mlm blog

28 | he/they/it | devastated simp | French 🤡

[lakesel]

Requests OPEN* // nsfw CLOSED

*only for Pope Cody

Currently watching : criminal minds

Need to watch : weak hero class, dark, idol I, Alice in borderland s3, titans, wonder fools

Drafts :

Pope - heatwave (?)

Pope - what if

Ask something - Rules

Masterlist TV shows / Movies — Masterlist anime / cartoon — Masterlist games

[igrab]

tagged by @marmolita for a last line written challenge! names redacted since this is a gift

“Excuse me, the sex dungeon?” —’s trying to get past in earnest now, practically plastered to ——’s front as he fumbles behind him for the door latch. “Now that I have to see.”

“There’s no sex dungeon. Forget I said anything.”

tagging @cosmickoshi @4th-make-quail @tabsters @kings-highway and whoooever else!

[tabsters]

“Uh-oh,” Daishou says innocently. “Snake eyes. You lose this round, Bokuto-sama.”

Nobody laughs at him, but still—Koutarou can feel their judgment all the same. And he laughs it off, and Hikari makes a crass joke a couple seconds later that shifts all the attention to her, and nobody even bats an eye at Koutarou’s loss. 

Still—Koutarou is reminded that the one thing he hates more than anything in this world is losing. 

yakuza AU! and now we all collectively boo daishou's presence. @idonsson and anyone else!

[idonsson]

I love the yakuza au, thanks for the tag tabs

“Weirdo.” Rin mutters, looking up into Hiori’s bright eyes. They look so big, like they could swallow him whole.

And Rin would probably let them.

“That makes two of us, don’tcha think?”

“Shut up.”

Hiori laughs again, lighter this time.

“Can’t wait to see how ya hide those hickeys, sweetheart.”

This is the end of my recently posted hiorin fic, I haven't written since I finsihed it

As for the tags @remuswriting (thanks for following me, I got so excited) @sweetangelicdevil (not 100% sure we're mutuals but I like your writing) and anyone else who wants to

[remuswriting]

I'm not counting published fics for this, so this is the last haikyuu wip I've written in. Welcome to idol au because kpop took over my life for real.

Ushijima is always quiet when getting his makeup done. It caused Y/N to originally think he didn’t like him since Ushijima made small talk with the other makeup artists. It was Tendou who told him that the silence meant Ushijima felt comfortable. He didn’t feel like he was forced to be a leader who must remain talkative, because Y/N doesn’t force anyone to talk. He does his job, and he talks if he knows that person enjoys doing that. “It’s why Wakatoshi-san refuses to have a different makeup artist,” Tendou once said as Y/N worked on his makeup for a photoshoot. “He’ll never tell you that, but it’s what he’s told me.”

Tagging @that-bi-bitch-writes because I know you have something fun to put here.

[that-bi-bitch-writes]

i cheated a little. my most recent wip is getting published soon and i don’t want any spoilers so i went into the archives. enjoy a little selection of venus as a boy pt 2

“Great,” Leo said. “Now, let’s hope we don’t die.” “You won’t…Probably” “[Name]!” Leo yelped in surprise “I thought you said you didn’t want to cause trouble?” “Why would I say that?” [Name] scratched his head “I love causing trouble” “Yeah they’re definitely soulmates,” Hazel sighed. “So what’s the plan, genius? Or do we wing it?” “No, I’ve got a plan.” Leo said “Not a great one, but it’s a plan” “That’s my favorite kind” [Name] smirked. “I am the demigod of madness and chaos”

I could tag @inhumanshadows but ik he's tapped out after a couple of collabs. he might have a wip though.

and who knows if @lakesel is even on tumblr. Criminal Minds binge comes first.

so what I am going to say is i tag any of my followers. if you're seeing this and you have a wip you want to share, feel free to rb and/or tag me <3

[lakesel]

I do be on tumblr. During work hours. It’s my home.

You smiled and forced your head out of his grasp to smell his hands, sniffing his palms, wrists, arms, armpits, shoulders, everywhere your nose could go.

Pope had no idea what to do, and he’s pretty sure no normal couple does that.

You continued sniffing him with strong intensity until you became lightheaded from inhaling too fast repetitively.

Taggiiiiing… 🫵🏻 @lem0nshark-writes 🫵🏻 and honestly anyone that wanna share a wip.

[auroracalisto]

☆ day two: jack abbot ☆ — the pitt jack abbot x gn!reader with the following prompt: "I swear to you, if I was smart enough, I'd be in medicine." w/c: 844 words note: reader is a teacher in this fic. a/n: i had a kid slip on a clorox wipe once click here for the original event post. MASTERLIST

The soft grumbles from your impeccably credentialed, supremely skilled husband gets your attention before you even see him walk into the kitchen. Footsteps heavy and laden with the weight of the day, shuffling through the hallway. 

Don't let him hear you say all that, that he's impeccable and supreme—he'd rather chew on rocks than hear those words out of your pretty mouth, especially when he was in such a mood. 

You look over your shoulder, food searing in the pan as he unceremoniously threw himself on a wooden chair, finding your gaze soon after. 

"Hi, baby," he says, a tired smile sent your way. 

You return it. "Hi, handsome. Long day?"

It was one of the few weeks that Jack adapted to day shift, allowing him to be home at a decent time and actually present when you were settling down for the evening. You enjoyed having him around, but you knew it pained him. He lived for night shift. They were his people, his confidants when you weren't in the picture. 

Only a few more days, then he had a week off—after, he'd return to his regularly scheduled life, and you'd return to the steady groove the two of you created. 

"You don't know the half of it," he says, snorting softly. It had been a hell of a time. Little did he want you to feel the brunt of his frustration, so he found some gumption deep within him and held onto it like a buoy in a large expanse of ocean. He ran a hand through his short hair, salt and pepper strands slipping through the cracks between his fingers. "You?"

You shrug. Eventful was a fair assumption.

"One of my kids decided it would be a good idea to try and to walk on a banana peel and actually fell. Nurse Harris had a field day with it."

He snorts softly. "Not bad enough to go to the emergency room, huh?"

"Busted his chin," you say. "I saw him with a bandage, but... It was in the cafeteria, so I only saw it in passing. I don't know much more than that." 

You flip over the food, the aromatic scent of your favorite dish wafting in the air. 

"Testing has been terrible, too," you continue, shoulders tense. "The program completely froze up halfway through the morning so a few of my classes went without their state testing. They'll have to come in another day for it."

"You're kidding," Jack says, leaning his chin against his hand as he watches you, elbow in the table. He likes the wood—it's calming, somewhat, smooth yet rough enough that he stays alert, watching and waiting.

You snort. "God, I wish."

"Just a few more days, though, right?"

"Three more."

"Three more, then we've got a few days to ourselves," Jack says, voice carrying over the sizzle. "You've no idea how ready I am to have you all to myself."

You smile at him over your shoulder. "Oh, yeah?"

"Yeah, baby," he says, pushing himself to stand up. He walks over, pressing a tender kiss to your forehead. "I'm gonna go shower. Should be done when you are," he reasons, nodding to the food. 

You scrunch your nose at him. He kisses the tip of it, grinning. 

"I won't be long. Then you can tell me more about your day."

You roll your eyes. "It's not that interesting. Bunch kids acting like hooligans. I'm telling you what. Sometimes I don't know how I ended up here. I swear to you, if I was smart enough, I'd be in medicine."

It's Jack's turn to snort and roll his eyes. His strong, calloused hands settle on your waist, thumbs gently brushing against your body. 

"You are smart enough. It's why you decided to be a teacher instead of dealing with life or death every day."

"Yeah, yeah," you deflated, waving him off. "Go shower, stinky. You want your usual?"

He hums and kisses your cheek one last time before he nods, smiling all the while. 

"My usual. Sounds good."

Jack walks to the entryway, pausing just before he looks back at you. "And baby?"

You do not look at him, but the way you tilt your head just so your ear is turned to him a bit more tells him all he needs to know. 

"Don't beat yourself up too much. Someone's got to teach these kids how to avoid slipping on banana peels."

"Go shower," you snap, but there's no real bite to your words. 

Jack laughs as he leaves, letting you stay in the kitchen to finish everything up. 

He loves your cooking. He loves teasing you. He especially loves knowing that the two of you were so much alike—both finding ways to give back to your communities, both in public service for the hell of it, because it was what you were made to do. 

His little teacher.

Did that make him your little doctor?

Nah. Maybe big doctor. (Was that too much?)

He'd have to mention that one later.

[lakesel]

i keep seeing really funny gifs of abbott and i can’t help but be a little charmed. minus points for being in the military. extra minus points for being a surgeon. (i think they’re surgeons?)

He is charming. Not a surgeon but an attending physician (idk the difference) (and swat physician too).

It does fits his character, he’s a war veteran so 👎🏻 but it’s not surprising he’s still somewhat in that line of work. But you could argue that after losing a leg he could hate swat/army/marine/whatever stuff related.

His character in Animal Kingdom doesn’t have those negative points though. He only dressed as a military man to steal money on their base. He’s not funny intentionally though and he needs a therapist.

[lakesel]

📢THERE ARE 17 SEASONS OF CRIMINAL MINDS ?!

Jesus fucking Christ

I didn’t even finish Supernatural, how am I supposed to watch it ?

There are soooo many episodes per season too.

[lakesel]

Okay it’s planned.

I’m gonna rewatch the Pitt, then watch the boys s5 AND THEN watch criminal minds.

[lakesel]

📢THERE ARE 17 SEASONS OF CRIMINAL MINDS ?!

Jesus fucking Christ

I didn’t even finish Supernatural, how am I supposed to watch it ?

There are soooo many episodes per season too.

[lakesel]

i still don’t watch the pitt but sometimes i read a fic for them if the summary is good. it’s like playing with your friends dolls even though you have your own and would never buy the same dolls as your friend

i just read a cute one about langdon (?) getting back from rehab (wow) and he has a bisexual awakening when he sees the reader who is an emt and he’s like really bad at flirting but the reader thinks it’s cute and teases him and then they go on a date

I think @inhumanshadows would be interested in it ? Unless he has already read it.

[theeoracle-written]

~𝘿𝘼𝙉𝘾𝙄𝙉' || 𝙋𝙞𝙩𝙩 𝘾𝙧𝙚𝙬 𝙃𝙚𝙖𝙙𝘾𝙖𝙣𝙤𝙣𝙨/𝙁𝙞𝙘𝙡𝙚𝙩𝙨~

Pitt Crew catching their partner dancing when they get home: ((Sorry if some of em are shorter than others, some of em I didn't have a clear thought out idea, but had at least a bit to write about!)) (the order of characters is determined by the order i written them in. )

Characters Mentioned/Written for: Jack Abbot || M. Robby Robinavitch || Trinity Santos || Victoria Javadi || Frank Langdon || Melissa 'Mel' King || Dennis Whitaker

((Most of these are written with Male!reader in mind, but it isn't really specified, so read it how you wanna ig. ))

𝙅𝙖𝙘𝙠 𝘼𝙗𝙗𝙤𝙩

● He came home after an exhausting shift to music blaring at 8AM from your shared apartment. ● He cautiously walked in and saw you truly dancing like no body was watching and just kinda just stood in awe as you do so. ● It takes you a long while to even know he is there. You went to pick up your phone to change the song when in the corner of your eyes you see him just standing there, arms folding and just watching in awe. ● You got scared shitless. ● "Don't stop on my account, I'm enjoying the show," He'd say. ● You got flustered. Beet red. And wanted to hide. ● When asked, he told he was here for a while and that made things much worse. ● He pulled you into a hug as you buried yourself into him, telling you that it's alright. That its nothing to be embarrassed about, and that if he wasn't so exhausted that he might just join up with you next time. ● He does keep his promise.

𝙈𝙞𝙘𝙝𝙖𝙚𝙡 '𝙍𝙤𝙗𝙗𝙮' 𝙍𝙤𝙗𝙞𝙣𝙖𝙫𝙞𝙩𝙘𝙝

● Hearing music from his shared home was not an oddity (seeing as he was an avid music collector), but hearing it at that time of night (almost 9pm) was. ● To be fair, it was low soft music; so you weren't blasting rock & roll or T-Swift or whatever. ● He ended up walking in on you swaying and humming to the music as you prepped food for the both of you. ● He stood there for a moment taking it all in, before clearing his throat to make his presence known. ● Your eyes snapped to him. When you registered who it was, you smiled and a welcomed him back home. ● He proceeds to join you in the kitchen, warping his arms around your waist from behind, burying his head in your neck and swaying together with you to the music. ● It took you both a while to get food made that night, but you both were okay with that.

