Do you want to cuddle a fictional character who could rip your head off without breaking a sweat? You've come to the right place. My fics are just assortments of run on sentences and incomplete thoughts. Requests open.
Just another multifandom imagines blog. All works are dated- so you can date my progress and track as my ADHD brain jumps from one hyper-fixation to the next
** Indicated NSFW. 18+ MDNI
Do Not Repost! Please and Thanks <3
Requests/asks are always open, the rat in my brain likes receiving little messages and notes of inspiration :)))
Works & Playlists below the cut!
Criminal Minds x Marvel crossover 2019, unfinished (masterlist)
Marvel:Â
Spangled Stars || Steve Rogers x Reader (2019)Â
Whiplash || Peter Maximoff x Reader (2019)Â
Like a Good Neighbor || Bucky Barnes x Reader (2019)Â
Chance Encounter || Spiderman x Reader (2020)Â
Look at You || Moon Knight system x reader (2023) **Â
Call Me⊠|| Matt Murdock x Reader (2024)Â
See Also:
Miguel O' Hara Playlist on Spotify đ§
Criminal Minds / Marvel Crossover listed above ^^
Criminal Minds:
Christmas Vacation || Spencer Reid x Reader (2019)Â
Fun Facts || Spencer Reid x Reader (2020)
Thief! || Spencer Reid x Reader (2020)Â
Missing || Spencer Reid x Reader (2020)Â
See Also:
Criminal Minds / Marvel Crossover listed above ^^
John Wick:
First Impressions || John Wick x Reader (2020)Â
With & Without || John Wick x Reader (2021)Â
DC Comics: Â
Zero Stars || Adrian Chase x Reader (2022)Â
Beverage Napkin || Adrian Chase x Reader (2022)Â
Stop Worrying || Adrian Chase x Reader (2022)Â
Ghosting || John Constantine x Reader (2023)
See Also: Adrian Chase Spotify Playlist đ§
Ghostbusters:Â
Here, Let Me || Dr. Egon Spenger x Reader (2021)Â
Mandatory Attendance || Dr. Egon Spengler x Reader (2021)Â
Happy Golden Days || Dr. Ray Stantz x ReaderÂ
Snow || Dr. Egon Spengler x Reader (2022)Â
For Emergencies Only || Dr. Egon Spengler (2022) Â
>Part 2 Â (Metaphorical Rescue Eggroll)
>Part 3Â (The Love Hypothetical)
Dust and Motor Oil || Dr. Ray Stantz x Reader (2022)Â
Stardust & Fungi || Dr. Egon Spengler x Reader (2022)Â
Tell âem bout the Twinkie || Dr. Egon Spengler x extroverted!Reader (2023)Â
Hypno!kink headcanon (2022) (plotbunny free to good home) **
See Also:
Ray Stantz Spotify Playlist đ§
I Wanna Be Ghostbuster Playlist đ§
That 70s Show:
First Dates || Steven Hyde x Reader (2020)Â
Snowed In || Steven Hyde x Reader (2020)Â
Comfort || Steven Hyde x Reader (2020)Â
Slippery & Cold || Steven Hyde x Reader (2020) **
4 Things Steven Hyde Agreed To & 1 He Didnât || Steven Hyde x Reader (2020)
Star Wars:Â
From the Start || Kylo Ren/Ben Solo x Reader (2019)Â
Strings || Obi-Wan Kenobi x Politician!Reader (2020)Â
Disappointment || Kylo Ren x Reader (2020)Â **
Sacrifice and Devotion || Din Djarin x Reader ( 2023)Â
See Also:
Din Djarin Playlist on Spotify đ§
Twilight:Â
Cowardice || Jasper Hale x Reader (2020)Â
Bad Moods || Jasper Hale x Reader (2020)Â
Attitude Adjustment || Jasper Hale x Reader (2020)Â
The Moment Before Eternity || Carlisle Cullen x Reader (2020)Â
Firsts || Carlisle Cullen x Reader (2020)Â
Spiked Punch || Jasper Hale x Reader (2021)Â
GTA || Jasper Hale x Reader (2021)
Baldurâs Gate 3:Â
Insufferably Admirable || Astarion x Reader (2023) Â
> Part 2 (Foolishly Admirable - 2024) Â
See Also:
Astarion || The Pale Elf playlist on spotify đ§
Call of Duty: Modern Warfare:Â
Keep Talking || Simon "Ghost" Riley x Reader (2024)Â **
Warmth || Simon "Ghost" Riley x Reader (2024)Â
Dense || Simon "Ghost" Riley x Reader (2024)Â
A thought about Poly!141 x Reader (2024)Â **
>>Search History || Poly!141 x Reader (2024)Â **
>> Virtual Breadcrumbs || Poly!141 x Reader (2024) (Part 1.5) **
>> IRL Plug and Play || Poly!141 x reader (2025) (Part 3) **
~~~~Any additional asks or headcanons are posted under the #searchhistory on my blog!
Familiar and Whiskey || Simon âGhostâ Riley x Reader (2024)**
Some clever sleep pun title || Simon "Ghost" Riley x Reader (2025)
Feeling, Sudden and New // Simon âGhostâ Riley x (John âSoapâ MacTavish x Reader) (2025) **
See Also:
POV: ur in love with Johnny "Soap" McTavish playlist đ§
POV: ur in love with Simon âGhostâ Riley đ§
The Pitt (HBO)
Distraction || Dr. Michael "Robby" Robinavitch x f!reader (2026)**
What Dwells in the Pitt || Monster!AU (2026)
Tolerate It (your version) || Dr. Jack Abbot x f!reader (2026)
Tolerate it (your version) pt.ii || Dr. Jack Abbot x f!reader (2026)
Tolerate it (Jack's version) || Dr. Jack Abbot xf!reader (coming soon)
Best Medicine || Dr. Jack Abbot x f!reader (2026)
Old Dog, New Tricks || Dr. Jack Abbot x f!reader (2026)
Trying, Deserving, Loving || Andrew âPopeâ Cody x Reader
Summary: Youâve become the person his family contacts when they canât find Pope. After a confrontation with Smurf, Andrew goes MIA, and itâs up to you to find him. You canât single-handedly break the cycles he grew up in, but maybe you can at least change them.
CW: no use of y/n, implied she/her reader but i donât think I used any pronouns but I did mention wearing a dress / being compared to Cath, alcohol mention, heroin mention (Julia), heroin addiction as a metaphor, Smurfâs canon typical emotional abuse, Popeâs canon typical mental health issues, implied that the argument with Smurf triggered an episode, but I donât go into details. Hurt/comfort (Popeâs getting comforted bc I need to kiss this felon on the forehead), spot the Twilight reference!
Prompt: âI want to deserve you. Iâm trying to deserve you.â From this list by @leneemusing
Getting a call from one of the brothers is never good, and always leaves you feeling like you need to change your phone number- again. That night, it was Baz at eight in the evening as you were foil wrapping the leftovers of the dinner Andrew didnât show up to eat. You watched the phone vibrate, slowly migrating towards the ledge of the counter while you wiped your hands on a dish towel.
"Hey, Baz-" You sighed into the receiver, sandwiching the phone between your ear and shoulder. Despite Baz being the one you considered to be the most level headed of his brothers, you still were tense whenever he called you unannounced. Andrewâs step(ish) brother wasted no time with pleasantries.
"You seen Pope around? He was supposed to come by the house, never showed." Baz grumbled. Your shoulders tensed, a frown pulling at you lips as you sank into one of the kitchen chairs.
"I was going to ask you the same thing, he missed dinner," You informed, dragging a nail across the wood of the kitchen table. It was unlike Andrew to miss any of his obligation, and to miss not only a meeting with his brothers but also dinner with you? Heâd never missed anything with you without at least a phone call.
"Shit." Baz huffed, exasperated and you couldnât tell if it was at you, Andrew, or at the world, "He was being all weird and twitchy earlier. Had some kind of conversation with Smurf, punched a hole in the drywall, and stormed off."
"Shit." You echoed the sentiment, running a hand over your face as worry coiled in your gut. Anytime Andrew garnered Smurfâs full attention, things got bad. It wasnât exactly subtle that she felt her control over her oldest son had been threatened when you came into the picture. Things had gotten better when he moved into your apartment, but Smurf was nothing if not determined and scarily clever, "What were they talking about?"
"Smurf wouldnât say, but she seemed pleased. Maybe something about Cath or prison?" Baz thought aloud, and your stomach soured. Pope had promised that all the stuff with Cath was in the past, that she was just a fantasy heâd latched onto when he didnât have anything else. And, you believed him- hard not to when he looked at you so intensely and hopefully, like he had- but it still wasnât fun to hear from his family about any of it. Plus, Smurf loved to dangle Popeâs prison record over his head, his parole, his felon status, all of it to make him feel smaller and less than. Not to even get into the laundry list of insecurities Smurf would poke and prod when she thought it would get her something she wanted.
"Who fucking knows?" You growled, more to yourself than him. With a quick deep breath, you stood up to grab your shoes and keys, "Iâll look for him, heâs probably just cooling off somewhere-"
"If you find you, send him to the house." Baz said, and you could hear the pop of someone sucking a sip out of a long-necked beer bottle. You shook your head; you shouldâve known that Baz had just called you instead of looking himself. Whatever, probably for the best you found him first, and you definitely would not send him to the house.
"If I find him, Iâll tell him youâre looking for him." You volleyed, grabbing the still warm leftovers and heading out into the evening. Not waiting for Baz to argue, you clicked off the call and got into your car. It was summer, so the sun was just beginning to set. The car smelled like leather wipes and Andrewâs aftershave, as heâd spent the morning detail cleaning it for you. Not because youâd asked, but because he wanted to and insisted your car should be clean.
As you drove, you tried Andrewâs cell multiple times, a couple calls every couple of minutes. You frowned, the worry growing. You checked some of the spots you knew he gravitated towards- the coffee shop where he picked your breakfast up sometimes, the bench at the park where he took Lena, even the secluded empty lot nearby Smurfâs house. No dice.
Youâd blown half a tank of gas and lost the light, when you decided to drive back up by the beach on the way back to your place. As you idled at a red light, you scanned the last remnants of red sunlight on the horizon, the beach now devoid of surfers and tourists. Except..
"Andrew?" You murmured to yourself, your eyes lingering on the silhouette of a single person, knee deep in the waves. From the way the personâs shoulders were drawn back and the tense way his arms hung at his side, you were near positive that was your Andrew. No one else could stand that perfectly still. A car honked at you, since the light had turned green while you stared, and you cursed again, breaking a few traffic lights and jumping a curb so you could lopsidedly park across three empty spaces. Just as quickly, you scrambled out of the car, calling louder, "Andrew?"
He didnât turn, made no indication that heâd even heard you over the waves. But closer now, with yours eyes adjusting to the growing darkness, you were positive it was him, so you kept your pace, feet sinking into the shifting sand with every step. It wasnât until you were close enough to see the rise and fall of his shoulders that you tried again, softer this time, "Andrew, honey?"
Andrew tensed up in a way he didnât often do around you, shoulders bunching up near his ears. He turned his head just slightly, not quite looking at you. His voice was rough, like he was forcing every word out of himself and somehow still rambling at the same time, "Whatâre doing here? You shouldnât be here- youâre supposed to be at home. Itâs late and you have work tomorrow-"
"I was looking for you, been all over town trying to find you. Shouldâve known you came to the beach," You informed him, but there was no bite behind it. Kicking off your shoes to save them from the waves, you came a little closer, hissing a bit as the cold Pacific water lapped at your toes. The noise of displeasure had him fully turning his face towards you, as if he wasnât knee deep in the water.
"Donât get yourself wet- the waterâs cold and you donât have a towel-" He immediately started fussing, which wouldâve been irritating had it not been for the way his brows were all furrowed up with worry as he stared at your feet in the water. His voice quieter as he muttered, "Youâre gonna get sick-"
"Neither do you. Weâll be sick together." You shot back, shuffling until your ankles were submerged. He shook his head, but you were quick to continue, "Your jeans are all wet, honey. Arenât you cold?"
"No." He grumbled, turning back towards the darkening horizon. You sighed, moving deeper, grateful youâd worn shorts to lounge around the house instead of a sundress or pants.
"Baz called me, said you missed a meeting, âs not like you." You told him quietly, turned fully towards him. His head twitched towards you like he wanted to face you but couldnât, instead continued to stare silently into the distance, so you kept going, "And then you missed dinner, which really isnât like you. I got worried."
"Baz called you?" Andrew asked, a night breeze ruffling the curls that were just starting to grow back in. The same way you hated hearing about Cath, Pope hated when Baz had anything to do with you. Then he scoffed, his fists curling in tight, "Guess Iâm your problem now. Doesnât even matter, they had plenty of meetings without me for the past three years-"
"Hey, Hey-" you cut him off, reaching forward to touch him but pausing just inches away, unsure of if he even wanted to be touched just yet. Heâd told you before how loud his head could get, how overwhelming things could get- the last thing you wanted was to make anything worse. So, you kept your tone soft but firm enough for him to know you meant it, "Whereâs that coming from? Youâre not my problem. You arenât a problem, Andrew."
He ducked his head, and you werenât sure if it was actually happening or a trick of the dying light that it looked like his chin was trembling, "Iâm a convicted felon, career criminal, and Iâm-Iâm fucked in the head, and it doesnât matter how hard I try, youâre always gonna deserve better than me-"
"Andrew, honey, stop-" You shook your head, trying to duck into his line of sight, but he turned his face away. You ran your eyes over him, eyes trailing the way his arms flexed and relaxed as he mentally worked through his thoughts, before snagging on the redness of his hand. The blood on his knuckles. "Jesus, honey, youâre bleeding-"
"Iâm fine-" he argued, daring to look at you for one brief second before looking away once more, like you were the sun and it hurt to look at you too long. He cleared his throat, his mouth twitching to the side before he continued, " âs nothing."
"Not nothing if youâre bleeding." You pointed out, daring a step closer. Not touching yet, but holding your hands out to his, "Can I see?"
Pope hesitated, but ultimately placed his hand in yours ,busted knuckles facing up so you could examine them, because he knew he couldnât deny you anything when you were looking at him with such soft tenderness. He didnât understand why you relaxed when his hand landed in yours, but he didnât hate the way your thumb swiped soothing arcs over the top of his hand, gingerly avoiding the split skin. This time he just mumbled, "Looks worse than it is."
"Yeah, youâd say that even if your hand had fallen off." You grumbled, one of your hands gently holding his while the other trailed up his forearm and then his bicep, lovingly rubbing at the tense muscles. Not overbearing or overwhelming, but just an offering of more contact to see if heâd take it. You sighed, eyes squinted in the evening darkness, the moon not providing the best examination light, "But this time, I think youâre right. Still want to put some Neosporin on it though."
He didnât say anything after that, his dark eyes set so intensely on your hands where they met his own skin. So, instead, you switched topics, "You missed dinner. I tried making this new pasta I saw online. I packed some up, have it in the car âcause I figured youâd be hungry-"
Pope shook his head suddenly, pulling his arm out of your touch- quick enough to startle, gentle enough not to even accidentally hurt you, and you let him go, even if you made a small noise of displeasure. He huffed a sigh through his nose, his brows low set and furrowed in that way of his, "Stop that-"
"Stop what?" You asked, with an echoing huff. Andrew liked that about you, for all your soft edges and kindness and everything else that was so different from him- no girl of his could be a complete wilting flower. When softness was met with tension, youâd mirror it right back at him if he wasnât softening for you like usual.
