𝖒– fic recs

she/her. poc. 24. my library ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ main @minjix

[minjixficrecs]

minjix’s library ೄྀ࿐ ˊˎ-

⇢ ˗ˏˋ OuterBanks ࿐ྂ

JJ maybank

John B

Pope Hayward

Kie Carrera

Sarah Cameron

Rafe Cameron

⇢ ˗ˏˋMarvel ࿐ྂ

Peter Parker

Bucky Barnes

Natasha Romanov

Steve Rogers

⇢ ˗ˏˋ Jack Harlow ࿐ྂ

Jack Harlow

⇢ ˗ˏˋVinnie Hacker ࿐ྂ

Vinnie Hacker

⇢ ˗ˏˋEuphoria ࿐ྂ

Fezco

Maddy Perez

Rue

Jules

[midnightgardentales]

I'm so obessed with your fics !

could i please request a fic where jack is dating reader who is a wildlife vet and while she's working things go wrong and she gets bit by a venemous snake. Fluffy ending after jack being a wreck at the thought of losing her

💞Tags/Warnings💞: slight age gap relationship, hurt/comfort, fluff, SmallTown!Reader x CityBoy!Jack Abbot

💞Plot💞: After one misstep, Jack Abbot’s worst fear comes true…

💞Characters💞: Jack Abbot x Fem!Reader

💞Title💞: Bad Luck

💞A/N💞: Thank you sm! I really hope you like it!

((Requests are ALWAYS open))

Masterlist

“John Digby. Look at you. Comin in for another haircut?” Dana asks pleasantly as the lanky man smiles shyly at the attention.

Night shift had fully taken over, but Dana couldn’t pass up the chance at catching up with one of her personal favorite ‘frequent flyers’..

“My friends need help..” Digby says, voice small as if he doesn’t wanna be a bother. Dana eyes the blanket bunched up in his arms.

“Yeah..” She says slowly. Benji would blow his lid at her being late. Tonight was their annual movie night, but.. She had to see what the hell this was all about..

Squirrels.

It was about squirrels.

Two to be exact. See, Digby had been enjoying his night at the local park when he saw the two squirrels. They’d gotten caught in a broken part of the fence. One had it’s tail take the worst of it, and the other its side…

Thinking fast, Digby had taken his blanket and caught the squirrels with it, knowing they’d easily attack if they didn’t have something to cover them. Then he wondered in here, claiming he couldn’t find his ‘usual girl’. When he’d unwrapped the blankets, both squirrels took that as their chance to run.

“We have had mice, we have had stray cats..” Ellis complains. “Hell, we have had pigeons!” She huffs as Lena makes quick work at checking the books on who to call while Jack rubs his face.

He should’ve taken the night off..

“I draw the line at squirrels!” Ellis continues simply.

“Relax!” Lena assures. “Go around and make sure no patient finds out. I’m calling animal control right now..” She says simply.

“No!” Digby says fast as Dana, who’s kind of glad she didn’t run off yet, moves to gently pat his shoulder. “They’ll just kill em!” He says to Dana. “Get Dr. Y/N. She can help.” He nods certainly as he pulls out a crumbled up card from his pocket.

Looks were exchanged and debated whispers were had, but eventually, Dana was the one to actually call the number.

It was 7:40pm when Y/N finally showed up.

Jack would never forget that time. It was the beginning of the best part of his life…

Y/N had worked fast. Efficiently. She had set up non-threatening traps to catch the two trouble markers, and when placed into a dark box, she spoke to them softly and warmly. As if they could understand her. As if they could trust her. Jack had let her do her work in peace, sure. He was never one to want to flirt with a woman while she was on the clock, but he did keep an eye on said clock.

She couldn’t be on it forever.

“That was a good catch, Digby. How much do I owe you?” Y/N asks gently as the older man shyly shrugs, wanting to reject the idea of money..

“No no. You’re my eyes and ears, remember? Keeping the small animals of Pittsburgh safe.” Y/N assures gently as she slips some cash into Digby’s hand. He gratefully accepts. Jack watches on from his place at the nurse’s station, pretending to actually be listening to Lena..

“I hope they get better..” Digby says gently as Y/N assures him that she’ll make sure they will. Thanks to him.

Jack knew at that moment that Y/N was the one.

So he helped her to her car with the boxes. And he listened to her talk about how she’d first met Digby after her first week here in Pittsburgh. How he is always bringing her injured animals that he finds and she pays him for being her ‘doctor on the move’.

He learns about her big move to a big city, and how deep her love for animals really is. He listens as she complains so passionately about that damn gate in the park. How poor animals are always getting caught in it and how the city does nothing. At a certain point, he respectfully interrupts.

“Would you wanna… Grab some coffee tomorrow morning?” He asks quietly. Y/N pauses, setting the boxes in her car as she sheepishly eyes Jack.

He was handsome.

But she had been told over and over again at her going away party to be weary of handsome city boys..

“I’ll… Think about it.” She says politely, voice soft and Jack hums gently. That’s all he needs. Numbers were swapped and long glances were shared, but the two had left it at that.

Until the next morning.

Because if you asked Jack Abbot about Y/N Y/L/N.. With his full chest he’d tell you that he knew he liked her that very night.

But if you asked Y/N… She’d tell you she knew the very next day.

Because that was the day she’d drop the squirrels off in the park, and find Jack Abbot fixing the gate..

*

*

*

Jack could barely find his footing.

It all felt off today. Everything felt wrong, and he couldn’t put his finger on why. Walking into the ED, Robby is first to greet him with a firm hand on his shoulder. Jack stumbles a bit, making Robby eye him in concern.

“You alright?” He asks.

“Yeah. Uh.. Yeah. I got the 911. What’s up?” Jack asks, trying to shake it off. But mentally he goes through this morning in his head.

Clocked out at 6am, went to Y/N’s house, crawled into bed with her without showering. Was.. That it? He didn’t shower?

“Needed all hands. This thunderstorm’s supposed to be real bad. St. Peter’s Mercy already said they’re gonna start downsizing..” Robby explains as Jack nods along, only half listening.

No. It wasn’t the shower. Jack continues going through the morning. He held Y/N and fell asleep. Then he woke up to his phone ringing. It was Robby. That was at.. 10:23am.

Yeah. That was it. The early phone call.

Jack comes back into the conversation now, assuring that he’ll shoot a text over to Shen while Dana tries getting a hold of Ellis. He bites his lower lip though as he slips back into his own head when Robby starts debating where to put Santos and Whitaker for the day..

It wasn’t the call. That’s not what woke him up. It was… Y/N! Y/N had woke him up!

His eyes widen slightly as it finally dawns on him. “The kiss!” He says, stopping Robby’s conversation with Dana completely. Both eye him oddly.

“The what?” Dana asks with slight humor in her tone and clear as day on her face..

“Y/N woke me up this morning. Something about making a house call to some farm.. Ranch.. Place.” He waves his hand. “But I couldn’t kiss her because you called!” He continues as he motions towards Robby.

“I called?!” Robby asks in amusement, acting offended by the accusations.

“You costed me a morning kiss. Now I’m gonna be all off my game!” Jack states, completely serious as Dana snickers while walking away from the two men.

“It’s my fault you can’t multitask?” Robby jokes as Jack sighs softly, pulling out his phone to see if there was a text from Y/N. She had woken him up to tell him she was leaving, but before they could kiss, his phone rang from the nightstand.

He’d been half asleep.

He hasn’t been thinking right.

If he had, he would’ve let the damn phone go to voicemail and gladly kissed his girl. She had slipped out of the room while he was talking on the phone to Robby.

“Not funny. We haven’t skipped on a goodbye kiss in the almost year we’ve been together..” Jack sighs as he starts to write a text to her.

“It’s life. It happens.” Robby shrugs like it’s not a big deal, pausing though as he sees Jack trying to start a text. “What are you doing?” He chuckles.

“Gotta apologize…” Jack says like it’s obvious. Robby shakes his head.

“As much as that would entertain me, I need you at the ambulance bay, man. We’re gonna get flooded..” Robby states. Jack sighs, pocketing his phone for the moment. He’d message when he had a chance..

*

*

*

A chance never came..

Any time Jack thought he’d have a minute to text his long winded apology, something else would happen that would need his full attention.

It was frustrating to say the least..

He doesn’t know what time it is when Dana shouts about an incoming patient, but he steps back out on the ambulance bay. Robby coming to stand next to him. The ambulance pulls up and paramedic comes out. The awning stops them from getting soaked by this damn rain.

“Snake bite. Copperhead from what the assistant could tell us. She wanted to come straight here. Passed out now, vitals growing unstable.” The paramedic says as Robby walks over first to the now open ambulance doors. He freezes as what he sees. He quickly moves in front of Jack to stop him.

“I got this one, brother.” He says fast as Jack eyes him in confusion.

“I can do it..” Jack assures as he tries to walk around Robby to see the stretcher the paramedics are now rolling out.

“Abbot..” Robby warns as Jack falters in his steps when he gets a glimpse of that hair. Hair he always loves running his fingers through.

“What happened?” Jack breathes out, moving fast to be by her side. She’s sweaty and clammy. Her lips are an off shade as she lays there, looking… Undisturbed.

“Apparently snake attack while on duty. Right to the ankle…” The second paramedic says slowly, eyeing Jack oddly as the physician shakes his head. This can’t be happening. This can’t be real.

“No. No, no, no..” He rushes out quietly under his breath as he takes charge. He had to make this right again..

Jack fully takes over, yanking the stretcher so he can roll it inside the ED, running it at this point. Robby chases after him. “Y/N? Baby? Hey. Open your eyes, baby…” He tries quietly as he rushes her inside the operating room.

“I need hands!” He screams roughly. Dana jumps at the sudden boom of his authoritative voice. Mel and Shen are quick to run into the room too.

Robby finally gets into the room, frowning softly as he watches his best friend, his brother, shakily work on the love of his life. “You can’t be working on her, man..” He tries as he walks closer so only Jack can hear him..

Jack doesn’t listen, doesn’t even look Robby’s way as he barks out orders. Orders for CroFab, for NSAIDs, for proper cleaning of the bite mark on Y/N’s right ankle.

“Abbot.” Robby tries again. “You aren’t thinking right. Your judgement is-“ Jack finally cuts Robby off, turning to stare him down with a hard warning sharp in his dark eyes.

“Get out of my way, Robby..” He whispers with all seriousness as Robby hesitates.

“Abbot-“ Jack cuts him off again.

“You either find something to do, or you get the fuck out of my way, man.” He snaps finally. Everyone in the room tries to ignore that, focusing solely on helping Y/N.

“I’m doing this..” Jack continues shortly. “You wanna stop me, you better call security.” He warns gruffly.

Robby sighs softly, slowly stepping aside to let Jack work on Y/N. He preps himself in order to help…

*

*

*

Y/N thinks she’s in her bed at first.

It’s a split second of normalcy where she believes everything she’s been through was just some bad dream.

But then the smell of sterilization and an unmistakable scent of disinfectant seeps into her nose. It almost burns.

Yup. It’s the hospital.

“I’m alive?” Are the first words out of her mouth, eyes struggling to open. It’s a joke, of course. To no one in particular, but.. She knows.

She knows he’s there.

As if to assure her of this, she’s blessed with his soft and breathy chuckle before a hand is on her cheek, lips being placed eagerly on her forehead and then her cheeks and then her nose. She can feel the slight dip of her hospital bed as he sits on the edge of it to fully hover above her, marking more territory that way.

She blushes as her eyes finally open. She relishes in his soft lips, his slight stubble, the way he can smell of sanitizer and Tom Ford..

She knew time had to be on her side the minute she felt the quick, sharp prick. It felt like being snapped by a heavy rubber band. She had used her phone to snap a picture of the snake as it slithered past.

Just in case it was needed for further medical planning.

Then she called 911 as her assistant helped get her to the farmhouse so she could wash the area with soap and water.

Sighing in contentment, Y/N touches Jack’s cheek when he stops his kisses to rest his forehead against hers. “I’m sorry..” She whispers as she watches him. He shakes his head fast. Now his eyes are shut, taking in every detail of this moment.

“Just rest. Just.. Please, just rest..” He whispers as if that’s all he wants from her right now. The look of relief is clear on his face as he puts his hand on hers and kisses her wrist, keeping his lips against her pulse point.

“I should’ve known better..” She sighs anyways. The room is quiet besides the rain on her window and the beeps of distant machines.

“But I was so dead set on getting reception so I could text you, I.. Didn’t even think to look at where I was stepping..” Y/N continues to speak, really wanting to explain how the hell she ended up here..

Jack pauses. “Text me?” He asks.

“I wanted to say sorry for leaving without kissing you goodbye.” She says and he pauses before laughing quietly, moving back a bit to shake his head in amusement.

“What?” Y/N asks sheepishly.

Jack slips out his phone and unlocks it, showing her the unfinished text he’d been working on all morning and afternoon. She sits up with a slight wince, grabbing the phone to read it.

‘Hey, acorn. I’m so so sorry about this morning. Should’ve kissed you. I’m completely off my game now. Hope you’re having a better da…’

Y/N sheepishly smiles and then silently nods at her bag of belongs for Jack to go through. He tenderly gets up and gets it for her so she can hand him her phone. He unlocks it and goes straight to messages, seeing she’d been in the middle of writing him something too.

‘Hate that I didn’t get to kiss you this morning, bear! Has me feeling off. Gonna have to make up for it late..’

“See what happens when we don’t kiss goodbye?” Jack finally teases quietly as he sets her phone down. She nods in agreement, giggling.

“It’s bad luck.” She agrees playfully before grabbing Jack by his face with both hands, leaning in for a much needed kiss. It’s like a shot of espresso for him and a much needed breather for her..

“Mm.. That’s the good stuff..” Jack mutters quietly against her lips, eyes still closed. It makes Y/N giggles as she goes back in for more…

!!The End!!

[andy-15-07]

Hiiii! I saw your requests are open and thought to pop in, can I have a dean di laurentis x reader, she is new to the campus and has shared a night with dean before and one night she got raped or something liked that and she was scared cause she didn’t know who to turned to for help so she called dean with maybe „I didn’t know whoelse to call“

I Didn’t Know Who Else to Call

Pairing: Dean Di Laurentis  x Reader

Word Count: 1039

Request open!

Off campus masterlist

warning:aftermath of sexual assault, non-graphic and support-focused.

Dean heard the phone ring at almost two in the morning and answered it on instinct.

He was half asleep when he picked up, voice rough. “Yeah?”

There was silence on the other end.

Then, very small and broken, your voice: “Dean?”

He sat up immediately.

The shift in his chest was instant and cold. “What’s wrong?”

You tried to answer and couldn’t. He heard the shaky breath, the way you were clearly trying not to cry, and every part of him went alert.

“Where are you?”

“I’m,” Another breath. “I’m outside my dorm.”

Dean was already throwing the blanket off. “Are you alone?”

“Yes.”

“Stay there. Don’t move.”

“Dean,”

“Don’t move,” he repeated, sharper now because the fear in your voice had lit every protective instinct he had. “I’m coming.”

He didn’t ask questions while he grabbed his keys. He just ran.

By the time he got to your dorm, you were exactly where you said you’d be, sitting on the concrete steps with your arms wrapped around yourself and your face wet with tears you looked like you’d been trying to hide from the world. The second you saw him, your whole body sagged with relief and shame and terror all at once.

Dean dropped to his knees in front of you. “Hey.”

You tried to speak and failed.

He looked at your face carefully, and the panic in his chest sharpened into something much colder. You had a bruise blooming faintly near your wrist. Your shirt was wrinkled and one sleeve was twisted wrong like you had been grabbing at yourself, trying to hold together in whatever way you could manage.

He kept his voice low. “Did someone hurt you?”

You shook your head once, but it was messy and uncertain and not convincing.

Dean’s stomach dropped.

He didn’t push. Not yet.

He just reached for you slowly, giving you every chance to pull away, and when you didn’t, he wrapped you in his arms. You collapsed into him immediately, shaking hard enough that it nearly broke him in half.

“I didn’t know who else to call,” you whispered.

Dean closed his eyes.

His hand moved carefully over your back, one slow pass after another, while he tried to keep his own voice steady. “You called the right person.”

You made a broken sound against his shoulder.

He pulled back just enough to look at you. “Can you tell me if you’re hurt?”

You swallowed hard and looked down. “I think so.”

Dean nodded once, forcing himself to stay calm because you needed that from him more than anything else right now. “Okay. We’ll get you checked out.”

You went still. “What if,”

“No,” he said immediately, and his hand came to your cheek. “No. One step at a time. Right now, we’re just getting you safe.”

Your breathing hitched.

He brushed his thumb under your eye. “Look at me.”

You did, barely.

“I need you to know something,” he said quietly. “Whatever happened, whatever you’re scared of, whatever you’re thinking right now,none of this is yours to carry alone.”

Your lips trembled.

Dean’s expression softened so much it almost hurt to look at. “I’m here. Okay?”

You nodded, but the tears came harder now because relief had finally caught up with fear.

He stood and helped you up, one hand steady at your waist, the other laced carefully with yours. You walked with him to his car in silence, and only once you were inside and the door shut around you did he ask, as gently as he could, “Do you want to tell me what you need?”

You stared at your hands for a long second. “I don’t know.”

“That’s okay.”

You wiped your face quickly. “I’m sorry.”

Dean looked at you like the word itself had insulted him. “Don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“Apologize for needing help.”

That made you go quiet.

He swallowed once, then said, “You can tell me anything. Or nothing. I’ll still stay.”

The car filled with silence again, but this time it was different. Softer.

Finally, in a voice so small it barely counted as speech, you said, “I think I need to go somewhere with lights and people and maybe not be alone.”

Dean nodded immediately. “Okay.”

The emergency room was bright and cold and far too clean, but Dean stayed with you through the whole intake process without letting go of your hand. When the nurse asked if you felt safe, you looked at him for half a second before saying yes with a voice that still shook.

Dean squeezed your hand once after that, like a promise.

He sat beside you in the exam room while they checked you over. He held your coat. He got water. He answered questions when you couldn’t. He never once looked annoyed, only focused, only furious on your behalf in a way that made it easier to breathe.

When the doctor left and the room went quiet, Dean leaned in and asked, “Do you want me to call someone?”

You shook your head fast. “No.”

“Okay.”

You looked at him, exhausted and afraid and trying very hard to keep your face together. “I didn’t know who else to call.”

Dean’s expression broke with tenderness.

He reached for you and pulled you against his chest, careful and steady. “You called me,” he said. “That’s enough.”

You cried into his shirt for a while after that, and he stayed with you through every shaky breath, every apology he refused to accept, every moment you started to pull away and he gently brought you back.

When the night had finally started to settle and the doctor came back with next steps, Dean stood up first and never once let go of your hand.

And when it was over, and you were tired enough to lean on him without shame, he walked you back to his place like your safety was the only thing in the world that mattered.

Because it was.

And because he was Dean, and he would spend as long as it took reminding you that what happened was not your fault, and that you were not alone, and that calling him had never been the wrong thing to do.

[what1ncewas]

02- How to disappear

[Off Campus x fem!reader]

Summary: The Briar Hawks' new goalie is reclusive and oddly avoidant. Other than at the rink, the goalie is never seen, and never attends any team bonding opportunities. What the team doesn't understand is their new goalie is harboring a secret so important that only Coach Jensen knows. Warnings: banter, swearing, implied parental abuse, implied sex??? sorry if the word "penis" bothers you 😔 A/N: part two to She's The Man!!! also heavily implied that hannah and garrett are not together, but not outwardly said (i think) SERIES MASTERLIST

"Can you hurry up?"

"Let me think! I've barely had time to decide. Stop rushing me."

Dean groaned. "Tucker, we come here almost every day." His elbows were resting on the table and his hands cradled his face. "Just order something."

"I'm trying to decide between a burger or the Turkey Club," Tucker replied, holding his chin while looking over the menu. "What do you recommend, Hannah?"

Boredly, Hannah tapped her pen against her notepad. She shrugged. "They're both good." Dean, Logan, and Garrett groaned. "Why not just get both if you can't decide? You can just take the leftovers home."

"But, I'm not that hungry," argued Tucker.

"I'm genuinely going to starve," Logan whined. "I can feel myself wasting away over here. I'm just skin and bones."

The door to Malone's swung open, but no one seem to pay it mind as that always happened. It slammed shut. Hannah glanced at the door, and then back to the table, but when her mind finally caught up with what she saw, she turned back to the door.

"Hey, Y/N!" Hannah greeted her new friend and neighbor. All four heads that were sitting at her table snapped to the front door, where the girl Hannah had called out to was standing. "What brings you around here?"

Y/N smiled awkwardly. She was wearing an oversized Harvard hockey hoodie and black leggings. She stood, rocking on her feet with a platter of cookies in her arms.

"Oh, well, I just wanted to drop these off." Y/N gestured to the baked goods in her hands. "Chocolate lava cookies, for you and Allie. Just as a thank you."

Hannah's jaw dropped. She stared down at the treats, which had just been shoved into her hands, and then back up at Y/N. "If I wasn't dating Justin, I would jump your bones right here, right now."

"Um, thanks..." Y/N trailed off. She was never good at flirting, even if was jokingly with her friends.

"I'm gonna go show these to Allie," Hannah told her. "Hey, you wanna sit down and order something? I'll be back in a few." She didn't give Y/N much of a choice before she moved away from the table and towards the kitchen.

Y/N glanced at the table, and when her eyes landed on Garrett, she withheld a groan. "Uhm, don't worry, I'm not gonna sit with you guys."

"Any friend of Hannah's is a friend of ours," Tucker said with a friendly smile. "We have plenty of room. Dean, let her get in the booth."

The blond slid out of the booth, just like Tucker said to, sending the girl a flirty smile as he stood next to her. "Nice to meet you." Y/N sent him a awkward smile in return. She begrudgingly sunk into booth.

She was now sandwiched between Garrett and Dean.

She didn't dare glance at Garrett. She knew he was already looking at her. She could practically feel his stare burning into the side of her head.

"Y/N, you are literally a Heaven-sent angel," Allie sang as she and Hannah walked back towards the table. Both girls were holding cookies, and had huge smiles on their faces. "These are amazing! You could make a business out of this."

"It's no big deal." Y/N waved it off. "I just wanted to thank you guys again for being so welcoming."

"So that's your name," Garrett realized. "Y/N." She gritted her teeth and shot him a glare.

Allie blinked. She and Hannah exchanged knowing smiles. "Have you guys met before?"

"Yeah, she was on her knees for me yesterday."

Every single person's head turned towards Garrett. Y/N clenched her eyes shut. The absolute nerve of this guy. If they weren't teammates, she would've paid the guy who drove the zamboni to run him over during practice.

"Uh, what?" Hannah asked.

"No, that's-" Y/N yelped. She groaned and held her hands up. "I dropped my keys under his car, and I had to bend down to get them, okay? That's all. That's it. Nothing more than that." She, for the first time, turned and glared at Garrett, who smiled back at her in a way that would make every girl in a five-mile radius go crazy.

"Right," Allie giggled. "You want anything to eat while we're here?"

"Can I please have the Meat Lovers' pizza?" Y/N wondered. She glanced over at Tucker, who was still looking at his menu. "You wanna split it with me, Tucker?"

He looked up and shrugged. "Sure. Can we do extra pepperoni?"

"You read my mind," Y/N agreed.

"Coming right up," Hannah said. She glanced at Y/N and Garrett once more and wiggled her brows before she and Allie left, whispering quietly to themselves as they did.

Y/N sat uncomfortably in the booth. When she tried to shift in her spot, Garrett's thigh grazed her own. She stopped trying to get comfortable and accepted her fate.

"So, are you into hockey?" Logan wondered. When Y/N raised her brows, he gestured to her hoodie. She glanced down and internally scolded herself for wearing it.

"Not really," she lied.

"She has a Marc-André Fleury keychain," Garrett interjected.

Her fists clenched. "Hey, quick question: Do you ever stop talking?"

"You know you like the sound of my voice," Garrett teased her.

"Do you know anything about the Harvard goalie?" questioned Dean from the other side of her. "He just transferred here, but he's a pretty quiet dude."

She tensed up ever-so-slightly. She had just been asked to talk about herself and her hockey capabilities to her new teammates that didn't actually know that they were her new teammates. "Uhm, not really. The guy was basically a ghost on campus." Y/N played with a rogue string on her hoodie sleeve. "He- Uh, is he any good?"

"He's insane," Tucker exclaimed. "He saved every one of G's shots yesterday without even trying."

"Wow, that's pretty impressive," Y/N agreed.

"It wasn't that impressive," muttered Garrett. "The guy got lucky, that's all."

"Something I bet you're unfamiliar with," Y/N quietly whispered as she cleared her throat. It was Garrett's turn to glare at her. Dean raised his brows in surprise while Tucker and Logan stifled their laughs behind fake coughs. "Is Briar any good at hockey?"

"Come to the game tomorrow and see for yourself," Dean said to her with a wink. "We're playing-"

"-Eastwood, yeah," Y/N said without thinking. She huffed an annoyed breath. "Their left wing is such an ass. Dude will fall down any time anyone touches him and will swear he got tripped."

Garrett smirked from beside her. He, not-so-subtly, put his arm on the back of the booth, his fingertips gracing Y/N's shoulder. "I thought you weren't into hockey," he pointed out.

"I-I'm not," she weakly protested. "Just stuff I heard on campus, that's all."

Luckily, before she could be interrogated any further, Hannah came by and dropped off the pizza that Y/N had ordered. Hannah sent a knowing smile as she glanced between Y/N and Garrett.

It was 3 A.M.

Most students at Briar at this time were either asleep, partying, or doing the deed. And if you were Y/N Y/L/N, you were at the gym.

Because you couldn't sleep. Because your mind was on its own, little treadmill and refused to let you sleep. Because it was your first game for the Briar Hawks, and not that you'd ever admit it, but you were terrified. Like, willing to go to the gym at 3 in the morning terrified because you'd rather exercise than wrestle with your own feelings.

So, Y/N stood in the workout facility at the Briar ice rink, her headphones on her head, standing in front of the mirror as she let her arm curl up and down with the weights in her hand.

As if it would take away all the anxiety she had. As if it would make her forget that she had a game tomorrow. As if it would make her forget everything that had happened at Harvard.

Big Shot by Billy Joel played in her headphones, the music a pathetic attempt to drown out her own thoughts. It wasn't working.

What it was successfully drowning out was the noise of her surroundings.

She thought she was alone.

Which is why, when someone tapped on her shoulder, she screamed and turned around. She ripped off her headphones and blindly shoved at the person's chest, hoping to create some distance.

"I have no money, what do you want from me?" Y/N cried, swatting at the person standing before her. Two large hands grabbed her wrists and prevented her from doing any more damage.

"Y/N, calm down."

She immediately froze. Her panic turned into annoyance.

Her eyes adjusted, and she craned her neck up to stare at the guy who had her wrists in his hands.

Y/N scoffed. "Are you following me?"

"Do you want me to follow you?" Garrett asked with a grin. "How'd you get in here, anyway? You got keys, or something?"

"Or something," Y/N decided on saying. Of course she had keys. Well, Jensen had keys, and she had borrowed them from him with the promise of giving them to him before the game tomorrow. "What are you doing here?"

He shrugged, and her eyes strayed from his face to his broad shoulders. "I'm here to work out, which is usually what people do in a gym. But, you probably know that, considering you went to Harvard, and stuff."

She rolled her eyes. "You're here to work out at 3 A.M. the morning you have a game? Overachiever much?"

"I work out when I'm stressed," Garrett told her pointedly. "Still doesn't explain why you're here."

Y/N reached down and picked her dropped headphones off the ground. "Couldn't sleep. Figured I'd try to tire myself out rather than just toss and turn the entire night."

"I know something else that could tire you out," Garrett offered, his eyebrows raised suggestively as he winked at her.

