nurse as they began to check my vitals. 

“Don’t sweat it. It’s fine—comes with the territory in the ER. Your team’s not the first to argue with us, and they’re definitely not the worst.” 

You let out a breath, nodding faintly.

“Still… I hate that it got like that.”

“Seriously, don’t worry about it. What we should be focusing on is you. Is it okay if we go over a few questions?”

Doctor Shen and the nurse continued their routine—asking questions, checking my vitals. I answered them all, but inside, I felt numb. Like I was moving through it on autopilot.

When they finally left, the silence swallowed everything.

You later there for god knows how long. Curled up on your side, motionless.

Your boots were scattered nearby, forgotten. The tights clung to me like a second skin, and the purple sparkle bodysuit caught the fluorescent lights—still shimmering like it belonged on a stage, not under a hospital ceiling.

But you kept it all in. You didn't let yourself break. Even though you wanted to. Desperately. Ypu wanted to scream. To beg someone to just see me. To understand. To notice what youwere holding together by threads.

You needed somewhere to go. Anywhere but these walls.

You slid off the exam bed, my boots still on the floor, untouched. You didn’t bother putting them back on. You didn’t need to. Out in the ER, the chaos buzzed around me—everyone seemed preoccupied, moving in their own world. But none of that mattered. You didn’t stop.

As you quickly searched for an escape, anything to get away, I finally found the stairs. Floor after floor, my body moved on autopilot, pulled by some quiet instinct—a need for silence. For up.

The rooftop door wasn’t even locked.

And suddenly, there you were —standing beneath the open night sky, the wind pulling at my hair, the city lights stretching out below me like a pulse, faint but steady.

___

Jack peeled off his gloves and paper gown, tossing them into the overstuffed disposal bin without a second glance. His safety glasses came off next, dropped into a tray with a soft clatter.

The stabbing victim had finally been stabilized—barely. They’d coded multiple times on the table, the blood loss severe, the damage extensive. It had been a fight, but for now, they had a pulse.

Jack made his way to the center of the ER, eyes lifting to the patient triage board glowing on the monitors above the central station. He stood there for a moment, just staring—taking it all in, processing the chaos the way only someone used to it could.

John approached quietly, coming to stand beside him. For a moment, neither of them spoke—just two physicians staring up at the ever-shifting list of names, numbers, and needs blinking across the screen.

“Rough night,” John finally said, his voice low, more of a statement than a question.

Jack didn’t look away. “When isn’t it?”

Jack’s eyes stayed on the board, but his mind drifted.

The popstar.

He didn’t even need to say her name—she was already burned into the back of his mind. The look in her eyes when they brought her in.

“How’s she doing?” he asked finally, still staring ahead.

John followed his gaze for a beat, then glanced at the chart in her hand.

“Vitals stabilized. Labs were all over the place when she came in—dehydration, low electrolytes, stress markers through the roof. But mostly?” She paused. “She’s just exhausted. Like, bone-deep. Extreme fatigue. Burnout, plain and simple.”

Jack finally turned to face him.

“Does she say anything?”

John shook her head. “Not much. I didn't need to. You could see it all over her.”

Jack nodded slowly, jaw tightening just slightly.

“Yeah,” he murmured. “You could see it the second she walked in… or was wheeled in.”

He leaned on the edge of the counter, eyes distant now, somewhere far above the triage board. “It wasn’t just physical. It was in her eyes. Like she’d been running on fumes for a long time, and this was the moment her body finally said ‘no more.’”

John studied him for a moment. “You connected with her.”

Jack didn’t answer right away. He just let out a quiet breath through his nose, staring at the board, but not really seeing it anymore.

“Maybe it’s because I’ve seen it before,” he said quietly. “That look. The kind of exhaustion that doesn’t show up in lab results. The kind that runs deeper than what anyone can measure. You can tell when someone’s been running on empty for too long... and their body just finally gives out.”

John says “She still has 14 more shows left. With the pace she’s been going, I honestly don’t know how she’s made it this far.”

A flash of purple caught their attention.

Jack’s eyes snapped to the hallway just in time to see you slip from your room—glittering tights and a purple sparkle jumpsuit, unmistakable even in the dim hospital light. You moved quickly, your bare feet barely making a sound against the cold tile, as though you were trying to be unnoticed, trying to outrun something—or maybe trying to find something.

John caught the movement too, his gaze following you down the hall. “I bet she’s headed to the roof,” he muttered, voice low, tinged with understanding.

Jack’s eyes stayed fixed on you, his jaw tightening.

Jack didn’t respond immediately. His jaw tightened as he watched you slip through the door at the end of the hall, already heading for the stairs.

John frowned, glancing at Jack. “You think she’s gonna be alright up there?”

Jack didn’t answer immediately. He just stared after you, his mind racing. There was something about the way you moved—like you were running, but didn’t know where you were running to. It made something shift in him.

“People like her… people like us, sometimes,” Jack began, his voice quieter, “they forget they don’t always have to do it alone. That there are moments where it’s okay to stop pretending.”

John didn’t push, but there was a silent understanding between them.

Jack was already moving toward the stairwell, his steps purposeful now. "I’ll check on her."

Jack follows your path, climbing up several flights of stairs to get to the roof

When he finally reached the rooftop, the door creaked open softly, the cool night air greeting him as he stepped out onto the open space. His eyes immediately found you on the other side of the railing, standing still, your arms wrapped tightly around yourself like you were trying to hold together everything that felt like it might break.

You were staring out into the distance, as if the city lights could somehow offer you the answers you were looking for. 

___

“Hey,” he says, his voice low but steady.

You let out yelp, startled by the sudden voice. You hadn’t expected anyone else up here. Your hands instinctively grab the railing behind you, gripping it tightly for support. There was still a sliver of space between you and the edge, but your heart was already racing.

 “Whoa, whoa—careful now,” says quickly, a hoodie draped over his arm. His hands rise in a calming gesture, fanning out as if to steady you.

You glance over your shoulder, blinking in disbelief. It’s him—the man you locked eyes with earlier across the chaos. Tall, calm, dressed in black scrubs that cling to his frame like a shadow. His salt-and-pepper curls are tousled just enough to soften the sharpness of the stubble along his jaw.

“I’m Doctor Abbot,” he continues, stepping closer but keeping his distance. 

“I didn’t come up here to jump—” you say defensively. 

“I’ve heard that one before.”

“No, really—I’m serious. I just—” You hesitated, your eyes drifting away.

It wasn’t a total lie. The thought had crossed your mind once or twice before—on different nights, in different places—This wasn’t that.

You just needed space. A moment to think, to breathe. 

“Hey…” he says softly. “I get it. I head up here to get away from everything down there.”

He nods toward where you’re standing. “That spot? It’s usually mine.”

You glance at him, surprised.

“I’ve seen enough chaos for ten lifetimes,” he adds with a faint smile. “Up here’s the only place where no one’s life is on the line or yelling at me.” His voice carries a dry edge—half joke, half truth.

He steps closer to the railing.

“Do you mind?” he asks, gesturing to the space beside you, silently asking for permission.

You give him a quick glance, and he understands—it’s okay. He ducks under the railing and steps up beside you, settling in quietly.

He lowers himself to the ground, knees drawn to his chest, arms resting loosely on top. His back leans against the railing with a quiet familiarity. After a moment, you follow suit, settling beside him, sitting cross-legged in the hush of the night.

A silence falls between us as we look at the city skyline. 

“I come up here when I need to feel like a person again. Not a doctor. Not the guy who’s supposed to keep it all together. Just… me.”

He lets out a slow breath. “There are nights—some harder than others—where the thought crosses my mind. Of just… stepping off. Letting go.” 

He pauses “But something always stops me. Reminds me why I stay.”

He glances at you, voice quieter now.

“It’s the need to help people. To connect. Even when it’s messy… even when it hurts. It’s what keeps me tethered. It’s what drives me. It’s in my DNA”

Jack hadn’t shared that part of himself because he was looking for comfort. He shared it because he saw something in you—something he couldn’t ignore.

He couldn’t shake the look in your eyes from earlier, when they wheeled you in. That numb, exhausted sadness. The silent plea buried deep in your gaze. A quiet scream for someone—anyone—to really see you.

You were young—early twenties, maybe. A pop star. To the world, you probably seemed untouchable. Perfect. Living the kind of life most people only dream of.

But up close, all Jack saw was someone unraveling. Someone barely holding on. And he’d seen enough to know that pain doesn’t care who you are, how famous you are, or how bright the spotlight is.

And he couldn’t imagine what it must be like.

To be seen by the eyes of everyone… but never really seen.

“I guess what I’m trying to say is… this is where I come to stop pretending. So… no pretending. You don’t need to be anything up here, okay? I see you.”

My head snaps up at his words. “W-what?” your eyes widened, caught off guard.

“I said… I see you,” he repeats, voice steady, eyes locked on mine with quiet intensity.

Something in you breaks. Your lips start to tremble, and then the tears come—uncontrollable, unstoppable. You start to sob, the weight of everything finally cracking open.

This man—this stranger—was the first person to really look past the surface. To notice the pain you’d been drowning in. To see you, not the version of you the world demands.

And in that moment, you realize how long you’ve been waiting for someone to do exactly that.

Without a word, he takes the hoodie he’s been holding and gently drapes it over your bare shoulders, shielding you from the cool night air. The fabric is warm, worn, and smells faintly of him—clean soap and something grounding.

You lean into his side, drawn by a comfort you didn’t know you needed.

He hesitates for a moment, unsure, then instinct takes over. His arm wraps around you, slow and careful, like he doesn’t want to startle you. His hand begins to rub your arm—slow, steady circles. Not to fix anything. Just to let me know you're not alone.

The sobs come in waves—raw, jagged, leaving your chest aching and my throat tight. I try to stifle them, to keep it quiet, but he doesn’t flinch. He just stays beside me, steady and still, his hand never leaving my arm.

Eventually, it passes. Not completely, but enough for you to breathe again. Your chest still hiccups with the occasional shuttered breath, 

“I—I don’t even know where to start,” You whisper, voice hoarse from crying. “I just… I’m so exhausted.”

He says nothing, but his presence says I’m here. Take your time.

“Everything happened so fast—my career, all of it. It’s like I’m on this train, expecting stops along the way… but it just keeps speeding past every one of them. No breaks. No time to breathe.”

You pause, trying to find the right words through the tightness in my chest.

“And then there’s the pressure. The expectations. People depend on me—my fans, my team, the crew, the label... all of them. I’m supposed to be the one who holds it all together.”

Your voice wavers. “But inside, I’ve been unraveling. It’s like I’m screaming, and no one hears it. Or worse—they hear it and just… don’t care.”

You glance up at him, tears clinging to my lashes, your voice barely above a whisper.

“I have everything I thought I wanted. Everything I dreamed of since I was a little girl. And I still feel empty. So lonely. Like I’m surrounded by people… but completely alone in all of it. My voice cracks on the last words. I look away, ashamed.

Jack doesn’t speak right away.

He just watches you, eyes full of something that feels a lot like understanding. His arm is still around you, steady and warm. And when he finally speaks, his voice is low. Gentle.

“I know that feeling,” he says. “Being surrounded… and still feeling like you’re the only one in the room who’s not okay.”

He exhales slowly, like the weight of my words hit something deep in him too.

“You’re not broken. You’re human. And humans aren’t built to carry everything alone—no matter how strong the world expects us to be.”

He shifts slightly so he can face me more fully, his hand still resting on my arm, grounding me.

“You’re allowed to feel lost. You’re allowed to not have it all together. And just because people look up to you doesn’t mean you owe them everything. You still deserve to be a person. To rest. To be seen.”

He pauses, taking a breath, then adds softly, “Your job is demanding, I get that. But sometimes, you have to do what’s best for you. Put yourself first, even if it means letting others down in the process. You have to take care of yourself. You have to. Don’t be afraid to ask for help when you need it, either. Because if you don’t, you’ll find yourself on a path that’s hard to get off of.”

Thank you, Doctor Abbot.”

“Jack,” he corrects gently. “My name’s Jack.”

“Jack,” you repeat with a small smile, then introduce yourself.

He chuckles. “You know… I’m really aging myself here, but I only found out who you were a couple hours ago.” Trying to lighten the mood. 

You laugh. “Honestly? That’s kind of refreshing.”

“I don’t really keep up with pop culture,” he admits. “Dr. Shen was the one singing your earlier in our shift—what was it? Hands?”

“Oh god…” you groan, burying your face in your hands. That song was definitely suggestive. Of all the songs…

Jack grins. “What was it—‘Oh skin to skin, your touch feels like a sin… I want you, can’t you see, I need your hands all over me’?” He stumbles through the lyrics, trying to recall them.

“No, no, please don’t sing it!” you laugh, half mortified, half amused.

Jack arches a brow, a teasing smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Why not? It’s catchy?”

You groan, hiding your face in your hands. “Don’t encourage it.”

“Oh, come on,” he says, nudging your shoulder lightly. “It’s stuck in my head now.” 

“Why don’t you sing it?” 

You lift your head, eyes narrowing in disbelief. “Excuse me?”

Jack leans back against the railing, feigning innocence. “What? Fair’s fair. I butchered it—might as well hear it from the professional.”

You stare at him, mouth open. “You want me to sing that song? Right now?”

He shrugs with a teasing glint in his eye. “You’re the one who wrote it. Own it.”

You groan again, dramatically flopping your head back. “Absolutely not.” 

He arches a brow, clearly amused. “Why because it’s…?”

You shoot him a glare, cheeks burning. “You know why.”

Jack smirks. “Nope. Enlighten me.”

You groan, burying your face in your hands for a second before peeking at him through your fingers. “Because that song is suggestive, okay? And I’m not gonna put on a whole performance for the guy I just met while sitting on the edge of a hospital rooftop.”

He grins, utterly unbothered by your embarrassment. “I mean, you might as well—you’ve got the outfit, so you’re halfway there.”

Jack shrugs, his expression playful. “It’s not every day I get to share a rooftop with a pop star. Kind of a once-in-a-lifetime moment, don’t you think?”

You come back quickly. You cross your arms, giving him a teasing look. “But hey, if you’re lucky, I might just give you a private concert… somewhere a little less public.”

You freeze for a heartbeat, flustered, but the moment passes just as quickly as it came. Jack looks out over the city again, that easy smirk still tugging at the corner of his mouth.

His brows rise, amused, but he doesn’t say anything right away—just lets the silence stretch for a beat too long before offering a slow, teasing smile.

“Oh really?” he says lightly, head tilting. “Didn’t realize I’d stumbled into the VIP experience.”

Your eyes widen. “Wait—I didn’t mean it like that, I—” You groan, running a hand through your hair. “That came out so wrong. I swear I’m not flirting.”

Oh, but you were.

And so was he.

Somehow, without meaning to, the two of you had tangled yourselves into this strange, electric mess. One minute you were unpacking the weight of everything you’d buried inside, the next, you were tossing playful banter back and forth like it was the most natural thing in the world. Somewhere between the quiet confessions and the shared silence, something shifted. Neither of you planned for it, neither of you were sure what to call it—but whatever this was, it felt real. Unexpected, but real.

Jack knew this was unprofessional—wildly unprofessional. He knew better. He should have known better. She was a patient—vulnerable, barely holding herself together just hours ago and years younger. The kind of line he’d never imagined crossing. Every rule in the book told him to step back, to keep the boundary clear and intact.

He told himself it was harmless. Just words, just a moment. He told himself it was just a moment. Just a conversation. But even he knew that was a lie. Jack knew it was more. This wasn’t about flirting. It was about connection—messy, imperfect, unexpected connection—and despite everything telling him to walk away, he couldn’t bring himself to.

Not yet. 

Jack chuckles, clearly enjoying every second of your flustered state.

“Oh great—now you’ve seen me at my absolute worst and my most embarrassing.”

You groan, pressing your palms to your face. “I swear, I didn’t mean it like that.”

“Oh, I know what you meant,” he says with mock seriousness, nodding slowly. “A pop star tries to seduce a jaded ER doctor with a rooftop concert. Very scandalous. Very tabloid-friendly.”

You peek at him through your fingers, trying not to laugh. “Stop.”

You shake your head, laughing despite yourself. “This is humiliating.”

“Come on,” he says, nudging your arm with a lopsided grin. “If anything, I should be flattered. First time I’ve ever flirted with a pop star on a rooftop.”

“I wasn’t flirting,” you insist, a little defensive.

“Keep telling yourself that,”

Silence falls between you two again. 

Jack looks at his watch. 1:13 am

“We should probably head back down,” Jack says, standing up and using the railing to steady himself. 

“Right…”He ducks under the bars, making his way back to the safe side.

You follow suit, and he extends his hand toward you, offering support as you step back over to the safer side. You take his hand, steadying yourself as you make the move.

___

None of you speak as you head back down to the main floor of the ER. The silence hangs between you as Jack walks you back to your exam room, his footsteps steady and measured.

