#and then jack... and i was completely gone | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

rainrot4me · 2 days ago

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HAI HAI the creeps when they’re overstimulated?? ( sexually plz 😋)

( btw ur literally the best writer on this app 🫶 I hope you have good luck 5ever)

Yes 🙏 ride them to submission anon!!!

๑ Warning: Overstimulation, implied vaginal/anal, begging, crying

── .✦

✦ . jeff the killer

Gets like this after his 5th time cumming.

Jeff lives off chaos and pleasure, but overstimulation is the one thing that shuts him up.

You’re on top of him, relentless, and he’s long since stopped talking—eyes wide, fingers clawing into your thighs as if grounding himself. His sharp grin is gone, replaced by parted lips and shuddering breaths. He can barely talk, too caught up in trying to stop himself from crying out every time your skin slaps against his.

“S-stop—fuck—God, you’re gonna kill me.”

He laughs but it’s hoarse. Desperate. If you pause just to mess with him, he physically bucks up to chase it again. All in all, even though he can’t cry, his face is flushed and he’s biting the fuck out of his lips. You’re not looking any better when he’s clawing the shit out of your skin as it sears against his.

“Oh fuck—Oh fuck—I’m gonna- Jesus don’t stop—”

✦ . ticci toby

Gets like this after his 3rd time cumming.

For how obnoxious Toby usually is—it basically triples like this.

His body stutters and jerks beneath you, a mix of involuntary hips jerks and overwhelming pleasure as he groans and whines through gritted teeth. He’s loud, so loud you have to slap your hands over his mouth and pray he doesn’t bite you. Your hand gets wet from the streams of tears from his eyes.

“I—I can’t—fuck, I can’t even feel my legs,” he pants, biting into his hoodie sleeve to muffle the sounds he’s making. His head is pounding with pressure, oblivious to the sting of it all, but he still feels the overwhelming force of your hips.

The overstimulation hits like a seizure; he’s dizzy, trembling, and drooling a little. You slow down to be nice. He grabs your hips and growls,

“Don’t you dare stop. Do-Don’t you ff-fuckin’ dare.”

✦ . eyeless jack

Gets like this after his 6th time cumming.

You always assumed Jack was too composed to ever come undone. Turns out he unravels to a whiny pleaser when pushed past his limit.

There’s sweat dripping down his jaw, his claws gripping your hips like a lifeline, breath coming in short, ragged bursts through ear-splitting growls and snarls. He’s torn through your clothes, your bedsheets, practically punctures holes in your mattress. Every time your ass hits the tops of his thighs, he cries out like all shrill and pitiful.

“Please—” It’s almost a whine. “Don’t—fuck—don’t make me beg.”

But he already is, with his body trembling and his hips still chasing you despite himself. His voice is rougher, cracking in ways you’ve never heard. The straight-postured, stone-faced facade is completely gone, replaced with a cum-desperate animal who just might cry if you stop now.

“Gonna cum—M’gonna cum again—Please, please, please let me-”

✦ . masky (tim wright)

Gets like this after his 4th time cumming.

Tim tries to stay dominant. Stoic. But move your hips too fast and he gets mean. Barking filthy words, snarling at you to slow down. He pulls your hair, like yanking it any harder will make you stop. He feels overwhelmed, like no matter how angry he gets she can’t control you.

“No more—gah-goddammit, I said no more—”

He says that, but he doesn’t stop you, even though he definitely has the strength to. His fingers dig bruises into your skin, teeth gritted, his chest heaving like he’s been sprinting. You lean down and kiss the side of his neck and he whimpers through stone-gritted teeth—genuine, raw, and needy.

He hates that you’ve turned him into this, and he loves you for it. He doesn’t like to feel weak, doesn’t like to feel used, but he can’t figure out why he doesn’t feel like that when you’re holding him down and spending every ounce of energy he has.

“You’re such a bitch. Such a fucki—oh, God—”

✦ . hoodie (brian thomas)

Gets like this after his 2nd time cumming.

Brian isn’t loud about it, he won’t tell you it’s too much, but his body betrays him. His back arches. His hands tremble. His mouth hangs open while breathless gasps escape between clenched teeth. Never will you ever see this man turn his face into the sheets and try and hide the way his eyes roll until now.

You murmur, “Too much?” He grits out, “Not enough.”

He wants to hold eye contact but keeps looking away, cheeks flushed, hissing curses under his breath as he rides it out with shaking limbs and ragged breath. He won’t touch you, he can’t, he’s afraid he’ll tear into your skin and ruin the rhythm you’ve got going. He’ll just bark at you to not stop, to keep moving you hips.

There’s almost a broken way he falls apart, not violent or angry, but just completely ruining himself. He just can’t muster his limbs to move, his bones feel like jelly, his face feels numb from grimacing so much. He’ll only speak when spoken to, trying his hardest not to grab you too hard.

“Feels good, so good— Mhm— Fuck—”

✦ . kate the chaser

Gets like this after her 5th time cumming.

Kate doesn’t lose control easily. She’s trained, hardened, all sharp lines and discipline. But if you grind your hips down like that any more, there’s no way she can hold on. She starts out silent—biting her lip, gripping your shoulders with white-knuckled fingers, trying to ride it out. But when the overstimulation hits her hard? She bucks, pressing her hips with searing pressure.

“Hah—shit—” she gasps, body jolting beneath you, her voice raspy and breathless. “I said that’s enough.” But her legs spread wider around you instead, and her head falls back with a broken moan.

She never begs, it’s beneath her. But she will move your body to match her speed, forcing you to comply with whatever position or tightness she wants. You’ll just have to suck it up and try to keep up.

“Don’t fight me—Uh huh, there you go—yeah—”

✦ . ben drowned

Gets like this after his 4th time cumming.

Ben is cocky until he isn’t, until he physically can’t be anymore. Once he hits that peak, he’s an absolute wreck, crying like a baby, rolling his eyes so hard he can’t see your face anymore. His tears aren’t water, just static coils of textures spilling down his cheeks, hot with electricity. His whole body is buzzing like there’s insects under his skin.

Glitching under your touch—literally—he glitches out of sync, static buzzing in your ear. His voice jumps from arrogant to needy, pitchy and broken, riddled with cracked vocals like you’re hearing him speak through a broken walkie-talkie. You don’t mistake what he’s saying, though,

“I—f-fuck, baby—okay, okay! Wait! Oh my GOD—!”

He’s babbling, grabbing onto anything—your wrists, your hair, the sheets. His legs go weak and he starts to short-circuit mid moan, hiccuping through sobs and biting the skin off his lips. Every time your hips slam down, you can feel the shock running through your veins like you just accidentally touched a live wire.

“Hah—I can’t—Can’t breathe—Oh fuck, what is happen-happening—Hgnn—”

✦ . clockwork

Gets like this after her 5th time cumming.

Clockwork is loud. Very loud. She’ll try to laugh through it—until her voice breaks, until she’s biting her knuckles and splitting the skin there, blood spotting on her bruised lips. She doesn’t care how bad it hurts, she thrives in the pain, gets off harder than ever the more rounds you go.

“Ohhh my god, fuck, I can’t—I—don’t stop, please don’t stop—”

She’s writhing, nails clawing down your back, mechanical eye flickering wildly. When she’s overstimulated, she gets possessive—grabbing your jaw, looking into your eyes, panting your name over and over. She’ll mark every inch of your skin, making sure you know that even after this is over you’re still hers.

There’s no embarrassment here. She’s narrating your every move, telling you exactly how good every touch feels, blabbering on and on like if she stops speaking you’ll stop moving. There’s no wondering if she’s close again, she’ll be yelling it for the mansion to hear.

“Fucking again—I’m gonna cum again—Jesus Christ, baby—What the fuuuck—”

✦ . laughing jack

Gets like this after his 6th time cumming.

You wouldn’t expect LJ to be the begging type—but he is. He sobs when overstimulated, absolutely wails his heart out. He just can’t take it, can’t seem to keep his hips up with the brutal pace you’re setting on top, absolutely wringing him of every last drop he’s got—or at least that’s how it feels. His face paint is smudged, absolutely ruined from sweat and tear streaks, most of it on your face too.

“Ahh—sweetheart, please, I can’t—”

His voice is high and full of frantic laughter that turns into broken whimpers. His hands shake, his eyes are glassy, and he’ll cling to you like you’re the only thing keeping him from absolutely exploding (not in the good way). The best part? He tries to run from it.

He tries to scoot away, to force your body off of him, but you persist. He’s grimacing, eyes clamped shut tight from crying so hard, teeth chattering in his skull. It’s too much for him—too much. He’s never been touched like this before. You’ve ruined him—but he’s never been happier.

“I can’t—Not again. Ple-Please not again—Sweetheart please stop, hah—Oh no—”

✦ . nina the killer

Gets like this after her 3rd time cumming.

Nina loves feeling good, but she is not used to feeling this good. Her whole body squirms, legs kicking, hips twitching. It’s like her mind and body can’t work together, two things saying very different things. Her body says stop, says it’s too tired, that she can’t take anymore. But her brain is begging for more, absolutely forcing her to sit there and take it.

“Wait—wait, babe, I—I’m not done!” she shrieks, giggling wildly.

Her makeup is smudged, mascara and eyeshadow running down her cheeks. Her skin is flushed, looking downright sickly from how overwhelmed she is. But she persists, refuses to listen to the pain, chases after that high as many times as you will let her have it.

She tries to stay cocky, to keep teasing you, but her voice keeps cracking, her thighs squeezing around you and her fingers gripping your hair. She starts babbling sweet nothings between gasps.

“Oh my god, I love you, I love you so much, holy shiiit—!”

✦ . homicidal liu

Gets like this after his 4th time cumming.

Liu has a breaking point—and you love watching him hit it. It’s what you would imagine he looks like after working out too hard—body limp, jaw slack, eyes glazed over as he stares at the ceiling. He can’t move, can’t even fathom grabbing your bouncing hips and asking you to stop. It doesn’t even hurt anymore, just pure pleasure.

“You’re evil,” he groans, smirking even through the haze. “Absolutely evil.”

His eyes roll back, fingers digging into the sheets, breath shaky and shallow. It gets to the point that he starts cumming one after the other, just a half-bounce from your hips has him gut tightening and his muscles shaking under his skin. He shoots blanks, just rolling in the feel of it at that point.

He’s overworked, flushed, completely undone—but he won’t beg. Not with words. He begs with the way he refuses to stop you and the way he keeps whispering your name like it’s the only thing keeping him sane. He’s dizzy, delirious, could barely answer a question if he tried. You’ve practically fucked him stupid. He slurs every word.

“I want—Ahhn, fuck. Wha-hah-what am I even sayin’? Fuuck, keep movin’ like tha—”

✦ . jane everlasting

Gets like this after her 5th time cumming.

Jane grits her teeth and takes it—at first. She’s a strong girl, can last for a long time, but once she starts unraveling? Once it becomes too fast? She unravels, practically crumbles to pieces.

“I said—” she chokes out, trying to sit up, only to collapse back down, trembling. Her breath is hitching. Her lips are trembling. “You’re gonna make me lose it,” she whispers, voice breaking.

She becomes almost a ragdoll, limbs and body flopping around, clinging onto anything that touches her. She wants you close, so close you’re panting into each other’s mouths and moaning in sync with every brush of your hips. She wants it hard, she needs it rough, but she has to have you right there with her or she’ll break.

She gets oddly sensitive then. Cooing nice words she’d be too nonchalant to say otherwise, chanting how pretty you are and how good this feels, making sure you know exactly how many times she’s cumming. She’s sweet, almost sickly, becoming so toxically positive you wonder if she’s hit her head.

“You’re so cut-hah-cute like this. Feels so good—yeah. Only you make me feel this good—aghh—”

✦ . x-virus

Gets like this after his 3rd time cumming.

Cody tries to stay chill. Fails. Becomes absolutely sensitive to every single touch like your fingers tips are burning holes into his chest. He whines, refuses to cry, but is just moaning and groaning every bounce of your hips, reacting to every touch.

“You’re seriously—oh my god—you’re insane.”

His cocky smirk fades fast. He ends up flat on his back, hair a mess, thrown across the bed like an object. His body jerks with every touch and his voice is wrecked, definitely straining it and going to lose it tomorrow. No matter how pitiful it is, he’s hungry, downright desperate to get off again and again until his body just refuses. He wants to see how many rounds he can last.

There’s nothing worse than someone who competes during sex, but that’s exactly what he’s doing. He’s matching your thrusts move for move, chasing that high like it’s the only thing he wants. He snarls and groans and grips you right through all of it, but there’s nothing that will stop him from making himself cum again.

“Again. Need it again—right now, right now, baby—C’mon give it to me—”

✦ . slenderman

Gets like this after his 9th time cumming.

Slender is silent. For a long time, anyway. You’d think he wasn’t feeling it—until the trembling starts. It’s small, you can barely notice it when your hips are rocking down on him, be he’s absolutely shaking. Trembling underneath you, terrible as a leaf.

He grabs your wrists, presses them together into one hand, and his control snaps. His voice is low, gritted, almost angry, “You are playing a very, very dangerous game.”

But he doesn’t stop you. In fact, he shudders hard and finally lets out the softest moan—something real. Something desperate. It’s jarring. The most you ever get out of the cryptid during sex is growled instructions and grumbles of approval, but never really any guttural reactions. It lights a fire in you, making you want hear it again.

The brows and jaw of his faceless skin are tense, locked tight under the white flesh. But there’s no mistaking the way his jaw ticks and how sharply he is gritting to keep himself quiet. Like moaning is some means to an end, like it’ll ruin the facade he has built since the beginning. But it breaches, the air around you becomes tight, almost too thick to breathe. Then his jaw unlocks, and a shrill sound of need leaves him. Like an animal desperate for food. It doesn’t last, he goes back to quiet. His tentacles speak for him though, jerking and twirling tighter around you with every bounce.

