Aaahh Hi Hello! :)
aaahh hi hello! :)
first thing, i just wanted to say how much i love the way you write for jack and robby. you capture their personalities so well! reading your works are an absolute treat. <3
second, would it be possible to request something for robby? he finds out that his wife was in a really bad accident on her way to work, so she's rushed to the hospital and admitted to their icu?
tysm, and keep up the amazing work!
And You Came Back to Me
content/warning : Serious car accident, medical trauma, cardiac arrest, emergency resuscitation, hospitalization/ICU setting, emotional distress, PTSD symptoms, brief combat/military reference, grief response, partner fear, sibling care, recovery from near-death experience. Heavy emotional themes including flashbacks, guilt, and the fragility of healing.
word count : 3,791
a/n ; Wrote this as an exploration of what happens in the quiet after chaos—the weight of routine, the people who stay, and the small ways grief and love show up at once.
He should’ve kissed you longer.
That’s the first thing that slams through Robby’s chest when the officer says your name.
Not doctor. Not sir. Just: “Mr. Robinavitch, your wife’s been in a serious accident.”
It doesn’t register—not fully. Not until the next words hit him like shrapnel:
“She was unconscious at the scene. EMS is transporting her to Allegheny General now.”
And suddenly, time snaps backward—throws him hard against the wall of the morning. Back to the kitchen. To the quiet hum of NPR on the radio. To the faint smell of burnt toast from the toaster—because you always forget about it halfway through brushing your teeth. He’s told you a hundred times to stop using the “max crisp” setting. You always say, “It’s faster.”
Back to the sound of your heels on the tile as you rushed in—already dressed, hair still damp and twisted into that messy bun you always called “professional enough.”
“Shit,” you muttered, digging through your purse. “I’m running late. Can you zip me up?”
He should’ve stopped what he was doing.
Should’ve set down the mug. Turned fully toward you. Looked at you the way he used to—like you were something he still couldn’t quite believe was real.
But he was distracted. Reading the news. Checking an overnight lab update. Half-listening to McKay complain in the group chat about last night’s board decision.
So instead, he reached out automatically. Took hold of the zipper. Pulled it up the back of your dress like he’s done a hundred times before.
A quiet, familiar ritual.
“Thanks, babe,” you said, glancing over your shoulder with a soft smile.
He leaned in, kissed the back of your neck, right where your hair curled against your skin.
“You look beautiful,” he said. Distracted. Sincere, but distracted.
“You always say that.”
“Because it’s always true.”
You laughed and turned away to grab your keys.
He should’ve stopped you. Should’ve wrapped his arms around your waist, rested his chin on your shoulder, whispered something dumb and tender and marriage-soft like Don’t go to work. Stay home. Let’s be irresponsible. Should’ve asked about the dream you mumbled in your sleep. Should’ve paid attention when you said, “I might take the highway if traffic’s clear—I’m too late for the long route.”
You hated the highway. Said it made you feel like one wrong move could ruin everything. Said the backroads felt safer—winding, tree-lined, steady. He teased you for it. Called you dramatic. But he always agreed.
Take the long way. What’s ten more minutes if it means peace of mind?
And this morning—God—he hadn’t even thought to remind you.
“You driving in or Ubering?” he asked, eyes still on his phone.
“Driving. Highway if I have to. Don’t yell.”
“Just… text me when you get there.”
“I always do.”
You smiled.
He didn’t look up.
You walked out the door.
Now a stranger is telling him you were rear-ended at 70 miles per hour, spun into a guardrail, crushed on the driver’s side. That EMS pulled you from the wreckage with the jaws of life. That you weren’t responsive. That you lost a lot of blood.
That they’re bringing you in.
To him.
To his ER. His trauma bay. His staff.
And you might not survive the trip.
He should’ve kissed you longer.
He should’ve kissed you like it was the last time.
Because maybe—it was.
He drops the phone in the stairwell.
He’s moving before his mind catches up—down the steps, through the ER corridor, and straight into the trauma bay. The doors slam open so hard they shake on their hinges.
“Where is she?” His voice breaks as it rips out of his throat.
Dana’s the first to reach him. She’s just stepped off the elevator—chart in one hand, coffee in the other.
“She just came in,” she says immediately. “Langdon’s leading. Mateo is on the vent. Santos and Javadi are in the room—”
“Where is she?”
The way he says it this time—it’s not procedural. It’s not about who’s on what. It’s you. There’s a tremor in his voice now, something raw enough to cut through Dana’s usual calm.
She steps in his path.
“Robby,” she says gently—too gently. She never uses that voice. Not with him.
“She coded in the rig.”
He flinches like she slapped him. The hallway tilts.
“They got her back,” Dana rushes to add, because the look in his eyes unravels something in her. “But it’s bad. She’s not—she’s not conscious.”
He doesn’t stop to respond.
Robby just shrugs off Dana’s hand and barrels toward Trauma One, like his body’s moving on instinct—like it never forgot how to find you.
And then he sees you.
You’re nearly lost in the swarm of bodies around you, but he’d know you anywhere—even battered and broken, even with your hair soaked through and clinging to your face in tangled strands. One of your feet is bare. Your dress—that dress, the blue one you joked made you look like a lawyer even though you worked in nonprofit, the one he remembers zipping up hours ago—has been sliced clean down the center. Blood saturates the fabric, blooming across it like ink in water, until there’s barely any blue left at all.
Mateo is squeezing the ambu bag. Javadi’s covered in sweat, glove smeared in something dark. Langdon is barking orders like his throat is full of glass.
Robby freezes in the doorway.
Langdon doesn’t even look at him. Just shouts, “Get him out of here!”
Dana’s behind him again. This time, she doesn’t touch him. Just steps into his line of vision and holds it.
“You know better. Let them work.”
“That’s my wife. That’s Jack’s sister.”
Santos’ voice breaks—just barely. “She’s got internal bleeding. If we can’t stabilize her, we’re opening the chest.”
And there it is.
Robby’s hand slams against the doorframe. He backs away without realizing he’s doing it.
He ends up in Observation 2.
He doesn’t remember walking there. Doesn’t know how long he stands in the dark before someone—maybe Perlah—sets a bottle of water beside him. He doesn’t touch it.
He’s never felt like this before. Like the air is too thick. Like he’s breathing cement.
Jack shows up ten minutes later. Not in scrubs—he’s in a weather-beaten field jacket and dark jeans, the kind of outfit that’s survived its fair share of long nights. There’s rain slicking his shoulders, water dripping from the cuffs like he didn’t bother with an umbrella. Or didn’t care.
“They told me,” Jack says, low.
Robby doesn’t move.
“I came as soon as—”
“She took the fucking highway.”
Jack is quiet.
“She never takes the highway. I—I always tell her to take 51. She hates the on-ramps. Says they make her feel like she’s gonna die. She said it, Jack. She said it.”
Jack nods, slowly, but his posture is all wrong—too still, too rigid. Like he’s holding something in. His jaw is locked, eyes fixed somewhere over Robby’s shoulder like if he looks at him directly, he’ll break.
“Yeah,” he finally says, voice rough and frayed. “She told me that too. Said the on-ramps made her feel like the road would disappear underneath her. When we were kids, she’d make me walk the long way to school just to avoid the underpass near 18th. Three extra blocks. Every morning.”
He exhales, sharp and uneven. “She’d hold my sleeve like she thought the wind might carry her off if she let go.”
The pause that follows isn’t empty. It’s full—tight with every year Jack spent being the big brother. Every time he covered for you. Every scraped knee, every school project, every time he stood between you and the door while your parents screamed.
Robby sinks down against the wall. His voice is hollow. “She asked me to zip up her dress this morning.” He swallows hard. “I didn’t even look at her. Not really. I was reading emails. I kissed her neck and said, ‘Text me when you get there.’”
Jack doesn’t answer. Doesn’t offer reassurance or statistics or hope. He just lowers himself to the floor beside Robby, head bowed like he’s praying to no one in particular.
“You love her,” he says, and there’s no bitterness in it. Just something steady. “You take care of her in a way I never could. You know how to make her feel safe when it’s quiet. How to be soft when she won’t ask for it. I’ve spent my whole life guarding her from the world, and now…”
He trails off, staring at the floor.
“You’re the part of her world I trust the most.”
Robby closes his eyes. His shoulders shake, once.
“I don’t know how to be okay if she doesn’t wake up.”
Jack reaches out, sets a hand firm and grounding on Robby’s shoulder—steady, like he’s done for you a hundred times before.
“Then it’s a good thing you won’t have to be,” Jack says. “Because she’s too damn stubborn to leave either of us.”
And for the first time since the call, Robby lets himself breathe.
The updates come like clockwork.
“She’s holding.”
“We’ve got the bleeding under control.”
“She’s going up to the ICU now. Sedated. Ventilated.”
Robby follows the bed upstairs like a shadow. No one stops him. Not even Langdon, who looks like he’s aged ten years in a single shift.
They set you up in 312A.
You’re pale. Still. Your wedding ring sits in a plastic cup on the tray beside your bed.
He takes your hand.
“Hey,” he whispers. “I’m here. You’re okay. You’re safe.”
You don’t move.
He leans forward, pressing his forehead to your arm. His voice catches.
“Baby, please. Please come back.”
And then—he talks.
About the cat—how she followed you to the door that morning, meowing like she knew something was wrong. How you paused, scooped her up, kissed the top of her head, and whispered, “Hold down the fort, okay? Back before dinner.” Then blew her a kiss like you always did, keys already in hand.
About the coffee mug still sitting in the sink. The one with the chipped handle and the faded red lettering from that anniversary trip to Vermont—the kind of mug that never matched anything else but somehow became your favorite. You used it every morning, even when there were clean ones on the shelf. He used to tease you for it. Then he stopped.
About the basket of laundry half-folded on the couch. A pair of your socks tucked inside one of his. Your blouse still soft from the dryer, draped across the armrest like you might come back and finish putting things away. Like you’d walk in and complain that he always left the fitted sheets for you to deal with.
About the dress you pulled from the closet the night before—how you held it up in the mirror and said, “If this still fits, maybe I’ll wear it next weekend. The red one. You like this one.” And how he didn’t say anything. Just looked at you like you’d already won the room.
It’s those things.
The little ones.
The ones that never get written down or photographed.
The pieces of a life you don’t realize you’re building until everything goes quiet.
“You can’t leave me yet,” he murmurs, voice rough. “I haven’t seen you hold our kid yet. I haven’t told you enough times that you saved my life just by saying yes.”
Day Two
He doesn’t sleep.
Javadi comes by. Says nothing. Just looks through the glass and nods. Collins leaves coffee on the table without a word.
He doesn’t leave your side.
Jack shows up again late that night. Sits with him in the dark.
Neither of them speak. Not until Robby, voice shredded and barely audible, says, “I can’t lose her, Jack.”
Jack just nods. “You won’t.”
“I always figured I’d go first,” Jack says quietly, like the words slipped past his guard. “She’s always been the brave one. Ran toward things I would've flinched from. I was the one who hung back—scanned the exits, counted the risks.”
His jaw clenches. He stares at the floor like he’s trying to make sense of it all from the grain of the tile.
“But when I saw her in that trauma bay…” His voice falters, and he has to force the next words out. “Even in combat, I never felt fear like that. Never felt that kind of helpless.”
Robby doesn’t speak at first. Just sits with it, like the silence might soften the blow.
Then, quietly:
“She told me once she felt safest when she was with the two of us. Like the world couldn’t touch her.”