Once inside, Jack’s gaze softens, his expression shifting to something more serious. “The tests came back, and it’s clear you’re dealing with extreme fatigue and exhaustion,” he says, his voice calm but insistent. “Your body’s been running on empty for too long, and it’s starting to take its toll.”

He pauses for a moment, letting his words settle before continuing. “I’m recommending that you take some time off, but I also think it’s crucial that you talk to someone—a therapist. You’ve been through a lot, and it’s important to get the support you need to process everything properly.”

Jack looks at you with genuine concern. “We’ll discharge you soon, but I want to make sure your team knows what’s going on. I’ll have a word with them so they understand the need for you to take a step back for a while. You need the time to focus on yourself and heal.”

He pauses again, reaching into his pocket. “I’m also going to write down some resources for you—therapists and support groups, people who can help you through this. I want you to have everything you need to get better, okay?”

“Thank you,” you say quietly, feeling the weight of everything finally starting to settle.

Jack gives you a small nod, his expression softening. “The nurse will come back soon to hook you up to an IV to rehydrate. Rest as much as you can.” He pauses for a moment before adding, 

“I’ll come in a check up you soon”

With a final glance, he turns and leaves, the door clicking softly behind him. The room feels quieter now, but in a way, the silence feels less heavy—like a small sense of relief has finally started to creep in.

___

6:30am Day shift would be coming soon to relieve the night shift. 

You’d stayed in the ER throughout the night. Your team stayed with you too—quiet, worried, but present. When you woke up, you finally opened up to your manager. You told him everything—how you’d been feeling, how long it had been building, how it all finally broke.

He listened. Really listened.

And when you were done, he looked at you—genuinely shaken. “I had no idea you were carrying all that,” he said, his voice low with guilt. “I’m so sorry. You should’ve never felt like you had to keep this to yourself.”

He reassured you that things would change. That they’d meet with the label, reevaluate everything. “If we have to cancel the rest of the tour, so be it,” he said firmly. “You—your well-being—that’s what matters now. Nothing else is more important.”

___

“Alright you’re all set” Doctor Shen says, officially releasing you from the hospital. 

I was still in my stage outfit, my boots in hand, and wearing Jack’s hoodie.

“Thanks, Doctor Shen,” you say, grateful as you start to turn.

“Wait!” he calls after you, stopping you in your tracks. “Before you go, do you think I could get your autograph?”

You pause, surprised, then smile. “Yeah, of course,” you say, walking back over with a light laugh. It’s a small, sweet moment, something you didn’t expect, but somehow felt right—maybe even grounding in its own way. You take a moment to sign, your pen moving across the paper as you look up at him with a warm smile.

“Thanks for everything,” you add, handing it back to him.

You see Jack, approaching. 

“Would you like an autograph too?” I joke 

“Wow I really downgraded there. What happened to my VIP Experience? My private show?”

“You’re still on about that?” 

Jack laughs, shaking his head. “I’m just saying, I had big expectations for this VIP experience. Autographs? Really?” He sighs dramatically, pretending to be disappointed.

“Raincheck on the VIP experience?”

He nods, chuckling softly. “Alright, I’ll hold you to it” 

“So…what are your plans now?” He asks. 

You glance behind your shoulder, catching sight of Mac pacing on the phone, waiting for you by the automatic doors of the ambulance bay. “Uh, headed back home actually. Mac, my manager, is talking to the rest of the team and my label about me canceling the rest of the tour, taking care of my wellbeing,” you explain.

“That’s great to hear,” Jack says, his tone soft, genuine.

Silence falls between you two, an awkward pause that neither of you knows how to fill. You both understand, without saying it, that this is probably the first and last time you’d be seeing each other.

You shift your weight, unsure of what to say next, and Jack clears his throat, glancing down at the ground for a moment before meeting your eyes one last time. “Take care of yourself, alright?” he says, his voice sincere.

You give a small nod, managing a quiet, “You too.”

Jack steps back, his hands in his pockets, his expression still thoughtful. “I meant what I said earlier… about getting the help you need. It’s important.” His words hang in the air between you, as if he’s trying to convey something deeper, something he might not have the chance to say again.

You nod, the weight of the moment settling in. “I will,” you reply softly, feeling the weight of everything you’ve been through start to press against you again. 

You start to walk towards the automatic doors, the hallway stretching ahead, but you stop. You can still feel Jack’s eyes on me, pulling me back. You turn around, your feet moving almost without thinking, and walk back to him.

He looks up at you, confused by your sudden change, but before he can say anything, you drop your boots on the floor and fling your arms around his shoulders, hugging him tightly. You hold him for a moment, feeling the warmth of his embrace, his hands finding your waist and wrapping his arms under his hoodie that you’re wearing.

“I didn’t think anyone could see me,” you murmur, your voice soft and vulnerable. “But somehow, you did. All these eyes on me, yet you’re the one who truly sees.” You hold him tighter. “Thank you… for seeing me. For truly seeing me.”

Before you pull away, you press a soft kiss to his cheek, a gentle gesture that lingers for just a second longer than expected. You let go, picking up your boots, and walk toward the automatic doors.

You take one last glance back, giving him a small wave, and for a fleeting moment, you catch his gaze. But then, you turn away, making your way out, leaving the hospital and the weight of everything behind you. I won't look back again.

___

Doctor Michael Robinavitch, 30 minutes early for his day’s shift, strolled beside Jack with a coffee cup in hand. He noticed the young woman in a shiny outfit, wearing Jack’s hoodie, leaving the ER with her boots in hand. She shot Jack a final look, and then disappeared out of the automatic doors.

Jack stood there, still in a bit of a daze. He hadn’t noticed Michael approaching. He could still feel the warmth of her kiss on his cheek, the feeling lingering far longer than it should have.

Michael finally broke the silence, glancing at Jack. “She took your hoodie.”

Jack blinked, coming back to himself, and then offered a small smile. “I know,” he said, his voice a little distant.

Michael raised an eyebrow, a teasing grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Well, guess that’s one way to make a lasting impression.”

Jack chuckled, a soft, almost wistful sound. He rubbed his cheek absently, still feeling the imprint of her kiss. “Yeah… guess so.”

Michael leaned against the counter, watching his friend with a knowing look. “You’re still thinking about it, huh?”

Jack met his gaze, a faint smile playing on his lips. “Maybe.”

A quiet moment passed between them. Jack knew, deep down, he’d probably never see her again. She was a pop star, and he was just another ER doctor. Their worlds were too different. But still, there was something about that moment—that made him hope he’d be wrong.

“I hope I do,” Jack muttered, almost to himself.

Michael looked at him, the playful edge gone from his voice. “Yeah. I can see that.”

Jack didn’t say anything else, his mind still caught up in the strange, fleeting connection. He wasn’t sure if it would ever turn into anything more, but for now, the memory of her was enough.

(another part??? let me know)

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

--------========

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.

on the line

interconnected standalone/sequel-ish to bitter/sweet and fallout - a Dr. Jack Abbot (The Pitt) fanfic

pairing: Jack Abbot x f!reader

summary: Jack takes a six-week placement across the country. Four specific FaceTime calls—full of banter, longing, and everything unsaid—hold you two together until he comes home.

warnings/tags: grumpy x sunshine, age gap, long-distance relationship, mild language

word count: 5.0k

“What are you wearing?” 

You cracked one eye open, squinting against the soft glow of your bedside lamp. Jack was staring at you through the screen of your phone, propped up on your nightstand. His image was bright against the dim lighting, accenting the sharp set of his jaw and the smirk playing at his lips.

“You know what I’m wearing – we’re on FaceTime,” you mumbled into your pillow, voice thick with sleep. Your limbs felt heavy under the familiar weight of your comforter. “When are you coming back?” 

“You know when I’m coming back,” he echoed, mimicking your tone. “Why’re you asking – miss me?” His voice dropped an octave, teasing, and you saw his eyes flick down your form as you shifted to get more comfortable beneath the covers.

This had been an ongoing game for the last month – every time you talked, one of you tried to get the other to admit they missed them first. Neither of you had cracked. 

Now, that didn’t mean you didn’t miss him. Quite the opposite, actually. 

Jack had been gone for three weeks now, having been offered an intensive placement at UCLA Medical Center. You could still remember how he broke the news—quietly, nonchalantly, like he didn’t want to make a big deal out of it—and how you’d smiled widely and pushed him to take it even as something inside you fought every move.

This is UCLA, you told yourself. He has to take it; it’s an incredible opportunity. How many times does something like this come along?

But knowing it was the right decision didn’t make it easier.

Six weeks. Forty-two days. Nearly fifty sunsets without him. 

After spending almost every day together, the sudden absence had carved out a hollow space in your chest.

The first week, you felt his absence immensely. But you figured, with time, it’d get easier. 

Oh, how wrong you were.

The ache didn’t dull. It sharpened. Everything reminded you of him – how much he’d probably roll his eyes at a joke Eleni told during service, how he’d immediately get to cleaning your apartment if he saw how messy it had gotten, how he’d let you follow him around if he was back at the hospital when you were dropping dinner off for your sister. 

Luckily, technology was on your side. While he was in California, you texted him constantly – mostly one-sided updates on your day, the chaos of the kitchen, the new weird thing your landlord did. He replied in his usual charming fashion: a “K” here, a thumbs-up emoji there.

FaceTime was more his speed. Every night, your phone took up its spot on your nightstand while you curled into bed, half-asleep before he even picked up. He was usually just getting ready for his shift – brushing his teeth, dressing in his scrubs, sometimes sitting in the car with one hand on the wheel. 

“At least it’s regulating my sleep cycle,” you’d joked during one call, watching him frown in that subtle, concerned way he did.

“You love me doing night shifts,” he’d countered. “Said it keeps you on your toes, guessing.”

“Yeah, guessing how much sleep I’m gonna get that night,” you’d teased back, and he’d huffed a small laugh. 

Now here he was, two weeks from coming home, asking you what you were wearing in that low, steady voice of his that always had knots forming in your stomach.

“You already know I’m wearing one of your hundred black tees,” you mumbled, cheek sinking deeper into your pillow. 

“No panties?” he asked, a hint of a smirk at his lips as his eyes gleamed with mischief.

With minimal effort, you peeled back the duvet just enough for him to catch a glimpse of his boxers sitting low on your hips.

“You do miss me,” he grinned triumphantly, a quiet chuckle escaping him. You sighed through a small smile, eyes fluttering shut. His voice, even through the phone, grounded you. “Tell me what you did today.”

You took a moment to think, thoughts clouded by sleep and the warmth of your sheets. “Tried out a new truffle recipe,” you murmured. 

Sure enough, you peeked an eye open just in time to catch his nose wrinkle in disgust. He hated truffles.

The sight made you smile – even 3,000 miles away, Jack was still so Jack.

“Dinner rush was crazy – some show was going on at the theatre down the block so we were packed. Almost ran into one of the sommeliers rushing out of the kitchen. Nicked my finger on the bottle opener he was holding.”

“Let me see,” he said immediately, and you pulled your hand from under the covers and held it up to the camera, watching his eyes narrow. “Did someone at the Pitt take a look?”

“My sister did,” you said, brushing it off. “It’s fine – just a scrape.”

He frowned that familiar, pinched-brow frown.

“You should keep it wrapped,” he muttered. “Could get infected.” 

You mirrored his expression, this time out of something deeper – affection, mingled with longing. “I miss you medically scolding me.” 

Jack paused a beat, then offered softly, “I can still do it over the phone. That’s why they invented FaceTime.” 

“I’m pretty sure that’s not true,” you giggled sleepily, burrowing deeper into your sheets. The weight of him not being there settled over you again, dense and unrelenting. 

Silence stretched for a moment before you opened your eyes again. Jack was still looking at you. “What?” you asked, your voice small.

He hesitated. “Nothing… you just look tired.”

But the way he said it—gentle, weighted—made your throat tighten. 

You didn’t just look tired.

You missed him. You missed sleeping better when he was beside you, the steady rhythm of his breathing syncing with yours as your limbs tangled together. You missed the safety, the stillness. Without him, everything felt a little bit off.

Your hand drifted across the sheets, reaching for his side of the bed – cold, untouched. Your fingers curled into the empty space as if you could will it to hold his warmth. That familiar ache bloomed in your chest again, pressing hard against your ribs, forcing you to acknowledge it.

And the way he was looking at you right now—gaze just soft enough for you to see the emotion behind it—it made the distance hard to bear. 

You wanted to ask him to come back early. Just say it. Just tell him.

But you didn’t.

He was doing something important – teaching residents, working alongside brilliant attendings, contributing to something meaningful. You couldn’t ask him to give that up. So you buried it, like always.

Instead, you asked, “Any exciting cases today?” 

Jack blinked at you, then shrugged, his voice returning to that calm, clinical cadence. “Someone said a guy came in with third-degree burns from resting his hand on the grill – didn’t realize his wife had turned it on.” 

You winced, turning your face into the pillow. “Ugh, Jack – that’s gross.” 

He chuckled softly. “Reminds me of an old army buddy who met the wrong end of a crockpot once.” 

You hummed, already drifting. “Tell me about it.” 

You tried to stay awake, but the familiar and comforting tone of his low voice began to lull you to sleep. A few minutes into the story, Jack noticed your breathing had slowed.

You looked so peaceful.

He watched for a while, the silence between you warm and heavy, filled with all the things left unsaid.

Then, in a quiet voice that barely crossed the distance, he whispered a sweet good night to you and ended the call.

Four weeks into the placement, when Jack FaceTimed you and you answered with a deep-set frown and red-rimmed eyes, he could already tell it would be one of those days. 

The hard days. The days one of you missed the other so much, it was impossible to ignore. The days your heart was three thousand miles away, tucked into the go-bag of your favorite ED attending, somewhere in a cramped locker room in Los Angeles. 

“What’s wrong?” he immediately asked, making your frown deepen. 

“Nothing,” you promised, setting the phone down on your nightstand as you began to get ready for bed. The camera angle wobbled as you moved – half of your frame disappearing, your voice muffled by distance and steam escaping from the open bathroom door behind you.

This was unusual. Whenever Jack called at this time, you were already tucked in bed, cozy and glowing, hair a little messy, a smile curling at the corners of your lips the moment you saw him. 

And, you always showered in the mornings – you said showering at night would intervene with how much time you two got to spend on FaceTime. 

Yet, here you were now – hair wet from the shower, curling at the ends as you moved about your room, distracted and quieter than usual. You pulled on a soft t-shirt, then wandered off-screen, brushing your teeth with a kind of mechanical rhythm.

Jack stayed silent, watching.

He could tell something was bothering you. 

Your hands shook as you did your skincare – too much toner on the pad, moisturizer forgotten halfway through.

“How was your day?” Jack asked slowly, treading lightly, trying to gauge how you were actually feeling.

“Fine,” you mumbled, disappearing again. The faucet turned on in the background as you washed your hands, cool water grounding your overheated nerves before you slipped into bed wit a heavy sigh. 

Jack’s voice came again, cautious, “Anything happen?” He tried to sound casual, but you weren’t in the mood for it now.

You glanced at the screen sharply. “Like what?” 

“I don’t know, just… anything good? Or… something bad?” 

Your jaw tensed as you looked past the phone, voice bitter. “A critic came in today.”

“Oh?” 

You laughed humorlessly. “I didn’t even know who she was, and I told her to fuck off.” 

Jack’s brow rose at that. “And why’d you do that?”

“Because she was being an asshole – and I didn’t recognize her and I was rushing and – and I was exhausted. I just snapped and – and it wasn’t even about her. It’s just… I’m tired. I’m so tired of pretending this isn’t hard.”  

Jack paused, his face softening, the weight of your words hanging thickly between you.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were feeling like this?” 

You shrugged, unwilling to meet his eyes. “Because it’s not your fault,” you finally said. “And I didn’t want to make it your problem.” 

“You’re not a problem.” 

His voice was quiet, thick with the guilt settling into his stomach.

You immediately noticed the shift in his tone – soft and frayed around the edges.

“I didn’t say it to make you feel guilty,” you said, gaze now locking onto his, unwavering. 

“I know,” he replied, tiredly dragging a hand down his face, like he wanted to crawl through the screen and pull you into his arms.

“I just… I miss you.” 

There it was.

You’d finally said it.

And yet, it didn’t make you feel like you’d lost the game – at least, not in the way you thought. And, it didn’t make Jack feel like he won, either.

“I miss you every day,” you continued. “I miss you so much I don’t know where to put it anymore. It’s just there. Always. Like a weight on my chest. And every day, you – you pick up the phone and I see your face and you’re fine. Smiling… Happy. And, it’s just – just… Don’t you miss me? Like, even a little?” 

The moment you said it, you instantly regretted it. 

Jack could tell – the way your eyes squeezed shut in regret, like you wished you could pull the words right back into your chest. It broke his heart even more than hearing the desperation in your voice. 

