i'm so sorry to carol, kamala, monica, wanda, jean, ororo, kate, jennifer/she-hulk, riri, america chavez, rogue, agatha, sylvie, natasha, and the eternals. i'm so sorry my loves you deserve so much better
at some point in your life you will be boiling fruit, water, sugar, and lemon juice in a pot to make a syrup or jam. the instructions will tell you to simmer for a certain amt of time. your timer will go off and you will look at the pot and go, "hm, this doesn't look thick enough. maybe i'll let it go for another 10 minutes." this is the devil speaking. it's only so liquid right now because it is at boiling point. it will thicken when it cools down. learn from the follies of my youth and do not let this happen to you
at some point in your life you will be making a sauce or a stew in which you need to add cornstarch to thicken it. and you will prepare a slurry of starch in cold water and think "this looks like way too little starch to thicken this amount of liquid." this is the devil speaking. cornstarch instantly polymerizes at 95°C and if you add too much it will turn into an impossibly thick goop.
at some point in your life you will be making some sort of cream based dessert that requires gelatin to thicken it. and you will soak some gelatin sheets in water and think "this is too few gelatin sheets for this amount of cream." this is the devil speaking. it will thicken in the fridge and if you add too much you will end up with milk jelly
at some point in your life you will be baking cookies. you will take the sheet out after twelve minutes as the recipe instructs and the cookies will still be glistening and soft. "these don't seem cooked enough," you will think to yourself, "i should place them back into the oven until their edges are nice and golden." this is the devil talking. this is how you get dry, overdone cookies. the cookies will continue to bake on the warm sheet for several more minutes and then harden up after sitting on a rack for a while. trust the process. trust the process.
at some point in your life you will be adding a small pasta to a soup and you will think "that is not enough small pasta." this is the devil talking. the pasta will absorb the stock and expand. this is how you end up with a soup that is a solid mass of soggy ditalini.
At some point in your life you will be adding garlic to a dish and you will think "that is not enough garlic." These are angels speaking. They are correct. Add more garlic.
having your sister’s husband, the father of her child, saved in your phone as “sugar’s boyfriend (pete?)” is honestly one of the most diabolical things i’ve seen from carmen thus far i’ll be real
please read this even if you're not indian. especially if you're not indian.
you've seen the jokes. india is "dirty", indians are "everywhere", why don't they fix their own country. ok. let me tell you why, and what's happening right now while nobody's watching.
first, the history you skipped: britain ruled india for two centuries and drained it. economist utsa patnaik's research estimates around $45 trillion in today's money was taken. the india that got independence in 1947 was one of the poorest countries on earth. every "why is india like this" question starts there. you don't get to profit off a robbery and then mock the crime scene.
now, what's happening RIGHT NOW:
in may the question paper for NEET leaked. that's the national medical entrance exam. over 2.2 million students took it. cancelled. years of studying, families' savings poured into coaching, gone overnight because someone sold the paper. students died by suicide after. these were kids who wanted to be doctors.
and out of that came a protest movement. a gen z group called the cockroach janta party, started by a 30 year old named abhijeet dipke, got 22 million instagram followers within DAYS. they've been doing a sit-in at jantar mantar in delhi demanding education minister dharmendra pradhan resign.
and then there's sonam wangchuk. if you've watched 3 idiots, he's the real engineer the character was based on. built solar schools in ladakh. invented ice stupas so himalayan villages have water. spent his whole life on education. he's 59 and he's been on hunger strike for 17+ days now. reporters went to see him this week and he was too weak to talk. and the troll armies are calling him "anti national" and "foreign funded". a man starving himself for other people's children. that's the thing here, anyone who asks a question is suddenly a traitor.
it's not one incident, it's everywhere you look:
• infrastructure worth thousands of crores failing within months of the ribbon cutting. tunnels collapsing in regions where heavy rain is a guarantee, not a surprise.
• youth unemployment near 10% for ages 15 to 29, 13.6% in cities. in a country of 1.42 billion where more than half the population is young.
• only about the top 3% of indians earn above 10 lakh a year. meanwhile billionaire wealth keeps ballooning and the headlines celebrate it.
