seitmai

just a 27-year-old who loves to waste time online | she/they | 18+ | comments & asks by @seitmai-too | PFP by yellow.clouds on IG

[seitmai]

The trio seeing that...

...you don't have your age in your profile.

Now that I have your attention:

Please add your age in any capacity in your profile! It doesn't have to be your exact age (e.g. 20s, 30s,...)

I am not writing myself, but repost A LOT of stuff not suitable for minors and it makes me really uncomfortable thinking someone underage interacts over my profile with something not appropriate for their age.

I will start to block profiles without age!

Thank you! 💘

[se7entyrell]

Can u do John Logan and afro hair black chubby! Where he defends her from all mean comments please

You always pretend you don't hear the comments. It's easiest that way. The cruel whispers about how someone like John Logan could possibly be interested in you.

Brushing it off is easier than fighting.

But John never lets it slide.

The moment he catches it, his entire body goes tense, as he begins to track down the source, brow furrowed.

For years, you've built up armour to survive these exact moments alone, expecting to always carry the weight of other people's judgments with you. Yet, every single time, John shatters that expectation. He's never once loved you in secret.

It means more to you than you'll ever be able to express to him.

So instead, you squeeze his hand, and offer him a tearful smile. "I love you," You whisper.

"Not as much as I love you," is always his reply.

[se7entyrell]

Can I request a moodboard of the character and au of your choice, only with the prompt being summer thunderstorm? If you feel like it. Thank you! 💕

i am so, so sorry because the twin peaks pope au is probably not what you were wanting, but it was all i could think of with this prompt lol

The porch screen door slams shut behind you, the sky a deep bruised purple as lightning streaks across the sky. There's a chill in the air, despite the muggy July heat, and you shiver.

The ring on your finger sits heavy, and you're overcome with the sudden urge to rip it off, and toss it into the greenery surrounding the cabin. Instead, you take a few steps forward, out from under the shelter of the porch.

The rain whips at your face, doing little to wake you up the way you'd hoped. Instead, your nightgown catches in the mud, and twigs scratch at your face.

"What the hell are you doing?"

A jacket is dropped onto your shoulders, Pope's arms wrapping around your waist just as you reach the treeline. It smells of tobacco and wet wool, but it provides no warmth.

You lean back against his chest, watching the lightning split the sky, illuminating the jagged teeth of the Douglas firs.

"I needed to breathe," You whisper, though your voice is swallowed by a low, rolling rumble of thunder.

Pope’s grip tightens around your waist. He presses his lips against the crown of your head, his breath hot against your wet hair. "You're freezing," he mutters, his gruff voice vibrating through your spine. "Come back inside. Before someone sees."

You pull away just enough to look at him, the heavy gold ring on your finger burning like ice against your skin. The dread from your dream is bleeding into the fresh air, thick and inescapable. "Pope... what if he knows? What if he found out?"

Pope lets out a short, rough laugh, the sound entirely grounded and dismissive. "Hey. Look at me. There is no way in hell he knows. He's away in fuckin' Utah. Even if he were here, he'd be too drunk to figure anything out, anyway."

Down in the mud at your feet, the rain washes away the topsoil, revealing a perfect circle of pale, white stones. Inside the circle, your shadows don't match your bodies; they are entirely separate, dancing a slow, erratic waltz completely out of time with the wind.

Pope keeps holding you, his chin resting on your head, entirely unaware of the shift. He murmurs, "See? Nothing out here but us."

But his voice doesn't come from his lips anymore. The words come directly out of the dark woods ahead of you, whispered in a flat, echoing cadence that sounds exactly like your husband's.

[luckieangel]

if you get horny out of the blue it’s because you and that fictional man are fucking in his universe btw

[thickness-protection-program]

I'm probably someone's "not this guy again" on Tumblr

[gentlier]

What is your eye color?

A 10, 17, 40, or 50

A 20, 30, or 60

C 20, 30, or 40

D 10, 30, 37, or 50

D 20, 34, 40, or 60

T 7, 10, 15, or 17

T 20, 30, 40, or 50

BOTH of my eyes are two different colors.

ONE of my eyes is two different colors.

I don’t have eyes.

Remaining time: 6 days 7 hours

[girltalk]

June will be filled with joy.

June will be filled with love.

June will be filled with trust.

June will be filled with peace.

June will be filled with clarity.

June will be filled with miracles.

June will be filled with blessings.

[doofuses-deactivated20200101]

literally like 95% of girls have stretch marks on their body and if you’re going to give them a hard time about them then you didn’t deserve to see her body in the first place

[thefictionalmanswhxre]

⋆. 𐙚 ˚𝒃𝒂𝒌𝒆𝒓!𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓 𝒙 𝒃𝒓𝒆𝒏𝒅𝒐𝒏 𝒑𝒂𝒓𝒌

𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆’𝒔 𝒂 𝒎𝒓𝒔. 𝒔𝒉𝒂𝒓𝒌??

𝚜𝚞𝚖𝚖𝚊𝚛𝚢: 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚙𝚒𝚝𝚝𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜 𝚏𝚒𝚗𝚍 𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚊𝚋𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚔’𝚜 𝚠𝚒𝚏𝚎 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚊𝚍𝚘𝚙𝚝 𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚊𝚜 𝚊 𝚏𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚗𝚍 & 𝚐𝚛𝚘𝚞𝚙 𝚖𝚘𝚖. 𝚐𝚘𝚘𝚍 (𝚖𝚘𝚜𝚝𝚕𝚢) 𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚘𝚜 𝚎𝚗𝚜𝚞𝚎𝚜 !

* 𝘭𝘦𝘵 𝘮𝘦 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘪𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘦 𝘵𝘢𝘨𝘨𝘦𝘥!

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𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦𝘥 𝘣𝘺 𝐞𝐦.𝐰𝐚𝐥𝐬𝐡, 𝐛.𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐤, 𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐨𝐬, 𝐢𝐭𝐬𝐝𝐚𝐧𝐚𝐞𝐯𝐚𝐧𝐬, 𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐨𝐨𝐨.𝐝, 𝐬𝐚𝐦𝐢𝐫𝐚𝐦𝐨𝐡𝐚𝐧, 𝐝𝐞𝐧𝐧𝐲_𝐰, 𝐯𝐣𝐚𝐯𝐚𝐝𝐢 & 𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘴

𝐮𝐫.𝐟𝐚𝐯.𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐤 𝘺𝘦𝘴 𝘩𝘪, 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘪𝘴 𝘴𝘩𝘦 𝘹𝘰𝘹𝘰

. . . .

𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐨𝐬 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘢𝘵𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘜𝘗🤩

𝐯𝐣𝐚𝐯𝐚𝐝𝐢 𝘮𝘳𝘴. 𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘳𝘳𝘳𝘬 𝘳 𝘶 𝘵𝘢𝘬𝘦𝘯😩

𝐝𝐞𝐧𝐧𝐲_𝐰 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘪𝘵 𝘣𝘦𝘨𝘪𝘯𝘴🍿👀

𝐬𝐚𝐦𝐢𝐫𝐚𝐦𝐨𝐡𝐚𝐧 𝘰𝘮𝘨 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘥𝘪𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘨𝘦𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘯𝘢𝘪𝘭𝘴 𝘥𝘰𝘯𝘦?? 𝘪 𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘰𝘷𝘦

𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐨𝐨𝐨.𝐝 𝘶𝘳 𝘥𝘦𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘪𝘵𝘦𝘭𝘺 𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘧𝘢𝘷 𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘬

𝐟𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐤.𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐝𝐨𝐧𝐧𝐧 𝘪𝘵’𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘬 𝘵𝘢𝘮𝘦𝘳🦈

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𝓉𝒶𝑔𝓁𝒾𝓈𝓉: @leeshy12 @livlovesfastcars @safelyraggedshelter @ashhearts1

[richeeduvie]

papa bear jack is nearly at his worst when you end up being followed home with your daughter...

wc: 4.1k // cw: stalking, u and ur daughter are being followed, obsessive!jack, angst, angst and some fluff // fic directory

You’re convinced that you’re not seeing this man. You won’t be like Jack and let your fear fill the room before any actual danger does. People can exist in the same aisle, right? It can be annoying, especially when you’re trying to shuffle through the Easter candy aisle because Easter is over and there’s a very tempting clearance to take advantage of. 

This is why the guy in the faded denim jacket doesn’t scare you when he looks up just as you turn your stroller toward the produce section.

If your daughter has no such anxieties, why should you?

She’s in the stroller, happily munching on her teething ring and distracting you with her round thighs every time she decides to remove her shoes by kicking them off. 

“No, baby. Stop.”

You murmur, reaching down to tug her pink baby sneakers over her heels.

“Shoes are required in the grocery store. We don’t need your dad having a medical event cause we lost another pair.”

Chubby kicks once, and you smile. After, you move through the store efficiently. You buy bananas, milk, and the yogurt melts you think she’d kill you for. Coffee too. Jack claims he needs it as much as he needs his girls to survive.

You don’t know if that’s more flattering to you or to the coffee.

At the checkout, you see the man from the candy aisle again. He’s in a different lane, and apparently, he had no interest in buying on-sale Easter candy packs, because he doesn’t have a cart of anything. He doesn’t even have a basket. Just a pack of gum. 

He looks away just as your eyes find his. 

Your stomach drops, and you’re like Jack in letting the fear overtake you enough that you almost forget you’re at the cash register. 

“Cute baby.”

The cashier smiles at you. Your hands tighten on the stroller. “Thank you.”

“She’s got perfect cheeks.”

“Yes, she does.” It’s true, and as her mother, you have every right to talk about her perfect, fat cheeks until the sun explodes.

“I'm very proud of them.”

But you’re too busy trying to convince yourself that you’re a little crazy. It’s a small store. People are allowed to buy only one thing, and awkward moments where your glance catches someone else’s happen all the time. 

By the time you look back to where the stranger was checking out, he’s gone. By the time you get to the parking lot, you’ve convinced yourself that you are ridiculous. Your nervous system has just been heightened by the beauty of motherhood.

