it was rare, you remember it

♡ 20 ♡ sideblog

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masterlist

ud. 7/21/26

jack abbot ♡ the pitt

pictures of you

needy jack

situationship — it has to end — the last time

my wife — my husband

2 am

wife guy

clark kent ♡ dcu

(almost) first time

first love

clark and his glasses

oddball

— misc. characters

adam glenn ♡ motu

cuddly bear

andrew cody ♡ animal kingdom

misc thoughts

colt seavers ♡ fall guy

untitled medic reader

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situationship (illicit affairs)

jack abbot, fem(ish? i think this is also gn), short — two / three

When you tell Jack you want a real relationship with him after weeks (maybe months) of sleeping together with no commitment, you don’t expect to just hear an “Oh.”

You lean back on your haunches, deflated from where you straddle his lap on his bed. You frown, the rejection and embarrassment not quite settling yet. “That's all you've got to say?”

His fingers squeeze at your thighs. He looks earnest, which makes it worse. “What did you want me to say?”

Shaking your head, you lean in and mumble, “Nothing. It's nothing, let's just kiss, okay?” while stones fill your throat.

So his lips slot between yours, his hands find your neck, grasp at your waist, and his lungs breathe you in. But when he flips you over and tugs your shirt off, your nonchalant façade starts to slip.

“Okay?” Jack asks against your pulse, nipping at the warm skin.

“Yup,” you respond, throat thick and eyes stinging with tears.

Unfortunately, that gets his attention, and he lifts his head to meet your eyes. Damn Jack, so attentive; it's probably what got you. Concern fills the furrow of his brows. “Are you sure? Honey—”

“Jack, I can't,” you whimper, sitting up and ushering him off you. Your hands frantically wipe the tears already running down your cheeks, and you scramble to gather your clothes off the floor. You stumble getting your scrubs on. “I’m going home.”

“What?” He’s scrambling, too, trying to find his crutches that are usually at his bedside, but fell to the floor in your passion. “You can't stay? It's late.”

When you don't answer, he presses, desperate for you to say something. “Was it what I said? I’m sorry. It's just—”

“You don't have to explain yourself,” you warble. “It was—it was a dumb thing to say, Jack. I shouldn't have said anything.”

“That's not…” he starts, but the words get lost in his throat seeing how sad and shaky you are, something he never sees from you. He drags a palm down his face. “Can I at least drive you home?”

You shrug your coat on. “I’ll get an Uber.”

“You sure?”

“Yes, Jack. Please.”

You leave his bedroom, and he doesn't move from his spot on the bed until the front door closes. When he manages to sleep, he dreams of your heartbroken expression and your wobbly voice, and Jack can't help feeling like he lost something good.

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jack abbot, fem, 0.5k — previous / next

“Abbot, you’re staring again.”

He purses his lips, his eyes following you from across the ED while you move through patient rooms. Something about you seems off. “‘S it just me or does she look different?”

Parker rolls her eyes. “You’re staring,” she repeats, swiping around on the iPad in her hands. “It’s getting painfully obvious, you know that, right?”

He drags out a sigh. Ever since you left his apartment in tears the other week, you haven’t talked or even looked at him at all during your shared shifts—and during that time, he’s been sulking, mulling over how to make it up to you. He’s not entirely confident he can.

What he’s realizing is—he misses you. Your indifference is killing him, and he imagines this is what you felt like when he met your confession with nonchalance. He’s the desperate one now. 

When Jack sees your hands shaking while trying to open a granola bar, he jumps at the opportunity to be close to you. He comes over to you, offering, “Let me,” while deft hands try to replace yours.

You flinch and try the plastic again. “It’s fine.”

He exhales through his nose, reaching another time. He tries to keep his hands guided toward the snack in your hands and not you. “I can—”

“I said it’s fine, Jack,” you snap, finally meeting his eye after a long while. You look exhausted and wrung out, and he knows it’s his fault. To Jack, you still look as beautiful as the day you walked out on him, leaving your heart in pieces for him to pick up. 

He puts his hands up in surrender. “Alright,” he concedes, but he doesn’t walk away yet.

You manage to tear the plastic and take a bite, but now you’re annoyed, angry, sad, or a combination of three from Jack’s insistence. He broke your heart weeks ago, and now he has the gall to show up? 

You try to push back the thought that insists it means he cares. 

He keeps staring, and you huff. Chewing impatiently, you grumble, “What?”

Jack clears his throat and ghosts a hand over your back. “You just look tired—you're doing okay, right?”

Your spine straightens. “Nothing for you to worry about, Abbot.”

Abbot. Not Jack, or Jackie, or any other of the lovely names you call him. The sudden change paralyzes him, and he’s dumbfounded as you saunter off. 