Jack exhales, slow and uneven. His eyes drift toward the bed—toward where you lie, still and silent beneath the tangle of wires and monitors. Still unmoving. Still too quiet.
Like if he looks long enough, maybe something in you will stir. Maybe you’ll meet his gaze and say his name like it means something.
“She better wake up,” he murmurs. “Because she still owes me twenty bucks. And I’m not letting her off the hook just because she got hit by a truck.”
Day Three.
The room is still. Quiet in a way that feels deliberate—like the air itself is holding its breath. Pale morning light creeps in through the ICU blinds, catching on the sharp corners of machines and the softer curve of your shoulder beneath the hospital blanket. Everything hums: the ventilator, the heart monitor, the sound of plastic tubing shifting slightly when you exhale.
Jack arrives before sunrise.
He doesn’t announce himself. Doesn’t knock. Just moves through the doorway like someone crossing into sacred ground. He sets a cup of black coffee on the counter for Robby—no cream, two sugars, just the way you always made it for him—and then takes the same spot by the wall he’s stood in every day since you were brought in.
Robby hasn’t slept. He’s still in yesterday’s clothes, eyes ringed with exhaustion. His hand hasn’t left yours all night.
They don’t talk for a while. Don’t need to. Jack watches you breathe. Robby counts each rise and fall of your chest like he’s tethered to it.
The moment happens quietly.
Just after nine.
Your fingers twitch. Small. Involuntary, maybe—but real.
Robby jolts forward. “Jack.”
Jack is at his side in an instant, already reaching, already watching. “Do it again,” he whispers, knuckles white where they grip the bed rail. “C’mon, kid. Come back to us.”
And then you do.
Your hand tightens around Robby’s. Weak. Barely there. But deliberate.
Robby exhales like he’s been underwater for days. A strangled sound escapes him—half sob, half stunned relief—and he bows his head to your hand like it’s the only thing anchoring him to the world.
Jack grips the back of Robby’s chair with one hand, the other dragging down his face. His mouth is tight. His eyes wet. But his voice, when it comes, is steady in the way only older brothers can manage.
“She’s fighting.”
The nurses rush in. Langdon appears within minutes. Orders are called out. Sedation is reduced. The ventilator settings are dialed down. But Robby doesn’t move—not from your side, not from your hand.
The change is slow. But it’s there.
Color returning to your cheeks. Lashes twitching. A soft wrinkle between your brows like you’re dreaming, or hurting, or both.
When your eyes finally open, it’s dusk.
They’re glassy. Unfocused.
But they find him.
“Hey, baby.” His voice cracks. “You with me?”
You can’t speak. Not yet. But your eyes do the work.
Then—your fingers tighten in his again.
Jack moves to your side, each step careful. Measured. He doesn’t speak. Doesn’t trust his voice not to crack the quiet wide open.
And for a second, something flickers across your face. Recognition. A tear.
It rolls down your cheek and Robby catches it with a shaking hand.
He kisses your fingers. Your knuckles. Your wrist.
“You came back to me.”
Jack looks at you, jaw tight, throat working. Then he mutters, almost to himself, “Damn right she did.”
He doesn’t say more.
He doesn’t have to.
You’re awake.
And they’re both there.
That’s everything.
Three Weeks Later.
The apartment smells like lavender and laundry detergent. Your favorite blanket is folded over the back of the couch, and someone—probably Jack—restocked the kitchen with your exact tea and oatmeal brand, like muscle memory. There are flowers on the table, half-wilted, and a stack of unopened get-well cards beside them that you haven’t yet had the energy to read.
You’re home. And you’re alive.
But nothing feels normal yet.
You’re thinner than you were. Your ribs ache when you turn too fast, and your hands shake when you try to open pill bottles. But you walk. You breathe on your own. You wake up in your own bed next to Robby instead of tangled in ICU tubing.
And Robby—Robby hasn’t let you out of his sight.
He tries to be subtle. Tries to hover without hovering. You catch the way his hand twitches when you lean down to pick something up. The way he stays awake two hours after you’ve fallen asleep, just to make sure your breathing stays steady.
“I’m not going to break,” you tell him one morning, finding him standing in the hallway just outside the bathroom door.
He doesn’t smile. Just steps forward and cups your cheek like it’s second nature—like his hand was always meant to rest there.
“You did,” he says, voice low and frayed at the edges. “You almost died. And I stood there and watched it happen.”
His thumb brushes against your skin, gentle. Reverent.
“So yeah,” he murmurs, eyes locked on yours. “I’m sorry, but I’m gonna be careful with you for a while. You don’t get to scare me like that and expect me to walk away unchanged.”
You don’t argue. Just press your forehead to his and breathe with him.
Jack visits like clockwork. Mondays, Wednesdays, Fridays. He always calls ahead, even though you stopped asking him to. He comes with practical things—groceries, multivitamins, takeout from that one Thai place you craved when nothing else would stay down.
He never makes a scene of it. Just moves through your kitchen like it’s routine. Like you didn’t code in the back of an ambulance while he was somewhere else—driving home, bone-tired and still smelling like antiseptic, unaware that your heart had stopped without him there to catch it.
He acts like nothing’s changed. Like you didn’t almost leave him without warning. But the way he watches you when you walk across the room says everything.
“You gonna let me in, or am I just supposed to enjoy the doorframe?” he jokes the first time you’re strong enough to answer it yourself.
“You gonna keep looking at me like I’ve got a ticking clock strapped to my chest?” you fire back.
Jack shrugs. Steps inside. Kisses the top of your head. “You’re still annoying. Good. I was worried.”
That night, you all end up in the living room—curled into Robby’s side on the couch, a blanket tucked around your legs, while Jack settles into the armchair nearby. His prosthetic leans against the side of the chair, balanced carefully where he left it, like it belongs there.
He sits back, one socked foot up, the other leg stretched out and relaxed. Comfortable in a way he rarely lets himself be.
The TV plays some half-watched game on mute, casting flickering light across the room, but no one’s really paying attention. The silence between you feels lived-in, not awkward. Familiar. But still edged with something tender. Like you’re all waiting to exhale at the same time.
The kind of night that feels quiet on purpose.
The kind that says: We’re still here.
“I think I scared you both more than I scared myself,” you murmur, eyes still on the screen.
“You scared the shit out of me,” Jack says, voice low. Honest. Not sharp, not teasing—just stripped down. Like it costs him something to say it out loud.
Robby’s grip around your waist tightens almost instinctively, like he can still feel the echo of that moment—the call, the drive, the trauma bay. His fingers curl against your side, anchoring himself to something warm and alive.
“You don’t get to do that again,” he says, barely above a whisper. “Ever.”
You turn your head then, eyes flicking between them—one sitting too still, the other holding on too tightly. And for the first time all day, you let yourself feel the full shape of what almost happened. What almost broke you.
“I didn’t say this earlier,” Jack says, softer now, voice rough around the edges. “But I meant it. Back at the hospital. You have him. You’re not doing this alone.”
You don’t look at him right away. Just nod, slow, like the words are settling into a place they hadn’t quite reached before. Your eyes sting, but you don’t blink them away.
“I know I’m not,” you murmur.
And you do.
Even on the days it’s hard to feel it.
Healing isn’t linear. Some days you get through without tears, almost like nothing ever happened. Other days, it hits you sideways—over coffee, in the shower, folding laundry—and you’re crying without knowing why.
You haven’t driven yet. Not because you can’t—because you don’t want to.
And everyone understands that.
Robby never asks. He just grabs the keys and opens your door first. Jack doesn’t comment, doesn’t tease—he just takes the driver’s seat without question when it’s his turn.
Even Dana understood. One Saturday, she showed up with oversized sunglasses and a tote bag full of snacks, knocked twice, and said, “Girls’ day. Non-negotiable. Collins is already in the car.”
And sure enough, Collins was in the passenger seat, sipping an iced tea and pretending not to be amused. Dana took the wheel, flipped the radio to something from the nineties, and announced you were starting with pedicures and ending with overpriced appetizers—“and maybe a shoe sale if we’re feeling emotional.”
But tonight, the air is still. Your body is tired, but not heavy. There’s a blanket over your legs, the low hum of the dishwasher in the next room, and two people who never let go—even when you tried to disappear.
You close your eyes.
And for the first time in weeks, you don’t brace for the fall.
More Posts from M14mags and Others
it started off with a kiss... now it ended up like this
https://archiveofourown.org/works/40565079/chapters/101629776
Summary:
What would happen if Sam Seaborn and a White House reporter and daughter of a California US Senator spent a weekend at Sag Harbor after the Stackhouse Filibuster and they agreed to be friends with benefits?
What would happen is Sam won he election in the California 47th and they continued their agreement when he’s in DC?
What happens after spending a week in the California 47th doing a profile on Congressman Sam Seaborn, Anna Tran find out she’s pregnant with his baby?
Sam Seaborn
Anna Tran
The beginning of the end.
Poly! Abbot x FormerBAU!F!Reader x Robby. <3
Sum: An average day at works takes a turn for the worst, as Pittfest comes to greet you with a gun. OneShot!
(This story is separate from my other BAU x Pitt works and features my attempt at my Asks for BadassBAU!Reader! I hope it was worth the wait and please read the warnings my duckies! <3)
CW: TGun violence against you and the pitt shooter, talks of killing and saving people by killing them. M/M/F, Pittfest, you're a second year resident so agegap relationships and power dynamics. A small bit of smut, daddy kink, and descriptions of body parts at the end. Very brief mentions of overdosing, a hand in a blender, Myrna. Implications of your tricking the unsub by agreeing to said crazy talk. F!Reader - mentions of you being smart, kid as a nickname by our two men. MDNI
As you're getting ready for your shift, you can't help but think about how different your life is now.
The Pitt, as Robby affectionately called it, was grueling. On your first day, you had seen two people overdosing, someone's hand stuck in a blender, and met Myrna, who decided you'd your pretty face was worth switching sides for a night or two.
Sighing, you couldn't help but laugh as you thought about how being a second-year resident was no different from being in the BAU.
Least I don't have to worry about serial killers with too much time on their hands planing their revenge on me, you think with a snort.
While you still kept in close touch with everyone back at Quantico, even offering advice and help when needed, you wouldn't go back unless you absolutely had to. Sides, what would your favorite grumpy attendings do with you? You giggle, thinking about Dr. Abbot and Dr. Robby.
You had grown close to them, finding comfort in his presence. They reminded you of the best parts of Hotch, Rossi, Spencer, and Derek. When your feelings had turned romantic for the both of them, you really didn't know what to do, confiding in Spencer and Penelope. They encouraged you to try, but fear stops you, not wanting to ruin what you had.
It was enough, knowing they shared little laughs with you in rare downtimes, how they took turns being your coffee or secretly walking you to and from work. If they asked for more, you'd give it to them immediately.
But nothing goes on the Pitt without Perlah and Princess knowing, so you can only imagine what the betting sheet looks like. Most of the day shift argued you'll end up with Robby, while the night shift was rooting for Abbot.
——
As you head in, you can already sense this was going to be a tough day shift. Sailing you up to the roof, spot your favorite old man duo.
"Room for one more?" You ask, joining them.
"For you, baby? Always," Abbot smirks out, but you can see the tension in his shoulders, the sadness in his eyes.
You quietly move in between them as Abbot grabs you firmly. Face buried into your hair, taking in your sweet scent, before passing you to Robby. Giggling lightly, you hang off Robby as he gives you a squeeze.
"Everything okay?" You ask, glancing at the two and noting the letter in Robby's hand.
"Just your usual existential crisis. Let's go, kid."
