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Not Quite Canon's Masterlist:

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!

#masterlist

Trying, Deserving, Loving || Andrew “Pope” Cody x Reader

Summary: You’ve become the person his family contacts when they can’t find Pope. After a confrontation with Smurf, Andrew goes MIA, and it’s up to you to find him. You can’t 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 don’t 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, Smurf’s canon typical emotional abuse, Pope’s canon typical mental health issues, implied that the argument with Smurf triggered an episode, but I don’t go into details. Hurt/comfort (Pope’s getting comforted bc I need to kiss this felon on the forehead), spot the Twilight reference!

Prompt: “I want to deserve you. I’m trying to deserve you.” 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 didn’t 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. Andrew’s 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? He’d never missed anything with you without at least a phone call.

"Shit." Baz huffed, exasperated and you couldn’t 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 Smurf’s full attention, things got bad. It wasn’t 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 wouldn’t 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 he’d latched onto when he didn’t 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 wasn’t fun to hear from his family about any of it. Plus, Smurf loved to dangle Pope’s 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, "I’ll look for him, he’s 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 should’ve 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, I’ll tell him you’re 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 Andrew’s aftershave, as he’d spent the morning detail cleaning it for you. Not because you’d asked, but because he wanted to and insisted your car should be clean.

As you drove, you tried Andrew’s 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 Smurf’s house. No dice.

You’d 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 person’s 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 didn’t turn, made no indication that he’d 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 wasn’t 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 didn’t 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, "What’re doing here? You shouldn’t be here- you’re supposed to be at home. It’s late and you have work tomorrow-"

"I was looking for you, been all over town trying to find you. Should’ve 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 wasn’t knee deep in the water.

"Don’t get yourself wet- the water’s cold and you don’t have a towel-" He immediately started fussing, which would’ve 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, "You’re gonna get sick-"

"Neither do you. We’ll 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. Aren’t you cold?"

"No." He grumbled, turning back towards the darkening horizon. You sighed, moving deeper, grateful you’d worn shorts to lounge around the house instead of a sundress or pants.

"Baz called me, said you missed a meeting, ‘s not like you." You told him quietly, turned fully towards him. His head twitched towards you like he wanted to face you but couldn’t, instead continued to stare silently into the distance, so you kept going, "And then you missed dinner, which really isn’t 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 I’m your problem now. Doesn’t 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. He’d 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, "Where’s that coming from? You’re not my problem. You aren’t a problem, Andrew."

He ducked his head, and you weren’t sure if it was actually happening or a trick of the dying light that it looked like his chin was trembling, "I’m a convicted felon, career criminal, and I’m-I’m fucked in the head, and it doesn’t matter how hard I try, you’re 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, you’re bleeding-"

"I’m 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, " ‘s nothing."

"Not nothing if you’re 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 couldn’t deny you anything when you were looking at him with such soft tenderness. He didn’t understand why you relaxed when his hand landed in yours, but he didn’t 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, you’d 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 he’d take it. You sighed, eyes squinted in the evening darkness, the moon not providing the best examination light, "But this time, I think you’re right. Still want to put some Neosporin on it though."

He didn’t 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 ‘cause I figured you’d 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, you’d mirror it right back at him if he wasn’t softening for you like usual.

"Being so nice- You’re too nice to me, and I don’t 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 didn’t 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 weren’t afraid of him or his emotions. The not deserving kindness and no one understands it sounded like the ‘something’ 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 he’d 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, you’d taunt and withhold, just to make him speak up with you. But tonight wasn’t the time. Tonight, you’d 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.

"I’m 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 I’d 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. I’m trying to deserve you."

"Andrew, you don’t 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 didn’t 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 don’t 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. It’s not transactional. I’m gonna be kind to you anyways."

You stopped, taking a deep breath, because both of you being emotional wouldn’t help much at the moment, "I’m not some moral judgement in your life, and I’m not standing in cold water to have an ethical debate with you. I’m standing here because I love you, whatever version of yourself you can give me. And if your family doesn’t ’understand’ that? I actually don’t 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 I’m starting to get it, sweetheart. Tell me again?"

