Discover Top Posts Tagged with #{sawyer}

lost | jack abbot au

pairing: jack abbot x fem reader

warnings: ~6k, one shot, age gap, forced proximity, smut, unprotected p in v ( a surprise tool that can help us later!!), mdni, both povs, jack abbot the consent king, not proofread yet

a/n: shawn hatosy transcends gender and sexuality, he is a lesbian spiritually !! there will be 'lost' spoilers, but you don't have to know the plot of the show. i swear you will fall in love with 'lost'. i mean the main character's name is 'jack shepherd' it just had to be done. pics from pinterest. divider from this post. ao3! two players, two sides. one is light, one is dark.

It's been two months stranded on the island. The beach camp had evolved from chaos into something resembling order. Shelters dotted the sand, constructed from salvaged plane parts and palm fronds. A communal fire pit served as the heart of the settlement, where people gathered for meals and warmth and the illusion of normalcy. Rationing systems had been established. A semblance of civilization carved out of wilderness.

But beneath the surface, fractures ran deep. Some survivors still clung to hope. They maintained the signal fire on the ridge, took turns scanning the horizon for rescue planes that never came. Others had accepted the truth: no one was coming. No one knew where they were. This island was their home now, whether they wanted it or not.

And through it all, Jack held them together.

You watched him now from across the camp, standing near the fire pit with a small group gathered around him. His shirt was rolled to his elbows, his hair longer than it had been on the plane, sun-bleached at the tips. He was gesturing as he spoke, explaining something about water purification or food storage. People listened. They always listened to Jack.

He'd never asked for the role or declared himself leader. But in the vacuum left by disaster, someone had to step up, and Jack was the kind of man who couldn't help but take responsibility. It suited him, even if the weight of it showed in the lines around his eyes.

"Doc's got it all figured out, doesn't he?"

You turned to find Sawyer leaning against a palm tree, arms crossed, that perpetual smirk on his face. Being stranded on an island hadn't softened him. If anything, the island had sharpened his edges, turned him more cynical, and combative.

"Someone has to," you said carefully.

"Sure. And we're all just supposed to fall in line? Follow Captain America over there into whatever plan he's cooked up?" Sawyer's drawl was lazy, but there was an edge beneath it. "Funny how nobody voted on that."

"You want to take over, Sawyer? Be my guest."

He laughed, short and sharp. "Hell no. Too much work. I'm just saying, maybe the good doctor shouldn't get too comfortable playing king."

Before you could respond, Jack's voice cut across the camp. "Sawyer. Got a minute?"

Sawyer pushed off the tree with exaggerated slowness. "Duty calls." He sauntered over to Jack, and you watched the two men face off. They were roughly the same height, but everything else about them was opposite. Jack's controlled intensity versus Sawyer's casual defiance.

"We need to talk about the exploration," Jack said, his tone even. "I want to head inland tomorrow. See if we can find fresh water sources, maybe higher ground for a better vantage point."

"We?" Sawyer raised an eyebrow. "You got a mouse in your pocket, Doc?"

"You, me, Hurley, and—" Jack's eyes found yours across the camp, held for just a fraction too long before he looked away. "And her. Four people. We'll be gone most of the day."

"And what if something happens while you're playing explorer? Who's in charge then?"

"Sayid can handle things. He's more than capable."

Sawyer studied Jack for a long moment, then shrugged. "Fine. But if we run into whatever the hell makes that noise in the jungle, I'm using you as bait."

"Noted," Jack says looking at Sawyer.

You turned away before either of them could catch you watching. Two months, and you haven't gotten any better at hiding it. The way your pulse quickened when Jack was near. Or how you found excuses to be wherever he was.

Nothing had happened. Nothing could happen. Jack was the leader. And you were still the fugitive, even if no one else knew it. Even if the marshal's body had been found three days after the crash and buried without ceremony.

Jack watched her walk away and forced himself to focus on Sawyer's complaints about the exploration plan. It was getting harder to ignore the pull he felt toward her. Two months of working side by side, and what felt like a lifetime of wanting something he had no right to want.