——
The three of you head down as you take note of the already drowning patient board, and group of new doctors in front of the nurses' station.
"We've got new students," Robby informs you as he leads you to them, leaving Abbot behind to chart. Your hand carefully brushes against his as you walk away, a silent goodbye.
"God help them," you snort out, making Robby huff.
"Alright, welcome to the Pitt. I'm your attending Dr. Robinavitch, but you can call me Dr. Robby. Over here, we have our charge nurse, Dana; she's the one really in charge and will be your best friend here if you want to make it. Your senior residents are Dr. Langdon and Dr. Collins. If you can't find me, you can go to them. If you can't find any of us, you go to Dr.L/N here, or honestly, just go to her anyways," he informs them, placing a large hand on your shoulder, giving it a playful squeeze.
You give a little wave and smile to the new team.
"Careful, Robby. Your favoritism is showing," Dana jokes, watching the two of you and shaking her head.
"Walking HR violations, those two." Collin joins her as they share a teasing look.
Sticking your tongue out, you sigh, glancing at the patient board. "Let's do this, yeah?"
--
Patient after patient, you barely had a second to breathe. You can tell the day's getting to Robby, as last night had to Abbot. You follow him to the bathroom, pushing him back in when he tries to come out.
"Jesus y/n. What the fuck.” he breaths out as you lock the door, blocking it with your body. "Talk to me, Robby."
He glares at you, unwilling to talk. "Move. Now. I don't have time for this."
"Hey. Please. Don't hide from me." You whisper as you move closer to him.
He drags his hands over his face. "Today, of all days, is fucking shit."
Closing the gap fully, you drag him into your arms. His body shakes as he burrows his head into your neck, arms wrapped around you. His scruff tickles you, just for a second, as his signature scent warms you.
Sighing, he unwillingly lets you go. "Walking HR violation, you know."
Smirking, you watch his brown eyes darken as he takes you in once more. The three of you have been playing this dance for a while, and you wondered once again when the dam will finally break.
——
"So, are they dating?" Santos asks Garcia, Perlah, and Langdon as they work on the same patient. She caught the two leaving the bathroom together, looking a little.. disgruntled to say the least.
"Honestly? That's the running bet. Either him or the night shift attending," Garcia answers, passing her a scalpel.
"Minimum bids $20," Perlah chimes in as Santos asks to be put down for Robby.
——
At some point, you help Whitaker get new scrubs, feeling bad for the kid.
"It's fucking shit day, kid, but you're showing up and trying. We can't ask for more." You say, giving him a clap on the shoulder before walking away.
"She's so cool," he whispers as he joins Mel, Mateo, and Javadi.
"Dr. L/n? She's the coolest and like hella smart. Used to be a therapist, I think, for Quantico or something before coming here." Mateo informs them, nodding your way.
"I feel like I know her from somewhere; I just don't know where," Javadi says as she watches you move with confidence.
"Dude has like five degrees. She's smart like you," Mateo adds, making Javadi blush and stutter.
"She really is cool," Mel adds. She likes you. You and Langdon have easily become her favorites here.
But of course, It was near the end of your shift when everything went wrong.
—-
"Where a MASH unite now. Old school. That means no fancy X-rays, electronic charting, EKGs, or anything," Abbot orders out, putting on his orange vest.
"How will we chart them then?" McKay asks, raising her hand. Abbot nods her way. "Great question. Everyone gets a patient chart attached to their wrist. Write as you go, and if you run out of room, write on their foreheads."
"Seriously?" Javadi says as Abbot smirks, "Seriously."
“Alright.” Robby claps his hands, getting everyone's attention. "You know your zones, and remember to listen to your zone leaders. Abbot, L/N with me for a second. Everyone else, go."
The group breaks up into their colored zones, tensions running high as they wait. It would be any second now.
Nodding, you join Abbot and Robby, giving the former a hug. "Thank god for you, your crazy scanner, and go bag of like everything."
"Even got your favorite protein bars, kid," making you smile. "Marry me?"
But before either can respond — The ambulance sirens ring loud and true. heart pounding and palms sweating. It was time.
——
It was a fucking mess.
So many victims as you look around. You feel pulled in twenty different directions, but it has to be done. Jake's girlfriend is dead, and Robby is missing. You don't get a second to breathe as you go to help Abbot.
"How do you know so much when you're only a second year?" Santos asks, helping with the red zone as the pink calms down.
"Kids a certified genius," Abbot answers for her, as he performs a tracheostomy. "Call Walsh. This one's ready for surgery."
"Seriously?" She asks. Langdon chimes in as he works next to you guys. "L/Ns got like 4 degrees"
You can't help but smirk "and a nice rack," getting a deep chuck from Abbot.
The two of you notice Robby's back, pulling Whittaker with him. You share a look with Abbot, knowing you'll all be talking soon.
"I've got the next one. Go help Mohan," you tell him as the next victim rolls in.
"Bullet wound in the arm," Shen tells you as you take over.
The guy's lanky with a large black sweater and jeans on. You can tell he's covered in blood despite it bleeding in with the fabric. The hair on the back of your neck stands. You note that the armed police are only outside.
"You with me sir?" you ask as you look his arm over, taking over the pressure.
"Yeah, the guy got me good," he says, avoiding eye contact with you.
"I got you." You carefully let go of the pressure, only to notice it's just a graze. A graze that's way too light to have been from whatever gun was used on everyone else here. You don't stop your movements, eyes traveling to his hands and waist.
"Did you see what happened?" You ask slowly, taking in his jittery frame. Fuck, you think. Your far from the police outside, and he's in perfect range to hurt the most amount of people possible.
"Yeah, I got to see it all." You still for just a second, and it happens.
He grabs you in a headlock, gun out, and presses it to the side of your head in a matter of seconds.
"Nobody move!"
Screams fill the air as you watch your team cover patients with their own bodies, Abbot and Robby rushing towards the center before stopping. Fear. That's the only thing they know now as they watch. Abbot's hands are clenched, knowing that trying anything would put you in a worse position.
The armed guards rush in from the ambulance entrance as the man holding you screams at them to stop.
He's frantic, head whipping from the crowd to the police. His grip on you firm, squeezing you tightly to the gun.
"Move, and I'll blow her fucking brains out," he orders, panting heavily. You can feel his body shake.
"Who the fucks in charge," the shooter continues. As Robby slowly raises his hand, Abbot beside him.
"Let's talk. It's alright, nobodys gonna move," holding eye contact with him.
"How many"
"How many what." Robby demands.
"How many did I fucking kill" the shooter spits out.
Robby swallows, not wanting to answer, so you answer for him.
"Six," you whisper as he looks down at you, moving the gun to your temple.
Whimpers fill the room as everyone watches in horror. From the corner of your eyes, you can see Abbot take a step closer before the shooter starts laughing hysterically.
"Six? All those fucking guns. All that time planning. Shooting myself in the arm to kill fucking six?? You were all supposed to die. I was supposed to save everyone, but you ruined it," he screams out at the end, and you can tell he's losing control rapidly.
You needed to act fast. You needed him to loosen his grip, just for a second.
"I know they did", you whisper calmly to him as he stares you down again. His eyes are wild, wide, and blown.
"You were going to save all of us? Weren't you?" You continue softly. He nods, looking unsure for the first time.
"You can still save us. I see you. You're who we needed, who I needed all along," you say, turning fully into his embrace. Your hand creeps slowly up his chest, trying not to spook him.
You hear terrified gasps in the background but ignore them, focusing solely on the unsub.
"That's right, that's right," he whispers. "You see me?"
You smile innocently at him, pushing your head further against the gun for just a second.
"I see you."
There.
His hold loosens as his mind wanders, but you got him.
Quickly, you move, stomping on his foot as your hands grand the gun and his wrist, twisting it harshly like Hotch taught you.
The shooter screams in pain as you rip the gun out and pistol whip him before dropping the gun and kicking it to Abbot -- Who quickly dismantles it.
"Unsub down!" You call out.
The police run in as you back away from the shooter arms up in the air.
——
You're silent. The police chief, someone you had worked with before, just finished interviewing you as you manage to avoid everyone. Up on the roof, you finally breathe. You feel the adrenaline leaving your body as you lean against the rail.
"Room for two more?"
Looking back, you see Abbot and Robby. Their eyes rimmed red, exhaustion deep in their bones. The three of you pause before Abbot breaks the spell, striding to you.
His hands grasp your heads, forcing you to make eye contact. "You ever try to do that again? I'll fucking hog tie you down. Fuck, I'm so mad and proud," your eyes teary as you stare into his.
"Can you hog tie me anyways?"
"This girl," you hear Robby laugh out as Abbot buries his head onto the top of your head. Robby moves to join you two as your squished between them. It feels like hours have passed.
"How the fuck did you do that?" Robby asks, after making sure you're actually okay.
"Remember I used to work for the FBI?"
They give you a blank stare.
"You were a therapist?"
Snorting, you shake your head. "You guys just assumed I was! I was with the BAU for a long time."
The blank stares continue.
Robby opens his mouth and then stops. "So… not a therapist."
"No!, you sexist old men!," laughing as Abbot pushes you.
"I'll show you old," he continues, grabbing you by the waist. He shares a look with Robby over your head, getting a nod back before leaning down to do something he's been waiting months for.
His kiss shocks you to the core. Lips warm, a little chapped but it's perfect, like him. Controlled and demanding obedience. You whimper into it as it feels, his fingers digging into your side and hardening cock against your tummy.
Letting go, you look at him and then Robby before he finally moves. He leans down, kissing you in a way that's fully Robby. Moments later, he lets you go.
The men stare at each other, you in between them again. You watch as their heads tilt towards each other, sharing their first passionate kiss. Another whimper escapes you as your core heats up. They're fucking perfect, you think.
Abbot clears his throat. "We should go home together." He stares you both down in a way that only Abbot does.
Giggling, you agree, as Robby's ears and neck turn red. "Let's close shop first? Then mine, Yeah?"
——
To your embarrassment, claps fill the air as you reenter the ED. Dana hugs you first. "Don't ever do that again."
Smiling, you feel relieved. "Don't really plan on it."
Your heart swells at how worried everyone was, a part of you was nervous they would have taken your crazy words to the shooter for real.
Javadi is the first to put it together.
"Holy fuck your y/n l/n!!! The Y/N L/N from the freaking BAU!! You work with David Rossi and the FBI!!!" She's in shock, having been a fan of the team, and couldn't believe she didn't put it together sooner. You looked different t in your cute scrubs, having usually seen you heels and power suits.
"I thought you were a therapist!!" Landon questions before you raise your hands in defense.
"You guys just assumed! I'm retired BAU!"
"You're too young to be retired from anything!!" He argues back, giving you a hug. "I will bite you!!!" You growl back as you both laugh. He hugs you firmly, thanking you quietly.
The two of you have always had a brother-sister relationship, and you're glad it's not going anywhere, even with his current problems.
“Alright, alright, let my girl breathe," Robby
"My girl," Princess whispers to Perla's in Tagalog excitedly! But Perlah shakes her head as she points out the way Abbot is looking at you.
"But we have questions!!,” someone calls out.
Laughing, you agree to answer a few.
"What's David Rossi like!" Victoria blushes out as you giggle.
"As charming as you think but way too old for you," you smirked at her.
"How did you stop him, the shooter?" Whittaker asks.
"It's something I'm trained for, so for the love of god, please never try that on anyone for any reason." You look at your coworkers firmly.
A sigh escapes you as you answer a few more questions about your time at the BAU. Yes, you know how to use a gun and caught some bad guys. Finally, Abbot called it quits for you and drags you back to the locker with Robby.
