fun story time lol I’m going to a wedding soon with my family and a guy I used to date who once tried to drunkenly fight my very sober dad is going to be there as well.
Warnings: Character death. Some description of murder.
Summary: Baelor stumbles across a strange woman in Aegon's Garden.
Word Count: 700+.
A/N: This is more of a drabble thing. I just couldn't be bothered to write it out properly.
Prince Baelor Targaryen who was married once before to you.
No one dared talk about you in front of him due to the tragedy and violence of your death.
The bright and beautiful Lady of Dragonstone who was hunted and slain in Aegon's Garden by a Blackfyre loyalist during the Blackfyre Rebellion.
So brutal the attack that some said they were not able to remove all of your remains from the garden.
Named Hand of the King at the end of the rebellion, Baelor returned only to Dragonstone to see that all entrances into Aegon's Garden were sealed and access forbidden.
Anyone found attempting to enter the gardens was to be thrown in the cells beneath Dragonstone.
Left untended, the once magnificent garden was left to grow uncontrollably and unruly as seen from the high-above windows of Dragonstone that overlooked the expanse of the garden.
Those who still occupied the Targaryen stronghold that had been shaped and re-shaped again by dragon flame and sorcery whispered of a woman's wailing that could be heard on the howling wind and the crash of sea against stone on some nights.
Some even swore they saw a woman in the gardens when they rushed past the windows above, only to conclude it must've been a trick of the light when they looked again and found no one.
As the years went by, Baelor found it harder to keep your face in his memories but his quiet devotion to you remained, marked by the golden brooch inlaid with sapphires that he pinned to the inside of the sleeve of his doublet every morning.
Baelor was forever marked by your death and refused to step foot onto Dragonstone again despite being the heir to the Iron Throne and Prince of Dragonstone… until thirteen years later when he finally returned for the first time.
-
Footsteps muted by the layer of needles that carpeted the once grassy floor of Aegon's Garden, Baelor took in the overgrown and unruly forest that the garden had become when he came to an abrupt stop.
An unfamiliar woman stood before him, half-hidden behind an overgrown rose-bush.
She was younger than him, her hair a tangled wind-swept mess and dressed in a deep-blue gown.
Baelor couldn’t help but notice an odd spot in particular on her chest that was coloured darker than the rest of her dress in the shape of what might’ve been a brooch.
She seemed vaguely familiar and yet he was unable to place her.
They stared equally stunned at each other until she broke the silence.
"Baelor…" the woman whispered. "Wh- what are you doing in here?"
Baelor tilted his head.
Even her voice was familiar but no matter how far he reached into the depths of his mind he could not figure out who she was.
His head felt foggy but still, he squared his shoulders and attempted to appear more confident than he felt.
"I could ask you the same thing, my lady. This garden was sealed thirteen years passed."
"And I was sealed within it…" the woman spoke so softly Baelor almost didn't hear it.
Eyebrows furrowing, Baelor didn't understand what she meant by that and felt even more confused by her presence.
Weighing up his next words, he watched her carefully, confusion touching the space between her own brows then understanding seemed to dawn on her - of what, he did not know - and finally pity and a deep sadness as she stepped out from behind the rose bush and edged carefully toward him.
"Do you not know who I am…" she said, then added. "… my lord?"
She stopped just within his reach, head tilting curiously up at him, her scent washing over him gently— pine and sea salt.
Reaching a careful hand toward his face, she gently cupped his jaw, thumb running over his cheek.
Unable to stop himself, Baelor took a step toward her and leaned into her touch, eyes closing at the familiarity.
There was something about her that brought him great comfort and warmth.
Then suddenly memories seemed to rush toward him in fragmented piece until realisation set in, teary eyes snapping open at the same as she said-
"Baelor, it's me, my love."
Tears fell from Baelor's eyes as he gathered you in his arms, gauntlet covered hands holding your face as he drank you in, touching his forehead to yours.
"How is this possible?" he whispered.
You returned your own watery smile.
Equal parts joyful and sad for you had long awaited this day but never thought it would come so soon.
"I will explain it to you soon, my love but, let us first remove this ill-fitted armour."
-
All fics are my own work - I have not posted my work anywhere else.
Disclaimer: I do not own any characters/places mentioned above.
Pairing/Characters mentioned: Clark Kent x Reader. Hawkgirl. Greenlatern. Mister Terrific. Lex Luthor.
Warnings: Not edited. Tense mix ups. Bad grammar and punctuation. Reader has brown eyes. Small allusion to smut. Some angst. Mostly Fluff. Character death.
Summary: Clark Kent is in love with you and your brown eyes.
Word Count: 3.4k+.
A/N: Sorry if you don't have brown eyes. I also just really like food, clearly lmao. Peep my Stelena heart.
1.
The first thing Clark Kent notices about you the first time you meet on the corner of his favourite coffee shop are your eyes.
Round and blown wide. Doe-like. Brown like the mahogany wood walls of his childhood bedroom back in Kansas and turned golden like the sun when caught under its light. They have the same effect on him too, a gentle energy coursing through him and waking him better than any cup of coffee could.
The feeling is warm and soft, like your skin as your hand grazes his to urgently but carefully dab at his soaked forearm with a fist full of napkins where you had just spilled the contents of your coffee cup.
Not that he cared that you did, cheek dimpling with a small smile pulling at the corner of his lips. If it were another person, Clark might've cared a little more. Might've actually been a bit annoyed about the growing stain on his sleeve given the day hadn't even started but, one look into your eyes and Clark felt… home.
It's only when you finally speak though that Clark realises that you were on a completely different wavelength.
"I am so sorry-" you apologise profusely, panicked eyes flitting between where your drink seeps into the cotton material of his white button-up shirt, his face and your hand bag, searching for…something, anything to absorb the growing stain. Napkins already soaked through.