She was younger. At least twenty years younger. And even if age didn't matter on this island, even if normal rules had been suspended, there were other complications. The main one being that getting involved with anyone right now was the last thing he should be doing. But God, he wanted to.

He wanted to know what made her smile, really smile, not the careful expression she wore around the others. And the most visceral feeling of it all - he wanted to touch her without the excuse of checking an injury or handing her supplies.

"You even listening, Doc?"

Jack blinked, refocused on Sawyer. "What?"

"I said, what time we leaving tomorrow?"

"Dawn. Pack light."

Sawyer's smirk widened. "You got it, Chief."

As Sawyer walked away, Jack let himself look toward where she'd gone. Just for a moment. Long enough to remind himself why he was doing this. Why he kept going when exhaustion threatened to drag him under. Because she was here. They were all here. Because someone had to keep them alive.

NEXT DAY - Dawn came too early, as it always did. You met the others at the edge of camp, packs slung over shoulders, water bottles secured. Hurley looked nervous, his eyes darting toward the jungle. Jack looked like he hadn't slept, which was probably true.

"Everyone ready?" Jack asked.

"As I'll ever be, dude," Hurley said. "But, like, are we sure this is a good idea? I mean, we don't really know what's out there."

"That's why we're going," Jack said. "We need to know what we're dealing with."

"Could be dealing with nothing," Sawyer offered. "Could be this island's just a regular island and we're all paranoid."

"You believe that?"

Sawyer's silence was answer enough. The jungle swallowed you within minutes of leaving the beach. The temperature dropped, air thick with humidity and the smell of vegetation. Sounds echoed strangely here. The rustle of leaves that could be wind or could be something else. You walked behind Jack, watching the way he moved through the undergrowth with careful precision. He'd found a walking stick somewhere, used it to push aside vines and test the ground ahead.

"Soo what exactly are we looking for?" Hurley asked after an hour of walking. "Like, a Starbucks? Because I would kill for a Frappuccino right now."

"Water sources," Jack said. "Caves, maybe. Anything that could provide better shelter than what we have."

"And if we find whatever makes that freaky noise?"

"We avoid it," Jack says without looking back.

"Great plan, Doc. Real detailed," Sawyer mutters.

Sawyer was in rare form today, his commentary a constant stream of sarcasm and complaints. But you noticed he stayed alert, his eyes scanning the jungle with the same wariness Jack showed. For all his attitude, Sawyer wasn't stupid. He knew the danger as well as anyone.

The terrain grew rougher as you continued. Rocky outcroppings jutted through the jungle, and more than once you had to scramble over fallen trees or navigate around dense thickets. Your legs burned. Sweat soaked through your shirt. But you kept pace, refusing to be the one who slowed them down.

"Wait," Jack said suddenly, raising a hand.

Everyone froze. You strained to hear what had caught his attention, but there was only the usual jungle noise. Birds. Insects. The distant crash of waves.

"What is it?" you asked quietly.

Jack pointed ahead, and you saw it. A break in the vegetation. Something that didn't belong. You moved forward as a group, pushing through the last of the undergrowth, and stopped.

Dull gray metal, partially covered by vines and dirt, set into the ground like a door. But not just any door that would be on a supposably uninhabited island. This was industrial, heavy, with a small window of thick glass at the center.

"What the hell?" Sawyer breathed.

Hurley took a step back. "Dude. That's, like, man-made. Someone built that."

Jack was already kneeling beside it, brushing away dirt. The metal was solid. The symbols were unfamiliar, possibly numbers or letters in a language none of you recognized.

"It's a hatch," Jack said. "Some kind of entrance."

"To what?" you asked.

Sawyer crouched down, running his hand over the metal. "This thing's been here a while. Look at the rust. But it's still solid. Whatever's underneath, someone wanted it sealed tight."

"Should we try to open it?" Hurley's voice was uncertain.

Jack looked up at you, and for a moment, it was just the two of you. His eyes asked a question you couldn't quite read. Trust me? Help me? Be careful?