There’s a beauty in that, even if it’s the reason you’ve been googling ‘is my baby choking or discovering she has saliva?’ recently. You have to find the silver linings. 

You load the bags and buckle Chubby in. You get behind the wheel. 

Your stomach turns when you see the man in denim near the cart return area, and you don’t think it’s your fear clocking that he’s watching you. 

But you don’t…you don’t panic. You see no need to peel out or to call Jack, because that would mean him asking a million questions that could turn a relatively good day cold.

If you were to even just slightly mention being uncomfortable because a weird man has decided to stare at you, he’d probably abandon his shift, and that would mean probably abandoning a patient. Poor, hypothetical patient. 

Calling or texting him your worries wouldn’t do anything but give a gruff n’ tough fear to a beautiful, thick, freckled body.

Yeah, let’s make it about it being for Jack’s sake instead of yours. That’s much easier. 

The park’s for kids, but it really does calm you down. Compare that to Chubby, who might excite herself in the swings so much that it’s not going to be hard to put her down for her nap later.

You press your mouth into the warm, sweet smell of your daughter’s hair. Inhaling all her sweetness is enough to cancel the sourness crawling along your nerves, and you’re just so, so enamoured by the squeaky-bellied laughs she gives every time you push her.

You hope it’ll always be this easy to entertain her.

“Are you having fun, my little tax deduction?”

Chubby kicks both feet, and your smile drops when you see that one is only socked. 

“Where did your shoe go?”

Just as she grins suspiciously proud with her gums, you look past the swing set to see a car you’re not supposed to recognize.

You don’t know why you do. It’s not like recognition in the way of seeing something you’ve seen 1,000 times before.

It’s an older, dark car. You don’t know how long it’s been parked. It gives you nothing as you watch it for ten to fifteen seconds. The windshield’s reflecting a blur, you’re not even sure if there’s anyone inside. 

..But you’re sure you’re recognizing it in the way of recognizing something you’ve just seen. 

You’re scaring yourself, but pretending it’s nothing won’t stop you from being scared. Time to go home. 

The thought comes with Jack’s voice, except Jackie would never tell you you’re scaring yourself. You take Chubby out of the swing, cooing when she fusses and not giving a damn about finding her shoes. Her dad would buy her every pair if she wanted. 

“Sorry, sweetheart. We gotta go.”

You drive home while checking the rearview mirror more times than you can count, but even as every dark car becomes that one, you’re selfish in the safety you feel as you walk through the door, past the plants you keep forgetting to water.

At least Jack keeps watering them without comment. He’s against plant murder. You can only try to be.

The camera Jack installed when Chubby was born watches you go inside. You remember rolling your eyes when he kept lecturing you on home invasions and the statistically unlikely but not impossible chance of some “freaky fuck” trying to get near you while he’s not home. 

You’re certainly not rolling them now, are you?

You lock the door. Then the deadbolt. Then the chain. You set your chubby baby down in her playpen, and you can’t even give a shit about the way your hands tremble once you’re not holding her.

Your phone buzzes. It’s Jack. 

You home?

You text back.

yes ❤️all good. Chubs kept kicking off her shoes in public and i think she's taken to trying to do the same with her socks

The dots appear immediately.

Send proof of life.

You laugh despite the day. You're home. You're safe. The both of you are safe.

You enter the playpen to take a picture of Chubby on her back, both fists around her bare foot. She looks innocent, like she's never committed the crime of wasting shoes in her life.

You send it. Jack answers immediately. Duh.

Sockless and disgraceful. That's my girl. You okay?

...You know what? For the sake of you both, you can take to half-truths.

yeah, just tired.

Eat something.

You smile faintly and look down to find your daughter has managed to take off her other sock.

You hunch over to kiss her baby belly.

"I think your dada's teaching me how to be a worry wart, are you gonna grow up to be a worry wart---"

A knock on the door interrupts your tease.

You nearly drop your phone as Chubby startles. After she decides to not care, she blinks up at you with mild interest. You do not move.

The knock comes again.

"Ma'am?"

It's the voice of a man through the door.

Your blood goes as frozen as you are.

...He sounds polite.

"...Yes?"

You try putting on your nurse voice, but it's cracked.

"Sorry to bother you, but I think you dropped something. At the park. Your baby dropped something. I didn't want you to lose it."

You slap your hand to your mouth.

Oh. What the fuck? What the actual hell?

You think you might black out, everything within your line of sight stretches and blurs with the beat of your heart harsh against your bones.

"...What is it?"

"A shoe."

At that, your heart just might lurch out of you and turn you into a screaming mess.

"I---thank you," You can hear yourself becoming smaller, even though you want to ask him if he followed you all the fucking way home to give you your daughter's shoe. "You can leave it where you now."

Being harmless might make this situation easier. Maybe not. Maybe you should scream at him to leave. Maybe you should call the police.

But you don't know how many windows are locked, and making him angry might make him want to figure it out.

“I don’t want it to blow away. It's pretty windy. I can hand it to you.”

“It won’t. Please, leave.”

Leave, weirdass! Leave---

You almost drop your phone when it buzzes again. Again.

What’s going on?

Your thumb hovers over the keyboard as the man knocks again.

“You there?”

You type fast.

Nothing

...Jack's reply comes so impossibly quickly that it feels more like his fingers pinching the back of your neck than an actual text.

Nothing is the man at the door?

You freeze. Again.

Move away from the door. Now.

...You had forgotten that he'd be able to see everything through the app on his phone, the one linked to all the cameras around the house. He can see the man.

He can see your lie.

And you practically jump when you hear his voice come through the speaker outside. It's low, rough in the gravel of his beautiful throat. Too calm.

“Step away from the door and leave.”

You can hear a scuffle outside, maybe the man shuffling back as he gives a nervous laugh.

"I'm just returning something. She dropped---"

"No."

Jack's decided not to yell or get loud, which is worse. You hate the voice he uses when he doesn't want to ask people for compliance more than once. It's usually with residents. Or drunk patients.

It's funnier with them.

You can hear scraping against the porch.

“Look, man, I was just trying to help.”

“You followed my wife to my house? How else would you have my daughter's shoe?”

“I didn’t follow her.”

The man sounds genuine, at least. Like, he actually believes that. You imagine Jack at the hospital, his shoulders high and tight, and face emptied out to let rage in. He's watching the camera feed, the man with Chubby's little shoe in his hand.

...But Jack, seeing that, calling him out on that, tells you he does have her shoe. Isn't that a perfect excuse to stalk you for miles?

“...You’re on camera, fucker. Leave."

Jack's voice puts the chill in you. Chubby starts fussing.

You back away from the door and hurry to the playpen, scooping her up. She's offended by the suddenness and tells you that with another fuss, but she just presses her warm cheek against your collarbone.

Not afraid like you, thank God.

Your phone rings. Jack's name flashes on the screen. You answer instantly.

"Jack—"

"Bedroom. Lock the door."

"Jack, I’m sorry—"

His voice is now in your ear. You can hear his clipped breath.

"Bedroom. Lock it. Take the baby."

"I have her."

You hear him swallow.

"Good. Good girl. Go."

You move down the hall with Chubby clutched to your chest. She grabs a fistful of your shirt and chews on the neckline.

You get into the bedroom and scramble to lock the door.

"I'm in the bedroom, it's locked. Is he gone?"

You can hear movement on Jack's end now, the sound of the Pitt before a demand leaves him, away from the phone and controlled.

"Robby. Take my rooms." A pause, a muffle. "No, I’m not asking. I'm supposed to be leaving here, anyway."

A muffled, distant voice sounds out. Robby, probably. The sound of footsteps, Jack's, are what become the forefront of noise.

"There’s a man at my house. I have to go."

"Jack, I’m locked in. He’s probably gone. You can't just leave. I'll call the police if you want---"

Jack's voice drops when he decides he's having none of your excuses.

"You lied to me."

You feel your spit caught in your throat. Chubby nuzzles.

"You were scared, and you lied to me."

"I didn’t want you to---"

"What?" ...He's snapping. "To know? React like anyone would? Come home? Keep you alive? Pick one."

Your throat might close up on you. It makes for the rushing silence that sits between you and him, just until you hear him inhale.

"Sorry, I’m sorry. I’m not---kid, I’m not mad at you. I'm just out of my fucking mind."

His apology comes out angry, really. Ironic. Like he can still find ways to be mad at himself in this situation.

"I saw him at the store, then I thought--I thought I saw his car at the park. But I didn't know. I didn't want to be dramatic---"

"You saw him at the store. And at the park. And you came home?"

...Jack might as well be swallowing the knives in the kitchen with how he sounds. You stutter things that are barely words, bouncing Chubby.

"I didn’t know what else to do, Jack."

I did. But I didn't want to deal with this on top of everything else.

"You call me!"

"I didn’t want you to scare me more!"

That's your and Jack's talent. Escalating. You regret your words when the lines go quiet.

When Jack's voice returns, it sounds stripped. It's quiet, and you'd rather he'd yell like he just did.

"Yeah. Okay. That makes sense."

"...Did I hurt you?"

There's a breath with a hmph. That's an answer enough. You hold in your breath, only letting it go against Chubby's hair.

"You did. And that doesn’t matter right now. Stay where you are. I'm going to hang up to call the police. I'll be there soon, Sleepy."

Jack hangs up. You start crying then, and your baby lifts her head and stares at you with confusion, even more offended than before.

You don't know how long you cry, but you're finished when Jack's truck tears into the driveway. He gets home before the police do. The distance between here and the Pitt...him getting home so quickly shouldn't be possible.

But shouldn't be one to not believe in him.

The front door opens, and you think it's okay to disobey his demand and leave the bedroom.

You find him pale with a jaw locked down so hard that you want to tease him and tell him that he's going to eat his lip. He looks at you, then at Chubby, then at every window in the room.