She wrinkled her nose. "In your dreams, dude. And in my nightmares." She turned back around, away from him, and so that she could look at her form in the mirror as she continued lifting her weights.

Garrett stiffened when his gaze landed on her back, where there was a large scar that started at her neck and ran down the curvature of her spine. It didn't look like a scar that happened on accident by a reckless child; It looked like the purposeful act caused by an adult who meant to do harm.

"Your back." The words came out of his mouth before he could stop them, spoken by someone who was all too familiar with having to hide bruises and make up lies about scars on his hands.

Y/N didn't turn around, but he saw her eyes shift to the ground as he looked at her reflection in the mirror. "It's nothing," she immediately said. Garrett scoffed.

"Bullshit."

She turned over her shoulder. "It's nothing," she repeated, more firmly this time, but there was no trace of hostility in her voice. She just sounded tired.

What bothered Garrett wasn't her avoidance of the topic, or the way she didn't even look at him when she spoke. It was the tone of her voice, and how she actually sounded like she didn't care.

And he hated that. He hated how someone could make something like that seem so small, so miniscule, so unimportant. Something that had clearly caused her pain.

Something that had hurt her.

It made Garrett's jaw clench. He told himself it was out of empathy, and that it was because he knew what she was dealing with. He told himself it was because he was used to covering up bruises and scratches, and lying to people just to protect himself.

"Garrett," she called his name gently. He hadn't realized that she had turned around to face him. Her face was full of concern. Why was she concerned about him when she was the one with the a scar the size of his hockey stick? "I'm fine. Really, it's nothing. I'm okay."

They didn't speak for the rest of the time that both of them were there. Garrett stole glances when he thought she wasn't looking, and Y/N pretended she wasn't intentionally walking past him whenever she switched activities.

When Y/N grabbed her bag and headed for the door, before she could open it, a large hand grabbed her bicep. It took all of her restraint to not flinch at the sudden touch.

"Let me take you back to your dorm," Garrett offered, though it wasn't much of an offer, as it was more of a gentle command. "Please. I don't want you walking around alone when it's this dark out."

"You really don't have to," Y/N weakly protested. "Really. It's like a ten minute walk."

"Yeah, well, it's a two minute drive. One minute, if I ignore the campus speed limit." At Garrett's lame joke, or his threat to speed, Y/N smiled softly. He felt a sense of relief bloom in his chest; At least she liked him enough to smile at one of his jokes. "Please. It's the least I can do after I basically implied that-"

"-That I gave you head to my two new friends and three of your teammates?" Y/N interjected, crossing her arms over her chest in an attempt to look mad.

Garrett grimaced. "Yeah..."

"You're right; It is the least you can do." Y/N picked up her bag again and slung it over her shoulder. "Alright, lead the way, Captain."

Garrett was lucky Y/N wasn't facing him, or else she would've seen the flush of his face and the way he had to adjust his sweatpants.

Garrett's car was nice. It was the kind of car that Y/N knew she would never be able to afford, at least not while she was a broke college student that was surviving on nothing but protein bars and Red Bulls.

It silently made her blood boil with envy, though she would never admit it out loud.

She hated that she would never reach his level success, and that she would never be as highly regarded as Garrett, despite the fact that they both played the same sport and were both highly sought-after NHL prospects.

Y/N hated the fact that no matter how well she played hockey, no matter how many games she won or how many shots she saved, she would never be as respected as Garrett. She would never be respected as her teammates were.

Why? Because she wasn't a man. It was as simple as that. Her lack of penis and the fact that she had boobs was the sole reason that she would never be treated with the same amount of respect and dignity that all hockey players were treated with.

"So, are you going to the game later?" asked Garrett as he reversed out of his parking spot. He had put his arm across the back of Y/N's seat, and she hated herself for how her mouth almost watered at the sight of the veins on his arm.

The girl shrugged. "I don't think so," she answered.

"Why not? Because of the obvious lie that you keep telling everyone that you're 'not into hockey'?" Garrett mocked her, causing Y/N to glare at him. "C'mon, you know more about Eastwood than I do."

"Fine," Y/N relented. "It's not that I don't like hockey. You caught me. I just, um, I'm just not into big crowds, y'know?"

"If that's the problem, then I can just get you a seat in a quieter section, or-"

"Why do you care so much if I'm at the game?" wondered Y/N with an uncomfortable laugh. "You don't know me."

"I want to."

She hated how Garrett was looking at her. Not because of how his gaze darted from her face to her lips, or because of how his arm was still slung over the back of her seat and she could feel the warmth of his body.

She hated how Garrett was looking at her because it seemed too real, too honest, too genuine.

And she was terrified.

Tag list:

@daphnen21 @mirandameaniepants @jtr-hunter-blog @spooky-librarian-ghost @05gwyn @liss2709-blog @purplerainx1 @ineedtosusoutmyreadinglist @dina2223 @s0ftdr1nks @bananaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa @wilmonyibo7 @amateurduck @liliofthespring @deaddino3

[what1ncewas]

She's The Man- Series Masterlist

[Off Campus x fem!reader] [Eventual Garrett Graham x fem!reader]

Summary: Y/N Y/L/N was considered the best goalie in all of college hockey. However, she knew that if anyone, whether it be her teammates, the media, or the fans, were to find out that she was actually a woman behind the mask, her reputation would be screwed and her dreams of getting drafted into the NHL would go down the drain. So, she did would anyone would do if they were trying to be perceived as a man while actually being a woman: She went by her first initial and her last name, she rarely took off her mask, and she did not interact with her teammates off the ice. Y/N was a ghost, a phantom, who came to life only on the ice. The only person that knew of her true identity was Coach Jensen, who was willing to overlook her flaws (being a woman) because of her talent.

After transferring to Briar from Harvard, Y/N finds herself desperately trying to avoid her new teammates, who are keen on getting to know their goalie better, and keep her identity hidden from the world.

Chapter 1: She's The Man Chapter 2: How to disappear

[what1ncewas]

01- She's The Man

[Off Campus x fem!reader]

Summary: The Briar Hawks' new goalie is reclusive and oddly avoidant. Other than at the rink, the goalie is never seen, and never attends any team bonding opportunities. What the team doesn't understand is their new goalie is harboring a secret so important that only Coach Jensen knows. Warnings: None? Uses of "the goalie" instead of using pronouns, and swearing. Reader has a few physical descriptions, but other than that, it's pretty vague A/N: if you come to my account for consistency for one fandom, i apologize 😔 i lowk just write whatever i want when i want. also planning on making this a series!!!!!

Garrett Graham prided himself in always being the first to the rink before morning practice and the last one to leave after practice was over. He enjoyed having the rink to himself for a little while before having to deal with the chaos of the entire team.

So, when he had finally laced up his skates and walked out of the locker room and towards the ice, an immediate frown formed on his face when he realized he wasn't the first one on the ice this morning. He took off his helmet and narrowed his eyes.

Instead of him being the sole one on the rink, he would be forced to share it with whomever had beaten him.

"Who is that?" Garrett asked Coach Jensen, motioning towards the player that was donning full goalie gear and was skating suicides like there was no tomorrow.

Coach Jensen looked up, and his expression faltered ever-so slightly when he followed Garrett's gaze, which was on the team's new goalie. Jensen cleared his throat. "That's the new goalie," he managed to get out. "Transfer from Harvard."

Garrett's brows shot up. "Harvard," he repeated. "He any good?"

"Only let in 5 goals last season," Jensen told the team captain. "Despite the fact that Harvard's defense was absolute crap."

"You serious?" Garrett's mouth fell open in shock.

"If you don't believe me, see for yourself." The coach gestured towards the player on the ice. Garrett shrugged. He was never one to back down from a challenge.

The captain of the Hawks put his helmet back on and skated towards his new teammate. When the goalie caught sight of the player skating towards him, the goalie stopped dead on the ice and looked towards Garrett.

Garrett tried to get a look at the new goalie's face, but it was covered by the goalie mask. "You alright if I take some shots on you?"

Wordlessly, the goalie moved towards the net. The goalie's stick was tapped against the goal posts before the goalie turned around to see that Garrett had lined up about ten pucks in a straight line.

He raised his stick. The first shot when right at the goalie, whose glove caught the puck. Garrett huffed, but tried not to be bothered by it. It was only his first shot, he was confident the rest would go in the net.

Boy, was he wrong.

Every shot that Garrett attempted was saved. Not a single puck went in the net. The goalie didn't seem to be at all intimidated. Garrett bristled.

He was shocked. He was annoyed. He was, unfortunately, impressed.

With his now bruised ego, Garrett skated off the ice. The rest of the team had arrived at the rink, which meant that everyone had just seen what had happened. He hung his head slightly as he moved towards the rest of his teammates, while the goalie continued doing laps on the ice.

Dean was the first to speak. He whistled lowly and grimaced as Garrett took off his helmet, revealing his red face and his clenched jaw. "Dude, that was rough."

Garrett's response was immediate. "Shut the fuck up."

"I told you, Graham," Coach Jensen said with a confident smirk on his face. "Best damn goalie in the country."

"What's his name?" John Tucker asked, watching as the new goalie stretch on the ice.

Coach Jensen sucked in a breath. "Most people just call-" He cleared his throat. "-him by his last name. Y/L/N."

"Stupid, fucking hockey bag," Y/N grumbled, slinging the bag, which felt like it weight a tonne, over her shoulder. She was so irritated. She shouldn't picked a sport with less gear.

Her hair was sticking to the back of her neck. She smelled like rubber and male body spray that she had to walk through in the locker room. Her shoelace was untied, but she was too lazy to bend down and tie it, especially considering she was lugging around a bag that weighed around 30 pounds.

All Y/N wanted to do was go back to her dorm, take the coldest shower ever, and sleep for the rest of the day. And maybe eat some of the leftover Snickerdoodles that she had made the night before.

She reached into her back pocket and fished around for her car keys. When she finally reached them, they fell onto the pavement and below the pristine Jeep that stood before her.

"Fuck me in the ass!" Y/N swore. She dropped her hockey bag onto the pavement, and it landed on the ground below her with a loud thud. She groaned as she fell to her knees, blinding moving her hand under the car as her fingers searched for her keys.

Thank God the parking lot was empty, because if someone had seen her like this, with her ass basically in the air, looking like a madwoman, she would die of embarrassment and never-

"Can I help you?" A low voice said from above her. She clenched her eyes shut as her fingers graced the cool metal of her keys. She knew that voice. She had just spent the last two hours hearing that voice yell at all the hockey players, herself included.

She pushed herself to her knees, and then to her feet. Y/N's whole body ached. Her knees felt like rubber, and her feet felt like a cavern of blisters. How she was able to walk, she didn't know.

When she stood up and faced the man standing before her, her face grew hot. Garrett Graham, AKA the captain of her new hockey team and arguably the best collegiate player in the country, stood before her looking like something out of a dirty dream she would never admit to having.

He was standing, more like towering before her, a stupid smirk on his stupid, pretty face that she wanted to wipe off.

Or kiss off.

Wait, that's not-

"No, thank you," Y/N managed to say. "I just dropped my keys under your car. Sorry. Didn't mean to get in your way, or anything."

Garrett, not so subtly, raked his eyes over Y/N's body, which was slightly gleaming in sweat from her workout. She was wearing a matching workout set and a zip-up hoodie. Her abs were visible due to her hoodie being unzipped, and her hair was frizzy from her workout and from wearing a helmet all practice.

"No problem at all," Garrett murmured. She pursed her lips together. He glanced down at her keys and quirked a brow at one of her keychains. "Is that a Marc-André Fleury keychain?"

"No." Her response was immediate.

"I'm literally looking right at it."

"Well, then you need to get your eyes checked, because it's not."

"Right." Garrett smiled smugly. Y/N wished she would've shot a puck at his mouth during practice. His smile was irritatingly perfect for a man who played a sport where teeth were routinely knocked out. He watched as Y/N bent down and picked up the bag, and how she tried to not grimace at the weight of the bag on her shoulder. "You need help with that?"

"Nope."

"You sure?" His eyes were swimming with amusement, while Y/N gritted her teeth. "What's in there?"

"Nothing." One of her skates fell out of the bag that she clearly hadn't zipped up all the way. Garrett looked down at the skate, then back at Y/N. "I don't know what that is."

He reached down at picked it up. "You skate?"

"Are you going to give me my skate back, or are you going to continue making me play this game of 20 Questions?"

"You haven't answered any of my questions honestly yet," Garrett retorted.

She reached forward and tugged her skate out of his grasp. "I don't owe you anything, Graham."

"You know my name?" Garrett wondered, that annoying smirk adorning his kissable lips once again. "That's not fair, I don't know yours."

"Tough break," Y/N responded. She turned around and began walking away, desperate to escape the social situation that she had found herself in.

"That's not fair!" shouted Garrett from where she had left him standing.

"Better luck next time!" She sent him a sarcastic wave before walking away from the captain and his jeep.

Her day had gone from mediocre, to bad, to awful. It was mediocre when she was at practice, it became bad when she was forced to interact with Garrett Graham because she had clumsily lost her keys under his car, and it became awful when she got back to her dorm and decided to eliminate her stress by baking.

Unfortunately, she had run out of sugar. The one thing she couldn't bake without.

"This is just great," she grumbled, staring at her unfinished cake batter. She had spent the last 10 minutes scouring her apartment for sugar, but she had no luck.

She wasn't about to waste her cake batter. She had to get over her fears and actually socialize.

She needed to ask her neighbors if they had sugar.

It was cliche, but it was better than going to the local market just for two cups of sugar. That would be even more socializing, and it would also require her spending money, which she didn't have a lot of.

Y/N put on her slippers and left her apartment. She was sweating slightly. She hated talking to new people.

With shaking hands, Y/N's fist tapped on the door before her. It was decorated in a vinyl, and had polaroids of two girls taped on it. They were both very pretty.

A girl with curly hair and a cute tube top with mom jeans opened the door. "Hi, can I help you?"

"Um, yeah, sorry, hi, I moved in next door, and um, I was wondering if I could borrow any sugar that you might have? I'm making Strawberry Shortcake, and I stupidly didn't make sure I had all the ingredients beforehand," Y/N rambled. She awkwardly smiled and realized how fast she was talking. "Sorry."

The girl smiled. "Don't worry about it," she told Y/N. "I think we have some in the kitchen. C'mon, you can come in."

"Thank you so much," Y/N said. "I just moved in, and I haven't really had time to go to the store, or anything." She awkwardly trailed after the girl, her fingers laced together.

"No way! Did you transfer here?"

"Yeah, I, um, transferred from Harvard, actually." Y/N watched as the girl searched through her kitchen cabinets. "Tuition was crazy expensive, and I couldn't afford to pay it."

With sugar in her hand, the girl turned around. "Oh, that's awful," she lamented. "But, hey, Briar is great, and I'm sure you're going to love it here!"

"I hope," Y/N replied. "Thank you so much. If you'd like, I can bring you and your roomate a piece of the cake when it's done. Just as a thank you for helping me and being so generous."

"Awe, how sweet!" The girl exclaimed. "My name's Allie, by the way, and my roommate Hannah isn't here right now."

"I'm Y/N." Y/N introduced herself. "Thanks again. I'll be sure to bring two pieces by along with some Cool Whip and whipped cream, in case you like both."

Allie grinned. "I think this is the beginning of a wonderful friendship."

[dilaurentispuckbunny]

Garrett Graham Masterlist

Off Limits

Summary: You never asked to be the daughter of Briar University's hockey coach, and you definitely never asked to spend a week being chauffeured around campus by Garrett Graham. The problem? You can't stand each other.

Warnings: enemies-to-lovers, forced proximity, banter, panic attack comfort, and a very inconvenient crush.

P1, P2, P3, P4, P5

Taglist {Open}: @raynetargaryan2 @freezing82 @kmc1989 @hannahwestt @lennonpotterf1 @ilocuras24 @persasseajackson @superbfishhumanoidweasel @garrettgrahamssexysnaps

[bluetimeombre]

Take care of you

synopsis jack really wants to take care of you, you're really not used to that feeling, but when an accident has you in harms way and rattles jack more than you, you have little choice but to accept how he feels about you. (I want to take care of you- it's rotten work- not to me, not if its you) type.

warnings, fluff and angst but with a happy ending. guns. insecure reader. reader is described with hair long enough to braid. insecure reader. angst with happy ending . younger reader though not a massive plot point. miscommunication/misunderstanding

authorsnote uncle pee-paw i'm growing very fond of you. sometimes i get so in my head about how things preform on tumblr and i completely forget that fanfic is so self indulgent so as long as i'm happy with it but i'm so happy with the love these pitt fics are getting they really do mean a lot

“ You need a ride? ”

When you'd called Jack to tell him you were going to be late into your night shift because the buses you relied so heavily on to get you to and from work weren't running due to some strikes or something, you really were only calling to let him know you'd be late. Not to subtly ask for him to give you a ride.

“No- no. I just didn't want you to think I was not turning up, I'll be there.”

“ What's your address again? ”

“It doesn't matter, I'm walking- running- running in,” you said breathless down your phone, busy stuffing your bag with whatever you'd need, none of which was food for the shift. You'd recently ran out of the energy bars Jack had recommended.

Everyday you said you'd prepare something nice, some risotto or something and take it in. Every morning you collapsed from exhaustion and ran out of time to make anything that resembled a 'meal'.

“ I've got it here, I'll be around in ten, ” Jack said.

Your bag slid down your shoulder as you paused. “Got it? Got what?”

“ Your address. ”

“How do you have my address?”

He chuckled down the line. “ Remember I ubered food to yours, two weeks ago? You've probably still got leftovers in your fridge. ”

Ah. You remembered. One of those times you let slip your terrible routine and he sort to fix it, sending you over prepped meals that- he was right- were still littered around your fridge.

“Right, yes. You should delete that.”

“ Comes in handy, sometimes. In emergencies, ” he said. “ I'll pick you up in ten, bye. ”

There was no time to argue as the call ended promptly after that.

Jack Abbot was a caring man. Something you were learning the hard way. You knew he'd given Ellis his spare room when she was evicted from her apartment, he'd even let her re-decorate, got her fresh blankets and sheets. You knew that Shen's favourites snacks were always stocked up in the lounge. You always knew that he was first to spot Lena getting tired and was always there with a coffee.

It was just like you knew he knew all those little things about you too.

He knew when your bus got in across from PCMT, always there to escort you over the road and back again at the end of the shift. No matter how long or gruelling it had been he would wait with you, rain or sun. He knew you had a bad sleeping habit so he told you herbal remedies in teas and even brought some for you. Annoyingly they worked and every time you had one you were forced to think of Jack.

You knew that if he said he was picking you up- he was.

There was nothing wrong with his affection.

You just didn't know what to do with it.

The night shift was still new to you. You'd only joined since their nights had gotten wilder, even too wild for the 'weirdest and wildest' to handle so you'd made the swap six months ago to help out. You were used to Robby's ways of doing things: of his careful watch over his residents with happy thumbs up or disapproving shakes of his head.

Jack trusted in his residents to take care of patients, but didn't when it came to themselves.

You rushed around, finding your pens and stethoscope and phone that you'd just put down for a second. Soon enough Jack had texted saying he was coming up (he somehow already had the code to your apartment complex).

His knuckles rattled softly and you rushed to grab the last of your things, including a book marked with 'Abbot, J' that you had yet to get round to reading.

“Hi,” you greeted.

You'd expected he'd come up just to be a gentleman, figuring the two of you would just head back down.

Jack squeezed by your attempt at baring him from your place and walked into your small and cramped apartment. “Hey.”

You tried not to be surprised, shutting the door behind him. “I've got everything, we- we can go.”

“I jussss wanna check-” the kitchen was just to the right and he opened your fridge door, grinning. “I was right. Still got the leftovers.”

There were many containers stacked, some full, others emptying. All marked in his handwriting from his meal prep he shared with you.

“Yeah, I haven't got round to sorting it,” you said. “Sorry, I didn't get around to eating everything. It's really good though.”

Jack smiled, reaching into your fridge like it was his own. “Hey, I made you a lot, didn't expect you to eat everything. Just wanted to make sure you had a choice. Did you like the Linguini? I tried a new recipe.”

Jack moved around your kitchen like he'd been living in your space forever. He was confident as he re-arranged your food, throwing what had gone out of date away and washing his hands in your sink, taking a towel hanging up by a cupboard like he knew it was there and drying.

“Er, yeah, it was nice, we can go, you know,” you said.

“You started reading it?” Jack asked, gesturing down to the book in your hands. “What do you think of it?”

“Oh, er, no. I haven't had the chance to start it. I was gonna give it back to you,” you said.

Jack shrugged. “It's yours, keep it.”

It was not yours. It was his. It was one of his favourites if the several dog-eared pages and annotations were anything to go by. It was a title he'd recommended to you and handed you a month ago but you'd only managed to flick through and get a vague understanding of the characters names only.

“But I mean- I don't know when I'll get round to reading it,” you said, loitering outside your kitchen.

“It's okay, I've read it a thousand times, keep it till you do.”

Wasn't he worried you may never get round to reading it and he might not ever get it back?, if your forgetful memory was anything to go by.

Jack finally abandoned your kitchen, passing by you. “Shall we?”

“Thanks for the lift. You really didn't have to,” you said as you left your apartment building, the sky already darkening and where others came in from their long days of work, yours was only just beginning.

“It's on my way,” he shrugged.

“It's out of your way,” you pointed out, knowing Jack was a complete different way to PCMT then you.

You saw his eyes roll as he opened the passenger door for you, nodding for you to get in.

“Just take the lift.”

“Thank you.”

“Word is you and Abbot arrived together,” said Dana.

You groaned.

There was a lot to like about the night shifts. It felt more of a team work than day did sometimes, you loved working with everyone just as much as you did day and you liked how still it got in the night sometimes. But you missed Dana who watched out for you like a mama bear. Still, she made time to always check in with you before she headed out.

Her jean jacket was thrown over her shoulders, her hair pinned back neater and keys in hand but she still greeted you like it was the start of the day.

“He gave me a lift, the buses are on strike.”

She smirked. “Nice of him.”

“I've told him not to do it again.”

“Oh yeah, how'd he take that?”

He'd shook his head and laughed, constantly brushing off every thanks you made and offer of any aid you could give. He seemed wholly un-bothered by the inconvenience you'd caused.

“Jack's a good guy,” said Dana.

“That he is.”

“You deserve someone like him.”

You weren't sure where Dana got that idea. You also didn't know why you couldn't believe her. Why every time Jack turned up when things were going bad, or why every time he showed he cared you felt scared.

And you'd never really had the time to un-pack that.

You looked up to Dana, folding your arms over on the counter. “And what about what he wants?”

“Well for that you'll have to ask him,” she said with the all knowing look in her eyes. Her hand was gentle on your shoulder as she squeezed. “I'll see you in the morning.”

“Night.”

You thought you'd have a chance to view the patient charts that were swapped over to night shift but Jack was next, standing in Dana's space.

“What did mamma bear have to say?” he asked.

“Oh you know, the usual,” you said. “Trying to give me life advice that I won't follow.”

He huffed a chuckle. “I could've told her that, saved her the time.”

“I listen to your advice-”

He levelled his gaze onto yours.

“- I try to.”

His brows rose up. “You brought anything in for food tonight?”

You were about to answer, ready to prove him wrong, finally.

Jack interrupted you. “Anything other than that caramel coffee you like?”

He could read you like a book. You don't know how he found the time to know so much about you, to observe such things you wouldn't even notice unless he pointed them out.

Your silence was an answer.

“I brought extra, we'll have it later.”

He said it so confidently, leaving little space for any arguing on your end.

“Will we?”

“Yeah,” he said, stretching out on the counter. “I'm thinking a midnight picnic, trauma two? Might even get lucky with a GSW as company.”

You laughed and when you looked at Jack he was smiling. It was a soft kind, the sort that smoothed his face and made him seem younger and lighter. The kind that you took home with you and re-played as you fell asleep slowly.

You would never admit how long Jack spends in your mind. Somehow it felt like he already knew.

“You, um, you didn't braid your hair today,” said Jack, straightening up and drumming his knuckles on the counter. His gaze only faltered on yours for a second.

This was something you knew you did, carefully creating a routine for washing your hair that meant you didn't have to do it every day after work. Enough baby powder or dry shampoo meant you could get away with two washes at best.

“No, I guess I didn't.”

“It's gonna annoy you, being in your face all day.”

“I'm sure I'll manage.”

Jack didn't listen. He picked up your wrist- the one you kept a hair tie around- and slid it onto his own before going behind you.

“Jack, what are you doing?” you asked.

“Helping you.”

“You don't have to, I'll shove it up.”

Jack grumbled. “Let me work.”

His fingers grazed your neck as he brushed back your hair, the callouses on his hands rough against you, eliciting some sort of warmth in your body. Thankfully he was behind you and couldn't see the blush absolutely coming to your cheeks.

Jack took care of those around him, but he'd never touched anyone else's hair, never stood in the middle of the nurses station where all could see to braid someone's hair.

You felt him work, the weight of his gaze on the back of your head and his fingers moving through your hair like a cool summer evening breeze.

Across the way, Lena peered over her glasses at you with a smile.

“Lena's staring,” you said, unable to focus on any work till Jack's fingers were out of your hair.

Jack hummed. You knew that concentration from the amount of times you've seen him focused. “Lena always stares.”

You noticed Crus and Matteo passing by, both watching and pointing. You were sure Crus made some obscene make-out gesture and only hoped Jack didn't see. You were sure, if anyone else had asked he'd have done the same.

Though you hadn't technically asked.

“I'm sure you have far more important things to do than braid my hair, Abbot.” The lights in the Pitt seemed brighter, burning down on you like spotlights.

“Nothing more important right now.”

Your neck stretched as Jack pulled at your hair lightly to get it all in place. Curiosity ate at you, wondering where he'd done this before but the idea of knowing- like you had any right to- shut you up before you could speak.

Eventually he finished and his hands fell on your shoulders.

“There. Ready to be a hero?” he asked, spinning you around to him.

Your feet scuffed along the floor. “What? Am I the Robin to your batman?”

His lips quirked up and he moved his head side to side like weighing up his options. “More like the Lois to my Super-man.”

You sadly weren't versed enough in comic to know if that was a good or bad thing.

Jack was attending to a young girl when you walked in. Honestly it was starting to get comical how you turned up around him or he you. Some would call it magnets and as you met Jacks gaze as you stepped in you knew the ‘people’ meant Jack.

He looked at you, taking a quick note of the fact you still had your braid in even hours into the night. Jack smiled.

“Miss mermaid this is who I was telling you about,” said Jack.

The young girl- maybe five, maybe six- looked up at you as Jack slowly pulled at the thread bringing the skin of her knee together.

The chart had told you she'd taken a nasty fall on the playground and her teacher had brought her in, still trying to get in contact with the parents while Jack kept her company, cleaning her scraped knees and the gash just below.

“Hello,” the little girl waved. There wasn't even any tear marks on her cheeks but there was a small mark of blood at her little lip and her hair was falling out around her face.

“Hello miss mermaid,” you greeted, realising quickly the name came from her little mermaid top she wore.

“We were just talking about you,” said Jack, glancing quickly at you.

You blushed, wondering what Jack had to say about you to a small child. “Oh?”

“You and Crus played mermaids that time at the beach, remember?”

The girl giggled and Jack smiled over her shoulder at you.

“It wasn't- it wasn't mermades,” you excused.

That day was one of sweltering heat and lingering gazes. The night shift had took a trip to the beach on one of the hottest days of the year, enjoying the day for the day-shifters that couldn't. You'd gotten a lift with Matteo who'd brough Victoria Javadi along as she had the day off anyhow.

There was sand in places you didn't know sand could get, beach balls that somehow were pierced before you could even blow them up and gazes shared with Jack.