• manipur burned for over two years. an ethnic conflict, tens of thousands displaced, and the prime minister barely said the word manipur while it happened.
• journalists raided. critics' houses bulldozed. activists sitting in jail for years without trial under laws like UAPA. our press freedom ranking has cratered.
• even the petrol is a fight now, ethanol blending pushed through while drivers complain about their engines and get no straight answers.
and through all of it, the PM, who came to power on religious polarisation (americans, sound familiar?), travels abroad for photo ops and has not held one single open press conference in over a decade. not one.
what i'm asking:
if you're not indian: share this. our media mostly won't cover any of it because the big outlets are owned by the same billionaires the government serves. the only reason wangchuk's fast is getting any coverage is people refusing to look away.
if you ARE indian: speak up even if you're comfortable. especially if you're comfortable. join the protests. add to this, correct me, translate it. staying quiet is a choice when nothing in this post touches your life.
india is not "dirty". india was robbed, and it's being robbed again, from the inside this time. but it's also the country where a 59 year old will starve for strangers' kids and 22 million young people will rally behind a party literally named after cockroaches, because cockroaches survive everything.
delhi police lathi-charged the protesters with batons and tear gas. five metro stations were shut down to stop people from even reaching the site. mobile internet was cut in parts of central delhi. the stage at jantar mantar was dismantled. sonam wangchuk's wife, gitanjali angmo, was pushed around in the crowd. people on the ground are reporting that doctors who had set up first aid on site were beaten. eyewitnesses say children, minors, were caught in the violence. people are also reporting that stone-filled trucks appeared near the protest site in the middle of the night, before cameras arrived — the kind of "evidence" that gets used to reframe a peaceful protest as a riot. the government is calling it provocation. the protesters are calling it a setup.
the congress president mallikarjun kharge said in parliament: "students have been beaten. the government is attempting to stifle dissent." samajwadi party mp dimple yadav said "today will be remembered as a black day for democracy." even some of the police who carried out the orders apparently looked ashamed. that's how wrong this was.
and through all of it the prime minister has not held a single open press conference in over a decade in power. not one.
what you can do right now:
if you are not going to the protests — and most of us can't — please send an email. right now. it takes two minutes.
demand the resignation of education minister dharmendra pradhan. you don't have to write anything long. "i am writing to demand the resignation of dharmendra pradhan over the NEET paper leak and the violence against peaceful protesters on july 20, 2026" is enough.
if you want to support the people on the ground: volunteers at the protest site need supplies. you can send things through blinkit to the jantar mantar / kerala house area, or get in contact with someone there and coordinate directly. the local gurudwara has been housing and feeding many of the protesters — donations there go directly to people who need it. you can also donate to
sachkhandfoundation4073@icici
who are feeding the students and helping them directly at the protest.
students were beaten to death at a peaceful protest in delhi.
let that sit for a second.
they weren't throwing anything. they weren't rioting. they were sitting in the scorching july heat asking for one thing, accountability for a leaked exam that destroyed lakhs of futures. and the government sent in police with batons.
minors were beaten. children. women. civilians.
sonam wangchuk is on day 24 of a hunger strike. our government forcefully detained him in front of everyone.
we are not okay. india is not okay.
racism against indians is at an all time high globally. we get mocked for how we live. britain spent 200 years extracting wealth from india. our own government spent the last decade doing the same thing, we are mocked for the poverty that was built for us by the people who now look down on us for it.
our media won't cover any of this. it was bought. the ruling party owns the narrative and anyone who challenges it gets raided, jailed, or beaten.
they declared themselves gods (literally they did, their faces edited over gods). they are using violence against children to prove it.
i am asking international media to look at india right now.
and if you're anywhere in the world and you're reading this — say something. you don't have to be indian. you just have to give a damn.
𝜗𝜚 — in which, you move in across the street and he can’t keep his eyes off you.
LUCA x FLORIST!FEM!READER this is actually angst (at the very beginning) if u do a billion jumping jacks, 10 push ups and spin 58 times . reader hinted at running from past . reader pining over luca + vice versa . 2.8k . — this was so freaking cute — requested ྀིྀིྀིྀིྀི
your first time meeting ( seeing ) him
It's like he wants to be gawked at.