"Being so nice- Youâre too nice to me, and I donât deserve it and no one understands it-" He rushed out, his voice raising before immediately quieting again. The oldest Cody boy had once whispered into your skin after a fight that he hated raising his voice in arguments, because it felt like losing control, felt like using his potential for violence as a tactic to get his way. He said it made him feel Smurf, or maybe made him feel like what she wanted him to be. And he didnât want to be that, especially not around you.
So you brushed fingers down his arm, not clinging or pulling, but just a silent reminder that you were there and you werenât afraid of him or his emotions. The not deserving kindness and no one understands it sounded like the âsomethingâ Smurf might had said, probably with the sole objective of setting him off. Of planting and watering seeds that only Smurf could ever love him, that only she could understand him or tolerate him, and only she could feed him the scraps of love that Andrew so desperately craved. You had to swallow down your anger.
The man beside you took one deep breath, in through his nose, held it, and then blew it out through his mouth, the way heâd seen you do when something was frustrating you. He twitched his arm backwards, a micro-adjustment of his posture so his arm chased the contact of your fingers, wanting more but always afraid to voice that want. Other times, youâd taunt and withhold, just to make him speak up with you. But tonight wasnât the time. Tonight, youâd meet him where he was at. And at that moment- you were meeting him, knee deep in the freezing pacific, no longer trailing fingers, but wrapping your hand around his bicep and stepping closer so you were flush, side by side. His murmuring of your name was a near silent, broken thing.
"Iâm not good- and nothing I do is ever gonna make me good- and even if it could, my family would need something bad again and Iâd be the one to do it-" He whisper-rambled down to you, his eyes wide like his words might make you realize it was true and drive you away, but you just met his gaze head on, waiting for him to continue. The steadfast care in your eyes seemed to stop his spiral, so he just finished with almost a plead, "I want to deserve you. Iâm trying to deserve you."
"Andrew, you donât have to try to do anything else besides trying to come home to me every night." You pressed yourself to his side, pressing a kiss to his shoulder when he didnât dip down to offer his lips or a cheek. You could taste the salted breeze on his black polo shirt. "And as grateful as I am, you donât have to wash my dishes or detail my car or leave stacks of cash on my dresser- or any of the other countless things you do for me- to deserve or earn my kindness. Itâs not transactional. Iâm gonna be kind to you anyways."
You stopped, taking a deep breath, because both of you being emotional wouldnât help much at the moment, "Iâm not some moral judgement in your life, and Iâm not standing in cold water to have an ethical debate with you. Iâm standing here because I love you, whatever version of yourself you can give me. And if your family doesnât âunderstandâ that? I actually donât really give a damn. I just want you to understand that, got it?"
There was another long moment of silence- not entirely tense, not entirely comfortable- as you searched his face for understanding. His mouth twitched again, and then his nose, before he finally reached up with both of his bloodied hands, his palms cupping so gingerly around your cheeks before he placed an absolutely reverent kiss to you forehead, "Think Iâm starting to get it, sweetheart. Tell me again?"
Oh, your Andrew and his quiet greed for affection. He didnât do drugs, both for the fact they didnât affect him the way they did others, and for the fact of what substances had done to his family. But, the idea of no-strings-attached, unconditional love, despite his past- might as well be his own personal brand of heroin, and he was just as addicted as his sister had been.
"Which part? That I love you? That I want to be nice to you? Iâll tell you as many times as you need to hear it," you promised with a genuine smile, as you gently tugged on his arm, "in the car. With the heater on. And again at home, in a warm shower and then in our warm bed-"
"All of it." Was his answer, and finally, he allowed you to start pulling him back towards shore. Where his shoes were neatly lined by the guard tower and his leather jacket folded over the scaffolding, and your shoes were haphazardly kicked off in the sand. And when a rogue wave almost knocked you down, because youâd been more focused on smiling at him than paying attention? Andrew huffed another sigh through his nose, the irritation entirely a facade, his arms wrapping around your middle to keep you upright. Out of the water, his jacket was dropped on your shoulders, and he held his hand out for the keys. You would never be cold and youâd never be behind the wheel if he was with you.
"You really have dinner in the car for me?" He asked softly.
You took the jacket, and handed over the keys. Even if youâd give that love so willingly to him, even if you preached at him until you were blue in the face that he didnât need to do anything in return⊠He still would. Andrew would put gas in your car and walk on the side closest to the street and religiously change the batteries in your smoke detector, each action a silent thank you when he couldnât find the words. So, instead of preaching, you laced your fingers through his and pressed a gentle kiss against his lips. Because heâd never doubt he was love and heâd never be unsure he was wanted if he was with you.
"Didnât want you go without." You answered his question about pasta and a dozen other unspoken questions.
Heâd give and give no matter what, and youâd love and love no matter what- so youâd both be stuck in that cycle, together, with no place youâd rather be.
The Pitt x reader, mamma Mia!Au. Except Reader was a travel nurse in Pittsburgh one summer, with more than one whirlwind romance, and then returns for another stint in Pittsburgh with an adorable baby girl in tow. Nobody can figure out if the baby is Jackâs, Robbyâs, or Brendan Parkâs. But after her last whirlwind romance landed a baby in her life (even if she loves the baby endlessly) sheâs sworn off dating Doctors.
Tolerate It (Your Version) pt. ii || Dr. Jack Abbot x f!reader
Summary: After breaking free from a failing relationship, you struggle to adjust to your life without Jack in it. In those struggles, you earn yourself a visit to the Pitt. Maybe Jack wasn't as detached as you'd assumed...
PART ONE
Song Fic based off: Tolerate it by Taylor Swift
CW: age gap, mean jack, alcohol mentions, breakup, low self esteem, head trauma, broken bones, hospital setting (duh), Jack's usual suicidal ideations, the first part was hurt, now here's the comfort, angst with a happy ending, yay therapy!
Youâd reached a new low. Or at least thatâs how you felt. It always felt pathetic when you tried to stalk an ex online. It felt more desperate to try to stalk Jack Abbot, the manâs online presence was next to none. He had a LinkedIn that the hospital had made for him, and a nameless, faceless instagram that youâd made for him- because once upon a time heâd enjoyed when you sent him silly little things throughout the day, well, or heâd pretended to.Â
So, after three months post break-up, you were pathetically desperate for crumbs. Which is how you ended up fixated on Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Centerâs official instagram. The caption was a simple, Spotlighting our Emergency Room heroes! Complete with several healthcare hashtags, and the superhero emoji. The first four pictures were pictures of nurses and doctors posing for whichever social media intern they had in charge of this post. And then there was Jack- slide seven, a no nonsense expression on his face as he stared down the camera, not even standing from his hunched position while he charted. You could imagine him muttering on about not having time for instagram bullshit, and how the admin could spare money for a social media manager but not to hire more nurses or security. It was ridiculous how after all these weeks you could still imagine his voice so clearly, the timbre of it, how his breath would feel as he murmured the words against your skin in bed.Â
He of course looked unfairly good. Even in hospital lighting, after probably more than 18 hours at the hospital, he was unfairly, devastatingly handsome. Worse than that, he lookedâŠÂ fine. Maybe a bit tired (re: 18 hour shift), and he was leaning more weight on his good leg, but other than that⊠he looked completely unaffected. And that was worse. If the universe was fair, heâd have gone more gray, heâd have more wrinkles on his forehead, maybe even a liver spot or two, and his biceps wouldnât be literally bulging out of his scrub top. He looked good and fine and totally Jack. The unmitigated nerve. Though, you supposed you shouldnât be shocked, it felt like heâd barely been affected by your presence in those last weeks, why would he be affected by your absence?Â
Meanwhile, youâd gained, lost, gained again, and were currently losing the same five pounds, your posture was shot from couch surfing amongst your friends, and the cherry on top of the shitty cake? You were breaking out because youâd run out of the expensive skin care products Jack had bought you and you couldnât afford to replace them. It was one of the pettier reasons (of the many reasons) youâd cried over Jack Abbot, but the last pump of the ultra thick laniege moisturizer had been a dark day for you.Â
But, if he was stalking your instagram the same why you stalked him? Heâd assume you were fine, everyone would. You couldnât bring yourself to delete the pictures you had together, but you could bury them under weekly posts of you going out with your friends, vague postings about dates, mirror selfies, a picture with your hairstylist after a bold cut (that you totally didnât regret cry over that night) and anything else that projected the image of your Thank U, Next era.Â
But, as the clock in the corner of your phone screen ticked 2:47 AM, you wondered if he could see through those posts. Those intense eyes had always managed to see straight through you, in an almost an alarming way. Would he think youâre fine? What would he do if he knew you werenât?Â
Sure, youâd broken up with him, leaving a year long relationship in ruins- but at some level youâd hoped it would have been a wake up call for him, and heâd wake up and realize how badly you needed each other. Still, his nonchalance, his lack of availability had been a dagger into the softest parts of you, but the removal seemed to have made it worse, and now all those soft, feelings were hemorrhaging and no amount of glitter eyeshadow and Taylor Swift was helping. You missed him. You didnât miss how itâd been in the end, but you missed how itâd been all the other months. You wanted him to miss you just as much. Wanted him to show up and apologize and hold you like he used to. Hell, if he texted you right that moment and told you it all been in your head, you mightâve let him convince you.Â
With a forlorn sigh, you twisted onto your other side on the futon in your friendâs living room switching from instagram to Zillow for the fifth time in the same hour. You needed to get your own place, get out of this terrible rut youâd stalled in. You couldnât live on your friendsâ couches while you stupidly hoped Jack would whisk back into your life. Youâd have to tolerate being alone.Â
___
Fuck it, I shouldâve stayed on that stupid couch- that was the first thought you had when you hit the ground after falling down the stairs of your brand new apartment. Youâd smacked your head pretty good, but hadnât lost consciousness, and you remembered Jack saying that was a good sign. What wasnât a good sign was the awkward angle of your arm and the searing pain radiating through your entire body. What was worse? Youâd fallen down the stairs of your stoop onto the sidewalk, and now random Pittsburghers were gathering around you. By the time the stars had cleared from your vision, the paramedics were there, and by the time they told you that you were en route to PTMC, it was too late to argue. Because when you groaned in remorse, they just attributed it to the wrist injury and upped the pain medication.Â
The silver lining was that it was 11 AM, Jack Abbot should be dead asleep, or off gallivanting with the SWAT team. In The Pitt, as Jack used to call it, the closed fracture wrist break was low on the priorities list, however the fact you smacked your head on the sidewalk bumped you up considerably. This left the room youâd been in a constant flurry of bodies coming in and out, people prodding at your wrist, shining lights in your eyes, and asking a slew of questions you could barely keep up with.Â
"Do you know where you are right now?"Â
"Can you tell us your name and what day it is?"
"Can we call your emergency contact for you?"Â
"Did you lose consciousness?"
"Are you experiencing any dizziness?"