Maybe it was the bikini you wore that was so different from the scrubs. Maybe it was the fact Jack was un-characteristically insecure about his prosthetic leg being exposed to all and you'd told him nobody cared, that everybody cared more that he couldn't enjoy himself. Something had changed that day, settling in you like a pebble at the bottom of a lake thrown from a great height.

Since then, you and Jack had never looked at each other the same way.

But you and Crus hadn't been playing mermaids.... exactly. You swam around a lot and sort to collect more sea shells than the other. You just didn't call it mermaids.

“Will I be able to play mermaids again?” asked the little girl brushing hair out of her face with clumsy hands.

“Absolutely,” said Jack with great enthusiasm.

“And run faster than all the boys in my class?”

Jack chuckled, so did you. “Of course, but you'll have to rest up first.”

“Give the boys a chance to catch up, huh?” you suggested, plucking a leaf out of her hair.

“I like running fast,” she said.

Jack worked on the stitching, back to concentrating.

You sat down on the other side of the bed, gently reaching over to pluck bits of leaf and dirt from her hair. “So do I but sometimes we got to take things slow to not get hurt.”

You hadn't realised the meanings of the words until Jack halted his movements, glancing at you.

So you supposed there was a double meaning.

Jack's gaze was heavy.

“Tell you what, miss mermaid, Doctor Abbot here is better at braiding hair than he is stitches,” you said after a clear of your throat.

“Rude,” Jack mumbled.

It took a little convincing but you managed to swap places with Jack, gloving up and taking the tread he'd started at. He took your space on the bed and gently worked the child's hair into something neat while you carried on her stitches, close enough to being finished.

The both of you worked in silence as you each concentrated on your separate endeavours. All the while the young girl sat in between you hummed to herself, some Disney song.

“That's my favourite,” said Jack half way through when he must have realised what song she was humming.

You were still trying to understand it when part way through they changed to 'Under the sea'. You had to all but hold her leg from swinging as she sang loudly, causing you to laugh.

“Why not singing?” asked the girl.

“Yeah, why not singing?” Jack asked

You shook your head. “I don't know the song.”

Jack made a 'pfft' sound like he didn't believe you and 'little miss mermaid' did the same, blowing a raspberry.

Eventually you finished up the stitching, coincidently the same time Jack finished with his braiding.

A nurse- Bridget- walked in with the young girls teacher, eying the two of you between her. “You braiding Matteo's hair next?” she teased with a glint of wicked amusement in her eyes.

Jack moved up from the bed just as you also stood, discarding of the tools you'd used. “Only if he asks nicely.”

“Her parents have been informed they're on their way,” said the girls teacher.

“Perfect,” said Jack, holding either end of his stethoscope slung around his neck. “We are going to leave you in the very capable hands of Bridget who knows many more Disney songs than we do. Don't go without giving me another song.”

The girl laughed, her new braid slung over her shoulder. “I won't.”

Jack smiled and held the door open for you as you left with a small wave and him trailing behind you.

Lena was at the nurses station, answering calls and dishing out work while others walked around the two of you, busy with their own nights that existed by itself in the Pitt.

You hadn't realised you and Jack were heading for the break room till his arm stretched out and he pushed the door open over you.

“Are you really telling me you didn't know the song she was singing?” he asked.

“Of course I knew the song. I wasn't going to sing and embarrass myself,” you said, pulling out the mug you always used and Jack's favourite, finding the coffee pot newly brewed.

“Like I'm any Phil Collins,” scoffed Jack as he pulled out two containers from the fridge.

You frowned, sitting at the table. “Who?”

Jack looked at you, swinging the door shut. His brows rose high, crinkling his forehead. “Phil Collins? Turn it out again.... In the air tonight... The music on Tarzan?”

“Is he the dad of Lily Collins?”

Jack slid into the seat across from you. “Who?” He passed you over a full container of some sort of quinoa. It wasn't just left overs, it was a carefully calculated portion to match his.

You stared down at it like you were trying to decide if it was poisoned while Jack had already had a spoonful of his own.

It felt strange, to be sitting in a secluded room of the chaos and eating with him. Though at work, it felt oddly domestic. It felt- annoyingly- like the right thing to do. You wanted to eat from his container and wash it, hand it back to him. You wanted to know where he kept all his Tupperware, the kind that fell from cupboards at every open of the door.

“You cooking for me now?”

Jack shrugged, not meeting your gaze. “It's quinoa. Hardly cooking.”

You took a careful spoon.

Like he'd been discreetly watching as soon as you swallowed he spoke.

“You like it?”

“It tastes... kind of...”

“Healthy?”

You looked at him, feigned aghast.

Jack smirked, jaw working as he ate his food. “Come on, if it weren't for me you'd still be living on pizza's and take aways. At least this way you save a couple bucks and eat good. For a doctor you should know how important that is.”

“What are you so worried about what I eat for?” you mumbled, more wondering to yourself.

“I like to take care of you.”

He admitted it softly, a slight shrug to his shoulders like it was nothing. Like looking after you, a simple colleague- maybe a friend if you were lucky enough- was a simple feat. As if you didn't struggle to take care of yourself. Jack worked the same shifts, even more as an attending and cooked for himself, did yoga in mornings and even went out as a SWAT team member.

“Why?” You pushed the grains around in the tub.

“Why what?” he asked.

Daring to glance at him, you found Jack looking at you, arms rested on the table, his freckled biceps pulling at his scrub top.

You shook your head, taking another spoon of the food.

Any other time some emergency would be called to save you. Nothing as such when you really needed it. Of course you were glad nobody was being rushed in hurt... but still.

“Why do I like looking after you?” Jack repeated. “Because it's you.”

At that, you smiled. Not through happiness, more sympathy. “Because I can't look after myself?”

You knew you slept a lot, didn't take as good care of yourself as you could have. There were healthy and easy meal ideas sat in a folder in your phone, gathering dust. There was always laundry in a pile, dirty and clean, to go to their respective homes. There were friends waiting to make arrangements you never got around to making. You weren't easy but you didn't think you were so bad someone else had to come in and save you.

Jack paused, his face falling. “That's not what I meant.”

“Sure it is, you can admit it,” you shrugged, the food he's kindly shared turned to ash in your mouth. “I know I might seem like a mess to you, to someone so put together and... older, but I really do have my life managed. You don't have to add me to your to do list.”

“Woah, woah, woah, I never said that. That's not what I meant at all.”

You laughed. It felt better than feeling so embarrassed. “It's okay-”

“- no, no, that's not what's supposed to be going on, I... ”

Jack cared for people, you knew that. It was just apart of himself.

So you were almost distraught inside when you realised he didn't like you anymore than Shen or Ellis. He just looked out for you cause it was something he had to do.

“I'm not actually very hungry right now,” you said, pushing the lid back on and leaving it for him.

Jack was just as quick as you were to his feet. “No, no, wait- wait, hey-”

His pushed the door closed as you only just opened it an inch.

You looked at him. Your stomach was tight, uncomfortably so.

“Let me- let me try again, okay? I didn't think this through.”

“There's nothing to think through, just wait-”

Shen appeared at the door, trying to get in but Jack was surprisingly strong in keeping the door barred. “I need my coffee.”

“Give us a minute, Shen,” said Jack with all his attending commanding voice.

“But-”

“- a minute!”

You caught sight of Shen looking to you for help before walking away, head down and probably with his bottom lip jutted out like a kicked puppy. “Shen won't get far without his coffee.”

“Shen can wait till we're done now listen,” he said and leant against the door, watching you close. “I like taking care of you, I do, I really do. Not because I think you're not capable of looking after yourself, you are, I know you are it's... I just...”

You waited.

There was nothing.

Jack looked at you with all wide eyes and tension held in his arms. It's like he wanted to say something but ... couldn't.

One more minute and Shen would tear the place apart for coffee.

“You're a nice guy, Jack, you just don't have to be that nice.”

Jack let his arm fall from the door and you evacuated.

The sun had started to rise and you were so close to getting out the door, so close to running from the day's problems. Day shift had turned up, somewhat bright eyed and bushy tailed to take the days stresses though you weren't sure they could take Jack's insistence to talk to you away.

You were inches away from leaving when Jack called for you.

There wasn't the desperation to talk to you, it was the sort he used in traumas, only.

“I need you, GSW to the chest!”

The both of you ran in, gowns pulling on and gloves next as you pushed through the doors.

It was all the usual to you: too many doctors in one room, so much talking and orders it fell on your ears like music you knew all the words to.

“Woman in her twenties, multiple GSW's,” Robby called out. “Pulse ox eighty!”

The doors shut behind and the team of you all took your roles like a practised routine.

“Three... two... one- move!”

All together you lifted her over.

There was blood blooming on her shirt, a tear in her jeans. There was a black eye and what looked like a broken nose if the cut over the bridge and the slant of it was anything to go by.

You'd seen enough of these to know when they were accidents and when they weren't.

Her back hit the bed and the sharp beep of life being lost echoed.

“We've lost her pulse!” shouted Robby.

Without being told you climbed up, hands coming together and hammering down on her chest. For a split second you felt the ghost of Jack's hands, helping you up before they were gone like a summers breeze.

Looming over her you could see the injuries better. And worse.

“GSW, right-sided, she needs a central line,” you announced.

Jack moved around you and the patient, already preparing himself for the central line before you'd called for one.

“BP's dropping out! Pulse Ox is eighty-five!” Robby called.

“She's got tension pneumo,” said Jack without shouting and everyone heard. Somewhere in the back of your mind you recognised that authority he demanded with the simple sound of his voice.

“Crash cart,” said Robby. “Charge to one hundred.”

You waited till you heard the buzz of the cart and felt the heat of the panels before moving.

“Clear!”

The sound of her pulse was quiet and the rhythm was odd but it was there, slight bumps in a green line.

You climbed down, landing next to Jack as he readied with a fourteen needle.

“BP's seventy Ox,” said Jesse.

“Day shifters trying to cramp our style,” said Jack as he slid in.

Robby tutted. “Trying to make sure you don't get all the fun.”

Jack straightened next to you. “Ok, I'm setting up the chest tube, you're gonna set me up with a thirty-two French. Get a mig of atropine and a need a unit of O-neg.”

Two units were hooked up.

“We need to get the chest tube in and stop the bleeding.”

It was all a flurry of hands and tools as the chest tube was in, as the chest was packed with gauze at the right flank where the bullet had tore through her chest. It was a close one, but the sort you could save with nimble hands and careful concentration.

“Okay,” Jack uttered as the both of you loomed over her. “I know we're fighting and I don't like that-”

“We're not fighting and now's not the time,” you said.

Robby was on the other side of the bed, giving the two of you a look. “I agree.”

Jack waved him off, focusing on you. “I'll strike you a deal, we save this woman's life. You get breakfast with me.”

You glanced up, wondering if anyone had heard, though you were sure by now Jack's attempts at asking you on a date was one of the worst kept secrets.

Robby was watching from the other side, arms over his chest and his brows raised.

“You strike a hard bargain there, Abbot,” you mumbled.

“May as well say yes, either way you're saving lives.”

“Why cause you'll die if I say no?”

Jack looked at you. As usual there was nothing giving away if he was joking or not. “Yeah.”

It would have been a pretty poor time to joke.

Five minutes later she was stable.

Blood bags hung slowly draining, rags and gauze of blood littered the ground and torn off gowns were thrown haphazardly around. The patients pulse was steady and beating with the promise of years of life ahead. There'd be challenges, you don't get shot and not have to face even more hardship.

But there was life.

And that was the most rewarding part of the job.

“Good job,” said Robby, peeling of his gloves. “I'm gonna get some air.”

“Then go home, right?” asked Jack as everyone slowly moved away.

Robby only made a rude gesture as the doors closed and left you and Abbott to peel away the blood stained gowns and gloves.

Jack turned to you, un-fazed at the life he'd saved. “You want to go from here or do you want me to drop you off at yours and let you change first?”

You stared at him.

It was almost unfair, his charisma in spite of it all. You didn't stand a chance. When Jack said he was going to save a life, he was going to do just that. It was an added bonus to take you on a date.

Your head was shaking but your lips were curling up.

Jack backed out of the room, leaving you with a thumbs up.

You didn't know why you lingered with the body. You were a resident who had one patient on the go, you should've picked up another. You should've left the trauma room for the surgical consultation.

Yet you wanted to start a chart, wanted to find a name for the girl.

As you walked over, checking her BP which sat safe at one hundred over sixty, her eyes fluttered open, dry lips parting and murmurs exiting.

“Hey,” you dropped your voice gently. “You're safe now, you're at the hospital. Can you hear me?”

You held her head steady as her eyes fluttered but didn't open wide enough to meet yours.

“Can you tell me your name?”

You listened close but got nothing from the grunts.

The doors to the trauma room pushed open.

A small girl stood there, early twenties or even late into her teens. She wore a hoody, blood soaking up the sleeves. She didn't introduce herself, instead, she stared.

“Is she alive?” she asked.

Beyond the broken nose you could see the resemblance in the unconscious on the bed and the one that stood ahead of you.

“Do you know her?” you asked.

“She's my sister.”

“Well your sister was shot in the chest, she's lost a lot of blood but she should make it-”

You heard the gunshots before you saw the gun.

Jack had stripped off the gown stained with blood and pulled off his gloves next, trashing them in a bin.

“That was some way to ask a girl out,” chuckled Robby as he followed his movements in yanking anything with blood on him off.

Jack shrugged. So far nothing that he'd planned the day had gone to plan, asides from saving lives yet that was his plan every day. When you'd called he was already at the hospital but you'd said about the buses and he put his keys back in at once. He thought finally. He'd been waiting for a sign to try to take you on a date, seeing's as the food and books and recommendations and days out weren't enough.

Now, he'd saved a life and got a date.

“So what's next?” asked Robby. “You perform a resuscitative thoracotomy and ask her to marry you?”

“If you have one let me know and I'll see.”

Robby chuckled, patting him on the back when three gunshots rang out.

Everyone ducked.

People screamed.

Where suddenly dozens of people stood everyone was down in lumps, covering heads and ducking for patients.

Jack hovered, not quite down but ready to move. Gun shots were nothing, enough to lull him to sleep. These shots were like any other but they echoed in his ears and richoeted in his heart.

They came from behind him.

From the room he'd just left.

“Where'd that come from?” he asked. He knew.

Robby's hand pushed at his chest, already moving past him. “Trauma two!”

You.

“No!”

The two of them took off toward the room.

A lady exited. It wasn't you. It wasn't the patient. It was a third un-familiar party.

She turned at the sound of heavy footsteps and rose her gun at the two.

“Gun!” someone screamed.

Robby was still holding onto Jack as the two of them skid to a stop in front of her. Somewhere someone was crashing and Jack couldn't see you or hear you.

There were three shots.

He knew three shots were enough to kill.

Jack raised his hands, showing he was harmless and helpless. “Please,” he begged. “Is she alive?”

The girls eyes were hard and full of hatred. The gun was steady in her hands. She was calm, completely but there was no doubt the gun shots were hers. “Not anymore.”

“Oh god-”

“Woah-Woah-” Robby caught Jack with one strong arm as his knees gave out.

You were dead? Some girl- hardly an adult- shot you? Why? To tear out his own heart?

It was already gone.

“Jack? Jack, brother, listen to me,” Robby was trying to talk to him but nothing was going through to him, like a signal lost.

The girl turned and left quickly, making sure everyone knew she had a gone when they all knew she wasn't afraid to use it. The shots must have rung out through the entire hospital.

Robby helped Jack up and as soon as the doors leaving the Pitt closed they rushed in.

The harsh sound of beeping was bouncing off the trauma walls where blood was splattered and a pool of that same blood dripped down into a puddle under the patient.

“Oh my god.” Jack found you at once, using the walls as a crutch as you stumbled your way through the room. He was at your side at once, arms around your trembling body and holding you- moving with you even as you tried to walk.

There was blood all over you and you'd paled dramatically.

Jack coaxed you into staying still, grabbing your cheeks to get your attention. He ignored the pain in his leg that had come from the run, the giving out and now as he crouched to get a look at you. “Hey, hey, hey, look at me- let me look at you. Are you hurt? Did she hurt you?”

Robby had already rushed to the patients side, what doctors and nurses that had gained control over themselves joining him in trying to save her life again. “Ah shit, looks like PEA! Amp of antropine, amp of Epi!”

Your eyes darted over to where the chaos ensued, even as Jack tried to get you to look at him.

“You won't ... won't get her back!” your voice was shaky and hoarse from a scream he hadn't heard. “Blew her god damn brains out.”

“Come here, okay, let's-let's-” Jack's arm was around your shoulder and he was moving you out, trying to help pulling off your bloody gloves while keeping an arm on you.

There was blood and something else on your gloves. Blew her brains out. And you'd tried to scoop them back in.

When the bright lights of the hospital met you your body grew still in his arm.

Jack was familiar with trembles, with blood and PTSD. He wasn't used to any of it in you. In everything he'd learnt about you, he hadn't learnt the subtle art of comfort. “Let's get you some air, let's get you cleaned up-”

You pushed out of Jack's arms, pulling and tugging at your scrub top soaked in blood and all but ran into the women's bathroom.

He heard retching as the door closed.

Jack shook his head, ready to follow you when Dana appeared in front of him, hand on his chest.

“Take it easy, take it easy, I'll check in on her.”

He could still hear you throwing up when Dana slipped in.

The sun was high in the sky, casting the roof of PCMT in an orange glow. The sky burnt in its colour but all you saw was red.

One moment the girl had been crashing, the monitor still beeped in your head. Her body had jerked up to the sky before you got a rhythm back and then- just as you did with any patient- you got hopeful. It seemed in the clear to do so, you'd helped patients come back from worse and you always had hope.

Nobody that worked in the ED could live without it.

Then- it had took three bangs for you to drop to the ground but not before being smeared in blood. You didn't even know what was happening as the ringing ran out in your ears. You'd met the ground with a hard thump to your head. When your vision cleared you saw the shoes rush out of the room.

Your guiding as a med student was doing no harm, saving lives and you'd dropped and put your life ahead of your patients.

What kind of doctor did that?

The cowardly type- you.

“You're in my spot,” said a voice coming closer.

Jack.

His voice soothed the nerves in your body that had been on edge since the accident. Everything made you jump, but him.

“It's a nice spot,” you said as loud as you could, knowing your voice still wasn't back. Or loud enough.

“Yeah,” he said, getting closer. “But usually I like to be on the other side of the rail. And on my feet.”

You were sat on the edge of the roof, not on the edge close enough for anyone to worry but apparently that didn't stop Jack.

He huffed, behind you now. “Please, I'm an older guy, my heart can't take it. Can you come over?”

If your feet weren't like weights pulling you down maybe you could have but you were struggling to feel any part of you.

You admitted as much, quietly. “I can't move.”

You'd moved quick when faced with the gun, dropping to save your own skin. Since then moving had been difficult, like you'd used every muscle in your body to push yourself and now you were locked.

Jack moved in a blur as he ducked under the rail and slowly set down next to you. He was silent, only his breathing calming you. “Did you get checked over with Robby?”

You nodded. “The ringing'll go away in a day or two.”

“Yeah.... it always does.”

You looked at him and Jack was looking at you. The grey stubble of his beard never looked greyer and his eyes were dull, small half moon bruises of sleep marked there. His hair was ruffled and he smelled dully of hospital.

This was a man that had saved more lives than you could count and severed in tours ... and he was taking time to check on you.

“I'm sorry,” you didn't know you had cried till Jack's arm was around your shoulder, bringing you in.

“Hey, hey,” he cooed, his arm tight on you. “What are you sorry for, huh?”

“I didn't save her, I-I should've tried. Should be reasoned with the shooter and I just-I just dropped down and you-” your breathing was ragged, the cries frequenting. “-you've done so much, lost your leg for damn sakes and I just dropped.”

“Hey,” he snapped. It wasn't un-kind. It was stern in ways he had to be in the as a night attending. “You did everthing you could.”

You looked at him. He really meant that though. “I dropped down!”

“You saved your life,” he reminded you. Jack's arm was still tight on your shoulders but his other hand held your cheek, making you focus on him. “You acted on instinct. If you hadn't your patient still would've shot and you-” Jack's breath caught. His eyes were glossed over. You'd missed the redness around his eyes. “- you'd have been shot and I couldn't live with that. I-I couldn't.”

Jack wiped away his tears, wiping yours next. He chuckled dryly at the both of your tears.

“I lost my leg in a tour,” said Jack. “Where guns and shooting is part of the job. It's not in a hospital. You did what you could.”

It still didn't feel right. It still felt like the cowards way of doing things.

“Look at me, look at me-” he nudged your gaze to his. His eyes were wide and implored you to look at him. Really look. “You did what you could and I know a patient died and I know-I know it's hard but...”

He sniffed.

“But what?” you mumbled. How could there be a but in any of this?

He held your cheeks tighter, smudging your cheeks just that little more. Jack let out a shaky exhale. “But I am so happy you're okay. I am so fucking glad.”

His dimples were hardly there as he gave you a sorry smile.

Your head fell into his chest and he brought his arms around you, holding you, shushing you as you cried. Cried for your patient, for the shooter, for the way you dropped. None of which maybe could be forgiven but all of which were valid.

Somewhere in the crying Jack held you tighter and moved the both of you back away from the ledge. You let him, even helped in scuffing your feet and pushing away till the railing hit both your backs.

“You're okay, I got you, I got you.”

I got you. He'd always had you, if he hadn't had you today what would you have done? Nothing crazy but you might have stayed up on the roof all day, be dead on your feet by the night. Jack had always had you and when he did you'd all but told him not to.

“I'm sorry.”

His hand ran over your hair. It had come lose but still remained in the braiding. “You don't have to be sorry, you don't.”

“No about earlier, in the lounge,” you said, holding onto him. “You were being nice, you've always been nice and I... I was horrible-”

“- you weren't horrible, no-”

“- you've been so kind to me and I don't even say thanks-”

“- you have actually, quite a few times- ”

“- I don't know why you put up with me-”

“- well, it helps that I love you-”

If there was one way to shut your rambling up, it was that.

You still had a vice on his scrub top but you looked up to him. For the first time- you think ever- Jack had to look away from you.

“What?” you asked.

Jack's jaw ticked and he clocked his head. “I didn't mean to say that.”

Disappointment chocked you. Of course it would just slip out, heck Jack was comforting you, he'd say anything.

“Oh.”

“I do love you,” he said and you looked at him with something akin to hope as you moved your head away. “That's why I've been looking after you, that's what you do when your- when your in love. My... my wife taught me that. I was just scared you know cause.... I haven't been in love since she died.”

It wasn't often Jack talked about his wife but when he did he talked. He'd talk anyone's ears off about her and once or twice you'd been that person.

“I'm sorry.” This time you weren't sure what you were apologising for, you just were.

Jack looked at you with a mocked frustration.

You cringed. “Sorry, I should- I should stop saying that.”

He hummed and nodded along with you, a tiny smile on his lips, the chapped parts cracking from the salt of his last tears. “I never meant to make you feel incapable, I know you can look after yourself. But I want to.”

You laughed at yourself, wiping at your cheeks and snot. “Why? I'm a mess.”

Jack took your cheek in the palm of his hand. “No, you're not. Not to me.”

Jack kissed you so slow and sweet on the edge of the roof with the sun praising upon the both of you. He didn't push his feelings into you, he let you feel them in the gentle press of his lips and the hold of his hands.

And feel the love you did.

[escapismatbest]

I Want My Rival Back

Pairing: Garrett Graham x Reader

Warnings: Mentions of cheating, swearing, slut shaming.

Word Count : 5.5k

Summary: After a scandal leaves Y/N isolated and broken, she discovers that it was her rival who has been quietly fighting for her all along.

A/N: Pictures from Pinterest, credits to owners!

Masterlist

The history professor tapped his pen against the podium, after scattering the graded midterms across the front desks, beaming. “The whole class performed better than I expected. I'm proud of you.”

Y/N was nervously tapping her fingers against her desk, waiting for the graded paper in anticipation. When the blue-inked paper landed on the desk in front of her, the first thing she saw was the grade circled in red: 94. She let out a breath she was holding in. She was happy with her score. It was an A, and to Y/N, it was a respectable grade. And she was proud of it until a smug voice drifted from the seat just behind her.

"Ninety-four? Tough break, sweetheart. I’m sure there’s a tutor center somewhere that handles remedial reading."

She didn’t even have to look over to know exactly who was talking. She turned, her eyes narrowing as she met Garrett Graham’s gaze. He was leaning back in his chair, holding his own exam paper towards her to show her his score. The 98 stared back at her and she rolled her eyes, annoyed.

"It’s not remedial reading, Graham. Unlike you, I don't need to dedicate my entire existence to a GPA just to feel superior." she snapped.

The class was over and students were packing their bags for the next lecture.

That infuriating, lopsided smirk that he always saved for her, had smoke coming out of her head from how angry she was. He tucked his exam into his bag. "Well, some of us prefer winning to whatever it is you do. I saw you with your boyfriend at the union yesterday. Does he help you with your history notes, or does he just carry your books so your delicate arms don’t get tired?"

Her jaw tightened. He knew exactly which buttons to push, and he’s been doing this since freshman year. "Leave Jackson out of this, Graham. Just because you have a stick up your ass doesn't mean you have to take it out on my relationship."

"Relationship? Is that what we’re calling it?" He snorted, standing up. He ran a hand through his hair, his eyes glinting with a mocking amusement. "I’m just saying, it must be exhausting dating a guy who probably thinks the Emancipation Proclamation is a brand of protein shake. I’m surprised you have survived three years with him."

"He’s a good person who actually has a personality, unlike your brand of 'I-play-hockey-therefore-I-am-god.' Seriously, do you ever get bored of being a cliché?" she countered. It seemed like that spike of adrenaline only ever happened when she was around him.

Garrett chuckled.

"I’m never bored, sweetheart. But think about it, you’re just lucky I’m generous enough to keep you on your toes. Without me, who would you have to be better than?"

"I don't need to be better than you, I am competing with myself. And I’m doing just fine."

"Keep telling yourself that," he said, pushing off the desk and straightening his jacket, though he didn't walk away immediately. His gaze drifted over her face as if he were trying to memorise the way her eyes sparked when she was angry. "Say hi to your golden boy for me. Tell him if he ever wants to learn how to handle a real sport he knows where to find me."

He turned and sauntered toward the exit, leaving Y/N seething. She watched him go, her fingers clutching the edge of her 94-grade exam until her knuckles turned white.

It was always like this. It had always been this constant, exhausting dance of insults and intellectual jabs. It seemed like they were perpetually locked in a rivalry. She shoved her books into her bag, her mind already racing with the next comeback she should have thrown at him. He was arrogant, he was insufferable, and he was absolutely the most irritating person on this campus. But as she walked out into the crisp afternoon air, she couldn't ignore the way her skin felt like it was humming like a residual electricity left behind by his proximity. She hated Garrett Graham. She hated the way he dismissed Jackson, and the way he hovered, or the way he made her feel like she had to be perfect just to earn his attention. But as she rounded the corner and saw the hockey rink in the distance, she couldn't help but look for his black sedan in the parking lot.

It was a sick, twisted game they played, a cycle of antagonism that kept them both hyper-aware of each other’s every move. If she got an A, he had to get an A-plus. If she was seen at a study group, he had to crash it. There was this constant bickering between them, this back and forth they both seemed to enjoy(?) for some weird reason. And don't even get her started on how much he seemed to hate her boyfriend. And he never shied away from telling her that either. He knew what the touchy subjects were and how he could push her buttons so that he could get her to snap back.

The debates in the class were on a whole another level. The professors knew that it would be a great debate if they were placed in the opposing teams because they were both intelligent and competitive. It had even bordered on a screaming match once.

She tucked the exam into her bag, walking toward the football field where she knew Jackson would be practicing. She hoped the sight of the football team would settle her nerves.

