Fandom: The Pitt, Dr. Samira Mohan, Dr. Jack Abbot
Summary: Samira doesn't need a knight in shining armor. But that doesn't mean she couldn't use a little help.
When Samira gets cornered at the bar by a guy who can't take a hint, she doesn't know what to do. Luckily, her "boyfriend" arrives just in time to give her an out. Too bad Dr. Abbot isn't really her boyfriend, despite how much she wishes he were. But could it be that he's thinking the same thing....
Word Count: 4292
TW: Language Notes: This takes place between season 1 and 2 and is my first attempt at writing Mohabbot. I hope you enjoy! Thanks to @green-socks for beta reading and the continual support ❤️
Samira Mohan did not have much of a life outside of the hospital, but she was content with that at the moment. Being an R3 was demanding work and she was determined not to let her personal life interfere with her career, at least until she had finished her residency and solidified her path for her future.
However, she’d recently been making an exception when it came to the day shift’s after-work bar nights. It was a chance for everyone to hang out for a few hours outside of work—drinking, playing darts and pool, and just decompressing from the day. Sometimes, if they were off, a few of the night shift staff would come join in as well. These meetups were planned in advance once or twice a month, but occasionally an emergency night out would be called if it had been one of those shifts when all they wanted to do afterwards was drink away the memories of the day. Unfortunately, those days seemed to be more frequent since Pittfest as the tragedy of that night still hung over the ED. But being together with others who understood that trauma did help chase away some of those ghosts, if only for a night.
It was after Pittfest that Samira began attending these nights more frequently. Before then, she often came up with some half-hearted excuse or claimed she was too tired before asking for a rain check she never intended on following up with. But since that night, she had found these hangouts a nice way to recharge. Even if she mostly made light small talk and was often the first to leave, it was refreshing to see everyone outside of the ED where they could loosen up a bit.
However, there was one member of the Pitt who almost never joined the group, and he was the one person Samira most wanted to get to know more outside of work. So far, he hadn’t joined the rest of them for drinks since the night of Pittfest when they had all gathered in the park. But Samira still held out hope. And, if she was completely honest with herself, that slight chance of him showing up was the main reason she never missed a bar night anymore.
Unfortunately, it seemed like tonight was going to be another disappointment. It was already after 9:00 and there was no sign of him. Samira sighed as she twirled her straw in her now empty glass and watched Collins and McKay duke it out at darts. It had originally been a doubles game, but Santos and Garcia quickly became more preoccupied with each other’s mouths than the board. So the former teammates had become rivals as Collins and McKay decided to play 1-on-1. Usually, Samira preferred watching whoever was at the pool table (especially if it was Dr. Robby, with his surprising talent for the game), but both Collins and McKay were very skilled and matched each other almost shot-for-shot, making it a much more riveting game than usual.
As Collins nailed the bullseye, ending the game, Samira slid from her seat and headed towards the main room to get another drink. Besides Jesse giving her a slight nod as she slipped past him, she wasn’t even sure if anyone had noticed her leave. Usually, she wouldn’t have cared, but soon, she regretted not drawing more attention to herself before disappearing.
Because if no one noticed her leave, it meant no one would notice how long she was gone. Which meant no one would know to come looking for her if she didn’t return in a reasonable amount of time. Which also meant that no one was coming to save her when she got trapped by the overly pushy guy shamelessly flirting with her at the bar.
Flirty Guy had been all over her from the moment she stepped up to the bar.
Though he hadn’t physically touched her more than running his thumb up and down her wrist—which was still too much of an intrusion for her to be comfortable with—everything he did made her skin crawl: how he leaned in too far into her personal space, how his eyes roamed her body only to linger very obviously around her breasts and ass, how he kept making everything into blatant innuendos, and, worst of all, how he kept running his tongue across his lips in a manner he surely thought was alluring yet was anything but.
Samira could smell the reek of alcohol on his breath and wondered how many drinks he’d had before the one that had just been delivered to him. She had hoped that when he got his drink, he would take it and go. But he made no indication he planned on going anywhere as long as she remained at the bar.
Considering none of her many attempts to convey she wasn’t interested had failed, she knew she should just ask him to leave her alone. But she was also wary of getting too forceful with her rejection. While she knew the chances were slim that he’d get aggressive or things would get out of hand, the image of Dana stumbling into the Pitt a few months ago with a broken nose gushing blood after she was attacked by an angry patient was a stark reminder that it was a possibility. The incident had shaken everyone in the Pitt, and she often found herself flashing back to it when situations began to get heated. And it was currently at the forefront of her mind.
Her best bet at this point seemed to be to wait until her drink arrived. That would be her chance to slip away. Though the thought of him following her back to where everyone else was hanging out or him doing something to stop her from getting that far made her stomach clench. But short of talking to the bartender, she didn't know what else to do. Which would have been a reasonable solution. Too bad he seemed to have disappeared shortly after taking her order.
Which left her once again trying to figure out how to get away on her own.
Suddenly, a familiar voice called out from behind her, “Hey, babe. Sorry I’m late. Traffic was a bitch tonight.”
A muscular arm slid around her waist and she found herself being drawn tight against a broad chest. Looking up, her mouth gaped open to see the familiar grey curls and perceptive brown eyes of the Pitt’s senior night attending.
Despite her shock and confusion, only one thought crossed Samira’s mind as she gawked at him. After all this time, he finally decided to join us.
Dr. Jack Abbot stared down at her expectantly. There was a twinkle in his eyes that she had seen a few times in the trauma rooms when he was impressed by someone’s quick thinking or when he pulled some off the wall shit himself that saved an unsaveable patient. He had even given Samira that look a few times, the first being the night of Pittfest. She remembered it vividly because it was that moment she first realized she had a massive crush on one of her bosses.
He gave her hip a small squeeze and raised one eyebrow slightly, silently asking her what she wanted to do next. It was then that it clicked what he was doing, and a wave of relief washed over her.
A huge smile spread across her face as she cried, “Oh, good! You found me. I know I said to meet me in the back, but I just couldn’t wait for a drink any longer.”
She laughed playfully and ran her hand across his defined chest before slipping it under the opposite edge of his jacket, essentially wrapping him in a one-armed hug. For a moment, she thought she felt Abbot tense slightly beneath her, and she was afraid she pushed things too far. But then he chuckled and tilted his head so his face rested against her hair. From where Flirty Guy stood, she was sure it appeared as if he were kissing the top of her head. It was a nice touch.
Flirty Guy’s eyes narrowed as they darted back and forth between the newly formed “couple”, his eyes lingering on the places Abbot’s body met hers. His face twitched slightly as he grabbed his drink and downed the rest of it in a few quick gulps. Slamming it down on the bartop, he continued to glare at the pair across from him in such a way that Samira unconsciously drew deeper into Abbot’s embrace.
When Abbot finally raised his face from her hair, he remained close, leaning his temple against the top of her head. Whether that was his intention or not, the action helped drive away some of the growing anxiety Samira was feeling watching Flirty Guy’s reaction.
Without loosening his hold on her, Abbot shifted slightly so he was angled towards Flirty Guy. Nodding in his direction, he asked, “This a friend of yours?”
His voice was nonchalant, with just an edge of curiosity. Most guys Samira knew—even if pretending like Abbot currently was—would have taken a more possessive or defensive tone as they sized up Flirt Guy. Yet instead of warning the guy to back off from what was “his”, Abbot gave off the impression he wasn’t concerned with this guy flirting with his girl. That he didn’t need to posture because he was sure enough in his relationship that he didn’t once consider this guy a threat to it.
God, why was that so hot?
Samira shrugged like the guy meant nothing to her—which he didn’t. “No, I just met him. He was just keeping me company while we waited for our drinks. But now that you’re here…”
Abbot hummed in acknowledgement, then he turned to look at her directly, brushed a loose curl of hair off her face, and began asking her about her day as if they were the only two people in the room. Once again, from anyone else it would’ve felt like a power move. But coming from Abbot, it felt more intimate. Like he just genuinely couldn’t wait to hear all about how she was. And for a minute, Samira forgot this was all an act. As Abbot stared down at her expectantly, she felt as though he really wanted to know.
But before she could answer, Flirty Guy grumbled, “What the hell? What are you, some sort of fucking tease? You never said anything about a boyfriend.”
Abbot stiffened, and he slowly turned his head to glare at the other man. This time when he spoke, there was the hint of a threatening tone in his words that both thrilled and slightly frightened Samira. “She shouldn't have had to. If she said she wasn’t interested, that should’ve been enough. She doesn't have to justify herself beyond that.”
It was the first time he slipped up in his act. Because the only way he would have known she had politely said—more than once—that she wasn’t interested in his advances was if he had been watching her for several minutes instead of having just arrived at the bar. But, luckily, Flirty Guy didn’t seem to catch on to the slip.
He shot Samira one final glare befor muttering, “Whatever. Your loss. Have fun with Gramps. Hope he breaks a hip.”
Samira inhaled sharply, anger prickling in her chest for the first time that night. It was one thing not to respect her boundaries or leave her in peace. She was used to that. But making a jab at Abbot who had done nothing but try to help her was a step too far. (In the back of her mind, Samira realized how absurd that line of thinking was, yet the sudden urge to defend Abbot was stronger than her logical side at the moment.)
She made to step towards him, but Abbot’s hand tightening on her hip stopped her. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him give the slightest shake of his head. Knowing he was right and it wasn’t worth reengaging, she reluctantly relaxed back against him.
They both watched as Flirty Guy slinked away into the crowd. Once it had swallowed him up, Abbot waited a beat then dropped his arm and sidestepped away from her, putting at least a foot of distance between them. Samira knew it was stupid to be upset by that considering Abbot had only been holding her as part of their ruse, yet she still felt the sting of rejection.
How many times had she watched him work and imagined those powerful hands on her skin or those bulging arms around her? She had finally gotten a taste of what it would feel like, only to have the cold sting of reality slap her in the face.
Wrapping her arm across her chest in a poor imitation of Abbot’s missing embrace, she tried to put on a brave face. “Thank you. I appreciate the help, but I had it under control.”
He bristled slightly at her words, his shoulders tightening as his face settled into an unreadable mask. He examined her for a moment before he said, “I never doubted that you couldn’t handle things yourself. But I also figured it never hurts to have backup. Sorry if I overstepped.”
He started to turn away, but Samira shot out her hand and grabbed his wrist. He looked back at her, his expression still neutral, and Samira wasn’t sure if she had offended him or not. He didn’t seem upset, yet he was more closed off than he had been a moment ago. And she couldn’t really blame him. After all, he had only been trying to help and her first response had been to snap at him for it all because of her wounded pride—something she immediately regretted.
Taking a deep breath, she said, “No, you didn’t overstep. At all. I-I’m sorry.” She was fucking this up and, though she didn’t really want to admit to herself why, she didn’t want him to leave. Glancing around, she asked, “Listen, can I buy you a drink?”
“A drink?”
“You know,” she gestured to the large array of alcohol displayed behind the bar, “a drink.” She shrugged, “It’s the least I can do.”
Abbot considered for a moment, then nodded. “Okay, but only if you promise to let me buy next time.”
Samira nodded with a smile, but behind her pleased exterior, her mind was running a mile a minute. What did he mean ‘next time’? Was he referring to the next round tonight? Or was he implying we would get drinks together another night? Did he even realize what it sounded like? This was the first time he had shown up to one of these after-work hangouts. So did he mean drinks with just the two of us? Should I make some kind of acknowledgement of that or should I just ignore it for now? And if I do—
Luckily, her internal spiral was interrupted as the bartender slid over, placed her drink on the bartop in front of her, then asked what Abbot wanted. He ordered a cheap local bottle of beer, and Samira almost told him to order something nicer before thinking better of it. While she had expected him to order a scotch or bourbon, that beer somehow suited him. She wondered if it was what he would have ordered regardless of who paid for it.
As the bartender retreated, Samira sighed. “I’m sorry for what he said just before he left.”
“Who? The bartender?” Abbot’s face furrowed for a moment, but then he relaxed with a chuckle as he realized who she meant. “What? The ‘gramps’ jab? Believe me, sweetheart. I’ve been called worse.”
Sweetheart. The name sent a warm shiver through Samira, and she felt her cheeks grow hot, which she prayed was lost in the dim lights of the bar. Shifting slightly, she said, “Still. It was rude and uncalled for.”
“So was not leaving you alone when you politely asked him to. Guy didn’t seem like he had the best manners.”
“You can say that again,” Samira muttered, recalling the way Flirty Guy had uninvitedly grazed his fingers across her wrist as he licked his lips, and she shivered in disgust. She took a long sip of her drink, then shook her head, trying to banish all thoughts of the previous encounter from her mind.
Lowering her drink, she turned back to Abbot and asked, “So, what brings you out tonight? I don’t remember you coming to one of our bar nights before. But I guess working night shift makes it a little difficult.”
“Partially. And partially because I don’t like paying $9 for a beer when I have a $10 six-pack at home in the fridge.”
So beer was one of his go-to drinks. Samira stored that information away. “So what’s different about tonight?”
“Robby mentioned it since it’s my day off. He says I need to learn to socialize more outside of the workplace. Like he’s one to talk.” Jack rolled his eyes, and Samira had a feeling this was an argument the two men had had repeatedly over the years. But then Jack shrugged. “Plus, I haven’t seen much of the morning shift lately, and I figured I should probably see how everyone was doing.”
Interesting. “Anyone in particular you were hoping to check on?”
The corner of his mouth curled up slightly. “I found you, didn’t I?”
Her? He had been looking for her?
The warm feeling that had been building in her chest since Abbot first wrapped his arm around her suddenly bloomed throughout her body. This meant he must have been thinking of her, that he might have only come tonight because he knew she’d be there.
Slow down, Samira. You are jumping to way too many conclusions. You are probably just one of many he wanted to talk to. He probably also planned on congratulating McKay on getting her ankle monitor off, then talking to Collins before she leaves for Portland, all before challenging Dr. Robby to a game of pool. Just because you haven’t been able to forget about him since Pittfest doesn’t mean he has felt the same about you.
She suddenly realized that about thirty seconds had passed since his last remark and she had yet to react. Blinking to bring herself back to the conversation, she asked, “And why would you think you’d have to check up on me? Has…has Dr. Robby said something to you?”
Abbot chuckled. “No, nothing like that. Or if he has, he’s been praising how well you’ve been doing lately.”
“Really?” He nodded and Samira buzzed with pride. She and Dr. Robby didn’t always see eye to eye on how she managed her patients, so it was gratifying to know he was coming around to her methods. But that still didn’t answer her question. “Then why me?”
“Why not you?” He paused, leaving the question hanging in the air with Samira unsure if it was rhetorical or not. But then folded his arms across his chest as he sighed, “Cards on the table, you really left an impression the night of Pittfest. You handled yourself better than some seasoned doctors I know would have, and you seem to have an avid curiosity for learning new techniques which I find refreshing. And from what Robby has told me, you are also fiercely devoted to your patients.”
“H-he said that?”
“He did.” He hesitated a moment, then added with a slight shrug, “He also said you can be a little too devoted at times, but I don’t necessarily agree with him that there’s such a thing.”
“That’s…Wow. I, um, thank you.”
He dipped his head in a slight nod. “I don’t blow smoke up people’s asses just to make them feel good. I meant what I said, Samira. I think you have the potential to be an incredible attending one day, and I hope you know I’m here if there’s anything I can do to help you get there.”
She was speechless.
“Dr. Abbot—”
“Jack.”
“What?”
“Tonight has nothing to do with work, so you can call me Jack.” He must have seen her hesitating because he added, “Unless you’d prefer I call you Dr. Mohan.”
“No. Samira’s fine.” In fact, it was more than fine. She loved the way her name sounded slipping from his lips. But calling him by his first name was a different story. It felt so intimate, especially when it was just the two of them. However, if that was what he preferred, who was she to say no?
“Well then, Jack…” she said, tripping slightly over the name as her heart leapt in her chest. “Thank you for what you said. Your opinion means a lot to me, and knowing that’s how you see me…It means more than I can say.”
Before Abb–Jack could respond, the bartender reappeared on the other side of the bar. He muttered a quick apology about the wait as he placed Jack’s beer on the bartop. As he vanished once more, Jack grabbed the bottle and took a sip. Then he lifted it towards Samira and tilted his head. “Thanks again, but you really didn’t owe me anything.”
“Just like I didn’t need the help. But I also figured it never hurts to show a little appreciation.”
He snorted as he took another drink from his beer. Samira watched the way his throat bobbed as he swallowed, and she had to force herself to look away before he noticed her gawking.
Once he set it back down, he said, “I look after my people. That doesn’t stop when we step outside the hospital.”
Was that all this was? An attending watching over one of their residents?
It felt like he had just poured a cold bucket of water over her head. What he said lined up with the rest of tonight’s conversation. Yet Samira couldn’t help but feel—but hope—that there was more to it. It sure felt like more when he had his arm wrapped around her, or when his voice dropped a few octaves as he praised her work.
Before she could spiral once more, Jack looked towards the back of the room. “Well, shall we go see what trouble everyone else has gotten up to?”
Thankful for the change of topic, she said, “Sure. Hopefully Whitaker hasn’t accidentally stabbed anyone with a dart like last time.”