You hadn't seen Clark when you turned the corner, head buried in your work phone as notification after notification came through, the ward team chat already blowing up before the work day had even begun. Something about a mysterious outbreak, ten patients and five staff all down with the illness. The numbers only growing. Your work best friend also messaging you on the side that it apparently originated from the new wing and there was already one fatality. Clinical operations advising several wards were now on contact precautions, including your own and new patients wouldn't be admitted for the next seven days. Any staff feeling unwell should stay ho-.
It was then that you walked straight into Clark with your medium-sized, take-away cup still full to the brim with hot chocolate in hand and spilling all over his left arm. Brown splatters also dotting his torso.
You were familiar with Clark. Had seen him on more than a few occasions at your shared favourite coffee shop. Usually around lunch time. He was impossible to miss amongst the crowd, head towering clear above everyone else. Mammoth figure desperately trying to weave as delicately as possible between people in the packed space when the barista would call 'Clark!' for his order.
"Hey, hey, it's okay," he grins, hand wrapping around yours and halting your efforts then asks. "Hot chocolate?"
You confirm the beverage defensively, removing your hand from his and folding your arms across your chest. Work phone still vibrating annoyingly against it. Too used to the usual mockery that soon followed whenever someone found out your quote unquote coffee order wasn't actually the bitter bean taste of adulthood. It doesn't come though as he rolls his sleeve up instead, exposing his bare forearm to you.
"I thought so," he grins, pushing his glasses back in place that had slid down his nose. "They never make them hot enough to actually burn."
Even if they did make it hot enough to burn, he wouldn't have felt it anyway but, you didn't need to know that.
"Oh-" you answer, surprised. Fingers ghosting over his skin. Damp and a little sticky but otherwise, unscathed.
Clark's breath catches, shaky on the exhale as your hand returns to your side. He blames it on the sudden turn of weather, the sun going behind the clouds and casting a dark shadow over the city. Your eyes darken with it.
"I'm Clark, by the way," he utters and you tell him yours as well.
Despite his reassurances however, your face still remains apologetic as your warm brown eyes meet his cool blue ones.
"I still ruined your shirt," you gesture with a wince to the large stain that you were sure had set. "At least let me pay to get it dry cleaned or- no. Just let me pay for a new one all together. Please. I really don't think those stains are going to come out."
"Or…" Clark interrupts.
Scurrying for an excuse to see you again. His hands fist in his tailored slacks then release before he shoves them in his pockets to hide the slight tremor in them. Finding the courage to say his next words with a deep breath.
"You could just buy me a coffee… instead. Here. Same time. Tomorrow?"
He pushes nervously at his glasses, unable to meet your gaze as he awaits your answer but, all you say is "oh."
It sends Clark into his own panic, tips of his ears turning pink and quickly spreading down his neck, "or not- I'm sorry. I don't know why I thought that was okay to do."
"N-no, it’s fine. I mean- I would love to," your quick to reassure. "I'm just surprised you'd give me another chance to do that again."
You nod your head to his shirt and just like that, hope returns to Clark with a sigh of relief and another dimpled cheek.
"Also, do you mind if we meet a little earlier? I'm actually running really late for work," you grimace.
-
When you meet him the next day, Clark is already waiting on the corner, two cups in hand.
"Medium hot chocolate," he holds your order out to you.
You accept the take-away cup with a tilt of your head, gaze narrowing suspiciously as you click your tongue with a small, "hm."
"Hm?" Clark repeats with a growing smile.
"I'm not sure if you're aware but, in order for me to pay you back, I actually have to pay," you laugh.
"Yeah," Clark stretches the word cheekily, looking for any excuse to see you again. "Or you can just get the next one, tomorrow."
2.
Fear.
It wasn't an unknown feeling to Clark but rather something he was quite familiar with every time he donned the blue and red suit and transformed into his superhero alter ego. But the fear he felt that day was something entirely different, one that he had never felt before.
Clark's heart hammered in his chest, a cold sweat beading around his collar and across his forehead, body feeling impossibly heated as he moved as quickly and humanly as possible to get to the exit of The Daily Planet without raising suspicion. Jimmy's words still ringing in his ears from earlier when he sprinted through the office like someone had lit a fire underneath him.
"Something's going down at Met Gen, all emergency services are being directed there!"
It wasn't a rumour nor an inside scoop, just plain facts. Shortly confirmed by a parade of sirens tearing through the streets of Metropolis.
Mind moving faster than his hands could, Clark fumbled for his phone from his pocket, almost dropping the device as his thumb pressed down on your name.
It rang out. No answer.
He tried again. No answer.
He tried your work mobile. No answer.
He sent a text message and then another and then he tried your office line. No answer.
Clark's blood ran cold when even that went to voice message, the colour completely drained from his face as his thoughts jumped to the worst possible conclusions despite not yet knowing what had happened.
It only worsened from there when news of what happened had finally reached his ears— Lex Luthor had been using the new wing he donated to the hospital to conduct experiments on metahumans and now they had broken free.
Guy, Michael and Kendra were already at the scene when Clark arrived and with that in mind, he takes a few extra seconds to quickly scan the crowd of evacuated patients, staff and visitors. But, there's no you and Clark feels as though his heart has leaped into his throat.
It takes every ounce of self control for him to dam the flood of anxiety coursing through his body so he can hone his senses in on you until finally he hears your voice. It's faint and shaky but, your voice nonetheless and it’s coming from the hospital basement. X-ray vision revealed you had been trapped in the bowels of the hospital, in a space no bigger than the size of a closet. Boulders of concrete blocking your escape.
Even Clark is surprised by how quickly he gets to you and for you, you're glad it's not a second later, your own anxiety spiking at astronomical levels.
"Thank you," you breathe shakily.