"He’s just a jerk," she whispered to herself, stepping onto the grass.

But even as she said it, she knew it wasn't that simple. Garrett Graham wasn't just a jerk. He was more like an obsession. And the worst part was that she had a sneaking suspicion that for him, the feeling was mutual.

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A month later, her world was flipped upside down, taking her with it. It all went down with a sickening chime on her phone that had divided her life into a before and after. Jackson had decided that if he couldn't have her, he would destroy her, after he was caught by her in bed with another girl. He had apologised to her over and over again but Y/N could not take him back. Not after three whole years of being each other's, not after the betrayal. Jackson was angry that she didn't take him back and hurled some curses at her before walking away. In Y/N’s mind, this was the worst thing that could happen to her, and she spent her weekend in her dorm with a tub of ice cream, wallowing in sadness. Until she got a message from Rori, her friend, on Sunday, that a private video of Y/N was leaked. Apparently someone had shared it in a group chat under a fake name. Y/N didn't even have to think who would have leaked it, because the only other person who had it was none other than her now-ex, Jackson. The video was private, a relic of a time she had been foolish enough to trust him. But now? Her privacy had been violated and she was treated like commodity. The video was shared in group chats and whispered about in lecture halls. It was plastered across the screens of strangers who didn't know anything about her.

Y/N could not handle the humiliation, she felt like she had nobody who could console her. She had stayed holed up in her dorm, the curtains drawn tight against a world that had suddenly turned predatory towards her. Every time her phone lit up with a notification, she flinched as though it struck her like lightning. She didn't dare check social media. She knew what was there, and she couldn't handle the slurs and the slut-shaming yet. Was this what she was to them? Was she nothing more than a scandal? A headline? Was that all she was worth?

The silence of her room was deafening. She spent her days staring at the ceiling, wondering how quickly "being the smart girl" turned into "being the girl in the video." Her friends, or at least the ones who claimed to be, had been hesitant and awkward. They didn't know how to look at her anymore, and truth be told, she didn't know how to look at herself. It felt like she had lost the thread of her own life. The exams, the history debates, the sharp, witty comebacks she used to fire at Garrett… they all felt like memories from a different lifetime. She wasn't an academic weapon anymore. She was just the girl who had been burned alive, and it felt like everyone was still watching the embers glow.

On Monday, after a whole week of being holed up in her room, she finally forced herself out. But it turned out there were people who were out to get her. She was booed and called names until she had to run to a washroom where she sobbed and sobbed, earning a few sympathetic looks from some of the girls. After spending more than half an hour in the washroom, waiting until she was certain no one was outside, she slipped out with her head bowed and the hood of her oversized sweatshirt pulled low. She walked straight to the library, finding a dark corner to hide. But as she sat there, staring at a page of text she couldn't comprehend, she eventually sensed a familiar presence approaching. She didn't need to look up to know it was Garrett. The scent of his signature cologne was unmistakable, cutting through the dusty smell of old books. Her heart hammered against her ribs. Of course. It had been a week, and he was the only one who hadn't taken a dig at her yet. The king of the jabs, the master of the insult. He was probably there to deliver the final blow. She braced herself, the tears she’d been holding back for seven days threatening to finally spill. She was ready for him to tear her apart. She kept her eyes fixed on the textbook in front of her, waiting for him to be done with whatever cruelty he was gonna throw at her. She was tired of everything. And when he stayed silent, she let out a shaky laugh, "Well?" she asked, her voice barely rising above a whisper. He didn't reply. She swallowed hard, the lump in her throat feeling like a stone. "Aren't you going to say anything? Isn't this the part where you tell me how pathetic I look? How I’ve finally managed to live down to your expectations?"

She finally looked up at him, bracing for the smirk. But it wasn't there. Garrett was standing over her, one hand hooked loosely around the strap of his backpack. His posture was rigid. And for the first time in the three years she’d been engaged in this war of attrition with him, he didn't look amused or like he was sizing up a challenge. But, he looked furious, like he wanted to burn the building down around them.

"Everyone else already had their turn," she continued, her voice trembling despite her best efforts. She gestured vaguely to the rest of the library, where she knew people were watching and waiting for her to break. "Might as well let you have yours. The captain of the hockey team wouldn't want to miss the main event, would he?"

His jaw tightened, a muscle pulsing in his cheek. "What?"

She let out a bitter, wet laugh. "Oh, come on, Graham. Drop the act. You don't have to pretend you're a decent person today. Just get it over with so I can go back to hiding."

"I'm not pretending anything," he bit out.

"Really?" she challenged, her eyes burning with unshed, angry tears. "Because you've spent three years finding new, creative ways to make my life difficult. Why stop now when I’m already at rock bottom? Isn't that the dream?"

"Jesus Christ," he muttered, the curse sharp enough to make her flinch.

His expression shifted instantly. He didn't soften, but it looked like his anger was replaced by something that resembled guilt.

Y/N looked away, unable to bear the intensity of his gaze. "I know what everyone is saying. I know what they think of me. I’m the punchline."

"Stop."

She blinked, startled by the sheer force behind that command. "What?"

"I said stop. I don't want to hear it." His voice wasn't loud, but it carried weight.

He pulled out the chair across from her and sat down. The wood scraped against the floor.

"What are you doing?" she whispered.

"Sitting."

"No, I mean, why are you here? Did someone tell you I finally crawled out of my hole? Did you come to see the trainwreck for yourself?"

He looked at her. His eyes were dark and unreadable. It was true, though.He’d heard she was back on campus. Somebody had mentioned seeing her near the quad, and he had spent the last hour pacing, scouring the library until his chest felt like it was going to collapse.

"Go ahead," she challenged, her voice breaking. "Call me a slut. Isn't that what you're gonna say?"

His face went completely blank and it was terrifying. Y/N looked down at her desk, her eyes stinging. "That's what everyone else is doing."

He moved leaned forward, invading her personal space. His eyes were scanning her face, the way she was shaking like a leaf.

"Who called you that?" he asked.

"What?"

"Who? Give me names."

"Why would you care?"

"Because I asked," he growled.

"I don't know," she whispered, exhausted. "It doesn't matter."

He nodded, a single, sharp motion. But he kept his gaze locked on hers. "Have you eaten today?"

She was bewildered. Who is this Garrett?

"What?"

"Food. When was the last time you had a decent meal?"

"You came all the way here to play nutritionist?" she asked, a hysterical note entering her voice.

"You look like shit."

“Gee, thanks.” She muttered. It wasn't funny, but the absolute lack of pretense in his voice made it impossible to do anything else.

Garrett looked marginally relieved and his shoulders dropped a fraction at her reply.

He stood up, his gaze heavy. "Come on."

"Where are we going?"

"Cafeteria."

"No," she said, her tone final. "Absolutely not."

Garrett sighed, a sound of pure frustration. "Y/N."

He had never called her by her first name before, not once. It was always her surname, or sweetheart or genius.

"You need to eat," he said. "I'm not asking."

"Why?Why are you doing this?”

she asked, the question slipping out before she could catch it. Garrett looked away for a split second, his jaw working. When he looked back, he looked utterly miserable, but at the same time, entirely determined.

"We can talk about that later," he said. It wasn't a confession, but it was a promise. And as she looked at him, she felt relieved. In his presence, she somehow found solace. She stood up, her legs wobbly, and let him lead the way.

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The walk to the cafeteria with Garrett was surprisingly comfortable. It was bizarre because the boy who had spent three years turning Y/N’s life into a competitive sport was now walking beside her, carrying her backpack. He had just taken it from her shoulders without a word, and she’d been too exhausted by the last week, to even protest.

They were halfway down the corridor when a shout echoed off the lockers.

"Graham!"

Garrett groaned. A hockey teammate was jogging towards them.

"I'll be right back".

Y/N went to stop, her instinct to retreat kicking in. "No, it's fine. I'll be there in a minute," he interrupted, not breaking stride.

So she kept walking, her heart beating fast against her ribs. In the cafeteria were people laughing, eating, living lives that hadn't been shredded into pieces.

She kept her head down and joined the sandwich line. The girl behind the counter offered a sympathetic, tight-lipped smile. Y/N pretended she hadn't seen it. She just wanted the floor to open up and swallow her whole. She paid for her sandwich, her hands trembling as she turned around, and that was when she heard it.

"Look who finally decided to show her face."

Her stomach dropped. It was Tyler, one of Jackson’s teammates, flanked by a group of football players who were watching her like vultures circling a carcass.

Tyler stood up, leaning against the table with a sneer. "You happy now, huh?"

She froze, her brow furrowing. "What?"

"You got him kicked off the team," he spat.

"Tyler what are y—"

"No, seriously," he laughed, a jagged, ugly sound. "You ruin his life and then come strolling in here like nothing happened? Like you’re the victim?"

Y/N’s throat tightened. She could feel tears glazing her eyes. "He ruined his own life."

Tyler’s nostrils flared, and he scoffed at her like she was a disgusting creature. "You're unbelievable. What did you expect, anyway? You send videos like that and then act shocked when people see them?"

A ripple of uncomfortable silence moved through the surrounding tables. Tyler leaned in, his voice dripping with venom. "God, you're such a—"

The rest of the sentence died in his throat as a hand snatched the front of his shirt hard. The sound of a chair clattering to the floor echoed like a gunshot. Y/N’s breath hitched. It was Garrett.

Tyler slammed back against the nearest wall and the cafeteria went silent.

Garrett’s voice was booming. "What the fuck did you just say?"

Tyler looked like he wanted to dissolve into the floorboards. "Graham—"

"What."

"I... I didn't know you were—"

"What. Did. You. Just. Say." He growled.

Y/N hadn't seen Garrett angry before. It was scary. Tyler’s bravado shattered, his face draining of color. "Sorry."

Garrett let out a humorless laugh. "Sorry?"

Tyler nodded frantically, his eyes wide. "Yeah, man. Sorry."

Garrett tightened his grip and pulled Tyler closer until they were eye-to-eye. "I told every single one of you not to say a fucking word to her."

Y/N blinked, the room spinning. He told them what?

"Didn't I?" Garrett prompted, his voice dangerously low.

"Y-yeah."

"And yet here we are."

"I'm sorry, man," Tyler squeaked.

"You do it again, and you'll wish Coach was the one dealing with you. Do you understand me?" Garrett whispered.

Tyler looked ready to pass out. "It won't happen again."

"Damn right it won't."

Garrett shoved him off, and Tyler stumbled backward, turning and practically sprinting out of the cafeteria. Nobody moved, everyone looked shocked to see the altercation. Garrett turned to the rest of the room, his eyes scanning the tables angrily. "What the fuck are you all looking at?"

The room collectively snapped back to attention. Conversations resumed, but they were hushed.

Garrett turned to Y/N, his expression shifting instantly. The rage vanished, replaced by concern.

"Come on."

He led her to a booth in the back, far from the prying eyes of the crowd. He sat across from her, his presence shielding her, but for a long moment, neither of them spoke.

"What was he talking about Jackson getting kicked off?" she finally whispered.

Garrett sighed and down at his hands, his jaw tightening. "I talked to their Coach."

Y/N felt a chill wash over her. "You got him kicked off the team?"

"I didn't get him kicked off," Garrett corrected, his voice hardening. "He leaked a private video. He—"

"Garrett—"

"He got himself kicked off, Y/N. He chose to be the kind of person who does that. That’s on him,” he said, looking up, his gaze intense.

Y/N looked away, the weight of the last week, the shame and humiliation crushing down on her again. She felt exposed and vulnerable.

Garrett’s hand moved across the table, his fingers grazing her wrist before he pulled back, as if afraid to overstep. "Don't do that, Y/N."

She looked up, startled. "What am I doing?"

"Please don't look at yourself like that."

The words made her realise that the wound was still raw. A single tear escaped her eyes, tracing a hot line down her cheek. "Why are you doing this?" she asked, her voice cracking. "We’ve been rivals for years. You’ve spent three years trying to get under my skin."

Garrett leaned back, looking uncomfortable. It was as if he were wrestling with his own internal monologue. "I never hated you."

"You sure had a funny way of showing that," she retorted, a ghost of a smile touched her lips despite the tears.

"Yeah," he admitted, his voice dropping into a rough, vulnerable register. "I'm sorry…I just... I didn't know how to talk to you. I didn't know how to bridge the gap."

He leaned forward, his focus absolute. "And about what that asshole did… What happened wasn't your fault. You don't deserve any of this."

It was the first time anyone had said those words to her. It was the first time someone had stripped away the judgment and just offered the truth. She nodded, unable to say anything because she was sure she would just break down if she opened her mouth to speak. And for the first time after that horrifying incident, Y/N felt like she had someone. Which was weird because it was none other than someone she was sure hated her guts.

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The next day was better. Nobody shouted things at her from across the hallways, though people stared at her occasionally. It was strange. And Y/N was happy that Hannah was there.

By lunchtime, Y/N found herself sitting across from Hannah in the cafeteria, who was finally back after spending the entire week in another town for a major singing competition. Hannah always had a soft spot for Y/N. She was Garrett’s best friend and Justin’s girlfriend. She looked at Y/N with a mix of fierce protectiveness and sorrow as she’d heard bits and pieces of the nightmare as soon as she’d stepped back onto campus.

For a while, the conversation stayed safe as they talked about classes and other stuff and for the first time in days, Y/N felt like she was actually breathing again. That was when Hannah made the mistake of getting too comfortable.

"Honestly, if Garrett hadn't stepped in so fast, it would've been so much worse.”

she said, tapping her fingernails against her water bottle. Y/N froze, the sandwich hovering halfway to her mouth. "What?"

Hannah’s eyes widened, the realization hitting her like a freight train. She bit her lip, looking everywhere but at Y/N.

"Oh, shit," Hannah breathed.

A sinking, heavy feeling settled deep in Y/N’s stomach. "What do you mean, if Garrett hadn't stepped in?"

"Nothing," Hannah deflected, reaching for her bag. "I just meant... Uhhh…you know. It’s a big campus."

Y/N set the sandwich down. Her voice was dangerously steady. "Hannah. Look at me."

Hannah looked like she wanted to be anywhere else.

"I thought he told you, Y/N."

"Told me what?"

Hannah sighed, a long, defeated sound. She leaned forward, her voice dropping to a whisper that barely carried across the table. "After that video leaked... Garrett lost his mind."

Y/N was confused. "What?"

"I'm serious. I was out of town, but I heard the stories the second I got back. He went on a tear. He was going around to the fraternity presidents, the hockey captains, the football leads and everyone who holds any sway on this campus."

Y/N stared at her, her heart beating out of her body, "What for?"

Hannah looked at her, her expression unreadable. "To shut everyone up. He told them if he caught a single person sharing that video or even mentioning your name in a derogatory way, they’d be answering to him personally. And he wasn't exactly asking nicely."

"He did all that? Why?"

Hannah laughed, a short, sharp sound. "Are you kidding? Because he’s been obsessed with you since like forever, Y/N."

Y/N’s breath hitched. "What?"

Hannah sat back, her eyes wide as she realised what she’d just let slip. "Oh my God."

"What?" Y/N pressed, leaning over the table.

"You don't know."

"Know what, Hannah?"

Hannah slapped a hand over her mouth, her eyes darting around to see if anyone was listening. She shook her head violently. "Nope. Absolutely not."

"Hannah, don't you dare do this to me. Tell me."

"I am not touching that with a ten-foot pole," Hannah said, grabbing her tray and standing up with a panicked energy. "Garrett would actually end my life if he knew I spilled that."

"Spilled what? Hannah!"

Hannah was already walking away, pausing only to look back with a smirk that was entirely too pleased with herself. "Talk to Garrett, Y/N. Talk. To. Garrett."

And just like that, she was gone, leaving Y/N sitting alone in the middle of the crowded cafeteria, her head spinning with a question she was terrified to ask.

Y/N stared at the spot where Hannah had disappeared long after she was gone.

The cafeteria buzzed around her, but it all sounded muted, like she was submerged in deep water because she could only think about what Hannah said a few minutes ago.

“Because he’s been obsessed with you since like forever, Y/N.”

No. That wasn't possible, there's absolutely no way. Garrett Graham didn't have the capacity for obsession. If anything, he was a creature of conflict, a walking, talking thorn in her side who had spent three years turning every interaction they had into a blood sport. He was infuriating and arrogant. And yet, as she sat there, the memories began to play in her head like a reel of film. Garrett showing up at her sophomore study group, despite not being invited, just to argue about her notes, or him appearing out of thin air every time she mentioned a competition or a presentation, his eyes glinting with intensity. Garrett hating on Jackson all the time like he had done something personally to him. Garrett making jabs on Jackson any moment he gets. Maybe Hannah wasn't completely insane? Which meant Garrett might be? She needed answers, and there was only one person on this entire campus who could give them to her.

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The history section of the library was a ghost town. Most students favored the lower floors because they were the ones with better lighting and easier access to the vending machines. But it appeared that Garrett preferred the silence of the stacks. She found him in his usual corner. He was reading through a heavy textbook that lay open in front of him; and there was a half-finished coffee cooling beside his laptop.

For a moment, she just stood in the shadows of the shelves, watching him. She was trying to see him differently, just to see if she could find the man Hannah had described. The man who had spent a week playing bodyguard when she wasn't even looking; the man who had apparently threatened half the fraternity system on her behalf.

Garrett must have felt the weight of her gaze because he looked up after a few seconds. The second his eyes locked with hers, he went still.

"Hey," he said.

Y/N crossed her arms, leaning against the bookshelf. "We need to talk."

His expression shifted instantly. "What did I do now?"

The familiar response almost made her smile. "You tell me."

Garrett slowly closed his textbook, his fingers lingering on the cover. "I don't like that tone."

"Well, too bad."

His eyes narrowed, flicking over her face. "That bad, huh?"

Y/N pulled out the chair across from him and sat down.

"Hannah told me something," she said, cutting straight to the marrow.

The color visibly drained from Garrett’s face. He let out a sharp breath. "Oh, for fuck's sake."

Despite the tension, Y/N let out an incredulous laugh. "That's your response?"

"Because Hannah has the survival instincts of a goldfish," he muttered, raking a hand through his hair.

"So it's true?"

Garrett groaned and leaned back, his chair creaking. "What did she tell you?"

He dragged a hand down his face, and Y/N suddenly realised that Garrett was nervous. His leg was bouncing under the table.

"You went around threatening people," she pushed.

"I wasn't threatening people," he countered defensively.

"You literally intimidated Tyler yesterday."

"That was different because he deserved it."

She stared at him, daring him to continue. Garrett stared back, raising a brow. Finally, he sagged, his shoulders losing their rigid tension. "Fine."

"So you did it?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

Garrett looked away instantly, his gaze fixing on a point on the wall behind her.

"Hannah also said something else," she whispered.

His entire body went rigid. "Y/N." The warning in his voice was thick, but it only fueled her resolve.

"What did she mean?"

Garrett rubbed the back of his neck, clearly wishing he could be anywhere else on the planet. "She talks too much."

"What did she mean, Garrett?"

Garrett suddenly became fascinated by the steam rising from his coffee.

"Garrett."

"Y/N, don't ask questions you already know the answer to."

"Hannah said you’ve been obsessed with me."

Garrett closed his eyes slowly.

"Oh my God," the words slipped out before she could catch them.

He opened his eyes, and despite the gravity of the moment, he looked genuinely, deeply offended. "Well, obsessed is a strong word."

Y/N let out a disbelieving, jagged laugh. "You threatened half the campus, Garrett!"

"Okay, fine," he conceded, his voice dropping.

A genuine laugh escaped her. Garrett’s expression softened.

Garrett looked down at the table, traced the lines on the wood with his finger and then looked back up, his eyes twinkling .

"I like you," he said.

The words settled between them and she could sense the sincerity of his words.

"You like me," she repeated, trying to wrap her mind around the reality of it.

"Yeah."

"For how long?"

His wince was immediate, a physical reaction to the question. Y/N’s eyes widened and the realisation hit her like a cold bucket of water being sloshed down her head.

"No."

"Yeah."

"Garrett—"

"I know," he interrupted, his voice thick.

She sat in stunned disbelief. Three years. Three whole years of wasted time, and of battles fought in the wrong war. Every debate, every insult, every ridiculous, manufactured competition, everything they had between them... it hadn't been about winning. It had been about proximity. He just wanted to be close to her this whole time?

"Oh my God," she breathed again.

"That seems to be your favorite phrase today," he quipped, though the bite was missing.

"I’m just... I’m trying to catch up."

Garrett watched her, his expression a strange mixture of hope and fear.

After a few moments, she asked him

"So, what happens now?"

Garrett leaned back, looking uncharacteristically uncertain. "I don't know, I mean... nothing has to happen. I didn't tell you because I expected something. Honestly?" He offered a small, crooked smile. "Right now, I just want my rival back."

A strange happy feeling bloomed in her chest.

"You haven't argued with me properly in weeks," he added, gesturing toward her textbook.

A reluctant smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. But his smile faded suddenly, his voice dropping an octave as he moved into the territory that actually mattered. "What happened to you was awful, Y/N. And I know you're hurting."

He tapped his fingers nervously against the table.

"But if you'll let me, I'd like to help. Maybe remind you to get food occasionally. Or stop you from hiding. Help you remember who you were before all this," he said, his voice careful.

Y/N felt her throat tighten.

"And when you're okay again, if you'll have me, I'd like a chance. But if you don't..." He shrugged, though his gaze remained fixed on hers. "We'll stay friends? Or maybe academic rivals? I'm sure you'll keep trying to beat me academically."

"I do beat you academically," she shot back, a spark of her old fire returning.

"Delusional."

"And you'll continue being obnoxious."

"There she is, the Y/N I missed."

For the first time in weeks, Y/N laughed.

“I think I'd like that.”

Thank you so much for reading, lovelies. Feedback is very much appreciated. If you have any requests, feel free to send them in! And if you want me to tag you, please lmk.

Love, E ❤️

[beeewee]

Materlist

ICE HEART

John Logan x Athlete reader

SUMMARY: A frustrated figure skater who transferred from Illinois has only one goal: keeping her athletic scholarship this season, and she’ll do anything to change the way people on campus see her — especially if it means improving her image for pairs skating. Even if it costs her a fake relationship with the same person who spread the nickname that turned her into “Ice Heart.”

PROLOGUE

DEALING

FUCKING BLESSED TOWEL

CONFUSED

DAZED AND CONFUSED

HURRICANE

DELEATED

LUAL

JEALOUS

UNSAID

DOPED

BRINGING BACK

FUCKED

[gangstalicious-jimmy3]

Ice doesn't break so easily

John Logan x Figure Skater!Reader fanfic

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Been writing this the SECOND the Off Campus series released 😭😭

HOPE YOU ENJOY!

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Part 1: Watch Out!

The thing about figure skating is that people only ever see the pretty parts.

The sparkly dresses.

The perfect spins.

The standing ovations.

Nobody sees the girl throwing up in a rink bathroom fifteen minutes before competition because she's terrified she'll mess up.

Nobody sees the bruises.

Or the sprained ankles.

Or the fact that sometimes your entire future depends on a score given by five strangers sitting behind a table.

Funny how they always leave that part out.

I stared at my reflection in the mirror above my apartment sink and immediately regretted it.

I looked exhausted.

Dark circles.

Messy hair.

The kind of tired that sleep doesn't fix.

My phone buzzed on the counter.

Mom.

I let it ring.

Immediately another call came through.

Dad.

Of course.

I sighed and leaned forward, gripping the edge of the sink.

Three weeks into the semester and they were already acting like the world was ending.

Actually, that's not true.

They always acted like the world was ending.

One bad practice.

One missed landing.

One silver medal instead of gold.

Suddenly we were having family meetings.

The kind where they spoke softly enough to pretend they weren't disappointed.

Which somehow made it worse.

The phone stopped ringing.

A text appeared seconds later.

Dad: Call us when you get a chance.

Translation: Call us now.

I tossed the phone onto my bed and ignored it.

Maybe that made me a bad daughter.

At this point I honestly didn't care.

I grabbed my skate bag and headed for the door.

The second I stepped into the hallway another apartment door opened.

"Well, if it isn't my favorite twin."

I groaned immediately.

"Milo."

My brother grinned.

"That's my name."

"I know."

"You don't sound excited."

"Because I'm not."

His hand flew dramatically to his chest.

"You wound me."

"Unfortunately not fatally."

Milo barked out a laugh.

The idiot looked annoyingly attractive this morning.

Which was unfair.

We were twins.

I spent forty minutes getting ready and somehow looked like I'd survived a natural disaster.

Meanwhile he rolled out of bed looking like a cologne advertisement.

Life wasn't fair.

"You going to practice?" he asked.

"No, I'm carrying around a skate bag for fun."

"Smartass."

"Manwhore."

"And proud of it."

I rolled my eyes.

That was another thing about Milo.

Nothing ever bothered him.

Or at least he pretended nothing bothered him.

Girls loved him.

Professors tolerated him.

People naturally gravitated toward him.

Meanwhile I spent most conversations trying to figure out how quickly I could leave them.

He fell into step beside me as we walked outside.

The September air was cold enough to sting.

Students crowded the sidewalks.

Some heading to class.

Others looking far too awake for eight in the morning.

"I talked to Mom yesterday."

I immediately regretted leaving the apartment.

There it was.

The reason he'd come looking for me.

"I don't want to hear it."

"Y/N."

"No."

His expression softened.

Which was somehow worse.

"She's worried."

A laugh escaped me.

Sharp.

Humorless.

"Well she sure has a funny way of showing it."

Milo sighed.

Neither of us said anything for a moment.

Because what was there to say?

Our parents loved us.

I knew that.

The problem was they loved us the same way they loved skating.

Intensely.

Relentlessly.

Obsessively.

Every accomplishment was met with another expectation.

Every success became a requirement.

I couldn't remember the last time I'd felt proud of myself before wondering whether they'd be proud too.

And somehow the answer was always no.

"Regionals are still months away," Milo said carefully.

"Tell them that."

"They think you're stressed."

I laughed again.

This time it sounded borderline insane.

"You think?"

He winced.

"Okay. Fair."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

By the time we reached the athletic complex, my mood had somehow got worse.

An impressive achievement.

I adjusted the strap of my bag.

"You don't have class?"

"I do."

"Then why are you here?"

Milo grinned.

"Because you're my sister."

I narrowed my eyes suspiciously.

"And?"

"And I know you've been avoiding everyone."

I immediately looked away.

Because unfortunately he was right.

Making friends had never been my thing.

Most of my life had revolved around skating.

Training, competing, recovering, and repeat.

While everyone else learned how to socialize, I learned how to land triple jumps.

Very useful for skating.

Terrible for making friends.

The scholarship was the only reason I was at Briar in the first place.

A full athletic scholarship.

One injury.

One bad season.

One mistake.

And it could all disappear.

No pressure though.

"Go to class, Milo."

Milo stood there for another second like he wanted to say something.

Probably something annoyingly insightful.

Then he sighed.

"Fine. Be stubborn."

"I'm not stubborn."

His stare said otherwise.

"I'm serious, Y/N."

His voice was quieter now.

"Don't let them get in your head."

My throat tightened.

Because he wasn't talking about my professors.

Or my classes.

Or even skating.

He was talking about them.

Mom and Dad.

I looked away first.

Like I always did.

"I'll see you later, Mo."

His expression softened.

Then, thankfully, he let it go.

"Text me if you need anything."

"Like bail money?"

"Exactly like bail money."

A small laugh escaped me.

Milo pointed at me dramatically.

"There she is."

"Go away." I yelled.

He grinned before turning around and heading toward the academic buildings.

A few girls walking by immediately looked at him.

Of course they did.

Being Milo was apparently a full time job.

I shook my head and continued toward the rink.

The second I stepped inside, everything changed.

The noise disappeared.

The chatter.

The crowds.