Jack blinked. “Really? Who’d he stab?”
“Santos.”
He chuckled and shook his head. “Bet that went over well.”
“She chased him around the pool table for five minutes brandashing a pool cue while he kept yelling, ‘I’m sorry, I’m sorry!’.”
This time, Jack barked with laughter, a sound Samira had never heard him make but longed to hear again. “Fuck. I need to start coming to these things more often.”
He grabbed his beer and gestured for Samira to lead the way. Smiling, she took her own glass before heading towards the back room.
The area just past the bar was densely packed, and Jack fell in behind her as they squeezed through the crowd. At one point, he reached out and gently placed his hand on the small of her back to help guide her. The moment his hand made contact, a bolt of electricity zipped through her, and she had to stifle a gasp. Luckily, it was fairly noisy, so the small sound that slipped past her lips was lost to the dull roar, and Jack couldn’t see the way her face lit up from his position behind her.
As the crowd began to thin out and they could maneuver more freely, Samira expected Jack’s hand to drop from her back. But, instead, he kept it there even as he moved to stand beside her. She glanced up at him, and he looked back, his eyes silently asking, is this okay? Instead of answering, she leaned into his touch, earning her a small smile.
They finally reached the back game room, where everyone was still crowded around either the dart board or pool table. Once again, Samira expected Jack to remove his hand before any of their coworkers noticed. Yet his hand never budged, even as they approached where Dr. Robby and Dana were in the middle of a heated game of pool. Dr. Robby was stretched over the table, poised to take his shot, but he paused and raised an eyebrow as he saw them approach. However, he didn’t comment beyond greeting Jack. They chatted for a few minutes between shots as if she weren’t there, and Samira felt a little uncomfortable intruding on their conversation like this. But when she shifted, trying to find an opening to slink away, Jack’s hand slid across her back, and his fingers curled around her hip. His grip was still light enough that she could easily pull away if she wanted, but it was a clear signal he was asking her to stay.
As Dr. Robby continued his game while he filled his fellow attending in on a particularly tricky case they had earlier that day, Samira leaned against Jack’s side, resting her head against his shoulder. She caught the edge of his smile out of the corner of her eye as he pulled her closer and wrapped his arm fully around her waist. It was almost the same position they had been in when he first found her tonight and pulled her into his arms.
Written for the Top Gun Drabble Challenge (@topgundrabble)
Prompt: "Pride" (100 words)
Ice didn’t understand pride.
Actually, he understood pride very well.
What he didn’t understand was gay pride.
His whole life he'd had it drilled into him–first by family then by the military–that being gay was not something to be proud of. It was something to bury deep down and never let anyone know. A dirty secret.
Yet as he stared at the man curled up in his bed, he couldn’t help but feel a swell of something deep in his chest. He loved Maverick with all of his heart.
Written for the Top Gun Drabble Challenge (@topgundrabble)
Prompt: "Sunglasses" (115 words)
The sunglasses were the final straw.
Many things were broken in Bradley's betrayed tirade, but it was only when a lamp smashed against the mantle that both Bradley and Maverick froze. Together, they watched the aviators that had perched there for over a decade tumble to the tile floor.
The two men stared at cracks now splintering across both lenses. All the fight went out of Bradley as he fell to his knees before his father’s sunglasses.
Maverick stepped towards his godson, but the tear-soaked “Get out” stopped him. He considered ignoring the command but figured he’d already caused enough damage. Taking one last glimpse of what was left of his family, he slipped away.
Fandom: The Pitt, Dr. Samira Mohan, Dr. Jack Abbot
Summary: You don't always need a knight in shining armor. Sometimes you just need a little help. When Samira gets cornered at the bar by a guy who can't take a hint, she doesn't know what to do. Luckily, her "boyfriend" arrives just in time to give her an out. Too bad Dr. Abbot isn't really her boyfriend, despite how much she wishes he were. But could it be that he's thinking the same thing....
Word Count: 4292
TW: Language Notes: This takes place between season 1 and 2 and is my first attempt at writing Mohabbot. I hope you enjoy! Thanks to @green-socks for beta reading and the continual support ❤️
Samira Mohan did not have much of a life outside of the hospital, but she was content with that at the moment. Being an R3 was demanding work and she was determined not to let her personal life interfere with her career, at least until she had finished her residency and solidified her path for her future.
However, she’d recently been making an exception when it came to the day shift’s after-work bar nights. It was a chance for everyone to hang out for a few hours outside of work—drinking, playing darts and pool, and just decompressing from the day. Sometimes, if they were off, a few of the night shift staff would come join in as well. These meetups were planned in advance once or twice a month, but occasionally an emergency night out would be called if it had been one of those shifts when all they wanted to do afterwards was drink away the memories of the day. Unfortunately, those days seemed to be more frequent since Pittfest as the tragedy of that night still hung over the ED. But being together with others who understood that trauma did help chase away some of those ghosts, if only for a night.
It was after Pittfest that Samira began attending these nights more frequently. Before then, she often came up with some half-hearted excuse or claimed she was too tired before asking for a rain check she never intended on following up with. But since that night, she had found these hangouts a nice way to recharge. Even if she mostly made light small talk and was often the first to leave, it was refreshing to see everyone outside of the ED where they could loosen up a bit.
However, there was one member of the Pitt who almost never joined the group, and he was the one person Samira most wanted to get to know more outside of work. So far, he hadn’t joined the rest of them for drinks since the night of Pittfest when they had all gathered in the park. But Samira still held out hope. And, if she was completely honest with herself, that slight chance of him showing up was the main reason she never missed a bar night anymore.
Unfortunately, it seemed like tonight was going to be another disappointment. It was already after 9:00 and there was no sign of him. Samira sighed as she twirled her straw in her now empty glass and watched Collins and McKay duke it out at darts. It had originally been a doubles game, but Santos and Garcia quickly became more preoccupied with each other’s mouths than the board. So the former teammates had become rivals as Collins and McKay decided to play 1-on-1. Usually, Samira preferred watching whoever was at the pool table (especially if it was Dr. Robby, with his surprising talent for the game), but both Collins and McKay were very skilled and matched each other almost shot-for-shot, making it a much more riveting game than usual.
As Collins nailed the bullseye, ending the game, Samira slid from her seat and headed towards the main room to get another drink. Besides Jesse giving her a slight nod as she slipped past him, she wasn’t even sure if anyone had noticed her leave. Usually, she wouldn’t have cared, but soon, she regretted not drawing more attention to herself before disappearing.
Because if no one noticed her leave, it meant no one would notice how long she was gone. Which meant no one would know to come looking for her if she didn’t return in a reasonable amount of time. Which also meant that no one was coming to save her when she got trapped by the overly pushy guy shamelessly flirting with her at the bar.
Flirty Guy had been all over her from the moment she stepped up to the bar.
Though he hadn’t physically touched her more than running his thumb up and down her wrist—which was still too much of an intrusion for her to be comfortable with—everything he did made her skin crawl: how he leaned in too far into her personal space, how his eyes roamed her body only to linger very obviously around her breasts and ass, how he kept making everything into blatant innuendos, and, worst of all, how he kept running his tongue across his lips in a manner he surely thought was alluring yet was anything but.
Samira could smell the reek of alcohol on his breath and wondered how many drinks he’d had before the one that had just been delivered to him. She had hoped that when he got his drink, he would take it and go. But he made no indication he planned on going anywhere as long as she remained at the bar.
Considering none of her many attempts to convey she wasn’t interested had failed, she knew she should just ask him to leave her alone. But she was also wary of getting too forceful with her rejection. While she knew the chances were slim that he’d get aggressive or things would get out of hand, the image of Dana stumbling into the Pitt a few months ago with a broken nose gushing blood after she was attacked by an angry patient was a stark reminder that it was a possibility. The incident had shaken everyone in the Pitt, and she often found herself flashing back to it when situations began to get heated. And it was currently at the forefront of her mind.
Her best bet at this point seemed to be to wait until her drink arrived. That would be her chance to slip away. Though the thought of him following her back to where everyone else was hanging out or him doing something to stop her from getting that far made her stomach clench. But short of talking to the bartender, she didn't know what else to do. Which would have been a reasonable solution. Too bad he seemed to have disappeared shortly after taking her order.
Which left her once again trying to figure out how to get away on her own.
Suddenly, a familiar voice called out from behind her, “Hey, babe. Sorry I’m late. Traffic was a bitch tonight.”
A muscular arm slid around her waist and she found herself being drawn tight against a broad chest. Looking up, her mouth gaped open to see the familiar grey curls and perceptive brown eyes of the Pitt’s senior night attending.
Despite her shock and confusion, only one thought crossed Samira’s mind as she gawked at him. After all this time, he finally decided to join us.
Dr. Jack Abbot stared down at her expectantly. There was a twinkle in his eyes that she had seen a few times in the trauma rooms when he was impressed by someone’s quick thinking or when he pulled some off the wall shit himself that saved an unsaveable patient. He had even given Samira that look a few times, the first being the night of Pittfest. She remembered it vividly because it was that moment she first realized she had a massive crush on one of her bosses.
He gave her hip a small squeeze and raised one eyebrow slightly, silently asking her what she wanted to do next. It was then that it clicked what he was doing, and a wave of relief washed over her.
A huge smile spread across her face as she cried, “Oh, good! You found me. I know I said to meet me in the back, but I just couldn’t wait for a drink any longer.”
She laughed playfully and ran her hand across his defined chest before slipping it under the opposite edge of his jacket, essentially wrapping him in a one-armed hug. For a moment, she thought she felt Abbot tense slightly beneath her, and she was afraid she pushed things too far. But then he chuckled and tilted his head so his face rested against her hair. From where Flirty Guy stood, she was sure it appeared as if he were kissing the top of her head. It was a nice touch.
Flirty Guy’s eyes narrowed as they darted back and forth between the newly formed “couple”, his eyes lingering on the places Abbot’s body met hers. His face twitched slightly as he grabbed his drink and downed the rest of it in a few quick gulps. Slamming it down on the bartop, he continued to glare at the pair across from him in such a way that Samira unconsciously drew deeper into Abbot’s embrace.
When Abbot finally raised his face from her hair, he remained close, leaning his temple against the top of her head. Whether that was his intention or not, the action helped drive away some of the growing anxiety Samira was feeling watching Flirty Guy’s reaction.
Without loosening his hold on her, Abbot shifted slightly so he was angled towards Flirty Guy. Nodding in his direction, he asked, “This a friend of yours?”
His voice was nonchalant, with just an edge of curiosity. Most guys Samira knew—even if pretending like Abbot currently was—would have taken a more possessive or defensive tone as they sized up Flirt Guy. Yet instead of warning the guy to back off from what was “his”, Abbot gave off the impression he wasn’t concerned with this guy flirting with his girl. That he didn’t need to posture because he was sure enough in his relationship that he didn’t once consider this guy a threat to it.
God, why was that so hot?
Samira shrugged like the guy meant nothing to her—which he didn’t. “No, I just met him. He was just keeping me company while we waited for our drinks. But now that you’re here…”
Abbot hummed in acknowledgement, then he turned to look at her directly, brushed a loose curl of hair off her face, and began asking her about her day as if they were the only two people in the room. Once again, from anyone else it would’ve felt like a power move. But coming from Abbot, it felt more intimate. Like he just genuinely couldn’t wait to hear all about how she was. And for a minute, Samira forgot this was all an act. As Abbot stared down at her expectantly, she felt as though he really wanted to know.
But before she could answer, Flirty Guy grumbled, “What the hell? What are you, some sort of fucking tease? You never said anything about a boyfriend.”
Abbot stiffened, and he slowly turned his head to glare at the other man. This time when he spoke, there was the hint of a threatening tone in his words that both thrilled and slightly frightened Samira. “She shouldn't have had to. If she said she wasn’t interested, that should’ve been enough. She doesn't have to justify herself beyond that.”
It was the first time he slipped up in his act. Because the only way he would have known she had politely said—more than once—that she wasn’t interested in his advances was if he had been watching her for several minutes instead of having just arrived at the bar. But, luckily, Flirty Guy didn’t seem to catch on to the slip.
He shot Samira one final glare befor muttering, “Whatever. Your loss. Have fun with Gramps. Hope he breaks a hip.”
Samira inhaled sharply, anger prickling in her chest for the first time that night. It was one thing not to respect her boundaries or leave her in peace. She was used to that. But making a jab at Abbot who had done nothing but try to help her was a step too far. (In the back of her mind, Samira realized how absurd that line of thinking was, yet the sudden urge to defend Abbot was stronger than her logical side at the moment.)
She made to step towards him, but Abbot’s hand tightening on her hip stopped her. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him give the slightest shake of his head. Knowing he was right and it wasn’t worth reengaging, she reluctantly relaxed back against him.
They both watched as Flirty Guy slinked away into the crowd. Once it had swallowed him up, Abbot waited a beat then dropped his arm and sidestepped away from her, putting at least a foot of distance between them. Samira knew it was stupid to be upset by that considering Abbot had only been holding her as part of their ruse, yet she still felt the sting of rejection.
How many times had she watched him work and imagined those powerful hands on her skin or those bulging arms around her? She had finally gotten a taste of what it would feel like, only to have the cold sting of reality slap her in the face.
Wrapping her arm across her chest in a poor imitation of Abbot’s missing embrace, she tried to put on a brave face. “Thank you. I appreciate the help, but I had it under control.”
He bristled slightly at her words, his shoulders tightening as his face settled into an unreadable mask. He examined her for a moment before he said, “I never doubted that you couldn’t handle things yourself. But I also figured it never hurts to have backup. Sorry if I overstepped.”
He started to turn away, but Samira shot out her hand and grabbed his wrist. He looked back at her, his expression still neutral, and Samira wasn’t sure if she had offended him or not. He didn’t seem upset, yet he was more closed off than he had been a moment ago. And she couldn’t really blame him. After all, he had only been trying to help and her first response had been to snap at him for it all because of her wounded pride—something she immediately regretted.
Taking a deep breath, she said, “No, you didn’t overstep. At all. I-I’m sorry.” She was fucking this up and, though she didn’t really want to admit to herself why, she didn’t want him to leave. Glancing around, she asked, “Listen, can I buy you a drink?”
“A drink?”
“You know,” she gestured to the large array of alcohol displayed behind the bar, “a drink.” She shrugged, “It’s the least I can do.”
Abbot considered for a moment, then nodded. “Okay, but only if you promise to let me buy next time.”
Samira nodded with a smile, but behind her pleased exterior, her mind was running a mile a minute. What did he mean ‘next time’? Was he referring to the next round tonight? Or was he implying we would get drinks together another night? Did he even realize what it sounded like? This was the first time he had shown up to one of these after-work hangouts. So did he mean drinks with just the two of us? Should I make some kind of acknowledgement of that or should I just ignore it for now? And if I do—
Luckily, her internal spiral was interrupted as the bartender slid over, placed her drink on the bartop in front of her, then asked what Abbot wanted. He ordered a cheap local bottle of beer, and Samira almost told him to order something nicer before thinking better of it. While she had expected him to order a scotch or bourbon, that beer somehow suited him. She wondered if it was what he would have ordered regardless of who paid for it.
As the bartender retreated, Samira sighed. “I’m sorry for what he said just before he left.”
“Who? The bartender?” Abbot’s face furrowed for a moment, but then he relaxed with a chuckle as he realized who she meant. “What? The ‘gramps’ jab? Believe me, sweetheart. I’ve been called worse.”
Sweetheart. The name sent a warm shiver through Samira, and she felt her cheeks grow hot, which she prayed was lost in the dim lights of the bar. Shifting slightly, she said, “Still. It was rude and uncalled for.”
“So was not leaving you alone when you politely asked him to. Guy didn’t seem like he had the best manners.”
“You can say that again,” Samira muttered, recalling the way Flirty Guy had uninvitedly grazed his fingers across her wrist as he licked his lips, and she shivered in disgust. She took a long sip of her drink, then shook her head, trying to banish all thoughts of the previous encounter from her mind.
Lowering her drink, she turned back to Abbot and asked, “So, what brings you out tonight? I don’t remember you coming to one of our bar nights before. But I guess working night shift makes it a little difficult.”
“Partially. And partially because I don’t like paying $9 for a beer when I have a $10 six-pack at home in the fridge.”
So beer was one of his go-to drinks. Samira stored that information away. “So what’s different about tonight?”
“Robby mentioned it since it’s my day off. He says I need to learn to socialize more outside of the workplace. Like he’s one to talk.” Jack rolled his eyes, and Samira had a feeling this was an argument the two men had had repeatedly over the years. But then Jack shrugged. “Plus, I haven’t seen much of the morning shift lately, and I figured I should probably see how everyone was doing.”
Interesting. “Anyone in particular you were hoping to check on?”
The corner of his mouth curled up slightly. “I found you, didn’t I?”
Her? He had been looking for her?
The warm feeling that had been building in her chest since Abbot first wrapped his arm around her suddenly bloomed throughout her body. This meant he must have been thinking of her, that he might have only come tonight because he knew she’d be there.
Slow down, Samira. You are jumping to way too many conclusions. You are probably just one of many he wanted to talk to. He probably also planned on congratulating McKay on getting her ankle monitor off, then talking to Collins before she leaves for Portland, all before challenging Dr. Robby to a game of pool. Just because you haven’t been able to forget about him since Pittfest doesn’t mean he has felt the same about you.
