𝐢 𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐢𝐧 𝐩𝐞𝐨𝐩𝐥𝐞'𝐬 𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐨𝐰𝐬
𝐢 𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐢𝐧 𝐩𝐞𝐨𝐩𝐥𝐞'𝐬 𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐨𝐰𝐬
What if your eyes looked up and met mine one more time?
description:
pairing: dr. michael robinavitch x female ob/gyn attending! reader
genre: hidden pregnancy…maybe? age gap (michael late 40s, reader mid 30s), female reader.
notes: i love this so much it’s insane
word count: 2.9 k
extra: moodboard | playlist | ☆:**:. 𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐞 .:**:.☆
Feel free to #𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐦𝐞 (◕‿◕✿) *:･ﾟ✧ if you have any scenarios in mind! I might not write everything but I’ll respond to everyone.
series masterlist: 𝐢 𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐢𝐧 𝐩𝐞𝐨𝐩𝐥𝐞'𝐬 𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐨𝐰𝐬
ten years ago…
The city was still asleep when he closed the door behind him.
No one saw him leave—not the landlord, not the neighbor who always smoked on her balcony, not the woman he loved, still asleep down the hall with the bedroom door cracked open just enough for the light to spill in.
Robby stood in that silence for a long minute, the chill from the hallway seeping into his bones like penance. Then he turned the key in the lock and walked away.
The air outside was the kind that burned in your lungs.
Pittsburgh was cold in the fall, but this was the kind of cold that made everything sharper—clearer. Unforgiving.
His bag was slung over his shoulder, his steps steady but slow, like maybe the weight of what he was doing hadn’t settled in yet. Or maybe it had, and he was just trying not to feel it.
He didn’t take a cab. He walked the ten blocks to the station with his hands in his pockets and his jaw clenched tight.
The city was gray and heavy, the sky the color of steel, and every street corner felt like it might shout her name back at him if he let his mind wander too far.
He had written her a note. It was short. Too short.
Something about needing to go. About not being who she thought he was. About not being enough.
He hadn't signed it.
He told himself it was better this way. Cleaner. Less to untangle.
She wouldn’t have to look him in the eye and see the mess of a man too afraid to stay. She wouldn’t have to see him crack apart under the weight of what he couldn’t say: I love you, but I don’t know how to deserve you.
Because that was the truth, wasn’t it?
He loved her. God, he loved her so much it made everything inside him ache. But love wasn’t always enough, and he was already unraveling—already halfway gone in ways that scared him.
She had plans. She had brightness. She talked about future things like they were inevitable—like there was a place in them carved out for him. Like he belonged.
Michael didn’t know how to belong.
And she—she kissed him like she believed he’d always come back.
He left like he knew he never would.
He remembered the way she’d pulled him close the night before, bare legs around his hips, her breath soft and warm against his skin. She kissed him like the world was still safe.
Like it was forever. Like it was just the two of them in that tiny apartment and the future didn’t scare her. She whispered something against his collarbone—something like don’t go far, something like see you in the morning—and he’d shut his eyes so tight it hurt.
She kissed him like she believed in him. And it broke something in him, because he didn’t.
After, she curled up against him and fell asleep fast, trusting him to stay.
He spent the whole night awake beside her.
Watching the ceiling. Watching her chest rise and fall. Memorizing the shape of her hand resting on his chest like she was anchoring him to something good. Something real.
And then, right before the sun came up, he kissed her on the forehead, like that could make up for everything he didn’t have the courage to say. He got up without a sound, packed only what he needed, left the note on the kitchen counter where she’d find it after coffee.
At the station, he stood on the platform with a coffee in one hand and guilt in the other. The train was delayed. Of course it was. The universe was cruel like that.
He didn’t cry. Not really. But his chest hurt in that splintered, hollow way grief lives in.
If she had woken up…
If she had asked him to stay…
He didn’t know what he would’ve done.
But she didn’t. And he left. He let the train carry him away from the only thing that had ever felt like home, trying to convince himself he was doing the right thing.
He never turned around.
And he never saw the light flick on in the apartment just moments after the train pulled away.
He never saw her wake up, heart hammering, reaching for the empty space beside her.
He didn’t see the light flick on in the apartment just minutes after the train pulled away.
Didn’t see her reach across the bed for him, only to find cold sheets and silence.
Didn’t see her walk barefoot into the kitchen, rubbing sleep from her eyes, only to stop short at the note waiting for her like a knife on the counter.
She read it once. Then again. And again, like maybe the words would change if she stared long enough.
They didn’t.
And the life she thought she was building—the one she’d let herself believe in, with the man she’d trusted enough to love without hesitation—cracked down the middle, quiet and sharp.
There was no warning. No fight. No goodbye. Just an empty bed, and a note, and the sound of something breaking that she couldn’t name.
He didn’t know what she looked like in that moment.
Didn’t know the way she slid to the floor, back to the counter, note crumpled in her hand, trying to breathe around the hollowed-out space where he used to be.
He didn’t see her cry.
All he knew was that he had left.
And he hated himself for it.
five years later…
Michael hadn’t meant to come.
He told himself it was just dinner. Just a few familiar faces. Just something to fill the silence that had started to feel like its own kind of punishment.
It wasn’t nostalgia, not exactly. Nostalgia required sweetness, and he’d scraped most of that out of himself years ago.
But the invitation had come anyway—some old friend from undergrad, or med school, or residency, someone he hadn’t seen in years but still had enough of his email to keep him tethered.
“Come by if you’re in town,” it said. “It’s been forever.”
It had been forever.
And Michael—idiot that he was—had found himself driving across the city through the soft December dusk, half hoping the offer had expired by the time he arrived.
Pennsylvania never changed much. It was gray and clumsy in the winter, still bitter enough to make your bones ache if you didn’t move fast enough. The streets were slick with slush. The streetlights glowed gold on the pavement. Somewhere in the distance, carolers sang just off-key.
But the house? The house was warm.
Not just in the literal sense—with its firelight flickering behind windows, the sharp glow of a chandelier, the steam rising from pots in the kitchen—but warm in the way that made your chest hurt.
Laughter spilled from the porch. Music floated through the cracks in the windows. He could see the silhouettes of coats being shrugged off, cheeks kissed, wine poured.
He parked across the street and left the engine running.
He told himself he just needed a minute. Just a minute.
And then—he saw her.
Through the window. Like a movie he had no right to watch.
She was wearing soft pink, not scrubs but something casual and delicate, like the inside of a seashell. Her hair was up. A few strands curled against her neck, the way they used to when she rushed from the shower and didn’t have time to dry it all the way.
She looked older—but in the kind of way that hurt, because it meant time had passed without him. Because it meant she had kept living while he had buried himself alive.
She was talking to someone, laughing. There was a wine glass in her hand. A freckle he remembered just barely visible near her collarbone. When she smiled—God, when she smiled—it twisted something in his ribs.
He should’ve left. Should’ve never come.
But instead, he sat there, drowning in it.
In her.
It had been five years.
Five years since he left.
Five years since she kissed him like she believed he’d come back.
And he had left like he knew he never would.
That last night haunted him. The way she had wrapped herself around him like she was memorizing him. The softness of her lips, trembling just slightly. The way her hands had lingered against his back, as if she could keep him there by sheer will.
She had whispered, “See you in the morning,” into the curve of his neck, her voice barely audible, casual like it meant nothing at all.
And he had kissed her like he believed he could make that true.
But it was like she knew what was coming, on some deeper level. Like her body had braced for it before her mind could catch up.
There was no morning for them. Not after that.
No safety. No stability. No staying.
He had packed too fast. Left without enough. Told himself it was better this way—for her, for them. That she deserved more than someone already half-destroyed.
It hadn’t mattered. It had broken her anyway.
It had broken him.
He looked away from the window, throat tight. A dog barked somewhere nearby. He couldn’t breathe.
Michael reached for the door handle.
Just do it, he told himself. Go in. Say hello. Apologize. Pretend to be someone who deserved to walk through that door.
But then he looked up again—just as she turned, laughed, leaned against the counter like she belonged there—and everything in him stalled.
Because she did belong there.
She looked happy. Or at least… okay. Stable. Surrounded by light and warmth and people who hadn’t vanished when things got hard. What right did he have to walk back in now, five years too late?
None. Absolutely none.
He dropped his hand from the door.
And drove away.
He didn’t see her turn back toward the living room.
Didn’t see the small boy—curly-haired, pajama-clad—pad over and raise his arms.
Didn’t see her scoop him up and nuzzle her nose into his cheek like it was the easiest, most natural thing in the world.
Didn’t see the boy giggle, and press his hand to her face, and whisper something that made her laugh even harder.
He didn’t see any of it.
All he saw was her silhouette, soft and golden, disappearing behind curtains as he turned the corner and left her behind again.
He told himself it was better this way. Cleaner. Safer.
He told himself she had moved on. That she didn’t need him. That he didn’t need her.
But as the city lights blurred past his windshield, as the ache in his chest settled deeper, more permanent—
Michael knew he was still lying.
To her. To himself. And to whatever part of him that still woke up some nights thinking she was there.
present day…
There was a rhythm to emergency.
You breathed in crisis. Bled urgency. Learned to function in the eye of the storm.
And Dr. Robby had made a home in the storm.
That morning had been like any other. Fast. Messy. Loud.
A cardiac arrest. A teen with a bullet in his shoulder. An elderly woman with a stroke mid-grocery run. The ER moved like it always did: fast and fractured.
Until it didn’t.
Until everything stopped.
The moment he heard her voice.
“Move! He’s crashing—give me the crash cart, and get respiratory down here, now!”
He froze mid-step, the trauma form in his hand suddenly weightless.
That voice. Familiar. Unshakable.
He turned toward the chaos at trauma bay two—and there she was.
Pink salmon scrubs stained with something dark. Her hair half pulled back, half falling out. Her hands fluttering between the boy on the gurney and the nurse trying to get a BP cuff on.
And her eyes—God, her eyes. Were wild, terrified.
She wasn’t supposed to be here.
Not in this city. Not in this hospital. Not on this day.
She was yelling something about sats. Chest pain. A fall.
“He got hit—he was riding to school and some jackass blew through the stop sign—he wasn’t moving, he was cyanotic, I couldn’t find a pulse—so I just started compressions, I didn’t wait for the ambulance—”
Her voice cracked. “I was right next to him and I didn’t react fast enough, fuck—I should’ve seen it coming, I should’ve grabbed him—”
Someone—Whittaker, already gowned up—stepped in beside her. “We’ve got him now. You have to step back, let us work.”