"What about sensitivity to light?"Â
All asked in rapid succession, by a musical rotation of residents and interns, occasionally interrupted by an attending that was thankfully not Robby. So rapidly that you didnât even know who you were answering as you prattled off answers that you hoped matched the questions, even if out of order.  You started with your name and birthday which a nurse tapped into the computer, followed by the actual date, and then a rambled, "Yeah, yeah- sure. No- maybe?"Â
Apparently the answers sufficed, because one by one the people prodding at you nodded and started talking amongst themselves. A younger medical student made the mistake of moving your wrist in the wrong way, producing a choked yelp out of you- the wave of pain and subsequent morphine increase distracting you from a nurse stepping outside with a phone pressed to her ear.Â
Sniffling back tears, you thought the worst was over. But of course, life was only a comedy when you werenât the one laughing. A familiar, older voice rang over the murmurs of the students, "We good in-Â Oh shit-"Â
You opened your eyes to see Robby right as he lost his usual determined stride, recognizing you on the gurney shaking his usual rhythm. The other doctor, Dr. Al Hashimi sent a wide eyed disapproving gaze to him, "Dr. Robinavitch-"Â
"Itâs ok- we know each other-" You mumbled, covering your face with your one good hand. Regardless, Robby was already on a b-line to you, flicking over you and assessing all the injuries and probably assessing whether or not Jack was going to kick his ass for not personally calling him. Dr. Al Hashimiâs dark eyes flicked between you and Robby, as if quietly asking if you wanted him to stay. You appreciated the gesture, so you just nodded minutely, "Itâs fine."Â
"What happened to you?" Robby asked breathlessly, ignoring the student doctor telling him the results of the pupil test as he flashed his pen light into your eyes himself. You tried to swat him away with your good hand, only earning you an unimpressed glare vaguely masked with bedside manner.Â
"Arenât the students supposed to tell you?" You grumbled, a touch petulantly as the pen light clicked off, which earned a dry laugh from you exâs best friend. A couple student doctors leaned in, as if eager for the chance but Robby ignored them.Â
"When I ask them to. Right now, Iâm asking you so I know before you know who tears through here on a warpath-" Robby shook his head, running gloved hands over your scalp, another repeat exam before turning to a resident to talk about your wrist.. Â
"Thereâs no need for all the dramatics-" You huffed, wincing when he found the same tender spot that the resident had earlier, "Ow. I was moving into my new place and I tripped while carrying boxes up the stoop. Overcorrected and fell backwards. So can we dial back the fussing by 40%? And Jack isnât coming because we arenât together anymore, he doesnât know Iâm here and I doubt heâd care if he did-"Â
Robby cut you off with one of those sideways looks that blurred the line between confusion and irritation, your name clipped, "Heâs on his way here right now-"Â
"Robby- you called him? No- no- call him back- tell him not to come- uncall him-" You rambled, scrambling to sit up, voice raising until a nurse made a comment about your blood pressure rising and Robby pushed you back against the gurney with a stern look, "Thatâs a violation of HIPPA or something-"Â
"Jesus, stop!" Robby hissed, his hand on your shoulder holding you in place against the hospital bed. His temper a bit frayed by being caught in the middle of someone elseâs relationship issues, especially after hearing Jackâs rooftop spiel about letting you go every morning for the past three months. Realizing that his temper had turned every head in the room, he took a deep breath. It was one of the residents who picked up the conversation, the mousy looking one with a badge that read Dr. Whitaker.Â
"We asked, you consented to your emergency contact being called. Do you remember that?" He asked, both as a way to diffuse the tension and also to test your short term memory. You scanned all the questions you remembered being barraged with, all the ones youâd off handedly answered, and to your mortification, you did remember Whitaker asking about your emergency contact, the question sandwiched between questions about yourself so youâd just nodded along to all of them. Whitaker waited for you to nod slowly, before continuing calmly, "We used the medical ID on your phone, called the number listed, and Dr. Abbot picked up. Heâs on his way now."Â
Your good hand came up to cover your face in embarrassment. The stupid medical ID that Jack had made you set up after heâd learned about it on a bad shift at work. So, if something ever happens, and you canât tell them, theyâll know to call me, please, sweetheart? Heâd said, and youâd done it to ease his worry, kissed his forehead, and promptly forgotten all about it.Â
God, your relationship melodrama was turning you into one of the problem patients that Jack would complain about. Not only that, but Jack was on his way, probably woken up or pulled from a SWAT shift, because you had a non serious fracture and maybe a concussion. Oh, God, He was going to show up and see you teary eyed in a trauma room thatâd seen way worse than you in the last hour, in your worst leggings and a tshirt with holes in it, and he was going to remember exactly why he didnât argue when you said you wanted to break up, why his answer was âI think thatâs for the bestâ, heâd remember why he hadnât texted or called once-Â
Every single one of those breakup emotions swarmed you at once, all the feelings you said youâd doused with happy-hour margs and ice cream, and you looked to Robby with a pleading expression, "Please call him and tell him not to come- Iâm literally fine-"Â
"You know better than I do how that conversation would go." Robbyâs expression softened a touch, easing his grip as you quit trying to sit up, and he hit you with a dry, tried smile, "You literally need a head CT, and an X-ray for your wrist, maybe an ortho consult if itâs not as simple as we think. But congrats, having an attending as your emergency contact has officially made you a VIP, so we can bump you up in the imaging line."Â
â-
You got carted away for imaging before Jack showed up, escaping that spectacle by the skin of your teeth. But his impending arrival was hanging over your head like a guillotine, and the anxiety only made you feel more juvenile. Imaging was quick and clinical, untouched by the melodrama in the ER, which eased your worries a little bit. A false sense of security that assured you maybe Jack had showed up, had Robby tell him how unserious this all was, and eased Jackâs guilt complex enough for him to leave without laying eyes on you.Â
Or maybe that was the concussion talking. It probably was, given that you knew how intense Jack was, it had been- it currently was- one of the reasons you couldnât get over him. So it shouldnât have shocked you, when he actually clocked you before you saw him. Robby saw this all happen as he was coming back from the bathroom, the way Jack had been reading your chart (policy grey area since he was also a doctor at this hospital) at the hub and then, as if heâd had a sixth sense for your presence, Jackâs head popped up and swiveled directly towards you.  Uncanny in that way Jack could be when something was eating at him, and something had been eating at him since the day you walked out of his life, even though heâd been the one to open the door for you.Â
"Dr. Abbot-" The nurse pushing your wheelchair gasped as he approached a touch too quickly to be casual, "I was just taking her to curtain 6-"
"Hi, Vivi- I got it from here- thanks-" Jack nodded, already taking the handles and walking away. The only reason you didnât protest was the fear of causing a bigger scene than you already had earlier. Instead, you glanced once over you shoulder and cringed- because not only was he still unfairly handsome, he looked pissed.Â
"Isnât transport a little under your pay grade?" You snipped, to fill the awkward silence as he wheeled you through the ER, drawing the gaze of every nurse whoâd inevitably been whispering about the patient with Dr. Abbot as their emergency contact, "You know- I donât even need the wheelchair-"Â
"Yes. You do." He cut you off dryly, not opening up any room for argument or protest, nor offering any further explanation. Â Your jaw clicked shut, and you fixed your gaze on the tiles as you were rolled over them. He only spoke once more before wheeling you behind the privacy curtain, to the nearest nurse or resident you couldnât see, "The minute her results are in, bring them to me. Thanks."Â
With that, the brakes were locked on the chair, like you might try to escape, and the curtains scraped closed. It didnât actually dull much of the outside noise, but in that moment that paper thin divider might as well of put you on another planet with him. And finally, he turned to actually look at you, but for the first time in a long time you couldnât read any of the emotions on his face. Because there were none, his expression carefully schooled into neutral as he sighed, "Ok, câmon, let me help you into the bed-"Â
Something about the lack of anything made you want to shrink just like it had three months ago when heâd iced you out, but this time it was accompanied by frustration that made you want to dig your heels in. So, you did, no moving as he huffed, "I donât need help getting into the bed."Â
His jaw ticked as he reached over and lowered the railing on the hospital bed, and turned to look at you expectantly, "Well, the fall risk bracelet and hospital policy says otherwise. So, let me help you."Â
 "I donât want your help getting into the bed either." You sighed, swatting away the arm that trying to come around your waist. He didnât even seem to notice, because he didnât pull away, instead he made sure you were completely steady until you were in the bed and he could lock the rails back in place. He didnât make any comments about you being stubborn or immature, his expression didnât sour into a scowl, his shoulders didnât even tense up. It made you want to needle him. It made you want to prove he felt anything at all about the situation because you felt too much, so you glared at him, "Are you in doctor mode because your pissed they called you about this? I didnât tell them to call you, I just forgot to change my emergency contact. But Iâm fine and you can leave-"Â
"Iâm in doctor mode because youâre a patient in my hospital with a concussion and a broken wrist. Youâre not fine. If you were fine, you wouldnât be here." Jack finally snapped, silencing you with a look. You bit the inside of your cheek and watched as he busied himself with your IV lines, "So, would you please just let me be your doctor if not anything else?" Â
If not anything else, those words rattled around inside your aching head as he took a deep breath, and rolled the stool to your bedside. He took another moment, letting the silence settle before asking, "How are you feeling? Dizzy? Nauseous? Confused?"Â
You stared at him for a long moment, confusion having nothing to do with your concussion. After a full minute of both of you just sitting and watching each other, you decided to play good patient for the moment, starting with, "I canât feel my arm-"Â
"Thatâd be the nerve block, to keep you more comfortable during transports. Robby didnât want to cloud your coherence with any more pain medication, in case of a more serious concussion." Jack visibly relaxed as he rattled off the answer, partially from relief you were cooperating and partially because your complaint was something easily explained, easily fixed, nothing lethal. He nodded, eyes glancing down at the injured limb before meeting yours again, "Howâs your head?"Â
"You never complained." You joked almost reflexively, and then blanched. Even after all this time, it was like your body was wired differently around him, eager to fall into old patterns like slipping into comfortable shoes. You shook your head, which made you wince, "Sorry- I shouldnâtâve- anyways- my head hurts, the lights hurt my eyes, but I donât think Iâm confused? Would I know if I was?"Â
The corner of Jackâs lip twitched up, a crack in that Dr. Abbot facade he was trying to keep up and he shook his head at you, "Personalityâs still intact. Thatâs good. Youâd probably realize it, youâd feel foggy or dazed, you might struggle with regulating your feelings, maybe overly emotional. Feel anything like that?"Â
"No-" You said a bit too quick, and like the confusion, you didnât think your emotional regulation problems around him had anything to do with hitting your head. You couldnât stop yourself from blurting, "Why are you here, Jack?"Â
He leaned back on his stool, as if he was trying to fit that outburst into his diagnostic. Finally, he answered quietly, but sincerely, "Because Iâm your emergency contact. And they called. Of course I came."Â
You opened your mouth to interject, but Jack wasnât done, "And even if I wasnât your emergency contact, if someone here wouldâve let it slip that you were a patient, I still would have come. Because you were hurt and alone-"Â
"Iâm a big girl, Jack, I can handle a bump on my head-" You sighed, looking away. He scoffed.Â
"But I canât." His voice rose as he stood, his knees cracking with the motion, "Even on the phone they told me it was a minor accident, that the phone call was basically a formality, but the minute they said your name and ambulance in the same sentence it was like my brain turned off, and I knew I wouldnât be able to breathe again until I saw for myself that you were okay-"Â
"Well, Iâm okay now. Youâve seen it. So you can go back to whoever or whatever you were doing- but if you could discharge me first, because all my shit is just on the curb outside my apartment and Iâd like to have something left when I get back-" You waved him off, trying so hard to be dismissive because if you werenât those words would throw blankets over the barbwire around your heart and allow Jack to weasel right back in.Â
"I called movers as soon as I got off the phone with the hospital. Theyâre handling it now and theyâll lock up when theyâre done. I told them Iâd pick up the key from their office," He dismissed your dismissal. You finally snapped your gaze back to his- movers were out of your budget as it was, and the rush fee to get there within the hour, and the inevitable convenience fee for the strange situation. The dollar signs were racking up in your mind, but Jack just put his hand on your knee, squeezing once, "I took care of it. Iâm not leaving you alone here."Â
"Jack, Iâm alone because of you-" You knew the words hurt him, but he only winced when you shoved his hand off your knee. "You donât get to swoop in and play martyred knight when youâre the one who shut me out  and never even told me why- or really shown any inkling of even caring I was there or that I left until I got hurt-"Â
"You think I donât care? Thatâs your big takeaway from everything? That I donât care about you?" Jack growled, his hands clenching into fistfuls of his cargo pants, resting in controlled casualness. He scoffed your name, "If I didnât care about you, all of this would be so much easier. But I do care, I care too much, according to my therapist-"Â
"Then just tell me why, Jack! If you care so fucking much, why did you act like loving me was the hardest part of your day?" You demanded, the fight rising in you as quickly as it died out when the spike in blood pressure made you wince and force yourself to settle. Jack gritted his teeth, and the words started coming.Â
"Because one day, I knew you were going to realize you wasted the best years of your life waiting around for me, and if youâre always waiting around for me, youâd never live your life," He said each word as he was pulling them out like teeth, each statement accentuated with his finger rapping against the hospital bed, so close to touching you but blatantly making sure not to, "And I am a selfish, possessive bastard, but I couldnât do that to you- I had to give you the chance to live outside of me. Because Iâd rather have you leave me behind than see you start resenting me."Â
"Resent you? Do you think so little of me?" You sighed, anxiously fiddling with the taped edges of the IV, which made him lead your hand away. The action started as a doctor-ly thing, but then, he didnât let go, and this time you didnât jerk away. With a considering gaze, you watched him, and then shook your head. You knew he didnât think that little of you, but, "You think that little of yourself? And instead of voicing your concern you thought the best course of action was? What, whitefanging me?"Â
He opened his mouth to argue, or maybe to defend himself, but you were faster. Your voice was firmer than usual, sincere as you met his eyes, "I was happy with you, Jack. At least I was before you started icing me out. Because one day everything was fine, and the next you acted like being near me was painful. That was what was killing me, feeling like no matter what I did it was somehow too much and not enough at the same time. You donât get to unilaterally make decisions about how I feel or how I might hypothetically feel in the future."Â
"I didnât want you to be my age and then look back and realize you spent most of your twenties waiting for me to have the time and energy for you. I thought you needed to be around people your own age-" Jack tried to defend his decision once more those intense eyes only staring at your intertwined hands, but you silenced him by squeezing his hand.Â
"Other than the two months you spent trying to push me away, the time we had together wasâŠÂ Jack- it was everything." For a moment, you struggled to find words that encompassed your feelings, to explain to the man who had single handedly redefined love for you, who you had made your whole sky, and every star in it, "You never made me feel less than for my age, but you also managed to teach me a lot of things. Like what to do when my pipes froze, and also how I deserve to be treated. You pushed me to be better at everything I did, but you always knew when I just needed a break. We went to museums and you took me to the opera, and you also let me do stupid TikTok trends and let my friends hang out at your house-"Â
"I think I get it, sweetheart-" He tried cutting you off, but you shot him a look.Â
"And have you spoken to boys in their twenties lately? Like really talked to them?" You sighed dramatically, pointing an accusatory finger out of the window at the student doctor Ogilvie- the poor kidâs eyes went wide as he tried to pretend he didnât notice while subtly looking around for someone else you might be pointing at. Not that heâd personally affronted you, but itâd only taken one brief conversation to remind you why Jack had swept you off your feet so effectively. "If I wanted a boy that didnât own sheets or a developed sense of empathy, Iâd have one. But I want you, and I wanted to be enough for you."Â
Jack couldnât help but snort at that, gently guiding your hand out of its point as Ogilvie was clearly whispering around, Is she pointing at me? Whatâs she telling Dr. Abbot? Did I say something wrong? And as comedic as that was, his brain snagged on something.  Want. Not wanted. It was in the present tense.Â
"Sweetheart, there was never a single moment that Iâve known you that you werenât enough for me. And youâve never been too much either." He stated, quietly but firmly, those indescribable eyes pinning you in place and finally quietening your rant, "I shouldâve talked to you, or my therapist, or probably both- but I didnât and it drove you away, which was what I was trying to do, but once you left, I was so miserable. And the only reason I didnât call or try to get you back was because you seemed so happy in the pictures you posted, it felt like Iâd been right, and Iâd been dragging you down. It was never because I didnât care, or because i was unaffected by you leaving."Â
"Happy? Up until today, Iâve been couch surfing and using dates as a way to get out of the house. Iâve beenâŠ" You murmured trailing off, hesitant to use the word miserable, hesitant to appear any younger or smaller than you felt, so instead you lifted sheepish eyes to meet his, "I posted the pictures hoping youâd see them and reach out-"Â
"Almost worked." He promised with the smallest smile, squeezing your hand, "Another week, if youâdâve posted another date night picture, probably would have."Â
"And if it had? What would you have said?" You asked, voice quiet as if speaking too loud might drive him away again. He stilled, but he didnât break the contact. Â
"I would have told you that it was all in my head. Thatâd Iâd gotten it all twisted, that everything I thought and said was wrong. I would show you the list I made of everything you did for me that I didnât thank you for, and if you let me Iâd make it up to you for each one by celebrating you- worshipping you in the way you deserved all along." His words were intense, his voice low and sincere as he held onto you like a tether. Like he never intended to let you go again. Those stupidly hopeful butterflies started to flutter in your stomach, the ones you thought youâd gotten rid of after too many girlâs nights out resulted with your tear stained face in the toilet. It was too much, so you tried to drop your gaze, but he moved like a shark, ducking into your line of sight so his eyes stayed locked on yours. "I would make any promise you needed, and Iâd throw myself off the roof before I broke them this time-"Â
"Donât talk like that Jack- you know I hate it-" You hissed, and he offered a small smile, nodding.Â
"Then Iâll start there, sweetheart." His words were resolute, "What else?"Â
Your head was spinning, tears wobbly and silver on your lash line. He was saying so much, saying exactly what youâd been dreaming of hearing from him. Every promise, every tender sentiment, diligently wrapping blankets around barbwire meant to keep him out- just like you knew he would. When a tear slipped down your cheek, Jack tracked it, his jaw clenching like it personally offended him. His eyes glanced back up to yours, and held them as he gingerly reached up to wipe it away, like heâd cut his hand off if you didnât want his touch. When you accepted it, even leaned into it, something in both of you relaxed.Â
"I donât-Â Jack-" You choked, barely a whisper through how thick your throat was, "I missed you so much, but you really fucked me up-"Â
The doctor looked pained, but he didnât argue, didnât deny. Instead he just muttered your name quietly as he nodded. You sniffled, then winced at the pain in your head, dropping more of your weight into the palm of his hand as you leaned into the warmth of his hand, the scent of the teakwood lotion youâd picked out for him.