He grabs your bag for you, and you smile gratefully. As you leave the building, it's almost shocking how normal it is again. A room full of new patients waiting, with Myrna asking to see Abbot biblically later.
Giggling, you follow the two men home.
——
Robby's place is a quick walk. It's spacious, for just him. Neat, cozy, and almost exactly what you pictured. Photos of him, Jake, his family, and your nights out with the rest of the staff. You try not to analyze him, a part of you that's hard to stop.
You're unsure of what this means for the three of you, but you're willing to try.
"Shower?" Robby grunts out before he nods. He leads the three of you to a bathroom with a large walk-in shower.
Abbot swallows as he notices a shower bench and wall handles, his heart squeezing. "Those?…" he nods towards it.
"Yeah" Robby smiles gently, "Got crutches and Y/Ns favorite soaps too" and for once, Abbot is stunned silent. He places a soft kiss on Robby's lips, before stripping his shirt off.
You watch them, heart swelling with love and need. Their bodies are still hard from the demands of your profession. Their shirts are off before they help you with yours.
"Arms up, baby", Abbot commands as Robby removes your shirt. Your bra, pants, and undies are next. Their eyes dark with desire as they take you in.
"Fucking beautiful baby," Abbot groans, his fingers ghosting over you.
"Could watch you all day pretty girl" Robby's brown eyes taking in every inch, as he tries to ignore his rapidly growing cock.
"Shower first, please." you tiredly laugh out.
You help Abbot with his leg as he settles on the bench. You try not to stare at his salt-and-pepper happy trail, large thighs, or swelling cock.
Robby turns on the water as you help each other bathe. The water and soap feels cleansing, like a new beginning for the three of you.
——
Making your way into Robby's bedroom, the three of you lay on his bed. It's a tight fit, but its perfect.
Kisses are traded as fingers continue to feel, group, and touch. It's all so new and overwhelming, but you refused to stop. You need them now.
Abbot sits up, leaning against the headboard, and settles you into his lap. You can't help but whine and grind your ass against his cock. It's large and thick at the base, while Robby's is just a little longer.
"Naughty little girl, wanting us to take care of that perfect wet pussy huh?" He whispers in your ear as Robby spreads your legs open, kissing his way down from your thighs.
"Please, Daddy," you whimper out, having to stop yourself from humping the air. Their groans fill the room as your words sink in.
"We got you, baby, we got you. Gonna fill you all night long, we promise.”
The night was the first of many in your unconventional relationship and one the three of you would never forget.
Sweet boy
Pairing: Jack Abbot x single mom! resident!reader
Warnings: Age gap (unspecified), reader‘s son plays soccer, reader feels like a bad mom, fluff mostly, implied that the kid is a matchmaker
Summary: When her son is having a rough patch, she asks her attending to come to his games, just as a temporary arrangement, of course. Though sometimes something temporary becomes normal.
Words: 4.5 k
A/N: Hey there, so this is what was voted for and I really like the way it turned out! It it rather light hearted and I really like the way it turned out. Though a quick disclaimer at this point, I have no idea what it is really like to be a single mom or a mom in genreal so please be kind in that regard. Also I might write a second part for this where reader finds out she is pregnant with Jack‘s baby and the ‚aftermath‘ of that, not sure about that though :) I still hope you enjoy this little story :D
Leaning against the nurses’ station she closed her eyes, the worry in her gut not getting better as the night wore on. It was his first sleepover and she was not happy about it, she had been reluctant about it anyways, but she knew the mother well, knew the father well and knew that there would only be three kids in total. It was safe and she knew that nothing bad could happen to him, she had slept over a ton as a kid and nothing ever happened. Still, since she had dropped him off at his best friend‘s house before she had gone to her shift the bad feeling her stomach didn‘t go away.
“You doing okay?” The voice of her attending pulled her out of her musings, he was standing closer than she had expected as she opened her eyes, feeling a slight heat rush to her face. His expression mildly worried, his salt and pepper curls slightly mussed. His stethoscope was wrapped around his neck and underneath it she could see the chain around it as well.
“Not really…” she sighed, rubbing her head, lying to him would get her nowhere, he was able to read her like an open book. “You know when you have a gut feeling that you really can’t shake?” she glanced at him with a small smile. He snorted slightly, nodding as he looked at her again. Not moving he still continued to stare at her, it was that kind of expectant stare he sometimes gave patients when they left out parts of the story they were telling.
“Yeah, definitely,” he crossed his arms across his chest, the thick forearms resting across each other. Sometimes she felt like a teenager when he was close to her, like she would start swooning after him like a lost puppy. Shaking her head slightly she tried to get that out of her head, hell he was her attending and in her eyes way out of her league.
“My son is sleeping over at a friend’s place tonight for the first time, can’t seem to shake the feeling that something terrible might happen,” she shuddered slightly as she shook her head. She knew that Abbot would probably have some wise words for her, he always did. „I sound like some kind of helicopter mom, don‘t I?“ she asked, laughing slightly as she looked at him.
„Nah,“ he shook his head, „We see shit in here people can‘t even dream of in their worst nightmares,“ he shrugged, „I think it‘s normal to be worried. And he is your first after all,“ A small smile was on his lips as he leaned against the counter.
„How did his match go, anyway?“ Abbot asked. She was slightly startled at the question, she had mentioned that her son had insisted on playing soccer this season and he had had his first match in the afternoon.
„It went well,“ she smiled, she had luckily been able to be there and cheer for him. „His team won and he put in the last goal, getting them out of the draw,“ a proud smile on her lips as she told that to Abbot. It had felt like she was watching her son in slow motion, running on his little legs with the ball in front of him, then one strong kick and he had scored the goal.
„Looks like you got a future star on your hands,“ Abbot smiled slightly as she laughed at that.
„If the love for it lasts longer than one season I actually might,“ she smiled at Abbot, trying to hide the sadness in her smile. Even if her son had played incredibly well he had still cried after the game, right after the kids had been allowed to go see their parents. All the dads had been so supportive the entire time, the mums as well, but that had not triggered her son‘s crying. It had been a conversation that they had been having for what felt like ages, on and off, even if her son was only seven, he understood the concept of not having a father or even father figure rather well. Especially since all his friends had really great and involved fathers. She knew that he was happy and that he loved her, it had alway only been them together, but apparently he was currently in a stage in life where he just wanted someone else besides her.
A sniffle left her as she realised the thought had made her cry again. Sometimes, well a lot of times, she felt like a bad mom. Due to the fact that most of her friends were either from work or her son‘s friends‘ mothers she did not know that many other single mothers. She had no advice on how to deal with these emotions and it made her feel so horrible.
„Hey, hey,“ he gently touched her shoulder, the concern in his features evident as he gently touched her shoulder.
„Gosh, sorry,“ she wiped away the tears, trying to stop the tears from falling again. A groan escaped her as she sniffled again. Suddenly her phone started buzzing in her pocket, fear shot through her as she grabbed it, holding up her hand to Abbot, her tears going dry right away as she saw the name of Josh‘s best friend‘s mother on the screen.
„Hey, is everything alright?“ she asked with panic in her voice. She knew she needed to calm down, panic wouldn‘t get her anywhere.
„Hey, yes, sorry if I am calling at a bad time.“ the voice sounded exhausted as she heard shuffling in the background.
“No! It‘s okay, I have some time on my hands right now,“ she shot Abbot an apologetic glance, though he still looked concerned at her, his hand still on her shoulder.
„Okay, I just wanted to tell you that the three of them devoured four pizzas and were knocked out afterwards, they are all sleeping right now and it looks like they are not going to get up until like at least ten tomorrow,“ Lara sounded exhausted, but she let out a sigh of relief.
„Thanks for letting me know.“ she paused. There was another pause on the other side of the line.
„Sorry, I didn‘t mean to keep you from work, have a good shift.“ Lara sounded exhausted, they quickly said their goodbyes and she hung up, letting her head fall backwards.
„Everything alright?“ he looked so concerned as he looked at her while she shoved her phone back into her pocket.
„Yeah,“ she let out a relieved laugh as she shook her head. „She just called to let me know that they are sleeping like stones and everything is alright.“
He let out a relieved sigh as well, like he had been just as worried as the phone had gone off. It made her smile slightly, Abbot had met her son a few times already, it had always been during cookouts organized by someone, mostly by either Dana or Langdon. Her son had loved Abbot from the moment her attending had introduced himself to her son. Josh became attached to Abbot like a tick the moment he spotted him in a crowd of one of the cookouts. Always dragging her mentor along to everything he wanted to do and for some reason unbeknownst to her, Abbot just let him and did his best to satisfy the whims of her son.
The thing was, that had made her crush on her attending even worse, seeing the way he treated her son made her heart swell every single time she saw them interact. Probably the worst part of it all was that she knew that this was no silly little crush anymore.
„Thank god,“ he breathed out, his head falling backwards as well. Suddenly something came to her mind, but before she could even propose the idea to Abbot Bridgit called out that a trauma was incoming.
——————
Shift change had gone smoother than usual and she was finally on her way out of the building, hoping to be able to shower before she had to pick up Josh. As she stood by the lockers she thought about the idea she had had again. Maybe it was stupid, and maybe she would overstep if she did really ask that of Abbot, but she just wanted to know if maybe there was a chance for it.
Seeing Abbot also coming her way she fished everything out of the locker, stepped back and waited for him to approach her. Usually he never used the lockers, his backpack already slung over his shoulder.
„Mind if we have a little chat before you leave?“ he asked, his brow raised in her direction.
„Not at all, I actually wanted to talk to you about something as well.“ she gave him a small smile as they began making their way towards the exit. She knew that Jack always walked, he said that it cleared his head, though she knew that he theoretically could drive.
„Are you sure you are doing okay? You know that you can talk to me if something is bothering you,“ his voice was so gentle as they stepped out of the hospital. She sighed, the crying had definitely prompted that conversation.
“Yeah, no, I know I am not doing the best,“ she answered honestly, „It‘s about Josh,“ another sigh and as she glanced to the side she could see the concerned expression of her attending.
„Is he sick?“ he asked, of course that was the first thing that came to mind, not the quick kind of sick, the occasional flu, but she knew that he meant sick. The kind of sick that could tear people apart.
„No!“ she shook her head, „He is just having a bit of a rough patch,“ she paused, cringing internally as they continued to walk towards employee parking, „He has been asking more and more about why his dad isn‘t there and why he can‘t have an awesome dad like his other friends,“ she paused, „Makes me feel like a terrible parent,“ she shuddered.
Abbot stopped walking, she also did, following his him to the side of the sidewalk. His expression was stern, but still friendly.
„You know you are not a bad mom, right?“ he paused, „That kid loves you more than anything in the world.“ Carefully he put his hands on her shoulders, gently squeezing them.
„I know,“ she tried to look away, but it felt impossible to draw away from these intense eyes. „I just…sometimes I wish I could give him that role model he so desperately wants…“ she sighed, rubbing her face. This was the point where she decided to just go with it and ask, „That was actually why I wanted to talk to you,“ she sighed again, Abbot looked surprised as she said that.
„I know that this is probably very unprofessional and also overstepping boundaries, but god, Josh loves you, always talks about you and every time there is a cookout he gets so excited.“ she paused gauging the expression on Abbot‘s face, it startled her when he looked slightly flustered, „But would you mind coming to the games with me? I know that you probably have a lot of stuff to do and more things to worry about, but-„
„I would love to,“ he paused, a small smile on his lips as he gave her shoulders a reassuring squeeze. It felt like the breath was knocked out of her lungs as she saw that sparkle in his eyes, for a moment she wasn‘t sure if it was just the light or if she could actually see tears gathering in the corners of his eyes.
