laestudiante

18+ mdni, jack abbot x fem!reader, this is like really tame med play, post sex talk kinda?, thanks for this anon now it’s all i’m thinking about, enjoy!

and i say: jack abbot who checks your pulse teasingly? like when you get really excited about something, he’ll press his fingers against your wrist and quietly count. when you realize what he’s doing, you swat his hand away. you both laugh and jack smiles at you.

I’m so sorry if this is awful; this is my first time requesting. I’m usually a silent reader. Thank you so much!

𑣲 𝘯𝘰 𝘯𝘰 𝘯𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘪𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘴𝘵 𝘪 𝘭𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘧𝘰𝘳! 𝘪 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦 𝘪𝘵, 𝘺𝘰𝘶’𝘳𝘦 𝘣𝘳𝘪𝘭𝘭𝘪𝘢𝘯𝘵!

𝑫𝒐𝒏'𝒕 𝑮𝒐

warnings! 𝘴𝘸𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘮𝘦𝘢𝘯!𝘳𝘰𝘣𝘣𝘺, 𝘮𝘦𝘢𝘯!𝘫𝘢𝘤𝘬 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘰𝘯𝘭𝘺 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘢 𝘣𝘪𝘵!, 𝘤𝘳𝘺𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘴 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘵𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘷𝘦!𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘬, 𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘴𝘵, 𝘧𝘭𝘶𝘧𝘧, 𝘩𝘶𝘳𝘵/𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘵, 𝘩𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘺 𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘢𝘧𝘢𝘣, 𝘧𝘦𝘮 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘯𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘴, 𝘯𝘰 𝘱𝘩𝘺𝘴𝘪𝘤𝘢𝘭 𝘥𝘦𝘴𝘤𝘳𝘪𝘱𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘰𝘧 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳

𝘸𝘤: 𝟐.𝟐𝑲+

✩°｡𓏲⋆.𖦹 ₊˚✩°｡𓏲⋆.𖦹 ₊˚✩°｡𓏲⋆.𖦹 ₊˚✩°｡𓏲⋆.𖦹 ₊˚✩°｡𓏲⋆.𖦹 ₊˚✩°｡𓏲

Reader: "I literally just sat for a portrait."

pairing: andrew 'pope' cody x younger!fem reader

warnings: age gap, reader is twenty one, pope being possessive

word count: 913

summary: only a little thought... just sexy makeout session by the pool and that age gap for extra danger

masterlist here

now playing - 'you're so dark' by arctic monkeys

the first thing you noticed about andrew cody wasn't the way people avoided looking at him for too long - it was how quiet he could be in a room full of chaos.

the cody house was loud even on good days: drawers slamming, televisions humming, someone arguing out by the pool while cigarette smoke curled through open windows. but pope sat at the kitchen counter like he existed somewhere outside of it all, broad shoulders hunched forwards, fingers tapping slowly against a coffee mug gone cold hours ago.

you were younger than the rest of them, too young to understand why everyone treated him like something dangerous left unattended, but old enough to notice the way his eyes always followed you when you walked into the room - careful, unreadable, almost protective. and maybe that should've scared you.

instead, it only made you stay longer.

one afternoon, you were sitting on the edge of the pool, picking at a scab on your knee, when pope came out with a beer in hand. he didn't say anything at first, just leaned against the wall and looked out at the backyard.

his eyes landed on you, watching your legs kick idly in the water, and after a long sip, he murmured, "you're gonna be trouble, kid."

not a warning - almost an acknowledgement. he pushed off the wall, closing the distance in two slow strides, then sat beside you, close enough that his thigh pressed warm against yours.

"why's that?" you asked, turning your head to look up at him.

his jaw tightened. "because you're the only one who doesn't run when i walk into a room."

you smiled, unbothered. a mistake. his gaze dropped to your lips for a heartbeat too long. "that a problem?" you asked, dipping your toes further into the water.

pope didn't answer. instead, his hand found the small of your back - not gripping, barely touching, really - just resting there like he was testing whether you'd let him. when you didn't pull away, his fingers curled slightly into the fabric of your shirt.

"only when people start talking," he said low, his thumb rubbing an absent circle against your spine. "craig's got a big mouth. deran's got eyes everywhere. you keep looking at me like that, they're gonna notice."

"let them," you replied, turning your body toward his, knees bumping against his thigh.

pope's breath hitched, just barely audible, and his hand flattened out on your lower back, pulling you closer. close enough that his arm brushed your side with every inhale. close enough that you could see the dark rings around his irises, the way his adam's apple bobbed when he swallowed hard.

"fuck," he muttered under his breath, his hand sliding up to the back of your neck. his fingers curled into your hair, not pulling but holding you there, his forehead resting against yours. the beer bottle clinked against the pool edge as he set it down without looking.