"Yes," Jack said finally. "We need to know what this is."

It took all four of you to find the mechanism. A wheel, like something from a submarine, hidden beneath more vines. Sawyer and Jack grabbed it first, muscles straiining as they tried to turn it. Nothing. The metal had fused with age and weather.

"Let me help," you said, adding your weight to the effort.

Hurley joined in, and slowly, agonizingly, the wheel began to move. Metal shrieked against metal. The sound echoed through the jungle, loud enough to send birds scattering from the trees.

"Keep going," Jack grunted.

The wheel turned. Once. Twice. Three times. And then, with a hiss of released pressure, the hatch began to open.

Darkness yawned beneath. A ladder descended into shadow, the rungs slick with moisture. Cool air wafted up, carrying a smell of metal and something else. Something sterile and wrong.

"Okay," Hurley said. "This is officially creepy."

Sawyer peered down into the darkness. "Could be supplies down there. Food, medicine, maybe even a radio."

"Could be a trap," you countered.

"Only one way to find out." Jack was already swinging his leg over the edge, finding the first rung of the ladder. "I'll go first. If it's safe, I'll call up."

"Jack!—" you started, but he was already descending.

You watched him disappear into the darkness, your heart hammering. Seconds stretched into minutes. Then his voice echoed up, distorted by the metal walls.

"It's clear! Come down."

Sawyer went next, then Hurley, then you. The ladder was longer than you expected, at least twenty feet down into the earth. Your hands slipped on the rungs, and you had to concentrate on each movement, each careful placement of your feet. When you reached the bottom, Jack's hand steadied you. His touch was warm, solid, and you let yourself lean into it for just a second before stepping away.

The space around you was like something from a Cold War bunker. Concrete walls lined with pipes and electrical conduits. Emergency lighting flickered overhead, casting everything in a sickly yellow glow. There were rooms branching off from the main corridor, doors hanging open to reveal what looked like living quarters, a kitchen, storage areas.

"Someone lived here," you said softly.

"Yeah." Jack moved forward, examining everything with clinical precision. "Recently, too. Look at this."

He pointed to a calendar on the wall. The dates went up to a few months ago. Just before your flight crashed.

"So where are they now?" Hurley asked, his voice small, eyes darting around.

No one answered. You explored carefully, the four of you staying close. The bunker was extensive, far larger than it had appeared from above. There were supplies. Canned food, medical equipment, even books and entertainment. Someone had lived here for a long time. Years, maybe.

But they were gone now.

"This is insane," you said. "What is this place?"

Before anyone could answer, a sound echoed through the bunker. A deep, mechanical grinding. You all froze, looking at each other.

"What was that?" Hurley whispered.

The sound came again, louder. And then, with a finality that made your stomach drop, you heard it. The hatch closing. You ran back to the main corridor, but you already knew what you'd find. The hatch was sealed. The wheel on this side wouldn't budge, no matter how hard you tried.

"No, no, no," Hurley was saying, pulling at the wheel. "Come on, man. Open up."

Sawyer tried next, then Jack, then all of you together. Nothing. The mechanism had locked from the outside, or jammed. You were trapped.

"Okay," Jack said, his voice carefully controlled. "Okay. We don't panic. There has to be another way out."

"Or we're stuck here until someone finds us," Sawyer said. "Which could be never, in case you forgot we're on a deserted island."

"The others know where we went. They'll come looking."

"And how exactly are they supposed to open that hatch from the outside? We barely got it open with four people."

Jack's jaw clenched. You could see him fighting to stay calm, to be the leader everyone needed. "We'll figure it out. In the meantime, we have supplies. Water. Food. We can last a few days if we have to."

"A few days?" Hurley's voice pitched higher. "Dude, I can't be stuck underground for a few days. I'm already freaking out."

"Then don't freak out," Sawyer snapped. "Panicking doesn't help anyone."

"Easy for you to say. You're not claustrophobic."

"We're all claustrophobic right now, Tubby. Deal with it."