𝙏𝙧𝙞𝙣𝙞𝙩𝙮 𝙎𝙖𝙣𝙩𝙤𝙨

● Trinity catching you dancing was a whole ordeal. ● She got back home, heard the music and made sure to not make that much of a noise. She assumed you had friends over or were having a party of one; It was the latter. ● You were going at it. Dancing like you were putting on a concert, and what's a concert in this day and age without someone pulling out their camera? ● When you had noticed her, she basically taunted you saying to keep going and that "the video would look good on the 'gram." You can't be blamed for chasing her. ● She was in it to win it, and in this case, to not get caught. You had to full body tackle her to the couch to get the phone from her. ● She laughed at your ridiculousness, but also groaned at the full force you put into taking her down. ● But Trin doesn't lose easy. That shit's in the cloud.

𝙑𝙞𝙘𝙩𝙤𝙧𝙞𝙖 𝙅𝙖𝙫𝙖𝙙𝙞

● When Javadi catches you dancing in that apartment, she watches on with a grin; cause what is more beautiful then watching a person existing like they have no care in the word. ● When you caught her watching and asked her to join, she thank you for the offer, but says that she doesn't know how to dance. ● Despite being a tiktok gally, she never did learn a tiktok dance, but she does enjoy watching them! ● That was your starting point. That is how you got her to dance with you! ● It was silly. There were lots of tripping on your own feet from both of you, but at the end you ended up having fun together.

𝙁𝙧𝙖𝙣𝙠 𝙇𝙖𝙣𝙜𝙙𝙤𝙣

● When Frank came home to you dancing and having the time of your life, how could he not join in? ● He isn't much of a dancer and he knows it. He doesn't think he can move in a way that doesn't seem some semblance of awkward, and so he owns it. ● You had turned around not realizing he was even there, and when you spotted him, he was doing his own thing, dancing to the music waiting for you to spot him as he did with you. ● They were big uncoordinated moves, and they frankly looked silly, but that wasn't the point of them. The moment he realized you were watching him, you both met eyes and just fell into a fit of laughter. ● You later just just danced around each other, grabbing at each others hand moving wilding and sharing in each other's company.

𝙈𝙚𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙨𝙖 '𝙈𝙚𝙡' 𝙆𝙞𝙣𝙜

● When she caught you dancing in the apartment, she was quick to ask what caused this level of unabashed joy simply because she wanted to share in your happiness. When you told her that you just simply felt like dancing, she was confused by happy for you regardless. ● You decided to pull Mel into dancing with you. The movements were awkward and stiff at first, but eventually Mel loosened up. ● The dancing never went further then you holding her hands and moving it back and forth between the both of you, with the occasionally spin or swinging, but you didn't need much. You both were having funny in each other's company.

𝘿𝙚𝙣𝙣𝙞𝙨 𝙒𝙝𝙞𝙩𝙖𝙠𝙚𝙧

● The thing with Dennis catching you dancing is the fact that before the point, you had never did so publicly and unabashedly danced. He'd do so with you when out and about, or sometimes around the apartment when doing chores and whatnot, sometimes just cause, but never caught you doing the same. You were relatively embarrassed about it. ● So when he heard his playlist playing, and saw you dancing your heart out, it brought him unspeakable joy. ● You yelped when you saw him, embarrassed that you have been witnessed. ● He apologized then asked if you'd go on cause he loved seeing you like this. ● You let on that youre too embarrassed to go on, but then he offered to maybe dance with you till that wasn't the case. You wanted to turn him down, but then, the way he asked... you couldn't really say no. ● From simply sway, to moving about each other to spins, you slowly got comfortable him to dance as you'd want, and he was more then happy to share that with you.

images created @/foggymaster on Pinterest

[Request Box | Request Rules] { Pitt Master List | Pic Ficlets } {☕}

[ssa-atlas-alvez]

One of the Pitt characters with a friend (there is a lack of platonic fics I swear) who is a professional MMA fighter. Just hurt/comfort (literally)

I Get Knocked Down (Jack Abbot x Male Reader - Platonic)

Hiya! I hope this is okay!!

Warnings: Mentions of fighting, injury, and blood

Jack was having a normal night shift, filled with the occasional bat shit patient, usual banter with Ellis and Shen, and enough coffee to kill a cow. All in all, pretty good. Shen had even bought him one of his iced coffee

“Thirty year old male, broken nose, swelling over left eye, possible fracture to his orbital socket.” The EMT rattle off, “Pulse is high, possible concussion, ribs are bruised - possibly broken. Internal bleeding unclear.” 

Rushing over, Jack immediately began to assess the injuries he could see, focusing on finding any outwardly injured areas that had not been listed. Until his gaze settled on your face. 

“What the fuck?” 

“Ay, hey man,” You grin up at Jack from the gurney. “What's up?”

“What the fuck happened to your face?”

“Man, the guy was massive. I'm talking massive.” You replied. “Like, a foot taller than you, massive.” 

“You're a fucking idiot,” Jack gave a laugh, clapping your shoulder slightly, “Let’s get you checked out, yeah?”

“You got it doc.” You gave a thumbs up, letting your head fall back against the gurney with a wince. “I got a bit fucked up.” 

“Just a bit.” Jack remarked, “I’ve definitely seen you in worse conditions.”

Huffing a laugh, you gave a groan at the jar that spread through your ribs. “Such a dick,”

“Come on, lets get you stitched up and heading for a CT,” Jack said, clamping his hand over your shoulder. 

You stayed put while they led you into one of the trauma room, Jack listing a bunch of different things he wanted checked. “Jack, Jack, I’m pretty sure I don’t need my bloods taken-”

“Are you the doctor?” 

“No,” 

“Then shut up,” Jack resorted, before turning back to the nurse - Princess, according to her name badge. “I want an MRI too,” 

“Jack for the love of-” 

“(Y/N), shut the fuck up.” 

“Bit harsh.” You grumble, but other than that, you let Jack ramble on. 

“Abbot, multiple car pile up incoming.” A head poked in through the door, Jack sighed.

“Alright,” He turned to Jesse, who was covering a night shift. 

“How do you know Abbot?” 

“We served together for a bit,” You replied, giving a small shrug. “I was eighteen when I enlisted, got put with a bunch of oldies.” 

“I was thirty eight,” 

“And I was eighteen, to me, you were ancient,” You scoffed.

“And you guys kept in contact when you left?” 

You nodded, “Yeah, Jack became the older brother I didn’t want.”

“The feelings mutual.” He snorts, “Now, I would do the sutures myself, but car pileup, so my good intern Whittaker here’ll do it for you, okay?”

“Sounds good doc.” You gave a half salute, grinning when the older rolled his eyes. 

“Get those sutures done and I want you to take him up for scans, okay?” Whittaker nodded, dragging a stool closer to the bed as Jack patted Whittaker’s shoulder and left. 

It was a few hours before Jack reappeared, only mildly covered in blood - which for him, was a good day. “And how’s the patient doing?” 

“Ready and raring to go.” You smiled up at him, “Ready to go and kick that guy’s ass.” 

“Yeah, no fighting for you for at least a month I’m afraid.” 

“That’s just harsh man.” 

“Just get some sleep you fucking idiot.”

[lakesel]

Andrew Pope Cody - Empty house.

Warning : smut, pope receiving everything, no condom, body worship, dick kissing/licking, spit as lube, ass fingering, praise, dacryphilia, cum eating

Genre : nsfw

Synopsis : It’s just the two of you at the Cody’s and you decide to show Pope how much you love him

Reader : male (he/yours)

A/N : I blame this TikTok // haven’t written smut in a long while. Hope it’s not too rusty 😐 // REPOSTING IT BECAUSE IT WASNT APPEARING IN THE TAGS hope this time it does, sorry

You love Pope. Each time your eyes land on him you have to fight yourself to be normal about him. And luckily for you, being in a relationship with him meant being able to do something about it.

Like today.

Everyone was out except for you and him. While you were enjoying the pool, Pope had tasked himself to gather all the hidden guns in the house to clean them to make sure they’d work in case of emergency, placing them all on the table outside, patiently working, organized, focused.

You stayed like this for a while, each enjoying your own occupations until you got bored of the water, preferring to observe your boyfriend instead.

His face was serious, scowling, hands moving with practice on each part of the gun he was cleaning. It was a normal sight, Pope cleaning a gun wasn’t new for you, he cleaned his pretty often. But damn did he look hot. You were losing your mind about it.

You watched him closely, his sight never leaving your eyes before getting out of the pool, drying yourself and walking to him. You wrapped your arms around his shoulders, hands pressed against his chest, and buried your face in his hair, noticing how he froze for a second before continuing his task as if nothing happened.

“What do you want ?” He asked after a beat, and even though his tone seemed annoyed, the rapid thudding of his heart against the palm of your hand told you otherwise. You didn’t mind the tone, though, you could be a menace at times, it was deserved.

“Can’t a man just enjoy holding his boyfriend ?” You replied, and just with the sound of your voice he could tell you were smiling.

“I’m busy.”

“I know. I’m not doing anything, I’m just observing.” And that was true. You watched as he reassembled the gun with ease, quickly verifying everything was at the right place, before putting it aside and swiftly undoing another gun to clean it.

Then, you felt him move to look at you, as if to make sure you weren’t doing something else before focusing back on the weapon in his hands.

“You sure you don’t have any ulterior motives ?”

“Oh, I do, Andrew.” You kissed the top of his head. “But for when you’re done with this.” You said, patting his chest. “If you finish before the others come back, though.”

And with this you pulled away, hands caressing him as you parted. He turned around again to look at you leave. Thinking. Calculating. What did you have in mind ? He watched as you stretched your upper body, muscles moving under your skin before you could disappear inside.

He sat still for a few seconds, debating about joining you now or after he’s done. He decided to focus back on the guns, guessing he’d have a hard time wanting to go back to them after doing what you had planned for him.

Though, despite trying to stay focused on his task, there was a corner in Pope’s brain that couldn’t stop thinking about you, wanting this to be over to go to you as quickly as possible.

You installed yourself in the living room they use to plan their heists, letting yourself fall on the couch, laying down, one arm folded over your face to hide your eyes from the light. You stayed like this for a while, just resting, waiting for Pope to finish.

After some time you heard footsteps, so you moved your arm to watch him walk by with a gun.

“You should come to see where we hide them.” He said. “In case you need a gun someday.”

You had already found a few hiding spots on your own, still you got up, and went to his side to follow him around the house, and once he had placed the last weapon in its hiding spot, you wrapped your arms around him from behind, kissing the back of his neck and pulling him backward with you.

“Have you memorized them all ?” He asked, letting you lead him back to the living room.

“Yeah.” You simply replied, letting the both of you land on the couch.

“It’s important that you know.” He added as you climbed on top of him, cupping his face.

“Andrew, I know.” You replied, kissing his nose. “Inside the garage’s fridge, each bedroom has a gun drawer, every bathroom’s toilet has a gun in a ziploc bag inside, there’s a drawer in the kitchen too, plus the safe in the garage, and the code is 1977.”

He seemed satisfied by your answer, his hands resting by your hips, keeping you close.

“What’s your plan ?” He asked as you pecked his lips.

“Just wanna make you feel good, big boy.” You replied, your fingers now digging in his hair, massaging his scalp. “Love you so much.” You softly added, forehead gently bumping against his.

"Love you, too." Pope moved to rest his head on your shoulder, kissing the crook of your neck.

“Anything else you need to do ?” You asked, giving him the opportunity to walk away if needed.

“No.” The response was quiet, almost lost against your skin. You smiled and gently pulled him away, your hands softly cupping his face, noses touching.

“I want you to do nothing. Okay, Andrew ?” You pecked his lips, before moving to slowly pepper his face with kisses. “Just let me do all the work.” You added softly.