"you know i'm not good for you, right?" his thumb traced your jawline, his voice a low, rough whisper. but instead of pushing you away, he closed the distance between your faces until his lips brushed yours in the barest of touches. a warning. a question.

you closed your eyes. let him feel your breath hitch against his mouth.

that was all the permission pope needed.

the kiss was nothing like you expected - gentle, almost reverent, like he was afraid he'd damage you. his other hand came up to cradle your cheek, thumb brushing your temple as he tilted your head back, deepening it.

it was slow and drowning, tasting of cheap beer and dark desire.

the fingers in your hair tightened, holding you in place as he explored your mouth, the kiss turning less careful and more desperate, his breathing catching when your hand came up to grip his shoulder.

from inside the house, you heard everyone arrive home, laughing loudly, but pope didn't pull away - he just kissed you harder.

his lips moved to your jaw, his teeth scraping lightly as he marked a path down your neck. he knew his family were about to walk outside - he could hear their voices getting closer.

but instead of stopping, he pulled you onto his lap, wrapping his arms around you like he was trying to hide you from them.

"pope? you out here, man?"

he froze for a split second before his mouth found your collarbone, sucking hard enough to bruise. his hands held you tighter, possessive, as if he could make you disappear into his skin. the footsteps came closer on the concrete.

"pope-"

"yeah, yeah, i'm here."

pope finally pulled back, your lips swollen, neck already blooming with purple marks. his eyes were dark, his breathing ragged, but he gave you a look that made your stomach drop - a silent promise that this wasn't over. he wiped his thumb across your bottom lip, smearing your lip gloss, before turning to face his brother with a smirk.

"took you long enough," pope said casually.

craig stopped short when he saw you. his eyes widened briefly before he grinned mischeievously. "what the fuck are you two doing?"

"nothing you need to worry about," pope shot back, his thumb still tracing your lips like he couldn't bring himself to stop touching you. craig's eyes narrowed, zeroing in on the fresh marks littering your neck, and he let out a low whistle.

oh my gosh yes, absolutely. oh he's so husband ohhhh i'm sick!! i especially love this with ditzy, bimbo!reader <3 i got a little carried away but it's andrew so it fits! :)

everyone's at the house waiting for dinner to be made, just standing around and chatting. it's hot, bordering on nauseating humidity, and all andrew wants to do is see his pretty wife before dinner. he needs alone time, quiet time in his old room to just sit and gaze at you as you chatter.

but now? andrew's engaged in a mindless conversation with craig, hearing him drone on about his latest hook-up while he stands with his hands on his hips nervously. you're due at smurf's house at any minute, a promise you made as you laid out on the beachfront of your home, waving at andrew as he got in his truck to meet up with the boys earlier that day.

he couldn't stop himself from kissing you. he was 15 minutes late. big fuckin' deal. andrew's family knew he needed his "you time".

deran's cooking tonight, much to pope's chagrin, and the cody's are all a bit anxious to eat the food. "oh no i literally have the pizza place down the block on speed dial" j expresses in between sips of his beer, before deran angrily chimes in from inside the house "jokes on you, dickhead, i catered."

baz sits on a lounger with cath, holding her to his side as he talks to j about an upcoming job. she's sticky with bar-soda stains and exhausted with the sheer movement of a work ethic. staring down at her ring, she runs her thumb over the diamond, wondering how life could've been different. her eyes flicker over to the oldest cody, and she can remember a time when she'd always find him looking back at her. but that hasn't happened in a long time. her shoulders crack with resignation and envy.

a horn honking, a happy squeal from the driveway, and andrew's straightening up his miserable stance. the thick gummy sole of his jordans rub against the concrete as he, quite literally, walks away from craig mid conversation. "bro-" craig shrugs, turning to look at baz in confusion as baz smiles "his girls home bro, you lost him the second the tires pulled in the driveway." craig stomps into the house, but he's not really angry, never could be at pope, "fucker has super hearing, man"

andrew walks to the driveway, shoulders losing their hunch the closer he gets to your bubblegum pop music and toothy smile. it's hard for andrew to smile, he'd often tell you, late in the dark of your bedroom, "'it's like it hurts a bit. hurts my face, i guess" but right now? his smile is beaming; crooked, endearing teeth on display with a light flush. it's probably because his brothers are inside, he never liked smiling with his teeth before you.

"andy!!" you cheer, wide smile and bouncing in lightly between your left and right foot. andrew doesn't even slow his steps, just keeps trudging towards you until you're in his arms. one big hand hooked behind your head for a long, sloppy kiss. waaaay too much of a display for normal public settings. his breath hitches as your hands drag under his t-shirt, nails lightly scraping his sides.

breathing in through his nose, andrew pulls back to look down his nose at you, "missed you. where you been? how was shopping?" "good! really good andy, wanna see?" "later. lemme get a feel for you. missed you so much" with more kisses to your cheeks as he pushes the hair away from your eyes <3

when you go into the yard, you're smiling and waving at the cody's as you hang onto andrew's arm. your ring glistening in the reflection of the pool, cath can't help but swallow bitterly. andrew trails next to you, head fully turned to listen to you rant and rave about the latest sales and the cute clothing you bought for yourself and him. he looks like he could and would eat you whole at the nearest convenience. it's been years, and he still looks at you the same way.