“Enough. I’m—Mmm. Please, ease your pace, love.”

꩜ .ᐟ

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bratbarzal · 3 days ago

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https://www.tumblr.com/bratbarzal/787273344525516800

Luke on his stupid bean bag I JUST WANT TO EAT HIS FACE who said that but like LUKEY BABEY PLEASE YOU HAVE TO KNOW WHAT YOURE DOJNG TO ME

I can't stop looking and zooming into the photo!! he looks so mushy and cozy and a little sleep swollen like he just woke up and they dragged him straight from bed onto that bean bag and hauled him out onto the water 😭 you're now the victim of an unsolicited teeny blurb bc I love that boy too much 🙂

“I don’t know what I was expecting from a text that just said come to boat,” you say as you’re close enough to see Luke sprawled back on a bean bag, taking up the majority of space on the deck of the small fishing vessel, “But weirdly enough it wasn’t this.”

“Hey baby,” his smile is soft as he watches you round the dock and come a little better into view, your body swallowed up in one of his hoodies to fight the slight nip in the evening air, and your arms wrapped around a bundle of blankets, “Did you bring the goods?”

His voice still has a slight rasp, something you thought this morning had been fresh from sleep, but he’s no doubt been yelling all day with the rest of the guys out on the water - not that you’re complaining. It’s deep and warm and the sound of it would send a visible shiver down your spine if you weren’t so already encased in the essence of him from wearing his stuff.

It’s the first you’ve seen of him since he was torn from your bed this morning, Jack delivering a very rude awakening with his head poking through the door, and a sharp call of, “Lukey put some clothes on we’re going fishing,” and a complete disregard for how you were promised a full day of doing nothing with the boy you love.

You’d groaned, clung onto your boyfriend for a few minutes longer, and then begrudgingly helped him manoeuvre himself into some warm clothes and a jacket - letting him press sweet kisses into your skin with the promise of making lost time up to you later.

They’d been out most of the day, and when you saw Jack return to the house, he’d said Luke was still hanging out with a couple of the guys - guys you were expecting to see when you approached the boat with the requested items in tow.

A thick blanket and a case of bud light, which you assumed he’d be working through with his friends - but he’s the only one around, jacket still zipped up to his chin like how he left you in the morning and his arm strapped to his torso.

“Of course I brought the goods,” you tell him, hauling yourself onto the boat with the items in hand, and perching yourself beside him to place the crate within reach of his good arm. “Do you want me to swaddle you like a little baby?” You coo at him, a mocking but sweet lilt to your voice as you reach up to push his hair back where it’s gone a little sticky beneath his cap.

“Want you to get in,” he chuckles as he scoots along the bean bag, making just enough room for you to squeeze in beside him - the sort of slot he always leaves for you where you’ll pretty much have to half sprawl over him to be comfortable. “Missed you today.”

And you’d usually probably huff and puff about the way you can see watery footprints on the floor, and you can smell something distinctly fishy and gross, but he looks so cute you can’t even muster up the objections.

Instead you just roll your eyes, working your way down - diligently avoiding the wet patches on the deck and resting on him more than you probably should - settling into his extended arm and curling up against his side, doing your best to drape the blanket over the two of you as you go.

“Missed you too,” you sigh as your body melts into his, one arm tucking between you and the other curling over his torso, eyes fluttering closed as you breathe him in - the slight damp smell of the freshwater infused in his jacket, but the musky scent of Luke still seeping through. “Did you have a good day with all the guys?”

He gives an affirmative hum as a response, almost a sigh of his own, the rumblings of which you feel travel through his chest.

He’s for sure growing tired of being a spectator to everyone else’s summer - watching all his friends play golf, and go fishing, and wake surf out on the lake - but you know deep down he’d rather be invited and watch than stay at home, as much as you’d do your best to keep him company there.

He doesn’t have that much longer left in his sling, and you could tell him that as reassurance, but there’s no point - he knows it better than anyone, and you’re probably the only person who lets him wallow in the misery of it a little instead of rubbing salt in the wound.

He’s cute when he’s pouty, and the easier it is for him to grump about it the less time he spends actually grumpy, weirdly enough. You’d like to think you have him all figured out by now.

“Did they at least let you hold a fish for instagram clout?”

He chuckles beside you, and you last about a second before you’re shuffling to look up at him, taking in the crooked tilt of his lips and the quick flash of teeth, genuine amusement flashing in his eyes - a smile so pretty it makes your heart thump dramatically in your chest.

��Duker let me hold his rod and everything,” he tells you, and you smile back with no hesitation.

“I always knew there was something going on between the two of you,” you scoff, “Gross what you’d get up to with your own dad on board.”

He pinches your side, where his hand rests up the back of the hoodie of his you’re wearing, and his fingers grasp at the bare flesh of your hip.

“You’ve got a one track mind,” he snorts.

“You’re the one talking about touching rods,” you smile, leaning back against him, “And here I thought you were trying to be cute luring me out to your damp, fishy boat to sneak a cuddle without your brothers interrupting.”

“So you think this is cute?” He asks, his arm tightening its hold around you as you press your cheek back to his chest.

“Never been wooed like this in my life.” The sarcasm is clear but the sentiment rings true - even something as small as this makes your heart swell to ten times its regular size when it comes to Luke.

“Wait until the sun sets and you can see the stars,” he hums, lips pressed to the crown of your head before he kissed the spot they were resting against, “Got it all figured out for you.”

“Smelly boat, stale beer, and the stars,”

“The three S’s,” he confirms behind you, like any of this was in any sort of plan before you arrived. He no doubt got to comfy on his bean bag and didn’t want to be alone out on the dock after his friends left.

But you don’t mind, getting comfy by his side and listening to the soft splash of the water against the hull as the boat rocks a little, the movement soothing you enough that you find yourself melting just that little bit extra.

Your plan for the day had initially been to do nothing with Luke, so ending it like this seems like enough to fill the hole that was torn into your original idea.

“Peak romance.” You sigh softly, less sarcastic and a little more sure, because all you really want to do anymore is spend time with him anyway, even if that’s on a beat up bean bag in the middle of a fishing boat you would otherwise never step foot on.

#luke hughes #luke hughes x reader #luke hughes blurb #luke hughes imagine #LIH IMPLIED OBVIIIIIII #I couldn’t be bothered making a graphic lmao #💌.tsou #💌.lih #*writing #crappy ending as always but I’m technically supposed to be working

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therobotmonster · 2 days ago

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Saw some of your posts about AI recently, but don't really know very much about you. I have two questions:

1. Are you an actual artist, or do you just do genAI?

2. If you are an actual artist, why do you use/support AI?

We're going to get into this in a minute, but yes, by what you'd likely use as a definition of 'actual artist', I am. I have a BFA in graphic design, a minor in art history, I've been working as a freelance artist either on the side or as my main hustle since 2001, and I've been making art since I was five. Multimedia, 3d modelling and sculpting, photography (in a darkroom type and digital), acrylic painting, illustration, writing, puppetsmithing, I'm a jack of many, many trades.

Because it's a potent force multiplier that lets me do things that I could not previous (as well as helping compensate for my increasingly arthritic joints) and because it's entirely keeping with the copyleft principles I've had since the 1990s. It's just plain interesting and fun. And I had my fill of moral panics in the 1980s.

This is gonna be a long one, enjoy a song while you read.

I've gone over all this many times before, (for full reading, here's the #AI Discourse tag on my AI blog) but the short version is that I agree with the Electronic Frontier Foundation's position on AI art.

To demonstrate, we've got some of my non-AI photobash work, and some of my AI-work of the same type. Both were made using many, many public domain images broken down to B&W lines, scaled, reinked, normalized and colored.

On the left, is a comic made with specific panels from comics that have had their copyrights expire (back when that could happen), on the right, a comic made with about 35 individual dall-E 3 gens. The techniques are the same, the only difference is the source of the pubic domain images.

No one debates whether what I've done on the left is art, yet somehow the one on the right is a problem for some people. Yet I have vastly more control over the latter than the former.

And it's hard to get more transformative than 'broke down into math and blended with literally millions of other math formulas in order to make a completely new image" Replace 'math' with 'memory' and you have how all human creativity works.

Moving to covers, one of my parody deepdream-adjusted comics, and a reinked-recolored AI one on the right. The one on the left no one had a single problem with, but Bruce Wayne and Jessica Fletcher are screencaps, the Specter is a sales photo of a statue with a copy of 1989 Ted Dansen's face, and I'm using direct DC trade dress. Crickets.

On the right, no actual images by humans are used (outside the barcode, comics code authority emblem, and the 30 cent mark.) Same techniques, same situation. Very different reaction.

I also was a young artist in the 90s when Disney and the RIAA bribed and lied their way into extending copyright to its current ridiculous 120 year term, and I recognize what's happening with the anti-AI movement.

The exact same fear-mongering was used to get small artists to rally their congressmen against their own self-interest, and that's what the Copyright alliance is doing now.

Copyright does not help the small artist. It's also a relatively new invention, one that would be baffling to humans through most of history. You can't own art. Not even the people who make it. You can own a canvass or a carved rock or a book, but you don't own the art itself because you can't own feelings or ideas.

Copyright is a limited patent on specific expressions intended (supposedly) to encourage production, a limitation on the business use of art. The arguments levied against AI would kill fanfic, fanart, pastiche, collage, and more.

This isn't a bug, it's a feature, because...

The anti-AI side isn't actually anti-AI, they're pro-regulatory-capture-of-AI-by-Megacorporations. The copyright anti-AI argument conveniently leaves it open for Disney, Warner Bros, Nintendo, Sony, the RIAA, all to make their own AI systems to lower their production costs, because they own more than enough material to make powerful datasets.

They get it, you don't, worst of all possible worlds.

Now, at the start I mentioned that we'd get into the "actual artist" situation. All those people making bog standard waifu-pics with AI? They're also making art. Kids using a spirograph make art. Duchamp's fountain is art. And people who make art are artists.

But more than that "if you're an actual artist why do you use AI?" is an interesting question, because if more people actually used the tech and saw how it works, you'd see a lot less people against it. Most of the anti-AI talking points are just factually incorrect or greatly misrepresent the situation, but nobody is gonna learn that if even using it is treated as a transgress worthy of 'fair game' treatment.

Funny how that works out.

To close out, enjoy one of my music videos, made from dozens of clips made using reference images made with dozens of heavily modified gens that I totally could have made the hard way, except for the lack of 5 million dollars and access to Geena Davis and Ron Ely circa 1982:

youtube

#ai discourse #art and artists #what is art?#copyright alliance #copyleft #copyright #public domain #fair use #my art

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noctiva · 2 days ago

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sorry guys I’m angsty today. here’s how some of the boys would break up w you.

Toby: Loud and messy. More angry than sad (the grief will come later). Tears streaming down his cheeks and shaking hands as he points an accusing finger at you. His entire body taut like he’s holding himself back from lashing out further. Calls you every name in the book. Says shit so cruel you’re left wondering how long those thoughts have been stewing in his brain.

Cuts you off in the middle of a sentence by storming out and slamming the door so hard it makes you ears ring. It’s the last time you ever see him.

You would really have to push him to the absolute brink for this to happen. Toby’s always one to try and work things out instead of letting his emotions get the best of him. He loves hard, and it’s unwavering. You’d have to do something pretty damn horrible for that to be snuffed out completely.

- “I c-can’t believe I wasted so much time on someone like you.”

Jack: Silent but brutal. Clinical and apathetic. He won’t be the one to actually start the fight or utter the final blow, he’ll just slowly push you away and ice you out until you’re the one to sever the ties. You can practically feel the affection leech out of him over the course of a few months. Doesn’t touch you unless you initiate it. His tone with you gets drier, more detached. Like the words you speak are muffled, and he’s just responding off of autopilot

When you finally do decide to end things, he doesn’t flinch. Barely bats an eye. He won’t fight you. He’ll agree the moment you even suggest splitting up. His ears twitch at the quiver in your voice but he won’t comment on it.

You’ll probably storm out out of frustration over his complete and utter nonchalance. He’ll be gone by the time you get back.

- “If that’s what you want.”

Brian: Completely out of left field. Completely blindsides you to the inner workings of his mind. Thought about ending it for months, but didn’t let it show even a little bit - continued on as normal, plastered that same old charming smile on his face, let the pet names roll off of his tongue just as smoothly as always. All while plotting the easiest way to let you down. He’s always been uncannily good at keeping his true intentions hidden, the mask he wears indistinguishable from his true self. Shame you didn’t find that out until it was too late.

He’ll take you out for a drive one night. Start the conversation out like normal. But when the silence between you starts to stretch, it feels heavier than it ever has. When he finally speaks again, he doesn’t beat around the bush. No sugarcoating, no preheating the dread by starting off with ‘we need to talk’. He just says it, point blank. Peers at you out of the corner of his eye to gauge your reaction.

And of course you’re shocked. Of course you cry. But it doesn’t really phase him. He’s been preparing for this for ages now. When he comforts you, it sounds hollow.

He’ll drop you off at home with a weight lifted off his shoulders.

- “You didn’t actually expect to marry me, did you?”

Tim: He just leaves. Crawls out of bed while you sleep and silently packs his things into the closet bag he can find. He probably forgets a few things in the rush. He won’t miss them, but they’ll ruin your entire mood anytime you come across one of his old socks, or notice that his toothbrush is still sitting by the sink.

He’ll write you a note and leave it on your bedside table. Telling you how he’s sorry he was too much of a coward to say all of this to your face, but it’s just easier this way. He knew you’d cry. He knew you’d beg for him to stay. Doing it this way was a much cleaner break - on his end, at least.