“He’s my son.”
The words cracked something in him.
The boy. Robby saw him clearly now. Pale. Unconscious. A small bruise blooming across his temple. Dark lashes stuck together from oxygen tubing, blood, and sweat.
He couldn’t look away.
Because something inside him twisted hard—like recognition, like guilt, like some ancient ache that had been sleeping for ten years and woke up screaming.
The boy looked like her. Same cheekbones. Same curve of the jaw. Even the soft dip in his left cheek, like it had been sculpted by memory. But the eyes—
They were closed now, but when they’d fluttered open briefly under the lights—
Brown.
Not hazel, not green. Not hers.
His.
It was a stupid thing to fixate on, maybe. But in that split-second, his brain flooded with it. The timeline. The math. Ten years since he left. The kid—what, eight? Nine?
The breath Robby took didn’t make it to his lungs. It caught somewhere deep in his chest, behind his ribs, sharp and sudden like broken glass.
He took a step back without realizing it, hand coming up like he might need to steady himself on something, anything. The edge of the trauma board. The counter. The wall.
He felt the air shift beside him before he heard the voice.
Dana.
She didn’t say anything right away. Just appeared at his side like she always did when things went sideways—silent, sharp, steady. Her eyes flicked from the boy to Robby’s face and back again.
“You okay?” she asked quietly, too low for anyone else to hear.
Robby didn’t answer.
Didn’t know how to.
Because his mind was spiraling now. Backward. Forward. In every direction at once.
She hadn’t seen him yet. She didn’t know he was there. But that didn’t stop the crash. The sound of her voice cracked through him like a whip, and now this—this kid, with her face and his eyes—it was too much.
“I think—” he tried, then stopped. Swallowed hard.
Dana gently guided him toward the side wall, just out of the direct chaos. “Just breathe for a second. I’ve got it. I’ve got eyes on the board.”
“I need—” he started again, but his throat closed up.
“Hey,” she said, softer now. “It’s okay.”
But it wasn’t. It was anything but.
Because standing there, watching that boy fight for breath, watching her fight like hell to keep him here, Robby felt everything he had buried start to claw its way to the surface.
The weight of the note he left.
The sound of the train pulling away.
The memory of her asleep, the light spilling into the room, her hand on his chest like she was anchoring him.
He’d thought that version of himself was dead. Buried under work and years and choices he couldn’t take back.
But now—now it was like the past had ripped itself open and demanded he look.
The room blurred for a second. He blinked hard. Tried to focus.
He heard her voice again, still panicked.
“Why the hell aren’t we intubating?! He needs to be intubated!”
Whittaker again, calm and unmoved. “He’s stable enough to scan. You can come with us if you stay out of the way.”
A voice behind his left shoulder now—one of the paramedics.
“She brought him in herself. Collapsed on the street. She didn’t wait for the ambulance—drove like a maniac to get him here. Said she didn’t trust the timing.”
He still hadn’t moved.
The whole world had narrowed to the sound of her breath, the strain in her voice, the way her hand shook as she pushed hair from the boy’s forehead.
Then—quiet. A new voice. Softer. Dana again, back in the room now.
“He’s going to be okay. He’s stable. We’ve got him.”
She exhaled for the first time.
Just once. Then pressed a hand to her chest like she needed to physically hold herself together.
And that’s when someone said her name.
Soft. Familiar.
The sound of it—her name—snapped Robby out of whatever fog he’d been standing in.
That was all it took.
He moved.
Through the flurry of techs and doctors. Past Mohan adjusting the IV, past Whittaker calling out a page to peds. His footsteps were too loud, or maybe the whole room had just gone silent when he stepped in.
She turned at the sound of her name.
And saw him.
For the first time in ten years.
The recognition hit like a punch. Not loud. Not dramatic. Just… undeniable.
Her face went still.
Not surprised. Not angry.
Just raw.
As if she’d been bracing for this moment for years without knowing it.
He opened his mouth. Didn’t even know what he was going to say.
All that came out was her name.
And everything else fell away.
© AUGUSTWINESWORLD : no translation, plagiarism, or cross posting.
More Posts from M14mags and Others
actually melting thinking about jack’s knowledge of anatomy plus of your body and how he puts it into practice like a clinician. a hot doctor who knows all your spots and will either hit them all at once or really drag it out to tease you?? he’ll take care of literally everything and do things to you that you didn’t even know you wanted or needed it’s deadly i’m dead
yeah, so this is my first time writing for Jack and it's probably a mess but I had to write something just to rip the bandaid off. thank you, anon for being my first Abbot ask. ilu with all my heart. 💙
warnings: 18+ mdni. Jack Abbot x afab!reader. fingering. asphyxiation. not super filthy.
Jack knows what you need before you do.
He can sense your energy and mood; the slightest imbalance.
Sometimes, all he needs to do is to curl a hand around the back of your neck, fingers softly tugging your hair, while he slides two fingers inside your cunt.
"I know, I know." He coos down at you. His piercing eyes keep you grounded as you gasp from the sudden stretch. "It's a lot. But you can take it."
The intense pressure builds and builds while he steadily works his sticky fingers in a come hither motion and smothers your clit with his thumb.
"Feel that?" He asks, curling his fingers against a hidden spot you had no idea about. Your body explodes, nerves spasming like lighting struck, but he keeps his hold locked tightly.
Deep and raspy, Jack laughs before tipping his head to steal your gaze. He waits until you nod before he continues. "That's a special little spot."
He hooks his fingers against the spot once more, forcing a shocked gasp from your lip as he stokes the fire burning deep in your belly.
A sly smirk tugs at the corner of his lip. "My favorite, actually."
Other times, when you're beyond stressed and need to forget about the world, Jack teases you until you cry in his arms. Keeping you stuffed full of his cock, thrusting over and over until you're on the cusp of bliss, only for him to pause and withdraw, leaving your empty cunt spasming around nothing.
He knows all you need is to take what he gives you. Pleasure, pain, or a mix of both. If he wants to, he'll take you apart piece by piece with his bare hands only to put your back together again.
Jack tempts fate when it's needed.
He moves quick and precise, curling a skilled hand around the front of your neck, letting the heavy weight settle on your sweaty, overheated skin until the time is right.
Another frantic mewl spills from your lips, along with fat tears rolling down your cheeks. Only then does Jack press his thumb down against your carotid.
He knows it's reckless.
With his cock buried deep, spreading your folds, he cuts just enough blood to make you woozy. He thrusts into your warmth with an endurance only army medical doctors have. He watches you tremble, your mouth bobbing like a fish out of water, waiting until he gives you any bit of solace.
Slowing your brain's blood flow can turn south real quick, but Jack enjoys the control. The feeling of you struggling under his touch.
The way you look at him like he's the only thing left in your world.
"Atta girl."
feel free to scream at me -> 💌
✩ ‧₊˚ ✩。BITE THE HAND — JACK ABBOT.
pairings: jack abbot x resident!reader
warnings: smut, hurt/comfort, angst, 18+ minors dni, age-gap implied-ish
summary: being casual with jack abbot was never going to be easy, and soon you realize that you've fallen for a man who's afraid of love
author's note: wow i went crazy writing this but this has been a week from hell so i made this to cope, hope you all enjoy! again, this is not proofread AND my requests are open
masterlist | read on ao3
wc: 5.4k
Jack Abbot was an enigma, a puzzle that you were desperate to solve. At first, you deluded yourself into thinking you could settle for pieces of him. That the stolen kisses, simmering looks, and dark rooms would be enough for you.
But it wasn't—of course it wasn't.
Because outside of the hospital, the list of people you saw consistently was small. And if you excluded the people you worked with, that left only one or two names. Somehow, Jack managed to snake his way to the top of the list.
It was the little things at first: asking you to get a drink after work. Slowly, but surely, it became a routine where you'd all meet in the park for a drink, and afterwards you and Jack continued the night at a nearby bar.
Then, it was walking you home after, lingering outside the front of your apartment building, and then your front door. It didn't take long for you to start inviting him in, offering a glass of water or a snack before he started his walk back. All these subtle moves felt like he was giving you the opportunity over and over again to turn him down.
You wouldn't because there wasn't a world where you said no to Jack Abbot.
There was a part of you that needed him, any part that he was willing to share.
So the first time he caged you between his arms against the wall, his breaths hard and heavy, you could've sworn your heart dropped into your stomach. Your legs turned into jelly, and if it wasn't for the wall's support, you absolutely would've slid to the ground.
"Are you sure?" He asked.
One last chance to say no, to save yourself from the rollercoaster seeing him would be.
"Yes," you said quietly, but not weakly. There was a beat, where the weight of your words hung in the air for the two of for the two of you to contend with.
And then his lips were on yours, and it felt like God himself was smiling down on you. Like the universe was finally rewarding you after every heartbreak, every sleepless night, every time you've ever felt unwanted. His hands found purchase in your hair, one sliding down to your waist and gripping it, pulling you closer to him in the process.
Your hands traveled up his neck, feeling the stubble on his jaws and cheek scrape against them as they cupped the sides of his face, bringing him impossibly closer to you. Your lips moved in sync, a dance that only you two knew, a rhythm that was in your blood. He pulled away slightly, staring at you through lidded eyes before dipping his head and sucking on your neck, biting that sweet spot just below your ear.
An involuntary moan slipped out before you could stop it, a sound that startled and embarrassed you, but seemed to only encourage Jack. He pressed his knee in-between your legs, spreading them apart so he could slot himself in between, his thigh pressing into your crotch.
"You like that?" He whispered, his voice low in your ear as you gripped his biceps, nails digging into them from the pressure. You nodded, your hips jerking and grinding down against his thigh. "Use your words for me."
"Keep going, please," the words tumbled out, leaving you breathless. Your hands went to the hem of his scrub top, fiddling with the hem before pulling it off him. He threw it somewhere behind him, not caring where it went.
For the first time since you've met him, you were seeing Jack come undone. He was finally losing that composure that he worked so hard to keep during all his shifts with you, finally letting you see the hold you've had on him for months now.
His hands dropped to the backs of your thighs before he whispered another command.
"Jump.
You jumped, wrapping your legs around his waist and arms around his neck. He walked backwards and turned, heading into deeper into your apartment about to cross a boundary he hadn't since meeting you.