at dinner, you sit on andrew's lap, legs swinging as you bring the fork to his mouth. craig can barely look but deran smiles into his food; it's nice to see pope happy (even if it is gross to witness at dinner). when his iced tea needs to be refilled, you lean forward over the table, his hand resting on the side of your ass to stabilize you. he's not comfy until the weight of his pretty wife is resting on his thighs.

later that night, when you are all cozy and chatting on the couch, you lift your feet into andrew's lap. he doesn't even bat an eye, moving like it's routine.... because it is. slipping off your lil platform flip flops, starting with a massage at your ankle, andrew massages your foot lovingly as he watches the conversations around him. "'s that good?" he speaks lowly to you, and you nod excitedly.

pairing: andrew 'pope' cody x reader

song: slim pickins by sabrina carpenter

warnings: small town!reader, fluff, the dating scene is abysmal everywhere, pope gets a happy ending au

requested by: @avengersgirllorianna

authors note: the mechanic in this fic, Herb, is based off the actual mechanic from my hometown. this fic was requested from my birthday event! the fic is inspired by the song that was chosen

The dating scene was hard everywhere. You knew that thanks to your friends who moved out of the small town you all grew up in, and it gave you a bit of peace to know that you’d be struggling to find love no matter where in the world you were. The issue here in your small town was the small pool of men to pick from. All the good men were either taken already or unfortunately six feet under. You were truly not being overly picky either, it was just that none of the men here could even meet the base requirements of being the physically attractive and kind.

When you spent many days being a third or fifth wheel to your friends it was hard to not bitch and moan internally about the abysmal dating scene. You honestly felt like you’d forever be alone and that wasn’t even you being dramatic, it’s just the way things were playing out because you refused to settle. You’d rather be alone than tied to a man who bored you and didn’t fully respect you.

It turned out that the right guy was out there for you and your car refusing to start one evening was the best thing that ever happened to you. Your car had gotten you to community grocery store just before it closed but as you turned the key in the ignition to go home, your beloved car let out a pathetic sputter and then went quiet. You cursed and smacked the steering wheel, your icecream melting slowly in a bag in the backseat.

That’s when Andrew appeared like a vision in dark jeans and white T-shirt, swooping in to save you like Superman. He had you pop the hood and told you he’d grab his truck around the corner to give you a jump. He left you speechless in your car, thrown by this handsome stranger you’d never seen before. You chewed your bottom lip as turned his face over in your mind - the curly hair, the intense and yet soft eyes, and the downturn of his lips.

The handsome stranger came back quickly, expertly reversing his truck and moving it into position so your car and his were nose to nose. You didn’t have to do anything except sit while the stranger attached his own jumper cables between the cars to help give yours a start. When it was all done and your car started without any issue, you let out a cheer of excitement and rolled down your window to thank the man.

“Thank you so much! You saved my evening. I’d love to repay you for helping.” The man shrugged like it was no big deal.

“That’s not necessary.” That caught your attention, his dismissal of repayment. Most other men would see that as an opening to overstep and ask you out.

“You didn’t have to stop. You could have just kept walking, other people would have.”

“But then you would have been stranded. And other people are assholes.” That got a genuine laugh out of you and you saw the mans guarded expression crack as the corner of his mouth twitched towards a smile.

“Your engine needs to be looked at, some of the parts are rusting.” He said suddenly, switching the topic as he tapped the hood of your car with his index finger.

“Oh. I’ll take it over to Herb first thing tomorrow. He’s the mechanic.” You added, since all the locals were on a first name basis with the only mechanic in town but tourists wouldn’t know that.

“I know, I work there.” That piece of information hit you like lightning. Oh, so he wasn’t a tourist, he was a new local.

“Really?” You asked out of excitement.

“Yeah, I’m new.” He explained and you smiled at his bluntness.

“Yeah, I figured.” You fixed him with your sweetest smile and gave him your name.

“I’m Andrew,” He said, the tips of his ears pinking under your attention. “Swing by the garage and ask for me. I’ll have the parts ready for you.”

“Thanks Andrew. I guess I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Guess so.”

“Can’t wait.” You replied with a cheeky smile. The blush on his ears crawled down to the apples of his cheeks and Andrew stepped back from your car so you could drive off.

The next day Andrew had everything ready for you, all the parts that had to be replaced and a space in the shop for you to park. You surprised him by bringing him a coffee and insisting on sitting off to the side to talk with him as he fixed your car. The two of you talked for an hour, learning all you could about each other. Andrew seemed guarded still but he answered all of your questions, even the silly ones like his favourite colour and ice cream flavour. He was polite, and funny when he wanted to be, and when you got him to crack a smile it felt like a huge victory.

Once the work was done you paid at the front desk and thanked Andrew again for last night and saving your car today. You didn’t want to be too forward with him or make him uncomfortable so you left him with a few words about how you hoped to see him around town before crossing the lot to your car.