There's a pang in Clark's chest as he keeps his mask in place. Unable to comfort you in the way you need and the way he wants to, doing what he can instead and reaching a hand out for you to take which you do.
You're thankful for his assistance. Otherwise, you were certain your legs would've collapsed beneath you.
"Hold on," Clark tells you quietly, trying to keep a hold on his own breathing. Not wanting to appear as affected as he felt.
Placing your arm around his neck, Clark swoops your legs from underneath you, other hand supporting your back and flying you out of the basement.
When he places you down with the rest of the safely evacuated, Clark feels like he can finally breathe again.
"Shit," you utter, just as he turns to join the others in rounding up the metahumans running riot.
"Is everything alright?"
He's back at your side in an instant. Fear spiking again that maybe you were hurt. You stare at him oddly for a second then shake your head and Clark wants for nothing more than to be able to understand what was going on in your head at that moment.
"My- uh necklace," you hold up the thin, gold chain with one hand. The two pendants that usually hung from it resting in your other. "It must've broken during everything. Not that it matters. I'm sorry. I know you have more important things to worry about."
You know he does, technically but, still Superman's parting words to you is the name of a jewellery shop to get the delicate piece repaired.
-
That was almost two weeks ago.
Now? Now Clark had an entirely different type of fear creeping up his neck.
You had never looked at him the way you were now. Cold coffee eyes, blank and almost black staring back at him. It leaves a bitter taste in his mouth that he wants desperately to wash out. He never intended for you to find out about him being Superman like this. He was always going to tell you himself. He was just waiting for the right moment.
He takes a step toward you and you take a step back, head turning away from him and his face crumples.
You open your mouth to say something but close it just as fast, head tilting slightly as you stare at a spot beside his slipper-clad foot.
This wouldn't have happened if he had just kept his mouth shut when he saw the necklace sitting pretty around your neck again. Or if he just complimented the chain instead of asking if you had gotten it fixed at the place he had told you about, completely forgetting that that recommendation had come from Superman, not Clark and now it was all out in the open.
"I… cried in your arms that night," you finally say with a humourless laugh.
He winces at the sound, gaze landing on the way your nails dig into the palm of your hands. He wants to take your hand and smooth it between his but, he also doesn't want you to push him away again.
"I told you everything that had happened and... you knew? But… didn't say anything? I don't understand."
"I was going to-"
"You don't trust me?" you cut him off, finally meeting his gaze again.
It's a glass of cold water in his face. You're not angry, you're hurt.
"I mean I guess get it," you mumble, looking away from him again.
You're not listening to him, too caught up in your own head and this time Clark doesn't care if you push him away, he needs you to hear him. Crowding your space, he cups your face between his hands, thumbs brushing across your cheeks so you have to look at him.
"I trust you. I trust you so much and I was going to tell you. Had a whole thing planned out but…"
"But?"
Clark sighs, hands sliding down your arms, fingers fidgeting with your own and now, he's the one who can't meet your gaze.
"But you figured it out on your own because you're like, the smartest person I've ever met and I should've known that you would have and I'm just this awful jerk who played dumb when his best friend had a panic attack in the middle of his living room. A jerk who's just really really sorry that he did that. And really sorry that he didn't tell you sooner."
The silence is deafening under the white light of your small kitchen. It suffocates the space between the two of you and when you continue to not say anything, Clark takes that as his queue to leave.
"You don't- " you start, grabbing hold of his hand. "You don't have to apologise for not telling me sooner. It's enough to know that you were going to tell me eventually. Am I hurt? Yeah, obviously. But, I get it and I'll get over it. And besides, if I'm being completely honest, I kinda clocked that it was you that day anyway."
"No, you didn't," Clark scoffs, folding his arms defensively across his chest.
"Yeah, yeah," you nod. "I definitely did. You did that thing-"
"What thing?"
"That thing you do where your voice goes really high when you're like nervous or anxious or frustrated-"
"I did not!"
"Yeah, you definitely did," you nod, walking back toward the living room, Clark stomping after you as you call over your shoulder. "You were like iS EVeryTHing alRIGHT?."
"I do not sound like that!" his voice pitching high again.
"If you say so," you grin at him, wide and tender as you throw yourself backwards onto your couch. Cold-coffee eyes turned warm hot chocolate that had spilled over and into his heart.
3.
It's 18 months, 3 weeks and 3 days later from the day that Clark met you that he gets to wake up to your sleeping face for the first time in your new home and hopefully, for the rest of his life.
It was a year of getting to know each other and just being friends.
Your first morning coffee meet up as he walked you to Met Gen turned into a ritual as the two of you realised you got along like a house on fire, soon melting into lunch break meet ups a couple of times a week on top of that. At the time, you couldn't quite put your finger on how he managed to reach the hospital so quickly considering your lunches started at the same time but he always managed to be out the front on time, every time without fail. You eventually found out how just shy of a year of knowing him with the revelation of his superhero alter ego. At some point along the way, you met his friends and he met yours. He also accidentally met your parents who were visiting from Gotham and later on he took you to his childhood home to meet his parents.
It’s 12 months and 2 days later from the day that he met you that Clark finds the courage to finally ask you out on a date.
"Dinner?" you repeated, back turned toward him as you put another slice of bread in the toaster. "Course I will, why wouldn't I?"
Clark's brows pulled inward, confused by your response as his eyes drifted to stare at nothing, head tilted slightly. Why wouldn't you? Because of the off chance that maybe you don't like him the way he likes you. Had you heard him correctly?
"What?" you asked, taking your spot across from him and immediately noticing the look on his face.
"You'll go to dinner with me?" Clark states but, it sounds more like a question, his eyes slowly drifting from the spot on the wall to meet your eyes.
This time it's your turn to look at him confused.