"First door on the left," you directed him, before attacking his neck again in the same way he did you. You kissed up to his jaw before capturing his mouth into a kiss again.
The door creaked open distantly, and Jack walked you to the bed before gently lowering you onto the mattress, never breaking the kiss. His entire body moved to cover yours, his crotch grinding down against in yours in a way that made the both of you moan. You felt him undo the button to the long sleeve you were in, as you already changed out of your scrubs before leaving PTMC.
He leaned back, giving you the space to sit up and pull your shirt over your head. When you could see again, he was staring at you with a look in his eyes that you couldn't place. If it were anyone else, you would've felt self-conscious, but for some reason, with him you didn't. He reached out, brushing the strap on your shoulder and tracing down to your forearm, before looking back at you.
"Are you sure?" He asked again. Another chance, another way out. You answered by climbing into his lap, grinding down on him and kissing him deeply, your breaths becoming one. He leaned until his back hit the mattress, keeping you securely on top of him. You felt his arms go around you, his hands fiddling with the clasp of your bra until it finally snapped free and you shrugged it off. You dropped to the left, rolling him back on top of you while staying connected through a kiss.
He began to kiss down your chest, kissing over the swell of your breast and swirling your nipple in his mouth. A shudder ran through you at the contact, your back arching off the mattress slightly and he pulled you closer to him, giving each one equal attention. He continued his trail of kisses down your stomach, stopping just before the button of your jeans.
You made quick work of undoing the button and zipper, letting Jack slide both your pants and underwear off you, finally leaving you bare in front of him. He kissed down your inner thigh all the way to your folds, and you felt him rub against them with his hand.
"Already so wet for me," he mused, before sliding one, then two in, pumping slowly. You could feel his eyes on you the entire time, as if daring you to break eye contact first. Finally, he lowered himself to your clit, sucking and swirling as he worked his fingers in and out, the combination driving you over the edge. A coil began to tighten around your lower stomach, and as he quickened his pace and moved with brutal efficiency, you felt it snap and burst and a wave of ecstasy washed over you. He held you the entire way through, one hand wrapped around your thigh anchoring you to the bed.
When you finally came back down and stopped trembling, he rose from his knees and hovered over you again, a soft smile on his face. You reached out to touch his face, your thumb running over his lips as he lowered himself to you again, tasting yourself on his lips. You pulled away, leaning your forehead against his and breathing heavily as you undid the knot of his scrubs, helping him slide them off. He was in briefs, his bulge evident and throbbing as you cupped him them. He let out a low groan as one of your fingers hooked under the hem of the underwear, tugging at it slightly.
"I want it off," you said, and Jack obeyed. He stood, sliding down the briefs and his erection sprung free. He was hard already, precum beading at top and dripping down the side. You rose to your knees to meet him halfway, pulling him into a kiss as you wrapped your hand around him and pumped slowly.
He let out a breathy moan, one that went straight to your core. He was the first to pull away this time, leaning his forehead against yours as the two of you watched you work him slowly. When you moved to lower yourself he stopped, gripping onto your elbows.
"No?" You questioned, and he shook his head. He helped you back up before pushing you gently onto the bed again, moving to cover you with himself again.
"I'm all about you tonight," he said, positioning himself at your entrance. You felt the head prod against you, and you could've sworn you felt a shock. "Ready?"
"Yes."
He kissed you, this time sweet and soft in a way you would have never expected from him. When he finally sunk in you tensed, and he murmured encouraging words into your ear, telling you to relax and that he'd move slow. You listened, letting your body become more pliable as you moved with him, your bodies becoming one. After a few thrusts, he began to pick up the pace, lifting your thigh at an angle so he could get in deeper. When he started to hit that spot that always pushed you over the edge you gasped, throwing your arms around his neck pulling him down to you, your nails digging into his back.
"That's it, that's my girl," he said, continuing his brutal pace, "You're doing so good for me."
It was all too much, every feeling was overwhelming. You wanted more, you wanted all of him, you couldn't get enough. The coil began to tighten again, and this time when it snapped, you didn't hold back in the slightest. You muffled your cries with his shoulder, biting into it as you rode the wave of your second orgasm. His pace quickened until it peaked, his whole body shaking as you felt him reach his peak as well. When he came back down, his thrusts were sloppy until he finally pulled out.
He collapsed on the other side of you, both of you panting and not saying a word. You knew he'd be good, but you didn't expect it to be that good.
And that was the night that started it all, this push and pull between the two of you. Both of you had agreed to keep it private it from the rest of your coworkers, not wanting to be the newest piece of gossip that entertains them during the rare moments of peace in their shift. If Princess and Perlah caught a whiff of this, it'd be over.
"You're in a good mood today," Robby noted as you came out of a patients room after finishing your rounds.
"They finally fixed the leak in my apartment, today is a great day," you explained, giving him a half-truth. That leak was very annoying, and the drip-drip-drip sound was beginning to keep you up at night. Or at least it kept you up when Jack wasn't.
"Repairs always put a smile on my face too," he mused, "But never one that big."
He was gone before you could say anything, and you knitted your eyebrows in confusion. Everyone else behaved normally that day, except for Collins and Mohan, who eyed you a little suspiciously when the three of you had lunch in the lounge later that day. It wasn't until you overheard Princess and Perlah whispering behind you when you were doing a restock of supplies. When you turned to face them, they both stopped and simply smiled, waved, and disappeared immediately.
You got your answers when you cornered Whitaker on his way to make rounds.
"What do you know?"
"What?" He asked, looking more skittish than usual. His eyes scanned the surroundings, as if he was looking for an excuse to get out of this conversation. You blocked his path with your body, smiling in a way that was downright terrifying to him.
"Let me rephrase: what's everyone whispering about?"
He caved almost immediately.
"We're betting on you and Abbot," he rushed out. Your jaw dropped and you backed away, allowing him to take off before you could ask more questions.
How did anyone start to suspect? You wondered. It's not like the two of you were constantly together on shift. Hell, you rarely saw each other shift unless it was to congregate in a small group to chat before everything fell into chaos again. Your dynamic hadn't changed either: he was just as reserved with you as he was everyone else.
One time, you laughed at a joke he made along with everyone else, and out of reflex you touched his arm. As if you were a blazing fire, he immediately withdrew from you, clearing his throat and declaring that he needed to go catch up on charts. At the time, only Dana seemed to notice the way you retreated into yourself afterwards, and that you became slightly more withdrawn for the rest of the shift.
That incident led to another conversation between you and Jack, where you tried to force him to admit his feelings for you. Instead of admitting anything, he drew a boundary: that this needed to be casual, that you couldn't expect anything else from him. You were a bit taken aback at the time, but you didn't blame him. You had only been seeing each other for about three weeks at that point.
But now, it's been almost two months, and the lines are beginning to blur for you. He had slept over this morning, and was still in your bed when you left for the day shift. By now, he was probably awake and in your kitchen making breakfast.
Not very casual of you, you thought, walking back to the board to find a patient.
The breaking point for you didn't come for another week, when you were having an exceptionally terrible shift. You were a good doctor, in fact, you believed you would be great. But, having three patients code on you back to back is enough to make anyone feel like shit, especially when one of them was a long-time patient who you had known for a little over a year at this point.
You sat on the roof, legs dangling off the edge as you stared down at the busy street below. The cars whizzed by, but the pedestrians walked leisurely. It was nice to remind yourself that there was something out there, outside of PTMC, that made it all worth it. But recently, you had been struggling to remember what that thing is. It was hard for you to leave work at the door when you got home when it seemed to be your entire life. Truthfully, there was nothing for you outside of PTMC. All your friends were there.
Was that sad? Maybe. But you had never really minded that until right now, when you wanted nothing more than to take your mind off this shitty night.
"You're in my spot," a voice said from behind you, and your blood ran cold. He was the last person you wanted to speak to right now, especially not in this state.
"Go away," you grumbled, not turning to face him. His footsteps got closer, and you didn't have to look to know that his hands were in his pockets and he had a wide stance. Typical Jack.
"Well, I don't think I can do that. Not when you're half off the ledge. I'd be breaking my oath if I left you right now."
You rolled your eyes, but nonetheless, you got up to your feet, using the railing for support. You turned to face him, an irritated look on your face.
"Happy?"
"Ecstatic." The two of you stood there for a while, the railing separating you, daring the other to be the first to break the silence.
"Ellis said you were up here, tough shift for you," he explained, even though you didn't ask.
"Nice of her to notice," you mused. He chuckled, shifting his weight between both legs.
"It wasn't your—,"
"Fault? I know it wasn't, but it still feels that way. Besides, I don't want to talk about it."
Not with you, you added silently in your head.
"What do you want to talk about?"
"Nothing, I want you to go back inside and let me have my roof-time. Alone." He feigned being hurt, but he didn't move. Just stared at you in the intense way he always does.
You didn't look away.
"I'm sorry, have I upset you? If I did, I'm—,"
"What do you think?" He genuinely looked puzzled, and you sighed. Men, they never learn, do they? "What the hell are we doing here?"
"I'm lost," he deadpanned, and you let out an exasperated sigh.
"With us! What is going on? One day, you can't get enough of me and you look at me like I've hung the moon and stars. The next, you act like I killed your cat and made you watch. I can't keep bouncing between these two extremes, it's too confusing." Especially not when the two of you are laying in bed, not even having done anything, but he's holding you so tight it's as if he's scared you're gonna disappear the minute he let's go.
"Y/N," he began, getting that look of pity in his eyes that you've always hated. Like he's realizing for the first time in his life that his actions have consequences, and now he has to take responsibility for them, "I'm sorry. I can't, you know I can't."
He reached for you but you backed away from his touch, narrowing your eyes at him.
"I don't know anything, Jack, because you don't tell me anything. You hold me, and everyone else, at an arm's length. You never let me in. You don't let anyone in. I guess this is my fault, right? You told me casual, and I said yes, and then I was stupid enough to fall for you," you spat, each word making you angrier and angrier.
"You're not stupid," he insisted, stepping closer but careful not to let his arm brush yours as he gripped the railing, "I've never felt this way about someone before. Never."
"And what exactly am I supposed to do with that? Know that you think I'm good enough to fuck, but not date? Thanks, but no thanks."
"I'm not saying that--,"
"Then what are you saying?"
He opened his mouth, then closed it, scared of himself saying words he knew he wouldn't be able to take back. You scoffed, shaking your head and cursing under your breath.