The feeling that everyone was looking at you.

Gone.

The familiar scent of cold air and freshly resurfaced ice greeted me immediately.

My shoulders relaxed before I even realized it.

Home.

Or at least the closest thing to it.

The rink wasn't completely empty.

A few skaters occupied one side of the ice.

A coach was yelling corrections at a teenager attempting a spin.

Someone in the distance was running drills.

I dropped my bag onto one of the benches and immediately began pulling on my skates.

The routine was automatic by now.

Left skate.

Right skate.

Tighten.

Retie.

Double knot.

Stand.

My phone buzzed again.

Mom.

I stared at the screen.

The familiar knot formed in my stomach.

For a second I considered answering.

Just getting it over with.

Maybe this time the conversation would be different.

Maybe this time she would ask how I was adjusting.

Maybe she'd ask about classes.

Maybe she'd ask if I was making friends.

The phone stopped ringing.

A voicemail notification appeared seconds later.

I didn't listen to it.

Instead I shoved my phone into my bag and stood.

The ice waited patiently beyond the boards.

For the first time all morning, I could breathe properly.

I stepped onto the rink.

Immediately everything else faded away.

This was the part people didn't understand.

Figure skating wasn't just a sport.

It wasn't just training.

It wasn't even competition.

Not really.

It was freedom.

The only place I'd ever felt completely in control.

The ice didn't care about expectations.

It didn't care about scholarships.

Or grades.

Or disappointing your parents.

It only cared whether you could stay standing.

And somehow that felt simpler.

I pushed off.

The familiar sound of blades carving through ice echoed around me.

One lap became two.

Two became three.

The tension slowly drained from my body.

My movements became smoother. Lighter.

For a little while, I let myself forget.

Forget the scholarship hanging over my head.

Forget the calls.

Forget the fact that every achievement somehow came attached to another expectation.

The music began playing through my earbuds.

A routine I'd heard thousands of times.

I started working through sections automatically.

Step sequence.

Turn.

Spin.

Landing.

Again.

And again.

And again.

The repetition should have been exhausting.

Instead it felt comforting.

By the time an hour passed, sweat dampened the back of my neck.

My legs burned.

But my head was finally quiet.

That's why I didn't notice the hockey players arriving.

Not at first.

I didn't notice the voices near the entrance.

Or the sound of equipment hitting the benches.

Or the growing group gathering by the boards.

I was too busy chasing perfection.

Too busy trying to nail a jump I'd already landed a hundred times before.

One more time.

Just one more.

I picked up speed.

The music swelled.

My knees bent.

I launched into the air.

And that's when somebody shouted.

"WATCH OUT!"

The shout came too late.

My blade caught.

The landing went wrong immediately.

And before I could correct it, I slammed shoulder first into the boards.

Pain exploded through my side.

"Fuck."

The word escaped before I could stop it.

Somewhere behind me, multiple male voices started talking at once.

"Jesus."

"That looked painful."

"Is she dead?"

I pushed myself upright.

Unfortunately.

A whole hockey team was staring at me.

Fantastic.

Exactly what every figure skater dreams of.

Humiliating themselves in front of a group of six-foot athletes.

"Are you okay?"

A blond guy had stepped forward.

Concern written all over his face.

"Yeah."

I winced.

"No."

He laughed.

"At least you're honest."

I glanced toward the group gathered near the entrance.

Most looked amused.

One looked concerned.

One looked like he was actively trying not to laugh.

And one was watching me.

Dark hair.

Broad shoulders.

Arms folded across his chest.

His expression completely unreadable.

I looked away first.

Because obviously.

Then I stepped off the ice.

And immediately lost my balance.

"Shit!"

Strong hands grabbed my waist before gravity could finish the job.

The world tilted.

Then stopped.

For one embarrassing second, I found myself staring directly into a pair of dark eyes.

Close.

Way too close.

The hockey player raised an eyebrow.

"Careful."

His voice was annoyingly calm.

"Wouldn't want all that hard work to end in a concussion."

Heat rushed straight to my face.

I stepped back so quickly I almost fell again.

His mouth twitched.

Like he was trying not to smile.

Which somehow annoyed me even more.

"Thanks."

The words came out awkwardly.

Then I turned around and practically fled.

Behind me, somebody laughed.

"Nice one, Logan."

And just like that, I learned his name.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Masterlist Next part

[residentheartache]

The loss of my life

Emery Walsh x fem!reader

Summary — emery is one to get shaken up often until she sees a patient who looks like you.

Warnings— I didn’t edit this, blood, mentions of death hospital settings surgeries and greys anatomy type shit

Word count 3.k

Requested — YES

The first time Dr.Walsh saw the patient’s face, her stomach dropped so violently she almost missed the diagnosis entirely.

“Thirty-two-year-old female,” the paramedic rattled off while they rushed beside the stretcher. “MVC. Driver-side impact. Hypotensive en route, possible splenic rupture—”

Emery barely heard him because the woman on the gurney looked exactly like you. Not remotely similar. She had the same soft mouth. Same nose. Same eyelashes resting against pale cheeks. Even the same little crease between the brows you got when you were annoyed at her.

For one impossible, horrifying second, Emery thought someone had dragged you into her ER and that made her heart stop.

“Dr.Walsh?” Nurse Ramirez says sharply, snapping Emery out of her trance blinking hard and shaking her head as the trauma bay comes back into focus.

‘It’s not you’ she thought and repeated it in her mind like a mantra but even though that wasn’t you it was still close enough to make her chest hurt.

“Pressure’s tanking” someone called out getting away at the patient’s clothes to get them out of the way.

Emery stepped forward taking over “we need to do a FAST ultrasound to see if there’s any internal bleeding.”

“What happens if there’s any internal bleeding?” One of the surgical residents asks.” As they wheel the ultrasound machine over to the side of the patient’s bed?”

Emery turned on the machine and squirted gel onto Jane Doe's stomach and used the wand “well if there’s internal bleeding then we need to prep for surgery and the OR for surgery” she explains checking the computer looking for any signs of bleeding.

The second the image appeared on the screen, Emery’s expression changed. Dark fluid bloomed across the ultrasound like spilled ink.

“There,” she said quietly, jaw tightening. “Positive FAST. She’s bleeding into her abdomen.”

The resident beside her went pale. “How bad?”

“Bad enough that if we stand here talking about it, she dies.” Emery handed the probe off sharply. “Page trauma surgery. Prep OR two now. Massive transfusion protocol.”

Nurses rushed around the room, someone hanging blood while another pushed meds. The cardiac monitor screamed with every drop in the woman’s pressure, the frantic beeping drilling straight into Emery’s skull.

“Looks like we’re scrubbing in.” Emery says taking her gloves off, tossing them into the trash can and following the patient to the OR and all she could see was you, not the Jane Doe.

You laughing in her kitchen while stealing fries off her plate. You half asleep in one of her sweatshirts. You rolling your eyes whenever she came home after a thirty-hour shift and insisted she was “fine.”

It made her sick.

“Pressure’s seventy over forty,” Ramirez called.

“Starting another unit.”

“Move,” Emery ordered, already pushing the stretcher toward the elevator herself. “Come on, stay with me.”

The patient didn’t respond. Her face stayed limp and pale beneath the fluorescent lights and Emery hated how much it looked like you were unconscious.

By the time they burst into the OR, Emery’s hands were already regloved. One of the attendings looked over. “Walsh, you’ve been on shift for twelve hours already. I can take this.”

“I’m fine.”

It came out too fast and too dismissive because she wasn’t fine. The attending paused but didn’t argue when Emery stepped up to the table. Because this was what she did. She saved people. She cut them open and fixed what the world had broken.

Except two hours later, the monitor flatlined.

The sound hollowed the room out.

“No pulse.”

“Start compressions.”

Blood coated Emery’s gloves to the wrists as she searched desperately through the cavity, trying to clamp the bleeding vessel she couldn’t seem to control.

“Come on,” she muttered under her breath. “Come on…”

Another round of epi.

Another rhythm check.

Nothing.

The trauma surgeon across from her looked at the clock first.

Emery already knew.

She could feel it.

“Time of death, 3:17 AM.”

Silence.

The words hit her like a physical blow. For a second, nobody moved. Then the room shifted into practiced aftermath machines shutting off, instruments counted, nurses speaking softly but Emery just stared at the woman’s face.

The surgical mask suddenly felt too tight against Emery’s face. Everyone else moved first. The scrub nurse began quietly covering the body. Someone shut off the monitor, finally silencing the flatline that still echoed inside Emery’s skull. The residents drifted toward cleanup, subdued in the way doctors became after losing someone young.

Emery didn’t move because all she could see was you.

This woman had your face.

And now she was dead.

“Walsh.”

The trauma attending’s voice came carefully this time.

Emery blinked once.

“You okay?”

No she wasn’t okay. She wasn’t even close to being okay , but she nodded automatically anyway because that was what doctors did. They compartmentalized. Buried it. Moved onto the next patient.

“I’m fine,” she said again, quieter this time.

The attending looked unconvinced but didn’t push. “Go take ten.”

Emery stripped off her gloves with more force than necessary. Blood smeared across the stainless steel edge of the table before she tossed them away.

Her hands were shaking but none of the other attending’s said anything. She stepped out of the OR and the hallway lights hit her like a freight train.

A nurse rushed past with labs. Someone laughed down the corridor. A monitor alarmed from another room. Life continued around her like someone hadn’t just died under her hands but that was the thing with hospital’s everything must go on.

Emery made her way to the locker room she needed to hear your voice

Emery made her way to the locker room because she needed to hear your voice.

Needed it in the same way people needed oxygen.

The second the door shut behind her, the silence crashed over her all at once. The adrenaline that had kept her moving through surgery drained from her body so fast it made her dizzy.

Her hands were still shaking.

She stared at them for a second like they belonged to someone else.

Those same hands had cracked open a chest thirty minutes ago. Had tried to save a woman who looked so much like you it made her feel haunted.

And they’d failed.

Emery braced both palms against the metal lockers and lowered her head.

Breathe.

Just breathe.

Her phone was already in her hand before she consciously decided to grab it. She opened your contact immediately.

A photo of you smiled back at her.

You were sitting on the kitchen counter in one of her hoodies, grinning at whoever had taken the picture probably her. There was flour on your cheek from the disastrous attempt the two of you had made at baking cookies after one of her overnight shifts.

Emery felt her throat tighten painfully.

“Come on,” she whispered to herself.

She hit the call button The phone rang four times before it went straight to voicemail and her stomach dropped.

“Hey, you’ve reached Y/N. I’m probably asleep or ignoring my phone again—”

Emery hung up before the message finished. You probably were asleep. That was all. It was almost four in the morning. Normal people slept at four in the morning.

But the unease in her chest only got worse.

She texted you immediately.

baby call me when you wake up

A second later:

please

Emery stared at the screen.

Nothing.

The fluorescent lights overhead buzzed faintly. Somewhere down the hallway a trauma pager went off again followed by hurried footsteps.

Usually those sounds grounded her.

Tonight they just made her feel sick.

The image of that woman’s face kept flashing behind her eyes.

Dead on the table.

Looking like you.

Her phone remained silent.

“Jesus Christ,” she muttered, dragging a hand down her face.

You were fine.

You had to be fine.

Maybe your phone died. Maybe you fell asleep on the couch again with one of your comfort movies playing too loud.

A knock sounded against the locker room door bringing her back to the present.

“Walsh?”

Ramirez poked her head inside carefully.

Emery straightened automatically, shoving every emotion back down where it belonged.

“What?”

“There’s coffee in the lounge.”

“I’m not hungry.”

Ramirez studied her for a moment. “Nobody said anything about food.”

Emery exhaled sharply through her nose.

“I’m fine.”

“You’ve said that four times in the last hour.”

“Because I am.”

It wasn’t convincing Not with the dark circles under her eyes or the blood still smeared faintly near the cuff of her scrub top.

Ramirez leaned against the doorway. “That patient got to you.”

“No,” Emery answered too quickly.

The nurse raised an eyebrow.

Emery looked away first.

“She looked like someone,” she admitted quietly.

Ramirez’s expression softened immediately. “Y/N?” Pop

Emery didn’t answer she didn't need to because Ramirez has been on the job long enough to know the signs.

“Oh.”

The silence stretched between them. Neither of them knew what to say. The only saving grace was Emery’s phone buzzing violently in her hand. Both of them looked down instantly. Relief hit so fast Emery almost felt weak.

“See?” Ramirez said gently. “Probably just—”

But the second Emery looked at the screen, every ounce of relief vanished.

Unknown Number.

Her stomach twisted.

She answered immediately. “Hello?”

Static crackled through the speaker followed by chaos in the background.

“Is this Dr. Emery Walsh?”

Every muscle in her body locked.

“Yes.”

“This is Pittsburgh EMS. We have your number listed as emergency contact for Y/N Y/L/N.”

The world stopped. Ramirez’s face changed instantly at whatever she saw in Emery’s expression.

“What happened?” Emery demanded.

Her voice no longer sounded like hers.

“Motor vehicle collision occurred approximately ten minutes ago,” the paramedic said quickly. “She was found unconscious at the scene and—”

“No.”

The word tore itself out of her.

No.

Not you.

Not after tonight.

“We’re en route to County General now—”

“I’m already here,” Emery snapped.

The paramedic paused briefly. “She’s critical, Doctor.”

Emery’s knees nearly buckled

Around her, the hospital suddenly felt too suffocating. The exact same words from earlier echoed through her skull.

Driver-side impact.

Hypotensive.

Possible internal bleeding.

Like something cruel had decided to repeat itself.

“ETA two minutes,” the paramedic continued. “Possible abdominal hemorrhage and chest trauma. BP is unstable.”

Emery was already moving before the call ended.

Locker room door slamming open.

Ramirez immediately followed behind her. “Emery—”

“That’s my girlfriend.”

The words cracked apart on the way out.

It stopped Ramirez cold for half a second because Dr. Emery Walsh never sounded afraid. The Emery she knew was cocky and confident but this Emery looked terrified.

They burst into the ER just as the ambulance bay doors flew open.

“Move!”

The stretcher came barreling through the doors surrounded by paramedics and there you were.Blood in your hair. Skin pale beneath the trauma room lights and Motionless.

Emery physically stumbled when she saw you. For one horrible second she couldn’t breathe. Because suddenly the dead woman from earlier was gone and this was real.

This was not some Jane Doe who looks like you.

“Y/N,” she whispered.

Nobody heard her over the noise.

“BP dropping!”

“She was cardiac arrested once in transport!”

“Possible splenic rupture!”

The words hit Emery like punches to the ribs Like the universe had decided to torture her personally.

“Dr. Walsh?” one of the residents asked nervously.

Emery snapped back to life instantly.

“Trauma one. NOW.”

The team moved.

You didn’t.

Your head rolled weakly with the movement of the stretcher and Emery reached for you automatically, blood immediately smearing across her hands.

You were cold.

“Baby,” she breathed shakily, brushing damp hair away from your face. “Hey, look at me.”

Nothing.

The monitor screamed again.

“Pressure’s crashing!”

Fear unlike anything Emery had ever experienced ripped through her chest.

Not this. Please not this. she thought

“Get blood ready,” she barked. “Call OR two. Move!”

Someone hesitated.

Hospital policy.

No treating family.

No operating on people you loved.

Emery looked at them with tears already gathering in her eyes and something in her expression made the entire room go silent.

“She is dying,” Emery said.

Not Dr. Walsh.

Not the brilliant trauma surgeon everybody feared and respected.

Just Emery.

Just a woman watching the love of her life bleed out in front of her.

“Somebody help me save her.”

Your fingers twitched weakly against the sheets. It was tiny and barely noticeable but Emery caught it immediately.

“There you are,” she whispered desperately, gripping your hand. “Stay with me, sweetheart. Stay with me.”

Your eyelashes fluttered faintly and a broken sound left your throat.

Thank God.

Emery bent forward until her forehead rested shakily against yours for half a second despite the chaos exploding around her.

“I’ve got you,” she whispered, voice breaking completely. “I’ve got you, baby. I swear to God, I’ve got you.”

“Walsh, you know that you can’t operate on a loved one right?” Dr.Espinoza the head of surgery (bare with me I can’t remember who is head of surgery in the Pitt) says softly.

Emery sniffles and nods her head “I know I know” she admits looking back at the doctor.

“She’ll be in good hands so why don’t you clock out and we’ll let you know when she’s out of surgery.” Dr.Espinoza says as you begin to get wheeled up into the OR.

Emery’s entire body moved on instinct.

“No.”

It came out harsher than she intended, cracking apart under the weight of panic clawing up her throat. She followed the stretcher automatically as they pushed you toward the elevators.

“I’m going with her.”

“Emery—” Dr. Espinoza started carefully.

“I said I’m going with her.”

The doors to the elevator opened with a sharp ding and the surgical team rolled you inside. Emery walked in beside the stretcher before anyone could stop her. Ramirez squeezed in behind her at the last second, probably because she knew Emery was one bad sentence away from completely unraveling.

The elevator doors shut. Silence.Or at least silence compared to the chaos downstairs. Your hand looked so small wrapped in oxygen tubing and dried blood. Emery reached for it anyway. Your skin was freezing.

“Baby,” she whispered shakily, thumb brushing weakly over your knuckles. “Hey. Stay with me.”

Your eyelids fluttered faintly again.

Not fully conscious.

Not really there.

But enough that Emery saw the tiny movement and nearly broke apart from relief.

“There she is,” Ramirez murmured quietly from the corner.

Emery swallowed hard.

Your lips parted around a strained little breath and Emery leaned closer immediately, desperate enough to hear anything.

“…Em…”

The sound barely existed.

But it destroyed her.

“Oh God.”

Her eyes burned instantly.

“I’m right here,” she said quickly, voice trembling now. “I’m right here, sweetheart. Don’t try to talk, okay? Just breathe for me.”

Your face pinched faintly like you were trying to focus on her voice through the pain.

Then the monitor shrieked.

“Pressure’s dropping again,” one of the nurses warned.

Emery’s head snapped up immediately. “How much?”

“Sixty systolic.”

“Shit.”

The elevator couldn’t move fast enough.

Every second felt stolen.

Emery looked back down at you and suddenly all she could see was every ordinary moment she might lose.

You stealing her hoodies.

You dancing barefoot in the kitchen at two in the morning.

You asleep against her chest after she came home from impossible shifts.

The way you always mumbled, “you’re late,” even when you were half unconscious.

All of it threatened to disappear in one terrible night.

The elevator doors finally opened onto the surgical floor.

“Move!”

The team rushed forward again.

OR staff shoved open double doors while another nurse rattled off your vitals to anesthesia. Emery stayed glued to your side until the bright lights of the operating room hit her square in the face.

And then she stopped because this was it. The line. The one line she couldn’t cross.

Dr. Espinoza turned toward her gently. “Emery.”

Her chest heaved once.

You looked so pale on that table.

Too still.

Too much like the woman from earlier.

Except this time Emery loved you.

This time it was your blood covering her hands.

“She needs surgery now,” the attending surgeon said firmly while scrubbing in. “We’re losing time.”

Emery nodded automatically but her feet wouldn’t move.

You made another weak sound somewhere beneath the oxygen mask.

Her composure shattered completely.

She crossed the room in two steps and grabbed your hand again before they could wheel you fully beneath the surgical lights.

“Hey,” she whispered frantically. “Hey, look at me.”

Your eyes opened barely a sliver.

Confused.

Glassy with pain.

But they found hers.

And Emery almost collapsed from the sheer relief of it.

“There you are,” she breathed.

A tear slipped down before she could stop it.

You looked terrified.

That hurt worse than anything.

“Em…” you slurred weakly.

“I know, baby. I know.”

Your fingers twitched against hers, trying to hold on. Emery bent down fast, pressing a trembling kiss against your forehead despite the blood and the noise and the people moving around you.

“I love you,” she whispered fiercely. “You hear me? I love you so much.”

Your lashes fluttered again.

Then your eyes started slipping shut.

“No, no, no— stay awake for me.”

“Emery.” Dr. Espinoza’s voice was firmer now.

She looked up.

The entire OR had gone quiet around them.

Because every person in that room could see it.

The terror in Emery’s face.

The way her hand shook holding yours.

The way she looked less like a surgeon and more like someone standing on the edge of losing everything.

“You need to let us work,” Dr. Espinoza said softly.

Emery’s breathing turned uneven.

For the first time in years, she felt completely helpless. Ramirez stepped closer carefully. “I’ll stay with her,” she promised quietly.

Emery looked back at you one last time. Your heartbeat stuttered across the monitor. Her thumb brushed across your cheek gently, wiping away a streak of blood near your temple.

“Please,” she whispered so quietly nobody else could hear it. “Please don’t leave me.”

Then she finally let go.

And the second they pulled your stretcher away from her, Emery felt like someone had ripped her heart directly out of her chest.

One hour passed.

Then two.

Emery stayed exactly where she was outside the OR.

Someone brought her coffee at some point. It went cold untouched beside her chair.

Residents and nurses drifted quietly around the surgical floor, speaking in hushed voices whenever they looked her way. Nobody had ever seen Emery Walsh like this before.

Not cold.

Not composed.

Not untouchable.

Just terrified.

Every time the OR doors moved, her head snapped up instantly.

Every single time.

At one point Ramirez tried to convince her to change out of her bloodstained scrubs.

Emery looked down at them blankly like she hadn’t even noticed.

Your blood.

Still on her hands.

Still on her clothes.

She couldn’t bring herself to take them off.

At 6:12 AM, the doors finally opened again.

Everyone in the hallway seemed to freeze simultaneously.

Dr. Espinoza stepped out first, removing his surgical cap slowly.

Emery was on her feet before he even spoke.

The expression on his face nearly stopped her heart.

No no no—

“She’s alive.”

The breath Emery let out sounded almost painful.

Espinoza held up a hand quickly before she collapsed from relief completely.

“She’s critical,” he continued carefully. “Massive blood loss. We repaired the splenic rupture and controlled the liver bleed, but the next twenty-four hours are going to matter.”

Emery nodded rapidly, tears already spilling again.

Alive.

You were alive.

“She’s intubated and headed to ICU now,” he said softly. “But she made it through surgery.”

Emery’s knees finally gave out.

Ramirez caught her before she hit the floor completely.

A broken sound tore out of Emery’s chest as she covered her face with both hands. Not grief this time.

Relief.

Pure, overwhelming relief.

For several seconds she couldn’t speak at all.

Espinoza crouched slightly in front of her. “Hey.”

Emery looked up.

“She fought hard,” he told her gently. “Really hard.”

That undid her completely.

Because of course you did.

You always did.

“She asked for you before anesthesia fully took her under,” he added quietly.

Emery started crying harder.

Ramirez squeezed her shoulder firmly while Espinoza stood again, giving her a second to breathe through it.

Finally Emery dragged a shaking hand down her face.

“Can I see her?”

Espinoza nodded immediately. “ICU’s getting her settled now. Give them ten minutes.”

Ten minutes felt unbearable.

But after tonight, Emery would wait forever if it meant you stayed alive.

[rgntthragg]

Meant to be

☄︎ Warnings: NSFW, smut, threesome, everybody fuckin! ☄︎ Pairing: F!Reader x Allie Hayes x Dean Di Laurentis ☄︎ Rating: Mature, 18+ ☄︎ Words: 2343 ☄︎ AN: written for this request and this comment request. who wouldn't want to be sandwitched between them! it is 4 am right now lol so there could be many a mistake that my tired eyes cannot see.

Main Masterlist

You were not jealous.

That, you could say with certainty. Jealousy implied that you had something to lose to someone else. You didn’t.

Perhaps the better word for you would be envious. You were envious that your two best friends had found each other before you could. That didn’t mean that you weren’t happy for them, you were.

In fact, you loved them both. But that was the problem. They were your closest friends; they kept you grounded when the chaos in your world got too much to bear. But, watching the effortless way that they fit together always left a quiet, hollow ache right in the centre of your chest.

You didn’t want Dean to look at Allie in any way less than he did, and you didn’t want Allie to stop smiling back up at Dean. You just wished that there was a space for you in the middle of that warmth.

Sitting on the floor of your dorm, your back rested against the base of the sofa as you studied. Up on the cushions behind you, Allie and Dean were curled together. His arm was draped around her shoulders, fingers tracing absentminded patterns on her skin while her head rested on his chest.

They didn’t even need to be here, but it was part of your routine. For weeks, you’d spend hours together on lazy Sunday mornings. By the time you realised the depth of your love for them, it was already too late. They were committed to your routine and you couldn’t exist without it.

“Hey,” Allie’s voice broke through your thoughts.

You tilted your head back against the sofa, leaning against the cushions. Looking up at them, you saw they were both peering down at you.

“Are you okay, babe? You’ve been staring at that same page for the last like thirty minutes.”

If there was one thing about Allie, it was that she loved fiercely. She could always tell if something was wrong and she wasn’t one to let it go.

Dean’s hand slid down the sofa until it met your shoulder. The muscles there were extremely tight. He frowned and sat up with Allie still in his arms. Strong hands came to your shoulders and he began kneading at the tension there.

“What’s going on in that head of yours?” Dean asked as he continued working out the knots in your shoulder.

You couldn’t tell him that it was pointless to be working at your shoulders. Every brush of their hands, every shared glance, and every quiet laugh between them just reminded you of the invisible wall separating you from them. Recently, these study sessions were full of that, it’s like they knew you were hurting and purposely ramped up their touchiness.

The knots in your shoulders came from the weight of pretending like everything was okay. They weren’t going to go away while you were still in the room with them, no matter how good his hands felt on you.

“Just tired,” you lied offering a faint smile back up at them. You forced yourself to look at the textbook again. “The words are starting to blend together is all.”

Allie shifted behind you, detaching herself from Dean’s side. She dropped to the floor next to you and gently pulled the textbook from your hands, closing it with a soft thud and setting it aside.

“I think you’ve been avoiding us,” Allie said softly. It wasn’t an accusation; her voice held a fragility that you completely understood. It was the tone of someone who cared deeply and was terrified of a widening rift. “You’ve been doing it all week. Whenever the both of us are around, you find a reason to leave.”

“I haven’t–.”

“You have,” Dean interrupted. He also dropped to the floor, settling on the other side of you. Even the way they smelt complimented each other, Dean’s expensive cologne mixed with the sweet trace of Allie’s perfume. “You’ve been pulling away from us.”

You were right where you had dreamt of being, sandwiched between them, but everything was wrong. You were trapped.

“You guys are a couple. I’m the friend.” You hoped they couldn’t hear how your voice shook. “I’m supposed to give you space.”

Allie moved from seated beside you to sit on her knees in front of you. “What if… we didn’t want you to give us space?”

The question hung in the air as you looked between them. This felt like a trap but, from what you could see, they were being serious.

“What if I told you that, hypothetically, last week I told Allie that I felt like I had failed her as a boyfriend because I was thinking about another girl, you, the same way I thought of her.” He was in that rarely seen Dean mode where he’s really serious, all hints of playful flirting gone.

“And,” Allie added, “what if I told you, hypothetically, that when Dean said that, all I felt was relief because I had been sitting in class every day, staring at the empty seat next to me, wishing it was you.”

“And, hypothetically, what if we discussed it and agreed that we wanted there to be an us?” Dean gestures to the three of you.

You stayed silent, unsure of how to respond. This felt like a dream that you’d surely wake up from and cry because it wasn’t real.

“What would you think about those hypotheticals?” Allie asked vulnerably.

You swallowed, loudly and visibly. “Can I ask what triggered these… hypotheticals?”

“For me, it was when you both fell asleep on me when we watched that movie,” Dean confessed. “I looked at Allie, then down at you, and the thought of moving you away felt wrong. I wanted you both to stay right there with me.”

“For me,” Allie confessed as she held your hand tightly, “it’s been building from the moment we instantly clicked. But last week, the sunlight hit your face and I just… I froze.”