He nodded against you, letting you kiss him like he could break, delicately planting your lips everywhere. Temples, eyebrows, bridge of his nose, his eyes, the corners of his mouth, forehead, between his eyebrows, his dimples, the apple of his cheeks, every inch, every corner of his face. Occasionally you’d go back to his lips, pecking them, allowing him to kiss you back, your hands cupping him gently while his calloused ones held you close, pressing you against him.

You stayed like this for a few minutes, pampering him, taking your time before moving lower, kissing his jaw and throat, burying your face against him, breathing him in. Pope closed his eyes, sighing, head hanging back to give you better access, slowly growing hard under you. You’d nibble his skin, his breath hitching, your warm tongue against his skin made his heart flutter.

You slowly unbuttoned his shirt, lips kissing lower, and you felt him move to completely take it off, allowing you to kiss every inch of him. You traveled randomly, along his collarbones, back to his throat, loving the small noises he makes, back down his shoulders, every freckle being kissed as if you were trying to count them while your warm hands caressed his skin, feeling his muscles move under your palms.

When he started to do the same with you, kissing your shirtless body, you -reluctantly- pushed him to the side so he’d lay on his back with you still on top of him -you were on a mission, it wasn’t about you, but about him-, he pulled you down, capturing your lips. You indulged him gladly before peppering your way back down slowly, jaw, throat, collarbone, chest, belly, and back up, going a bit everywhere without a plan in your head, kissing whatever part of his body you could reach, trying to map him with your mouth.

Pope watched as you kissed him all over, feeling himself heat up under your touch. You weren’t in a hurry, you wanted him to enjoy everything and to truly bask in it. And he was. Pleased sighs leaving his lips, heart hammering in his chest, skin burning with each kiss you gave him.

The lower you went, the harder he became, sighing, and soon, whining, feeling confined in his pants. You focused on his lower abdomen, his happy trail in sight as you unbuckled his belt, removing it, pulling his jeans down, but leaving his boxers in place.

You continued kissing him, loving him all around, lips traveling hazardously closer to the quickly growing tent between his legs without ever touching it. You only stopped to fully remove his annoying jeans, giving you better access to his thick thighs you loved so much, and you went back to work. You kissed them slowly, hands massaging his skin with love and adoration, nibbling them softly only to bite the inside of his right thigh, making him gasp loudly and nearly close his thighs around your head -not that you would’ve minded-. You stared at him from where you were buried, grinning, he looked absolutely delicious, eyes half closed boring into yours, mouth agape to let out pretty little sighs each time you lightly grazed his clothed dick.

Pope grunted when you full on planted a kiss on his tip, shaky curse words escaping him. You continued your ministrations, kissing his shaft through his boxers, caressing him, nudging him with your nose, feeling him throb at the touch. He was tightly gripping the couch, knuckles turning white in opposition to his upper body, a lovely red color.

He hummed desperately when you finally removed his last piece of clothing, his dick standing proudly, freely. Slowly you kissed it, from the hairy base to the tip and back down again, fingers softly caressing his balls.

“Please- just-” He shuddered, craving your touch. He felt like he was going insane. Your lips were on him for so long by now, yet he still craved them, wanting them everywhere without ever stopping.

You gave him a lick, just to catch the bead of precum sliding down his shaft, and Pope let out a low moan, pushing his head further into the couch, cock throbbing.

Your fingers went to your mouth, wetting them as your other hand pushed his legs open, letting you slide your wet fingers behind his heavy sack, gently pushing against his perineum on your way to his tight ring.

As you went back to kissing his thigh, you slowly pushed a finger inside him, making him clench around you, pushing yourself deeper as your teeth bit his soft skin to distract him, making him choke out another gasp.

Pope’s eyes were tightly shut, hands covering his face as if he was trying to regain his composure, without much success. He suddenly felt very aware of the situation he was in. If his brothers or Smurf came back, you wouldn’t notice it until it was too late, finding him naked on the living room couch, dick out with a finger up his ass. Maybe he should’ve told you to use his bedroom instead. Yet, he did nothing to stop you. The more you put your lips on him, the less he cared. Though, he’ll definitely clean the couch once you’re done.

You slowly curled your finger, gently caressing his prostate, weak and pathetic moans leaving his lips.

“Don’t shy away, handsome.” You said, kissing between his thigh and the base of his cock, nibbling, rubbing your cheek against the inside of his thigh.

It took him a few seconds to pull his hands away from his face, grabbing once more the couch instead. You smiled, and thanked him.

“Look at yourself. You’re so pretty.” You mused sweetly. “You’ve always been pretty, but this sight… I could die for it.” He could squeeze you to death with his thighs and you’d still be the happiest man on earth.

Your finger was still moving leisurely, ripping small moan after small moan. And your lips went back to work, kissing your way from his thigh to the base of his dick. You stared at it for a moment, it was an angry red, veins bulging as beads of precum slowly dripped down to pool at the base.

With each curl of your finger, his dick throbbed painfully, wanting nothing more than to be touched. So you obliged. You gave a few slow licks to clean it up before kissing it everywhere, your free hand softly caressing his balls, massaging them.

"Are you enjoying it ?" You asked, adding a second finger, scissoring him open at the same unhurried pace you’ve been using since the beginning.

Pope hummed, nodding quickly, not trusting his voice to answer properly. He was breathing hard, shakily, hands rubbing his face, trying to keep himself sane, tears prickling at his eyes. Moans and whines leaving his lips without stopping, his brain becoming foggy.

You stopped your caresses to gently swat his hands away from his face, gently stroking his body on your way down. He was absolutely delicious.

"No hiding." You reminded softly.

You continued your ministrations, kissing, biting, licking and sucking at the soft flesh of his thighs, and Pope was shaking under you, body tingling all over with each curl of your fingers against his prostate, clenching hard around you.

Kissing the base of his cock, nose buried in his pubes, you added a third finger, watching his expression. He looked completely fucked out, tears gliding down, chest heaving as he started to try to speak. But you couldn’t make out a single word, whining too much, his own moans cutting him off.

“Don’t- ah-”

“You want me to stop ?” You asked quietly, your lips purposely moving against his dick, wanting to taunt him a bit.

He moaned loudly, shaking his head “no”.

“Keep- please ! Don’t stop- ah, please-” He just wanted you to continue forever.

His whole body was burning, his tears wetting his ears, tickling his skin on their way down, his vision blurry as he tried to look at you between his legs and you felt like you might as well explode, the sight being too much for you.

"Fuck, you look so good like this, Andrew. You’re doing so well." You said against his skin and he let out a loud whine when your lips went around his tip, taking him just a bit in your warm mouth. Just to taste him before letting your tongue play with his frenulum, slowly moving down.

Pope’s breathing was ragged, weeping and begging for you to continue, to never stop, to never leave all while your tongue was lapping at the head of his dick, not letting his precum glide down.

"Wish you could see the way I see you. So pretty. So good."

Your fingers never stopped as well, tauntingly rubbing his prostate, his ass clenching around you as if he was trying to stop you from pulling out.

You nibbled at the soft skin of his thigh, making your way to his dick, one hand holding it as you peppered his length with kisses while your fingers kept abusing his insides. He was feeling so good. Waves of pleasure rushing through his body, crashing hard.

"My handsome boy."

With each praise and loving words, Pope could feel himself coming undone, any voices in his head, any walls he had built completely vanishing.

You pulled away to watch him squirm, his back arching, hips bucking into your hand around his cock. You gave a couple strokes, watching his face contorts, thumb caressing him roughly before wrapping your palm around his tip, squeezing and rubbing.

Pope barely had the time to moan your name that he came in your fist, filling your hand till it was oozing out, ass clenching tightly around your fingers. You removed yourself gently, giving the side of his dick one last kiss before looking at your hand covered in cum.

He looked at you with a completely fucked out expression, tears not completely dried, chest heaving, watching you lick your hand clean before kissing your way back to his mouth.

"Love you, love you, love you, love you." You said, punctuated with kisses.

You grinned at him and he sighed, wrapping an arm around you. You stayed close while he slowly gathered himself.

His body suddenly felt so heavy as he sat up.

“We should move.” He said after a beat, rubbing his face. “They’re gonna arrive soon.”

Still laying, one of your hands went to his back, gently caressing his freckled skin.

“Wanna hit the shower ?” You asked with a smile when he looked at you.

"Are you not done ?"

But suddenly you both froze, the sound of a car parking reaching your ears.

“Shit.” You quickly got up, helped Pope grab his clothes and rushed away. You were giggling, visibly amused when you grabbed him to lead him to the bathroom, locking behind yourself right as you heard voices.

You were not done.

[ontheoddoccasioniwritestuff]

Bonk (Jack Abbot x Reader)

Summary: You don't remember hitting your head. You also don't remember marrying such a smokeshow.

AN: I found some old fluff/angst amnesia prompts and adapted one for some whimsy.

Content warning: Reader is gender neutral and absolutely soaring on painkillers, one mention of sex (regardless MINORS DNI)

Masterlist // AO3 Version // Gif Credit

The world entered through a wormhole of tissue paper, emerging through the darkness in blotches and fuzzy shapes. Yet you were able to feel the intensity of your hand being held.

Your head felt like it was stuffed with cotton wool, your doctor’s voice occasionally pushing through the forest of fluff to remind you that you had to keep sipping water. Accepting the straw that materialised in front of your face was easy enough. It led you back to the man sat at your side who was holding it – and your hand still in his other one – for you. You tried to squint at him whilst you drank to abate the overwhelm that came with looking at someone you were half sure was handsome, but catching and keeping the straw between your pursed lips took all your concentration.

“Woah there,” he dabbed a napkin – where did he get a napkin from? – around your mouth.

Ah, you were dribbling, not swallowing.

At some point, he’d placed the cup back on the table. You only realised when he squeezed your hand in both of his, his smile making you weak at the knees. Probably. Your legs felt like you hadn’t moved them in years. His face was in full focus now, and goddamn if it wasn’t the most beautiful one you’d seen.

“Hey.” The “y” was really drawn out by whoever was saying that. They sounded close by.

The stranger’s smile grew bigger, creating lines at his eyes that sweetened the deal, “Hi again.”

You took in the black sweater he was wearing, how cosy it looked around his arms and how you wanted to snuggle into them.

“’M I dreamin’?” said the voice. You looked to your right to catch who it was, but no one else was there, not even the doctor. Where’d she go? Where’d the chatterer go?

“You’re awake,” the stranger answered. He cocked his head to the left; you copied him.

“Cool.” Oh, it was your voice talking. “’Ve we met?”

He chuckled and you would be offended if he didn’t look so damn attractive doing it. The joy echoed clearly out of his throat; your eyes latched onto the dimples that framed his mirth like a painting.

“Yeah, we’ve met,” he confirmed. A corner of his mouth stayed upright in a smirk.

Eh, fuck it.

“Can I buy you a drink?” you slurred.

Your own tongue poked out of your mouth as you watched him wet his lips, his head and shoulders shaking before he replied, “How about I buy you one and you get the next round?”

He ended his proposal with a wink which sent you reeling like he’d spun the world and you on a plate.

“’Kay, charmer,” you smiled goofily at him. If you looked dumb, who cares? No you, you were getting propositioned by a hottie with a body – seriously how’d it taken you so long to notice his arms?

“Be right back.” He kissed your brow, still smiling down at you. Woah, this guy was forward!

In your anaesthetic haze, you went to playfully slap his chest, but he was already out his chair and the room. You would’ve scrunched your body up in on itself to keep the view of his behind in sight, except you were achy still and could barely lift your head off the pillow.

You were left staring at the popcorn tiled ceiling, brightly lit. Stupid interior choice for a flirting hot spot, you’d have to take this guy somewhere else.

“Just checking your-”

“Swee’ Jesus,” you winced in slow motion at the sudden voice.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you,” apologised the voice, now appearing at your side in the form of a nurse by an IV bag. Your gaze trailed down the tubing and frowned when it found a needle plastered to your hand, but you didn’t fight against it.

“What’s’is name?” you pointed vaguely in the direction he’d gone and pouted. How long did it take to get you a damn drink?

“Jack?”

“Ohhh, nooo,” your head lolled back and forth on the pillow, “Not supposed to date a ‘J’ name. ‘S cursed.”