Chubby lights up.

"Da bah bahhhhh!"

He crosses the room, and you want this to be something you can tease later so badly, even though you're sputtering and reaching for him, because he looks like he could be called Dr. Violence right about now. Violence got himself a medical degree and scrubs and beautiful, silver hair.

Dr. Violence. Papa Bear. Jackie.

"Jack."

His arms come around you and your baby. One hand cradles the back of your head as you instantly fall into his stern, stoic body. He holds you too tightly. Never too tightly. Never tight enough.

"I’m sorry I lied."

He slips his fingers to your neck, squeezing there with the rough tumble of his voice against your skin.

"Don’t apologize yet. I’m deciding how mad I’m allowed to be without becoming fucked about this.”

Call the progress, baby. He's trying.

You pull back just enough to look at him.

"You’re shaking."

"I watched a man stand on my porch with our daughter’s shoe in his hand. It's there. I can't touch it. I need to...I need to check the locks. The police should be here soon."

"Jack...let's just...let's just talk about this---"

"I need to check the locks. And the windows. And I'm getting more cameras tomorrow. And motion lights. I don't know why I didn't get motion lights before. That fucking...that fucking bastard. You don’t know what it was like seeing him there and knowing you told me nothing. Knowing there was a whole day of you being afraid that I wasn’t inside. I wasn’t there. I didn’t know. I didn’t---"

"Jack, let's get you sitting down---"

"You’re not going anywhere alone for a while."

...You should've guessed that's what would be the answer to this at some point. You swallow, voice softening carefully.

"We can talk about that."

Jack blinks. He rubs your neck. He only looks slightly helpless when he glances at Chubby.

He kisses her perfect, tubby cheek.

“No, we don’t have to.”

[seitmai]

Many thoughts

“Shoes are required in the grocery store. We don’t need your dad having a medical event cause we lost another pair.”

Fair enough (he could afford it tho 🤷🏻‍♀️)

Chubby kicks once, and you smile. After, you move through the store efficiently. You buy bananas, milk, and the yogurt melts you think she’d kill you for. Coffee too. Jack claims he needs it as much as he needs his girls to survive.

Real

“She’s got perfect cheeks.” “Yes, she does.” It’s true, and as her mother, you have every right to talk about her perfect, fat cheeks until the sun explodes. “I'm very proud of them.”

Great thing to be proud of🙂‍↕️

By the time you look back to where the stranger was checking out, he’s gone. By the time you get to the parking lot, you’ve convinced yourself that you are ridiculous. Your nervous system has just been heightened by the beauty of motherhood.

Fun 🥴

If you were to even just slightly mention being uncomfortable because a weird man has decided to stare at you, he’d probably abandon his shift, and that would mean probably abandoning a patient. Poor, hypothetical patient. 

Of course he would

Calling or texting him your worries wouldn’t do anything but give a gruff n’ tough fear to a beautiful, thick, freckled body.

🤤🤤🤤

Yeah, let’s make it about it being for Jack’s sake instead of yours. That’s much easier. 

Fair enough 🤷🏻‍♀️

“Are you having fun, my little tax deduction?”

🤭🤭🤭

He really would

The thought comes with Jack’s voice, except Jackie would never tell you you’re scaring yourself. You take Chubby out of the swing, cooing when she fusses and not giving a damn about finding her shoes. Her dad would buy her every pair if she wanted. Sockless and disgraceful. That's my girl.

“I don’t want it to blow away. It's pretty windy. I can hand it to you.”

Oh hell no!

...You had forgotten that he'd be able to see everything through the app on his phone, the one linked to all the cameras around the house. He can see the man. He can see your lie.

Yikes 🫣

And you practically jump when you hear his voice come through the speaker outside. It's low, rough in the gravel of his beautiful throat. Too calm. “Step away from the door and leave.”

If this wasn't so scary his voice would be hot

Jack's decided not to yell or get loud, which is worse. You hate the voice he uses when he doesn't want to ask people for compliance more than once. It's usually with residents. Or drunk patients.

Thats way more serious

You back away from the door and hurry to the playpen, scooping her up. She's offended by the suddenness and tells you that with another fuss, but she just presses her warm cheek against your collarbone. Not afraid like you, thank God.

🥺🥺🥺

"You were scared, and you lied to me." "I didn’t want you to---" "What?" ...He's snapping. "To know? React like anyone would? Come home? Keep you alive? Pick one." Your throat might close up on you. It makes for the rushing silence that sits between you and him, just until you hear him inhale. "Sorry, I’m sorry. I’m not---kid, I’m not mad at you. I'm just out of my fucking mind."

Not good 🫣

"I didn’t know what else to do, Jack." I did. But I didn't want to deal with this on top of everything else. "You call me!" "I didn’t want you to scare me more!"

Fair point

That's your and Jack's talent. Escalating. You regret your words when the lines go quiet.

🙈🙈🙈

You don't know how long you cry, but you're finished when Jack's truck tears into the driveway. He gets home before the police do. The distance between here and the Pitt...him getting home so quickly shouldn't be possible.

Oh boy he broke all the rules driving home 👀🫣

Call the progress, baby. He's trying.

That's something!

"Jack...let's just...let's just talk about this---" "I need to check the locks. And the windows. And I'm getting more cameras tomorrow. And motion lights. I don't know why I didn't get motion lights before. That fucking...that fucking bastard. You don’t know what it was like seeing him there and knowing you told me nothing. Knowing there was a whole day of you being afraid that I wasn’t inside. I wasn’t there. I didn’t know. I didn’t---" "Jack, let's get you sitting down---"

Oh he is too far gone..

[crosshajr]

NIGHT SHIFT SURPRISES.

in which you find out you and jack are expecting!

fem! reader. jack & reader in a relationship living together. parker being the bff reader needs in the moment. pregnancy! fluff tbh. ive been writing angst, thought you all could use some fluff. might make this a mini series. (?)

you know something feels wrong the second the nausea hits.

at first, you try to ignore it.

it’s just another night shift—everyone feels a little sick, a little exhausted. you tell yourself it’s just too much caffeine and not enough food. but halfway through checking vitals, your stomach twists so suddenly you nearly drop the chart in your hands.

“you okay honey?” jack asks from beside you, concern already creeping into his voice.

you nod too quickly. “fine.”

you’re not fine. two minutes later, you’re rushing into the bathroom, barely making it to the stall before getting sick.

your eyes sting as you lean back against the wall afterward, breathing hard. “great,” you mutter to yourself.

“rough night?”

you look up to find parker standing in the doorway, concern written all over her face.

you groan softly. “please pretend you didn’t see this.”

“absolutely not,” parker says immediately, moving to sit beside you against the wall brushing the strands of hair that fell forward out of your face and slowly rubbing circles on your back with her palm. “how long have you felt sick?”

“i don’t know. a couple days maybe.” you close your eyes at the feeling of parkers hand rubbing your back, leaning to put your head on her shoulder feeling sorry for yourself.

“fever?”

“no.”

“stomach pain?”

you shake your head.

parker studies you for a second, then narrows her eyes slightly. “when’s the last time you slept?”

you laugh weakly. “that’s not a fair question.”

“when’s your last period?”

that makes you pause. you lift your head from parker’s shoulder to look her in the eye. “no,” you reply immediately. “no way.”

“you literally just did the mental math.”

“i’m stressed, parker. i’ve just thrown up in this shitty hospital bathroom.”

“uh-huh.”

you stare at the floor. she stares at you. then, without another word, parker stands up. “don’t move.”

“parker—”

“seriously. stay there.”

you watch her disappear out the door and drop your head into your hands.

twenty minutes later, you’re sitting in a locked bathroom stall staring down at a positive pregnancy test like it personally offended you.

“oh my god,” you whisper.

outside the stall, parker lets out a very loud, “i knew it.”

you laugh before you can stop yourself, somewhere between panic and disbelief.

“you okay in there?” she asks softer this time.

you look down at the test again, heart pounding impossibly fast. “i think so?”

and somehow, that’s the truth.

—

by the end of the shift, you’re exhausted in a completely different way.

the secret feels huge sitting in your chest.

jack notices something’s off immediately as the two of you walk to the car together. “you’ve been quiet,” he says gently.

you glance over at him in the early morning light. he looks tired, messy-haired, coffee in hand—and suddenly this feels very real.

“can we sit for a second?” you ask once you get home. immediately letting out a massive sigh as you sit on the couch.

his expression shifts instantly. “yeah. of course.”

the two of you settle onto the couch, still in scrubs, knees brushing.

jack turns toward you fully now. “you’re starting to scare me a little.”

you let out a nervous breath.

“parker found me getting sick earlier.”

his brows pull together immediately. “why didn’t you tell me?”

“because i didn’t know what was wrong yet.”

“yet?” he repeats carefully.

your hands twist together in your lap before you finally look up at him.

“i’m pregnant.”

silence. complete silence.

for one terrifying second, jack just stares at you. then his face changes so fast it makes your chest ache.

“you’re serious?” he asks quietly.

you nod once. “yeah.”

his eyes immediately soften, disbelief mixing with something warmer. brighter.

“we’re having a baby?”

the way he says it—like it’s the most unbelievable thing in the world—makes tears sting behind your eyes.

you laugh shakily. “apparently.”

jack exhales a quiet laugh of his own before suddenly reaching for you, pulling you into him so fast you barely have time to react.

“hey—”

he kisses you before you can finish the sentence.

soft. breathless. smiling. when he pulls back, his forehead rests against yours.

“i’m so happy right now,” he admits quietly.

you blink at him. “you are?”

that makes him laugh again, like he can’t believe you even asked.

“are you kidding?” his hand slides gently against your cheek. “yeah, baby. i am.”

your chest feels tight in the best way.

“i thought you’d panic.”

“oh, i’m definitely panicking,” he says. “just… happily.”

you laugh through the tears threatening your eyes, and he kisses you again instantly, softer this time.