"I don't want to do this anymore," you said finally, swinging yourself under the railing and popping out on the other side, "I hope you're happy."
You rarely spoke or saw Jack for the next couple of weeks, strategically signing up for shifts that had minimal overlap with him. If anyone noticed, no one outright said anything to you, but you wouldn't expect them to. On the bright side, there seemed to be a lot less whispering going on whenever you happened to be alone.
So much for that bet, huh?
In all honesty, you had been sad at first. Sad was generous--you were a wreck in the beginning. But you were certain to not ever let it show at work. Once you got to PTMC, you left your baggage at the door, just like everyone else. You were your same bubbly self, making the same jokes and jabs with McKay and Mohan as if it were any other day. You even still went to the park afterwards, only sometimes drinking a beer to let off steam. Jack would be there as well, watching you with an intensity you refused to acknowledge. Still, you didn't change your behavior towards him, treating him with the indifference you'd treat any other colleague.
Because that's what you were now: colleagues. Not even friends, because your friends would never treat you the way he did.
"Hey, instead of the park some of us were thinking of going to a dive bar after, you in?" Mateo asked, falling into step beside you as you both headed to triage.
"Who's coming?"
"The usual, some people on the night shift took the day off today so they might make an appearance. Ellis, Shen, Abbot--Walsh is a hit or miss though." Your heart stuttered at the mention of Jack's name, but you kept your composure.
"Sounds good, I might be a little late though I have to go home first." Mateo smiled and nodded just as you pushed through the double doors, immediately greeted by the chaos of an ER waiting room. You both called out the names of different patients, ushering them inside efficiently before letting the doors shut behind you.
"I'm surprised he's coming," Samira said, cracking open a cider and sitting on your couch as you finished getting ready. You decided to take a quick shower after your shift once someone threw up you--twice. You passed by your vanity and paused, considering putting some light makeup on. Then you remembered you had no way of taking it off as you ran out of makeup wipes earlier that day, and had no way of taking it off when you came back.
"Who's coming? Whitaker?" Samira laughed, sipping at her cider before continuing.
"You know who I'm talking about, Abbot's coming." Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion.
"Why would that be weird? Doesn't he always?"
"Definitely not on his day off, when he could be resting or doing whatever it is he does in his free time." You shrugged, opening your fridge to grab a cider for yourself.
"Well, it's not like I care. Or I guess I can't let myself care. He couldn't be what I needed him to, and I can't wait around hoping that one day he'll wake up and be the person I believe he is. I'm too accomplished to wait around on a guy like that," you popped the tab before adding, "You and I both are."
Samira cheered to that and you both took large swigs of the can. You squeezed your eyes shut and made a face, forgetting how tart the citrus flavor usually was. You spent the rest of your two-person pregame debriefing about work and fun cases you got, and also set a deadline for the two of you to start booking flights for Montreal--the vacation you guys were supposed to take two months ago.
Once you guys finished one can, you started the short walk to Ray's. Your apartment was much closer than Mohan's, which is why the two of you decided to meet up first and head over together. It was a Wednesday night, so it was mostly empty. There were a few random strangers playing pool in the corner, one of them catching your eye and lingering for a little too long.
"There they are!" Samira pointed to what you recognized to be the back of Mateo's head, leading the two of you over there. McKay was the first to notice you two, sliding over to make space for you on her side of the booth. On the other side of her sat Collins, Whitaker, and Santos. Across from you was Samira, followed by Mateo, Javadi, Robby, and Jack. You nodded hello at them all, careful not to linger on Jack for too long.
"So, what are we drinking?" you asked, pretending to skim the menu even though you ordered the same thing every time.
"Let's do a round of Bold Rock," Jack answered, putting his menu down and looking straight at you, "First round's on me." The weight of his stare did something funny to your throat, a reaction you weren't expecting to have.
"You know me so well," you teased, playing it cool and refusing to be anything but levelheaded. Samira glanced at you, gauging your reaction, but you just smiled before turning and jumping into conversation. The nine of you ended up getting three rounds, with Collins being the voice of reason to talk you guys out of a fourth round. You pouted, but knew it was for the best: nothing was worse than working a day shift hungover.
About two hours later, everyone remaining was ready to leave. Javadi, Whitaker, Samira, and Santos all left slightly earlier, claiming that they needed to catch the next train or else they'd have to walk. You slid out of the booth and headed towards the bathroom, proud of yourself for not peeing every other minute considering how much you drank. You splashed a bit of water on your face, hoping to wake and sober you up.
When you stepped out of the bathroom, you bumped into a hard mass. The stranger apologized, and when you looked up, you realized it was the guy from the pool table.
"I was hoping I'd run into you tonight," he mused, leaning against the wall and flashing you a dimpled smile. He was cute: the shirt he was wearing hugged his chest and biceps in a very flattering way, his hair curled and styled strategically to frame his face. But still, you didn't want him.
"Thanks, but no thanks," you replied, moving to step around him. He blocked your path with his body, boxing you in between him and the wall.
"Come on, that's no way to treat a friendly stranger, is it?" The politeness drained out of your body, not wanting to let him waste another second of your time.
"Move or I scream," you said flatly. You had done it a million times before, and you weren't afraid to keep doing it.
"What?" he asked, mildly amused by your antics. Before he had the chance to say anything sleazy, you opened your mouth and let out a shrill shriek, one that had him jumping back with his hands up as if to prove his innocence. "What the fuck is wrong with you?"
"I should be asking you that," you shoved past him, leaving the bathroom hallway to return to the main room of the bar. As you reached for the door, it swung open, revealing a panicked Jack, with the others close on his tail.
"Are you alright?" he asked, his breath beginning to even out now that he saw you in one piece.
"Peachy," you replied, stepping around him. He turned and followed you out, puzzled by your calm demeanor.
"Was that you screaming? What happened?" McKay asked immediately, Robby and Mateo flanking her on both sides. You shrugged, walking back to the booth to grab your purse and jacket.
"Nothing, just some asshole. They never seem to believe me when I say I'll scream," you laughed to yourself, reminiscing on all the times you had gone out with friends in college and came up with more and more absurd ways to get guys to stop flirting with you. "Seriously, I'm fine. But I'm getting tired now, so can we go please?"
Together, the group headed out of Ray's. Quickly, you all branched off, all of you living in different parts of Pittsburgh. Notably, Jack seemed to linger until it was just the two of you left.
"What are you doing?" you asked, knowing how this story went. How it seemed to always go.
"I'll walk you," he decided, starting in the direction of your apartment. It was easier to just follow him than waste your time arguing.
The walk back was silent, neither of you eager to be the first to speak. It was a comfortable silence, one that felt too familiar. You glanced over at Jack, but his eyes were trained on the sky as he looked deep in thought. When you rounded the corner and pulled up on your block, you half-expected his steps to slow, for him to watch from a distance as you entered the building.
But no, and just like he used to, he walked you all the way to the door.
"Can we talk?" he asked suddenly as you began to enter the gate code. Your hand dropped, not pressing the final key, and you turned to face him.
"Sure, let's talk." He looked past you, eyeing the door, then back at you.
"Do you want to go inside?"
"Nope, I'm good right here."
You needed to stand your ground. Besides, coming into your apartment was something you let friends do. Samira was a friend. McKay was a friend. Hell, even if Robby was a friend. But Jack lost that privilege.
He blew out a breath, taking his hands out of his pockets and looking up at you. In the entire time you've known him, this was the most vulnerable you've ever seen him look.
"I was scared of you," he admitted, "You were this brilliant, beautiful, bright thing in my life, and I felt like I didn't deserve you. You knew what you wanted and went for it, and I admired that about you. I still do. When we had that first conversation about what we were, I was in denial. I told myself that if we kept it casual, I wouldn't be at risk."
"At risk of what?"
"Losing you."
"Funny how that worked out," you mumbled grudgingly, still not entirely sure where he was going with this. Jack laughed quietly, looking down at his shoes, then back up at you with something shining in his eyes.
"Even now, you still don't falter. You are the strongest woman I have ever met, Y/N. You are also one of the smartest doctors I have ever worked beside, and you never failed to blow me away with every shift we worked together. "
Your breathing turned shallow, and you stood frozen on the doorstep. Jack took a few steps towards, stopping just before the first step.
"You scare me because I want to love you, and I don't know how. I have no idea how to be the man you want me to be, the one you deserve, the one you expect. I thought it was easier to give up altogether, but I was wrong, and I am so, deeply sorry for that Y/N. This past month without you made me realize how engrained in my life you were. I missed your texts, the way you'd always try new recipes that would fail and we'd have to order something for dinner, and how no matter what, you always showed up for the people depending on you. I think the world of you, Y/N, I really do. And I love you. I loved you during that first conversation, but just didn't know it. I loved you when I walked away from you on the roof, and I was scared of it. And I have loved and missed you every second since."
He paused briefly, searching your eyes for an answer. If it wasn't for the fact that you could hear your heart loudly thumping in your ears right now, you would've thought you'd died and gone to heaven.
"I want to be that man for you, Y/N, if you'll let me."
A moment passed, and then another, and another. You opened your mouth to speak, but the words died in your throat before you could get any out. So, you went for the next best thing.
You grabbed him by the collar and crashed your lips against his, one of your hands moving to the side of his neck and the other cradling his jaw. His hands snaked around your waist, somehow pulling you even closer. You were the one to pull away, resting your forehead against his.
"Yes," you answered, a little breathlessly at that. The corners of his mouth lifted, his hand going under your chin and tilting your head up so that he could look at you.
"Yes?" he repeated, still reeling from the shock of the moment. This time you nodded, and the smile spread like wildfire across his face. He pressed a kiss to your nose before wrapping an arm around your shoulder and guiding you both towards the front door.
"I'm not having sex with you tonight," you said, punching in the code to the door. Jack chuckled, pulling you in again.
"I wasn't expecting you too."
"Good. And you need to shower before getting in my bed, no outside clothes," you added, leading him down the hallway to your apartment.
"Wouldn't dream of it," he said, following you into your apartment once you unlocked it. He swung the door shut behind him as you kicked of your shoes.
"And I believe in second chances, but that's it. If you decide to pull away again, know--,"
"I won't," he reassured you, his fingers sliding into your belt loops and tugging you towards him, "I want you. Only you. All of you."
"I could get used to that," you thought aloud, earning a laugh from the both of you. You leaned into him, closing your eyes and basking in this moment that you thought would never happen.
