✩ ‧₊˚ ✩。BITE THE HAND — JACK ABBOT.

Twenty-year-old Y/N returns to the ruins of District 12, seeking something—anything—of the life she lost. Grieving, self-contained, and carrying the weight of a brutal past, she finds herself quietly drawn into the lives of Katniss, Peeta, and Haymitch. As unexpected friendships form and long-buried parts of herself begin to resurface, Y/N starts to wonder if it’s still possible for something soft to survive the wreckage.

Pairing(s): Haymitch Abernathy x Female!Reader (romantic), Katniss Everdeen x Female!Reader (platonic), Peeta Mellark x Female!Reader (platonic)

Warnings: themes of grief, past emotional and verbal abuse from a parent, past self-harm (cutting), past alcoholism (Y/N) / ongoing alcoholism (Haymitch), references to non-consensual sexual experiences (no explicit scenes), PTSD, mental health struggles, age gap romance between adults (20s and 40s), eventual suggestive scenes, death, descriptions of death/gore, mentions of bombing, descriptions of district 12 after the bombing, might be slightly divergent from canon, peeta was not hijacked

All heavy topics are treated with care, but reader discretion is advised.

this is basically just a suuuuper long slow burn friends to lovers. Y/N’s backstory is very detailed but i have not and will not describe her appearance. the first 5 or 6 chapters are basically just providing Y/N’s background and building a foundation for the rest of the story.

Shadows of the Past - Six months after the Second Rebellion, you return to the ruins of District 12. Haunted by memories and loss, you wander through the wreckage—until a flicker of light draws you toward something, or someone, unexpected.

Fragments of Home - In the unfamiliar stillness of Victor’s Village, you find yourself cared for by an old friend and a stranger. As wounds are tended to, new connections begin to take root—quiet, cautious, and strange in their kindness.

The Space Between - You move through the stillness of what remains, caught between memory and reality. In the space left by loss, something quieter begins to grow—unspoken understanding, and the first fragile steps toward connection.

The Club - A nightmare drives you outside in the dead of night—and you’re not the only one who couldn’t sleep. An unexpected conversation beneath the stars begins to chip away at the walls you’ve built.

The Quiet Shift - You wake to a new day and begin to settle into your new reality. A simple visit turns into something more, as laughter and conversation spark the beginnings of something long forgotten: friendship.

Porchlight - Three months into your return, you’ve slipped into a quiet routine—baking with Peeta, trading late-night banter with Haymitch. But comfort doesn’t come easy, and even the smallest moments of ease shine like a porchlight in the dark.

The Shape of Warmth - You spend the day with Katniss, Peeta, and Haymitch—what begins with a truth leads into something softer, steadier. Something that feels almost like belonging.

more to come! :)

Always Darling

Jake "Hangman" Seresin x Reader

Masterlist

Summary: Jake and Y/n met in their final month of the Naval Academy and thus began their long lasting love. Follow along their relationship and everything that entails.

listed in timeline order not publish order.

T h e i r S t o r y

The Early Years

Always Darling

Before the Storm

After All

Here We Go Again

E x t r a s

Official Timeline

The Wedding

Day After Tomorrow - Part Two

read part one here!

a/n: here is part two, i hope u enjoy!! the next part will be the last part. i'm having a lot of fun writing these, thanks for all the likes and reblogs on the first part!!!

content warnings: age gap between jack and reader, reader spills hot coffee on herself but it's nothing serious, lots of me repeating phrases i think lol, that's all!

Today, you woke up with a mission. You would not go to work tired. You would be prepared this time. Prepared for Jack Abbot. You wake up at 2:30 A.M. this time, and you get ready like it’s a regular hour of the day. You still don’t know if he’ll even come in. Yesterday, you spiraled when you allowed your brain to think. If he doesn’t come in, you also thought of a million excuses for him. It doesn’t have to be because of you! It could be that he is piled up with emergencies, he’s stuck in surgery, maybe the time got away from him. 

You get to work and try to slow yourself down. You’re anxious, pacing around. You know if you finish all your tasks early, you’ll just be waiting around for him. You count the money in the drawer three times. You clean every spot on the espresso machine twice. You brew the coffee with exact precision. You fix your hair more times than you can count.

You look at the clock on the wall. 4:00 A.M. You glance at the door and remind yourself to look away. You are trying so hard to not be disappointed. You don’t want to put your hopes and dreams into this man. You didn’t know him. But God, you wanted to. You had replayed the conversation in your head until you could mark it down to the minute it happened. You thought the way he looked at you before he left. How he seemed like he didn’t want to drag his eyes away.

You sigh and shake your head, opting to make yourself another London fog, hoping the drink will summon him. You try to distract yourself, but there really is nothing else to do. You don’t get any customers this early, Jack was the only one. Since your coworkers were in the back, you had no one to talk to. You check the clock again, 4:10. You sigh, trying not to feel disappointed.

But then, it comes. The bell on the door rings. It feels like Gabriel’s horn just blew. He walks in. You smile, and think maybe you shouldn’t. You wanted to be cool today, but you couldn’t help it. He actually came.

“It’s nice to know you’re a man of your word.” you say as he walks over to the counter.

“Course I am,” he says. Jack smiles too, a small one, but it’s a smile.

“Do you just want another coffee?”

“Yeah, I do. And your number, if that’s not overstepping.”

You blank. The lack of sleep catches up to you in three seconds, tops. Your brain falters, you try to remember how to form a sentence, “Yes.”

He deadpans, “Yes, it’s overstepping?”

“No!” you basically yell. You clear your throat, try again, “No, not overstepping. Yes, I’d like to give you my number.”

“Jesus,” he grumbles, shaking his head, laughing a bit, “Had me scared there.”

“Sorry, it’s early.”

“Right, yeah,” you can tell he doesn’t believe you for a second. You can tell he knows you're nervous. 

You decide you don’t want to be perceived anymore, and turn around to pour his coffee. But your hands are shaking. The pot slips a little, meaning you pour some of the freshly brewed, very hot coffee, on the hand that was stabilizing the cup.

“God, ouch!” you say.

Jack looks like he wants to jump over the counter. “Let me see.”

You turn around slowly, holding your hand. You decide to trust the doctor and let him take a look.

When he touches your hand, it’s like the burn amplifies, and your face feels as hot as the dark brown liquid that you just spilt everywhere. “I’m used to it, I’ll be fine.”

He lets out a sigh and shoots you a look that says, let me check it over thoroughly. You wonder how long he’ll spend touching you, you don’t know if you want it to end. 

He has your injured hand flat in one of his, while the other is slowly flipping your hand over, softly touching everywhere the coffee spilt. He gives your hand two, small pats, and lets go slowly.

“Yeah, it’ll be fine. Cool water if the burning feeling doesn’t go away.” 

You nod, bewildered, awestruck. You stand there like an idiot before remembering that he still needs his coffee. You pour the old cup out into the sink beside you, and throw it in the trash. You get him a new one since the coffee had spilled on the outside of the cup too. You pour the new one extra carefully, making sure to not spill it again. Although, you kind of wish you could, if it meant that Jack would touch you again.

“Will you let me pay today?” he says, a bit exasperated.

“You just gave me a free examination, obviously this is a fair trade.” 

He scoffs. Throws a five in the tip jar, just like he did last time.

You hold out the cup to him, he takes it, letting his fingers brush yours as he does.

“And the other part?” he asks. “I don’t see your number on here.”

“You know, we do have cellphones now. You could take yours out and I’ll give you it. Or do you want me to write it on a napkin for you?”

He laughs again. Just like the ones you’ve been thinking about from two days ago. “Old fashioned, remember?”

He sets the coffee on the counter and grabs his phone out of his back pocket. It’s an iPhone with a matte black case. He taps around on it for a second and then hands it to you. You put your number in, and your name in the first name spot. He watches you with intensity. You don’t even see him, but you can feel it. Can feel his dark eyes watching you. You glance up and meet them. You don’t break eye contact as you hand the phone back. 

He looks down at the information and then shuts his phone off, putting it back into his pocket.

You decide that you’re done being nonchalant. “I’m glad you came back.”

Jack nods, “I am too.”

You figure that you’ll need to get to know him a little bit better for him to give you a little bit more than that. He remains his mysterious self, but you’re glad you got a little bit of verbal reassurance. 

You smile, laugh, shake your head and look down. “You know, for a second I thought I had just imagined you, because you came and went so fast.”

“That’s one way to tell me I’m the man of your dreams.” he smiles smugly.

Your face gets hot again. This time, you can’t make eye contact.

“Very smooth,” you try to joke, but your voice sounds rough. Your throat is getting a bit dry from the flirting.

Jack laughs, you keep count in your head of how many times this makes. You wonder if you’ll ever stop doing that. “Listen, I do have to get back today. But I'll text you with plans, okay?”