“we’re having a baby,” he says again, mostly to himself.

and the look on his face when he says it—

pure happiness.

like there’s nowhere else in the world he’d rather be than right here with you.

[seitmai]

Many thoughts

you groan softly. “please pretend you didn’t see this.” “absolutely not,” parker says immediately, moving to sit beside you against the wall brushing the strands of hair that fell forward out of your face and slowly rubbing circles on your back with her palm. “how long have you felt sick?” Parker studies you for a second, then narrows her eyes slightly. “when’s the last time you slept?” you laugh weakly. “that’s not a fair question.”

It is a fair question coming from her as a doctor 🤷🏻‍♀️

“when’s your last period?” that makes you pause. you lift your head from parker’s shoulder to look her in the eye. “no,” you reply immediately. “no way.” “you literally just did the mental math.”

Oh 👀

“you okay in there?” she asks softer this time. you look down at the test again, heart pounding impossibly fast. “i think so?”and somehow, that’s the truth.

🥹🥹🥹

you glance over at him in the early morning light. he looks tired, messy-haired, coffee in hand—and suddenly this feels very real.

What a sight 😍

his eyes immediately soften, disbelief mixing with something warmer. brighter. “we’re having a baby?” the way he says it—like it’s the most unbelievable thing in the world—makes tears sting behind your eyes. you laugh shakily. “apparently.”

I love her "apparently" 🤭

“i’m so happy right now,” he admits quietly. “i thought you’d panic.” “oh, i’m definitely panicking,” he says. “just… happily.”

jack exhales a quiet laugh of his own before suddenly reaching for you, pulling you into him so fast you barely have time to react.

🥰🥰🥰

Panic in an overjoyed way 🥰🥹

[violetsnowdropp]

‘Incident’

Summary: It’s hard enough having your husband away 7 out 12 months of the year out on the battlefield as an army medic — or how reader reacts to Jack coming home from overseas, with his foot amputated. (This takes place when Jack was still in the military, i was thinking he would be like 29-30?)

(Potential) Warnings: mostly A LOT of angst and depressing topics, suicidal thoughts, phantom pain, cursing/swearing, a little tiny bit of fluff, medical inaccuracies (im going off research and mostly people i’ve seen on morphine), army inaccuracies. Apologies if there’s any spelling mistakes i proofread a billion times and found misspells every single time lol

Slán go fóill! 💗 Enjoy!

Normally, if you get a phone call at stupid o’clock in the morning, you don’t answer. But you couldn’t ignore the strange feeling in your belly.

All you heard from the other end of the phone was something about Jack being flew home to a Military ICU in Pittsburgh. You didn’t care if you hadn’t brushed your teeth or changed from your pyjamas — you weren’t even wearing underwear under your pyjamas bottoms — you needed to see your husband.

Some Sergeant, one you weren’t familiar with, had fetched you to bring to Jack’s side. “No one’s told me what happened,” You tell him, justifiably trembling. Please don’t say he’s brain dead, or he’s got limited days. “Is- Someone said something like he had surgery overseas, what-”

The Sergeant paused in the hallway, looking down at you with an expression of pity and hesitance. “..In short, ma’am, Corporal Abbot stepped on an IED. Do you know what that is?”

Your heart thudded in your chest, like it was trying to self destruct. You nodded silently, holding back more tears. Jack stepped on a homemade bomb, basically. That either meant that he was dead or alive by some miracle.

“—He’s alive, stable now. The surgery he had overseas was an amputation. They couldn’t save the bottom half of his leg. He also has burns up his left leg up to his hip, and a few minor up his left side.” He carried on, crossing his hands in front of him. “Do you understand?”

Another silent nod. You swallowed down a sob, your hand nervously rubbing over your lips. “..How is he alive? How- how big was this bomb, why- what even happened?”

“The few other men were at the scene, they said it was on a remote controlled device, so someone most likely saw them enter the building and set it off. Lieutenant said he threw himself on it to reduce the impact of the blow.” He explained, holding your gaze. “…He was a hero.”

“He almost fucking died.” You counter tearfully. That sounds like Jack.

You entered the ICU unit, seeing a few beds lined up next to each other with only curtains dividing. You spotted Jack immediately.

Your stomach churned in worry, and you had to take a breath so you wouldn’t actually throw up. Not in disgust. Never. You had been so worried the whole time before seeing him, worried he’d be unrecognisable or in so much pain, but he wasn’t. He wasn’t even awake.

He was that doped up on morphine and other pain relief that he was in some other world. At least he was resting.

You stepped closer, at the foot of the bed. It all dawned on you then, because you saw it for real. The emptiness under the blanket, where his foot should’ve been. He had wraps around his left hand, burnt as well, cuts along his face.

Really trying to hold back your tears, knowing there was other vets and soldiers in the beds around you and their loved ones, you just sat in the chair beside the bed. You weren’t leaving his side.

Jack woke up in a confused yet blissed out state. The morphine was definitely working. He didn’t know why he awoke, maybe it was the soft weight on his right thigh, or the familiar perfume he could smell. Oh, it was you.. It was like he was seeing an angel.

“Hey baby..” He murmured, slurred and hoarse as he lifted his hand and patted your head, watching your eyes open and widen. His tone was light, amused, a little mischievous, the same tone he uses when he’s acting like he hasn’t stole the tv remote, or like he didn’t throw his worn socks at you. There he is. Why’d you look so shocked? Jack thought to himself. “Wha?”

“Nothing, love, everything’s okay..” You whispered, stroking his arm. It’s like he’s forgotten what happened. “How are you feeling?”

He shrugs, resting his head back on the pillow. “Good..Why’re you here, anyway? Should be at home,”

“..Just missed you, I suppose.” You replied sweetly, trying not to cry again.

“..Angel, you’re actin’ weird, did I upset you?” He asked slowly, his hand reaching for yours. “Promise I didn’t mean to..I never do,”

Biting your lip, you tried to keep down the cries and the tears. It would only confuse him.

“Anyway…Why aren’t you in here with me?” He slurred with an easy smirk on his lips, his hands reaching up to wipe your cheeks with scarred knuckles. “C’mon up, pretty,”

“Jack, I don’t think that’s allowed—”

“Nahh, what are they gonna say?” He shrugs it off simply, pulling you closer to the bed in encouragement. “Come up here, Angel..”

You climbed onto the bed on his right side, wrapping a careful arm around him and resting your head on his shoulder, mindful of the burns on his left side.

He lets out a content grumble, patting your hip lightheartedly as he sinks into the bed - obviously more relaxed with you filling his senses. “Love you, baby..”

“..I love you more. So so much,” You whisper, stroking over his slightly scratchy white gown.

The second time he woke up, it was dawn. You had woken up and grabbed a coffee for yourself, the sun was just barely peeking over the horizon, shining in through the hospital blinds. But this time, he was groaning and huffing in pain.

You sat up immediately, reaching for his hand. “Jack? Love, what’s wrong?”

“Fuck..” He hissed, staring down at his leg. Or lack of. His face contorted further with confusion and frustration. “What the fuck?—”

“Are you in pain?”

“My- My foot,” He curses, his hand quickly moving to the blanket. You grabbed his wrist before he could pull it off. “Jack, just calm down for a moment—” “What the fuck happened?” He demanded, voice breaking as he moved his leg. It still felt like it was there. He knew because he felt it itch, he felt the strange electric shocks going down from his knee to his toes.

He pulled the blanket off, staring down at his bandaged leg. His stump. His foot wasn’t there. It cut off just below his kneecap. “Wha..No, what the fuck?” He exhaled roughly, looking up at you with teary eyes. Memories flashed through his mind. The noise, the shouts, his own screams..He saw his leg fucking ruined, burnt and obliterated after the explosion, when it was still attached. Better him than the others, than the Lieutenant.

“…Jack?” You repeated after a moment, carefully reaching to pat his shoulder, attempting to bring him back to earth. He jolted slightly, tears rolling freely down his cheeks, his body beginning to tremble. “..Th-They had to amputate, baby, before they flew you over.”

“I- I can feel it—” He choked, staring down at his ‘foot’. He rested into your touch, resting his head on your sternum. His hands twitched, like he needed to touch his leg because it was still there, he swore it. Why could he feel it if not? It’s these fucking drugs. He scratched at his thigh, letting out a sob, a scared and distraught noise that screamed ‘i’m confused, i don’t know what’s going on’. Another shock of pain shot up from his ‘foot’ to his knee.

A nurse soon came over and instilled him some more morphine. And it was instant, he was calm again, lying back against the bed again like the world was sunshine and rainbows.

Hope was a good name for a Doctor in a military hospital, especially the ICU. You were a bit relieved that Dr Hope was working with Jack. Despite, Jack was still high as a kite.

The older man sat at the side of the bed, putting a fresh bandage on the stump.

“It looks so sore..” You whispered, still holding onto Jack’s hand and stroking his scarred knuckles.

“Well, he is healing exceptionally.” Dr Hope smiles up at you, beginning to bandage it back up around his knee. “This is a good sign, and no sign of any infection.”

Your eyes were zeroed in on the wound. Stitches dark, bruising, but it was clean, and the doctor was more than happy with it. “He still complains about his leg. Says his foot hurts..”

“That’ll be the phantom pain. Unfortunately, a lot of amputees suffer with it. Severely, in some cases.” He answers, focused on bandaging.

“Why does the morphine not help?”

“It can for some people. But it’s not- Well, it isn’t physical pain, strangely. You wouldn’t give someone with clinical depression morphine, would you?”

“But- But he cries. And nothing helps,” You add in concern, tears returning to your eyes. It had been two days. Why did this feel never ending? “Is there nothing you can do? He- He’s in pain, and he tries to- to massage his leg, and it’s not there,”

“I’m sorry, Mrs Abbot, but there’s not much to be done about it. It’s a question for psych.” Dr Hope answered sympathetically, holding eye contact. “He should receive counselling after he’s free to go home.”