"I donât know how to fix it-" You continued, as he diligently wiped more tears off your face. Softly, he shushed you, something you usually hated, but right now it didnât feel patronizing when he coached you through a deep breath, voice low and steady. Obliging without further argument for the moment, you let that teakwood scent warm you from the inside out. "My head really hurts- Can you- would you just sit with me? For a while?"Â
"Thought Iâd have to beg." He hummed, easily popping down the rail of the bed so he could perch beside your hip, angled so he could keep touching you in whatever way youâd let him, "You donât have to come up with anything right now, sweet girl, youâve got plenty of time to think about it. Weâll talk about it when youâre feeling up to it."Â
"Iâm only crying âcause of the head trauma-" You murmured hotly, sniffling back more tears. As if you hadnât cried over Jack enough to fix the droughts in California, as if crying over him right now was something silly that you would never do. Like it was something childish that you wanted him to think you were too mature for. Jack smiled warmly, nodding completely seriously as he carefully adjusted the hospital blankets over your lap before pressing a kiss to your forehead, more for himself than you.Â
"Iâd never assume anything else, sweet girl."Â
____
Three months later.Â
You were sat on a slightly uncomfortable couch, sitting and watching Jack. And listening as he answered the therapistâs question. He was sat next to you, fidgeting with the Velcro straps of the brace on your wrist as he spoke. The cast had come off, the bone had healed slowly alongside the salvaged relationship. And now, the brace was just additional support. Just like this coupleâs session with his therapist. One of the promises youâd asked from him, and heâd kept it: once a month, one of his weekly sessions with his therapist would be a coupleâs session.Â
And it wasnât just for him. It was helping you just as much. Jack deciding how you felt or might feel about your life with him wasnât fair to either of you. Neither was you exhausting and isolating yourself trying to fix things with an overwhelm with love strategy. Together, during these sessions, you workshopped solutions that prevented these feelings from reaching that breaking point again. At the moment, the list was as follows:Â
-You would continue to live in your own, new apartment until the lease was up, and re-evaluate from there. Having that sense of independence was important at your age, a place of your own with all your eccentric decorations that youâd hidden away in Jackâs attic. Not because he made you feel bad about them, but because theyâd felt too childish in his professionally decorated bachelorâs pad. It was nice, you realized, being confident in your own space. And plenty of exceptions were made for sleepovers, quickly realizing that Jack actually preferred your cheap, shoebox apartment. Why? Because it felt like you, and thatâs exactly what heâd been missing.Â
-He would take on fewer SWAT shifts. You wouldnât ask him to quit entirely, but he said he wanted to give more days to you. Besides, he could keep himself busy with plenty of fixer-upper projects in your new apartment. Getting all your artwork safely mounted on the wall was a near week long project with how often you changed your mind about the placements. Aside from warm teasing, he never breathed a complaint when you asked to take something down and try it somewhere else. Only arguing when it came to safety, and getting to use his fancy beam finder device- (because thumbtacks and command strips were not a safe way to mount large artwork over your bed, he continuously reminded you).Â
-You would take dedicated time with your friends, and to yourself for your interests. After the first therapy session, and the process of telling your friends youâd gotten back together, you had realized that in pouring all your energy into being to be the best girlfriend to someone who couldnât accept it at the time, youâd become a bad friend. And despite the way Jack had gone about it, heâd had a point. Trying to make yourself endlessly available to him had isolated you from people your own age, and maybe one day you would have regretted that. So, at least once a week, no matter what his work schedule looked like, youâd give him a kiss before heading out for dinner or drinks or a movie with a friend, and when you got back or the next time you would see him, youâd share all the juicy gossip with him- a new sacred ritual that both of you loved.Â
-Heâd work on not projecting his feelings onto yours, and when he assumed he knew what you were thinking or feeling, he would ask before making decisions for both of you.  It was harder, more emotional homework (but hey, these were his therapy sessions, you had your own emotional homework from your own therapist). Sometimes, it was a we need to talk sit down discussion, one of the ones that heâd use to pointedly avoid, and you struggled to voice your actual opinion over just appeasing him. Yes, sometimes, more often, it was as simple as a casual, tell me what youâre thinking about, please, as he held you close in bed.  Â
After the fifty minutes were up, Jack led you out of the office with his fingers laced through yours, Â looking down at you with tired, but loving eyes, "Do you think we deserve a little treat? Our fun Beverlyâs? Is that what you call them?"Â
"Who is Beverly? Itâs fun bevvys." You snorted a laugh, shaking your head as you cleaned up the last bit of your smudged mascara, not feeling silly or childish for getting emotional in front of him was a new development, but a good one. One you were both proud of. Because despite coupleâs therapy being abundantly helpful, it was also exhausting,  "And yes, I think we do deserve a little treat. Maybe even more than one, old man. And then we deserve to go crash on one of our couches and not move until dinner time."Â
"Old man? Says the girl who couldnât work a VCR." He echoed, his free hand clutching his chest like youâd wounded him, before he accused you playfully, as if it was a big conspiracy, "You love me."Â
You shot him a playful eyebrow, even if your eyes were so disgustingly smitten that it could be nothing short of love, "Please. At best, I tolerate you."Â
CW: Jackâs canon typical suicidal ideation, the unoriginal use of Sunshine as a nickname for reader, Jackâs POV, Jack is unheathily obsessed with reader, implied age gap, accidentally psychological manipulation, no use of Y/N, 4+1 format, basically 5 little blurbs because I didnât want to take the time to write more connecting paragraphs, mentions of Jack being mean, Jack has a lot of bad days, reader is an unidentified hospital employee, hurt/comfort. Jack tries not to be a nasty old man about you, and sometimes fails.
More of them
Pavlovâs Dogs- a term which refers to the subjects of famous Russian Psychologist Ivan Pavlovâs psychology experiment based on Operant Conditioning. Exhibiting involuntary learning where a neutral stimulus is pared with an unconditioned stimulus to elicited a conditioned response. Through repetition, subjects associate the stimuli, causing the neutral stimulus to trigger the response automatically. In this experiment, Pavlov would ring a bell when food was presented to the dogs. The smell/sight of food would cause the dogs to salivate. As the dogs became accustomed to the sound of the bell in tandem with the presentation of food, they unconsciously began to associate the two together. Eventually, just the sound of the bell could trigger the dogs to salivate, which is operant conditioning, the same basis of modern day clicker training.
Of course, Jack Abbot knew this. Anyone who took psych 101 in undergrad knew this. But as a doctor, Jack really should have realized the Pittâs resident sunshine was Pavolv-ing him into emotional intimacy.
- Or -
Four times you accidentally operantly-conditioned your boss, who you may or may not be in love with, and the time Jack figured it out.
1.) "Whatcha got?" Shenâs nonchalant question startled him out of his focus. Aside from you, the other attending had been the only person brave enough to talk to him after heâd publicly bitten the head off the new security guard for slacking off. Which, yes, had been deserved, the new hire had been too busy scrolling tictack or whatever to notice a patient wandering out of the ambulance bay doors. But, perhaps, the public dress down had been a bit overkill, and it probably had something to do with the fact that his therapist had called Jack on his bullshit earlier that day- because other than case presentations and patient updates, most people had given him a wide berth afterwards.
Heâd been absentmindedly chewing on the little chocolate youâd silently slipped him as he focussed completely on checking off the charts heâd be handing off to Robby in the next few hours. Itâd been unceremonious, unspoken, you simply bumped his shoulder, slid the individually wrapped chocolate across the counter to him with a soft smile and then continued off to what you had been doing.
"Just a little chocolate. Sunshine gave it to me-" Jack answered absently tossing the now empty wrapper at Shen who gave the logo a brief glance before tossing it in the trash. Shen, with the ever present sweet tooth, especially now that his Dunkin cup was dwindling close to empty, scanned the floor for you, probably planning to score a little snack from everyoneâs favorite coworker.
"Oooh- the good stuff. Think sheâs got any more?" Shen asked, and this time Jack paused, his eyes flicking up to the younger attending. Jack hadnât considered the quality of the chocolate, but something warm kindled inside of him at the thought of you sharing your small luxuries with him. Maybe it was all the good chocolate in your pockets that made you so sweet. And yet the idea of you sharing your generosity with anyone else- especially with good looking, good natured Shen who was much closer to your age- doused that warm feeling and twisted it into something darker.
"No, she gave me the last one." Jack answered coolly despite having no idea how many treats you had, but if Shen noticed the change he just shrugged in that usual unbothered way of his before pushing off the hub to go check on a patient. Jack rolled his shoulders and licked the remnants of the sugar off his teeth, and also scanned the floor for you. He found you, and as if you sensed his eyes on you, you looked up and around until you met his eyes. Maybe it was the sugar soaking into his veins or maybe it was the bright smile you gave him despite his poor mood- either way- he smile and nodded back to you.
âââ
2.) Jack was overdoing it. His body was telling him that he needed to ease back on his compulsive need to keep himself busy. PTSD might struggle to hit a moving a target, but it was a pursuit predator and Jackâs body would soon force him to slow down. His prosthesis was killing him, the pain pulsing and radiating from the scarred tissue all the way up into his hip. His neck had that burning ache that told him he needed to work on his posture, and heâd twinged his back when theyâd transferred a large patient from the stretcher to the trauma bed.
You were tapping on a computer at the hub, nibbling on your own little chocolate when Jack groaned as he lowered himself into a rolling chair, propping his prosthetic on a box of printer paper so he could at least pretend he was elevating properly when his physical therapist scolded him. Still, Jack kept himself within eye line of the ambulance bay entrance as well as the patients he was more concerned with that evening. He felt your eyes on him, not judgmental nor that overdone syrupy sympathy that grated on Jack when it came to his leg, but still assessing with quiet worry that felt easier to stomach.
"All good?" You hummed, as you paused your work to rummage through the fanny pack you had stashed at the nursing station. Jack snorted, was he ever all good? But he kept his derisive comment to himself, not trusting himself to err his ire on the side of comedy and you didnât deserve the wrath.
"Long night." He grumbled struggling to adjust the compression sleeve around his leg through the canvas of his cargos.
"Well, considering itâs only eight." You singsonged, and had it been anyone else it would have earned them a deadpanned stare from Jack, but because it was you he just scoffed as he gave up on the compression sleeve. As he looked up, he did his scan of the floor, assuring himself that the magnetic force that drew him closer to you wasnât negatively impacting his work. No catastrophes that required his immediate attention, no sirens in the bay at the moment. So, heâd give himself another few moments to be near you, ahem, to rest his leg. Once he leaned back a bit more in the chair, something small landed on his lap.
A little chocolate. Wrapped in a shiny pink foil wrapper, pulled from your ridiculously small bag from between your travel sized lotion and favorite lip balm. Dark chocolate, raspberry the wrapper promised in neat white font under the logo, a different flavor from last few times. As he turned it over in his palm, he heard you offer, "A little pick-me-up. These are my favorite."
Jackâs brain latched onto to that little fact and filed it away for later, but in the moment, as he split the wrapper open, he found himself wanting to know what about you loved so much, so he asked, "Why?"
"Well, I love sweets, but the dark chocolate is a touch bitter, and the raspberry is tarte which keeps it from being sickly sweet." You murmured, digging out another chocolate so you could eat one with him, "Itâs a little more complex than a Hershey bar- which now that Iâm saying out loud makes me sound like some sort of chocolate snob-"
That made him actually laugh, shaking his head at your sudden embarrassment over something so mundane, "Youâre allowed to have opinions, sunshine."
You just huffed, mostly at yourself, fidgeting more and more the longer he stared at you, heat creeping up your neck at his intense gaze. Jack didnât drop his gaze to open up the chocolate and take a bite. It wasnât magic chocolate, it wouldnât cure the phantom pain or sciatica nerve pain or back ache, but as the raspberry jam hit his tongue, he found himself taking a deep breath and settling a bit more comfortably in the chair.
Another one of those slippery, probably not so normal feelings kindling in him as he watched you go back to nibbling your chocolate while you tapped away at the computer once more. His sweet girl had a taste for darker, bitter, sour things⊠complex things. Youâd been talking about chocolate, but he could hold out a bit of delusional hope, that maybe you might extend the same tastes to him.
ââââ
3.) Jack was in the elevator coming back down from the roof, three shitshow trauma cases one after the other led to him taking his fifteen minute break on the roof finding reasons not to take the express way down. As the elevator descended back to the ground level ED, Jack was tapping some of his thoughts into his notesapp, categorized by need to tell therapist and can stew a little longer. Because he spent so much time on the roof, he knew exactly how long the elevator ride should last. When the lift began to preemptively slow, his eyes flicked to to the floor indicator, murmuring to himself, "ICUâŠ"
The doors slid open, and then you stepped in, eyes a bit o too red-rimmed to hide. At the sight of him in the elevator, taking up too much space with his wide stance, broad shoulders, and big emotions, your eyes went wide and you immediately wiped at your eyes before settling next to him, "Dr. Abbot-"
It was instinctual, making space for you, in every sense. A step to the side, loosing his stance a bit. Just as instinctual to ask quietly, "You good?"
"Will be." You nodded slowly, voice just as low as you glanced at him sideways, "You?"
"Will be." He echoed as the elevator began to move again.
"Wanna talk about it?" Was your next question, eyes fixed on the closed doors. Jack shook his head without looking at you.
"No. You?" He answered before volleying it back to you. You breathed a humorless laugh and ran a hand over your head and down your neck.
"No." You shook your head just as surely as he had, neither of you possessing the energy to press for more from each other like you usually would have. A silence crept over the elevator, only interrupted by the rustle of your hand in your pocket, followed by the crinkle of plastic.
It was another wordless exchange, you didnât even look at him this time. Instead, you split open a little chocolate before cracking it in half, no gooey filling this time to drip between the pieces, and holding out the bigger half to him. He eyed it, then you, and finally just as silently reached past the big half and for the smaller piece you were going to keep.
Jack took the chocolate, and then a small side step so that he stood a bit closer. Just a little too close to be professional as the elevator came to a stop. The toe of his shoe nudged the toe of yours, and neither of you moved. Just silently chewing the little squares of chocolate until the elevators doors opened once more, the tension in his shoulders fading slowly.
_________
4.) "Can I help you find something?" Lena asked without looking up from her tablet, the tone of her voice indicating she knew exactly what had happened, and exactly how the older charge nurse felt about it. Jack offered a look that was somehow both stoic and dry at the same time before muttering your name.
"Sheâs taking her fifteen. Told her to take twenty." Lena informed him with a glare over the rim of her readers, "Heard some asshole doctor lost his temper and ripped into her pretty bad."
"Yeah, heard that too." Jack sighed, rubbing a hand over his chest like his heart hurt. Because it did, a physical symptom for his twisting, guilt because heâd hurt you. Not just a small hurt, but something that cut a bit too deep. Jack was good at that, cutting deep with nauseating efficiency. Itâd made him a good soldier, made him a good doctor, but in that moment it had just made him an asshole.
He wasnât looking at Lena, instead staring down at the little cranny were you always stuffed your fanny pack, all the kitschy, sparkly keychains that would always jingle to announce your approach were sticking out, hanging silent and still as if just to taunt him. Because he was melodramatically fixed on the keychains, Lena managed to nail him in the side of the head with something small and solid.
"Hey- what the hell-" Jack hissed as the projectile fell into his lap.
"She asked me to give you that." Lena explained simply, as if she hadnât just hit him in the temple with a⊠square of dark chocolate with raspberry filling. Fuck. Written across the foil in purple sharpie was your handwriting, Sorry.
Double fuck.
Jack sighed, and for once the idea of the sugar made his stomach turn. Perhaps it was the guilt, but he was fairly certain he could feel the chocolate melting through the wrapper, a part of you withering away under the weight of him. He tapped the candy against his thigh before turning on his heel.
Unfortunately, as the attending in charge of night shift, he didnât have unlimited time to search all your usual hiding spots. He got sucked into case after case, and occasionally heâd spot you across the floor, but every time he moved towards you, something else pulled him away. As the time stretched, the coiling, dark feelings continued twisting up in his gut. Until, eventually, inevitably the sun rose and the shift ended.
He finally managed to catch up to you outside the ED entrance, as you were ambling towards the bus stop. Sitting down next to you under the shelter, Jack realized he had spent all night trying to catch up with you, and now he had and he didnât even know where to start.
Sorry Iâm an assholeâŠ.