Watching you walk away, a piece of him goes with you. The aching, burning feeling in his chest roars, and while Jack is realizing he misses you, he’s also realizing that he needs you, too. He’s restless because you’re not in his apartment with him, laughing life into his kitchen and kissing him sweetly. That you’re not giving him knowing looks across the ER or brushing against his shoulder to ground him after hard traumas. He feels equally the fool for not grasping his feelings earlier, and now you’re slipping out of his hands like sand. 

Jack rubs at his chest with a fist, trying to relieve the feeling before his next patient.

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the last time (for you, i would ruin myself)

jack abbot, fem, 1k — one / two

sorry for taking so long! ive been in a slump. and sorry in advance

You’ve spent many nights like this ever since falling out with Jack: curled up on your couch, a snack plate or a tub of ice cream in hand, and a romcom playing on the TV. Today, a tub of chocolate fudge ice cream and hot chips sit at your coffee table while While You Were Sleeping fills your living room. It doesn’t help that the main guy is named Jack, not at all, and instead it drags you down.

You’re pulled out of your wallowing when a knock comes at your door, and you jolt to get it.

You swing open the door to find Jack, a bouquet of flowers in one hand and takeout from your favorite place in the other, the paper bag littered with spots of grease. You grimace. “What are you doing here?”

“Came to make it up to you.” His lips raise to a shy smile while he holds up the bag of food, already tempting you. “Figured this would help. And you liked lilies, right? I went to a good florist.”

“Jack.” You rein in your emotions—your frustration, anger, sadness, and want towards him—with a deep breath, and manage to ask, “Why are you here?”

He hesitates. “I wanted to fix things. I realized…I realized I miss you. I hate this space between us. And you can call me a fucking idiot for it, I know, I know I am. But I miss you. I didn’t want to corner you at work anymore.”

Your heart jumps; it’s words you’ve always wanted to hear from him. But the hurt comes back tenfold, and you steel yourself again. You grip the front door a little harder and dip your head. “You should go home, Jack.”

His smile—his expression overall—drops. “What?”

“Go home,” you repeat, hushed.

His foot steps into the threshold of your home, but you don’t do anything about it. “Sweetheart, please.”

You scoff, and his eyes follow you as you start to pace and throw your arms up in irritation. He always got you riled up quick, in bed or not. “God, you want to fix things? Jack, you—you embarrassed me. I spent weeks pining over you, the entire time we slept together, and you rejected me. I felt so fucking stupid for even thinking—” You stop and sigh.

“Thinking what?”

 You laugh at yourself. “That maybe the cool guy from work could actually have feelings for me? And then I spent a few more weeks after that trying to get away from you, and now you’re here? Is this some joke?”

Jack’s face crumples and his heart breaks in sync with yours. His grip on the flowers and food loosens, and you wish so much that you could accept the bouquet from him. He drops them on the floor instead. 

“But I do. I do have feelings,” he says, quieter. 

“Well, you ruined it, Jack. I don't want to anymore.”

He huffs, frustration brewing in his posture. At himself, maybe. “I do. I never thought it would push you away this bad, and I regret it. I never—”

You push an accusatory finger into his chest, right over where his heart is breaking, and manage to scowl, “Yes, you did. You wanted this.” 

But you falter, slightly, and flatten your palm against his pec; if you won't admit you’re weak for him, your heart will do it for you. “I don't want to hear you out. It hurt too much the first time,” you confess in a whisper.

He crowds into your space, grasping at your hand against his chest and twining your fingers together. Hie murmurs lowly, “Do you believe that?”

You nod.

Jack frowns, disbelieving, and brings his forehead to yours. “You have to say it. Say you don’t want this and I’ll go. I’ll leave you alone.”

You space out, and he murmurs your name, but it's nothing like when he calls for you across the ER, or when he's groaning into your ear in bed. It's softer, meant to be between freshly laundered sheets and warm blankets. Between words that sound like I love you.

You don't trust yourself to speak, so you shake your head while tears pool in your waterline again. You want to say goodbye, yet you don’t want you and Jack to be over yet. You’re at war with yourself. 

You swear you can hear him whimper as he begs, “I promise, I’ll spend the rest of my life—our lives—making it up to you. I’m sorry. Honey, I’m sorry.”

He feels you soften under him, shoulders relaxing and the tension in your hands releasing. It spurs him, giving him hope that he can undo everything he’s done—or. at least, remedy it. 

“I’ll take an inch—a centimeter, even. A mile. Whatever you want.” Jack's hands cup your cheeks, his thumbs softly brushing over your cheekbones. “Just…let me in. Let me try.”

He grows more desperate the longer he gets silence from you.

You take a breath. “Jack, I…”

His eyes brighten at your voice, but you bite your lip and get pensive. “I don't know.”