"Hey, that's not—"

"Enough!" Jack's deep voice cut through the argument. "Fighting doesn't help either. We need to stay calm and think this through."

You moved away from the group, needing space to process. Underground. For an unknown amount of time. The walls seemed to press in closer, the air thicker. You forced yourself to breathe slowly, to push down the panic threatening to rise.

Jack appeared beside you, his presence solid and grounding. "You okay?"

"Fine."

"You're a terrible liar," ge smirks.

Despite everything, you almost smiled. "So are you."

He didn't deny it. Instead, he looked back at Sawyer and Hurley, who were still bickering. "We'll get out of this. I promise. I'll get you out."

"You can't promise that."

"I can try."

"Jack, I—" you started, but Sawyer's voice interrupted.

"Hey, Doc! You better come look at this."

The moment broke. Jack stood, the mask sliding back into place. "We should see what he wants.You followed him back to the main room, where Sawyer was pointing at the computer screen. The countdown had reached 47 minutes.

"So what happens when it hits zero?" Sawyer asked.

Jack studied the screen, the instructions on the wall. "I don't know. But I don't think we want to find out."

"You think we should enter the code?"

"I think we should be careful. We don't know what this system does."

"Could be nothing," you offered. "Could be someone's idea of a joke."

"Or it could be important." Jack's voice was grim. "We'll watch it. If it gets close to zero, we'll make a decision then."

The bunker felt smaller with each passing second. You'd all tried to rest, but sleep was elusive. Hurley had finally dozed off in one of the bunks, his snoring a constant background noise. Sawyer was sprawled in a chair, eyes closed but not quite asleep.

You and Jack had taken the first watch, monitoring the computer. The countdown was at 10 minutes now. You'd watched it cycle through once already, Jack entering the code at the last moment. The numbers had reset to 108 minutes, and nothing else had happened.

"Do you think it actually does anything?" you asked quietly.

Jack shrugged. "No way to know without letting it run out. And I'm not willing to risk that."

"So we're stuck entering a code every 108 minutes for however long we're down here."

"Looks like it."

You leaned back in your chair, studying him in the dim light. He looked older in the harsh fluorescent glow, the lines around his eyes more pronounced. But there was something compelling about him, something that drew you in despite every reason to keep your distance.

"Can I ask you something?" you said.

"Sure."

"Why did you become a doctor?"

He was quiet for a long moment. "My father was a doctor. A surgeon. One of the best. I guess I wanted to prove I could be as good as him."

"And were you?"

"Better, actually. At least technically. But he never saw it that way." Jack's voice was flat, emotionless. "He died thinking I was a failure."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be. He was probably right."

"Jack, don't say that," you say softly.

"I couldn't save him." The words came out harsh, raw. "He was dying, and I couldn't do anything. All my training and I was useless. What kind of doctor does that make me?"

You reached out without thinking, your hand covering his. "The human kind. You can't save everyone."

"I should have saved him."

"Why? Because he was your father? Because you're a doctor? Or because you think you owe him something?"

Jack looked at your hand on his, then up at your face. "All of the above."

"That's not fair to yourself."

"Life's not fair." But he didn't pull his hand away. "What about you? What were you running from?"

The question shouldn't have surprised you, but it did. You'd been so careful, so guarded. But down here, trapped in this bunker with time stretching ahead of you, the walls you'd built felt thinner.

"Everything," you said finally. "I made mistakes. And instead of facing them, I ran."

"What kind of mistakes?"

You hesitated. This was the moment. You could tell him the truth, or you could keep lying.

"I was in love with someone," you said slowly. "Someone I shouldn't have been. And when things went wrong, when people got hurt, I ran. I've been running ever since."

"Until the plane crashed." Jack added.

"Until the plane crashed," you agreed. "Hard to run when there's nowhere to go."

Jack's thumb brushed across your knuckles, a gesture so small and so intimate it made your heart stutter. "Maybe running isn't the answer."

"What is?"

"I don't know. Staying, maybe. Facing things instead of hiding from them."

"Is that what you're doing? Facing things?"