The walls you had built over the past few weeks came tumbling down under the weight of their confessions. It really didn’t take much but hearing what you had always dreamed you would. The silence stretched between the three of you, but, this time, you felt a rush of hope.

You looked down at your hands, and let out a breathy laugh.

“For me,” you whispered, your voice cracking. “For me, it was that night when we were all cooking dinner. Allie and I were dancing around the kitchen and you were leaning on the counter watching us with this smile on your face. I can’t explain it but everything felt so right. Just like, this is how life was supposed to be.”

Dean wrapped an arm around your waist, pulling you an inch closer to him.

Allie crawled over to you and straddled your lap. “God, you have no idea how long I’ve been wanting to do this.”

Allie’s hands came to cup your face as she leant in to kiss you. She was gentle with it, her lips brushing against you a few times before she pressed her mouth to yours. Allie coaxed your tongue out of your mouth, and your tongues danced.

You melted into her touch, hands automatically resting on her hips as she shifted against you. He thumbs traced gentle, soothing paths across your cheekbones. Her mouth tasted sweet, and you couldn’t help but wonder what she tasted like between her legs.

Next to you, Dean let out a groan of approval. His arm stayed locked around your waist. He didn’t try to interrupt your kiss. Instead, he leant over to bury his face in the crook of your neck. his lips brushed your sensitive skin, leaving a trail of kisses from your shoulder to just below your ear. You gasped into Allie’s mouth.

When Allie pulled back, her lips were swollen, lipstick smeared across her lips. “Now you two,” she commanded.

Dean didn’t hesitate; his hand came to cup the back of your neck as he pulled you into the kiss. Your brain short-circuited as you melted into his kisses too. He wasn’t slow and gentle with it like Allie; it was a possessively desperate kiss. Frantic and filled with the aching relief of someone who had been holding back for too long.

Allie’s hands slid up under the hem of your shirt, finding your nipples and giving them a pinch. Through the awkward angle, your hand slipped past the waistband of Dean’s joggers and you palmed him over his boxers. You could already feel him hardening under your touch.

Dean gasped into your mouth as he bucked into your hand which had squeezed him through his boxers. He pulled back from your mouth. “Bedroom?”

The three of you got up on shaky legs, pulling off your clothes as you ran to your bedroom.

As soon as the three of you were naked in your room, Dean commanded you both to the bed, “I want to taste my girls.”

You and Allie lie side by side at the edge of the mattress, legs spread as Dean knelt on the floor at the foot of the bed. He expertly moved between you both, mouth on one, hand on the other.

Your hips bucked as he dragged his tongue up your folds. His tongue paused as it got to your clit, sucking lightly on it before moving back down to your clenching hole.

Simultaneously, he worked a finger, and then two, into Allie. Her hips gyrated on the bed as he curved and scissored his fingers inside of her.

You knew Dean had a reputation, but now you were seeing just how well earnt it was.

“Yeah~,” you breathed. “Just like that.”

He then alternated, his mouth moving over Allie’s leaking pussy as he slipped two fingers into you. You head lolled over to Allie whose mouth was slightly parted and eyes rolled back. You didn’t think you could find her any more beautiful than you already did but here she was, wantonly moaning as Dean’s tongue moved around her.

“Wait, her first,” Allie moaned.

Dean knew exactly what Allie meant. He turned his attention to you, his mouth swirling over your clit and his fingers worked into you. One of Allie’s hands came to knead your breast while she leant down and covered the other with her mouth. Her tongue flicked over your sensitive nipple in the same way that Dean’s tongue flicked over your clit.

The feeling overwhelmed you in the best way, you were finally with the two people you knew you were meant to be with, and they were pouring all of their attention into you. You wriggled into their touches. The pleasure built over you, rising and rising until it hit its peak and crashed over you.

“That’s it, that’s my girl,” Allie praised, hand stoking your clenching stomach as you rode out your orgasm.

“Fucking delicious,” Dean called from between your legs, still lapping up your arousal.

The compliments from them had your face flushing.

You came down from your high but you weren’t done. You didn’t care how greedy you sounded, you needed more.

“Allie, wanna taste you,” you whined.

Allie lay back onto her back, spreading her legs for you. You immediately took your place, parting her slick folds with two fingers. She had the most beautiful pussy you’d ever seen, flushed red with arousal.

You licked your lips before delving right in. Your tongue exploring every inch of her that you could get at. Her moans were muffled around Dean’s cock. She deepthroated him with ease as she played with his balls.

She didn’t last long after that, the feeling of you both on her left her overstimulated in the best way.

“Ngh~ so good~.” Allie releases Dean with a pop as cums, screaming your name. Both you and Dean watched as her body convulsed with the force of her orgasm.

Dean looked up at you, he was fully hard now, his cock standing tall as it twitched against his stomach. His tip was an angry red, leaking precum. He probably had the best cock you’ve ever seen. They made such a pretty pair.

“Can I fuck you?” Dean asked you, his voice raspy.

“Yes, how do you want me?” Your own voice was pretty ragged too.

“On your back, I want to watch your face as I sink into you.”

You probably could have come right then from his words. You laid down on your back, and Dean lined himself up.

He didn’t spend any time teasing you, your previous orgasm and fresh arousal provided enough lubrication that he could slide right in.

His hips snapped into the back of your thighs as he fucked into you, the force of it had your tits bouncing and the headboard snapping against the wall. His eyes didn’t leave your face the entire time.

Allie crawled over to bury her face between your legs, alternating between licking at your clit and licking at the area where Dean’s erection disappeared within you. Your fingers gripped the sheets as they both worked you.

Dean was a vocal fucker, you found. He muttered praises and compliments between his grunts as he thrust into you.

His moans got progressively louder as his thrusts got more erratic. Your moans joined his as Allie flicked over your clit in a way that had another orgasm ripping through you. You clamped down on Dean and his body shuddered as he spilled himself inside of you.

Allie came up to lazily kiss you, and you could taste yourself on her.

Dean didn’t pull out of you until his cock stopped twitching inside of you. At that point, you and Allie were already cuddled together.

He got a washcloth to clean you both up before he cuddled in next to you.  

Laying tangled together in the quiet of the bedroom, the heavy weight that had pulled at you for weeks was finally gone.

You were exactly where you belonged.

[inkdippedquills]

i dodged a mullet

Summary: Sometimes your past comes back to haunt you in ways that give your coworkers and crush far too much comedy material. If only the ambulance would be kind enough to run you over. 

Pairing: Fem!Reader x Jack Abbot

Tags: attending!reader, fluffy, the haunting of bad boyfriend choices, a little goofy.

Word Count: 5.5k

Author's Note: I wrote this to avoid fighting with my family over Christmas! Enjoy! Inspired by "I Dodged a Mullet" by the Chattahoochies, unfortunately this is when I come out as a country music fan. I can only apologize. 

-- -- --

You prided yourself on never lying, so when Ellis asked if you were in love with Dr. Jack Abbot, you responded with,

“Of course. Who wouldn’t love a man with a crike kit in his pocket at all times?”

It wasn’t your business if Ellis read that as sarcastic.

And that’s how you managed to survive the first year of your junior attending position at PTMC—never lying, but never correcting the misconception that Jack Abbot had not thoroughly charmed you. The Pitt at night had its own rhythm: it was filled with bizarre injuries, sundowning patients, sharp but well-intentioned banter, and the constant rattle of gurneys being pushed to and fro. The air was always vaguely stale and the coffee machine never quite worked the way you wanted it to. 

Jack hadn’t intended to charm you, that was clear. He had about as much game as an empty and abandoned Chuck-E-Cheese. Still, he was earnest, dry-humored, and ferocious when it came to patients. There was never a battle he was unwilling to wage or a line he couldn’t creatively fudge. It had been Jack, after all, who had shown you how to finagle ultrasounds in order to ensure the measurements were within the cutoff, standing just close enough at the machine that his shoulder brushed yours while he murmured, “Angle it like this,” as if it were a secret—in a way, it kind of was.

But a year in, the man was clearly hung up over his ex-wife, and no matter how much you’d worked on your self-esteem and confidence, you couldn’t compete with a ghost. Still, you found yourself enjoying the night shift because you were around Jack. He wasn’t laugh-out-loud fun like some of your friends, but he always had a sharp comment or knowing look that seemed to buoy you through lulls or rough moments. He lingered when you talked, leaned against counters instead of walking away, and somehow always ended up beside you during the slow stretches, even when there was no obvious reason for it.

“Tell me something,” he said, sliding his phone over to you across the cluttered workstation. The plastic surface was covered in old tape residue and a half-wiped coffee ring. “You’re young.”

You didn’t look at him, fingers still moving as you scrolled through a chart. “Tell that to the bartender who didn’t card me. I am not forty-five and I sure as hell don’t look it.”

“Hospital lighting is unflattering for everyone. I’m afraid I can’t comment,” he said balefully, pushing his glasses higher on his nose.

“Fuck off, Abbot. What can I and my Gen Alpha niece translate for you today?”

“The fuck is 6-7? My nephew texted it to me and I cannot for the life of me figure it out.”

“Not a clue. My niece is a little too old for that.”

“Damn. You’re the only person I’m willing to ask.”

“You could just Google it,” you suggested. He gave you a flat look over the tops of his glasses, unmoving.

“Remember what happened last time I Googled something you suggested?”

You snorted. “It is not my fault you kept asking me about omegaverse.”

“The patient kept saying I had ‘alpha’ energy. Ellis said it was something about omegaverse, not that I was going to ask her to clarify. Also, if anything, I’m an omega. I’m like catnip to strong and tough people.”

“This is an insane conversation. And I’m pretty certain we determined the patient meant it in an incel way, not a horny wolf-adjacent way,” you replied, trying to keep your eyes on your chart. The insurance company was not going to like this test. You mentally cycled through the billing department’s preferred phrasing, trying to find language that might convince the evil overlords of healthcare not to immediately deny everything.

“I think you’ll recall you brought it up.”

“It is not my fault you caught me after watching a two-hour YouTube video about how an omegaverse porn copyright case made it in front of a federal judge.”

“Your viewing habits are baffling.”

“Didn’t have a lot of TV time growing up. Gotta watch my weird shit now.”

“I thought everyone in your generation was raised on iPads,” he shot back.

“How old do you think I am?” You finally looked up. 

He gave you a shit-eating grin, one corner of his mouth pulling higher than the other.

“I dunno. Twelve?”

“Damn. Must be the next Doogie Howser then,” you replied, backspacing your notes.

“Never mind. With that reference, you gotta be seventy-five,” he laughed, the sound surprising you with how nice it floated through your ears. There was always a little bit of pride when you got the normally serious man to laugh.

“You got that reference too, babe,” you laughed back.

It was a habit—calling people babe. It started with your sister, then your friends, and now your coworkers. Most of them found it amusing. Cassie loved it. Jesse got a cute little blush whenever it slipped out. Jack hadn’t been subjected to your HR-violation habit until now.

You hadn’t even realized you’d done it until the silence lasted far longer than you expected. The monitors beeped steadily behind you. Somewhere down the hall, someone laughed too loudly.

“You good, Abbot?” you asked.

He was looking at you inscrutably, brows drawn together, mouth pressed into a thin line like he was thinking something through very carefully.

“You called me babe,” he said. There was something like surprise under the stoicism, quickly masked.

“Sorry. It’s a habit I adopted from my sister. It’s spiraled, clearly,” you replied, keeping your tone light even as your stomach tightened.

“Ah,” he said slowly. “So this isn’t indicative of some yearning crush on me?” 

There was a mischievous tilt to his mouth now.

“You caught me,” you laughed. “I’ve been in love with you for years. I’m ready to propose any day now.”

That earned you a hearty chuckle, and it would be a lie to say you weren’t thrilled to be the one who got it. He laughed with his whole chest, head tipping back slightly, and when he looked at you again, his eyes lingered just a beat longer than necessary. You didn’t know if you’d say you were in love with Jack Abbot, but sometimes crush felt like too small a word for whatever this was.

“Incoming blunt force trauma,” Lena sighed from behind you. “Someone at the Steelers game took a fall from a great height, apparently. Frankly, I’m surprised they waited until nine p.m. to make bad decisions.”

You snorted and gestured at Jack. “Idiot sports fan is all you, babe.”

“How kind,” he snarked, already pivoting on his heel. He started barking orders to the night-shift residents and nurses, his voice snapping into that commanding cadence that made people move faster.

“Hey, another incoming,” Lena added, pointing at you. “Apparently our fall had a friend. Sounds like they were trying to scale something in the stadium.”

“Alas,” you sighed, pushing away from the workstation, “I suppose I’ll subject myself to fans of a bad football team.”

“You support the Dallas Cowboys,” she said skeptically.

“And like any good Cowboys fan, I’ll talk shit and complain but never root for anyone else. We suck, but it’s poor management—at least I think that’s the excuse we’re working with now,” you laughed. “Can you try and come up with language that would convince an insurance company to pay for South 10’s arthrocentesis?”

“Sure,” Lena didn’t sound confident.

You walked toward the ambulance bay as the truck pulled in, the cold night air briefly cutting through the stale warmth of the ER. As soon as you saw the patient, your stomach dropped.

“Fuck, fuck, fuckfuckfuck,” you hissed. “Ellis, take point. I have to switch out with Abbot.”

“You good?” she asked.

“I know him,” you grumbled.

You pushed into Trauma One and found Jack directing Mel’s line placement and triage. First glance: internal bleeding, broken femur. Relief washed through you when you didn’t recognize the man. He was barrel chested, a bushy beard and slightly-too long hair. He was in ratty jeans, cowboy boots, and a navy blue sweatshirt that had been cut off. 

“Abbot,” you sighed. There must have been something in your voice because his eyes snapped to you immediately. “We need to switch patients.”

Mel glanced up but didn’t comment. Jack stepped closer, concern flickering across his face.

“I’ll explain later. Can’t treat people you know,” you sighed.

“Are you good?”

“Let’s just say I’m more inclined to let him die than do anything risky to save him,” you muttered.

He studied you for a beat, then nodded without hesitation.

With ease, you slid into his spot. For the next thirty minutes, as Mel evaluated the patient, you forgot entirely about the too-familiar man in Trauma Two. It took four nurses, yourself, and the traction kit to set his femur fracture. Thankfully, it was closed—easier recovery, no surgery.

Throughout the triage, the full story of the injury came out. Apparently the two geniuses in your ED were in town for the Cowboys/Steelers game. In all their wisdom, the gentlemen with multiple broken ribs, internal bleeding, and at least one femur fracture thought scaling the stadium to be the best evidence of their Cowboys pride.

“It’s just been so long since we hit the playoffs,” the man complained. 

You briefly met eye contact with Princess and Donnie across the body and said, 

“Cowboys went to the playoffs in 2024, man.”

“You’re shitting me.”

If anything, you wanted to double check Mel’s concussion markers—surely he wasn’t surprised by that. 

“This is not a commentary on your work Mel,” you said, swiping your pen light over his eyes again. 

“Our patient here just said something real dumb, and I think doc is hoping there’s a medical explanation for it,” Donnie snickered. 

“What was it?”

“Cowboys went to the playoffs, like, two seasons ago,” Princess said. 

“Which is crazy, because we suck most of the time,” you added. 

“Holy shit, you a cowboys fan too?”

“Not the time, sir,” you said, feeling for a contusion on his skull. 

“EMTs said that he was in a football helmet when he fell,” Donnie said. 

“Well we weren’t going to climb the concrete pillar thing without protecting our heads. My girl thinks I’m handsome—can’t change that,” he replied gleefully. 

You weren’t surprised this man was friends with Bradley. They both seemed to have an overly simplistic and optimistic view of the world. The fact that you moved halfway across the country and still managed to find people from, presumably, your hometown was absolutely astounding. 

A terrible realization about what a small world it was. 

“You got this Mel?” You asked. 

“Oh yeah, thanks,” she said cheerfully. 

To Donnie and Princess you gestured to watch the patient by point at your eyes then the patient. If he was friends with Bradley, he wouldn’t hesitate to cop a feel and that was the last thing you wanted. 

When you finally stepped out, Jack was leaving Trauma Two.

“The patient is okay,” he said. “Most of his ribs are broken and he probably bruised his pancreas, but he’s okay.”

Pinching the bridge of your nose, you pulled Jack into an alcove of the Pitt. A little storage nook that held the sandwich cart when not in use. 

“I’m going to tell you something and if I find out that you said this to another soul, I will put capsaicin in your googles,” you said quietly. 

“That’s evil,” he said proudly. 

“The patient in trauma 2. He’s my ex-boyfriend,” you grumbled. 

“No fucking way,” Jack said way too loudly. You poked him in his unfairly hard chest. 

“Capsaicin, glasses,” you repeated. 

“You can’t tell me you dated Dumber from Dumb and Dumber and not expect me to be shocked.”

“Look, my early twenties were a rough time. I lived in a trailer with my mom and worked at the local dive bar. I didn’t exactly think my life was going to leave bumfuck nowhere.”

“You dated him after you went to college?” Jack asked, shocked. 

“No, I dated him in my early twenties. I didn’t go to college until I was twenty-five,” you said. 

“I didn’t know that,” Jack replied. 

“Look, I grew up poor as shit and somehow, by the skin of my teeth, made it out. Bought my mom a house, put my sister through school, too. And that motherfucker, I let him—very, very briefly—break my heart. But trust me when I say, I dodged a bullet.”

“You dodged a mullet,” Jack whispered, laughing with glee. “That man has an honest to god mullet, with a rat tail. I cannot believe that man ever convinced you he was good enough for you.”

“Surprisingly wholesome response,” you huffed. “Look, I’m going to steer clear of his room. The last thing I want is for him to recognize me and then his wife to find out.”

“He’s married?” Jack asked.

“Somehow,” you replied. “Last I heard they were in the same trailer park, except this time with three kids they can’t afford.”

“And you had sex with that man?” Jack asked suddenly. 

“I’m not answering that,” you said, walking out of the alcove. 

“Wait, sorry,” Jack laughed following you. “I’m just struggling to recognize the serious, put together attending in front of me with someone who would date that.”

“Weren’t you young and dumb, Abbot?”

“Not that dumb,” he grinned. “Married my wife.”

“You did join the army, though. And that doesn’t make up for how cute your high school sweetheart story is,” you replied, knocking him with your elbow. “Not all of us grew up somewhere with options—romantic or otherwise.”

“Do you have pictures?” 

“Pictures of what?” Ellis asked. Looking at you, she added, “I cannot believe you abandoned me to that man. I think my IQ dropped. I think I forgot my second year of residency.”

You snorted. “Bradley is a fucking idiot.”

“Bradley?” She asked, with raised eyebrows. “Didn’t know you were on a first name basis with him.”

“We grew up in the same town. If anyone mentions my name to him while he’s here, I’ll make sure the next bowel impaction is theirs.”

“Shit doesn’t bother me,” laughed Ellis. 

“Then I’ll give you the next cold,” you said. “Think about all the mucus and saliva.”

Ellis heaved a full body shudder, “Fine. Fine.”

Assuaged that no one would be blabbing about your connection to Bradley, especially to Bradley, you went back to your charting. 

“Lena, any thoughts on the language?”

“Did you try, ‘I’m the doctor not you, I wouldn’t order anything unnecessary’?” 

“I think they would charge double for that,” you sighed. 

“Hmm, your problem then. Chat with billings.”

You groaned. Tonight was going to suck. 

-- -- --

For the bulk of the night, you had been kept busy with a massive flu outbreak and three MVAs. At least one of the MVAs was a drunk driver, although the kicker was both drivers were drunk. A certain poetic justice existed in that situation. The ED felt permanently overfull, monitors chiming in uneven rhythms, the smell of antiseptic clinging to you no matter how many times you washed your hands. Your feet ached, and you knew you would feel it tomorrow, too 

You had been so focused on the patients and subsequent charting, you hadn’t thought about Bradley and his dumbass friend for at least an hour. You were halfway through reconciling medication orders when Jack appeared at your side, close enough that you felt the warmth of him before you registered his presence.

“Cat’s out of the bag,” Jack told you, ushering you into the break room.

He didn’t touch you exactly, but his hand hovered at your elbow, steering rather than pushing, and he waited until you were fully inside before closing the door behind you. The break room was dimmer than the ED, a blessed quiet punctuated only by the hum of an ancient refrigerator.

“What?” you asked.

“Bradley mentioned to Donnie he was a Cowboys fan and Donnie let your name slip–you’re the only Cowboys fan he knows,” Jack said in a hushed tone.

He kept his voice low and was closer to you than normal. It almost felt like he was preparing for you to freak out. You weren’t exactly going to freak out, but something close to a light sense of dread came over you. 

“No,” you whined, collapsing on one of the seats.

The chair creaked under you. Jack remained standing for a beat, watching you with a pinched expression before finally sitting down beside you, knees angled toward yours.

“You’re not going to have a good night,” Jack said hesitantly.

“God what is he saying?” you whined, hiding your face in your hands.

Jack leaned forward, forearms braced on his thighs. When you didn’t immediately look up, he stayed there, patient.

“He told everyone the story of how you met,” Jack said. “It was romantic at first.”

“Until he got to the fact he’d stolen the truck and flowers? Yeah, I’m sure.”

Jack huffed quietly through his nose, the closest he came to laughing most of the time.

“He’s charming, I’ll give him that,” he grumbled quietly. His jaw tightened as he said it, like the admission annoyed him.

“He was a bad decision,” you hissed. “We dated for less than a year.”

“And yet somehow he broke up with you?” Jack inquired, sitting next to you.

The question came out sharper than curiosity alone would explain. He glanced at you sidelong, watching your reaction more than waiting for an answer.

How did you explain to the man who found the love of his life in algebra that at some point, especially in a small town, you didn’t think you’d find anyone better? Your town had less than 50,000 people in it and there was a period of time where Bradley was charming and romantic, if not very bright.

“There was a period of my life where I thought that the only thing in my future was kids I didn’t want and a double wide, if I was lucky,” you said carefully. “Our friends were friends and incredibly enough, he was once very sweet.”

Jack didn’t interrupt. He didn’t even nod. He just listened, eyes fixed on you in a way that made it hard to look towards him.

“And then?”

“And then he found weed and beer and dropped me on my ass for his dealer. I cried for a day before I realized how pathetic I felt. I enrolled in community college the next day and a year later I transferred to the local state university and eventually ended up in medical school.”

Jack’s eyebrows rose slightly, not in surprise so much as in something that looked suspiciously like admiration.

“Eventually? Sounds like a lot of hard work went into it,” he commented.

“It’s not polite to brag,” you said.

You meant it lightly, but his gaze didn’t soften. If anything, it sharpened, like he was cataloguing something he just learned about you. Your therapist did that sometimes; it was unnerving.

“Also his wife is asking for you,” Jack said.

“Oh, I’m not going in there,” you scoffed.

“Why not?”

“She’s convinced I want him back—which, gross. Still, I’m kind of afraid she’ll kick my ass,” you said. “Hannah was the scariest girl in my high school class. The fuck are they doing in Pittsburgh anyways? I don’t think he’s left the state his entire life.”

“They always wanted to see the Cowboys play the Steelers,” Jack shrugged. “Is there a rivalry I don’t know about?”

He shrugged, but his hand curled briefly into a fist against his knee. He seemed to dislike Bradley more than you did, which is odd because he was your ex-boyfriend. Jack Abbot was a good colleague, maybe even a friend, but it was a little odd that he cared this much about such an unfortunate chapter in your past. 

“No,” you scoffed. “One of the first home games Bradley went to with his dad was against the Steelers. Apparently they destroyed the Cowboys and he’s never forgiven them. I guess this is a life goal or something. Or maybe he’s an idiot, both are good options.”

Jack snorted and stood.

He didn’t immediately step away. Instead, he lingered, then squeezed your shoulder, his grip firm and grounding, before he spoke.

“You’ve done really well for yourself. You should be proud.”

There was no humor in it, just earnestly and the intensity of a man who never spoke in half measures. It made your skin tingle where he touched you. He really was not making this crush thing easier—he didn’t even know what he was doing.

“Hard to feel that way when the worst ex-boyfriend is in 20,” you grumbled. “Why couldn’t yall have met my hot bitchy ex-girlfriend or the boxer I dated?”

Jack froze for half a second before turning back toward you.

“You dated a boxer?” Jack asked.

“Yeah, for a few months earlier this year. I broke up with him because he disagreed with me when I told him his nose was broken,” you said.

You expected a laugh, but it never came. Instead Jack said in an odd voice, “Didn’t know you were dating.”

His posture shifted subtly, shoulders squaring. He seemed shocked and a little unnerved. 

You shrugged. “Off and on. Not a fan of the apps, so I have to meet people the old fashion way and since I work sixty hour weeks—it’s rare.”

“Oh.”

“Oh?”

“Just didn’t realize you were dating,” he echoed. He stared at the floor, jaw working, like he was biting back a follow-up question.

“I know, you said that.”

“I have to go check on a patient.”

He moved quickly then—too quickly—already halfway to the door by the time he finished speaking.

An untrained observer might think Jack’s behavior was perfectly normal, but you couldn’t help but watch his sudden retreat puzzled. Normally, your stoic colleague was measured and unswayed by the currents of the ED. No sudden beep or alert made him move any speed other than measured and direct.

Before you could get up yourself, Ellis walked in and her eyes lit up when she spotted you. 

“You dated that freak?”

“Fuck off,” you groaned, banging your head on the table. 

“Can’t believe that’s the competition," Ellis laughed. 

“Are you trying to tell me something, Ellis?” You asked. 

She snorted. “No, my girlfriend doesn’t share. I am not in the competition.”

“Okay? So who is?”

“I’ve said too much,” she grinned.

“Oh you did that on purpose,” you grumbled. 

“Don’t know what you’re talking about. Gossip is bad, boss.”

“Fuck off, Ellis.”

-- -- --

You managed to survive the shift without laying eyes on Bradley or his, apparently fuming, wife Hannah. Your escape was surreptitious and via the back entrance loading docks, slipping out with your badge already tucked away and car keys in hand. The loading dock was dim and echoing, concrete stained with old oil spills, the November air sharp enough to sting your lungs after hours inside. You rolled your shoulders, adjusting the strap of your bag, already mentally halfway home.

It was just your luck that Jack was waiting out back for you.

“Jesus Christ,” you nearly shrieked when he appeared from around the corner. “Make a fucking noise, oh my god.”

His hands shoved deep in his jacket pockets, posture deceptively casual. He looked like he’d been there for a while, weight shifting from foot to foot, gaze flicking toward the doors every few seconds.

“I’ve been having trouble with something,” he said, ignoring your outburst, like he hadn’t just sent your heart rate tachycardic.

He took a step into your space. Despite your shock and annoyance at said shock, he didn’t step back, which you noticed immediately.

“Being fuck normal?” you asked.

“Never been that.”

“Clearly,” you grumbled. “What do you need Abbot? I’m going home and blocking everyone from my hometown on Facebook. With my luck there’s already been a post about this on the town Facebook page, probably from my mother.”

You started down the dock, boots scuffing against concrete, already pulling your phone out of your pocket.

“Do you still think that’s the kind of man you deserve?” Jack asked.

You stopped walking. He had caught up to you, again.

“What?” You were deeply confused now. “Are you talking about Bradley? That was like, fifteen years ago.”

“I just can’t get over how younger you thought that motherfucker should have been allowed to see you naked,” he said harshly.

The words landed boldly in the open air. It was not exactly the most appropriate comment for a coworker to make, but Jack seemed to be on a roll. His jaw was tight, his hands flexing once at his sides. With furrowed eyebrows, he was only a few centimeters from. You couldn’t help but feel a little shocked by the turn of events. Bradley seemed to have triggered Jack more than he had you. You were going to say something, but he kept talking. 

“And now I’m worried you still date people like that.”