He’ll tuck the sheets over you gently, lets his gaze linger on your face for a few moments too long - nearly long enough for him to just crawl back in bed and let this whole plan go to hell. But, that subsides rather quickly as his eyes scan across your sleeping face. You look so calm. So serene. So sweet.

He wasn’t deserving of you and he knew it. He had known from the start.

- “This was never going to work. I know you thought it would. I’m sorry for disappointing you.”

Cody: Just shuts you out completely. The breakup version of ‘quiet quitting’. In his mind, the moment he starts to get the urge to do so - you’re already broken up. Shuts himself in his lab for hours on end and doesn’t let you in like he used to. Makes up excuses about how it ‘needs to be a sterile environment’ and that he ‘can’t afford distractions’.

Goes back to wearing his gloves around you. Wanting that barrier that he had broken down for you to go right back up again. Brushes you off every time you try to make plans with him. Short, one word answers every time you speak. Like Jack, his ultimate goal is for you to just get fed up and end things before he can, but unlike Jack - he’s less patient.

It irritates him how you try to cling on. How you just roll over and let him treat you like this just because you’re reluctant to lose him.

One day, he’ll just hit you with it. Short and sweet. And he’s walking back off and locking himself up in his lab before you can even get a reply out.

- “Your inability to take a hint is mind boggling. We’re done. Why can’t you get that?”

Habit: Kills you. He had joked about it when you first got together. How once he’s tired of you, he’ll just lob your pretty head clean off. It wasn’t actually a joke. You should’ve probably guessed that.

He just can’t be bothered. Would much rather avoid everything that came with a real, formal breakup. The tears, the bartering, the desperate pleas. All just trivial human emotions that irritate him so much it makes him feel nauseous. He’d much rather just put an end to that before it can even start.

How he does it depends on what mood you catch him in. Maybe he’s feeling merciful and does it in your sleep. Slits your throat so quick that you barely even have time to wake up before you’re choking on your own blood. Maybe he’s just fed up. Strangles you with his bare hands jusy so that he can watch the fear flood into your eyes - knowing that he’s serious this time.

Doesn’t even bury you. Throws you in a lake and walks off like nothing happened.

- “I told you this would happen.”

#woke up today on a mission to ruin everyone’s day #noctiva yaps #toby rogers #ticci toby #creepypasta headcanon #creepypasta #toby rogers headcannon #eyeless jack #eyeless jack headcanon #eyeless jack hc #brian thomas #hoodie creepypasta #tim wright #masky creepypasta #x virus #x virus creepypasta #habit emh #emh habit

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burningember0802 · 4 hours ago

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Three's Company Ch. 5

A/N: So I know I literally *just* posted about how I was going to try and write this chapter within the week but I started it and swear I got possessed or something and suddenly I was done and it was 2.7k words.

so we are back again with our stupid attendings who fucked up reallll bad. We’re also learning a little bit more about reader and her past! And about why she possibly acts the way she acts! Let the groveling begin!

Warnings: sexual content in some chapters, cursing, medical inaccuracies, suicidal tendencies, mention of death, PTSD, yelling, heavy angst, domestic violence, mental breakdown, injuries (let me know if I'm missing anything!)

Word count: 2.7k words

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Ever since the incident between the three of you where both Jack and Robby yelled at you on the same day things haven’t been the same, as expected. The next time they each worked with you they couldn’t help but notice the way you entirely pulled back from them. How your comfortability with them had taken one small step forward to take six steps back and it was all their fault. The guilt ate at them. You were like a completely different person, a shell of the girl they had known, the light that once filled the room when you walked in dimmed.

You had not only pulled away from them, but everyone in the ER. Robby and Jack got the worst of it of course. There was no more casual conversation with them, no more smiles, no more coffee exchanged with Jack in the middle of shifts, no more playful bickering over patients with Robby. You seemed like you were walking on eggshells around them, acting like a scared doe waiting for the second the shoe is going to drop and they snap at you again. You had pulled away from everyone else in the ER too, acting much more reserved and quiet than before, no longer the confident, intelligent resident everyone in the Pitt loved. Mel and Samira had noticed it too, noticing how you talked to them less, didn’t stick around to chat after shifts or texting in between shifts. You still talked to people, trying not to worry anyone too much, but your smile didn’t quite reach your eyes like it used to, that light behind them gone, anxiety left in its wake.

This was eating Robby and Jack alive, the guilt and shame gnawing at their stomachs, twisting and turning with every glimpse of you. They knew they shouldn’t have acted the way they did and that they needed to apologize but they didn’t know how, didn’t know how to get you to listen to them, trust them. They had been watching you closer in the ER during your shifts with them, observing you, trying to dissect your presence, trying to find something to help them make this up. Even Dana had noticed the shift in you, watching you closer than normal, knowing your past and how it can affect you sometimes. She even confronted Robby and Jack during a shift change once, cornering them in the family room.

“What the hell did you two idiots do to our best resident?” Dana asked them sternly, hands on her hips, no greeting, no ‘hello, how are you?’, just straight to the point. Both men ducked their heads like dogs getting scolded for getting in the trash, Jack’s lips tightening into a fine line and Robby’s face twisting in what almost looked like pain, his hand rubbing the back of his neck. “We fucked up really bad…” Jack mumbled, feeling like a child in trouble, but he knew he deserved it. “No shit, now what did you guys do?” Dana asks, her eyebrows raised in expectation. “We both yelled at her badly in front of everyone on the same day while she was working a double…” Robby mumbles quietly. Dana pinches the bridge of her nose, letting out a strained sigh. “God you two fucked up worse than I thought. You have to fix this, and soon.” She says poking a finger at the two men, a pointed look on her face. They both nod, shame riddled on their faces. Dana gives them another look before leaving the two of them to do their normal shift change briefing.

The next day had gone on normally, or as normal as things can be for you in the ER right now while you’re constantly avoiding whatever attending you’re working with, ignoring the concerned glances you’re getting from your coworkers, and the way said attendings keep staring at you. The day seemed like it was going to be a decent one until you were pulled aside by Dana while you were walking through the ER, pulling you aside to the nurses station. “Hey, could you possibly do me a favor?” Dana asks hesitantly, both of you leaning on the nurses station counter. “Sure? What is it?” You asked, brows furrowed in confusion. “Well we have a girl in exam room 3, here for what seems to be domestic violence injuries. She seems really scared and is hesitant to let us get Kiara for her to talk to.” Dana says, a soft look on her face.

Robby hadn’t meant to eavesdrop, he really didn’t. But still he found himself standing at the nurses station going through patient charts over and over, his back towards you and Dana just so he could hear the seemingly sensitive conversation between the two of you. “I was wondering if you could possibly talk to her? I think talking to someone who has experience with it will help ease her anxiety, especially someone her age range.” Dana explains to you, worry on her face. You stand there for a moment, taking in her words, contemplating her question before you take a deep breath and nod. “Thank you so much hun. You don’t know how helpful this is. So while you talk to her Robby and I will stand in there with you to help with things as needed and unfortunately it’s typically policy for attendings to be there when broaching a topic that will involve the social work department.” Dana explains, a nervous smile on her face. She knew that things between you and the main attendings weren’t great but she hoped this wouldn’t stop you from doing this.

When she told you Robby was going to have to be there when you talked to her your stomach dropped to your toes, your heart rate picking up slightly. You knew you needed to do this though, for the patient’s sake, so you took a deep breath and nodded again. Dana stepped away long enough to grab Robby who was still standing at the nurses station acting like he wasn’t listening. Then the three of you walked into the exam room where the patient was. She had multiple bruises on her arms and a broken wrist, many of the bruises being in the shape of someone’s hands or from someone gripping her arms. She was a similar age to you, around 25, only a few years younger but she looked so small right now. The girl was sitting in the hospital bed wearing a gown from the examinations they had to do, a scratchy hospital blanket thrown across her legs, her hands in her lap. It was obvious she had been crying, her eyes red and glassy, her figure shaking slightly.

You walked into the exam room quietly and sat in the chair next to her bed facing her, Robby and Dana standing to the side. You offered her a weak smile, one that wasn’t returned. “So I heard that someone in your life might be hurting you?...” you say softly, your own hands planted in your lap firmly, a soft look on your face despite the tension radiating in your body. The girl looked at you, her face scrunching a little. “Did they send you in here to tell me how stupid I am for getting myself in this situation and that I need to just leave?” She says, frustration in her voice. You shake your head softly. “No…I’m a doctor here…a 3rd year resident. I’m here to talk to you for a little, be an ear to listen if you want…someone who knows what it’s like.” You explain quietly, the patient’s face softening slightly. “What do you mean you know what it’s like?” She asks, her voice wavering slightly. You swallow the lump in your throat, letting it join the anxiety twisting deep in your gut. “When I was around your age, from when I was 21-25, I was in a domestic violence relationship and let it get worse than it should’ve…” You say, your voice steady and calm, your gaze locked on your hands in your lap. You could feel the eyes of the patient, Dana and Robby on you.

“He said it was an accident…that he’d never do it again…he said he loved me…” The girl in front of you said, her voice strained and her eyes watering. “They say that but they don’t mean it hun. It isn’t an accident. It will only get worse. It starts with the anger during small arguments, and then comes the yelling, then comes the name calling, then comes the throwing of items around the house, then comes them throwing items at you, and then they put their hands on you. The first time it happens they cry and scream that it’s an accident, that they love you, that it won’t happen again…but it will. It’ll happen again and again. I let myself fall into that trap of manipulation and it ended with me covered in bruises, a broken cheekbone, a broken collarbone, and two broken ribs. I’m lucky I wasn’t beaten to death honestly. It got this bad because I believed him, believed he loved me, that it was my fault, that it wouldn’t happen again…but it was a lie. He didn’t love me, not really. He loved the control he had over me. No one who truly loves you will ever lay a hand on you without consent.” You explain, meeting the girl's gaze. She started crying softly as you spoke, the weight of her words hitting her like a bus. “I’m scared…I don’t know what to do…” She whispered through her tears. “That’s why we’re here. I didn’t leave because I thought I couldn’t. I had nowhere to go, no one to talk to, no support system. We’re here to help though, we have resources for this, people who can help. Do you have anyone you can talk to about this? Anyone you can stay with right now?” You ask the girl softly, placing your hand on her gently. She nods through her tears. “Good, that’ll help a lot. We have our social worker Kiara coming down to talk to you, show you some resources, some people to talk to that can help. It’ll be okay. I promise. It may not feel okay today, maybe not tomorrow, maybe not even in a week, but one day it will. I promise. Here…here’s my number, call or text me if you need anything or someone to talk to.” You say softly, grabbing a paper from nearby and scribbling your number on it before handing it to her.

“Thank you…” The girl sitting in front of you whispers. “How do you move on from it? How do I become okay again?” She asks quietly. You let out a sigh, looking at her again. “Well it’ll probably take awhile, a lot of work, a lot of therapy but my biggest thing was not letting him hold me back, not letting him stop my life because I was scared, because I was upset. That just proves him right, shows him the control he still has over you. So my biggest piece of advice is to feel your feelings, but don’t let them control you. There will be times where they take over, where you feel like you’re right back in that situation again, flashbacks coursing through your head, but those will get better over time.” You explain to her, a soft, empathetic look on your face. The girl nods again, taking in your words. Then at perfect timing the social worker, Kiara, enters the room quietly. You introduce Kiara to the patient in front of you, making sure the patient is okay before you, Robby, and Dana leave the room.

As Robby listened to you talk about your experience with domestic violence he felt sick to his stomach, the bile bubbling up in the back of his throat, begging to get out, to expel the awful feeling in his gut. He knew that wouldn’t fix it though, and wouldn't take the guilt and shame that filled his being away. He felt anger building up in himself as well, his jaw ticking at your words as he clenched his teeth. He couldn’t believe someone could do that to anyone, let alone you. You, who lit up every room you walked into, who was the kindest and empathetic person he ever met, who had a special skill for making everyone feel comfortable no matter the situation, who made funny faces at the kids in the ER to cheer them up while they got tests done, who lit up his world. The mental image of you battered and bruised in the way you described hurt him, made his chest twist and ache in a way it never has before. He wanted to take you into his arms and never let you go, protect you forever, show you that he’d never let it happen to you again, that he’d never do that to you. He knew he couldn’t though, that he had no right to, especially after what he and Jack did.

As he listened it hit him exactly what he and Jack did, how bad they really fucked up. He realizes that he and Jack had most likely triggered you and the trauma response and fear you had gained from your experience. This realization hit him like a bus, the guilt and shame worse than ever. He understood now why you had acted the way you did, why you completely drew back from everyone, especially them. You were doing the only thing you knew how to do to protect yourself, to keep yourself from getting in that situation again. He knew he needed to talk to Jack as soon as he got here for shift change, and that they needed to figure out how to make it up to you, to apologize for their actions.

Once you left the room you left no time for Dana and Robby to talk to you, ask you any questions about what you said. You knew Dana knew the story of everything, she’d been a close family friend for years, a mother like figure to you. But you could see on Robby’s face that he was itching to talk to you and you knew you couldn’t handle it right now. Once you were clear of the exam room you quickly walked to the staff bathroom, shutting and locking it behind you, praising whatever deity was out there that it was a single stall. The door shut and the lock clicked and everything hit you. Every ounce of tension, anxiety, PTSD, etc. hit you…hard. You walked quickly to the toilet, your knees barely hitting the ground before the contents of your stomach were emptied into the toilet in front of you. After it was over you wiped your mouth and sat there for a few minutes, your chest heaving, almost hyper ventilating. The room felt like it was closing in on you, like you couldn’t breath and everything felt heavy. You stood up and leaned on the bathroom sink, staring at your figure in the mirror, your chest heaving, your face flushed, your eyes brimming with unshed tears. The girl in front of you in the mirror scared you…you looked like the girl who was beaten by someone she thought loved her, who was too scared to say anything. Your thoughts were rushing in your head, a headache already coming on. You turn on the sink and splash your face with some cold water, drying it off with your shirt, hoping it would bring you back to reality, save you from the impending breakdown. As much as you wished it worked you still found yourself curled into yourself in the corner of the bathroom, the feeling of the cold tiles under your skin. Your knees were drawn up to your chest, your head shoved against your knees, hands over your ears, your figure rocking in an attempt to comfort yourself as your body wracked with quiet sobs, trying to make yourself as small as possible. The world felt like it was closing in, like it was too loud, too much, and you were all alone.

