âËęŠď˝Ą- the ones you all loved the most (500+ notes)
the pitt
jack abbot
series
âËęŠď˝Ą almost home - after seventeen years of marriage, one teenage daughter, and a relationship slowly worn thin by exhaustion and grief, you and your husband finally let each other go.
except divorce doesnât really mean separation when thereâs still school pickups, shared calendars, and a daughter determined to keep both her parents stitched into the same orbit. (19.4k-ongoing)
one shots
off your game - you find yourself having an off day during a shift and jack doesnât let your single mistake slide. (0.8k)
period cramps - youâre on your period and jack offers you the comfort he can. (1.0k)
âËęŠď˝Ą house tour - when jack cooks for you, you have another idea. (2.1k) NSFW 18+
âËęŠď˝Ą the shape of wanting - you bring jack as your date to a wedding and he brings everything youâve both been avoiding. (4.8k)
requests
âËęŠď˝Ą whatâs in a name - maybe dating jack abbot would be easier to if his name didnât start with a j. (1.0k)
normal girl - at a hospital charity gala, pretending you belong gets a lot harder once jack starts paying too much attention. (2.6k)
love you less - loving jack is the closest youâve ever come to feeling safe. but safety is a terrifying concept for someone who expects the floor to collapse at any moment, and your defenses are running him ragged. (1.7k)
âËęŠď˝Ą maggots for brains - overwhelmed by the emotional distance of your careers, you seek a brief moment of comfort from your husband amidst the chaos of his hospital shift. (2.4k)
frank langdon
patient: unresolved - after a rough shift in the er, one moment of shared exhaustion between you and dr. langdon turns into something neither of you can take back. (1.1k)
marvel
peter parker
one shots
reflections - you find solace in a mysterious stranger whose guarded heart carries a heavy unspoken past. (3.4k)
halloween in august? - after bribing peter parkerâs landlord to let you wait in his queens studio (if you could even call it that), an unexpected entrance abruptly exposes his biggest secret. (4.9k)
off campus
dean di laurentis
series
âËęŠď˝Ą sugar talking - youâre done being dean di laurentisâ favourite secret. (1.9k)
âËęŠď˝Ą sugar talking: two - dean will do anything to win you back, but winning you over proves harder than why he bargained for. (5.9k)
requests
drive, di laurentis - when a bruise sparks his usual protective panic, dean proves his devotion by tag-teaming your cardiology check-up. (1.8k)
while you were sleeping - an encounter in the kitchen reveals deanâs teammate has been paying much closer attention to you. (2.3k) (also tucker x reader)
âËęŠď˝Ą foul play - forced into a joint media campaign, you must survive the arrogant charm and heavy friction of the hockey team's biggest playboy. (2.4k)
âËęŠď˝Ą the three of us - when your fierce independence collides with hockeyâs favorite playboy, a hidden reality forces you both to rewrite the rules of your future. (7.2k)
âËęŠď˝Ą the three of us: two - after a chaotic first birthday party for your son, you and dean see how far youâve come. (3.6k)
john tucker
one shot
âËęŠď˝Ą cranberries, flour & panic - even on friendsgiving in a house full of chaos, you and tucker are the one thing that never cracks. (2.1k)
requests
âËęŠď˝Ą love on the brain - youâve months convincing yourself that john tucker only sees you as a friend. you couldnât be more wrong. (6.9k) NSFW 18+
âËęŠď˝Ą sunflower vol. 6 - tucker is determined to shower you with what you deserve even when youâre determined to pull away. (2.7k)
while you were sleeping - an encounter in the kitchen reveals deanâs teammate has been paying much closer attention to you. (2.3k) (also dean x reader)
john logan
âËęŠď˝Ą expectations - a craving for cookie dough icecream puts you face-to-face with the boy who ruined you for everyone else. (3.4k)
summary: after bribing peter parkerâs landlord to let you wait in his queens studio (if you could even call it that), an unexpected entrance abruptly exposes his biggest secret. (4.9k)
content warnings: smut 18+ (MDNI), unprotected p in v, shower sex, peter parker being a hot mess, fluff, language, anxiety, descriptions of superhero related injuries.
authors note: to all my requests i see you guys and i will be working on them asap rocky.
you leaned casually against the water-stained doorframe while a thick-set man in a grease-stained undershirt struggled with a janky, rust-covered keyring.
oppressive heat had risen to the top floor, making the narrow hallway feel like a sauna, but you didn't really mind too much.
peter's landlordâusually a notoriously grouchy man who spent his evenings yelling at tenants about water bills or smoking foul cheap cigars in the entrywayâwas currently beaming at you like you were a long-lost saint who had personally come to grace his building.
"i tell him all the time," the landlord grunted, breathing heavily as he finally caught the right tarnished key.
he jammed it into the stubborn lock with a loud, metallic scraping sound that echoed down the quiet stairwell. "i say to him, 'peter, you are never here! you work too much, you sleep too little, but at least you have good taste in girls!' he is always running, running, coming home at three in the morning... late on payments because he forgets what day it is. but for you? a nice girl who goes to university? i will open the door."
you let out a dry chuckle, adjusting the heavy leather strap of your vintage tote bag over your shoulder.
"you're a lifesaver," you said, as you reached into your bag and pulled out a small wax paper bag that smelled overwhelmingly of sweet sugar and dark espresso. "i brought you two of those cinnamon pastries from the italian bakery down the block. they're still warm."
the landlord's stern, lined face melted into absolute, unadulterated delight. he snatched the bag with a booming laugh that rattled the apartment doors further down the hall, holding it like a prized trophy.
"you see? you are an angel!" he waved a dismissive, heavy hand toward the open apartment door, the hinges groaning in protest. "go, go inside. sit down. tell that foolish boy if he misses rent this month, i will have to kick him out, unless you bring more of these pastries!"
"deal," you smirked, stepping past him into the cramped attic space as he clicked the door shut behind you, leaving you alone in the quiet, dusty room.
you and peter weren't officially dating yetâa frustrating, agonizing fact that you both spent an absurd amount of time dancing around. you had met when he stumbled into your place of work three months ago trying to sell a stack of vintage camera manuals for pocket money.
since then, you had become an inseparable, addicting habit.
he would walk you back to your dorm after late-night study sessions at esu and you would trade easy banter that somehow made the crushing noise of new york city feel quiet.
but neither of you had made the first real move. you were stuck in this charged, comfortable orbit, circling each other like two planets terrified of the crash, both waiting for the other to blink first.
you took three steps into peter's tiny attic apartmentâmindful of the steeply sloped ceiling that cut low across one side of the roomâand let out a slow, heavy breath.
it wasn't necessarily filthy but it was just extremely chaotic.
a radiator clunked rhythmically in the corner like a dying clock. the tiny makeshift kitchenette tucked beneath the angled rafters held a half-disassembled camera sensor alongside three empty coffee mugs. a faded, mustard-yellow armchair was piled high with clean, unfolded laundry.
"jesus christ, parker," you muttered under your breath, a faint, helpless smile tugging at your lips despite yourself. "what am i going to do with you.â
you walked over to the narrow counter, set your heavy tote bag down with a thud, and pulled a fresh cigarette from your pack. leaning against the low window sill, you lit it with a sharp, satisfying flick of your silver zippo. the metallic clink echoed in the small space.
you took a slow, deep drag, filling your lungs with nicotine as you looked around the crowded studio. blowing a lazy plume of smoke toward the peeling wallpaper, you walked over to his mattressâwhich sat directly on the floorboards in the lowest corner of the eaves with no bed frame. its gray sheets were tangled in a messy knot from a restless night's sleep.
you used the toe of your leather boot to nudge aside a stack of engineering textbooks on the floor, clearing a path before sitting down on the edge of the mattress. pulling out a heavy reading assignment from your tote bag, you settled in to catch up while you waited for him to show up.
twenty-five minutes passed in quiet, domestic peace.
you were midway through a dense chapter, absently twirling a braid around your index finger, completely lost in the academic jargon, when the small skylight window tucked high into the angled roof suddenly rattled violently in its wooden frame.
you barely had time to look up from your book before the skylight slammed open. a shower of dust and loose paint chips rained down from the rafters as a muscle-bound figure tumbled awkwardly through the tight frame, landing hard against the warped floorboards with a heavy, painful crash that shook the entire roof.
"man... note to self," a painfully familiar voice grunted, thick and heavy with raw exhaustion and deep pain, followed by a wet, hacking cough. "swinging with an injured rib is an absolute, top-tier nightmareâ"
the figure hauled himself up into a kneeling position under the sloped ceiling, pulling at his full-face mask, dragging the thick, tight fabric up and off his head with a suction-like sound.
messy, sweat-slicked brown hair stuck wildly to his forehead. he panted heavily, his broad chest heaving as he rubbed a dark purple bruise forming along his left ribcage, before casually tossing the red-and-black fabric onto the floorboardsâwhere it landed right at the toe of your boot.
peter looked up.
you were sitting squarely on his bed, holding a burning cigarette between two silver-ringed fingers, completely caught off guard.
peter froze instantly. the color drained from his face in a terrifying flash, leaving him paler than a blank sheet of printer paper.
the silence in the cramped room stretched outâsuffocating and so loud you could hear the ash from your cigarette gently dropping onto the floorboards.
you stared at his faceâat his wide, panicked brown eyes and the cut along his lipâand then down at the form-fitting, red-and-blue suit stretched tightly across a broad chest and heavy shoulders slick with sweat and alley grime. the spider emblem on his chest was scuffed and stained with soot, but it was glaringly obvious.
you blinked once.
twice.
then three times.
your mind, usually so quick with a sharp, sarcastic bite, completely short-circuited. you sat there, frozen, staring at peter parkerâthe guy who stuttered over his words when you caught him staring across the tableâdressed head-to-toe as... spider-man.
"iâ" peter stuttered, his voice jumping an entire octave into panic. he scrambled backward so fast he knocked his knee violently against his desk, sending a tower of metal film canisters tumbling across the floor in a loud, chaotic cascade. "hey. hi. whatâhow didâhow are youâwhat are you doing here?!"
you opened your mouth to say anything but no words came out.
your brain was frantically trying to connect the dots, running at warp speed: peter. spider-man. spider-man is peter. peter is spider-man. you just sat there completely dumbfounded by the sheer impossibility of the man kneeling before you.
"it'sâit's a costume." peter squeaked frantically, his hands flying up to cover his bare, muscular chest like a scandalized victorian maiden caught without her corset.
he stumbled backward over a stack of books on the floor, waving an arm wildly in the tight space, nearly clocking his head on the low ceiling beam. "for... halloween. early halloween. for a kid's party. yeah. i do kid's parties on the weekend. spider-man was sick today, so i filled inâ"
you stared at him, your brain slowly creeping back online as the sheer ridiculousness of his words hit you, breaking through the wall of shock. "a... kid's party?" you finally managed to rasp out, your voice flat, bewildered, and genuinely lost for words.
"yes! kid's parties!" peter rambled on, his words tumbling out at a hundred miles an hour, his face turning bright, scorching red as he gestured wildly under the angled roof. "i do entertainment. i do flips. it's totally a normal new york gig thing. you know how hard it is to pay rent these days.â
"peter..." you said, blinking slowly, still trying to process the sheer absurdity of the lie and the staggering reality standing in front of you. you lowered the cigarette, your eyes locked entirely on his panicked face. "it's... it's august."
peter stopped dead in his tracks. his arms slowly lowered to his sides. his mouth hung open in a silent 'oh'. he looked down at the bright red chest piece unzipped to his navel, then back at you, the frantic energy slowly draining out of him until he just looked utterly, completely exposed.
"right," he muttered, running a shaky, sweat-damp hand through his messy hair. he stared at the floorboards, looking like a man walking to his own execution. "august. yeah."
you took a long, slow drag of your cigarette, letting the nicotine settle your racing pulse and steady your hands, before turning around to stub it out in a chipped, empty mug on his nightstand.
you stood up from the bed, your boots clicking softly against the floorboards as you stepped over the scattered film canisters, walking slowly over to him.
the closer you got, the more you realized just how large he really wasâhow the spandex clung to dense, hard muscle you never knew he had hiding beneath his oversized thrift-store sweaters.
"your landlord let me in, by the way," you said softly, your voice finally catching its usual steady rhythm. you kept your gaze locked on his, refusing to let him look away. "he likes cinnamon pastries. and he said you're running late on payments because you keep forgetting what day of the week it is."
peter let out a ragged, trembling exhale. he didn't move an inch; instead, he just stood there, bare-chested where the suit was unzipped to his waist, bruised, dirty, and breathing heavily.
he looked at you with wide eyesâvulnerable and completely exposed, waiting for the inevitable moment you would turn around and walk out the door forever.
"you're... you're not yelling," peter whispered, his voice dropping into a low, shaky quiet. "you're not screaming or running out the door."
"i don't even know what i'm supposed to say to you right now," you admitted, stopping right in front of him. you looked up at his face, taking in the smudge of soot on his high cheekbone, the small, fresh cut near his jawline that was still bleeding sluggishly, and the sheer intensity in his eyes. "i mean... spider-man? really? i thought you were just really clumsy."
a breathless laugh escaped peter's throat, though his hands were trembling slightly at his sides, curling into tight fists. "i am really clumsy."
"no," you corrected softly, reaching out. your fingers gently touched the dark purple bruise blooming over his ribs, feeling the heavy, rigid muscle beneath the slick suit. "clumsy people trip about or drop accidentally drop things. you get thrown through brick walls."
peter flinched at the touch, a low hiss escaping his teeth, but he didn't pull away. instead, he leaned into your hand, watching your face with a sudden, desperate stillness.
"does it hurt?" you asked gently, dropping any lingering shock for a moment of quiet concern, your thumb lightly brushing the edge of the swelling.
"only when i breathe," peter muttered, his voice dropping into a rough rasp. he looked down at your face, his gaze lingering on your lips, tracking every detail of you like a man dying of thirst looking at water.
the proximity was driving him insane. "i was so scared," he admitted softly, his walls finally crumbling as his hands instinctively reached out to rest heavy on your hips, tentative at first, then firming their grip. "i thought if you found out... you would look at me like i was a freak. or that you would walk away and never speak to me again."
you looked up at him, taking in the defined lines of his chest and the dangerous strength radiating off himâthe same guy who spent hours drinking terrible gas-station coffee at the record store just to talk to you about vintage camera lenses.
it was impossible to reconcile the two halves, but standing here with his hands burning through your clothes, it all made a terrifying kind of sense.
"peter," you murmured, letting your hands slide up his chest, feeling the intense heat of his skin beneath your palms and the heavy thud of his enhanced heartbeat against your wrists. "you run around the city in spandex fighting crime. you're completely out of your mind. but i'm not going anywhere."
"and for the record," you added, your sarcastic edge returning just enough to break the suffocating tension in the room, "you look like you just went three rounds with a wrecking ball. you're covered in queensâ alley grime, parker. turn the shower on before you bleed on your floorboards."
a soft laugh huffed out of peter's chestâa sound of pure, unadulterated relief.
"shower's through there," he rasped, gesturing vaguely toward the narrow adjacent bathroom.
"i know where it is," you said smoothly, taking his broad hand and pulling him along. "and i'm not leaving you to pass out under the stream."
the bathroom was tightâjust about big enough for two people to stand in. you reached into the shower, twisting the brass handles. the plumbing groaned through the plaster walls before hot water burst from the showerhead, instantly filling the space with a thick wall of white steam.
you kicked off your boots before stripping off your jacket and settling it carefully on the dry counter outside the door. you pulled your t-shirt over your head and stepped out of your trousers, leaving you down to your underwear in the humid heat.
peter watched you with a blown-out, helpless intensity. his hands trembled slightly as he peeled off the remnants of his torn suit, kicking it into the corner until he stood entirely exposed and exhausted before you.
you grabbed his hand, leading him beneath the cascading spray.
the impact was immediate.
the steaming water hit your skin, washing away the tension of the reveal. peter closed his eyes with a low, aching groan as the hot water hit his overworked muscles, his head tipping back against the damp tiles.
you reached for the bar of soap, working up a rich, thick lather between your palms. "hold still."
peter opened his eyes, watching you with a quiet, fierce reverence as you stepped up close.
you raised your hands, gently rubbing the soapy lather into his neck and around his jawline, carefully washing the soot away.
when your fingers brushed near the small cut on his temple, peter flinched instinctively, a soft hiss catching in his throat.
"sorry," you whispered, softening your touch, using your thumb to rinse the soap away with warm water.
"it... it feels really good," peter rasped, his voice thick with emotion. he didn't care about the sting; he was staring down at you, his shoulders blocking out the harsh light of the tiny bathroom, mesmerized by the way water glistened against your collarbones. "usually i just collapse on the floorboards and hope i wake up in time for class."
"well, you're an idiot," you hummed softly, sliding your hands down over the dense, hard muscle of his back.
you mapped out the flex of his spine, feeling the incredible, dangerous strength humming just beneath his skin despite the deep purple bruising over his ribs.
peter leaned heavily into your touch, letting out a ragged exhale, resting his wet forehead against your shoulder as you rinsed the suds from his chest. he breathed in the warm scent of your skin, mixing with the steam.
"thank you," he whispered into your neck, his voice rough.
"shut up, parker," you murmured, your cool composure softening completely. you smoothed his wet hair back from his face, cupping his jaw with your damp palm. "i've got you."
peter raised his head, looking down into your eyes. the unbothered, grounding reality of you standing thereâtreating his rough edges with such effortless easeâcompletely broke whatever remaining thread of restraint he had left.
his hands slid down your back, wet and burning hot, gripping your waist tight enough to pull you against him under the thundering spray.
before you could fire back a witty remark, his mouth crashed down on yours.
the kiss was desperate and electric. gone was the hesitation. this was a man claiming your mouth with a needy, starved intensity that set your entire nervous system on fire.
you tangled your fingers into his wet brown hair, tugging him closer as his tongue slid past your lips, drinking you in like he had been starving for months.
he tasted like hot rain and mint, moving against you with dizzying urgency.
peter let out a low groan deep in his chest. with terrifying, effortless ease, he hooked his hands under your thighs and lifted you completely off the slick tile floor.
you let out a breathless gasp, instinctively wrapping your legs around his waist, pinning yourself against him.
peter backed you straight against the tiled wall of the shower, the cool porcelain against your back contrasting sharply with the searing heat of his body pressed against yours.
his chest heaved violently against yours, his muscles flexed with the agonizing effort of holding himself back. you wrapped your arms tightly around his neck, pulling his head back down. "don't stop."
peter let out a rough, breathless laugh against your skin. "okay."
he hooked his fingers into the damp fabric of your underwear, sliding them down your wet skin and tossing them out of the shower stall, leaving nothing between you.
when he aligned himself and slid slowly, deeply inside you, a sharp, loud gasp was pulled straight from your lungs. your eyes flew open, your back arching off the wall as the sheer, overwhelming fullness of him filled you completely.
peter closed his eyes, burying his face in the crook of your wet neck with a ragged, trembling sigh of pure relief. his arms wrapped securely around your back, holding you effortlessly up against the wall so you wouldn't slip on the wet tile.
he moved slowly at firstâa sweet rhythm that made your toes curl against his calves. every slide of his hips was deliberate, heavy, and intense, dragging low whimpers from your lips that were almost drowned out by the thundering rush of the showerhead above.
"god..." he choked out, his hips driving forward with a steady, punishing force. the heavy spray of hot water and the cramped space were maddening, building a pressure low in your stomach that threatened to spill over. "tell me if it's too much..."
"it's not too much," you panted, your hands sliding down his wet back, feeling his muscle flex with every deep roll of his hips. "peter... donât slow down. please."
your cool demeanor shattered completely into breathless pleasure. you arched up to meet every thrust, your fingernails digging into his shoulders as the hot water poured over both your faces.
hearing you unravel under him broke him, and the gentle rhythm evaporated. his pace turned urgent and utterly desperate.
he pinned one of your hands beside your head, lacing his fingers through yours, his grip both warm and crushing. his other hand cupped your hip, angling you to take him even deeper.
"hey, look at me," peter asked softly, pulling back just enough to look into your glazed eyes through the mist.
you forced your eyes open, meeting his brown ones.
"you're mine," he panted, setting a ruthless rhythm that hit that deep spot inside you over and over again, sending shockwaves of pleasure through your limbs. "say it. please tell me you're mine."
"yours, peter," you whimpered, your voice cracking as your head rolled back against the tile, white-hot pleasure crashing over you in terrifying, glorious waves. "fuck, peter... yoursâ"
the sound of your voice calling his name pushed peter over the edge. he let out a low, guttural groan from the depths of his chest, his hips driving deep one last time as his entire body shuddered violently against you.
he buried his face against your neck, holding you so tightly to his chest under the hot stream of water that you could barely expand your lungs, his muscles locking up rock-solid as he completely undid himself inside you.
you held him close, riding out the trailing, blissful waves of your own release as the shower continued to pour down around you both.
.ăťă.ăťăâăť.ăťâŤăťăăťă.
peter's mattress was a chaotic disaster of blankets and discarded clothes.
he was lying on his back, completely naked under the thin, faded gray sheet, with your head resting comfortably over his heart.
his skin was still incredibly warm, smelling faintly of soap and clean water. his hand was lazily tracing mindless, soothing patterns on your bare shoulder.
you reached out toward the nightstand, grabbing your pack of cigarettes and your zippo. you pulled one out, popping it between your lips, and flicked the lighter open.
before the flame could even touch the tip, peter's hand reached up, gently but swiftly snatching the cigarette right out of your mouth with reflexes that still slightly startled you.
"hey," you protested softly, turning your head to glare at him with a sleepy, satisfied smirk. "give that back."
"no smoking in bed," peter said softly, a smitten, incredibly lopsided grin tugging at the corner of his lips as he tossed the unlit cigarette onto his nightstand, entirely unapologetic. "it's a fire hazard. plus, my attic doesn't need smoke added to the mix."
"your apartment is an obstacle course, parker," you hummed, resting your chin on his bare chest, watching his stomach muscles reflexively twitch under your touch. "how do you function up here? there are camera parts on your eating counter and three different open notebooks on the floor."
peter groaned playfully, throwing his arm over his eyes as a bright flush spread across his cheeks. "i've been busy. saving the city doesn't leave a lot of time for organizational systems. plus, web fluid is notoriously hard to get out of the floorboards."
"i'm bringing a toolbox and some actual shelving next time i come up here," you teased, trailing a finger down his sternum. "it's embarrassing. spider-man defeated by basic storage."
peter snorted, pulling his arm away from his face to look down at you. his eyes were so soft and so ridiculously smitten that it made your throat feel tight.
"you're coming back next time?" he asked quietly, the teasing entirely dropping from his voice, replaced by a vulnerable edge that touched your heart all over again.
you let out a genuine laugh, reaching up to lightly pinch his chin, forcing him to look at you. "obviously, parker. who else is going to keep you from running yourself into the ground?"
peter smiledâa real, breathtaking smile that lit up his entire face. he shifted, pulling you higher up his chest until your lips were just inches apart under the low, shadowed roofline.
"so," you murmured, your voice dropping low, tracing the line of his jaw. "spider-man, huh? you still owe me an explanation for the kid's party thing. because that was the worst lie i have ever heard in my entire life."
"i panicked!" peter whined softly, though his hands smoothed over your waist, holding you close and completely contradicting his defensive tone. "i thought you were going to panic and tell everyone or... i don't know, never look at me again. you're the coolest person i know, and i'm... i'm just me."
"i considered throwing my book at your head," you admitted smoothly, ignoring his self-deprecation. "it's heavy enough to give a superhero a concussion. you're lucky i have restraint."