“I do not,” you scoffed. “I’m going home, Jack. I’m tired.”

You shrugged your bag up higher on your shoulder and jogged down the dock steps. Right before you rounded the corner toward the parking garage, Jack stuck his arm out to block you. His forearm braced against the concrete wall beside your head, not touching you, but close enough that you could feel the heat of him. The garage lights cast harsh shadows across his face.

“You said the last guy you dated tried to argue with you about what a broken nose was,” Jack continued like you hadn’t walked a solid fifty feet and two minutes from the last thing he said.

“Yes?” You sighed.

“That’s loser behavior.”

“Thank you for that riveting critique of my dating life. I certainly don’t get enough comments from my mom or sister.”

“I’m serious. Why do you think you deserve losers?”

“Because losers are the only ones who tell they’re interested, I guess. You do realize I pay a therapist for this kind of conversation. Don’t hurt Cassie’s livelihood like this.”

You tried to laugh it off, but Jack didn’t. He didn’t move away either. His focus on you was almost unnerving now. It was a lame joke, an attempt to ease his intense focus on you so you could go home and collapse into your bed. In a back corner of your brain, you hated to hear his evaluations of your dating life.

“There are better options,” he continued.

“Like who? Robby?” You scoffed.

“Absolutely not,” Jack replied harshly.

The word came out fast, almost reflexive. He stepped closer to you, nearly backing you against the wall, close enough now that you could smell him.

“I’m telling him you said that,” you replied weakly.

“This whole time, I thought you were dating CEOs and hedge fund managers—”

“Why would you think so low of me?” You asked, almost offended.

“I thought you were dating impressive people. But you’re dating Joe Shmoe who’s an amateur boxer and thinks he knows more about medicine than you. I didn’t think…”

You sighed again. “Did you just corner me out here to insult my taste in men?”

“No.”

He didn’t continue.The silence stretched. A car passed by the loading dock, headlights briefly washing over both of you.

“Spell it out Jack. I’m exhausted. I want to go home.”

“I didn’t think I had a chance,” he said. “You are so impressive. You worked your ass off, managed top of your class in med school, was a resident at the Cleveland Clinic, fellowship too and then came out here and you’re one of the best teachers we’ve had.”

His voice softened with every word. He was somehow closer still. His eyes bored into you and his hand hovered near your hip, but didn’t quite make contact. You could hear the soft huffs of his breath as he leaned near you. 

“That’s kind of you to say,” you said, you didn’t like how shaky your voice sounded. Your heart was pounding hard enough that you could feel it in your throat.

“And I watched how funny and affable you were and thought there was no way this incredible woman wants anything to do with me.”

“What are you saying?” You were terrified of his answer.

“I’m saying that I can’t stop thinking about you, and that I want to take you on a well planned, non-accessory burglary date.”

“Fucking with me like this is cruel,” you whispered.

“Not fucking with you,” Jack said. “Fell ass flat for you the moment you got in my face about my shit charting.”

“It’s important to beat insurance companies at their own game,” you said quietly.

“So you say,” he whispered.

His hand lifted slightly, hovering near your wrist, now.

“You’re so amazing. And I just want you to know that. I want to sweep you off your feet like you deserve.”

Your brain raced as it tried to make sense of everything that was happening, the cold air, the concrete wall at your back, the man in front of you looking more nervous than you’d ever seen him.

“You want to date? Me?”

“Yes.”

“And this isn’t a joke?”

“Do you think I would joke about this?”

“No.”

“Well, there’s your answer.”

You blinked and eventually said, “I thought you were still in love with your wife.”

“I’ll always love Sarah. But she never believed in soulmates or anything like that. Love is not finite.”

“I can’t compete with her,” you said.

“Not a competition,” he replied. “Not even a game. It’s just life…let someone romance you, okay?”

“And you’d be doing the romancing?”

The disbelieving tone was clearly evident.

“I don’t see anyone else out here on the loading dock,” he commented idly.

“I can’t believe this is happening.”

“I can’t believe you still haven’t given me an answer. You’re leaving me out to dry here,” he said. For the first time, his confidence cracked just enough to show nerves.

“I’ve never lied to you about my feelings, Jack,” you said.

“What do you—oh my god, are you kidding me?” He sounded annoyed. “You were clearly being sarcastic.”

“I always sound like that. Not my fault you chose to see that way. Mamma taught me not to lie.”

“So you’re in love with me?”

“Love is a strong word. You’re still annoying,” you said.

“Yeah, well, so are you,” he shot back. “Please tell me I can kiss you.”

“Yeah, you can kiss me,” you giggled. You hadn’t giggled since high school.

Jack didn’t rush it. He leaned in slowly, giving you time to pull away if you wanted to. His hand came up to your jaw, thumb brushing your cheek softly. It felt reverent, almost. When his lips touched yours, they were cold and chapped with the chilly Pittsburgh air. It was tentative, careful and restrained. When you kissed him back, his breath hitched audibly, his other hand settling at your waist, the warmth bleeding through your coat and scrubs.

He pulled away, looking almost as shocked as you felt. As much as you didn’t expect this happening, you doubted he had either. You were too befuddled by the turn of events to do anything more than lean in again, reveling in the feeling and satisfaction of knowing that the man who had captured your attention so intensely, somehow felt the same way. 

The second kiss was deeper, less careful, all the held-back want finally slipping through long fought for control. He lingered there, forehead resting against yours when he finally pulled away, breathing a little heavier than before.

“You’re off tonight, right?” He asked.

“Yes?”

“I’m picking you up at 7pm and I’m going to take you on a real date. I’m going to wine and dine you and then I’m going to walk you to your front door and kiss you before going home,” he whispered. “And I’m going to show you exactly how not to fumble someone as phenomenal as you are. Sound good?”

What else could you say, other than, “Yeah, that sounds good.”

-- -- --

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[tunetales]

Moments Part II (Cassian x Reader)

(Photos courtesy of Pinterest)

Summary: A continuation of moments with Cassian.

Authors Note: Happy Easter, a double posting! I had too many scenes after writing the first edition of 'Moments', so I thought why not put together a part 2 of some of my favourites. These aren't in any particular order. No major warnings below.

You know the moment you wake up.

Something's...off.

Your body aches deeper than usual, not just the good, satisfying soreness of a completed mission or a night of love making with your mate - but the kind that settles into your bones. Your limbs feel heavy. Your chest feels tight for no reason.

You stare at the ceiling for a long moment.

You don't feel like yourself at all.

The door opens not long after.

Cassian strides in, already dressed for training, hair tied back, energy practically crackling off him. His face lights up the second he sees you awake.

"You're awake," he says, grin wide. "I was just about to come and drag you out of bed."

You manage a small smile. "Tempting."

He leans down, pressing a quick kiss to your mouth, then another to your temple like he can't help himself.

"I missed you," he adds, softer for a second. Then immediately back to his usual energy - "Come on. Training ring. I want to see if a week away made you worse."

You huff weakly. "I just woke up."

"Exactly," he says. "Perfect time to get your blood moving."

You hesitate.

"I'm kind of tired, Cass."

He waves it off easily, already halfway to the door. "You'll feel better once you start. You always do."

That's true, usually.

And he looks so excited. So happy to have you home after your mission and back to your usual routine.

You always train together first thing in the morning.

So you nod.

"Okay."

-

You regret it ten minutes in.

Your muscles protest every movement. Your reactions are slow. Your focus is off.

Cassian doesn't notice at first.

He's in his element - grinning, circling you, throwing light hits just to rile you up.

"Come on," he teases. "You've done better than that half-asleep."

"I am half-asleep," you mutter.

"Excuses, sweetheart,” he shoots back.

He comes at you again - faster this time.

You barely block it.

The impact jars your arm painfully and you wince.

"Focus," he says, still smiling. "You're leaving your left side open."

"I know," you say, breath a little shaky now.

He moves again.

Another hit.

Not hard for him - but too much for you right now.

Pain flares sharper this time.

"Cass—" you start, weakly trying to bat him away.

He misreads it.

"Oh, now you're talking," he grins, stepping closer. "Come on, wake up sweet cheeks."

He goes again.

You don't block properly.

This time it knocks you a step back.

Your chest tightens.

"I said—" your voice wavers, "I don't—“

He's already moving again, feigning a move to the right before aiming a jab to your left.

And that's when it happens.

You burst.

Tears spill over before you can stop them, frustration and exhaustion crashing together all at once.

"Stop it!" You cry. "You're hurting me!"

Cassian freezes.

Like someone just snapped the world in half.

You wipe your face angrily, breath uneven. "I said I didn't want to do this today—you're not listening to me—and you keep—“, your voice breaks, "You keep hitting me—“

Silence crashes down over the training ring.

Cassian looks like he's been struck.

"I—" he starts, then stops. His expression shifts - shock, horror, anger - at himself.

"Oh Gods," he breathes.

He crosses the space between you in two steps.

"I didn't realise—I thought—“. His hands hover, afraid to touch you now. "I thought I was helping."

You shake your head, still crying softly. "I don't feel good today."

That's it.

That's all it takes.

His entire demeanour changes.

Gone is the teasing, the energy, the sparring partner.

All that's left is your mate.

"Hey," he says softly, voice dropping completely. "Hey, come here."

This time, when he reaches for you, it's gentle.

He pulls you into his chest, one arm around your back, the other cradling your head like you might fall apart.

"I'm sorry," he murmurs into your hair. "I'm so sorry. I didn't listen. I should've listened."

You cling to him without thinking.

"I didn't mean to hurt you," he adds, voice tight. "I would never—"

"I know," you whisper.

That almost makes it worse.

He exhales shakily, then without another word, he scoops you up into his arms.

You don't protest.

You just curl into him.

He carries you all the way back to your room, wings tucked close around you like a shield.

"I've got you," he murmurs. "You're alright."

Back in your shared room, he sets you gently on the bed, immediately kneeling in front of you. His hands come up to your face, thumbs brushing away the last of your tears with a softness that doesn't match the male who was just sparring.

"I'm such an idiot," he mutters. "You told me you didn't want to and I didn't listen."

You sniff, shaking your head. "You were just excited."

"I should've paid attention to you, not what I wanted," he corrects.

He presses a kiss to your forehead. Then another. Then to your cheek.

"I'm sorry," he says again, quieter this time.

You let out a small breath. "I'm okay."

"You don't have to be okay right now," he replies immediately. "You're tired. You're sore. You just got back from your mission."

He shifts, sitting beside you and pulling you gently into his lap, arms wrapping around you securely.

"Today is cancelled," he declares.

You huff a small laugh. "Cancelled?"

"Cancelled," he repeats firmly. "No training. No working. Just us."

He squeezes you slightly.

You relax into him, the tension slowly unwinding.

After a moment, he nudges your shoulder lightly.

"You know," he says, voice softer, "you could've just kicked me in the balls again like last time."

You let out a weak laugh. "Didn't have it in me."

"Tragic," he mutters. "I was ready to be humbled."

You shake your head, smiling faintly now.

He watches your face carefully.

"There she is," he murmurs.

You roll your eyes, but your hand slides into his shirt, anchoring yourself there.

"Stay with me?" You ask quietly.

His expression softens completely.

"Always."

He shifts so you're both lying down, pulling the blankets over you, tucking you against his chest.

The rest of the day passes slowly.

Talking. Dozing. Quiet laughter.

At one point he makes some ridiculous comment about how he's clearly the worst trainer in Prythian and should retire immediately.

You snort.

He grins like he's just won something.

And by the time the sun dips low, you feel a little more like yourself again.

Curled up with the male who, even when he gets it wrong at first will always, always try to make it right.

Cassian is always touching you.

Not in a way that cages you. Never controlling.

It's his love language.

A steady, warm reminder that he's close.

That you're his. That he's yours.

It starts with the little things.

His hand at the small of your back as you walk through Velaris - guiding, protective, but mostly just feeling you there.

Fingers laced through yours whenever he can get away with it. Absentmindedly tracing your knuckles while he talks to someone else, like he doesn't even realise he's doing it.

At dinner, his hands find your thigh under the table. Not distracting. Just resting there, thumb brushing slow, lazy patterns like it soothes something in him.

If you shift away even slightly?

He'll close the gap, always.

Without making a show of it, you're pulled right back into his orbit.

When you sleep, it's worse.

Or better - depending on how you look at it.

One arm draped across your waist. A leg hooked over yours. Face buried into your neck. Wings curved enough to keep you tucked in against him.

Even half-asleep, he adjusts if you move - pulling you closer without waking, like his body just knows.

If you try to slip away quietly for a glass of water in the middle of the night?

He catches your wrist in his sleep and tugs you straight back against his chest.

Without even opening his eyes.

But your favourite—

Your absolute favourite—

Is when he gets territorial.

Cassian is rarely jealous or insecure, but sometimes the world needs a reminder of who you belong to.

-

The Hewn City is suffocating.

All dark stone and sharp smiles.

Kier is insufferable tonight - more than usual.

Leaning too close. Speaking just a little too low, like he thinks he's being clever.

"You've settled into your new role rather well," he drawls, "Though I suppose our High Lord always had a talent for collecting...interesting company."

Your spine stiffens.

You keep your expression neutral. "He doesn't collect anything. People choose to be around him."

Kier hums, unimpressed. "Yes. He does inspire a certain...loyalty."

There's something in the way he says it that makes your stomach turn.

You tilt your head slightly. "Strange, isn't it?"

He pauses. "How so?"

You offer a sweet smile. "That he inspires loyalty without paying for it. Must be a foreign concept to you."

Kier's eyes darken.

"Careful," he says softly. "You may think proximity to power protects you, but you still—“

"Still what?" You cut in, calm but sharp. "Not one of your court? Thank the gods."

A flicker of irritation crosses his face.

"You're very quick to bare your teeth for him," he says, voice soft with mock curiosity. "Don't forget what happens when you whore yourself to the General? Just like it did for Morrigan."

Your blood runs cold.

"Watch your mouth," you snap.

The room shifts.

Kier takes a step closer.

"Or what?" He murmurs. "You'll defend her honour? Or his? Tell me, does he still follow her around like a lovesick fool when you're not looking? Oh, wait, that's the Shadowsinger."

He steps towards you.

Not enough to touch, but enough to threaten.

The air shifts.

You feel it before you see him.

Warmth. Power. Something lethal sliding into place behind you.

Cassian.

He doesn't make a scene.

He just appears.

One second you're facing Kier alone—

The next, a large, steady hand settles low on your stomach, firm and grounding, pulling you back against solid warmth.

Cassian's chest presses to your back. His wings shift slightly, casting shadows that swallow the space around you.

His other hand slides to your hip, anchoring you there like it's the most natural thing in the world.

Yours.

His.

Unmistakable.

Kier's face tightens.

Cassian leans in just enough that his breath brushes your ear - but his eyes never leave Kier.

"Is there a problem?" He asks lightly.

You feel the tension in him. The restraint.

Kier straightens. "No problem."

Cassian's thumb moves slowly against your stomach, a quiet possessive rhythm.

"Didn't sound like it," he says.

Silence stretches.

Kier glances at where Cassian's hand rests on you. At how easily you lean back into him.

"Let me make something clear," he says, voice dropping just enough to carry weight.

"You don't speak about my family like that," Cassian continues. "Not now. Not ever."

Kier's jaw tightens, his eyes flicking down to you with a barely concealed sneer on his face.

"And you don't speak about me," he adds, "or my mate, like you know anything about our life."

A beat.

Then—

His hand presses more firmly against your stomach, pulling you even tighten against him.

"Keep looking at her like that and I'll rip your eyes from their sockets with my bare hands."

The words land like a blade.

Cold. Final.

Kier's composure cracks - just for a second.

He nods. Once. Stiff.

Then steps back, leaving quickly.

Cassian doesn't move for a moment.

Then slowly—

His grip softens.

His thumb brushes gently over your stomach now, soothing instead of claiming.

"You alright?" He murmurs against your temple.

You exhale, tension you didn't realise you were holding slipping away as you lean fully back into him.

"Better now."

You tilt your head up to look at him. "You enjoy that, don't you?"

He huffs a soft laugh against your skin.

"Enjoy what?"

"Reminding people."

His fingers flex once at your hip.

"Only when they forget."

You smile, turning slightly in his arms.

"Possessive brute."

"Protective brute," he corrects with a grin.

You raise a brow. "So you agree you're a brute?"

"Oh baby," he lowers his voice, "As soon as we get home I’ll show you how much of a brute I can be.”

You wouldn't have it any other way.

The battlefield is too quiet.

Groans. Distant shouting. The crackle of dying fires. The metallic scent of blood thick in the air, clinging to your skin, your clothes, your lungs.

You don't know how long it's been.

Minutes. Hours.

All you know is—

You can't find him.

You push through the aftermath, boots slipping slightly in the churned earth, hands already stained red as you help lift an injured fae onto a stretcher.

"Healers' tents are that way," you say hoarsely, pointing. "Go—slowly."

They nod, barely conscious.

You turn.

Searching again.

You reach for the bond.

It's there. Frayed at the edges. Faint.

But there.

Relief and terror twist together in your chest.

Where are you?

Your heart stutters.

You push harder, tugging, sending everything you have down the thread.

Still nothing.

You swallow hard, forcing yourself to keep moving.

He's alive. He has to be.

The bond wouldn't be there if he wasn't.

You move through bodies - some still, some not - directing, helping, doing anything to keep from spiralling.

You were a member of the Inner Circle, you had an image to uphold. People looked to you to guide them, to provide comfort.

You couldn't crumble - not yet.

"Over here—he's still breathing—“

"Get her to the healers—Now—!”

Your voice sounds distant to your own ears.

You turn a corner of steadily growing bodies and nearly collide with someone—

Strong hands catch your arms.

Azriel.

His eyes flare in relieved recognition and you're swept into a crushing hug.

You return the gesture, a sliver of your own relief at finding your friend - exhausted, but relatively unharmed - providing you some comfort.

"Are you hurt?" He asks immediately, scanning you.

"I'm fine," you say quickly. "Have you seen Cassian?"

Something in his expression shifts.

"I haven't," he admits.

Your stomach drops. Azriel’s eyes widen slightly noting your building panic.

"But the bond—" you start, voice tight, "it's still there. He's alive, I just—he's not answering."

Azriel's gaze softens, just slightly. "Then he's alive."

You nod, even as your chest tightens.

"I'm going to keep looking," you say.

He squeezes your shoulder once. "I will too."

Then he's gone, and you're alone again.

You keep moving.

Because you have to. Because if you stop, you'll think too much.

And if you think too much—

You don't know what you'll do.

"Careful—watch his wing—“

"Bring more water—“

Your hands shake. Your body aches.

You don't remember the last time you breathed properly.

You reach for the bond again.

It’s weaker now.

Or maybe that's you. You try not to think about what that could possibly mean.

Still nothing from the other end.

Your vision blurs. You blink hard.

You keep walking.

You can hear a distant shout - a hoarse cry suspiciously like your name.

You freeze.

You don't even register it at first.

Then—

"Hey—!”

Your head snaps up. You knew that voice.

You turn.

And there—

Across the wreckage, through the smoke and bodies and chaos—

Cassian.

Alive. Standing. Looking at you like you're the only thing left in the world.

You don't think. You don't move. You just—

Break.

A sob tears out of you before you can stop it, your entire body giving out under the weight of it all.

Relief. Exhaustion. Fear — all of it finally catching up in one blow.

He's there instantly.

Crossing the distance in seconds.

His hand comes up to the back of your neck, firm and grounding, pulling you in—

His forehead presses hard against yours.

"You're here," he breathes, voice rough, shaking. "Gods—you're here."

You can't speak. You're crying too hard.

"I've got you," he murmurs, his other hand coming up to cup your face, thumbs bushing frantically at your tears. "I've got you—are you hurt? Tell me where—“

You shake your head, clinging to him.

"I couldn't find you," you manage, voice breaking. "You weren't answering—“

"I know," he says quickly. "I know—a faebane arrow got me—its muffled everything. I'm here now. I'm right here."

He presses a kiss to your forehead. Then your cheek. Then the corner of your mouth - anywhere he can reach. His lips kissing away your tears.

"You're alright," he keeps murmuring. "You're alright—you're safe—“

"I thought—“ your voice cracks again. "I thought—“

"Don't," he cuts in softly, pulling you closer. "Don't finish that. We're okay, we survived."

His hand tightens at your neck, grounding, steady.

"I'm here."

You nod, though tears keep falling.

He exhales shakily, like he's been holding it in just as long as you have.

He tries not to think about how long he’d been looking for you. The sheer terror he felt when he couldn’t use your bond to feel you.

He stops himself from spiralling further. Instead, relishing finally having you in his arms.

After a moment, he pulls back just enough to look at you properly.

You must look a mess — bloody, dirty, exhausted.

His expression crumples anyway.

"You're exhausted," he says softly.

You laugh weakly. "You think?"

He huffs, something fond breaking through the fear.

"Come here."

Before you can react, his hands slide under your arms.

And then—

You're lifted.

Easily. Effortlessly. Like you weigh nothing.

You let out a startled breath as he pulls you up against him, your legs instinctively wrapping around his waist, arms sliding around your shoulders.

He holds you there. Tight. Secure.

One hand braced under you, the other at your back, keeping you flush against his chest.

"I've got you, baby," he murmurs again, softer this time.

You bury your face into his neck, breathing him in - sweat, steel, something uniquely him beneath it all.

Like home.

He's alive.

Your fingers clutch tighter into his leathers.

"I think I can walk," you weakly protest.

"I'm not letting you go," he says, voice low and certain.

You don't argue. You don't have it in you. You just cling.

He adjusts his hold slightly, wings shifting as he turns toward the Night Court tents.

Each step is steady. Careful. Like you're something fragile.

Something precious.

You press your face into his neck, eyes finally closing.

"Stay with me," he murmurs.

"I'm here," you whisper back.

His grip tightens just a fraction.

And for the first time since the battle, everything feels like it might be okay again.

"You're missing someone."

Cassian doesn't even look up.

"Am I?"

Rhysand leans back in his chair, steepling his fingers. "Yes. The one person whose presence if actually required for this meeting."

Azriel glances toward the door. "She's not here?"

Cassian flips a page of the report in his hand, entirely unbothered. "She's asleep."

Silence.

Rhys blinks. "It's nearly midday."

"Mhmm."

"And we have a meeting with Eris and Kier in twenty minutes."

Cassian finally looks up, completely unimpressed. "Tragic."

Azriel's shadows stir faintly with amusement. "Did you keep her up late last night, Cass?"

Rhys narrows his eyes. "Go and wake her."

Cassian leans back in his chair with a smirk. "Or—counterpoint—we let her sleep and cancel the meeting."

"That is not a counterpoint."

"She's tired."

"She is needed."

Cassian exhales through his nose, clearly weighing his options.

"...They're not worth waking her up for," he mutters.

Rhys just raises a brow, his expression not leaving any room for arguments.

Cassian groans, "Fine."

-

Your room is quiet, soft, smelling faintly of vanilla and lavender.

Curtains still drawn. A faint breeze slipping through the window. The lingering warmth of sleep wrapped around you like a cocoon.

You're buried in the blankets.

Completely, utterly unconscious - exactly how he'd left you.

Cassian pauses in the doorway and observes the scene for a moment.

His expression softens instantly. All that sharp-edged general energy melting the closer he got to your room, until all that was left was a male sickeningly in love with his mate.

He steps inside, shutting the door gently behind him.

You don't stir, not even a little, at the intrusion. Unaware your mate had even left the room in the first place.

He shakes his head, amused, as he moves closer to the bed.

He'd said time and time again how he was convinced you could sleep through anything and there were endless examples.

He sits carefully on the edge of the mattress, the weight dipping you slightly.

"Baby, I need you to wake up."

Still nothing.

He leans over you slightly, brushing a strand of hair from your face.

"You're going to make me work for this, aren't you?"

No response.

Just slow, even breathing.

Cassian huffs a quiet laugh.

"Alright then."

He starts gentle.

A soft kiss to your temple. Then your cheek. Then just barely at the corner of your mouth.

"Hey," he murmurs, "Wake up, sleepy girl."

You make a small sound.

Barely there, but it's something.

Encouraged, he lets his fingers drift through your hair, brushing it back from your face, thumb tracing lightly along your jaw.

"Come on," he murmurs again. "We've got a meeting in fifteen minutes."

You frown slightly, eyes still closed.

"...No."

He grins.

"Yes."

"No," you mumble, turning your face further into the pillow.

He laughs under his breath.

"That's not how someone in your position is supposed to work."

"It should be."

"You're needed."

You groan softly, still not opening your eyes.

"Send Cassian."

"I am Cassian."

"Then send someone else."

He snorts.

Gods, he loves you.

He shifts closer, one hand sliding under your shoulder, gently coaxing you upward.

"Up," he says softly.

You resist for all of two seconds before you're leaning into him, half-asleep, completely pliant.

Your head drops against his chest.

"There she is," he murmurs, steadying you with an arm around your back.

You hum, eyes still closed. "I was sleeping."

"I noticed."

"You woke me up."

"I did."

A beat.

"You're rude."

He presses a kiss to the top of your head. "It was on Rhys's orders, otherwise I would've let you sleep."

"Our High Lord is rude."

"Yes he is," Cassian chuckles.

You nuzzle into him. He lets you stay like that for a moment, holding you to him, warm and drowsy.

Then, reluctantly he asks the House to open the curtains.

Light spills into the room.

You groan immediately, burying your face into your chest.

"No—too bright—“

"Time to wake up," he says.

You clutch weakly at his leathers. "Why?"

He tilts your chin up gently, forcing you to squint at him. "Meeting," he reminds you.

"With who?" You mumble.

"Eris and Kier."

You immediately try to lie back down.

"No," Cassian huffs a laugh, catching you easily and holding you upright.

"I feel unwell."

"You're fine."

"I might pass out."

"I'll carry you."

You crack an eye open again.

"...Tempting."

His grin turns smug. He brushes his thumb under your eye, wiping away the last traces of sleep.

"Come on," he says softer now. "Just get through the meeting, then you can come back and sleep."

You sigh.

"...Promise?"

"Promise."

You study him for a second, still half in a daze. Then you nod.

He smiles - soft, warm, hopeless.

"That's my girl."

He presses one more kiss to your forehead before helping you fully sit up, adjusting your legs so they hang off the bed, hands steady at your waist like he's anchoring you to the waking world.

He helps you find some clothes and carefully brushes through your bed-tangled locks as you try and make yourself somewhat presentable in the adjoining bathroom mirror.

And even as you grumble and glare daggers at Rhys as you finally take your seat in the meeting room—

You don't let go of Cassian's hand once.

It starts with good intentions.

It always does when it involves Cassian.

"I don't need help," you say firmly, already tying the apron around your waist.

Cassian leans against the counter, arms crossed, watching you with entirely too much interest. "I didn't say you did."

"You've hovering."

"I'm supervising."

"You're in the way."

"I'm enhancing the experience."

You shoot him a look.

He just grins back at you.

You ignore him as you begin to gather the ingredients and cooking utensils from the pantry and drawers.

For a solid three minutes, everything is peaceful.

You measure flour, sugar and butter. Stirring ingredients. Following the recipe in the book you had propped open.

Cassian just watches, which is odd in itself.

He never stays still for so long. Or quiet for that long for that matter.

You glance over your shoulder suspiciously at him.

He's too quiet. Too still.

"...What are you doing?" You ask.

"Nothing."

You narrow your eyes.

You turn back to the mixing bowl.

Big mistake.

Because the next thing you feel-

Is a firm smack on your ass.

You yelp, nearly dropping the bowl. "Cassian-!"

You whirl around and there he is, holding up his hand.

It's covered in flour.

You glance down and there, very clearly-

Is a perfect white handprint on your backside.

He looks far too please with himself.

"Oh, that's nice," he says thoughtfully, craning his head to look at you. "Very artistic."