All broad shoulders and muscle that make everyone working within a block radius pause and stare. A perfect face, a collage of sorts that look like God himself took extra time with.
You frown to admit that you find yourself staring as well, from across the street in your quaint shop, in your own corner of the world. You find yourself queasy with a jumble of butterflies flittering in your stomach.
You sigh and fix your hair, walking back inside after completing your original task: watering the plants outside. Not making doe eyes at the man across the street.
post ( a few days after ) move in
florist!reader who, when first moved in, was running away from a previous relationship that left her heart locked and the key burnt away. scars on your heart fresh and red, the monster that did this to you marring your life forever.
Whether you liked it or not, you were—you are taking a break from the life you once lead.
Not lead, but rather something you were forced into; because monsters are real. Some take the form of humans and that itself is deadly. One can never tell them apart.
You pass by the counter to the back room, where you keep all the flowers that need to be delivered, sharp cutting tools; this place is your solace.
You feel like you can breathe here, the backroom of your quaint shop, cutting away all the unwanted imperfections from the flowers you breathe life into, much like the world does to its people though not as directly; they cut into you and rip out all that seems impure, molding you to their standards so you’re perfect.
Perfect in the eyes of the world but you yourself can see the ugliness it tries to hide behind: soft red petals, a wilted core, a caged heart.
getting settled
you shop wasn’t big, though it wasn’t small either. You were extremely proud of your work though, the days you put into molding these flowers into beautiful art made your chest swell. your neighbors and what little friends you had showed up with gifts and words of advice that you’ll never forget.
“How’d you know I like to read this author?”
Your closest friend of six years turns to you after setting down a cardboard box gently on the ground. “Are you kidding?” she asks with a smile. “you rave about that author like, every day.” she bumps hips with you as she exits through the door to the u-haul parked outside, gathering smaller boxes.
You lips curve and hold the book to your chest.
first ( official ) meeting
You’d just finished setting up the shop for its opening, decorative flowers feeding the already sweet aroma of your cozy shop from pots hanging on the ceiling, which took forever to do.
the bell at the door rings and answers you of a customer.
“Hi, welcome!” You say, head still under the counter fixing the decor there. “give me just a second!”
You straighten with a small grunt, brushing flecks of dried leaves from your apron and picking them from your sleeves before finally looking up.
The man standing before you looks as though he belongs in the early morning rather than the middle of the afternoon.
Flour dusts the sleeves of a navy sweater rolled carelessly to his elbows. His hands are broad, rough around the knuckles, carrying the kind of tiny burns and cuts that you think only come from forgetting something in the oven one too many times. He shifts his weight when you catch his eye, almost embarrassed to be taking up space.
“Oh.”
He smiles, crooked and fleeting.
“Sorry,” he says, voice carrying an accent softened by years spent elsewhere. “Didn’t mean to interrupt.”
“You didn’t.” you say, moving closer to the counter, resting your hands on the cool marble.
A beat passes.
“I, uh…” His hand disappears behind his back before returning with a folded paper bag. Warm. You notice wisps of steam still curl from the top. “Opened a bakery across the street last week.”
You blink. You remember seeing the opening of said bakery; Didn’t know it belonged to this man of a man.
“I’ve seen your shop every morning.” he continues, fiddling with the paper bag still in his hands.
Then your heart skips a beat and you feel your cheeks getting warm. Not because he’d been watching you but because someone had noticed you.
“I thought…” He clears his throat. “Thought I’d introduce myself. I’m Luca.”
Your gaze drops to the bag. “What’s this?”
“A peace offering.” he says shrugging his shoulders with such a boyish charm your smile grows
You laugh before you can stop yourself.
“We’re at war?”
His shoulders lift in the smallest shrug. “Never hurts to start on the right side.”
He places the bag gently on the counter between you.
You pick it up and the paper is still warm beneath your fingertips.
Inside rests a croissant so perfectly golden it almost doesn’t seem real, buttery layers catching the afternoon sunlight filtering through the front windows.
“I can’t—I can’t accept this.” you say, such a perfect pastry going to not so perfect you? Yeah right.