“And what are they gonna do about it? Is there tablets or anything? Like- meditation or hypnosis, anything?” You added quickly, pleading. Dr Hope just stared back at you with those same sympathetic eyes. He gave you some pamphlets, and the contact of a good counsellor. But it’s not enough.

Jack hadn’t really looked at you since he was off the straight morphine. Hadn’t spoke to you, neither. In his head, he needed to get better, to walk again, to get a prosthetic and get back to normal again. He couldn’t fucking stand another minute of this. Of his wife looking at him like he was some broken, pathetic thing. He couldn’t even piss by himself, it was fucking humiliating.

It has been about 3 days since the amputation surgery, and a physiotherapist nurse had already came to start physio for Jack.

“You’re fucking kidding me?” He scoffed.

“It’s nothing too serious: breathing exercises, beginning to strengthen your arms; simple bed exercises. We’ll start putting you in a chair-” The physiotherapist, Rick, explained, putting Jack’s chart back onto the bed and attaching, essentially, a pull up bar to the back of his bed.

Jack was just staring into his lap, controlling his breathing and huffing, clenching his fists. He only glanced at the wheelchair at the bottom of the bed. “I’m not getting in that fucking thing.”

Rick inhaled softly, a smile on his face. He dealt with this every day: stubborn, ashamed soldiers who refused the help they needed. “We don’t have to do it just yet, this is just the starting point.”

Jack shook his head, biting at his bottom lip. “I ain’t..”

“Jack, it’s just a few little things to try.” You encouraged, but it fell on deaf ears. He pulled his arm away from your hand, not caring how childish he knew it looked.

Rick was persistent, “The sooner we get past this, we can do more exercises and build your strength—”

“Man, my fuckin’ wife is right here, who do you think you—” Jack snapped, shaking his head.

“Jack, just take a breath, baby,”

“I’m fucking fine! Stop talkin’ to me like i’m gonna fuckin’ break!”

You pulled back slightly, surprised at him snapping. At least that was some emotion from the neutrality you got the other two days. But still, he rarely shouts at you. “..How about I grab a hot drink, hm? I’ll leave you to it?” You suggested softly, staring at Jack despite his gaze glaring down at his hands. That’s what he wanted. He didn’t want you to see him like this. So helpless and pathetic.

“We’re gonna get through this, Jack.”

He looked over at you, picking at the food on his tray. “Easy for you to say.”

“..I mean it. This isn’t the end, it’s just- it’s just a big thing.” You try to encourage, waiting for him to meet your eyes. Longing for him to look at you.

“I’m not trying to sound like a dick, but this doesn’t impact you as much as it impacts me.” Jack scoffs softly, picking at the skin around his fingers, at his calloused and the scabs on his hands.

“..I- I know that, but it’s not easy for both of us.” You replied, almost whispering.

“You’re not the cripple here. You’re fine.”

“Jack, you’re not a cripple. And in case you forgot, we’re married,” You held up your hand to him, your engagement and wedding ring, and pointing to his left hand. His wedding band. “This does impact me, I thought you fucking died. I thought i’d walk into here, after not seeing you for 7 months, expecting to see you brain dead or- or your whole body to be burnt to the third degree.”

He goes quiet, biting his lip again. “I don’t know what you expect me to do. You don’t want me to be here when you have physio, you don’t want to talk to me, and i know you don’t want me to leave — not that I want to — I don’t know what you want, Jack.”

“..I don’t want you to see me like this.” He muttered sternly, still staring at his lap. “It’s fucking humiliating. How can I be your husband when I can’t fucking walk?” He curses softly, picking at his cuticles relentlessly. “I don’t want this.”

“We took vows. We promised to be there for each other always, for every up and down.”

“I don’t want this.” Jack managed to force out. “I would’ve rather blew up than fuckin’— fucking live like this,”

What could you say to that? Your husband was admitting that he’d rather be dead than live with a missing limb. He’d rather be dead than—

“You’re telling me you’d rather be dead than let me take care of you?” You uttered, completely stunned, crushed. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

“I didn’t say that-”

“It sure sounds like it. You don’t want me to see you like this, to help and support you, what else am I meant to fucking do?!” You snap, choking on sobs yet still trying to stand your ground. “You are so lucky to have survived that, Jack! You could’ve died! One inch behind, you could’ve been paralysed, one inch forward, you’d be in a morgue! You’d be another statistic they use in the army to look out for IED’s and land mines!”

A few strangled breaths, struggling to intake and actually worrying your husband, along with the attention of the few other injured solders in the ICU. And unfortunately a nurse who came over to tell you to calm down. “…I’ll haunt you. I swear to God. I don’t care how much you don’t want me to see, this isn’t going away as long as you live, and neither am I, so understand that or don’t, i’m not fucking leaving you.”

Jack watched you, eyes a bit wide. He looked a little embarrassed. Wow, you actually made a scene.

Jack finally met your gaze, still feeling humiliated, but a bit proud. He definitely still loved you, that was for sure; making a scene like that for him, to make him listen. He nodded, something so small and easily missed, but you saw. I hear you.

[seitmai]

Many thoughts

All you heard from the other end of the phone was something about Jack being flew home to a Military ICU in Pittsburgh. You didn’t care if you hadn’t brushed your teeth or changed from your pyjamas — you weren’t even wearing underwear under your pyjamas bottoms — you needed to see your husband.

Understandable...

Some Sergeant, one you weren’t familiar with, had fetched you to bring to Jack’s side. “No one’s told me what happened,” You tell him, justifiably trembling. Please don’t say he’s brain dead, or he’s got limited days. “Is- Someone said something like he had surgery overseas, what-”

So scary

“The few other men were at the scene, they said it was on a remote controlled device, so someone most likely saw them enter the building and set it off. Lieutenant said he threw himself on it to reduce the impact of the blow.” He explained, holding your gaze. “…He was a hero.” “He almost fucking died.” You counter tearfully. That sounds like Jack.

She's got a point

Jack woke up in a confused yet blissed out state. The morphine was definitely working. He didn’t know why he awoke, maybe it was the soft weight on his right thigh, or the familiar perfume he could smell. Oh, it was you.. It was like he was seeing an angel.

Well thats at least something

“Hey baby..” He murmured, slurred and hoarse as he lifted his hand and patted your head, watching your eyes open and widen. His tone was light, amused, a little mischievous, the same tone he uses when he’s acting like he hasn’t stole the tv remote, or like he didn’t throw his worn socks at you. There he is. Why’d you look so shocked? Jack thought to himself. “Wha?”

To him it feels just like a domestic moment full of bliss🥹

“Nothing, love, everything’s okay..” You whispered, stroking his arm. It’s like he’s forgotten what happened. “How are you feeling?” He shrugs, resting his head back on the pillow. “Good..Why’re you here, anyway? Should be at home,” “..Just missed you, I suppose.” You replied sweetly, trying not to cry again. “..Angel, you’re actin’ weird, did I upset you?” He asked slowly, his hand reaching for yours. “Promise I didn’t mean to..I never do,”

😭😭😭

“Jack, I don’t think that’s allowed—” “Nahh, what are they gonna say?” He shrugs it off simply, pulling you closer to the bed in encouragement. “Come up here, Angel..”

Hes got a point and I think they could both need a hug 🫂

“My- My foot,” He curses, his hand quickly moving to the blanket. You grabbed his wrist before he could pull it off. “Jack, just calm down for a moment—” “What the fuck happened?” He demanded, voice breaking as he moved his leg. It still felt like it was there. He knew because he felt it itch, he felt the strange electric shocks going down from his knee to his toes. “I- I can feel it—” He choked, staring down at his ‘foot’. He rested into your touch, resting his head on your sternum. His hands twitched, like he needed to touch his leg because it was still there, he swore it. Why could he feel it if not? It’s these fucking drugs. He scratched at his thigh, letting out a sob, a scared and distraught noise that screamed ‘i’m confused, i don’t know what’s going on’. Another shock of pain shot up from his ‘foot’ to his knee.

💔💔💔

Hope was a good name for a Doctor in a military hospital, especially the ICU.

For real!

“Well, he is healing exceptionally.” Dr Hope smiles up at you, beginning to bandage it back up around his knee. “This is a good sign, and no sign of any infection.”

At least something 🙏🏻

“But- But he cries. And nothing helps,” You add in concern, tears returning to your eyes. It had been two days. Why did this feel never ending? “Is there nothing you can do? He- He’s in pain, and he tries to- to massage his leg, and it’s not there,” “I’m sorry, Mrs Abbot, but there’s not much to be done about it. It’s a question for psych.” Dr Hope answered sympathetically, holding eye contact. “He should receive counselling after he’s free to go home.” “And what are they gonna do about it? Is there tablets or anything? Like- meditation or hypnosis, anything?” You added quickly, pleading. Dr Hope just stared back at you with those same sympathetic eyes. He gave you some pamphlets, and the contact of a good counsellor. But it’s not enough.

That's rough, especially seeing your loved one in such pain not being able to do anything 🥺💔

Jack hadn’t really looked at you since he was off the straight morphine. Hadn’t spoke to you, neither. In his head, he needed to get better, to walk again, to get a prosthetic and get back to normal again. He couldn’t fucking stand another minute of this. Of his wife looking at him like he was some broken, pathetic thing. He couldn’t even piss by himself, it was fucking humiliating.

Uff he is understandably hit hard by the new situation

“Man, my fuckin’ wife is right here, who do you think you—” Jack snapped, shaking his head. “Jack, just take a breath, baby,” “I’m fucking fine! Stop talkin’ to me like i’m gonna fuckin’ break!”