You stare at him. "Did you just-"

He dips his hand back into the flour.

"Don't you dare," you warn.

He ignores you completely and steps forward with both hands outstretched.

He quickly and firmly presses both hands to your breasts.

You gasp. "Cassian!"

"That one was better," he muses. "Good placement."

"You are insufferable-"

He reaches again.

You try to dodge and fail as his hand smacks against your ass again, leaving a handprint on the other cheek.

You try to swat him away, grabbing the nearest cloth and whipping it towards him. "Get out!"

"Make me."

You glare at him.

He raises a brow in challenge.

You take a deep breath, swivelling on your heel, making him believe you were heading back to the mixing bowl.

But you were too competitive - and never backed down from a fight.

Cassian should've known better.

You scoop up a very generous handful of flour.

His grin widens.

"Careful, princess-"

You fling it straight into his face.

Silence.

White dust hangs in the air.

Cassian stands there - completely covered.

Flour in his hair. On his face.

You feel a brief flicker of triumph.

"...Now, that'll teach you," you say.

He exhales. A cloud of flour puffs out.

Then he looks at you.

Slowly. Deliberately.

"You've done it now."

You take a step back. "Nope, we're even. No more."

He lunges.

You shriek as he grabs the flour packet and launches a handful at you.

It explodes across your front.

"You-!"

"Oh, we're doing this now," he says, already reaching for more.

Chaos erupts.

You grab whatever you can - flour, butter, chocolate chips - and throw it.

He dodges some, but gets hit with the rest.

You try to run-

But he catches you around the waist easily, hauling you back as you squeal, kicking uselessly.

"Don't think you can get away that easily."

"You started it!"

"Well now I'm going to finish it."

He dips his hand again-

You gasp. "Cassian, if you dare-"

He smears butter across your cheek.

You freeze.

He leans in slightly. "...Much better."

You blink.

Then immediately grab a handful of something and shove it into his hair.

He sputters. "Hey! Not the hair!"

"You got flour all over my favourite jumper!"

He laughs, tightening his hold on you as you both struggle, slipping slightly on the flour-covered floor.

As some point, you both crash into the counter.

Something clatters to the ground, but neither of you care enough to check.

-

The front door opens.

"...Why does it smell like-"

Rhys stops as he's about the cross the threshold into the kitchen. Feyre walking in behind him and freezes-

The kitchen is destroyed.

Flour coats everything - the counters, the floor, the cabinets.

You and Cassian are unrecognisable.

Covered head to tow and still in mid-struggle.

Cassian has you pinned lightly against the counter, one arm around your waist, the other holding your wrist as you try to grab more flour.

You both pause.

"...We left you both for an hour," Feyre says.

There's a beat.

"She started it," he says, gesturing towards you.

Your jaw drops, you whip your head towards him so fast you almost slip. "I did not-you smacked my ass with flour!"

"Yeah, but you escalated it."

"You put your hands everywhere!"

He looks entirely unrepentant. "I've never heard you complain before."

You gape up at him. "You're unbelievable-"

"You're the one who threw flour in my face!"

"Because you were being insufferable!"

Rhys closes his eyes briefly.

Feyre presses her lips together, shoulders shaking slightly.

"Children," Rhys says flatly. "Would you stop."

You both keep going.

"You ruined the batter!"

"You threw it at me!"

"You deserved it!"

"You loved it-"

"Did not-!"

"Did too-"

"ENOUGH."

You both freeze and slowly look at Rhys.

He gestures around the kitchen. "You," he says, pointing between the two of you, "are cleaning this up."

You both finally take in your surrounding and as if noticing for the first time, you both wince at the pure destruction you've caused.

"...All of it?" Cassian asks.

"Yes. All of it. Now."

Feyre finally loses the battle and laughs, covering her mouth as she looks between you both.

"I think," she said, voice laced with amusement, "the next time I want a cake I'll just go and buy one."

You snort, before shooting an apologetic look.

Cassian grins.

Rhys exhales, already turning to leave - then pauses, glancing back at the two of you, still covered in flour and clearly still not done bickering.

"And when you're finished," he adds dryly, "go clean yourselves up."

There's a beat.

You and Cassian both turn your heads toward each other at the same time.

Something shifts.

His gaze drops - slowly - taking in the flour dusted across your skin, the mess you've made of each other.

Yours does the same.

Silence stretches.

Feyre clears her throat, trying very hard to look elsewhere.

Rhys sighs, again.

"...Gods," he mutters, rubbing his temples. "It's like having a pair of horny, destructive children."

Cassian doesn't even deny it.

He just smirks slightly as your lips twitch.

Rhys waves a hand as walks out. "Clean the kitchen first."

"We will," Cassian calls after him.

Then, quieter - lower, meant only for you -

"...Then I'll get you all cleaned up."

[tunetales]

Moments (Cassian x Reader)

(Photos courtesy of Pinterest)

Summary: Moments with Cassian.

Authors Note: You asked, I answered. This is the first part of my ACOTAR version of my ‘Moments’ series. It’s always so much fun to write, I hope you enjoy!

(Thank you to @slytherin-pen for the divider)

The Court of Nightmares glitters with cruelty.

Black marble. Silver goblets. Smiles that mean nothing.

You’re halfway through a polite conversation when an Illyrian lord stumbles too close, leaning closer than necessary. His breath smells heavily of wine, his dark eyes glazed over with arrogance.

“And who do you belong to, sweetheart?” He drawls.

You stiffen.

“I don’t belong to anyone.”

He laughs at that. Actually laughs. “Everyone belongs to someone down here. And a beauty like you will definitely belong to someone.”

You sigh heavily, not in the mood to entertain him. His hand shoots out suddenly as you try to move away with a polite smile, fingers wrapping tightly around your wrist — too tightly.

You try to pull away. His grip only tightens. You try to hide your flinch.

“You should smile more,” he murmurs, trying to draw you back too closely into his space. “It would make you more pleasant to look at.”

Ice crawls up your spine.

The audacity.

“I would suggest,” you say evenly, “that you remove your hand.”

He squints at you, clearly too drunk — or too stupid — to register the warning beneath your calm.

Then someone nearby calls your name.

You straighten instinctively, the lord’s brow furrowing as if he was trying to remember how he knew your name exactly.

His grip loosens just enough for you to wrench free, understanding dawning on his face as you step back into the crowd.

Your heart is racing. Your wrist aching.

You don’t want a scene.

Not here.

Not when Rhysand had asked all of you to be on your best behaviour — as best as you could be in the Court of Nightmares.

You slip behind a column, breathing through the tightness in your chest—

—and thats where Cassian finds you.

He was smiling as he approached, Azriel at his side, laughing at something the Shadowmaster muttered to him.

But the second his eyes land on you—

It drops.

The grin vanishes like it was never there.

His shoulders go very still. His wings shift slightly, posture straightening and becoming alert. His eyes sharpen into something ancient and lethal.

He crosses the rest of the distance between you in three strides.

“What happened.”

Not a question. It’s a demand.

You shake you head quickly. “It’s nothing.”

His jaw tightens.

“Who,” he says quietly.

Behind him, Azriel’s face is sharp, his eyes surveying around the room, his shadows mysteriously absent as they began to weave through the crowd.

“It’s fine,” you insist, lowering your voice. “Rhys wouldn’t want you to cause a scene.”

You subtly try to move your hand behind your back.

Of course he notices.

With gentle speed and precision, not giving you the opportunity to pull away, he grasps your small hand in his much larger one.

His gaze flicks to your wrist.

It’s red.

The air around him shifts.

You feel it — the change. The general. The Lord of Bloodshed. The male who has bathed battlefields in red.

“Who?” He repeats.

Your stomach flips.

You shouldn’t tell him.

You absolutely shouldn’t tell him.

But he looks at you imploringly, his thumb brushes your wrist — so gentle it almost hurts — and something in you softens.

“The Illyrian Lord near the east balcony,” you murmur. “Dark braids. Silver clasps.”

His face hardens.

“Azriel.”

Cassian doesn’t say another word. Azriel dutifully takes a lazy yet protective stance next to you, before Cassian turns and walks away.

The crowd parts for him instinctively.

You watch from where you stand, heart in your throat.

He approaches the Lord slowly. Calmly. No raised voice. No spectacle.

The man turns, smirking at first—

Until he sees who’s standing in front of him.

Cassian says something.

You can’t hear it.

But you see the change.

The colour drains from the lord’s face so fast it’s almost comical. His goblet trembles. His shoulders sag.

Cassian leans in slightly, just enough to make the message intimate. Personal.

The Lord nods. Once. Twice.

Then he practically stumbles backward, turns too fast, colliding with a passing server — red wine cascading down his embroidered jacket.

Gasps ripple through the room.

He doesn’t even react.

Just flees. Gone within seconds.

Cassian watches him go.

Then he turns back to you.

And just like that—

The warmth returns.

The lethal stillness melts into something lighter.

He crosses back to you, brushing imaginary lint from his sleeve like he didn’t just dismantle a male’s entire sense of security without raising his voice. Or his fists.

You search his face. “What did you say to him?”

Cassian waves a hand dismissively, sliding his arms around your waist like nothing happened.

“Nothing important.”

“Cassian.”

He pulls you closer, lips brushing your forehead tenderly.

His voice is warm, easy, but you don’t miss the underlining steel.

“No one upsets my girl and gets away with it.”

Your breath catches.

His thumb strokes over your wrist— gentle, where the Lord had been rough.

“It’s fine,” he murmurs, softer now. “He’ll think twice now before speaking to you — or anyone — ever again.”

Across the room, Rhys is pretending not to watch.

Azriel slinks back into the shadows, a look of amusement on his face.

But Cassian doesn’t care.

He kisses your temple, slow and possessive.

“Next time,” he says lightly, that charming grin returning fully, “just signal me. I enjoy educational conversations.”

And somehow, in the Court of Nightmares—

You’ve never felt safer.

The door opens well past midnight.

You don’t look up immediately.

You’re perched back against the headboard of your bed, book in hand, fae lights flickering low around the room. The scent of lavender and cedar hangs in the air.

Cassian steps inside — and immediately stops.

He’s covered in the night. Body tense and exhausted. Wind-tossed hair. Dust on his leathers. Shadows under his eyes.

His wings sag slightly as he lays his eyes on you.

“…You’re still awake?” He asks, voice rough with exhaustion.

You stand slowly. “You’re late.”

A corner of his mouth lifts. “Patrol ran long.”

His bravado fades as he takes note of the scent in the air, noting the soft steam that emits from the adjoining bathroom where a bath has been drawn.

You were clearly waiting for him.

“You drew me a bath?” He asks quietly.

You walk towards him, reaching for the clasps of his leathers. “Of course I did.”

He exhales like everything he’s been holding onto suddenly loosens.

“You didn’t have to,” he murmurs.

“I know.”

You help him out of his leathers and clothing piece by piece, carefully placing his siphons in their spot on top of his chest of drawers. He doesn’t argue. He doesn’t tease. Just lets you. The general melts away under your hands, leaving only your tired mate beneath.

When you guide him towards the bath, he obeys easily.

“You’re spoiling me,” he mutters as you sit him on the edge and begin removing the bands he’d used to pull his hair out of his face that morning.

“You deserve to be spoiled.”

He glances up at you, softer than he ever looks in public. “Careful. I might start expecting this every night.”

You snort. “You’d be insufferable.”

He steps into the bath with a low groan as the heat hits his muscles. His wings drape carefully over the edge, massive and weary.

You kneel behind him, fingers sliding into his hair, massaging slow circles into his scalp.

He melts.

Actually melts.

A deep, rumbling sound leaves his chest, halfway between a sigh and a growl.

“Gods,” he mutters. “Marry me again.”

You laugh softly, working the soap through his hair. “You’re ridiculous.”

“I’m serious,” he insists. “If this what I come home to…”

His head tips back to rest against the edge of the tub, eyes closing as you rinse him carefully.

You move to his shoulders next, strong hands rubbing slow circles into the knots there. He hisses at first, then relaxes into it, head dropping forward.

“Easy,” you murmur.

He hums low. “You’re so good at this.”

“Years of practice.”

He reaches back lazily as you get to your feet, one large hand finding your thigh. It slides upwards just slightly.

“You know,” he says, voice dropping to a husky whisper, “if you really want to help me relax…”

You slap his hand away without hesitation.

“Absolutely not.”

He cracks an eye open. “Cruel woman.”

“Tomorrow,” you say firmly. “Tonight is about you sleeping before you collapse face-first into the floor. Besides, I don’t fancy being almost smothered again when you fall asleep mid-fuc-“

“One time that happened!” He huffs. “I’m not that tired, I swear.”

He proceeds to nearly fall asleep mid-shoulder rub.

You smile, helping him out the bath once he’s clean, drying his wings carefully — he’s too tired to protest the fussing.

When you finally guide him to bed, he drops onto the mattress like a fallen warrior.

A very large, very dramatic fallen warrior.

You pull the blankets up around him.

He squints up at you. “Are you tucking me in?”

“Yes.”

“I am the Lord of Bloodshed.”

“You’re a baby.”

He opens his mouth to argue — but then you lean down and press a kiss to his forehead.

He freezes.

Then softens completely.

His hand catches yours before you can pull away, tugging you down beside him. Not demanding. Just wanting.

“You don’t have to stay up waiting for me,” he murmurs, half-asleep already as you join him under the sheets.

“I know,” you murmur softly.

You carefully run your fingers through his hair, in the way you know he likes.

His purrs of contentment quickly transform into soft snores as he falls asleep.

He really was your big baby.

You’ve been on the couch since breakfast.

Curled up, sunlight pouring in through the windows, completely absorbed in your new book.

Cassian tried to be patient.

He really did.

At first, he let you be.

He had his own duties to take care of first, but when he returned home and you were still sat in the same position, he proceeded to unwind from his day, thinking that you’d come to him on your own in greeting.

But you didn’t.

He sat beside you, arm draped along the back of the cushions, fingers brushing your shoulder.

No reaction.

He leaned closer. “Whatcha reading?”

“Mhm.”

That’s all he got.

He frowned.

He tried again a little while later. “What’s the book about?”

Silence.

He scooted closer. His thigh pressed to yours.

Nothing.

He leaned over to begin reading with you. “Are there battles? Is there a devastatingly handsome warrior?”

You turned a page.

You didn’t even look at him.

A little while later, he sprawls across the couch like a discarded cloak, one wing draped over your legs.

You adjust the wing without looking up.

He stares at you.

“You’ve been reading all day.”

You hum.

“It’s time to pay attention to me,” he protests.

You flip another page.

He narrows his eyes.

“Oh, so that’s how it is?”

Still nothing.

He sits up abruptly.

Before you can react, he plucks the book clean out of your hands.

You blink up at him.

Cassian stands, holding it high above his head like a prize.

“General’s orders,” he announces. “You’ve been ignoring me for too long.”

“Cassian.”

Gods, he loves it when you say his name like that — like a warning.

“I require attention and love.”

“Give it back! I only have a few pages left.”

“Not until you acknowledge your neglected mate.”

You huff, slowly getting to your feet — you barely reached Cassian’s chin when you were both standing. Despite that, he still lifts your book higher.

“You’re insufferable.”

“I am deeply in love and starved of affection,” he replies dramatically.

You step closer.

He grins down at you, smug.

“Just give up honey, there’s no way you’re getting to it—OOF”.

You tackle him.

Hard.

He yelps in pure shock as you slam into his middle. He was absolutely not expecting you to resort to violence to get your book back.

The momentum carries you both backwards—

—and you crash on the floor in a tangle of limbs and wings.

The book flies somewhere to the side as you proceed to try and use Cassian’s momentary distraction to practically climb him like a tree.

Cassian quickly flips you over.

“You little menace—“ he laughs, trying to pin your wrists as you reach for the book.

You squirm, attempting to roll over.

He’s stronger, obviously— but you fight dirty.

You dig your fingers into his sides.

He jerks a bark of laughter. “Hey! No cheating.”

“You started it!”

He flips you onto your back.

You twist at the last second, sending both of you rolling again until you’re half sprawled on his chest, breathless.

His hands settle instinctively at your waist.

You’re both laughing now.

“I can’t believe you tackled me,” he says between breaths.

“You stole my book.”

“Because you ignored me.”

“You’re so dramatic.”

“I am devoted.”

You try to reach for the book again, but he catches your wrist easily.

“Ah-ah,” he says. “I have terms.”

You narrow your eyes. “What terms?”

“You can finish your chapter,” he says generously, “if you sit in my lap whilst you do it.”

You stare at him.

“That’s your compromise?”

“Yes.”

“That’s barely a compromise.”

“It is to me.”

You huff — but you’re smiling.

“Fine.”

His grin is victorious and far too pleased with himself.

You retrieve the book and settle back against him, sitting between his legs, your back against his chest. His arms wrap around you instantly, wings curving around you both like a cocoon. He presses a kiss to you temple.

“There,” he mumbles. “Much better.”

You open the book again.

“You realise this is exactly what I was doing before.”

“Yes,” he says. “But now I’m involved.”

You shake your head, but your fingers absently trace patterns on his forearm as you read.

After a few minutes, he rests his chin on your shoulder.

“What’s happening now?”

“I thought you didn’t care.”

“I care deeply,” he says solemnly. “Especially if there’s a devastatingly handsome warrior.”

You roll your eyes, but you lean back into him a little more.

“There is one,” you say, amusement creeping into your voice. “His name is Azrie—“

You shriek loudly as Cassian pinches your side playfully.

“Finish that sentence and I’ll throw the book across the room again.”

It started with you very confidently saying:

“How hard can it be?”

Rhysand stops mid-drink. Azriel slowly smirks. Mor outright cackles.

Cassian leans back in his chair, eyes gleaming with dangerous delight. “You want to try Illyrian training?”

“Yes.”

“With me?”

“Yes.”

He grins like a male who has just been handed the greatest gift in life.

“Alright,” he says. “But you don’t get to complain.”

—

You regret it immediately.

The training ring is cold. The weapons are heavy. The stretches alone feel like they’ve been designed by someone who hates happiness.

Cassian circles you slowly, hands clasped behind his back like a smug instructor.

“Lower,” he says.

“I am lower.”

“You’re barely bending.”

“I hate you.”

He laughs. “You begged for this.”

You attempt a lunge.

Your legs shake violently.

He steps in behind you, large hands settling on your hips to adjust your stance.

“Wider,” he murmurs.

You glare over your shoulder. “If you grope me under the guise of training one more time—“

“This is professional,” he says solemnly, squeezing lightly before tapping your ass.

“Cassian.”

“Fine. Fine.” He steps back, though he’s still grinning.

You attempt a punch next.

It’s…not impressive.

He catches your fist easily.

“You’re pulling your strength,” he says.

“I am not.”

“You absolutely are.”

He steps closer. Too close.

“Rotate your shoulder,” he instructs, guiding your arm. “And commit.”

You do.

You miss.

He kisses your temple. “For effort.”

You shove him. “Stop kissing me.”

“It motivates you.”

“It distracts me!”

“That’s also motivating.”

You attempt a kick.

He blocks it effortlessly.

“Again.”

You groan loudly. “Why are Illyrian’s like this?”

“Superior breeding.”

You swing at him.

He ducks, laughing.

You’re sweaty, breathless and furious.

Cassian is having the time of his life.

“Alright,” he says, finally getting into stance. “One clean hit. That’s all I want.”

You narrow your eyes.

“Full strength.”

“You’ll regret that.”

He smirks. “I highly doubt—“

You swing.

And this time?

You rotate your shoulder. You commit. You put your frustration and entire annoyed soul into it.

Your fist connects sharply with his jaw.

There’s a sharp crack.

Cassian’s head snaps to the side.

Silence falls.

You freeze.

“Oh my gods.”

Cassian sways slightly.

“Oh my gods,” you repeat, horror flooding you as he stumbles to one knee.

You rush forward immediately. “Cassian! I didn’t mean—I thought you were going to block it—are you concussed? Say something—“

You crouch down in front of him.

He lifts his head at the exact moment you lean down.

Crack.

Your foreheads collide brutally.

You both yelp in unison.

“OW!”

“Gods above—“

You fall backward onto the sand, clutching your head.

Cassian tips sideways, laughing in disbelief.

“You knocked me whilst I was down,” he wheezes.

“I didn’t mean to!”

He rolls onto his back, staring at the sky. “That was a good hit.”

You scramble towards him, clutching your forehead, still panicking. “Are you okay?”

He props himself up on his elbow, jaw already bruising slightly.

“I’ve had worse,” he says. “From you? Worth it.”

You stare at him. “You’re insane. Why is your head so hard?”

He studies you for a moment longer. Then he starts laughing harder. “Azriel was right, this was a terrible idea.”

You flop onto your back beside him. “Pfft, what does he know.”

He turns his head towards you, grin wide and adoring despite the swelling.

“I suppose,” he says dramatically, “I’ll just have to make sure I’m always around to protect you.”

You snort. “From what? You?”

“From everything,” he corrects, rolling towards you and tugging you into his chest. “Especially yourself.”

You poke his sore jaw.

He winces. “Mean.”

“You deserved that for almost taking me out with your skull.”

He kisses your forehead over the bruise already forming.

“You hit like a warrior,” he murmurs proudly. “Terrifying. I am deeply attracted to you right now.”

You groan. “We are never doing this again.”

He considers.

“…Maybe not the training.”

His hands slides to your waist, pulling you closer.

“But I’m keeping the hands-on instructions.”

You shove him weakly.

He laughs, wings spreading slightly in the sand.

And despite the bruises, you’re both grinning like idiots.

You’ve always loved how large Cassian is.

It’s practical, for one.

High shelves? Irrelevant. He just reaches over you without thinking.

Crowded markets or events? You can always spot him — dark hair, broad shoulders, wings that part people like the sea.

Danger? Nonexistent. When he stands in front of you, the world feels more manageable.

He makes you feel safe in a way that settles deep in your bones.

You love that.

But what you don’t love is how much space he takes up in bed.

You had thought upgrading to a larger mattress would solve the problem.

It did not.

Because the issue wasn’t the size of the bed.

The issue was Cassian sleeps like a territorial mountain.

He starts on his side, but by the end of the night he ends up halfway on top of you. One wing thrown over you. One arm hooked possessively over your waist. A knee wedged between yours. His chest pressed to your back like you might vanish if there’s an inch of distance.

You love it.

But sometimes you hate it.

Tonight, you’re exhausted.

He’s sprawled diagonally across the mattress, somehow claiming ninety percent of it despite the fact you bought the largest bed available in Velaris.

You attempt to shift.

He tightens his arm around you instinctively.

You try again.

His leg drapes further across yours.

You stare at the ceiling.

“Cassian,” you mutter softly.

He grunts in his sleep and buries his face into your hair.

You try to roll away.

He makes a low, displeased sound and follows you.

You sigh.

Very carefully, you untangle yourself. Slide out from under his arm. Remove the wing from your legs. Inch towards the end of the bed.

He mumbles something unintelligible.

You freeze.

He settles.

You escape into the living room, grabbing a blanket and settling yourself on the couch.

You’ve barely curled up when you hear it—

The faint rustling of wings and heavy footsteps.

Then silence.

You peek over the back on the couch.

Cassian is standing in the doorway.

Hair messy. Naked chest. Bottoms slung low on his hips. Eyes narrowed and very offended.

“…Why are you not in our bed?”

You stare at him. “I couldn’t breathe.”

He blinks.

“I wasn’t suffocating you.”

“How would you know if you were sleeping?”

He walks closer, expression slowly shifting from confusion to mild betrayal.

“You left.”

“I needed space.”

He wings droop slightly.

“You could’ve woke me up.”

“I tried.”

He pauses.

“…Oh.”

You pull the blanket tighter around yourself. “You’re enormous.”

He looks down at himself like this is shocking information.

“I am not that big.”

You just raise a brow.

He sighs dramatically.

Then — without a word — he bends down and scoops you up.

Blanket and all.

You yelp. “Cassian—!”

“No,” he says firmly, already carrying you back toward the bedroom. “Absolutely not. You are not sleeping on the couch because I exiled you.”

“I exiled myself!”

He ignores you completely.

Back in bed, he sets you down carefully in the centre of the mattress.

Then he climbs in beside you.

You brace yourself.

But instead of immediately smothering you, he lies on his back. Stiff. Deliberately keeping space between you.

“There,” he says. “You have your room.”

You glance over.

He looks miserable.

Wings tucked unnaturally tight. Arms folded like he’s restraining himself from reaching for you.

You last about ten seconds.

“You’re sulking.”

“I am not.”

“You absolutely are.”

He stares at the ceiling. “You left me.”

“I was suffocating.”

“I was cuddling.”

“More like crushing.”

He finally looks at you.

“…You don’t like when I hold you?”

The vulnerability in his voice softens you immediately.

“I love when you hold me,” you admit. “I just also love oxygen.”

He huffs.

Silence lingers.

Then slowly, cautiously, he shifts closer.

Not on top of you. Just nearer.

His hand hovers uncertain over your waist.

“Can I?” He ask quietly.

You smile.

“Yes. But no strangling.”

“I thought you liked it when I choked you?”

You roll your eyes. “Not when I’m trying to sleep.”

He huffs a laugh, but pulls you gently to his side. Not crushing. Or trapping. Just warm.

You tuck your face into his chest.

“See?” He murmurs. “It’s not so bad.”

You snort softly. “You’re still too big.”

“Rude.”

“But,” you add, sliding a hand over his ribs, “I suppose you can’t be completely perfect.”

He gasps in mock offence. “I am devastatingly close.”

You laugh quietly.

His arms tighten just a fraction.

“Next time,” he mutters into your hair, “wake me up instead of running away.”

“Next time,” you reply sleepily, “I’ll just suffocate you.”

He chuckles.

But even as you both drift off back to sleep—

His fingers stay hooked in into your shirt, just in case you try to escape again.

[teacupsandtopgun]

Snack-a-Jacks

I'm taking Jack Abbot blurb requests!

I've watched series 1 of The Pitt and been overcome with a thirst and hunger to write for this man (who, let's face it, is more than just a snack; he's a whole damn meal).

To order your very own 'Snack-a-Jack', simply send me a prompt from one of the 'menus' below. I'll create a mini moodboard plus a few hundred words based on it 🥰

So, what can I get you today?

🌶️🥵🔥 The Hot & Spicy Menu 🔥🥵🌶️: Smutty prompts

🌷🩷🍬 The Sweet Treat Menu 🍬🩷🌷: Romantic prompts

Oh, and would you like fries with that?

Shout out to @urfriendlywriter for the amazing prompt lists!

To read what I've written so far, head over to the Snack-a-Jack Bar

[teacupsandtopgun]

Tagging people from my taglists that I think might be interested in Jack Abbot shaped treat 🥰

@97lala @beautifulandvoid @bellatrixlestrangeswhore @briseisgone @bubbly-barnes

@choppedgalaxynerd @creativitybeware @dizzybee03 @djs8891 @emma8895eb

@fanficmom94 @floydsglasses @fogle97 @foxmybeloved @gigisimsonmars

@hatussy @idk-tbh127 @inkandarsenic @just-in-case-iloveyou

@karsinner @kate-bishops-girlfriend @katiekatiekatiekatiejjjjjj @katsu28 @kmc1989

@londonbeachgirl @lostinwonderland314 @luvjanexx @marianatrenchprobably @mega-kittyglitter-1

@memoriesat30 @mini-bee-bee @minjixficrecs @moonyinthestars @nerdgirljen

@nouis-bum @onceupona-happilyeverafter-love @penguin876 @runawaybaby3

@shamelessghostwagonwobbler @sick2mystmch @sio-ina-bottle @sorchathered

@starlightmoon2020 @starset21 @that-one-fangirl69 @thefandomimagines @torimcc

@whatislovevavy @withahappyrefrain

[minjixficrecs]

so excited and so thankful to be tagged 🤍