„I would love to come,“ he repeated, again giving her shoulders a gentle squeeze, again „Just tell me when and where I have to be and I will be there,“ his voice was soft as he spoke. It made her want to cry, the way he smiled at her like she had just given him the best news of his life.
„Will do,“ she smiled at him, tears beginning to gather in her eyes as well, she hated it, knowing that loving this man was probably never going to get her anywhere.
———————
Sitting in the bleachers of the small school soccer field she sighed, glancing at her phone she checked to see if Abbot had texted her that he was running late. The kids were still doing warm ups and she had hoped that he would be there before the game would start. Glancing to the side she heard soft murmurs from some of the moms from the boys on her son‘s team, they were the kind of soccer mom‘s she really did not like. The ones that looked down on her for being a single mom, like it made her a bad person. Following their eyeline she grinned, Abbot was walking towards where she was sitting, in the lower ranks so that she could keep a close eye on the game the entire time. The sight in front of her made her a little light headed, Jack Abbot in casual clothes was something she had never hoped to see and here he was. A pair of loose fitted dark blue jeans, a tight fitted t-shirt paired with a fleece jacket without a hoodie. His backpack slung over his shoulder, as he walked over to her.
„Hey!“ she grinned at him, not sure how to greet him, though that question was answered when he gave her a quick hug.
„Hey,“ he said as well, taking a seat beside her, his legs spread slightly. Before she was able to say anything she heard one of the other mom‘s say something that made her a bit prickly.
„God, what a waste,“ Karen, the epitome of said name, half shouted while glaring in her direction.
„Thanks again for coming, Abbot,“ she gave him a small smile, he just nodded, a small smile also on his lips.
„Of course, and Jack will do for now,“ he smirked slightly as she felt her face heat up at the idea of calling him by his first name.
„Alright, no last names,“ she gave him a cheeky grin, then looked at the backpack, which had been safely deposited between his legs. Suppressing her laugh she glanced at him.
„What have you got in the bag?“ she asked, nodding at the backpack, Jack hummed softly, a huff escaping him.
„Wanna have a look?“ he asked, while his eyes found her backpack as well, „Mind if I get a peek at what you got?“ a small grin on her face they exchanged backpacks.
Looking into his backpack she found an array of medical supplies, Butterfly ultrasound, neckbrace, field trach kit, tourniquet, a stethoscope, a catheter for a chest tube, syringe and a lot more.
„Came prepared, let's just hope we don‘t need any of these,“ she laughed as she placed the backpack on the ground again.
„You too,“ he nodded with a small smile on his lips.
„Looks like we came with a whole ED on our back,“ she laughed, „Still just so you know there are medics here as well,“ she paused, glancing over at the two teenagers who were the medics for the teams, „I just don‘t trust them,“ she muttered under her breath.
Jack followed her line of sight and nodded slowly as he also saw the two teenagers sitting there, glued to their phones.
„I get that,“ he hummed softly, looking over his shoulder now, she followed his gaze this time she saw Karen staring at him, her husband, Larry, sitting cluelessly beside her. „What is her deal?“ he muttered as he leaned in closer to her, his breath fanning over the side of her face.
„Just getting the newest gossip ready,“ she sighed, a small smirk on her face as she watched Josh helping one of his teammates up from the ground after the kid had tripped.
„For the Soccer moms‘ whatsapp group?“ he asked, his voice laced with amusement. A snort left her lips as she shook her head.
„Worse, the soccer moms‘ facebook group,“ at that comment Jack let out a laugh, gently nudging her with his elbow. She grinned at him, shaking her head slightly. She thought that she could get used to this, to him being around more. It was nice, having someone around that she could talk with, someone that cared for Josh.
„JACK!“ Josh‘s tiny voice pulled her out of her thoughts as she saw him barreling towards her, though he did not launch himself at her, but rather at Jack, jumping into his arms. Jack easily caught Josh, holding him close for a moment, laughing softly as her son‘s tiny hands grabbed his jacket.
„Are you here for my game?“ Josh asked, his eyes big. She felt her heart lurch slightly at the sight. Jack holding Josh, who was now half sitting on his lap, a big grin on his tiny face.
„Yeah, little champ,“ he nodded. The coach called Josh‘s name and he let go of Jack again, not saying anything he bolted back to the team. A small smile grew on her lips as she watched the new spring in Josh‘s step. For a moment there was comfortable silence between them, their shoulders and legs brushing slightly as they watched the team huddled together. Lara and her husband weren‘t there, Tom, their son had caught the flu and was now sick, she was kind of the only mother she actually knew and liked from the team.
„So, any post game traditions?“ Jack asked while they watched the kids scattering over the field, taking their positions to start the game. A snort left her lips as she glanced over at him.
„It‘s only his second game, so no,“ she gave him a small grin as they leaned back slightly.
„What about I take you guys out for some pizza?“ he asked, the tone of his voice was different, it was like there was a subtle question behind it, like he was trying to figure out how far she would let him in.
„Pizza sounds great!“ she smiled at him, feeling her face heat up again as he gave her a quick smile. „But I am paying!“ she grinned at him.
„Let's argue about that when the time comes,“ he shook his head as the whistle for the start of the game blew.
The game was good, Josh‘s team getting another win, this time her little champ had scored the first goal of the match. She and Jack had cheered loudly and for the first time it felt like she could also cheer unapologetically. The look on Josh‘s face during half time had been unforgettable and would probably be burned in her mind forever, the pure joy of seeing her and Jack and how excitedly he had told them about his thoughts during the first goal.
Now the game was over and she and Josh were packing up his things, changing from his soccer shoes to his regular trainers. Josh was babbling about how cool the move of his teammate had been when he had avoided one of the opponents. Jack was standing beside her, a proud smile on his lips. Josh looked as his hands as she was beginning to collect all their stuff.
„Mommy,“ his voice was so soft that she was barely able to even hear him as she looked up, a smile on her face.
„Yeah sweetheart?“ she smiled at him, he looked nervous, glanced at Jack then back at her.
„Can we take a picture?“ he asked softly, looking at his hands like he was asking for some kind of dangerous thing.
“Of course, sweety,“ she smiled at him, gently ruffling his hair, „Do you want a picture with all of us or just you and Jack?“ she knew that they already had a picture of just him and her, so she just assumed that he wanted a picture with Jack.
„Can we do both?“ he asked, his eyes big as he looked at her with hopeful eyes.
„Of course, darling,“ she looked at Jack who looked like he was preening at the question, a small smile on her lips she ushered Josh towards Jack, who exchanged a few hushed whispers with each other. They posed together, Jack placing his hands on Josh‘s shoulders, a proud smile on his lips, an elated expression on Josh‘s. She smiled as she took the pictures.
“Do you want me to take the other one?“ the voice of the coach came from beside her as he gave her a small smile. He was already in his sixties and such a sweetheart.
„Please!“ she handed him her phone, giving him a thankful smile, quickly she moved up to Jack and Josh who both gave her a smile. Stepping behind Josh she also placed one hand on his shoulder, suddenly she felt an arm wrap itself around her waist, a surprised expression graced her face before she also wrapped her arm around his waist as well, both of them a hand on Josh‘s shoulder. The coach grinned slightly as he took a picture.
„You want your mom and I to pick you up?“ Jack asked Josh, who grinned excitedly and nodded quickly. Together they picked up her son, squeezing him between them, all of them laughing, another picture was taken.
That evening she had sent all of the pictures to Jack. Sitting on the sofa while Josh already slept she stared at the screen, the picture of Jack and her holding Josh stared back at her, that night she decided to change the picture of herself and Josh in her background to this one.
—————-
Sitting on her sofa she glanced over at Josh who was snoring softly between her and Jack, his little body snuggled between them. It was so domestic, so normal at this point that it made her want to cry.
Jack always came for the games, always cheered Josh on, always made sure that their little champion knew how well he was doing. Meanwhile he checked in on her, made sure she was also doing alright, offered her to take a few more days off during the months so that she could relax a little. At some point it became a tradition for Jack to come back to her place after a game and pizzas, they would often watch a movie, Josh usually falling asleep within the first half hour of the movie, though they still finished watching the movie, one of them would put him to bed. It was almost like they really were a family, except that they weren‘t, not like that at least.
The tension between them had heightened. At work sometimes it felt like they were really a couple, Jack bringing her coffee, her always making sure to bring an extra bag of food, knowing that Jack often forgot. During breaks she would ask if he needed anything from the grocery store while Jack offered to watch Josh when he had a night off when she didn‘t.
The end credits played as they continued to stare at the screen, she paused the movie, then turned off the TV.
„Do you wanna put him down?“ she asked, feeling how her arm had fallen asleep from Josh sleeping on it, hit head leaning against her upper arm.
„Yeah,“ Jack‘s voice was hoarse, glancing over at him she felt a pang in her heart, realising that he was crying. She had never really seen him cry before, never seen him that emotional. She didn‘t comment on it though, just gave him time to pick up Josh and carry him towards his bedroom. Quietly she followed him, making sure that Jack didn‘t realise. Stopping in the doorway she saw how Jack tucked in Josh, gently brushing some strands of hair out of his face.
„Huh,“ a shaky sigh escaped his lips, she wanted to say something, but she simply stood there and watched, „Sweet boy,“ his voice was so gentle, as he kneeled beside Josh‘s bed. „You know, I really should have believed you when you first told me I loved your mom,“ a soft laugh came from him. He rested his arm on the mattress of her son‘s bed. „Sleep well,“
She felt her heart hammering in her chest. Her chest tightened as she watched the moment between Jack and her sleeping son. Another sigh came from Jack, she took a small step back as he got up from where he had been kneeling, gently pressing a kiss to her son‘s forehead before he turned around. His eyes went wide as he saw her standing there, carefully she made room for him to walk out the room, closing the door behind him.
„I think I should be going, it‘s later than usual,“ he spoke softly as they faced each other in the hallway. The space felt crammed, with all the unsaid things between them. They surrounded them in this moment more than ever before, weighing them down, in a way pulling them together.
„Don‘t,“ she shook her head, feeling the weight that had been living in her chest since Jack had essentially become Josh‘s father figure. The weight of an unspoken truth neither of them really wanted to face, neither of them really wanted to acknowledge.
The air around them was charged, she reached out, trying to keep her hands from shaking, gently she took his. He intertwined their fingers, carefully pulling her closer to him. His free hand wrapped around her cheek, his thumb caressing her it. Moving closer he pressed his lips to hers, it felt like a current went through her body. Their lips moved against each other, wrapping her free arm around his neck she tried to pull him in even closer, to close the distance between them completely. There was a certain urgency in the kiss, they let go of each other‘s hands, his other hand went towards her waist, she wrapped her other arm around his neck as well. As they pulled away he rested his forehead against hers, their breaths intermingling.
His other hand had found her waist now, holding her close to him, the heat radiating off of him now even more comforting than when he looked over her shoulder in a trauma bay. She brushed her nose against his, pressing another soft kiss to his lips.
„Are you going to tell me why you cried?“ she asked, her voice a bit lighter as she spoke, her arms slowly encircling his waist now. A low groan came from him, then a soft huff.
„I always cry at the end of The Lion King,“ he said, his voice cracking slightly, his hold on her not relenting.
„You gotta be kidding me,“ she laughed as she tilted her head back slightly.