He found himself looking away, swallowing hard. Then, finally, quietly, he said, “Of course I miss you. I miss you all the time. I just – I don’t let myself think about it too long. If I do, I can’t focus.” 

You knew he’d never say anything hurtful on purpose but the comment still stung. A sharp pang, like a bruise pressed too hard.

If he missed you so much, how come it felt like you were the only one falling apart? If he missed you so much, why didn’t it seem like he felt it?

Before you could stop yourself, the words spilled out. “Right. Got it. I’m over here crying in the walk-in fridge like a lunatic and you get to compartmentalize.” 

His eyes flinched shut, barely perceptible – but you saw it. Instantly regretted your words. And yet, you didn’t take it back.

And he didn’t push back either.

The silence grew too thick, claustrophobic.

After a beat, you shook your head, voice quieter now. “You’re running late – I should let you go. We can just… I’ll talk to you later, okay?”

Your hand reached for the screen, heart already retreating.

“Wait!” Jack’s voice rang out, startling you.

You hesitated, still refusing to meet his eyes, but something in you paused – your ribs tightened at the strain in his voice.

“I think about you all day,” he admitted. “I know I don’t say it enough, but I do. I make a list in my head of all the things to tell you when we finally talk, and then when you pick up and give me that smile, I forget how to say any of it.”

You blinked.

That wasn't what you expected at all.

Still, he kept going. “And I bought you this mug from the UCLA store, in the shape of a smiling sunny face. I keep it in my locker, drink coffee from it before the shift – and all the residents look at me like I’m crazy. But it just… it reminds me of you. Keeps me grounded. Gets me through the shift.

“And your voice notes – I save them all. I listen to one specific one whenever I miss you more than usual – the one where you called me a broody bastard and then basically told me you missed me in the same breath.” 

That cracked something open in your chest. Like air rushing into lungs that had been holding their breath too long.

Soft tears lined your eyes. Not the frustrated kind. The aching, full-hearted kind.

You stared at the screen, heart thudding in your chest, throat thick with emotion. His face was still there – steady, honest, eyes staring back at yours, so full of you. Of all the missing he hadn’t said until now.

He missed you. Of course he missed you. Maybe not in the same noisy, unraveling way you did – but in the quiet, deliberate way only Jack could. Through mugs and voice notes. Through saved recordings and mental lists. Through showing up, every night, even when words failed.

Your lip trembled as a tear ran down your cheek.

“Jack…” you breathed, the apology catching somewhere between a sob and a sigh. 

“I’m sorry,” you finally said, voice low and thick. “I didn’t mean what I said. I just – God – I feel everything right now, and I don’t know if it’s hormones or just the distance or – ” 

That four-letter word was at the tip of your tongue, but it didn’t feel right to tell him over the phone. This deserved to be told in person. He deserved that.

Jack’s face softened, almost imperceptibly, but you caught it – the way his shoulders eased like something fragile in him had finally seemed to settle.

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, after a beat, he deadpanned, “It’s both. I checked the app earlier.” 

You stared, stunned. Then, your eyes warmed, the corners crinkling as a small, disbelieving, shaky smile touched your lips. “You track my cycle on your phone?” 

He shrugged, a little too casual. “Ever since the brownies incident – hell yeah.” 

That conversation changed things – in the best way. 

It made both you and Jack more intentional about the time apart. More creative, more present. FaceTimes evolved into something more sacred, more playful. You started doing virtual date nights, much to Jack’s technologically-deficient chagrin.

“I can barely work this FaceCall thing, you want me to do what now?”, to which you’d rolled your eyes and corrected, “FaceTime,” while suppressing a grin.

He’d grumbled, but you caught the way he cleared his evenings anyway – made sure he wasn’t on call any earlier than he needed to be, made sure his dinner (mediocre and suspiciously not homemade) was ready on time. Despite the mismatched time zones, you both made space. You’d end up eating hours apart, but “together” nonetheless. And that was what mattered.

Six days before Jack was set to fly home, you had another one of these date nights. 

The screen flickered to life and there he was – tousled hair you wished you could run your fingers through, half-zipped hoodie you wished you could burrow into, sitting cross-legged on a too-modern couch that definitely didn’t belong to him. He held up a plastic takeout container like it was an offering.

“Dinner, courtesy of the fine culinary skills I’ve learned from you.” 

You raised a brow. “That looks suspiciously like pad Thai.” 

He shrugged. “Maybe I cooked. Maybe the DoorDash guy and I are becoming best friends.”  

You snorted, curling deeper under your blanket as you reached for the remote. “What’d you do yesterday?” 

Jack leaned back with a groan, the kind that said his spine hated him and the previous night had been long. “This guy came in with a ridiculous chest injury. We had to work carefully around the nerve endings in his nipple and – what?” 

He paused mid-sentence, catching the grin spreading across your face.

“Should I be jealous by how excited you just got talking about someone else’s nipples?” you teased.

Jack coughed, nearly choking on his water. “Jesus. It was a very complicated procedure. We had to be extremely precise.” 

“Oh, I’m sure his nipples were deeply moved by your devotion,” you grinned.

“You’re insufferable.” 

“And you miss it.” 

“Unfortunately,” he deadpanned, mouth twitching.

You smiled, feeling that familiar warmth settle into your chest. God, you missed his face. You missed his voice, his sarcasm, the way he looked at you like you hung up the moon. 

You squinted at the screen. “Is it just me or are you getting a tan?” 

Jack glanced down at his arms. “Well, the sun does shockingly exist here. Unlike your vampire den of a kitchen.” 

“I work best when the lights are dim, and you know that!” 

He smirked. “Sure. That explains why every time you call me from there, you look like you’re in a hostage video.” 

You groaned, tossing a throw pillow off your bed. “Well, not all of us can soak up some West Coast rays while also being a nipple whisperer. Guess you’re just built different.” 

“I regret telling you anything about that case.” 

You smirked as The Bachelor theme started playing faintly from your TV. You both fell quiet for a beat, comfortable. It had become your ritual – playing the show in the background, pretending to care about the drama, when really, it was just an excuse to sit in each other’s orbit for a while. 

Midway through the episode, Jack stood up and walked off-screen and came back holding something. You squinted.

“Is that… a bobblehead? Of an avocado… surfing?” 

Jack held it up proudly toward the camera like it was fine art. “Picked it up at a roadside stand. Guy said it was hand-painted by his seven-year-old niece.” 

“It’s so ugly,” you commented, grinning anyway. “I love it!”

He just laughed, setting it on the table behind him so its little bobblehead eyes stared into your soul for the rest of the call. And, his heart grew every time he caught you staring at it.

Later, you rolled onto your side, shifting your phone as you got more comfortable. The new angle must’ve shown more of the room, because Jack leaned in, eyes narrowing.

“You changed the bedroom.”

You panned the camera, shaking your head. “Just been sleeping on your side lately,” you admitted through flushed cheeks, before cutting him off when he smirked and parted his lips to speak. “Don’t! Don’t ask me why. Just helps me sleep better.” 

He didn’t make a joke. Just stared at you with that soft, unreadable look that always made your chest feel like it was going to burst open.

“I missed this view,” he said gently. His voice was low, almost reverent. “That room. That bed. You in it.”

You fiddled with the comforter. “It misses you. The vibe’s been different, though. Less broody. No angry sighs every time the neighbor’s dog barks.” 

“That dog is a demon,” Jack said, on instinct.

“You’re just grumpy when you’re tired,” you teased.

“And you’re grumpy when I’m not there for you to stick those frozen toes under my legs to warm them up.” 

You opened your mouth to retort, paused, then nodded. “Okay, that’s true.” 

Jack laughed.

The show was long forgotten now. All that mattered was the glow of your screens, the way his eyes didn’t leave yours, the way his voice softened like it always did when the night got quieter.

“What do you miss the most?” he asked, almost shy.

You hesitated, then said, “I miss you hogging the blanket.” That made Jack laugh, but you shook your head, insisting, “I’m serious. In like a stockholm syndrome-y way – I miss that. And other stuff, like you leaving all the lights on or waking me up at the stupid hours of dawn when you get back from a shift… The little stuff.” 

Jack nodded, smiling in that slow, aching way. “You know what I miss?” 

“What?” 

“Sitting at the island, watching you test out new recipes – make a mess of the kitchen like you’re on some Food Network competition.”  

You smiled, fond and aching. “That’s the only way I cook.” 

“I know,” he said. “I miss it. Miss you.” 

You let that settle between you. Let it warm you all the way through.

 “In six days, I’m gonna be stuck to you like velcro,” you murmured.

He quirked a brow. “Is that so?” 

You nodded. “And you’re not allowed to leave again, by the way. And if you do, you’re taking me in your go-bag.” You lifted your pinky finger toward the camera. “Promise.” 

Without hesitation, Jack raised his pinky to match yours. “Promise, baby.” 

And for a moment, across the glow of two tiny screens, it almost felt like he was already home.

“Are you here yet?” you asked the second you picked up the FaceTime, barely able to contain the grin stretching across your face. The sounds of the kitchen clattered behind you, but your focus remained on the screen. On him.

Today was the day Jack was coming home and you were giddy with anticipation. 

“I am,” he replied, voice smooth, teasing, “but where are you?”

You groaned, “A last-minute catering order came in, so I had to stay late. Almost just brought the chef’s knife with me to work in the car and just sprint to Arrivals.”

Jack smirked, familiar and smug. “I don’t know how TSA would’ve taken that.” 

“But, I sent a good backup, huh?” 

Jack shifted the camera to the driver’s seat, where Robby sat, looking amused as he drove. “You’re lucky I’m easily bribable with food,” he said. “Picking him up on my day off was not part of the plan.” 

“Yeah, but you’d do it for the filet mignon these magic hands can make, right?” You wiggled your fingers at the screen, and Jack snorted.

“Oh, any day of the week,” Robby agreed, his grin cracking wider.

Jack turned the camera back to himself. He looked tired from the long travel day, but the way he looked at you—like he’d been waiting all day, or rather, six weeks, to see your face—made your chest ache.

You drank him in. Stubble. Black tee. Soft warmth creeping onto his features as he looked at you. 

“How was your flight?” you asked.

“You’re lucky I like you,” he replied, rubbing his jaw. “I just spent six hours sitting in front of a guy who kept stabbing at the screen like it wronged him personally. Kept me up the whole flight.”

From off-screen, Robby piped up, “Is that why you fell asleep on my shoulder in the first five minutes of the drive?” 

“Aww, is that true?” you cooed, and Jack immediately frowned, shaking his head. “Liar,” you accused with a knowing smile, before asking, “Are you close?”

“To your place?” You nodded. “I was gonna head home first, shower, sleep for a bit – ”

You were already shaking your head, correcting him, “No. You’re coming here first; not allowed to shower before you see me.”

Robby snorted, and Jack sighed in that over-it-but-not-really way before turning to his friend. “Can you drop me off at hers?” 

“Kinda already assumed,” Robby said, tapping the GPS. “Route’s set to her address.”

“How much longer?” you asked Robby, bouncing on your heels with impatient energy.

“Twenty-three minutes.”

You groaned, tugging off your apron. The clock on the wall ticked slowly, teasingly. “Can you be here already?” you whined at Jack, then paused as a mischievous glint sparked behind your eyes. “I’m ovulating and miss you being in my – ”

“Ohhhkay,” Robby cut in, clearly scarred and making your grin widen. Jack’s mouth twitched.

“I was going to say ‘arms.’ Sheesh, Jack, what kind of freaks do you work with?” you teased, grin widening as Jack broke into a full smile and aimed the camera at Robby, who groaned in defeat. 

“You’re gonna get me kicked out of this car, trouble,” Jack said, warmth bleeding into his voice at the nickname. Your chest squeezed, missing him.

Eleni walked into the office a moment later, waving at the screen. “Hey, Eleni,” Jack greeted.

“Hey,” she said, squinting. “Was that groaning I heard just now? You guys doing phone sex again or just emotionally scarring Robby?” 

“For the record, those things are not mutually exclusive,” Robby chimed in.

Eleni grinned, turning to you. “You heading out now?” 

You nodded. “Unless there’s something else – ”

She was already shaking her head. “Go. Get out of here. You’ve already cleaned the walk-in twice just waiting for Jack to land.” 

Jack perked up at that. “Aww, is that true?” he mocked, using your tone from earlier.

You glared at him, but before you could deny it, Eleni added, “She reorganized the grain bins, too!”

You were already grabbing your keys as Eleni ushered you toward the door. “Okay, I’ll see you when you get here,” you said to Jack. 

In a rare moment of vulnerability, he puckered his lips and blew you a kiss goodbye. You flushed, heart stuttering. 

“You’re getting soft on me, Abbot,” you teased.

“Pretty sure we’re way past that.”

The drive home was a blur; you could barely keep your concentration. Every red light felt like the universe was plotting against you; every slow pedestrian crossing the street made you want to scream. 

Your heart was hammering in your ears. You didn’t even remember pulling into the driveway, adrenaline surging. But the moment you caught sight of the front door – 

There he was.

Jack.

Standing at your front door in that familiar black tee, suitcase sitting on the porch as he fumbled with the spare key you’d given him. He was so focused on unlocking the door, he didn’t even hear your footsteps approaching.

“You know, for someone who saves lives for a living,” you called out, approaching him, “you’re really struggling with the concept of a lock.” 

Jack froze, then turned.

And then, a slow-spreading, lopsided smile that had lived on your phone screen for far too long was finally gracing you in person. 

“Well, maybe if someone didn’t have ten million locks on the door, we wouldn’t be in this situation,” he said, voice lower than usual, rougher in a way that made your stomach flip.

You crossed the distance in three strides. The key clattered onto his luggage as he let it fall.

And then you were in his arms. 

Not the thought of him. Not his voice through a screen. Not his pixelated smile or sleepy texts or pictures of his takeout. Him. Warm and solid and real.

His arms wrapped so tightly around you, it felt like he wouldn’t ever let go. And you didn’t want him to. You buried your face in his chest, breathing him in. 

“I forgot how good you smell,” you mumbled into his shirt. “Like middle seat and recycled plane air.” 

He tugged playfully at your ear, leaning back just enough for you to get a good look at him. Sun-kissed skin. Slight scruff that made your fingertips itch to trace it.

“You got more handsome. That’s annoying.” 

He raised a brow. “You’re only saying that because you’re ovulating.” 

“No,” you promised. “If I did, I would’ve already dragged you inside and ripped your clothes off – ”

He kissed you mid-sentence. Not hurried. Not desperate. Just… steady. Like he had all the time in the world, because now, he did.

When you finally pulled back, breath short, he rested his forehead against yours. “Missed you,” you said softly.

“Yeah,” he whispered, almost like it hurt. “Me too.” 

You leaned into him again, arms tightening, greedy now that you finally could be. “You’re never leaving again, right?” 

He chuckled, voice cracking just a little. “You going to chain me to the radiator?” 

You shrugged. “Tempting. I do own zip ties.” 

His laugh was full, unguarded, the sound of it seeping into your skin like sunlight. “Why don’t we save those for the bedroom, huh?” 

He leaned down again to kiss your cheek, your jaw, the corner of your mouth. And then he whispered, “Let’s go inside.” 

But neither of you moved. Not yet.

You’d waited this long.

What was one more minute in each other’s arms?

Set up

Pairing - Jake 'Hangman' Seresin x daughter!reader, Jake 'Hangman' Seresin x Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw

Word count - 3,513

Warnings - brief mention of abandonment, allusion to sex, mostly fluff

Summary - Jake's daughter notices the obvious feelings between her dad and Rooster and schemes to get them together

A/N - hey y'all I strike again with another installment of the 'Hangman junior' universe! This took me a hot minute to write bc I was so determined to get this right. I really hope I did this idea justice and y'all enjoy it (and if you notice the lil 'Set It Up' reference in there you're awesome!) Anyways I'll stop rambling now. As per y'all, please send in requests, feedback and enjoy!!

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

By only being raised by your dad your whole life, you had learnt to read him like the back of your hand. You could tell when he was hiding something from you, and you could tell how he felt about people just by the subtleties in his expressions as he interacted with them. With Coyote, you could tell your dad was relaxed. He’d laugh, smile and there’d be no evidence of tension in his body. You figured that’s what it was like to have a best friend you trusted with your life. With the rest of Dagger Squad, it was a similar situation. Your dad was completely relaxed around them, always cracking jokes, beating them at pool and rubbing it in their faces. Your dad was relaxed and unguarded around most people he surrounded himself with. So what made Rooster the exception?

The first time you had noticed the way your dad acted around Rooster was after the team had returned from the uranium mission. The team had gone out for celebratory drinks and when Rooster had clapped your dad on the back and thanked him once more for saving his and Maverick’s lives you noticed your dad tense up. His grip tightened on the neck of his beer bottle and a light blush spread over his cheeks as he cleared his throat and nodded with his signature cocky grin before he could finally find the words to speak.