Your nurse tapped the tautly full IV bag (that you were sure was nearly empty a second ago), “Bit late for that. He’s your husband.”

“M’husband?” You gawked, eyelids slipping halfway in shock as all other energy was directed on trying to remember what this man looked like on your wedding day. “I married that?”

The nurse smiled down at you, “Aren’t you lucky?”

“Y’see those biceps?” slipped out your mouth before the idea of being embarrassed could even be conjured from the recesses of your subconscious. “Could bounce a dime off that ass… ‘R a nickel.”

What would be harder to aim? You couldn’t remember their sizes or shapes, so calculating the prime aerodynamics would be tricky. Getting past the number seven of counting the ceiling tiles without getting bored was already threatening you with another round of sleep.

Thank God, the hot guy came back with two drinks in hand. Instantly, this room was better.

“Hey, handsome,” you cooed.

“Well,” he balanced the drinks on a moveable table, “Hello, gorgeous.”

Beaming at him, your head rolled back towards him and you demanded, “Gimme some sugar!”

Hopefully you were pouting. You were telling your lips to pout. If they were listening, that was another thing.

His arms – Christ, his arms were bulging out of that black t-shirt – bracketed you into the bed as he drew closer to you. Each freckle, speck of stubble, line across his skin brightened with clarity. You could happily stare at him for days. Why was he this close again?

Oh yeah, you’d requested a kiss from his pretty mouth.  

No sooner were his lips brushing yours, you collapsed into giggles as if he was tickling you five drinks deep, batting him with all the strength you had. He barely moved.

“Glad to see the meds are working their magic,” What’s-his-face barely moved to leave a prickly kiss on your cheek before he withdrew back to his seat.

A gasp escaped you as you covered where he’d left his affection. The laughter kept spilling out like water from your mouth though. Then your fingertip caught on something on your left hand. Before What’s-his-name could take your hand again, you lifted it in front of your eyes which widened five long seconds later.

“Oh shit! I’m married?” You gawked at the ring. How long had that been there?

“Yeah,” He showed his hand where a ring glinted teasingly at you, “We’re married.”

Jaw slack, you reached a shaky hand out and prodded his ring then yours.

“We’re married?” you said softly, eyes big and beaming.

“Yeah. Two years in a month.”

Before you could feel any embarrassment at forgetting your husband’s name again, you spotted your nurse passing the corridor.

You flinched at the volume you couldn’t control as you bellowed, “Will I be outta here in time to have anniversary sex?”

A low cackling echoed beside you and you frowned at your husband who was hiding his crimson blush in cupped hands. Evidently, your expression conveyed your concern at his lack thereof; he took your hand back in his and kissed your knuckles.

“I’ll take you home tonight if you behave,” he squeezed your fingers gently, “Get some rest?”

A short hum escaped you, suspicious yet complacent, as your pillow seemed to swallow you up. As your eyelids sank shut, you prayed you’d remember his name by the time you woke up – though “hot stuff” would work in the interim.

[of-apollo]

₊⊹ DOWN THE DRAIN !

PAIRING: Jack Abbot x GN!Resident!Reader.

SUMMARY: When Jack scares you and your late night noodles in the break room, making you drop them down the sink, he makes up for it with new noodles and reminders of how amazing you are. Are you both being a little bit too deep for the midnight hour? Yes!

NOTES: Senior resident reader, mild stress + self doubt from reader, super encouraging Jack, comfort without the hurt, so fluff, whatever, very little else to go here, love you, bye.

REQUESTED BY: Anonymous.

NAVIGATION | PITT MASTERLIST | KO-FI

You are running on fumes and noodles. Not metaphorically, not in the romanticised, ‘I’m an overworked doctor’ way people like to joke about. You are literally in this state. Your last proper meal was sometime in the late afternoon, something half-eaten between charts and interruptions, and now it is well past midnight and your stomach is starting to ache in that dull, persistent way that is impossible to ignore.

Night shift does that to you. It stretches time, distorts it, makes everything feel both too fast and too slow at once. You are good at it, though. More than good. You are steady, capable, the kind of senior resident people rely on without having to think twice. You move through the department with an ease that has taken years to build, confidence stitched together from long nights and harder lessons.

You have earned your place here time and time again. That does not mean you remember to eat.

The break room is quiet when you slip in, the hum of the vending machine the only sound cutting through the stillness. It feels almost unreal, this pocket of calm tucked inside the chaos of the emergency department. You close the door behind you with your hip, already reaching for the kettle, your movements automatic, familiar.

You lean back against the counter while you wait, arms crossed loosely, eyes half-lidded as the exhaustion settles heavier in your bones. It is the kind of tired that sits deep, that no amount of caffeine really touches anymore.

Still, you push through. You always do.

The microwave beeps, sharp and abrupt, dragging you back. You straighten, grabbing the cup carefully, peeling back the lid just enough to let the steam escape. The smell hits you, cheap and artificial and somehow still appealing in your current state.

“Gourmet,” you mutter under your breath.

You grab a fork, stirring absently, letting it cool for a moment before you move to the sink to drain some of the water. It is a delicate balance, one you have perfected over time, tipping the cup just enough without losing the noodles entirely.

You do not hear the door open behind you. You do not hear the footsteps. What you do hear is his voice.

“Planning on poisoning yourself or is that intentional?”

You startle so violently that the cup slips straight out of your hands. It happens in slow motion. The tilt. The splash. The unmistakable, tragic sound of your dinner disappearing into the sink. You stare at it. Then at your empty hands. Then back at the sink.

“Are you fucking kidding me, Jack?” you say, your voice somewhere between disbelief and genuine distress.

There is a pause behind you. Then, quiet, riddled with uncharacteristic sheepishness, “That’s my bad.”

You turn slowly. Jack stands just inside the doorway, looking, for once, not entirely composed. There is a flicker of something like guilt in his expression, sharp and unfamiliar against his usual calm detachment.

“You think?” you reply, incredulous. “I had that handled.”

“Yeah, no, you looked like a professional chef.”

“You scared me.”

“You know I didn’t mean to.”

“Well, you did,” you say, gesturing vaguely at the sink. “And now my dinner is gone.”

“Sweetheart, that was barely dinner to begin with”. Jack glances at the sink, then back at you. “You can’t eat that now.”

“Thank you, Jack. I wasn’t planning on scooping it back out.”

Jack huffs, something almost like a quiet laugh, and steps further into the room, letting the door shut gently behind him.

“When did you last eat?” he asks.

You hesitate. It is a simple question. It feels loaded anyway. “I don’t know. Earlier.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“It’s the only one you’re getting.”

Jack studies you for a moment, eyes narrowing slightly, like he is weighing something up. You cross your arms, bracing yourself for a lecture, for something stern and clinical about taking care of yourself, about how you cannot function properly if you are running on nothing.

Instead, he says, “Stay here.”

You blink. “What?”

“Stay,” he repeats, already turning towards the door.

“You’re not my boss,” you call after him.

“I am. Give me five minutes,” he replies over his shoulder, and then he is gone.

You stare at the door. Then at the sink. Then back at the door. “Unbelievable,” you mutter.

You consider leaving. You consider going back out there, throwing yourself into the chaos, ignoring the hollow ache in your stomach and the way your hands feel just slightly less steady than they should.

You do not. You lean back against the counter again, exhaling slowly, letting your head tip back for a second. Five minutes. You can give him five minutes.

It feels longer. Time moves differently when you are waiting, when you are aware of every second passing, when your body is reminding you exactly what it needs and exactly how long you have been ignoring it.

You hear the door before you see him this time. You straighten instinctively, pushing yourself off the counter.

Jack steps back into the room, holding something in his hand. Another cup of noodles. You stare at it. Then at him.

“You didn’t have to do that,” you say, your voice softer now.

“I did,” he replies simply, holding it out to you. “My fault.”

You take it, your fingers brushing his briefly. It is nothing, and it is not nothing all at once.

“Thank you,” you say, quieter still.

Jack nods once, like that is enough, like that settles it.

You move back to the counter, repeating the process, filling it, microwaving it, the routine grounding in a way it had not been before.

This time, when you go to the sink, you are very aware of him standing there. Watching.

“You going to scare me again?” you ask, glancing over your shoulder.

“Not planning on it.”

“Good.”

There is a beat of silence. Then, “You look exhausted.”

You snort softly. “That’s because I am.”

“Yeah.”

You drain the noodles successfully this time, setting them down with a small, satisfied nod. “Progress,” you murmur.

“Proud of you,” he says dryly.

You roll your eyes, but there is a small smile tugging at your mouth as you pick up the fork. You hesitate. Then you glance at him.

“You staying or…?”

Jack leans back against the counter, arms crossing loosely. You do everything in your power to not stare at his scrub shirt hugging his biceps.“I can.”

Something in your chest shifts, subtle and unexpected. “Alright,” you say.

You take a bite. It is still terrible. It has never tasted better.

You do not usually sit still this long.

Even on night shift, even in the rare quiet moments, there is always something pulling at you. A chart to update, a patient to review, a nurse asking for a second opinion. You have built yourself around that constant motion, around being needed, around never quite letting yourself stop long enough to feel how tired you actually are.

Sitting here, in the break room, with a cup of noodles and Jack leaning against the counter like he has nowhere else to be, feels almost unnatural.

“You’re not eating,” he says after a minute.

“I am,” you reply, even though your fork has been hovering halfway to your mouth for longer than you would like to admit.

“You’re thinking.”

“Dangerous habit, I know.”

“Depends what you’re thinking about.”

You take a bite, more to prove a point than anything else, chewing slowly as you consider whether to answer him properly or brush it off. You should brush it off. You do not.

“Next year,” you say instead, your voice quieter now. “Attending.”

He does not react immediately. Of course he doesn’t. “That’s the plan,” he says after a moment.

“It is,” you agree, even though the words feel heavier out loud than they ever have in your head.

You set the cup down, suddenly less interested in the food than you were thirty seconds ago.

“It’s just different, isn’t it?” you continue, your fingers tightening slightly around the edge of the counter. “Being the one everyone looks at for the final call. No buffer. No one to double-check you.”

“You’ve been doing that already,” he replies.

“Not like that.”

“No,” he concedes. “Not officially.”

“That’s what I mean.”

There is a pause, the kind that stretches just enough to make you aware of it. You glance at Jack. He is watching you in that same steady way he always does, like he is taking everything in without making a show of it, like he has already picked apart the parts of your worry you have not even put into words yet.

“You’re good,” he says.

It is simple. It should be reassuring. It is not enough.

“I know I’m good,” you say, a little sharper than you intend. “That’s not the issue.”

“Then what is?”

You exhale, dragging a hand down your face.

“It’s the weight of it,” you admit. “It’s knowing that if I get it wrong, there’s no one else to catch it. It’s mine. Completely.”

Jack nods once, like he understands exactly what you mean. He probably does.

“You will get things wrong,” he says.

You let out a short, humourless laugh. “Wow. That’s comforting.”

“I’m not trying to comfort you.”

“No, I gathered that.”

“I’m just being honest.”

You look at him, something in your chest tightening again, that familiar mix of frustration and something else you cannot quite name.

“Yeah,” you say quietly. “You always are.”

There is no edge to it this time. Just truth.

“You’ll get things wrong,” he repeats, his voice steady, grounded. “Everyone does. The difference is what you do after.”

“And what, I’m just supposed to be okay with that?”

“No.”

“Then what am I supposed to do with it?”

“Learn,” he says simply. “Own it. Fix what you can. Carry the rest.”

The words settle heavily between you. You swallow, your gaze dropping to your hands. “Sounds easy when you say it like that.”

“It’s not.”

“I know.”

Silence creeps in again, softer this time, less uncomfortable, more reflective. You pick at the edge of the noodle cup, your appetite fading under the weight of your thoughts.

“You ever think about leaving?” you ask suddenly.

The question surprises even you. It clearly surprises him too, if the slight shift in his posture is anything to go by.

“No,” he says after a moment.

“Never?”

“No.”

You frown slightly, looking back up at him. “Not even after, like, everything?”

You do not elaborate. You do not need to. Jack’s gaze sharpens slightly, something guarded slipping back into place, a familiar defence.

“This is the job,” he says.

“That’s not what I asked.”