"i'm glad you held back," peter whispered, leaning in to press a warm, lingering kiss to your lips. he pulled back just far enough to brush a stray braid away from your temple, his thumb tracing your jawline with infinite, worshipping gentleness. "i'll clean the desk up. i swear. i'll even buy real furniture so you have somewhere proper to sit."
"start with buying a bed frame, parker," you smirked against his mouth, shifting your weight slightly on the unforgiving floorboards. "my back is going to kill me tomorrow."
peter laughed, a deep, rumbling sound that vibrated straight through your chest and made you smile into the kiss. "deal. right after i buy my landlord more cinnamon pastries to keep him from kicking me out of here."
he wrapped his arms securely around you, pulling the blanket up over your shoulders, burying his nose in your hair with a long, deeply contented sigh. he held you like he was never going to let you go.
"stay tonight," peter whispered into your neck, his grip tightening just a little bit, completely sincere. "please."
you smiled into the dark room, letting your eyes drift shut as his heavy heartbeat set a comforting rhythm beneath your cheek.
"i'm not going anywhere, peter," you murmured softly, letting sleep finally pull at your edges. "now go to sleep. you look like you got hit by a truck."
"an intergalactic rhino, actually," peter mumbled sleepily, his breath evening out as he held you close. "much much worse than a truck."
summary: you find solace in a mysterious stranger whose guarded heart carries a heavy unspoken past. (3.4k)
pairing: peter parker x reader
content warning: angst no comfort, unrequited love (?), attempted mugging, depression, grief, brief sexual content, rebound dynamic, anxiety, no spoilers!!
the scent of old paper and dried glue was supposed to be a comfort, but tonight, inside the paperback, it just smelled like a trap.
every time the brass chime above the front door rattled, your shoulder blades twitched.
your eyes would dart up from a heavy, dog-eared edition of the hunchback of notre-dame, instantly scanning the dark glass for a silhouette.
it was an involuntary reactionâa twitch of muscle memory which was born precisely eleven months and fourteen days ago.
a year ago, an ordinary tuesday night had taught you how fast the world could narrow down to just the tip of a blade.
you had stayed late at the paperback to finish unboxing a fresh shipment of non-fictions novels, step-by-step notes for your esu midterms weighing down your mind.
it was past eleven when you finally locked the shop door, clutching your pale blue tote bag tightly against your ribs as you walked the two short blocks toward the subway entrance.
the neighborhood at that hour was always washed in a dim, orange streetlamp glow, the streets quiet except for the distant rumble of lower manhattan traffic and the occasional slam of a dumpster lid three blocks over.
you never even heard him come out of the shadows.
one second you were thinking of what to have for an extremely late dinner; the next, a heavy arm wrapped around your throat, yanking you backward into the narrow damp gap between a dry cleaner's and a boarded-up deli.
the smell hit you firstâcheap whiskey and the unmistakable stench of sweat born from desperation.
"don't scream," a voice rasped right against your ear, both hot and foul.
before you could draw breath, the coarse, scratchy canvas of a mugger's jacket pressed hard against your back, and cold metal bit into the skin beneath your chin.
absolute terror flooded the back of your throat, so heavy you could taste it.
your hands flew to his forearm, your fingernails digging uselessly into the thick fabric, your knees turning to lead as he shoved you back against a brick wall, his blade pressing just enough to draw a pinprick of heat from your neck.
"purse. phone. now," he gritted out, his eyes wild in the gloom.
you couldn't move.
you couldn't breathe.
the world shrank down to the faint click of a loose streetlight flickering at the alley mouth and the sickening certainty that you were about to die over forty dollars and a second-hand iphone 13.
you clawed at his sleeve, your mind racing through half-formed thoughts of your family, your friends, your classes, your unread chaptersâall collapsing into a singular, blinding terror.
then came the air.
it didn't just blow through the alleyway; it violently displaced, a sudden, powerful rush of wind snapping through the dark as if something massive had dropped from the clouds.
before your brain could register the sound, a sharp, wet noise echoed off the brick.
the blade vanished from your throat as the mugger was violently ripped backward, lifted two feet off the ground by a thick, white line anchored to his chest.
he shriekedâan ugly, gurgling soundâas he was yanked through the air and slammed hard into the steel pole of the streetlight at the alley's edge, his arms instantly pinned to his sides by webs thick as ropes.
a flash of primary colorsâvibrant red and bruised, shadowy blueâdropped silently onto the pavement between you and the trapped man.
the figure landed in a low, impossibly fluid crouch, one hand pressed against the asphalt, eyes wide, luminous, and dead white in the harsh glare of the streetlamp.
spider-man stood up slowly, rolling his shoulders, the synthetic suit tight against lean, tightly coiled muscle.
"you know," he said, his voice carrying a raspy, surprisingly human exhaustion despite the light joke, "most people just ask for directions around here. the knife is a little bit aggressive."
he didn't give the mugger a second glance.
instead, he turned to you, taking three quick, soft strides forward. he stopped just outside your personal space, holding two hands up defensively.
"hey," he said softly, his white eye-lenses narrowing in concern. "hey, it's okay. he's not going anywhere. are you hurt?"
you were trembling so hard your teeth were clicking together.
you pressed a hand to your throat, your fingers coming away with a tiny speck of crimson. you shook your head, unable to squeeze a single word past the knot in your chest.
spider-man leaned in slightly, inspecting the mark, a tiny, tense sigh escaping his chest under the suit. "okay. good. you're alright," he reassured you, his voice lowering into something warm, grounding, and intensely gentle. "the police are two blocks over. just stay right here, okay? you're safe now."
with a soft, awkward pat to your shoulderâa touch that felt startlingly humanâhe shot a line of web up toward the lip of the roof above and vanished into the night with a quiet whoosh, leaving you alone with the hum of the streetlight and the sound of your own gasping breath.
spider-man had saved your life that night.
but it was peter parker who would slowly, painfully invade it.
.ăťă.ăťăâăť.ăťâŤăťăăťă.
peter parker had started coming around the boo store a month after the mugging.
at first, he was just a ghost lingering near the academic racksâa cute, quiet guy with messy dark hair and eyes that looked like they hadn't seen a full night's sleep in months. hell maybe even years.
he had a fresh piece of butterfly bandage taped over his brow and wore a jacket that looked one bad breeze away from falling apart.
he didn't make a scene and wasn't loud. he just pulled thick biophysics texts from the top shelves with a fluid, quiet efficiency, leaning against the wooden stacks and reading in the dim light.
but every time someone stepped a little too close to the cash register where you stood, his head would snap up, hazel eyes scanning the room with an intensity that felt entirely too focused for a regular student.
the first time you actually spoke, you were struggling to carry a heavy box of hardcovers up from the back storage room.
you reached for the doorframe, slipping slightly, but before the weight could shift, a hand reached past your shoulder and took the box entirely with one arm.
it was effortless. uncannily so.
"let me," he said, his voice soft and kind. he set the heavy crate onto the counter like it weighed nothing at all, though he caught himself a second later, quickly placing both hands on the wood and hunching his shoulders as if trying to shrink his frame. "sorry. didn't mean to jump scare you."
"no not all, thank you," you gasped, flexing your aching fingers. "you're... surprisingly strong."
a faint, self-deprecating flicker crossed his face, quickly buried under a quiet smile. "just leverage. i carry a lot of camera equipment. i'm peter, by the way."
"i see you in here every tuesday, peter."
he looked at you then, really looked at you, his hazel eyes wide and oddly piercing. "yeah. i... take photos. freelance. i hear things on the police scanners." he rubbed the back of his neck, his posture slackening into something more guarded.
"i knew about what happened in the alley near 116th last month. just... wanted to make sure the street stayed quiet. to make sure you were okay."
he didn't make a show of protecting you.
he just stayed.
eventually, "keeping an eye on you" turned into waiting for your late shift to end.
waiting turned into quiet walks back to your studio apartment through the evening dusk, your shoulders brushing through the fabric of your coats.
he didn't babble instead he listened. he listened with an intense, hungry sort of focus whenever you talked about cell biology, as if hearing someone talk about normal, organized science was the only thing keeping his brain grounded.
and walking you home turned into long, quiet nights wrapped in your bedsheets, trying to patch together a man who was quietly falling apart at the seams.
you loved him.
or at least, you loved the fragile, heavy-hearted shadow of a man who held you like you were the only real, solid thing left in new york city.
.ăťă.ăťăâăť.ăťâŤăťăăťă.
but see the thing is peter was a riddle wrapped in worn denim and flannel.
he moved through the world with an odd, sharp rhythmâcapable of catching things mid-air without looking, yet constantly making excuses for the split knuckles and dark bruises that painted his skin.
he never took you to his place.
whenever you brought it up, his quiet composure would crack, replaced by a defensive, flat finality.
"trust me," he'd murmur, staring down at his hands. "my place isn't somewhere you want to be. yours feels... real."
he sometimes canceled dinner forty-five minutes late, forgot to meet you at designated spots, left halfway through movies, and slipped out of your bed in the dead of night, leaving behind nothing but a cold indentation on the mattress and a hollow ache in your chest.
a quick search for his name on the internet turned up zero results.
no instagram handle, no dead facebook profile, no tiktok account, not even a stray linkedin page listing a high school internship.
peter parker was a ghost.
you stared at the empty search results, wondering how someone living in the middle of new york city in the twenty-first century managed to exist so completely off the grid.
but you didn't push.
because when peter was with you, he was present in a way that felt almost terrifyingly intense.
"you think too much," you whispered softly into the quiet of your bedroom, your fingers tracing the sharp line of his collarbone.
peter lay beside you on the tangled sheets.
he looked exhausted.
not just physically, but deep in his marrowâa profound, lingering depression that he carried like a lead weight.
you could feel it in the heavy, rhythmic sag of his toned chest, in the way his jaw clenched when he thought you weren't looking.
he rolled over, resting his forehead against yours.
his hands both warm, and unexpectedly firmâtraced every part of your face.
when he kissed you, it wasn't soft. it was urgent, heavy, a desperate attempt to drown out whatever loud, violent noise was screaming inside his head.
his lips moved over yours with a fierce demand, pulling you closer until there was no space left between you.
his hands gripped your waist with a possessive strength that bordered on painful, pulling your chest against his until you could feel the erratic, heavy hammer of his heart against your ribs.
in the dark, wrapped in each other's arms, the physical connection was overwhelmingâa sanctuary where he could stop being whatever broken thing he was out on the street, and you could feel completely seen.
every touch was electric, and laden with a silence that spoke far louder than any word he refused to say.
his calloused palm traced the slope of your hip, dragging a ragged gasp from your throat as he pressed you down into the mattress.
you opened yourself to him completely, holding his weight, wrapping your legs around his waist as he moved inside you with a quiet, furious need.
when he finally pulled back, resting his forehead against your neck, his breath came in heavy, uneven hitches.
he pulled the blanket over your shoulders, tucking it beneath your chin with a tender care that shattered your heart.
he closed his eyes, squeezing them shut as if in physical pain.
he's drowning, you thought, pressing a soft kiss to the damp skin of his shoulder. and he's using me to stay afloat.
you didn't care.
you thought you could be his anchor.
you thought if you gave him enough warmth, enough patience, enough of your own unreserved devotion, the dark shadows behind his eyes would eventually recede.
you didn't realize anchors just get dragged down into the dark.
.ăťă.ăťăâăť.ăťâŤăťăăťă.
peter sat up on the edge of the mattress, resting his elbows on his knees and staring at the floor.
deep down, a terrifying realization had been clawing at his chest for weeks.
he was supposed to be moving on.
his life had been ripped apart and his heart had shattered into a thousand jagged pieces over a girl that couldn't even remember that she had lost him. there was just a hollow, lingering ache where mj used to be.
the universe had taken her, erased the map of their life together, and left him wandering through the wreckage of new york like a ghost.
peter had reached out to you because you were safe.
you were sweet, warm, intelligent and grounded in a world of biology textbooks and paperback novels.
you didn't expect him to save the city; you just wanted him to sit on your couch and exist.
when he was with you, the constant, screaming alarm in his head dropped to a manageable hum.
he had come into tonight planning to ask you to be his girlfriend.
he had a battered velvet box in his jacket pocketâa cheap, simple silver band he had scraped together enough cash to buy at a pawn shop off 4th street.
he wanted to try.
he wanted to force himself into a normal mold, to be the man who walked you home and didn't leave bloodstains on the bath mat.
but sitting there on the edge of your bed, feeling the lingering warmth of your skin on his arms, a sickening wave of guilt hit him.
he wasn't falling in love. instead he was hiding.
he was using your softness as a shield against his own misery, pulling you into the splash zone of a life that inevitably destroyed everyone who got too close.
he was using your apartment like a triage unit, patching his bleeding soul with your affection before throwing himself back into the meat grinder.
.ăťă.ăťăâăť.ăťâŤăťăăťă.
while peter reached down to grab his shirt from the armchair, his winter coat slipped off the leather seat. it hit the hardwood with a soft thud, and something fell out of the torn inner lining, fluttering silently to the floor near your feet.
you sat up, pulling the sheet around your chest, and leaned over the side of the bed to pick it up.
it was a small, glossy photograph.
it was worn at the edges, the corners soft and white from friction, but what caught your eye was the deep, deliberate crease down the middle.
it had been folded in half so many times the photo paper was soft as silk, cracked along the print where the colors met.
you unfolded it.
it was peter. he looked youngerâmaybe only by five ish years, but the difference was staggering.
he was smiling a genuine and blinding happy smile you had never seen him give you.
standing right beside him, her arm looped intimately through his, was a stunning woman with dark hair, her brown eyes sparkling in whatever sunlit afternoon that photo had captured.
your chest tightened so fast you couldn't take a full breath. "who is this, peter?"
peter froze, his back turning stiff as a board.
he snapped his head around, his eyes locking onto the photograph in your hands.
what could only be described as panic both visceral, and immediateâflashed across his features, before quickly being replaced by a dark, guarded wall.
"put that back," he said, his voice dead of all the warmth it had held just five minutes ago.
"who is she?" you asked again, louder this time, the built-up frustration of the last six months suddenly bubbling to the surface like acid.
"you never tell me anything. you won't let me see where you live. you vanish for days without texting back. you leave in the middle of the night while i'm sleeping. i thought you were just stressed. i thought you were just traumatized or overwhelmed, butâwho is she?"
"she's nobody. it's just an old photo," peter gritted out, standing up quickly and pulling his shirt over his head. "give it to me."
"no." you pulled the photo back against your chest, tears hot and sudden stinging the corners of your eyes. "it's not just an old photo. you carry it with you. you look at me, peter, but half the time you're looking right through me like i'm made of glass. is it her? are you still in love with her?"
"you don't know what you're talking about," peter snapped, his voice tight, his jaw locked.
his heart was hammering against his ribs like a trapped bird. he felt backed into a corner, caught in the awful, blinding light of his own selfishness.
"then tell me." you pleaded, your voice cracking, tears finally spilling over your lashes and cutting hot tracks down your cheeks.
"talk to me. stop treating me like a stopover between whatever secret life you have. i care about you, peter. i love you. but i can't keep giving you everything i have while you give me nothing."
the word hit him like a physical blow. love.
peter stared at you.
you were sitting in the faint orange light of a streetlamp outside, trembling, holding a white bedsheet to your chest, tears spilling down your face.
beautiful and entirely ruined by his presence.
he looked down at his jacket lying crumpled on the floor, feeling the distinct, hard lump of the ring box tucked inside the inner pocket.
i was going to ask her to be mine, he thought, a sudden, brutal clarity crashing over him like cold ocean water. i was going to tie her to a corpse.
he was using you.
he was using your apartment, your body, your kindness, and your devotion as a temporary painkiller for a wound that was never going to heal.
he didn't love you the way you deserved to be loved.
he was just terrified of being alone in the dark with his own thoughts.
"you're right," peter said softly.
the abrupt change in his toneâfrom defensive anger to a cold, dead quietâmade your breath hitch in your throat.
"what?" you whispered.
"you're right," peter repeated, his voice completely hollow, stripped of all color and life.
he stepped forward, his steps measured and heavy, and gently, firmly slipped the folded photograph out of your trembling fingers.
he didn't look at the picture. he just slid it back into his jacket pocket. "you give me everything. and i'm just... using you."
"peter, no, i didn't meanâ"
"yes, you did. and you're right," he cut in, refusing to meet your eyes because he knew if he looked at your face, if he saw the look of utter betrayal in your eyes, he had break right there on the rug.
"i'm not here because i'm ready for a life with you. i'm here because i'm angry, and i'm tired, and it's easy to forget all of it when i'm with you."
the brutal honesty sliced through you deeper than any lie ever could. you sat frozen, the blood rushing in your ears, the air in your lungs turning to ice. "you... you don't care about me at all?"
peter closed his eyes, taking a shuddering breath through his nose. i care enough to stop ruining you.
"i can't do this anymore," he lied, pulling his heavy coat on and zipping it up to his throat like armor. "you deserve somebody who actually gives you a whole heart. mine is... it's gone. i'm sorry."
"peter, waitâ"
he didn't wait. he didn't give you a dramatic goodbye, nor did he offer a gentle touch.
he walked out of the bedroom, his heavy steps echoing down the short hall.
the front door clicked open, and a second later, the soft, definitive thud of the brass latch signaled he was gone.
you sat alone in the quiet apartment. the air still smelled faintly of his cologne and wet wool, the sheets were still warm where he had laid beside you, but the room felt vastly, terrifyingly empty.
you pulled your knees up to your chest, wrapped your arms around your legs, buried your face in the bedsheets, and wept into the dark until your throat was raw.
two stories up, crouched on the freezing, rain-slicked ledge of your roof, a figure in a red and blue mask pulled a small velvet box from his coat pocket.
he held it in his calloused, gloved palm, looking down at the silver band inside for a long, quiet moment.
with a slow, heavy exhale, he closed his fingers around the box and tossed it into the dark abyss of the alley below, watching it fall into the trash before shooting a web line and swinging off into the night.
!!!!! what the actual freak !!!!!!! 1000 FOLLOWERS !!!
i was a lurker on here for years, just quietly reading fics and not interacting much but then the pitt happened, and the jack abbot (my man forever) brain rot hit so hard that i couldn't just sit on the sidelines anymore.
i finally built up the courage to make this blog just so I had an outlet for all these thoughts and stories bouncing around in my head. now itâs expanded to other characters and hopefully to many more.
to go from lurking to having 1,000 of you actually reading my fics and leaving the loveliest and funniest comments is completely surreal.
thank you all so so so much for giving my writing a home here. (and shoutout all my lovely mutuals)
whether youâve been here since my very first post or you just hit follow today, i really appreciate every single one of you. đŤ
These are my absolute favourite blogs on this platform that have written fics so good I come back to them over and over again. These are some of the most talented writers, IN MY OPINION, that everyone should read. Right now my masterlists is only fics of Off Campus, Outer Banks and The Pitt since these are what got me back to Tumblr after years of inactivity. But I will update this.
Header is made by me but the dividers are from @strangergraphics !
WARNING, THIS IS IN NO ORDER OTHER THAN MY OWN. NO EMOJIS FOR SMUT OR ANGST ETC. NOR DESCRIPTIONS OF THE FICS, IT IS CHAOS BUT IT IS MY CHAOS :P
Also sorry for any spelling mistakes, my brain is fried after doing this and I will fix it later on :)
Off Campus
EVERY SINGLE WORK BY @kooksandpearls , IF YOU LOVE GARRETT GRAHAM YOU NEED TO READ ALL OF THEIR WORK. OMG. My favourites are linked below, and it was tough as hell to choose them, seriously read all of their @kooksandpearls-library. <3
The Deal / Garrett Graham x reader
Fourty Four / Garrett Graham x reader
Clinical Observation / Garrett Graham x reader
Same goes for @thebriarbunny , amazing writer that have made me cry, laugh and just swoon because of the steamy romance. Below are my faves, but again, read all of them! <3
In the Hockey House kitchen / Garrett Graham x reader
The Heart Rate Challenge / Garrett Graham x reader
You Love Love & There's Nowhere Else He Goes / Dean Di Laurentis x reader
All of these writers are amazing and check out their blogs for more delicious fics! These just have a special place in my heart <3
Garrett Graham Fics
The Found Family series by @sunnydilaurentis
She is the Man series by @what1ncewas
Closing time by @daydreamfiles
Ruin the friendship by @fleurcient
Curious things by @bumblesimagines
If you love me series by @jupitercomet , love island au that I can't stop re-reading.
Boys just wanna have fun by @bitters-n-sweets
Interrupted by @livellee
Cat and Mouse by @seventiesaces
Bleu series by @puckingcuckbunny
Terminal velocity by @pucksandpower
The Cure series by @thoughtdaughtersworld
I want my rival back by @escapismatbest
Dean Di Laurentis Fics
What, like it's hard? by @alierecss
Quietly Yours series by @dilaurentispuckbunny
The Heartbreak Assignment by @dilaurentisprincess
A Love Letter to New York by @sunnydilaurentis
The three of us by @p1stach-io
The helping hand series by @argentumetaurum
Begged by @iceyngi
The Love List by @pinkfairydreamgirl
Terms and Conditions by @newobsessionweekly
She always won. by @sasaririri
Half a hearbeat @pucksandpower , Read this if you want to cry until you are dehydrated <3
John Logan Fics
Don't let me down by @alierecss
Stage Lights by @daydreamfiles
Booked and Blindsided series by @galileacosette
Too much, Too late by @thebriardiaries
Role model & Role Model 2 by @junezsq
John Tucker Fics
Save a Horse by @daydreamfiles
Last Call by @garrettgrahamswhore
Too many cooks series by @kirbydreamssss
Mom and Dad are fighting by @newobsessionweekly
Beau Maxwell Fics
Guardian Angel by @pucksandpower
First time by @daydreamfiles
The Accident by @book-lish , very VERY SAD.
A summer secret by @sunnydilaurentis
Justin Kohl Fics
Encore by @garrettgrahamswhore
Guitarists do it better by @lovelytsunoda
Into you by @g0ldendesiree
GO FORTH! READ THEM ALL!
P.S. Is this just a pinned post for myself to come back to forever and ever? Yes, but also see this post as my 'slut top' from my boobs to yours. See Off Campus season 1 for reference.
summary: after a chaotic first birthday party for your son, you and dean see how far youâve come. (3.6k)
pairing: dean di laurentis x reader.
content warnings: smut 18+ (MDNI), angst, minor miscommunication (they communicate like adults i promise), domestic fluff, established relationship, brief mention of vasectomy, soft dad dean, not proofread.
authors note: as usual this doesnât really follow the correct timelines or anything so just bear with me lol (you can very much tell i havenât read the books lmfao, i just skimmed through what i needed to write this lol).
part one.
the quiet after a one-year-old's birthday party was a specific, heavy kind of silence.
it was the sound of a storm that had finally passed, leaving a trail of blue confetti, crushed paper cups, crumpled wrapping paper, and half-eaten cupcakes in its wake.
in the middle of the living room floor, piper, your six-month-old golden retriever pup, was completely out cold near the base of the sofa.
a blue satin ribbon was still draped loosely across her back from when the kids had tied it on her earlier, and her paws twitched faintly in the middle of a deep nap.
over in his wooden high chair, rowan was fast asleep too.
his head was lolled to the side against the padded seat, bright blue buttercream frosting smudged across his chubby cheeks and nose.
his tiny denim overalls, a miniature version of the dark denim ones dean wore on weekends, was dusted in vanilla cake crumbs and sticky fingerprints.
you leaned down, your yellow dress sweeping slightly above your knees as you reached out, wiping a streak of icing off his soft cheek with the corner of a damp cloth napkin.