You noticed that as time passed, Rooster started acting in a similar manner. He became more hesitant to initiate any physical contact with your dad, even things like a friendly slap on the back became too much for him. You saw how when Rooster was playing ‘Great Balls of Fire’ he’d look over at your dad as he sang. You saw the way Rooster averted his eyes and blushed deeply on the beach when your dad had tugged his shirt off as they prepared to play dogfight football. And you especially didn’t miss how your dad blushed when Rooster did the same thing.

“Hey, dad? How come you’ve never dated someone since my birth giver took off?” You asked the question innocently one night as you lay across the sofa with your head in your dad’s lap, curious about why your dad had never dated anyone your entire life. Your dad scoffed lightly at you referring to your mum as your ‘birth giver’ but since she never played a role in your life you felt she didn’t need the title of mother.

“Believe it or not, it’s hard to get time to yourself when you’re working a job and raising a kid.” Jake says with a grin poking you in the side as you swat at his hand.

“Well, I’m old enough to be left alone now so you can go on dates. Or I could spend the night at a friend's if you wanted to bring them home.” You reply, adjusting yourself so you can look up at your dad.

“Most people don’t want to date someone who already has a kid.” He then admits, his gaze dropping to you briefly before back up at the tv.

“I’m sorry.” You say, feeling guilty for being part of the reason your dad couldn’t go out on dates.

“Hey, you don’t have to apologise. You didn’t ask to be born. I’m happy enough with it just being us two. Maybe I’ll start dating again but you are and always will be my first priority.” Jake reassures, running a hand through your hair and smiling down at you gently. You smile lightly up at your dad before turning so you can watch the movie on the tv again. As you watched the movie you started concocting plans in your head about pushing your dad and Rooster together before your dad could start seeing someone else.

Your first plan was to set them up. You texted both of them one day asking if they wanted to meet at your favourite café after they finished work but didn’t tell them two big things. One, that you had invited the other. Two, you weren’t going to show up. Thankfully both your dad and Rooster replied to your message saying they’d meet you at the café at the time you sent, and you smirked to yourself as you sent them a smiley face emoji. Your dad was the first person to arrive, ordering himself a coffee and sitting down at the table you and him usually occupied when you went to this café. Not long after he sat down, Bradley came in, at first not noticing Jake but after getting his drink and turning around, he saw Jake sitting alone, scrolling through his phone. Bradley had to give himself an encouraging pep talk to get his legs to take him over to where Jake was sitting.

“Hey, Hangman.” Bradley greets casually, his coffee in one hand as he looks down at where Jake was sitting.

“Bradshaw, fancy seeing you here.” Jake replies, looking up briefly at Bradley before turning his attention to his coffee cup so Bradley wouldn’t see the blush that was threatening to coat his cheeks.

“What are you doing here?” Bradley asks, as he glances around the café and hoping he doesn’t say he’s here on a date.

“y/n asked if I wanted to meet after work. We haven’t had time recently to come here and chat, so I figured it was a long overdue father-daughter thing. What about you?” Jake replies, following Bradley’s line of sight while silently hoping he doesn’t say he’s waiting for a date.

“Funny, y/n asked me the same thing. She didn’t say anything about you coming along. Not that I’m bothered.” Bradley says with a laugh, quickly flushing red and apologising in fear of sounding rude.

“If it’s any consolation, she didn’t mention you either. You’re free to sit here until she gets here. Maybe she’s having problems and she’s too scared to tell us outright.” Jake says as he gestures for Bradley to sit opposite him. Bradley plants himself in the seat opposite and the two begin conversing. At first, they discuss their usual topics of conversation, how work was going, and whether they were going for drinks with the Daggers at the Hard Deck on Saturday. They were the only kinds of conversations the two were used to having. Bradley often asked how you were doing if you weren’t around, wanting to know from Jake if things were going okay but that was as personal as their conversations would get. When the two ran out of their normal conversation topics they sat awkwardly for a minute. Jake picked his phone up and sent you a text, questioning you about your whereabouts.

“You know when I saw you in here, I thought you were here for a date and y/n had recruited me to spy on you with her.” Bradley chuckled to himself as he glances up from his coffee cup to make brief eye contact with Jake, looking away quickly before a blush threatened to take over his cheeks.

“That does sound like something she’d do.” Jake laughs as he imagines you and Bradley trying to discreetly spy on him on a date in the small café. Jake’s laugh was like music to Bradley’s ears. Back when the two were first called back to Top Gun, hearing Jake laugh was a rarity since they were always busy bickering. Bradley would never forget the first time he heard Jake laugh properly. It was at the beach a couple of days after the uranium mission, and you’d tagged along. You had sneakily brought a bucket with you and filled it up with seawater when no one was looking, and the second your dad’s back was turned you dunked the water all over him. Bradley remembered how Jake was quick to sling you over his shoulder and walk towards the sea with you squirming and trying to free yourself from his grasp, even calling out to Coyote and Rooster for help who both pretended they couldn’t hear you. Once Jake was waist-deep in the water he dropped you into the ocean, throwing his head back as he laughed when you emerged drenched from head to toe. When Bradley heard Jake’s hearty laughter, he swore his heart stopped as a small smile graced his lips. He was so entranced by the laughter that he didn’t hear Fanboy calling for Rooster’s attention as the football came flying at him and hit him square in the chest.

“Something’s telling me she’s not turning up.” Jake then says after checking his phone for the hundredth time and still not seeing a text from you on his screen. Both men’s hearts sank at the realisation because they instantly assumed the other was going to get up and leave now that they had no reason to hang around at the café.

“Well I paid for this coffee so I don’t know about you but I’m going to sit here and finish it.” Bradley says, hoping and praying that Jake does the same thing.

“I might have to do the same. No point wasting a coffee.” Jake says with a large smile that Bradley mirrors. The two find themselves falling into easy conversation and talking to each other about things they had never considered ever talking to each other about. They talked about the football game they had watched the other night at Coyote’s house and playfully debated whether that team deserved to win or not. When they’ve finished their coffees they smile sadly at each other, expecting this to be the moment they part ways for the day but neither of them wanted this to end.

“Hey, how about we got to the Hard Deck and have a couple of drinks. If we head there now we’ll be able to get our drinks just before the rush hits.” Bradley offers, mentally prepping himself to be shot down.

“Are the others going?” Jake asks, opening his phone and finding the Dagger Squad group chat to see if he missed something.

“No. I was hoping it could just be us two.” Bradley asks gently spinning the coffee cup in his hands and directing his focus to that.

“You asking me on a date or something, Bradshaw?” Jake asks with an amused tone as he raises an eyebrow while Bradley flushes red.

“I- I was just. Like-”

“Relax, you don’t need to blow a fuse. I mean I wouldn’t mind if it were a date but if you’d rather it just be as friends then that’s okay too.” Jake says and Bradley swore at that moment he couldn’t have gotten any redder in the face than he has right now.

“I mean… I want it to be a date. Only if you’re comfortable with it though.” At Bradley’s words, Jake’s smile softens, and he’s reminded of all the reasons why he liked him in the first place. Not only was Bradley insanely attractive and able to keep up with Jake’s wit. He was kind and always put the feelings of others above his own.

“Guess it’s a date then Rooster. Let’s get going I don’t want to get there when it’s busy.” Jake says, rising from his seat as Bradley follows suit, the two smiling shyly at each other before exiting the café and heading in the direction of the Hard Deck.

Penny was shocked to see Hangman and Rooster enter the bar without the rest of Dagger Squad trailing behind. Her shock only increased when the two ordered their beers and went to sit at a table in the corner of the bar rather than standing alongside the pool table or dart board. Since it was quiet in the bar, she watched the pair curiously and couldn’t stop the smile gracing her face when she noticed the shy smiles and light blushes on their cheeks. Penny had also been someone who noticed the way the two acted around each other and had been silently hoping they’d figure out their feelings and get together. She also hoped that Dagger Squad weren’t planning on showing up to the Hard Deck tonight because if they were she was willing to fight them off so Rooster and Hangman could have an undisturbed evening together.

“You know, the more I think about it. The more I think y/n Cyrano’d us.” Bradley says with a slight chuckle as he takes a sip from his beer.

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Jake asks with a raised eyebrow, confused about what Bradley was going on about.

“It’s a story about a guy who helped this guy date a girl he had a crush on. In other words, she set us up.” Bradley explains, an amused expression on his face at Jake’s confusion. When Bradley elaborates, Jake nods along.

“That kid is too smart for her own good. She sees things others don’t. It would explain why she asked me the other night about why I haven’t dated anyone since her mother took off.” Jake says, a flash of hurt appearing in his eyes at the mention of his ex.

“Hey, we don’t have to talk about that. But if anything this set-up shows how much y/n loves you. She just wants her dad to be happy.” Bradley says softly, finding the sudden courage to reach across and gently take one of Jake’s hands in his. Jake initially tensed up at the sudden contact, not used to any gentle contact.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to-” Bradley apologises, releasing Jake’s hand.

“No. You’re okay.” Jake says, taking Bradley’s hand again as the two smile softly. By the time it started to get late, neither man wanted to go their separate ways.

“I really enjoyed tonight. Do you think we could do this again sometime?” Bradley asks as the two exit the Hard Deck, both of them relieved they had an uneventful date that wasn’t crashed by Dagger Squad.

“You have my number, Bradshaw. Just text me a time and place.” Jake replies with a wink and a smirk as the two bid each other goodbye and make their way home separately.

It took a couple of dates for Jake to get the courage to ask Bradley if they wanted to become an official couple, but he didn’t regret it because he ended up having the best night of his life. He spent the night at Bradley’s and when he finally arrived home the next morning after reluctantly leaving Bradley’s bed, he found you in the kitchen making yourself some breakfast.

“Wasn’t expecting to see you up, kid.” Jake says, trying to sound casual as he walked into the kitchen. He thought because it was a Saturday morning, you’d be having a lie-in so he could sneak in and get changed without you noticing.

“Just woke up early.” You shrugged, your focus on making your breakfast.

“Did you have a good night? Must’ve been some date if you only just came home.” You smirk to yourself as you quickly glance your dad’s way.

“How’d you know that’s what it was?” Jake retorts, moving past you to pour himself some coffee.

“Like I said, you didn’t come home at all. If you’re out at the Hard Deck you’re always home by one am at the latest.” You explain, adding the bacon and eggs into the pan, glancing over at your dad to silently ask if he wants breakfast too.

“Plus you have hickeys on your neck.” You continue nonchalantly with a shrug as you add more food to the pan for your dad as he chokes on the coffee he was taking a sip from. He then pulled his phone out of his pocket and used the selfie camera to look at his neck, groaning under his breath at the bruises.

“Damn it, Bradley.” He whispers, inspecting the bruises closely while silently being grateful that it’s the weekend.

“You and Bradley, huh?” You asked with an amused smile as you busy yourself with flipping the bacon as the pan hisses.

“We know you set us up the other week at the café.” Jake chuckles as he puts his phone in his pocket and picks up his mug once more. You simply shrugged and plated up the food before grabbing cutlery.

“Bradley’s also coming around later so just expect him. And don’t go out with your friends we want to talk to you.” Jake says as he picks up his plate and crosses to the table, with you following behind him.

“You’re gonna tell me you’re a couple, right?” You ask with a raised eyebrow as you dig into your breakfast.

“How did you-”

“You spent the night together and you just called him Bradley, twice. You never call him that it was always ‘Bradshaw’ or ‘Rooster’ before.” You shrug as if it were the most obvious answer in the world. Jake couldn’t stop the small smile that appeared on his face. You truly knew him like the back of your hand and the fact he was dating Bradley didn’t bother you made him feel more accepted than he has in years.

“Well, Bradley’s pretty nervous about telling you. He knows you set us up but he’s just worried. Just let him tell you.” Jake explains, eating his own breakfast and glancing up at you with a gentle expression.

“You got it.” You reply with the signature Seresin wink before returning to eating your breakfast. After finishing your food and cleaning up after yourself you excuse yourself to do some homework while you wait for Bradley to arrive.

It was late afternoon when Bradley turned up at the house. Jake was the one to greet him at the door, giving him a quick kiss and ushering him into the house as he lightly scolds him for the hickeys left on his neck from the night before. As Bradley settles himself into the sofa, Jake calls for you to come downstairs, silently reminding you to let Bradley explain everything on his own terms before entering the living room with you.

“Hey, Bradley.” You greet with a smile as you sit yourself in the armchair that sat proudly alongside the sofa while your dad stood behind the sofa, behind Bradley with both hands braced on the back of the sofa.

“Hey y/n/n. We have something we need to talk to you about.” Bradley starts, feeling worry clutch at his heart as he begins to talk. His hands instinctively search for Jake’s who slips his hand into Bradley’s grip, giving him a supportive smile.

“When you set us up the other week at that café, we ended up having a better time than we thought we would. I ended up asking your dad if he wanted to go for drinks at the Hard Deck. That date turned into a couple more and… I just thought you should know that we’ve made it official. And I’m not trying to force myself into your family or anything. We just thought you deserved to know.” Bradley explains, his worries about seeming like he was forcing his way into your family coming to light as he spoke, making your expression soften as you moved to the sofa to bring Bradley into a hug.

“If my dad’s happy, I’m happy. And you make my dad happy. I’ve seen it since the uranium mission. You make each other happy and that’s all I want.” You say as Bradley moves to hug you back, smiling up at Jake who rubs a thumb over the back of Bradley’s hand.

“And you’ve been a part of my family since the uranium mission. So don’t ever feel like you’re butting in.” You continue as you pull away from the hug, looking up at your dad who presses a kiss to the top of your head.

“Well said kid.” Jake grins, ruffling your hair as you groan and swat at his hand.

“You staying for pizza and movie night, Bradley? I feel like you have to. You can even spend the night as long as you guys aren’t too loud.” You say, making both men blush at your last comment.

“She saw the hickeys.” Jake says with a laugh as he tugs down the hood of his hoodie, exposing the marks Bradley had left the night before.

“This is a good lesson of ‘do as I say not as I do’ because I don’t think your dad needs to be having heart attacks over hickeys any time soon.” Bradley says with a laugh as you fake gag and punch Bradley’s shoulder jokingly.

Neither Bradley nor Jake saw the afternoon at the café going any further than just a friendly chat over a cup of coffee but the courage that grabbed at both men in the café caused them to go down a road they never thought they’d get to go down. But they couldn’t have been more grateful for it. Even if it was a set-up caused by Hangman junior.

taglist (comment or message to be added):

@zbeez-outlet @kaceywithak

✩ ‧₊˚ ✩。BITE THE HAND — JACK ABBOT.

pairings: jack abbot x resident!reader

warnings: smut, hurt/comfort, angst, 18+ minors dni, age-gap implied-ish

summary: being casual with jack abbot was never going to be easy, and soon you realize that you've fallen for a man who's afraid of love

author's note: wow i went crazy writing this but this has been a week from hell so i made this to cope, hope you all enjoy! again, this is not proofread AND my requests are open

masterlist | read on ao3

wc: 5.4k

Jack Abbot was an enigma, a puzzle that you were desperate to solve. At first, you deluded yourself into thinking you could settle for pieces of him. That the stolen kisses, simmering looks, and dark rooms would be enough for you.

But it wasn't—of course it wasn't.

Because outside of the hospital, the list of people you saw consistently was small. And if you excluded the people you worked with, that left only one or two names. Somehow, Jack managed to snake his way to the top of the list.

It was the little things at first: asking you to get a drink after work. Slowly, but surely, it became a routine where you'd all meet in the park for a drink, and afterwards you and Jack continued the night at a nearby bar.

Then, it was walking you home after, lingering outside the front of your apartment building, and then your front door. It didn't take long for you to start inviting him in, offering a glass of water or a snack before he started his walk back. All these subtle moves felt like he was giving you the opportunity over and over again to turn him down.

You wouldn't because there wasn't a world where you said no to Jack Abbot.

There was a part of you that needed him, any part that he was willing to share.

So the first time he caged you between his arms against the wall, his breaths hard and heavy, you could've sworn your heart dropped into your stomach. Your legs turned into jelly, and if it wasn't for the wall's support, you absolutely would've slid to the ground.

"Are you sure?" He asked.

One last chance to say no, to save yourself from the rollercoaster seeing him would be.

"Yes," you said quietly, but not weakly. There was a beat, where the weight of your words hung in the air for the two of for the two of you to contend with.

And then his lips were on yours, and it felt like God himself was smiling down on you. Like the universe was finally rewarding you after every heartbreak, every sleepless night, every time you've ever felt unwanted. His hands found purchase in your hair, one sliding down to your waist and gripping it, pulling you closer to him in the process.