He smiled, sad and self-deprecating. "I'm trying. Not sure I'm succeeding, but I'm trying."

The computer beeped. Five minutes left. Jack pulled his hand away, and you felt the loss of his warmth like a physical ache. He stood, moved to the terminal, entered the code with practiced efficiency. The numbers reset. 108 minutes until you had to do it again.

HOUR 30 - Jack couldn't sleep. He'd tried lying on one of the bunks while Sawyer took a turn watching the computer, but his mind wouldn't shut off. He kept thinking about her hand on his, the way she'd looked at him when he'd talked about his father. She'd opened up, just a little, about her own past. He wanted to know more. And wanted to take away whatever pain she carried.

But more than that, he just wanted her. It was a dangerous thought. He was supposed to be the responsible one. Getting involved with anyone, especially her, was the last thing he should be doing. But God, he was tired of being responsible. He sat up, running his hands through his hair. Across the room, she was curled on another bunk, her back to him. He couldn't tell if she was asleep or just pretending.

"Can't sleep either?"

Her voice was soft, barely audible. She rolled over to face him, and even in the dim light, he could see the exhaustion in her eyes.

"No," he admitted.

"Want to talk about it?"

"Not really."

She smiled. "Fair enough."

They lay there in silence, Jack wondered what would happen if he closed that gap. If he crossed the space between them and just... let himself have this. But he didn't move. Because he was Jack, and Jack didn't do reckless things. Even when he desperately wanted to.

HOUR 35 - The bunker had taken on a timeless quality. Without windows, without natural light, it was impossible to tell if it was day or night above ground. You'd all lost track of time beyond the countdown on the computer screen.

Hurley and Sawyer had finally crashed, both of them snoring in their respective bunks. You and Jack had volunteered for another watch, sitting side by side at the computer terminal.

"Do you think they're looking for us?" you asked.

"Probably. But I don't know if they'll find this place. We barely found it ourselves."

"So we could be stuck here for days."

"Maybe." Jack's voice was carefully neutral. "Would that be so bad?"

You looked at him, surprised. "Being trapped underground with limited supplies and no way out? Yeah, I'd say that's pretty bad compared to the hell we've been thrown in."

"I meant..." He trailed off, shaking his head. "Never mind."

"No, what did you mean?"

He was quiet for a long moment. When he spoke, his voice was low, almost hesitant. "I meant being here. With you. Away from everything and everyone else. Would that be so bad?"

Your heart hammered. This was the kind of conversation that led to places you couldn't come back from.

"Jack, I'm not sure if you want to hear my-"

"I know." He cut you off."I know all the reasons this is a bad idea. But I-I can't stop thinking about you. I haven't been able to stop thinking about you since the day we crashed."

You reached out and took his hand. He looked at the countdown on the screen. 108 minutes. Then back at you.

"We have 108 minutes," he said. "And then we figure it out."

"That's not an answer."

"No. But it's what we've got."

You leaned in and kissed him. It was soft at first, giving him a chance to pull away. But he didn't. Instead, his hand came up to cup your face, his thumb brushing your cheekbone as he deepened the kiss. His other hand found your waist, pulling you closer until you were practically in his lap. You went willingly, your hands fisting in his shirt.

It had been so long since you'd been touched like this. Since you'd let yourself want someone. And Jack was... God, Jack was everything. Strong and gentle and careful, even now, even as his control started to slip.

He pulled back, breathing hard. "We should... there's a room. In the back. More private."

You nodded, not trusting your voice. He stood, taking your hand, and led you through the bunker to one of the smaller rooms. It had probably been an office once, with a desk and a filing cabinet and a small cot shoved in the corner. Jack closed the door behind you, and suddenly the space felt even smaller, more intimate.

"Are you sure?" he asked, his hands on your shoulders. "Because if you're not, if you have any doubts, we can stop. No questions asked."

"I'm sure." You reached up, touching his face. "Are you?"

"I've never been more sure of anything in my life."