"come on, sweet boy," you cooed softly, your voice dropping into that quiet, velvety warmth you reserved entirely for him.
you unclipped the safety harness with one hand and gently lifted his heavy, warm body into your arms.
he let out a tiny, snuffling sigh against your neck, resting his heavy head against your shoulder and automatically curling his sticky little fingers into your collarbone.
you supported his weight with one hand cradling his back, feeling the steady, warm rhythm of his breathing.
everything in your life swung on the axis of this little boy nowâyour schedules, your career choices, your life choices and every single quiet hope for the future.
rowan was the absolute center of your entire world.
you adjusted your balance in your heels, smoothing down the hem of your dress before turning toward the hallway that led to the kitchen.
dean was leaning against the doorway, watching you.
he looked ridiculously handsome standing there, his broad shoulders filling out his dark blue polo shirt, his hair slightly messy and pushed up from coaching his youth hockey team earlier that morning before the guests arrived.
his jaw was set tight and a faint line carved between his eyebrows.
he was mad.
you knew him well enough to read the subtle tension in his frame from miles away.
yet, as you carried rowan past him toward the staircase, dean didn't pull away or step back.
he couldn't help himself even if he tried.
he uncrossed his arms, reaching out with one large hand to cup the back of rowan's head, his thumb brushing tenderly over your baby's dark, soft curls.
in the exact same fluid motion, his other hand settled warm and heavy against the curve of your waist.
his fingers pressed gently through the fabric of your dress, anchoring you against his side as he leaned down to press a slow, lingering kiss to your temple.
"i've got the crib blanket ready," he murmured against your skin, his tone low and rough with that familiar mix of annoyance and quiet, instinctual affection.
even when dean di laurentis was pissed at you, he couldn't stop touching you.
he couldn't stop loving you, or caring for your son.
it was just the way he was built.
"it's okay, i'll put him down," you whispered back, giving him a soft, reassuring look before turning to head up the stairs.
.ăťă.ăťăâăť.ăťâŤăťăăťă.
the party had been total chaos, but the best kind.
hours earlier, every corner of the house had been filled with happiness, noise, laughter, and your favorite people.
looking around the crowded living room had served as a constant, overwhelming reminder of the village you both had now.
growing up with a single mom who had to do absolutely everything on her own, you never took this support for granted for a single second, and neither did dean.
having people around who loved rowan just as fiercely as you did was a privilege you held close to your heart.
right by the front door near the entryway, trinity and her girlfriend, rayne, had been hovering by the gift table earlier in the afternoon.
trinity had stood there with teary eyes watching rowan run around in his walker. rayne had her arm casually draped around trinity's waist, tossing a plush squeak toy across the floor for piper while laughing at trinity getting emotional.
"i promised myself i wouldn't cry today, but look at him." trinity had whispered when you walked over, leaning in to tickle rowan right under his chubby chin, making him burst into a breathless fit of belly giggles. "he's literally a perfect mix of you two."
"he is going to be running circles around all of us by next summer." rayne had added with a wide grin, waving at rowan as he babbled a string of nonsense words right back at her.
farther inside, near the patio doors opening up to the backyard, sabrina had been holding baby jamie.
her three-month-old daughter was wrapped tight in a soft blue swaddle, sound asleep despite the noise, while tucker proudly showed off short videos on his phone of jamie making strange, squeaking noises in her sleep.
"honestly, she sleeps better through tucker's yelling at the tv during hockey games than i do," sabrina had joked, resting a warm, supportive hand on your arm. "how are you guys surviving the one-year mark? ready for round two yet?"
"absolutely not," you had laughed, gently stroking jamie's cheek. "rowan is perfection, but he was already our big surprise plot twist. he's our whole universe, and we are firmly one and done."
"hey, i heard that," dean had called out from the kitchen doorway, holding a fresh bag of ice over his shoulder with a smirk. "technically, rowan was a very happy accident, but he's the best thing that ever happened to us. and yeah, my vasectomy appointment is already on the calendar, sabrina, don't worry."
"good to know you guys have a strategy," tucker had wheezed, earning a slight elbow from sabrina.
rowan had let out a loud, proud babble right on cue, making garrett, hannah, beau and logan laugh out loud from where they were sitting together on the couch.
"i think rowanâs analyzing your forehand." hannah had teased, nudging garrett with her knee, while garrett tried to get rowan to properly execute a fist-bump.
logan had leaned over the back of the sofa, holding out a soft, plush miniature hockey puck toward the baby with a huge grin. "forget garrett, kid. uncle logan's teaching you how to shoot as soon as you can run properly."
during every minute of it, dean had been right there as a steady, reassuring presence.
to everyone else watching the two of you navigate the party, you had it completely figured out.
college was behind you, you had a beautiful home together, and you were thriving in your careers but beneath subtle, affectionate touches throughout the afternoon, the fight had been brewing between you two all day long.
.ăťă.ăťăâăť.ăťâŤăťăăťă.
upstairs, the nursery was dim and cool.
you carefully laid rowan down into his crib, gently slipping his arms out of his overalls straps before pulling his light cotton blanket over his tummy. he stirred for a brief second, sucking on his thumb, before settling back into a deep, peaceful sleep.
you stayed by the crib rail for a long moment, leaning over to smooth his dark hair back from his forehead, letting your maternal warmth settle over him as you watched his little chest rise and fall.
you adjusted his favorite plush bear near his side, double-checked the baby monitor on the dresser, and made sure he was completely comfortable before quietly stepping away.
when you walked back down the stairs, your heels clicked softly against the hardwood floor.
dean was in the kitchen, shoving crumpled blue wrapping paper and crushed paper cups into a heavy-duty trash bag. his movements were sharp and quick, fueled by restless energy, but the second he heard your heels step onto the floor, he stopped what he was doing.
he turned around and reached out, catching your wrist as you approached. it wasn't hard or tight, but firm enough to gently pull you directly into his space.
he drew you between his spread legs as he leaned back against the edge of the kitchen counter, his large hands settling on your hips. even with his hands holding you close, his blue eyes remained dark and frustrated.
"dean," you said softly, placing your hands flat against his chest and feeling the steady, warm beat of his heart through his navy polo shirt. "talk to me."
"i'm not trying to be an asshole," dean said, his voice quiet and low. "i'm just upset that you applied for an internal promotion that requires travel without even telling me."
you swallowed hard, your fingers tightening slightly against the cotton of his shirt.
the real issue was finally out in the open.
"it wasn't a formal application, dean," you explained softly, keeping your voice calm and grounded. "the clinical director at the practice reached out to me directly about an interview for a regional lead position overseeing child therapy programs. it's a massive step up for my career, dean. they sent the email this morning while you were out at practice."
"and you replied saying you were interested before you even brought it up to me." dean's voice rose slightly before he quickly remembered rowan was asleep upstairs. he dropped his tone back down to a low murmur, his brow furrowing deep. "i'm not trying to make the decision for you. you know i support your career. it's your job, your hard work, and your call. but taking a role that puts you on a plane twice a month changes things for our day-to-day life. it affects how we split time with rowan. i just wanted you to talk to me instead of keeping me in the dark."
"i was going to tell you." you said softly, your eyes searching his face. "it was literally just an initial interview response. but the second i brought up the email right before the party started, you completely shut down emotionally. you acted like i kept a huge, malicious secret from you."
"because i hate feeling left out of your head," dean said gently, his hands tightening on your hips as he pulled you an inch closer until your chests were brushed together. "rowan is the center of everything we do now. every big shift impacts him, and it impacts us. i don't want to control your choices, sweetheart. you know me better than that. i just want to be included while you're figuring things out."
that hit you right in the chest, knocking out the very last bit of your defensiveness.
the kitchen went completely quiet, save for the soft hum of the refrigerator in the corner.
you looked down at the floor, thinking about how much your relationship had evolved over the last year.
early on, your arguments were so simple and surface-level.
they were usually exhausted, 1:00 am bickering in the hallway over whose turn it was to drag themselves out of bed and rock a crying baby back to sleep in the nursery glider.
but as the months went on and rowan grew, those middle-of-the-night spats had gradually evolved into deeper, far more personal conversations.
you were learning how to actually talk through heavy stress together, and you were slowly unlearning your lifelong habit of automatically handling every major choice entirely on your own.
seeing your posture drop and the tension leave your shoulders, dean's frustrated expression softened completely.
he let out a long, heavy sigh, wrapping both arms all the way around your waist and pulling you against his body as he leaned back firmly against the counter.
he buried his face in the crook of your neck, inhaling the familiar, sweet scent of your skin.
"i hate arguing with you," he muttered against your neck, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to the skin right below your ear. "i hate it so much."
"i'm sorry," you whispered, wrapping your arms around his broad neck and running your fingers through his soft, dark hair. "i panicked when i saw the email this morning. it felt so overwhelming all at once. i didn't mean to keep you in the dark, dean. i just... get scared of relying on people, even you."
dean pulled back just enough to look you straight in the eyes, his thumb reaching up to catch a stray tear on your cheek.
"you can rely on me. i'm not going anywhere, sweetheart," dean said softly, his eyes warm and steady. "take the interview if you want it, or don't, because at the end of the day it's your call. and look around this house. we have your mom ten minutes away, my parents, your friends, the guys... we're so lucky. we have a whole village right here ready to help us whenever we need it. you don't have to carry everything by yourself anymore."
a quiet, genuine smile touched your lips as his words settled deep into your mind.
he was entirely right.
you weren't your mom, left to navigate the world without help, and dean wasn't going to vanish when things got complicated.
you were surrounded by people who cared about your family.
"i know," you whispered, leaning your forehead forward until it rested gently against his. "we really are so lucky."
dean gave you that slow, familiar smile that always made your heart pull tight in your chest. he leaned down and kissed you properly, slow and deep, his hands settling firmly on your waist over your yellow dress to keep you close.
"for the record," he murmured against your lips when he pulled back, a faint smirk tugging at his mouth, "you looked ridiculously hot in this dress today. hannah and beau both kept making comments about how i lucked out, and trinity told me straight to my face that if i stepped out of line today, she and rayne were taking you and rowan away."
you laughed softly, resting your palms on his broad shoulders. "they're very protective."
"no kidding," dean chuckled, kissing your jaw before reaching into his dark jeans pocket and pulling out his phone. "look at this."
he tapped the screen a couple of times, holding the phone up between you.
it was a saved video clip from earlier that morning before the everyone had arrived.
on the screen, dean was sitting crisscross on the rug in his coaching shorts, patiently holding rowan's tiny hands he balanced on his feet.
your son let out a breathless, squealing laugh as dean gently swooped him up into the air, holding him like a little airplane and kissing his stomach until your baby was hyperventilating with joy.
watching the video, a soft, quiet warmth bloomed in your chest. watching dean with your son over this past year, seeing the fiercely devoted and present father dean was every single day, healed a part of you that you was still broken. rowan would never have to wonder if he was loved.
he had a father who adored the very ground he walked on.
dean noticed the soft, emotional look in your eyes as you stared at the screen. "what?" he asked gently.
"nothing," you whispered, reaching up to rest your palm against his cheek, your thumb tracing his cheekbone. "just... you're such an amazing dad, dean. i mean it. seeing you with him... it means more to me than i know how to say."
dean's gaze softened completely, understanding the unsaid weight behind your words.
he leaned into your hand, turning his head to press a slow kiss to your palm. "i love him more than life itself sweetheart, because he's half you."
he swiped his thumb across the screen a few times to another photo from last month. it showed you sitting at your work desk probably reviewing patient notes, while rowan was perched safely on dean's shoulders making silly faces at the camera, and piper was in the background happily chewing on an old hockey puck on the rug.
"he really is our whole life, isn't he?" dean murmured softly, looking at the photo. "everything we do is for him."
"he really is," you agreed, looking at the picture of your little family. "we're doing a good job with him."
you took the phone from his hand, setting it down on the granite counter beside a half-eaten tray of fruit. "we still need to talk about the actual logistics, though. if the interview goes well, we need a real schedule for those two travel weeks a month. iâm not just going to drop it on you."
"i know," dean said, his thumb smoothing over your wrist. "we'll map it out. my mom already said she wants rowan on tuesdays anyway, and i can shift my rink hours. we'll make it work like we always do."
the heavy air in the kitchen cleared completely, replaced by the familiar rhythm of a team that actually worked.
you leaned back against the edge of the counter, the quiet hum of the house wrapping around you both.
dean didn't move away instead he just stood there in the narrow space between your feet.
"you're exhausting, you know that?" dean murmured, a faint, lopsided smile catching on his face as he looked down at you.
"you're the one who dragged the argument out all afternoon," you pointed out, tilting your head up.
"because i was annoyed," he said simply, leaning down until his nose brushed against yours. "and because every time i looked at you in this dress today, i was trying to figure out how to get you away from either trinity or hannah long enough to actually talk to you."
"is that why you kept finding excuses to touch my back every ten minutes?"
"pretty much," dean admitted as his eyes softened.
his hands shifted, lifting you smoothly up to sit on the edge of the counter, the motion natural and familiar.
you pulled him in close between your knees, resting your palms against his chest.
it wasn't make-up sex or a clichĂŠ distraction from a fight. the argument was already handled, talked through with the grounded honesty you had spent months building.
this was just the quiet release of a long, chaotic day, two people who genuinely loved each other finally getting a second of peace.
his mouth met yours again, unhurried and deep, his hands sliding down to gather the fabric of your dress up past your thighs.
you leaned into him, letting out a soft sigh against his lips as his fingers brushed the warm skin of your hips.
dean pulled you against his chest, his hand cupping the back of your neck to hold you steady while his other hand moved quickly to unbuckle his belt.
when he slid inside you, it was smooth and familiar, a steady warmth that made you arch into his broad frame.
dean let out a low, satisfied breath against your jaw, his forehead resting against yours as he established a deep, rolling rhythm that pinned you firmly to the counter.
you held onto his shoulders, your breathing syncing with his in the quiet kitchen. there was no rush, no lingering frustrationâjust the solid weight of him, the quiet friction of skin against skin, and the steady, grounding presence he had provided since day one.
dean bumped his thumb gently against your center, driving a sudden, sharp coil of heat straight through you that had your fingers digging into his back.
"dean," you gasped softly, burying your face in his neck to keep your voice down.
"i've got you, sweetheart," he whispered, his hips snapping forward in a tight, deliberate pace that pushed you right over the edge.
you tightened around him with a quiet shudder, your breath catching in your throat as the wave pulled through you.
dean let out a low, breathy moan against your collarbone, his own pace fracturing into heavy, desperate thrusts. sensing the shift, he pulled out of you just in time, his hand gripping your hip to keep you steady against the counter as he came with a shaky sigh.
for a long moment, neither of you moved. dean kept his forehead pressed to your chest, his arms wrapped securely around you while his breathing slowly leveled out.
when he finally pulled back, he had that familiar, satisfied smirk on his face. he pressed a sweet kiss to your forehead, then grabbed a couple of clean paper towels from the holder beside the sink to gently clean you both up before helping you smooth down your dress.
he lifted you off the counter, letting your feet hit the floor, but kept one arm draped lazily over your shoulder as he turned toward the refrigerator.
"okay," dean said, pulling open the door and peering into the bright light. "logistics are settled, party is done, the house is mostly clean and our boy is fast asleep upstairs. now where's the actual chocolate cake?"
summary: when your fierce independence collides with hockeyâs favorite playboy, a hidden reality forces you both to rewrite the rules of your future. (7.2k)
pairing: dean di laurentis x reader.
content: accidental pregnancy, pregnancy, generational trauma, feelings of loneliness, childbirth (implied), angst, language, initial lack of communication, domestic fluff, hurt/comfort.
authorâs note: this is based on a request by @maellatargaryen (this request is from a long time ago i do apologise i didnât forget). this is the first time iâve wrote a fic that is heavily related to pregnancy i think so first time for everything i guess (hehehe).
part two.
you kept your eyes glued to the frayed cuff of your knitted sweater, deliberately avoiding the couple sitting three chairs down.
you had been staring at that loose thread for at least ten minutes, tracing the weave of the yarn just to keep your gaze from wandering.
but you could still see them in your periphery.
the man was gently rubbing the woman's lower back, his thumb making small, reassuring circles through the fabric of her shirt.
every few seconds, he would lean in, whispering something in her ear that made her laughâa soft, tired sound. she looked exhausted, but she looked completely safe.
a heavy, suffocating lump formed in your throat, and you looked down, your fingers instinctively pressing lightly against the flat expanse of your stomach.
there was nothing there yet, not to the casual observer. just a secret wrapped in layers of wool and denim.
it was your choice, you reminded yourself, repeating the mantra that had kept you upright for the last twelve weeks. you chose to walk out of his room. you chose not to call.
"he's not your father," your roommate and best friend, trinity, had argued just the night before.
she had been pacing the worn linoleum floor of your shared campus apartment, her eyes tracking you with a mix of fierce worry and frustration while you sat on the bathroom floor, throwing up into a plastic trash can.
"dean is a lot of things. he's a flirt, he's loud, he's a massive distraction, and he lives in a house that smells like stale beer and hockey sweat. but he isn't a monster. you have to tell him, or i swear to god i'm going to find tucker at the rink and have him do it for you." she sighed as you shook your head.
you knew trinity meant well.
you really, truly did.
she was the one who bought you saltine crackers at two in the morning, the one who held your hair back, and the one who looked up single-mother grant programs on her laptop when you were too exhausted to think.
she wasn't trying to force your hand out of malice; she just hated seeing you carry an entire universe on your shoulders when there was a perfectly capable guy who helped put it there.
but trinity didn't have your history.
she hadn't grown up listening to the bitter, cautionary tales of a mother who got pregnant at a college party by a boy (your father) who vanished into thin air the second the test turned pink.
she hadn't seen the quiet, exhausting toll of a woman working two jobs just to buy school supplies, always reminding her daughter that boys with bright smiles and big reputations were nothing but a beautiful trap.
to you, dean di laurentis was the ultimate manifestation of that danger.
he was briar university's golden boy, a hockey legacy with a jawline carved by the gods and an easy, effortless charm that made everyone in his orbit feel like the center of the universe.
he possessed a reputation for a rotating door of admirers that preceded him everywhere he went, from the campus coffee shops to the crowded lecture halls.
you had been one of those quiet admirers for semesters, harboring a private, desperate crush from the safety of the upper student section at the arena.
you were a psychology major, someone who spent her days analyzing behavior and defense mechanisms, yet you couldn't analyze yourself out of the way your chest tightened every time he took the ice.
then came a party in early november.
emboldened by a little too much vodka and the sheer, infectious electricity of the team's victory, you had actually pursued him.
you hadn't just watched from the corner this time; you had walked right up to him at the kitchen island, matched his easy, arrogant banter with a sharp wit he hadn't expected, and when the chance arose to leave the noise behind and go up to his room, you took it.
and god, he had been wonderful.
that was the part that terrified you the most.
he wasn't the careless, selfish playboy you had braced yourself for; he was attentive and entirely intoxicating.
he had asked you questions, looked at you like he actually wanted to hear the answers, and held you like you were something fragile and precious.
but when you woke up the next morning wrapped in his sheets, the freezing weight of reality had set in.
the morning sun filtered through his blinds, illuminating the hockey medals on his dresser and the stray red plastic cups on the floor.
you were just a tuesday night after a massive win.
to save yourself the humiliation of a polite, dismissive text three days later, you had gathered your clothes from the floor, slipped your shoes on, and walked out of his life before he even stirred.
three weeks later, the morning sickness had started.
.ăťă.ăťăâăť.ăťâŤăťăăťă.
"patient 114?" a nurse called out, holding an electronic chart and looking around the waiting room with an expressionless, practiced gaze.
you swallowed the lump in your throat, stood up completely alone, and smoothed down the front of your sweater.
you walked past the couple, feeling the immense, crushing gravity of a secret that was growing bigger by the second.
.ăťă.ăťăâăť.ăťâŤăťăăťă.
the briar u campus was experiencing an unseasonably warm spring afternoon two months later.
winter had finally cracked, leaving the quad packed with students lounging on blankets, tossing frisbees, and desperately trying to absorb enough vitamin d to survive the final stretch of the semester.
you sat under the deep, cool shade of a massive oak tree near the psychology building. you were wearing a loose dressâa highly tactical choice. at five months, you couldn't hide the changes with just oversized hoodies and clever posture anymore. the dress camouflaged the distinct, rounded curve of your belly perfectly, as long as you remained sitting down with your knees pulled slightly toward your chest.
you opened your heavy developmental psychology textbook, trying to focus on a chapter about early childhood attachment styles, but the heat and the persistent, dull ache in your lower back were making your eyes heavy.
your mind kept wondering how you were going to afford a crib and how you were going to explain to a child one day why their father was just a face on a hockey trading card.
more than anything, you were determined to continue your studies.
you hadn't spent years maintaining a high gpa just to drop out.
you were going to graduate from briar, baby or no baby.
your due date was calculated for mid-august, right before the fall semester began.
it was going to be a logistical nightmare, juggling a newborn and upper-level psychology seminars, but you were already mapping out a rigid study schedule in your planner.
you would survive it.
you had to.
a loud, booming laugh echoed across the lawn, instantly making your chest tighten so fast you lost your breath.
you looked up from the pages.
a dozen yards away, the hockey team was walking back from an afternoon workout at the campus gym.
they were a loud, boisterous pack, trailing duffel bags over their shoulders and laughing at some inside joke.
at the very center of the group was dean.
his damp hair was pushed back from his forehead, his gray briar athletics t-shirt clinging to his chest, and that trademark, effortless smile was polished across his face as he joked with garrett graham.
your hand moved automatically to your stomach, protectively covering the life growing inside you.
you pulled your massive textbook higher up against your chest, freezing like a deer caught in the high beams of a semi-truck.
please don't look over here. please just keep walking to the dining hall.
dean was laughing, his shoulders shaking as garrett gestured wildly, but as his eyes scanned the quad, his gaze inadvertently drifted toward the shade of your tree.
you looked down instantly, staring so hard at a paragraph on cognitive dissonance that the black ink blurred into meaningless lines.
dean paused mid-stride.
his brow furrowed, his sneakers digging into the soft grass.
the easy, permanent smile faltered as a sharp, incredibly vivid memory flashed through his mind.
the specific, soft scent of your skin, the quiet, grounding confidence you had shown when you walked up to him at the party, and the sudden, confusing sting of disappointment he had
felt when he woke up to a cold, empty bed.
he had looked for you for weeks after that night.
he had asked around, looked through social media, but briar was a massive university, and you had intentionally made yourself a ghost.
"hey, dean, you coming or what? the burrito place fills up fast on thursdays," tucker called out, noticing his friend had suddenly dropped back from the group.
"yeah. go ahead, man. i'll catch up with you guys in a minute," dean muttered, his eyes locked entirely on the girl under the oak tree.
he started walking across the grass.
every step he took felt like a countdown to an explosion you couldn't prevent.
you saw his shadow fall over your open textbook, blocking out the filtered sunlight, before you finally forced yourself to look up.
"hey," dean said. his voice was softer than it usually was, completely stripped of the loud, easy bravado he carried around his teammates.
he rubbed the back of his neck, looking uncharacteristically nervous, his fingers twitching against his duffel bag strap. "it's... you. right? from my place, a few months ago? you kind of vanished into thin air."