“She was flirting with you, son.” Herb said without looking up from the engine he was inspecting. Andrew stopped short inside the garage, staring at Herb for a moment before looking back over his shoulder as you got seated in your car on the other side of the lot.

“There’s a county fair this weekend. Might be a good place for a date.” Herb commented as he reached into the engine to tighten something. Herbs words sank into Andrew’s brain and he was spurred into action by the sound of your car starting. Andrew jogged over and caught you before you left, gesturing for you to roll the window down.

Girl Dad!Titus who never once entertained the idea of having a girl. From the moment you became pregnant he referred to the baby as ‘He.’ Talks about his future son. Imagines raising a little boy to be the new head of the family. He won’t be exactly like his father, he knows you’ll make sure he isn’t cruel, but he plans on having a firm hand to make sure the boy is raised right

Girl Dad!Titus who has already started getting supplies that lean towards boy based, even after you’ve pointed out you haven’t found out the gender

Girl Dad!Titus who is completely and utterly shocked when the doctor says it’s a girl. A little girl.

the librarian

pope x fem!reader | mdni

authors note: i just finished animal kingdom and my heart will forever be broken for pope. maybe in another life he met someone true. xx

—

pope had always loved libraries.

there was something about the quiet that settled his nerves and the smell of paper and coffee from the makeshift 'cafe' that was really just a coffee stand that nestled in the front of the building.

he particularly loved libraries because nobody needed to expect anything from him. nobody would speak to him or even raise their voice. they simply let him be.

it felt like an escape for him, he could be whoever he wanted to be in the pages that he read. albeit he didn’t have time to read as much as he would like.

books didn’t ask questions. he liked that.

which is why he’s pushing through the library doors for the third time this week.

the library is located in downtown oceanside. it’s warm lighting glowing through the windows even at dusk, making the the atmosphere shift into complete softness.

pope’s eyes traveled from watching the hardwood creak under his shoes as he walked to a figure behind the counter.

his breath caught.

she was on shift today? but it was sunday, and she’s always off on the weekends.

the girl with the soft voice.

when pope saw her for the first time, he noticed that she smiled at everyone who walked in. a real and gentle one as she waved at adults and high-fived children.

she always wore oversized sweaters and kept aesthetically appealing pens tucked behind her ear. sometimes she’d even stick one in her low bun.

sometimes pope caught her sitting on the floor beside carts of books while reorganizing shelves, humming quietly to herself. sometimes she’d even be sneakily reading a new romance novel that was just released.

she seemed a bit young, maybe a few years older than jay. but she fit the library perfectly.

oh, and pope knew that he absolutely didn’t fit there beside her.

still, she greeted him every single time.

“hi, welcome in.” she said softly when he walked in that afternoon.

pope nodded once at her, removing his ray bands. “hey.”

her eyes flickered to the book tucked under his arm from last time. “finished already?”

“couldn’t sleep.” he said, pushing the book across the counter towards her.

she nodded while taking the book. pope noticed her well manicured nails. wondering if she got them done regularly like smurf did. “was it good at least?”

he shrugged. “kind of made my head hurt.”

she laughed at that. it was one of those genuine laughs that made her eyes close as she tilted her head back.

god— it was music to his ears. he needed to savor it because it was all for him.

that laugh.

he cleared his throat and glanced around awkwardly. as if he didn’t know what to do next, he quickly let out an, “uh… where can i find the religion section?”

“ah!” she let out excitedly. “in the back corner,” she said, placing the book he had returned into a cart. “i can show you if you want.”

he almost said no, he wanted to get away from as soon as possible before he could say anything stupid.

then she smiled at him again and suddenly his brain shot-circuited.

“sure.”

she stepped out from behind the counter, brushing her hands against her light washed jeans and pope followed a few steps behind as they walked through the aisles.

the library was nearly empty for a sunday but he was grateful for the soft music playing through the speakers as the rain from outside tapped lightly against the skylights.

pope felt oddly at peace. he felt safe.

“do you read religious books a lot?” she asked, clearing her throat as she looked back at him.

“not really.”

she hummed at his response. tucking her hair behind her ear, pope noticed that she had three pretty piercings. noting that they were all small little diamond studs. she had good taste. he wondered if her boyfriend gave them for her.

“trying something new?”

he pressed his lips together in a sideways pout.grazing his fingers across the back of the books beside them “something like that.”

she didn’t push.

finally, they reached the back corner and she crouched next to the lower shelf on the right. “okay, so these are the more personal faith stuff.” she explained gently. “and then..”her fingers slid across another row “if your looking for religious history and theology, this is your spot.”

pope crouched beside her slowly, trying very hard not to think about how close she was as their knees bumped against one other.

she smelled faintly like vanilla and glue. probably an after effect from helping out in the children’s summer camp earlier in the day.