🫣🫣🫣

“I’m not trying to sound like a dick, but this doesn’t impact you as much as it impacts me.” Jack scoffs softly, picking at the skin around his fingers, at his calloused and the scabs on his hands. “..I- I know that, but it’s not easy for both of us.” You replied, almost whispering. “You’re not the cripple here. You’re fine.” “Jack, you’re not a cripple. And in case you forgot, we’re married,” You held up your hand to him, your engagement and wedding ring, and pointing to his left hand. His wedding band. “This does impact me, I thought you fucking died. I thought i’d walk into here, after not seeing you for 7 months, expecting to see you brain dead or- or your whole body to be burnt to the third degree.”

Both things can be true at the same time, both their pain is valid, it's just different!

“..I don’t want you to see me like this.” He muttered sternly, still staring at his lap. “It’s fucking humiliating. How can I be your husband when I can’t fucking walk?” He curses softly, picking at his cuticles relentlessly. “I don’t want this.”

💔💔💔

“We took vows. We promised to be there for each other always, for every up and down.” “I don’t want this.” Jack managed to force out. “I would’ve rather blew up than fuckin’— fucking live like this,”

Damn

“You’re telling me you’d rather be dead than let me take care of you?” You uttered, completely stunned, crushed. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

I really get her anger about this...

Jack finally met your gaze, still feeling humiliated, but a bit proud. He definitely still loved you, that was for sure; making a scene like that for him, to make him listen. He nodded, something so small and easily missed, but you saw. I hear you.

A few strangled breaths, struggling to intake and actually worrying your husband, along with the attention of the few other injured solders in the ICU. And unfortunately a nurse who came over to tell you to calm down. “…I’ll haunt you. I swear to God. I don’t care how much you don’t want me to see, this isn’t going away as long as you live, and neither am I, so understand that or don’t, i’m not fucking leaving you.”

He is veey lucky to have someone so stubborn and caring by his side through this

🥺🥺🥺

[inkydelusions]

jack’s little secret

based on this request wc: 1.2k pairing: jack abbot x wife!reader summary: jack has always liked privacy, but one of his biggest secrets is revealed one random afternoon. c.warning: established relationship (married); mentions of minor injury and minor car accident; reader is a mother; no other warnings i think but if i missed something let me know! a/n: gooooood it's been so long since i last wrote for jack. i missed him so much! i hope you liked this!

masterlist | requests

for years, jack’s personal life has been locked inside a vault. of course he’d mention you, his wife, from time to time. but always in passing and never waiting too long for his coworkers to asks any personal questions. and it’s not because he doesn’t love you, god knows he’s obsessed with you. but a small, overprotective part of him thinks that by distancing himself from you and your kids when he’s at work he manages to keep you away from the hospital.

he has spent a decade building a wall between his grueling work and the life he cherishes waiting for him back home.

but tonight, the universe has different plans for him.

you sit on the edge of the crinkling paper of the examination table in exam room 4, a dull, throbbing ache radiating down the left side of your neck. every time you try to tilt your head, a sharp reminder of the sudden impact flashes through your muscles. a minor fender-bender on the way home from your daughter's hockey practice left you with a stiff, aching neck, but thankfully, nothing more. next to you, your twelve-year-old daughter is swinging her legs off a plastic chair, her hockey gear bag resting by her feet. she’s still wearing her team jersey and, next to her, your five-year-old son is entirely unbothered by the clinical surroundings, happily coloring on a piece of scrap paper. the minor accident had sent your heart into your throat, but as you look at your children, the overwhelming wave of maternal relief keeps you grounded.

"it seems to be nothing more than a little muscle strain," dr shen says softly, his gloved hands expertly palpating the base of your skull, his expression a soothing balm to the lingering adrenaline in your veins. shen steps back, charting something on his tablet with a soft, reassuring smile. "the kids are completely clear, not a single mark or tender spot on either of them. i’m going to order a mild anti-inflammatory for you and then you are free to go home and rest."

"thank goodness," you sigh, reaching down to ruffle your son's hair. "i just wanted to be absolutely sure they were okay."

outside the glass doors of the exam room, jack is walking fast, clipboard in hand, listening to an intern rattle off a patient's vitals. 

“send for dr. fitz, he’ll know what to do. and call me when you get the results. what’s the state of the girl in bay one?”

jack turns then towards the intern as she starts listing the latest lab results on the young patient that just arrived a few minutes ago. he is in full doctor mode. focused, distant, and professional. 

that is, until he passes the curtain of your bay, a sudden movement catching his eye. it’s a high, dark auburn ponytail swinging back and forth. a very specific, familiar ponytail.

the same one he usually fights with on his days off as he helps his daughter get ready for practice, earnestly trying to avoid any bumps or stay hairs hanging from the ponytail. jack stops dead in his tracks, causing the intern to almost crash into his back.

jack looks through the pale curtain, eyes widening. the clipboard in his hand feels suddenly too heavy. and it only gets worse once he notices a second head poking though the curtain, this time his baby boy. his entire world is sitting right now in exam room 4. 

he abandons the intern mid-sentence, pulling the curtain aside, his usual collected demeanor completely evaporating.

"jack?" shen looks up, surprised by his sudden entrance.

but jack isn't looking at him. he rushes straight to the side of the table, his eyes scanning you from head to toe, wide with a rare, raw panic. "what happened? are you okay? are the kids okay?"

"hey, breathe," you say instantly, reaching out to catch his hand. your fingers lace into his, and the grounding touch immediately lowers his shoulders, though his chest is still heaving. "we're okay. i promise. just a stupid little bumper-to-bumper on the way home from the rink. someone short-braked ahead of us."

your daughter rolls her eyes playfully. "mom took the hit like a champ, dad. you should be proud."

"daddy!" your five-year-old chirps, abandoning his coloring page to scramble off the chair and throw his arms around jack’s leg.

jack immediately drops to one knee, wrapping his strong arms around your son, burying his face in the boy's hair for a brief, fiercely protective second. he looks up at your daughter, reaching out to squeeze her knee. "you're sure you're both okay? nothing hurts?"

"we're totally fine, dad," she reassures him, giving him a warm smile.

only then does jack stand back up, turning his attention fully to you, eyes glowing with adoration and relief. his hand cups your cheek, his thumb gently brushing across your cheekbone.  "and you? your neck?"

"just a little stiff," you murmur, leaning into his touch, completely accustomed to how deeply he cares for his family, even if he keeps it hidden from the rest of the world. "dr. shen was just checking me out. he says we’re good to go."

speaking of which… the room is entirely silent as four sets of eyes turn to the doctor.

you look past jack’s shoulder and notice that dr shen is standing there, his jaw slightly slack. on the other side of the curtain, the intern who had been following jack is staring open-mouthed, and a bunch of other nurses, including lena, have paused in the hallway, completely transfixed by the scene.

the great private dr. abbot is currently looking at you with a softness none of them knew he possessed, his hand resting tenderly on your waist while a local little league hockey player calls him dad.

jack blinks, finally realizing the audience he has gathered. he straightens up, but he doesn't let go of your hand, the other one resting on top of your son’s head. he clears his throat, the faint trace of a rare, boyish smirk tugging at the corner of his lips as he looks at his stunned colleague.

"john," jack says, his voice regaining its usual steady cadence, though it's much warmer now. "i believe you've met my wife. and these are our kids."

shen blinks, a massive grin suddenly breaking across her face. "your kids? jack, you have a whole family!”

“i do,” he says, smiling softly.

“and you didn’t think of sharing that information with the group.”

"i like my privacy," jack defends himself. he looks down at his kids, then back to you, the sheer relief of knowing you are all safe overtaking any awkwardness about his secret being out. he leans down, pressing a lingering, sweet kiss to your lips right in front of the entire observation window. " i'm glad you're all safe."

"we are," you whisper, smiling against his lips. "now, can you sign our discharge papers, dr. abbot? we want to go home."

"consider it done," jack says softly. he turns to the staring interns outside with a mock-stern raise of his eyebrows, and they instantly scramble back to work, whispering excitedly among themselves.

as jack helps you down from the table and gathers your son into his arms, you know his quiet, mysterious reputation at the hospital is officially over, but seeing the proud, contented smile on his face as he walks his family out, it’s clear he doesn't mind one bit.

[seitmai]

Many thoughts

for years, jack’s personal life has been locked inside a vault. of course he’d mention you, his wife, from time to time. but always in passing and never waiting too long for his coworkers to asks any personal questions. and it’s not because he doesn’t love you, god knows he’s obsessed with you. but a small, overprotective part of him thinks that by distancing himself from you and your kids when he’s at work he manages to keep you away from the hospital. he has spent a decade building a wall between his grueling work and the life he cherishes waiting for him back home.

I kinda get it, especially with a demanding job like his 🤷🏻‍♀️

"it seems to be nothing more than a little muscle strain," dr shen says softly, his gloved hands expertly palpating the base of your skull, his expression a soothing balm to the lingering adrenaline in your veins. shen steps back, charting something on his tablet with a soft, reassuring smile. "the kids are completely clear, not a single mark or tender spot on either of them. i’m going to order a mild anti-inflammatory for you and then you are free to go home and rest."

Great 🙏🏻

that is, until he passes the curtain of your bay, a sudden movement catching his eye. it’s a high, dark auburn ponytail swinging back and forth. a very specific, familiar ponytail. the same one he usually fights with on his days off as he helps his daughter get ready for practice, earnestly trying to avoid any bumps or stay hairs hanging from the ponytail. jack stops dead in his tracks, causing the intern to almost crash into his back.

Very girl dad of him to stop his family just by a simple glimpse at his daughter's ponytail 🤭

but jack isn't looking at him. he rushes straight to the side of the table, his eyes scanning you from head to toe, wide with a rare, raw panic. "what happened? are you okay? are the kids okay?" "hey, breathe," you say instantly, reaching out to catch his hand. your fingers lace into his, and the grounding touch immediately lowers his shoulders, though his chest is still heaving. "we're okay. i promise. just a stupid little bumper-to-bumper on the way home from the rink. someone short-braked ahead of us."