Sorry I canât regulate my emotions like a normal personâŠ
Sorry you felt the need to apologize for just being yourself in my vicinity ..
Sorry you were just there like you always are, and this time I acted like everything I try so hard not to beâŠ
But none of those words wanted to come out. So instead, he nudged your knee with his, and waited to see if youâd scoot away. When you didnât, something untwisted inside him- not all the way, but it was a start. He scooted a bit closer, so his thigh was pressed flush against yours.
No words, just tense silence as he took the little candy out of his scrub pocket and methodically undid the wrapper as if it was the highest stake operation of his career. Just as gingerly, he broke in half like youâd done in the elevator, twisting his wrist so the raspberry filling wouldnât leak out, before he finally offered you the bigger half. Repentance that was 72% Cacao.
Jack waited for a long moment, feeling way too anxious about such a silly thing like sharing a piece of candy with his coworker who was really much too young for him anyways, and really heâd been indulging himself way too long with ideas that you might like him the way he liked you, but it was all going to end because youâd seen the ugly side of his damage directed at you when youâd only been trying to help and why was he like this and itâd really be so much easier if you just told him to fuck off maybe even opened an HR report on your creepy old attending-
His spiral was ended abruptly when you took the chocolate from him without looking at him, and your knee nudged his in return. Salvation with raspberry filling.
"Rough night." Was all you murmured, before taking a bite. Jack almost laughed in relief, but he didnât, instead he nodded moved his gaze forward to mirror yours.
âYeah it was.â He agreed, and took a bit of his. And that was that.
It wasnât the end of it, but those nasty coiled emotions were slowly untangling. Heâd need to really apologize, probably with some sort of groveling in the form of food, coffee, hell, maybe even flowers. But for now, the fact youâd just accepted it from him and were speaking to him would be enough.
____
5.) âAre you fucking kidding me?â Jack growled as he read over the latest staffing memo that had filtered down from Gloria, more staffing cuts upstairs, which meant less beds, which meant more overcrowding in the Pitt. It was perhaps the worst way to end his shift, like knowing a train wreck was about to happen. To the train he was on. And no matter the fact that everyone on the train knew how to fix the issue that would cause the wreck, no one seemed to care enough to fix it or get off.
âI said the same thing.â Robby sighed, shaking his head as he rolled his shoulders, already exhausted and his shift had just barely started. The frustration, anger, and hopelessness that seemed to be just as much of a part of this job as the IV lines and sutures welled up inside him, and he found himself looking around, his palms itching like he was ready to receive something, and his mouth was watering a bit like he about to eat something sweet. Something was missing and he couldnât put his finger on it.
âWhaaat⊠are you looking for?â Robby asked, catching his fellow attendingâs strange behavior. Jacks brows furrowed up, his mouth pressed into that determined line as he took a mental inventory. What was he looking for? What was missing? And then he heard your laughter, and annoyingly he became more aware of the way his mouth was watering as his head snapped to find you coming around the corner, giggling at something Ellis had said. There was an urge to go to you worming his way into his brain, nothing he couldnât control of course, but there was definitely a pull towards you.
Seemingly aware of his gaze, the way you always were, you met his eyes, saw his upset expression and frowned a bit. With one hand, you pulled a little candy out of your scrub pocket and then tossed across the distance, a carefully planned arc so it landed right in Jackâs hands that had instinctively reached up to catch it. Then, you nodded in a way that meant youâd find him later, and he dipped his chin in return. The moment he felt that familiar weight in his palm, he felt himself relax just a hair. His jaw must have unclenched, because Robby looked between Jack and you, and then laughed disbelievingly, âBrother- are you- did she-?â
âDid she what?â Jack groused, opening the chocolate, biting it in half, and chewing, the little treat reminding him to take a deep breath, relax the tension in his shoulders, and take a little weight off his prosthetic. Robby was still staring at him, so he looked to his friend, with a slightly calmer tone this time, âWhat-?â
âHow long has she been giving you these little chocolates?â Robby asked, with a raised eyebrow, leaning heavy on the hubâs tall counters. Jack recounted, knowing it had been weeks since youâd started, and heâd probably eaten at least twenty candies just because youâd handed to him.
âA while.â Jack shrugged, âWhy?â
Robby didnât answer Jackâs question, instead posing another, âAnd when does she give them to you? Just whenever? Or for a reason?â
Jack scratched his chin as he thought, his brows furrowed up in concentration, âUh- I guess- usually she gives them to me when she notices Iâm upset or tired, or if weâve had a long shift-â
âAnd how do you feel afterwards?â Robby asked, and Jack was starting to get fed up with what were clearly diagnostic questions, the irritation bubbling up and leading him to huff as he finished off the remaining bite.
âItâs not magic chocolate, Robby. It just reminds me to take a moment for myself here and there. Sheâs always saying treat yourself-â Abbot waved him off.
âBrother-â Robby laughed, his dark eyes glittering in amusement that made Jack want to break something, âLet me get this straight, whenever she seeâs you upset, she provides you a treat, to the point where you seek her out whenever you start feeling aggravated?â
Jack really wished Robby hadnât connected all the dots, because heâd also done a psych rotation a couple decades ago. But he wasnât going to say it out loud. He wasnât going to admit that you literally had made his mouth water, and all that was missing was the damn bell. But Robby couldnât resist, barking out a laugh before saying, âShe trained you. Sunshine Pavlovâd you. Like a dog.â
âDogs canât eat chocolate.â Jack gritted out pedantically, folding his arms over his chest, âAre you really accusing the nicest person we know of Pavlovian manipulation?â
âTruthfully, she probably didnât realize what she was doing. Probably trained herself just as much as she trained you.â Robby shook his head, literally wiping tears out of the corner of his eyes.
âShut up.â Jack growled, pushing off the counter he was leaned against, âIâm going home. Try not to fuck up the board, we just got it cleaned up for you.â
Robby just waved him off, unfazed by Jackâs irritation, âGo get another treat. Maybe youâll be a bit nicer.â
Jack just flipped him the bird as he walked away, and it was definitely only a coincidence that he was going in the direction youâd wandered.
â-
Later, as Jack was driving you home- a steadily increasing routine- he was nibbling on a chocolate that he couldnât look at the same way as he could an hour ago, and he couldnât help but ask, âSunshine, any chance you majored in psychology?â
âWhy do you ask?â You hummed absentminded, holding your own chocolate between your teeth. After a 12 hour shift, your dwindling focus was on your screen as you scrolled through your phone in his passenger seat, the morning sun casting a warm glow over your tired features. Jack huffed a laugh, running a hand over his face as he waited for the light to turn green. If he was trained then so be it, maybe his therapist would be pleased he was instinctually turning to someone when he was frustrated. Heâd brush his teeth a little harder and do a bit more cardio to offset all the chocolate. And the lewd voice in his head was telling him he could be a dog for you, in all the best and worst ways.
âNo reason. Random question, how do you feel about dogs?â
___
Authors note: itâs always clicker-trained Whitaker this and clicker-trained Whitaker that. WHOâS GONNA CLICKER TRAIN THAT OLD MAN?
Summary: Jack Abbot has never heard you laugh like this, and he has some feelings about it. Namely, jealousy.
CW: Fluff, Age gap (reader is implied to be Gen Z), dumb humor, she/her pronouns, no use of Y/N, unedited, reader is in a silly goofy mood, unestablished relationship but their like teetering on it. Jack is obsessed with you, as all good men should be, this was a short little bit bc I needed something a bit lighter after writing angst pt. 2
Youâre laughing.
And itâs the most beautiful thing Jackâs ever heard. Coming out of the locker room on his way out of the hospital, he heard it long before he saw you. But he didnât need to see you to know it was you, even if heâd never heard you make that noise. Bright, happy, unabashedly loud- the kind of sound that instantly lifted the ever present weight in his chest.
And he hates it. Thatâs how he knows heâs going to hell, because he heard your real laugh for the first time and the first thought he had was, Why has she never laughed like that with me?
It doesnât get any better when he rounds the corner and he spots you at the hub. Youâd already changed into your street clothes, a soft looking sweater pulled over you, your hair let out of its tie. Youâre laughing so hard he watched your bag slip off your shoulder. Head thrown back, one held clutching at your stomach, knees threatening to buckle, and that smileâŠ
Jack considered himself a funny guy, more dry wit and dark humor than outright comedy. Heâd gotten you to laugh before, little huffs under your breath or a chuckle as you shook your head at him, but his favorite was when youâd snicker a little bit before humming his name, stretching it into two playfully lilting syllables, âJa-ackâ
Well, that had been his favorite. Now, he had a new bench march. He locked in on you like a shark with blood in the water, approaching the hub and sidling up beside you as your bold laughter began to wane and you panted to catch your breath. He needed to know what had caused this, needed to know why it wasnât him, and moreover needed to know how he could make you laugh like this himself.
âWhatâs so funny?â The attending asked, trying to keep his voice light. He apparently failed judging by how some of the interns clicked off their phones and reached for whatever chart they were supposed to be reviewing during handoff. You opened your mouth to answer him, trying to gather the words to explain to him what had tickled you so much that you had the cutest little tears in the corner of your eyes, but just the thought of it sent you into giggles again. The other night shifters who were still hanging around just shrugged, unfazed by their attendingâs usual dry delivery.
âWeâve been trying to figure out the same thing for five minutes.â Ellis informed him, shaking her head. One of Robbyâs dayshift residents continued.
âShe tried showing us some picture on her phone-â Whitaker started, watching you like you might become their first behavioral case of the morning, and Santos finished the thought, âAnd she wasnât able to get it together to tell us whatâs so funny about the picture.â
âNo- guys- trust me- itâs really funny- I just-â You coughed out as you wiped tears out from your eyes, and then you caught Jackâs discerning eye and lost it again. Something relaxed in him slightly, no one here had made you laugh this hard, he was still the funniest Doctor you knew.
âIt think night shift broke her-â Javadi murmured with wide eyes which made Jack sniff a slight laugh himself as he picked your bag up off the floor. If joyful and exuberant laughter was the product of the Pitt breaking you, he and Robby would be much happier men. Still, he figured the double youâd just finished had just as much to do with this giggle fit as whatever picture you had on your phone did.
âAlright, Iâm heading out, if we ever find out whatâs actually so funny, can someone text it to me?â Ellis tossed the words over her shoulder as she started to saunter towards the exit.
âB-Bye, Ellis- Iâll text it-â You choked out before another laugh interrupted you as you imagined typing out the accompanying explanation. The sound so bright that it turned heads, Robbyâs included. Apparently, 6 AM was all too early for this much joy because he shot Jack a tired, confused look.
âAlright, sheâs distracting my residents from the mess you left me.â Robby scolded as he clapped a hand to Jackâs shoulder, but there wasnât much real heat behind it. Despite the early hour, he knew this place could use all the laughter it could get. The light chide forced you to get yourself under more control, even if your chest still shook from quiet mirth.
âSorry, Dr. Robby-â You tittered, clamping your lips shut as you caught a glimpse of the photo on your phone before you clicked the lock button and the screen went dark.
âAlright, Giggles, let me drive you home. Someone needs to get some sleep.â Jack ordered in that quiet way of his, shouldering your bag. It wouldnât be the first time heâd offered, and as far as anyone besides Robby knew, your place was along the way to his (even though he actually lived in the opposite direction) so it didnât make much sense for you to catch the bus if Jack was already heading your way. You hummed another laugh, the sounds coming as easily as breathing, and he couldnât help but think you looked so pretty. Your mouth pulled into a near permanent smile- and not the perfunctory or sympathetic one you gave to patients, but a real, smile. Your hair just slightly disheveled from the movement and how many times youâd run your hand through it, and you were flapping your hands uselessly to fan yourself. The movement did nothing for the flush over your skin.
The brisk, early morning spring air sobered you a little bit, earning Jack some easy conversation as he led you to his truck. And finally, once you were in the passenger seat with your seatbelt clicked and the engine rumbling did Jack broach the subject.
âSo, are you gonna tell me what had you in stitches?â He asked, pulling out of the reserved for Doctors parking spot. A surprised giggle burst out of you once more, but now that it was just him it was easier to subdue this time. You shook your head.
âNo, itâs so dumb, no one else laughed-â You smiled at him, legs folded up in his seat in a way that didnât look comfortable but it was always how you sat when he drove you to and from work.
âIâve never seen you laugh like that, sweetheart. Was it one of the tick tick things? I never get those.â He sighed, shaking his head as he remembered the first time youâd texted him what was supposed to be a funny video. Heâd spent ten minutes downloading the app and making an account, just to send back â??â, and it was usually his response to all the memes you sent him. He didnât mean to call you sweetheart, but the endearments tended to slip out after longer shifts, especially when you were being so damnably adorable, and you were still too giggle-drunk to notice.
âTikTok. And no, peepaw. Itâs just a silly picture.â You hummed, shaking your head. Your eyes were soft in that way that only happened after a good laugh, and it really stroked his ego that it was him receiving those soft looks, âAnd you know, everythingâs funnier when people are staring at you. And Iâm exhausted so it just made everything ten times funnier-â
âCâmon, show me.â Abbot âencouragedâ as he waited at the mouth of the parking garage. You groaned like it was a massive inconvenience, but you pulled your phone out and let FaceID open it. The first thing on your screen was still that stupid picture, and just the sight of it made you giggle, a sound so girlish that it made him feel like a gross old man to be so obsessed with you. Made him feel like an even grosser old man that half of his brain started strategizing how he could make you make those noises for him again. But, as you turned your screen towards him, and he examined the source of your joviality, he was⊠puzzled. His brows furrowed up and he took the phone from you, âThis is it?â
It was a grainy photo. A raccoon that was somehow scowling at something, photoshopped to make it look like the critter was staring down at a phone in confusion. When you laughed at his reaction to the picture, it only confused him further, so he said, as if to double check, âThis is a raccoon. Itâs photoshopped. Raccoons donât do this-â
His logical reply or perhaps his bewilderment only set you off again. Abbot had to wait another five minutes of those beautiful, bright laughs to calm again, watching in confusion and amusement as the merriment made you squirm in his truck seat. He forced the less than appropriate thoughts about said squirming and writhing, and handed your phone back to you before continuing to drive. Truthfully, heâd listen to you laugh like that for as long as youâd let him, so he was slight disappointed when you managed to rein yourself in once more.
âThe way itâs looking at the phone-â You choked out, a hand to your chest to keep yourself from losing it again, âIt just reminded me of you-â
Oh, his sweet silly girl. He didnât even care that you were technically making fun of him. Didnât care that it really wasnât even that funny. He just shook his head, filing the information away for later, and instead teased you softly, âMaybe night shift really did break you-â
That earned him one of those full body belly laughs, and Jesus Christ, you actually snorted. A hand flew to cover your mouth, and he only shook his head with a wry, strangely smug smirk. New benchmark achieved.
âYou love me.â You accused with that mischievous glint in your eyes. Of course, he really did. You were joking of course, and Jack knew that. Knew you werenât aware of the depth of his feelings, a borderline obsession his therapist had called it. Fucking Weird, Robby had called it. But he did, he really did love you. And, he could hold on to some weird fucked up hope, that if comparing him to raccoons made you this happy⊠maybe, just maybe you loved him to.