"dean. hi," you managed to choke out. your heart was hammering against your ribs so violently you were certain he could see it through your clothes.
your palms were slick with sweat against the cardboard cover of your book. "yeah. iâi have a class to get to, actuallyâ"
terrified of what he might see if he looked too closely at your posture, you scrambled to gather your things.
but your balance was off, your center of gravity completely shifted by the pregnancy.
your coordination failed, and the heavy psychology textbook slipped from your fingers, hitting the grass with a dull thud.
papers and highlighters tumbled out.
you instinctively reached down to grab it, but the physical restriction of your five-month belly made the movement clumsy.
as you bent over, the fabric of your dress pulled tight across your torso, outlining the unmistakable and beautifully rounded curve of your stomach.
dean bent down at the exact same time to grab the book for you, his large hand reaching for the cover, but his movements froze entirely.
from his angle, right at eye level with your lap, there was no hiding it.
the truth was standing between you, loud and undeniable.
dean's eyes widened, the blue of his irises bright with absolute shock.
his mind, usually so quick with a joke or a strategic play on the ice, ground to a screeching, chaotic halt.
he looked from your stomach, up to your terrified face, and back down again.
the timeline crashed into his head like a brutal body check against the boards. late fall. the championship party. five months ago. the night she left.
"is that..." dean's voice cracked, losing all of its usual suave composure. he dropped the textbook entirely back into the grass, his hands hovering in the air between you as if he were afraid to touch reality, his fingers trembling slightly. "wait. hold on. is that mine?"
panic, cold and sharp as ice water, flooded your veins.
the judgment of the campus, the ghost of your mother's past, the terrifying fear of him laughing or calling you a liarâit all hit you at once, blinding your senses.
you grabbed your tote bag, shoving the loose highlighters inside with trembling hands, and pushed past him, your boots skidding on the dirt.
"i have to go, dean. just leave it alone."
"hey, wait. please. stop." dean scrambled after you, his long, athletic strides easily catching up before you could even reach the paved pathway.
he didn't grab you roughly, but he placed a gentle, pleading hand on your forearm, just enough to anchor you, his grip warm and remarkably steady despite his shock.
when you spun around to face him, you had tears blurring your vision, the quad spinning around you.
dean looked entirely breathless, his chest heaving under his t-shirt as he stared at you. there was immense shock in his eyes, yes, but beneath it, moving in like a tidal wave, was an intense, unexpected expression of sheer protectiveness.
"please don't run away again," dean whispered, his gaze dropping down to the curve of your dress, then right back up into your tear-filled eyes. "just... talk to me. please. you don't have to run."
.ăťă.ăťăâăť.ăťâŤăťăăťă.
an hour later, you were sitting in the farthest corner booth of a quiet, dim, off-campus diner that was usually empty between the lunch and dinner rushes.
the jukebox in the corner was dark, and the only sound was the low sizzle of the kitchen grill behind the counter.
dean had bought you a grilled cheese sandwich and a massive, condensation-covered glass of milk.
he hadn't forced you to say a word since he had guided you into his car. he just sat across from you, his large frame filling the vinyl booth, watching you with an intensity that made your skin prickle, his hands clasped tightly on the table.
"why didn't you tell me?" he asked quietly, breaking the long silence.
his fingers traced the ring of water left by his glass on the tabletop. "i've been racking my brain for the last hour trying to figure out if i did something wrong that night. what did i do? did i hurt you? did i make you feel like i wouldn't care? did i say something stupid?"
"no," you said, your voice cracking as you looked out the window at the passing traffic.
your fingers tore off a tiny piece of the sandwich crust, though your stomach was too twisted to eat. "you were great, dean. it wasn't you. it was... everything else. it was me."
"it's obviously not just you," he said gently, leaning forward, his eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that demanded honesty. "help me understand. please. because waking up to an empty room was bad enough, but finding out you've been carrying this around for five months by yourself? that hurts."
and then, because the weight of the last twenty weeks was simply too heavy for your shoulders to bear anymore, the dam broke.
the psychological walls you had meticulously built up over years crumbled into dust.
you told him everything.
you told him about your mother.
you told him about growing up in a tiny house where every bill was a crisis, listening to the story of a popular college athlete who had promised your mother the world under the red solo cup lights of a fraternity house, only to pack his bags and transfer schools the second the word baby was spoken.
you told him about the terrifying statistics of single-parent households you read in your text books, the deep-seated fear of being a burden, and the agonizing weight of those clinic appointments where you sat alone in a sea of happy, supportive couples.
"i looked at them, dean," you whispered, a tear finally escaping and slipping down your nose. "i sat there every month, watching these guys hold their wives' hands, carrying their bags, looking at the sonogram photos like they'd just won the lottery. and i was just... patient 114. i didn't want to see the look on your face if you thought i was trying to trap you. i didn't want to see you walk away like he did."
dean listened to every single word, his body perfectly still.
his jaw clenched tighter and tighter with every sentence that left your mouth, not with anger directed at you, but with a profound, simmering fury at the ghost of the man who had raised you to believe that all men were cowards.
his chest rose and fell heavily.
when you finished, wiping your cheek with the back of your hand, dean didn't hesitate.
he reached across the table, his arm bridging the distance between your separate worlds, and took your hand in his.
his palm was rough from hockey sticks, warm, and incredibly solid.
"i am not him," dean said, his voice dropping an octave, completely fierce and steady. there was no hesitation in his eyes, no panic, no calculation. "i don't care about my reputation. i don't care that we're still in college. this is my kid, too. and more importantly, it's you. i'm not going anywhere. do you hear me? i am right here."
you looked down at his large hand covering yours, desperately wanting to believe the warmth of it, but the old survival instincts were hard to kill.
"dean, you don't have to pretend for my sake. you have a life. you have scouts coming to games, you have a professional career ahead of you, you have your friendsâ"
"hey," he interrupted gently, his thumb rubbing circles against the back of your hand, mimicking the gesture you had envied in the waiting room months ago. "let's make a deal. no pressure. i know i have a lot to prove to you. just let me be your friend. let me carry your bags. let me take you to the doctor. let me show you that you don't have to do this alone anymore."
.ăťă.ăťăâăť.ăťâŤăťăăťă.
true to his word, dean shifted his entire universe within forty-eight hours.
the transformation was nothing short of a statistical anomaly to anyone who knew him.
the guy who used to sleep until noon on days off and survive on cold pizza and protein shakes was suddenly standing outside your dorm building at 9:00 am.
he would be waiting in his idling car, the passenger seat already stocked with saltine crackers and pre-packaged ginger ale because he had spent the previous night reading medical forums about morning sickness trends in the second and third trimesters.
at first, it was kind of awkward.
you were protective of your routine, used to relying only on yourself and trinity but dean was persistent in the most gentle way possible.
he became your shadow on campus.
he would meet you outside your difficult seminars, completely unbothered by the lingering stares and whispers of his teammates or the girls who used to follow him around the quad.
he would silently take your heavy canvas backpack from your shoulders, slinging it over his own massive arm alongside his hockey gear, and walk at your slower, deliberate pace without a single complaint.
"you know people are talking, right?" you asked him one afternoon as you walked toward the library, your hand resting on the small of your aching back.
"let them talk," dean said, shrug of his shoulders easy and unbothered. "they're just jealous i get to hang out with the smartest girl on campus. besides, tucker tried to ask me about it yesterday, and i told him if he didn't shut his mouth i would chuck him into the net during practice. he hasn't brought it up since."
you couldn't help the small laugh that escaped you, the sound surprising even yourself.
dean looked down at you, his eyes softening at the sound, a faint spark in his gaze that made your stomach do a completely different kind of flip.
.ăťă.ăťăâăť.ăťâŤăťăăťă.
by the sixth month, your apartment had become a secondary storage unit. dean had told his parents. you had been terrified of that phone call, expecting high-society rejection, but his mother had apparently gone into full grandmother mode within thirty seconds.
huge boxes began arriving weeklyâbaby blankets, organic cotton onesies, a high-tech stroller, and specialized maternity pillows.
but the most significant change was inside dean's shared house. he had cleaned out the small spare room on the first floor, moving out old fitness equipment and broken hockey sticks.
in its place, he had moved in a massive, incredibly plush velvet rocking chair.
"what is this?" you asked, standing in the doorway of the room during a saturday visit where he had insisted on making you lunch.
"it's a glider," dean said proudly, wiping his hands on a kitchen towel as he stood behind you. "i read that the movement helps with lower back pain during the third trimester.
and, you know... just in case you ever want to visit and your back hurts, you have a place that's yours."
you looked at the chair, then at the hockey star who had bought it, feeling the cold, icy edges of your old trauma melting away a little bit more every day.
.ăťă.ăťăâăť.ăťâŤăťăăťă.
the true turning point came during the eighth-month ultrasound appointment.
the clinic waiting room looked exactly the same as it had during your first trimesterâsame low hum, same couples holding hands.
but this time, the space felt completely different. you weren't hiding under an oversized sweater, and you weren't staring at a frayed thread.
you were sitting next to dean. his large frame was crammed into the small plastic waiting room chair, his knees nearly touching his chin, but he didn't look impatient at all.
he was reading a pamphlet on newborn sleep cycles with a level of concentration usually reserved for analyzing a rival team's defensive plays.
"patient 114âsorry, i mean, by your last name?" the nurse called out, correcting herself with a warm smile as she recognized you.
you stood up, and before you could even reach for your purse, dean was already on his feet, grabbing your coat and slinging your tote bag over his shoulder.
he extended his free hand to you, his fingers open, waiting.
you hesitated for a fraction of a second before sliding your hand into his, letting his warmth steady you as you walked down the narrow hallway.
the ultrasound room was dim, the monitor glowing with a soft blue light.
you laid back on the paper-covered table, pulling up your shirt to expose the massive, high, tight curve of your eight-month belly.
dean sat in the chair right next to your head, his eyes wide as the technician squeezed the cold, clear gel onto your skin.
he didn't look away for a second, his grip on your hand tightening as the technician pressed the transducer against your stomach.
at first, there was only staticâa rushing, hollow sound of fluids and movement. then, with a slight adjustment of the plastic wand, the audio cleared, and a loud, rhythmic sound filled the small room.
thump-thump, thump-thump.
"there we go," the technician said gently, pointing a finger at the grainy, gray-and-white screen. "there's a strong heartbeat. looks like baby is growing right on schedule."
you looked over at dean, expecting him to look overwhelmed by the sheer finality of the sound.
instead, you found him staring at the monitor with thick, silent tears streaming straight down his cheeks.
his jaw was slightly slack, a soft, breathless laugh escaping his lips as he stared at the little flickering shape on the screen.
"that's... that's our baby," he whispered, his voice thick and raspy with an emotion so raw it made your own eyes well up with tears.
he leaned over the edge of the table, completely unbothered by the technician's presence, and pressed a gentle, lingering kiss to the back of your knuckles, his forehead resting against your hand for a long moment. "look at that, sweetheart. we made a little athlete. listen to that pace."
in that exact moment, the final, stubborn, defensive walls around your heartâthe ones built by your mother's warnings, the ones built by years of watching men walk away from hard thingsâcompletely crumbled into nothing.
you realized that trinity had been right from the very start. dean wasn't your father.
he was entirely, undeniably his own man.
and he was already a father.
.ăťă.ăťăâăť.ăťâŤăťăăťă.
by the time your ninth month arrived, the unseasonably warm spring had turned into the suffocating heat of late summer.
walking across the campus pavement felt like trekking through a desert, and your ankles had reached a level of swelling that made shoes feel like instruments of torture.
the platonic friendship dean had insisted on maintaining had grown desperately fragile over the last few weeksânot because it was failing, but because the sheer, undeniable gravity of the romantic tension between you had become too loud to ignore.
every touch lingered a second too long; every look held a weight that had nothing to do with doctor's appointments or crib instructions.
one evening, a thunderstorm was rolling in over the campus, the sky a bruised purple color that brought a temporary coolness to the air.
you were sitting on the plush sofa in dean's living room, surrounded by a mountain of freshly washed baby clothes that needed to be sorted into bins.
dean's teammates were away for the weekend, leaving the house uncharacteristically quiet, save for the low rumble of thunder outside.
dean was sitting on the hardwood floor right by your feet, a bottle of lavender lotion in his hand.
he had your bare, swollen left foot resting on his knee, his large, calloused thumbs working in slow, rhythmic circles across your arch with a level of focus that made your heart ache.
"dean?" you said softly, breaking the steady sound of the rain against the windowpane.
"yeah, sweetheart?" he murmured, his gaze remaining down on his hands, his thumbs never stopping their steady, soothing pressure.
"why are you doing all of this?" you asked. the question had been sitting on your tongue for weeks, a final, lingering piece of uncertainty that needed to be aired out. "the baby isn't even here yet. you've spent every weekend for months building furniture, reading parenting manuals, handling my moods, and taking care of me. you didn't have to go this far just to prove you're a good guy. you proved that a long time ago."
dean stopped his movements.
his hands remained cupped around your foot for a long, silent moment while the thunder rolled outside the house.
slowly, deliberately, he let go of your foot and shifted his weight, rising until he was kneeling on the floor right in front of you, his face level with yours.
he reached up, his hands large and incredibly warm as he placed them gently on either side of your face, his thumbs wiping away the sudden, familiar spike of anxiety in your eyes.
"you really are a psychology student, aren't you? always trying to find the hidden motive," he said, a soft, incredibly tender smile breaking across his lipsâa smile that was completely devoid of his usual arrogance, leaving only the raw truth underneath. "i stopped doing this just for the baby a long time ago."
your breath hitched in your throat, your fingers tightening against the fabric of the baby blanket in your lap. "dean..."
"i love this kid, yeah. i would do anything for them," he confessed, his blue eyes burning into yours with absolute, unshakable certainty. "but i fell completely, totally in love with you. i love how fierce you are. i love how hard you tried to protect this baby from the world, even when you were terrified. i love the way you laugh when you think i'm being an idiot. i don't want to just be a great co-parent, and i don't want to just be the guy who carries your backpack. i want the whole thing. i want you."
your tears, warm and entirely relieving, spilled over your eyelashes, wetting his thumbs.
for the first time in your entire life, the ghost of your mother's past was entirely gone, vanished into the air like smoke.
there was no trap here.
there was only the beautiful, terrifying, certain reality of the man kneeling in front of you.
"took you long enough to finally say it," you whispered, a watery, breathless smile breaking through your tears.
dean let out a low, rough laugh as he leaned up the remaining few inches to press his lips against yours.
the kiss was sweet, slow, and full of a million quiet promises he had already spent the last four months keeping.
it tasted like rain and lavender lotion and home.
his fingers slid through your hair, holding you close, while his other hand moved down, flattening completely against the large, warm curve of your belly, feeling the faint, rhythmic kick of the life you had created together.
when he finally pulled away, just enough to breathe, he rested his forehead against yours, his thumbs tracing your cheekbones.
"we're going to be completely fine," dean whispered against your skin, his voice a fierce, unbreakable vow meant for both you and the little heartbeat inside you. "the three of us. i promise you. i'm right here."
.ăťă.ăťăâăť.ăťâŤăťăăťă.
the rhythmic click of a ballpoint pen was the loudest sound in the massive, tiered lecture hall.
you sat in the middle row of your advanced cognitive psychology seminar, your notebook laid out flat on the folding desk, your hand flying across the page to copy down the professor's slides on memory retrieval mechanisms.
beside your desk, tucked safely into the wide aisle, sat a heavy car seat wrapped in a soft navy blanket.
inside, just thirteen weeks old, rowan di laurentis was dead to the world.
his tiny fists were curled up next to his cheeks, a soft, rhythmic whistle puffing past his parted lips with every breath.
when the professor paused to switch slides, you glanced down, your heart swelling with a fierce, possessive warmth.
rowan had been born right on schedule in mid-august, and while the rest of your class spent the last week of summer partying, you and dean had been operating on two-hour sleep cycles, mastering the art of the swaddle, and staring at this tiny boy like he held the secrets to the universe.
some of your classmates had looked surprised to see you walk in three months after college had began with a stroller, but you had just offered them a polite, unbothered smile.
you were going to be a psychologist and rowan wasn't a reason to stopâhe was the reason to run faster.
you dipped your hand down, gently brushing your index finger against rowan's minuscule knuckles.
his tiny hand instinctively locked around your finger, holding on tight even in his sleep.
you smiled, unhooked your finger, and went right back to typing your notes.
.ăťă.ăťăâăť.ăťâŤăťăăťă.
across campus, the atmosphere was entirely different.
coach jensen's whistle blew, a sharp, piercing sound that sent the players scattering toward the benches for a two-minute hydration break.
dean skated hard over to the boards, his chest heaving under his heavy briar jersey, his face flushed red from the intense cardio drill. but he didn't reach for his water bottle first.
instead, he skated right toward the end of the team bench where a familiar, high-tech stroller was parked just behind the safety plexiglass, safely out of the way of any stray pucks.
trinity was sitting on the bench next to it, typing on her phone, fulfilling her promised shift of baby duty while she studied for her own classes.
dean ripped his heavy padded gloves off with his teeth, dropping them onto the ice, and leaned over the boards.
rowan was awake now, wearing a miniature, custom-made briar hockey jersey over his onesie, his massive brown eyes staring up at the bright stadium lights.
"how's my little winger doing?" dean breathed, his voice dripping with an absurd, high-pitched softness that made garrett graham laugh from three feet away.
dean reached over the plexiglass, his hand gently resting against rowan's tiny chest, his thumb stroking the soft cotton of the jersey. "you being good for auntie trinity? you watching daddy's skating form?"
rowan let out a tiny, erratic gurgle, kicking one foot up.
"he's been perfect," trinity said, looking up from her phone with a smirk. "a lot better behaved than you usually are during practice, di laurentis. now drink some water before jensen screams at you."
"yeah, yeah," dean grinned, finally grabbing his water bottle and taking a long swig. he looked back down at his son, a fierce, determined spark in his blue eyes.
balancing division one hockey and fatherhood was the hardest thing he'd ever done, but he had never felt more alive.
he was going to give his kid the world, and he was going to do it right alongside you.
.ăťă.ăťăâăť.ăťâŤăťăăťă.
later that evening, the winter heat finally broke as dusk settled over the town.
dean's black suv pulled into the gravel driveway of a small, neat house on the edge of the university district.
the porch light was already on, casting a warm, golden glow over the front steps.
dean hopped out of the driver's seat, walking around to your side to open the door before you could even reach for the handle.
he offered you his hand, pulling you up gently, his fingers lingering against your palm before he turned to unbuckle rowan's car seat from the back.
you walked up the steps together, the familiar scent of garlic and homemade pasta sauce drifting through the screen door long before you even knocked.
before your knuckles could even touch the wood, the door swung open.
your mother stood there, her apron tied around her waist, her eyes instantly bypassing the two of you to lock onto the plastic car seat in dean's hand.
a massive, radiant smile broke across her face, smoothing away the lines of a lifetime of hard work.
"there's my grandson," she beamed, her arms already reaching out as she stepped onto the porch.
dean smiled, handing the car seat over with a practiced ease that showed just how natural this had become for him.
"hi, mom. he slept the whole ride over." you smiled as your mother carried the seat inside, cooing at the sleeping baby.
you and dean stood on the porch for a quiet second.
dean looped his arm around your waist, pulling your back flush against his chest, his chin resting comfortably on the top of your head as you both watched your mother unbuckle her grandson through the front window.
there was no ghost of the past in this house anymore.
there was no fear of a running man or a broken promise.
there was only the smell of a warm dinner, a grandmother's laughter, and the solid, heavy weight of the man who had promised to stayâand meant every single word.
.ăťă.ăťăâăť.ăťâŤăťăăťă.
the dining room of your childhood home was small, but tonight it felt entirely full. the air was thick with the rich, comforting scent of your mother's signature marinara sauce, a recipe that had historically been reserved only for birthdays or the rare moments when a budget stretch allowed for a celebration.
dean was sitting at the worn wooden table, a space that had only ever known the quiet presence of two women.
his massive, athletic frame practically engulfed the modest chair, his broad shoulders casting a long shadow against the floral wallpaper.
yet, he looked completely at ease.
he had rolled up the sleeves of his cotton blue shirt, exposing his forearms as he expertly navigated a massive bowl of spaghetti, passing it to your mother with a respectful, easy smile.
"seriously, alisha, this is incredible," dean said, calling your mother by her first name just as she had insisted he do three visits ago. "if you ever want to open a restaurant near campus, the entire hockey team would probably fund it. tucker survives entirely on frozen burritos and sheer willpower. he would cry if he tasted this."
a sound of genuine, lighthearted laughter escaping her lips as she leaned over to scoop another portion onto his plate. "don't flatter a woman, dean. but please, eat up. god knows you burn enough calories on that ice rink."
you watched them from across the table, your fork twirling slowly in your pasta.
a strange, dizzying wave of emotion hit your chest.
for twenty-one years, this room had been a fortress of caution.
it was the place where you sat while your mother meticulously balanced checkbooks, reminding you that reliance on anyone else was a vulnerability.
it was where you learned to be fiercely independent, wrapped in the protective armor of her warnings.
and now, briar university's golden boy was sitting in the center of it, arguing playfully with her about whether garlic bread should be baked or broiled.
from the corner of the room, a soft, low grunt came from the portable bassinet.
rowan was waking up, his tiny limbs stretching beneath his blanket.
before you could even set your fork down, dean's hand was already moving.
he caught your eye across the table, offering a reassuring nod.
"i got him, sweetheart. finish your dinner," he murmured, his voice dropping into that quiet, intimate tone he reserved just for you.
you watched as he stood up, his tall frame moving with a practiced, gentle fluidity as he navigated the tight space between the table and the bassinet.
he reached down, his hands completely cradling rowan's tiny torso as he lifted him out.
rowan let out a tiny, soft squeak, his little face puckering before he settled instantly against dean's chest, his small head tucking perfectly into the crook of his father's neck.
dean walked back to the table, shifting rowan effortlessly to one arm while he picked up his fork with the other, completely unfazed by the logistics of eating one-handed.
your mother stopped eating.
she watched deanâwatched the way his thumb absentmindedly traced small circles on the back of rowan's custom jersey, the way his eyes constantly flicked down to check on the baby's breathing, the way he didn't even hesitate to put his own comfort second.
when she looked back at you, her eyes were bright with a quiet, profound sheen of tears.
she didn't say anything out loud but she didn't need to.
the unspoken apology and the sheer validation of your choices was entirely written in the soft smile she gave you across the table.
.ăťă.ăťăâăť.ăťâŤăťăăťă.
by eleven o'clock, the drive back to the campus apartment was quiet, save for the hum of the car tires against the asphalt and the steady, rhythmic breathing of a fast-asleep baby in the backseat.
the apartment was dark when you unlocked the door.
trinity was out for the weekend, leaving the small living space peaceful.
dean carried rowan inside, the car seat clicking quietly as he set it on the floor, while you carried the diaper bag and the heavy tote containing your psychology textbooks.
you dropped the bags by the kitchen counter, a heavy, bone-deep exhaustion finally settling into your limbs.
finals week was creeping up, the stack of case studies you needed to analyze was growing, and your body was still recovering from the monumental task of bringing a human into the world.
you leaned against the counter, closing your eyes for just a second.
two warm hands slipped around your waist from behind, a familiar, solid chest pressing into your back.
dean buried his face in the crook of your neck, his breath warm against your skin.
"hey," he whispered, his lips brushing against your jawline. "go take a hot shower. i'll handle the nighttime bath and get him down in his crib."
"dean, you have a 6:00 am video review session" you protested softly, turning around in his embrace to look up into his tired, beautiful blue eyes. "you spent three hours on the ice today. let me do it."
"absolutely not," dean smiled, a faint, stubborn dimple appearing in his cheek.
"we're a team, remember? you aced your seminar quiz today, you took ten pages of notes, and you didn't complain once when rowan spit up on your favorite sweater earlier. let me take the night shift, sweetheart. go relax."
you stared at him, the old, defensive instinct to say 'i can do it myself' rising to your throat out of sheer habit. but looking at the absolute, unwavering certainty in his gaze, you let it go.
you let the breath out of your lungs, your forehead coming to rest against his chest, right over the steady, pounding rhythm of his heart.