"Yes… obviously. I mean, we're technically having dinner right now. Well-" you quickly cut yourself off with a short laugh. "Breakfast, but it's still dinner. So what's the difference between now and then?"
Clark makes a sound in the back of his throat. The true meaning of his actual question had gone completely over your head. But, he quickly sits up to make his intentions clear. Back straight and serious-looking. Not feeling nearly as confident as he hoped he looked.
"I mean dinner like-"
"A date?" you finish. "Yeah, I got that, Kent. The answer's still yes," you laugh, eyes crinkling in the corner.
-
"You're staring," you mumble, eyes still closed.
The two of you lay on your sides, facing each other. Clark wide awake and you? Only just waking up, eyes still closed and Clark's cheeks are already dimpling deeply.
Taking your hand tucked beneath your chin, he places it over his shoulder so he can press your body closer to his with a palm flat against your naked back.
"I'm admiring," he disagrees, peppering a trail of kisses along the curve of your neck. "It's romantic."
"It's a little stalker-ish," you pull yourself closer to him, nails scratching along the tops of his shoulder blades.
"Good. I'm obsessed with you," Clark groans, hand sliding down to your leg and hitching it over his hip. You feel him hard and heavy against your heat.
"It's creepy," you snort.
"I don't care," Clark scoffs, finally pressing his lips to yours.
"Morning breath," you mumble against his lips, self-conscious and trying to pull away but, instead he rolls you onto your back, settling himself between your legs to deepen the kiss.
"I don't care," he repeats.
When he pulls back with another groan, it's done so reluctantly to the sound of your phone alarm going off. You'd forgotten to turn it off for the week, the two of you taking time off to move yourselves into your new apartment properly and settle.
"Whoops," you squeak.
Clark reaches for your phone on your side of the bed, silencing it with a flick of his finger and tossing the phone to the far side of the bed. Slotting himself back in place, your warm, honey brown eyes look up at him. Sweet like the sticky substance you stir into your tea instead of sugar as you lean up to press a soft kiss to his jawline. He'd happily drown in the depths of you if you let him.
4.
It had been five years.
Five years of Clark living, breathing, loving you. Five years of you being his first good morning and last goodnight and every i love you in between.
Five years of waking up to your eyes, the same warm and soft feeling fluttering in his chest every time that you looked at him, like it was the first time all over again every time.
Six and a half years later and Clark still remembered the first time your gaze met his. Mahogany brown like the wooden walls of his childhood bedroom. In you, he saw home. In you he saw his entire world in the depths of your gaze. In you, he had made his home and you, in him. Wherever you were was where he wanted to be. But here… Clark's fingers press into the fresh soil. You had gone somewhere, he couldn't follow.
Gathering a fist full of the earth in his hand, Clark runs it through his fingers. Earthy brown, like the colour of your eyes, roots soon to be wrapping around you in a way that Clark would never be able to again.
"I'm so glad you were late to work that day," he tells you softly in between the harsh city sounds.
Clark had seen every shade of you and loved every single one of them just as deeply as the next. Hell, he still remembered the exact shade of golden your eyes turned when they caught under the rising sun that first day he met you.
He just never thought the sun would set so soon.
-
All fics are my own work - I have not posted my work anywhere else.
Disclaimer: I do not own any characters/places mentioned above.
Omg that’s so crazy! When i read the fic i was thinking that they’re the sort of scrubs Dangerfield would sell! I’m a Australian goth tbh, so of course that’s where my mind went lmao
Much love to my fellow aussie abbot lover 💖
You thought right! I was hoping someone would recognise them hahaha I love Dangerfield and I’ve bought quite a few pieces from there that I absolutely wear to work (bet your ass I’m walking around the hospital in my green jester tartan pants).
Aaah always love coming across someone from Australia as well. Much love to you too!!
warnings: alcohol consumption. suggestive. not edited.
summary: you check in with jack about your attire.
word count: 800+.
a/n: hehehe. had a bout of inspiration.
related to this.
Streaks of colour dance around the darkened space, the strobed lights moving in time with the beat of the music and painting the bodies of club-goers in technicolor. Wisps of smoke permeate the air, the heavy bass of the deafening music that blares through the club speakers shaking the very foundation of the obscure club and rattling your bones; club-goers shouting in one anothers ear in a strained effort to communicate over the music.
You don’t have to worry about that though as you make your way up the familiar spiral staircase and over to the private booth that you and your colleagues always hired for the night. The deafening music becomes nothing more than a muffled blur as you slide into the booth and take your place beside John.
The first time you came out with everyone - Parker, John, Frank, Cassie, Trinity, Dennis, Victoria (also her first time since becoming legal to drink), Princess, Heather (on the odd occasion), Mateo, Jesse, Kim and a few others - was an experience. You knew the ER crew liked to let loose but, you hadn’t realised just how loose they could get until that night. Not that you were complaining. You were right there with all of them. Working in the ER was not for the faint-hearted and now, you looked forward to the occasion whenever it came around.
You had arrived about an hour after everyone else, having gone to dinner with an old friend of yours who was visiting from out of state for work before joining them. You had pre-gamed some at dinner and would’ve been on time but, you had gone back home to change your outfit and when greetings from your colleagues poured in accompanied by hooting and hollering at your little black number, you had no regrets about being an hour late.
The dress itself was nothing extravagant, a little black backless dress that stopped high up your thigh with a plunging neckline. It did exactly what you wanted and left little to the imagination. You felt sexy and the compliments you were receiving from different women as you waded through the crowd earlier, only encouraged your already growing confidence that alcohol had already been fueling.
The usual suspects were all out tonight with a few additions and you have to stop your jaw from dropping when your eyes land on one Dr. Michael Robinavitch.