#jack abbot x reader #michael robinavitch x reader #the pitt #abbot x robby x reader #dr abbot x reader #dr robby x reader #the pitt fandom #the pitt fanfiction #rabbot x reader

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writingsonsaturn · 2 hours ago

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long story short

{ masterlist } { the 'taylor swift' series }

🪐 - yall this is my longest fic to date, i love you guys

wc - 5.5k | content warning - attempted suicide, vomiting, reader has a bad mother, non-sexual nudity, panic attack, mental health talk, please if this is a trigger for you do not read this, I have other fics and will be putting more out, take care of yourself

summary - when the weight of the world falls on you, Jack is there to dust off the rubble

⭒☆━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━☆⭒

Life always seemed to either move too fast or too slow, never in-between for you. Your body felt as if it was floating through time, never giving you a second to breath in the air around you.

When you were little your parents wanted you to be great, to be what they couldn't since they had you so young. Your mother encouraged you to be a doctor, always telling you how sharp your senses were, or how beneficial your steady hands would be in the medical field.

You would argue there was never a choice as to what your job would be, you didn't get to dream about being a chef, or a hair stylist, only a medical physician. Now in all fairness, you weren't completely uninterested in this career path — infact you truly loved learning medicine, you just wished you had more of a choice.

Throughout medical school you went through ups and downs mentally, the never ending stress that being in this profession gives humans can be unbearable. Exams, clinical rotations, and so much more had began to weigh on you heavily — so much so you started contemplating taking your own life.

Assuming it would be easier to do that then disappoint your parents.

You were a fourth-year med student when you attempted, working at PTMC. Your attending Dr. Jack Abbot told you to go home early, he noticed your distant stare, the way you refused to look anyone in the eye, he saw all the signs he experienced himself; still he sent you home.

Dragging your feet up into your small apartment, locking the door behind you, setting your stuff down on the floor next to the door and walking into the bathroom. You met your own eyes in the mirror, the dark circles embedded themselves in your sockets and you sighed.

There was no will left in your body, so you reached a hand into your medicine cabinet and took a handful of pain meds you had been prescribed a year ago after hurting your shoulder. You choked on the pills as you swallowed them dry, then sat yourself on the bathroom floor waiting for darkness to wash over your body.

Jack felt it in his stomach that something was off, he knew he shouldn't have sent you home alone.

He saw it in the way you were holding yourself up just enough to get through the shift. He was beating himself up for it, so he decided to go check on you after work; you had only gone home an hour before your shift was set to end, and he is praying to whatever will listen that he won't be too late, that he was just overreacting.

The two of you were close, he had grown fond of you — more specifically your kind personality. You were always ensuring good bedside manner, even when Gloria was on his ass about you working quicker to get more patients into beds.

After losing his wife Jack swore he'd never love again, then he saw you and everything changed. He yearned to get to know you, he needed to see what you looked like when you woke up in the mornings, if you sung in the shower, your comfort foods, any and all things that had to do with you he wanted to know.

The inner voice in his head shamed him for liking a woman that much younger than him, nearly 20 years her senior, but she was perfect. In everyway possible Jack could not find anything to reel his feelings back from you, he tried everything but he just wanted to pull you closer every time.

Jack made his way up the rickety stairs of your old Pittsburgh apartment, rubbing his cold hands together as his achy knees counted one step at a time before finally reaching your door.

Three knocks echoed through the hallway

"Kid? It's Jack, can you open the door?"

Silence.

Jack knocks again.

"Y/n, open the door please! I know you can hear this!"

He knocked one more time, banking on the possibility you were asleep.

"I'm gonna break the door down if you don't open up, hon"

Waiting a few moments, he pressed his ear against the door trying to listen for any movement but was only met with the sound of his own racing heartbeat.

Jack's hand's begin looking for an extra key anywhere outside of your door, but found nothing. So, Jack proceeded to the next step which was breaking your door open, one of your neighbors had come out to inspect the commotion in the hallway and saw your door with split wood coming from the siding.

Wandering into the house Jack yelled your name out, seeing your purse and coat laying down on the floor next to the door, he knew you were home, it was just the matter of finding you.

"Y/n? Where are you, kid?" he whispered the last words more to himself as he walked through the kitchen and towards what he assumed was your room.

There was an eerie sense of stillness in the air when he walked into your room, as he looked around he saw the lighting of your bathroom illuminating the wall. Jack felt his heart plummet towards the floor, he hurriedly walked over to the slightly ajar door and saw your limp body laying there.

"Holy fuck, hey! Baby, wake up!" Jack's voice cracked as he knelt down next to you, Jack put his pointer and middle finger on your carotid feeling for a pulse.

It was faint but there.

Your neighbor had come in when he heard Jack screaming your name, Jack was startled at first before begging for the man to call 911.

"Tell them we have an overdose, faint pulse, and slowed breathing!" Jack yelled over the sound of his own erratic pulse.

"Please baby, please be okay." He picked you up bridal style, and carefully rushed you down those hazardous stairs to meet the paramedics. They arrived swiftly 8 minutes later, Jack was eternally grateful you had a place so close to the hospital. Rushing out a bunch of medical jargon, making sure they understand how serious your condition is.

Jack rode in the ambulance with you, holding your hand the whole time. Doing his best to comfort himself with comforting you, his thumb rubbing rhythmically over your knuckles.

He couldn't bring himself to look at your face again, the lifeless expression it rested at was enough to make his lip quiver in agony, your cheeks were stained with dried tears — he couldn't wipe your sadness away, only forced to meet the possibility of your death.

Everything became a blur to him, the moment the gurney wheels hit the ground and entered the ER it was chaos. The moment Dr. Robby's eyes laid upon your unconscious form he stuttered, which was unusual for him, when you were working the day-shift Robby was your guiding light; he always had the answer to your question, and never once hesitated.

This was different. You were the patient now, you were the life he is supposed to save.

"You gotta save her, man!" Jack yelled out a plea to Robby.

"I need you to go, brother!" Robby replied with haste, as he got the charcoal drink prepared while the nurses pump your stomach.

Dana started pushing Jack out of the way, as much as Abbot tried to hide his feelings for you, everyone, and truly everyone, knew how he felt about you; except for you.

"C'mon hon, lets get you a chair" Dana was nursing a motherly tone, she was doing her best to keep Jack off the ledge while still doing her job.

"She was so fucking c-cold" Jack's voice cracked under the pressure of the tears he was holding back.

There was nothing for him to do except wait, and that was the most agonizing part of all, he wasn't aware of if you were coding, or if the charcoal was working, or hell if a white sheet was being placed over your dead body while they solemnly called your time of death.

God, you are so loved in the ER. Everyone loved the cookies you would bring every other Saturday, "just cause." The radiance and sheer excitement only a med student has, but it was all a facade, you were internally crashing in front of everyone and Jack was the only one who noticed the light fading from your smile.

Yet, he still let you fucking leave alone.

Word after word went through Jack's mind, every sentence he said to you that shift and how he felt he had been a little harsher on you today because you weren't giving your full potential. He thought if he could just break you in, just a bit, you would give the fire in your hands the opportunity to escape.

You were good, so, so fucking good. Everything you did was smart and well planned, your answers to on-the-spot questions were quick and concise. This career was practically born with you, your care for humans was unmatched, and he hated himself for never thinking about what you were over-compensating for.

He was stuck sitting in this lousy , uncomfortable, professional lawn chair re-thinking all the outcomes that this could lead to — the worst of them being your death.

Robby walked in with a sigh and quickly explained your situation to Jack before being talked over by a million questions.

"She is going into the general ward upstairs, we have not detected any neurological anomalies, however, we are still waiting on the CT-" Robby takes a breath before continuing "-she is really fucking lucky you found her when you did, you can see her when you're ready," he finished.

Jack went in for a hug, an unsaid 'thank you,' and rushed to the elevator to get right back to his rightful place next to you.

The day was long and Jack didn't get a wink of rest, every twenty minutes he looked at your vitals himself even though there was a nurse routinely checking them as well, he needed to check for himself.

Robby had come up after his shift ended, he had tried to get Jack to go home. Telling him "she likely won't wake up for another couple of hours, you should go home and change." Jack only then realized he still had his scrubs on, but he didn't care, he wasn't going to leave you alone again, not now.

With a shake of his head, Robby patter Jack on the back and left without another word.

Then at around 11:27pm, your hand twitched, and a groan escaped your throat, slightly panicky as you realized where you were. Jack was quick on his feet, bringing his face into your view so you would calm down, "hey, hey shh, it's okay" Jack rushed in a whisper, trying his hardest not to startle you.

Your hand searched quickly for his and he was even quicker to grab a hold of it. First has pushed the call button to get a nurse in, then he asked you a question-

"Honey, do you remember what happened?"

The look in your eyes was enough of an answer for him, you remembered everything.

"Oh, baby" Jack's other hand gently caressed your head, smoothing out your hair. He saw a tear stream down the side of your face and quickly wiped, selfishly happy he was able to. He swore to himself you would never experience this alone ever again, he was gonna help you through this.

You winced as you swallowed, your throat raw and scratchy with the amount of trauma caused. Jack noticed your painful action and went to grab you some water in a dixie cup, and while he did this, the nurse also had come in to check on you.

"Hey sweetheart, how are we feeling? Any pain I should know about?" The nurse, Stella, asked kindly. You shook your head, not yet trusting your voice to speak.

"Her throat is bothering her, but that's to be expected" Jack told Stella, Stella nodded in agreement with a soft smile directed at you that made you feel safe. After Jack gave you the water, Stella gave you a little while to get your bearings before explaining any next steps to you.

You knew what was to happen next, likely a 72 hour hold in the psychiatric ward. Kiara had come to talk to you, first asking if you would consent to inpatient — which you did — and than walking you through your next course of action. You asked if you were at risk of losing your position and were ensured you would be okay, Jack insisting he won't let anything happen.

Jack went over all the paperwork with you, making sure you understood everything and reassuring you that he would be there everyday to during visiting hours. You were terrified, this wasn't how you thought things were going to lay out.

After all papers were signed and sent to the system you and jack waited together for an available room, you gasped when you realized your parents were going to have to know eventually. Tears gathered in your eyes once more, thinking how disappointed they'll be.

"I'll take care of it, okay kid?" Jack said, pulling your head into his chest and rubbed your back carefully. He wanted nothing more than to take away all the things burdening your thoughts, he continued assuring your worries as you gripped onto his scrub top like a vice.

"Alright dear, are you ready?" A new nurse, Erin, asked.

You nodded numbly, hugging Jack and him kissing your forehead, telling you he'd see you tomorrow, then you went of with the nurse.

Those three days were horrible for you, you couldn't even piss alone.

You were absolutely elated to be going back home, you were prescribed anti-depressants and mandatory 2 months therapy. Jack drove you home, taking your little things he brought to you back up. Jack had looked through all of your stuff — with your permission — and took away anything you could use to harm yourself that was not necessary to life.

He also had stocked up your fridge with a weeks worth of food.

You felt a little light return to your body at seeing how much effort this man put into making you feel safe, your eyes landed on air mattress that was neatly laid out on the ground in your living room.

"Uh, I hope you don't mind, I figured the first couple of days I could stay with you" Jack reasoned.

"Yeah-yes, of course" You spoke a little too fast, thankful you won't have to be alone.

That night was quite, Jack made dinner for the two of you and he enlightened you with the knowledge that '10 Things I Hate About You' is his favorite rom-com, that brought a genuine smile to your face.

To jack though, that smile was equivalent to a star exploding and creating a new galaxy.

After you went to your room for the night, you lingered a little bit on the other side of your door, taking a deep breath and wondering how you got this lucky, maybe, just maybe, the universe decided to cut you some slack.

Unfortunately however, you had a rough night sleeping.

Your back was turned away from your bathroom since you couldn't quite get yourself to go in there yet, Jack mentioned he cleaned it up a tad while you were in inpatient, but you still couldn't find the strength. Sadly for you, that meant sleeping on the side of your body that was least comfortable to you, just to get away from facing the music.

You sat up straight in bed and looked over at the clock that now blinks a harsh red light of 5:15am. Your warm feet hit the cold floor as you got out of bed and made your way into the short hallway towards the living room, you secretly hoped Jack was awake — to your genuine surprise, he was.

"Hey, you okay?" he asks sincerely sitting up from his position on the air mattress, "this is weird, but- uh, I don't wanna sleep alone" you finish weakly.

Jack is quick to lift the blanket up on the side that is empty, a gesture to invite you in. You felt ashamed to be doing this, having to sleep in someone else's bed to keep the bad thoughts away felt childish, stupid even, but as you climbed in next to him you felt the warmest you ever had.

You curled into his side, seeking comfort in his arms,

In return he pulls you taut against his chest while rubbing your arm, giving you a quiet "I got you" before you were finally taken away to dreamland. Jack stayed awake a little longer after you, memorizing the way your body felt against his with each breath you took.