"thank you," you breathed into his shirt.
"anytime," he murmured, pressing a lingering, sweet kiss to the crown of your head before stepping back and picking up the sleeping bundle from the floor.
half an hour later, you stepped out of the bathroom, wrapped in a plush robe, your skin warm and smelling of vanilla soap.
the apartment was silent.
you padded softly down the short hallway toward rowan's small nursery.
the dim, amber light of the moon-shaped nightlight illuminated the room.
dean was sitting in the massive velvet glider he had proudly bought months ago.
rowan was freshly changed, wrapped tightly in a swaddle blanket, fast asleep against his father's bare chest.
dean was rocking back and forth in a slow, hypnotic rhythm, his hand completely cupping the back of rowan's head.
he wasn't asleep.
he was staring down at his son, his expression so fierce, so intensely protective, it took your breath away.
in his lap, balanced precariously on the armrest of the chair, was his hockey playbook, his eyes flicking between the diagrams of defensive strategies and the tiny, perfect face of the boy in his arms.
he was balancing it all. the pressure of the scouts, the demanding expectations of his legacy, the exhaustion of college lifeâhe was holding it all in his hands, and he wasn't letting a single piece drop.
you leaned your shoulder against the doorframe, a soft smile tugging at your lips.
dean looked up at the sound of your breathing, his eyes softening instantly as he caught sight of you. he didn't speak, not wanting to break the fragile silence of the nursery, but he extended his free hand toward you, his fingers open.
you walked across the small room, sliding your hand into his warm palm.
dean pulled you down gently until you were sitting on the wide armrest of the glider beside him.
he leaned his head against your hip, his grip on your hand tightening into a silent, unbreakable vow.
you looked down at the two of them.
the future was going to be chaotic.
there would be exams to study for while rocking a crying infant; there would be away games where you would have to manage the nighttime routine alone and there would be endless loops of exhaustion.
but as the glider rocked gently in the quiet apartment, the absolute certainty of his warmth against your skin told you everything you needed to know.
summary: a craving for cookie dough icecream puts you face-to-face with the boy who ruined you for everyone else. (3.4k)
pairing: john logan x reader.
content: second chance romance?, angst, emotional neglect, mutual pining, right person wrong time, mention of parental addiction, emotional distress.
there are three things you learn when you love someone from the age of fifteen: first, that forever is a terrifyingly heavy word for kids who still need permission to borrow the car.
second, that you can't scrub the ghost of someone out of your life no matter how hard you scrub.
and third, that the boy who once let your now ten-year-old sister glue glitter stars to his forehead can grow up to look at you like youâre the worst thing that happened to him.
itâs the cinnamon and clean laundry that brings him back. on the quiet nights, before the heavy silence of the present takes over, you can still trace the timeline of you and john logan.
two kids who didn't know a single thing about the world, but decided, instantly, that they knew everything about each other.
by the time you both walked across the stage at eighteen to grab your high school diplomas, you werenât just a coupleâyou were a package deal.
logan was woven so deeply into the fabric of your family that his presence felt as permanent as the oak tree in the front yard.
âlogan! look what i made!"
the memory is so sharp it almost stings. your little sister soleil had been five thenâa tiny, chaotic blur of mismatched socks and sticky fingers.
anyone else would have patted her on the head and gone back to their phone, but logan had dropped straight to his knees on your momâs kitchen floor, completely ignoring the grass stains on his jeans.
he had taken the lopsided paper crown she held out and placed it solemnly on his dark hair.
"for me, princess sol? iâm honored," he had said, his signature smirk softening into something so incredibly gentle it made your chest ache. he had spent the next hour letting a five-year-old boss him around the backyard, playing "royal knight" without a single complaint. he had loved your family. he had loved you.
"are you thinking about him?"
the quiet voice snaps you back. you blink, the golden memory evaporating, replaced by the cool, dim light of the kitchen.
you turn to find soleil standing in the doorway. sheâs ten nowâtaller but she still has those same observant eyes.
"nope just... thinking," you say, offering a tight smile as you lean against the counter.
soleil walks over, hopping onto the barstool logan used to claim as his own. she traces a small scratch on the wooden counter. "do you think logan still plays hockey?" she asks quietly. "he promised he would teach me how to ice skate when i got bigger. he hasn't called in a long time."
the words twist like a knife. because how do you explain to a ten-year-old that sometimes, the boy who wore paper crowns in your backyard grows up, leaves for college, and becomes someone you only know through headlines and hearsay?
"yeah, sol," you whisper, swallowing the lump in your throat. "he still plays."
.ăťă.ăťăâăť.ăťâŤăťăăťă.
it was 1:57 am. at this hour, the world was supposed to be asleep.
instead you were standing in aisle fourteen, frozen in place, staring at the glass doors of the ice cream section.
the cold air leaked through the rubber seals, dusting your bare shins with a chill that made you shiver.
you looked down at yourself, suddenly, painfully aware of exactly how you looked: a pair of wrinkled pajama shorts featuring a faded print of patrick star, a fleece sweatshirt, and a pair of cheap flip-flops that made a loud, pathetic slap against the linoleum with every step you took.
your fingers hovered over a carton of cookie dough ice creamâthe exact same brand, the exact same flavor, that had once been the cure-all for every bad day you had ever had.
you had been back in this town for exactly three weeks of summer break, operating like a ghost.
you stayed inside during the day, took long scenic routes to avoid the familiar blocks, and only went out when you knew the streets would be empty.
you had managed to avoid him for two whole years. two years of passing through the same suburban grid without once crossing paths.
until tonight.
squeak.
the sharp sound of rubber soles on polished linoleum broke the quiet.
it wasn't the slow, heavy drag of a tired employee pushing a stocking cart.
it was a firm, rhythmic stride. a stride you could recognize with your eyes closed, even after twenty-four months of silence.
"i knew one day, i would find you here."
the voice didn't just startle you; it felt like a physical blow to the chest. it was deeper than you remembered, carrying the low, scratchy gravel of someone who spent his winters yelling over the roar of stadium crowds at briar university.
but the cadenceâthe soft, trailing way he ended his sentencesâwas exactly the same.
your breath hitching, your lungs freezing over. you slowly turned around, your hand still pressed flat against the cold glass of the freezer door, your flip-flops squeaking slightly.
standing at the end of the aisle, leaning with an agonizingly casual grace against a shopping cart, was john logan.
he was massive.
the boy who used to fit perfectly against your side in your parents' basement had completely filled out.
the grueling, relentless training schedule of briar's varsity hockey team had carved him into something formidableâhis shoulders were impossibly broad beneath a dark charcoal hoodie, his jawline littered with stubble sharp enough to look dangerous.
his dark hair was slightly damp and messy, falling over his forehead in a way that made him look like he had just stepped out of a locker room.
but it was his eyes that anchored you to the spot.
they were a deep, intense brownâthe color of warm whiskey, of dark espresso, of things that were thick and warm and rich and incredibly hard to forget. right now, those brown eyes were narrowed, tracking the rapid rise and fall of your chest with a quiet, guarded intensity.
"logan," you whispered. the name felt heavy, like a stone rolling off your tongue.
"hey," he said. his voice was soft, but there was a distinct, cool distance to it. his lips didn't curve into the easy grin you were once so used to. instead, his mouth remained a straight, hard line. "still craving cookie dough at ungodly hours?"
the silence that followed was suffocating. the air between you was dense with two years of unread texts, a blocked phone number, and a driveway screaming match that had ended with you driving away in tears.
you looked at him, and against your will, the faces of every single guy you had met on the west coast flashed behind your eyelids.
there was the polite pre-med guy from your sophomore year who bought you expensive dinners and spoke in a tone so perfectly measured it made you feel completely hollow.
there was the golden-boy surfer who tried to teach you how to ride the waves, whose laugh was loud and easy, but whose eyes never actually saw you when you spoke.
there were othersâhalf-hearted dates, empty conversations over cheap drinks, guys who tried to touch your waist or hold your hand in crowded bars.
but none of them were john logan.
none of them possessed that fierce, protective intensity.
not a single one of them knew how to make you laugh until your ribs ached, or how to silence your worst anxieties with a single, heavy look.
he was the gold standard.
you had spent twenty-four months trying to find his ghost in other men, only to realize that nobody could ever measure up to the boy who had broken your heart.
he had ruined you for anyone else, and the sheer unfairness of it tasted like poison on your tongue.
what you didn't knowâwhat you couldn't possibly know from the quiet, agonizing distance you had keptâwas that you had done the exact same thing to him.
at briar, logan was a star.
he was a handsome, charming varsity athlete, and the girls on campus made it ridiculously easy.
but to the absolute dismay and relentless teasing of his teammates, especially dean, logan had practically lived like a monk for the last two years.
he didn't bring girls back to the house.
he didn't do the mindless, easy hookups that the rest of the team treated like breathing.
every time a girl tried to flirt with him at a party, every time someone leaned in to kiss him in a dark corner of a crowded bar, he found himself pulling back.
he was holding out for you.
as stupid and as unrealistic as it sounded to him, he couldn't shake you.
and it made him furious.
he was angry at you for blocking him, angry at you for leaving, but most of all, he was deeply annoyed because you had ruined him for anyone else.
he couldn't find a single girl who was just like you, and he hated how much power you still held over his heart without even trying.
logan took a slow, deliberate step forward, the wheels of his cart squeaking in protest. his brown eyes scanned your face, noting the way you winced, the way your fingers tightened on your sweatshirt.
seeing him step closer was like falling backward through a rip in time.
.ăťă.ăťăâăť.ăťâŤăťăăťă.
"logan, stop it! put me down, people are looking!"
your laughter echoed through the empty bakery section of this very store, bright and breathless. it was 12:14 am on a tuesday, three weeks before graduation.
logan had dragged you out of bed because you had a craving, and he never, ever said no to you.
"let them look," logan grinned, his chest vibrating against yours as he lifted you easily by the waist, spinning you around. he didn't care about the bored cashier or the fact that you both had ap exams in twelve hours.
he set you down slowly, his large hands sliding under your jacket to grip your hips, pulling you flush against him.
his face dipped into the crook of your neck, his lips pressing a warm, lingering kiss right below your ear, sending shivers down your spine.
when he pulled back, his eyes were crinkled at the corners, filled with a terrifyingly pure, unshakeable affection.
"you're stuck with me forever, you know that, right?" he murmured, his thumb rubbing soothing circles into your hip. "west coast, east coast, i don't care. i'll fly out every single weekend. we're going to make this work. i'm not letting you go."
you had kind of believed him then. you had pressed your forehead against his chest, inhaling the scent of his skin, believing that the two of you were invincible.
.ăťă.ăťăâăť.ăťâŤăťăăťă.
"you're staring," logan's rough voice broke the memory, shattering it into a thousand sharp, jagged pieces.
you blinked, cold reality rushing back in.
he was standing barely three feet away from you now.
the warmth from the flashback evaporated, replaced by the bitter, icy draft of the freezer aisle.
you pulled the sleeves of your sweatshirt over your hands, shifting your weight in your flip-flops, wishing desperately that the cold floor would just open up and swallow you.
"i didn't think you would be in town," you managed to say, your voice tighter this time. you clutched the tub of cookie dough icecream to your chest, a pathetic, freezing shield. "you usually stay at briar for summer training."
"i came back for a couple of weeks to see some family," he said, his voice flat, his posture guarded. he crossed his arms over his broad chest, creating a physical barrier between you. "but i see you're still running on the same schedule. some habits die hard, i guess."
there was no shouting, no explosive anger, but the wall he had built was high and thick.
he wasn't the boy who used to tease you mercilessly; he was a man who had been deeply hurt, and he was keeping his guard up.
"logan, we were going to different sides of the country," you whispered, the old defense mechanism kicking in, though it felt incredibly weak now. "we would have grown to hate each other. i did what i thought was best."
"i never cared about where you were going," logan corrected quietly, his brown eyes locking onto yours with a heavy, simmering sadness. "i was proud of you. i wanted you to go to that school. what broke me was that you didn't even want to try. you just decided we were over before we even packed our bags. you decided for the both of us, blocked my number, and left. you made me feel like those years we spent together weren't even worth a shot the second things got a little complicated."
"that's not true," you said, a tear threatening to spill over your eyelashes. "it broke my heart, logan. and i... i still care. i heard about your mom."
the words hung in the cold, sterile air between you. the mention of his mother's battle with alcoholâa shadow that had hovered over his entire household and left him and his younger sibling, jules, carrying weight they were far too young to bearâmade the silence turn razor-sharp.
you remembered the late-night phone calls where he would whisper to you from the hallway, exhausted and terrified, while you tried to comfort him from three miles away. you werenât sure how to do it over three thousand miles away.
logan froze. his jaw clenched so hard a muscle feathered in his cheek.
"what about her?" he asked, his voice suddenly dangerously quiet.
"i heard she's in rehab again," you murmured, taking a small, tentative step forward. your chest ached for him, the instinct to comfort him still so deeply ingrained in your bones. "i'm so sorry, logan. i know how hard it is on you. and on jules. i reallyâ"
"don't," he quickly cut you off.
for a split second, the hard line of his jaw softens. his dark eyes flicker down, then rise to search yours with a sudden, aching vulnerability. his mouth opens, a name hovering on the very tip of his tongue. he wants to ask if soleil still makes her infamous paper crowns.
he wants to ask if she misses him. if you missed him.
but the moment passes as quickly as it came. the shutter slams down behind his eyes, the heavy wall of his anger sliding back into place. he isn't going to give you the satisfaction of knowing how much of your world he still yearns for.
a short, humorless scoff escaped his lipsâa sound so hollow and bitter it made you flinch. he shook his head, looking down at the linoleum floor before raising his brown eyes back to yours, entirely guarded.
"don't act like you care now," he said, the words dripping with a quiet, devastating resentment. "if you actually cared, you wouldn't have kept me blocked. you would have reached out a long time ago when everything was falling apart. everyone else did. but you? you were too busy pretending we never happened."
he didn't know.
he had no idea that his private instagram account had been a brick wall you stared at on your loneliest nights, desperate for a glimpse of his face.
he didn't know that you had spent the last two years quietly keeping up with his life through the back doorâhow you had found his teammate and friend, dean di laurentis, on social media because his profile was public, zooming in on the background of his photos just to make sure logan was okay.
but you were so incredibly tired of the silence.
you were tired of the walls, tired of the assumption that you had just walked away unscathed while he bled out.
you weren't going to let this be another night where you both walked away harboring a quiet, misunderstood resentment.
you weren't going to let him believe a lie just to protect your pride.
"i blocked you because if i didn't, i would have begged you to come to california," you said, your voice cracking, but the words came out fast, desperate, and completely unfiltered. "i blocked you because every time my phone buzzed, i hoped it was you, and it was killing me. i didn't pretend we never happened, logan. i spent the last two years completely miserable."
logan flinched, his posture stiffening as he stared at you. his mouth parted slightly, the scoff dying on his lips.
"what?" he whispered.
"i didn't reach out because i thought you hated me," you pleaded, tears finally spilling over, hot against your cold cheeks.
"i thought i had ruined everything," you said, your voice cracking as you finally forced yourself to meet his eyes. "and i was terrified of hearing you tell me that you had moved on."
you took a sharp, shallow breath, looking down at your hands as if the memory alone had weight. "i sat in my dorm room and cried for hours when i heard about your mom. because i knew how much you and jules were hurting, and i hated myself for not being able to call you." you let out a bitter, humorless laugh, shaking your head. "but i didn't think i had the right to anymore. i didn't do this because it was easy."
logan didn't move, but the tension between you pulled taut, almost vibrating.
"and if you want to know the absolute worst part?" you took a step closer, the raw honesty of it stripping away whatever pride you had left. "i've tried to date. i've gone out with guys who were perfectly nice, guys who did everything right. and i couldn't stand any of them. because none of them were you."
you stopped just inches from him, your chest heaving. "you set the bar so high that i can't even look at anyone else without wishing they had your eyes, or your laugh, or the way you used to hold my hand." reaching out, your fingers hovered near his jacket before you pulled them back, curling them into a tight fist. "you ruined me, logan. so don't you dare stand there and tell me i didn't care."
the silence that followed was entirely different now. it wasn't heavy with awkwardness anymore; it was electric, thick with a truth that had been buried for two long years.
then, a loud, agonizingly slow squeal of wheels broke the high-stakes emotional gravity.
a tired-looking teenage employee pushing a towering, uncoordinated stack of blue plastic crates stopped dead at the end of the aisle.
he looked at your tear-stained face, looked at logan's defensive frame, and then looked down at the carton of cookie dough ice cream.
he blinked slowly, let out a soul-weary, minimum-wage sigh, and silently began pulling his cart backward, retreating into the canned goods section like a crab disappearing into the sand.
you let out a wet, breathless sound that was half-sob, half-gasp, hastily wiping your nose with the sleeve of your sweatshirt. "great. we're the 2 am grocery store circus."
logan's jaw worked, his chest expanding as he took a deep breath. for a fraction of a second, the tiniest, almost imperceptible ghost of a smile tugged at the very corner of his mouth, softening the hard edge of his face.
"well," his voice was quiet, the rough edge still there but momentarily lighter. "to be fair, you are having a life-altering breakdown in neon pink flip-flops and patrick star pajama shorts."
"they're comfortable," you mumbled, looking down at your toes, a faint blush warming your cheeks despite the cold.
he laughed softly but as quickly as the lighthearted beat came, it evaporated, swallowed by the cold, heavy reality of the last two years.
the silence returned, sober and demanding. logan took a slow, heavy step toward you, the distance between you evaporating until you could feel the heat radiating from his chest.
he raised his hand, his fingers trembling slightly as they hovered just inches from your wet cheek, hesitating.
his hand lingered in the air, his knuckles barely brushing your cheekbone as he looked at you, utterly torn.
"i don't know what to do with that," he whispered, his voice raw and completely stripped of its armor. his forehead lowered, almost touching yours, his breath shaky as those dark brown eyes locked onto yours. "i just don't know how to just forget what you did."
You got any John Tucker recs??đď¸đď¸ I also feel like Iâve read them all
Hehe, of course!
Iâm very much a fluff sorta gal so expect these to all be very cute-fluffy, thereâs like one explicit/smut one
Too Many Cooks (Series - 4 parts, in progress)
Pom Poms & Ice Skates (Series - 3 parts, x OC)
The Slow Rise (Series, 3 parts + spinoff)
Drunk Clinging
Sweetheart
Set It Up
Iâm Dating Who??
Types
Sunflower Vol. 6
Mama Y Papa
Power of a Daiquiri
Last Call (Smut)
Operation: Tuckerâs in Love
Iâm an Astronaut (2 parts)
Slippery Slope
The Secret Relationship
Putting this together only proved to me that I have read literally every Tucker fic
Also I literally love every fic there is on the site, this is just me cutting it down to a list, if youâve written for Tucker I guarantee I have read it and love it!
F - fluff S - smut A - angst
⥠- series â - one shot â - imagines and drabbles
yeri's favourites
last updated - 08/07/2026
⤡ fic count - 85
fic recs : one - two - three - four - five - six
@0nlyangelxx ââââââââââ
â older bf | F.
⤡ some blurbs about being in a age gap relationship with our silver fox.
@80sfilmclub ââââââââââ
â husband!jack abbot x pregnant!reader | F.
⤡ running into your ex at the grocery store snippet.
@abbotsgirl99 ââââââââââ
⥠easy on me | A.
⤡ reader doesnât work in the medical field and always felt a certain level of insecurity because they feel as if jack thinks they are dumb. then one outing with jackâs team and some comments from jack and his coworkers all but confirms their insecurities.
⤡ [ part 2 ]
@abbotsmyhabit ââââââââââ
â shark attack | F. S. A.
⤡ after park the shark gets a little too forward with you in the ER jack starts to question himself and your relationship.
â paying up | F.
⤡ you like to give abbot an extra grey hair with your flirting and barely suppressed sex jokes, and he likes to put a little extra in your swear jar. it's a win-win shift.
⥠surface pressure | A.
⤡ you can handle anything. you donât need help, nor do you want it, especially not now. you canât afford to be reliant on other people. youâve got your own issues to worry about. yhe last time you relied on someone else, you ended up in your current situation. you canât rely on anyone else. rven with the ground cracking beneath you. rven when it feels like the sky is falling, that youâre drowning. you justâŚcanât.
@angelverse222 ââââââââââ
â bf!jack abbot x reader hcs | F. S.
@annsfics ââââââââââ
â i care about her, too | A.
⤡ after a patient attacks & strangles you, you're put on a short leave of absence so you can recover in peace. when you return to ptmc, you stay practically glued to robby's side. jealous, abbot tries keeping his distanceâgranting you time & space, so as to allow you to come to him when you're ready to discuss the events of that day...which he emerged from with bloody knuckles on your behalf.
@astarlinggirl ââââââââââ
â fuck it, i love you | S. A.
⤡ after a risquĂŠ encounter with you at the bar, jack abbot canât get you out of his head. and then you show up in one of his lectures as his student. and then you two navigate an interesting 'casual' relationship, until your emotionally avoidant asses get, well... attached.
@belleeebelleee ââââââââââ
â jack abbot x fem!reader | F.
⤡ no one at the pitt thought it was strange when you showed up with a kid on your hip. because everyone already knew things about youâjust⌠not the right things. they knew you were married. they knew you had a kid. they just didnât know who.
â jack abbot x fem!reader | F.
⤡ you get a 'J' tattooed just over your rib cage and surprise your husband jack with it
@bluetimeombre ââââââââââ
â j over my heart | F. S.
⤡ i had some voices whisper into my ear about a shared tattoo with jack abbott and wife(pediatrics doctor?) reader? reader and jack having two tattoos. one that everyone would see and the other where only the two of them would. and what if, their marriage is like not known to everyone except for robby and dana
@buckyscaptain ââââââââââ
â dr. sunshine | A.
⤡ jack loves you, he does, but when you take a hit out in the ambulance bay by a less than satisfied patient and try to brush it off, you test every inch of his patience.
â i told you so | A.
⤡ jack gets a premonition about you at work, but there's no way that feeling can be true, right?
@clarktologist ââââââââââ
â baby, baby | F.
⤡ jack abbot is a big fan of calling people pet names. it drives you nuts.
@cvfeaulait ââââââââââ
â soap suds | F.
⤡ after a long and exhausting night shift, jack comes home needing the comfort of his wife.
@dollsonlyhurt ââââââââââ
⥠these hands heal | F. S. A.
⤡ youâre fresh meat on the pittâs night shift, and dr. jack abbot makes damn sure you know it. he rides your ass every shift, you challenge every order he gives, and somewhere between trauma activations, bruised egos, and one very unfortunate obsession with his hands⌠things get complicated.
⤡ [ part 2 part 3 ]
@filmetcs ââââââââââ
â normal girl | A.
⤡ you wake up feeling like the world is out to get you and Jack is there to help pick up all the pieces.
@fluttervoid ââââââââââ
â in his arms | F.
⤡ getting dragged out of bed before sunrise because jack wants you to âkeep him companyâ was never something you agreed to, but somehow it still happens. you end up on the gym floor in his hoodie, half awake and pretending to read while he trains, only to realise heâd much rather bench press you instead of the barbell.
@geminiwritten ââââââââââ
â miss independent | F. S.
⤡ you've always kept things casual. it's just easier that way. you've got a roster, a routine, and absolutely no intention of changingâuntil you realise you've made one very inconvenient mistake: falling in love with dr. jack abbot.
@lauraneedstochill ââââââââââ
â bite the bullet | A.