-
please reblog, like, and comment <3
No one as sweet as you
Stucky/Fem!Reader
Explicit | ~9.4k
When you’re hurt by your boyfriend you go to the two people you can depend on for anything, Steve and Bucky, your best friends.
This is set while they were living together in college. It focuses on their relationship and how Bucky and Steve started to develop feelings for Sweets as more than just their best friend.
Steve's break-up
Teen | ~1k
Bucky's break-up
Mature | ~1.7k
Reader's break-up
Teen | 1.9k
Realization
Stucky
Explicit | 1.6k
Steve/Sweets | Explicit
Moodboard and banners done by me.
Mine, Yours, Ours
Jake “Hangman” Seresin x Bradshaw!Reader
Jake Seresin isn't really sure what he's searching for. Answers? Closure? A relationship with his biological father? The bar wasn't exactly set very high after learning that his biological mother wanted nothing to do with him. It's an early morning here in San Diego. Jake runs his fingers through his cropped blonde hair, aviators resting on the bridge of his nose
Warnings: 18+, NSFW content,language, sex, adoption, family drama
One
Two
The Crimson Glow: Chapter 1
!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!MDNI!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
You had long given up on meeting your soulmates. At 33, you felt like you'd miss the window. Pathetic off white pink strings, that had only darkened twice, were your only claim to them. That was until you started your across-state journey from Philly to P-burgh. Feeling brash after a recent breakup you threw caution to the wind and applied for a job across your home state. To your surprise, you were hired. With the encouragement of your close friends and brother, you committed to the new experience. For once, you were excited for adventure, that was until your strings began to darken.
CW: none? I guess cursing? If you see something please let me know 💛
A/N: While this chapter does not include smut there will be some in future chapters; it's a slow burn. Smut chapters will be labeled
Taglist: @nocturnalrorobin (also the requester of this prompt ^-^)
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It would be an understatement to say that you’ve grown pessimistic when it comes to your soulmates. I mean fuck you were in your early thirties and your soul link of red strings had only changed from a pale pink twice in your life before going back to the default light pink. Yes, strings plural. You were part of the 2% of Americans who are estimated to have more than one soulmate. Despite this occurring in 1 in 50 people, your parents were from a generation where those who had more than one soulmate were ostracized. In turn, they had trained you since you were able to talk to only refer to one string. It had been ingrained in you to the extent that even now, as an adult, you had only told less than five people outside of your family about having two soulmates. Two of which were close friends, and the other two were past long-term relationships. Fuck what you wouldn’t give for a quote of your first words, or a countdown timer. Anything other than this off-white string that had been hanging over your head since childhood.
You knew that you could only be mad at fate to a certain extent. You had chosen to be career driven and bet on sure things rather than chasing after strings that had been stagnant for almost your whole life. In a way, you wish you could be as carefree as your twin brother. Benjamin, ever the romantic, took what was supposed to be a gap year from undergrad to grad school to find his mate. He headed east to Europe and backpacked across the entire continent before finding his soulmate, now husband, in Sicily. He ended up settling in London with his soulmate, Dante, eleven years ago and never looked back. Your parents’ reaction to his “lifestyle choices” was the final nail in the coffin before you both went no contact. You were the only thing left trying him to the US. You visited him at least once a year and talked regularly. You always wished you could be as carefree as he was. Despite your own situation, you were beyond happy for your brother. If not a bit envious, which led you to now, you pulled off at a rest station off of Route 76 on the verge of a panic attack.
You had just passed Harrisburg, two hours into your journey west from Philadelphia to Pittsburgh. For the first time ever both your strings were red, overlapped and darkening as you got closer to Pittsburgh. You didn’t know what to do or how to process this new information. Your strings had been overlapped for about two years now, and you had dealt with and accepted the fact that your soulmates had most likely found each other. No, it was the darkening that threw you for a loop. This had only happened twice, the first time the string had gone from off-white to red only to turn back light pink within a few hours. That same string, pointing east across the Atlantic, had briefly turned black to grey back to light pink. You’d never forget that day one of your soulmates had almost died. Your sting had gone black for a minute and 57 seconds.
You shook your head, dismissing that thought; you were already stressed as it was.
You don’t know how Benji and your friend, a Pittsburgh native, had convinced you to take life by the reins and be impulsive. Between your recent breakup and a job opportunity across the state, you had made the improbable choice. You quit your job and got an apartment on the other side of the state. You regret it now, dread building in your gut. You weren’t spontaneous, no, you were practical and thorough. You didn’t take these kinds of risks.
Fuck, you felt like you were going to throw up. You quickly exited your maps app. Your thumb was over your brother’s contact info when your call screen suddenly took over displaying an incoming call from him. You picked up before the first ring had ended.
“You’re okay,” Ben’s voice rang out before you even had the chance to greet him. The wails of your nephew faint in the background.
“I-” You started, voice shaky, you paused before taking a breath.
“It’s okay,” he said once again, voice level.
“They’re red Ben, like properly red, like the ones in the movies.” You responded, you somehow managed to get the words out evenly, before taking another deep breath.
“Sis, that’s a good thing,” he responded, smile clear in his voice.
“No, I don’t know what to do,” you sighed, pressing your forehead flush with the top of the steering wheel, “I always know what to do Ben.”
“It’s okay to not know what’s to come, most people don’t know what’s going to happen before they meet their soulmate. You just have to lean on fate for a bit before going back to being a know-it-all,” he joked, hoping to lighten your mood.
“Okay,” you sighed, breathing going back to normal. “But what if I’m not what they’re expecting?”
“Then they’ll be pleasantly surprised,” He responded,
“What if it’s a bad time? Or if I meet them before making it to Pittsburgh?” You ask.
“There’s no perfect time to meet your mates, and if you meet them before Pittsburgh, you’ll figure it out. Like you always do.” He said comfortingly,
“What if-what if they don’t want me?” you said, finally voicing your deepest concern.
“Sis,” he replied softly, his voice just loud enough to register on his phone’s mic.
“I’m just-Fuck, I’m a mess, I start at my new job in less than two days, my apartment isn’t set up, and I definitely needed to do a everything shower this morning, but gaslighted myself into not washing my hair.” You sighed, “Just,” you breathed, “What if I’m not good enough?” Your voice wavered.
“Hey, watch your tone, I know you’re not bad mouthing my sister. Not the one that put herself through college, a master’s program, and a licensing process to become an art therapist. Not the woman who devotes everything to her patients within boundaries. Not the one who worked pro bono at a grief summer camp because of a staffing shortage. Or on top of everything is an amazing artist. Cuz she’s an empathetic badass, who is way too smart to say any of that shit.” Ben responded.
“Ben,” you said, sniffled, eyes watering.
“You’re going to be okay. They are lucky to be blessed with your presence and happy to meet you. If not, I’ll fuck them up.”
You let out a wet laugh, a single tear escaping each of your eyes as you blinked.
“Thanks,” you sniffled, a soft smile on your lips.
“No problem. What are big brothers for?” he asked, jokingly.
“Just cuz you cut in line does not make you older.” You responded to a lifelong debate with an eyeroll he’d never see, “Sorry for falling apart on you.”
“Sis, I’m sleep training a five-month-old, who is on what I hope is the tail end of colic. You were a much-needed break.”
“Tell Atlas his auntie loves him.” You said, taking one last deep breath. The weight gone from your chest.
“I will.” You could hear the softness in his voice shift, Atlas most likely finally calming down for Dante in the other room, “If you need anything, feel free to call.”
“I will, love you,” you reply.
“Love you too,” he responded before you clicked off the call.
You took a deep breath; you plugged your phone back into its charging port and clicked on maps and cued up a hip-hop mix. You shifted from park to drive and merged back onto I-76. You took one last stop two hours in, but it just made you more tired. You white knuckled it until you got to the parking garage adjacent to your building. Your strings continued to darken, color plateaued when you drove into the city’s limits. They weren’t overlapping anymore. On was pointing up, something you’d never seen before, and the other was pointing off to the right as you face your apartment building. You texted Ben and your friend who lived in the city that you got in safely. You unloaded your backpack and a single suitcase that held all your valuables. For the first time, you found yourself liking the annoying squeaks of its broken wheel. It was something familiar.
After you locked your car, the next half hour was a blur. You signed the final paperwork at the office and got your keys. You boarded the elevator and clicked on the tenth floor.
Your breath caught in your throat as the red string that was pointing upward started to move laterally down, while the other started to point down. The above one kept moving downward until it was back to the height of your palm. Was this it? Were you about to meet your soulmate? Despite bitching about not meeting them for the better part of thirty years you felt wildly unprepared. The ding of your floor snapped you out of your daze.
Were they living on the same floor as you?
You shook your head, turning left as the building manager had directed you. You slowly made your way down the hall; your suitcase’s broken wheel squeaking was the only noise. Your head snapped down as you passed the last apartment on the right before yours. The string was bright crimson, bolder than you had ever seen before. As you walked on, the string went through you, through the wall into that apartment.
You paused. But then there was nothing? Maybe they were asleep? It was four in the afternoon, but you weren’t really one to judge; you always loved a good nap. That or maybe they worked nights? After waiting for a beat, you slowly walked down to your apartment door, keeping an eye on the door as you opened yours.
Maybe this was okay? While you were desperate to meet them, you also had just completed an over five-hour drive, and you felt and you’re sure, looked like hot garbage. You gave yourself no time to take in the apartment before crossing through the sea of reusable boxes to your bedroom. You quickly tossed your backpack on the sheetless mattress resting on a built bed frame. You pulled out the lounge wear you packed along with a towel and washcloth from one of the totes before rushing to the bathroom. If you were gonna meet them today you were gonna have clean hair god dammit. You turned on the water as you stripped, your string remaining solitary to the one spot in your neighbor’s apartment. You unpacked your toiletries onto the shower’s ledges before jumping in. Your nerves got to you again, loitering in the shower as long as you could justify. After drying off, you did your full extended post-shower routine; eyes never straying far from the solitaire string.
While you tried to start to unpack, you couldn’t help but stare at the string. Should you just go and knock on their door? Before you could scheme any further, your stomach grumbled. It was already five and you hadn’t eaten since the last rest stop. Maybe going to grab something to eat wasn’t the worst idea ever. It’d get you out of your current impasse of staring at a wall. You picked a well-rated Thai restaurant around the corner, ordering way too much for a single person. The entire trip lasted about a half-hour, but it was a nice break. You got some fresh air and were able to stretch your legs as you took in the neighborhood. When you got back to the lobby, your other string started to darken quickly, like it was speeding towards you. You debated waiting for it or going back upstairs so that you could all be together. You opted for the latter and retreated back to your apartment. The string on your floor remained still, only starting to move as you closed your door.