“Okay, yeah,” you say, looking up at him now. You didn’t want to miss any more chances to see him.

“Okay, see you. And be careful with that coffee!” he points at you, eyes quickly looking down at your hand.

“Will do, Doc.” 

He looks crushed. His brows furrow, and he swipes his palm down his face. you want to understand why this name always seems to get to him, but you can't come up with any reasons in your head. He leaves the same way he did before. Backwards, slowly inching towards the door. Once he leaves. You look at the door for at least a minute, wishing he’d come back. When you finally tear your aways away from the metal entrance, you realize he left his cup of coffee on the counter, and didn’t even take a sip out of it.  You almost can’t believe it. He really did just come here for you this time, not because he needed any extra caffeine.  

You spend the rest of your shift about the way you spent the one before: out of it. You checked your phone more times than you care to admit, and googled what time night shift doctors got off. You were done trying to convince yourself to not spiral about it, because it was real, and it was happening. A doctor was going to text you and make plans for a date, and that was all that mattered in your mind at this moment. 

Your shift was long, and busy, but this time, the crowds of people couldn’t drag Jack away from your mind. Every customer you served, you thought about him. You imagined his face there instead, thinking about him being at the end of the long line. You got an order for a small black coffee and you peered around the cafe, trying to see if he came back.

When your shift ends, you check your phone again, and this time, there’s a text from an unknown number. 

Does Friday at 6pm sound good?

You Know Where You Are 1/3

Not all fics have adult content, but this blog is 18+. Dr. Michael "Robby" Robinavitch x f!Musician!Reader Angst/Established Relationship Part II | Part III

The Pitt Playlist located here The Pitt Masterlist

Synopsis: Dr. Robby's Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day started before he even made it to PTMC. He was supposed to go to Pittfest to support his girlfriend's band with Jake, but decided to flake and give his ticket to Jake's girlfriend. You are less than thrilled with his lack of communication. Word Count: 965 Content Warning: Arguing; Reader is in her 30's A/N: This will be a three-parter.

“Why is an alarm going off?” You grumbled into Robby’s warm chest as the jingle from his phone repeated itself. Robby groaned as he reached over to the nightstand to turn it off. He was silent for a few beats, his other hand coming up to rub your back gently. “Mikey?”

“I’m goin’ in today.” He mumbled into the crown of your head. 

“You’re what?” Sitting up in a hurry, you pushed yourself off him, but kept your eyes pinpointed on his. Michael was looking anywhere else in the room but at you. “No. No, Mike! You said you weren’t going to do this.”

“I know.” He responded gently, his eyes breaking from yours. 

“You know.” Scoffing, you started to get off the bed, but was stopped by his hand gently grabbing your thigh, squeezing it in a way that told you he did not want this to get blown into an argument. Not today. “What about Jake? You can’t just ditch him.”

“Giving him my pass for his girlfriend. They’ll have a blast and apparently she’s a huge fan of you guys.” He tried to soften the blow. All it did was build the irritation that was growing inside of you. 

“And me?” Your question hung in the air.

“I’m sorry.” 

“Absolutely not.” Gently prying his hand off your leg, you stood and threw on some random clothes he had in the second drawer that housed various t-shirts, jeans and leggings that you’d left over time. “Genuinely don’t know what I was expecting.” You muttered under your breath as you pulled a t-shirt over your head.  

“What’s that supposed to mean?” He had the nerve to sound indignant.

“It means that I am a very reasonable person who rolls with the punches when it comes to you, but god forbid something on my end -pre planned well in advance, mind you- is important to me and it gets thrown by the wayside.”

“Today is-” You held up your hand to stop him. 

“-I know what today is.” Your voice took on a somber tone. “And I am so incredibly sorry that you have to carry this with you, Mike. I am. I love you and I support you wholeheartedly, but you obviously knew you were going to do this well before this morning and you chose not to tell me. A heads up is all that I’m asking for here.”

“Had I known missing this set was going to be a huge deal-”

“It’s not about the set!” Your voice rose. “I don’t care about the set, Mike! My life is set after set. I cared about spending time with you and Jake. The set is an hour out of my day. Both of us are stupidly busy people with demanding careers who don’t get to see a whole lot of each other outside of some quick takeout and going to bed -if we’re even in the same state!” It wasn’t meant to be a jab, but Robby felt it all the same. 

“You’ve never had a problem with me having to cancel for work.” His voice was starting to get an irritated tone to it, one that you knew he knew he was wrong, but was doubling down. 

“That’s not what this is!” You snapped, “I’m not mad because you get called in to work, Mike! You did this on purpose. They didn’t call you in, you are choosing to go in on a day that you already arranged to have off for no other reason than you won’t communicate!” He winced -you don’t communicate was repeated like a broken record through just about every failed relationship he had. “I don’t understand how you don’t see why I’m frustrated with this and, quite frankly, it’s pissing me off even more than I was to begin with because I can’t tell if you know what you’re doing or if this is just a defensive reflex!”

Grabbing your phone off the nightstand on your side, you sighed when you saw how early it actually was. Deciding that removing yourself from Mike’s townhouse was the best option so you could cool off without figuratively ripping his head from his body, you grabbed your purse off his dresser. 

“Where are you going?” Mike stood from the bed, pajama pants hanging low in his hips. There was clear panic in his eyes, but he couldn’t navigate himself out of the hole he had dug himself. 

“Back to my place.” You didn’t bother to untie your sneakers as you shoved your feet into them, pulling roughly until they popped on. 

“Come on,” He said your name softly, “-please just get back into bed-”

“Why?” You snapped, “You’re getting ready for work and I don’t have a reason to be here right now.” Mike winced, then inhaled deeply before nodding -not to agree with you, but to process the words that you just said to him. 

“You don’t need a reason to be here.” He was nearly begging. You bit your bottom lip to keep yourself from going off the deep end. 

“Fine, I don’t want to be here.” You ground out. And truthfully, you didn’t. Anger was a rarity coming from you -life happens- but this wasn’t “life happens”. This was “Robby happens” and when Robby happens...you shook your head. 

“You coming back here tonight?” He knew it was a long shot, but he asked anyway. 

“You know, Mike…” You shrugged, exasperated, arms swinging out from your sides, “-probably not.” Done with the conversation you left the bedroom, angry that this was how the day -a day that was supposed to be fun and a distraction from the shit Mike deals with- started in a fiery blaze. 

“Don’t-” Not bothering to hear his response as you fled through the townhouse, you let the door slam closed behind you. 

Part II

Please reblog, like and/or comment :)

rusty

jack abbot x female reader

summary: after a dry spell in his sex life, jack would’ve never imagined the next women he’d have naked in his bed would be his favorite first year resident.

content: nsfw, 18+, mdni, resident!reader, touch starved!jack, established relationship, a little bit of fluff smushed in there, but mostly smut, jack being nervous to have sex for the first time in years, but then ofc something in him snaps and he gets a little freaky with it, jack uses the nickname kid for the reader (1) time, also uses the nickname sweetheart, fingering, handjob (if you blink you’ll miss it), p in v sex, dirty talk, condom use and the crowd boos (sorry had to keep it realistic! if i’m having sex with someone for the first time and they’re not wrapping it….questionable)

word count: 4.5k

author’s note: wanted to write something about big tough jack abbot being a little nervy to see you naked but i also wanted to write something about him having an inappropriate relationship with his resident…. so alas this was born. enjoy!

“I haven’t done this in a while.” 

The words stumble from Jack’s lips in an exasperated sigh. It nearly gets lost between kisses, the confession hidden amidst the steamy exchange as your bodies barrel through his front door. 

Reaching up to thread your fingertips through the curls at the nape of his neck, your forearms rest on his shoulders to steady yourself as he maneuvers you into his bedroom. 

You don’t reply to his admission, just smile into the kiss as your hands trail down his torso finding the hem of his shirt. Your fingertips carefully tracing his skin underneath the material. 

He wanted to tell you it had been years since he’d been with a woman like this— wanted to apologize in advance for being a bit rusty, but the light touch of your hands exploring the skin just above the waistband of his jeans, had him losing his previous train of thought. 

He couldn’t think about how long it’d been since he’d brought a woman back to his place, couldn’t even think about how insanely wrong it was to be kissing you in his bedroom.

With that being said, he should be proud of himself for holding out this long.

It had been months of having you on his shift.

Week after week of watching you prance around the ER with that cute little smile on your face, following every last one of his orders. Always meeting his sarcastic remarks with witty comments of your own, the two of you working effortlessly together like there was some sort of magnetic field between you that pulled him to every case you worked on. 

It was so innocent at first, shared inside jokes and granola bars in the breakroom. Him giving you a hard time for your absurd coffee intake through the night, making comments about how the quad shot of espresso you walked in with was going to send you into cardiac arrest. 