⤡ when jack arrives in the ER in his SWAT uniform, he is surprised to see a new surgeon. and right away, he takes a liking to your brazen tone and notices your skills. he finds you intriguing. except, you hate everything about his hobby, and you arenât afraid to let him know.
@llittlekittennn ââââââââââ
â husband!jack abbot headcanons
@lostalioth ââââââââââ
â capable hands | F. S.
⤡ jack brings younger reader around his army friends for a pool party/BBQ. theyâre all giving him shit for being with someone younger but theyâre all secretly jealous of him having a pretty young thing dote on him and care for him.
@louloops ââââââââââ
â touchy!jack abbot in public | S.
⤡ thinking about how jack abbot would literally never leave you alone during gatherings.
@lov3land ââââââââââ
â cola | F. S.
⤡ in the words of lana del rey, âi got sweet taste for men who are olderâŚâ or, two times jack abbot was mistaken for your father, and the one time he wasnât.
@lovebugism ââââââââââ
â in our bedroom after the war | A.
⤡ you saved jack abbot's life once, and now he insists on returning the favor.
â unfinished business | A.
⤡ you've been trying to get over dr. abbot for weeks now. jack, unfortunately for you, has other plans.
@mariposium ââââââââââ
â the abbot effect | F. A.
⤡ your boyfriend has a way about him that draws women in like bees to honey. itâs never bothered you before, but after a bad shift and an ill-timed bet, you are quickly reaching the limit of what you can handle.
â higher standards | F. A.
⤡ everyone has an ex that theyâd rather forget about. yours is just more persistent than most. however, when he takes the initiative to show up at your place of work, demanding a second chance, itâs time for you to shut it down once and for allâand to show that you have standards now.
@mcybank ââââââââââ
â tender | F. S. A.
⤡ the worst-cared-for girl in the county keeps washing up in jackâs er, and he canât help but start paying attention.
â oops | F. A.
⤡ jack abbot absolutely adores his wife. but sometimes he wonders how the hell she made it this far...
@moodyabbott ââââââââââ
â jack abbot x shy!reader | F.
⤡ shy!reader get sick and she visit the pitt at night
â silver fox | F.
⤡ tiktok inspired me cuz today i saw that this girl was dating some forty two year old and he called her purse a pocketbook lol
â sunshine of the dark | F. A.
⤡ the sunshine of the night shift, all cookies and lavender, loves to make the grumpy, sassy, silver fox attending smile through attempts at flirting and baked goods. but what happens when he asks a certain replacement attending for drinks and the sunshine dims?
â missing you | F. A.
⤡ it's just never the right time for you and jack Aabbot, not since you left the first time. until it is. or four times you and jack abbot miss your chances and the one time you don't.
@of-apollo ââââââââââ
â buddy knows best | A.
⤡ when an angry patient attacks you at work, you do everything in your power to hide how bad it is from jack. unfortunately for you, his dog, buddy, knows best, and is quick to alert him to how bad things are as soon as he gets home.
â dog's best friend | F.
⤡ when jack takes you back to his place after the longest night shift, he is quick to warn you about the stubborn rescue dog living with him. however, in a beautiful turn of events, the dog takes a very strong liking to you.
â it's getting hot in here | F.
⤡ when jack drops you home after a shift, he cannot bear to be in your stuffy apartment for more than a minute. the thought of leaving you there to disintegrate pains him, and he is quick to invite you back to his house for the sweet, crisp air of his AC, and some relaxation in the poolâŚ
⥠give it to me, baby | F. S.
⤡ jack abbot is many things; a loving husband, a phenomenal doctor, a decorated war veteran, an adrenaline junkie, a lower-leg amputee, and (possibly) a mind reader. but he is not a father. in 4 years of marriage you haven't been able to surprise him even once. but maybe, for his 50th birthday, you can kill two birds with one stone.
@p1stach-io ââââââââââ
â maggots for brains | F. A.
⤡ overwhelmed by the emotional distance of your careers, you seek a brief moment of comfort from husband amidst the chaos of his hospital shift.
@popcornpoppypop ââââââââââ
â surprise | F.
⤡ reader would have her normal shift and goes into labor without knowing she is pregnant
â i don't know why | A. - [jack abbot x oc]
⤡ mia relapses and jack is there for her.
⥠hell of a night | F.
⤡ after a girl's night out goes wrong, reader calls jack for help.
⤡ [ part 2 ]
@pyjamatranslation ââââââââââ
â you started it | F.
⤡ the pitt needs jack but he's asleep. accidental cuddling when you go wake him up.
â stubborn heart and stuffy nosed | F.
⤡ they say doctors make the worst patients... and jack abbot is no exception to that.
â baby rabbit | F. ⤡ when you've been feeling sick for a few weeks, jack expects to face the worst. but a trip to the emergency room reveals something he never expected. and you have to face the fact you're there for each other in sickness and health... and everything between.
@richeeduvie ââââââââââ
⥠leggy! | F.
⤡ a collection of fics where the beautiful, oddball daughter you gave jack becomes attached to his prosthetic as much as she is attached to him...
â jack abbot x fem!reader | F.
⤡ your beautiful daughter has recently discovered the ability to compare. robby's lucky enough to be there to witness it in the living room, maybe looking too comfortable in jack's house for jack's liking.
@satellite-evans ââââââââââ
â expectations | F.
⤡ you finally have expectations when it comes to men.
â absolutely not | F.
⤡ you trust jack with your patients, your career, and your life. realizing you'd trust him with your heart is a much bigger problem.
â i've waited a hundred years, and i'd wait a million more for you | F.
⤡ jack signed on before the older man had even gotten the chance to finish his spiel, telling him how he would do whatever it took to be there.
@shadeofpeach ââââââââââ
⥠grey clouds | A.
⤡ working the night shift at the pitt is hard enough without carrying the weight of a violent secret. jack abbot has been watching his best resident slowly fade for months until a desperate attempt to leave her abuser turns into a fight for her life.
⤡ [ part 2 - take me home ]
⤡ [ part 3 - to be okay ]
⤡ [ part 4 - out of breath ]
⤡ [ part 5 - a new kind of love ]
â night dada | F.
⤡ jack returns home to find his sleepy babygirl clinging to a very special teddy.
â the prettiest in the room | F.
⤡ jack decides heâs done hiding exactly how whipped he is for you.
â a fall, a cut and an angry cut | A.
⤡ a routine task like doing laundry turns into a nightmare when a sudden slip makes you trip on the stairs. with a deep cut on your face and an injured knee, you try to downplay your clumsiness, but for your husband, jack, the accident is anything but funny.
â sensory meltdown | F. A.
⤡ when you're pushed to your breaking point by a brutal shift and fever, jack is there to catch you and guide you into the quiet dark.
â happy (first) father's day | F.
⤡ a small gift box changes jack's entire world forever.
â twins power | F. A. ⤡ a midnight fever transforms an ordinary bedtime into every parent's worst nightmare, leaving you with no choice but to rush your four year old twins, luca and lily, to the pittsburgh trauma medical center.
â sleepy tantrums | F. A.
⤡ toddlerhood is hard, but dealing with an overtired three years old who weapons grade fights sleep is a whole different level of exhausting.
â critical levels | A.
⤡ dr. jack abbot x artist!reader
â the bet | F.
⤡ when a fever leaves you completely exhausted, abbot steps in to take care of you; unbeknownst to you, entirely validating a hospital wide betting pool on his secret crush.
â i like it when you blush | F.
⤡ jack knows exactly the effect he has on you.
@spice-honey ââââââââââ
⥠bucket list | F. S. A.
⤡ when brilliant surgeon dr. sofia beckett and ED attending dr. jack abbot clash over a fatal patient case, their collision forces them both to confront the grief they've buried. sofia never lets anyone see her break. jack knows how to survive, but surviving isn't living. when they discover that the person who sees through your defenses might be the only person who can save you, they face an impossible choice: keep running from loss, or finally stop fighting it alone. one bucket list Item at a time.
@springtyme ââââââââââ
â your eyes, twice over | F. A.
⤡ the night takes a turn when jack finds you in the ER hallway with two little girls who look unmistakably like you. he realizes thereâs a whole part of your life he never knew about. but maybe, if you let him, heâd really like to understand it.
@st-abbot ââââââââââ
⥠timebomb | F. S. A.
⤡ after growing close to jack following the death of your respective spouses, you navigate your feelings for the man who has been there for you through it all; until a brush with death pushes you to disturb the careful equilibrium between the two of you.
â willing, maybe able | F.
⤡ you were so willing, he was unable.
@taknbythewind ââââââââââ
â soft and sweet | F.
⤡ his wife brings the kids to visit him at work and to show off the new addition to the abbot family, and maybe jack is already itching for anotherâŚ
@targaryenluvs ââââââââââ
â kissed and made up | F.
⤡ after pissing off your boyfriend in the late hours of night before his shift, you decide to bring him a nice big lunch during said shift. except not one of his coworkers knew you were actually real, let alone oh so gorgeous and sweet!
@thatfanficstuff ââââââââââ
⥠widow!jack abbot | F.
⤡ a series of ficlets featuring our favorite chaos goblin, jack abbot and his wife.
â now how i planned | F.
⤡ a miscommunication kind of trope between jack and reader where theyâre dating and she thinks heâs cheating on her because heâs been acting very strange but in reality heâs planning to propose and she confronts him, almost leaves him so he has to propose to her in the least romantic place, not at all how he planned
@thehatussy ââââââââââ
â when jack's fiancĂŠe ends up in his own ER.... | A.
⤡ reader goes on a nature walk and ends up in the ER and jack hates it.
@therarityoflife ââââââââââ
⥠nipple piercings | F. S.
⤡ youâd gone straight to the gym after work, or else you would have seen the condition your roommate was in earlier. after getting home for your shift in the pitt, and subsequent gym session that came after it, you find your roommate suffering from appendicitis and rush them to the ED. all would be well except in the rush to get there you forget that you were braless in a top that leaves nothing to the imagination. now in the chilly ER you are faced with the senior attending who has been secretly pining over you for months, and the piercings you got when you turned nineteen are on full display for him to see.
⤡ [ part 2 ]
@tojisteddy ââââââââââ
â jack abbot x reader | S.
⤡ jack abbot would love when you call him âpapaâ or âbig papaâ in passing/casually because he simply gets turned on and (but not limited to) scared when you call him by name.
@tulipluver03 ââââââââââ
â fake it til you make it | A.
⤡ sometimes labels stick annoyingly too long. sometimes someone comes along and sees beyond them.
@vampireedolll ââââââââââ
â baby break | F. A.
⤡ you come to check on baby jane doe and have a quick and impromptu conversation about children with your husband
@voidsagent ââââââââââ
â sticky notes & scrub tops | F.
⤡ when you start packing lunches for jack, the ED takes notice. not just of the notes you leave, but of the changes in jack too.
â do not disturb | F. A.
⤡ jack abbot's relaxing day off takes a turn for the worse when he hears his phone ring. after all, his phone is on do not disturb and there's only one person that he's allowed to interrupt his peace â you. even worse, your voice isn't the first thing he hears when he picks up.
@weird-is-life ââââââââââ
â hearts full | F.
⤡ you and jack get a chance to adopt baby jane doe after struggling with the adoption process for a long time
â ruined vacation? | F.
⤡ you get your period just before two-week long vacation and you worry you just ruined it
@whitehorsesrun ââââââââââ
â night off | S.
⤡ itâs jacks night off and youâve been waiting all day for him to come home dressed in his SWAT uniformâŚ
@wildflowerluver ââââââââââ
â jack abbot x wife!reader headcannons
â taste back | A.
⤡ jack relearns what itâs like to want to be around someone all the time
@yawnlovescookies ââââââââââ
â married? | F.
⤡ what happens when someone sees the wedding ring you were trying to hide? who will win the bet about your mysterious husband?
â one night only | F.
⤡ jack invites you on a date to the movie theater to watch one of the movies he used to watch with his sister. he plans to ask you to be his girlfriend.
thank you sm for tagging me @lollypopunicorn14 !!!đđ
Eleanor Crain (The Haunting of Hill House), Mulan (Mulan), Lexie Grey (Grey's Anatomy)
no pressure tags: @theboardwalkbody @lalalunascope @hi-res-tm @iristheplanet16 @fandomxo @lovesflourmorethananything @lives-in-midgard and anyone else who wants to do it!!
authors note: hey⌠(i know itâs been exactly a month since the last chapter) how are yous doing⌠weâre back again hehehe. the end is nearly in sight (iâve been spending weeks trying to make sure the chapters line up properly without jumping too much).
part six.
daniel's hands were warm on your waist, his touch predictable and familiar as he leaned over you in the dark.
the sheets beneath you were crisp, smelling faintly of the lavender detergent you always bought.
everything about your room, about the lighting, about the man shifting his weight above you, was calibrated for safety.
it was the exact life you had spent a little while trying to engineerâa life that was free of sharp edges, sudden drops, and volatile, unpredictable storms.
chase was now entirely back to full health, the hives long gone and her life completely back to its usual teenage rhythm.
she was currently fast asleep in her second bedroom across the city, completely safe. the crisis was long over and yet unfortunately the shift it had caused inside you hadn't settled a single inch since.
the terror of that night had receded from the house, but it remained firmly lodged under your ribs, a heavy, jagged stone that refused to dissolve.
daniel was saying something soft against your neckâsomething sweet, no doubtâhis breathing shallow and patient as he tried to coax you into the rhythm of a moment you had actively initiated.
he was trying so hard.
he always tried.
his lips pressed against the sensitive skin beneath your ear, his touch light and undemanding, offering a steady, gentle warmth that should have been comforting.
you had your eyes squeezed shut, your fingers gripping his shoulders, consciously forcing yourself to stay present.
be here, you commanded your brain, the words repeating like a desperate, frantic mantra behind your eyelids. be here with the man who actually belongs in your life now. look at him. appreciate him. choose him.
but your mind was an absolute traitor.
every time daniel's hands shifted over your hips, your skin instinctively remembered a completely different, slightly heavier grip.
your nerves didn't fire instead they misfired, translating the gentle pressure into an agonizing phantom sensation of calloused hands that used trace your skin.
when daniel kissed your jaw, your chest didn't tighten or ache instead it remained completely flat.
but you weren't in your bedroom. well not mentally at least.
smells that you only associated with hospitals rushed back into your nose. you kept seeing the terrifying, deep rumble of jack's chest.
the way his frame had effortlessly shielded you from the chaos of the hospital lobby, the sheeer, unyielding force of his voice telling you i've got her, i won't let anything happen to her.
you remembered how the absolute terror of losing your daughter had been met by the immovable, terrifyingly solid wall of jack's presence.
he had been a force of nature that night, holding you together with nothing but the sheer weight of his grip, and breathing life back into a room that felt like it was running out of oxygen.
now daniel shifted, his weight pressing down on you, his lips finding yours. it was a good kiss. it was supposed to be intimate, a needed reassurance after a frantic, terrifying month.
it was the kind of kiss that belonged in a stable, healthy relationship.
but you felt entirely hollowed out, like a detached spectator in your own bedroom, watching your own body go through the motions from somewhere near the ceiling.
you were reaching for a feeling that simply wasn't there, desperately trying to project jack's sharp, intense gravity onto daniel's quiet, undeserving kindness.
you tried to force the spark, but failed instantly.
you were lying beneath a good man, wishing he was a completely different one.
when it was over, daniel rolled to the side, pulling the sheet over both of you and drawing you into his side.
he kissed the top of your head, his arm heavy but lax across your waist.
within minutes, he fell asleep, his chest rising and falling peacefully against his shoulder, entirely unaware of the wreckage occurring inches away from him.
you stared up at the dark ceiling for hours, the guilt pooling heavy, toxic, and hot in your stomach.
it wasn't fair to daniel, who loved you with a quiet, uncomplicated devotion, and the absolute weight of it was driving you insane.
you didn't want to want jack.
you had spent months building a meticulous fortress to keep him out, brick by agonizing brick, reinforcing the walls with logic, memory of your old fights, and the desperate need for peace.
and a single thursday night with an allergy scare had leveled it entirely to the ground.
a few hours in jack's orbit, and the fortress was nothing but dust.
you were irritable and furious that your own heart refused to cooperate, angry that months of progress could be obliterated by the simple memory of a man's hand on your back.
so three days later, you broke up with daniel.
it happened in the living room on a quiet sunday afternoon.
it was quiet, gentle, and devastatingly politeâwhich somehow made you find the whole situation even more infuriating.
he didn't yell or even demand any answers.
he just looked at you with a sad, knowing understanding in his eyes that made you feel like a monster.
he packed his small duffel bag, kissed your cheek, and walked out.
there was no closure in it, only the profound, hollow ache of failing at something that should have been simple.
you were officially alone again, and you were completely pissed off about it.
.ăťă.ăťăâăť.ăťâŤăťăăťă.
the subsequent three weeks were an exercise in absolute exhaustion. you usually found solace in the rigid structure of your job in academia.
you usually graded papers and delivered lectures in ways that kept you grounded. instead, you found yourself staring blankly at student essays, the words blurring into a meaningless haze as twenty-one days of isolation slowly began to wear on your sanity.
max held out a paper cup of tea. behind him priya slipped into your cramped campus office, quietly closing the door and dropping a bakery bag onto your desk.
"croissants," priya announced gently. "because we know you haven't eaten a real meal since sunday. how are you holding up?"
you leaned back in your desk chair, rubbing your temples. "i'm fine. just... adjusting. it's been nearly a month, and the house is still entirely too quiet."
"it's quiet because you did the right thing, even if it feels awful," priya said, sitting on the edge of your desk. "daniel is a wonderful guy, but if the spark isn't there, keeping him around would have been cruel. you spared him a lot of long-term heartache."
"i still feel like a terrible person," you admitted, your voice dropping, the residual guilt of the breakup heavy in your chest. "he didn't do anything wrong. he was steady. he was exactly what i thought i wanted. and the guilt with chase is just killing me. i swore to myself that i wouldn't be that parentâthe one introducing random men into her life only for them to turn out to be temporary fixtures. she liked him. she deserved stability, and i just disrupted her world again."
"how did she actually take it?" max asked softly.
"that's the weirdest part. she seemed... completely fine with it, surprisingly," you muttered, shaking your head in confusion.
"when i told her daniel and i were parting ways, she just nodded, gave me a hug, and went back to her homework. no questions. i thought she would be devastated, but she barely blinked."
what you didn't knowâwhat you couldn't possibly see from inside your own blind spotâwas that chase wasn't indifferent at all.
deep down, your teenage daughter was actively, desperately rooting for her parents to get back together.
she knew it was stupid to think so. she remembered the slamming doors from years ago, and she knew the statistics on divorced parents.
but chase was also the one who watched the two of you from the stairs and when you interacted behind closed doors when you thought she wasn't paying attention.
she knew that even when you and jack were being completely distant, cold, or fiercely closed off with each other, the room still practically hummed with electricity.
she saw the heavy, unsaid weight that hung in the air between her mother and her father every time they were in the same room.
daniel had been nice, but to chase, daniel had been a ghost in a house that still belonged to a storm.
"intensity isn't always a flaw," priya offered gently, reaching over to squeeze your hand, bringing you back to the present. "sometimes it just means the fire never actually went out. you spent a while trying to convince yourself that a quiet life was the same thing as a happy one. it's okay to admit that jack still holds the keys to the castle."
you couldn't answer.
the truth of priya's words felt like a physical weight in your chest, a truth you weren't ready to face, let alone voice aloud.
.ăťă.ăťăâăť.ăťâŤăťăăťă.
to make matters more stressful, the house was about to get even quieter.
chase had been scheduled for an end-of-year school trip which was a three-day camping and hiking excursion.
you had been entirely reluctant to let her go. with the cashew allergy debacle still fresh in your mind, the thought of your daughter being hours away from the nearest hospital, surrounded by wilderness, made your stomach twist into violent knots.
you had nearly canceled her registration three times.
but you knew you couldn't keep her locked inside forever.
she was a growing teenager, yearning for independence, and jack had gently reminded you over a brief, strained phone call that "you can't wrap her in bubble wrap, as much as we both want to."
so, with a heavy heart and a backpack stuffed with four epipens, you had dropped her off at the school bus that morning.
the anxiety had settled into the empty house by midafternoon, wrapping around your throat until you were practically climbing the walls.
a sudden, sharp craving hit you out of nowhereâa desperate, phantom itch for a cigarette. you hadn't smoked in seven years.
back during the worst, most turbulent years of your marriage, you used to keep a secret pack hidden in the back of the pantry, slipping out into the dark of the back garden to smoke when jack wasn't looking, just to catch a single breath of artificial calm.
but jack had found out.
he hadn't yelled which you had kind of expected him to.
he had looked at you with this fiercely protective, agonizingly gentle worry, talking you out of it by quietly listing the health risks and gently pulling the lighter from your hand.
the memory made you scoff out loud in the empty kitchen, a wave of bitter irritation washing over you.
it was infuriating.
even your old, hidden vices were completely tangled up in him.
you couldn't even crave a bad habit without his memory standing there, blocking the doorway.
which made the events of the afternoon all the more confusing.
.ăťă.ăťăâăť.ăťâŤăťăăťă.
the thunder rumbled low in the distance, a dark purple wall of bruised clouds rolling over the horizon, but the air remained heavy with pre-storm humidity.
inside the house, the atmosphere felt just as pressurized, the walls closing in on you as the afternoon light prematurely died.
you were in the kitchen, aggressively scrubbing a dish that was already perfectly clean, just to have something to do with the restless, angry energy vibrating violently under your skin.
the sponge rasped against the porcelain, the water running scalding hot over your hands, but nothing could distract you.
suddenly, the roar of a small, sputtering engine flared to life in your front yard, cutting through the quiet house like a chainsaw.
you froze, the sponge dripping soapy water onto the linoleum.
your chest instantly tightening, you threw the dish towel onto the counter and marched to the front window, ripping the blinds back with a sharp snap.
there was jack.
the sight of him hit you like a physical blow to the sternum.
he was wearing a faded, grey t-shirt that clung to the broad span of his back, the fabric stretched tight across his shoulders.
his greying curls were already damp with sweat, clinging to the nape of his neck as he pushed your old, temperamental lawnmower across the overgrown grass.
he moved with efficiency, his forearms flexing with every turn.
he wasn't supposed to be here.
chase was away.
it wasn't his weekend, he hadn't texted, and he certainly hadn't asked for permission.
he had simply showed up, an uninvited storm inside an already broken perimeter.
you yanked the front door open, stepping out onto the porch just as the first massive, heavy drops of rain began to slam violently into the dry dirt.
"jack!" you yelled over the deafening rumble of the engine, the wind picking up, whipping your hair across your face.
he didn't look up.
he just turned the mower around at the edge of the fence, his jaw set in a stubborn, rigid line that you knew all too well.
he kept his eyes locked on the path ahead, his frame leaning into the machine as if he could outrun the weather through sheer force of will.
"jack, stop!" you marched down the porch steps, the summer rain immediately soaking through your thin shirt, cold and sudden against your hot skin, plastering your hair to your forehead.
the storm was unleashing now, a wall of water descending on the neighborhood, but you didn't care.
you stopped right in front of the mower, crossing your arms and forcing him to either kill the engine or physically run you over.
jack clamped down on the safety lever, pulling the machine to a halt inches from your sneakers.
the motor sputtered and died with a heavy, mechanical shudder, leaving only the loud, rushing sound of the downpour beginning to unleash around you.
"what the hell are you doing?" you snapped, your voice sharp, laced with all the venom and irritation that had been building like a pressure cooker for weeks.
you were soaking wet, shivering despite the slight heat, and absolutely vibrating with a rage that had very little to do with the grass.
jack wiped a mix of sweat and rain from his eyes with the back of his forearm.
his gaze locked onto yoursâdark and entirely unyielding.