Your heart began to hammer in your chest as you placed the food down on your kitchen counter. You were about to check in with Ben before a loud knock sounded off. Hesitantly, you approached the door, strings bright red, almost glowing. They formed a “V” shape as you wrapped your hand around the door.
This was it
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A/N: Thanks for taking the time to read! I am in the last month of my semester, so I don't have an update schedule as of now. Will hopefully be more consistent after mid-May. Hope you're doing well whenever you are 💛
No Man's Land
Jack Abbot x f!Reader
5.1k || All my content is 18+ MDNI || C.W.: mentions of blood, mentions of guns and shootings, mentions of death/dying/coding, CPR, anxiety about partner's safety, Jack's traumatized, reader's traumatized, mentions of dissociation and compartmentalization, poor description of medical events, potentially incorrect medical descriptions/knowledge, very very light smut, angst, age gap kind of implied with Jack but not explicitly referenced, no use of y/n or related, not proofread, no beta, I think that's all but if I missed any please (nicely) let me know.
Summary: This is my Pitt-Fest-But-Not fic. Development of your relationship through vignettes of the past and conversations between Jack, Dana and Robby. There's a shooting where you work. Jack is at the ED when the dispatch comes in and is terrified when he can't get in touch with you.
A.N.: If my Robby reads like John Carter I'm sorry, except that a little bit I'm not. I feel like I'm struggling with my Jack characterization but can't tell if that's just me hating everything I do. This is my take on one of my fave tropes where reader is in mortal danger. I needed a physical location that could be associated with reader and settled on a courthouse, but what it is reader does there is not described. Probably (definitely?) needs a part two. If you get the nickname, thank you, I feel seen. If you don't I explain it at the end. This is absolutely something I would call him, in part to fuck with people who know his real name. I would love to know if you enjoyed and to hear any thoughts you'd like to share.
“He has a girlfriend,” Robby smirks at Dana.
She blinks at him. “I’m sorry, I thought we’re talking about Jack Abbot.”
“Oh we fucking are.” Robby stifles his smirk and forces his lips to remain closed and as neutral as possible.
“You’re shitting me.” Dana’s incredulous look breaks Robby a bit and he starts to laugh, tries to turn it into a cough when both he and Dana look up to find Jack staring at them as he takes his snow dusted beanie off. He gives Robby a ‘really?’ look even though he knew Robby would rat him out to Dana the second Robby had dragged it out of him.
Dana looks back at Robby. “Who? How did they meet?”
Robby holds up his hands. “You now officially know as much as I do about her.” Dana makes a noise of vague discontent but knows Jack well enough to know Robby is telling the truth. That’s all that’s been revealed.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
“It’s not worth it,” you whisper. Jack blinks and looks around, unsure if you’re talking to him. He has no idea who you are, has never seen you before in his life but it appears that you are in fact whispering to him in the middle of this bookstore.
He raises his eyebrows. “It’s not?”
You shake your head, give him an almost conspiratorial smile. “No, he must have gotten a new ghost writer. It’s really bad in comparison to his other stuff. Save your time and money. I’ll give you a summary right now for free if you’re that curious.”
Jack smiles to himself a little bit as he sets the book back on the shelf. There’s something about you, your smile, the way you just randomly spoke to him. He’s drawn to you. An alarm goes off in some part of his brain telling him to ignore it, ignore you, he could get hurt. He pretends to weigh his options as he turns to face you fully. “How about for a cup of coffee?”
Your brows furrow in confusion for a moment. There’s simply no way this unfairly attractive man is asking to buy you a cup of coffee. “The summary?” You clarify. “That I’d give for free. You want it to cost a cup of coffee instead?” You let out a nervous laugh and some part of his heart aches because you’re so adorable. “I just want to make sure I understand before I potentially make an even bigger fool of myself.”
“Yep.” He can’t help but laugh a little. “You give me the summary over coffee. Actually, you know what? You’re going to have to give me a recommendation too because now I’m going to have nothing to read.” He clicks his tongue at you.
“Well,” you laugh out, all breathy as you try to pull yourself together. “You drive a hard bargain but I think I’m willing to accept those terms…” you glance at his name badge, “Dr. Abbot.” You give him a full smile and Jack knows then and there he’s totally fucked in the best of ways.
“Jack.” He smiles at you as you both begin walking towards the café. “Call me Jack.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Everything quiet enough after handoff, Robby walks out with Jack into the morning sun that does little to warm the breeze pulling leaves off the trees. “Any chance you can cover a shift on Saturday night?” Robby is asking, yes, but he knows it’s not really a question, Jack is always willing to work.
“Can’t.” Jack says simply, shrugging his shoulders. “Sorry.” There’s an expectant silence that hangs between the two as they keep walking.
“Care to elaborate?” Robby finally asks.
“No.” Jack turns and smirks at him. “It’s none of your and Dana’s business.”
“Ha!” Robby laughs. “So it’s her, it’s about her! The ever elusive girlfriend. Will we ever get to meet her? Or does she not want to meet us? Is she real?” Jack stops walking and gives Robby one of his looks. “Holy shit, is it someone here?”
Jack snorts at that. “No it’s not someone here. She’s not even in the medical field.” He sighs, half longing and half resignation of some kind. “She’s honestly dying to meet you guys, especially you and Dana, but I’m trying to protect her from this hellhole. It’s hard with schedules too, to find a time.”
“That’s such fucking bullshit,” Robby laughs. “Are you afraid to truly commit? Think bringing her here will make it too real?”
It’s a valid question but one that Jack nevertheless resents. “No, actually, if you must fucking know Saturday is our one year anniversary. We have plans. So you’ll have to find someone else to cover. But I’ll bring her around soon,” he laughs through his nose to himself at your stubbornness, “if I don’t she’s liable to just show up one of-”
“A year?” Robby laughs, incredulous. “A fucking year? How the hell did you hide it for three months before I dragged it out of you?”
Jack ignores him. “Also, I’m moving to days. It’s better for us.” He’s so nonchalant about it, just states it like he’s saying the sky is blue, like it’s not going to make Robby’s eyes widen and mouth drop open like it does.
“I don’t,” Robby huffs a laugh, “I don’t even know where to fucking begin.”
“Then don’t.” Jack smirks, starts to walk again while Robby stays frozen, running a hand through his hair. “Go do some actual work.”
“I thought you found comfort in the darkness?” Robby yells after him.
Jack slows and turns around but keeps walking backwards, one hand holding the strap of his backpack to keep it over his shoulder. He glances down at his phone and the photo of you that is now his wallpaper. He smiles to himself a little, yells back. “Guess I find it somewhere else now.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
You giggle, honest to god giggle and Jack could lose his damn mind as he nibbles at your collarbone. “You know if my anatomy class had been this fun, I might have become a doctor too.”
You’re laying on your back in bed as Jack kisses your sweat slicked skin all over as you both come down from your last round. He’s taken to 'teaching you anatomy' like this, identifying different parts of the human body with his mouth.
“Hmm,” Jack hums against you. “I’m glad it wasn’t then. Fuck doctors.” He starts to kiss down your chest.
“That has become quite the favorite pastime of mine, yes,” you smirk. “Fucking one specific doctor, actually.”
“Getting fucked by one specific doctor more like it,” he murmurs into your sternum. He kisses laterally, lips hitting your breast and moving towards your nipple.
“I think we’ve established what those are,” you moan softly as he takes your nipple into his mouth. You let your hands run through his salt and pepper curls that you adore so much.
“Can never be too thorough.” You giggle at him again and can feel him smile against you. “But fine, you want something new?” You nod, let your nails scratch gently at his scalp.
“Nipple,” he kisses your nipple and then down your torso to right above your belly button, “to navel is no man’s land.” He continues to lavish kisses on the soft skin of your stomach before looking up at you when you don’t respond.
“I can’t tell if you’re fucking with me or not.” You eye him with mock suspicion.
He laughs and it’s your favorite sound in the whole world, you swear. Well maybe second, only behind hearing him tell you that he loves you.
“I’m not. Nipple to navel is no man’s land. It’s a real thing. It’s one of the worst places to get shot or stabbed because there’s so many organs that could be hit and the place we’d expect to get hit would depend on whether the person was breathing in or out at the time, whether their lungs were inflated or deflated. And we generally have no way of knowing. It can be difficult to get clear imaging.” He starts kissing lower, down below your belly button, rubbing his stubble along your skin to tease you as he gets lower and lower. “It’s never a good time. Lots of poor outcomes.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
It’s supposed to be his day off and yet Jack finds himself staring at the board and running a hand over his face. “It’s still so fucking weird seeing you here during the day and it not meaning something catastrophic has happened.”
Jack turns to look at Dana. “I’ve been working days for a month now and it’s my day off.”
“You can go, we’re fine for now,” Robby nods at Jack. “Thanks for the brief assistance brother.”
“No, no,” Dana interjects, “he’s not allowed to leave until we nail down a time to meet his girl.”
Robby raises his eyebrows and starts to tilt his head and open his mouth to agree with Dana. A dispatch comes through before anyone can say anything else and Dana grabs it, pinning Jack down with her eyes, daring him to leave before discussing meeting you.
“Saved by the bell,” Jack huffs, taking his stethoscope off and starting to walk away.
“Shooting at a courthouse,” Dana relays to Robby, “not a mass cas, just a few people, two a little iffy, one they’re already doing CPR on, a few caught in the race to get out. Two dead on the scene.”
It takes a few seconds for Dana’s words to truly register with Jack, but when they do his hearing fades to only a sharp ringing in his ear. This wasn’t happening. This wasn’t fucking happening to him again. He’d been so reticent at the beginning of your relationship, waited so long to give in and define it and hand his heart over to you, terrified he’d lose you because of himself and who he was, his imperfections, his past, his trauma, his PTSD, his baggage, as he thought of it. He feels so stupid now, in the moment, not having worried about how he could lose you from a random act of violence, that in the moments he can’t be there to protect you somebody could come in and rip you from him. Just like that. With the pull of a trigger.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
“You know, I can confidently say this is the most unique date I’ve ever been on,” you tease Jack.
“Hey,” he pants, “me teaching you CPR is a great date.”