“You can.” he says, that smile showing up on his face shush
“I haven’t paid you.” you say incredulously
“You don’t have to.” he replies. and his smile deepens, showing dimples that you try not to fawn over.
“Why?” you ask, closing the paper bag, finger tracing the sticker that held it closed.
“My mum always said flowers make a place feel lived in.” His eyes wander to the bouquets surrounding the shop.
“I figured whoever made these deserved breakfast.”
He’s so. . . sweet. “I’m afraid,” you say carefully, “that now I’m obligated to buy bread from you.”
A quiet laugh escapes him and those dimples return.
“I was hoping you would.”
getting closer
and, a random tradition starting between the two of you. one that left your heart floating.
At first, you assume it’s coincidence.
Perhaps he’d simply baked too much. Perhaps he didn’t like croissants as much as you’d thought.
Perhaps bakers were just. . . kind.
The second morning, another paper bag waits on one of the tankers outside your shop. At first you thought it had been someone who put it there accidentally, until you saw the familiar sticker holding the bag closed. ‘Thank You for Your Purchase!’
Your heart did a leap despite yourself.
The bag was still warm. Inside, a cinnamon knot this time, sugar glittering over its folds like the first frost of winter.
There was no note or receipt, just your name written in tidy handwriting.
The third morning, you catch sight of him through the front window of a small supermarket. Both his and your shops visible.
His bakery lights glow amber against the sleepy blue dawn, and for only a heartbeat you see him crossing the street, paper bag in hand, before disappearing behind your door.
By the time you’ve reached it after posting for your groceries, he’s gone. With only the pastry remaining.
At night, before you close up for the day, a flower in the bucket underneath your workable catches your eye.
A chamomile. Small white petals circling a golden center.
Something gentle. Like him. Like the way he makes his pastries. Like the way you hope he’d hold you.
You find an empty glass bottle no taller than your palm, fill it halfway with water, and carry it across the street after locking your shop.
Even outside the bakery, you smell butter, honey, vanilla, and him. You stop yourself from getting lost in his scent.
Through the window, you see Luca standing behind the counter kneading dough, sleeves rolled to his elbows, flour streaking one cheek where he’d absentmindedly scratched at an itch.
The little bell announces you.
He looks up and his eyebrow lifts. His lips pull at the corners and you find yourself following the movement.
“Hi.” you say, fiddling with the petals on the chamomile. Trying not to think on how soft his hair would be compared to it.
“Hi.” he replies, his original smile widening.
“I. . .” You glance at the bottle in your hands. “Thought your counter looked lonely.” you say, suddenly feeling ridiculous.
“It’s supposed to mean patience.”
You aren’t sure why you tell him that. Perhaps because flowers always seem to say what people cannot.
His mouth softens into something almost shy.
“I’ll take good care of it.”
The exchange becomes habit before either of you notices.
Every morning — a different pastry.
Every evening — a different flower.
On Mondays, you receive buttery kouign-amann with crisp caramel edges.
On Tuesdays, sourdough still warm enough that steam escapes when you tear it apart.
On Fridays, when the week has clearly been cruel to you, an extra pain au chocolat appears without explanation.
In return, your flowers begin telling stories.
Lavender after especially busy weekends.
Sunflowers on mornings bright enough to spill gold through every window.
White lisianthus after Luca mentions, only once, that his sister used to love them.
You never tell him you remember everything he says.
people beginning to notice the mutual yearning
“You got yourself a secret admirer?”
Mrs. Alvarez teases one Tuesday, nodding toward the pastry bag tucked beside your register.
You laugh too quickly. “It’s from the bakery.” you say, wiping water from your cheek. You need to get your spray bottle fixed.
“Mhm.” she says, her eyes squinting in suspicion with a smile bordering on cheeky.
“And the flower sitting in his window?”
You pause. “. . .Decoration.”
“Oh?”
“You know bakers.”
“I don’t,” she says, “but apparently you do.”
asking you out
The question lingered between the two of you for nearly a week before either of you found the courage to ask it.
But the answer had settled quietly into your lives months ago, tucked somewhere between paper pastry bags and little glass bottles that now felt empty whenever they weren’t sitting on opposite counters.