He is so worried 🥺

your daughter rolls her eyes playfully. "mom took the hit like a champ, dad. you should be proud."

Period👏🏻

"daddy!" your five-year-old chirps, abandoning his coloring page to scramble off the chair and throw his arms around jack’s leg.

Someone is excited 🤭

speaking of which… the room is entirely silent as four sets of eyes turn to the doctor. you look past jack’s shoulder and notice that dr shen is standing there, his jaw slightly slack. on the other side of the curtain, the intern who had been following jack is staring open-mouthed, and a bunch of other nurses, including lena, have paused in the hallway, completely transfixed by the scene.

The shock on his face 🤭

jack blinks, finally realizing the audience he has gathered. he straightens up, but he doesn't let go of your hand, the other one resting on top of your son’s head. he clears his throat, the faint trace of a rare, boyish smirk tugging at the corner of his lips as he looks at his stunned colleague. "john," jack says, his voice regaining its usual steady cadence, though it's much warmer now. "i believe you've met my wife. and these are our kids."

The nonchalance about this

shen blinks, a massive grin suddenly breaking across her face. "your kids? jack, you have a whole family!”

Great thinking 😂

as jack helps you down from the table and gathers your son into his arms, you know his quiet, mysterious reputation at the hospital is officially over, but seeing the proud, contented smile on his face as he walks his family out, it’s clear he doesn't mind one bit.

"we are," you whisper, smiling against his lips. "now, can you sign our discharge papers, dr. abbot? we want to go home." "consider it done," jack says softly. he turns to the staring interns outside with a mock-stern raise of his eyebrows, and they instantly scramble back to work, whispering excitedly among themselves.

He wouldn't do anything more gladly

🥰🥰🥰

[fangirl-dot-com]

Need a hand?

tags: amputee jack abbot x amputee reader, no specific gender/age, this came to me in a dream, reader works at the ER but role is not specified

notes: I don't know what I'm doing with my life so here you go! if you'd like to be added to my permanent taglist, please comment on this post

wc: 1.2k

Jack Abbot had a 10-out-of-10 face, 10-out-of-10 body, and a 1-out-of-2 legs situation going on. 

In all honesty, he was your dream man. 

Sure, he was pretty. Distractingly pretty, actually. The kind of pretty that made exhausted nurses suddenly remember hot to flirt, and caused med students to walk into supply carts because they were too busy staring at him limp down the hallway. Sure, he could command an ER with one sharp word and have the entire department moving like a military operation within seconds. Sure, he was rich enough to pay off somebody’s student debt without blinking and emotionally damaged enough that half the hospital wanted to fix him. Sure, he had that kind of tragic backstory that made middle-aged women grab his forearm and thank him for his service while looking seconds away from tears. 

But beneath all of that, you liked him because he was just like you. 

Tired. Grumpy. Former military. The kind of person who came home from war carrying more than PTSD and a duffel bag that held enough trauma to last five generations and then some. 

Jack came home with one less leg. 

You came home with one less arm. 

Honestly, you thought you got the better deal considering stairs were still your friend. 

Still, there was something deeply comforting about another person understanding your body without explanation. Jack understood the way prosthetics rubbed raw after long shifts. He understood phantom pain and bad weather making old injuries ache. He understood the humiliation of dropping something in public and pretending it didn’t bother you when strangers stared too long afterward. And most importantly, he understood that neither of you wanted sympathy. 

You wanted functioning elevators, automatic doors, and decent painkillers. 

The first time you met him, you had been sitting in one of the ER exam rooms with your prosthetic arm detached because the socket had rubbed your shoulder nearly blood during the day shift. Your scrub sleeve hung pinned neatly at your side while a helpful resident fumbled through wound care instructions you could’ve recited yourself. Then, jack Abbot appeared in the doorway leaning casually against the frame, all of his weight on one leg, looking unfairly attractive for a man running on maybe forty-five minutes of sleep and hospital coffee that tasted like burned gasoline on the good days. 

“Well that looks familiar,” he’d said. 

You glanced deliberately toward his leg (the one not bearing his weight) before answering, “Which part? The government-issued body damage or the clinically concerning exhaustion?” 

That had earned you a pull of his scrub pant leg to reveal similar metal structure and real laugh. Not the polite doctor laugh people used around patients. A genuine one, all warm and rough around the edges. 

After that, it because almost embarrassingly easy to fall into rhythm with him. 

You learned that Jack liked terrible vending machine coffee because he claimed it “built character.” You learned his limp worsened when rain was coming. He learned you got irritable when your prosthetic needed recalibration and that you swore like a sailor whenever the attachment pin jammed. Which, unfortunately, happened enough that he started recognizing the warning signs before you even spoke. 

“You’re doing the face again,” he’d tell you from across the nurses’ station. 

“What face?” 

“The one that says you’re about to commit a felony against medical equipment.” 

And maybe he wasn’t wrong. 

The main problem with prosthetics was that eventually they became so normal you forgot other people weren’t used to them. You forgot that newer staff members still found the whole thing alarming. To you, your arm was just an arm. Slightly more expensive and significantly more annoying than biological limbs, sure, but still just an arm. 

Unfortunately, Dennis Whitaker did not feel the same way. 

The trauma bay doors slammed open around midnight during one of the busiest shifts you’d worked all month. Paramedics flooded in shouting vitals while monitors screamed. A car accident. Young driver. Internal bleeding. The usual nightmare cocktail the ER specialized in. 

Everyone moved instantly. 

Robby stood at the head of the bed issuing orders with that terrifying calm authority he carried so naturally while Jack worked beside him, weight shifting every so often as he focused entirely on the chest trauma. Trinity rushed to hang fluids while Dennis hovered nearby looking stressed enough to medially qualify as another patient.

You slid into place beside the stretcher automatically, grabbing supplies with your good hand while the room dissolved into an organized dance. 

“Pressure’s dropping,” Dennis called. 

“Yeah, because his lung is collapsing,” Jack snapped back without looking up. “Chest tube. Now.” 

You turned quickly toward the supply tray to grab the gauze. 

And immediately caught your prosthetic hand against the edge of the gurney. 

There was one horrifying second where you felt the attachment loosen before your hand fully detached and fell to the ground. It hit the flood with an aggressive clatter before skidding directly between Dennis’s shoes. 

For one split second, the room froze as Dennis stared downward in complete, speechless horror. 

Jack glanced over from the patient for half a second. “Good news,” he said calmly. “It’s not the patient’s hand.” 

Slowly—painfully slowly, Dennis looked back up at you. “Did your—” he started weakly. “Did your hand just fall off?” 

Robby sighed like a disappointed father. “Again?” 

You pointed accusingly with your remaining hand. “This is because somebody won’t put in automatic doors. It loosens when I have to yank to even get it!” 

“You know tech is not your forte. You threw a monitor during deployment,” Jack commented.

“It was malfunctioning.” 

“You plugged it in wrong.” 

Dennis still hadn’t moved. The poor man looked spiritually disconnected from reality. Trinity had both lips pressed together so hard she was visibly fighting laughter. 

“Dennis,” Robby said flatly. 

Nothing. 

“Whitaker.”

Dennis jumped. “RIGHT. Sorry. Sorry, I just—do I pick it up?” 

Jack lost it. A full laugh burst out of him loud enough that even the poor trauma nurse looked over in confusion. 

“Yes, Dennis,” you deadpanned. “It’s not going to bite.”

“That feels like something I shouldn’t just assume!” 

“Unless you need an extra hand to put the tube in, I’ll pick it up myself.” 

By then, even Robby was fighting a smile while you bent to retrieve the prosthetic yourself. You snapped it back into place with one practiced shove, rotating the wrist once to make sure the attachment locked properly. 

“There,” you muttered. “Good as new.” 

Jack glanced sideways at you while securing the chest tube. “That statement feels medically irresponsible.” 

“You’re medically irresponsible.” 

“You flirted with me immediately after a concussion once.” 

“You were hot.” 

“I was actively bleeding.” 

“And?” 

Trinity made a choking noise somewhere behind you while Dennis looked like he deeply regretted every life choice that led him into emergency medicine. 

The worse part was that moments like this became weirdly normal around you and Jack. Between the biting sarcasm and shared military trauma and detached limbs dropping in the trauma bays, the two of you had built something strangely soft together. 

People expected tragedy when they looked at you both. 

Instead, they got two exhausted veterans arguing over whose missing limb caused more paperwork.

🏷️ tags: @dumb-fawkin-bitch @nofinnn2 @books-thingys-andstuff @nyxmoretti @glitterquadricorn @itzpixiebabe @xoxoloverb

[seitmai]

Many thoughts

Sure, he was pretty. Distractingly pretty, actually. The kind of pretty that made exhausted nurses suddenly remember hot to flirt, and caused med students to walk into supply carts because they were too busy staring at him limp down the hallway. Sure, he could command an ER with one sharp word and have the entire department moving like a military operation within seconds. Sure, he was rich enough to pay off somebody’s student debt without blinking and emotionally damaged enough that half the hospital wanted to fix him. Sure, he had that kind of tragic backstory that made middle-aged women grab his forearm and thank him for his service while looking seconds away from tears. 

What a perfect description of him 🤭

Honestly, you thought you got the better deal considering stairs were still your friend. 

Real 😅

Still, there was something deeply comforting about another person understanding your body without explanation. Jack understood the way prosthetics rubbed raw after long shifts. He understood phantom pain and bad weather making old injuries ache. He understood the humiliation of dropping something in public and pretending it didn’t bother you when strangers stared too long afterward. And most importantly, he understood that neither of you wanted sympathy.  You wanted functioning elevators, automatic doors, and decent painkillers. 

They have a deep understanding that instantly bonded them

“Well that looks familiar,” he’d said. You glanced deliberately toward his leg (the one not bearing his weight) before answering, “Which part? The government-issued body damage or the clinically concerning exhaustion?” 