But then, there was the time he put his hand on your lower back to squeeze behind you at the triage desk. The second his touch met the polyester of your scrubs, applying just enough pressure to seep through the thin fabric, your head turned in his direction. 

You didn’t mean to look at him, but you couldn’t help it. His fingers stayed splayed out on your back for one second too long, and your eyes shot to his, the electric current running through your body impossible to ignore. 

A sudden tension emerged in the small space between you, his stare raking down your body to where his hand sat, just above your waist, taking their time trailing back up with a knowing smirk on his lips. 

The moment was fleeting but it played out in slow motion before his hand was gone and he was breezing past you into the trauma bay. After that it became a game of cat and mouse, both of you sensing a pull of desire toward the other but almost too afraid to do anything about it. 

For Jack, it was because you were his intern, just a first-year resident looking to him for guidance and education. His apprentice. It felt wrong to look at you in any other way. He wouldn’t be able to sleep at night if he took advantage of the obvious power imbalance at play in the situation. 

Not to mention he was off his game. 

He had no problem coming across abundantly confident at work, but as far as dating went, Jack hadn’t waded into those waters for years. There was a part of him that gave up on his love life. Maybe that’s why he threw himself into work, to avoid the loneliness that found him in his lack of companionship. 

You could sense his apprehension. The way he would subtly flirt with you and then walk away from the conversation like nothing happened. He was trying to avoid the guilt of getting too familiar, but it left you confused about his intentions. 

It wasn’t until one morning that you decided to rip off the band aid entirely, asking him to join you for breakfast after your shift. 

It was a simple invitation, one that could’ve been strictly friendly, but the way he smiled when you asked, looking around to see if anyone else heard, told you it was the start of something else entirely. 

And it was.

The two of you went to breakfast, talking for hours in a corner booth over a stack of pancakes and a few slices of bacon. 

It was the first time you saw each other outside of the hospital. Everyone else in that restaurant could see the two of you for what you were; happy. Finding joy in each other’s presence through constant laughs and affectionate smiles. But Jack couldn’t see it that way— couldn’t shake the conflicting feelings of guilt. It wasn’t until you reached over him to dip your bacon in a pool of syrup on his plate that he finally relaxed. He soaked it in, sitting with you like that, because when the nagging thoughts of how inappropriate it was began to cloud his mind, the gentle touch of your hand brushing his thigh chased them away. Fingertips curling just above his knee as you continued telling him a story, making him forget why he was even worried about saying yes to your invitation in the first place. 

That was the first time he crossed a boundary with you. Allowing himself to get lost in your voice with the two of you hidden away in some diner down the street from the hospital. But it didn’t stop there. 

The next time was when he walked you home after work, only three days after your shared breakfast date. 

He knew he shouldn’t have done it, but you parted ways outside the sliding hospital doors and he watched as you walked down the street, all by yourself. For a split second he could imagine what his frame would look like walking next to you, and so he followed. Catching up to your stride with satisfaction running through his veins at your surprised smile to see him standing at your shoulder. You lived in an apartment building a block away, he knew because you mentioned it one time, and even though his leg was killing him after such a brutal shift, he walked next to you all the way to the front door of your complex. Your bodies lingered on the sidewalk, palpable tension bouncing between them through prolonged goodbyes. 

That was the first time your gaze fell to his lips. 

The curiously hopeful look in your eyes made his mouth go completely dry because Surely you weren’t going to kiss him in broad daylight. The world spun around him while your eyes stayed fixed on the straight line of his mouth, until they fluttered back up, meeting his line of sight and smiling brightly.

“Goodnight Jack.” Your hand met his bicep, squeezing lightly as you swiftly walked into the building with a small wave. 

Goodnight, even though it was nearly eight in the morning. 

It was something you said to everyone after each shift, bidding your coworkers a good stretch of sleep, knowing you all shared a fucked-up sleep schedule due to working the night shift. 

Jack found the greeting endearing. Smiling wide every time he heard the sing-song chime of your voice wishing everyone a restful day before leaving work in the morning. 

His days were hardly restful though, he never got much sleep when he went home, because you were always on his mind. 

After that day in front of your apartment building, he went out of his way to walk you home nearly every morning. If only  for a few extra minutes of hearing your voice, and a small hope that you would look at his lips like that again. 

When you finally did kiss him, it was well worth the wait. 

It happened on the roof. 

An especially hard call landed you outside for some fresh air, overlooking the city as you tried your best to clear your mind. 

Jack came up to check on you. 

Avoiding him entirely, your apathetic stare stayed plastered on the lights of the city. He stood next to you in silence for a while before placing a gentle hand on your cheek in reassurance, bringing your gaze to his and searching your eyes to make sure you were okay. 

It was emotionally charged, the way you crashed your lips into his. He held your face delicately in his hands, using his jaw to dive into the kiss, hungry and sloppy and undeniably passionate. 

More than anything he wanted to explore every inch of you— to let his hands travel your entire body, but instead his palms stayed strictly on your face, careful not to push things too far. 

In fact, weeks of suppression followed while Jack tried to respect the unknown undercurrents of your relationship. 

A few more kisses were shared, even some heated make out sessions and heavy petting in the on-call room at work, but nothing more. 

He’d be lying if he said his trepidation wasn’t slightly due to the rather lengthy sexual hiatus taking place in his life. But he could only deny his urges for so long, and this morning after breakfast, instead of walking you back to your apartment, he invited you over to his place for the first time. An unspoken agreement hung in the air the whole way home, one laced with heavy sexual tension. 

That’s what landed you here— barely two feet past the threshold of his bedroom with your hands dangerously close to the waistband of his pants and Jack couldn’t dare to think straight. 

The only thoughts he could muster revolved around how much he fucking liked you. This other worldly figure standing before him, toying with the ties on his pants, fingertips brushing his abdomen and fuck- he was on another planet. Your touch was sending a vaguely familiar heat rushing through his body and he wanted more— needed it. 

Something about the situation sent him on a power trip. His cock pushing against the lose restraint of his scrubs, the sudden realization that he finally had you right where he wanted you after all this time tainting his thoughts. Months of getting to know each other and countless dates ending in polite kisses and lingering goodbyes— all of it leading to this moment with his fingertips curling into your waist. 

But there was still a little sliver of him that felt nervous, slightly unsure of venturing into this unknown territory with you. 

He was still trying to convince himself that you were genuinely interested in him, because when he looked at you he saw this beautiful woman, all radiant and self-assured on the arm of some guy nearly twice her age who rarely smiled and always had a grumpy wise-ass remark on his tongue. 

His hands went rigid at the thought, the doubts taking him out of the moment for a few seconds, and you could sense his sudden uneasiness.

Pulling away from the kiss, you searched his expression, his lips parted to make way for fast shallow breaths as he stared back at you, his eyes hooded with desire but swimming with hesitation. 

“We don’t have to do anything Jack.” Your words were sincere as you continued looking for any sign of regret in the hazel of his eyes.

“No, I want this.” His brows furrowed as the winded confession fell from his lips. His hands grasped at your hips, holding firm while his thumbs rubbed into your sides. 

“You sure?” Voice changing slightly, you moved into a more playful state, fingers coming to the tie on his pants as you kept your eyes trained on his face. 

“We could just talk.” 

A playful whisper slid between your lips as you undid the drawstring between your fingertips.

“Or maybe watch a movie.” 

Then, your hand slid into the waistband of his underwear, only a few inches, just enough to make his breath hitch. 

He tries to cover his surprise at your touch, now dangerously close to the base of his cock. He’s mustering enough self-control to speak, his words coming out calm and collected despite the dizzying effect of your hand down his pants.

“You’re funny, kid. You know that?” 

Kid. 

A nickname he'd been calling you since the day you were assigned to his shift. You were just an intern; young, hungry and passionate. Had he known you’d end up with your hands halfway down his pants in the middle of his bedroom, he might've opted for a different title of endearment.

“Seriously Jack, we can take things slow-“

A low chuckle interrupts your attempt to comfort him, trying to give him a chance to back out. 

He guides you back to sit on the edge of his bed, smirking and shaking his head from side to side.

“Stop talking.” The words are rushed. A deep rasp from his lips as he leans in to kiss you, pushing your body until your back meets his mattress.

“I don’t think you realize how long I’ve thought about this.” It was apparent that Jack was hungry— starving even— to see more of you. His hands working quickly to get your pants down your legs and onto his bedroom floor. 

“What do you think about Jack?” He’d never heard that tone in your voice before, low and sultry while you leaned up on your elbows to look up at him. 

“Jesus- I’ve thought about having you on my bed like this,” There was nothing subtle about the way his eyes scraped over your as he paused between words. Eyes drifting to your lower half, legs parted slightly, a pair of black panties acting as the only barrier between his eyes and your naked body. “all spread out for me like this.”