It was simply—
“What do people do now?”
You glanced up from trimming the ends of a bundle of sweet peas, amusement flickering across your face. “Now?”
Luca stood in your doorway, one hand still wrapped around the coffee he’d forgotten to drink. There was flour caught in the cuff of his sleeve, a streak of it dusting the bridge of his wrist. You wondered if he’d noticed.
“When they. . .” He hesitated, searching for a word that didn’t feel too heavy. “. . .like each other.”
A smile tugged at your mouth before you could stop it.
“I think they go on dates.”
“Oh.” He nodded once. “Right.”
Silence settled again, the kind the two of you had grown accustomed to in your late night gifting of flowers and his pastry giving before the sun reaches the clouds.
“So. . .” you prompted.
“So.” he says.
Another pause.
“I’ve never actually. . .” He scratched absentmindedly at the back of his neck. “Done much of that.”
“I know.”
“You know?”
“You leave pastries on my counter before sunrise.”
“. . . right.”
“I leave flowers in your bakery.”
“. . .yeah.”
“I think we’ve accidentally skipped a few steps.”
That earns a laugh from him; and you catch yourself smiling at him too—like a lovesick fool.
“So have we?”
You met his eyes. “I think we’ve been dating for months.”
“I was—” he clears his throat. “was gonna ask if you’d like to go somewhere.”
“You are somewhere.” you say.
“. . .I know.”
“No, I mean—”
“I-uh, I know what you mean.” He looked almost embarrassed, gaze dropping to the bouquet still sitting in your hands.
“I just don’t know where people go.”
You thought about it. Restaurants felt too loud, parks too public, movie theaters would mean sitting beside him for two hours without hearing him speak, and after spending months looking for excuses to cross the street, that suddenly sounded like a waste.
“What if we just didn’t go anywhere?”
He frowned at that so you continued.
“You spend all day making food,” you said. “I spend all day surrounded by flowers.”
Your eyes drifted toward the bakery windows across the street.
“Why don’t we stay after closing?”
His gaze followed yours.
“I’ll bring dinner.”
“You make dinner.”
“I’ll bring dessert?” he says, unsure.
“You also make dessert.”
His shoulders shook with quiet laughter, shaking his head while pushing his hair out of his eyes. “I keep forgetting that.”
You laugh and untie tie apron from your waist, looking at him with a smile from sideways, “I’ll bring the flowers.”
I've had a twitch in my left eyelid for THREE (3) SOLID YEARS and my doctor's advice has been a) get more sleep and b) avoid stress. ohhhhhhhhhhh ohhh ok ohhhhhh okay.
imagine you are a sheep. Imagine you are the smartest sheep in the entire world and yet your understanding of the world is so small. Imagine you are the wisest sheep in the flock and you carry the memory of everyone who came before so everyone else can be happy. Imagine being a winter lamb and dying for your flock. Imagine you are a good shepherd so loved by his flock that your sheep would do anything, even defy who they are, in order to avenge you.
and then imagine you are a brett goldstein ram and you finally have a reason for bashing. Bet that felt so good.
could i please request a fic where jack is dating reader who is a wildlife vet and while she's working things go wrong and she gets bit by a venemous snake. Fluffy ending after jack being a wreck at the thought of losing her
💞Tags/Warnings💞: slight age gap relationship, hurt/comfort, fluff, SmallTown!Reader x CityBoy!Jack Abbot
💞Plot💞: After one misstep, Jack Abbot’s worst fear comes true…
💞Characters💞: Jack Abbot x Fem!Reader
💞Title💞: Bad Luck
💞A/N💞: Thank you sm! I really hope you like it!
((Requests are ALWAYS open))
Masterlist
“John Digby. Look at you. Comin in for another haircut?” Dana asks pleasantly as the lanky man smiles shyly at the attention.
Night shift had fully taken over, but Dana couldn’t pass up the chance at catching up with one of her personal favorite ‘frequent flyers’..
“My friends need help..” Digby says, voice small as if he doesn’t wanna be a bother. Dana eyes the blanket bunched up in his arms.
“Yeah..” She says slowly. Benji would blow his lid at her being late. Tonight was their annual movie night, but.. She had to see what the hell this was all about..