Your hands traveled up his neck, feeling the stubble on his jaws and cheek scrape against them as they cupped the sides of his face, bringing him impossibly closer to you. Your lips moved in sync, a dance that only you two knew, a rhythm that was in your blood. He pulled away slightly, staring at you through lidded eyes before dipping his head and sucking on your neck, biting that sweet spot just below your ear.

An involuntary moan slipped out before you could stop it, a sound that startled and embarrassed you, but seemed to only encourage Jack. He pressed his knee in-between your legs, spreading them apart so he could slot himself in between, his thigh pressing into your crotch.

"You like that?" He whispered, his voice low in your ear as you gripped his biceps, nails digging into them from the pressure. You nodded, your hips jerking and grinding down against his thigh. "Use your words for me."

"Keep going, please," the words tumbled out, leaving you breathless. Your hands went to the hem of his scrub top, fiddling with the hem before pulling it off him. He threw it somewhere behind him, not caring where it went.

For the first time since you've met him, you were seeing Jack come undone. He was finally losing that composure that he worked so hard to keep during all his shifts with you, finally letting you see the hold you've had on him for months now.

His hands dropped to the backs of your thighs before he whispered another command.

"Jump.

You jumped, wrapping your legs around his waist and arms around his neck. He walked backwards and turned, heading into deeper into your apartment about to cross a boundary he hadn't since meeting you.

"First door on the left," you directed him, before attacking his neck again in the same way he did you. You kissed up to his jaw before capturing his mouth into a kiss again.

The door creaked open distantly, and Jack walked you to the bed before gently lowering you onto the mattress, never breaking the kiss. His entire body moved to cover yours, his crotch grinding down against in yours in a way that made the both of you moan. You felt him undo the button to the long sleeve you were in, as you already changed out of your scrubs before leaving PTMC.

He leaned back, giving you the space to sit up and pull your shirt over your head. When you could see again, he was staring at you with a look in his eyes that you couldn't place. If it were anyone else, you would've felt self-conscious, but for some reason, with him you didn't. He reached out, brushing the strap on your shoulder and tracing down to your forearm, before looking back at you.

"Are you sure?" He asked again. Another chance, another way out. You answered by climbing into his lap, grinding down on him and kissing him deeply, your breaths becoming one. He leaned until his back hit the mattress, keeping you securely on top of him. You felt his arms go around you, his hands fiddling with the clasp of your bra until it finally snapped free and you shrugged it off. You dropped to the left, rolling him back on top of you while staying connected through a kiss.

He began to kiss down your chest, kissing over the swell of your breast and swirling your nipple in his mouth. A shudder ran through you at the contact, your back arching off the mattress slightly and he pulled you closer to him, giving each one equal attention. He continued his trail of kisses down your stomach, stopping just before the button of your jeans.

You made quick work of undoing the button and zipper, letting Jack slide both your pants and underwear off you, finally leaving you bare in front of him. He kissed down your inner thigh all the way to your folds, and you felt him rub against them with his hand.

"Already so wet for me," he mused, before sliding one, then two in, pumping slowly. You could feel his eyes on you the entire time, as if daring you to break eye contact first. Finally, he lowered himself to your clit, sucking and swirling as he worked his fingers in and out, the combination driving you over the edge. A coil began to tighten around your lower stomach, and as he quickened his pace and moved with brutal efficiency, you felt it snap and burst and a wave of ecstasy washed over you. He held you the entire way through, one hand wrapped around your thigh anchoring you to the bed.

When you finally came back down and stopped trembling, he rose from his knees and hovered over you again, a soft smile on his face. You reached out to touch his face, your thumb running over his lips as he lowered himself to you again, tasting yourself on his lips. You pulled away, leaning your forehead against his and breathing heavily as you undid the knot of his scrubs, helping him slide them off. He was in briefs, his bulge evident and throbbing as you cupped him them. He let out a low groan as one of your fingers hooked under the hem of the underwear, tugging at it slightly.

"I want it off," you said, and Jack obeyed. He stood, sliding down the briefs and his erection sprung free. He was hard already, precum beading at top and dripping down the side. You rose to your knees to meet him halfway, pulling him into a kiss as you wrapped your hand around him and pumped slowly.

He let out a breathy moan, one that went straight to your core. He was the first to pull away this time, leaning his forehead against yours as the two of you watched you work him slowly. When you moved to lower yourself he stopped, gripping onto your elbows.

"No?" You questioned, and he shook his head. He helped you back up before pushing you gently onto the bed again, moving to cover you with himself again.

"I'm all about you tonight," he said, positioning himself at your entrance. You felt the head prod against you, and you could've sworn you felt a shock. "Ready?"

"Yes."

He kissed you, this time sweet and soft in a way you would have never expected from him. When he finally sunk in you tensed, and he murmured encouraging words into your ear, telling you to relax and that he'd move slow. You listened, letting your body become more pliable as you moved with him, your bodies becoming one. After a few thrusts, he began to pick up the pace, lifting your thigh at an angle so he could get in deeper. When he started to hit that spot that always pushed you over the edge you gasped, throwing your arms around his neck pulling him down to you, your nails digging into his back.

"That's it, that's my girl," he said, continuing his brutal pace, "You're doing so good for me."

It was all too much, every feeling was overwhelming. You wanted more, you wanted all of him, you couldn't get enough. The coil began to tighten again, and this time when it snapped, you didn't hold back in the slightest. You muffled your cries with his shoulder, biting into it as you rode the wave of your second orgasm. His pace quickened until it peaked, his whole body shaking as you felt him reach his peak as well. When he came back down, his thrusts were sloppy until he finally pulled out.

He collapsed on the other side of you, both of you panting and not saying a word. You knew he'd be good, but you didn't expect it to be that good.

And that was the night that started it all, this push and pull between the two of you. Both of you had agreed to keep it private it from the rest of your coworkers, not wanting to be the newest piece of gossip that entertains them during the rare moments of peace in their shift. If Princess and Perlah caught a whiff of this, it'd be over.

"You're in a good mood today," Robby noted as you came out of a patients room after finishing your rounds.

"They finally fixed the leak in my apartment, today is a great day," you explained, giving him a half-truth. That leak was very annoying, and the drip-drip-drip sound was beginning to keep you up at night. Or at least it kept you up when Jack wasn't.

"Repairs always put a smile on my face too," he mused, "But never one that big."

He was gone before you could say anything, and you knitted your eyebrows in confusion. Everyone else behaved normally that day, except for Collins and Mohan, who eyed you a little suspiciously when the three of you had lunch in the lounge later that day. It wasn't until you overheard Princess and Perlah whispering behind you when you were doing a restock of supplies. When you turned to face them, they both stopped and simply smiled, waved, and disappeared immediately.

You got your answers when you cornered Whitaker on his way to make rounds.

"What do you know?"

"What?" He asked, looking more skittish than usual. His eyes scanned the surroundings, as if he was looking for an excuse to get out of this conversation. You blocked his path with your body, smiling in a way that was downright terrifying to him.

"Let me rephrase: what's everyone whispering about?"

He caved almost immediately.

"We're betting on you and Abbot," he rushed out. Your jaw dropped and you backed away, allowing him to take off before you could ask more questions.

How did anyone start to suspect? You wondered. It's not like the two of you were constantly together on shift. Hell, you rarely saw each other shift unless it was to congregate in a small group to chat before everything fell into chaos again. Your dynamic hadn't changed either: he was just as reserved with you as he was everyone else.

One time, you laughed at a joke he made along with everyone else, and out of reflex you touched his arm. As if you were a blazing fire, he immediately withdrew from you, clearing his throat and declaring that he needed to go catch up on charts. At the time, only Dana seemed to notice the way you retreated into yourself afterwards, and that you became slightly more withdrawn for the rest of the shift.

That incident led to another conversation between you and Jack, where you tried to force him to admit his feelings for you. Instead of admitting anything, he drew a boundary: that this needed to be casual, that you couldn't expect anything else from him. You were a bit taken aback at the time, but you didn't blame him. You had only been seeing each other for about three weeks at that point.

But now, it's been almost two months, and the lines are beginning to blur for you. He had slept over this morning, and was still in your bed when you left for the day shift. By now, he was probably awake and in your kitchen making breakfast.

Not very casual of you, you thought, walking back to the board to find a patient.

The breaking point for you didn't come for another week, when you were having an exceptionally terrible shift. You were a good doctor, in fact, you believed you would be great. But, having three patients code on you back to back is enough to make anyone feel like shit, especially when one of them was a long-time patient who you had known for a little over a year at this point.

You sat on the roof, legs dangling off the edge as you stared down at the busy street below. The cars whizzed by, but the pedestrians walked leisurely. It was nice to remind yourself that there was something out there, outside of PTMC, that made it all worth it. But recently, you had been struggling to remember what that thing is. It was hard for you to leave work at the door when you got home when it seemed to be your entire life. Truthfully, there was nothing for you outside of PTMC. All your friends were there.

Was that sad? Maybe. But you had never really minded that until right now, when you wanted nothing more than to take your mind off this shitty night.

"You're in my spot," a voice said from behind you, and your blood ran cold. He was the last person you wanted to speak to right now, especially not in this state.

"Go away," you grumbled, not turning to face him. His footsteps got closer, and you didn't have to look to know that his hands were in his pockets and he had a wide stance. Typical Jack.

"Well, I don't think I can do that. Not when you're half off the ledge. I'd be breaking my oath if I left you right now."

You rolled your eyes, but nonetheless, you got up to your feet, using the railing for support. You turned to face him, an irritated look on your face.

"Happy?"

"Ecstatic." The two of you stood there for a while, the railing separating you, daring the other to be the first to break the silence.

"Ellis said you were up here, tough shift for you," he explained, even though you didn't ask.

"Nice of her to notice," you mused. He chuckled, shifting his weight between both legs.

"It wasn't your—,"

"Fault? I know it wasn't, but it still feels that way. Besides, I don't want to talk about it."

Not with you, you added silently in your head.

"What do you want to talk about?"

"Nothing, I want you to go back inside and let me have my roof-time. Alone." He feigned being hurt, but he didn't move. Just stared at you in the intense way he always does.

You didn't look away.

"I'm sorry, have I upset you? If I did, I'm—,"

"What do you think?" He genuinely looked puzzled, and you sighed. Men, they never learn, do they? "What the hell are we doing here?"

"I'm lost," he deadpanned, and you let out an exasperated sigh.

"With us! What is going on? One day, you can't get enough of me and you look at me like I've hung the moon and stars. The next, you act like I killed your cat and made you watch. I can't keep bouncing between these two extremes, it's too confusing." Especially not when the two of you are laying in bed, not even having done anything, but he's holding you so tight it's as if he's scared you're gonna disappear the minute he let's go.

"Y/N," he began, getting that look of pity in his eyes that you've always hated. Like he's realizing for the first time in his life that his actions have consequences, and now he has to take responsibility for them, "I'm sorry. I can't, you know I can't."

He reached for you but you backed away from his touch, narrowing your eyes at him.

"I don't know anything, Jack, because you don't tell me anything. You hold me, and everyone else, at an arm's length. You never let me in. You don't let anyone in. I guess this is my fault, right? You told me casual, and I said yes, and then I was stupid enough to fall for you," you spat, each word making you angrier and angrier.

"You're not stupid," he insisted, stepping closer but careful not to let his arm brush yours as he gripped the railing, "I've never felt this way about someone before. Never."

"And what exactly am I supposed to do with that? Know that you think I'm good enough to fuck, but not date? Thanks, but no thanks."

"I'm not saying that--,"

"Then what are you saying?"

He opened his mouth, then closed it, scared of himself saying words he knew he wouldn't be able to take back. You scoffed, shaking your head and cursing under your breath.

"I don't want to do this anymore," you said finally, swinging yourself under the railing and popping out on the other side, "I hope you're happy."

You rarely spoke or saw Jack for the next couple of weeks, strategically signing up for shifts that had minimal overlap with him. If anyone noticed, no one outright said anything to you, but you wouldn't expect them to. On the bright side, there seemed to be a lot less whispering going on whenever you happened to be alone.

So much for that bet, huh?

In all honesty, you had been sad at first. Sad was generous--you were a wreck in the beginning. But you were certain to not ever let it show at work. Once you got to PTMC, you left your baggage at the door, just like everyone else. You were your same bubbly self, making the same jokes and jabs with McKay and Mohan as if it were any other day. You even still went to the park afterwards, only sometimes drinking a beer to let off steam. Jack would be there as well, watching you with an intensity you refused to acknowledge. Still, you didn't change your behavior towards him, treating him with the indifference you'd treat any other colleague.

Because that's what you were now: colleagues. Not even friends, because your friends would never treat you the way he did.

"Hey, instead of the park some of us were thinking of going to a dive bar after, you in?" Mateo asked, falling into step beside you as you both headed to triage.

"Who's coming?"

"The usual, some people on the night shift took the day off today so they might make an appearance. Ellis, Shen, Abbot--Walsh is a hit or miss though." Your heart stuttered at the mention of Jack's name, but you kept your composure.

"Sounds good, I might be a little late though I have to go home first." Mateo smiled and nodded just as you pushed through the double doors, immediately greeted by the chaos of an ER waiting room. You both called out the names of different patients, ushering them inside efficiently before letting the doors shut behind you.

"I'm surprised he's coming," Samira said, cracking open a cider and sitting on your couch as you finished getting ready. You decided to take a quick shower after your shift once someone threw up you--twice. You passed by your vanity and paused, considering putting some light makeup on. Then you remembered you had no way of taking it off as you ran out of makeup wipes earlier that day, and had no way of taking it off when you came back.

"Who's coming? Whitaker?" Samira laughed, sipping at her cider before continuing.

"You know who I'm talking about, Abbot's coming." Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

"Why would that be weird? Doesn't he always?"

"Definitely not on his day off, when he could be resting or doing whatever it is he does in his free time." You shrugged, opening your fridge to grab a cider for yourself.

"Well, it's not like I care. Or I guess I can't let myself care. He couldn't be what I needed him to, and I can't wait around hoping that one day he'll wake up and be the person I believe he is. I'm too accomplished to wait around on a guy like that," you popped the tab before adding, "You and I both are."

Samira cheered to that and you both took large swigs of the can. You squeezed your eyes shut and made a face, forgetting how tart the citrus flavor usually was. You spent the rest of your two-person pregame debriefing about work and fun cases you got, and also set a deadline for the two of you to start booking flights for Montreal--the vacation you guys were supposed to take two months ago.

Once you guys finished one can, you started the short walk to Ray's. Your apartment was much closer than Mohan's, which is why the two of you decided to meet up first and head over together. It was a Wednesday night, so it was mostly empty. There were a few random strangers playing pool in the corner, one of them catching your eye and lingering for a little too long.

"There they are!" Samira pointed to what you recognized to be the back of Mateo's head, leading the two of you over there. McKay was the first to notice you two, sliding over to make space for you on her side of the booth. On the other side of her sat Collins, Whitaker, and Santos. Across from you was Samira, followed by Mateo, Javadi, Robby, and Jack. You nodded hello at them all, careful not to linger on Jack for too long.

"So, what are we drinking?" you asked, pretending to skim the menu even though you ordered the same thing every time.

"Let's do a round of Bold Rock," Jack answered, putting his menu down and looking straight at you, "First round's on me." The weight of his stare did something funny to your throat, a reaction you weren't expecting to have.

"You know me so well," you teased, playing it cool and refusing to be anything but levelheaded. Samira glanced at you, gauging your reaction, but you just smiled before turning and jumping into conversation. The nine of you ended up getting three rounds, with Collins being the voice of reason to talk you guys out of a fourth round. You pouted, but knew it was for the best: nothing was worse than working a day shift hungover.

About two hours later, everyone remaining was ready to leave. Javadi, Whitaker, Samira, and Santos all left slightly earlier, claiming that they needed to catch the next train or else they'd have to walk. You slid out of the booth and headed towards the bathroom, proud of yourself for not peeing every other minute considering how much you drank. You splashed a bit of water on your face, hoping to wake and sober you up.

When you stepped out of the bathroom, you bumped into a hard mass. The stranger apologized, and when you looked up, you realized it was the guy from the pool table.

"I was hoping I'd run into you tonight," he mused, leaning against the wall and flashing you a dimpled smile. He was cute: the shirt he was wearing hugged his chest and biceps in a very flattering way, his hair curled and styled strategically to frame his face. But still, you didn't want him.

"Thanks, but no thanks," you replied, moving to step around him. He blocked your path with his body, boxing you in between him and the wall.

"Come on, that's no way to treat a friendly stranger, is it?" The politeness drained out of your body, not wanting to let him waste another second of your time.

"Move or I scream," you said flatly. You had done it a million times before, and you weren't afraid to keep doing it.

"What?" he asked, mildly amused by your antics. Before he had the chance to say anything sleazy, you opened your mouth and let out a shrill shriek, one that had him jumping back with his hands up as if to prove his innocence. "What the fuck is wrong with you?"