She suddenly realized that about thirty seconds had passed since his last remark and she had yet to react. Blinking to bring herself back to the conversation, she asked, “And why would you think you’d have to check up on me? Has…has Dr. Robby said something to you?”
Abbot chuckled. “No, nothing like that. Or if he has, he’s been praising how well you’ve been doing lately.”
“Really?” He nodded and Samira buzzed with pride. She and Dr. Robby didn’t always see eye to eye on how she managed her patients, so it was gratifying to know he was coming around to her methods. But that still didn’t answer her question. “Then why me?”
“Why not you?” He paused, leaving the question hanging in the air with Samira unsure if it was rhetorical or not. But then folded his arms across his chest as he sighed, “Cards on the table, you really left an impression the night of Pittfest. You handled yourself better than some seasoned doctors I know would have, and you seem to have an avid curiosity for learning new techniques which I find refreshing. And from what Robby has told me, you are also fiercely devoted to your patients.”
“H-he said that?”
“He did.” He hesitated a moment, then added with a slight shrug, “He also said you can be a little too devoted at times, but I don’t necessarily agree with him that there’s such a thing.”
“That’s…Wow. I, um, thank you.”
He dipped his head in a slight nod. “I don’t blow smoke up people’s asses just to make them feel good. I meant what I said, Samira. I think you have the potential to be an incredible attending one day, and I hope you know I’m here if there’s anything I can do to help you get there.”
She was speechless.
“Dr. Abbot—”
“Jack.”
“What?”
“Tonight has nothing to do with work, so you can call me Jack.” He must have seen her hesitating because he added, “Unless you’d prefer I call you Dr. Mohan.”
“No. Samira’s fine.” In fact, it was more than fine. She loved the way her name sounded slipping from his lips. But calling him by his first name was a different story. It felt so intimate, especially when it was just the two of them. However, if that was what he preferred, who was she to say no?
“Well then, Jack…” she said, tripping slightly over the name as her heart leapt in her chest. “Thank you for what you said. Your opinion means a lot to me, and knowing that’s how you see me…It means more than I can say.”
Before Abb–Jack could respond, the bartender reappeared on the other side of the bar. He muttered a quick apology about the wait as he placed Jack’s beer on the bartop. As he vanished once more, Jack grabbed the bottle and took a sip. Then he lifted it towards Samira and tilted his head. “Thanks again, but you really didn’t owe me anything.”
“Just like I didn’t need the help. But I also figured it never hurts to show a little appreciation.”
He snorted as he took another drink from his beer. Samira watched the way his throat bobbed as he swallowed, and she had to force herself to look away before he noticed her gawking.
Once he set it back down, he said, “I look after my people. That doesn’t stop when we step outside the hospital.”
Was that all this was? An attending watching over one of their residents?
It felt like he had just poured a cold bucket of water over her head. What he said lined up with the rest of tonight’s conversation. Yet Samira couldn’t help but feel—but hope—that there was more to it. It sure felt like more when he had his arm wrapped around her, or when his voice dropped a few octaves as he praised her work.
Before she could spiral once more, Jack looked towards the back of the room. “Well, shall we go see what trouble everyone else has gotten up to?”
Thankful for the change of topic, she said, “Sure. Hopefully Whitaker hasn’t accidentally stabbed anyone with a dart like last time.”
Jack blinked. “Really? Who’d he stab?”
“Santos.”
He chuckled and shook his head. “Bet that went over well.”
“She chased him around the pool table for five minutes brandashing a pool cue while he kept yelling, ‘I’m sorry, I’m sorry!’.”
This time, Jack barked with laughter, a sound Samira had never heard him make but longed to hear again. “Fuck. I need to start coming to these things more often.”
He grabbed his beer and gestured for Samira to lead the way. Smiling, she took her own glass before heading towards the back room.
The area just past the bar was densely packed, and Jack fell in behind her as they squeezed through the crowd. At one point, he reached out and gently placed his hand on the small of her back to help guide her. The moment his hand made contact, a bolt of electricity zipped through her, and she had to stifle a gasp. Luckily, it was fairly noisy, so the small sound that slipped past her lips was lost to the dull roar, and Jack couldn’t see the way her face lit up from his position behind her.
As the crowd began to thin out and they could maneuver more freely, Samira expected Jack’s hand to drop from her back. But, instead, he kept it there even as he moved to stand beside her. She glanced up at him, and he looked back, his eyes silently asking, is this okay? Instead of answering, she leaned into his touch, earning her a small smile.
They finally reached the back game room, where everyone was still crowded around either the dart board or pool table. Once again, Samira expected Jack to remove his hand before any of their coworkers noticed. Yet his hand never budged, even as they approached where Dr. Robby and Dana were in the middle of a heated game of pool. Dr. Robby was stretched over the table, poised to take his shot, but he paused and raised an eyebrow as he saw them approach. However, he didn’t comment beyond greeting Jack. They chatted for a few minutes between shots as if she weren’t there, and Samira felt a little uncomfortable intruding on their conversation like this. But when she shifted, trying to find an opening to slink away, Jack’s hand slid across her back, and his fingers curled around her hip. His grip was still light enough that she could easily pull away if she wanted, but it was a clear signal he was asking her to stay.
As Dr. Robby continued his game while he filled his fellow attending in on a particularly tricky case they had earlier that day, Samira leaned against Jack’s side, resting her head against his shoulder. She caught the edge of his smile out of the corner of her eye as he pulled her closer and wrapped his arm fully around her waist. It was almost the same position they had been in when he first found her tonight and pulled her into his arms.
OMG SO AMAZING!!!! I absolutely love the fake dating trope so much and the two characters you picked for it- absolutely perfect!! This was so amazing to read! ❤️❤️❤️❤️
Fandom: The Pitt, Dr. Michael 'Robby' Robinavitch, Dr. Jack Abbot, Dr. Frank Langdon, all platonic
Summary: Robby did his best to be gone before Langdon returned to the Pitt. When that plan fails, he does everything in his power to dodge his former protege until he can leave for his sabbatical. That is, until Abbot drags Robby up to the roof and reminds him he's not the only one who's struggling with what happened.
Word Count: 2149
TW: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Abbot knocking some sense into Robby, Mentions of Adamson's death, Mentions of Langdon's past addiction, Language
Notes: This is my first attempt at writing for The Pitt as well as my first fic in almost a year 😅 I hope you all like it! Thanks to @green-socks for beta reading and the continual support ❤️
He wasn’t supposed to be back today.
Robby had triple checked every version of the staffing calendar he could get his hands on before informing Gloria which day would be his last before his sabbatical. Purposefully giving himself a three-day buffer just in case.
But apparently, July 4th was expected to be crazier than usual, thanks to the abnormally hot weather and the fact that it was a weekend holiday. So it seemed like someone had made the preemptive decision to call in some extra hands in preperation.
It was because of this unexpected schedule change that Robby was now staring across the Pitt as Langdon wrapped gauze around a patient’s burned hand.
Robby already had enough to deal with today with his replacement showing up early, Westbridge going down all day, Caleb getting on his case about his latest failed attempt at therapy, Dana watching his every move like a hawk—and not to mention the never-ending rotation of patients flooding the ED. At least that last one made for an easy out whenever someone tried to corner him into conversation.
Most people seemed to get the hint and give up after a few tries, but not Langdon. Every time they crossed paths (which was surprisingly often considering Robby was actively trying to avoid him by keeping him isolated in triage), Langdon would try to speak to him. And each time, Robby immediately found a way to push him away.
It was clear these rejections were taking a toll on Langdon. All day, that glimmer of hope in his bright blue eyes dimmed more and more each time Robby turned his back on him or cut him off before he could say more than “Can we talk?”. A small part of Robby ached seeing Langdon wilt with each rejection, but a larger part of him couldn’t help feeling that Langdon deserved it. After all, it had destroyed Robby when he discover Langdon’s deception. Why shouldn’t Langdon get a little taste of that in return?
Robby wasn’t usually this vindictive, but after the one-two punch of losing his right-hand man followed by losing his pseudo-stepson within hours of one another (not to mention the second confrontation with Langdon after things had begun to calm down), something had broken inside him. And despite the insistence of Abbot, Dana, Janey, Caleb, and a handful of other concerned colleagues and acquaintances, Robby no longer cared enough to try to fix it.
Which was why he had planned this sabbatical in the first place.
Robby noticed Langdon glancing in his direction, so he turned his back—and was startled by Abbot standing a few feet behind him, his arms folded across his chest and his calculating stare locked onto Robby.
Jumping slightly, Robby muttered, “Shit, Jack. ‘Hello’ is the customary way to greet someone, you know.”
“Hello,” Abbot said, not budging an inch.
Squirming under the scrutiny, Robby asked, “When’d you get in anyway?”
“About five minutes ago. Four minutes longer than I needed to assess this situation.”
Already knowing what he was going to say, Robby tried to play dumb. “And what situation would that be?”
Abbot continued to stare for another moment before relaxing his stance and jerking his head towards the stairwell. “We need to talk.”
Without waiting to see if Robby would follow him, Abbot pivoted and marched to the stairs. As much as Robby didn’t want to have this conversation, he obediently followed. One way or another, Abbot was going to say his piece, and Robby preferred it happen just between the two of them, rather than Abbot doing it where the entire Pitt could witness.
The second they stepped onto the roof, Robby unzipped his jacket as the full force of the July heat hit him. The sun was just beginning to set, but it did little to ease the stifling humidity hanging in the air. Though Robby doubted anything would stop the thousands of people with plans to celebrate tonight—that is until those celebrations landed them downstairs in the ED.
Abbot walked to the railing, then turned to stand against it, opting to remain on the safe side of the barrier today. Which was good because, as much as Robby would always be there to support Abbot, he didn’t think he had the mental or emotional fortitude today to be what he needed in those darkest of moments.
But apparently, that was the role Abbot planned on taking today.
Leaning back against the railing, he asked, “Have you talked to Langdon yet?”
Robby sighed, knowing it was better to just get this over with so he could finish up his day and get the hell out of town. “No. And I don’t plan on it.” He walked over to the railing, a few feet from Abbot, and leaned over as he peered at the street far below. “Which is why I was supposed to be long gone before they let him come back.”
“You know it’s better this way. If you don’t talk to him before you leave, you’re gonna regret it.”
Robby scoffed, pushing his sleeves up as sweat began dampening his clothes. “What? You think clearing the air with Langdon is going to magically fix everything? That it’ll save me from this self-destructive spiral everyone thinks I’m going through?”
“No. But it might save him from doing the same.” Abbot sighed, rubbing the back of his neck as he leaned heavily against the railing. “I love you, brother, but you have your head so far up your ass wallowing in your own self-pity that you can’t see he’s drowning right in front of you. And I’m not trying to downplay what you’re dealing with because I know it’s some real heavy shit, but you putting that on him isn’t helping either of you.”
“Langdon made his bed, and now he has to lie in it,” Robby muttered, staring out at the horizon.
Abbot nodded. “And he is. But that doesn’t mean you have to kick him when he’s already face down in the dirt. Yeah, he made some mistakes—some really fucking big ones—but from all the reports he’s turned in to the board, he’s been working his ass off to make up for them. And if you remember, you’re the one who outlined his conditions to return in the first place.”
“That was before he tried to drag me down into the dirt with him.” Robby gripped the railing tightly as his last real conversation with Langdon in the ambulance bay replayed in his head. Jerking his neck around to look at Abbot, he growled, “He begged me to save his career and, when I gave him a way to do it, he threw my worst moment in my face. And you want me to just, what? Forget that ever happened?”
“No. I want you to look past your own hurt and really see how much he’s struggling right now.” Twisting so he was facing Robby head-on, Abbot asked, “Have you ever once wondered how he’s doing? Because I know for a fact you haven’t tried to reach out since his disciplinary hearing almost ten months ago. If you had, you might’ve heard about the mountain of rehab bills he’s acquired on top of his student loans. Or how Abby took the kids and moved in with her parents while he was in an inpatient center. Or how they’re now legally separated and she’s looking at divorce lawyers. Or how, now that he’s off the pills, he’s suffering daily from crippling back pain because he’s scared to take anything stronger than Advil. Or how despite all of that, the thing he regrets most is betraying you.”
Robby hadn’t known any of that. He hadn’t noticed if Langdon was wearing his wedding ring, or if he was moving around the ED differently to avoid a new bolt of pain, or if he looked more exhausted than normal. All Robby had seen were those blue eyes crying out to him for help, and he had relished every time they were rejected. Abbot was right. He hadn’t tried seeing the man who walked into the Pitt today. All he saw was the one who had walked out of it ten months ago.
Swallowing as the weight of that realization hit him, Robby mumbled, “How do you know all of that?”
“Because I asked. Because I’ve been there and I know how impossible it can feel when something world-shattering happens, and you have to try to get back on your feet.” Abbot shrugged. “In my case, literally.”
Robby rolled his eyes but didn’t argue this time. Taking that as an invitation to continue, Abbot slid over until his shoulder bumped against Robby’s. Lowering his voice an octave, he said, “I know you know how that feels, too. And how much worse it is when the one person you want most to lean on isn’t there anymore.”
“Jack—”
“Listen, Adamson is gone, and I’m so sorry for that. He was a great man, mentor, and friend to both of us. More than that, I know what making that call did to you, even though we both know it was the right one to make. But you are still here, and so is Langdon. You can still be there for him when he needs you most. And maybe it’ll end up being healing for both of you.”
Bringing up Adamson and what happened to him, what Robby had to do, was a low blow…but an admittedly effective one. Robby had made plenty of mistakes over the years (maybe none as big as getting addicted to pills and stealing them from the ED, but he’d had some doozies in his past), but Adamson never gave up on him. Even when he made the biggest mistake of his medical career, his mentor had stuck by him and turned him into the doctor he was today.
Robby had always strived to be the kind of doctor—the kind of man—Adamson was. But it seemed like he had failed when his friend needed him most.
Scrubbing his hand over his beard, Robby sighed as he shot Abbot a look. “I hate it when you get all philosophical and deep.”
“Yeah, well, deal with it, brother.” Abbot slapped him on the back before giving his shoulder a tight squeeze.
Robby nodded at him, the closest thing to a thanks the two ever shared, and he watched as Abbot headed for the door.
But just before he opened it, Abbot turned back and said, “Whatever you decide, consider one thing. Your forgiveness could keep him off this roof. Or your rejection could push him over the edge of it. Which will you be able to live with?”
And with a final shrug, Abbot disappeared down the stairs.
Robby remained on the roof for a long time after he left, just staring out into the city. He knew Abbot was right—about all of it—but knowing something was true and accepting what that meant were two different things. Yes, Langdon might be a changed man who had made a mistake in his past, but that didn’t absolve him from the things he had said or the bridges he had burned in his wake.
Yet maybe new bridges could be built in their place.
Taking one last look at the blinking lights of the city below him, Robby sighed and headed downstairs.
When he reemerged into the ED, he spotted Langdon grabbing his bag out of his locker. Seeing him standing in the same spot where their relationship had imploded ten months ago was almost enough to cause Robby to lose all the courage he’d built up and just run the other way. But for the first time, he saw Langdon for the man he was now: the shattered confidence, the gingerly way he made every move (along with the slight grimaces when it didn’t help the pain), the dark circles under his eyes, the missing ring. The man in front of him was not the man whom he fought with long ago. However, that didn’t mean he wasn’t still in there somewhere.
Langdon slung his backpack over his shoulder and turned to go. When he noticed Robby standing there, this time there was no glimmer in his eyes as he met his stare. Instead, he let his dull gaze slide to the floor as he shuffled off towards the exit.
As he passed, Robby reached out his hand and gently grabbed his arm. Langdon’s head snapped up, and he cowered back, probably expecting his former mentor to lash out at him one last time before disappearing on his sabbatical. But behind the fear and the regret, Robby saw just the smallest spark of hope struggling to hang on.
With a small smile, Robby said, “Hey, Frank. Let’s have that talk now.”
Thank you! 😘 I'm so glad you enjoyed it and thank you for always being such an amazing supporter even after so long! It warmed my heart so much to see your reblog ❤️
Fandom: The Pitt, Dr. Michael 'Robby' Robinavitch, Dr. Jack Abbot, Dr. Frank Langdon, all platonic
Summary: Robby did his best to be gone before Langdon returned to the Pitt. When that plan fails, he does everything in his power to dodge his former protege until he can leave for his sabbatical. That is, until Abbot drags Robby up to the roof and reminds him he's not the only one who's struggling with what happened.
Word Count: 2149
TW: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Abbot knocking some sense into Robby, Mentions of Adamson's death, Mentions of Langdon's past addiction, Language
Notes: This is my first attempt at writing for The Pitt as well as my first fic in almost a year 😅 I hope you all like it! Thanks to @green-socks for beta reading and the continual support ❤️
He wasn’t supposed to be back today.
Robby had triple checked every version of the staffing calendar he could get his hands on before informing Gloria which day would be his last before his sabbatical. Purposefully giving himself a three-day buffer just in case.