The both of you woke up roughly at the same time, tangled in each others limbs. Jack pulled you against him with a gentle squeeze, "Sleep well?" he asked with a sleepy smile. "Yeah, thanks" you responded than got out of the bed and padded towards the kitchen where your toothbrush sat next to the sink.

Unconventional sure, but so was a lot of what you did these last couple of days.

Jack also brushed his teeth in the kitchen along side you, hoping it made you feel less weird with someone else doing it to. "So, I have to go to the hospital to grab something, you gonna be okay here?" Jack's concern always melted you even though it was common human decency.

"Oh, yeah, I'll be okay, swear" you said with a reassuring grin that didn't meet your eyes. You understood why he was hovering, and you weren't upset about it in anyway, but you were thrilled to have just a little time to yourself. You were watched for 24 hours straight for three full days, finally being able to breath with no lingering eyes was going to be great.

Once Jack left you felt weird, you hadn't been alone in a room in what felt like an eternity and you weren't quite sure what to do with this refound freedom. So, you did what you always did when you were overwhelmed and cleaned, the kitchen had a few things out of place from dinner last night. Your room was a disaster with what looked like a laundry bomb had exploded and covered your sanctuary in dirty clothes, so you decided what a better way to distract yourself then to do laundry.

You knew you needed to take a shower, and you were hitting yourself for not getting the other floor plan of "2 bath 1 bed" option but you figured you wouldn't need it. Now you were here, trying to hype yourself up to shower in the same bathroom you thought would be the last thing you ever saw.

Luckily for you there was a knock on the door, well you thought you were lucky.

"Mom? What are you doing here?" You were shocked to see your mother who lived halfway across the country to be at your doorstep. "What were you thinking?" she greeted with an angry tone bubbling under her voice, normal mothers would be over the moon at their child still breathing, but not her.

"Mom, please I don't want to argue about this" You pleaded with exhaustion, this wasn't a confrontation you wanted to deal with right now. You were physically and emotionally drained from the last four days and you just wanted to turn your mind off and give your body rest.

"How could you be so stupid, you have your whole life ahead of you, and you want to make a selfish decision like that?" Her voice echoing through your mind.

Selfish.

Stupid.

Every horrible adjective she could think of she was hurling at you.

"Please leave, I can't do this right now" You tried to shut the door on her but she held her hand out to block it, she forced her way in and continued to exclaim how much of a disappointment you had become, which had been exactly what you were most afraid of.

You couldn't think as you tried to get her out of your apartment, begging her to jut leave and that you would call her later. She just wouldn't listen, wouldn't agree to let you be.

That was when your saving grace came in, Jack had quickly opened the door when he heard voices reverberating throughout the building, "what the hell is going on here?" he exclaimed loudly over the voice of your mother.

"Who are you?" your mother asked, wide eyed at the foreign man in her daughters apartment.

"He is the only one who has actually gives a single shit about me being alive, so please mom, get the fuck out of my home" you said sternly, now crying.

She looked at you with a disgust in her eye before huffing and leaving your apartment, pushing past Jack aggressively.

Jack was stunned to say the least but that didn't last long before he was closing and locking the door then walking over to your shaking form. You were sobbing hysterically, your breathing was unstable and you couldn't catch your breath. "Baby, you gotta slow down, you're hyperventilating" Jack said steadily trying to calm your unsteady breaths.

"I-I think I'm g-g-gonna be sick" You gagged out, Jack was fast to react and quickly lead you to the bathroom.

The bathroom.

Everything was so overwhelming. Mind was racing with a million thoughts a second, dry heaving into the toilet. You could feel Jack's hand rubbing circles on your spine, "I know baby, I know" He comforted you, wishing nothing more than to take you away from this pain.

As you finished up you leaned back into Jack's chest, you had long stopped crying. The feeling only being replaced with exhaustion, Jack talked you into getting up off the floor.

"I need to shower" you say plainly, no emotion found in your raw voice.

"Okay, I'll leave you to it, holler if you need-" Jack was caught off by your small voice, "could you help me?" your eyes never met him as you requested his assistance. "Of course" He replied.

There was nothing sexual about this, you were distraught and just needed someone to wash your hair and keep you afloat. Jack suggested a bath for you instead, to which you agreed, feeling stupid after forgetting his leg. You tried to apologize but he refused to hear it, joking about how he's learned to walk on the prosthetic so well you forgot it was on him.

It drew a quiet laugh, a sound only meant for him to hear.

He took his time with you, keeping your comfort at the forefront of his mind, letting you wash your own body and eyes never once wondering. Focused on the mission at hand, like he was back in the military.

You sat in the warmth of the bath for a while with Jack sitting right there next to you, he opted in reading a book — the one that rested on your nightstand — aloud.

He got through three chapters before you mentioned you wanted to get out.

Jack held out his hand for you to take, helping your unstable legs out of the tub and wrapping a towel around your midsection, covering your naked body. He left the bathroom to allow you to dress yourself whilst he patiently waited on your bed, Jack knew you were going to be exhausted so he got your bed ready to slide into.

You crawled into bed sluggishly, your body giving out the moment it hit the soft silk sheets. Cold hands touched Jack's skin making him jolt slightly at the unexpected touch, quickly though he knew what you wanted and he settled in right beside you.

"I don't wanna feel like this anymore" your words rang through Jack's ears like the sound of a gunshot, sharp and painful.

"We'll get through this, I'll be here for you the whole time" Jack responded.

"What about after I feel better?" you wondered.

"Let's talk about that when you're feeling better, okay?" he smiled at you then kissed your forehead and urged you to rest.

The world around you became more bearable with every moment Jack spent with you, giving you a support system to lean on had been detrimental to your recovery and mental health.

Jack came by your place nearly everyday after staying with you for about a week and a half, coming to kick it and watch a movie while debriefing about the shift, or bringing you some food on your days off — you knew it was his way of making sure you were properly eating, but you didn't mind.

After six months of mandated therapy you were finally back to working your normal shift schedules, back to the high of being in the ER. You graduated med school last month, and luckily matched with PMTC for your residency in emergency medicine.

You jumped with joy when you got your match, Jack attended the ceremony with you and helped calm your nerves of not getting the program you wanted. He explained that no matter what happened you were going to be okay, and it would be great for you — but secretly he was hoping more than you were that you would stay at PMTC.

The night had been a drag, nothing adrenaline inducing was introduced.

Shen was on his way to get yet another iced coffee when a trauma came in, your feet were in front of you before you could think about the idea of walking. Quickly racing over to your new patient and began accessing for external injuries.

However, as you heard the paramedics talk to Jack, you heard one word.

Overdose.

Everything all around you went quiet, loud ringing replacing the continuous beeping of vital monitors and groaning patients.

You removed yourself from the situation having Ellis take your position, she didn't complain or wonder — not that there was anytime to do so — she just nodded her head and gave you a subtle reassuring arm squeeze while you went to the closest private spot in the hospital, which was a single empty employee bathroom.

Your chest was heaving in a way you knew all too well, uneasy and hard.

Suddenly, your body was warm with sweat, everything felt like it was closing in on you, the room felt like it was getting smaller.

Was it getting smaller? No. No, of course not.

Trying to ground yourself you gripped the cold ceramic of the sink, the sensation feeling like a shock to your system at the night and day difference. Deep breaths were fighting through your airways to escape, but they just couldn't get out — your eyes were beginning to grow dark in the peripheral.

A knock at the door bounced against the walls of your head but you were too far away to acknowledge it, you wanted to open the door but the idea of moving anywhere felt like a death-wish.

You gently sat yourself down on the cold tile of the floor, not quite caring how unsanitary of a place that would be for you. All you could think about was the night you were brought in that horrible night 6 months ago, wanting nothing more than your time of death to be called.

Now, you were here. On the other side of what could've been, forced to look at the very same fate you had chosen for yourself. Too much. That was all you could think. This is too fucking much.

The door was opened gently, a muscled figure appeared in front of your eyesight bending down next to you.

First you felt his warm hand on your own, bringing your wondering mind back down to earth with his. Gently, Jack brought your hand to his chest; forcing you to feel the way his body inhaled, then exhaled, inhale, exhale. He didn't speak, didn't need to, the man was well aware of your mental state at this moment and you getting enough oxygen to your head was more important to him.

It took you a few more minutes of the continuous guidance before you finally came to. "I'm sorry" You whispered, feeling like more of a burden than ever, you can't just breakdown in a place like this, it's unethical.

Jack thought differently though, "don't you dare, it's only been six months sweetheart." He paused for a minute, bringing your face right in front of his, "this is a very, very, valid reaction to seeing a situation you were just in not long ago."

He took a deep breath before speaking again.

"The first time a patient came here in need of an amputation, I reacted the same way, knowing what this kid was going through. It killed me." His voice cracked but he stayed firm, "You are allowed to feel things, you did the right thing by stepping away, there is nothing, and I mean nothing, wrong with you."

You held his gaze for a while, maybe searching his eyes for annoyance but you never found it. All he held for you was love.

Taking one final deep breath and closing your eyes with a new found acceptance of your feelings, the two of you got up from the hard tile and left the bathroom together. Luckily, no one was around to gossip about Dr. Abbot and the new resident suddenly leaving a lockable bathroom together.

As the shift carried on you overheard a nurse talking about the patient who overdosed on some opioids, saying how she would make a full recovery. Realistically, she wasn't your patient therefore you had no right to go into the room they settled her in but you made the decision to do so anyways.

Stepping into the quiet room you immediately felt the heaviness way down on your bones, you looked around the curtain to see a young girl, no older than twenty, looking at the wall with no expression on her gray appearance.

"Hello, I'm Dr. L/n, I came in to check on you. Any excess pain anywhere, or confusion?" You asked timidly, this isn't what you came in here for but you needed to make her feel safe.

She answered with a slow shake of her head, still not acknowledging you.

You took a seat in the room with her, though you did decide to check and log her vitals you took the next step in talking with her more in-depth.

"You know, we aren't really supposed to come in here and talk to patients like this, but you remind me of myself and I want you to know if you wanna talk, we can" You paused for a beat, letting the woman digest what you were saying. "I can also leave you alone if that is what you would like, I just figured, maybe having someone who was in this position to talk to would help you not feel so isolated, if you need absolutely anything do not hesitate to hit that call button" finishing your spiel, you definitely didn't mean to go on and probably wasn't very helpful to the patient, you got up and began making your way towards the door.

"You ever feel like, like you're drowning?" a small voice filled the silent room.

"All the time" you replied stopping short and sitting right back down.

"How do I stop feeling like this?"

Her question broke your heart, not only because of how hopeless she sounded but that you didn't know the answer, you were still trying to figure it out yourself.

"I still feel it sometimes, that growing ache in your body and the voice in your head that just won't stop, but you find something or someone to grab ahold of, to keep your head above water and hold you afloat when your legs ache from fighting the waves. I wish I could tell you there was a cure, but I can't." The back of your throat became dry but you fought through it, "life is an abusive piece of shit, but you can fight it, there is people who haven't met you yet that will love you till their heart gives out, you just have to hold on."

She looked at you like time had stopped and only the two of you existed, like something clicked in her head. "What happens now?" she asks, voice less constricted than it had been.

"You will be taken to the psychiatric ward, if you consent to that, and you will fight through this" the hard truth slipped out at the end, soft isn't what this girl reacted to.

"Is it rude to ask you, what happened to you?" she queried.

"Long story short, it was a bad time, but I survived it, and so will you."

#reader insert #the 'taylor swift' series #jack abbot imagine #jack abbot x reader #the pitt fic #the pitt x reader #dr jack abbot x reader #michael robby robinavitch #jack abbott x reader #jack abbot #the pitt #writingsonsaturn

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whumpetywhumpwhump · 20 hours ago

Note

outside of what we've seen in your stories, do you have any sick!Robby headcanons? Does it ever get so bad that he skips the denial phase and immediately tells Jack how he's feeling? Does he feel a cold coming on or do they always catch him by surprise? Is he prone to high or low fevers? Tell ne everything - your word is canon to me.

AHHHHHH I LOVE THESE KINDS OF ASKS THANK YOU!!!

He's a stubborn son of a gun most of the time, but his resolve WILL crumple if his partner (keeping it ambiguous because sometimes I write Rabbot, sometimes Rollins) gets soft with him. It reminds him of when his grandmother used to take care of him when he was sick, and when they gently ask him "hey, you feeling okay, sweetheart?"... his ability to pretend is GONE.

Also if his fever is especially high in the beginning, it lowers his guard completely, and he WILL blurt out anything and everything- including an admission of how awful he's feeling. Unfortunately that does mean that this only happens when things are REALLY bad, though, and to his partner, it's not a great sign.

He can feel colds coming on a lot of the time (not flus) but yet again his denial overtakes his ability to reason. He will convince himself that if he just drinks some OJ before work and ignores the scratchiness in his throat, everything will go away. It never works, of course.

High fevers all the way. I HC that despite what he might say, he runs pretty hot most of the time anyway (all that passion makes him like a human furnace), so when he's sick the temp just goes off the scale. When he does get low fevers, though, he's even more miserable- because he's cognizant enough to feel absolutely freezing and to hate it vehemently.

Other HCs:

He hates being sick to the point that if he has the day off, he WILL dose himself with elephant-tranquilizing levels of Nyquil that knock him out for the whole day. His hope is that he'll wake up feeling better. His partner does not approve of this whatsoever, because finding your suicidal-tendencies boyfriend unconscious on the couch with a pill bottle on the coffee table is off-putting to say the least.

He likes a very specific type of soup when he's sick, from a very specific Jewish market in the city. It's similar to one his grandmother used to make, and he swears by its healing abilities.

When he's REALLY sick to the point of delirium, he often slips into Russian. He grew up in a Russian Orthodox Jewish household, and it's his first language, but not many people know that so his partner has a lot of explaining to do if it ever happens at work (this is one I mayyyy write a fic about because it's very dear to me)

Again, thank you for the question!!!