“It would be better if you took your shirt off,” you whisper and wink at him before letting your eyes linger on his arm.
“If I did that you’d be so distracted you’d learn nothing,” he smirks at you, sweat glistening on his skin just a little. Just enough to drive you nearly feral for him.
“I think I’ve got the compressions part down, but I may need more help learning the mouth to mouth part.”
He rolls his eyes at you. “You’re ridiculous.”
“You fucking love it,” you shoot back at him, leaning into his space and bumping him with your shoulder.
He can’t help but kiss you. “Yes,” the word is muffled against your lips, “yes I do.” He gives you a firmer kiss this time before he pulls away. “But really. You should know how to do it, just in case. It will help you feel in control in the moment if the need for it ever arises. You’ll know what to do.”
You bite your lip and smile at him.
“What?” He eyes you with suspicion.
You shrug. “Nothing, I just love you so much. Sometimes it overwhelms me, how much I love you.”
He can see it in your eyes, how much you love him, can almost feel it physically squeezing him like a tight hug. He’s really not sure what he ever did to deserve you or your love. “I love you too, Doll.”
“I love you more, Peter.” Your face pulls up into that usual self-satisfied and silly grin you get sometimes when you call him that nickname. It’s a recent thing. You’re calling him it more and more though, it’s becoming a natural way of referring to him. From anyone else he would hate it, hearing it between another couple would make him roll his eyes. But from you? He loves it more than you’ll ever truly know.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Jack spins around.
“Jack you can still go, we’ve got it covered.” Robby looks at Jack for a minute and then meets Dana’s eyes as she looks to him after taking her own look at Jack.
“What courthouse?” Jack asks. It’s quiet, controlled and clipped and almost missable in the chaos of the ED. He’s not looking at either of them, staring past them at a wall with a chest heaving more and more by the second as his face grows paler.
He tries to keep it together. Dana will say the name and it won’t be your courthouse and he’ll go straight to your actual courthouse, grab you, take you home and never let you leave. A perfectly reasonable reaction, he thinks.
“Jack-”
“What fucking courthouse?” It’s louder this time, almost enough to pause the chaos of the ED.
Jack’s voice drips with what sounds like rage to most of those who hear him but is unmistakably fear to Dana and Robby.
Neither of them have ever seen Jack like this, this scared, struggling this hard to keep it together, truly raising his voice for anything other than to quiet down an unruly patient. His eyes find Dana’s and they’re glassier than she’s ever seen them, the intensity of his gaze making it painfully clear he’s hanging on every word and the wrong ones will shatter him.
She swallows and opens her mouth and Jack knows what she’s about to say before she even says it. And she does. The name of your courthouse.
“I’ll triage.” He says it before Dana has even finished, the words hollow and breathless and commanding all at once. He spins and starts off to the bay doors with nothing more. He obviously knows from the report Dana gave that they won’t need triage. He just needed to get out of there and try to create an excuse to stay in the ambulance bay. He knows Robby won’t let him, that Robby and Dana already know you’re at that courthouse, could be a victim.
Robby and Dana share another look, So you work at a courthouse. This courthouse. “Fuck,” Dana mutters, “I really hope we don’t end up meeting her today.”
Jack’s hand dives in his pocket as he strides to the ambulance bay. He already knows in his heart that there’s not going to be a text from you saying that you’re okay. He hasn’t felt his phone buzz. He never even kept his phone on him until you.
Even though he knew he wouldn’t have any messages, waking his phone and seeing none hits him like a freight train all the same, right in the chest. It threatens to bring him to his knees, make him sick, but he can’t. He sets it all aside. If you do come out of one of the ambulances he can hear in the distance you’re going to need him at his best. But what if you’re one of the two people dead at the scene? He has to shove that out of his mind too, can’t give into the complete panic that threatens to consume him.
Disassociate. Compartmentalize. Do the job. ABC. Assess. Stabilize. Repeat.
His fingers fly across his phone automatically, calling you having become so routine. He prefers it so much to texting, hearing your voice, communicating more directly. “Call me,” he starts, “the second you get this message. Or fucking text me,” his voice breaks, “please. Fucking please.” He hangs up and calls again, knowing he’ll get your voicemail again but trying anyway because it’s all he can do.
He’s helpless, powerless, he can’t do anything to try and save you and that threatens to swallow him whole.
Your voicemail recording telling people to leave a message plays again and all Jack can wonder is if this is all he’ll have left of your voice in his life. Your voice on your mailbox, maybe some voicemails you’ve left him, videos, voice memos you’ve sent. All distorted by recording, not your real voice. He can’t remember what your real voice sounds like all of the sudden. What your laugh sounds like, how you sound when you’re sleepy or in the throes of pleasure or telling him you love him. God, did he even tell you he loved you the last time he saw you, when he said goodbye?
“I need you to call me,” he says into the phone again, pauses. “I love you.” He takes a ragged breath in and speaks through his teeth. “I love you so fucking much, so you have to be okay and you have to fucking call me.”
He sends a series of texts asking you to call him or text him or call the hospital or do anything to let him know you’re okay, asking if you are okay, asking where you are as though you’re going to respond. He already knows you’re in the back of one of those ambulances because of fucking course you are, because he’s not allowed to have anything good in his life apparently. How could he be so stupid to think differently?
“Hey, we don’t need triage for this. The numbers are controlled.” Robby walks out to stand next to Jack in the ambulance bay. “If you want to stay you can, but you can’t wait out here to see who shows up, you have to-”
“Yeah, yeah, jump on the first patient that pulls up, I know, I got it,” he interrupts Robby.
There’s a silence as Robby passes him a gown and ties for him before he does the same for Robby.
“Jack, if she’s in one you cannot-”
“Like fuck I can’t.” It’s just a statement. Cool and collected and a projection of indifference. It scares Robby more than if Jack had yelled.
“No, actually brother, you can’t. I’m telling you right now. You’re not working on her. We don’t work on family, on significant others, and you would tell me the exact same thing. It’s too risky, you’ll be too clouded.” Robby watches Jack’s jaw clench and roll as he stares out at the street.
He wants to argue that of course he’ll be clear, he’ll be focusing on saving you, he’ll have never been so clear in his life. But part of him knows that seeing you like that on his trauma table, your blood all over the table and him and his hands might make him freeze.
“Fine.” Jack whispers. “But if she’s,” Jack has to pause and take a shuddery breath. “If she’s gone or really going and it’s inevitable you have to let me in. You have to let me try to save her. You have to let me code her, Michael.”
He can taste the rising bile in his throat just at having to talk about coding you.
The first ambulance pulls up before Robby can respond and Jack’s on it so fast Robby’s surprised Jack doesn’t get smacked in the face by the door opening.
It’s not you. It’s someone who is very much not you and is clearly one of the iffy ones.
Disassociate. Compartmentalize. Do the job. ABC. Assess. Stabilize. Repeat.
Jack forces himself to go emotionally numb as he listens to the paramedic rattle off vitals and history, trying so very hard to focus on this, something he can do, even if it’s not for you. By the time they hit trauma one Jack’s fine and in full swing, running it like he would any other trauma. Nobody on the team in the room with him suspects anything is amiss.
He hates the way he can’t see the other’s who come in, that he has to stay with this patient until they’re stable and can’t go looking for you. He chastises himself for not having brought you here before or at least having you meet Dana and Robby. They don’t even know what you look like, couldn’t identify you.
“Jack!” He glances at Dana who stands at the door as he preps for the chest tube. “What’s her name?”
He yells your name at her, impassive and stoic as he reaches for the scalpel, ignoring the looks everyone throws each other at the slightest tremor in his voice.
“I’ll look for her.” Dana promises. He doesn’t respond. He can’t. He’ll fall apart.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The restaurant you’re at has to be the fanciest place you’ve ever been to. It’s the hottest place in the city and you have no idea how Jack snagged reservations here for dinner to finish out celebrating your one year anniversary.
The lighting and low hum of other patrons talking to each other and glasses and silverware and plates tinkling is cinematic. You feel like the main character. But then that’s always how Jack makes you feel.
“I got you something.” He pulls out a wrapped rectangular object.
You click your tongue and tsk at him. “We said we’d do them at home! I didn’t bring yours!”
“I know. I have something for you at home too.” His eyes sparkle in the flickering candle light, a little smirk pulling up. “I didn’t mean for it to be a double entendre, but both are true.” You snort a laugh at him and take the gift from him. “Open it.” He’s still smiling, eyes still sparkling, but there’s something there. He’s nervous. It makes you even more curious.
You carefully unwrap the object until it reveals itself as a hardcover book. That same one Jack had in his hand a year ago and that you told him was bad and gave him a summary of over coffee.
“Oh, Jack,” you say softly, eyes getting a little watery. It’s so perfect. So sweet and sentimental. The book that brought you together, that gave you each other. It’s almost like a physical representation of the foundation of your relationship in a way.
“You have to open it,” he instructs you in a whisper.
You raise an eyebrow but do as he says.
‘Move in with me?’ is written on the blank first page.
You look between the page and Jack. “Is this?” You look back at the page and then up at him again. “Are you really asking…?”
He nods. “Move in with me. Or move somewhere with me, we can get our own place, it doesn’t have to be my apartment. We basically live together anyway at this point. Let’s just make it official, yeah? Wherever you want, you can decorate however you want. Just as long as it’s our place.”
You bring a hand to your mouth for a second before using your napkin to dab at the inner corners of your eyes to stop the tears from falling and look back at him.
“You’re a romantic, Jack Abbot,” you hum all dreamily.
“You better not tell anyone. Can’t have you ruining my street cred.” He smirks, but his expression and the way he fidgets show he’s still anxious. “So?”
You realize then you never actually answered him. Sniffling a little laugh and letting a few tears fall you give him his answer, voice thick and full of emotion. “Yeah, I think I’m willing to accept those terms. I’d love to move in with you… Peter.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
He hears you counting to yourself before he sees you. “One, two…”
It’s not loud, just said in a normal voice, softer if anything because of how you’re panting, but Jack is so on edge and so desperate to find you he’d subconsciously been listening closely to his surroundings, military training kicking in. His head snaps to you and he doesn’t even know what to think when he sees you being rolled in on top of a gurney, performing CPR that would rival the quality of his own.
“Why is she..?” He hears Robby question the paramedic as you roll in.
“She was performing them just as well as we could and it was better to just scoop and run,” the paramedic explains. “She must have had one hell of an instructor.”