You glance at John, the newly appointed senior attending physician sipping at a Planter’s Punch through a candy-pink striped straw. Before you can say anything, he’s already nodding his head and saying, “I know right.”
A laugh bubbles out of you and you loop your arm through his and apologise for being late. He pats your head and dismisses the apology. Parker isn’t as forgiving though.
“You know what that means,” your best friend smirks and pushes three tequila shots toward you. “Time to play catch up.”
Robby winces and Victoria’s eyes widen comically. Mateo laughs at her reaction, casually throwing an arm around her shoulder that you were sure was about to send her into a coma as the others begin to chant “Shot! Shot! Shot!”
You forgo the salt and swallow all three down in quick succession, the clear liquid burning down your throat and when a lime is offered to you, you wave that away as well. You never bothered with the salt and lime tradition when it came to tequila and you weren't about to start now.
Warmth settles in the pit of your stomach, a euphoric feeling moving through you and you lean against the back of the seat with a smile on your face. Princess laughs at the blissed out expression on your face and you give her the middle finger that sends her into another fit of laughter.
“Okay, next round of shots is on me,” you announce and stand from the table.
The tequila puts an extra pep in your step as you expertly weave your way through the several bodies to get to the bar. Your footsteps slowing when you recognise a familiar figure already there.
“Dr Abbot,” you call his name.
Surprise briefly colours your features when he begins to turn to the sound of your voice. You didn’t think he had heard you so, when his eyes meet yours, you're quick to fix your expression– a sly grin pulling at your lips when his gaze momentarily drops. There was far too much alcohol in your system.
You tilt your head, boldly stepping toward him, “I didn’t know you and Dr Robby were going to be here tonight.”
Jack places a warm hand against your side, his firm grip halting your movement.
“We come on occasion,” he tells you, air thick with tension as he holds you in place.
You narrow your eyes at him, waiting for his next move. The two of you were toeing a very dangerous line and when his hand slides around to your exposed back, there’s no going back.
Letting you crowd him against the bar, you lean in closer and tell him, “If I had known… well, I hope my attire is to your liking, it’s plain coloured… black, just like you said.”
Jack smirks, fingers drawing patterns on your skin. That same glint in his eye that you saw that night in the tearoom, “and if I still think it’s not up to code?”
You pretend to think about it for a second, your hand trailing feather-light up his arm, his leg slotting itself between your thighs, “guess I’ll have to take it off for you then.”
-
All fics are my own work - I have not posted my work anywhere else.
Disclaimer: I do not own any characters/places mentioned above.
Summary: Love and work shouldn’t always mix (this is a very poor description but, I’m not good with them).
Warnings: implied medical malpractice (prevented). not edited. spelling, grammar, punctuation, tense mistakes. age gap.
Word Count: 500+
A/N: idk I just like to think up elaborate stories in my head and then write a short blurb from/about it with zero other context lmao
Jack Abbot does not crack. He does not lose his cool, he does not yell. He is patient, precise, controlled, warm. The calm that contains the chaos and the Captain who steers his crew out of the storm and to safety. But, he thinks today might just be the day that that changes.
His jaw sets tightly as he watches you, his R3, mess up again and, it’s not for the second time, not even the third.
He overlooked the first few mistakes because they hadn’t caused any harm. Called multiple patients by the wrong name? That’s okay, it happens all the time. The ER is so busy. Forgetting to don the appropriate PPE? One of the nurses is at your side with a gown. Charting in the wrong patient file? Uncharted and charted in the correct patient file. Incorrect handover? No worries, the bedside nurse prompts you, tells you that doesn’t sound right and you correct yourself.
Clinicians make mistakes and forget things all the time. There’s little room for error in medicine but it does happen. Jack knows that so, your mistake making is not what’s getting to him. No. It’s your indifference to them. The faraway look in your eyes and the nonchalant shrug of your shoulders as you correct yourself and carry on as if you did nothing wrong but, when you take out the incorrect medication for the patient, it’s the last straw for Jack.
He knows he should’ve pulled you up sooner, spoken to you earlier, probably should’ve sent you home before you got the chance to do something as grave as what you were about to do. But he didn’t do any of those things because you’ve been his blindspot since the first day he worked with you.
He supposes that’s what happens when you fall in love with your colleague. So blinded, he didn’t see the break up coming until it had already happened.
But he can’t think about that right now. Can’t allow it to cloud his judgement. He’s not your ex-lover in the ED, he’s your senior attending physician.
He’s your boss.
His rough hand clamps firmly over yours, your confused eyes sling shotting to meet his, his steely gaze and ironclad grip holding you in place as a muscle in his tense jaw jumps.
“I think it’s time you went for your break,” he tells you through gritted teeth.
You scoff and try to pull your hand from his, “I already did.”
Jack’s hold doesn’t budge, his hand squeezing tighter around yours as he yanks you toward him. It’s the closest he’s been to you for weeks but for all the wrong reasons. Still, he wants to ask if you’re okay, brush the stray hair that lingers over your right eye behind your ear— then he remembers what you’ve almost done. So, instead he pries your hand open and shows you the label of the medication you had in hand.
“As your chief attending, I am ordering you to take your break and reset yourself before you do something you can’t take back,” he says, voice practically a hiss, barely contained.
Your eyes glance at the label, a flash of recognition as you recall the listed allergies in the patients file— one of which was now in Jack’s hand, pried out of yours before you could administer it. But, your reaction is nothing more than a short, sharp intake of breath and a glazed over look in your eyes as you nod stiffly and follow his instruction, leaving Jack alone in the secure room.
Jack swallows thickly, hands shaking as taps the necessary buttons, places it back and tries not to think about how many other mistakes of yours he may have overlooked because he had been blinded by your love.
The thought doesn’t linger long though, chaos following your departure when Jack gets back out onto the floor and he’s thankful for it. The sudden rush puts him at ease and takes his mind off of all things related to you as multiple patients are stretchered in following a multi-vehicle collision.