But apparently, July 4th was expected to be crazier than usual, thanks to the abnormally hot weather and the fact that it was a weekend holiday. So it seemed like someone had made the preemptive decision to call in some extra hands in preperation.
It was because of this unexpected schedule change that Robby was now staring across the Pitt as Langdon wrapped gauze around a patient’s burned hand.
Robby already had enough to deal with today with his replacement showing up early, Westbridge going down all day, Caleb getting on his case about his latest failed attempt at therapy, Dana watching his every move like a hawk—and not to mention the never-ending rotation of patients flooding the ED. At least that last one made for an easy out whenever someone tried to corner him into conversation.
Most people seemed to get the hint and give up after a few tries, but not Langdon. Every time they crossed paths (which was surprisingly often considering Robby was actively trying to avoid him by keeping him isolated in triage), Langdon would try to speak to him. And each time, Robby immediately found a way to push him away.
It was clear these rejections were taking a toll on Langdon. All day, that glimmer of hope in his bright blue eyes dimmed more and more each time Robby turned his back on him or cut him off before he could say more than “Can we talk?”. A small part of Robby ached seeing Langdon wilt with each rejection, but a larger part of him couldn’t help feeling that Langdon deserved it. After all, it had destroyed Robby when he discover Langdon’s deception. Why shouldn’t Langdon get a little taste of that in return?
Robby wasn’t usually this vindictive, but after the one-two punch of losing his right-hand man followed by losing his pseudo-stepson within hours of one another (not to mention the second confrontation with Langdon after things had begun to calm down), something had broken inside him. And despite the insistence of Abbot, Dana, Janey, Caleb, and a handful of other concerned colleagues and acquaintances, Robby no longer cared enough to try to fix it.
Which was why he had planned this sabbatical in the first place.
Robby noticed Langdon glancing in his direction, so he turned his back—and was startled by Abbot standing a few feet behind him, his arms folded across his chest and his calculating stare locked onto Robby.
Jumping slightly, Robby muttered, “Shit, Jack. ‘Hello’ is the customary way to greet someone, you know.”
“Hello,” Abbot said, not budging an inch.
Squirming under the scrutiny, Robby asked, “When’d you get in anyway?”
“About five minutes ago. Four minutes longer than I needed to assess this situation.”
Already knowing what he was going to say, Robby tried to play dumb. “And what situation would that be?”
Abbot continued to stare for another moment before relaxing his stance and jerking his head towards the stairwell. “We need to talk.”
Without waiting to see if Robby would follow him, Abbot pivoted and marched to the stairs. As much as Robby didn’t want to have this conversation, he obediently followed. One way or another, Abbot was going to say his piece, and Robby preferred it happen just between the two of them, rather than Abbot doing it where the entire Pitt could witness.
The second they stepped onto the roof, Robby unzipped his jacket as the full force of the July heat hit him. The sun was just beginning to set, but it did little to ease the stifling humidity hanging in the air. Though Robby doubted anything would stop the thousands of people with plans to celebrate tonight—that is until those celebrations landed them downstairs in the ED.
Abbot walked to the railing, then turned to stand against it, opting to remain on the safe side of the barrier today. Which was good because, as much as Robby would always be there to support Abbot, he didn’t think he had the mental or emotional fortitude today to be what he needed in those darkest of moments.
But apparently, that was the role Abbot planned on taking today.
Leaning back against the railing, he asked, “Have you talked to Langdon yet?”
Robby sighed, knowing it was better to just get this over with so he could finish up his day and get the hell out of town. “No. And I don’t plan on it.” He walked over to the railing, a few feet from Abbot, and leaned over as he peered at the street far below. “Which is why I was supposed to be long gone before they let him come back.”
“You know it’s better this way. If you don’t talk to him before you leave, you’re gonna regret it.”
Robby scoffed, pushing his sleeves up as sweat began dampening his clothes. “What? You think clearing the air with Langdon is going to magically fix everything? That it’ll save me from this self-destructive spiral everyone thinks I’m going through?”
“No. But it might save him from doing the same.” Abbot sighed, rubbing the back of his neck as he leaned heavily against the railing. “I love you, brother, but you have your head so far up your ass wallowing in your own self-pity that you can’t see he’s drowning right in front of you. And I’m not trying to downplay what you’re dealing with because I know it’s some real heavy shit, but you putting that on him isn’t helping either of you.”
“Langdon made his bed, and now he has to lie in it,” Robby muttered, staring out at the horizon.
Abbot nodded. “And he is. But that doesn’t mean you have to kick him when he’s already face down in the dirt. Yeah, he made some mistakes—some really fucking big ones—but from all the reports he’s turned in to the board, he’s been working his ass off to make up for them. And if you remember, you’re the one who outlined his conditions to return in the first place.”
“That was before he tried to drag me down into the dirt with him.” Robby gripped the railing tightly as his last real conversation with Langdon in the ambulance bay replayed in his head. Jerking his neck around to look at Abbot, he growled, “He begged me to save his career and, when I gave him a way to do it, he threw my worst moment in my face. And you want me to just, what? Forget that ever happened?”
“No. I want you to look past your own hurt and really see how much he’s struggling right now.” Twisting so he was facing Robby head-on, Abbot asked, “Have you ever once wondered how he’s doing? Because I know for a fact you haven’t tried to reach out since his disciplinary hearing almost ten months ago. If you had, you might’ve heard about the mountain of rehab bills he’s acquired on top of his student loans. Or how Abby took the kids and moved in with her parents while he was in an inpatient center. Or how they’re now legally separated and she’s looking at divorce lawyers. Or how, now that he’s off the pills, he’s suffering daily from crippling back pain because he’s scared to take anything stronger than Advil. Or how despite all of that, the thing he regrets most is betraying you.”
Robby hadn’t known any of that. He hadn’t noticed if Langdon was wearing his wedding ring, or if he was moving around the ED differently to avoid a new bolt of pain, or if he looked more exhausted than normal. All Robby had seen were those blue eyes crying out to him for help, and he had relished every time they were rejected. Abbot was right. He hadn’t tried seeing the man who walked into the Pitt today. All he saw was the one who had walked out of it ten months ago.
Swallowing as the weight of that realization hit him, Robby mumbled, “How do you know all of that?”
“Because I asked. Because I’ve been there and I know how impossible it can feel when something world-shattering happens, and you have to try to get back on your feet.” Abbot shrugged. “In my case, literally.”
Robby rolled his eyes but didn’t argue this time. Taking that as an invitation to continue, Abbot slid over until his shoulder bumped against Robby’s. Lowering his voice an octave, he said, “I know you know how that feels, too. And how much worse it is when the one person you want most to lean on isn’t there anymore.”
“Jack—”
“Listen, Adamson is gone, and I’m so sorry for that. He was a great man, mentor, and friend to both of us. More than that, I know what making that call did to you, even though we both know it was the right one to make. But you are still here, and so is Langdon. You can still be there for him when he needs you most. And maybe it’ll end up being healing for both of you.”
Bringing up Adamson and what happened to him, what Robby had to do, was a low blow…but an admittedly effective one. Robby had made plenty of mistakes over the years (maybe none as big as getting addicted to pills and stealing them from the ED, but he’d had some doozies in his past), but Adamson never gave up on him. Even when he made the biggest mistake of his medical career, his mentor had stuck by him and turned him into the doctor he was today.
Robby had always strived to be the kind of doctor—the kind of man—Adamson was. But it seemed like he had failed when his friend needed him most.
Scrubbing his hand over his beard, Robby sighed as he shot Abbot a look. “I hate it when you get all philosophical and deep.”
“Yeah, well, deal with it, brother.” Abbot slapped him on the back before giving his shoulder a tight squeeze.
Robby nodded at him, the closest thing to a thanks the two ever shared, and he watched as Abbot headed for the door.
But just before he opened it, Abbot turned back and said, “Whatever you decide, consider one thing. Your forgiveness could keep him off this roof. Or your rejection could push him over the edge of it. Which will you be able to live with?”
And with a final shrug, Abbot disappeared down the stairs.
Robby remained on the roof for a long time after he left, just staring out into the city. He knew Abbot was right—about all of it—but knowing something was true and accepting what that meant were two different things. Yes, Langdon might be a changed man who had made a mistake in his past, but that didn’t absolve him from the things he had said or the bridges he had burned in his wake.
Yet maybe new bridges could be built in their place.
Taking one last look at the blinking lights of the city below him, Robby sighed and headed downstairs.
When he reemerged into the ED, he spotted Langdon grabbing his bag out of his locker. Seeing him standing in the same spot where their relationship had imploded ten months ago was almost enough to cause Robby to lose all the courage he’d built up and just run the other way. But for the first time, he saw Langdon for the man he was now: the shattered confidence, the gingerly way he made every move (along with the slight grimaces when it didn’t help the pain), the dark circles under his eyes, the missing ring. The man in front of him was not the man whom he fought with long ago. However, that didn’t mean he wasn’t still in there somewhere.
Langdon slung his backpack over his shoulder and turned to go. When he noticed Robby standing there, this time there was no glimmer in his eyes as he met his stare. Instead, he let his dull gaze slide to the floor as he shuffled off towards the exit.
As he passed, Robby reached out his hand and gently grabbed his arm. Langdon’s head snapped up, and he cowered back, probably expecting his former mentor to lash out at him one last time before disappearing on his sabbatical. But behind the fear and the regret, Robby saw just the smallest spark of hope struggling to hang on.
With a small smile, Robby said, “Hey, Frank. Let’s have that talk now.”
Fandom: The Pitt, Dr. Michael 'Robby' Robinavitch, Dr. Jack Abbot, Dr. Frank Langdon, all platonic
Summary: Robby did his best to be gone before Langdon returned to the Pitt. When that plan fails, he does everything in his power to dodge his former protege until he can leave for his sabbatical. That is, until Abbot drags Robby up to the roof and reminds him he's not the only one who's struggling with what happened.
Word Count: 2149
TW: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Abbot knocking some sense into Robby, Mentions of Adamson's death, Mentions of Langdon's past addiction, Language
Notes: This is my first attempt at writing for The Pitt as well as my first fic in almost a year 😅 I hope you all like it! Thanks to @green-socks for beta reading and the continual support ❤️
He wasn’t supposed to be back today.
Robby had triple checked every version of the staffing calendar he could get his hands on before informing Gloria which day would be his last before his sabbatical. Purposefully giving himself a three-day buffer just in case.
But apparently, July 4th was expected to be crazier than usual, thanks to the abnormally hot weather and the fact that it was a weekend holiday. So it seemed like someone had made the preemptive decision to call in some extra hands in preperation.
It was because of this unexpected schedule change that Robby was now staring across the Pitt as Langdon wrapped gauze around a patient’s burned hand.
Robby already had enough to deal with today with his replacement showing up early, Westbridge going down all day, Caleb getting on his case about his latest failed attempt at therapy, Dana watching his every move like a hawk—and not to mention the never-ending rotation of patients flooding the ED. At least that last one made for an easy out whenever someone tried to corner him into conversation.
Most people seemed to get the hint and give up after a few tries, but not Langdon. Every time they crossed paths (which was surprisingly often considering Robby was actively trying to avoid him by keeping him isolated in triage), Langdon would try to speak to him. And each time, Robby immediately found a way to push him away.
It was clear these rejections were taking a toll on Langdon. All day, that glimmer of hope in his bright blue eyes dimmed more and more each time Robby turned his back on him or cut him off before he could say more than “Can we talk?”. A small part of Robby ached seeing Langdon wilt with each rejection, but a larger part of him couldn’t help feeling that Langdon deserved it. After all, it had destroyed Robby when he discover Langdon’s deception. Why shouldn’t Langdon get a little taste of that in return?
Robby wasn’t usually this vindictive, but after the one-two punch of losing his right-hand man followed by losing his pseudo-stepson within hours of one another (not to mention the second confrontation with Langdon after things had begun to calm down), something had broken inside him. And despite the insistence of Abbot, Dana, Janey, Caleb, and a handful of other concerned colleagues and acquaintances, Robby no longer cared enough to try to fix it.
Which was why he had planned this sabbatical in the first place.
Robby noticed Langdon glancing in his direction, so he turned his back—and was startled by Abbot standing a few feet behind him, his arms folded across his chest and his calculating stare locked onto Robby.
Jumping slightly, Robby muttered, “Shit, Jack. ‘Hello’ is the customary way to greet someone, you know.”
“Hello,” Abbot said, not budging an inch.
Squirming under the scrutiny, Robby asked, “When’d you get in anyway?”
“About five minutes ago. Four minutes longer than I needed to assess this situation.”
Already knowing what he was going to say, Robby tried to play dumb. “And what situation would that be?”
Abbot continued to stare for another moment before relaxing his stance and jerking his head towards the stairwell. “We need to talk.”
Without waiting to see if Robby would follow him, Abbot pivoted and marched to the stairs. As much as Robby didn’t want to have this conversation, he obediently followed. One way or another, Abbot was going to say his piece, and Robby preferred it happen just between the two of them, rather than Abbot doing it where the entire Pitt could witness.
The second they stepped onto the roof, Robby unzipped his jacket as the full force of the July heat hit him. The sun was just beginning to set, but it did little to ease the stifling humidity hanging in the air. Though Robby doubted anything would stop the thousands of people with plans to celebrate tonight—that is until those celebrations landed them downstairs in the ED.
Abbot walked to the railing, then turned to stand against it, opting to remain on the safe side of the barrier today. Which was good because, as much as Robby would always be there to support Abbot, he didn’t think he had the mental or emotional fortitude today to be what he needed in those darkest of moments.
But apparently, that was the role Abbot planned on taking today.
Leaning back against the railing, he asked, “Have you talked to Langdon yet?”
Robby sighed, knowing it was better to just get this over with so he could finish up his day and get the hell out of town. “No. And I don’t plan on it.” He walked over to the railing, a few feet from Abbot, and leaned over as he peered at the street far below. “Which is why I was supposed to be long gone before they let him come back.”
“You know it’s better this way. If you don’t talk to him before you leave, you’re gonna regret it.”
Robby scoffed, pushing his sleeves up as sweat began dampening his clothes. “What? You think clearing the air with Langdon is going to magically fix everything? That it’ll save me from this self-destructive spiral everyone thinks I’m going through?”
“No. But it might save him from doing the same.” Abbot sighed, rubbing the back of his neck as he leaned heavily against the railing. “I love you, brother, but you have your head so far up your ass wallowing in your own self-pity that you can’t see he’s drowning right in front of you. And I’m not trying to downplay what you’re dealing with because I know it’s some real heavy shit, but you putting that on him isn’t helping either of you.”
“Langdon made his bed, and now he has to lie in it,” Robby muttered, staring out at the horizon.
Abbot nodded. “And he is. But that doesn’t mean you have to kick him when he’s already face down in the dirt. Yeah, he made some mistakes—some really fucking big ones—but from all the reports he’s turned in to the board, he’s been working his ass off to make up for them. And if you remember, you’re the one who outlined his conditions to return in the first place.”
“That was before he tried to drag me down into the dirt with him.” Robby gripped the railing tightly as his last real conversation with Langdon in the ambulance bay replayed in his head. Jerking his neck around to look at Abbot, he growled, “He begged me to save his career and, when I gave him a way to do it, he threw my worst moment in my face. And you want me to just, what? Forget that ever happened?”
“No. I want you to look past your own hurt and really see how much he’s struggling right now.” Twisting so he was facing Robby head-on, Abbot asked, “Have you ever once wondered how he’s doing? Because I know for a fact you haven’t tried to reach out since his disciplinary hearing almost ten months ago. If you had, you might’ve heard about the mountain of rehab bills he’s acquired on top of his student loans. Or how Abby took the kids and moved in with her parents while he was in an inpatient center. Or how they’re now legally separated and she’s looking at divorce lawyers. Or how, now that he’s off the pills, he’s suffering daily from crippling back pain because he’s scared to take anything stronger than Advil. Or how despite all of that, the thing he regrets most is betraying you.”
Robby hadn’t known any of that. He hadn’t noticed if Langdon was wearing his wedding ring, or if he was moving around the ED differently to avoid a new bolt of pain, or if he looked more exhausted than normal. All Robby had seen were those blue eyes crying out to him for help, and he had relished every time they were rejected. Abbot was right. He hadn’t tried seeing the man who walked into the Pitt today. All he saw was the one who had walked out of it ten months ago.
Swallowing as the weight of that realization hit him, Robby mumbled, “How do you know all of that?”
“Because I asked. Because I’ve been there and I know how impossible it can feel when something world-shattering happens, and you have to try to get back on your feet.” Abbot shrugged. “In my case, literally.”
Robby rolled his eyes but didn’t argue this time. Taking that as an invitation to continue, Abbot slid over until his shoulder bumped against Robby’s. Lowering his voice an octave, he said, “I know you know how that feels, too. And how much worse it is when the one person you want most to lean on isn’t there anymore.”
“Jack—”
“Listen, Adamson is gone, and I’m so sorry for that. He was a great man, mentor, and friend to both of us. More than that, I know what making that call did to you, even though we both know it was the right one to make. But you are still here, and so is Langdon. You can still be there for him when he needs you most. And maybe it’ll end up being healing for both of you.”