At his words, your legs open further, sending a muffled growl straight to Jack’s closed mouth as he lets his hand fall on your inner thigh. Trailing upwards, his fingertips come in contact with the hem of your underwear. 

“Can’t tell you how many times I’ve thought about pulling you into the on-call room after our shift.” He’s leaning above you, eyes glued to your clothed core, fingers toying with the thin material of your panties at the inside of your thighs. 

“How badly I’ve wanted to fuck you on one of those shitty beds, or maybe even against the wall…” 

“But you deserve better. To be treated right, on a real bed.” Suddenly the smooth cotton of his comforter feels much warmer underneath you, your hands splaying over the pillowy fabric on your palms. 

Jack watches the way your shoulders relax, and your head falls an inch to the side at his words, your body melting into the moment of shared desire. 

“Want to take my time with you. Make you feel good. Watch you fall apart.” He leans in to kiss you, right as one of his fingertip’s dip below the fabric of your panties to run along your slit. You gasp into the kiss, and he takes the opportunity to pull away.

“To hear the little noises you make for me.” His lips are only inches from yours as his breathless whisper fills the space between them, his hand now fully pushing your panties to the side, his touch light as a feather, and lingering at your core.

“Bet you sound so pretty when you cum.”

Your mouth falls open and you’re not sure what triggered it, his words, or the way he pushes a single finger into you. The movement is slow and precise as he watches your eyes flutter in pleasure. 

For someone who’s sex life was currently non-existent, Jack didn’t miss a beat when it came to the rhythm of your gratification. The moan dripping from your tongue coming right on cue as he slipped another finger in with the first, stroking with purpose and dedication as his name came floating from your lips. 

“Jack.”

The word was foggy and desperate as his touch subdued you, his fingers curling at the sweet call of his name, hooking at just the right spot. 

“Fuck that’s it.” A whine of pleasure rippled through you at the pressure of his fingers against your walls. With one stroke after another, the building tension in your abdomen threatened to overflow. 

Jack’s stare falls on his fingers as they work you open. 

He can hardly handle how responsive you are to his touch; your hips bucking into his palm, little pleas falling from your lips— It’s enough to make him cum right there in his damn pants. 

“God- you sound gorgeous.” The compliment is almost primal, his voice nearing a growl as he looks down at your body writhing on the simple motion of his fingers inside you, a slave to his touch.

He lets himself get lost in the noises flowing from your mouth, allowing each moan to act as a signal, showing him exactly where and how you want him. 

“Even better than I could’ve imagined.” He finishes his thought and brings his stare back to yours, the fucked-out expression in your eyes telling him just how close you are. 

His words send you reeling, acting as a catalyst for the strain pulling in your abdomen. 

He can feel your body preparing to tumble over the edge, walls clenching around his fingers, and thighs flexing.

“There you go sweetheart.” 

Sweetheart. That’s new. 

It surprises you both the second it leaves his lips. But the surprise of it barely registers, instead the word unleashes a flutter in your chest and a warmth between your legs. You’re obsessed with the way it sounds in the rasp of Jack’s voice. In fact, you like it so much your body trembles and whimpers fill the air as you come undone on Jack’s fingers.

His eyes watch as his movements slow, his digits coated in your slick and pushing into you continuously even after your body finishes shuddering.

It’s almost sadistic the small smirk he’s wearing on his lips as he fixates on his fingers sliding in and out of your body. 

He was starved. Starved of touch— the warmth of another’s body. Feeling how much you ached for him drove him crazy. The way you pulled him in with each thrust of his fingers made him want to stay there all night, making you cum over and over again to feed his craving of your body at his mercy. 

If it weren’t for your delicate hands gripping at his forearm forcing him back to reality, he would’ve kept going, would’ve seen just how much more you could take. 

“Jack.” Your voice breaks him from his trance, hand wrapping around his arm and pulling him back to hover parallel over your body. 

An unsolicited grunt erupts from deep in his throat as your hands once again slide into his underwear, only this time they fall far enough to envelop his cock in your soft touch. 

His hand comes down forcefully next to your head, palm flat against the mattress to hold himself steady as pleasure washes over him.

You’d only pumped over his length once and he was already squeezing his eyes shut in focus, trying not to spill into your hand. 

“Sweetheart.”

In retrospect, he probably shouldn’t have used that nickname again, not right now when he was seconds away from having an embarrassingly quick orgasm. 

Your grip tightened slightly at the word, hand working a little faster and paying extra close attention to his overly sensitive tip when he has to put a hand over yours to stop your efforts. 

“I’m not gonna last long if you keep that up.” His brows raise at your smug expression, your hand still stroking him despite his attempt to stop you. 

“I’m serious.” A breathless snarl meets your ear as his head falls lower, nearly resting in the crook of your neck.

You hum in response, one hand continuing its work between his legs, the other pushing at the pants still around his hips.

He was quick to oblige your unspoken request, bringing his own hand down to rid himself of his pants and underwear. His hands are then at your hips yanking your underwear down your legs.

In a heated frenzy both of you took a few seconds to take off any remaining clothes. Sitting up to swiftly pull off shirts, and while you’re reaching to take off your bra, Jack stretches to his bedside table, fishing out a condom from its box that’s been sitting untouched in his drawer for far too long.

Then, you’re back to square one, his body hovering over yours, and his lips kissing down your neck.

Your hand finds him again, palm encircling his member as he freezes under your touch.

“You sure you wanna do this?” His voice is lost in the skin of your chest, his lips melting against your collarbone.

“You’re asking me? I thought you were the one who needed convincing.” The giggle in your voice has Jack nipping playfully at your skin, his hand confidently fitting between your legs.

“What can I say, you’ve persuaded me.” A teasing tone slips through his lust clouded whisper, his fingers collecting the slick at your core with a groan on his tongue.

You grab the condom out of his hand, tearing it open and rolling it onto him with ease, the feeling causing him to lean further into your touch. 

This was one of the reasons Jack was so drawn to you.

You held such discreet authority, taking charge with a charming smile and a sweet command in your voice.

He couldn’t have imagined that same power he witnessed at work would roll over into the bedroom. Your captivating ability to take quiet control was suddenly so obvious in the way you were guiding his now protected length to line up with your entrance, body shimmying down the bed to coerce him into you. 

When the head of his cock finally pushes into you, you both let out noises of relief.

The placated gasp from your lips, and the profound groan on his, proves that you’d both been longing for this exact moment for weeks.

He took his time. Learning the hug of your body. Savoring every inch of pure bliss, as he filled you at a painstaking pace. Your hands shot to his back, fingertips digging into the broad expanse of his shoulder blades just enough to encourage his movement until he entered you completely, pushed in to the hilt.

His eyes stay on yours, watching the way your lids almost closed while you adjusted to him, your mouth parted slightly at the stretch.

Then he’s pulling out and thrusting back in, moaning at the way you feel wrapped around him. Your head tilts back into his comforter at the sweet friction of his strokes, and the sight beneath him has another moan bubbling up Jack’s throat. 

It was exactly how he’d dreamt this moment— your back on his bed, with your head thrown back in pleasure. Getting to watch your body respond to him his perch above you, your naked figure far more beautiful than anything he could’ve imagined. It was all so perfect. You were perfect. 

He picked up the pace of his thrusts, not too fast, but perfectly timed with the squeeze of your fingers on his back. He knew he must be hitting something right in the way you were gripping his shoulders and crying out for him. Crying out for him. Your voice was strained and winded as his name fell from your lips in a chant. 

His self-control must’ve been at an all-time high as he closed his eyes for a moment, gaining his bearings and talking himself down from cumming at the sounds of your whines.

Instead, he collects whatever composure is left in his body and brings a hand down between the two of you, fingertips finding that sensitive spot just above where his cock is driving into you.

He rubs steady circles into your clit, and judging by the way his name jumps from you an octave higher than before, he knows he’ll get to watch you cum again. 

He makes it his goal. Setting his thrusts at a fixed pace, as his fingers deliberately stroke your bundle of nerves. He focuses completely on your pleasure to distract himself from the pulsing pressure running through his veins.

He needs to see you let go for him one more time before he lets himself finish. An easy task given the way your back was arching off his bed, sending your hips further into him. 

“I’m gonna-“ The words are hardly coherent as they slip between your gasps and moans. Wanting to tell him you were close but unable to string together more than two words. 

“Come on sweetheart.” His words were directed straight to your core, eyes back down and watching between your bodies as he slides into you. His mind growing hazy at the sight of you taking his cock so well. 

His encouragement was all you needed to let go.

Your release washes over you in waves of bliss.

Jack’s eyes make the journey back to your face, watching in awe at your expression taking on a state of utter relief as your head falls even deeper into the blanket underneath you.

That image is what finally makes him succumb to the persistent chase of his release.

He’s groaning and panting, one of his hands coming to grip your hips, the other balancing himself on the mattress, pressed flat on the space next to your face.