Squirrels.
It was about squirrels.
Two to be exact. See, Digby had been enjoying his night at the local park when he saw the two squirrels. They’d gotten caught in a broken part of the fence. One had it’s tail take the worst of it, and the other its side…
Thinking fast, Digby had taken his blanket and caught the squirrels with it, knowing they’d easily attack if they didn’t have something to cover them. Then he wondered in here, claiming he couldn’t find his ‘usual girl’. When he’d unwrapped the blankets, both squirrels took that as their chance to run.
“We have had mice, we have had stray cats..” Ellis complains. “Hell, we have had pigeons!” She huffs as Lena makes quick work at checking the books on who to call while Jack rubs his face.
He should’ve taken the night off..
“I draw the line at squirrels!” Ellis continues simply.
“Relax!” Lena assures. “Go around and make sure no patient finds out. I’m calling animal control right now..” She says simply.
“No!” Digby says fast as Dana, who’s kind of glad she didn’t run off yet, moves to gently pat his shoulder. “They’ll just kill em!” He says to Dana. “Get Dr. Y/N. She can help.” He nods certainly as he pulls out a crumbled up card from his pocket.
Looks were exchanged and debated whispers were had, but eventually, Dana was the one to actually call the number.
It was 7:40pm when Y/N finally showed up.
Jack would never forget that time. It was the beginning of the best part of his life…
Y/N had worked fast. Efficiently. She had set up non-threatening traps to catch the two trouble markers, and when placed into a dark box, she spoke to them softly and warmly. As if they could understand her. As if they could trust her. Jack had let her do her work in peace, sure. He was never one to want to flirt with a woman while she was on the clock, but he did keep an eye on said clock.
She couldn’t be on it forever.
“That was a good catch, Digby. How much do I owe you?” Y/N asks gently as the older man shyly shrugs, wanting to reject the idea of money..
“No no. You’re my eyes and ears, remember? Keeping the small animals of Pittsburgh safe.” Y/N assures gently as she slips some cash into Digby’s hand. He gratefully accepts. Jack watches on from his place at the nurse’s station, pretending to actually be listening to Lena..
“I hope they get better..” Digby says gently as Y/N assures him that she’ll make sure they will. Thanks to him.
Jack knew at that moment that Y/N was the one.
So he helped her to her car with the boxes. And he listened to her talk about how she’d first met Digby after her first week here in Pittsburgh. How he is always bringing her injured animals that he finds and she pays him for being her ‘doctor on the move’.
He learns about her big move to a big city, and how deep her love for animals really is. He listens as she complains so passionately about that damn gate in the park. How poor animals are always getting caught in it and how the city does nothing. At a certain point, he respectfully interrupts.
“Would you wanna… Grab some coffee tomorrow morning?” He asks quietly. Y/N pauses, setting the boxes in her car as she sheepishly eyes Jack.
He was handsome.
But she had been told over and over again at her going away party to be weary of handsome city boys..
“I’ll… Think about it.” She says politely, voice soft and Jack hums gently. That’s all he needs. Numbers were swapped and long glances were shared, but the two had left it at that.
Until the next morning.
Because if you asked Jack Abbot about Y/N Y/L/N.. With his full chest he’d tell you that he knew he liked her that very night.
But if you asked Y/N… She’d tell you she knew the very next day.
Because that was the day she’d drop the squirrels off in the park, and find Jack Abbot fixing the gate..
*
*
*
Jack could barely find his footing.
It all felt off today. Everything felt wrong, and he couldn’t put his finger on why. Walking into the ED, Robby is first to greet him with a firm hand on his shoulder. Jack stumbles a bit, making Robby eye him in concern.
“You alright?” He asks.
“Yeah. Uh.. Yeah. I got the 911. What’s up?” Jack asks, trying to shake it off. But mentally he goes through this morning in his head.
Clocked out at 6am, went to Y/N’s house, crawled into bed with her without showering. Was.. That it? He didn’t shower?
“Needed all hands. This thunderstorm’s supposed to be real bad. St. Peter’s Mercy already said they’re gonna start downsizing..” Robby explains as Jack nods along, only half listening.