Bringing up Adamson and what happened to him, what Robby had to do, was a low blow…but an admittedly effective one. Robby had made plenty of mistakes over the years (maybe none as big as getting addicted to pills and stealing them from the ED, but he’d had some doozies in his past), but Adamson never gave up on him. Even when he made the biggest mistake of his medical career, his mentor had stuck by him and turned him into the doctor he was today.
Robby had always strived to be the kind of doctor—the kind of man—Adamson was. But it seemed like he had failed when his friend needed him most.
Scrubbing his hand over his beard, Robby sighed as he shot Abbot a look. “I hate it when you get all philosophical and deep.”
“Yeah, well, deal with it, brother.” Abbot slapped him on the back before giving his shoulder a tight squeeze.
Robby nodded at him, the closest thing to a thanks the two ever shared, and he watched as Abbot headed for the door.
But just before he opened it, Abbot turned back and said, “Whatever you decide, consider one thing. Your forgiveness could keep him off this roof. Or your rejection could push him over the edge of it. Which will you be able to live with?”
And with a final shrug, Abbot disappeared down the stairs.
Robby remained on the roof for a long time after he left, just staring out into the city. He knew Abbot was right—about all of it—but knowing something was true and accepting what that meant were two different things. Yes, Langdon might be a changed man who had made a mistake in his past, but that didn’t absolve him from the things he had said or the bridges he had burned in his wake.
Yet maybe new bridges could be built in their place.
Taking one last look at the blinking lights of the city below him, Robby sighed and headed downstairs.
When he reemerged into the ED, he spotted Langdon grabbing his bag out of his locker. Seeing him standing in the same spot where their relationship had imploded ten months ago was almost enough to cause Robby to lose all the courage he’d built up and just run the other way. But for the first time, he saw Langdon for the man he was now: the shattered confidence, the gingerly way he made every move (along with the slight grimaces when it didn’t help the pain), the dark circles under his eyes, the missing ring. The man in front of him was not the man whom he fought with long ago. However, that didn’t mean he wasn’t still in there somewhere.
Langdon slung his backpack over his shoulder and turned to go. When he noticed Robby standing there, this time there was no glimmer in his eyes as he met his stare. Instead, he let his dull gaze slide to the floor as he shuffled off towards the exit.
As he passed, Robby reached out his hand and gently grabbed his arm. Langdon’s head snapped up, and he cowered back, probably expecting his former mentor to lash out at him one last time before disappearing on his sabbatical. But behind the fear and the regret, Robby saw just the smallest spark of hope struggling to hang on.
With a small smile, Robby said, “Hey, Frank. Let’s have that talk now.”
An Unstoppable Force Meets An Immovable Object (Like a Tattoo on My Heart)
Fandom: Top Gun: Maverick, Hangman, Rooster, Hangster, Jake's POV, Tattoo Artist!Rooster AU
Summary: After losing a late-night drunken bet, Jake stumbles into a random tattoo shop. There he meets the shop's headstrong (and handsome) owner, Bradley, who refuses to tattoo Jake while he is drunk. But after some smooth talking and negotiation, Jake gets his way...or so he thinks.
Word Count: 6066
TW: Tattoo AU, Drunken Behavior, Hangover, Getting a Tattoo, Language
Notes: This series is 100% a result of the support, encouragement, beta reading, and late night/early morning DMs with @green-socks 💞 Thank you!!! 💗
Series Masterlist
Stumbling along a few dozen feet behind his friend, Jake groaned as he called out, “Dude…Come on…Let’s just go. This obviously isn’t gonna happen tonight.”
Javy didn’t stop moving but he turned to face Jake so he was now walking backwards. Perfect teeth shining in the streetlights, he called back, “Nuh-uh. You’re not getting out of this bet that easily. I finally beat you at a bar game—”
“‘Cause you got me absolutely hammered!”
“—and I’m not letting you worm your way out of your punishment that easily. There’s gotta still be a place open at this time of night.” Javy spun around and continued down the sidewalk, peering down every side alley he passed looking for the glow of an open shop window.
Jake sighed as he trudged after him, trying his best to keep the world from spinning and his numerous drinks from making a reappearance. He couldn’t remember the last time he felt this drunk without blacking out and he was already dreading the hangover that would greet him in the morning. That was if he was ever allowed to give up this hopeless quest and slink home to his bed. Though, he should probably shower first since he spilled his last drink all over himself. But he could wait until morning since he had already called in sic—
“Fuck yes! I found one!”
Jake’s head whipped around and he promptly fell into the adjacent wall. There was no fucking way that Javy found a tattoo shop that was still open at this time on a Thursday night. Or, more accurately, a Friday morning.
Yet, as Jake caught up to his friend and peered down the alleyway, he saw what indeed appeared to be a tattoo shop with its lights still on. In fact, the massive red neon sign in the window cast a warm yet somewhat ominous glow down the entire–otherwise deserted–alleyway. The sign was shaped like a giant rooster (it kind of reminded Jake of the logo on a sriracha bottle) with the words “The Roost” blazing beneath it. It seemed like something you’d expect at a fast-food chicken restaurant, not a tattoo shop. Yet a quick glance through the window proved that was, indeed, exactly what it was. As did the sign reading “Tattoos and Piercings” just to the right of the rooster.
Clasping his hand firmly on Jake’s shoulder, Javy grinned. “Well, buddy, time to settle up.” And he half-dragged Jake into the shop.
The interior was fairly dark. All the lights had been dimmed, save the neon sign still casting its glow inside, and the parts of the walls not covered with sketches of tattoos were painted black. A small display was set up to the right showing off a variety of piercings available. There were several chairs lined against the front wall and a dark counter sat just beyond the entrance with a computer, cash register, and a bell arranged on top.
For a moment or two, Javy moseyed around the front of the shop while Jake leaned heavily on the counter trying to stop the room from spinning, both waiting to see if someone would appear. When no one did, Javy leaned over and tapped the bell a few times as he called out, “Hello?”
They heard some shuffling from the back and, a moment later, a guy emerged from the darkness wiping his hands on a rag.
Jake wasn’t sure if it was because he was so drunk or that he hadn’t gotten laid in a while, but when he got a good look at the guy as he walked into the better-lit part of the shop, he inhaled sharply. Fuck, this guy was hot.
Maybe only an inch or two taller than Jake, the new arrival seemed to fill the shop as he sauntered towards them with a laidback ease. His sun-bronzed skin was nearly hidden beneath dozens of intricate tattoos. Both of his arms and hands were covered with them and a few more peeked out from under the collar of his tightly-fitting black t-shirt and licked at his neck. The tattoos seemed to dance when his bulging muscles flexed as he placed his hands on his hips. Chestnut waves fell across his forehead and curled around his ears while a neatly trimmed mustache sat atop a pair of full lips which parted as he asked, “Yeah? What can I help you guys with?”
When Jake didn’t respond but just continued staring with his mouth hanging open, Javy grinned knowingly and elbowed him in the side. “My friend here needs a tattoo. I was thinking maybe a large tramp stamp or a butterfly flying out his ass would suit him well.”
Quickly pulling himself together, Jake shoved Javy away with a muttered, “Oh, fuck off.” Turning back to the guy, he flashed him a coy smile. “I lost a bet so it seems I’m at your mercy.”
The guy’s eyes slowly scanned Jake then Javy. With a sigh, he tossed his rag onto the counter. “Sorry, fellas. Can’t help you with that.”
Jake blinked in surprise. “Why not? The sign says open til 4am. It’s—” Jake glanced at his watch but the numbers swam before his eyes in the dim lighting. Shaking his head slightly, he said, “Well, not that.”
“Oh, I’m open. But did you read the other sign on the door?” Both Jake and Javy just stared blankly at him so the guy sighed again with a slight roll of his eyes. “‘We have the right to refuse service to anyone—especially if you are drunk.’”
“There’s no way in hell it says that.” Javy stormed over to the door and stuck his head out. “Well, I’ll be damned. It does.”
Coming back inside, he implored the guy, “Come on, man! We’ve been looking for a shop for almost an hour. This is the only place that’s still open!”
“Sorry. My shop, my rules.”
“‘Your’ shop?” Jake asked.
The guy’s eyes flickered to Jake. “Yeah. My shop. I’m the owner as well as one of the artists. Which means I get to decide who gets what, when, and under what conditions. So, come back tomorrow and I’ll give you whatever you want. I’ll even make you an appointment. But tonight, it’s not gonna happen.” The guy folded his arms across his chest.
Now, Jake didn’t want the tattoo. In fact, he’d actively been trying to stop Javy from finding a place all night. But the only thing he hated more than losing to a friend was losing to a stranger—no matter how attractive he might be.
So, he flashed his most charming smile and said, “Come on, man. We’re not even that drunk. We just had a few beers and that was hours ago.”
“I highly doubt that,” the guy muttered under his breath. Jake’s eyes narrowed and he took a step forward as he opened his mouth to unleash a tirade against the tattoo artist for calling him a liar, but the other man cut him off before he could utter his first expletive. “Deny it all you want, but I could smell the alcohol wafting off you guys the second you stepped foot in here. And, whether you realize it or not, you’re slurring your words and look like you’re about to fall over at any minute.”
That stopped Jake in his tracks. To him, he might be feeling a few effects of the dozen or so drinks he had consumed that night, but nothing too serious or noticeable. However, he had seen videos Javy had taken of him in the past where he thought he was his usual suave, dashing self. When in reality, he looked like he did right after waking up from getting his wisdom teeth removed: drooling, incoherent, and barely remaining upright.
So there was a strong possibility it was apparent he had had more than a few drinks tonight.
Still not ready to throw in the towel, Jake stared the guy down and spat, “Oh, you’re really enjoying this, aren’t you? Knocking me down, turning me away. I’m trying to be a paying customer! Just take my money already, give me a fucking tattoo, and stop being such an ass about it!”
The guy sighed. “Listen, I’m not being an ass because I enjoy it.” He paused then shrugged. “Well, not only because I enjoy it. But alcohol thins out your blood so you bleed more and it doesn’t clot like it’s supposed to. That can lead to infections and a shitty finished product, neither of which I want on reviews for my shop when you’re unhappy with the results.”
“I’ll sign whatever waivers or contracts or whatever you want me to saying I know the risks and accept full responsibility if something happens. Hell, you can even include a clause saying the only review I’m allowed to post is one where I say it was the greatest experience I’ve ever had, the work was immaculate, and you finished me off with the best blowjob of my life.”
The guy raised one eyebrow. “Not sure I want that on reviews for my shop either.”
Jake threw his hands into the air. “Whatever! Just, come on, please!”
The guy considered for a long moment, his fingers running across his mustache as he pondered. Finally, he sighed. Shaking his head as he stared at the floor, he muttered, “I’m going to regret this, aren’t I?”
Jake grinned. “Haven’t had anyone regret me yet.” Javy snorted behind him but he ignored his friend. Clapping his hands together, he asked, “So, we doing this?”
Taking a deep breath, the guy said, “Fine. I’ll give you a tattoo. But on one condition.”
Buzzing from his victory, Jake bounced up and down on the balls of his feet. “Yeah, sure, whatever you say.”
“I get to pick the design and neither of you get to see it until it’s done.”
Jake froze as he felt the blood drain from his face. There was no telling what this guy might pick and it would be on his body for the rest of his life. He had already been concerned when Javy first brought up the bet about how a tattoo would go over if someone at work saw it, and that was when he thought it would be dumb or embarrassing. What if this guy picked something outright offensive or explicit? What if he wanted to place it somewhere that was hard to hide?
Licking his lips, Jake pointed over his shoulder to where Javy had been sitting in one of the chairs. “Sorry, but the bet was that he got to pick it out so—”
“Oh no, I like this idea better,” Javy chuckled, rubbing his hands together gleefully. “I was just going to pick the stupidest design in the book—no offense—but he’s got to have seen thousands of terrible tattoos. So whatever he wants is fine by me.”
The guy nodded at Javy then turned to Jake with a smug smirk, his hands planted on his hips. “Well, what’ll be, cowboy? We doing this?”
Every part of Jake was screaming to say no. Even through the fog in his mind, he knew this was a terrible idea. However, his ego wouldn’t let him back down. Not now after he worked so hard to charm this guy into breaking his rule for him. Plus, while he knew Javy wouldn’t fight him if he said no, his friend also would never let him hear the end of it if he didn’t go through with it. So, Jake did the only thing he could do. Taking off his jacket and throwing it at Javy’s face, he said, “Let’s do this.”
“Okay. Follow me.” The guy began to head back into the darker part of the shop he had come from. Glancing over his shoulder as he went, he said, “I’m Bradley, by the way.”
Trailing after him, focusing really intently on walking in a straight line, Jake said, “Jake. And that’s Javy.”
Javy raised his hand from his place behind Jake. “Sup.”
Bradley reached a station in the very back of the shop, sat in the chair, and flipped on the overhead light. It was the biggest, most elaborate station Jake had seen in the shop with two full walls decorated with pictures of tattoos, a long counter full of tools and inks, several large cabinets, a rolling cart covered in ink stains, a fancy-looking leather chair, and an adjustable table that was currently in an upright position. Bradley plopped down into the chair and gestured for Jake to sit on the table. As Bradley began sorting through the inks set out on the cart next to him, Jake did as he was told while Javy laid down on one of the nearby tables that was laid fully flat. He was still close enough to interact with the duo but, lying down, he didn’t have a direct line of sight to Jake in the chair so he wouldn’t be able to see what Bradley was tattooing.
Bradley swiveled to face Jake. “I’m gonna place it on one of your upper arms just below your shoulder. But I’m feeling generous so I’ll let you pick which arm.”
Not seeing where it mattered, Jake muttered, “Right, I guess.”
“You got it.”
Bradley reached out and pushed Jake’s sleeve up, his fingers brushing against his skin. Jake shivered slightly. The tattoo artist’s fingers were rough and calloused, but they were also warm, and Jake wished the brief contact had lasted longer. But then Bradley was scrubbing his arm with some sort of damp cloth—assumedly with a disinfectant or cleaner on it—and though it wasn’t the kind of contact Jake had been hoping for, it was still nice in its own way.
However, once Bradley picked up a tattoo gun off the counter, Jake felt the color drain from his face. Jake was no stranger to pain. He had played football since he was 5 years old up until he graduated college. He had broken at least six bones in his lifetime and had to get two different surgeries so they’d heal properly. He had been in a car accident where his friend had been driving after a night of drinking and, to this day, no one knew how either of them walked away from it even in the condition they did. The point was, pain had been a frequent part of his life for as long as he could remember and he took it in stride.
However, needles…he didn’t like needles.
So, as Bradley placed the gun against his arm, he gripped the arms of the chair so tightly his knuckles turned white. He saw Bradley glance down at his hands but he didn’t say anything. Instead, he turned on the machine and pressed it to Jake’s arm.
The sensation that shot through him was not the one he was expecting. It wasn’t comfortable, but it also wasn’t painful. At all. It felt more like a vibration shooting deep into his muscle than pain.
And as Bradley continued, Jake slowly released his death-grip on the chair with a soft, “Wow.”
“What?” Bradley mumbled, not looking up from what he was doing.
“Nothing. I just…I thought it would hurt. But it just feels tingly and a little…itchy?”
Bradley scoffed. “I guess that’s the one good part about getting a tattoo drunk. It dulls your nerves so you don’t feel it.” He continued working for several minutes before asking, “So, is this your first tattoo?”
Jake nodded, willing himself not to look down at what was happening on his arm. “Yeah. I’ve thought about getting one before but never went through with it.”
Bradley grinned. “Oh, a virgin, huh? Well, I’m honored to pop your cherry.” Jake felt his face flush slightly but he tried to control his expression. Whether Bradley noticed or not, he wasn’t sure, but the tattoo artist changed the subject. “So, I know you’re here tonight because of this bet, but what’s kept you away until now?”
“My job isn’t very approving of them. So it’s just been easier not to risk it.”
“Let me guess…finance?”
“Yeah. How’d you know?”
Bradley paused to dip the tattoo gun in the ink next to him. “I clocked it the moment you two walked in.”
Jake raised his eyebrow. “I thought you said you smelled the alcohol as soon as we walked in.”
“Alcohol and finance bros. Don’t they often go hand in hand?” Bradley started tattooing again. “But, no. You guys all just have an air about you. Like how you hold yourself or something. It’s not hard to spot once you begin to notice it.”
“Is that a good thing or a bad thing?”
“I don’t think you want me to answer that.”
Both men fell silent. The only sounds echoing through the deserted shop were the constant buzz of the tattoo gun and Javy’s loud snoring from the nearby table where he evidently fell asleep.
However, the anxiety of the situation added to the fact that alcohol had a tendency to put Jake in a talkative mood soon had him talking again. It wasn’t a real conversation this time, he just rambled on about whatever came to mind—sports, hobbies, even the goddamn weather—all the while Bradley continued working on his arm. The artist didn’t contribute much other than the occasional grunt or hum in acknowledgment of whatever Jake was saying, but Jake did notice him trying to hide a smile a few times. After that, it became Jake’s mission to get a real smile out of him before his work was done—a task he succeeded in several times and, to his delight, even managed to get a real chuckle out of him.