“Peter!” You yell, without looking up, not sure if he’s still here. You’re so used to it by now that the nickname is just what comes out of your mouth as you look for him. He’d texted you to let you know he was going in for a bit.
Jack could sob and the entire team in the room with him can feel a crushing tension shatter. Maybe he does get a little teary just from the sheer relief. He tells himself it’s sweat in his eyes.
“Yeah Doll?” He yells back, not giving a fuck about everyone hearing him call you Doll, and you calling him Peter, knowing full well he’s going to have so much explaining to do about this entire situation, the confusion in the room palpable.
“I’m okay!” This time he does laugh to himself.
“Yeah I’d say so,” he mutters, smiling. He’s still anxious to see you, get his own eyes on you, feel you with his own hands.
It’s only about thirty more seconds before his patient is stable enough and he can rip his gloves and gown off and start putting fresh gloves on as he walks into the trauma room you’d been wheeled into. Normally he’d yell out for someone to talk to him or ask what they’ve got but not this time. This time he doesn’t even care about who’s on the table, only the person who came off it. Only you.
You’re standing to the side now, watching Robby and the rest of the team work, impassive as pink tears stream down your face from the dried blood on it. You’re just so fucking overwhelmed by everything and now that you’re not doing CPR everything that’s happened is hitting you at once.
Jack says your name as he moves to you, needs his hands on you.
“Are you hurt? Were you hit?” He rushes out. His voice brings you back and you look up at him with wide, terrified eyes. He goes to look you over but you latch onto him, hugging him tightly, shaking a bit.
“I’m fine, I’m okay, I’m, I’m sorry,” you start to rattle off, fisting at his scrub top and clinging to him like he’s the only thing keeping you tethered to reality. In the moment he might just be.
He hugs you back just as hard, kisses the top of your head. He doesn’t care who sees right now, all he cares about is you. “It’s okay, you have nothing to apologize for. I’m just so fucking glad you’re okay. I thought… I thought you were…” He doesn’t have to finish, you know what he means. “I can’t fucking lose you. I love you way the fuck too much.”
You’ve been so wrapped up in each other neither of you have noticed that Robby’s patient, the one you were doing CPR on, has started to code again. “Abbot, need you here!”
You let him go, nod at him. “Go on,” you whisper, “I’ll be right here. I’m okay. I love you more.” Jack nods at you and walks over, jumping in and assisting Robby.
It’s once you’re out of Jack’s arms, away from his warm body and more grounded in reality that you notice how cold you are, how you’re swaying because he was supporting you far more than you realized, how lightheaded you are, how your abdomen and chest really fucking hurt. You chalk it up to the adrenaline wearing off and being sore from the chest compressions you just did.
On the other side of the room an instrument tray gets knocked over, metal hitting the floor in a loud clang. It startles you, makes you jump and twist quickly to see what it was, if it was another gun, another shot. You feel something almost tearing, a sharp pain across your abdomen and lower chest, a feeling of sticky warmth against your shirt.
You sway a little, start to realize how much worse the pain is now. It’s bad enough that you can’t even make noise to express the pain. There’s no air in your lungs, you swear. You realize your lightheadedness is now much, much worse, that you’re shivering from how cold you are. Or are you just shaking? You can’t tell. It doesn’t make sense. The room isn’t even that cold. You shouldn’t be so cold. Not unless.
You pull your shirt up slowly and look down and run your hand over your skin and sure enough, there’s a bullet hole seeping blood, about half way between your nipple line and belly button, skin now covered in a dark bruise.
You cough a little, it’s quiet. It starts feeling like there’s water in your lungs. Like you can’t get any oxygen in even though you’re in a room full of it. The metallic taste in your mouth is what manages to seep into what’s left of your consciousness next. You cough again, into your hand, and feel something wet hit your skin. Blood.
It hits you. You’re drowning in your own blood. That’s why it feels like you can’t breathe. You’ve been shot. In a bad place, one of the worst places, Jack had told you that night. You get scared, feel your heart pounding. It feels like you’re dying. You don’t want to die, don’t want to leave Jack. You’d just finished moving into your new place together, were going to spend all weekend unpacking and painting and getting furniture where you wanted it. You were going to make your home.
Time. You were supposed to have more time together.
“Hey, Jack,” you slur softly, struggling to keep yourself standing. Luckily he hears you. Your use of his first name and the slur to your voice has him panicking again already. Time slows as he turns around to take you in, eyes going from your face and the blood coating your teeth and trickling from your mouth as you try and smile reassuringly at him, down to your torso where you’re still holding your shirt up just enough for him and everyone else in the room to see the bullet hole and bruising marring your skin. “I think, I think I’m not good, it’s not good.” Your vision tunnels so fast you can just barely see Jack’s expression of sheer abject unadulterated horror and panic as you get out your last words. “Nipples to navel… no man’s land.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Peter. Peter Rabbit by Beatrix Potter. Yes, I worked in a bookstore through college.
Vigilante Shit // Bradley Bradshaw
A series Masterlist
Series Summary: Bradley Bradshaw broke your heart five years ago when he made it abundantly clear that he couldn’t support how selfishly dedicated you needed to be in order to chase your law degree. Five years on and you’re representing Bradley’s soon to be ex-wife…..and you’re just about willingly to do anything to ruin his life.
Series Warnings: Ex reader x Bradley Bradshaw. Revengeful, spiteful Reader. Hero Complex Jake Seresin x Reader. Rated R themes (smut) ANGST!
Prologue: {Karma} What’s funnier than finding out the love of your life is getting divorced? Representing the clearly disgruntled soon to be ex-wife.
Tags 🏷️ (Open)
Three-Point Diagnosis
(aka: Samira, her girlfriend, and the Human Brick Wall of Emotional Repression)
Dr Samira Mohan and her girlfriend, Yn Ln, both decide they're in love with Dr Jack Abbott and do their best to make him see it
masterlist
It started with coffee.
Samira Mohan was not subtle. She never had been. But when she started showing up during Jack’s shifts with three coffees instead of one—oat milk, and too much sugar for her, a hot chocolatefor her girlfriend, and something suspiciously tailored to Jack’s preferences—people noticed.
Especially Jack.
“What is this?” he asked the first time, frowning at the cup like it might bite him.
“It's gratitude,” Samira replied sweetly, leaning a hip against the nurse's station. Her girlfriend—Yn—smiled beside her, dark eyes glittering with amusement. “And also caffeine. Don’t be ungrateful.”
Jack grumbled something incoherent but took the cup. The next time, he didn’t even pretend to argue.
Then it was lunch. Then late-night consults. Then Yn started showing up with Samira during Jack’s rounds, lingering like she belonged in his orbit—which, somehow, she did.
And Jack… tolerated it. No, worse—he started looking for them. Started noticing the way Samira would stand just close enough to feel warm when he was stressed, how Yn's sarcasm cut like a scalpel but never toward him. How they made space for him, without demanding anything in return.
Until they did.
It was a rare lull in the trauma bay—quiet except for the beeping monitors and the low murmur of a chart update. Jack was scribbling a note when Samira leaned over his shoulder, voice low.
“You know we’re in love with you, right?”
His pen froze mid-word.
He turned slowly, like maybe the floor had shifted under his feet. “Excuse me?”
Yn stepped beside Samira, arms crossed, grin smug. “She means both of us. We’ve talked. You’re broody and emotionally constipated and so hot when you're threatening to page Neuro at 3AM.”
“I—what—”
“You don’t have to say anything yet,” Samira added, her tone softer. “We just thought it was time to let you know. You’re not alone. Not unless you want to be.”
Jack stared between them, clearly short-circuiting. “You’re… in a relationship. Together.”
“Yes,” Yn said. “Very happily.”
“And you… both want me?”
“Yes, Jack,” Samira said, laughing gently. “We’re emotionally stable enough to handle your mess.”
He blinked. Then again. His ears were definitely red.
“I need to… do something. Somewhere. Alone.”
Samira handed him another coffee. “Go process. We’ll be here when you’re ready.”
And they would be.
I.R.I.S // Jake Seresin
Summary: When Jake Deadman Seresin spilled some drinks on you at the Hard Deck, the last thing he thought would come of that would be an entanglement that could ruin his entire career.
Warnings: Age Gap. Jake Seresin x Younger!Mitchell Reader. Smut! (18+ Content) Bradley Bradshaw x Platonic!Mitchell reader.
Chapter One: Hangman Head // Jake gets a blowie in the car park after he spills his beer on you, only to find out he’s your TopGun Instructor.
Chapter Two: Locker Room Meltdown // Jake has an existential crisis in the men’s locker room.
Chapter Three: Shower Sex // You and Jake come to an agreement that ends up with you both caving and getting into more trouble in a spare shower stall.
Chapter Four: Backyard Brodown Barbecue // After being lured into your bedroom to receive some of the best head of his life. Jake is subjected to your mischievous ways around your dad and uncles.
Jake Gets Distracted
Chapter Five: Premeditated Murder // You send Jake a risque picture of yourself while he is sitting in the Rec room with your dad.
Chapter Six: hiding In Plain Sight // After a confrontation turned sour which turned into you giving Hangman head under your dads desk, you overhear something you probably shouldn’t.
Pre Flight fight
Chapter Seven: H_ngm_n’s Sleep T // Mav goes to investigate why you haven’t gotten out of bed on a morning you have to be on base at 8am. Only to discover you’re wearing a certain someone’s shirt.
Chapter Eight: Lunchtime Lovers // When Jake finds out you quit the TopGun program, he goes to your house—only then does he realise he forgot his lunch.
Are Iris & Deadman exclusive?
Chapter Nine: The Mitchell Effect // You and Jake make things a little more official and Jake confirms his suspicions. He’s addicted the the thrill of being found out.
Chapter Ten: Snowballing // People are finding out left and right about your relationship with Jake and it all comes to a head when Phoenix gets wind of the situation.
Chapter Eleven: Implosion // Things take a turn for the worst when Rebound sees you lock lips with Lieutenant Commander Seresin right before a training session.
𝐬𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐮𝐬𝐥𝐲𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐰𝐫𝐨𝐭𝐞'𝐬 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭
(formerly @𝐦𝐮𝐥𝐭𝐢-𝐟𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐨𝐦-𝐢𝐢𝐦𝐚𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐬)
(𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐭 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭) - request something :)
𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐮𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭
𝐩𝐞𝐚𝐤𝐲 𝐛𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭
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