“i heard great things about this author,” she murmured, pulling out a book carefully.

he took it from her causing their fingers brush. lingering a bit too long for people who didn’t know one another. she immediately pulled her hand back, feeling the way his calloused skin pricked against hers.

there.

the hesitation that every women he tried to get close to had.

pope knew that feeling all too well.

he watched as her eyes inspected the cuts against his knuckles as they he scarred. he knew that she was thinking that he looked like he belonged in a holding cell rather than a public library.

his jaw tightened subtly.

“you don’t have’ta be scared,” he muttered. “i won’t hurt you.”

her brows furrowed in embarrassment. “w-what?” she blinked at him for a second before her face fell.

shame burning at her chest for the judgment she gave him.

pope averted his eyes, flipping the book over in his hands. “i know i can look… intense.”

surprise engulfed his entire being as he watched her expression soften instead of closing off — just like cat would have done. even amy in the end.

“i’m not scared,” she said quietly.

he almost scoffed, a tiny smile sprouting instead as she gave him a tiny smile in return, “a little wary maybe.”

pope’s smile dropped immediately as he looked down at the book in his hands.

“girls usually are around men they don’t know,” she added softly, tapping her finger at his forearm to get him to look at her. “that’s not entirely your fault.”

pope glanced at her. she really didn’t look afraid.

he watched as she played with the beaded bracelet she wore, twisting it around her wrist as she looked at the books.

“an please,” she scoffed lightly, “you spend what? four hours each time you come to read. it’s hard to be scared of someone who alphabetizes the books better than i do.”

his eyes widened slightly. “you noticed that?”

“you did it wrong once.” she chuckled, earring a scowl from him in return.

and before he could say anything else, he laughed, shoulders shaking and his muscles flexing as he gripped onto the book in his lap.

her whole face lit up a little at the sound. he watched as her noise scrunched, her cheeks burning into a deep pillowy pink. holding her fingers over her face to conceal the blush she was giving him.

god help her because that did something dangerous to him. a primal noise beginning to bubble from his chest— clearing his throat quickly to mask the reaction.

pope couldn’t remember the last time someone looked happy just because he was laughing or even smiling.

she pointed at the book in his hands, “that one’s easier to start with.”

“yeah?”

a beat.

“yeah.”

their eyes met for a second too long. she looked away first this time, suddenly very interested in fixing a crooked stack beside her.

it’s not as intense,” she bit the inside of her cheek. “soft.”

pope swallowed hard.

“thanks,” he said quietly.

“you’re welcome,” her voice gentle again. “pope, right?”

he froze slightly.

“how—”

“your membership card.” she chuckled. “i have to look at it every time you barrow or return a book.”

“right.” he let out, earning a small smile from her as they both stood.

18+ account - minors do not interact

andrew cody x f!reader Word Count: 2.9K Rating: E

Summary: You’re in love with Andrew, but a part of you keeps whispering that it won’t last because people always leave.

Warnings: (MDNI 18+) established relationship, language, pet names, comfort, domesticity, technically inappropriate relationship (he’s your landlord, and youre the tenant in one of the family buildings), independent / prideful reader, insecurity, emotional argument, emotional baggage, mentions of family dysfunction (reader probably has daddy issues), mentions of cheating (shitty men in general) reader is afraid of accepting love, andrew just wanting to take care of you (emotionally and financially), he’s perfect

A/N: I feel like I mostly read (or write) fics where Andrew is the one needing reassurance. What if, this time, it’s the reader who needs it? GIFs found HERE (bless you @wesandresons for all the pope content you produce for the AK fandom.

Thank you for reading!! if you comment/reblog i love you so much <3.

You pulled into the driveway of Andrew's beach house and killed the engine, your shoulders immediately relaxing as you stepped out. It had been a long day, you had completed a shift at the hotel followed by your evening class—and all you wanted was to decompress.

Snip, Snip!

Jack Abbot x impulsive!reader

Synopsis: Jack has been getting angry at your impulsive decisions, what will happen when he gets home and sees your new haircut?

CW: Angry Jack, use of Y/N, Y/N has hair long enough to cut, small mention of leg prosthetic, devilpeqch's bad attempt at comedy, sexual innuendos, Jack is a sad, old man.

Word count: 866.

Masterlist

At first it was endearing.

Jack felt that it kept him young, your spontaneity. Going on random dates, buying random knick-knacks– it was cute and so were you.

He tried to keep up with your last minute tattoos and piercings, but as the relationship got more serious, so did he.

So seeing soft tufts of hair all over the sink at 8:00 am, after a tiring shift just… sent him over the edge.

He walked into your shared room, saw your sleeping figure and his heart softened just a fraction. Not enough to stop the words from leaving his mouth.

“Are you kidding me Y/N?” he raised his voice to wake you up.

You jumped, startled.

What time is it?

You look up and see Jack, his face scrunched in disbelief and anger.

“W-what?” your confusion and sleepiness carried.

“Are you serious? This is the third time this month you’ve done shit like this,” Jack sighed. “Can’t you just be normal for a second?”