“It’s the same answer.”

You study him for a moment, recognising the wall for what it is. You could push. You do not.

“Fair enough,” you say instead, softer now.

He watches you for a second longer, like he is deciding something. Then, “You thinking about it?” he asks.

You hesitate. “Sometimes,” you admit. “Not seriously. Just when it gets a bit much.”

“It will always get a bit much.”

“Yeah.”

“That’s not going to change somewhere else.”

“I know that too.”

“Then why think about it?”

You shrug slightly, your shoulders feeling heavier than they should. “Because it would be easier,” you say quietly. “Walking away.”

Jack is quiet for a moment. Then he pushes off the counter, stepping closer. Not too close, but more than close enough.

“It would be easier,” he agrees.

You blink, caught off guard by that. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

There is no judgement in it. No disappointment. Just acknowledgement.

“Then why don’t you?” you ask, your voice barely above a whisper now.

Jack looks at you, really looks at you, and for a second the guard drops just enough for you to see what sits underneath it.

“Because it matters,” he says.

The words hit you square in the chest. You swallow hard, something in your throat tightening unexpectedly.

“Yeah,” you echo, softer still. “It does.”

You shift your weight slightly, grounding yourself in the present. Jack is still standing there. Closer than before.

“You’re ready,” he says after a moment.

“For what?”

“For it. Attending.”

You shake your head slightly, a small, disbelieving smile tugging at your mouth. “You make it sound so simple.”

“It’s not simple.”

“Then stop saying it like it is.”

Something in his expression shifts again, softer this time, less guarded. “You want me to lie to you instead?”

“No.”

“Then this is what you get.”

You huff out a quiet breath, somewhere between a laugh and something more fragile. “Great.”

He almost smiles. “You’ll be a good attending,” he says. “I promise.”

It is not the same as before. Not just ‘you’re good’. This is different. More certain. More personal. You feel it.

“Yeah?” you ask, your voice quieter than you expect.

“Yeah.”

There is a pause. You realise, distantly, that you are still holding your fork, that your noodles have gone slightly cold, that none of that seems to matter as much as it did before.

“Thanks,” you say.

Jack nods once. The silence that follows is not empty. It is full of something you are only just starting to understand.

You tell yourself it is just a conversation.

A late-night, slightly too honest, slightly too quiet conversation in a break room that smells faintly of instant noodles and disinfectant. The kind that happens when the shift slows just enough for people to breathe, when the adrenaline dips and something real slips through the cracks.

It does not mean anything more than that. It cannot mean anything more than that.

“You’re not finishing that,” he says, nodding towards your cup.

You glance down, mildly surprised to find it still half full. “I was going to.”

“You weren’t.”

“I might.”

“You won’t.”

You narrow your eyes at him, a flicker of something lighter cutting through the heaviness that had settled between you.

“You’re very confident.”

“I’m very observant.”

“That sounds like the same thing.”

“It’s not.”

You huff out a quiet laugh, picking up the fork again and forcing yourself to take another bite, mostly out of stubbornness.

“Happy?” you ask.

“Ecstatic.”

“You’re impossible.”

“So I’ve been told.”

There is a brief pause, the kind that feels less like silence and more like something settling into place. You set the cup down again, conceding defeat.

“Fine. You win.”

“I usually do.”

“You absolutely do not.”

Jack shrugs slightly, the movement casual, almost dismissive, but there is something softer in his expression now, something that has not quite been there before.

You notice it. Of course you do. You notice everything when it comes to him, even the things you probably should not.

“You heading back out?” you ask, gesturing vaguely towards the door.

“In a minute.”

You nod, even though you are not entirely sure what you are nodding for. You should go too. You both should. There are patients waiting, charts piling up, the constant hum of the department calling you back to reality. Neither of you move.

It is strange, the way time bends around moments like this, stretching just enough to make them feel separate from everything else.

“Do you ever slow down?” he asks suddenly.

You blink, caught off guard. “What?”

“You,” he says, his gaze steady on yours. “Do you ever actually stop, or is this it?”

You consider the question for a moment. It feels more loaded than it should.

“This is kind of the job,” you reply, echoing him from earlier without really meaning to.

“That’s not what I asked.”

You almost smile at that. “No,” you admit after a second. “Not really.”

“Why not?”

You shrug, a small, helpless motion. “Because if I stop, I think about things,” you say lightly.

“And that’s a problem?”

“Usually.”

Jack watches you for a moment, like he is trying to decide how much to push. You brace yourself.

“You don’t have to do that all the time,” he says finally.

“Do what?”

“Run at full speed.”

You let out a quiet breath, something in your chest tightening again. “It’s easier,” you say.

“I know.”

The simplicity of it catches you off guard. “You do?”

“Yeah.”

You study him, really looking this time, at the way he carries himself, at the stillness that sits under his movements, controlled and deliberate in a way that feels learned rather than natural.

“You don’t, though,” you point out. “You’re… you.”

He shakes his head slightly, the corner of his mouth twitching in something almost like amusement. You exhale slowly, your shoulders dropping just a fraction.

“Maybe I’ll figure it out,” you murmur.

“You will.”

There it is again. That certainty. It settles into you in a way that feels both reassuring and dangerous.

You shift your weight slightly, suddenly very aware of how close he is, of the way the space between you has narrowed without either of you acknowledging it.

“Five minutes,” you say, almost to yourself.

“What?”

“Nothing,” you reply quickly, shaking your head.

He does not push. Of course he does not. You glance at the clock on the wall, the numbers blinking back at you like a reminder that this moment has an end, that it always does.

“We should go,” you say, even though you do not move.

“Yeah.”

Jack does not move either. You let out a small, breathless laugh. “This is ridiculous.”

“Probably.”

“People are going to start wondering where we are.”

“They already do that.”

You roll your eyes, but there is no real heat behind it. “Speak for yourself.”

“I am.”

There is a beat of silence. Then, before you can overthink it, before you can talk yourself out of it, you say, “Thank you.”

He looks at you, his expression shifting slightly.

“For what?”

“For the noodles,” you reply, a small smile tugging at your mouth. “And the… everything else.”

You gesture vaguely between the two of you, the conversation, the quiet understanding that has settled in the space. Jack nods once, like he understands exactly what you mean without you having to spell it out.

“You don’t have to thank me for that.”

“I know.”

“Then don’t.”

“I’m going to anyway.”

Something in his expression softens again, just slightly. “Alright,” he says.

You hold his gaze for a second longer than you probably should. It feels like standing on the edge of something. Not falling. Not yet. Just close.

You clear your throat, breaking the moment, stepping back just enough to put some space between you again.

“Come on,” you say, nodding towards the door. “We’ve got patients.”

“Yeah,” Jack agrees.

You move first this time, pushing the door open, the noise of the department rushing back in immediately, loud and relentless and familiar.

You step into it without hesitation. Of course you do. It is what you do.

You glance back once, just briefly. Jack is right behind you. Something settles in your chest, quiet and steady and a little bit new.

The shift is not over. It never really is. Still, as you move back into the chaos, you realise you are not quite as tired as you were before. Not fixed. Not magically better. Just steadier. It is not the noodles, nor is it the break. It is something else entirely. Something you are only just starting to understand.

And, for the first time in a long time, the thought of what comes next does not feel quite so heavy.

— COME AND JOIN MY TAGLISTS !

ALL FICS: @ilocuras24 @the-annoying-fan

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[lakesel]

Andrew Pope Cody - Oranges and apples.

Warning : none, except that your mother is dead in this.

Genre : fluff

Synopsis : you eat oranges, and pope loves to peel them for you.

Reader : male (you/yours)

A/N : saw someone mention pope would pass the orange peel theory and I blacked out

There was one habit you could remember your mom doing, from your early childhood till her death ; she’d eat an orange after dinner, on the couch. Once you all had eaten and went back to your occupations before bed, she’d take the fruit and a paper towel, sit next to your father on the couch with the TV on and eat it after peeling it.

After leaving the house to have your own life, you started doing it too as a way to feel closer to her, and by now, years later, it became a deep rooted habit. Especially after her death.

Pope quickly noticed it, every evening he had shared with you at the Cody’s, you always had at some point an orange in your hands. He eventually grew curious about it, wondering if it was because you hadn’t eaten enough during dinner or if you just really loved oranges. He supposed it was the latter since Smurf cooks in big quantities.

So, he didn’t ask about it.

Instead, before you could even put your hands on an orange, Pope would already be handing one out to you with the peel gone.

You thought it was a one time thing and thanked him, taking the fruit. Maybe he wanted to eat one and changed his mind. Whatever.

But it happened again. And again. Each time you’d eat dinner at the Cody’s, Pope would bring you a peeled orange so you’d eat it here and stay a bit longer.

But while doing so, he also noticed you didn’t eat it directly. You’d sit cross legged on the ground near the pool, beer long forgotten as you focus on your orange, meticulously peeling off the albedo filaments before slowly eating the fruit. After realizing you did that every time, Pope started doing it too so you wouldn’t have to.

Rough calloused fingers quickly peeling the fruit, his attention and focus growing when he starts working on the white strands. And when it’ll seem smooth enough he’ll bring it to you.

You were outside at the table, talking to Craig and Deran when Pope arrived from behind you and placed the orange in front of you.

“Here.” He said before leaving.

“Ah, tha-” You froze in surprise, realizing he had completely peeled it off. Even the annoying small bits.

“Can I have one too ?” Deran asked.

“Get it yourself.” Pope replied before disappearing, making Deran sigh in disbelief.

“He has a favorite, the others can starve.” Craig said with a chuckle, taking a swig of his beer.

“And the favorite is not sharing.” You added with a sneer before grabbing the orange and going after Pope to give him half of it as gratitude.

“Do you have some kind of vitamin deficiency ?” Pope finally asked after eating his half of the fruit.

You stared at him, confused.

“No ?”

Then it clicked.

So, you told him about your mother’s habit that now became yours.

“Oranges aren’t even my favorite fruits. Too tedious.” You added. “Not a fan of orange juice either.”

That had him thinking. If he noticed a habit of Smurf, would he perpetuate it after her death ? He thought about the pie she makes after every job and realized he would probably keep it. But he wouldn’t pick any other of her habits. He doesn’t wanna be like her.

You stayed silent as Pope was calculating before coming back to the present moment, asking you about your mother. So you spent the rest of the evening sharing your memories of her.

In a way, your habit became his. When he eats an orange he peels it meticulously and eats it the same way you do. And when he can’t peel yours, he makes it someone else’s problem.

You had to stay the night at the Cody’s and Pope wasn’t here. You were about to get yourself an orange in the kitchen when Craig came into sight.

“It’s yours, dude.” He said, tossing you a peeled orange.

You caught the fruit and looked at him with a confused expression.

“Did Pope ask you to do it ?”

“Yeah. Can’t you do it ?” He asked, clearly annoyed by it.

“I- I’m trying ? Was about to do it but you threw one at me ?”

“Just- ask him out, man. Don’t wanna peel any more oranges like a maniac.”

“Like a maniac ?” Was it that uncommon to peel off the albedo ?

“Yeah. Took me ages to get it to his liking. Can’t you guys flirt normally ? Seriously.”

You looked at him, no words coming to your mouth.

“I know you’re the first guy he’s ever been into, but it’s just annoying, man.” He added with a sigh.

You raised your eyebrows in surprise. Pope is into you ?

You tried to stay normal about it.

“You know he’d still make you do it.” You finally replied. And it was true, as much as Craig didn’t want to do it again, Pope could be a real pain in the ass and would successfully force him to peel another fucking orange for you.

He stared at you with a tired and unamused look, clearly not in the mood for banter.

“Just fucking ask him out. Okay ?”

“Okay, I will. But you’ll realize soon enough I was right.” You said, leaving the kitchen. “Thanks for the orange, though.”

Later, when Pope came back a couple hours later, he went looking for you. He stopped by the room you were using, watching you take off your clothes to put on sweatpants for the night, staying shirtless. You only noticed him when you put your folded clothes at the edge of the bed.

“Hey.” You smiled, hands on your hips.

“Did he do it ?”

“Uh, Craig ? The orange ? Yeah.” You replied, sitting on the bed.

“Did he peel it ?”

“Yeah.”

“Everything ?”