"your grass was a foot high," he said, his voice a low rumble that vibrated beneath the sound of the rain. "the storm's gonna turn it into a swamp, and then it will take you a month to clear it with this piece of shit mower."
"i didn't ask you to do it!" you shouted back, the rain coming down harder now, bouncing violently off the hot metal of the mower between you, sending up small plumes of steam. "i don't need your help, jack. i don't want you here. leave the damn mower and just go home."
"i'm half-way done," he argued, his hands tightening on the rubber grip of the handle until his knuckles turned white, the veins in his forearms standing out in sharp relief. "go back inside before you freeze."
"it's eighty-five degrees out here, i'm not going to freeze. leave it now."
when he wouldn't listen frustration boiled over, hot and blinding.
you stepped around the machine, reaching down and grabbing his wet, solid wrist to physically pull him away from the handle.
the moment your fingers wrapped around his bare skin, the tension snapped. it was like touching a live wire.
jack exploded.
he yanked his arm back violently, dropping the mower handle entirely and grabbing your upper arms instead. his grip was firm, massive, but carefulânever enough to hurt, but completely unmovableâas he pulled you a step closer, twisting his body to use his broad frame to physically shield your body from the driving, icy wind.
"i'm finishing the lawn." he still argued with you, his face inches from yours, his hot breath mixing with the cold rain that pooled in the hollows of his collarbones. "stop fighting me on every single thing i do."
"i am fighting you because you don't belong here." you screamed back, the lie tasting like ash in your mouth, your voice breaking against the sheets of water cascading around you.
jack stared at you, the rain streaming down the sharp, rugged angles of his face, catching on his eyelashes and dripping from his chin.
his eyes were burning with a raw, angry frustration that mirrored your own agony, a look that said he knew exactly how much of a lie that was.
for three agonizing seconds, neither of you moved, the heat radiating between your bodies thick enough to choke on despite the deluge.
then, the sky completely opened up in a blinding sheet of white water, a violent, deafening crack of lightning splitting the air directly overhead and rattling the windows of the house.
jack swore loudly under his breath, letting go of your arms only to catch your handâhis palm rough, scorching hot, and completely soaking wetâand yanked you toward the porch.
you didn't fight him this time. you couldn't.
you stumbled up the wooden steps, your wet sneakers slipping slightly before jack caught your waist, guiding you with an aggressive urgency. he kicked the front door open with the heel of his heavy boot, shoving you into the dry interior before slamming the heavy wood shut behind him, cutting off the roaring chaos of the storm in a single, definitive thud.
.ăťă.ăťăâăť.ăťâŤăťăăťă.
the sudden silence of the house was suffocating.
the only sound was the frantic, heavy breathing of two people trapped in a space entirely too small for the energy between them.
you stood in the entryway, water pooling rapidly around your sneakers onto the hardwood floor, your clothes sticking translucent and heavy against your skin.
jack was a foot away, his back against the door, breathing hard.
his wet t-shirt was completely molded to his chest and abdomen, showing every ridge, every scar, every line of a body you used to know better than your own.
"you're a lunatic," you breathed, shaking your head as you tried to wring out the hem of your shirt, your fingers trembling with a mix of chill and sheer, unadulterated aggravation. "you're tracking mud everywhere. why can't you just leave things alone? why do you have to force your way into everything?"
"because you wouldn't have done it." jack snapped, tossing his wet truck keys onto the entryway table with a loud, aggressive clack that sounded like a gunshot in the quiet house. "you let everything pile up until you're drowning, and god forbid anyone tries to take a single thing off your plate."
"i was doing just fine. i've been doing fine without you playing the hero."
"yeah? is that why you broke up with the boyfriend?"
jack stepped directly into your space, the sudden movement cutting off your exit, his voice dropping into a low, dangerous frequency that made every single nerve ending in your body snap awake.
the sheer pheromonal weight of him pressed down on you. "because you're doing so great? i'm not blind, and i'm not stupid. lena told me you called the trauma desk asking about chase's follow-up paperwork three separate times when you could have just texted me. you're losing your mind, and you're taking it out on me."
"i am taking it out on you because you are the entire problem." you yelled, the dam inside you finally bursting, all the weeks of performance, all the hidden longing, all the sleepless nights turning into pure, unadulterated rage.
you stepped right up into his chest, your hands coming up to aggressively push against his shoulders. "you show up when whether i tell you to or not, you look at me like you still own me, you say things you shouldn't sayâ"
"i say things i mean." jack said, his hands coming up like lightning to catch your wrists mid-air.
he didn't push you away.
he pulled.
the collision was total.
your chest slammed hard against his, the raw heat radiating off his skin instantly cutting through the damp chill of your wet clothes.
the impact knocked the air straight out of your lungs, and before you could even draw a breath to argue, jack's mouth descended onto yours.
it wasn't a gentle kiss. it was a dam breaking after months of agonizing, suffocating pressure.
but as the initial shock faded, the desperation shifted into something devastatingly intimate.
his lips softened just enough to mold perfectly against yours, a familiar, agonizingly sweet fit that rushed through your memory like a flood.
this was the man who used to hold you in the quiet hours of the morning.
this was the mouth that had whispered promises in the dark before the world got too heavy and complicated for the two of you to carry.
the familiar scent of him swirled around you, pulling you back to a time when his touch was your anchor, not your undoing.
you let out a soft, broken sigh against his mouth, and jack groaned, taking the invitation.
his tongue slid past your teeth, deep, fluid, and fiercely possessive, yet carrying a profound, aching tenderness that made your knees instantly turn to water.
your hands, which had been meant to push him away, completely betrayed you.
they slid up his chest, feeling the frantic, hammering beat of his heart, before tangling deep into his wet curls to pull him down harder, destroying any semblance of regret or restraint.
jack's hands left your wrists, one wrapping securely around the back of your waist, his massive palm anchoring against your lower back to hoist you up against him, lifting you nearly off your feet.
his other hand cupped your jaw, his thumb digging into your cheekbone, holding you perfectly still for him as if he were trying to memorize the very shape of your soul through his fingertips.
he bit your lower lip before soothing the ache with his tongue, his kisses moving frantically from your mouth, dragging down the rigid line of your jaw, to the sensitive, pulsing skin right beneath your ear.
you arched into him, a soft, broken whimper escaping you as his heavy stubble scraped ruthlessly against your neck.
every single inch of your body was on fire.
this was what you had been starving for. this was the gravity you couldn't escape, the terrifyingly intense friction that made you feel alive in a way no one else ever could.
jack dragged his mouth back to yours, his kisses turning thicker, slower, and heavy with a desire that had been locked away, fermenting in the dark for over a year.
he pinned you ruthlessly against the hallway wall, the plaster cold against your back while he was nothing but pure, unadulterated heat.
his thigh forced its way between yours, anchoring your hips against the wall, tilting your pelvis up into his.
you could feel the rigid, hard line of him pressing directly against you through the damp fabric of your clothes, the sheer, overwhelming physical size of him completely consuming your senses.
your hands tore at the fabric of his wet shirt, gripping his shoulders, wanting skin, wanting the burning touch that used to be your everyday life.
you pulled your head back just an inch, both of you panting heavily, the air between you thick and scorching.
your lips were swollen, dark red, and wet, your chests heaving violently against one another in the dim light.
a massive, surging crest of adrenaline completely swallowed up any residual guilt.
your nerve endings were screaming, your brain short-circuiting under the sheer velocity of the moment.
you couldn't think about the past or the future; you just needed the friction to continue.
you needed to drown out the suffocating quiet of the last three weeks in the only safe harbor you had ever truly known.
"jack," you choked out, your hands gripping his soaking shoulders, your body moving on pure, unbridled impulse. "jack, just... come upstairs. let's just do this. let's get it out of our systems. please."
jack froze.
the sudden, rigid stillness in his posture was louder than the thunder crashing outside. it was a physical deceleration so violent it felt like a car crash.
his eyes, dark and heavy with a blatant, agonizing lust, stared down at yours. his chest was heaving, his muscles trembling under your fingers, and it was glaringly, terrifyingly obvious how badly he wanted to pick you up and carry you up those stairs. as he had so many times before even though you would tell him to think of the pressure he was putting on his leg.
he was practically vibrating with the urge to succumb.
but his hands slowly, agonizingly dropped from your waist.
his fingers uncurled from your hair, the wet strands falling back against your cheeks.
he took a heavy step back, then another, creating a cold, gaping void between your bodies in the narrow hallway.
the absence of his heat made you shiver instantly.
he looked down at you, his chest still rolling with heavy, jagged breaths, but the raw, unbridled heat in his eyes had instantly hardened into something sharp, fractured, and incredibly dark.
"get it out of our systems?" jack repeated, his voice dropping into a dangerously quiet, ragged whisper that cut deeper than any shout he had leveled at you in the yard.
"jack, we're losing our mindsâ"
"no," he cut you off, his jaw tight, a sharp muscle leaping violently in his cheek.
he looked at you with an overwhelming amount of respect, a gaze that was heavy with a protective, fierce care that extended even to protecting you from yourself.
"you don't get to do that to me. and i'm sure as hell not doing that to you. i know it's been three weeks, but you still just walked away from a relationship. you're exhausted, you're stressed out of your mind, and you are hurting."
"that's not what i meant," you whispered, the sudden shift freezing the blood in your veins.
you reached out a trembling hand for him, desperate to pull the warmth back, but he stepped back again, completely out of your reach, his back hitting the front door.
"that's exactly what you meant," jack said, his voice cracking with a raw, agonizing vulnerability that made your throat close up with tears.
he shook his head, his eyes glassy under the dim entryway light, staring at you with a profound, exhausting sadness. "if i go up those stairs with you tonight... if i touch you like that again, i'm all in. i don't know how to do it halfway with you. i never did. i would be yours completely, by tomorrow morning. i would be right back to where i was, completely at your mercy."
he took a sharp, shaky breath, his shoulders collapsing inward just a fraction as he looked at you, utterly defeated by his own honesty.
"and if we do it just to 'get it out of our systems,' tomorrow morning you're going to wake up, regret it, remember why we broke up, and build those walls right back up. i'd lose you all over again."
jack looked down at the floor, his voice dropping so low it was almost entirely swallowed by the sound of the rain punishing the house outside. "i barely survived losing you the first time. i can't afford to do it twice."
before you could say a single word, before you could even process the devastating, heavy weight of what he had just admitted, jack turned around.
he snatched his keys from the table, pulled the heavy front door open, and walked straight back out into the pouring rain, leaving you entirely alone, shivering in your quiet hallway.
i absolutely love your dean fics!!! would you do a dean fic where dean and reader are rivals (she plays a sport at briar u) and they really donât like each other đ
foul play
dean di laurentis x reader
summary: forced into a joint media campaign, you must survive the arrogant charm and heavy friction of the hockey team's biggest playboy. (2.4k)
content: enemies to lovers?, dean is a prick (but whatâs new), tall reader supremacy, parental expectations, language, rich reader, forced proximity, tension.
authors note: i love how i said no more off campus then you lot keep requesting them lmfao. also it hurt to say âsoccerâ instead of âfootballâ bleh.
you sat on a metal folding chair, a green and white soccer ball trapped beneath the sole of your adidas cleat, rolling it back and forth.
tap. roll. tap. roll.
you had a match against penn state in about twenty-four hours.
you needed to be in the film room watching tape on their backline, not sitting under hot lights waiting for the hockey team's resident playboy to finish adjusting his hair for the fifth time.
the worst part? you weren't even supposed to be here.
layla garcia, your captain and best friend, was the one who was originally signed up for this pr nightmare.
but at exactly 10:43 a.m. this morning, she had texted you a string of coughing emojis claiming a "sudden, mysterious 24-hour stomach bug" had completely taken her out.
you knew for a fact layla had been perfectly fine at dinner last night, eating four slices of pepperoni pizza and talking about how excited she was to go to hawaii with her boyfriend dallas.
you were 100% confronting her about this fake illness the second you got back to your dorm room, but for now, you were stuck covering her shift.
.ăťă.ăťăâăť.ăťâŤăťăăťă.
you hadn't even had time to go back to your room to change into your training kit (or to strangle layla).
so you were wearing your briar athletics gearâthe official white and navy blue soccer jersey with your number 7 on the back, black spandex shorts that hit mid-thigh, and your high-top training socks pulled up over your shins.
but see you weren't usually this cynical.
in fact, you actually loved the rest of the hockey team.
john tucker was a total sweetheart who always let you borrow his notes, and garrett graham was the kind of supportive captain who always texted you good luck before big games.
you loved them all except dean. dean was the only one who rubbed you entirely the wrong way, pushing buttons you didn't even know you had.
but you knew exactly what he was. unfortunately.
unfortunately, you had had a front-row seat to the di laurentis effect when two of your own teammates fell victim to his devastating charm last semester.
you had spent subsequent weekends playing damage control, comforting crying girls on the locker room floor after dean inevitably moved on without a backward glance.
he was a certified player, a serial heartbreaker who treated romance like a non-contact sport, and you had zero intention of becoming casualty number three.
or casualty twenty nine if you counted his victims outside of your team.
"can you stop that?"
you looked up. dean was standing in front of a full-length mirror, casually smoothing down the front of his pristine, number 66 briar hockey jersey.
he didn't look at you directly, just caught your eyes in the reflection, a lazy, amused smirk playing on his lips. "the tapping. it's really distracting, sweetheart."
"then don't be distracted," you snapped, your voice clipped. "and don't call me sweetheart. if i miss film review because you wanted to perfect your blowout, i'm going to fucking pop all your tires."
dean turned around slowly.
he didn't look offended but if anything, your irritation seemed to act like a shot of espresso straight to his ego.
he walked over, his steps slow and deliberate, until he was standing directly over your chair.
he was broadâbuilt for absorbing hits on the iceâand he used his size to completely crowd your space.
"so hostile," he murmured, leaning down slightly so his face was level with yours.
up close, you could see the very very small flecks of amber in his mostly blue eyes, and the faint, clean scent of him hit your senses, making your stomach do an annoying, treasonous flip. "we're supposed to be the faces of the briar athletic campaign. the pr director said we need chemistry."
"we do have chemistry," you said, staring right back, refusing to back down an inch. "the kind that causes a massive explosion and burns the lab down. move, di laurentis."
you weren't even remotely intimidated by him.
you grew up surrounded by wealthy, powerful men who thought they owned every room they walked intoâyour own father being the blueprint.
you knew the exact corporate, high-society language your parents used when they subtly implied your soccer career was just a cute little hobby instead of a real future.
you had an inheritance waiting for you, trust funds you hadn't touched, and parents who would rather see you at a charity gala than a sports complex.
you never had to worry about rent, or student loans, or what would happen if your body gave out on the pitch. you had it easy, financially speaking, and you weren't going to play the victim about it.
but that safety net felt a lot like a golden cage. you were desperate to prove to themâand maybe even to yourselfâthat you were someone on your own merit, not just a name on a tax return.
you wanted the sweat, the bruises, and the victories to be yours, earned entirely by your own lungs and legs, not paid for by a family checkbook.
so a spoiled, handsome hockey player with a silver spoon? please. you practically held a degree in dealing with guys like him.
in fact, you had briefly dated a carbon copy of dean during your freshman yearâa lacrosse player named hayes who genuinely believed 'compromise' meant letting you choose which of his familyâs lake houses you visited for the weekend.
you ended things when you realized his deepest personal struggle in life was deciding between a career in asset management or just playing golf for the rest of his twenties.
so you knew the exact playbook dean was using, and you were completely immune to it.
.ăťă.ăťăâăť.ăťâŤăťăăťă.
now instead of moving, dean took a step closer, his thighs practically brushing against your knees.
the air between you instantly thickened, heavy with a sharp, combative heat.
he reached down, and for a second, you thought he was going to touch your face but his fingers bypassed your cheek to grab the soccer ball from under your foot.
"let's see what you've got then, co-captain," he challenged, spinning the ball on his finger with an arrogant wink.
"give it back," you said, standing up and because you were on your feet now, the distance between you vanished.
you were chest-to-chest with him. honestly, it wasn't hard to match his stare, considering you were teetering on 6ft when you were in your cleats.
you could feel the heat radiating off his body, see the way his eyes dropped to your lips for just a fraction of a second before snapping back to your eyes.
the tension was loud enough to drown out the hum of the studio lights.
you hated how much he affected you and you hated that he knew it.
"come and get it," he whispered.
before you could snatch it, the pr director clapped her hands, shattering the moment. "alright, we're shooting the 'rapid fire q&a' tiktok. sit together on the bench. i want cute, playful, competitive. got it?"
"we do competitive," you muttered, walking past dean, intentionally brushing your shoulder hard against his.
"i can do cute," dean called out after you, his voice dripping with smooth confidence. "you on the other hand might need to practice, though."
you took your seats on the locker-room prop bench.
the camera was set up right in front of you.
"and... action!"
dean instantly switched on the charm, leaning back against the bench with a casual arm conveniently resting just behind your shoulders, his fingers almost brushing your bare neck.
"hey guys, i'm dean from briar hockey," he said, flashing his million-dollar smile at the lens.
you forced out your name out, keeping your posture rigid and your focus laser-sharp.
the pr director held up a flashcard from behind the camera. "first question: who is the bigger trash-talker on the field?"
"oh, definitely her," dean answered without missing a beat, turning his head to look at you.
"she looks like an angel, but she told the dartmouth center-back that her ancestors were ashamed of her last week. it was brutal."
you cut him a glare. "you literally got a game misconduct last month for telling a referee he needed to invest in a pair of glasses with a high prescription."
dean's grin widened. he leaned in closer, his voice dropped, entirely forgetting the camera. "i was defending my teammate. i'm a protector. you would know that if you ever came to a game."
"i'm too busy actually winning my own games," you fired back, your heart hammering against your ribs. you could feel his breath on your cheek.
"next question!" the pr director called out, sounding thrilled by the raw friction radiating off the screen. "who has the better endgame?"
the question hung in the air, suddenly feeling entirely too loaded.
dean's eyes darkened, the playful smirk fading into something much hungrier, much more intense. he didn't look at the camera. he just stared at you, his gaze heavy and deliberate as it traced the line of your jaw down to your collarbone.
"i don't know," dean said softly, his voice a low, rough growl that sent a shiver straight down your spine. "she is all about focus. strategy. but me? i'm highly adaptable. i know exactly how to find the blind spots. i never lose."
your breath caught. the hate, the annoyance, the sheer, unadulterated attractionâit all tangled together in your chest until you could barely breathe.
you hated his arrogance, but god, the way he looked at you made you feel like you were the only person in the room.
you leaned an inch closer, your eyes locking onto his.
"you've never played against a defense like mine, di laurentis," you whispered, your voice fiercely competitive, laced with an unspoken challenge.
"you wouldn't even get past the perimeter."
dean's fingers finally slid down, brushing against the bare skin of your nape, sending a jolt of electricity through your entire body.
his thumb caught your jawline, tilting your face up just a fraction.
"is that a dare, sweetheart?" he murmured, his thumb pressing just firmly enough against your skin to make your pulse spike. "because i'm more than willing to go into overtime to prove you wrong."
"and... thatâs a wrap! that was perfect, oh my god, the energy was insane!" the pr director yelled, completely oblivious to the fact that you were both about to combust.
the lights clicked off and the interns started quickly moving around, packing up cords.
dean didn't move. his hand stayed on your jaw, his thumb smoothing over your skin.
the playful, arrogant boy from ten minutes ago was gone, replaced by a man who looked entirely consumed by the fierce, unyielding girl sitting in front of him.
"you have film review," he stated, his voice thick, his eyes scanning your face.
"i do," you breathed, your focus completely shattered for the first time all season.
"and i also have a game tomorrow." he leaned in, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear, his breath hot against your skin. "but after your match tomorrow night... i'm coming to break down your defense. be ready."
he pulled back, giving you one last, devastatingly hot smirk, before letting his hand drop.
he stood up, grabbed his hockey gloves, and strolled out of the media room without looking back.
you sat on the bench for a full minute, your heart racing, staring at the empty doorway.
you took a deep breath, trying to force your laser-focus back into place.
but as you picked up your soccer ball, you realized your hands were shaking.
gathering your gear, you finally walked out into the corridor. you didn't even make it past the vending machines before a familiar, broad-shouldered figure stepped into your path.
dean was leaning against the tiled wall, tossing his car keys lightly in one hand. he had a wicked, completely unbothered grin on his face.
"you know," dean said casually, his voice dropping into that smooth, intimate register now that the pr crew was out of earshot. "garcia texted me this morning apologizing for dropping out of the shoot. she swore she was dying of some plague."
you stopped in your tracks, clutching the soccer ball tight to your ribs. "layla is a terrible liar."
"oh, absolutely. but honestly?" dean took a single slow step forward, crowding you against the hallway wall just like he had in the studio. his amber eyes locked onto yours, a heavy, dangerous wave of heat washing over you. "i'm glad she flaked. i would much rather have you in my space."
your face heated up instantly at his sheer audacity.
"well, layla is dead to me, and i'm only here because i'm a good co-captain. get out of my way, di laurentis."
instead of stepping aside, dean leaned a fraction closer. his eyes dropped to the dip of your collarbone, tracking the thin, delicate gold chain resting against your skin.
resting at the center of it was a tiny, polished gold soccer ball pendantâa piece you rarely took off these days.
before you could register the shift in his movement, dean reached out. his index finger hooked casually right under the chain, his knuckle brushing the warm skin of your collarbone.
with a slow, deliberate tug, he used the necklace to pull you forward until you were practically pressed against his chest.
the sudden lack of space made your breath catch, but you refused to let him see you rattled.
"careful," you said, your voice dripping with sweet, dry sarcasm as you looked up at him. "you break that, and my trust fund might actually have to sue your trust fund. and i really don't think our lawyers want to spend their weekend comparing yachts."
dean's lips twitched, a low, genuine chuckle vibrating in his chest.
he loved itâloved that no matter how much he crowded you, you still had a sharp hook ready to swing back.
"i'll keep that in mind," he murmured, his gaze dropping to your lips for one intense, heavy second.
then, slowly, he unhooked his finger, letting the gold pendant snap gently back against your chest. he stepped aside with a lazy, mock salute that made your pulse skyrocket.
"see you tomorrow night, co-captain."
dean di laurentis was a menace.
and tomorrow night, you were going to make him work for every single inch.
and as for layla garcia she was absolutely dead the second you got back to the dorms.
â¨Itâs that time of the month againâ¨
Olivia Rodrigo dropped an album, and I have not recovered. Brace for a fic dump inspired by itâthese authors are running on fresh fire, and Iâm so here for it, lmao.
Oliviaâs joining JADE, Raye, Noah Kahan, and Olivia Dean in my âcollecting these girlies like infinity stonesâ era. (Yes, Noahâs included.) Got a killer âgirl staring out the train window in her feelsâ playlist going, so honestly? Thriving đđ â¨
ALSOâhope Pride Month treated yâall well. Worldâs a mess and fuck anyone preying on trans youth, but I hope this month gave you a little more good than bad. Iâm unleashing the nastiest evil eye on anyone even thinking about harassment!!!!
Anywho, hereâs the month-end list. Hope you have as much fun reading these as I did putting them together!
As always: please like and reblog the fics you love. Tell authors what their work meant to you. Engagement builds community. It genuinely makes a difference.
And if youâve got recommendations? You already know Iâm all ears.
Massive shoutout to @cafekitsune for the insane number of dividers I'm obsessed with.