Jack had imagined this moment more times than he cared to admit. Late at night, lying in his shelter on the beach, he'd let himself fantasize about what it would be like to touch her. To kiss her. To have her in his arms without the weight of responsibility and judgment pressing down on him. But the reality was so much better than any fantasy.

She was soft and warm in his arms, her body fitting against his like she was made for him. Her hands were in his hair, tugging gently at curls, and the small sound she made when he kissed her neck sent heat straight through him.

He wanted to take his time. Wanted to savor every moment, every touch, every gasp. But there was also an urgency to this, a desperation born of two months of denial and the very real possibility that they might not make it out of this bunker alive.

"Jack," she breathed, and the sound of his name on her lips nearly undid him.

He pulled back, his hands shaking slightly as he reached for the hem of her shirt. "Can I?"

She nodded, raising her arms, and he pulled the fabric over her head. She was beautiful. Sun-bronzed skin, the scar on her wrist from where he'd stitched her up that first day. Evidence of survival, of strength. He kissed the scar, then her shoulder, then the hollow of her throat. She gasped, her hands clutching at his shoulders.

"Your turn," she said, tugging at his shirt.

Jack hesitated. This was the moment he'd been dreading. The moment when she'd see him, really see him and realize. He took a breath and pulled his shirt over his head. Then his cargo pants fell to the floor.

Her eyes went to his left leg immediately. To the prosthetic that started just below his knee, the result of an accident years ago that he rarely talked about. He waited for the questions, the pity, the awkwardness that usually followed. Instead, she reached out and touched it. Her fingers traced the edge where metal met skin, gentle and curious but not pitying.

"Does it hurt?" she asked.

"Sometimes. Not right now."

She looked up at him, and there was no judgment in her eyes. No disgust or discomfort. Just acceptance. "Okay."

That was it. Just "okay." And somehow, that simple word meant more than any reassurance or platitude could have. Jack pulled her close again, kissing her deeply, pouring everything he couldn't say into the kiss. Thank you. I want you. You're beautiful. I'm terrified. I'm falling for you. She responded in kind, her hands exploring his chest, his shoulders, his back. Learning him the way he was learning her.

Jack guided her toward the cot, and she went willingly, pulling him down with her. The mattress was thin and uncomfortable, but neither of you cared. You were too focused on each other, on the way his weight felt pressing you into the mattress, on the way his hands mapped your body with reverent care.

"Tell me what you want," he said, his voice rough.

"You," you breathed. "Just you."

He kissed you again, slower this time, taking his time. His hands worked at the button of your jeans, and you lifted your hips to help him slide them down. He followed the path of the fabric with his lips, kissing your hip, your thigh, the inside of your knee.

"You're killing me," you gasped.

"Good." But there was a smile in his voice. "I want to take my time with you and memorize every inch of you."

"We might not have time."

"Then I'll work fast."

He did, his hands and mouth working in tandem to drive you higher. When he finally settled between your thighs, when his fingers found the heat of you, you couldn't hold back the moan that escaped.

"Shh," he murmured against your skin. "The others."

"I don't care."

"You will if Sawyer makes a comment about it later," he said muffled with his lips against you.

Despite everything, you laughed. And then his fingers moved in a way that made laughter impossible, made everything impossible except the sensation of him touching you, learning you, taking you apart with careful precision.

"Jack," you gasped. "Please."

"Please what?"

"I need... I need you. Inside me. Now."

He groaned, the sound vibrating through his chest. "Are you sure?"

"Yes. God, yes."

He pulled back long enough to shed his remaining clothes, and you took the opportunity to do the same. When he settled over you again, skin to skin, the sensation was overwhelming. He was warm and solid and real, and you wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him closer.

"I don't have..." he started, then stopped. "We don't have protection."

"I don't care. I'm pretty sure we're gonna die and I trust you."

"You shouldn't."

"But I do."

He kissed you again, deep and thorough, as he positioned himself. "Tell me if I hurt you. Tell me if you need me to stop."