He’s grunting profanities as he spills through his orgasm, allowing his elbow to bend so he can rest his forehead against yours. Both of you breathing heavy, eyes meeting in a moment of vulnerability and understanding as you bring a hand up to lace through his hair. Almost petting his grey curls, you lazily smile through the puffs of breath on your lips.

He doesn’t think he’ll ever get over seeing you like this, an angel laid out on his bedspread— just for him.

He felt himself getting hard again, already hungry for another round.

His cock getting hard again, that fast after sex, was something he hadn’t experienced in over a decade. These days Jack needed plenty of time between orgasms to even think about getting another erection, but in this moment, still buried in you and hearing the tiny gasps of breath coming from your heaving chest, he wanted more. He could feel his addiction to you growing stronger, reminding him of the forbidden nature of your budding relationship.

“What are we getting ourselves into.” As if he were speaking his thoughts aloud, his voice filled the room.

He couldn’t help but smile as he thought about what the future held for your relationship, his forehead still pressed against yours. 

my masterlist

HAPPY LOWMAN MASTERLIST 2🌴

You can find all chapters of A LITTLE LOST below!

Disclaimer; I don't own any of the SOA characters nor the original storyline. All the rights go to Kurt Sutter and the other producers of the show. I do, however, own my original characters and the added storylines I come up with.

Warning⚠️; 18+ only! All stories will have mature content in it, which means that there will be detailed sexual content, violence, blood and gore, domestic violence, sensitive topics, mental health issues etc. If any of these topics will be mentioned or written out in detail, there will be an extra trigger warning in this particular chapter.

tag list; If you want to get tagged in each chapter, leave a comment! ☀️

INTRODUCTION CHAPTER

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTERE TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN / LAST CHAPTER

𝗮𝗯𝘀𝗼𝗹𝘂𝘁𝗲𝗹𝘆 𝘀𝗺𝗶𝘁𝘁𝗲𝗻 I chapter two

(dr. jack abbot x nurse!reader)

⤿ chapter summary: your day off opens in quiet, comforting routine. errands and small talk feel almost enough to keep the world steady. but scattered signs—disturbed spaces, cryptic messages—suggest unseen eyes on you.

⤿ warning(s): stalking

⟡ masterlist ; previous I next

✦ word count: 1.9k

Your first day off in twelve shifts begins the way small miracles do: with sunlight, silence, and the smell of good food.  

You stand in the kitchen, spatula in hand, watching thick‑cut slices of bacon curl and pop in the cast‑iron. A pot of full black beans simmers beside them, spiced with a dash of chipotle, and sourdough toasts slowly in the oven. The kettle whistles; you pour the water over loose‑leaf tea—then carry everything to the coffee table.  

You sink into the couch, remote in one hand, plate balanced carefully on your knees. The History Channel flickers to life on the TV—some World War II documentary already mid-narration. A gravelly voice drones about tank strategies and bitter winters while you dig into your breakfast: bacon, beans, toast, and two sunny-side-up eggs. When the video ends you queue another—street‑food vendors in Oaxaca—then another—an eight‑hour lo‑fi playlist you’ll never finish. Breakfast stretches into morning, warm and unhurried, crumbs gathering on your pajama pants.  

By ten you’re upright, mug refilled, windows cracked to let in crisp river air. You sweep, wipe counters, toss sheets into the washer, and chase a rogue dust bunny across the hallway with the broom. Domestic quiet feels luxurious, almost decadent.  

Suddenly, a sharp voice drifts through the open window. “Again?! Seriously?!”  

You peer through the window and down into the courtyard. Mr. Donnelly—gray beard, Steelers cap—stands by the communal trash corral, hands on hips. Black bags are shredded, cardboard flaps torn open, and yesterday’s takeout containers scatter like confetti. The mess is worst around your bin: coffee grounds, chicken bones, a tea packet glinting foil in the sun.  

You lean on the sill. “Everything okay, Mr. D?”  

He looks up, exasperation softening when he sees you. “Raccoons, maybe cats. Little bandits had themselves a buffet!”  

“Roger. I’ll be right down.”  

You pull on jeans, an old hoodie, and rubber gloves. Downstairs you and Donnelly work side by side, scooping refuse into fresh bags, tying double knots. He mutters about city pest control; you crack jokes about raccoon Michelin ratings.  

Halfway through, he wipes his brow with a sleeve. “Hey—off topic. My daughter mailed me a bottle of turmeric pills, swears they’re good for my joints. That true, or is it Facebook nonsense?”  

“Turmeric can help a little with inflammation,” you say, cinching a bag, “but it’s no substitute for your prescription NSAID—and it can mess with blood thinners, so clear it with your doc first.”  

He nods—ever since you spotted that odd, pearly mole on his temple last year, the one he thought was just an age spot until the biopsy came back melanoma, he treats your word like gospel. “Good to know. She also sent me a link about apple‑cider‑vinegar cures, but I figured that was bunk.”  

“ACV is great on salad,” you dead‑pan, hefting another sack, “and terrible for curing anything else.”  

Donnelly barks a laugh. “Knew it.”  

It’s odd that only your bin is mauled, but he chalks it up to the smell of your bacon‑grease jar and you let the theory stand. When everything’s tidy you hose the concrete, angle the spray under the bins, and he grips your shoulder in a grateful squeeze.  

“You’ve saved my hide twice now—first the cancer, now the critter fiasco.”  

“Just doing the neighborhood rounds,” you reply, stripping off your gloves.  

“Still. I owe you. If you ever need a ride anywhere, you call me.”  

“Deal.”  

You thank him again, head back upstairs for a shower, and let the steam rinse away trash‑day grime—and the faint, nagging thought that raccoons rarely prefer bacon grease to everyone else’s leftovers.  

Upstairs, you kick off your shoes and head straight for the bathroom. Steam is already fogging the mirror by the time your hoodie hits the hamper. You stand under a scalding spray until your shoulders unknot, grit swirling away in ribbons. Shampoo, coconut body wash, a quick exfoliating scrub over the calluses that surgical gloves never let your skin forget—small rituals that reset your head as much as your body.  

Fresh out, you wrap yourself in an oversized towel, pad to the bedroom, and let the day‑off uniform choose itself. You massage lotion into your hands—cuticles forever dry from incessant scrubbing—then slip your phone from the charger to check the time.  

11:58. Perfect.  

In the kitchen you pack a canvas tote: your wallet, a couple of mesh produce bags, the prescription bottle that needs refilling, and that one pair of trousers with a busted hem for the tailor. You make a quick mental note to add swing by the thrift store to the list on your phone; you’ve been meaning to hunt for a new lamp for a good month now.  

Just as you bend to lace your boots, the phone buzzes. The screen lights with a photo: Jack's hand—broad knuckles, faint surgical nicks—cradling a steaming ceramic mug. Beneath, his caption:  

4‑minute steep, no boil. 👍  

A laugh snorts out before you can stop it. Jack, with the earnest proof‑of‑completion energy of a dad texting his first selfie. You thumb a reply:  

Gold star, Doctor. Welcome to the leaf side.  

Before you hit send, another buzz stacks above Jack’s thread. The preview text looks like a cat walked across a keyboard: ahsdklfhasdklfhaskl hi.

No name. No profile pic. A number you don’t recognize.  You swiftly block the number without opening the message.  Probably just spam.

Outside, the hallway smells of floor wax and warm laundry tumbling in the communal dryer—normal, safe scents. You lock the apartment, test the knob twice, then head for the stairwell, reciting the grocery list in your head like a mantra: eggs, oranges, rice and a sweet treat, maybe two or even three.

By the time your boots hit the sidewalk, sunlight on your face and the city’s Saturday hum around you, the odd text and the midnight raccoons have folded into a corner of your mind labeled later. Today is still yours, and you intend to spend every mundane minute of it.  

. . .  

When you swing past the Riverfront Market, the parking lot looks like a disaster drill—SUVs circling like vultures, carts jammed in every corral. You mutter a tactical retreat, swing back onto the boulevard, and promise yourself groceries will be the final stop. And so, you knock out your errands with efficiency: trousers dropped at the tailor (“two centimeters, blind hem, please”), prescription refilled, and lastly, a quick victory lap through the thrift shop where you score a tiffany desk lamp for five bucks.  

An hour later, you roll into the same lot to find it blissfully tamer—maybe half‑full, the Saturday rush already migrating to lunch. Perfect. You snag a space near the cart return, grab your canvas tote, and head inside.  

The produce aisle is crisp with the scent of misted greens when a familiar voice rings out behind you. “There she is—my favorite surgical saint!”  

You turn as Dana—her sharp blonde bob swinging over her shoulders—eases her cart into yours with a playful thunk. Her niece, a round‑cheeked toddler in star‑print leggings, claps at the gentle collision, squealing when you reach out to give her belly a quick tickle, thumb and forefinger pinching her marshmallow cheeks just enough to earn a giggle.  