Oh, your Andrew and his quiet greed for affection. He didn’t do drugs, both for the fact they didn’t 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? I’ll 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 you’d 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 you’d 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 you’d give that love so willingly to him, even if you preached at him until you were blue in the face that he didn’t 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 couldn’t find the words. So, instead of preaching, you laced your fingers through his and pressed a gentle kiss against his lips. Because he’d never doubt he was love and he’d never be unsure he was wanted if he was with you.

"Didn’t want you go without." You answered his question about pasta and a dozen other unspoken questions.

He’d give and give no matter what, and you’d love and love no matter what- so you’d both be stuck in that cycle, together, with no place you’d rather be.

#andrew pope cody x reader #pope x reader #Pope Cody x reader #andrew pope cody x you

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 Jack’s, Robby’s, or Brendan Park’s. But after her last whirlwind romance landed a baby in her life (even if she loves the baby endlessly) she’s sworn off dating Doctors.

Is this something? Do I Have something?

#the Pitt x reader #jack abbot x reader #abbot x reader #dr. jack abbot x reader #michael robinavitch #dr. robby x reader #brendan park x reader

vogueziam

just finished animal kingdom… NEED to write something for Pope Cody. Alexa play I can fix him by Taylor Swift.

…… anyways, requests if you have them

#andrew pope cody x reader

proofread a fic, formatted, posted it, AND updated my backlogged master list? damn who am I

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!

You’d reached a new low. Or at least that’s 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 man’s online presence was next to none. He had a LinkedIn that the hospital had made for him, and a nameless, faceless instagram that you’d made for him- because once upon a time he’d enjoyed when you sent him silly little things throughout the day, well, or he’d pretended to.

So, after three months post break-up, you were pathetically desperate for crumbs. Which is how you ended up fixated on Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center’s 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.

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 looked… 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, he’d have gone more gray, he’d have more wrinkles on his forehead, maybe even a liver spot or two, and his biceps wouldn’t be literally bulging out of his scrub top. He looked good and fine and totally Jack. The unmitigated nerve. Though, you supposed you shouldn’t be shocked, it felt like he’d barely been affected by your presence in those last weeks, why would he be affected by your absence?

#dr. abbot x reader #jack abbot x reader #the pitt x reader #abbot x reader #dr. jack abbot x reader #jack abbot x y/n

Old Dog, New Tricks || Dr. Jack Abbot x f!Reader

CW: Jack’s canon typical suicidal ideation, the unoriginal use of Sunshine as a nickname for reader, Jack’s 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 didn’t 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

Pavlov’s Dogs- a term which refers to the subjects of famous Russian Psychologist Ivan Pavlov’s 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 Pitt’s 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.

#jack abbot #dr. abbot x reader #jack abbot x reader #the pitt x reader #abbot x reader #dr. jack abbot x reader #jack abbot x you #dr. jack abbot x you #the pitt x y/n #the Pitt x you

Best Medicine || Dr. Jack Abbot x F!Reader

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

You’re laughing.

And it’s the most beautiful thing Jack’s 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 didn’t need to see you to know it was you, even if he’d 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. That’s how he knows he’s 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?

#jack abbot x reader #Dr. Abbot x reader #Dr. Jack Abbot x reader #The Pitt x reader #Abbot x reader #Jack abbot x you

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 won’t tell you, but you still notice. You notice everything about him. But, perhaps because you’re so much younger, you naively think that you can take it upon yourself to fix this, not realizing you’re tearing yourself apart in the process. And Jack tolerates it, because he’s 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 Mohan’s age, Jack’s 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.

(your version) p.1 || (your version) p.2 || (Jack’s Version) p.1.5

Something had changed recently. Something quiet and subtle. But you’d 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 you’d 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 didn’t 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." Jack’s 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 didn’t comment on it, those intense eyes brushing over you as if you were simply another piece of furniture he’d 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.