The words land.

Normal.

“Jeez, what crawled up your ass?” you lay your head back on the pillow, trying to go back to sleep.

Was he seriously trying to pick a fight at 8:00 in the morning?

“Y/N, you can’t be so rash with decisions,” he tried again.

You sigh in return, deciding not to dignify him with an answer.

Who does he think he is?

“Can we not do this right now? You need to sleep,” you say slowly.

That stops Jack in his tracks, he had been taking off his clothes to put on pajamas. Now shirtless with soft, grey shorts on. He looked at you, your slightly swollen eyes from sleep, face soft and a small trail of dried drool on your cheek– your hair… did look nice.

Jack huffed, you still cared about his sleep, even when he was being mean to you– and Jack knew he was being mean to you. He didn’t know why he got so angry when you made decisions like this, maybe it was because you didn’t ask him? But he’s not controlling, so that can’t be.

“What’s going on? Bad shift?” you ask.

He stares, still stunned, how can you be asking him about his shift right now?

“Yeah, it was rough.”

He walks towards the bed, deciding to forgo a shirt and just lay down. He sits at the edge of the bed and you move to sit behind him, rubbing his back. He starts to take off his prosthetic and hisses.

“Do you wanna talk about what just happened?”

Jack knows you well enough to know you’re not really asking, more so telling him.

“I really don’t know…” he says, still enjoying your hand on his back.

“You just flipped out, Jack. I mean, is the haircut that bad?” you laugh, though there is no humor behind it.

Jack turns quickly, so fast you think he might’ve gotten whiplash.

“No honey, it looks great. You look great, beautiful even.”

“Then what’s the problem?” 

The hand that was on his back, now is on his chest. Drawing small shapes– a square, circle, a heart, another heart… a penis?

“Don’t draw penises on me, Y/N,” Jack says sternly, yet you know he is finally calming down.

You mumble an apology, not really sorry, and wait for him to explain himself.

“I guess… you just make me feel old,” Jack finally reveals.

You tilt your head, eyebrows furrowing, a confused pout setting on your lips.

“But you are old babe… so what?” you sit impossibly closer to him. “I like that about you.”

“Yeah, for now. One day you’ll realize that I’m too old for you, you’ll get tired of me not understanding your references, or get tired of how tired I am–”

You bring a hand up to stop his rambling, kissing his lips softly.

“Jack, you were old when we met. I knew what I was getting into,” you soothe. “Besides, I don’t mind explaining my references, or that you need to take an hour nap after we have sex.”

Jack gives you a deadpan look, but you continue.

“I don’t care that you have wrinkles, or that you technically qualify for senior discounts, or that your are almost the same age as my parents or that–”

“Okay, I got it” Jack interrupts, a small laugh leaving his lips.

“You are perfect for me,” you caress his face. “You are perfect to me.”

Jack’s face crumbles, and he kisses you. The taste of stale coffee and a granola bar fill your senses. You pull away and stare at each other.

You push him onto the bed and lay your head on his chest. His hand finds your newly cut hair.

“Your hair does look really good, honey,” he whispers.

“I know,” you reply.

After a beat of silence, you feel Jack falling asleep.

“Don’t you ever yell at me again,” your voice interrupting the calm atmosphere.

“I will spend my whole life repenting.”

You smile to yourself, knowing you’ll never let this go.

But at least your old man likes your new haircut.

What will he think about the hidden hair dye in the bathroom?

Author's note: eek! thank you so much for requesting, i feel famous.

I hope you enjoy this as much as i enjoyed writing it.

gets home from work in the morning to see u leavin his son's room n u say good morning all shy... n u even make him breakfast... ugh it's just been so long since he had a woman around takin care of him, he can't help flirtin a little just to make u squirm 💋

(it works, of course. one day ur bf leaves for work and ur all over him just like he planned)

oh yeah i love this <3 real dad!jack !!! cw: cheating lol

jack’s a cool dad, letting his son’s girlfriend sleepover on weekends—so when you wake up every morning after your boyfriend has gone to work, you always catch jack after his morning yoga in sweats and a white t-shirt, making breakfast.

you’re always in some sort of big t-shirt and shorts combo, walking out all shyly and blushing. jack just looks over his shoulder at you, smirking with a simple, “breakfast’s ready, honey.”

one morning after your boyfriend left, you get up before jack to make his smoothie before he works out. you’re in the kitchen when he comes in, looking all sleepy in his sweatpants and fucking shirtless. you’ve seen him without a shirt before, at pool parties… etc. but this feels so intimate.

rubbing his face he takes a long look at you as you pour his smoothie in a glass. “sweetheart… you makin’ me breakfast?” you blush as you walk up to him, glass in hand, “just know you like to have this before your workout… thought i’d make it as a thank you for letting me sleepover.”

he hums thoughtfully, looking down at you. his hand comes up to trace your jaw, fingers dancing over your lips—seeing if you’ll open them for him. you open your mouth, tentatively tracing his fingers with your tongue. fuck—you’re done for.

with hooded eyes, he smirks wolfishly, “hmm i’ve caught me a good girl, haven’t i?”

you nod, feeling so fucking lightheaded. it’s way too early for this—that’s the only explanation you can give for your actions.

he nods his head towards his room, “why don’t you go wait for me, honey. i’ll be right in.” you know this is so wrong, but fuck—you suck on his fingers, releasing them with a “pop” as you nod and say, “yes, sir.” walking towards his room.