“Hi there!” you laugh, straightening as you look up at a beaming charge nurse. “I thought your day off was reserved for sweatpants and true‑crime podcasts.”  

“Tiny tyrant wanted blueberries,” she says, ruffling the toddler’s hair. “And my daughter wanted thirty uninterrupted minutes, so Nana came to the rescue.” She drops a pint of berries into her cart, then peers into yours. “Real vegetables? Bakery bread? If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were a functioning adult.”  

“Shh,” you whisper. “I have a reputation to ruin.”

You angle your cart toward the tomatoes; Dana falls in beside you, matching your lazy pace. Her niece lunges for every bright piece of produce, and Dana buys temporary peace with a steady drip of bunny‑shaped crackers. Between grabs you trade life bulletins: you ask with genuine interest about how Benji’s woodworking side hustle is faring—“He finally sold that live‑edge coffee table,” Dana crows, “and now he thinks he’s Etsy royalty”—and she fires back, wanting to know if you ever sent in that application for the citywide cook‑off. You confess you chickened out at the last minute, then admit you’ve been taking weekend pottery instead, which makes her whoop loud enough to startle the toddler. “Look at us,” she says, snagging a ripe Roma, “two adrenaline junkies pretending we have hobbies like normal people.”

Halfway through the avocado display, Dana’s tone slips to mock‑casual. “So,” she drawls, examining you like a crystal ball, “rumor is our favorite former combat medic traded sludge‑grade coffee for—” she waves at the tea section up ahead “—fancy tea.”  

Heat blooms at your ears. “Abbot can drink whatever he wants.”  

Dana’s blue eyes sparkle. “ Just Abbot, huh? Funny—heard you called him Jack on the radio last week.”  

Your mouth opens, shuts. “Slip of the tongue.”  

“Sure,” she teases, easing a grin. “There’s a betting pool, you know. Odds on why the caffeine king is suddenly brewing leaves.”  

“You people will gamble on anything.”  

Dana parks the cart and crosses her arms. “Current theories: secret detox, midlife crisis, or”—she lifts her brows—“a certain pretty surgical nurse’s influence.”  

You snort. “Please. Nothing’s going on. Just two over‑worked fossils hydrating.”  

“Nothing she says, using his first name like a lullaby.” Dana winks. “Spill it.”  

You bag a head of romaine. “He’s…nice. Listens. That’s all.”  

“Uh‑huh. Well, when Jack starts smuggling in single‑origin Darjeeling, I’m cashing out.”  

Before you can reply, Dana’s niece launches a blueberry skyward; it splats harmlessly on Dana’s sleeve and she plucks it off, unfazed.

“Speaking of chaos—yesterday in The Pitt? One guy comes in with a nail‑gun through his boot and tries to livestream it. Robby has to confiscate the phone while Collins hunts for tetanus history. And—get this—one of the med‑students faints into the sharps bin. We’re calling him Porcupine now.”  

You laugh so hard you nearly drop your lettuce. “Porcupine! That’s savage, even for you.”  

“Pitt rules: if you pass out, you earn a nickname.” She scoops animal crackers into her niece’s hands. “Anyway, enjoy your day off. And remember, the house cut on the Abbot‑tea pool is twenty percent.”  

“Fine,” you sigh, pushing your cart. “But if you win, I’m taking half and buying enough loose‑leaf to convert the whole unit.”  

Dana salutes with a blueberry. “I’ll hold you to it, Jack‑whisperer.”  

You roll your eyes, but the name lingers sweet on your tongue as you both trundle toward the bakery—two nurses off‑duty, carts bumping, hearts lighter than any official chart will ever note.  

. . .  

By late afternoon you’re back in the apartment, juggling your against your ribs while your new lamp shines prettily near the entrance. You drop everything on the kitchen table and reach for your phone to tick “groceries” off the to‑do list—only to find three new notifications from the another strange number.

The previews are nonsense again—random consonants, stray emojis, one line that looks like Morse code smashed by a cat. You thumb through, equal parts annoyed and curious, until you hit the most recent message:  

Green suits you, pretty girl.  

A pulse hammers once, hard, in your throat.  

You set the phone down very carefully, as though it might explode, and listen—really listen—to the apartment. The fridge hums. Upstairs pipes clank. No footsteps, no voices, but suddenly every shadow feels occupied.  

Groceries forgotten, you sweep the place like you would on the trauma bay: bedroom closet first (just winter coats), bathroom cabinet (towels and aspirin), hall linen closet (sheets, vacuum hose), kitchen pantry (cereal boxes, nothing human). You kneel to peer under the bed, heart pounding like you sprinted stairs, then check every window lock twice, tugging to be sure.  

Finally you drag the spare dining chair across the floor and wedge its back under the doorknob—an old trick your grandmother swore by. It won’t stop a battering ram, but it buys time. Time feels like oxygen right now.  

Only then do you remember the milk on the counter, sweating through the carton. You shove perishables into the fridge on autopilot, not taking the care to arrange it like you usually would, hands trembling just enough to clink jars together. The phone stays facedown on the table, screen black, as though eye contact might invite more.  

Night falls, the apartment settles.

You brew the strongest sleep‑blend tea you own—valerian, chamomile, skullcap—and pour it into your largest mug. Scissors from the junk drawer go onto the vanity beside your bed, blades half‑open like a steel moth. Overreacting? Maybe. Under‑reacting because you haven’t called the police? Possibly. What you know is this: control is a ladder, and tonight every rung you can hold matters.  

You sip the smooth brew, crawl beneath the duvet, and stare at the ceiling until the tea’s heaviness drags your eyelids down. The phone is silenced, the chair braces the door, scissors glint in the street‑lamp glow. It isn’t much, but it’s a perimeter—thin, improvised, yours.  

You let the darkness take you, counting breaths, willing morning to hurry.

divider credit

Call Sign: Half Caff : Part One

(Alright I’m new to writing please don’t judge me. I HAD to start writing because of The Pitt. Mild spoilers if you haven’t finished the show)

TW: reader is attacked at the end. I had to make it dramatic sorry.

She’s putting almost all of her focus into refilling her coffee mug, she hardly notices him entering the small cafe. It isn’t until he plops his travel mug onto the counter before her that she looks up from staring at the precious coffee falling into her mug. She raises an eyebrow at him as she sets her mug down and holds her hand out for his.

“Evening Half Caff.” He smirks, using his call sign for her. Her short stature and reliance on caffeine had only caused him to double down on the nickname. When she had first protested it.

She only grunts as she fills his mug from the coffee pot sitting on the edge of the counter. She hands it off to him as she grabs a tray of various baked goods sitting on top of the espresso machine and he follows her as she moves to set them up at the folding table that’s dragged out for these meetings.

Every Thursday night the local coffee shop closes its doors to customers and opens it for the local Veteran’s Affair office. One a week, veterans of all ages and branches gather. Part of the night is devoted to mingling, friends old and new talking about their week. The second part of the night has a darker hue. Chairs are dragged to the middle of the shop and set up in a circle. It reminds y/n of an alcoholics anonymous meeting: everyone sharing the tragedies they’ve witnessed, the fellow comrades they’ve lost both overseas and at home, and the struggle of integrating back into civilian life after having been in some of the toughest conditions the world has to offer.

It’s how her and Jack met. Not that she’d ever seen combat or boot camp. Not in terms of military service at least. After struggling with her mental health, her therapist had recommended volunteer work, something routine and low stakes that wasn’t another job. She’d offered to donate her time to her local coffee shop, setting up and taking down for group activities twice a week. A book club on Tuesdays, and the veteran meetings on Thursdays. She’d often help set up and take down for special events the café held; like when the middle school’s theater club had asked to borrow the space for brainstorming set design.

Jack’s eyebrows furrow as he looks at her, noting her usual cheery appearance gone and replaced with sharp sarcasm and deflection.

“Not enough caffeine?” He asks her, noting her usual grace being replaced with something that resembles stomping.

“You’ve got another one tonight. Blue sweatshirt on your six.” She nods over to where a newcomer has caught one of the older vets in conversation.

“Oh no. That’ll be the third one this month.” Jack groans as he notices the cocky behavior of the kid who must only be twenty. His army buzz haircut still fresh. He leans against the wall next to the table. Trying to hide his smirk behind his cup as she continues to grumble while setting out more muffins and scones next to the containers of coffee.

They referred to these kind of people as “OMBs” or ‘one-month babies’. These individuals got the wrong idea of war from obsessing over army video games as young kids and teenagers. Often coming from heavy right leaning families, these individuals joined the numerous branches of armed service not to serve their country, but to fuel their ego. These meetings had been hosts to numerous individuals who were more upset that they hadn’t had the chance to shoot someone, than they were over the small stipend they received once back on US soil.