"I will. "

He pushed in carefully, and the stretch was immediate and intense. He was thick, substantial, and you felt every inch as he filled you. Your breath caught, your fingers digging into his shoulders as your body adjusted to accommodate him.

Jack's eyes locked on yours, searching, watching every flicker of sensation that crossed your face. He didn't ask if you were okay. He didn't need to. He could see it in your eyes, the way your lips parted, the way your body softened and opened for him.

When he was fully seated inside you, he paused, his forehead dropping to rest against yours. His breathing was ragged, his muscles trembling with the effort of holding still. Your hands slid up his arms, feeling the strength there, the tension coiled in his shoulders and back. Fingertips meshing with lean muscle and controlled power, and you could feel him shaking with restraint.

"You feel incredible," he murmured, his voice rough. His hands moved to cup your breasts, thumbs brushing over your nipples as he began to move. Slow, deliberate thrusts that had you gasping.

He kept his eyes on yours, never looking away, even as his rhythm built. One hand slid down to grip your hip, angling you so he could go deeper, and you cried out at the sensation.

"There," you gasped. "God, right there."

He maintained that angle, that rhythm, his gaze intense and unwavering. You could see everything in his eyes—the desire, the vulnerability, and his overwhelming need. Your hands roamed his back, feeling the flex and shift of muscle as he moved, the way his body worked above you.

"You feel so good," he murmured, his voice strained. "So perfect. I've wanted this for so long."

He angled deeper, his strokes growing more deliberate, each one hitting that perfect spot while his hips ground against you with an intensity that made your breath catch.

"Jack—fuck—I'm close."

"Let go. I've got you," Jack rasped against your lips.

The steady rhythm of his body against yours it pushed you over the edge. You came with a cry you barely managed to muffle against his shoulder, your body clenching tight around him.

Jack groaned, his rhythm immediately faltering. "I can't—" His voice broke, frustration and desperation mixing. "I'm sorry, I can't—"

He thrust deep, once or twice, and then you felt it. The hot pulse of his release flooding into you, the way his cock throbbed inside you as he came. It was visceral and intimate, feeling him lose control, feeling the warmth spreading through you.

He buried his face in your neck, his whole body shuddering. "I'm sorry," he gasped against your skin. "It's been so long, I couldn't—I wanted to make it last—"

You wrapped your arms around him, holding him close. "Don't apologize. That was perfect."

"I finished too fast." There was embarrassment in his voice, vulnerability. "You deserve better than—"

"Jack." You tilted his face up, making him look at you. "That was exactly what I needed. You were exactly what I needed."

For a long moment, neither of you moved. You just lay there, tangled together, breathing hard. Jack's weight was heavy on you, but you didn't want him to move. Didn't want this moment to end.

Eventually, he shifted, rolling to the side and pulling you with him. The cot was barely big enough for one person, let alone two, but you made it work, curling into his side.

"You okay?" he asked softly, his hand stroking your hair.

"Better than okay."

"I didn't hurt you?"

"No. It was perfect. You were perfect."

He kissed the top of your head. "I'm far from perfect." You didn't believe him. He was quiet for a moment, his hand still moving through your hair in soothing strokes. "What happens now?"

"I don't know." You exhaled slowly. "We're currently trapped underground. Eventually someone will find us, and we go back to camp. Back to trying not to die on this island."

"I meant with us." His voice was quiet, almost hesitant.

You tilted your head to look at him. His eyes were serious, searching. "What do you want to happen?"

"I want..." He paused, his jaw tightening. "I don't know. I just know I don't regret this."

"Even though it complicates everything?"

"Yeah. Even though." He looked away, then back at you.

You didn't know what to say to that. Didn't know if there was anything to say. So you just nodded, and he pulled you closer.

You lay there in comfortable silence, your head on his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart. His hand traced patterns on your back, and you felt yourself starting to drift.

"Sawyer and Hurley are going to want us to rotate back soon," Jack said eventually, his voice drowsy. "Take the next shift."

"Probably," you say indifferently, not caring if the failure to enter the code results in castaporhe. You only cared about being submerged in freckled arms.