Jake had almost forgotten the reason they were sitting there until Bradley sat back and placed his tattoo gun on the tray. “Well, I think we’re done. Just give me a minute to wipe it down with an antibacterial wash and wrap it up, then you’ll be good to go.”
Jake sat up straighter in his chair. “Really? That’s it?”
“Yep. That’s it.” Bradley took a cloth and rubbed it across the area he had been working on. Then, he peeled a piece of plastic off something sitting on his table and quickly pressed a piece of paper over Jake’s arm. Taking a damp cloth, he rubbed it over the paper and held it there for a moment. Once he removed it, he grabbed some sort of bandage and began wrapping it up.
“Uh…” Jake asked. “Aren’t you going to let me see it?”
“Nope. Not tonight,” Bradley said, finishing up his work. “As expected, it’s bleeding more than it should so I had to wrap it as soon as possible to limit infection and damage to your skin. But you should be good to take it off when you wake up tomorrow and get a good look at it.”
“Great,” Jake muttered under his breath. He wasn’t thrilled he’d have to wait to assess how much of a mistake this had been. Sliding off his chair, he walked over and thumped Javy in the chest. “Hey, Sleeping Beauty, nap time’s over.”
Javy bolted upright, then immediately collapsed back clutching his head. “Fuck…”
“I’d feel bad about that if I hadn’t just had hundreds of needles punched into me because of you.”
“Next time don’t make a bet you aren’t willing to lose.” Javy slowly squinted one eye at Jake. “So, what'd ya get?”
“Don’t know yet. Can’t look until tomorrow.” He held out his hand and helped his friend to his feet. Then, turning back to Bradley, he flashed a smile. “Thanks again for making an exception. It ended up not being as bad as I thought it would be.”
Something seemed to sparkle in Bradley’s eyes as he said, “I’m sure there’s a reason for that.” Then he clapped his hands together before Jake could dwell on what he meant. “I’ve gotta clean up here but you guys can see yourselves out. I'll lock up when I’m done.”
“Cool, thanks,” Javy said, still holding his head. “I think I need to go home and lay down.”
Jake rolled his eyes but then cast one last look at Bradley. He didn’t know what he had expected to happen. There had been no indication that Bradley was even into guys, yet as Jake thought of his fingers brushing across the skin of his arm, the intense gaze in his soulful brown eyes as he worked, and his chuckle at Jake’s story, Jake couldn’t help but wish this wasn’t goodbye.
With Javy already stumbling out the front door, Jake had no choice but to hold up his hand, give Bradley one last smile, and follow his friend out of the shop.
Though no one was left to hear him, Bradley laughed and shook his head as he looked towards the front of the shop. “Goodbye, Jake. I have a feeling we’ll be seeing each other real soon.”
Pain.
That’s all Jake felt when he clawed himself back to consciousness the next morning. Pain starting from the center of his head and radiating out throughout the rest of his body. He tried to shift slightly to adjust his sweat-dampened sheets that clung to him but immediately moaned as fresh waves of pain and nausea flowed through his system. He hadn’t had a hangover this bad since the firm’s last New Year’s Eve party where there was an open bar. Fucking Javy and his fucking underhanded scheme to finally beat him at something.
Oh god.
Jake’s eyes snapped open—only to wince in pain—as he remembered the bet he had made and subsequently lost. A quick glance at the bandage still wrapped around his arm was all the confirmation he needed that they had carried out the terms of the bet. Jake was struggling to remember more than a few flashes from last night, but he did remember that.
Taking several deep breaths, he eased himself out of bed and trudged to the bathroom. After vomiting, the world stopped spinning quite as much, so Jake braced himself and stepped in front of his mirror. Carefully, he unwrapped the bandage and got his first look at his new tattoo.
“What the fuck?”
There, reflected in the mirror, was a square, decorative border stretching from the peak of his shoulder to just above his elbow. There was a weird design or symbols at the bottom that seemed sort of distorted from the curve of his arm. However, Jake only glanced at that for a moment, seeing as his attention was focused on the image framed inside.
It was a massive stylized chicken.
Looking closer, it kind of reminded Jake of the sriracha logo. That’s when it clicked. He got a flash of this same design in red neon hanging in the window of the shop they stopped at, though he couldn’t recall the name under it.
The tattoo guy had inked his fucking shop logo onto Jake's arm.
Jake continued to stare at the design in the mirror, hoping it was just a hallucination. But no matter how long he stared at it, it didn't change or go away. It just continued to stare back at him in all its inky glory.
“What the fuck!”
Five hours.
That’s how long Jake wandered the city looking for the shop from last night. His call to Javy immediately after rushing out of the bathroom had been absolutely useless in helping him narrow down his search. Once Javy finally stopped crying from laughter at Jake’s predicament, they compared notes from the night before. Neither one of them could remember anything between leaving the bar and arriving at the tattoo shop. And even the details of their time there were hazy. All they could really agree on was that there was a guy working there who agreed to tattoo Jake if he could pick out the design. Jake couldn’t even remember the guy’s name or what he looked like, he just had a vague image of him and that his name started with a B or something.
So, after a quick search of “chicken tattoo shops” turned up nothing useful, Jake had begun walking around the city trying to come across the shop just like they had the night before. He passed dozens of shops, but none of them had a large neon chicken sign in the window so he continued on. Looking back on it later, he realized he should have gone into one of these shops, shown them the tattoo, and asked if they recognized the logo. But he would have been too embarrassed to do so even if the thought had crossed his mind.
After the eighth time backtracking to the bar and branching off in a direction they might have headed the night before, Jake finally found what he was looking for.
As soon as he peered down the correct alley, he was greeted with a bright red glow from the neon sign in the window and he hurried down until he stopped in front of the shop and its ridiculous chicken logo. It was the same image as the one now inked into his skin. And as Jake noticed the name of the shop underneath it, his face grew as red as the sign as he realized how much of an idiot he had been.
When he was looking at the tattoo in the mirror, he only glanced at the border for a second before focusing on the chicken in the center. If he had given it any more than that first cursory glance, he would have probably noticed that what he had taken as weird symbols or decoration had, in fact, been the name of the shop reflected backwards in the mirror. But between the stylized font and the way it stretched on Jake’s arm, it had never occurred to him that his answer had been there the entire time.
Throwing open the door, Jake stormed into The Roost.
The woman behind the counter didn’t seem the least bit fazed by his over-the-top entrance. From what Jake could remember from the previous night, she looked exactly like the kind of person he would expect to be working here. Her dark hair was pulled back into a ponytail showing off each ear completely pierced with a dozen or so gold hoops. She was sporting a matching septum ring. Her black strapless shirt clung to her body and allowed two full sleeves of tattoos to be on full display. As she turned slightly, Jake noticed the one on her right arm looked like a flaming bird taking flight.
She lazily looked up from the binder she was writing in and blew a bubble with her gum as she stared at Jake. When it popped, she asked, “Can I help you?”
Jake was momentarily taken aback by her demeanor but quickly recovered and regained his determination. Marching up to the counter, he said, “Yeah. I’m looking for someone who works here. I think his name started with a B? Tall guy. Brown hair. Lots of tattoos. Ridiculous mustache.”
“Oh!” Her face lit up as a knowing smile spread across her face. Leaning back, she said, “You must be Jake. Rooster said you’d be in sometime today.”
“Rooster?” The feeling of stupidity Jake was feeling only grew. Of course it wasn’t just a chicken in the logo—it was a rooster. That might explain why he never found anything when he searched online. He should have looked for “rooster tattoo shop” instead.
She shrugged. “Bradley. He’s Rooster to all of us, but depending on the client, he sometimes uses his real name. Guess you were one of the lucky ones.”
The anger that had been brewing in Jake’s chest all day reached a boiling point. Not only had this guy branded him with his shop logo, but it was also his nickname. What kind of sick son of a bitch did he meet last night?
Through gritted teeth, he growled, “Is he here?”
The woman nodded. “Yeah, he’s working on someone right now but he told me to bring you back if you showed up.” Stepping out from behind the counter, she motioned for Jake to follow her as she headed deeper into the shop.
They passed a few other stations with customers in various stages of getting tattooed. A pale man with glasses was applying an elaborate stencil to a young woman's arm. At another station, a guy with buzzed hair and bronze skin was finishing up a photo-realistic tattoo of Captain America holding his shield on some guy’s thigh. Both were very impressive and made Jake even more upset that he got stuck with this feathery monstrosity.
As they neared the back—Jake was beginning to get a very fuzzy memory of this place from the night before—the woman called out, “Hey, Roo! You’ve got a visitor.”
At the very last station that seemed to take up the whole back wall, a man was lying on his stomach on the table while someone leaned over him tattooing on his shoulder blade. When he heard the woman call out, the artist glanced up then grinned as he saw Jake hot on her heels. For a moment, Jake’s rage fizzled out as he got his first look at Brad—Rooster sober. The hazy drunken version of the man did not do him justice and, in any other situation, Jake would have immediately slipped into flirtation mode.
However, this was a unique circumstance.
Pushing past the woman, Jake stormed up to Rooster. “What the fuck, dude!”
Rooster chuckled softly as he shook his head. Glancing at the woman, he said, “Thanks, Phe. I’ve got it from here.”
She muttered something under her breath that Jake couldn’t make out before she walked away.
Tapping the man he had been tattooing on his side, Rooster said, “Hey, I’ve gotta take care of something but I’ll be right back. Give you a chance to take a breather before we finish up.” The man muttered an unfazed “whatever” and Rooster swung his chair around to face Jake. Grinning like a cat that got the cream, he said, “I’ve been wondering when you’d stumble back in here. Like my work? I think it suits you. You looking for another one already?”
“Cut the shit. You turned me into a walking billboard? How fucked up is that!”
Rooster held out his hands. “You agreed that I could pick any design I wanted. That’s what I picked.”
“I don’t care what we agreed on! It’s pretty much assumed ‘free advertisement for your shop’ was excluded from your selection!” Jake shivered at the thought. “God, I feel like a whore or something.”
Rooster rolled his eyes. “Don’t you think that’s a little dramatic?”
“I have the right to be dramatic right now!” Jake could feel every eye in the shop on him at the moment, but he didn’t care. Well, he did, but at the moment, he cared about what was etched on his arm more. With his cheeks burning and his voice breaking slightly, he demanded, “What am I supposed to do? I can’t…I can’t walk around with this on me for the rest of my life.”
For a moment, Rooster just sat there staring at him. Then, silently, he rose from his seat and took a few steps towards Jake, stopping so close that Jake could feel his breath brushing against his face. Refusing to meet his eye, Jake stared straight ahead, right at Rooster’s mustache…and his full lips.
“Hey, Jake, look at me.”
Jake still refused to budge. That is until Rooster placed his finger under his chin and tilted his head up. Completely taken aback, Jake allowed it to happen and his eyes met Rooster’s. They were softer, sweeter, more compassionate than Jake was expecting from him and he felt some of the tension ease from his shoulders simply from staring into the other man’s eyes.
Giving him a small smile, Rooster not unkindly whispered, “Maybe next time you won’t push someone to get your way when they tell you no.”
Using his teeth to grab the tip of one of the latex gloves he was wearing, Rooster peeled it off his hand. Then, after spitting the glove to the side, he slowly slid his now bare middle finger between his lips. Jake watched in fascination, his mind short-circuiting from what he was seeing. The only two thoughts running through his brain were “what the hell is going on” and “why do I find this insanely hot”.
Rooster pulled his finger out of his mouth with a pop, then reached out with his dampened middle finger and rubbed Jake’s tattoo. Hard. When he pulled it away, the ink where he had touched was now peeling and flaking off.
Realizing what was happening, Jake’s head snapped up as his jaw dropped. “It’s a fucking fake?!”
Rooster stepped back smirking as he crossed his arms over his chest. “We tend to call them temporaries. We hand smaller ones out at events and such for a little advertisement or promotion. But I had a few larger ones made too just in case a situation came up we might be able to use one…turns out, one finally did.”
Jake looked back down to the tattoo on his arm then up to Rooster then down to his arm again. Once he finally grasped the situation, he shoved Rooster in the chest (the other man barely moved) with a loud “What the fuck, dude!” However, there was a laugh of relief in his voice as he did so.
Now that he knew the truth and he wasn’t facing a future with this plastered on his arm for the rest of his life, he could see where it was already starting to crack in several places. If he had actually inspected it this morning or showered as he had planned (he was sure he still smelled of stale beer) instead of immediately jumping into panic mode, he would have discovered the ruse hours ago. It also now made perfect sense why he never felt any pain while he was being tattooed. Rooster must have been using the gun without the needle so all Jake felt were the vibrations of the machine.
After trying several times to find something snappy or sarcastic to say, Jake finally settled on, “But why?”
“Sometimes when an unstoppable force meets an immovable object, you have to find a way to get the force to shift paths slightly. You weren’t going to leave here without a tattoo and I was never going to ink you. So, I found a way for us both to get what we wanted. Yeah, I could have just wrapped your arm up without putting the temporary tattoo there but where’s the fun in that.” Rooster’s smug expression softened slightly as his arms fell to his side. “And, selfishly, I was hoping you’d fall for it and use the logo to track me down.”
“Why would you want me to find you again?”
“Well, for one, I figured once you had sobered up you might want to actually get a real one and I felt like I owed you that. So think about it and let me know if you decide you want one. I promise no tricks this time and I can work with you to find a design you actually want. But right now, I’ve gotta get back to work.” Rooster walked back to the table where his client was still lying. Sitting back in the seat, he grabbed a new glove from out of a box on the tray next to him and pulled it on.
Feeling a bit dismissed but always wanting to have the final word, Jake scoffed. “All this trouble just to get me back in your chair, huh? Guess I left quite the impression on you.”
“Yeah. You did. Which is the other reason I was hoping you’d come back. This way I get to ask you out for dinner. ” As he picked up the tattoo gun, Rooster glanced at Jake with a grin. “So let me know what you think of that too.”
Jake sputtered in disbelief as Rooster winked at him then leaned forward to continue his work.
Thank you for reading this first part of my new series! It's going to be more a series of connected one-shots rather than a traditional series. New updates coming soon!
If you'd like to join the taglist, please let me know! 💕
An Unstoppable Force Meets An Immovable Object (Like a Tattoo on My Heart)
Fandom: Top Gun: Maverick, Hangman, Rooster, Hangster, Jake's POV, Tattoo Artist!Rooster AU
Summary: After losing a late-night drunken bet, Jake stumbles into a random tattoo shop. There he meets the shop's headstrong (and handsome) owner, Bradley, who refuses to tattoo Jake while he is drunk. But after some smooth talking and negotiation, Jake gets his way...or so he thinks.
Word Count: 6066
TW: Tattoo AU, Drunken Behavior, Hangover, Getting a Tattoo, Language
Notes: This series is 100% a result of the support, encouragement, beta reading, and late night/early morning DMs with @green-socks 💞 Thank you!!! 💗
Series Masterlist
Stumbling along a few dozen feet behind his friend, Jake groaned as he called out, “Dude…Come on…Let’s just go. This obviously isn’t gonna happen tonight.”
Javy didn’t stop moving but he turned to face Jake so he was now walking backwards. Perfect teeth shining in the streetlights, he called back, “Nuh-uh. You’re not getting out of this bet that easily. I finally beat you at a bar game—”
“‘Cause you got me absolutely hammered!”
“—and I’m not letting you worm your way out of your punishment that easily. There’s gotta still be a place open at this time of night.” Javy spun around and continued down the sidewalk, peering down every side alley he passed looking for the glow of an open shop window.
Jake sighed as he trudged after him, trying his best to keep the world from spinning and his numerous drinks from making a reappearance. He couldn’t remember the last time he felt this drunk without blacking out and he was already dreading the hangover that would greet him in the morning. That was if he was ever allowed to give up this hopeless quest and slink home to his bed. Though, he should probably shower first since he spilled his last drink all over himself. But he could wait until morning since he had already called in sic—
“Fuck yes! I found one!”
Jake’s head whipped around and he promptly fell into the adjacent wall. There was no fucking way that Javy found a tattoo shop that was still open at this time on a Thursday night. Or, more accurately, a Friday morning.
Yet, as Jake caught up to his friend and peered down the alleyway, he saw what indeed appeared to be a tattoo shop with its lights still on. In fact, the massive red neon sign in the window cast a warm yet somewhat ominous glow down the entire–otherwise deserted–alleyway. The sign was shaped like a giant rooster (it kind of reminded Jake of the logo on a sriracha bottle) with the words “The Roost” blazing beneath it. It seemed like something you’d expect at a fast-food chicken restaurant, not a tattoo shop. Yet a quick glance through the window proved that was, indeed, exactly what it was. As did the sign reading “Tattoos and Piercings” just to the right of the rooster.
Clasping his hand firmly on Jake’s shoulder, Javy grinned. “Well, buddy, time to settle up.” And he half-dragged Jake into the shop.
The interior was fairly dark. All the lights had been dimmed, save the neon sign still casting its glow inside, and the parts of the walls not covered with sketches of tattoos were painted black. A small display was set up to the right showing off a variety of piercings available. There were several chairs lined against the front wall and a dark counter sat just beyond the entrance with a computer, cash register, and a bell arranged on top.