Years later, PTMC still feels the same at night.

The brightness stings his eyes. Noise presses in from every direction. Even the cold settles where it hurts most.

The emergency department pulses around Doctor Jack Abbot in relentless waves of fluorescent light and exhaustion. Monitors shriek. Phones ring unanswered for half-seconds too long. Residents rush past carrying charts and trauma packs with the frantic speed of people still learning how to survive this place without letting it consume them.

Jack moves through it automatically now, older and quieter than he used to be, the sharp edges of who he was worn smooth by time and too many overnight shifts.

“Room twelve needs a consult,” a nurse calls while falling into step beside him. “Possible allergic reaction. Pediatric.”

Jack barely looks up from the chart in his hands. “How old?”

“Three, maybe four.”

He nods once, already understanding the look in the parent’s eyes before a word is spoken. Another frightened child clinging to the edge of panic. Another exhausted parent trying not to fall apart. Another long night that will blur into all the others before morning comes.

Then the nurse continues casually, “Mother says she has the same allergy, so she recognized the symptoms fast. Kid’s stable now.”

Jack pushes through the ER doors toward pediatrics without thinking much about it, exhaustion dragging heavily behind every step. His gloves snap against his wrists while he scans the intake notes clipped to the chart.

Female.

Age: 8 months.

Name: Penelope Langdon.

His eyes pause briefly.

Langdon.

Something about it scratches faintly at memory, but before he can place it, the curtain around the bed shifts open.

And the world stops.

She’s sitting in the hospital bed holding a tiny baby girl against her chest. For one impossible second, his brain refuses to process what he’s seeing.

Because it’s her.

Not memory.

Not grief twisting itself into hallucination.

Her.

Older now too. Softer somehow. More settled into herself in a way that physically hurts to look at. Her hair is pulled back messily, exhaustion visible beneath her eyes, one protective hand rubbing slow circles over the baby’s back while a tiny toddler sleeps curled beside her in the chair, small sneakers dangling crookedly off the edge.

And then he sees she’s pregnant, and Jack stops so abruptly the chart nearly slips from his hand as she looks up at the sound of his footsteps and their eyes lock across the room.

Everything inside him drops hard and fast through his chest as shock flashes across her face, raw and unmistakable, before something colder seals over it, not anger, not longing, but a careful, practiced distance, professional composure settling between them like a door closing softly and permanently shut.

“Dr. Abbot,” she says quietly, and hearing his surname in her voice after all these years cuts deeper than he expects, because once she used to say his name like it belonged to her, and now she looks at him like he’s just another doctor standing in the room.

Because suddenly every version of his life collides at once inside his head, the apartment, the proposal, the nursery, the screaming silence after she left and all he can see is what should have been sitting in front of him years ago.

Not Vivian.

Not borrowed fatherhood built on lies and grief.

This.

Her.

Their life.

His throat tightens painfully.

“What happened?” he finally manages.

“She got into peanut butter crackers at daycare,” she says softly, adjusting the baby higher against her shoulder. “Her breathing changed pretty fast.”

Jack nods automatically, doctor before anything else now, stepping closer to check the baby gently despite the violent shaking beginning somewhere deep in his ribs.

Penny.

The baby’s tiny fist curls instinctively around her mother’s sweater while sleepy tears cling to her flushed cheeks, small and fragile and completely unaware that she is finally stable, finally safe, finally loved.

Jack forces himself to focus.

“She’s okay,” he says quietly after listening to her lungs. “You caught it early.”

“I know the signs,” she replies.

Of course she does.

He remembers every allergy medication that once crowded their apartment cabinets, and the realization cuts through him so suddenly it steals the air from his lungs, because this could have been his life, a toddler asleep in the corner, a baby curled against her chest, another child on the way, a real family built from love and ordinary days instead of grief, guilt, and the ruins they never managed to survive.

Not something forced together from history and obligation. Real.

The little boy stirs suddenly in the chair beside them, rubbing sleepy fists into his eyes before lifting his head.

“Mama?” he mumbles.

And Fuck.

Jack feels the impact of that single word like physical injury.

Her entire face changes instantly. Softens.

She reaches for the toddler automatically, brushing messy hair away from his forehead with practiced tenderness. “Hey, Tanner,” she whispers gently. “You okay, my baby?”

Baby.

The boy nods sleepily before climbing directly into her side without hesitation, pressing his cheek against her arm while she somehow balances both children at once effortlessly.