Jack works diligently, not letting up once as he works through stabilising the seven passengers with the rest of his team. It’s just as two hours ticks over that Jack finally allows himself to breathe as the seventh and final passenger stabilises.
A sense of calm rolls over the ward again and Jack breathes a sigh of relief as he bins his PPE. It’s in that moment though, does he realise you still haven’t returned and he tenses up all over again. It’s equal parts frustration, worry and regret as he releases a slow, controlled breath, eyes desperately searching the large space for you.
He told you to take a break and now you were nowhere to be found. Today’s the day that facade may just crack.
-
All fics are my own work - I have not posted my work anywhere else.
Disclaimer: I do not own any characters/places mentioned above.
angel sweetheart jack and you, his supposedly mean devil incarnate wife who is also an attending. you’re a great doctor and you have the capacity to be an even greater mentor and it’s not that you’re necessarily mean, you just have little tolerance for incompetency. it also doesn’t help that you have a background in law so, you’re quick with your responses and fast to put people in their place. people love to hate you but, you’re the first person they run to when there’s a particularly difficult family or patient. people don’t understand how you and jack could possibly work out as a couple because you’re the complete opposite of jack who is kind and caring and nurturing. of course, jack doesn’t really see this ‘mean devil incarnate’ side of you because as far as he’s concerned you’re his angel baby who could do no wrong but, when robby approaches him about his concerns about you and getting jack to speak to you about the way you snapped at the interns, jack simply shrugs and says “she’s never told someone off who didn’t deserve it.” robby scoffs in disbelief that jack could be so blind to the way you are and he needed to take the rose-tinted glasses off. jack doesn’t appreciate the tone or the implication. he’s heard the things people have said about you and chooses to ignore it for the sake of you asking him not to act on whatever impulses he has when whispers reach his ears about you but, this time he won’t. “there are no rose-tinted glasses. I knew exactly the type of person my wife was when I married her and I still do— I always have or did you forget it was me who mentored her?”
summary: as you're senior attending, jack has to inform you of your incorrect professional attire.
word count: 1.2k+
a/n: i'm not going to promise a second part because i am really bad at writing those and following through lol. we have quite the colourful and patterned array of scrubs at the hospital i work at. i don’t actually think jack would care that much tbh he’s literally wearing like cargo pants in the first episode lmao.
It had been a relatively slow night. Well… slower in comparison to most nights. You didn’t know whether to be thankful for it or not. On the one hand, you could actually get everything you needed to do done and on time. On the other hand, it was just that– slow. The seconds ticking away at an agonisingly slow pace. Glancing at the time in the bottom right corner of your computer screen, you grimace with a heavy sigh and slump in your seat- 22:56.
You were in for a very long night.
“What’s wrong with you?” Parker asks, strolling up to the nurses station and folding her arms across the counter to look down at you.
You flash her your watch with a tight-lipped smile, the screen coming to life and flashing 22:57 at her.
“Thought it’d at least be three by now but, it’s not even ele-”
Your sentence is interrupted by the sound of your name being called from behind you, on the other side of the nurses station. Swivelling around on your chair, your gaze meets Jack Abbot’s who nods his head for you to follow him. Your eyes widen at the call, heat travelling down your neck as your mind races through every possible wrong thing you could’ve done in the last few nights that might’ve warranted a private talking to by your senior attending.
You come up short, aside from a few rude patients, your first two-and-a-bit shifts at The Pitt had gotten off to a smooth start, especially with your close friend and senior resident, Parker, there to ease you into how things worked at The Pitt. Your gaze meets Parker's, confusion written clear as day all over your face but her expression reflects yours. With a shrug, you save your open documentation and log out of the computer to follow Jack into the empty tea room.
“You’re not in trouble,” is the first thing out of Jack’s mouth when you close the door behind you but it does nothing to put your nerves at ease.
“Doesn’t feel like it,” you tell him, voice shaking a little.
“You’re not, I promise,” he gestures toward the small round table with an easy smile.
You take a seat and he follows suit, taking the chair across from you. Sitting across from him, it’s the first time you’ve properly looked at him– sure, you had been within close proximity of him before but, you were still getting your bearings and could barely focus on the words coming out of his mouth during those times.
Now? It wasn't that hard to see why so many of the staff were falling over their own feet around him. Not only was he good-looking and a great mentor but, from what you had heard, he was incredibly kind as well. If he wasn’t your boss you might’ve been excited at the prospect of meeting him alone in the tea room for a couple of minutes, but he was your boss and anxiety was pricking at your skin.
“So then why’d you call me in here?”
Jack takes a beat, eyebrows momentarily furrowing as he finds the right words to address the situation at hand. He settles on gesturing to your pants and saying, “they need to be plain coloured preferably black or a similarly dark colour.”
You let out a surprised laugh, waiting for Jack to follow suit but, his impassive expression doesn’t falter-
“You’re joking?" you say slowly. “Right?”
“ I… am being very serious,” he tells you with a slight grimace.
At least he had the decency to realise how ridiculous he sounded, you supposed. But, still, you have to force yourself not to roll your eyes and scowl at him. This was not what you were expecting when he called you in here. Maybe to tell you that you had incorrectly documented something or used the wrong abbreviation but, not to be reprimanded about your pants.
“Well,” you tell him stubbornly, crossing your arms defensively. “They are black... technically.”
“Without the cowboy boots and stars,” he tells you flatly.