No. It wasn’t the shower. Jack continues going through the morning. He held Y/N and fell asleep. Then he woke up to his phone ringing. It was Robby. That was at.. 10:23am.
Yeah. That was it. The early phone call.
Jack comes back into the conversation now, assuring that he’ll shoot a text over to Shen while Dana tries getting a hold of Ellis. He bites his lower lip though as he slips back into his own head when Robby starts debating where to put Santos and Whitaker for the day..
It wasn’t the call. That’s not what woke him up. It was… Y/N! Y/N had woke him up!
His eyes widen slightly as it finally dawns on him. “The kiss!” He says, stopping Robby’s conversation with Dana completely. Both eye him oddly.
“The what?” Dana asks with slight humor in her tone and clear as day on her face..
“Y/N woke me up this morning. Something about making a house call to some farm.. Ranch.. Place.” He waves his hand. “But I couldn’t kiss her because you called!” He continues as he motions towards Robby.
“I called?!” Robby asks in amusement, acting offended by the accusations.
“You costed me a morning kiss. Now I’m gonna be all off my game!” Jack states, completely serious as Dana snickers while walking away from the two men.
“It’s my fault you can’t multitask?” Robby jokes as Jack sighs softly, pulling out his phone to see if there was a text from Y/N. She had woken him up to tell him she was leaving, but before they could kiss, his phone rang from the nightstand.
He’d been half asleep.
He hasn’t been thinking right.
If he had, he would’ve let the damn phone go to voicemail and gladly kissed his girl. She had slipped out of the room while he was talking on the phone to Robby.
“Not funny. We haven’t skipped on a goodbye kiss in the almost year we’ve been together..” Jack sighs as he starts to write a text to her.
“It’s life. It happens.” Robby shrugs like it’s not a big deal, pausing though as he sees Jack trying to start a text. “What are you doing?” He chuckles.
“Gotta apologize…” Jack says like it’s obvious. Robby shakes his head.
“As much as that would entertain me, I need you at the ambulance bay, man. We’re gonna get flooded..” Robby states. Jack sighs, pocketing his phone for the moment. He’d message when he had a chance..
*
*
*
A chance never came..
Any time Jack thought he’d have a minute to text his long winded apology, something else would happen that would need his full attention.
It was frustrating to say the least..
He doesn’t know what time it is when Dana shouts about an incoming patient, but he steps back out on the ambulance bay. Robby coming to stand next to him. The ambulance pulls up and paramedic comes out. The awning stops them from getting soaked by this damn rain.
“Snake bite. Copperhead from what the assistant could tell us. She wanted to come straight here. Passed out now, vitals growing unstable.” The paramedic says as Robby walks over first to the now open ambulance doors. He freezes as what he sees. He quickly moves in front of Jack to stop him.
“I got this one, brother.” He says fast as Jack eyes him in confusion.
“I can do it..” Jack assures as he tries to walk around Robby to see the stretcher the paramedics are now rolling out.
“Abbot..” Robby warns as Jack falters in his steps when he gets a glimpse of that hair. Hair he always loves running his fingers through.
“What happened?” Jack breathes out, moving fast to be by her side. She’s sweaty and clammy. Her lips are an off shade as she lays there, looking… Undisturbed.
“Apparently snake attack while on duty. Right to the ankle…” The second paramedic says slowly, eyeing Jack oddly as the physician shakes his head. This can’t be happening. This can’t be real.
“No. No, no, no..” He rushes out quietly under his breath as he takes charge. He had to make this right again..
Jack fully takes over, yanking the stretcher so he can roll it inside the ED, running it at this point. Robby chases after him. “Y/N? Baby? Hey. Open your eyes, baby…” He tries quietly as he rushes her inside the operating room.
“I need hands!” He screams roughly. Dana jumps at the sudden boom of his authoritative voice. Mel and Shen are quick to run into the room too.
Robby finally gets into the room, frowning softly as he watches his best friend, his brother, shakily work on the love of his life. “You can’t be working on her, man..” He tries as he walks closer so only Jack can hear him..