"I should be asking you that," you shoved past him, leaving the bathroom hallway to return to the main room of the bar. As you reached for the door, it swung open, revealing a panicked Jack, with the others close on his tail.

"Are you alright?" he asked, his breath beginning to even out now that he saw you in one piece.

"Peachy," you replied, stepping around him. He turned and followed you out, puzzled by your calm demeanor.

"Was that you screaming? What happened?" McKay asked immediately, Robby and Mateo flanking her on both sides. You shrugged, walking back to the booth to grab your purse and jacket.

"Nothing, just some asshole. They never seem to believe me when I say I'll scream," you laughed to yourself, reminiscing on all the times you had gone out with friends in college and came up with more and more absurd ways to get guys to stop flirting with you. "Seriously, I'm fine. But I'm getting tired now, so can we go please?"

Together, the group headed out of Ray's. Quickly, you all branched off, all of you living in different parts of Pittsburgh. Notably, Jack seemed to linger until it was just the two of you left.

"What are you doing?" you asked, knowing how this story went. How it seemed to always go.

"I'll walk you," he decided, starting in the direction of your apartment. It was easier to just follow him than waste your time arguing.

The walk back was silent, neither of you eager to be the first to speak. It was a comfortable silence, one that felt too familiar. You glanced over at Jack, but his eyes were trained on the sky as he looked deep in thought. When you rounded the corner and pulled up on your block, you half-expected his steps to slow, for him to watch from a distance as you entered the building.

But no, and just like he used to, he walked you all the way to the door.

"Can we talk?" he asked suddenly as you began to enter the gate code. Your hand dropped, not pressing the final key, and you turned to face him.

"Sure, let's talk." He looked past you, eyeing the door, then back at you.

"Do you want to go inside?"

"Nope, I'm good right here."

You needed to stand your ground. Besides, coming into your apartment was something you let friends do. Samira was a friend. McKay was a friend. Hell, even if Robby was a friend. But Jack lost that privilege.

He blew out a breath, taking his hands out of his pockets and looking up at you. In the entire time you've known him, this was the most vulnerable you've ever seen him look.

"I was scared of you," he admitted, "You were this brilliant, beautiful, bright thing in my life, and I felt like I didn't deserve you. You knew what you wanted and went for it, and I admired that about you. I still do. When we had that first conversation about what we were, I was in denial. I told myself that if we kept it casual, I wouldn't be at risk."

"At risk of what?"

"Losing you."

"Funny how that worked out," you mumbled grudgingly, still not entirely sure where he was going with this. Jack laughed quietly, looking down at his shoes, then back up at you with something shining in his eyes.

"Even now, you still don't falter. You are the strongest woman I have ever met, Y/N. You are also one of the smartest doctors I have ever worked beside, and you never failed to blow me away with every shift we worked together. "

Your breathing turned shallow, and you stood frozen on the doorstep. Jack took a few steps towards, stopping just before the first step.

"You scare me because I want to love you, and I don't know how. I have no idea how to be the man you want me to be, the one you deserve, the one you expect. I thought it was easier to give up altogether, but I was wrong, and I am so, deeply sorry for that Y/N. This past month without you made me realize how engrained in my life you were. I missed your texts, the way you'd always try new recipes that would fail and we'd have to order something for dinner, and how no matter what, you always showed up for the people depending on you. I think the world of you, Y/N, I really do. And I love you. I loved you during that first conversation, but just didn't know it. I loved you when I walked away from you on the roof, and I was scared of it. And I have loved and missed you every second since."

He paused briefly, searching your eyes for an answer. If it wasn't for the fact that you could hear your heart loudly thumping in your ears right now, you would've thought you'd died and gone to heaven.

"I want to be that man for you, Y/N, if you'll let me."

A moment passed, and then another, and another. You opened your mouth to speak, but the words died in your throat before you could get any out. So, you went for the next best thing.

You grabbed him by the collar and crashed your lips against his, one of your hands moving to the side of his neck and the other cradling his jaw. His hands snaked around your waist, somehow pulling you even closer. You were the one to pull away, resting your forehead against his.

"Yes," you answered, a little breathlessly at that. The corners of his mouth lifted, his hand going under your chin and tilting your head up so that he could look at you.

"Yes?" he repeated, still reeling from the shock of the moment. This time you nodded, and the smile spread like wildfire across his face. He pressed a kiss to your nose before wrapping an arm around your shoulder and guiding you both towards the front door.

"I'm not having sex with you tonight," you said, punching in the code to the door. Jack chuckled, pulling you in again.

"I wasn't expecting you too."

"Good. And you need to shower before getting in my bed, no outside clothes," you added, leading him down the hallway to your apartment.

"Wouldn't dream of it," he said, following you into your apartment once you unlocked it. He swung the door shut behind him as you kicked of your shoes.

"And I believe in second chances, but that's it. If you decide to pull away again, know--,"

"I won't," he reassured you, his fingers sliding into your belt loops and tugging you towards him, "I want you. Only you. All of you."

"I could get used to that," you thought aloud, earning a laugh from the both of you. You leaned into him, closing your eyes and basking in this moment that you thought would never happen.

-

please reblog, like, and comment <3

Happily Never After Pt. 1

Summary: A marriage proposal from Prince Loki is every princess's dream come true, except for yours.

Pairing: Asgard Loki x F. Reader

Warnings: Smut. Minors DNI. 18+ ONLY. Loss of Virginity.

W/C: 3.4K

A/N: This will be two parts!

See My Masterlist Here

"Married to Prince Loki?!" You shriek. It was the most absurd thing you had ever heard. "Stop being dramatic, dear. You two are very close. Since Prince Thor is already promised, this is the best match we could secure. Your father and I thought you would be happy considering he is your friend, and not a stranger."

"We used to be close! That was ages ago! I loathe him, mother. This is unfair. I would rather marry a stranger." You protest, wiping your sweaty palms on your long gown as you pace the room. "Why do you hate him? We just visited them last week." She tries to reason with you.

"You said yourself he was your best friend. Do you not recall the tears you shed when your father forbid you from spending time with him unchaperoned?" She pours herself more tea, waiting for your reply. "Yes, well he was my best friend. He's a different person now. I barely know him." You look out of your window, the palace in clear view of your own estate.

Your father was king of a neighboring realm, when the ogres attacked, forcing your family to seek safety in Asgard. You were welcomed with open arms. Frigga and your mother became fast friends. Odin relied on your father's knowledge of the other realms' customs, so he became valuable to him. Frigga invited your mother for tea every day. She insisted your mother bring you along since she had two boys close to your age you could play with.

Thor was older, more focused on playing rough with the other boys. He never paid attention to you. Loki was only a year older than you. You often found him reading under a tree instead of playing. He didn't notice you at first until you insisted the older boys let you play. Volstagg accidentally knocked you to the ground.

When Loki heard you crying, he stood up for you even though Volstagg towered over all of you. He was an unusually large child. Loki brought you to his favorite hiding place. Deep in the woods behind the palace there was a treehouse. He explained that he often came there for solace. It was built for Odin thousands of years ago when he was a child.

Thor didn't like to play there because it was too far from the palace. He thought he would get in trouble. One evening, Loki lost track of time and fell asleep in the treehouse. When he was finally found, Frigga had the place cleaned up, so it wouldn't be dangerous. Ever since that day, you and Loki were inseparable. You used the treehouse as a secret lair for you two to spend time alone.

The other children didn't play with you. They only played with Loki because they were scared of Odin. You understood each other completely. You would make up stories and put on one person plays to share your creativity. You grew up together. It went from playing as children, to hiding out in the tree house after mandatory appearances at balls. You despised when your father wanted you to meet other royals. He would force you to dance with their sons. After two dances, you and Loki would slip away to your private place.

You would laugh about the cheesy things they said to impress you. You would never forget the first time your heart skipped a beat. You were laughing about the visiting prince who told you your gown was lovely. It was the most hideous shade of lime green the seamstress could find. You had requested it that way, so you could hide your beauty. You wiped tears of laughter from the corners of your eyes as you told Loki your reasoning for the unpleasing color.

"You should have known you couldn't hide beauty like yours even in that atrocious gown." His sentiment made you blush, your heart stopped beating as he held your gaze. His eyes lingered on your lips for a few seconds too long. You were sure he was going to kiss you. You closed your eyes in anticipation, feeling his face draw closer to yours. Then you were interrupted by Thor bellowing down below. Your father was looking for you.

You wouldn't be allowed out of his sight if he caught you out there. When you got home, you wrote everything down in your diary. How Loki had made you feel beautiful for the first time in your life, how you wished Thor and your father would have waited moments longer. The next day your father called you into his study, your diary in hand. Oh, how you wished the floor would open up and swallow you whole.

"I forbid you to see him ever again." Your father's stern words instantly made you cry. Loki was everything to you. You couldn't lose him. You told him it was just a silly crush. That what you had written was just a fantasy you made up. He finally believed your lies, but now you couldn't be with him unless you were chaperoned.

Hundreds of years went by, you were as close as ever. You still found your way around the chaperones. You would sneak out at night meeting at the treehouse. You would stay up half the night together laughing as you did when you were children. He would have you back in your bed before sunrise. You always thought it was unfair that you had to be chaperoned, but Loki could do as he pleased.

Then came your first heartbreak. A visiting prince had met you at one of Frigga's balls. He immediately asked your father to court you. You were devastated. You didn't want to be courted. You were happy with your life. But your father couldn't wait to marry you off. But the more time you spent with the prince, the more you liked him. He had dark hair and blue eyes, sometimes you pretended he was Loki.

But he wasn't and there was your whole problem. No one would compare to Loki. But if you had to marry someone, at least the prince was nice. The prince would often find you with Loki going on strolls through the gardens, eating, and reading in silence. One evening, he visited your estate. He said he wanted to end this courtship. You couldn't think of anything you did wrong. He explained that he was certain your affection lied elsewhere, and he wanted to be the only man in his future bride's life. You didn't understand what he had meant, but you thanked him. You were free once again.

Then the latest scandal sheet was delivered by your maid. It mentioned how you and the prince were getting close. You rolled your eyes, thankful that was over. But when you reached the last paragraph, your whole world shattered. Prince Loki had been seen at the brothel three times this week. Not only that, but he had been caught with an unnamed maid in his mother's garden.

It wasn't uncommon for royalty to fuck around like whores, but this truly wounded you. You cried for a week after it came out. Your mother thought you were upset over the prince ending your courtship, so she explained there would be other princes. You didn't visit Loki for three months after the scandal sheet came out.

Another one hundred years passed, and you had grown used to Loki's womanizing. You were at the market, Loki carrying your basket filled with trinkets, winking at the unsuspecting maidens. He made note of the ones he wanted to bed later. You rolled your eyes, as you handed your coins to the shopkeeper, peeling the orange you just purchased.

"Really Loki, can you go one minute without finding four new lovers?" You joked. "Jealous?" He smirked. "Of course not, don't be ridiculous." "The only reason you are not overcome with jealousy is because you do not know what I am capable of carnally." The bite of orange you had just taken lodged down your throat causing you to choke. Loki smiled, pleased with himself.

"Of course, I wouldn't know that, or care to find out. You shouldn't speak of such things so loudly. What if someone heard you?" You looked around, your maid, Greta had her eyes on the ground pretending she wasn't listening. Loki walked over to her, dropping a few coins into her hand, and whispering to her. You watch as she goes to the next vender looking at the silks.

Loki grabs your arm, leading you behind a tent. "Aren't you curious? Your parents keep you in the dark, only for the bumbling fool you end up marrying to spill his seed in a matter of minutes." You would be like the other princesses, not knowing what to expect on your wedding night, if it wasn't for Loki. He had told you all about the act some hundred years ago, so you would know what to expect. You were thankful for that, at least.

But now, when he was looking at you like that, and speaking of such things, you wished you didn't know. "You won't experience pleasure with them. They just want to produce an heir, and once that's taken care of, he will get a mistress. I don't want that for you. I hope that you find a love match, but that is highly unlikely considering your father allows anyone with a title to court you."

You consider Loki's words as he leans in, his breath tickling your ear. "Let me show you what you are missing. I'll make it good for you. You deserve to experience mind blowing sex at least once in your life." He was the devil himself; you were sure of it. He was so tempting. You knew he was experienced, and women threw themselves all over him everywhere you went. He had to be good at it.

"I - I'm not sure. I would be ruined if anyone found out. My father would kill you.” You whisper, just in case someone was listening. "That's not a problem, I would just marry you before your reputation took a hit." He smiles as if what he said wasn't crazy. "Loki, I couldn't ask you to do that. To be honest, I am frightened. Not of you, but of the act itself. It doesn't sound like it would be pleasurable. Oh, but it must be if every eligible maiden in the kingdom lets you have your way with them."

You continue your ranting until Loki grabs your hand. "I would be gentle with you. We could start slowly. We would only do what you are comfortable with." You agreed to meet him at the treehouse that night. When you're back in your chambers you call Greta in to question her.

"Greta, have you had sex before?" She gasps, looking everywhere but at you. "My lady, that is not appropriate." You sit on your bed, gesturing for her to sit beside you. "Oh, spare me, we have known each other since we were girls. So out with it." You fold your arms across your chest waiting for her to answer.

"Yes, there was one man." She answers, her cheeks turning red. "Greta! Who was it?" She smiles, "Bart, the baker's son. We had a lovely couple of months together, but then he married the butcher's daughter. You see, men are fickle creatures. They use you until they find someone else. So be warned, my lady, keep your heart out of it. Men can have sex without emotions, and us women, well we often times end up heartbroken."

Greta's words repeated in your head all afternoon. You had known Loki for centuries, so you didn't think he would hurt you. But you were tempted to turn around, go back to your chambers and pretend like none of this ever happened. Luckily, he was in the treehouse waiting for you, so you couldn't leave now.

"It has been brought to my attention that men will do this with anyone, so I know it will mean nothing to you. And apparently, it will mean everything to me. I just don't want to regret this." You confide in Loki. "My darling girl, this will mean everything to me too. You are far too precious to me for it to mean nothing. We don't have to do anything if that is what you wish."

"I think you are right. I deserve to feel pleasure, and I trust you. I'm just nervous." Loki cups your face in his hands, bringing himself closer to you. It was so similar to that night when you were teenagers, your stomach erupts in butterflies. You never imagined the cute, gangly boy you knew so long ago would grow into the devilishly handsome man before you.

He kisses you, and it is exactly how you had always imagined. It was as if no time had passed between the moment when he almost kissed you centuries ago and now. You felt exactly the same. When he finally breaks the kiss, you look at him with wide eyes. If just his kiss could make you feel like this, you were in trouble.

Loki sat you down on the old mat you used to read on as children. It had fresh linen on it. Loki must have put it on before your arrival. He pressed kisses to your neck, sharp teeth nipping at your exposed skin. He had you sit up so he could undo your dress, nimble fingers working quickly on your corset until all your clothing was sat aside. You were bare for the first time in front of a man, but you were not ashamed. You should have attempted to cover yourself, but when Loki looked at you like you were a priceless painting, you felt no need to.

Loki took his time kissing every part of you. He toyed with your nipples, and you felt yourself growing wet. When he lowered his head to take one between his lips, you finally understood why all those maidens would jump at his beck and call. He kissed his way down your stomach, nipping your upper thigh. He spread your legs apart, pleased with your arousal dripping down your thighs.

"May I?" He asks, pink tongue poking out to lick his bottom lip. You aren't sure what he is asking, but he knows what he is doing, so you give your consent. His tongue envelops you, sliding from your slit to your most sensitive part. "Loki!" You shout, as he continues exploring you. His tongue flicks your clit as your hands weave through his messy locks.

You never imagined it would be like this. And you suppose if it wasn't for Loki, you would never know. He slips a long finger inside you as he continues licking you, He stretches you, placing another finger inside. You jolt at the intrusion, his fingers curling to caress your walls. You feel like you are about to explode.

"Loki, I feel so wonderful." You tell him. His lips suction around your clit, tugging while his fingers work their magic. Stars explode behind your eyes as your first orgasm rips through you. Loki waits until you finish writhing on his face before coming up for air. He wipes your arousal off his face with the back of his hand.

You think that has to be the most attractive thing you have ever seen. But you are proven wrong when Loki undresses. He has filled out since the last time you saw him shirtless, when you were swimming as teenagers. He drops his trousers, hard cock springing free. You gasp when you see the size of him. You were beyond thankful he told you about the differences between men and women so long ago. What a surprise this would be if he hadn't.

"You still have time to change your mind, love. Just say the word and I will stop." He stalks toward you, lowering himself to the mat. "Please do not stop." You say breathlessly. Loki chuckles, settling between your thighs. "This will hurt, but only for a moment. Tell me when you are ready for me to move."