Your mouth drops open in offence. What was wrong with your cowboy boots and stars? Had he also looked at your dragons from last night and flying fish from the night before with disapproval as well? You run a comforting and protective hand over the material covering your thighs. You didn’t think you were doing anything wrong by wearing them. You had read every rule and policy there was to know about the hospital. Hell, it was all still fresh in your mind considering you were only three days old to the place. The material of the patterned scrub pants were medical-grade and board approved. Did you maybe miss something? You rack your brain but come up short. Even if you did though, you hadn’t taken Jack to be such a stickler for rules considering how you’d heard all the way he had bent them.
“Why?”
“Hey,” he tells you softly with his hands held up in surrender, the senior doctor sensing your frustration. “I don’t make the rules, I just have to enforce them.”
“Well no offence Dr Abbot but, I’ve read just about every rule there is to know about professional attire in this place and it doesn’t say anything against a few patterns,” you tell him dryly. “Plain and dark coloured, preferably black is recommended but, it isn't a policy.”
Something dark flashes in Jack’s eyes at your answer and you might’ve missed it if you hadn’t been watching him so carefully but, it’s gone as quickly as it arrived. It stirs something in you and you sit a little straighter in your seat, the air shifting in a way that was unexpected but, you say nothing, do nothing.
Silence settles in the space between the two of you, Jack carefully regarding you which you meet with raised brows and a smile pulling at the corner of your lips. He narrows his eyes at you– you got him and he confirms as much with a nod of his head.
Pressing your hands against the table, you push off slightly, “if that’s all Dr Abbot, I need to get back to charting for Myrna.”
Jack dismisses you with another nod of his head, watching you and your cowboy boots and star adorned legs walking out of the small room.
The older man remains in the tea room for a little while longer. Jack liked to think that he could usually get a good read on people from his first meeting with them. Hell, once upon a time it was a part of his job to be able to read people because one wrong judgement and it would all go to shit. But, now there was you.
Your third shift working under him and he thought he had you figured out. New to The Pitt and to the city, best friends and roommates with Parker, R3, not married from the lack of a wedding band and no boyfriend either, no kids, never the first person to answer a question despite knowing the answer, quietly confident in your work but, here's where he got you wrong- he thought you were obedient, shy, quiet- to be frank boring but, that insolent little smile you gave him and the way you defended yourself only moments ago told him everything he needed to know to know that you were not.
There's a strange stirring in the pit of his stomach and Jack has to clear his throat and stand, knuckles white from the hold he has on the back of the chair as he adjusts his pants and pushes the chair in.
Jack didn't like to play favourites but, he thinks you just became his and some.
-
All fics are my own work - I have not posted my work anywhere else.
Disclaimer: I do not own any characters/places mentioned above.
Jack Abbot’s the type to always be listening to you even when you’re just talking to yourself but especially when you’re annoyed and muttering to yourself as you’re coming out of the bathroom, your eyes fixed on your nails. They’re grown out and chipping and desperately need to be done but it’s getting expensive to be getting your nails + lashes and eyebrows done.
Not only is Jack going to insist on paying (which you refuse but then settle on him paying half) but unbeknownst to you, he’s now on a mission to spend his free time learning how to do all three so you don’t have to go out and waste money getting them done at the salon.
Turns out it’s a walk in the park for him to learn and he ends up enjoying his new found hobbies— he’s a meticulous and precise and creative person and they’re hobbies that require attention to detail. “Keeps me sharp,” he utters one day while doing your lashes— his magnifying glasses with LED lights perched on his nose. Before you know it, he’s coming to you about experimenting with different lengths, thickness, designs, styles, methods etc to improve his skills.
Your friends soon hound you about who the new people are that you’re going to to get your brow, lashes and nails done— you grin and boast that it’s your sweet Jack. They ask if he can do theirs too and when you talk to Jack about it, he refuses without explanation.
“I only learnt for you baby,” he murmurs one day, brush painting pretty patterns on your nails.
A couple years later, you come home to Jack sitting at the station he has set up for doing your nails. The sight leaves you shocked and utterly confused because he’s never done anyone else’s nails but yours. You can’t deny the little green monster that’s threatening to rear its ugly head until you walk further into the house and see it’s your toddler sitting across from him with half her nails painted a pretty powder pink and Jack starting on her other hand. You decide then and there that you want more babies and you’ve never been more glad that Jack works night shifts because you get to have him to yourself all day (while your toddlers at pre-school) to do just that— make more babies.
jack abbot would be the type of husband to say he has better things to do than watch trash reality tv and 00’s tv shows like the vampire diaries with his 20-sth year old wife but would constantly proceed to stand behind the couch for all 40minutes of the episode with his arms folded across his chest, hyper-focused and mouthing off about what a shitty bosun wihan is and how bonnie bennett deserves better.
despite his obvious interest, he still denies it so, you keep watching them without him (unbeknownst to him) until, one day when he wakes up after another gruelling 12 hour night shift to you watching in bed beside him and tyler lockwood has just triggered the werewolf curse and he’s so so offended that you kept watching without him!!! he embraces his love for those shows after that incident and makes you swear not to watch without him or he’ll change the passwords and won’t tell you them (he wouldn’t actually because he doesn’t know how to).
after that, it becomes routine to watch an episode or two, every night or two of TVD and below deck weekly. now you’re working on getting him to do face masks with you— it doesn’t take much convincing to do that though, he’s just happy his girls happy and for the quality time (until your face masking and pushing the headband on his head and he can’t see the tv and johnny is losing his shit!! and harry’s crying and threatening to quit!! then he’s batting your hands away and telling you ‘wait, wait, stop, stop, rewind, rewind — you’re getting in the way, I can’t see what’s happening!’).
summary: a lull in your shift allows for some quiet time with Jack which is suddenly interrupted by the wielding of a knife.
word count: 700+
a/n: not edited or proofread at all!! I wrote this literally in an hour. ho-ho-holy shit it’s been a minute since I’ve posted on here but, I’m back? Sort of?