You feel him deflate beneath you. He turns away, huffing out a breath, and steps back. There's a war in his mind, and you can feel it by the way he looks elsewhere and clenches and unclenches one fist. It feels like forever until he says, colder now, “Okay. I’m sorry I came.”

Your composure, the one you held so tightly to ever since he came in, breaks. Your strong voice turns tiny on your tongue. “What? Jack—”

“I’m sorry,” he mutters one more time before turning away and leaving through your front door. The door closing echoes throughout your living room, reminding you you’re alone again. 

You feel just as lost as that night weeks ago, when you bared your heart out to Jack. But now it’s all up in knots, on the floor for you to untangle it. 

At the very least, you can pick up the flowers off the floor and put them in a vase.

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Pictures of you hit so close to home because before like the summer of junior year and especially before joining the military I was fat and soooo insecure about it. Thanks for writing that. It was amazing and really meaningful for me 🩷

Of course! I've been insecure for a lot of my teen-current young adult life and wrote pictures of you on a night where i was feeling it pretty bad. I think writing that fic helped me a bit and im glad it did the same for you too 💗

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jack abbot, fem, insecure reader

You’ve seen plenty of photos of Jack when he was younger and more auburn-haired; when he was softer, more naïve, untouched by the traumas of war and his subsequent disability—but he’s barely seen any of you.

The realization comes quickly to him, and he figures it's the perfect night to rectify that.

“Baby.”

“Yeah?” You glance at him from your peripheral, looking away from the book you're reading.

You feel him lean closer to you from his spot in bed. “You’ve never shown me pictures of yourself before med school. Besides those baby pics you had.”

A scoff escapes you, and you quickly dip your head down in shame. Your fingers fidget and crease a page. “You wouldn't like it. I was ugly. And I wasn’t happy.”

He physically recoils, a frown pulling at his face. “That's not true. Why wouldn't I? It's you, c’mon.” He tries to pinch your cheek to draw a giggle out of you, which usually works, but not this time. “At least let me see. I won’t say anything.”

You sigh. “Jack.”

“Please?”

After a bit of prodding, you huff and give in; you open your photos app, scroll to several years before, and hand him your phone. He's your boyfriend—partner, he prefers, because boyfriend sounds juvenile—after all. It should feel safe. It should feel easy.

Instead, it feels like pinpricks in your eyes and a deep ache in your chest. You barely took photos of yourself before med school for a reason. Insecurity, which is the only one.

You hide yourself from Jack’s reaction. But while you're stewing away a few inches from him, he’s in awe of how beautiful, glowing, cute you looked in college, high school, and before that. It worsens his already bad desire to scoop you up and kiss away all your troubles, if it’ll help a little bit.

“Sweetheart?”

His voice, gruff yet softer than usual, draws you out. “Hm?”

Dry lips press at your temple, and an arm pulls you closer by the waist. “Don't know what you were worried about. Looked just perfect to me. You've always been."

You allow yourself to relax a little, and you feel Jack smile against your hair.

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thank you for 300!!! i love all of you!!!!!!!1

im in a bit of a writers block right now (rip) but im still writing the next part to the jack situationship fic. itll probably finish up in 2 more parts!

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colt seavers, fem!medic!, 0.5k

notes: sigh i love ryan gosling and his characters so much. colt seavers you have mystified me. I am still working on the jack abbot situationship fic! ive just had some personal things going on 💗

Colt’s in your medic trailer, sat shirtless on the medical bed while you tend to the scrapes he gained during a stunt. You hold a cotton ball wet with antiseptic between tongs, and despite your blank expression, he can see the anxiety in your eyes.

“Hey,” he tries to joke. “Are you from Tennessee? ‘Cause you're the only ten I see.”

You huff, dabbing at a scrape along his shoulder. “I’m from California, Colt.”

“I know.”

You can't bring yourself to laugh. You know Colt's job as a stuntman can sometimes be dangerous, even with the innumerable safety precautions and medics on set. Even after he recovered from his accident, you still can’t help it, getting worried.

He softens. “Hey,” he murmurs, catching your arm in his hand and grabbing your attention. “Hey, hey. What's wrong?”

You drop the tongs on the tray and look down at your feet, sighing. “Nothing.”

“Not nothing.” His thumb brushes against the inside of your elbow, trying to ground you. He opens his arms then shrugs, relaxed. “I’m fine. See? I’m sturdy as a horse.”

You trace his jean-clad thigh absentmindedly. “Horses also get sick easily. And spooked.”

Colt sighs, grabbing your hands. “Baby.”

“Colt.”

He lowers his voice—no longer that spunky, bold stuntman Colt, but your Colt, the one who quietly brings you snacks and holds you close in bed. “You don't have to worry so much about me. Okay?” He brushes a strand of hair away from your face. “Sturdy as a horse. And I mean it. I’m not gonna get hurt like that again.”