Like she was always meant for this.

Jack has to look away briefly.

Because years ago someone at a fundraiser once said:

“She always wanted to be a mom.”

And Fuck.

She became one anyway, just not with him, and the thought settles in him like something final and irreversible, right as a voice suddenly cuts through the hallway outside.

“Langdon’s still here?”

Another nurse answers quickly, “Yeah, pediatric room three.”

Footsteps approach fast afterward.

Then Frank Langdon appears through the curtain.

Young for an ER attending-track resident.

Still wearing navy scrubs half untucked beneath a winter jacket he clearly threw on too quickly. But the second he sees her, his entire face changes. Relief crashes visibly through him.

“There you are,” Frank breathes.

And then he crosses the room without hesitation, drawn to her as if the rest of the hospital ceases to exist, no Jack, no sterile corridors, no weight of procedure, only her, and the children in her orbit like the center of something he was never meant to stand inside.

“You scared me,” he murmurs softly, crouching beside the bed first to kiss Penny’s forehead, then Tanner’s hair, then finally her temple with exhausted familiarity.

His hand settles instinctively against her pregnant stomach, steady and sure, as if he’s always known exactly where he belongs in this moment.

There’s nothing hesitant in him, no second-guessing, no careful restraint. Just a quiet, unwavering certainty that makes the gesture feel less like an action and more like a promise already kept. Protective in the simplest sense of the word. Certain in a way that doesn’t ask permission. Home, made visible in a single touch.

Jack feels something inside himself cave inward at the sight of it, quiet and absolute, like a structure giving way without sound. Because Frank doesn’t hesitate. Not once. Not around the children, not around her, not around the future growing right in front of him.

There’s no fear in him. No distance. No uncertainty disguised as caution.

Just love plain, unguarded, and fully lived, simple enough to be chosen out loud, and simple enough that Jack realizes too late it was never meant to be his to choose.

Frank finally notices Jack standing there.

“Oh—Dr. Abbot.” He straightens quickly, still keeping one hand on her knee unconsciously. “Sorry, I came down as soon as they paged me.”

Of course they paged him. Langdon.

Her husband.

Jack finally understands why the surname hit him like recognition. He’s worked beside Frank for almost two years.

He listened to him talk about his wife, about the life he built so casually it almost sounded like breathing, about kids who filled the house with noise and a son obsessed with dinosaurs, about a pregnant wife who woke him at three in the morning with cravings for citrus and laughter in her voice.

And Jack had smiled at all of it, nodded at all the right places, filed every detail away without ever letting them fully land, never connecting the pieces into something real enough to hurt, never realizing he was listening to the life that should have been his.

Because he never let himself imagine her attached to someone else’s life.

Frank glances toward his wife again immediately, that quiet check-in passing between them without effort, like it’s something they’ve done a thousand times without ever needing to explain it.

She meets his eyes and gives the smallest nod, the kind that says everything is steady without saying a word at all.

“You okay?” he asks anyway, more habit than doubt.

“I’m okay,” she answers softly, already knowing what he needs to hear.

“You sure?”

She doesn’t answer with words this time. Instead, her hand finds his for just a second fingers squeezing once, familiar and certain and a tiny smile touches her mouth, like the conversation was already finished before it even began.

And it destroys Jack completely because he remembers spending years trying to earn expressions that now come naturally to someone else.

“I’m sure,” she says gently.

Frank exhales in visible relief before reaching automatically for Tanner, lifting the sleepy toddler easily into his arms.

“Hey, buddy,” he murmurs. “You taking care of mama?”

Tanner nods seriously against his shoulder, small and trusting, and Jack realizes he can’t quite draw a full breath anymore.

Because suddenly all he can see is the life he never chose and the one he convinced himself was enough, the years spent forcing meaning out of something already hollow, playing at fatherhood inside a structure built from guilt and habit, trying to resurrect a dead marriage out of obligation and old memories while the woman who once loved him with her whole life slowly, quietly disappeared right in front of him.

And she warned him. Fucking hell, she warned him.

You already chose them. At the time he thought she was being unfair. Now he realizes she was simply right.

Frank leans down toward Penny next, smiling softly when the baby grabs his finger immediately.

“There’s my girl,” he whispers.

My girl.

The ease of it nearly crushes Jack under its weight, because this is what real fatherhood looks like when it isn’t being fought for or earned through pain, no desperation, no grief, no need to force history into meaning, just love given freely and returned without hesitation.

And standing there under the harsh fluorescent lights of PTMC, watching another man hold the family that should have been his, Jack finally understands the full, devastating scope of what he lost. Not just her. Not just the future he once imagined. But everything that could have been real if he had known how to choose it in time.

The children he never had. The home he never built. The version of himself that might have learned to trust love instead of fear instead of bracing for its loss before it even arrived.

He had all of it once, close enough to touch, close enough to choose, and he let it slip through his hands anyway, trading something real and living for something hollow that could never hold its shape.

Authors note