Loki sinks into you, pressure and pain causing you to cry out. "I'm so sorry. I can't help it. It will feel better soon, I promise." You grit your teeth as Loki bottoms out. He stills inside you, waiting for you to give him permission to move. You take a minute, adjusting to his size, before you tell him you are alright.

Loki slowly removes himself before filling you completely again. After a few thrusts, it starts to feel good. "Faster, Loki, please." You beg, clawing at his back as he ravishes you. His hand comes down between your joined bodies, skilled fingers swirling against your clit. The feeling you had earlier comes back full force, another orgasm sending you soaring. Loki pulls out, finishing on the fresh linen on the mat. You lay there, breathing heavily, looking at Loki. He truly is beautiful. "Shall we go again?" He asks, his signature smirk returning.

Loki laid with you three more times before the sun rose. He walked you back to your estate, making sure you made it inside safely before walking back to the palace. The next day, you were excited to see Loki. You secretly hoped you would spend the day in the treehouse.

"Mary was looking for you." Fandral tells Loki, raising his eyebrows suggestively. "Well, you can tell her I never wish to see her again. She is of no use to me anymore." They laugh in unison, walking away as you round the corner. "Has someone finally caught your eye?" Fandral smiles. "Actually, I plan on asking the princess to marry me." Loki shocks Fandral who places a hand over his heart.

"Did you hear that, Greta?" You ask your maid, unwanted tears filling your eyes. "Yes, my lady." She answers. "Repeat what you heard please."

"Prince Loki said "You can tell her I never wish to see her again. She is of no use to me anymore." She looks at you with pity. "That's what I heard too. Oh, Greta." You collapse into her arms, sobbing. "Let's go home, my lady. We mustn't let the prince see that he has hurt you."

From that moment on, things were very different between you and Loki. He demanded to know why you avoided him now and why you never had a kind word for him. You never answered because he knew what he had done. He just didn't know you heard him talking about you. That was five months ago. Now, Odin was ordering him to marry and they had chosen you of all people.

If this happened before you would be ecstatic. Now, it makes you sick thinking about being alone with him. You had no choice. Your father had been trying to marry you off for centuries, and you always got out of your courtships somehow. You suspected Loki had a hand in it. But now that he wanted to marry you, there was no getting out of it.

You were expected at the palace by noon tomorrow. You paced the floor so many times, your footprints were probably embedded into the floor. Then you had the perfect idea. You would run away.

The next day everyone awaited your arrival. Your mother and father sat with Frigga and Odin having tea while they waited. Thor patted Loki on the back. "Finally, brother. Everyone saw this coming. I am very happy for you." Loki brought his cup to his lips, when a timid knock on the door interrupted them. He jumps up, rushing to let you inside. Instead of you, he is greeted by Greta. "Forgive the intrusion, your highness. It's the princess she ran away." Greta hands Loki the letter you left.

She sniffles, worried about you. While he reads the note, your father and Odin start planning on sending knights to find you. Frigga comforts your mother. "What does it say?" Thor asks, peeking over Loki's shoulder.

Greta, I cannot marry that pompous ass. I would rather live amongst the pigs. Do not bother looking for me, because you will never find me. Tell mother and father I love them dearly. Thank you Greta, for everything. I wish I could have taken you with me. All my love.

"No need to create a search team, father. I will find her myself." Loki states, leaving the room.

Tags

@cindylynn @wheredafandomat @multifandom-worlds @lokisgoodgirl @lokischambermaid @wolfsmom1 @loz-3 @kats72 @crimson25 @litaloni @zombiesnips-blog @gruftiela @mochie85 @cakesandtom @eleniblue @violethaze @lokidokieokie @buttercupcookies-blog @mjsthrillernp @chantsdemarins @lulubelle814 @anukulee @theallknown213 @alexakeyloveloki @tmilover1993 @fandxmslxt69 @artemis-13 @fictive-sl0th @nomajdetective @goblingirlsarah @foxherder @kathren1sky-blog @javagirl328 @kcd15 @asgards-princess-of-mischief @soggylampshade0 @weirdothatwritess @silver-tongue-taken-to-bed @mischief2sarawr @ozymdias @freegardenbanananeck @lamentis-10 @jainaeatsstars @aoirohi @mushycore @marygoddessofmischief @queenshu @jasmine-pudding @kcd15 @jiyascepter

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.

Wearing War

summary : Jack Abbot’s first night off in ten days should’ve been spent in bed—but instead, you go to his favorite dive bar. You wear the skirt. You wear his tags. You push, and Jack—tired, restrained, and entirely yours—snaps.

content/warning : 18+ MDNI!!! explicit smut, dominant boyfriend Jack Abbot, semi-public sex (in a parked truck), use of dog tags in kink context, possessiveness, fingering, vaginal sex, marking/bruising, overstimulation, reader is bratty and teasing, not much plot, mostly smut

word count : 4,323

Jack’s first night off in ten days should’ve been spent in bed.

You’d imagined it—his weight pressing into the mattress, one arm tossed over your waist, the rest of the world pushed away by the rhythm of his breathing. You’d imagined curling into the heat of him, tracing the faint scar beneath his ribcage with your thumb, pressing your face into his chest and not moving for hours.

But instead, you were standing in the doorway of your kitchen, watching him rinse his hands in the sink like he couldn’t quite turn off the part of his brain still stuck at work. His scrub top was balled up on the counter beside him, and his undershirt clung to his back in soft lines.

“Let’s go out,” you said, voice careful but certain. “Just us.”

He didn’t look up right away. Just let the water keep running over his hands like he hadn’t registered the question—or maybe like he was pretending not to.

“Out?” he echoed, like the word didn’t sit right in his mouth after ten nights of nothing but fluorescent lights and hallway coffee. “You mean… out out?”

You stepped into the kitchen, folding your arms. “Yeah. Not fancy. Not fussy. Just somewhere that doesn’t smell like antiseptic or have a monitor beeping in the background.”

That made him glance over. Barely. But enough.

His brow creased like he was doing the mental math—how long since his last shower, how much energy he had left in the tank, whether he could fake his way through being social when he barely felt human.

“You sure?” he asked. “You don’t want… like, a real night out? Something normal. Reservations. Wine list?”

You shook your head. “No. I want you. I want O’Malley’s.”

That got his full attention.

He turned, leaning back against the sink. His dog tags swung slightly when he moved. “O’Malley’s?” he asked, like you’d just suggested robbing a bank.

You took a few steps closer. “Yeah.”

He blinked once. “You want to go to a bar where the jukebox hasn’t worked since ’08, the floor sticks to your shoes, and that guy with the mullet always thinks you're hitting on him just for saying hi?”

You smiled, letting your hands slip up under his shirt, resting lightly against the warm skin of his stomach. “I want you. Where you feel good. Where you’re not someone’s doctor or someone’s emergency. Just… mine. I’ve been coming home to your things, not you. And I want to be somewhere that feels like you again.”

He went quiet at that. Quiet in the way Jack gets when something actually lands. The way he used to go quiet back when you first met him—when you’d say something kind and he didn’t know what to do with it yet.

O’Malley’s wasn’t fancy. It wasn’t even clean. But it was his.

Brick walls stained with decades of smoke and sweat and spilled drinks. The barstools wobbled. The bathroom door didn’t lock unless you jammed it shut with your heel. But it was familiar. Steady. Like Jack.

It was the first place he ever kissed you in public.

The first time you saw him relax—really relax—with his hand on your thigh and his smile easy and unguarded. No pager. No badge. Just him and a beer and the kind of quiet contentment he didn’t let anyone else see.

You wanted that Jack tonight.

Not the version who came home bone-tired and silent, who sat on the edge of the bed and stared into the dark. The one who carried too many stories in his hands and didn’t know where to put them.

“Alright. We’ll go. But I’m not shaving.”

You smiled. “I like you scruffy.”

He kissed you, slow and low, then murmured, “Twenty minutes?”

“Fifteen,” you said, already slipping out of his arms and heading for the bedroom. “You’ve got first round.”

And as soon as the door clicked shut behind you, you made a beeline for that skirt.

The black one.

The one that hadn’t seen daylight since your fourth date—back when he’d taken you to a bar kind of like O'Malley's. A little louder, a little messier, but the same kind of dim lighting and cracked leather booths. You’d leaned against the doorframe of your apartment when the night was over, keys in your hand, heartbeat wild under your skin, and asked, “Do you want to come up?” like you weren’t already hoping he’d press you into the wall and never leave.

He kissed you before he even got his boots off.

Not soft. Not slow. Like something in him had snapped loose. You barely made it to the couch—his hands on your hips, mouth trailing heat down your stomach, skirt bunched at your waist. He was on his knees before you could say another word, eyes dark, breath rough against your skin.

“Tell me if you want to stop,” he murmured, voice all gravel and restraint.

You didn’t.

He didn’t rush. Didn’t fumble. Just held your thighs open like he needed to, like he hadn’t had a real taste of anything in months. He made you come twice before he even touched himself. All control. All focus. Like the only thing that mattered was what your body was doing under his.

You still think about how he looked that night.

The way he moved—deliberate and slow, like he was memorizing every inch of you. The low curse he let slip when he finally slid inside. How he pressed his forehead to yours, jaw tight, barely breathing, like you were the only solid thing left in his world. No dirty talk. No theatrics. Just him, wrecking you with nothing but steady hands and a look you’ve never been able to shake.

That night, Jack Abbot stopped pretending. He stopped playing it safe. He stopped pretending he didn’t want you like a man starved.

You hold the skirt up in the warm light of your bedroom, thumb brushing the fabric like a secret, and smile. It’s tighter than you remember. Shorter, too—but maybe that’s just the way you’re looking at it now. With the memory of his hands. His mouth. His voice when he said your name like it was something sacred.

You slide it up your legs slowly. Deliberately.

Because you don’t want soft tonight. You don’t want tired.

You want him. The version of Jack who doesn’t know how to hold back. The version who comes home and remembers exactly who the hell he belongs to.

And by the time he sees you in this?

You want him wrecked.

Not by the shift.

Not by the world.

By you.

When you came downstairs, he was in the kitchen with his phone in one hand, wallet in the other, the porch light casting long shadows across the hardwood.

He didn’t hear you at first. Or maybe he did, and just didn’t look up until he had to.

And when he did—he stopped mid-motion. The screen of his phone still lit, thumb frozen over it, breath caught in his chest like it had nowhere to go.

His eyes dragged down your body and then back up, slow. Controlled. Like he was trying not to react. Like he had to try.

His mouth opened, then shut again. His jaw ticked once.

He wiped a hand down his face, slow and rough, like the sight of you was something he needed to get a grip on before it undid him. “You really—” he started, voice low and ragged, gesturing vaguely toward your legs. “That skirt?”

You leaned against the doorframe with the kind of casual ease that was anything but. “Figured I’d dress for the occasion.”

Jack didn’t move. Just looked at you.

“That skirt’s been in the back of your closet since…” He stopped, biting off the rest like it physically hurt to say it out loud.

You smiled gently. “Yeah. I remember.”

Silence stretched long and heavy between you. His eyes never left yours.

Then, quietly—honestly: “I’m not gonna ask you to change.” He paused. “But don’t ask me to keep my hands to myself.”

You pushed off the frame with a soft shrug. “Wasn’t planning on it.”

When you reached for your bag, he still hadn’t moved.

You had to walk past him to grab your keys, and even then, he didn’t touch you. Didn’t say a word. Just watched. Like he was counting his breaths. Like if he said one thing too soon, this night would tip into something neither of you were dressed for.

You walked out together into the thick hum of summer, the heat sitting low and wet across the driveway. Cicadas buzzed somewhere in the trees. The air smelled like warm concrete and fading sunlight.

As you made your way toward the truck, you let one heel wobble—just a little. Just enough.

“Shit,” you muttered under your breath, stopping, bending at the knee like you needed to fix the strap.

You didn’t.

But you knew exactly what you were doing.

And you could feel his gaze on you. Hot. Still. Quiet.

He didn’t say anything. Didn’t come closer. Just waited, jaw tight, fists curled around the truck keys.

You stood, slow. Turned, met his eyes.

He blinked once. Swallowed. Then turned and opened the passenger side door for you like he wasn’t two seconds from backing you up against it.

The drive was quiet at first. The windows down, the music soft—something bluesy and old, not quite loud enough to distract from the weight between you.

You reached over, let your fingers brush his thigh gently. The shift in him was instant. A subtle inhale. A twitch at the corner of his mouth. His hand gripped the steering wheel a little tighter.

“You sure you don’t want something nicer than this bar?” he asked finally, voice low and quiet like he already knew the answer but had to give you the out anyway.

You turned toward him, soft smile still in place. “No, honey. This is about you.”

He didn’t answer. Just looked ahead and nodded once. The streetlights passed in slow intervals, the engine humming beneath your feet.

And Jack?

He just drove. Knuckles white against the wheel. Thigh tense under your hand. Mouth pressed into a line like he was already counting down the minutes until you got home—and he could stop pretending he wasn’t about to come undone.

When you walked in, his hand found the small of your back.

“Usual booth,” he said. “I’ll grab drinks.”

You turned, looked up at him with a soft smile. “No, babe. Let me. You always do it.”

He squinted slightly. “You sure?”

You nodded. “Go sit. Relax.”

He hesitated. Then pulled out his wallet, thumbed through it, and handed you his card. You turned and walked to the bar, slow and confident, letting your heels click against the hardwood. The bar was a straight shot from your booth, just far enough that he could still see you. And you made sure to give him a show.

You leaned forward, pretending to read the drink list. Let your hips tilt. Let the skirt shift. Just enough for the lace of your thong to show.

The whistle was immediate.

A low sound from a table of men a few feet away.

And then Jack was there.

Behind you in a blink.

His hand clamped to your lower back.

And the other—

yanked your skirt down.

Hard. Final. Like the motion itself was a correction.

The fabric snapped against your thighs, the sudden pressure sending a jolt through you. You straightened instinctively, blinking.

“Jesus,” you said under your breath.

Jack leaned in. “You really wanna do this here?”

“I was just reading the menu,” you murmured.

“Bullshit. You order the same thing every time. Diet Rum and Coke. No lime. Half ice.”

You swallowed.

He didn’t raise his voice. Didn’t move again. Just pressed his hand firmer to your lower back and let the moment hang.

The bartender handed over your drinks. You took them. Didn’t say anything. Just walked back to the booth with Jack two steps behind.

You slid into the booth—on his side.

He gave you a look.

“What?” you asked, sipping your drink.

“You’re pushing it.”

You shrugged. “I missed you.”

“You’re doing this because I haven’t fucked you in ten days.”

You flushed—heat hitting your cheeks hard.

But you didn’t deny it.

Instead, you leaned in. He thought you were going to kiss him. And then your hand dipped beneath his collar. You pulled the chain free.

Unclipped it.

And slid his dog tags over your head. They settled against your chest, heavy. His name resting between your breasts.

Jack blinked.

Then laughed once. Dark. Rough.

“You wear them,” he said, voice low, “you ride. That’s the deal.”

You smiled. “I know the rules.”

He stared at you another beat.

Then stood.

“We’re leaving.”

“But we haven’t even—”

“You want people to see your cunt?” he cut in. “You want attention? Then let me remind them who you belong to.”

You didn’t argue.

Just followed him out, heart pounding.

You thought you were headed home.

But when he opened the truck door, he looked at you.

“You’re not gonna ride me in bed.”

You blinked.

He nodded to the truck. “You’re gonna ride me right here. Since you wanted to act like bait.”

You got in.

Because that’s exactly what you wanted.

And he knows it.

The truck door shuts behind you with a heavy, final thunk. One of those sounds that doesn’t echo—it lands.

Jack circles around the hood without a word. His boots hit the gravel with a quiet crunch, one slower than the other, rhythm faintly uneven from the prosthetic he’s never once complained about. Shoulders set. Gait loose, but loaded.

He’s not in a rush.

Not because he doesn’t want to touch you.

Because he’s trying not to break.

You sit in the passenger seat, legs drawn up just slightly, thighs tight, heart climbing higher into your throat with every second he doesn’t speak. The skirt’s still riding too high despite his earlier intervention—and the lace between your thighs is still damp. Still warm.

When Jack slides in behind the wheel, he doesn’t touch you.

Just plants both hands on the steering wheel and exhales. Once. Deep. Grounded.

Then he turns his head.

“I knew you wore that skirt on purpose,” he says, voice low. Strained around the edges. Not tired from work, but from holding back. Like keeping his hands to himself has taken more out of him than the last ten nights combined.

He says it like a confession. Like a warning.

And you don’t bother playing coy.

You tilt your head, smile just enough to be dangerous. “Figured you deserved something to look forward to.”

He shifts beside you, slow and quiet. One arm drapes over the back of your seat, casual on the surface—but his fingers find your shoulder. Trail down, soft as breath, to the edge of your collarbone. He lingers there. Just enough to feel your pulse.

“I’ve been looking forward to you for ten nights,” he says, barely above a whisper.