“Relax.” You chuckled. “Yeah, he did. But I can handle peeling an orange myself.”

He stayed silent, before talking again, refusing to look at you.

“You do it for me.”

You looked at him with a confused look. You don’t remember giving him oranges before he’d ask for one.

“When you give me an apple, you wash it, peel it, cut it, and take the seeds out. But not for my brothers. For them, you just… toss it in their general direction.” He continued.

Oh.

That is true.

“You even take the damaged parts out.” He added.

“I uh, honestly didn’t think you’d notice. I just- I don’t know… I like you. So I thought you’d appreciate it but I didn’t think you’d care much about it.” You replied with a shrug, observing him.

“I do notice, and I uh, care about it.”

It seemed like he wanted to say more, but hesitated, choosing to stay silent, suddenly feeling very awkward, his eyes back on you.

“Do you wanna grab dinner ? Tomorrow or whenever ? As a date.” You asked bluntly, hoping Craig’s earlier words were correct.

Pope seemed surprised, eyes widening as he looked at you.

“I’ve never been with a man before.” He replied.

“It’s the same with a woman. Mostly. Communication. Respect. Affection. Support. Are Deran and Adrian that different from Craig and Nicky or Renn ?”

He stared at you, thinking. So you stood up, walked to him and gently grabbed his hands.

“We will go at your pace. Discuss what you want and expect and we will advise. If you don’t want a date and want to learn even more about me before, we can do that too.”

“No, I want to. It’s just- Are you not scared of me ? Cath was and-”

“No.” You cut him off to not let him spiral and let go of his hands to gently cup his face, thumbs caressing his cheeks. “I’m not afraid of you. I would gladly take you out to all the restaurants in the world. Or simply cut more apples for you if that’s what you prefer.”

Pope leaned into your touch, craving the proximity.

“Let me find a nice restaurant and I’ll take you there, okay Andrew ?” You asked and he nodded.

You gave him a soft smile and pulled him into a hug, gently stroking his back. He rested his head on your shoulder, arms tightly wrapped around you, feeling how warm your body feels against his, how soft your skin is.

“It’ll be great.” You added with a smile.

"Yeah."

[lakesel]

Jack Abbot - Wild cat.

Warning : none

Genre : fluff

Synopsis : You get new neighbors and are invited to their place to meet them along with your other neighbors. Jack had to coax you to go after hearing about it.

Reader : gender neutral (you/yours)

A/N : felt the urge to write for him. Won’t happen again. My first draft was 2k words long. I didn't like it and started all over again. I hated that but it was necessary. I like this version better. New one is 1k9 words long, so shorter but wtv. Hope you like it too. I have a therapist so you do too + you’re Jack’s age. Maybe ooc ? I have no idea. It’s late here so I’m posting this now before I change my mind and decide to delete it forever.

You didn’t know what to do.

You found an invitation in your mailbox coming from your new neighbor, Sandy, the old ones having apparently moved out without a warning. You didn’t care about them leaving, or about new ones coming. But the problem was you weren’t the social type and being bad at social interaction wasn’t helping. When you moved in, you didn’t invite your neighbors to meet them, you didn’t knock at their door to introduce yourself, you did nothing, only meeting them randomly by accident, “as God intended” you’d say.

Jack, as sociable as he could be thanks to his job and “side hobby” needing him to be around people constantly, was a bit like you once he reached home. When he’d go out in his free time, it was mostly to go hiking with you. Your only friends were you colleagues you didn’t see outside of work. The only exceptions were Rose and her husband for you, and Robby for Jack.

So when you went back to your apartment with the card, you wondered about what to do with it. You knew he wouldn’t be particularly interested in going, but it’s what he told you about his therapist you feared. He was like yours, asking both you and Jack to get more friends outside of work. And while you had no problem not listening to your therapist, Jack preferred to do what was suggested.

“To get better you have to listen to the professionals.” You can already hear him say.

Then you had an idea. But you needed the fridge.

The thing is, Jack was in the kitchen, cooking, stopping you from going to the fridge or else he’d see the card instantly. You had to do it discreetly.

So you went to the kitchen, feigning curiosity in what Jack was making, the card hidden in your front pocket. You looked over his shoulder, watching him peel shrimp after shrimp. He briefly glanced at you and you smiled at him. You rested your chin on his shoulder and wrapped your arms loosely around him for a while, enjoying the proximity and trying to act natural. You noticed a pile of chopped mini peppers and halves of cherry tomatoes resting nearby.

“Shrimp Veracruz ?” You asked, and he hummed. “Nice. Need help ?”

And here was your mistake. He glanced back at you before telling you to wash and cook some rice, watching closely as you pulled away to do what was asked. He raised an eyebrow as he observed you with confusion.

“What’s going on ?” He finally asked lightly, trying to not sound too concerned.

You refused to look at him, knowing you’d smile so awkwardly he’d realize you’re trying to hide something. But not looking at him made it even more suspicious. Either way you were fucked.

“Nothing.”

He pursed his lips, visibly not satisfied by your answer. He cleaned his hands, wiped them dry and crossed his arms, fully facing you.

“You hate cooking.” He pointed out. “What’s up ?”

You exhaled slowly.

“I’m bored and want to help you.” You replied, looking in his general direction without meeting his eyes, focusing on rinsing the rice.

He hummed, still not convinced.

“Did you find something in the mail ?”

“No. Uh, nothing. There was nothing.”

“So what’s in your pocket ?”

Shit, did the card move ? You quickly looked down to see… nothing. The card was still well hidden. You slowly looked up at him with an awkward smile, realizing it had been a trap. He approached, visibly pleased, your hands were deep in the wet rice as he dug into your front pocket to pull out the card.

You sighed in defeat. Your last hope was for him to forget about the advice from his therapist and agree to stay home.

Jack chuckled after reading the card’s content, already knowing why you were hiding it.

“What was your plan ?” He asked. “Why did you come here with it ?”

“I wanted to, uh, stick it to the fridge and hope you’d never notice it, and I’d throw it after having conveniently forgotten to tell you about it.”

“And if I see it ?”

You sighed.

“You want to go ?” You asked.

“We have to meet her at some point.”

“Yeah but, Thursday ?”

“It’s right before my shift, but we can still go.”

“Can you… not listen to your therapist just once ?” You squinted your eyes. Were you trying to be a bad influence ? Not really, but just this once, it couldn’t hurt, right ?

“Can’t build bad habits.”

You sighed dramatically, devastated. You were gonna go to hell because of his therapist.

“So we’re going.” You said, emptying the water from the bowl of rice.

He nodded, lips smiling downward.

“You should’ve waited till I was done.” He replied, sticking the card to the fridge with a magnet before approaching you. “Just a bit of patience and it would’ve been perfect."

You sighed, you’d cause your own doom, you knew it.

“Still have to help me cook, though.” He added, pecking your lips.

“Aw.” You grimaced. You really should’ve waited for him to leave the kitchen. You won nothing.

You continued washing the rice until the water was clear and placed it in a pot to cook it.

“We won’t stay too long, though.” He said after a while. It was his way of reassuring you, doing what your therapists advised of you, without going too much out of your comfort zone.

You looked at him with a tired smile.

“Small victories.” He added, focusing back on the shrimps.

The dreadful Thursday arrived quickly, leaving with Jack your apartment at 6pm to go to Sandy’s. You arrived at the same time as the family on the floor above yours, Hugh and Natalie with their teenage daughter Melanie. You remember when she was a baby. God, time flies. You talked a bit with them, well, it was mostly Jack talking and you listening as you entered Sandy’s apartment, her open door letting you realize just how many people had actually been invited.

You looked at Jack with a dejected face, it wasn’t just the people from the building that had been invited, but Sandy’s friends and family as well.

“It’ll be fine. You won’t have to say hi to all of them.” He said, which, despite easing your nerves, did nothing to lessen your growing desire to not be here.

Sandy quickly came to introduce herself, genuinely curious about your group. The more she talked and the more she seemed weirdly familiar to you, until she mentioned her job. You’ve seen her from afar at your job before she left for her current one, so you talked about that for a few minutes. You were interested in it, you swear. But you didn’t know how to convey it. Your mind was blank, having no idea how to keep the discussion afloat, so naturally it died. But Sandy didn’t seem too bothered and continued talking with the others.

Jack gave you a thumbs up, but you didn’t seem satisfied by it. For you, it was another failure.

He tried to incorporate you into the discussions, whether it was with Hugh when Sandy left, or with another neighbor trying to simply chat, but you were painfully awkward.

Short answer, too straightforward, slightly off putting, long silences. You tried to make a few jokes but Jack quickly realized how his gallows humour had bled into yours, and added to your awkward timing, it was a complete disaster of a social interaction. You rapidly understood you needed to shut up and to just listen to the functioning adults.

So you stayed silent, and waited. It reminded you of your younger self. When your parents forced you to come with them to family gatherings or events like this.

You’d feel so out of place, glued to their side, following them like a kicked puppy. You’d only go to the snack table when they go, following their movements, you drink when they do, wanting to seem normal and natural. You got a bit more confident when you became a young adult, filling your plate with food whenever you felt like it. Before going back to your mom, drinking at the same pace as her. Silently listening, waiting till it was an appropriate time to leave.

It never mattered if there were people your age. You didn’t know them. You feared them. So you didn’t approach them.

And at your big age, you were still doing it but with Jack instead of your parents.

“You okay ?” He asked quietly after a while, pulling you out of your thoughts, hand gently pressed between your shoulder blades.

“I hope I never see Jena again." You said, looking at him. "That was a painful discussion. Why didn’t you stop me ?”

“I have to admit it was a bit funny, but I really thought you’d find your way out of it.”

“Do you know how many awkward interactions we had together before actually becoming friends ? Do you not remember ? I drown in my own shit all the time.”

“You sounded absolutely deranged, I admit it. I don’t think Jena’s gonna ask you for eggs anymore.” He replied, looking at her in the crowd and made a fake disappointed grimace.

You sighed, resigned before suddenly looking unbothered.

“Actually that’s a good thing. Never loved sharing eggs. Or food in general.”

Jack smiled, looking at you while remembering the numerous times where you let him eat in your plate, whether it was a simple olive or your favorite dish. Even letting him drink from your bottle during a hike.

You don’t do that with Rose, and she’s been your best friend for longer than you’ve known him. You are categorical about it.

You noticed his stare and looked at him quizzically.

“Nothing.” He said, kissing your forehead before looking around for the potluck table, the only good thing about this event. Surely the food was out by now.

His hand still on your back, Jack led you to the table with various bags of chips laying open alongside several dishes and cakes. Your mood seemed to instantly improve.

You ate and talked together, and you became silent again only when people came to chat. Jack was doing amazingly well, you, less. You had no idea if they were Sandy’s family, friends or simply your neighbors. As soon as their name left their mouth, you had forgotten about it because you were busy thinking of a way to enter the discussion. Something clever, or funny, or profound, or simply a fact everyone agrees on. But your previous failures stopped you from actually trying. You didn’t want the whole building to take you for the kooky lunatic of the neighborhood. Maybe you already were to them. You hoped not.

Then finally you heard the words you thought would never come.

“Wanna go ?” Jack asked. He’s had his fill of social interaction outside of work -and you more than him-, and his shift starting soon gave him a good excuse to leave. You nodded, quickly placing your empty plate and fork on the pile, following him. Luckily you found Sandy on your way out, and you somehow managed to announce your departure in a civilized and non-awkward way. You smiled at her and wished her well before turning away and walking out with a newfound determination, Jack following you.

You walked back to your apartment, you ready to hit the bed and forget about your day and Jack ready to prepare his backpack for his shift. It’s not that he didn’t have fun, but maybe you’re both a bit too old to make new friends. Or maybe your neighbors are not the right target.

“Let’s not do that again.” He said as you let out a loud sigh once inside your place, closing the door.

You smiled at his words. Maybe you didn’t completely lose.