—

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 you’d 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 wouldn’t bother him. He was asleep on his side, turned away from you, which had been a new development in the last month or two.

You’d woken up after only catnapping for an hour or so, hoping he’d 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 didn’t look peaceful anymore, some self aggrandizing part of yourself that wanted to believe he couldn’t 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, he’d once teased you for doing this exact pose. You hoped, even if he did stir, he’d smile fondly, maybe crack a sleepy joke, and if you were really lucky… just maybe he’d pull you even closer.

Instead, he sort of startled awake. He didn’t 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 didn’t mean to wake you. You’ve 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. You’d always noticed everything he did or didn’t 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, "Won’t be able to fall back asleep, might as well head in early."

You frowned, which he didn’t see because he wasn’t looking, slowly sitting up until you were practically kneeling behind him, hesitant to touch him for the first time since he’d 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-"

“I’m not hungry.” 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, “But don’t let me stop you. Here, coffee or a sweet treat for you and your friends. On me.”

Maybe a year ago, that would’ve 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 didn’t seem like that much. Not for all that you’d lost- all the gentle touches and just-for-you smiles. And he’d always been so much wiser- from the years, from the experiences, from the therapy perhaps. He’d always been a hard worker, who were you to take it personally now? So you swallowed thickly, and summoned a smile.

“Thanks, Jack-“ 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.

#jack abbot #jack abbot x reader #dr. abbot x reader #the pitt x reader #Abbot x reader #Spotify

Me, running from the orderlies- slamming into walls and grabbing you by the shoulders: “Jack Abbot eating you out to the point of overstimulation while forcing you to online shop on his credit card-“

The orderlies tackle me and forcibly sedate me and strap me into a straight jacket, “He’s not gonna stop until his credit card company calls him for suspicious spending-!”

#jack abbot #jack abbot x reader #dr. abbot x reader

What dwells in The Pitt || Monster!AU

The Setting:

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:

#hbo the pitt #the pitt #the pitt s1 #michael robinavitch #jack abbot #michael robby robinavitch #frank langdon #Dr. Abbot #dr. robby #Dr. Langdon #Dana Evans #Nurse Dana #dennis whitaker #trinity santos #all images from pinterest

The Pitt, supernatural!AU

I’ve 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 don’t 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?

#the Pitt #michael robinavitch #dana evans #dennis whitaker #frank langdon #Jack abbot #trinity santos #hbo the pitt

Distraction || Dr. Michael ‘Robbie” 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.

#michael robinavitch #Michael Robinavitch x reader #dr. Robby x reader #dr. Robbie x reader #the Pitt x reader #Robbie x reader #Robby x reader

Your search history story might have pushed me into considering starting Criminal minds

Do it do it do it do it do it. At least the first 10 seasons are legit good. :)))

Feeling, Sudden and New || Simon “Ghost” Riley x (John “Soap” MacTavish x F!reader)

It’s always freaky ghost this, freaky ghost that. Ok. Well how about freaky ghost and freakier Mr.&Mrs. MacTavish.

Summary: Simon meets his Johnny’s 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), Ghost’s inner emotions (dark themes). Not rating this 18+ but it’s teetering. Jealous Ghost

#part two?#ghoap x reader #ghost x reader x soap #simon ghost riley x reader #john soap mctavish x reader #soap mctavish x reader #call of duty modern warfare x reader #codmw x reader #soap x reader

Things I’m thinking about writing…

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 doesn’t 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 doesn’t understand why this human keeps insisting on feeding her

Simon “Ghost” Riley x Selkie!Reader, after freeing her from a bad man who stole her pelt, helps her ‘look for the fur’ or is he actually helping…

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

#call of duty modern warfare x reader #codmw x reader #ghost x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #kyle gaz garrick x reader #gaz x reader #kyle garrick x reader #johnny soap mctavish x reader #johnny mactavish x reader #john soap mctavish x reader #soap x reader #john price x reader #captain price x reader #price x reader

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