#whump #sickfic whump #med whump #sickfic #the pitt #dr robby #the pitt fanfiction #rabbot #rollins

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lpmurphy · 8 hours ago

Text

Begin Again

<- Previous

Summary: It had been thirty years since his truck tires rolled out of her drive for the last time. Even longer since the day his locker door slammed shut beside hers and marked the beginning of Jack Abbot. Beth had never expected it to end. Never expected to live a lifetime with only the ghost of the boy who promised her one together. She never expected to see him again. Until that curtain flung open, and there he was. And just like that, Jack Abbot began again.

Notes: jack abbot/single mom!ofc, reunited high school sweethearts, second chance romance, slow (emphasis on the SLOW) burn, seriously it's slow, ofc’s daughter is a teenage gen z menace and we love her for it, angst/longing/yearning to the max, hurt/comfort, author is just an english teacher with no medical background, eventual smut, jack and ofc are emotionally constipated idiots

Word Count: 8,845

Read on AO3 (Up to Chapter 15!)

Chapter Nine: Operation: Wallet Drop

Phase One had been straightforward enough. Not her most brilliant scheme, but not her sloppiest either. Honestly, it was pretty solid for something she pulled out of her ass in an ER. The plan: casually leave Mom’s wallet somewhere Jack would definitely find it, complete with her drivers license that oh so conveniently displayed her exact address. Then, wait, and hope Hoodie Guy didn’t get to it first.

But from the way Mom’s breath caught when she opened the door, Abby knew that the right guy found it. Operation Wallet Drop was a success. Screw Honors Society. This was probably the most accomplished Abby had ever felt in her entire life.

Alright. Time for Phase Two: Get Him Through the Door.

Abby peeked over the back of the couch, watching the front door without totally giving herself away. Atlas pranced in little circles around Jack, sniffing his legs like a drug dog who just found a Scarface-level mountain of cocaine while Mom gripped the doorframe like it was keeping her upright. Neither of them spoke for a long minute, which Abby found very dramatic, but whatever. Doing her best not to look like she was full-on surveillance van eavesdropping, she turned down New Girl just enough to hear Mom sputter like her brain was rebooting.

“Hi,” her mom said, the soft way she said it sounding like she was choking on her own breath.

“Hi,” Jack echoed, shifting like he wasn’t sure if he was trespassing.

“What are you doing here?” her mom asked, and Abby winced. A little too sharp, Mom. C’mon. Ugh, someone save this woman from herself before she goes full Nick Miller and gives up on men and starts growing tomatoes.

Jack didn’t seem to mind. He held up the wallet and gave it a wiggle. “Thought you might need this.”

“Oh, God,” her mom said with a soft gasp and a shaky laugh. “Shit. I didn’t even notice that was gone. Thank you.”

Mom reached for the wallet. Her fingers hesitated just long enough that Abby clocked it, but not long enough for Jack to notice. Maybe. Jack shrugged a little too casually for someone who changed clothes and detoured across town after a twelve hour shift just to loiter on their porch.

“Dana found it on the counter after you left,” he said. “Robby was gonna bring it by, but I was already heading this way, so…”

Uh-huh. Sure you were, Abby thought. She smirked from her perch on the couch. Liar. You just didn’t want Hoodie Guy to get to her first. You wanted to see her. And now you have. And now you’re standing there like a sad, hopeful golden retriever just waiting to be let inside.

Her mom smiled, the kind she tried to suppress and totally failed at. “You could’ve just put it in my locker.”

“I could’ve,” Jack agreed easily, like he wasn’t hanging on every breath of this conversation, and tucked his hands in his pockets. “Just figured I’d get it to you before you canceled all your credit cards.”

That got her. A little laugh, quiet and warm, but Jack smiled for it the same way he had her snort-laugh. Abby grinned. Yes. Good. Good. Laugh more. Mom nodded and pulled her cardigan tight before crossing her arms. “Yeah. That would’ve been a nightmare.”

Oh, whatever. Jack didn’t swing by to save her from logging into her bank account and clicking three buttons. That was bullshit and they all knew it. And Abby was so here for it. Now, if only her mom would do something besides just hovering in the doorway. Invite him in! Execute Phase Two! Come on, you beautiful stupid idiot! Literally get out of your own way!

But Mom didn’t invite him in. Abby puffed a sigh through her nose. That’s it. They got ten more seconds, and then she was going in.

Jack didn’t leave, and Mom didn’t close the door. Instead, they just stood there; two emotionally repressed idiots marinating in three decades worth of unresolved tension like that was a totally normal thing to do on a Saturday evening. Jack shifted his stance and glanced past her like he was trying not to look like he was casing the joint.

“Nice place,” he said, tilting his head toward the house like he hadn’t been staring at it for the past thirty seconds.

Abby rubbed her face. Oh my god, dude. Lame . Old people flirting is so boring.

“You guys been here long?”

Jesus Christ, someone make a flippin’ move. This feels like an episode of the Golden Bachelor.

Mom nodded, her hands tightening in the sleeves of her cardigan. “Um, thanks. We moved in after we left Boston back in 2017.”

Oh my god, Mom, he literally does not care what year we moved into the house. He’s lingering. God, was there a single brain cell between the two of them? Invite him in, you dumb, dumb bitch.

He leaned his shoulder against the doorframe, dropping one hand low enough for Atlas to nose at his fingers. “What made you leave Boston?”

Mom shrugged. “Oh, you know… I wanted to get Abby closer to everyone, and I got offered a chief attending position at Mercy. Better pay, better benefits, two hours from my parents.” A soft laugh. “It felt like the right call.”

Jack nodded. “Makes sense.”

And… that was it. Conversation dead. He was still leaning in the doorway like he lived there, and Mom was still just standing there like she didn’t know she could invite him inside without a notarized affidavit from God. C’mon, Mom. Invite him in. He obviously wants to or he would’ve handed you the wallet and bolted. Do you not see him? Do you not see yourself ?

Abby narrowed her eyes, then pinched the bridge of her nose, shaking her head. These two were useless. Just vibes and history and not a single ounce of game between the two of them. Good Lord, Atty was making more of a move on Jack than her mom was.

Clowns. Just clown behavior all around. The circus was in town, and it was right there on her front porch.

Fine. If no one else was going to do anything about it, she would. Phase Two was happening whether they liked it or not.

Abby rolled onto her knees, wincing a little as a sharp pain lit up her leg. Worth it though. She leaned over the back of the couch just enough to be fully visible from the front door.

“Who’s here?” she called, all bright-eyed innocence like she hadn’t been spying on this emotional dumpster fire for the past five minutes. And, oh my god, crazy, wow. Could it be? Say it ain’t so. As I live and breathe… “Doctor Mullet!”

Jack laughed through his nose, one corner of his mouth twitching up. “Hey, kid.”

Mom flinched like she forgot she wasn’t alone. “Abby, don’t—”

“What are you doing here?” Abby interrupted, propping her chin on her arms. Come on, Baker. Really sell it. You definitely haven’t been here the whole time. Atlas boofed once and kept nosing at Jack’s pockets.

“Your mom left her wallet behind at the hospital, figured I’d bring it by.” Then, as if realizing he sounded way too eager about a thirty-minute round trip, he added, “I was in the neighborhood anyway.”

Abby arched one skeptical brow so hard it practically detached from her face like a cartoon character. Sure you were. She could count on one hand the number of people who just happened to be “in the neighborhood” of the like, most disgustingly suburban street in all of Squirrel Hill after dark, and most of them were DoorDash drivers or serial killers. Jack didn’t have a pizza box or a ski mask, so… yeah. Not buying it. Nice try.

“Oh my god, that’s crazy. Mom never forgets her wallet. Good thing you found it before some total lunatic did and tried to, like, steal her identity and open sixteen credit cards in her name,” Abby continued. Good thing I planted it exactly where you would find it. “That would’ve been a disaster.”

Mom made a strangled noise that might’ve been a laugh or a death rattle and shot her a look. Abby rolled her eyes so hard that she swore they clicked. Oh, get over yourself, Elizabeth.

But Jack only chuckled. “It’s no problem.”

No problem, he says, as he lingers in the doorway like he’s waiting for a handwritten invitation and a red carpet. Abby stared at him. Then at her mom. Then back at him.

Phase Two, you magnificent disaster people. Phase. Freaking. Two. Commencing now.

Abby pushed off the couch and stood, limping just enough to elicit sympathy if anyone was paying attention; not that either of them were. They were too busy fidgeting and stealing glances like this was some painfully slow Austen adaptation. She padded barefoot toward the door like a woman on a mission.

“Anyway,” she said, brushing past her mom like she wasn’t doing reconnaissance for a covert operation of her own making. “Mom just finished making dinner. You should come eat with us!”

You would have thought she threw a live grenade between the two of them. Mom opened her mouth to object. Jack looked startled, like he hadn’t even considered that was an option.

Come on. Don’t blow this, you two. We’re so close to Phase Three.

They hesitated, because of course they did. Abby could practically hear the gears grinding in their mutually repressed brains.

Mom opened her mouth at the exact same moment Jack said, “I should probably—”

“You don’t have to—”

They both stopped. Jack gave a half-laugh. “Sorry, I didn’t—”

“No, it’s okay, I was just saying—”

Fools.

“I don’t want to intrude,” Jack said.

“You wouldn’t be,” Mom added at the same time.

Oh my god. Somebody sedate me. This brutal.

Another pause. They blinked at each other.

Jack gestured vaguely behind him. “I should probably get going, though.”

Mom nodded way too fast. “Right, yes, of course—”

Jesus Christ. And they let you two morons be doctors? Does she have to do everything in this house?

“Oh, come on. You’re already here,” Abby threw in for good measure. She would not let these two blow this. She was too invested. “And Mom always makes, like, way too much. Right, Mom?”

Damn. If looks could kill, Mom would have struck her dead right there. Before Abby could metaphorically poke them with a stick again, they launched into another round of rambled buffoonery.

“But—unless you—”

“I mean, if it’s not a bother—”

“You absolutely do not have to,” Mom said, breathless, like she was yanking on the emergency brake of her own heart. “Please don’t feel like you have to just because she asked.”

Jack paused and took a long breath before he spoke again. “No. I’d… like to,” he said softly.

Mom froze. “Oh,” she breathed. “Okay.”

“Okay,” Jack echoed.

Okay, Abby thought, resisting the urge to fist-pump in slow motion . Okay, okay, okay. Let’s fucking go. She smiled sweetly and gestured toward the entryway like she was the maître d’ at an exclusive, very emotionally complicated restaurant.

“See? Look at that. It’s giving healthy communication.” She turned to Jack, all plausible deniability and carefully crafted bullshit. “Come on in, Doctor Mullet.”

He stepped through the door and gave a quiet “Thanks,” before crouching to greet Atlas, who immediately lost his mind with joy. Oh, you are so very welcome, Doctor Mullet. You don’t know the half of it yet.

Mom closed the door behind him and looked like she might either pass out or throw up. Possibly both. Abby just grinned. Performance of a lifetime, honestly. Someone should call Hollywood after her little stint at the door. It was Oscar-worthy, really. Meryl Streep who? Never heard of her.

Abby knew the second Jack crossed the threshold into the entryway and Atlas launched himself into a full-body wiggle attack that she had exactly five seconds to enjoy this victory before Mom’s wrath found her.

Four seconds.

Three.

And… there it was.

The Look.

From the glare that was currently burning a hole straight through her skull as Jack stepped past Mom into the house, Abby gathered that maybe, just maybe, her mother did not appreciate the success of Phase Two quite as much as she did.

Jack didn’t notice, of course. He was too busy getting absolutely wrecked by Atlas, who launched a full-scale nose-first assault on his kneecaps like a dog who had never seen a man before and had decided this one was now his soulmate.

Mom, however, noticed. Oh, she noticed everything. She didn’t say a word, but her jaw tightened, and her eyes cut sideways to Abby with all the warmth of a Siberian winter.

Abby smiled sweetly. Mom narrowed her eyes and lifted one hand without even looking at her, signing in sharp, annoyed strokes:

I know what you’re doing, you little monster.

Abby clutched her chest, offended. Moi?

She signed back, I have no idea what you’re talking about, Mommy Dearest. I’m just using good manners like you taught me, with a flutter of her fingers that somehow managed to look both angelic and smug at the same time. Mom’s sign back was not as dainty. It was quite rude, actually. But she let it slide.

Mom’s glare deepened as Jack stood to his full height, stepping fully inside the living room while trying not to be tripped by his new Velcro dog best friend. Abby could feel the second-hand embarrassment radiating off her like heat from a toaster oven. She was fairly certain she could fry an egg on the heat of Mom’s full-body blush alone.

Yeah, yeah. She got it. She was pissed.

But Abby knew, just knew, that she wasn’t mad that he was here. No, no. She was mad that he was here while she was in her Adam Sandler clothes.

But her little long lost boyfriend hadn’t been able to take his eyes off of her since she opened the door. So… Pop off, Adam Sandler.

Atlas ended up being her saving grace before Mom could fully light her ass up in ASL.

Jack straightened up with a final pat to Atlas’s side. Atlas immediately took offense, huffing a dramatic whine and bumping his big Lego-brick head into Jack’s legs. Mom caught him by the collar just in time, her fingers curling gently around it before he could knock the guy over.

“Sorry,” she muttered, tugging him back. “He forgets how big he is. He thinks that he’s a lap dog most days.”

“That’s alright,” Jack said, crouching again to meet the dog’s insistent whines with a few solid head scritches. “He’s just saying hello, aren’t ya, big guy?”

Abby let out a small, pleased hum. Dog person and he had a stupid voice he reserved for animals? She could go ahead and check that off the Not a Total Garbage Person list.