„I‘m not,“ he looked deadly serious, though a small smile was now visible on his features.
„I am definitely going to tell Ellis about that,“ she giggled slightly as she buried her face in the crook of his neck, placing soft kisses there.
„You are definitely not going to do that,“ he leaned his head back, letting out a small hum.
“Maybe, maybe not,“ she giggled softly as she leaned her head against his shoulder, enjoying the feeling of finally being in his arms.
How the company reacts to finding out you and fili are married 😂
I loved this request and I decided that instead of making into a full blown fic - that would take me even longer to publish - I would do it headcanon style.
Look at me making my way through requests 💪!
The Company Reacting to You and Fili being Married
Fíli x fem!reader
Warnings: Fíli has one braincell in this one and he does not use it, open ending because it started to get too long but we all know it would turn out okay in the end, f-word, it is really silly I’M SORRY
A/N: It might not be exactly what you had in mind when sending in the request but it’s where my imagination took me 😆 This should not be taken seriously.
you were a last minute addition to the Company
Fíli and Kíli had kept the Quest a secret but you found out anyway, following them all the way to Bag-End
because there was no way they were leaving you behind
they were not happy - except maybe Kíli who was over the moon to see you
almost breaking his brother’s ribs when he shoved his elbow in Fíli’s side
wiggling his eyebrows while his eyes drifted towards you
Fíli immediately regretting ever telling Kíli of his crush on you
little did he know you felt exactly the same
anyways
back to the Company
lots of protest from the other Dwarves because there was no way they were taking a woman with them
it didn’t take long for you to wrap each and every one of them around your little finger
them quickly agreeing on you coming along, but you had to promise not to be a burden to them
Kíli blurting out that he and Fíli would look after you
that earned him a swift kick to the shins from Fíli
he made Kíli promise not to tell you anything and to not tease him about it
Kíli promised to behave and not embarass him in front of you
crossed fingers behind his back
during the journey Fíli had a hard time keeping it together around you
much to the delight of Kíli who found it all hilarious
at the slightest sign of danger, Fíli did his best to shield you from it
it kind of was exhausting really, keeping an eye on both you and his brother while also not trying to get killed himself
as long as you were safe, that was what mattered most
he thought he could pick up some signals from you that you might be feeling the same
or that could just be him seeing things
he was planning on asking you if he could court you as soon as they reclaimed Erebor
so he still had some time to build up his courage
and he was sure not to tell his brother about this
but everything escalated one night when Thorin decided to share some news
they were all sitting around the campfire, chatting after dinner
when suddenly the subject of marriage comes up
Ori asking what a wedding ceremony is like, since he never witnessed one before
before anyone can explain, Thorin clears his throat
“You will find out soon enough. We will have a wedding once Erebor is reclaimed.”
Everyone looking at each other questioningly, shrugging shoulders when asked if they know something
“Who’s getting married?”
dramatic silence
then Thorin looks at Fíli
“As soon as Erebor is ours again, Fíli is to be wed to a lady of nobility of the Iron Hills.”
a few gasps were heard among the Company
Fíli had dropped his bowl of stew to the ground
Kíli sat wide-eyed beside him, his eyes flickering to you
you were completely still, as if frozen in place
you should have known you didn’t stand a chance
Fíli is part of the royal family after all
but then Fíli stands up with a jolt, as if bitten by something
“I can’t marry her.”
Thorin sighs, he knew this was coming
“Fíli, it is important to strengthen the relations with-”
“No, I can’t marry her because... because...”
his eyes landed on you and his heart broke
your eyes fixed on the ground, hands tucked underneath your thighs and biting your lip
in complete panic he said the first thing that came into his mind
“... because I’m ALREADY MARRIED!”
okay well
that maybe wasn’t the best thing to say
seeing how Thorin was about to burst
“Already married? TO WHOM?!”
...
Fíli panicked again
think of a name think of a name think of a name
any name but-
“Y/N!”
your head snapped up and your jaw almost fell to the ground
Kíli screeched in excitement, clapping his back
“Way to go, brother! You never told me you guys eloped?! No wonder she was so keen on coming along.”
Fíli looked at him and was speechless
did he seriously believe he would marry someone without telling him
without telling anyone?
yes, yes he did
it appeared the whole company believed it
he received pats on the back, a shove here and there
lots of ‘congratulations’ and ‘well done’
Dori was tearing up
Glóin and Bombur welcomed him ‘to the club’
you received the same treatment but were still too stunned to react
when Thorin stood before you, you almost cowered in fear underneath his stare
he crossed his arms and gave you a stern look
“Are you pregnant?”
“NO!” both you and Fíli yelled at the same time, absolutely mortified
his lips started to twitch and to your surprise Thorin smiled at you
“It didn’t go the way I expected but... Welcome to the family!”
Thorin hugs you
I repeat
Thorin hugs you
meanwhile Fíli is having a small extensive crisis
he meets your eyes and you’re shooting daggers at him
he fucked up big time
there was no way out of this
not this time
after Thorin it was Kíli’s turn to give you a bonecrushing hug
your feet might have been off the ground for a few seconds
“I never thought he would finally grow a pair! I mean... he couldn’t even talk to you without embarassing himself!”
“Thank you Kee”
you locked eyes with Fíli again
“Excuse me, I need a word with my husband.”
you ignored the feeling in your stomach when you said that
how right it felt
lots of hooting and hollering when you dragged Fíli out of the campsite
you raised an eyebrow at him in question
enter puppy eyed Fíli
“I panicked”
“Out of all the names you could have blurted out it had to be mine?”
since he was already in too deep he could just as well tell you the truth
it’s not like it couldn’t get much worse at this point
“You’re the only one I’m thinking about.”
smooth Fíli, really smooth
you’re speechless but your eyes betray you
they’re filled with love and adoration
and Fíli’s heart fills with hope
maybe he didn’t screw it up that bad
his hand disappears in his pocket
here goes nothing
“I was going to wait until we were at the Lonely Mountain...”
he opens his hand for you and you see a blue and silver courting bead with intricate carvings
“But since we’re already married-”
you scoffed, but couldn’t help the wide grin on your face
“Would you do me the honor of braiding your hair?”
Told you it was an open ending... but we all know how this one would continue :)
Permanent taglist: @roosliefje @kata1803 @entishramblings @artsywaterlily @sleepy-daydream-in-a-rose @marvelschriss @kumqu4t @myrin1234 @dark-angel-is-back @the-fandoms-georgie @lathalea @xxbyimm @sokkasdarling @katethewriter @aredhel-of-gondolin @leethology @thepeanutcollective
~ Mafia!Stucky Mastlist⍟✪ 📚~
Hello lovely, I hope you’re having a great day. I thought it was about time I made a list dedicated to my favourite boys, so welcome to my Mafia!Stucky masterlit!I love to write in my spare time, and the fiction I create is for 18+ readers ONLY. Also, everything is character x fem!reader, and please, read the tags carefully before continuing.
Masterlists ♥ A03 ♥ Tags ♥ Question? ♥ latest works ♥
you're mine (smut, angst, dark)
Steve loves showing off what’s his, you. What does eh do when he sees someone staring at what is his?
i need more (fluff, smut)
You’d been off all day and it hadn’t gone unnoticed by Steve. He’d do anything to make you feel better so when you started begging him to help you have some release, he didn’t hold back.
ruined orgasm - kinktober (smut)
He had given you one rule: do not interrupt the meeting. So, of course you had to walk straight into the meeting that had all of America’s most noterious gangsters
steve's birthday wish (P.1) (fluff, smut, angst)
It was approaching Steve’s birthday and you had no idea what to get him. Bucky suggests just asking the Mafia boss what he would like, but would you regret your decision when you hear what Steve truly wants.
When Two Become Three (P.2) (fluff, smut)
It has been a few weeks since Steve sat back and watched your be pleasured by his best friend Bucky, and you couldn’t stop thinking about it. Especially, the part where Steve confessed his fantasy to have a threesome, but would you ever agree to it?
one more meeting (fluff, smut, angst, dark)
For all of the years that you had known Steve and Bucky, you had never seen them lose control of their anger. All of the murder and violence always being calculated, calm, and dangerous. But today, that all changed and for the first time in years, you were truly scared of the boys you loved.
repeat after me(fluff, smut, angst)
It wasn’t often that you had to attend a party with your boyfriends but today, you found yourself at one, filling you with anxiety and dread. How will the boys react when they find you close to a panic attack and starting to doubt their love for you?
how many?(fluff, smut)
Steve had finally found time to take you and Bucky on holiday. What he doesn’t tell you however is that today, he wanted to see just how many times he and Bucky could get you to orgasm.
i can’t lose you (fluff, smut, angst, dark)
Being the girlfriend of the Mafia leader and his second in command had its dangers but for years, you'd never had to experience this. Until now. How will the boys react when you're put in danger?
no touching (fluff, smut, angst)
You blatantly ignored their instructions and now you had to suffer the repercussions for your actions.
i don’t care (fluff, smut)
'The reader having a menstrual cycle, this one just a little worse than others, and Steve and Bucky worrying and helping her through it.'
the one weakness (fluff, smut, angst)
It wasn't often you were by yourself so when you quickly go to the coffee shop, what happens when the enemy is watching and waiting nearby.
overwhelming (fluff)
It had been your birthday a few days ago and both Steve and Bucky had made it their mission to give you the most lavish party followed by intense, long nighttime activities. However as you lay in bed on Monday morning, something just didn't feel quite right.
the fun game (fluff, smut)
Steve and Bucky had forgotten about your date, leaving you waiting for two hours in the restaurant. How will they react when you decide to play your own little game as payback and, how far can you go before they finally snap?
harder, please (fluff, smut, angst)
Your mind was clouded with lust and pleasure, as you begged repeatedly for more from Bucky but, what happens when you get hurt in the process?
protect and forget (fluff, smut, angst)
Life as the girlfriend of the Mafia boss and his second-in-command was not always smooth sailing, everything did not always go to plan. Two weeks before your birthday, a threat was made to your life. What happens when Steve and Bucky begin to push you away as they search for the threat?
All Eyes On You (smut)
“Do you know what we would have done if we had turned up to that restaurant and seen you all dolled up like that? We would have bent you over the table in front of everyone and shown them exactly who you belonged to". - Steve Rogers
you belong to me (fluff, smut, angst)
These girls knew you were dating Steve and Bucky, so why is it that they thought it was ok to have their hands all over them?
dont fall asleep (fluff, smut, angst)
It was supposed to be a normal day, but not in fate's eyes as you and Sam are hit by a drunk driver. How will Steve and Bucky react when they hear their girls been hurt?
rule number one. (fluff, smut, angst)
It was Bucky's birthday but even a surprise party won't stop Steve and Bucky from punishing you for not looking after yourself.