Still, he doesn’t kiss you.

Instead, his palm drags slowly down your chest, not lingering, not teasing—reading.

Then he moves lower.

Hand slipping down your stomach, over the edge of your skirt, until he finds the lace. The wet. The heat.

He hisses through his teeth.

"You’re soaked."

You don’t answer.

“You’ve been walking around like that since the house?” he asks, more statement than question.

Your breath catches.

His fingers press in slightly—not a thrust, just pressure. Just enough to feel.

“I know this body,” he says, low, barely a whisper. “I’ve had this pussy every way you let me. In the shower. Against the wall. Bent over the fucking sink. You think I can’t tell when you’re asking for it?”

Your hips twitch into his hand.

He doesn't give you more.

“You thought this was gonna be cute?” he growls, thumb brushing just beside your clit. “Bend over at the bar. Show everyone the lace I’ve ripped off you a dozen times?”

You bite your lip. Nod.

That makes him laugh. A rough, breathless sound.

“I should take you back in there,” he says. “Let them see what it looks like when you beg.”

You shift toward him, no hesitation now—like your body’s been waiting for this as long as he has. You climb into his lap with practiced ease, knees against the worn leather of the truck seat, thighs bracketing his hips, breath warm against his jaw.

He exhales like the contact knocks something loose in him.

His hands find their way under you, palms settling at the curve of your ass—rough and sure, reverent in the way only a man who’s gone without you can be. Like he’s grounding himself in the fact that you’re here. Real. His.

“You missed me,” he murmurs, voice low, thumb dragging a slow arc along the edge of your hip.

“I missed you,” you breathe, your lips brushing his. “You weren’t home. Not really. I kept pretending it was enough just to hear your keys in the door, but it wasn’t. I was alone. I needed—”

Jack kisses you.

Hard.

Not like a question. Like a claim.

It isn’t soft. Isn’t slow. It’s hungry—the kind of kiss that splits you open, that tastes like every second he had to swallow the urge to call you in the middle of the night just to hear you. His mouth is hot and demanding, his grip tightening like he wants you closer, like closer still isn’t enough.

You gasp against him, fingers tangling in the fabric at his shoulders, and that’s when he groans—deep and wrecked—like you just pulled the last thread keeping him together.

Because this isn’t just a kiss.

It’s ten nights of wanting.

And now?

Now he’s got you in his lap, and your skirt’s hitched up, and you’re not stopping him.

You’re meeting him there.

He bites your lip, slow and deliberate. Tugs it between his teeth, groans when you gasp. The sound spills into your mouth and coils low in your stomach, sharp and warm. His hands shift, drag you harder against him, and you feel it—how hard he is under his jeans. How close he’s riding the edge.

You rut against him before you can stop yourself, hips grinding down like instinct, like need. His hands grip tighter, grounding you, guiding you, pulling a sound from your throat you’ve never made for anyone else.

“Fuck,” he mutters, like you’ve undone something deep in him. His mouth finds your jaw, your neck, the corner of your shoulder—fast, focused, starving. Each kiss lands like an answer to every silent plea you made in the nights he was gone.

“Jack,” you whimper, breath stuttering. “Please—”

He growls. Low. Close. A sound like something tearing loose inside him, sharp and intimate and only for you.

His thumb presses into your waist, anchoring you. His eyes are on you now, heavy and dark, like he’s drinking you in—committing this to memory in case the world asks him to go without you again.

“You want it that bad?” he rasps, voice tight. “You want to fuck me right here, like this truck’s the only place that’s ever existed?”

You nod—frantic, breathless.

Your moan says the rest.

And the way he looks at you then—like restraint was never about control. It was about respect. And now, finally, he doesn’t have to wear it.

He grabs your face, hands big and steady, his thumbs resting under your jaw, holding you like he needs you still to speak clearly.

“You wear those tags,” he says, eyes locked on yours. “You ride. Like you promised. You gonna be good for me?”

You nod again, quicker this time.

“Words,” he breathes, brow low. “Tell me.”

“Yes. I’ll be good.”

He exhales like that undoes something else in him. But he doesn’t thank you for it. Doesn’t say a word. Just watches you, jaw clenched, thumb brushing your chin like you’re both already undone and just getting started.

“You made me watch,” he murmurs. “Watch every man in that bar eye what’s mine.”

You meet his stare, voice barely a whisper. “I wanted to remind you.”

“You did.”

He unzips his jeans without breaking eye contact. Slow. Controlled. Not hurried, not desperate. Just decided. Like he’s already known for days exactly how this was going to end.

The tags shift when you lean forward. They clink once against his chest before settling back against warm skin—your skin.

“Do it,” he says, voice scraped raw. “Do what you promised. Ride me.”

His hands guide you—slow, steady, reverent. Like he knows what this is. What it means. What it’ll undo.

“Show me what I’ve been missing.”

A pause. One breath. Then another.

“Remind yourself who the fuck you belong to.”

Your hand slips between your bodies. Sure. Smooth. No hesitation now. You find him—hot, hard, already pulsing in your palm—and line him up.

You sink down.

You don’t even make it all the way down before Jack’s hands are on you—possessive, certain, like your body belongs to him and he’s just reclaiming it.

“Jesus Christ,” he mutters, voice ragged. His head falls forward, lips brushing your sternum as you sink fully onto him. You feel the tremor run through him. Hear the sharp breath he drags in like he’s been choking without you. “You’re still so fucking tight.”

His fingers splay wide across your hips, holding you there. Not letting you move. Not yet.

“Stay right there,” he growls. “Let me feel it. All of it.”

You whimper, thighs already shaking, because he’s thick, hot, deep—so deep it makes your chest ache. You try to move, to set a rhythm, but his grip tightens instantly.

“No,” he says, tone dropping lower. “This isn’t yours to lead.”

You gasp. “Jack—”

He shuts you up with a thrust so sudden, so deep, you see stars. The sound you make is guttural—raw and involuntary.

His hands grip your waist, drag you down harder against him with the next roll of his hips, his cock hitting that spot that makes your spine arch, your jaw fall slack.

“I’ve been hard for you for ten fucking nights,” he rasps against your collarbone. “You think I’m letting you play games? You think I’m letting you tease me, ride me slow like you’re in charge?”

He pulls back, just enough to look you in the eye.

“You’re not in charge tonight, sweetheart. I am.”

He doesn’t wait. Doesn’t ease you into it.

He fucks up into you like it’s punishment for making him wait—hands bruising your hips, his mouth hot against your throat, his body straining under yours like he’s holding back from breaking the whole damn truck apart.

Your skirt rides up higher. Your knees scramble for leverage. The windows fog, the air thick with the slap of skin, the creak of leather, your name torn from his throat like he’s never tasted anything better.

His hand slides up your spine, fingers threading through the chain around your neck. His dog tags. His.

And then he yanks.

Not hard. Not cruel. Just enough.

Enough to snap your head back. Enough to leave you gasping. Enough to remind you—he’s home now.

He thrusts up, harder now, sharper. You cry out, clinging to his shoulders, your body unraveling under every precise, unrelenting movement.

“You wanted me to lose it. Wanted to feel me snap.”

“Jack—please—”

His fingers twist the chain tighter, the metal cool against your throat. “You wanted this? You take it.”

Another thrust. And another.

He’s all teeth and tongue now—biting at your jaw, kissing you deep, swearing against your skin like he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it.

You feel your orgasm building hard and fast, coiled tight in your belly.

And he knows. Of course he knows.

“There she is,” he whispers, voice almost gentle in contrast to how he’s fucking you. “You gonna come on me, baby? Hm? Let go for me?”

You nod, eyes wide, breath ragged. “Jack—God—Jack—”

“That’s it,” he says, and he fucks you through it. “Come for me. Come now.”

And when it hits, it slams into you—your whole body tensing, toes curling, nails digging into his chest, a moan torn from your throat that doesn’t sound like anything you’ve ever made before.

He fucks you through it—relentless, controlled—until your walls flutter around him and your body starts to fold.

That’s when he lets go.

He growls your name, hips bucking once, twice—and then he’s buried deep, his jaw clenched, eyes shut. Like he’s finally home.

He stays there. Doesn’t pull out. Doesn’t move.

Just holds you.

One arm around your waist. The other still curled in the chain around your neck.

Breathing hard. Pressing kisses to your chest like prayers.

You let a beat pass. Then two.

You shift slightly, still filled. Still aching.

Then you lean back and smirk.

He notices immediately.

“What,” he says flatly, eyes opening just enough to pin you in place, “is that look.”

You blink, all wide-eyed and faux-sweet. “I’m just surprised, that’s all.”

He raises a brow. “Surprised.”

You nod. Slow. A little too pleased with yourself. “Mmhmm. I thought you were gonna ruin me.”

Jack exhales through his nose. Once. Controlled. His jaw shifts.

“Careful.”

You shrug, grinding down just a little—not enough to be obvious. Just enough for him to feel it.

“I mean… it was good,” you say lightly. “Don’t get me wrong.”

His hand flexes on your hip. Hard.

“But I was expecting…” you trail off, eyes dancing, “more.”

Jack’s quiet.

Too quiet.

Then: “You done?”

You grin. “I don’t know. Are you?”

“No,” he says calmly. “You’re done.”

He shifts under you, cock hardening again. Already thick. Already ready.

Your smirk starts to fade.

But it’s too late.

You’re about to get it.

One, Two, Three...4/? (RobbyxOFCxAbbot)

Robby walked into the Pitt the next day with the biggest smirk on his face. Everyone could tell something happened, most guessed correctly that he’d gotten laid, but few knew who with.

Jack glanced up as Robby arrived at the nurse’s station, and immediately frowned seeing the smirk on his face. He’d seen them leaving together, he knew where that smirk came from. He had a similar one after he was with Jenn. 

“Morning, brother,” Jack said, gruffly and annoyed. Robby raised an eyebrow at him, but let it go.

“Morning, survived the night I see.”

“Barely. How was your night?” Jack asked pointedly. Robby gave him a look, and then put his hand on Jack’s shoulder.

“Come with me,” he said, heading for the stairs. Jack followed, and the walked silently up to the roof exit.

Robby waited for the door to slam shut behind them before turning to Jack. “Okay, we need to get this out in the air. I was with Jenn last night. I know you have a thing for her, so I’m sorry about that, but she was there when I needed her.”

Jack laughed sarcastically, biting his bottom lip in thought. “Jenn and I were together last week.”

“What?”

“Seems like we’re both hot for the same resident,” Jack grumbled, and walked over to the protective railing that kept people from falling off the roof. He always thought they were ridiculous, cause they certainly didn’t stop anyone who wanted to get over them. “I saw you two leaving last night, and I was jealous. I’ll admit it. And honestly brother, I’m not sure who I was more jealous of.”

“Jack…” Robby began, but stopped, unsure what to say.

Two years ago

Robby threw back another shot, shaking his head at the taste of it. Jack took his shot without a single face twitch, and Robby flipped him off. Jack laughed a bit too loudly, and Robby knew they were drunk as shit.

“We should probably call it,” he said, grabbing his wallet to pay for their tab. He slapped his card down, and the bartender rang up their bill.

“Lightweight,” Jack joked, slapping him on the back. “Let me walk you home.”

“I’m a lightweight? You’re offering to walk me home, brother,” Robby joked back. Once he paid their tab, and gave a generous tip to the lovely bartender that had maybe been flirting with him earlier, they headed out, walking towards Robby’s apartment. 

They talked shit the whole way, stumbling down the sidewalk, until finally they arrived at Robby’s building. They stopped outside, and Robby turned and gave Jack a hug. 

“Good night brother, I’ll see you in a couple days.” Robby said goodbye, and Jack hugged him back. But without their knowledge, something sparked between them. Whether it was because of the alcohol, or that the alcohol just brought it to light, but something was there, being felt by them both, at the same time, for once.

Jack looked up into Robby’s eyes, and Robby looked into his, and then they were kissing. Jack kissed desperately, like he might drown without kissing Robby, and Robby just hung on. He gave it back as much as he could, and then he was dragging Jack up the stairs and into the building, and then into his apartment, and then finally into his bedroom.

Jack pushed Robby onto the bed, grabbing his belt and unbuckling it, tossing it across the room.

“In a rush are we?” Robby questioned, and Jack answered him by pulling open his fly and pulling his jeans down to the floor. It left Robby in his tshirt and boxers, while Jack was still fully clothed. Jack grabbed Robby’s boxers and pulled them down slowly, watching Robby’s face the whole time. 

Robby tried to hide his own desperation, now that his hard cock was exposed to the cool night air. He let out a groan as Jack got down on his knees at the end of the bed, grabbing Robby’s cock and jacking it off. 

“What do you want, baby? Want me to suck your cock?” Jack demanded, and Robby could only nod his head. Jack leaned forward, putting his mouth on him and Robby’s head fell backwards with a moan. 

“Fuck...”

Jack hummed in response, and the vibrations sent a shiver down Robby’s spine. Jack sucked his cock like he was made to do it, taking him down into his throat, before pulling back and sucking on the head. 

Robby could only imagine what kind of shit Jack got up to in the military, but he was thankful for whatever it was if it taught Jack how to suck cock like a god.

“Jack…fuck…too good…”

Jack looked up at Robby, and when he caught Robby’s eyes, he smirked, deep throating his cock and choking on it. Robby felt his orgasm rush up to the edge, and he put his hand on Jack’s cheek as a warning.

Jack ignored it, sucking harder, and Robby came down his throat, moaning like a well paid whore. Jack sucked on the head until everything was out, and then swallowed, making a point to stare directly at Robby when he did.

Robby sat up, grabbing Jack’s arms and pulling at his shirt, pulling it over his head and tossing it. 

“What do you want me to do, baby? Want me to fuck you?” Jack asked, and Robby nodded, unable to find the words.

Jack stood up, using the bed as leverage so that his prosthetic leg could get into place properly. He until his belt and his zipper, pushing his jeans and boxers down at the same time, stepping out of them.

“Use your words, baby. What do you want?”

“Want you to fuck me…” Robby whispered, leaning forward to kiss down Jack’s chest. 

“Got lube?” Robby nodded towards the nightstand, and Jack walked over to grab it. “Get on your knees.”

Robby was quick to obey the command, getting on all fours and presenting himself to Jack. Jack stood back to appreciate the sight, then opened the lube to squeeze some onto his fingers. He warmed it up, before slowly sliding a finger into Robby.

Robby let out a long moan and the feeling, and Jack was quickly able to move onto two fingers.

“You fuck yourself, baby? Get yourself nice and open for me?”

“Not…not for you, necessarily,” Robby panted in response.

Jack slapped his ass hard, and Robby felt his cock hardening again.

“Slut, getting your hole ready for any random cock to fuck it.” Jack inserted a third finger, spreading them to stretch Robby open. 

When he felt he was ready, Jack poured some lube onto his own hard cock, and lined up with Robby’s hole.

“Ready, baby?” Robby nodded vigurously, and letting out a moan as Jack slowly pushed in. When Jack bottomed out, he rubbed Robby’s ass where he slapped it. 

“Fuck, you’re tight. Gonna fuck you so good,” Jack muttered, pulling out before slamming back in. He fucked into Robby hard, and Robby took it, using his arms to keep him from being pushed forward on the bed. 

“Touch yourself, get yourself off on my cock,” Jack ordered, and Robby quickly obeyed, grabbing his own cock and jacking it off. 

“Jack…gonna cum…” Robby moaned, and Jack nodded, and though Robby couldn’t see it, he felt it.  

“Me too baby, where do you want me? Want me to cum all over you?” Robby nodded, “Yes…fuck yes.”

Jack thrust into him a few more times before pulling out and jacking his cock onto Robbys back. Robby came with a groan, and that set Jack off, coming all over Robby’s back and ass. 

Robby collapsed onto his stomach, and Jack moved to lay down next to him. The men breathed loudly, trying to catch their breath, but didn’t say another word to each other. Robby fell asleep shortly after, and when he woke up in the morning, feeling like shit and ready to pop some pain meds, he noticed Jack was gone. 

Present

“You left, and we never talked about it again. Now you’re telling me you’re jealous?” Robby questioned, and Jack ran his hand down his face.

“Yes, no maybe. We were drunk, I didn’t want to hold you to something you did while under the influence.”

“You were drunk too, and I wasn’t drunk enough to have a random gay fuck with my best friend. I knew what we were doing. I wanted it.”

“I wanted it too, that’s why I couldn’t take it if you regretted it. So I just let it go, and held onto the memory of it.”

“What about Jenn?” Robby asked, curious where the resident fit in.

“I like her, the same way I like you. I don’t know where that leaves me.”

Robby didn’t have an answer for that, so he just moved forward, grabbing Jack’s face, and kissed him deeply.

Jack kissed him back, grabbing Robby’s hips. After a moment Robby pulled back, leaning his forehead against Jack’s.

“I have an idea…”