For a moment or two, Javy moseyed around the front of the shop while Jake leaned heavily on the counter trying to stop the room from spinning, both waiting to see if someone would appear. When no one did, Javy leaned over and tapped the bell a few times as he called out, “Hello?”
They heard some shuffling from the back and, a moment later, a guy emerged from the darkness wiping his hands on a rag.
Jake wasn’t sure if it was because he was so drunk or that he hadn’t gotten laid in a while, but when he got a good look at the guy as he walked into the better-lit part of the shop, he inhaled sharply. Fuck, this guy was hot.
Maybe only an inch or two taller than Jake, the new arrival seemed to fill the shop as he sauntered towards them with a laidback ease. His sun-bronzed skin was nearly hidden beneath dozens of intricate tattoos. Both of his arms and hands were covered with them and a few more peeked out from under the collar of his tightly-fitting black t-shirt and licked at his neck. The tattoos seemed to dance when his bulging muscles flexed as he placed his hands on his hips. Chestnut waves fell across his forehead and curled around his ears while a neatly trimmed mustache sat atop a pair of full lips which parted as he asked, “Yeah? What can I help you guys with?”
When Jake didn’t respond but just continued staring with his mouth hanging open, Javy grinned knowingly and elbowed him in the side. “My friend here needs a tattoo. I was thinking maybe a large tramp stamp or a butterfly flying out his ass would suit him well.”
Quickly pulling himself together, Jake shoved Javy away with a muttered, “Oh, fuck off.” Turning back to the guy, he flashed him a coy smile. “I lost a bet so it seems I’m at your mercy.”
The guy’s eyes slowly scanned Jake then Javy. With a sigh, he tossed his rag onto the counter. “Sorry, fellas. Can’t help you with that.”
Jake blinked in surprise. “Why not? The sign says open til 4am. It’s—” Jake glanced at his watch but the numbers swam before his eyes in the dim lighting. Shaking his head slightly, he said, “Well, not that.”
“Oh, I’m open. But did you read the other sign on the door?” Both Jake and Javy just stared blankly at him so the guy sighed again with a slight roll of his eyes. “‘We have the right to refuse service to anyone—especially if you are drunk.’”
“There’s no way in hell it says that.” Javy stormed over to the door and stuck his head out. “Well, I’ll be damned. It does.”
Coming back inside, he implored the guy, “Come on, man! We’ve been looking for a shop for almost an hour. This is the only place that’s still open!”
“Sorry. My shop, my rules.”
“‘Your’ shop?” Jake asked.
The guy’s eyes flickered to Jake. “Yeah. My shop. I’m the owner as well as one of the artists. Which means I get to decide who gets what, when, and under what conditions. So, come back tomorrow and I’ll give you whatever you want. I’ll even make you an appointment. But tonight, it’s not gonna happen.” The guy folded his arms across his chest.
Now, Jake didn’t want the tattoo. In fact, he’d actively been trying to stop Javy from finding a place all night. But the only thing he hated more than losing to a friend was losing to a stranger—no matter how attractive he might be.
So, he flashed his most charming smile and said, “Come on, man. We’re not even that drunk. We just had a few beers and that was hours ago.”
“I highly doubt that,” the guy muttered under his breath. Jake’s eyes narrowed and he took a step forward as he opened his mouth to unleash a tirade against the tattoo artist for calling him a liar, but the other man cut him off before he could utter his first expletive. “Deny it all you want, but I could smell the alcohol wafting off you guys the second you stepped foot in here. And, whether you realize it or not, you’re slurring your words and look like you’re about to fall over at any minute.”
That stopped Jake in his tracks. To him, he might be feeling a few effects of the dozen or so drinks he had consumed that night, but nothing too serious or noticeable. However, he had seen videos Javy had taken of him in the past where he thought he was his usual suave, dashing self. When in reality, he looked like he did right after waking up from getting his wisdom teeth removed: drooling, incoherent, and barely remaining upright.
So there was a strong possibility it was apparent he had had more than a few drinks tonight.
Still not ready to throw in the towel, Jake stared the guy down and spat, “Oh, you’re really enjoying this, aren’t you? Knocking me down, turning me away. I’m trying to be a paying customer! Just take my money already, give me a fucking tattoo, and stop being such an ass about it!”
The guy sighed. “Listen, I’m not being an ass because I enjoy it.” He paused then shrugged. “Well, not only because I enjoy it. But alcohol thins out your blood so you bleed more and it doesn’t clot like it’s supposed to. That can lead to infections and a shitty finished product, neither of which I want on reviews for my shop when you’re unhappy with the results.”
“I’ll sign whatever waivers or contracts or whatever you want me to saying I know the risks and accept full responsibility if something happens. Hell, you can even include a clause saying the only review I’m allowed to post is one where I say it was the greatest experience I’ve ever had, the work was immaculate, and you finished me off with the best blowjob of my life.”
The guy raised one eyebrow. “Not sure I want that on reviews for my shop either.”
Jake threw his hands into the air. “Whatever! Just, come on, please!”
The guy considered for a long moment, his fingers running across his mustache as he pondered. Finally, he sighed. Shaking his head as he stared at the floor, he muttered, “I’m going to regret this, aren’t I?”
Jake grinned. “Haven’t had anyone regret me yet.” Javy snorted behind him but he ignored his friend. Clapping his hands together, he asked, “So, we doing this?”
Taking a deep breath, the guy said, “Fine. I’ll give you a tattoo. But on one condition.”
Buzzing from his victory, Jake bounced up and down on the balls of his feet. “Yeah, sure, whatever you say.”
“I get to pick the design and neither of you get to see it until it’s done.”
Jake froze as he felt the blood drain from his face. There was no telling what this guy might pick and it would be on his body for the rest of his life. He had already been concerned when Javy first brought up the bet about how a tattoo would go over if someone at work saw it, and that was when he thought it would be dumb or embarrassing. What if this guy picked something outright offensive or explicit? What if he wanted to place it somewhere that was hard to hide?
Licking his lips, Jake pointed over his shoulder to where Javy had been sitting in one of the chairs. “Sorry, but the bet was that he got to pick it out so—”
“Oh no, I like this idea better,” Javy chuckled, rubbing his hands together gleefully. “I was just going to pick the stupidest design in the book—no offense—but he’s got to have seen thousands of terrible tattoos. So whatever he wants is fine by me.”
The guy nodded at Javy then turned to Jake with a smug smirk, his hands planted on his hips. “Well, what’ll be, cowboy? We doing this?”
Every part of Jake was screaming to say no. Even through the fog in his mind, he knew this was a terrible idea. However, his ego wouldn’t let him back down. Not now after he worked so hard to charm this guy into breaking his rule for him. Plus, while he knew Javy wouldn’t fight him if he said no, his friend also would never let him hear the end of it if he didn’t go through with it. So, Jake did the only thing he could do. Taking off his jacket and throwing it at Javy’s face, he said, “Let’s do this.”
“Okay. Follow me.” The guy began to head back into the darker part of the shop he had come from. Glancing over his shoulder as he went, he said, “I’m Bradley, by the way.”
Trailing after him, focusing really intently on walking in a straight line, Jake said, “Jake. And that’s Javy.”
Javy raised his hand from his place behind Jake. “Sup.”
Bradley reached a station in the very back of the shop, sat in the chair, and flipped on the overhead light. It was the biggest, most elaborate station Jake had seen in the shop with two full walls decorated with pictures of tattoos, a long counter full of tools and inks, several large cabinets, a rolling cart covered in ink stains, a fancy-looking leather chair, and an adjustable table that was currently in an upright position. Bradley plopped down into the chair and gestured for Jake to sit on the table. As Bradley began sorting through the inks set out on the cart next to him, Jake did as he was told while Javy laid down on one of the nearby tables that was laid fully flat. He was still close enough to interact with the duo but, lying down, he didn’t have a direct line of sight to Jake in the chair so he wouldn’t be able to see what Bradley was tattooing.
Bradley swiveled to face Jake. “I’m gonna place it on one of your upper arms just below your shoulder. But I’m feeling generous so I’ll let you pick which arm.”
Not seeing where it mattered, Jake muttered, “Right, I guess.”
“You got it.”
Bradley reached out and pushed Jake’s sleeve up, his fingers brushing against his skin. Jake shivered slightly. The tattoo artist’s fingers were rough and calloused, but they were also warm, and Jake wished the brief contact had lasted longer. But then Bradley was scrubbing his arm with some sort of damp cloth—assumedly with a disinfectant or cleaner on it—and though it wasn’t the kind of contact Jake had been hoping for, it was still nice in its own way.
However, once Bradley picked up a tattoo gun off the counter, Jake felt the color drain from his face. Jake was no stranger to pain. He had played football since he was 5 years old up until he graduated college. He had broken at least six bones in his lifetime and had to get two different surgeries so they’d heal properly. He had been in a car accident where his friend had been driving after a night of drinking and, to this day, no one knew how either of them walked away from it even in the condition they did. The point was, pain had been a frequent part of his life for as long as he could remember and he took it in stride.
However, needles…he didn’t like needles.
So, as Bradley placed the gun against his arm, he gripped the arms of the chair so tightly his knuckles turned white. He saw Bradley glance down at his hands but he didn’t say anything. Instead, he turned on the machine and pressed it to Jake’s arm.
The sensation that shot through him was not the one he was expecting. It wasn’t comfortable, but it also wasn’t painful. At all. It felt more like a vibration shooting deep into his muscle than pain.
And as Bradley continued, Jake slowly released his death-grip on the chair with a soft, “Wow.”
“What?” Bradley mumbled, not looking up from what he was doing.
“Nothing. I just…I thought it would hurt. But it just feels tingly and a little…itchy?”
Bradley scoffed. “I guess that’s the one good part about getting a tattoo drunk. It dulls your nerves so you don’t feel it.” He continued working for several minutes before asking, “So, is this your first tattoo?”
Jake nodded, willing himself not to look down at what was happening on his arm. “Yeah. I’ve thought about getting one before but never went through with it.”
Bradley grinned. “Oh, a virgin, huh? Well, I’m honored to pop your cherry.” Jake felt his face flush slightly but he tried to control his expression. Whether Bradley noticed or not, he wasn’t sure, but the tattoo artist changed the subject. “So, I know you’re here tonight because of this bet, but what’s kept you away until now?”
“My job isn’t very approving of them. So it’s just been easier not to risk it.”
“Let me guess…finance?”
“Yeah. How’d you know?”
Bradley paused to dip the tattoo gun in the ink next to him. “I clocked it the moment you two walked in.”
Jake raised his eyebrow. “I thought you said you smelled the alcohol as soon as we walked in.”
“Alcohol and finance bros. Don’t they often go hand in hand?” Bradley started tattooing again. “But, no. You guys all just have an air about you. Like how you hold yourself or something. It’s not hard to spot once you begin to notice it.”
“Is that a good thing or a bad thing?”
“I don’t think you want me to answer that.”
Both men fell silent. The only sounds echoing through the deserted shop were the constant buzz of the tattoo gun and Javy’s loud snoring from the nearby table where he evidently fell asleep.
However, the anxiety of the situation added to the fact that alcohol had a tendency to put Jake in a talkative mood soon had him talking again. It wasn’t a real conversation this time, he just rambled on about whatever came to mind—sports, hobbies, even the goddamn weather—all the while Bradley continued working on his arm. The artist didn’t contribute much other than the occasional grunt or hum in acknowledgment of whatever Jake was saying, but Jake did notice him trying to hide a smile a few times. After that, it became Jake’s mission to get a real smile out of him before his work was done—a task he succeeded in several times and, to his delight, even managed to get a real chuckle out of him.
Jake had almost forgotten the reason they were sitting there until Bradley sat back and placed his tattoo gun on the tray. “Well, I think we’re done. Just give me a minute to wipe it down with an antibacterial wash and wrap it up, then you’ll be good to go.”
Jake sat up straighter in his chair. “Really? That’s it?”
“Yep. That’s it.” Bradley took a cloth and rubbed it across the area he had been working on. Then, he peeled a piece of plastic off something sitting on his table and quickly pressed a piece of paper over Jake’s arm. Taking a damp cloth, he rubbed it over the paper and held it there for a moment. Once he removed it, he grabbed some sort of bandage and began wrapping it up.
“Uh…” Jake asked. “Aren’t you going to let me see it?”
“Nope. Not tonight,” Bradley said, finishing up his work. “As expected, it’s bleeding more than it should so I had to wrap it as soon as possible to limit infection and damage to your skin. But you should be good to take it off when you wake up tomorrow and get a good look at it.”
“Great,” Jake muttered under his breath. He wasn’t thrilled he’d have to wait to assess how much of a mistake this had been. Sliding off his chair, he walked over and thumped Javy in the chest. “Hey, Sleeping Beauty, nap time’s over.”
Javy bolted upright, then immediately collapsed back clutching his head. “Fuck…”
“I’d feel bad about that if I hadn’t just had hundreds of needles punched into me because of you.”
“Next time don’t make a bet you aren’t willing to lose.” Javy slowly squinted one eye at Jake. “So, what'd ya get?”
“Don’t know yet. Can’t look until tomorrow.” He held out his hand and helped his friend to his feet. Then, turning back to Bradley, he flashed a smile. “Thanks again for making an exception. It ended up not being as bad as I thought it would be.”
Something seemed to sparkle in Bradley’s eyes as he said, “I’m sure there’s a reason for that.” Then he clapped his hands together before Jake could dwell on what he meant. “I’ve gotta clean up here but you guys can see yourselves out. I'll lock up when I’m done.”
“Cool, thanks,” Javy said, still holding his head. “I think I need to go home and lay down.”
Jake rolled his eyes but then cast one last look at Bradley. He didn’t know what he had expected to happen. There had been no indication that Bradley was even into guys, yet as Jake thought of his fingers brushing across the skin of his arm, the intense gaze in his soulful brown eyes as he worked, and his chuckle at Jake’s story, Jake couldn’t help but wish this wasn’t goodbye.
With Javy already stumbling out the front door, Jake had no choice but to hold up his hand, give Bradley one last smile, and follow his friend out of the shop.
Though no one was left to hear him, Bradley laughed and shook his head as he looked towards the front of the shop. “Goodbye, Jake. I have a feeling we’ll be seeing each other real soon.”
Pain.
That’s all Jake felt when he clawed himself back to consciousness the next morning. Pain starting from the center of his head and radiating out throughout the rest of his body. He tried to shift slightly to adjust his sweat-dampened sheets that clung to him but immediately moaned as fresh waves of pain and nausea flowed through his system. He hadn’t had a hangover this bad since the firm’s last New Year’s Eve party where there was an open bar. Fucking Javy and his fucking underhanded scheme to finally beat him at something.
Oh god.
Jake’s eyes snapped open—only to wince in pain—as he remembered the bet he had made and subsequently lost. A quick glance at the bandage still wrapped around his arm was all the confirmation he needed that they had carried out the terms of the bet. Jake was struggling to remember more than a few flashes from last night, but he did remember that.
Taking several deep breaths, he eased himself out of bed and trudged to the bathroom. After vomiting, the world stopped spinning quite as much, so Jake braced himself and stepped in front of his mirror. Carefully, he unwrapped the bandage and got his first look at his new tattoo.
“What the fuck?”
There, reflected in the mirror, was a square, decorative border stretching from the peak of his shoulder to just above his elbow. There was a weird design or symbols at the bottom that seemed sort of distorted from the curve of his arm. However, Jake only glanced at that for a moment, seeing as his attention was focused on the image framed inside.
It was a massive stylized chicken.
Looking closer, it kind of reminded Jake of the sriracha logo. That’s when it clicked. He got a flash of this same design in red neon hanging in the window of the shop they stopped at, though he couldn’t recall the name under it.
The tattoo guy had inked his fucking shop logo onto Jake's arm.
Jake continued to stare at the design in the mirror, hoping it was just a hallucination. But no matter how long he stared at it, it didn't change or go away. It just continued to stare back at him in all its inky glory.
“What the fuck!”
Five hours.
That’s how long Jake wandered the city looking for the shop from last night. His call to Javy immediately after rushing out of the bathroom had been absolutely useless in helping him narrow down his search. Once Javy finally stopped crying from laughter at Jake’s predicament, they compared notes from the night before. Neither one of them could remember anything between leaving the bar and arriving at the tattoo shop. And even the details of their time there were hazy. All they could really agree on was that there was a guy working there who agreed to tattoo Jake if he could pick out the design. Jake couldn’t even remember the guy’s name or what he looked like, he just had a vague image of him and that his name started with a B or something.
So, after a quick search of “chicken tattoo shops” turned up nothing useful, Jake had begun walking around the city trying to come across the shop just like they had the night before. He passed dozens of shops, but none of them had a large neon chicken sign in the window so he continued on. Looking back on it later, he realized he should have gone into one of these shops, shown them the tattoo, and asked if they recognized the logo. But he would have been too embarrassed to do so even if the thought had crossed his mind.
After the eighth time backtracking to the bar and branching off in a direction they might have headed the night before, Jake finally found what he was looking for.
As soon as he peered down the correct alley, he was greeted with a bright red glow from the neon sign in the window and he hurried down until he stopped in front of the shop and its ridiculous chicken logo. It was the same image as the one now inked into his skin. And as Jake noticed the name of the shop underneath it, his face grew as red as the sign as he realized how much of an idiot he had been.