They clearly share the same humor

The main problem with prosthetics was that eventually they became so normal you forgot other people weren’t used to them. You forgot that newer staff members still found the whole thing alarming. To you, your arm was just an arm. Slightly more expensive and significantly more annoying than biological limbs, sure, but still just an arm. 

Fair 🤷🏻‍♀️

Unfortunately, Dennis Whitaker did not feel the same way. 

Of course 🤭

Trinity rushed to hang fluids while Dennis hovered nearby looking stressed enough to medially qualify as another patient.

Sounds about right 😂

Jack glanced over from the patient for half a second. “Good news,” he said calmly. “It’s not the patient’s hand.” 

I would crack up so hard

Robby sighed like a disappointed father. “Again?”  You pointed accusingly with your remaining hand. “This is because somebody won’t put in automatic doors. It loosens when I have to yank to even get it!”

She's got a point 🤷🏻‍♀️ 

“You flirted with me immediately after a concussion once.” “You were hot.” “I was actively bleeding.” 

Dennis jumped. “RIGHT. Sorry. Sorry, I just—do I pick it up?”

😂😂😂

 Jack lost it. A full laugh burst out of him loud enough that even the poor trauma nurse looked over in confusion. 

He's so real for that 😅

As she was saying: hot 🙂‍↕️

[pope-codys]

if it wasn't for the nights - titus danforth x reader

pairing: titus danforth x reader

song: if it wasn't for the night by ABBA

warnings: wife!reader, petulant titus who wants to spend all of his time with his wife, smitten titus, titus lowkey whines like a child

requested by: anon

authors note: this fic was requested from my birthday event! the fic is inspired by the song that was chosen

You could hear Titus ranting angrily as he stormed down the hallway to your bedroom. You smiled to yourself, relaxing further into the clawfoot tub you were soaking in, and waited for your husband. Titus stomped into the ensuite bathroom, yanking his jacket off and throwing it blindly at the vanity as he stalked over to the tub. You glanced up at him as he came to a stop at the tubs edge, his breathing quick and angry as he looked down at you.

"Every person I spoke to today is an imbecile!" Titus complained, his arms stretched wide in disbelief and his mouth turned down in a pouting frown. Your eyebrows creased downward in sympathy and you reached up for him with a wet hand, beckoning him.

"Come join me baby. You can tell me all about your day." You didn't have to tell him twice. Titus stripped and climbed into the tub with you in record time, sinking into the hot water and leaning back against your chest. You slipped your arms under his and held him close while he told you his woes.

"Not a single person could get anything right! No matter how much I threatened them." Titus let his head fall back onto your shoulder and he looked up at you with sad eyes.

"All I wanted to do today was spend it with you." Titus whined petulantly as he pressed his forehead against the side of your neck and the underside of your jaw.

"Oh me too baby." You cooed, your fingers moving soothingly over his sides. "But we both had our own meetings to attend. The world isn't going to run smoothly if we're not pulling the strings." The groan from deep in Titus' throat was his only response to you as he pressed his face further against you. You smiled lightly, amused by his reaction. You knew he was annoyed by all the work that came with wearing the ring.

"It's not fair, I missed you so much I felt like I wasn't going to make it. Today was the longest we've been apart since we got married. I can't be away from you all day."

"We'll have to have our schedules coordinated better so this doesn't happen again." You said, agreeing with him. Titus sighed and let himself fully relax against you, his weight on top of you pleasant and comforting. You pressed a kiss to the top of his head and rested your face in his silver curls.

You truly did agree with Titus, you didn't like spending a whole day apart. You enjoyed your husbands company and ruling the world was exhausting, you needed Titus to lean on and kiss for strength. The two of you were never far from the other and you hadn't spent a single night alone since you married a year ago, which was a streak that you wanted to keep going.

"How about we cancel our days tomorrow and spend all day in bed?" You suggested, your breath warm on Titus scalp. "We can tell everyone that we're working hard to keep the Danforth line going and that it's a priority moving forward." You felt Titus' excitement through the way his body shifted from relaxed in your arms to alert.

"That's a great idea." Titus mused and you didn't need to see him to know he was smiling. He tilted his head back further until he was nose to nose with you and you met him halfway to press a kiss to his lips. You felt all of the tension and annoyance of the day melt out of your husband under your touch and satisfaction bloomed in your chest that the man who ruled the world found peace in your arms.

dividers by @ cursed-carmine

taglist under the cut:

@shesaidshemight @tedmustache @kenzieh308 @lovehadlovelost @lostgirllulu @yuta-127 @moonskates @awkward-quokka @house2ur @uhmmjayla @n3ssm0nique @jeshomie @love4lando @just-a-harmless-patato @spencerreidsshoelaces @happyendingarentreal @yournamesnob @softundermoonlight @goldfishenthusiast67 @madame-monstre @shellshore1 @xoxoloverb @inbred-eater @ctrl-alt-delulu @thesnugglingduck @buckys-estrella @flwerr555 @maremanomeile @boom-boombang @acn87 @starlitfora @beauty-andthe-geek @lovelexi717 @reblogging-all-i-read @the-sassy-one007 @3-smi @kbakery @heartbreakingbitch @doe-jenna @n3ssm0nique @peachyfckingkeen @blueblizzardreview @rossy1080 @honestlystop @czarina55 @g1xtchedartist @faelvz @beckers101 @redhooduwu @ifsandbuttscarrotsandnuts

[thepittagenda]

more rabbot headcannons!!

****************************************************

- both of them didn’t think the other was the hand holding type so they didn’t hold hands early onto their relationship. turns out, both of them we’re stupid and sucked at communicating because they both love holding each others hands. it wasn’t until they were walking in a park together where there hands brushed and jack decided to just try and held robby’s hand - they now hold hands anytime they are walking side by side outside of work.

- robby was so touch starved before they got together. before they got together, he would get startled before jack hugged him or put a hand on his shoulder. the minute they made it official, jack didn’t hold back given that he loves physical touch. robby has become so accustomed to it that anytime he sees jack (besides at work) he gives him a full on hug.

- they try really hard to have a date night every two weeks. sometimes it gets hard due to their demanding schedules, but they also classify date night as just eating takeout on their shared couch watching a cheesy movie that jack openly loves and robby pretends to hate.

- given that robby is the Chief of the ED, he has some power over the schedule, so he always makes sure that both him and Jack have their anniversary off. it took 7 years for someone to make the connection.

- they have a ginger cat they rescued who has only three legs. the cat always has loved Robby more even after Jack tried to persuade the cat by showing her his prosthetic to basically say “we are the same.” the cat then turned around and cuddled up in Robby’s lap who just laughed at a pouting Jack.

- robby bought two variety packs of stickers for Jack so he can put them on his crutches. They are now covered in band stickers and random cartoons.

- when they became official, Jack just assumed they would celebrate both Christmas and Hanukkah. So, when Robby came home after a shift once and Jack made brisket and potato latkes without his knowledge, he started to softly cry because none of his past partners just did that.

- robby was the first of any of Jacks partners to give him flowers. They sat in a vase in the center of his kitchen far longer than they should have, but Jack just didn’t want to part with them yet.

they make me so ill ☹️ i love old gays

[seitmai]

🥰🥹🥰🥹

[lavenderdreams205]

more fanfiction for you :)

......

The first thing Jack notices as he wraps him in his arms is how thin Robby is. The slant of his jawline, sharper than it was when he left, and the way Jack’s chin rubs painfully against Robby's collarbone makes him sick. He’s used to Robby’s soft pudge of an underbelly, strong thighs that give way to a full ass, one that Jack has a tendency to grope and grab as they make dinner or curl together late into the evening watching tv, it makes Robby blush bright, ducking his head shyly into the crook of Jack’s neck. Robby makes the same action now, but now he’s clutching at Jack, sobbing.

“Hi, baby,” Jack murmurs, nearly coos, as his palms splay across the bumps in Robby’s spine, worrying.

Robby moans something into his shoulder, his voice cracking.

“Hm?”

Robby lifts his head but stays close, their noses brushing, soft strands of hair falling into his eyes and tickling Jack’s cheekbones.

......

He’s beautiful like this, laughing, the apples of his cheeks pink in the glow of the hospital light. Jack worries that it’s the first time he’s laughed in months. The thought reminds him of how thin Robby is in his arms.

“You’re going to eat when we get home. We’re going shopping and I’m making you the heartiest fucking stew you’ve ever had in your life.”

“Jesus, Jack, you know, some people have told me I look good.” Jack can feel himself scowling, how dare someone tell sweet Robby, in the throes of grief, that he looks good? How could the physical manifestation of Robby’s depression ever be good?

“You always look good, but this isn’t healthy, you’re practically skeletal.” he punctuates this by running a hand under Robby's scrub top.

“I look perfectly average.”

“I can feel your ribs,” he says it sterner than he means to, but it’s unsettling to return home from war to find that one of your only reasons for making it through said war has turned into a shadow of himself, “and I know you hate it but I love when you have a little bit of tummy-”

Robby’s face turns pinker, “Don’t call it that, I’m not a child.”

Jack rolls his eyes.

“Fine. Am I allowed to say that I miss your ass?” He tries to smile sweetly up at Robby, he’s fairly certain it comes across as wolfish instead.

“Are you seriously shaming me for not having an ass right now? While we’re on the floor?” Robby is fully giggling, Jack would fight through blood and shit and burn the whole world to see him happy.

“No, I’m saying you had much more of an ass, and a tummy. It was sexy and cute, and I love you no matter what you look like but I also really love your ass”

“Jack Abbot, are you trying to seduce me into better eating habits?” Their foreheads are pressed together like something out of The Princess Bride.

As you wish, Jack thinks absentmindedly, caught up in the warm smell of Robby.

“Me?” Jack feigns offense, “How dare you accuse me of such a thing? But while we’re on the subject, how do you feel about a full eight hours of sleep?”

This earns him another snicker, Jack is delighted about it.

[seitmai]

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