Tolerate It (your version) || Dr. Jack Abbot x Reader
Summary: Songfic based off Tolerate It by Taylor Swift. Something is going on with Jack, something he wonât tell you, but you still notice. You notice everything about him. But, perhaps because youâre so much younger, you naively think that you can take it upon yourself to fix this, not realizing youâre tearing yourself apart in the process. And Jack tolerates it, because heâs strong enough to distance himself, but not strong enough to leave.
CW: emotionally unavailable men, mentions of alcohol, age gap, reader is implied to be around Mohanâs age, Jackâs SWAT hobby and gunshot wound, deteriorating relationship, deteriorating mental health (both sides), Reader needs to STAND UP and talk to a therapist, jack needs to listen to his therapist. Mean Jack.
Something had changed recently. Something quiet and subtle. But youâd felt it, everyday more and more. Once a ripple, now a tidal wave. Jack had changed. You watched him as he sat across the living room in the arm chair only made to sit one, instead of where he usually sat next to you on the couch. He looked so good, he always did- unfairly so, actually. The fading afternoon sunlight filtered in, making the silvering parts of his hair glow, the planes of his muscled arms were contrasted in shadows, the dusting of freckles youâd like to be tracing were peeking out from underneath his sleeves. He was reading some paperback book Robby had recommended, the spin cracked so he could hold it in one hand, his other hand supporting his low hung head. Allegedly, you were scrolling on your phone, if you managed to tear your gaze off him long enough to read a singular post, but any time he shifted or turned a page, your attention would shift back to him.
Biting your lip, you tried to rationalize, tried not to let your brain run free with worst case scenarios. You supposed there was something to be said for quiet intimacy right? That he didnât feel the need to fill every silence with endless chatter⊠But, you already spent so much time apart, he used to at least ask about your day or listen to you talk about your work that that had ended shortly before his began. Your time together only overlapped by four hours every day; you felt that those four hours used to matter. Now?
"Gotta head in." Jackâs voice brought you out of your thoughts, and you watched him plant his hands on his knees and push himself standing. If he noticed you in your head, he didnât comment on it, those intense eyes brushing over you as if you were simply another piece of furniture heâd collected over the years. They used to linger on you, they used to watch you like you watched him. Almost mechanically, he dropped a kiss to the top of your head, not waiting for you to tilt back to catch his lips. And then, he was gone.
Once he was gone, the overlap eclipsed, you got up and went back to the bedroom. That time you got together had always been sacred, even if now it was just existing in the same place. You very rarely ever planned anything during that time, but now that he was gone for the day, now you could get dressed and head out to meet your friends.
â
Every now and then, your schedule overlap would include one or two hours where you still shared a bed. Usually, on your days off, when youâd still be in bed when he got home from the hospital, or if you crawled into bed with him for an afternoon nap before he got up for the evening. Like now, even though it was 4:30 in the afternoon, and it was golden hour (and happy hour, your friends had continuously texted you), you were laying in bed with the curtains drawn so the light wouldnât bother him. He was asleep on his side, turned away from you, which had been a new development in the last month or two.
Youâd woken up after only catnapping for an hour or so, hoping heâd wrap himself around you while you slept like you always loved. When you first slept over, sleeping with Jack had been almost unbearably hot. Even stripped down to a tshirt and underwear, his body heat made it easy to kick the duvet to the foot of the bed. But now, it was so cold in the bedroom, even in your fuzzy socks and a sweater over your tshirt.
Carefully as you could manage, you sat up and just watched him breathing with his eyes closed. Sure, Jack was asleep, but was⊠his brow furrowed up? His shoulders still tense? Maybe it was your ego making you believe he didnât look peaceful anymore, some self aggrandizing part of yourself that wanted to believe he couldnât sleep as soundly without you near. So, gently and slowly, hoping not to wake him up, you pressed your chest to his back, slotting your legs with his and gently laid an arm over his middle. Backpacking, heâd once teased you for doing this exact pose. You hoped, even if he did stir, heâd smile fondly, maybe crack a sleepy joke, and if you were really lucky⊠just maybe heâd pull you even closer.
Instead, he sort of startled awake. He didnât immediately push you off or pull away, and you wondered if you were in for a small victory. A soft and sweet as you could manage, you pressed a kiss to the curve of his shoulder, humming, "Sorry, I didnât mean to wake you. Youâve still got another hour before you need to get up-"
You expected him to nod, or even just to slip back asleep in you arms. Youâd always noticed everything he did or didnât do. So it shocked you when one of his hands came up and rubbed his face, and then he slowly sat up, letting you slip off him just as easily as the sheets did. Jack grunted, stretching his neck, "Wonât be able to fall back asleep, might as well head in early."
You frowned, which he didnât see because he wasnât looking, slowly sitting up until you were practically kneeling behind him, hesitant to touch him for the first time since heâd told you he loved you. You were at a loss for a second, and you tried to pull him back in, bring him back to you, "Or, I could make dinner- or breakfast, I guess it would be for you- or I could walk with you and we could pick some coffee up on the way-"
âIâm not hungry.â Jack murmured, casting a glance over his shoulder. You fell silent immediately, something in you deflating. Maybe that was why Jack reached for his wallet on the nightstand, pulled out a fifty dollar bill and said, âBut donât let me stop you. Here, coffee or a sweet treat for you and your friends. On me.â
Maybe a year ago, that wouldâve been a bandaid for the hurt. He was so much older, and more established, and he could throw money at a problem and it felt like an apology. But you were older now too, and fifty dollars didnât seem like that much. Not for all that youâd lost- all the gentle touches and just-for-you smiles. And heâd always been so much wiser- from the years, from the experiences, from the therapy perhaps. Heâd always been a hard worker, who were you to take it personally now? So you swallowed thickly, and summoned a smile.
âThanks, Jack-â You hummed, and waited for him to leave. And he did, after another barely there kiss to your forehead. And once he was gone, that was the first time you cried over Jack Abbot.
Perhaps other people wouldâve seen this behavior and mirrored it. Would have started gently pulling back to protect their own heart. But not you. You figured this was just one of those storms Jack would go through, and if you weathered it, youâd come out stronger on the other side. Not only would you weather it, you could be a lighthouse for him. Shining in the storm and rain to remind him you were right there.
You started setting alarms, so youâd be up and waiting for him when he came back from the hospital at six thirty in the morning. Youâd wait by the door like you were just kid again, or an excited pet, and summon your biggest smile for him when you heard the key unlock. Had questions and conversations locked and loaded, hands empty so you could take his coat or his bag or maybe just hug him if heâd let you⊠And for a while, he tolerated it. But then, for every step forward you made, it seemed like he took a step back. Instead, he stayed at the hospital later than needed, picked up more SWAT shifts, and only sometimes thought to text you about it. But, hey, youâd look on the bright side, you hadnât been late to work in two weeks. Maybe you got it all wrong somehow, and it was probably all in your head anywaysâŠ
â-
It was the Fourth of July, Jack was working a swat shift and was scheduled to work that evening. At his insistence youâd made plans with your friends, a day at the rooftop pool of one of their apartments and then youâd watch the fireworks, maybe even crash their depending on how many Smirnoff red, white, and blues you had. All those plans went out of the window when Jack texted you, the only notification that was set to break your do not disturb because you never wanted to miss him.
âSo let me get this straight, heâs been cold shouldering you for two months now, simply tolerating you being an amazing girlfriend, and he needs a fresh shirt so you go running?â One of your friends drawled lazily from her pool float as you toweled off and slipped clothes over your swimsuit. Your cheeks flushed with more than the sun.
âHeâs not just tolerating-â you cut that argument off, because your friend had become Jackâs biggest hater in the last two months, and if you tried to negate that point youâd be here for two hours. And Jack needed you, heâd needed something and heâd asked you, in the midst of all this weirdness, so you couldnât just not. You wanted him to see you were here, that you would show up for him, so you gave your friend a huff, âHe got shot and he needs fresh clothes. I think thatâs reasonable.â
âHe got grazed-â Another friend scoffed with a laugh, âAnd hospitals have scrub machines.â
âIâll be back later.â You shook your head, ignoring how your friends all shared looks with each other.
It took longer than you wanted to get back to the apartment and then to the hospital- traffic was crazy and Uber simply crashed when you opened it, it was stupidly hot outside, and half the streets were closed for the parade. So you hoofed it. By the time you made it to the hospital, you were sweaty, your flip flops had rubbed a blister, and your thighs were chafing against your denim shorts. But you made it there, and eventually to the front desk. Youâd appeared at the hospital a few times since your relationship with Jack started, but never during day shift, so it shouldnât have bothered you so much when the front desk nurse waved you off.
âListen, Iâll ask around, but I donât know you and I canât let you back without a badge or an escort and right now I have neither-â The clerk- Lupe, her badge read- prattled off at you, doing her best to offer a sympathetic smile. Despite your irritation, you nodded taking a step back, hands raised in a placating gesture.
âI get it, I do- itâs just that heâs not answering his phone now and he needed fresh clothes-â You tried, holding up the small PTMC branded drawstring backpack youâd packed for him (that may or may not have included a sappy note and a protein bar), âI donât even have to come back but if you could give this to him or just hold it and Iâll text him you have it-â
âIâm sorry- itâs policy-â Lupe sighed, a bit more irritated now. And really, with all the tales Jack had told you about what the nurses here faced on the daily, you had so much sympathy for her plight, but Jack had given you a simple task and you needed this, needed to be something for him right now, needed it probably more than Jack really needed a clean shirt. You were sweaty, smelled like chlorine, sunscreen, and summer in the city (derogatory) and you needed to feel needed, if not wanted by your emotionally unavailable, controversially older boyfriend. A few words had started spiraling in your head, pathetic, desperate, immatureâŠ
This spiral was stopped by a thankfully familiar voice calling your name. When you located the voice, you smiled in relief. Dr. Parker Ellis, one of Jackâs residents, who youâd met on a few occasions in and out of the Pitt. Ellis turned to Lupe, with a nod, âIâll vouch for her, sheâs Abbotâs girl. Iâll take her back.â
Lupe gave you a surprised once over, as if assessing your age, your disastrous appearance, the crazed look in your eyes, and everything else about you that didnât match up with being Jack Abbotâs Girlfriend. This assessing gaze was only made worse when the clerk nurse rose an eyebrow and asked, âReally?â
Despite that, something in you relaxed at how Ellis had called you. Abbotâs girl. Because even still, you were still that. Still his. Parker shot Lupe a look, and the older woman quickly apologized, âSorry, hon, you go on back.â
âThank you.â You nodded with a small wave, and Ellis caught your shoulder so she could pull you through the swamp of injured people and through the buzzered doors. As soon as the double doors locked back shut, you turned to Parker and offered a real smile, âIâm so glad you saw me, itâs a madhouse out there-â
âBarely caught me, just got done with my deposition. I was on my way out.â Parker nodded, weaving through the triage area and into the Pitt. Your eyes widened, murmuring a curse. You knew Jack hadnât shared any gossip in a while, but his resident going through a deposition wasnât gossip. That was just a part of his daily life that he hadnât thought to share. At your look, Ellis cocked her head, âDid Jack not tell you?â
You didnât answer that question, instead resting a hand on her arm, âHowâd it go?â
She offered a lazy grin, tired in that way night shifters were when they had to be up with the sun, once sheâd let you to the main hub, âTechnically, Iâm not allowed to talk about it-â
âShit, right-â You sighed, shaking your head and checking the time on your phone, and cursed again, âShit, you need to go get some rest before they find some job to give you. I got it from here-â
âGood, see you round, sunshine.â With that silly nickname Jack used to call you, Ellis offered a tired salute before leaving the way she came. Which left you alone, in the ER, in daisy dukes and flips flops, realizing you really knew nothing of the layout here and knew no one to ask. The only person you knew on day shift was Robby, and you doubted he had the time to lead you around the ED to find your boyfriend. So, being careful to stay out of the way, you carefully poked around the Pitt. Listening for Jackâs voice or any mention of him, you methodically checked any space that you didnât have to open a door or curtain. And of course, he was in the last place you looked. And in the last position you imagined.
Shirtless, and really close to a drop dead gorgeous young doctor. Jack hadnât noticed you yet, and you watched in wretched fascination as he spoke to her more softly that he had to you in weeks. How he leaned into her touch. How he smirked at her. Something in your chest tightened, and your eyes stung.
âOur little secret-â You heard from the room, and you took two steps back out of possible line of sight. Really, they werenât even doing anything wrong, and it wasnât like you were a doctor who could help him with a graze injury. And yet, it was only a few days ago that heâd practically shrugged you off when you stood that close. You waited until you heard the sounds of materials being cleaned up, used the moment to take two deep breaths, and then, you resumed like youâd never paused.
âJack?â You called, a little louder than necessary, and then entered the room with a relieved smile, words just a little too quick, âAre you ok? I was so worried, I got here as fast as I could-â
âIâm okay, barely scratched me. Mohanâs already patched me up-â He assured you quietly, giving Mohan a nod before she left. You tried to ignore how his shoulders tensed up, how he angled away from you. It was hard, but you managed. Instead, you just circled the bed to get a good look at the injury. It really was just a graze, now his freckled skin now neatly stitched up. So you circled back around to meet his eyes, and he looked sad, and you wished you knew why. You felt like you should just know, so instead of asking you gave him a battle-heroâs welcome.
âI donât care if it âbarely scratched youâ, honey, it wasnât a kitten. It was a bullet-â You scolded gently, licking the pad of your thumb and reaching up to wipe a bit of dried blood off his jaw, âI donât know why you insist on doing this. Itâs not enough to make me worry myself sick about your sleep schedule and now weâre throwing shootouts into the mix-â
His firm grip caught your wrist before you could touch his face. Not enough to hurt, never hard enough to hurt, but he quieted you with a look. He didnât look sad anymore, instead a flash of irritation in his eyes. It was that more than the physical halting that made you still. Irritation⊠was it at you? You werenât exactly sure why it would be, you hoped it wasnât. You fought the instinct to fawn, that small voice buried in your heart that whispered please donât be mad at me, i love you-
âIâm fine-â He reiterated, emphasized this time as he dropped your hand, reaching for the bag in your other hand instead. Still determined, you didnât hand it over, instead opening it yourself and fishing out a fresh shirt for him.
âShe seemed, nice. Mohan-â You hummed as you handed him the plain black compression shirt, and then camo quarter zip to wear over it. Heâd find the note and the snack later, or maybe heâd just come home with you, and you wouldnât need sticky notes to show him how much you loved him. You werenât fishing, truly- or at least you didnât think so. Jack had always been a flirt, in that dry humor charming way of his. You could take his indiscretions all in good fun. Sure, Mohan was clearly intelligent and beautiful and he trusted her to help him⊠But you⊠you⊠you were Abbotâs girl, right? So when Jack actually snapped you flinched backwards, letting him snatch the clothes out of your hands.