When he was looking at the tattoo in the mirror, he only glanced at the border for a second before focusing on the chicken in the center. If he had given it any more than that first cursory glance, he would have probably noticed that what he had taken as weird symbols or decoration had, in fact, been the name of the shop reflected backwards in the mirror. But between the stylized font and the way it stretched on Jake’s arm, it had never occurred to him that his answer had been there the entire time.
Throwing open the door, Jake stormed into The Roost.
The woman behind the counter didn’t seem the least bit fazed by his over-the-top entrance. From what Jake could remember from the previous night, she looked exactly like the kind of person he would expect to be working here. Her dark hair was pulled back into a ponytail showing off each ear completely pierced with a dozen or so gold hoops. She was sporting a matching septum ring. Her black strapless shirt clung to her body and allowed two full sleeves of tattoos to be on full display. As she turned slightly, Jake noticed the one on her right arm looked like a flaming bird taking flight.
She lazily looked up from the binder she was writing in and blew a bubble with her gum as she stared at Jake. When it popped, she asked, “Can I help you?”
Jake was momentarily taken aback by her demeanor but quickly recovered and regained his determination. Marching up to the counter, he said, “Yeah. I’m looking for someone who works here. I think his name started with a B? Tall guy. Brown hair. Lots of tattoos. Ridiculous mustache.”
“Oh!” Her face lit up as a knowing smile spread across her face. Leaning back, she said, “You must be Jake. Rooster said you’d be in sometime today.”
“Rooster?” The feeling of stupidity Jake was feeling only grew. Of course it wasn’t just a chicken in the logo—it was a rooster. That might explain why he never found anything when he searched online. He should have looked for “rooster tattoo shop” instead.
She shrugged. “Bradley. He’s Rooster to all of us, but depending on the client, he sometimes uses his real name. Guess you were one of the lucky ones.”
The anger that had been brewing in Jake’s chest all day reached a boiling point. Not only had this guy branded him with his shop logo, but it was also his nickname. What kind of sick son of a bitch did he meet last night?
Through gritted teeth, he growled, “Is he here?”
The woman nodded. “Yeah, he’s working on someone right now but he told me to bring you back if you showed up.” Stepping out from behind the counter, she motioned for Jake to follow her as she headed deeper into the shop.
They passed a few other stations with customers in various stages of getting tattooed. A pale man with glasses was applying an elaborate stencil to a young woman's arm. At another station, a guy with buzzed hair and bronze skin was finishing up a photo-realistic tattoo of Captain America holding his shield on some guy’s thigh. Both were very impressive and made Jake even more upset that he got stuck with this feathery monstrosity.
As they neared the back—Jake was beginning to get a very fuzzy memory of this place from the night before—the woman called out, “Hey, Roo! You’ve got a visitor.”
At the very last station that seemed to take up the whole back wall, a man was lying on his stomach on the table while someone leaned over him tattooing on his shoulder blade. When he heard the woman call out, the artist glanced up then grinned as he saw Jake hot on her heels. For a moment, Jake’s rage fizzled out as he got his first look at Brad—Rooster sober. The hazy drunken version of the man did not do him justice and, in any other situation, Jake would have immediately slipped into flirtation mode.
However, this was a unique circumstance.
Pushing past the woman, Jake stormed up to Rooster. “What the fuck, dude!”
Rooster chuckled softly as he shook his head. Glancing at the woman, he said, “Thanks, Phe. I’ve got it from here.”
She muttered something under her breath that Jake couldn’t make out before she walked away.
Tapping the man he had been tattooing on his side, Rooster said, “Hey, I’ve gotta take care of something but I’ll be right back. Give you a chance to take a breather before we finish up.” The man muttered an unfazed “whatever” and Rooster swung his chair around to face Jake. Grinning like a cat that got the cream, he said, “I’ve been wondering when you’d stumble back in here. Like my work? I think it suits you. You looking for another one already?”
“Cut the shit. You turned me into a walking billboard? How fucked up is that!”
Rooster held out his hands. “You agreed that I could pick any design I wanted. That’s what I picked.”
“I don’t care what we agreed on! It’s pretty much assumed ‘free advertisement for your shop’ was excluded from your selection!” Jake shivered at the thought. “God, I feel like a whore or something.”
Rooster rolled his eyes. “Don’t you think that’s a little dramatic?”
“I have the right to be dramatic right now!” Jake could feel every eye in the shop on him at the moment, but he didn’t care. Well, he did, but at the moment, he cared about what was etched on his arm more. With his cheeks burning and his voice breaking slightly, he demanded, “What am I supposed to do? I can’t…I can’t walk around with this on me for the rest of my life.”
For a moment, Rooster just sat there staring at him. Then, silently, he rose from his seat and took a few steps towards Jake, stopping so close that Jake could feel his breath brushing against his face. Refusing to meet his eye, Jake stared straight ahead, right at Rooster’s mustache…and his full lips.
“Hey, Jake, look at me.”
Jake still refused to budge. That is until Rooster placed his finger under his chin and tilted his head up. Completely taken aback, Jake allowed it to happen and his eyes met Rooster’s. They were softer, sweeter, more compassionate than Jake was expecting from him and he felt some of the tension ease from his shoulders simply from staring into the other man’s eyes.
Giving him a small smile, Rooster not unkindly whispered, “Maybe next time you won’t push someone to get your way when they tell you no.”
Using his teeth to grab the tip of one of the latex gloves he was wearing, Rooster peeled it off his hand. Then, after spitting the glove to the side, he slowly slid his now bare middle finger between his lips. Jake watched in fascination, his mind short-circuiting from what he was seeing. The only two thoughts running through his brain were “what the hell is going on” and “why do I find this insanely hot”.
Rooster pulled his finger out of his mouth with a pop, then reached out with his dampened middle finger and rubbed Jake’s tattoo. Hard. When he pulled it away, the ink where he had touched was now peeling and flaking off.
Realizing what was happening, Jake’s head snapped up as his jaw dropped. “It’s a fucking fake?!”
Rooster stepped back smirking as he crossed his arms over his chest. “We tend to call them temporaries. We hand smaller ones out at events and such for a little advertisement or promotion. But I had a few larger ones made too just in case a situation came up we might be able to use one…turns out, one finally did.”
Jake looked back down to the tattoo on his arm then up to Rooster then down to his arm again. Once he finally grasped the situation, he shoved Rooster in the chest (the other man barely moved) with a loud “What the fuck, dude!” However, there was a laugh of relief in his voice as he did so.
Now that he knew the truth and he wasn’t facing a future with this plastered on his arm for the rest of his life, he could see where it was already starting to crack in several places. If he had actually inspected it this morning or showered as he had planned (he was sure he still smelled of stale beer) instead of immediately jumping into panic mode, he would have discovered the ruse hours ago. It also now made perfect sense why he never felt any pain while he was being tattooed. Rooster must have been using the gun without the needle so all Jake felt were the vibrations of the machine.
After trying several times to find something snappy or sarcastic to say, Jake finally settled on, “But why?”
“Sometimes when an unstoppable force meets an immovable object, you have to find a way to get the force to shift paths slightly. You weren’t going to leave here without a tattoo and I was never going to ink you. So, I found a way for us both to get what we wanted. Yeah, I could have just wrapped your arm up without putting the temporary tattoo there but where’s the fun in that.” Rooster’s smug expression softened slightly as his arms fell to his side. “And, selfishly, I was hoping you’d fall for it and use the logo to track me down.”
“Why would you want me to find you again?”
“Well, for one, I figured once you had sobered up you might want to actually get a real one and I felt like I owed you that. So think about it and let me know if you decide you want one. I promise no tricks this time and I can work with you to find a design you actually want. But right now, I’ve gotta get back to work.” Rooster walked back to the table where his client was still lying. Sitting back in the seat, he grabbed a new glove from out of a box on the tray next to him and pulled it on.
Feeling a bit dismissed but always wanting to have the final word, Jake scoffed. “All this trouble just to get me back in your chair, huh? Guess I left quite the impression on you.”
“Yeah. You did. Which is the other reason I was hoping you’d come back. This way I get to ask you out for dinner. ” As he picked up the tattoo gun, Rooster glanced at Jake with a grin. “So let me know what you think of that too.”
Jake sputtered in disbelief as Rooster winked at him then leaned forward to continue his work.
Thank you for reading this first part of my new series! It's going to be more a series of connected one-shots rather than a traditional series. New updates coming soon!
If you'd like to join the taglist, please let me know! 💕
Hellooooou, I would like to know if you know Frank Grillo , this man is extremely hot and not many people know him:(.
And if you know him, I would like to know if you are willing to write about him 👀
Hi!
I DO know who Frank Grillo is! Mostly from Captain America: Winter Soldier and The Purge movies.
Unfortunately, I'm stepping back from writing at the moment. It also sounds like you might be looking for RPFs (sorry if I am misunderstanding) which I don't write anyway. But I hope you find someone who writes or will write what you are looking for!
Thank you for thinking of me and sending the ask 💗
Fandom: Top Gun, Top Gun: Maverick, Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw, f!reader
Word Count: 1796
TW: Angst, Fluff, Kissing, Presumed Dead (but not really), Grief, Reunion
Spoilers for Top Gun: Maverick
Top Gun Masterlist
You lingered outside the briefing room, waiting for the news you were certain was about to come but yet you prayed didn’t. As much as you knew Rooster wanted on this mission, the thought of him going made your stomach roll and your heart clench. Though you only worked the coms in the control room for the mission and had no clearance for the details of the current assignment, you had managed to sneak a look at the mission plan. It was a near-suicide mission, and everyone knew it. And yet, you knew better than to ask Rooster to step down. It was missions like this that he trained for his entire career, and he wouldn’t turn down the opportunity to fly it. Even for you.
Suddenly, the door to the briefing room flew open and Hangman stormed out. The second you saw his face, all of your fears were confirmed. The only reason he would look that pissed off is if he hadn’t been selected for the team, which meant…..
Rooster walked out of the room, and he stumbled to a stop when he saw you standing there. Without saying a word, he opened his arms and you were instantly in them, wrapped in his tight embrace for what might be the last time. Burying your face into his chest, you said in a muffled voice, “I told you he would pick you. Maverick knows talent when he sees it.”
Rooster sighed as he rested his chin on the top of your head. “Yeah, well, you’re not exactly objective when it comes to my skills.”
You chuckled softly but the sound quickly shifted into a sob. You tried to bite your lip to keep your tears from falling, but it was useless. Rooster placed his hands on your arms and pushed you away from him, getting a good look at your face. “Aw, baby, please don’t. If you cry, I’ll cry and that won’t be good.”
“I’m sorry, I just- I need you to come back. Okay? I can’t…. I can’t sit there and watch you go down.” The tears were flowing more steadily down your face and Rooster reached up and wiped them away with his thumb.
“I’ll come back. I promise.”
You shook your head. “You can’t promise that. There are so many things that could go wrong, so many chances to fail. You know I believe in you, baby, but this….. this isn’t something that just relies on skill. If even the slightest bit of information is incorrect, if they miscalculated anything, this could all go wrong, and I can’t-”
“It’s not going to. I will come back. I promise you. You’re not getting rid of me that easily.” He trailed his hand down your cheek before lifting your chin with his thumb. His lips brushed against yours, gentle and soft, and as much as his words were saying differently, you knew this was him telling you goodbye.
You rested your head on his chest once more and the two of you held each other in silence for as long as time permitted.
To everyone’s astonishment, the mission had been accomplished perfectly even with Dagger 4’s laser malfunction. You smiled broadly as pride swelled in your chest as Rooster managed to hit his target without the guidance. However, that feeling quickly faded as he crested over the top of Coffin Corner and into range of the SAMs. As missiles filled the radar screens in the control room, you gripped the arms of your seat so tightly, that the muscles in your arms began to tremble. And it felt as if your heart stopped when Rooster’s desperate cries filled your headset as he informed everyone he was out of flares. But Maverick had flown in at the last second and saved him. And as much as it pained you to see Maverick go down, at least Rooster was safe.
Until he wasn’t. Despite his orders, despite your desperate pleas to him over the coms, Rooster went back for Maverick. And it was then that your world exploded as you watched a SAM slam into his plane before his signal blinked out.
Frantically reaching for your controls, you said, “Dagger 2, come in….” Silence. “Dagger 2, I repeat, co-come in.” Still no response. You jumped to your feet as you slammed the com button and screamed, “Rooster! Answer me!”
The entire control room was deathly silent as you felt every eye on you. But you didn’t care. You just needed Rooster to answer. But he never did.
You collapsed back into your seat in stunned silence, still unable to grasp the reality of what just happened. From somewhere behind you, you heard Vice Admiral Simpson mutter, “Get her out of here” before you felt a pair of hands gently rest on your shoulders and help usher you out into the hall.
It wasn’t until the door to the control room closed that you collapsed to the floor in a heap of sobs and tears. Rooster couldn’t be gone. He just couldn’t. He promised you he would come back. He promised he wouldn’t make you go through watching his readings blink off of your screen, wouldn’t make you watch him go down. Yet, he had gone back for Maverick and made you watch him die.
Another sob rattled through your chest and you felt the hands from before rest softly on your shoulders. Looking up, you saw Hondo staring back at you, a tear running down his face as well. You nodded at him, a sign of thanks and understanding. While you had just lost the man you loved, Hondo had just lost a dear friend who he had served with for many years. The pains you were feeling were different yet not really so dissimilar. And as terrible as it was to think, at least you weren’t alone in your grief.
As he lowered himself to the floor, you slid over and rested your head on his shoulder. Neither one of you said a word. You both just sat silently as you tried to come to terms with what had happened and what you had lost.
After what seemed like an eternity, you managed to stop crying and pull yourself together for the most part. The pain was still there, but the initial shock had started to fade a little, leaving a deep emptiness instead. But you knew that feeling would take much longer to fade.
Just as you were about to ask Hondo how he was doing, the door to the control room flew open and Rear Admiral Bates stuck his head out. “You two need to get back in here now.”
Through your puffy, bloodshot eyes, you looked up at him in confusion. “Sir?”
“We’re receiving a signal from Rooster’s tracker.” Your eyes went wide as your breath caught in your chest. “He’s currently in the air in what appears to be in a F-14 Tomcat headed this way.”
“Maverick.” Hondo chuckled in relief.
Your head swam as you tried to grasp the miracle that was being presented to you. “Are you saying they’re both okay and on their way back?”
Warlock shook his head. “We can’t say for certain. We haven’t been able to hail their craft and…. there appears to be two, possibly three Su-57s closing in on their position.”
Suddenly, the entire ship shook as a roar of a plane taking off sounded from the deck above. Exchanging a confused look with Hondo and Warlock, you all hurried back into the control room where chaos was currently ensuing.
As you looked around, you heard someone saying, “Dagger Spare, you were not cleared for takeoff. I repeat you were not cleared for takeoff.”
A smile spread across your face as you realized what just happened and a voice came in over the comms. “This is Dagger Spare and with all due respect, you’ve been denying my requests to go help my team all mission and I won’t let my fellow pilots die because you refuse to give me authorization. So, I’m willing to take whatever reprimands are warranted when I get back, but I won’t be coming back alone.”
Hangman. You made a note to never bad-mouth the pilot again. He had just risked his career to save Maverick and Rooster and for that, you would never be able to repay him.
There was a pause as the room held its breath, waiting to see what Hangman’s fate would be. Finally, Vice Admiral Simpson sighed and said, “Dagger Spare, you are cleared for the mission. Go bring our men home.”
The room erupted in a cheer as Hangman said, “Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.”
Hope soared through you for the first time since you found out Rooster was going on the mission. With Hangman and Maverick (two of the only men in active duty ever to have a confirmed kill in aerial combat) by his side, you knew they would make it.
Rooster was coming home.
They wouldn’t let anyone from the control room up on deck until all aircrafts had safely landed (safety protocols or some bullshit). But the second you received the all-clear, you burst through the door. The deck was swarming with people trying to congratulate the returning pilots, so you had to shove and elbow your way through. Finally, as you approached the spot where the planes had come to a stop, you could see Rooster and Maverick embracing. It looked like an emotional and tender moment that under any other circumstance would have warmed your heart to see the two men seemingly settling their differences. But after what you just went through, you were willing to spoil their moment.
“Rooster!” you screamed.
Immediately, he dropped his hold on Maverick and pivoted towards the sound of your voice. Without saying a word, he opened his arms and you were instantly in them, wrapped in his tight embrace after fearing you never would be again. As you buried your face into his chest, he whispered, “I promised you I’d be back.”
His voice was choked and strained and when you pulled back to look at him, you saw tears shimmering in his eyes. Quickly reaching up to wipe them away, you said, “Oh, baby. Come on. If you cry, I’ll cry, remember? And no one wants to see that.”
“I don’t care, let them see.” Rooster smashed his lips into yours and you quickly returned his embrace with just as much love and devotion. Soon, you could taste the salty sting of tears on your lips and you weren’t sure if they were yours or his but you didn’t mind. Because Rooster was alive and safe and back in your arms. And that was all that mattered.
Thank you!!!!! It means so much when people read my work once, but the fact people reread my work is beyond incredible 💞 And I'm so glad it still hits just as hard on a reread!