“How bad?” Jack said, turning to her as she braces her hands on the table. She winces and sighs.

“Three weeks on a German base as custodial. I think boot camp has been the hardest thing he’s been through.” She turns and crosses her arms, glaring at the back of the kid.

“So, nothing compared to the rest of these guys.” He smiles and raises his coffee mug as a familiar army buddy of his passes to grab a seat.

“Oh, my fucking god.” She hisses though gritted teeth. Jack winces as he watches the kid toss a muffin wrapper on the floor as he continues talking, the two vets he’s dragged into conversation raise their eyebrows and share a look.

“Damn, if I didn’t work, I’d take you to dinner tonight to make up for his bullshit.” She laughs at his joke. They’ve made this joke for months; often joking about getting dinner after the meetings despite Jack working the nightshift at the hospital just down the road. Y/n gives him a once over, secretly enjoying the way Jack’s black scrubs look, his white badge a stark contrast to the rest of his outfit.

“Hit him with the one two guilt trip.” She all but sneers, causing Jack to laugh into his mug. He holds it out and she refills it.

“That bad huh?” He turns to her with a smile, she smirks up at him.

“He called me ‘coffee girl’. If you don’t take it off, I’m ripping it off and throwing it at him after a fat knuckle sandwich.”

“Alright easy Half Caff, go read your book behind the register and I’ll see what I can do.” He bumps her with his shoulder as he shoots her a smile and makes his way to gather with everyone else in the middle of the dining area.

The meeting starts as they usually do. Jeremy, a navy veteran who did two tours, opens the conversation with his usual story. How he lost three of his friends overseas to violence, and one here in the states as they succumbed to their PTSD and trauma.

Jack shoots a look over to y/n behind the register as the new kid, Ben, immediately starts a rant about how more violence is needed. Jack starts to see red as Ben goes on about using violence to thwart foreign governments and the need for additional troops to bring down resistance to US soldiers. 

Jack leans forward in his chair, rubbing at his calf. He interrupts Ben, “What’s the worst thing you saw while over there in Germany?” He doesn’t look up to see Ben’s reaction as he rolls his pant leg up slowly.

When he’s met with silence he looks up and finds the new kid staring at his leg as Jack slowly removes his prosthetic. He massages the spot where his mid-calf and the prosthetic rub, an irritant he knows will never go away. The new kid only opens and closes his mouth like a fish.

“That bad huh?” Jeremy says, covering a small laugh with a cough as he catches on to what Jack is doing. Ben clears his throat and looks away as Jack replaces the prosthetic, offering the kid a small smile. Another vet launches into a story on his struggles reintegrating into civilian life, having only been back from Iraq for two weeks. 

Jack glances back to the register where y/n offers a small smirk and mouths ‘thank you’ to him, he nods. He’s thankful for her, not many civilians understand the struggles of coming back, of facing the music. She’s dealt with OMBs almost as much as he has, something he struggles to accept. He often brings these individuals up to his therapist. How can someone who got so lucky in their overseas assignment get so angry they didn’t see the true horrors of war?

The meeting wraps up and he stands to stretch his back. He makes his way back to y/n for one last top off on his coffee mug. She fills his mug over the register and smiles.

“Be safe Lance Corporal.” She says with a smirk, he smiles. She often throws out whatever army rank she can remember when referring to him. Something he’s sure is payback for her Half Caff nickname. Something he considers her callsign.

“Always am Half Caff. See you next Thursday.” He secures the lid on his travel mug and raises it in thanks. He leaves the café and turns right, making his way towards the hospital to relieve the day shift workers.

She chuckles and shakes her head as he leaves. She begins to busy herself with clean up, gladly accepting help from Jeremy as she and the café owner, GiGi, start to put everything back into its rightful place.

Sometime later, the café is back to normal, chairs and tables back to their places, dishes washed, and coffee mugs stacked neatly and ready for the following morning rush.

“Can you grab the trash? I’ll take out the recycling in a bit before I lock up.” GiGi says, sweeping her hair out of her face as she jots down notes for the morning crew.

“On it!” Y/n calls as she grabs one of the bags and swings the other over her shoulder, backing into the back room to toss the garbage out into the dumpsters of the back alley. 

She’s too busy making a to-do list in her head to see it coming. She tosses one bag into the open dumpster from the top of the small staircase and is about to throw the other when she’s grabbed from behind and wrenched into the guardrails.

She groans as she’s thrown down the rest of the stairs, a well-aimed punch lands on her jaw, and she sees white as the pain burns through her body. She’s so out of it she barely feels the two kicks bash her ribs in, her breath becoming ragged.

She gasps on the ground, gravel digging into her side and cutting her face. Her vision swims as she sees the quickly receding footsteps as whoever attacked her runs off. She wheezes, her mouth gaping as she tries to call for help.

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

Idk, y'all want part two?

Episode twenty five- “The Test”

Michael Robinavitch x wife reader x kids

Warning ⚠️: overwhelmed Micheal and mention of pregnancy

Tagging: @happyfox43

It all starts with Michael walking into the upstairs bathroom after his shower. He grabs a towel and notices something sitting on the counter — a pregnancy test. Used. Positive.

His blood runs cold.

His brain? Short-circuits.

Michael’s Inner Monologue:

Sawyer. It’s Sawyer. She’s seventeen. Jeremy. That little—

I will call the FBI. I will call the CDC. I will call NASA. Nobody is safe.

He storms downstairs, face pale, clutching the test in one hand like it's nuclear-grade material.

In the kitchen:

Y/N is flipping pancakes. Diana sips her coffee. Spencer is feeding Kojo bits of scrambled egg. Alex, now 9 and more sarcastic than ever, is doodling in his anatomy sketchbook. Sawyer is texting at the table, humming to herself.

Michael walks in like a storm cloud. “Whose is this?!”

Everyone turns.

Spencer drops her fork. “Oh no, Dad found drugs.”

Y/N blinks. “What are you talking about?”

Michael holds up the test. “This. This is what I’m talking about. Positive. Pregnant. Our daughter. Pregnant.”

Sawyer chokes on orange juice. “What?! Are you serious?!”

Alex mutters, “I knew Jeremy looked suspicious.”

Y/N, blinking slowly, finally speaks. “Michael… that’s mine.”

Everyone freezes.

Michael: “...What?”

Y/N, a little flustered, but smiling: “I was going to tell you tonight. I was late. Took a test this morning. I’m pregnant.”

Michael’s jaw unhinges.

Reactions:

Michael: “I—oh thank God. I mean—oh my God. We’re—again? Four? I need to sit down.”

Sawyer: “Dad thought I was pregnant? I’m seventeen. Disgusting.”

Alex: “So… a new baby? Do I get promoted to middle child plus rank?”

Spencer: (gasps, then dramatically slides her clipboard across the table) “I have to start a whole new chart. Baby Robinavitch IV. Expected arrival: TBD. Operation Stork Drop has begun.”

Kojo: whines and barks once like he's already prepping to be a baby’s furry guard again.

Diana: sips her coffee, unfazed. “You do realize I’m going to have to move into the guest room for three months again.”

Y/N walks over and wraps her arms around Michael’s waist. “You okay?”

Michael looks down at her, still stunned, still processing, but a slow smile creeps in. “I thought I was going to be a teenage grandfather. I’ll take sleepless nights and diapers over that any day.”

Spencer jumps up on a chair and announces: “FAMILY MEETING! Project: New Baby is live. We need schedules, names, and Kojo needs a second badge!”

Oh Crap

Prologue of Unexpected

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Fem! Mitchell! Reader

Summary: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw and Y/N "Starling" Mitchell have been childhood friends due to their dads, but since Maverick pulled both your papers you guys were pushed back 4 years. After 4 years, you guys finally got into the Naval Academy together. During their time in the Academy, they decide to become friends with benefits, but Y/N accidentally gets pregnant by Bradley. They agreed to raise their kid together as friends, but what happens when Bradley is stationed in Virginia and you are stationed in Lemoore? 

Series Warnings: accidental pregnancy, angst, fluff, there will be NO SMUT! (I suck at writing that)

Word Count: 1935

"Oh, crap."

You were in the Naval Academy restroom looking at the positive pregnancy test in your hands. How did this happen!? 

" Hey Y/N, are you okay?" Natasha "Phoenix" Trace, knocks on the bathroom stall door you were in.

"No, not at all." You open the door and show her the pregnancy test.

Showing her the pregnancy test, you see her face go wide. "Oh shoot Y/N. Does he know?" She asks not knowing who the father is.

"No, we were using protection." You explain to Phoenix. " I can't believe this is happening! We're graduating in a couple of weeks and I'm getting stationed in Lemoore. For Heaven's Sake, He's getting stationed in Virginia!!" 

"Getting stationed in Virginia? Is Rooster the father?!" 

Nodding yes to Phoenix, she was in disbelief and put her hands on her forehead. "My goodness, Y/N. How did this happen?"