âSheâs quiet-â He clipped, and your jaw clicked shut like the word had muzzled you. Sure, Jack had a temper sometimes, and youâd had your fair share of arguments, but you could usually pinpoint what you did wrong. He cursed under his breath at your wide eyes, forcing himself to take a measured breath like he had to dig deep to be gentle with you when it had once come so easy, âIâm sorry. I shouldnât have said that, I didnât mean it. It was rough out there and one of my boys got hit, and itâs a madhouse here. Iâm sorry, sweetheart.â
It wasnât much. It shouldnât have made up for it, but just him calling you sweetheart for the first time all week had you softening a bit, and you found yourself saying, âItâs alright, I was being too much-â
âNo- thatâs not what-â Jack was quick to interject, taking a step forward and then stopping and roughly running his hand through his curls, âYou arenât too much, Iâm justâŠâ
He trailed off and you waited and waited for him to finish, to say something that would make you feel like you werenât too much, but also like you were enough. But he didnât finish instead sighing, âIâm sorry I took you away from your friends. You should get out of here.â
You stopped, hesitating this time, but you were nothing if not determined, maybe desperate, so youâd keep offering your hand, âI was thinking, since you need some sleep before your shift, we could walk home together? Take a shower and crawl in bed before you have to come back later?â
You noticed everything he did and didnât do. And even without realizing it, you had started reading this weird cues heâd been giving you for the past two months. You knew the way his jaw clenched, how his fingers twitched at his sides, that he was looking for an excuse. An excuse to not come home with you, your traitorous brain whispered as you waited and watched him. And you, to your miserable credit, were right, because he shook his head, âTheyâre slammed and need more hands. Iâm gonna help out for a bit and then Iâll head home. You should go back to your friends, and have a good holiday. Here- what are you doing for dinner?â
He started pulling his wallet out, about to hand you money, but you shook your head, teeth clamped into your cheek to keep tears at bay, âI donât want your money, Jack. I just want to spend time with you-â
If youâd been meeting his eyes you wouldâve seen the brief softening in his expression before it hardened with frustration. Perhaps if you werenât so sun sapped and sad youâd have realized the frustration was more at himself than at you, but the barb he threw out still sunk into your too soft heart, because his grief had never been good at staying on the inside âWell, Iâm sure the patients here donât want to be here either, but itâs not always about what we want. Go back to your friends or go home, but Iâm staying here. And itâs too busy for you to hang around here in a bathing suit and flip flops-â
âAbbot-â It was Robbyâs voice in the doorway that interrupted his words. And maybe Abbot could have thanked him for shutting him up, after seeing the tremble of your lip, the way you self consciously pulled at the crocheted flowy top that half covered your bikini top and tugged your denim shorts down to cover those beautiful thighs. The other attending carefully observed the room, trying to read the situation, because even heâd noticed Abbotâs weird mood lately. But truthfully, he didnât have much time to dissect it, and the best he could do was pull Jack away before it got worse, âBrother, I could use you in trauma 1-â
âYeah, yeah, right behind you.â Jack nodded, reading the mental communication. He needed to step away, before he made this worse. He sighed, looking down at you, softening his tone, his expression, his everything, like he didnât trust himself to handle you with the care he thought came naturally to him, âIâm sorry, sweetheart. Thank you for the clothes. Please, go enjoy the rest of your day with your friends. Iâll see you tomorrow morning.â
You only nodded this time. Everything youâd said since entering the hospital room had only managed to piss him off. So youâd be what he said Mohan was. Quiet, less. You set the bag down on the counter, and turned to leave. Not even hoping for a kiss goodbye or a soft glance. Maybe you didnât have to be a lighthouse. Maybe you could just be tolerable.
___
Things were better for a bit after that. Jack came home the next morning, apologized again, held you tight in bed. He wiped tears off your face, and assured you over and over that you werenât too much, that he was just tired, that he loved you more than youâd ever understand. And he was so much older and wiser⊠maybe you just didnât understand. But heâd apologized, so you believed whatever storm heâd been in had passed.
But within a week, he was back to barely talking and touching you. You watched your calendar with an anxious eye, your anniversary was coming up. Itâd mark a year since heâd officially asked you out. You wanted to do something special, so when he sent you his work schedule and you noticed he was working the entire weekend surrounding it, what little hope youâd had died out of him doing something romantic for you. Though, you supposed, it wasnât always up to him, maybe if you wooed him a bit, itâd show him⊠whatever it was he needed to see to come back to you.
Early in your relationship, it hadnât been uncommon to meet him at a diner near the hospital after he got off work and before you clocked into your own job. You got to know each other over omelets, hashbrowns, pancakes, and shitty coffee. So, you thought it would be sweet and low effort for him, to have a breakfast date at home. A fun surprise, maybe it would make him smile. So, you set your alarm for two and a half hours early, polished the good dishes youâd gotten out of your stuff in the attic after heâd gone to work the night before. Cooked a full breakfast spread. Laid the table with the fancy shit like it was five star dining, linens and everything. Maybe you got a bit too into it when you hand squeezed orange juiceâŠ
You thought you were running late when you raced to be seated at your place, a giddy smile on your face as the clock hit 6:30 AM. Any minute, heâd walk in, and heâd smile at the effort, something in him would melt, and heâd realized how distant heâd been and then things would go back to normal when he saw you were here. Right here. Waiting for him.
As 6:30 turned to 6:40, the giddy adrenaline started to fade, and your body reminded you acutely of the time and the fact youâd been awake for nearly three hours already. And then 6:50, and you were check your phone, no texts, no announcement he was running late. No Happy First Anniversary text. And then it was 7 AM, and you were scrolling on your phone to distract yourself form the self pity and irritation. 7:30 and you were hoping heâd show up just to share a cup of coffee before you had to leave for work. And when 8AM rolled around, you sniffled a bit and plated his food up and covered it in the microwave, leaving a sticky note on the bedroom door. You didnât have time to clean the table before you rushed out for work, tired, upset, dejected, and that wordless emotion when you just know something is about to end.
It was 9:30 AM when you got the thanks for breakfast, had to stay at the hospital longer than usual, text. Followed ten minutes later with happy anniversary, sweetheart. And a 15$ Venmo notification for a âfancy coffeeâ. You fought the urge to throw your phone down the elevator shaft. So you didnât answer, you didnât have any sunshine left to muster up. Youâd been trying for so long and you were so, so tired.
___
That evening, when you came home, Jack was waiting for you like he was expecting you. Maybe he was, he was so much older and wiser, maybe heâd been anticipating this for awhile. He didnât flinch when you sighed, âWe need to talk. Iâm so tired, Jack.â
He didnât argue when you laid out all your points. He nodded along to distant, forgetful, emotionally unavailable, nonreciprocalâŠ
âIf itâs all in my head, please tell me Jack. Please tell me I got it wrong somehow-â You pleaded with him, âBut you used to treat me like I was the best thing that ever walked into your life, and now I feel like⊠like⊠Iâm some nuisance you tolerate because you donât want to hurt my feelings- and that hurts worse.-â
It was a last ditch effort. A Hail Mary. A chance for him to swoop in and tell you why, or tell you that you were imagining it or taking something too personally. But he didnât, he just nodded, the softest, âI know, Iâm sorry-â
âJust tell me how we can fix it, how I can fix it- believe me I can do it- I love you, Jack, please-â You begged, his quiet apologies only making you more desperate like you could feel him slipping through your hands like sand. He looked up with the saddest eyes youâd ever seen.
âNo you canât, baby.â He shook his head like he was delivering bad news after a failed trauma. And thatâs when all those crumpled and deflated feelings hardened in your chest. Youâd tried so hard, debased yourself into a clingy, desperate thing that only thought of him. Tried to fit yourself into a life he apparently didnât want with you. You were tolerated for doing things he once celebrated you for.
âI⊠donât want to do this anymore.â You murmured, and that was the only thing that got even a momentary reaction out of him. Even if he seemed like he saw it coming, he tensed up, his hands in fists against his legs. But he still nodded.
âI think thatâs for the best.â He agreed, and those intense eyes were watching you more carefully than they had in months, as if realizing something, as if realizing how tired I really looked, how crushed, âIâll go to work, so you can get your things together and sleep here tonight. Iâm⊠sorry-â
And then he was gone. He was good at that, the walking away. So, youâd do it too. When he got back in the morning, after a length rooftop chat with Robby in which his fellow attending called him every flavor of stupid under the sun, you were gone.
Me, running from the orderlies- slamming into walls and grabbing you by the shoulders: âJack Abbot eating you out to the point of overstimulation while forcing you to online shop on his credit card-â
The orderlies tackle me and forcibly sedate me and strap me into a straight jacket, âHeâs not gonna stop until his credit card company calls him for suspicious spending-!â
Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center. Pittsburgh, PA, USA. Present Day.
In the old days, magic was common. Supernatural creatures- monsters- were known, respected. Some feared, some revered. Magic was everywhere. But through the ages, magic fell through the cracks of science and advancement. Human became the dominant species, and supernatural creatures faded to the fringes of society. Allowed themselves to become old wives' tales and cautionary tales told to children to keep them in line. But they didn't go extinct, rarer perhaps now.
In the modern times, those creatures live like normal humans. Magic made near obsolete by science and technology. The remnant magic in their blood considered more like a condition, something they live with. In the modern age, old feuds are often forgotten, or at least reduced to petty rivalry. In the modern age, an age where human advancement now actually poses a risk to their safety, supernatural beings find a sense of camaraderie, a sense of obligation to each other. They squeeze themselves into the cracks of the human world- jobs with odd hours, jobs that demanded unending grit, jobs that sometimes still needed a touch of the world's fading magic, jobs so chaotic human's didn't tend to think twice with something odd happened. Firehouses, Park Rangers, Night Guards, Antiquities collectors, and... hospitals.
Most major cities had at least one hospital that was known through the supernatural grapevine. A hospital for creatures like them. A place that could provide care, or a living. Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center was that place, specifically The Pitt, so named for its hellish work environment, but also it's less than human staff.
Meet the Staff:
Dr. Michael "Robby" Robinavitch - Werewolf by blood
Born into a lycan family, Michael "Robby" Robinavitch spent his entire life dreading the full moon, knowing one day it might wake the wolf inside him. There was no way to know if the lycanthropy gene would be dormant in his blood like his mother, or if it would it would be active like his father's. There was little to no true medical research on lycanthropy, especially not since the scientific discovery of DNA. So, as he entered college and then medical school, he made it his purpose to understand it, not knowing that the stress of it all would be what triggered his first transformation.
Years later, as a chief medical attending, an alpha wolf fully fledged, Robby is a werewolf. Deeply loyal, often stubborn to a fault, a natural leader even when he resists those instincts. That loyalty comes with a price, he, even without meaning to, expects the loyalty returned. The Pitt is his den, the staff his pack. His only days off are the four he takes every month around the full moon.
Dr. Jack Abbot - Vampire
Dr. Jack Abbot was a field medic in the Second World War when he lost his leg on the battlefield- one of those unlucky bastards that survived the Great War only to be dragged into its sequel. His comrades were forced to leave him behind, and Jack thought he'd bleed out in the mud in the freezing night, the only sound distant artillery and the moans of the dyings. The world wars had shaped the planet, not even the old vestiges of European magic could escape its molding. Much to the chagrin of the oldest vampires in their crumbling European castles clinging to the old ways- even if the wars provided quite the buffet. One such ancient vampire found Jack Abbot, and thought a one legged vampire might be entertaining. Abbot eventually killed his maker for that, before painstakingly making it back to America under the cover of night to protect his new sun-sensitive skin.
In the present day, not a day day over 120 Robby likes to tease him, both from necessity and his characteristic gallows humor, Dr. Jack Abbot presides over the nightshift of the Pitt. His dawn trips to the roof not to throw himself off, but to play chicken with the rising sun before walking home under an umbrella no matter the weather. After two world wars, and moonlighting in every war since in some capacity, his blood lust is kept under control, almost to the point he forgets to feed. He makes it his personal business to keep tabs on all the other vampires on staff, and blatantly refuses to turn anyone into a vampire. As the years pass, Jack is quite pleased with evolution of prosthetics. He isn't nearly as pleased that the interns keep calling him Carlisle, seriously, who even is that?
Charge Nurse, Dana Evans - ??? Unverified Angelic Entity
Dana Evans was in the Pitt long before Jack and Robby came around, and she will be there long after. Other than vague angelic ancestry, a cross around her neck, and a slew of curses that take every heavenly name in vain, not much is known about her actual classification. Rumors range from nephilum (half angels, or offspring of fallen angels) to actual fallen angel, and usually settle somewhere around Angel of Mercy that desperately needs a cigarette.
Sometimes she has the patient of a saint, and others the wrath of God. Dana Evans will not confirm nor deny the allegations that she hears every prayer made in the hospital chapel, nor will she comment on the fact that the angel statue in the garden bears striking resemblance from her. She can be found on her smoke break muttering, "Every day farther and farther from heaven..."
Dr. Frank Langdon - Vampire
Dr. Frank Langdon was in medical school when he was another victim of the strange animal attacking student on his campus. What was a late night walk to his car, had him waking up in the sewers with his sire no where to be found. Left to learn the ropes by himself, stubborn and headstrong, Frank was determined not to let this change his plans. So he graduated medical school, got married, and had kids all with the help of animal blood sourced from the local butcher, long sleeve shirts, ball caps, and SPF 100+. Even refused to work night shifts, to appear more normal. It wasn't until his kid came out with razor sharp teeth and flipped sleeping schedule that he even told his wife. But by his 4th residency year, he's managed to claw everything back to how it should be.
As long as that new fae-child intern can keep her mouth shut, no one has to know he's settling his bloodlust by stealing blood from hospital and the occasional nibble off a patient (only the ones that are 100% going to die anyways, thatâs justifiable, right? Please say yes- please donât tell his wife- ). Least of all Robby, the steadfast werewolf that became the unlikely subject of an unfulfilled sire bond- ahem, no, Robby was his just his mentor that he felt a totally human level of admiration for.
(Dr.) Dennis Whitaker - Werewolf by bite
Dennis Whitaker grew up in on a farm in Nebraska, he was no stranger to the sounds that came from the pastures at night. He'd grown up hearing the howls of wolves that supposedly went extinct in his state long ago. just some wild dogs. just the wind in the corn. just coyotes. People would always say to tune out the unsettling howls on nights with a full moon. In fact, he tuned it out after a particularly nasty fight with his family about the fact his upcoming residency is five states away in the big city. A mistake that led to a gnarly maw shaped scar wrapping around his shoulder that his scrubs just barely hide.
Truthfully, becoming a werewolf couldn't have come at a worse time. Being in the ER doing grunt work is not the place to learn how to live with hyper sensitive hearing and smell. Plus- He really can't afford the meat heavy diet, nor can he afford to replace all the linens he keeps ruining, or the chains at Home Depot to keep himself secured during his transformations. He was determined to figure it all out himself, until he met older and (seemingly) wiser wolf Dr. Robby who sniffs him out in an instant. Now, as he starts at PTMC, he's in a pack. Poor thing is at the bottom of the Pitt and the pack food chain, fortunately Robby has a thing for strays with sad eyes.
(Dr.) Trinity Santos - Seelie Fae
Trinity Santos is not tinker bell. She wants that on the record. And she's sure as shit not what's going on in those ACO-whatever books either. Though, she's not quite sure what she is. In the modern world, the fae courts are one of the few remaining strongholds of magic. But due to her less than stellar childhood, rebellious spirit that she was, Trinity slipped into the human world and seldom looked back. As a whole, she prefers the human world. Yet, sometimes she feels like she just doesn't fit. Her home court was full of riddles, glamours, and twisted truths, and yet somehow she struggles more to understand making friends with humans- truthfully, why is it so hard? They canât even charm wine. Whether it's trying to maintain the worldâs most low-sodium diet or crafting careful glamours to hide her pointed ears and not tinkerbell wings, she's hit her fair share of stumbling blocks on her way to her internship at PTMC.