Jack doesn’t listen, doesn’t even look Robby’s way as he barks out orders. Orders for CroFab, for NSAIDs, for proper cleaning of the bite mark on Y/N’s right ankle.
“Abbot.” Robby tries again. “You aren’t thinking right. Your judgement is-“ Jack finally cuts Robby off, turning to stare him down with a hard warning sharp in his dark eyes.
“Get out of my way, Robby..” He whispers with all seriousness as Robby hesitates.
“Abbot-“ Jack cuts him off again.
“You either find something to do, or you get the fuck out of my way, man.” He snaps finally. Everyone in the room tries to ignore that, focusing solely on helping Y/N.
“I’m doing this..” Jack continues shortly. “You wanna stop me, you better call security.” He warns gruffly.
Robby sighs softly, slowly stepping aside to let Jack work on Y/N. He preps himself in order to help…
*
*
*
Y/N thinks she’s in her bed at first.
It’s a split second of normalcy where she believes everything she’s been through was just some bad dream.
But then the smell of sterilization and an unmistakable scent of disinfectant seeps into her nose. It almost burns.
Yup. It’s the hospital.
“I’m alive?” Are the first words out of her mouth, eyes struggling to open. It’s a joke, of course. To no one in particular, but.. She knows.
She knows he’s there.
As if to assure her of this, she’s blessed with his soft and breathy chuckle before a hand is on her cheek, lips being placed eagerly on her forehead and then her cheeks and then her nose. She can feel the slight dip of her hospital bed as he sits on the edge of it to fully hover above her, marking more territory that way.
She blushes as her eyes finally open. She relishes in his soft lips, his slight stubble, the way he can smell of sanitizer and Tom Ford..
She knew time had to be on her side the minute she felt the quick, sharp prick. It felt like being snapped by a heavy rubber band. She had used her phone to snap a picture of the snake as it slithered past.
Just in case it was needed for further medical planning.
Then she called 911 as her assistant helped get her to the farmhouse so she could wash the area with soap and water.
Sighing in contentment, Y/N touches Jack’s cheek when he stops his kisses to rest his forehead against hers. “I’m sorry..” She whispers as she watches him. He shakes his head fast. Now his eyes are shut, taking in every detail of this moment.
“Just rest. Just.. Please, just rest..” He whispers as if that’s all he wants from her right now. The look of relief is clear on his face as he puts his hand on hers and kisses her wrist, keeping his lips against her pulse point.
“I should’ve known better..” She sighs anyways. The room is quiet besides the rain on her window and the beeps of distant machines.
“But I was so dead set on getting reception so I could text you, I.. Didn’t even think to look at where I was stepping..” Y/N continues to speak, really wanting to explain how the hell she ended up here..
Jack pauses. “Text me?” He asks.
“I wanted to say sorry for leaving without kissing you goodbye.” She says and he pauses before laughing quietly, moving back a bit to shake his head in amusement.
“What?” Y/N asks sheepishly.
Jack slips out his phone and unlocks it, showing her the unfinished text he’d been working on all morning and afternoon. She sits up with a slight wince, grabbing the phone to read it.
‘Hey, acorn. I’m so so sorry about this morning. Should’ve kissed you. I’m completely off my game now. Hope you’re having a better da…’
Y/N sheepishly smiles and then silently nods at her bag of belongs for Jack to go through. He tenderly gets up and gets it for her so she can hand him her phone. He unlocks it and goes straight to messages, seeing she’d been in the middle of writing him something too.
‘Hate that I didn’t get to kiss you this morning, bear! Has me feeling off. Gonna have to make up for it late..’
“See what happens when we don’t kiss goodbye?” Jack finally teases quietly as he sets her phone down. She nods in agreement, giggling.
“It’s bad luck.” She agrees playfully before grabbing Jack by his face with both hands, leaning in for a much needed kiss. It’s like a shot of espresso for him and a much needed breather for her..
“Mm.. That’s the good stuff..” Jack mutters quietly against her lips, eyes still closed. It makes Y/N giggles as she goes back in for more…
gracieabrams
theartofmadeline
izzy806
andulkaphoto
yousharknotpass
s-u-f-j-a-n-s-t-e-v-e-n-s
areudirty