Last Hope (CH. 1) (CH. 2) (fluff, smut, angst, dark)
Before dating Steve and Bucky, your life felt like a steel cage that you couldn't escape from because of your family business. There was no happiness or hope but, what happens when the infamously heartless mafia leader, Steve Rogers, finds you alone?
our little bean (fluff, angst)
You stared unblinking at the Doctor who had just told you the news you couldn't quite comprehend. You were on birth control, so why is the test in his hands saying that you're pregnant? Accidents happened but is this a happy one? (Yes it is).
the limit (fluff, smut, angst)
Everyone has a limit, this includes Steve and Bucky. What happens in different situations where each of you felt compelled to use your safewords?
sick day (fluff)
Bucky had warned you that dancing in that rain without a coat would lead you to be ill, maybe you should have listened more to his warning.
accident’s happen (fluff, smut, angst)
You were visiting a friend when you were accidentally hit in the face, leaving behind a cut across your cheekbone. How will Steve and Bucky react when they see their girl injured?
everyone is breakable (fluff, smut, angst)
Steve and Bucky were invincible in your eyes. They'd never been injured or in a situation where you thought they weren't the ones in control. That is until one day Bucky doesn't return from meeting with a client.
winter soup (fluff, smut, angst)
There was no better feeling than a bowl of hot soup when you're feeling unwell and, what's even better is when it's delivered to your door every day by your new guard. It tasted amazing and you could always trust everyone in the Mafia... right?
something new (smut)
The mafia leader was known to be possessive and enjoy showing off his girl but what happens when he wants to do this by being intimate in front of his gang?
pegging - kinktober (smut)
Steve had once instructed bucky how to pleasure you but what happens when you’re the one being given the instructions?
cockwarming - kinktober (smut)
You’re feeling needy and restless so Steve offers you something to suck on, much to Bucky’s amusement.
double penetration in one hole - kinktober (smut)
You were adament to prove Steve wrong and do something you’ve never done before.
fear play - kinktober (smut, dark)
You woke up to darkness, your phone was missing and, all you could was silence echoing around the house but, you knew you weren’t alone.
role reversal - kinktober (smut)
For once, you were the one shouting at the enemy, demanding that they leave your office. Steve and Bucky were in awe so you tried to keep up this confidence and burn off some energy with them.
Duke, Duchess and Knights (fluff, angst)
You get so lost in the fantasy dream that when it turns into a nightmare, you're not sure what reality is when you wake up screaming.
Merry Christmas (fluff, smut)
It was a simple question: Have you been naughty or nice this year?
Safety Measures (Angst, Smut, Fluff)
It was the anniversary of Steve and Bucky saving you from your sadistic brother. Usually, it was a time of celebration for you, but this year, you couldn't help but feel paranoid and unsafe.
edge of glory (Angst, Smut, Fluff)
Defiance is something you are not accustomed to, but when the love of your life is in danger, there is no stopping you. Now, the repercussions of your actions have you contemplating the decisions that you've made.
Drabbles
The first to give their jacket when reader is cold
Mad & Sad moments
Saying the wrong thing
TikTok trend: no kissing
Who is more protective?
safe space in your new home
Halloween Costumes
F!Reader x Dr. Jack Abbot! <3 little oneshot
Sum: you answer a small newspaper ad, which leads to you living with the one and only, Dr. Jack Abbot.
Cw: “and they were roommates” trope ish? Younger female reader, age gap relationship, roommates, Jack has night terrors, widow Jack Abbot, fluff. Your a ghost writer of smut bc that’s my favorite c: MDNI not proofread
The house was too empty. Too quite. Too much for one person to take care of. It was supposed their dream home, but his late-wife never got to see it.
Never got to be carried through the threshold, never got to have morning coffee with him at the book nook, or enjoy the fire pit.
His therapist says he finds comfort in the dark but also in the barren. Never giving life to the home that was supposed to be theirs, even years later.
So when she suggests a roommate, Abbot quite literally doesn’t know what to do with that. There was plenty of room, sure, but did he really want that?
Looking around, he knows he could use someone’s help. It’s too much house, too suffocating on days like this.
Sighing, he reaches for the local pitts area newspaper for the add space number. It’s old school, almost dead but if anyone’s gonna live here with him, they should at least know what a newspaper is.
Looking for a quiet roommate. 49, Male. Looking for someone to help manage an old house for less rent. I work night shifts. No loud parties or gatherings. Contact at *********
——
Meeting you felt like a twist of fate. Some people had responded sure, but none he took seriously until he heard your soft voice over the phone.
New to the city, a writer by trade, so you assured him quite days and help around the house. You mostly worked from home and he had at least 20 years on you.
But god were you charming, he thinks swallowing as he helps you move in your small boxes.
“Dr. Abbot? Is there anything I should do or not touch?.” You asks as you settle another box on the kitchen counter. You didn’t have much but it was enough to fill the small guest room across his.
You were so grateful to have found the ad, you quite literally shook calling him. The house was perfect, yet empty, you note. Must be because he works night shifts, you think taking every thing in. It doesn’t help the good doctor is wildly attractive.
“Jus’ need some help talking care of this old thing during the day, cleaning and stuff if you don’t mind kid. Just.. just stay away from the closet at the end of the hall upstairs” he tells you, a far away look in his eyes for a moment before a little smirk graces his handsome face.
“Oh and no fires if you can help it. Firefighters are my enemy,” making you giggle.
“Sir yes sir!” You say while giving him a little salute, making him laugh. After helping you move, you’ll be honest, you rarely see him at first.
You hear him come home and leave, saying “goodbye” and “welcome home” when you catch him but never getting to really know eachother, with the both of you focused on work. You were just two roommates, trying to survive.
——
That was, until you started leaving him leftovers, feeling bad there was never much in the fridge for him. That small decisions led you to start a breakfast routine together. You shared little tired laughs and always fought on who did the dishes after.
Until you started packing lunches for him, after quickly making yourself dinner. The first time he noticed you left him food to take, his heart thumped in ways he hadn’t felt in years.
Until you started working in the living room, the little book nook becoming your spot. He’d sometimes find you passed out on it, curled up like a cute rabbit. On those days, you’d always wake up covered by a soft blanket, smelling suspiciously like a certain doctor.
Until you started leaving fresh flowers in the living room, which make him still and smile looking at them. One day, there was a small bottle of aroma massage oil next to them and a little note saying “to help with the pain!,” in your curly writing. He carries that little bottle and note with him everywhere.
Until the house started looking and feeling more like a home
Until he had his first night terror in years.
——
It started with whimpers. Fear reached you as you shot up, thunder and raining muddling the sounds coming from the end of the hall.
You gently crept out of your room to stand in front of his closed door, stalling before turning the knob. You’d never gone in his room before, not even to clean.
You see Abbot sweating in his sleep, tossing and turning. He looks like his in pain and it’s killing you inside.
Slowly you make your way to him, gently sitting before rubbing small circles on his chest to soothe him. Little hums and shushes come out of you, as you go to rest against his headboard.
You try not to think about how firm him chest is, the little salt and pepper curls that match his hair or the scars that litter his body.
It’s takes time but you feel his body relax back into a peaceful sleep, as it reaches you too. Your soft snores fill the room, as you fall asleep next to the man you haven’t been able to stop thinking about.
——
He’s confused at first. Waking up to you curled softly against him, face nuzzled against his chest. He’s alarmed, body tensing unsure of what to do. A small part of him wants to go back to bed, pull you closer and sleep and another wants to run. His tense body wakes you up and the part that wants to run, shushes, looking at your sleepy face and tussled hair.
Your eyes widen as you realize you fell asleep against him.
“I’m so sorry! You.. you were having a nightmare and I came to check and I’m sorry I didn’t mean to fall asleep here”
You look away, unable to make eye contact in shame as he swallows heavily.
His arms stop you from leaving as he tells you it’s okay. “I’m sorry I get.. from the war. I get nightmares sometimes. Thank you.. for helping me”
You couldn’t help but smile carefully. “It’s okay, I’m here for you”
——
Things changed at a rapid pace from there with Abbot, now Jack.
You were both each others closest companion. You spent his off days together, continued your shared meals and learned more than you dreamed of.
From his deployments, his late wife, his love of pineapple pizza and more.
Giggling you can’t help but recall when his red tinted cheeks when he learned about your job as a ghost writer for small smut books. It became natural, to seek eachother out, and one way or another, you always ended up in his bed.
Snuggled asleep in his arms, the two of you refused to say anything about this new tradition. The fear of breaking the comfort it brings stops you both.
Your pillows and blankets join the bed, and the room becomes more and more “our room” then his.
——
Robby can’t help but notice a small pep in Abbots step. How he suddenly comes in with well packed food and how his eyes looked brighter. Suspicion runs deep, as he wonders what changed for him.
“Getting more sleep brother?” He asks, watching Abbot get ready to leave.
Abbot can’t help but smirk “something like that”
——
The warm months great you as you and Jack settle closer into each others hearts.
He ponders, if he should ask. Ask what this is as he watches you plant flowers in his garden. His home is beautiful now, he thinks, like you.
“I think, I think we should have a house warming party.”
You can’t help but laugh as you glance up at him from the flower beds, “Can it be a housewarming if you’ve been here for years?”
“Never had or wanted one before. Seems like we should change that sweetheart”
Jack walks over steadily to you, kneeling to kiss you on your forehead.
You understand, and agree completely.
——
The backyard is bustling with new life. The flowers you planted being ‘oohed’ and ‘ahhed’ at, as you’re introduced to all of Jacks friends and coworkers.
You find yourself particularly drawn to Mel and Langdon, giggling up a storm with the two of them.
Jack can’t help but watch you from the corner of his eyes, not quite focused on his conversation with Dana and Robby.
“So” Robby inturpts his thoughts of you. “How long have you been dating her?”
Jacks eyes brows raise, a crinkle settling into his forehead.
He shrugs, trying to appear nonchalant. “We’re just roommates”
Dana and Robby can’t help but share a tired and concerned look.
“Jack, she lives with you. Cooks for you. Decorates your home and entertains your friends for you. If I had roommates like that I’d probably have more kids ” Dana says, trying to get a better answer from him.
“She’s young, we don’t want to see you hurt brother,”but Jack shrugs off both if their worries again, taking a sip of his beer.
A small smile appears on his face as he watches you mingle, knowing he didn’t have to worry about you or the ring in his nightstand.
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.
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Idk, y'all want part two?
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
This City Doesn’t Forget (part one · the wedding)
you weren’t supposed to see him again. not like this. not in this dress, not in this city, not with his last name still catching in your throat. but pittsburgh remembers what you tried to bury
pairing : jack abbot x f!reader
content/warnings: alcohol, mentions of past infidelity (not by reader or Jack), emotional repression, unresolved sexual tension, proximity, flashbacks (not as explicit), lying by omission, angst, guilt, wedding setting, Pittsburgh.
word count : 2,674
a/n : no smut in this part—just aching tension, bad decisions almost made, and the beginning of everything unraveling. If you guys like this perhaps I will write part two sooner than later. 18+ ONLY, not beta read.
You hadn’t planned on coming back to Pittsburgh.
Not really.
Not to stay, anyway.
You’d told yourself it was a city you’d passed through—something borrowed when you were eighteen. Temporary, in that way so many things feel permanent until they’re not. You left with no grand finale. No promises. No reason to return. Just a couple of half-used notebooks, a box of textbooks you never sold, and a past you’d done your best to forget.
But then came Match Day.
And the envelope said,
Allegheny General. Emergency Medicine. Pittsburgh.
Your fingers had clenched the paper just a little too tightly. Someone beside you had screamed. Someone else had cried. And you— You just stared.
Because it didn’t feel like fate. It felt like a dare.
You’d worked for it. You knew this program was good. You applied like it was a long shot, a name you could cross off the list without consequence.
And now, you were a PGY-1 with three weeks to relearn how to breathe in a city you swore you’d never see again.
So you moved back early.
You told people it was to settle in. To be prepared. Responsible. Practical. You needed time to unpack, sign the forms, memorize your badge number, figure out the best spot to get coffee before a night shift.
But that wasn’t really it.
The wedding was this weekend.
And if you were going to return, you might as well rip off the bandage.
You told yourself it would be fine. Just another obligation. You’d show up, smile when it was expected, drink something sparkling from a glass too thin, find your table, and disappear before the second round of speeches.