Key: A - Angst | F - Fluff | S - Smut | C - Comfort | HC - Hurt/Comfort
Other Monthly Lists: 2026 Masterpost
Clark Kent | Superman:
> Safe Sex by @kryptidfiles
Tags: 18+, MDNI, One Shot, S
Word Count: 450
Description:Â Your cat-and-mouse game with Superman comes to a head.
> Dirty Dancing by @/kryptidfiles
Tags: One Shot, F
Word Count: 700
Description:Â The familiar comfort of scripts, dinner, and Clark's apartment starts feeling a little too close to call friendship.
> Starving by @/kryptidfiles
Tags: 18+, MDNI, One Shot, S
Word Count: 3.75k
Description:Â Loving Clark Kent means loving Superman too, even when the city steals him away on the nights you wanted him most.
> FutureSex/LoveSounds by @/kryptidfiles
Tags: 18+, MDNI, One Shot, HC + S
Word Count: 850
Description:Â Smut, voyeurism!!!, p in v, breeding kink if you squint, brief mention of hyperspermia, creampie, time travel AU (Younger!Clark early 20's, older!Clark early/mid-30's), yearning!Clark
> Don't Become True by @satellite-evans
Tags: One Shot, A + HC
Word Count: 4.2k+
Description:Â There are some fears even Superman can't outrun.
> Less by @/satellite-evans
Tags: One Shot, A
Word Count: 5.8k+
Description:Â You wished Clark loved you less.
> Old Habits Die Hard by @onlyasteelmancanbealover
Tags: One Shot, Smallville!Clark, Chubby!Reader, A + HC
Word Count: 3.3k
Description:Â Clark adores you, but Chloe doesnât.
> Topping Clark Was Easy by @/onlyasteelmancanbealover
Tags: 18+, MDNI, One Shot, Smallville!Clark, Chubby!Reader, F + S
Word Count: 1.1k
Description: Topping Clark was easy. All you had to do was say, âYou know how to listen, donât you?â
> Beach Safety by @/onlyasteelmancanbealover
Tags: 18+, MDNI, One Shot, Smallville!Clark, Chubby!Reader, F + S
Word Count: 2.4k
Description:Â You look too good in your bathing suit on vacation.
> Heartbeat by @harveystan
Tags: One Shot, F
Word Count: 6.9k
Description:Â "I love Clark Kent so much and I still have no idea why I only have one fic about him here, that's gonna change from now. Anyways, I am sorry if this is a tiny bit angsty but I swear there's fluff and smut and you're gonna be nauseous because these two love each other way too much. Like a lot".
> My Home by @rosenclaws
Tags: One Shot, A + HC
Word Count: 4.6k
Description:Â You're in Smallville as Clark's date to a childhood friend's wedding and the longer you're there, the more it feels like you don't fit into his life like you thought you did.
> Under The Yellow Sun by @purplespiritimagines
Tags: One Shot, A + HC + F
Word Count: 12.2k
Description:Â Reader who acts as a healer for the team, and their ability on paper [and seemingly in practice] is just that they can heal anybody, no matter the damage or cause, except their power actually works by stealing the wound and inflicting it upon themselves. They can take any pain, mental, chronic, sometimes even emotional depending on circumstances and the degree of it. No one knows until they take on something far too bad: losing a limb, breaking their spine, guts spilling out, etc.
> Alien Dick!Clark and Pavlov Conditioning by @innorality
Tags: 18+, MDNI, One Shot, S + F
Word Count: 2k
Description:Â You ended up realizing that making Clark your lab rat would simultaneously be the best and worst decision of your relationship.
> Goddess in Red by @chrisisvbun
Tags: One Shot, Chubby!Reader, A + HC + F
Word Count: 1.7k
Description:Â Clark wants to help you buy new clothes, but surprise hits him when he realizes how the fashion industry treats plus size women like you.
> Mostly Chimes by @little-miss-dilf-lover
Tags: One Shot, A + HC
Word Count: 1.5k
Description:Â After a difficult day at work, you come home appearing despondent. You struggle to express your feelings, fail to speak the contents in your brain, unlike Clark. With some coaxing, you share what's on your mindâtalking as best as you can on a late night trip to the beach
> False Devotion by @theworstwolvie
Tags: 18+, MDNI, Series, F + S + A + HC
Chapter Count: Prologue | Pt. 1 | Pt. 2
Description:Â Being the object of a demigod's affection is what everyone wants, isn't it? That's why you're honoured to be doted upon by Apollo's favourite son, Kal-el. But when your father forces you to separate from him and become a priestess instead, you learn that being the object of a demigod's affection - and the target of his Father - isn't something anyone should yearn for.
Joel Miller | The Last of Us:
> Force of Nature by @skyesdelight
Tags: 18+, MDNI, Series, F + A + S
Chapter Count: Pt. 1 | .. | Pt. 3 | Pt. 4
Description:Â The construction company your neighbors hire to do work on their house are loud, inconsiderate, and quickly get under your skin. One man in particular seems hellbent on driving you crazy until one day, all that tension comes to a head.
> Locket by @softly-potter
Tags: One Shot, F
Word Count: 607
Description:Â Working remotely has its perks, like being able to see your husband often, but it also makes it hard for you to know when to log off. However, Joel has no such problem.
> Avoidant by @/softly-potter
Tags: One Shot, A
Word Count: 2.7k
Description:Â Joel admits heâs fallen for you, his partner, and you say everything you can to avoid it.
> When You're Near by @familyvideostevie
Tags: One Shot, F
Word Count: 2.4k
Description:Â Joel takes off your boots, and you make out. Isn't life great?
> Lullaby by @roryispunk
Tags: One Shot, F
Word Count: 1k
Description:Â Joel plays his guitar for you <3
Multiple Pairings | The Pitt:
> A Chance in Hell (Brendon "The Shark" Park) by @rr-after-dark
Tags: One Shot, Grumpy!Reader, F
Word Count: 6.2k
Description:Â You're the person who has to deal with the consequences of Brendon Park's actions, which means you're the only one willing to bite his head off. You want to strangle him; he wants to kiss your feet.
> Love At First Coffee? (Brendon "The Shark" Park) by @metal-armed-muse
Tags: One Shot, F
Word Count: 4.6k
Description:Â Brendon Park has built an entire career on being the smartest person in the room. Then he meets you, who makes him forget what he was about to say.
> In Retrospect (John Shen) by @youvebeenlivingfictional
Tags: One Shot, F + A + HC
Word Count: 7.2k
Description:Â Johnâs hands hook onto the railing of the gurney, his eyes darting to your face every few seconds as your entourage of medical professionals steers you down the hall.Â
> Absolutely Not (Jack Abbot) by @/satellite-evans
Tags: One Shot, F
Word Count: 6k+
Description:Â You trust Jack with your patients, your career, and your life. Realizing you'd trust him with your heart is a much bigger problem.
> Favorite Flower (Jack Abbot) by @/satellite-evans
Tags: One Shot, A + HC
Word Count: 11k+
Description:Â Six years after losing your daughter, a patient reminds you and Jack that grief doesn't disappear. Sometimes it just waits for you to stop running.
> Expectations (Jack Abbot) by @/satellite-evans
Tags: One Shot, F + C
Word Count: 7k+
Description:Â You finally have expectations when it comes to men.
> Honeybee (Jack Abbot) by @dumbbandpoetic
Tags: One Shot, F
Word Count: 1.8k
Description:Â In which Jack Abbot wasn't sure he'd ever love again, let alone think about marriage again, but here he is now doing both. (based on the song Honeybee by Olivia Rodrigo!)
> Roughhousing (Jack Abbot) by @frickyeahfanfic
Tags: One Shot, F
Word Count: 464
Description:Â Thinking only about his freckled biceps...
> Breathe (Jack Abbot) by @thatfanficstuff
Tags: One Shot, A + HC
Word Count: 5.9k
Description:Â Jack knows what love feels like, knows he could never feel it again. His lungs beg to differ.
> Take Care of You (Jack Abbot) by @bluetimeombre
Tags: One Shot, F + A + HC
Word Count: 7.7k
Description:Â Jack really wants to take care of you, you're really not used to that feeling, but when an accident has you in harm's way and rattles Jack more than you, you have little choice but to accept how he feels about you. (I want to take care of you- it's rotten work- not to me, not if its you) type.
> For What It's Worth (Jack Abbot) by @spikedfearn
Tags: 18+, MDNI, One Shot, F + HC + S
Word Count: 12.9k+
Description:Â Youâre used to handling things alone, even if handling them means skipping meals, ignoring problems, and laughing before anyone can see where it stings. Then Jack Abbot starts noticing too much. He pays attention in that quiet, maddening way of his, all dry comments and practical solutions, until calling him your sugar daddy stops feeling like a joke and starts feeling like the only safe label for something youâre too terrified to name. Because the problem with Jack Abbot isnât that he wants to take care of you. Itâs that you want to let him.
> Code Blue (Jack Abbot) by @isbellah
Tags: One Shot, A
Word Count: 2.8k
Description:Â Jack Abbot thought he stopped noticing people a long time ago. The hospital had a way of sanding grief down into routine - overnight shifts, cold coffee, fluorescent lights that made everyone look half-dead before they even were. But every night for a week, he notices the same woman sitting outside Room 214. The last person he expects to find in that hallway is you - the woman he once loved in the aftermath of losing everything. Now you're keeping vigil beside the hospital room of the ex-husband who broke your heart, and Jack is forced to confront the ghosts the two of you never really buried. A hospital grief fic about widowhood, loss, oncology wards, and the terrifying intimacy of being understood by someone who survived the same kind of devastation you did.
> I Hate You, Jack Abbot (Jack Abbot) by @raccooninthemachine
Tags: One Shot, A
Word Count: 9.3k
Description:Â Jack Abbot thought he was ready to remarry. You were steady with his son from his first marriage, patient with his grief, and gentle with the parts of his life he still could not touch. But being loved by Jack does not mean being chosen by him. It means living in his first wife's shadow, loving a child who is afraid to need you, and slowly realizing that sometimes love is not enough when it arrives at the wrong time.
> No Place to Put It Down (Jack Abbot) by @/afterdarkbydel
Tags: One Shot, F
Word Count: 6.8k
Description:Â Jack Abbot gets drunk. This is rare. This is unexpected. This is apparently also how you end up standing at your bedroom window in Pittsburgh, staring down at your husband while he recites Shakespeare on the lawn like a very handsome, very intoxicated theater kid with excellent lung capacity. He is romantic. He is committed. He is loud. You are in pajamas. The neighbors may never recover. Eventually, you get him inside, get him sitting on the edge of the bed, and attempt to help him into sweatpants while he becomes deeply concerned about your honor, your reputation, and the fact that his legs âdonât match.â Jack Abbot is steady under pressure. Drunk Jack Abbot is apparently one balcony away from a community noise complaint.
> Bite the Bullet (Jack Abbot) by @lauraneedstochill
Tags: One Shot, A + HC
Word Count: 7k
Description:Â When Jack arrives in the ER in his SWAT uniform, he is surprised to see a new surgeon. And right away, he takes a liking to your brazen tone and notices your skills. He finds you intriguing. Except, you hate everything about his hobby, and you arenât afraid to let him know.
> Maggots for Brains (Jack Abbot) by @p1stach-io
Tags: One Shot, A + HC
Word Count: 2.4k
Description:Â Overwhelmed by the emotional distance of your careers, you seek a brief moment of comfort from husband amidst the chaos of his hospital shift.
> Body Keeps Score (Jack Abbot) by @mcybank
Tags: One Shot, Chubby!Reader, A
Word Count: 12.6k
Description:Â Jack used to press his thumb inside of your wrist, just to feel your pulse. Heâs been thinking that lately. Heâs been thinking about that a lot.
> No Place to Put It Down (Jack Abbot) by @afterdarkbydel
Tags: One Shot, A + HC
Word Count: 10.4k
Description:Â After a careless comment at a bar turns into something you canât stop hearing, Jack finds you in the aftermathânot to fix it, not to make you love your body in one night, but to stay with you while you canât.
> You Got Me All Twisted Up (Jack Abbot) by @thatcorporategirlie
Tags: 18+, MDNI, One Shot, Older!Reader, A + HC + F + S
Word Count: 13.2k
Description: Jack was no better than Robby when it came to relationships. He moved through life after his divorce using intimacy as a distraction rather than a connection. And then⌠he met you.
> Dr. Sunshine (Jack Abbot) by @buckyscaptain
Tags: One Shot, Older!Reader, HC
Word Count: 1.8k
Description:Â Jack loves you, he does, but when you take a hit out in the ambulance bay by a less than satisfied patient and try to brush it off, you test every inch of his patience.
> Jack Abbot x Reader by @tumbleweedstillhaspanic
Tags: Headcanon, F
Word Count: 760
Description:Â HC of boydad Jack Abbot!
> Keep Up (Jack Abbot) by @deliciousangelfestival
Tags: Series, F + A + HC
Chapter Count: Pt. 1 | ... | Pt. 3 | Pt. 4 | Pt. 5 | Pt. 6
Description:Â They spent years saving lives in a war zone and driving each other insane. Now theyâre coworkers again.
> Hold Me Down (Jack Abbot) by @amnatreal
Tags: 18+, MDNI, Series, S + F + A + HC
Chapter Count: Pt. 1 | ... | Pt. 6 | Pt. 7 | Pt. 8 | Pt. 9 | Pt. 10
Description: Accidentally finding that D/S app, Dip, felt like having a light bulb moment. Because with all the free time that had been forced upon him, Jack needed something. Badly enough he felt like he was losing his mind. Remembering his experiences caring for a submissive, he felt like perhaps that was what he needed, what was missing. The strength in it, to offer a piece of himself, to reach into someone's psyche when their walls are let down.
> Forgotten (Jack Abbot, Michael "Robby" Robinavitch) by @/thatfanficstuff
Tags: One Shot, Chronic Pain!Reader, A + HC
Word Count: 5.4k
Description:Â Your boyfriends are drowning in an understaffed ED while you drown in a pain flare.
> Tear In My Heart (Michael "Robby" Robinavitch) by @bluetimeombre
Tags: 18+, MDNI, One Shot, A + HC
Word Count: 8.3k
Description:Â You and Robby have always had an un-spoken understanding, that if you were two different people youâd fall in love. But he was a mess and refused to bring you down. So instead, fate threatens to take you away forever.
> U + ME + <3 (Michael "Robby" Robinavitch) by @redd-blushing-roses
Tags: One Shot, F + C
Word Count: 5.4k
Description:Â Two med students. a late night. and a reminder that love sometimes lasts in ways that you never expect.
> Is There No Exception For Me (Michael "Robby" Robinavitch) by @/raccooninthemachine
Tags: One Shot, A
Word Count: 9.2k
Description:Â Robby leaves for his sabbatical early because staying means letting himself be loved while he is falling apart. His fiancĂŠe refuses to let him turn fear into sacrifice, and the fight becomes the ugliest kind of heartbreak: the kind where love is still in the room, still breathing, still begging not to be abandoned.
> I'm Okay (Michael "Robby" Robinavitch) by @dolloebaby
Tags: One Shot, A + HC
Word Count: 1.8k
Description:Â Being a nurse isnât easy, especially coupled with an inappropriate patient who thinks physical violence is okay. Dr Robby isnât good with feelings, most definitely not romantic ones, and he undoubtedly doesnât know what to do with the rage he feels when his favorite nurse gets attacked.
> Not Clinically Significant (Michael "Robby" Robinavitch) by @dr-robbys
Tags: 18+, MDNI, One Shot, C + S
Word Count: 4.8k
Description:Â Robby tells himself he's paying attention because you're his resident. The explanation gets harder to defend with time.
> The Slippage in the System (Michael "Robby" Robinavitch) by @sweetestcowboy
Tags: Series, A + HC
Chapter Count: Pt. 1 | Pt. 2 | ...?
Description:Â Needing control was Michaelâs biggest flaw. control of his department, especially. when a new psych fellow comes to challenge that controlâheâs not intimatedâheâs infuriated. He should know better than to go toe-to-toe with Dr. Jeffersonâs new protegee.
> Just Breathe (Michael "Robby" Robinavitch) by @inkdippedquills
Tags: 18+, MDNI, Series, BDSM Dynamics, A + HC
Chapter Count: Pt. 1 | Pt. 2 | Pt. 3 | ... | Pt. 6
Description:Â Overwhelmed and needing an outlet from real life, you and Robby enter into an arrangement.
Batfam:
> Soft to the Touch Kiss (Bruce Wayne) by @dontyouworrydaddy
Tags: One Shot, F
Word Count: 1.4k
Description:Â Can I request a fic with Bruce x Batmom!reader who has healing powers and heals him and the boys with a simple touch, but Bruce insists on being healed via kisses?
> Wet Kisses and Slobbering Boyfriends (Jason Todd) by @honeysucklewatr
Tags: One Shot, F
Word Count: 1.6k
Description:Â You try a trend on Jason by wiping your bottle after he takes a sip. Clearly, he doesnât appreciate it.
> Worship Like Sunday Morning (Jason Todd) by @/honeysucklewatr
Tags: One Shot, F
Word Count: 1k
Description:Â Waking up to find Jason asleep on top of you. Part of you feels bad cause heâs tired. But mostly, he just wants to keep you in bed, with whatever necessary method.
> Love You Anyway (Jason Todd) by @/honeysucklewatr
Tags: 18+, MDNI, One Shot, A + HC + S
Word Count: 4.7k
Description:Â Heartbroken as Jason didnât do anything for your anniversary, you try your best to seem unfazed. But youâre terrible at it and Jason, he canât take it when youâre upset and he apologizesâeven if it means being emotionally vulnerable.
> Tag, You're it (Jason Todd) by @/honeysucklewatr
Tags: One Shot, F
Word Count: 1.3k
Description:Â Going to laser tag with grumpy, jealous Jason who canât seem to admit to when things bother him. but a heated makeout session can fix that, right?
> Push and Pull (Jason Todd) by @hauntedhouseofhorrors
Tags: One Shot, A + HC
Word Count: 1.4k
Description:Â Emotional intimacy/vulnerability, not extremely detailed/accurate to Emma Frost's powers...sorry lmao I tried đ, physical wounds, mentions of fixing up wounds, Jason yells at reader, avoidant attachment, Jason's mean to himself lmao, mild language
> After Class (Jason Todd) by @nagumolvr
Tags: One Shot, F
Word Count: 2.4k
Description:Â Jason finishes up a few runs and decides to show up at your workplace to see how life looks for you.
> Jason Todd x Reader by @snookielicious
Tags: One Shot, F
Word Count: 385
Description:Â Jason attempts to braid your hair.
> Rain + Constellations (Dick Grayson) by @faepoetry
Tags: 18+, MDNI, One Shot, S + F
Word Count: 1.6k
Description:Â You and your boyfriend dick are out on a date, stargazing when things get heated... even if it's downpouring.
> The Cost of Loving You (Dick Grayson) by @jaythes1mp
Tags: One Shot, Soulmate!AU, A
Word Count: 10.2k
Description:Â Yandere Dick Grayson x Soulmate Reader
> Background Acrobatics (Dick Grayson) by @fancy-possum
Tags: One Shot, F
Word Count: 1k
Description:Â Youâre working from home in an annoying office job. However, you happen to live with the most charming and annoying man youâve ever met, your boyfriend. And all he wants is a bit of attention!
> Traffic Lights (Dick Grayson) by @vianawaits
Tags: One Shot, F
Word Count: 1.1k
Description:Â A small glimpse into the domesticity of sitting at a red light after date night.
> Let Me Love You! (Dick Grayson) by @ackpplepie
Tags: 18+ MDNI, One Shot, F + C + S
Word Count: 1.9k
Description:Â Dick's been overworking himself recently and all you want to do is take care of him.
> The Shape of Falling (Dick Grayson) by @purplespiritimagines
Tags: One Shot, A + HC
Word Count: 8.2k
Description:Â Reader who acts as a healer for the team, and their ability on paper [and seemingly in practice] is just that they can heal anybody, no matter the damage or cause, except their power actually works by stealing the wound and inflicting it upon themselves. They can take any pain, mental, chronic, sometimes even emotional depending on circumstances and the degree of it. No one knows until they take on something far too bad: losing a limb, breaking their spine, guts spilling out, etc.
> Dick Grayson x Reader by @amoebadue
Tags: One Shot, A + HC
Word Count: 3.3k
Description:Â He calls you clingy.
Frank Castle | The Punisher:
> Frank Castle x Reader by @little-miss-dilf-lover
Tags: One Shot, F
Word Count: 1.3k
Description: Frank with a hyper independent reader thatâs often reluctant to accept his help. he aims to serve.
> Pretty Little Fingers by @hellilovedit
Tags: 18+ MDNI, One Shot, S
Word Count: 4.4k
Description: FrankâsâŚa little too obsessed with your manicures.
> Sinner, Saint by @/hellilovedit
Tags: One Shot, C
Word Count: 1.2k
Description: Your touch is Frankâs salvation.Â
> Panic! At The Kitchen Sink by @/hellilovedit
Tags: One Shot, A + HC
Word Count: 4k
Description: You go to a bar Frankâs told you hundreds of times not to, and you find out what makes the place so dangerous. When you get home, Frank grills you about your decisionâand suddenly you canât breathe.Â
> Well Fed by @/hellilovedit
Tags: 18+ MDNI, One Shot, S
Word Count: 7k
Description: Some bitch at work flirts with your husband by baking for him. Frank makes sure it never happens again. You make sure Frank never forgets whoâs the sweetest. And the tightest.Â
> Stab Wounds by @dirtylittlediary
Tags: One Shot, A + HC
Word Count: 7.5k
Description: "Frank? There's someone in the house..."
> Love Bites by @/dirtylittlediary
Tags: 18+ MDNI, One Shot, A + HC + F + S
Word Count: 5.6k
Description: What started out as a prank sent your world crashing down around you.
Miscellaneous:
> Moonage Daydream (Din Djarin) by @kedsandtubesocks
Tags: 18+, MDNI, One Shot, S + F + HC
Word Count: 11.9k
Description: Youâve seen a lot during your rebellion days & now with the New Republic⌠but working with a Mandalorian may just send you into the wildest tailspin yet.
> Frankie Morales x Reader by @berryispunk
Tags: One Shot, F
Word Count: 460
Description:Â While a storm rages outside Frankie recognizes the saftest place is in your arms.
> The Biggest Lie (Frankie Morales) by @/berryispunk
Tags: One Shot, F + HC
Word Count: 400
Description:Â (Fincoâs Note: Some really, really pretty first-person prose about reader and Frankie)
> Roles Reversed (Adrian Chase) by @devisedplan
Tags: One Shot, F + HC
Word Count: 1.3k
Description:Â You're having a bad week, he's not his usual self, OR Adrian gets a taste of his own medicine
> Lover, You Should've Come Over (Marauders) by @amnmesias
Tags: One Shot, Poly!Marauders, A + HC
Word Count: 11.1k
Description:Â After your apparent betrayal, your boyfriends are left juggling with their unresolved grief and anger. That is, until Riddle is declared dead. The war is over. Then a bloodied body stumbles back into their lives.Â
> Sticky Sweet, Tangerine (Andrew Pope Cody) by @astarlinggirl
Tags: One Shot, F + C
Word Count: 1.3k
Description:Â Andrew Cody has never been a man who smiles, not until you started waking him up by littering kisses onto every freckle on his face.
> HC of How The Characters Would React When They Find Out You Are On The Aromantic Spectrum by @/devisedplan
Tags: Headcanon, F
Word Count: 960
Description:Â Characters include Adrian Chase, Clark Kent, Jason Todd, John Constantine, Bucky Barnes, Benjamin Poindexter, Steven Grant, Ryland Grace
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