Studying medicine felt like a tangible way to better understand the humans around her, to figure out what made them tick. Without the mischievous and often malevolent ways her kind observed humans- Trinity liked to think she was above charming and compelling people. Still, the fae in her loves an indulgence and a bit of mischief. She wraps herself in snark and witty banter to protect herself- it's rather pesky that humans and others can just lie. And despite being the only creature in the ER that can not physically lie, she's having a hard time making people believe her about a certain bloodsucker.
Iâve had this idea rattling around in my head for a while now. A supernatural monster!AU. It could go two ways.
1.) In a world where monsters are rare but common knowledge, monsters have to find ways to fit into human society. Jobs with odd hours, hard requirements, or jobs that humans donât always want to do are common jobs for supernatural creatures to take. So hospitals often have high numbers of supernaturals working the undesirable shifts, night shifts, and the always transient ER chaos
2.) in a world where supernatural creatures must blend into human society to survive under the radar. Most large cities have at least one hospital that can treat monsters under the radar, how do they do that? By secretly having a predominantly supernatural staff. PMTC is one such establishment.
Either ways, my ideas rattling around include
Werewolf or dragon Robby
Vampire Jack Abbot
Vampire frank Langdon
Trickster Fae Trinity Santos
Newly turned werewolf Dennis Whittaker
Half angel / avenging angel Dana Evans
I have fleshed out thoughts about each of these and how they interact. Do I have something here?
Distraction || Dr. Michael âRobbieâ Robinavitch x f!reader
Summary: It is the day before his last shift before his sabbatical, and the new attending has sent him several packets to review before their first shift together. Trying his best to be diligent, Robbie has planned his morning with focus and effort in mind. Unfortunately for him and Dr. Al-Hashimi, Robbie has a terribly demanding distraction who is not so charitable with his time.
CW: pg13 at worst, but 18+, MDNI just in case. Suggestive language, playing footsie under the table, mentions of oral, implied age gap, no use of Y/N, in this the sabbatical is a happy lil couples excursion and not⊠that. Brat dynamics if you squint.
Robbie really had tried to read over all the materials the new attending had sent him. Dr. Al-Hashimi - his soon to be replacement in the Pitt- had sent over four packets over the weekend. Robbie had watched the printer whir for a good fifteen minutes straight with a growing sense of hopelessness for his ability to actually get it done. (Yes, he had printed it, because staring at a tablet for that long on his day off was sure to lead to a crick in his neck and a headache all day the next day.)
A printed packet. A cup of coffee not enjoyed in bed as he usually would on a day off. His glasses perched on his nose. He even woken up early to avoid his resident distraction. Quantifiably, provably he had tried.
He, at the kitchen table, even continued to try after he heard the bed frame creak. He continued to try even when the shower turned on. He even continued trying when you shuffled into the kitchen in a loosely tied robe that was distractingly short, skin still dewy from a hot shower and the intensive skin care routine you always insisted was entirely necessary. Barefoot and still a little sleepy, wandering listlessly towards the pot of coffee. Was he supposed to give two flying fucks about integrating AI when he could see the half moon curves of your ass peeking out from under the robe while you reached for a mug from the shelf that was just a little too high? He was supposed to remember the security measures of another new app to add to their tablets when you sat across from him at the table and slowly sipped your coffee, propping your bare feet up on the table and lean back in the chair? Get real.
âMorning, honey.â You murmured, lazily reaching for one of the papers he had scattered around the table, tired eyes scanned it before tossing it back on the pile. Something about derivative slang bringing down employee morale earning him teasing ire, âThis is better than sleeping in with me? A Dr. Al-Hashimi, Michael, are you reading with other women?â
After your teasing, as usual, your teeth dug into your lips as if to keep yourself from laughing at your own joke. Robbie rolled his eyes, one of his long legs reaching under the table and hooking the foot of your chair, pulling it so all the legs of the chair were firmly planted on the floor instead of rocking back on two so that you wouldnât tip backwards. He looked at you over the rim of his glasses, holding up one of this packets like a news paper, looking the part of the old man you teased him for being, innocently proclaiming. âNever.â
âThen why, on your day off, did I wake up and shower all alone?â You gave him that exaggerated pout that made him want to grab you by the plush of your cheeks and squeeze. The kind of look that made him want to throw all of these packets in the trash- hell, maybe even burn them- and make up his morning absence right on the kitchen table. Heâd happily eat you for breakfast⊠and lunch⊠and dinner⊠and dessert. Make it an all day affair.
No. No. NO. Focus, he was focusing. He was reading these packets and proposals so his ER could have a smooth transition during his sabbatical. Heâd put it off long enough (mostly, also your fault), and it was his last day off before meeting the new attending. So he forced his eyes off the exposed expanse of your thighs and back to his current page- statistics of time spent charting, âBecause, sweetheart, have to get this done. And you are distracting.â
Apparently, impressing the importance of the task up on you hadnât had the desired affect, judging off the way your smirk curled and a little devilish glint sparked in your eyes. Slowly, you took your legs off the table, instead scooting down in your chair so you could snake your legs into his lap under the table. One of your feet gently rubbing his thigh, your expression morphing into saccharine sympathy- as if your foot on his crotch was supposed to soothe him. He groaned your name like a warning, and only earned the responding coo, âPoor, responsible Dr. Robbie, nearly three decades out of medical school and he still has homework.â
âSee? Distracting.â He sighed, as if proving his point. You only shrugged, getting even more comfortable. One of his hands darted under the table to grab your ankle before you could encourage his growing hard-on even more. Instead, his dexterous fingers expertly massaging the muscles and joints in hopes to distract you, âIâve got months of sabbatical coming up. Youâll have so much of me youâll be sick of me.â
You only cocked your head, mirroring his earlier tone, âNever.â
âTomorrow, I have to give my thoughts on all these proposals. Itâd help if I was able to read them beforehand.â Robbie continued, eyeing you in the kind of sternness that only ever encouraged you to behave worse, âSo, sweetheart, give me two hours and Iâll be all yours for the rest of the day.â
âYeah, until you fall asleep at 8 pm on the couch, old man.â You rolled your eyes, taking your foot out of his lap which made his hands chase after your warmth, instinctively, always trying to prolong the contact, even as he was plying you to behave. He finally set the papers down at your goading.
âWell, maybe I could also stay up later, if I slept âtil noon like you.â He shot right back, âOr maybe I would have more energy if I wasnât dealing with you all day.â
âItâs 9:30 AM.â You rolled your eyes, slowly standing up to retrieve the coffee pot. When you came back to the table, you first topped off your own cup and then came around the table to his side. He could tell you hadnât given up on your original goal by the way your chest pressed to his shoulder as you leaned over him to fill up his coffee. âYouâre home, and Iâm bored. I need you, honey.â
Oh, boredom is such a dangerous affliction. Robbie took a deep breath through his nose, resisting the urge to turn his head and nip at your earlobe- a mistake when the still fresh smell of your shampoo and lotion flooded his senses. He knew youâd be so soft if he ran his hand under the silky fabric of the wisp of a robe you always wore around the house. Focus. Focus, Michael.
âSweetheart- baby-â Robbie sighed, pressing back into the softness of your body, so that when he tilted his head back it rested on your shoulder as you stayed leaning over him. Those tender brown eyes of his almost pleading as they met yours, âTwo hours. Please- get dressed, take my card, entertain yourself. And then, I will be all yours.â
âThought you were always all mine,â You pouted, but stayed near him, near enough to card your fingers through his still messy morning hair and press a sweet, chaste kiss to his forehead before inching away, a sign that if he was serious, you really would listen and leave him alone. You didnât make it far before he pulled you right back, and you grinned victoriously, draping yourself over his shoulders and peppering his stubble in little kisses.
âAlmost always.â He corrected teasingly, not-so-secretly lavishing in the attention, âFigure I own my patients at least 60% percent of myself when Iâm at work. You know, lives in the balance and all that, sweetheart. And right now, Iâm 70% yours, and 30% percent these packetsâ. And in two hours, if youâre good, Iâll be, as usual, 100% yours.â
âThatâs an awful lot of mathâ You breathed, nipping at his jawline playfully, leaning more of your weight on his back, coming to rest your chin on your shoulder, âCâmon, what if I helped?â
âBaby, you canât help me, youâre a distraction-â He sighed, leaning his head against yours as he picked up the packet his was reading. You huffed, shaking your head.
âNo- no, for real- Iâll be good. We can just sit on the couch together, and Iâll help you read through them- Iâll annotate-â You murmured, snaking your arms around to wrap around his chest. He smiled gently to himself- now, you were being a good girl. It was almost worse. He tilted his chin down, so he could press a kiss to your wrist.
âBaby, youâre always distracting me. Doesnât matter what youâre doing.â He hummed, âBut especially when youâre wearing that and touching me like this. Text book definition of a distraction.â
âOk, then,â You lowered your voice to a sultry whisper, one hand splayed and trailing down his chest, and then his stomach and then between his legs, âlet me distract you.â
Well, shit. Heâd tried, really he had. Well, maybe once heâd worn you out, heâd try again.
Feeling, Sudden and New || Simon âGhostâ Riley x (John âSoapâ MacTavish x F!reader)
Itâs always freaky ghost this, freaky ghost that. Ok. Well how about freaky ghost and freakier Mr.&Mrs. MacTavish.
Summary: Simon meets his Johnnyâs wife for the first time, and unlocks a new emotion. He has no fuckingmidea what to do about it. Meanwhile, Mr.&Mrs. MacTavish are on the same page, and nothing if not determined.
Trigger warning: alcohol consumption, established relationship (reader x Soap), Ghostâs inner emotions (dark themes). Not rating this 18+ but itâs teetering. Jealous Ghost
Ghost has never considered himself a complicated individual, not really. Or rather, heâd never had to spend hours agonizing over his inner complexities. Sure- he was different from the average man, darker, perhaps more twisted, maybe too possessive. But he knew these things. He always knew what he wanted, what he was feeling.
He knew what his anger felt like, a thick and tar-like oil slick over his insides, always with a match hovering too dangerously close, threatening to ignite it and consume everything he touched. He knew how fix his anger- bloody knuckles, the recoil of a rifle (practice range or targetâs skull didnât matter), a finger or two of bourbon, and a cigarette after a good fuck.
He knew what paranoia felt like, a pine box in a fresh dug grave, not enough oxygen and wet soil filling in around him. He knew how to resolve that too: (see above).
He knew what his want felt like- cavernous and void, the edge of a canyon with no safety rail, dark and beckoning, somehow a living thing. He was working on learning to resolve this one, (see above + ignore, repress, ignore, repress, go to pub for another drink and a fuck, slip out in the morning)
The point was that his own inner workings might be a mystery to everyone else, but not to him. Heâd long since come to terms with himself as a machine, and a machine was nothing without known instructions and maintenance. He knew what he wanted, always.
So when a dark and ugly feeling licked the back of the teeth as Soap, his sergeant, his Johnny, introduced Mrs. MacTavish to him in a pub after some stupid chestcandy ceremony that Simon managed to ditch but Johnny hadnât been so lucky. Or, maybe he had been, if the lacy impression on the satin that covered the round of your ass was any indication. Lingerie under that pretty dress, like the present under the wrapping paper.
The wife, of course youâd celebrate your husband who was probably well on his way to a promotion. Pretty dress, pretty nails, pretty gloss on pretty lips around a pretty smile. Ghost had to force his eyes off your mouth as you smiled at him, nodding in his usual sullen demeanor as a greeting as he went back to his bourbon.
He was busy, trying to figure out this new feeling. This dark and twisting feeling that coiled around his brain stem, trying to choke out the light, casual demeanor he was forcing. Green. Green like algae blooms in ponds, thick and blocking all the light that lets good things grow. No, this only harbored sick, twisted things under the surface. And yet it was warm as it sucked him down.
Envy. Possession. Jealousy. Those were the feelings. He could tell that much by the way his knuckles went white as Johnny helped you into the booth, stealing a kiss and biting your lip as he did. And yet, his own teeth met the inside of cheek hard enough to draw blood when you smacked your husbandâs ass as he went to the bar for drinks.
âThanks, honey.â You called after him. Simon wondered if you called him Johnny, and then decided probably not, you never needed to. Heâd overheard Soapâs calls home, it was always soft honey, sugar, baby, sweetheart,âs crackling across the line. You didnât need to call him Johnny, you called him yours. The green feeling twisted again, and yet something smug as well. Honey was yours, Johnny was his, only his.
Simon resisted the urge to physically shake the feeling loose. What had him in such a twist? He needed to resolve this feeling, and quick. He knew what happened when his feelings went unresolved. Blood, bullets, and blacked out sections of mission reports. He needed to resolve it because soon youâd expect him to actually talk to the both of you, and right now something heavy and hot was sitting on his chest.
He glanced back up at you in the booth, and you smiled at him, crossing your legs under the table in a way that made the toe of your pretty high heels graze his knee. The touch lingered, and then you took it away from him, almost like you were just gauging his reaction. Two things reared in him at the same time, the desire to recoil away and yet also the instinct to lean in, pull you closer, so there was no choice but to remain lingering.
He scoffed as Johnny brought another round to the table. Not bothering to clarify if it was at you or himself. An eyebrow quirked as his sergeant slipped into the booth, but not beside his pretty bird of a wife. No- Soap slid in on the other side, so he was caught between the two of you in the corner of the booth. Another scoff, his eyes on the new pour of bourbon, the glistening lump of clear of ice rapidly melting in the muggy heat of the pub. In the oppressive heat that radiated off both of you. No escape without going through one of you.
He wondered, idly, who he would choose. To go through, of course. Would he manhandle Johnny out of the way, rough and demanding as their dynamic usually was, with jokes and taunts that would send others running. A master yanking a leash. Or, would he lift you out of the booth as easily as Johnny had, satin dress soft as the plush of your hips under his fingers as he gently lifted you over his lap as he slipped away. Would either of you watch him leave? Would you follow? Did he want to be followed, and by who?
âFuckinâ hell.â He mumbled, half aware that you and your husband had been chattering over him while his brain ran in circles. Johnny laughed heartily at the sudden interjection, one of his big arms slung over the back of the booth a finger hooked into the black hood of Simonâs sweatshirt. You giggled, leaning forward onto the sticky table, chin resting in your palm.
What he missed, as he stared down his drink once more, was the way your eyes sparked and then dilated as you took him in. The yin to your husbandâs yang, the LT youâd heard so much about, the silence to Johnâs music, the shadows to his flames. And now you understood the way your husband talked about his superior. The way his eyes lit up and darkened all at once, why his touch was heavy on your skin when Ghost was mentioned.
Built like a tank, Ghost was tall, dark, and looked like the kind of man who could ruin whatever he touched and then would burn the world down to build it back up again. And you were wondering if he could suck a hickey on your collar without taking off the mask.
Johnny met your eyes with a knowing look. You were just as hooked as he was. And whatever wifey wants, wifey gets.
John Price x Selkie!reader, traditional selkie story slow burn enemies to lovers type thing
Kyle Garrick x Selkie!Reader who keeps trying to give him her pelt but he doesnât understand and is too much of a gentlemen so he keeps giving it back
John Soap MacTavish whos recently sworn off hookups x Selkie!Reader who just wants to do her part for breeding season and doesnât understand why this human keeps insisting on feeding her
Simon âGhostâ Riley x Selkie!Reader, after freeing her from a bad man who stole her pelt, helps her âlook for the furâ or is he actually helpingâŠ
Just the boys with a strange girl from the sea who may or may not want anything to do with them⊠more on this later