In and out. Unnoticed.
That was the plan.
But plans don’t account for ghosts. They don’t make room for versions of yourself you thought you outgrew—versions that still remember the way someone used to look at you like they weren’t supposed to.
The version that heard his name mentioned—of course he’d be there, of course he’d be involved—and forgot how to breathe.
You thought she was gone.
But she showed up anyway.
Because some things don’t stay buried. Especially not what happened with Jack.
People know pieces. Just enough to make them look twice when you walk into a room.
They know his brother cheated on you. That you ended things. But no one knows what happened after.
They don’t know it was Jack who showed up that night—quiet, steady. That he found you on the porch, sat beside you without a word, handed you a beer and stayed there, saying nothing until the tears stopped burning your throat.
They don’t know how it shifted.
How grief softened into something slower, heavier. How silence turned into stolen glances, how those glances started to hold.
How one night he leaned in—close enough to kiss you, close enough not to—and you let him. You wanted to.
And that should’ve been it.
But it wasn’t.
It happened again. And again. And then again after that.
It wasn’t love. It wasn’t anything you had words for. It was too raw for that. Too hot. Too consuming. It was his hands under your shirt before you could ask him to stop. His mouth on your neck. Your body arching into his like it had been waiting for this—for him—long before either of you were willing to admit it.
He’d show up late, knock quietly, stand in the doorway like he didn’t want to come in.
And you’d let him in anyway.
Sometimes you wouldn’t even speak. Just hands and breath and hunger. His voice rough in your ear. Yours gasping into his shoulder. You were always on borrowed time, always telling yourselves this doesn’t mean anything.
But you kept coming back.
And then, one morning—he didn’t.
No knock. No warning. Just a note slid under your door, folded once. His handwriting, familiar and clipped.
This can’t happen again.
He left for another deployment that week.
You haven’t seen him since.
No one knows the truth. But they know enough.
Enough to feel the shift in the air when his name brushes too close to yours. Enough to catch the tension in your silence. Enough to know something happened between you.
And that whatever it was—it didn’t end clean.
Now, years later, you’re back in proximity with the same family. The same name lingers behind you—woven into laughter, casual conversation, the soft clink of champagne flutes.
And your body still remembers what it felt like to come undone in his hands.
You try to shake the thought. Bury it.
Because now you’re here. At your ex's wedding. Moving through it like it’s just another event on your calendar.
You arrive early—not dramatically, just early enough to avoid the spectacle of walking in late. Early enough to slip through the edges while the music is still soft and no one’s had enough to get loud.
The venue is every Pinterest bride’s dream: string lights, linen runners, eucalyptus draped over archways and tucked into centerpieces like someone spent hours pretending it was effortless.
You keep your expression even. Your heels steady. Your breath controlled.
And then the faces start to register.
A few from college. Some from the family. Familiar enough to sting. One of his cousins waves you over, smiling too warmly, like she’s rewritten history into something forgivable.
You smile back. Offer polite answers. Tell her you moved back for work. Let them fill in the rest.
No one says his name.
Not yet.
But it lingers. In glances, in pauses, in the way people talk about him and wait—just a beat too long—for your reaction.
You keep moving. Find your table. Table Nine.
Close enough to the dance floor to be inconvenient. Far enough from the family tables to make a point.
Your name is written in cursive, tucked beside a sprig of dried lavender. The seat beside yours is still empty.
You don’t even bother to check who it’s for. You’re not planning to stay long enough for it to matter.
You take a slow sip of champagne and pretend it doesn’t taste like memory.
But then—without warning—you’re back there.
Eighteen years old. Barefoot on a back porch in the thick of late July. A cold beer sweating in your hand, your legs stretched across your boyfriend’s lap. Laughter in your throat, someone’s playlist crackling through a speaker tucked behind a lawn chair.
And across the yard—leaning against the railing, one shoulder dipped into the shadows—was him.
Jack Abbot.
The older brother.
You hadn’t meant to notice him. Not like that.
But the moment your eyes caught on his—just for a second, just long enough—you felt it.
Something you weren’t supposed to feel. Something sharp and low and completely out of place.
It didn’t matter that you were wrapped up in someone else’s arms. That you were smiling like everything was fine. That his brother had just tucked a strand of hair behind your ear.
Your attention still drifted.
To Jack.
He was quiet, unreadable, beer in hand, watching the yard with that steady gaze of his. Not staring. Not even looking directly at you.
But somehow, it felt like he saw everything.
You told yourself it was nothing. Just curiosity. Just a moment.
But your skin said otherwise.
You could feel him—without him ever touching you. The tension in your shoulders. The awareness crawling across your collarbone. The heat that rose to your face when his eyes met yours for just a beat too long.
You looked away first.
And you told yourself it didn’t mean anything.
But it stayed with you. Tucked in the back of your mind. Not a fantasy. Not even a thought. Just a question. A flicker.
A what if.
You never said it aloud. Never let yourself imagine it all the way through.
Because it would’ve been wrong.
He was your boyfriend’s brother. And you were still pretending to believe that mattered.
But your body knew it. Even then.
Even before everything fell apart.
And now—now you’re standing in a black dress, back in a city you swore you were done with, and every nerve in your body remembers what it felt like the first time you looked at Jack Abbot and wanted.
What you don’t know is that he saw you the moment you stepped out of the car—and he hasn’t stopped looking since.
He hadn’t meant to. He wasn’t looking for you. Just stepped out front to grab a bottle or a box or something else forgettable from his truck.
Then he looked up.
And everything stopped.
You didn’t notice him. Not then. You were focused on the tent ahead, face neutral, shoulders back, like you were walking into a battlefield and refusing to flinch.
But Jack did notice.
He saw the curve of your neck, the glint of something gold at your collarbone. The way your dress clung like it had been chosen for someone you swore you weren’t thinking about.
He saw you—and for a second, he didn’t move.
Didn’t breathe.
Then, slowly, he stepped back behind the truck, dragging in a breath like he needed to remember what year it was.
He didn’t mean to stare.
But he did.
Because he remembered, too.
And yet, you don’t see him at all—not when you walk inside, not during the greetings, not while you make your quiet rounds with a smile you’ve rehearsed too many times.
He’s nowhere. And then—he is.
You’re halfway through your second glass when you hear him.
That voice. Low. Unhurried. Still laced with the kind of weight that makes people listen. Like he doesn’t waste words unless they matter. Like honesty was hardwired into his bloodstream.
He's older. Broader. Calmer in that unsettling way men get when they've learned to live with their damage. There’s a curl to his hair now, grayer at the edges. His stance is the same—shoulders squared, jaw set, eyes scanning everything and nothing.
He’s talking to the officiant. Laughing at something you can’t hear. That same laugh that used to gut you on nights you shouldn’t have cared.
You should look away.
But then he glances over—and this time, it’s deliberate.
His eyes catch yours.
And for one long, breathless moment, neither of you move.
No nod. No smile. No acknowledgment at all.
Just something weightless and sharp, flickering between you like a match never quite struck.
He looks away first.
And your lungs finally expand.
But the ache in your stomach—the one that’s been dormant for years—It returns.
Low. Persistent.
Familiar.
It’s the same ache that started the first time you looked at him and didn’t look away.
The one that never really left.
Not entirely.
You don’t remember excusing yourself.
Just the slow pressure building in your ribs—the kind that makes your necklace feel too tight, your dress too fitted, your very skin too obvious. One toast too many. One laugh from the wrong person. One glimpse of him across the tent and your balance tipped.
So you left.
Out past the bar. Past the music and string lights and curated perfection. Past someone’s grandmother crying over the first dance.
Out to the edge of the venue, where the manicured lawn gives way to stone steps and low hedges and a garden no one’s bothering to look at this late in the evening.
You wait for your pulse to even out. It doesn't.
You tell yourself you just needed air. That you’re not hiding.
But the second you hear footsteps behind you, slow and deliberate, you know—
You weren’t fooling anyone. Especially not him.
Jack doesn’t say anything right away.
You feel him before you hear him. The heat of him. The way the space folds in tighter, heavier, just from his presence.
“You still have a habit of disappearing.”
You stare ahead, voice even. “You still have a habit of following me.”
A pause.
Then: “Only when I’m not ready for you to go.”
You inhale.
Slow. Measured. Dangerous.
When you finally turn to face him, he’s closer than he should be. Hands in his pockets. Tie gone. Shirt open at the collar like he’s trying not to look like a man unraveling.
But he is.
You know it.
“You came back,” he says.
You lift your chin. “So did you.”
“Not the same.”
“No,” you agree. “Not the same.”
He studies you like he doesn’t want to miss anything. The curve of your jaw. The way your lipstick’s fading at the corners. The way you’re still holding yourself like someone waiting for the next impact.
“You didn’t tell anyone,” he says.
You arch a brow. “Tell them what?”
“That you’re back.”
“I’m here for work.”
He smiles, humorless. “That’s all?”
“That’s all you need to know.”
You watch the flicker cross his face. Just a flash of something—hurt, maybe. Or knowing.
“You’re not going to make this easy, are you?”
You shake your head, voice quieter now. “When have I ever?”
Jack exhales. Looks down for a second like he’s choosing his next words carefully.
Then he steps forward.
Just enough that you can smell him—clean, warm, a hint of whatever soap he’s always used that lingers even after he's gone.
“You ever think about that summer?” he asks.
You don’t answer.
But your silence is enough.
He sees it.
“All that time we spent pretending we didn’t want it,” he says, voice low. “And all the ways we failed.”
“You left,” you say.
“I had to.”
“You didn’t have to leave like that.”
“I know.”
The air is thick now. Too thick.
You shift your weight, but your feet don’t move.
And then—
He leans in. Not to kiss you. Not even to touch.
Just to be there.
“I think about it every time I come home,” he murmurs. “Every time I walk past your street. Every time I go into work.”
Something stirs behind your ribs.
His eyes flick to your mouth. Just once.
You see it.
And it wrecks you. It shouldn’t feel like anything. He’s not off-limits anymore. Not technically.
But your body still responds like it’s a secret.
“You shouldn’t be out here,” you say.
He lifts a brow. “You are.”
“I needed air.”
He watches you. “Funny. Thought you needed distance.”
You cross your arms. “And yet here you are.”
“I wasn’t planning to be.”
“Neither was I.”
That sits between you for a moment, heavy and unfinished.
You reach for your phone without thinking, just something to do with your hands.
It buzzes the second you unlock it.
“Welcome to Allegheny General. Your orientation begins Monday at 6:00 AM.”
You flinch.
Jack sees it. Of course he does.
“What?” he asks.
You hesitate. Then shrug, trying to pass it off.
“Work stuff.”
“What kind of work?”
You shoot him a look. “Since when do you care?”
“I’m just—surprised. You never said what you were doing back in Pittsburgh.”
You pause. The words come slow.
“I matched. Emergency medicine. It’s… a residency.”
His expression doesn’t change. Not exactly.
But something settles behind his eyes. Something heavy. Knowing.
“Jesus Christ,” he mutters. “You really don't know.”
“Don't know what?”
“I work there,” he says.
The world tilts.
“What—”
“Attending. ER.”
You go still.
Dead still.
And he sees it hit you.
The blood draining from your face. The calculation behind your eyes. The memory of every line you just crossed tonight.
You start to speak. You don’t.
He doesn’t smile. Doesn’t move.
He just looks at you.
Soft. Dangerous.
And then he leans in—not touching, not even brushing—but close enough for you to feel the heat of him against your skin.
“See you Monday, rookie.”
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
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