It was a quiet night in the ER— more so than normal. It almost made you miss the chaos. Almost. Because while the chaos guaranteed your shift went faster, sometimes not even that could compare to the moments hidden in the quiet. When on the rare occasion, during a lull in the night and there were only one or two people in the waiting room, every patient behind the doors sound asleep and all the staff caught up on their work, did it allow you a couple of minutes alone with your husband— the familiar feeling of his solid arms sliding around your waist from behind putting you further at ease.
“Hi,” Jack murmurs against your neck, pressing a kiss to the spot and resting his head on your shoulder.
“Hi,” you whisper back, giving his hand that rests on your middle a squeeze before going back to making your cup of tea.
“Tea?” you offer.
He shakes his head with a pleased sigh, “I’m quite happy with what I have right now.”
Your eyes widen, feeling just how happy he was as he pulled you closer to him— something hard pressing into your lower back.
“I can tell,” you breathe a laugh and turn around in his arms.
Draping your arms around his neck, you reach up to press a soft kiss against his lips, his arms tightening around you and holding you in place to pull you back in for another but you deny him to peer through the small window in the door to make sure no one was coming toward the tea room.
“All clear?” He muses, when your gaze returns to him.
You roll your eyes but, allow him to pull you into another kiss. Slow and tender, his mouth coaxes your own open to snake his tongue into yours. You moan at the feeling of his tongue sliding against yours, arms tightening around him as his hardness presses into your lower stomach—
“Fuck-” you whine, breaking the kiss.
Jack doesn’t let up though, continuing to press hot, wet kisses down your neck, his hands sliding down your body and finding perch on your ass to press you even closer to him—
“Is that a knife in your pocket or are you just that excited to see me?” you tease breathlessly but, your words seem to halt his ministrations.
“What?” you ask, head dipping to meet his gaze and concern lacing your voice at the odd look in his eyes. “Jack, what is it?”
“Uh— actually,” he removes one of his arms from around you to reach into his pocket.
“It uh— it is a knife,” he pull an all black switch blade out and shows it to you. “It’s that one I was telling you about a couple of weeks ago, remember? The one I said I ordered? It was just delivered yesterday. Here-”
You stare at your husband, absolutely bewildered and pressing a hand to your mouth while he shows it off to you, describing its different features and demonstrating them too—
“Oh my god,” you whisper from behind your fingers. The moment was completely shattered and god, if it was anyone else… but, it wasn’t anyone else. It was Jack. Your Jack and you couldn’t deny the way your heart swelled and filled with more love for him than you knew you were capable of as his eyes lit up every time he looked at you or showed you something new on the blade that he should’ve absolutely not been carrying around on him but was anyway. “Oh Jack, baby, you are so lucky I am so in love with you.”
“What? Why?” he questions, brows furrowing in complete oblivion but, you give him a moment to catch on.
“Oh-” he says, mouth forming an ‘o’ to match. “Oh- baby- I’m so sorry-”
“It’s okay,” you hum your amusement, folding the blade up and placing it in the breast pocket of his scrub top.
Leaning back against the counter, you watch as he closes his eyes and grimaces— the corner of your lips twitching as you suppress your smile. A small laugh escaping you a second later as he groans and falls forward into your arms, his head resting on your shoulder as you rub soothing circles into his back.
“If it’s of any consolation, I also was and most definitely still am excited to see you,” Jack mumbles into your neck, pressing his indeed hardened member into you.
You don’t suppress the laughter that bubbles out of you this time, arms wrapping around him as you pepper his reddened cheeks and neck with kisses.
Yeah, you lived for these quiet moments.
-
All fics are my own work - I have not posted my work anywhere else.
Disclaimer: I do not own any characters/places mentioned above.
We need more of all a lie in fact I personally need/want/plead for more of your writing in general. You have such a talent and such an understanding of nuanced tricky relationships and the deep intimate complex pain of the female experience. I feel the pain of your character as I’m reading it I can relate it to some of my own pain or even I just feel it on a level that only women really can. The hunger games is such an excellent movie/book/world for expressing that kind of pain and trauma and stories and I feel like so few people really get it or write about it but you get it. If you ever decided to be a writer professionally just know I and so many other people would be lined up around the block on release day I’d literally read your shopping list you’re so talented. I hope you continue to write as long as you enjoy it and it serves you bc you’re too talented not to. Thank you for writing and being generous enough to share it with us. Some people are natural born writers and some people have to work extra hard and they’re both great but you can tell who falls into which category and you fall into the first. I just wanted to let you know in case nobody has today, I hope your coffees always extra hot and your pillows always cool💗
I’ve sat on this message since the 8th of January when you sent it. I’ve read it and read it again and again contemplating whether or not I should post it or continue to keep it to myself as I have this entire time. But a big part of the reason I’ve kept it to myself is because I keep coming back to it thinking I’ll finally have the words to respond to such a message and over 8 months later, I still don’t. The reason I’m finally sharing it is so, you - whoever you are that sent this message to me, if you are still hanging around my little old blog - know just how much this message has meant to me.
I do want to say that I am sorry you were able to relate to some of the characters pain and I do sincerely hope that you are now in a better place.
I don’t think I will ever the find the words to thank you or to express just how grateful I am for your kind words except to say that truly, deeply, from the bottom of my heart, thank you and, I also hope your coffees are always extra hot, pillow always cool and your heart always find happiness ❤️
Eeek I don’t read much fanfic to begin with and given how much S2 annoyed me, I’ve read almost no HotD fics at all…
EXCEPT for @sylasthegrim’s fics - I’ve recently gone down a rabbit hole of all their Cregan fics and they all absolutely delight me!
I will eventually scour the tags and do some reading. Once I do I’ll post a new fic rec list, hopefully soon! Otherwise, my lovely @holy-minseok is my go to for fic recs! 🫶🏽