[lakesel]

-THE PITT

Jack Abbot

Wild cat - (fluff)

[writing-mlm]

Something angsty with Abbot

They had something going on in the army (they didn't label it) and it was pretty serious,robby knew about (they were an inseparable trio) and thought they would last forever

Until something happend and the reader didn't leave with them and continued to advace in ranks

They (all 3) meet again in the pitt to find out reader got married and had a child (the reason for the hospital visit ) and treats abbot and robby as just friends like nothing is wrong

You can continue it how you like cause this is getting long

The wounds of our parents (that I refuse to carry over)

Summary: You couldn’t be strong enough for yourself, but you’d be damned if you let your daughter feel the way you did. Pairing: Jack Abbot x Male reader Word Count: 3.4k Tags/warning: reader is married to a woman, sort of implied religious trauma, homophobia, medical talk, sick child, I headcanon Jack was in the Marines, italics is a flashback, wounds physical and emotional, not terribly angsty but still hurt/comfort imo A/n: I changed the prompt a little bc I don’t think Robby was in the military, also. while editing I learned its Abbot not Abbott...

Stolen kisses and secret glances, if that’s how Jack could remember his time in the Marines, he would’ve been a happy man. He’s reminded of you every day, sometimes for better, sometimes for worse. 

He remembers you when he ties his laces in the quick way you taught him, he remembers you when the sun warms his face, he remembers you when the silence of his apartment is so loud against his ears he can't think. He can’t breathe and— fuck he can’t even see anything. Then his phone lights up, a call. 

It reminds him of you again. You would sneak out from your barracks to meet him, a flashlight placed on the floor so you could at least see him a little. It was never much, but it was always enough. 

“My arms are killing me,” You grumble, climbing into his bed. He welcomes you, arms outstretched and a lopsided grin. It’s well past any normal guest time in the barracks, but neither of you cared. 

“No one told you to carry everyone’s bags up the hill,” He laughs as you drop into his open embrace. Immediately, he starts massaging your arms, loving the way you relax instantly. Your head drops onto his chest, sure you’re about to be lulled into a nice sleep.

“I was being nice,” You murmur. “And I was showing off,” 

“For who?” He teases. Cracking an eye open, you laugh into his shirt. Leaning forward, you kiss the underside of his jaw. 

“You,” 

His hands trail up from his neck, settling on his ears as he tries to fill the silence. His phone rings again, and he pulls himself from the memory before answering it. It’s Robby. It’s never you. 

—

Abbot’s driving into work, annoyed that he’d accidentally taken the long route, and now he’s fighting the morning traffic. It’s one of those rare occasions when he was needed for the morning shift. And he couldn’t say no. He’s about ten minutes out, waiting at a red light, when the next song starts up. The guitar strings start, and he inhales slowly, his eyes closing. 

The squad was inside of a tent, passing the time until there was something to do. Thankfully, someone had brought along a speaker, and everyone was taking turns playing music. It eventually turned into a lip-syncing competition and you were up. 

It didn’t take long before the song could start up, two of the guys laugh as they know the song, while Jack leans back. You step into the middle of the tent, using a water bottle as a microphone. You rock with the beat, each guitar string pluck is a new rock. 

“I used to think that I wasn’t fine enough, and I used to think that I wasn’t wild enough. But I won’t waste my time tryna figure out why you playing games, what’s this all about?” Everyone catches as your eyes drift to Jack’s. You continue, fake singing your heart out until you look at Jack again. 

“Oh, love! Never knew what I was missing. But I knew once we start kissin’ I found… love!” Your eyes meet, and you point at him before desperately clutching your chest. 

“Abbot’s blushin’!” One of the men laughs, smacking his arm. Jack shakes his head but doesn’t look away from you, still lip-singing. 

A car honks and he opens his eyes, the light is now green. Another honk. Smacking the wheel, he pushes forward, trying to push the memories backwards. 

It was never a relationship, at least in concrete boyfriend-boyfriend terms. But it was. It fucking was. You’d both said I love you, you both had imagined lives together, you were each other's person, and you were his and he was yours. 

And then Abbot got discharged, and you didn’t. You stayed in the Marines, something had scared you. He knows it. He knows it in his bones. He knows it like he knows the human body. 

“Hey, brother!” Robby gives Abbot a high five as he walks into the ED. Abbot blinked, his body moving on autopilot, he hadn’t realized he was at work already. “Thank you so much,” He’s almost desperate, the ED is more packed than usual. Apparently, an entire school grade had come down with random spouts of dizziness, weird vision, and vomiting. 

“Where am I needed?” He asks, glancing around the room. There are a lot of parents talking outside the on-call rooms with doctors. 

“Uh, room eleven.” Abbot nods and gets himself ready, grabbing Mohan on his way to the room. Mohan has the kids' chart and tells him the basics while he nods, still looking around. She has to leave, though— everyone has one patient. There’s not enough doctors to double up today. 

He glances at the patient's chart and stops for a small laugh, pushing into the on-call room. Jackie Maria (L/n). 

“Is your full name Jack or Jackson?” You asked, it’s the first thing you’d ever said to him. First day at boot camp and that’s what his barrack roommates says to him.

“Jack,” He responds and you nod, carefully setting your bag on your bed. 

“That’s crazy, cause I’ve always wanted to name my kid Jackie. What do you think, would he get bullied?” Jack laughs, shaking his head. He’d never been bullied for the name, and he relays as much to you. “That’s good to know.” Your smile reaches your eyes and you scan him up and down. Your heart flutters a bit and you force yourself to look away. 

You stare at him, your hand in a woman's— your wife’s hand while holding your daughter's head. Jackie. Your daughter, Jackie. She’s clutching a bucket that already has bile inside of it. She’s about twelve. Abbot checks the chart and licks the inside of his mouth. Thirteen. 

You’re in civvies, which checks out because you always hated the uniform. Hated the attention it brought when you were off base. He looks down at your wedding band, it’s simple, a thin silver ring nestled on your finger. It’s old and worn, Abbot guesses it’s older than ten years old. You preferred gold, or at least a darker silver than that. And you always wanted something a little different than the basic silver band. 

For a moment, you relax and smile. It’s the first time you’ve seen him since he left the Marines. The first time in fourteen years that you’ve honestly felt at peace. Well, mostly. Jackie throws up again and you move to rub her back. 

“I’m Doctor Abbot,” He stiffly says, closing the door behind him. He needs to be professional, there’s a sick child he needs to attend to. 

“I’m glad it’s you,” You admit, your voice is more mature than the last time he heard it. There’s a bigger bass to it and he just knows if Jackie was in Little League your voice was drowning out the crowds. He wonders if his voice would’ve done the same. 

“He usually doesn’t like doctors,” Your wife says, a little confused, and Jack nods. He knows this. He’s known this long before she was ever in the picture. 

“Jack,” You whimper, clutching his hand as you hold your bleeding leg. “It’s too high for a tourniquet.” There’s a shudder to your voice that he doesn’t like, a sort of finality that puts his stomach through the ringer. Which is odd, considering you’re on an active battlefield and something explodes in the background. 

“I got you, sweetheart,” He grunts, pulling you into a more covered area. “This is gonna hurt but do you trust me?”

“Hmm,” You nod, eyes closed tight and lips tucked into your mouth. “With my fuckin’ life, baby.”

“We were in the Marines together,” You softly explain and she hums. She’s not delighted to hear that, but she doesn’t show any outward distaste in it either. There’s some history behind that, he has a sneaking suspicion he knows what it’s about. 

“Can you give me a rundown of your symptoms, Jackie?” Abbot asks while putting on a pair of gloves on. Jackie just groans, looking for relief and finds it in you. You smile, rubbing her sweat-soaked forehead. 

“She texted me, she was in science class and was feeling lightheaded. You know diabetes runs in my family so I assumed she was starting to show signs. I told her to eat some of the snacks and drink something. She said it didn’t help. Then she said she was having trouble breathing but she felt better after class. I knew she was having a test, so I assumed it was anxiety.” You hurriedly explain, recounting her day. “And then she had lunch, she called me. She was throwing up and seeing spots. Apparently, other kids were, too.” 

“Were these kids in your science class?” 

“Some,” Jackie croaks. Abbot nods, considering most students have a similar experience, it’s probably something in the science room. 

“I want to have your blood sent in for a tox screen. It could possibly be something in the classroom. It’s sounding a bit like the flu, maybe someone was sick and spread it around the school and then maybe some food poisoning. Did you eat the school lunch?” Jackie nods but she looks at you for support. 

“It’s pizza Friday. She loves it,” You add, watching as Jackie throws up again. “Once you’re done, sit up, bud. Dr. Abbot needs you to be steady.” 

“The mess hall is serving us the good food,” You whisper, staring down at your lobster, mac and cheese, and the good mashed potatoes. “We’re getting shipped off, ain’t we?” 

“Sure are,” Jack laughs. The two of you sit side by side, not even a millimeter of space between the two of you. You drop your head, ready to succumb to your inevitable fate. 

“I would’ve preferred pizza as my final meal.”

Abbot finishes drawing Jackie’s blood and leaves the room for a moment. You watch as the doors close and sigh, knowing what’s about to come and just continue to rub the top of your daughter's head. 

“You never mentioned an Abbot before,” Your wife carefully says, messing with her nails. 

“No, Katy. I didn’t.” You agree. “I also never mentioned Tasso, or Navarro, or Dukarea. Or half of my squad before.” 

“You haven’t,” She stresses. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Looking at her, you lace your fingers together before letting your hands hang between your legs. She shrugs and looks at the door. 

“Your mother did.” She said after a beat had passed. 

“Don't bring her up,” You glare over at her. “Not now, Katy.” 

“She said something about an Abbot who was tempting—“ She doesn’t get to finish before you stop her. 

“Jackie is sick. We are not going to talk about whatever she told you, Katherine.” She pauses but eventually nods. You look at Jackie as she looks between the two of you, you hate being tense around him. You hate having fights around her, or even being slightly angry around her. It’s not a part of you that you want her to experience. 

“I’m going for a smoke,” She pushes herself from the wall as the door opens again and Abbot walks inside. 

“Okay,” You reply, not sparing her a glance. She leaves using the opposite doors, snatching her purse from the chair with an exaggerated huff. 

“I’ve sent your blood for testing. We should know within an hour,” Abbot explains and you nod, looking between him and Jackie. Your stomach twists as you imagine that this was your family. The three of you. 

“Is there something she can have for the pain?” You ask, looking between the two of them. “She’s not good with pain and I know this is a ten for her.” Weakly, Jackie nods. 

“Alright, I’m going to give you an ibuprofen. It’ll help with the nausea and the pain. If, after an hour, you’re still in pain, I’ll switch it up. Does that sound good?”

“Mhmm,” Jackie winces and then starts gagging. You help her sit up, wincing as she throws up again. 

“What if she can’t keep the pill down?” You ask, looking up at him with worry clearly written all over your face. His chest tightens, and he inhales, looking between you and Jackie. As much as he’d hate to admit it, his mind runs blank for a moment. 

“An IV drip is always an option.” Abbot explains once he composes himself. “Would you be okay with that, Jackie?” Your daughter nods and Abbot nods in response. “We’ll get that started as soon as possible.”

“Would you be a step-dad?” Robby whispers, pulling Jack to the side. They’re about to do a shift change and this is how Robby is planning on spending their small overlap together. 

“Depends,” Jack responds, crossing his arms. “Is the kid bad? Is there an affair that causes the step-parent-ness?”

“No, and no,” Robby squints. “I didn’t— I wouldn’t help someone cheat. But this woman I’m seeing has a son, we haven’t met but she wants us to. I wanted your opinion,” Jack nods, imagining himself as a step-parent. It’s hard because he keeps placing his partner as you and not some random person. 

“Yeah,” He nods. “See if you can handle that dynamic. Every step family is different,” In turn, Robby nods before leaving in a rush. Apparently soon meant tonight. 

“Has there been an update with the others?” You ask. “Jackie’s friend, Charlie. She’s here too,” 

“I can certainly ask, what’s her last name?” Turning to Jackie, she inhales. It’s shaky and it looks like it hurts her but she still tries. 

“Hunt.” She replies. 

“Charlie Hunt, got it.” He leaves again and it’s just the two of you now. 

“It’s not drugs, right?” You whisper, looking up from the door. Jackie feverishly shakes her head and you nod, trusting her. Looking back at the door, you inhale. 

A part of you hates that out of all the places you could’ve settled after the Marines, you picked the one place Jack lived and then out of all of the hospitals, this is the one your daughter is being treated at. But another, bigger, part of yourself loves that. Loves that you’re still connected to him after all these years. It’s like a sign. 