Doctor Mullet: 1. Hoodie Guy: 0. He gave off cat dad energy anyway. And she was allergic to cats, so. Sucks to suck, Hoodie Guy and your unconfirmed cat.

Atlas melted under the ear rubs and leaned his full weight into Jack, one hind leg twitching like a stuck motor. Jack grinned at the reaction and kept scratching. Mom tried not to smile, but Abby caught it; just the barest tug at the corner of her mouth. She must have been checking off the list too, though she’d never admit it.

“Oh, congratulations,” Mom said dryly, arms crossing again. “You’ve just guaranteed yourself a shadow for the night.”

Jack chuckled, unbothered. “I’ve had worse. What’s this big guy’s name?”

“That’s Atlas,” Abby chimed in, giving his head a quick pat. “Mom named him after the—”

“The Titan, right?” Jack looked up, then shifted his gaze to Mom. “That’s the one who held up the sky, yeah? Or am I remembering it wrong?”

Mom nodded once and her expression softened, just barely. “No, that’s…that’s right.”

Jack looked back up at Abby, looking rather pleased with himself over what was absolutely not his recollection of a few old stories. He gave Atlas a few more firm pats against his side like he was checking for ripeness. God, why do all middle-aged white guys pet dogs like that? It’s weirdly aggressive. But, Atty didn’t seem to mind.

“Your mom always had a thing for Greek mythology,” Jack added casually. “Probably told me the same stories a million times when we were your age.”

Mom’s mouth twitched again just barely. But this time, she didn’t fight the smile off quite as fast. Surely, that wasn’t the only thing she had a thing for. Abby raised an eyebrow, watching the faint, startled little shift in her mom’s posture that dropped her shoulders a little.

Well, well, well. Doctor Mullet came armed with nostalgia. Good. Keep reminiscing.

Abby flopped over the arm of the couch in a dramatic heap. It usually earned a pointed look from Mom, which she got, but she ignored it. There was no time for Mom Looks. She had maybe five minutes before Phase Three of this forced dinner really kicked in. She needed to prepare while she still could. She opened Spotify and scrolled with purpose. Where was it? She swore she saved that playlist on the drive home…

“She wanted to name me Andromeda,” Abby said, without looking up. “My dad said no. Thank God.”

Jack let out a low laugh. “Why am I not surprised?”

Abby smiled to herself and stopped scrolling. She didn’t need to look at him to know he was glancing toward Mom. She could hear it in his tone; the soft dip into something nostalgic, like he’d just been handed a piece of the past wrapped in tinfoil and still warm.

Abby smiled down at her screen, satisfaction blooming in her chest. Ah! There it is! She stopped her scrolling and tapped into the playlist. Now, to listen and wait. She made herself look busy while she scrolled through the playlist, adding songs to her queue like she was trying to crack a code.

Jack straightened up again when Atty decided he’d had enough attention, not because Abby had quietly patted the side of the couch to call him over and remove the sixty-pound roadblock from this absolute car wreck. Atty lumbered over and hopped up onto the couch beside her, curled up, and sighed contently when Abby kissed his nose. Well done, old man. You played your part beautifully.

There was a moment of quiet that felt like another person in the room before Mom spoke.

“So…” she said softly, “The Leanne Baker rule, huh?”

Abby tilted her head with a little shrug; she wouldn’t necessarily bring Grandma up while trying to flirt, but Mom was at least trying. Abby moved I Love You, I’m Sorry higher up on the queue. No. Too on the nose. Delete. Crap, what songs do old people like? Think, Abby, think.

Jack let out a soft chuckle that seemed way too fond for something as trivial as Grandma’s no-scrubs-in-the-house rule, but it was something. Something was good. Keep the somethings coming.

“Thought I’d give it a try,” he said.

“Yeah? How’s it working for you?”

Another long pause. “Not sure yet.”

Abby almost shot up at the quiet way Jack murmured out the words, but she kept herself glued to the seat. That had nothing to do with scrubs. That was way too much murmuring for it to be about scrubs. Something was happening and she was missing it. She subtly sat up straighter, shifting just enough to get a better look without tipping them off and caught the tail end of Mom smiling and—wait, was she blushing? Aw. Gross. Do it again.

Jack returned Mom’s smile, eyes scanning over her again before they flicked toward the entryway. Specifically, to the jacket on the hook. It was Mom’s old denim one that she always wore. The one Abby was pretty sure had predated her by at least a decade and a half and Mom had on in every formative memory Abby had. Soft at the seams, patched in two places, and old enough to legally drink. She once asked Mom why she didn’t just donate it, and she didn’t answer. Just sat there and looked at it the same way Jack looked at it now. His gaze lingered just a second too long. His jaw tightened just barely. Not enough to be obvious, not enough that anyone would notice.

Except Abby noticed. Because Abby noticed everything. She didn’t say anything though, the same way Mom didn’t say anything when she also saw him look at it and immediately pretended she hadn’t.

God. The two of them were like watching a cold war play out in real-time, only with more yearning and fewer treaties. Tragic.

Mom cleared her throat and looked away, scanning the living room with the wild-eyed urgency of someone trying to clean up a crime scene after the cops were already knocking. Mom moved through the room like she was trying to erase all evidence that they lived here. She started scooping up shoes, fluffing pillows, folding a blanket that had been crumpled in the same corner of the couch for three days.

“Sorry about the mess,” she said over her shoulder, too breezy to be believable. “It usually doesn’t look like this.”

“Why are you lying?” Abby replied without looking up from her phone. “It literally always looks like this.”

“Abby.”

“Oh no, God forbid people know we sit.”

Jack chuckled, but the glare Mom shot her could have incinerated small villages. Abby met it with a serene, exaggerated smile and an innocent flutter of her lashes, still draped dramatically across the couch like a sassy Renaissance cherub. Was pissing Mom off on purpose always this fun? She should do it more often. Not that she didn’t already, but she should do it more.

“Get your stuff off the table, please,” Mom said tightly, now fluffing a pillow with more force than necessary.

Before Abby could move, or offer another sarcastic retort, Jack was already stepping toward the table.

“I got it,” he said. “She should sit.”

Mom opened her mouth to protest. “You really don’t have—”

“She’s the one with the broken leg,” Jack interjected, already gathering shopping bags and tucking loose articles of clothing into them. “I can handle a few bags.”

“Wow, chivalry isn’t dead after all,” Abby mumbled, fighting a smile when Jack snorted softly.

Mom hovered for a moment, like she might insist again out of sheer indignance, but Jack gave her a half-smile as he as snagged a Nike bag off the table. “Really, Beth. It’s fine.”

Mom hesitated, and then relented with a soft exhale and a hand brushing lightly against his arm. “Thanks.” Abby clocked it. The arm touch. The smile that almost made it to her mom’s eyes. The casual gratitude.

Ladies and gentlemen: first physical contact has entered the chat.

Mom turned towards the kitchen, mumbling something about plates and getting him something to drink. Abby grinned to herself and turned her attention to her phone. Her playlist was ready. Stage set. Vibes calibrated. Phase Three: Forced Dinner was on the horizon. The trap was set. All she had to do now was let them walk into it.

“Jesus,” Jack said, eyeing the haul spread across the table that remained after his hands were already full. “You two leave anything for the rest of the mall, or was this a full-scale raid?”

“Blame the child,” Beth called from the kitchen, her voice light but stretched thin. “Apparently, nothing from last year is acceptable anymore. It’s an annual affair.”

“I’m incredibly spoiled,” Abby chimed in, not looking up from her phone. She tapped to another song. Who the fuck is Jewel? Is that a band or a person? Whatever. It didn’t matter; it came out in ‘95, so to the playlist it went. She added the song to the queue. “That’s why I behave like this.”

Jack let out a short laugh, shaking his head. “Where do you want all of this, House?”

She didn’t answer right away. She was waiting. Listening. The current song was seconds from ending, and when it did, she flicked her phone’s Bluetooth on, booted Mom off the Alexa, and hit play on her playlist. The music shifted, louder now, echoing in from the kitchen speaker. There. Mood set.

“Stairs is fine,” she said flatly, feigning boredom.

“Copy that.”

Jack turned, arms full, but something on the table snagged his attention. He bent slightly, eyes catching on the beat-up hardcover with post-it flags sticking out like feathers that was her AP history assignment. He picked it up, turning it over with a curious raise of his brow.

“Didn’t think your mom was much of a nonfiction reader.”

Abby didn’t look up from her phone. “She’s not. That’s mine. Mom only reads the same two books on repeat like she’s in some kind of sci-fi Groundhog Day.”

Jack turned the book over in his hand and smirked. “Let me guess. Dune and Foundation until the spine disintegrates?”

“That was one time, Jack!” Beth called from the kitchen, with that specific tone that meant she was trying not to be mad about being rightfully accused. “And I read more than just those two books, Abigail.”

Abby looked up then, rolling her eyes before she called back. “The sequels of those books don’t count, Mom.”

Jack bit back a laugh as he looked to Abby with a conspiratorial shake of his head. “It was more than one time,” he told her, reading the back of the book before he set it down.

Mom reappeared in the kitchen doorway with a clean plate in hand and a look that could only be described as resigned maternal indignation. “You two keep making fun of me,” she said, gesturing between them with the plate. She tried to glare, but her lips twitched, “but I’ll have you both know that Asimov was a—”

“Genius,” Abby and Jack said together, already groaning. They shared a sidelong glance and Jack gave her an exaggerated roll of his eyes before he stepped away from the table. Abby smirked. She had to admit, he was growing on her. Asshole respects asshole, Doctor Mullet.

Abby raised a hand in mock solemnity. “The father of modern science fiction. We know. We’ve all been blessed by the gospel of Beth.”

“So, The Battle of the Bulge, huh?” Jack asked, clearly trying to win back a few Mom Points with a subject change. Smart.

He nodded toward the book as he came back in for another round of her stuff, moving through the room like he’d lived there for years. It was weirdly domestic, but Abby knew what he was doing; this wasn’t just helpful. He was trying to impress Mom, obviously. Playing the part of the good little helper for her injured kid like he might earn a gold star. And sure, it was a little transparent. But it was also… weirdly kind of sweet. From the way Mom peeked in from the kitchen just as Jack leaned casually on the back of the couch, Abby figured she thought so too.

“Is that for school?” he asked.

Abby didn’t look at him right away. She dropped her phone to her chest, thumb hovering over the pause button of the playlist she was carefully orchestrating in the background. Operation: Wallet Drop’s third phase had officially begun from the sound of plates clinking in the kitchen, and Phase Three was delicate work. Timing was key, and so was the careful song progression from wistful to yearning that she was building brick by brick. It was totally going to ruin her algorithm, but that was a sacrifice she was willing to make.

“AP U.S. History,” she said with a sigh. “I have to finish it and write an essay about whether the Allied success was more about military strategy or environmental factors.”

Jack lit up like someone had just dared him to mansplain politely. “Oh, strategy all the way. If it hadn’t been for the 101st’s stand at Bastogne and Patton sending the Third Army to—”

“Oh my God, you would know that off the top of your head,” Abby interrupted, laughing as she shook her head and picked her phone back up.

Jack straightened slightly. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing,” she said with a little shrug. “You just look like a guy who knows a lot about World War Two.”

Jack gave her a long look, like he couldn’t decide if he’d just been complimented or insulted. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“You’re an old white dude,” Abby said without looking up from her phone. “Of course you have a weird fascination with one of the World Wars. It’s, like, a genetic trait.”

“I’m not that old,” Jack said indignantly. “I’m the same age as your mom.”

“Yeah, and you both predate the Internet. You’re practically ancient,” Abby muttered, adding Landslide to the playlist and bumping it higher in the queue.

“And I do not have a ‘weird fascination’,” Jack continued, ignoring the slander. “I just find it incredibly interesting how the Allies were able to—”

“Lame,” Abby said flatly. “Please, finish that sentence. You’re just proving me right.”

“Abby,” Mom called from the kitchen, in that half-warning, half-worn-out mom voice. “Leave him alone.”

Jack chuckled under his breath, victorious, and Abby rolled her eyes. “Thought school hadn’t started yet?”

“It hasn’t,” Abby said, quickly scanning over her lyrical cultivation a final time. She nodded slightly in approval; brick by brick, baby. “It’s summer work.”

“Really? They give you work over the summer now? They never did that when I was in school.”

“They did, Jack,” Mom called from the kitchen, dry as ever. “I just did all of it for you while we were at work.”

Jack blinked, then let out a short laugh. “That’s what you were doing up there?”

“I didn’t just spend my whole shift flirting with you, Jack. Some of us were actually working.”

Abby snorted. Something settled over Jack that lived somewhere between getting got and quiet recollection. A crash of dishes pulled his attention toward the kitchen. “Need help in there?”

“Nope,” Mom said almost way too quickly. She waved a hand toward the table without turning around. “You two sit down. It’s already done.”

Jack hovered for a second like he might ignore that and step in anyway, but eventually relented. Abby shifted to get up from the couch, tucking her phone beside her. Jack moved first, already a step ahead and reaching out without thinking. He offered a hand, casual and matter-of-fact. Abby rolled her eyes before she took it and used it to steady herself as she stood, more out of a desire not to be in pain than anything else. You could take a doctor out of the hospital, but you apparently couldn’t stop them from treating everything like a team lift.

He let go as soon as she was upright, already turning toward the table like it didn’t mean anything, but Abby noticed the way her mom did too, glancing up just in time to catch the tail end of it before quickly looking away again.

Mom was already setting plates by the time they made it to the table. Abby plopped into her seat, still rearranging her playlist like it was a bomb she was defusing. Mom set Jack’s plate down first, then turned toward Abby with a pointed look.