You then explain to her how this happened. You and Bradley have been childhood friends due to your dad, but since your dad pulled both your papers you guys were sent back 4 years. After 4 years, you guys finally got into the Naval Academy together. Since you guys were pushed back 4 years, you were under a lot of stress. So you both decided to let off some steam and become Friends with Benefits.

"Hey, girls, class is about to start." You hear Mickey "Fanboy" Garcia calling you two outside of the woman's bathroom. 

"Okay, we'll be there," Phoenix yells to Fanboy. "Okay, we'll talk about this later. But you need to talk to Rooster as soon as possible." You nod yes as you both leave to go to class.

As you enter class, you see Bradley in his regular seat. " Good morning Y/N." 

"Hey, we need to talk later. It's really important." You say as you sit right next to you.

Later that Day

"Hey Y/N." You hear Bradley call you in the parking lot. "You said we needed to talk?"

"Oh yeah," You say nervously, becoming quiet.

"Okay, what is it?" Bradley asks. " You said it was important."

You take a deep breath before you start to speak. " I'm pregnant and you're the father. " 

Bradley stayed quiet, he was in utter shock. You were pregnant and he was the father. 

" Bradley. Tell me how you feel?" You ask your long-time best friend.

"This is a surprise. When did you find out?" He asks you.

"I found out this morning with Phoenix in the bathroom." You start explaining to Bradley. " I haven't been feeling good and then I remembered that my period hasn't come. So I bought a test and took it in the bathroom. It came out positive."

"Oh crap!" Bradley puts his hand on his forehead in frustration. "Are you sure you're pregnant?"

" I only took that test but I was about to go to the doctor on base to confirm it." 

He puts his hand on yours in comfort. " Okay, let's go and we'll go from there." 

Navy Clinic

" Y/N Mitchell, the doctor is ready to see you." A navy nurse calls you to go in.

You and Bradley walk to the navy nurse and she guides you to the exam room. She takes regular tests on you such as blood pressure, and heartbeat, and asks you questions about how you were feeling. Once she is done, she tells you that the doctor will see them when she is done with another patient.

"Are you going to keep it?" Bradley asks you while you two are waiting for the doctor.

" I want to keep it. If you don't want this baby, I'm not forcing you to stay." 

"No, I want this baby too. I know this happened because of our friends-with-benefits deal but I still want this baby." You're so grateful that he said he wants to be in this baby's life.

You hear a knock on the door. " May I come in?" You both respond yes and she opens the door. " Good afternoon you two. I'm Lieutenant Melissa Taylor and I'll be your doctor. So what are we here for ?"

"I've been feeling sick for a while and I thought I was getting sick. But then I remembered that I haven't had my period for a while. I took a test this morning and it came out positive. So I just want to make sure it wasn't a false positive." You explain to Lieutenant Doctor Melissa.

" Well let's take a pee sample and if it comes out positive we'll do an ultrasound to see how far you are." Doctor Melissa explains to you and you both nod.

Once the doctor leaves, the nurse from earlier comes back and gives you a cup to put your pee sample. She explains that when she gets your sample it takes 15 minutes to know your results.

You take the cup and head to the bathroom. Once you put your pee in the cup you give the sample to the nurse so you can get your results. After 15 minutes the Doctor comes back to the exam room and tells you the results.

" Congratulations Ms. Mitchell. You're Pregnant." Doctor Melissa congratulates you and Bradley. " Would you like to see the baby?" You look at Bradley and see him nod yes. 

Doctor Melissa calls the nurse to bring the ultrasound machine to the room, once it's set up the Doctor tells you to lie down. " Okay Ms. Mitchell I'm going to put this on your stomach and it's going to be cold." She warns you as she puts the gel on your stomach. It was cold for a bit until she moved the scanner on your stomach.

The Doctor points to the ultrasound screen to show the baby. "So this is your baby. They're about 12 weeks old. Since your last period was May 26 they'll be due in March." Doctor Melissa explains this to you and Bradley.

"When can we find out the gender?" You ask Doctor Melissa. She explains that on week 18 you can find out what gender the baby will be.

"Do you have any more questions?" The Doctor asks you both.

" Will Y/N be grounded until the baby is born?" You look at Bradley when he asks that question.

" Unfortunately, yes. Ms. Mitchell will have to be grounded until the baby is at least a year old." She answers Bradley's question with sympathy. "This won't affect her graduation status. She'll graduate when you guys graduate and then she'll be put on the base to do on-ground assignments."

Bradley was shocked, he felt guilty that you would be grounded for almost two years because of him. “Okay thank you. We’ll see you at the next appointment.” Once you thank Doctor Melissa, you and Bradley check out and go to your car. 

“Are you sure you want to keep this baby?” Bradley asks you politely not wanting to offend you. “You’re barely graduating and now you’re going to be grounded for almost two years Y/N!”

You gently place a hand on Bradley’s hand to comfort him. “I know what I’m getting myself into and honestly I’m fine with it. This job doesn’t give us the chance to get married or start a family. Your parents had you before your dad got into the Navy. Why can’t we do the same? I don’t want to be my dad and do it at the last minute.” 

Bringing up your dad brought up some resentment in Bradley. Growing up Maverick was in and out of the picture so that left you with your mom, Penny, and later with your half-sister Amelia. You also had Aunt Carole and Bradley growing up, but there was still a place in your heart for your dad. 

Your dad was the person that inspired you to go to the Navy. But one day that came crashing down when he decided not only to pull your papers but Bradley's too. You were pissed at first,  but when he told you the reason why he did it. You forgave him eventually. 

"Don't bring up Maverick. I'm still pissed off at what he did to us." Bradley says upset. He always does this to you whenever you talk about your dad.

" Well, no matter what, he is my dad and he'll be the grandfather of our child." You remind him. " I know that what he did to us still hurts you but I've forgiven him." 

"Are you going to tell him?" 

You take a deep breath before you answer him. "Yes. He's my dad and I want him in our child's life." As you say that your phone goes off, it was your dad calling. You look at Bradley and put your pointer finger on your mouth to tell him to be quiet.

"Hey, Sweetie. How are you? Hope I'm not bothering you." Your dad says as you answer the phone.

"I'm doing okay dad. Just hanging in there right before I graduate." You tell your dad. "How are you doing dad? It's kinda early over there in Okinawa." You question your dad.

Your dad was currently stationed in Okinawa. You two called every day at a reasonable time over there and in San Diego.

" It is. I took some time off so I can visit you." Maverick tells Y/N why he's calling her at this hour. "I know your graduation is in a couple of weeks but I want to spend time with You and hopefully Bradley."

You look out at Bradley and see that he's in utter disgust. " Oh, that sounds fun."

" How's Bradley by the way? I've been trying to reach out to him but it goes straight to voicemail." 

" He's doing fine. We're both tired and ready for graduation."  You say pretending to be exhausted.

" He's still mad at me isn't he?"

"Yeah, I think so. He's sensitive whenever I bring up something about you."  You tell your father the truth. You hear your dad sigh sadly, " I know it hurts but time will heal." 

In the background of the phone call, you hear an announcement go off. "Well Sweetie, it's time for me to board the plane. I'll be in San Diego tomorrow afternoon. Do you mind picking me up?" 

"I'll pick you up tomorrow and we can have dinner at my place. I'll even bring Bradley." You say out of nowhere and Bradley looks at you. "Bye, dad. Love you." You both say goodbye to each other and hang up the phone.

" ARE YOU CRAZY!?" Bradley asks you frantically. " I'm not going to that dinner."

" Oh yes, you are." You answer back at him. "Besides, my mom and Amelia will be there. You won't be alone."

"Why do I have to be there? Your mom and Amelia will be there!!" 

" We're going to tell them together about the baby." You tell him why you want him to be there. " I know you're still mad at him but can you at least get along with our child!?"

Bradley sees how upset you are at this. It must have hurt you that your best friend and your father weren't on speaking terms. " Fine but I'm only doing this for our child." You give him a thankful smile and say goodbye to him.

On your way home, you call your mom. You ask her if she and Amelia were available tomorrow for dinner with your dad. Thank God she said yes. Once you catch up with her, you both say your goodbyes and hang up.

Tomorrow is going to be a long dinner.

A/N: Sorry for the wait!! I was supposed to post this earlier today but I was spending time with family. Hope y'all like this!

Here's to be added to the taglist

Taglist: @topguncortez @one-sweet-gubler @carsgeek24 @theliterarybeldam @sandyys-posts @merakiaes @adoringsebstan @wishingtobeforeveryoung1019 @lilmonstrjedi

A/N 2: I'M FREAKING OUT THAT @topguncortez WAS THE FIRST PERSON THAT WANTED TO BE ADDED TO THE TAGLIST!!! I love your writing @topguncortez 🥹🫶