There's a particular sweetness to him this time, and it makes your heart hurt. “I can't not worry. It's my job. And you…you're so casual about it.”

He cracks a smile. “Gotta be.”

But you frown, and all he wants is to cheer you up and see you happy. God knows he’d do anything to see you smile or ease up in relief. The scrapes down his back and shoulders are nothing to him at the moment, and might be nothing for the rest of the night.

“How about this,” he offers, pulling you closer to him, “We get dinner from catering, or the burger joint down the street, and do some donuts in my truck, and get cake from the pastry place you like? And then we’ll cuddle, all night, maybe until morning, and miss our call time…”

As he speaks, he feels you loosen up at the prospect of food and an impromptu date. Your shoulders relax and Colt kisses your head. He feels lighter now that you are, and thanks the universe that you’re smiling now, too.

“Sure. Okay.” You fall into his shoulder—the uninjured one—and he turns his head to kiss your temple. You feel his hand rub at your back, swiping up and down between your shoulder blades.

“Patch me up first, maybe?” Colt laughs.

You pull away, grabbing the tongs and a fresh cotton ball with it. “So demanding.”

He swoons, heart eyes following your every move. “What would I do without you?”

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Girl who is scared of the doctors' making fanfiction about dating a doctor.

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teared up during my office visit

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Girl who is scared of the doctors' making fanfiction about dating a doctor.

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another part of the one where jack declines reader? 🥹

Hii! Im still working on it, i'm not sure how to continue/end it yet 😭 i have Beginnings of a making up and happy ending but not the bulk of it!

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Hi pls send asks

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jack abbot booping your nose cuz he has cuteness aggression

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jack abbot, fem, suggestive, 0.5k

You love your nighttime routines; you love putting on a nightie after a shower and doing your skincare; you love looking like a shiny donut once you leave the bathroom; you love laying on Jack’s chest and quietly reading together until you both fall asleep. Other nights, you both watch a movie (your pick, always) and one of you always dozes off. 

Sometimes, Jack has other urges. Tonight, you look nothing short of the evening beauty he always sees you as, nightie on or not. Your skin is shiny with whatever moisturizer you’ve put on, and as you tuck in for bed and pull out your E-reader, all he wants is to devour you. You can feel his eyes on you as you pull back the duvet and scoot onto your side of the bed.

An arm slings around your shoulder to pull you closer into his broad chest. Of course, he’s shirtless because of the Pittsburgh summers; humid and hot, even at night. You cuddle closer to him and open your E-book to the last chapter you left off. 

His blunt nails draw up and down your arm, giving you goosebumps. He presses his thigh closer to yours and dips down his head to brush his nose against your earlobe. You squirm, feeling his breath against your skin. “What are you doing?”

“Nothing,” he breathes, seeking out your neck. You smell like soap and fresh laundry after your shower, and it does nothing except stir him. 

You shift and he pulls your thighs closer together with his free hand while he kisses down your neck. “Jack.”

“Yeah.” He grunts, gently guiding you down onto the pillows and forcing the E-reader out of your hand. He presses you against the mattress, caging you in with his body. There's a hand tangling in your hair and another arching you into him.

“Jack.” You groan, trying to push him off. “I was reading. I’m on the last chapters!”

“Mm,” is all he replies with. He’s too busy kissing your face and sucking at your neck to coherently respond. Too full of his want for you. You’d welcome it if you didn’t have other matters at hand, say, your murder mystery that you’ve been itching to get to the bottom of. 

“Jack!” You try again, trying your best to push off his full body weight on you. You grumble, asking, “Can we compromise? Please?”

At that, he finally lifts his head. You see hazel pupils swallowed by darkness, a flush on his face, and glossy, swollen lips. He murmurs, “Like what?” in his roughened voice before kissing you once.

You giggle, “Give me fifteen minutes. Okay?” Putting a finger to his lips, you repeat, “Fifteen minutes to finish my book.”

“Fifteen?” Jack’s panting like a dog by now, a stray hand still squeezing at your hips. “You’re gonna make your old man wait?”

“Oh, shush.” You roll your eyes. “You’ve lived 50 years, you can survive 15 minutes.”

Appeased, he rolls off you. You scoot yourself up to sit against the headboard again, and he lays his head in your lap, eager. Now unbothered, you grab your E-reader and start reading again.

You feel him huff and puff against your thigh. “What if I have a heart attack within these fifteen minutes?”

“You work in an ER.”

But he gets what he wants, because it takes fourteen minutes for you to put your E-reader away and finally kiss Jack. 

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Jack cried watching the sheep detectives btw

[courteous-otter]

details! 👀

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Thank you for 200 🥺💖 never thought this blog would get attention !! Thank you!!