“Phone away,” she said, eyes flicking down to the tabletop. “You know the rule.”

Abby sighed but obeyed, tucking it screen-down next to her plate. She was done anyway. Landslide was queued up next. Right on schedule.

As Mom leaned over to hand Abby her plate, her free hand landed lightly on Jack’s shoulder for balance. It was completely absent, totally automatic. Until it wasn’t. Abby fought the squeak of meddling delight that sat in her throat.

Two touches?! Two??

Jack definitely noticed. Abby caught the flicker of something like surprise on his face, though it felt a little too soft around the edges. And then Mom seemed to realize it, too. She pulled her hand back like she’d just touched an open flame, her cheeks burning pink.

“Sorry,” she mumbled, already turning away, disappearing into the kitchen again under the flimsy excuse of retrieving her own plate.

Abby bit the inside of her cheek to keep from grinning. Two touches. Two . And Mom had flinched like she’d been caught red-handed. Mom stepped into the kitchen just as the opening notes of Landslide drifted in. She paused, just for a breath, then picked up her plate like it hadn’t shaken her.

Bingo. Abby smirked. What’s wrong, Mom? Are you afraid of changes? Too bad.

Emotional trap set, bait taken, and snap . Her plan was going better than expected. Damn, she was good. People were going to study this operation some day. This was the romantic feat of the century.

She settled in her seat and glanced across the table, just in time to catch Jack eyeing the doorway where Mom had vanished, but he didn’t pick up his fork. Didn’t move for his drink. Just sat there, patiently, like he was waiting for something. She would have found it entirely strange if she hadn’t been doing it too. He didn’t start eating until Mom returned and sat down beside him. Abby hid her smile with a forkful of pasta. Grandpa would like that. That was always his rule; he didn’t eat until Grandma sat down.

Doctor Mullet: 2. Hoodie Guy: zilch.

Then—nothing.

Nobody spoke for what felt like decades.

Painful, aching silence. The kind that made Abby suddenly hyper-aware of how loud her own breathing was. And chewing. Though, Jack didn’t chew nearly as obnoxiously as Ed had, so that was another point on the scoreboard in his favor.

She glanced between them. God. These two were so emotionally constipated.

Fine. If they weren’t going to talk, she’d just have to be the laxative.

She grimaced. Okay. She didn’t love that metaphor. She’d revisit it later.

“Jack told me Grandpa gave you a speeding ticket,” Abby said casually, twirling her fork into her pasta like this was just polite dinner talk. “I thought you said you’d never been pulled over before?”

Beth shot a look up at Jack, who kept his eyes forward, looking at Abby like she’d just accused him of murder. “Did he now?”

Jack let out a soft groan. “Christ, kid. Are you going to at least slow the bus down before you throw me under it?”

“I cannot believe Grandpa never told me that,” Abby said, eyes wide with delighted betrayal. “I begged him for embarrassing stories about you when I lived with them. Begged. And I got absolutely nothing about his perfect doctor daughter. Finally, someone pulls the veil back on Elizabeth Baker!”

Jack chuckled under his breath. Abby caught the way his expression shifted, just briefly, at the word lived before he recovered.

Mom made a sound that was mostly exasperation and maybe just a little bit amused. “Did Jack also mention that I wasn’t actually speeding, and that Grandpa clocked me while he was driving in the opposite direction?”

Jack snorted. “You’re still selling yourself that?”

“I’m not selling anything!” Mom shot back, her words stumbling into a laugh. “I was not speeding.”

“You drove like a bat outta hell, Baker.”

“Hmm,” Mom said, a little smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. “Pretty sure that was you. I was a great driver. Still am.”

Abby leaned back in her chair, quietly pleased. Call her MiraLAX, because things were finally moving.

Jack gestured with his glass, not even trying to hide his grin. “If you were such a great driver, Baker, then what happened with Atkinson’s car?”

Beth’s fork froze halfway to her mouth, shooting daggers up at Jack who just kept smiling. “Do not tell her that one.”

“Oh my god, tell me, ” Abby said, practically vibrating with glee. Forcing her mom into a weird dinner with a guy she obviously still had a thing for and Abby got embarrassing stories about her out of it too? Jackpot. This was better than anything she imagined on the drive home from the hospital.

“Alright,” Jack said, leaning back like he’d just been handed a mic. “High school. School parking lot's empty. Your mom was still there for cheer practice or some shit–.”

“It was debate team practice.”

Jack side-eyed her with a smirk. “Oh, excuse me. Debate practice; like you needed any help with that. Thanks for interrupting, nerd. Anyway, there’s only one car parked anywhere nearby. The vice principal’s sedan, just sitting there, minding its own business in the row behind your mom. Probably four spots down. And your mom, Queen of Spatial Awareness, throws it in reverse and just—wham. Right into it.”

Mom groaned and dropped her face into her hands, but she was already laughing. “That is not how it happened.”

“Oh, it absolutely is,” Jack said, nudging her with his elbow. “There was one car to avoid and you managed to hit it.”

Mom gave his arm a light swat. Oop. Touch three. “He was parked too far forward!”

“Oh, cut the shit, Baker. You didn’t even look, ” Jack said, laughing. “You just slammed it into reverse and hoped God was watching for you.”

“I was sixteen!” she protested, sitting up straight, wine glass in hand. “And I did look!”

Jack raised an eyebrow. “Sure. Looked directly through it.”

Mom shook her head, but her smile tugged wider, real now. She took a sip of wine, her elbow still resting against Jack’s. Neither of them jumped away from each other like they had on Touch #2. So… Touch #4? Kind of? Abby watched them continue to bicker, though there was zero bite to it. Her mother’s cheeks were pink and glowing, and Jack hadn’t stopped looking at her since the story started. Abby didn’t even care that she wasn’t getting a word in anymore. She was counting it. Touch #4.

There we go. Now we’re talkin’. Let’s go for five, folks. Keep walking down memory lane.

The laughter settled into a warm hum around the table until the song on the kitchen speaker changed. It started slow, just a few low guitar chords and a female voice that sounded like she was singing directly into a diary. Abby didn’t recognize it, but the vibe shift was instant.

Both Mom and Jack went still. Not dramatically, not all at once, but their postures subtly straightened. Jack’s hand, which had just been gesturing with his fork, suddenly became very invested in corralling a lone penne across his plate. Mom took a long sip of wine and avoided everyone’s eyes… except Jack’s. For a fraction of a second, her gaze flicked sideways.

Jack looked up. Not directly at her, exactly. Just…vaguely in her direction; like he was pretending to be more at the photo hanging beside her, the one of Mom in her denim jacket holding Abby as a baby at the Garden of the Gods, like maybe it had just become the most fascinating thing in the room. But his jaw shifted just enough to betray something.

Interesting.

Abby blinked, curiosity flaring. Okay, what was that? Something happened. Now what? And why? And how can it happen, like, six more times tonight?

She slowly slid her phone toward her, eyes still on the two people across the table now very invested in not looking at each other, and checked the screen.

Jewel – “You Were Meant For Me.”

Abby raised an eyebrow. Noted. Thanks, Jewel. The band or person. Whatever you are. She pushed her phone aside, lifted her fork, and made no comment as Jack cleared his throat and Mom took another drink; this time, a far bigger one.

Jack cleared his throat and finally looked at Mom. “Didn’t know you moved back home. How long were you with your folks?”

“She didn’t. Just me,” Abby said, twirling her fork. “I stayed with Grandma and Grandpa while Mom was in New York during the pandemic.”

Jack looked over, eyebrows lifted the way people usually did when Abby dropped that little nugget of humble-brag on them. “Shit… You went? When?”

Mom gave a small nod. “Right at the start of everything. Just for four months. March to June.”

“Where were you?”

“Brooklyn,” she said. “One of my girlfriends from med school works at Methodist. They needed people, so I went on a deployment contract and stayed with her. It was…”

Mom went quiet, and Abby immediately regretted bringing it up. She didn’t talk much about New York. It was like she didn’t have the words for that time, like the story had hardened into silence.

Abby remembered the FaceTime calls. The ones from the hospital break room where respirator marks curled around a smile that never really looked like hers. She always said she was fine, even though her eyes always looked like she was crying. That everything was fine. That she couldn’t wait to take Abby there when it was all over before she’d change the subject and ask Abby what she had done with her grandparents that day.

“I’m glad I went,” she said finally.

Jack’s eyes were already on her, but he didn’t say anything. He didn’t nod. Didn’t smile. Just kept looking at her in that quiet way that said he got it. Like he remembered the kind of person she was. Like maybe he had never forgotten.

Abby felt the strange prickle of something private happening in front of her, like she wasn’t meant to be there for this part, but also wouldn’t have missed it for anything. She was finally getting to the good part. Yes, Doctor Mullet. Look at my amazing, selfless, gorgeous mom. Look at what you missed out on. Keep looking at her like you don’t want to miss anything else.

Mom finally glanced over at Jack, just briefly, then back down at her plate. Abby could’ve sworn she was holding her breath.

“That sounds like you,” he said softly. “You were always like that.”

“Like what?”

“Brave.”

Oh damn. Should she excuse herself? She felt like she needed to. Especially when Mom’s eyes dropped to her plate, away from Jack’s gaze. Was this a moment? Were they having a moment? Oh my god, this is a moment. This was better than the Jewel-the-band-or-person thing. Maybe she should humble-brag about Mom more often if it meant handsome doctors looked at her like they were in an episode of Bridgerton.

Atlas padded over to the table and plopped onto his butt beside her, his head resting in her lap and tail thumping against the hardwood like a heartbeat. Abby leaned back into her chair and absently scratched his head, listening to Jack ask Mom a question about New York—and suddenly, the conversation she’d had to drag out of them started back up without a hitch.

You’re very welcome, idiots.

She wasn’t even sure when she stopped being a participant in the conversation. One second she was pulling teeth to get someone to say something, and the next, she needed to interject less and less, like she was being gently phased out. A guest star in a bottle episode.

They were talking. Like, actually talking. About Mom’s med school days in San Francisco and how she toured the Lucasfilm lobby, like, three times and drove five hours to Redwood National Park so she could walk through Endor (because of course she did). About Jack’s first deployment. Their residency horror stories. Story after story, back and forth like they’d rehearsed this in a different lifetime. She could’ve sworn she saw Mom’s posture relax. Jack’s eyes soften. At one point, they both laughed at the same time, and it wasn’t even awkward or mismatched; it was in sync. And adorable. How dare they.

It was like watching two planets slowly drift back into the same orbit, and Abby was just out here in the cold with her pasta and questions. She didn’t mind. Not one bit.

She watched Mom rest her chin on her fist, a slow, quiet smile tugging at the corners of her mouth as Jack gestured through another story, clearly enjoying whatever part of it Abby had missed. And he kept glancing at her mom in that quiet, unwavering way, like she was a book he used to know by heart and hadn’t realized how badly he’d missed rereading.

There wasn’t anything happening happening. Not technically. But it also felt like something was . Just not for her, but for something that lived in the spaces between their words, in glances and pauses and the exact way her mom tucked her hair behind her ear when she thought no one was looking.

But what she really paid attention to, more than the stories, the laughter, even the way Mom smiled, was the way Jack watched her.

It wasn’t obvious. Well, it was obvious. But not in a flashing-lights-and-arrows kind of way. It was quiet. Careful. Like he didn’t want to look too long but couldn’t help himself. Like he was checking for something; damage, distance, an opening. And every now and then, when Mom wasn’t looking, he’d just… settle. Like seeing her again undid something in him the same it seemed to in Mom.

And maybe that’s what scared Abby the most.

Because Mom wasn’t going to say anything if it had. She never did. She was good at that, letting people think that she didn’t need anyone. Letting people think that she was fine. Letting Abby think she was fine. And, okay, maybe she was fine. Maybe she did like her nights alone on the couch with a glass of wine and Law and Order: SVU and her true crime podcasts and her books she’s read a million times. Maybe alone was better. But maybe being alone had just started to feel easier than hoping for something else. Maybe alone was easier than being left. Abby knew what it was like to be left, too, and what it was like to pretend it didn’t matter. It wasn’t better. It wasn’t easier.

Her mom had done that for a long time. She said she was fine—always just fine—with that shrug like she didn’t want to talk about it anymore. But at least she had Abby. She had someone to eat dinner with, and to remind her to eat after the hard shifts. Someone to sit with on the couch when it rained and the power went out. Someone to say goodnight to. Abby had always been the one person who made it feel less lonely; who made the house a little fuller, the quiet a little softer.

But soon she’d be leaving. College. Dorms. A new life. Now Mom would only have that over summers and holidays until college became med school and med school became residency and a life that would no longer orbit around this house. Soon, it would be just Mom again. Alone.

She hated the thought of her mom coming home to an empty house. A too-quiet living room. A TV left on just for the sound of it. She’d say that she didn’t mind. She’d say that it was good for Abby, that she was proud, that she liked the quiet. But Abby knew better. Mom had already spent too many years filling silences no one else heard. Her mom was good at being alone, but that didn’t mean Abby wanted her to be. She shouldn’t have to be. And from the way Mom looked at Jack? She didn’t want to be lonely anymore either. Not really.

So, call it what you want. Matchmaking, manipulation, emotional sabotage. She didn’t care. She was going to make this happen. Whatever it took until these two dumbasses figured it out themselves.

She was going to Parent Trap the shit out of this.

…Wait. Was it still considered a Parent Trap if only one of them was your actual parent, the other was her high school ex-boyfriend, and you didn’t have a secret twin?

Whatever. Semantics.

She was going to Kinda-Parent Trap the shit out of this.

#the pitt hbo #the pitt fanfiction #the pitt #jack abbot/oc #jack abbot x oc #jack abbot fanfic #dr abbot x oc #dr abbot

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