"We should get dressed. Be ready when they come looking," Jack says lazily.

"Five more minutes."

He chuckled softly. "Five more minutes."

But five minutes turned into ten, then twenty. You were both exhausted, the adrenaline and emotion of the past hours catching up with you. Jack's breathing evened out, and you realized he'd fallen asleep. You should have woken him. Should have insisted you both get dressed and gone back to the main room. But instead, you let yourself have this. This moment of peace, of intimacy, of feeling safe in someone's arms.

Just for a little while longer.

HOUR 47 - The banging woke Jack from the deepest sleep he'd had in months. For a moment, he was disoriented, unsure where he was. Then he felt the warm body pressed against his, smelled the scent of her hair, and remembered. The banging came again, louder this time. Voices shouting from above.

"Shit," Jack muttered, sitting up quickly. "They're here. I think tthey found us."

She was already moving, scrambling for her clothes. "How long were we asleep?"

Jack checked his watch. "A few hours. Damn it, we need to get dressed. Now."

They moved with frantic efficiency, pulling on clothes, trying to make themselves presentable. Jack's shirt was inside out. Her hair was a mess. There was no hiding what they'd been doing, but they had to try.

"Do I look okay?" she asked, her voice uncertain.

Jack took a moment to really look at her. Flushed cheeks, swollen lips, hair tangled from his hands. She looked thoroughly ravished, and the sight sent a bolt of possessive satisfaction through him.

"You look beautiful," he said honestly.

"JACK!"

"I know. Come on."

They hurried back to the main room, where Hurley and Sawyer were already awake, looking confused and disoriented.

"What's that noise?" Hurley asked.

"Rescue," Jack said. "Someone found us."

The banging intensified, and then, with a screech of metal, the hatch began to open. Light poured in, blindingly bright after two days in the dim bunker. Voices called down.

"Jack?! You down there?"

It was Sayid. Jack moved to the ladder, looking up at the faces peering down. "We're here. We're all okay."

"Thank God. We've been searching for hours. What happened?"

"Long story. We'll explain when we get up there."

One by one, they climbed the ladder. Hurley went first, then Sawyer. Jack gestured for you to go next, and you started up, acutely aware of his eyes on you. When you reached the top, hands pulled you out into the sunlight. It was late afternoon, the sun beginning its descent toward the horizon. A group of survivors had gathered, their faces relieved.

Jack emerged last, and immediately people started asking questions. What had they found? Were they okay? What was down there?

Jack handled it with his usual calm authority, explaining about the bunker, the supplies, the strange countdown. He didn't mention what had happened between you. Didn't even look at you as he spoke. But you could feel the connection between you, invisible but undeniable. Something had shifted in that bunker.

As the group started back toward camp, Jack fell into step beside you. His hand brushed yours, just for a moment. A silent acknowledgment of what had passed between you.

"Later?" he said quietly, so only you could hear.

"Later," you agreed.

And as you walked through the jungle, surrounded by the others but feeling utterly alone with him, you realized that everything had changed.

The island had brought you together. The bunker had broken down your walls. And now, there was no going back. Whatever came next, you'd face it together. Just like he'd promised.

🌿🌊📗𝘭𝘰𝘴𝘵 𝘢𝘶 𝘹 𝘫𝘢𝘤𝘬 𝘢𝘣𝘣𝘰𝘵 🌀🐟🌏

-- this ain't over/under but it's damn good. lmk if there should be a full fledged pitt x lost au with all the pittlings... love you all!

@dammitj4net @corvid0 @dr-yapper @soupiemeowmeow @fertilise-me @pheonist @inkdippedquills @thedamnqueenofhell @rios-st4rs @defonotsolesblog @Buckysdoll1520distantsighs @sophiesmovingcastle5 @alleksistrash @dumb_fawkin_bitch @probioticpro @thatgirljayy @echo-ethe @speeedybaby @maliagurl @seitmai @namgification @why-is-the-cake-always-gone @ThatOriginalBiiiTCH @raydenrrobertson @jam3s-x

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