The door opens and you see Abbot return with Charlie. Her parents are not there yet, their jobs are hard to leave from what you remember. 

“How you feeling, Char?” You ask, a small smile on your face. 

“Not horrible, Mr. (L/n),” She replies, looking at you before her eyes lock on Jackie. “How’s Jackie?”

“Could be better,” Jackie croaks and Charlie takes the seat you’d been in. She has a small oxygen mask around her neck but it doesn’t seem like she needs it anymore. 

“I’m going to go for a walk,” You tell them to which they nod. Looking Abbot up and down, he calmly follows you into the hallway. 

“A wife,” He whispers. “How long?”

“Um,” Scratching your eyebrow, you shrug. “About fourteen years. Are you… have you gotten married?” For a moment, you look at his hand. Barren, no tan lines to indicate a ring either. 

“No.” He confirms what you already know. “Are you happy?” The pause that follows the silence is all he needs to know. Although he could’ve guessed that already, he’s seen happily married people but you and Katy? That wasn’t a happy marriage. 

“I always said you’d make a great doctor,” 

“You did,” He nods, a breathless chuckle passing by his lips. “I always said you’d be a girl dad.”

“Light of my life,” You smile. “She had a small interest in medicine, which is crazy cause she’s—“ You pause, stopping yourself. Katy walks back in from her smoke break and you blink. “She gets woozy at the sight of blood.” You finish. 

“Has anyone seen Charlie Hunt?”  A doctor calls, standing in front of an empty on-call room. “I have her lab work,”

“She’s in here, Robby!” Abbot calls. “Is (L/n)’s also done?”

“Uh,” He checks his tablet. “Yes- yup,” 

“Alright, let’s go!” That special request to speed up Jackie’s tox screen worked. Which is a first. The four of you head back to the on-call room and Katy enters without knocking. 

“What the fuck?” She shouts and you see Charlie stand up to her full height. Jackie looks between the two of you, shocked, and her heart monitor is beeping faster. She looks at you, and you know, you just know what Katy saw. “Did you know?” She spins to you, finger pointing. But you don’t see her, you don’t hear her. 

You hear the rapid beeping, you see your daughter's fear, and it’s like you’re her. It’s like you’re your father and Katy is your mother and you’re about to repeat a cycle you could never break. 

“Breathe,” Jack forces you out of the rec room and into the dark outside. The party continues inside but you can feel yourself dying. Your life is in the hands of the letter dropped off earlier in the week that you’d refused to open. “What’s wrong?” Your free hand touches the dewy grass as you sit. 

“Sweetheart,” His hand covers yours, blocking the letter from your vision. 

“Someone told my parents,” You manage out. “My mom she’s asking about why her church is whispering about her ‘faggot’ son. They know us-- they know you.” 

“I thought they knew?” 

“No,” Holding both of his hands, you kiss them softly, grounding yourself. “I never told them. That's why I left.”

You never understood why your parents were such a big part of your life, why you let their hate infect you so much. That your fear wasn’t strong enough to stop you from going to the Marines, but it was for telling your parents no. But it’s not stronger than your love for Jackie. 

“Get out,” You tell Katy. 

“Let’s see what your mother has to say about this.” She hums, digging into her purse for her phone. She’s used that line so many times and so many times you’ve given in at the expense of your peace and sanity. 

“Let’s see what Vincent has to say,” She pauses at the door, her eyes filled with pure hatred. She says fine, along with some colorful words and you sigh, joining the now crying Jackie’s side. 

“I’m sorry, honey,” Doctor Robby takes Charlie back to her room while Abbot stands there, unsure of what to do with himself. 

“I didn’t— I’m sorry,” Her cries turn to gagging and you sit her up, letting her vomit into the bowl. 

“Don’t be sorry. I’m sorry for not doing better,” Holding her tight, you shudder, wishing so desperately you’d been your father all those years ago. “Let’s focus on your health first, honey. And then everything else after.” 

“Alright, your tox screen does show levels of carbon monoxide and it is showing signs of food poisoning,” He turns the screen and points to an assortment of letters and numbers that only he understands. 

“Good news is-“ He turns the screen back to him. “It looks like you won’t have any long-term side effects and the nausea should lessen with time. For now, I’m going to start your IV drip and give you an oxygen mask. That’s to help your body filter out the carbon monoxide faster.” She nods, holding your hand tightly. He gently puts the oxygen mask over her and you watch as she takes a deep breath in. 

He nods to the door and you stand up. Jackie reaches for your hand, shaking her hand but you reassure her that you’ll just be outside the door. She lets go and you meet Abbot in the hallway. 

“We have social workers available,” He starts. “If you or Jackie want to talk to someone.”

“I’m definitely getting a therapist for us,” You huff a laugh. “I know divorces can be rough on kids.”

“Divorce?” He asks. 

“That’s who Vincent is. He’s my friend and a divorce lawyer. I can’t let her grow up the way I did,” 

“That’s good,” He smiles an honest smile. 

“I don’t know if you’d be up to it again, but, could I get your number?” You carefully ask. “I know Pittsburgh has that year waiting period but,” You laugh, looking away from him. “It’s been fourteen years and I’ve missed you like a motherfucker.”

[lakesel]

Andrew Pope Cody - Do not abandon me.

Warning : alcohol consumption, death, non sexual nudity

Genre : angst

Synopsis : as death approaches the family, you notice Pope is getting more affectionate, and you hope you’re wrong.

Reader : male (you/yours)

You hoped it was just in your head. You wanted his hugs to last longer simply because he wanted to bask in your love a little bit longer, not because he feared he would die.

But it probably was a bit of both.

It’s not that Pope grew without physical affection, but it almost always had a meaning, a reason to happen. Except when Julia was there. She’d sit next to him by the pool and wrap an arm around him. Just because she wanted to. Smurf’s affection was more calculated. She could be genuine, he was Colin’s son, after all. But Pope never knew when it was genuine and when it was manipulation.

But with you it was different.

You liked to touch him. You liked to be close. And he learned quickly it only had one meaning : “I love you.”.

During slow mornings you’d hug him, chin resting on his shoulder, head tilted against his, arms wrapped lazily around him while he makes breakfast. You’d close your eyes, almost as if you were trying to sleep while standing up. Sometimes, much like you do to your cat -named Plastique-, you smell him, fully sniffing him, like a dog smelling a treat in his pocket. The first time it took him by surprise, head turning to fully look at you.

“What are you doing ?”

“Appreciating you.” You hummed.

He stayed silent for a moment, calculating.

“You’re doing the same thing you do with Plastique.”

“Because I love her, she smells so fucking good. And I love you. You smell like shampoo and my bed. Fucking love that combo.”

He seemed pleased by that answer, especially the idea of smelling like your bed. Comfortable, peaceful, intimate.

When he’s moping, laying on the bed, and you find him, you lay behind him, your hand gently caressing his back, his shoulder, playing with his hair. You try to keep your touches light, not wanting to be overbearing but a simple reminder you were here if he needed you. You waited for him to move. To turn around and face you. And when he does, he finds you smiling softly. He always ends up closing the distance, burying his face against you as if he was trying to disappear in your arms.

After a heist, you’d wrap an arm around him, asking how the job went. Pope doesn’t go into details unless he want to make sure whoever knew they fucked up, if he stays silent, his brothers have no worries about filling you in. Especially if it meant complaining about something. You smile and kiss Pope’s temple, your arm still around his shoulders. You ruffle his hair when you pull away to grab him and yourself a beer. Even as you’re drinking you stay close, sitting next to him, knees bumping, touching.

Sometimes you need to voice your love for him. To make sure he understands how much you care about him. It’s more than a simple “I love you.”. Your hands are on his shoulders, forcing him to face you as you talk. Your tone is serious, sincere. A bit too dramatic. There’s a hint of worry, too. Scared he’d think you’re not that serious. Scared he’d think he’s hard to love. Scared he’d think you don’t mean it. Scared he wouldn’t realize how far you’d go for him. You only pause your rant to gently pluck a peck of dust resting on his face. You continue, hands on his cheeks, desperate eyes boring into his.

But he knows.

Since the day he met you, you slowly sewed your soul to his. Even during his weirdest moments. Sitting on the grass at 3am, a fresh glass of punch Smurf made during the day in hand, Pope howling butt ass naked at the moon. You’re partially zoned out from tiredness, but you don’t mind. You’re comfortable, the nights aren’t cold. Weirdly, it reminds you of your first self-inflicted sleepless nights when you were a kid. Maybe it’s because you really want to sleep but can’t, his howling keeping you awake.

One night you decided to do it too, tossing your clothes away, standing next to him, giving the moon your best howl. You laughed when after some time, you heard Craig howl from his room as well. And soon after you heard yelling, Deran, clearly unhappy to be awoken in the middle of the night for this bullshit.

“Go to fucking sleep !” He yelled, walking out, before stopping and rubbing his face in exhaustion. “What the fuck are you doing with your dicks out ?”

You smiled at him, telling him to join you. He scoffed.

“You need to stop. Keep this shit up and I’ll beat you up. I promise you.”

You laughed while Pope, clearly unbothered, howled again.

It looked like Deran was really trying to control himself, he didn’t want to run after two naked men in the middle of the night to knock some sense into them. He really didn’t. But you howled. As hard as you could, even. And as he quickly approached, you threw your beer at him and grabbed Pope, pulling him with you to run away, laughing. The three of you ended up mutually drowning one another in the pool, until you nearly passed out and had to tap out.

He has learned your love was sincere and endless. He could reach out to you at any time and you would be there.

But after Smurf’s death, and as the family was slowly starting to burn itself, Pope’s physical affection grew more visible.

He’d say there was no reason in particular. He loves you. He just wants to be close. It’s simple.

But you fear there’s something else. They live dangerously, always have, and it never ends well. Julia died. Catherine, despite trying to have a normal life, was killed. Adrian had to flee the country. Baz was killed. Lena was taken. Smurf was killed. And Renn had to leave the country with Nick, fearing for their safety. It was only a matter of time for it to touch Pope too.

Then, he was arrested. You had no idea what to do, especially after he confessed to the murder of Catherine, and it seemed like his brothers were feeling the same way, not understanding why he suddenly decided to admit his crime instead of trying to get out.

They told you about their plan to break him out when it got more serious, it was just an idea, the specifics were still blurry but it was going to happen.

You went to visit him with J, watching as he gave him pictures of Julia and him as kids, a GPS tracker hiding inside one of them. J left, leaving you alone and you grabbed Pope’s hands. You were stressed. Anxious about their plan. If it worked, you’d have to quickly flee the country and start over. Maybe you could both have a normal life. You hoped. As much as you didn’t mind his criminal activities, it would be a lie to say you’d refuse a normal life together. You’re on edge with each job they take, the bigger the more anxious you are, paranoia flooding your mind.

Before leaving you hugged him, he felt tense against you, probably mentally preparing himself for his escape plan, yet he still held you tightly, refusing to pull away. He had a hard expression on his face before softening as he kissed your forehead, hands cupping your cheeks.

“Stay home. I’ll text you when you can join us.”

You nodded, at least he seemed “optimistic”.

"I love you." You said.

"I love you too."

As you sat in front of your TV, staying on the news channels, your phone remained at your side. You kept checking for it every now and then, in hope for a text from Pope or his brothers or even J. You thought you were as stressed as you could get until you saw the news for a prison break happening right now. You tried to focus on your breathing, goosebumps taking your body, waiting for a text that should come in at any time now.

But, it never came.

Apologizing into the wind to Julia, Pope also thought of you. Hoping for you to stay home. To not come. You should stay away from him or his family, like you should have done so many years ago, it would have saved the cops from coming to your place to ask you about him and his brothers.

Burning the house he grew in, Pope’s mind was filled with memories, time shared with Julia and then with you.

As he sits by the pool, he looks at the picture of him and Julia as kids. Before their mom became Smurf. And he knows exactly where he fucked up. He should’ve known better. He should’ve followed her.

Mind growing foggy, vision blurry, he falls to his side, he should’ve held you for longer.

Maybe you really should have sewed yourself to him. He truly wouldn’t have minded it.