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The House In Fitzgerald Street - Chapter 1

A John Shen X F!Reader fic Tags for this chapter: Fluff, an attempt at humor, medium slow-burn an abundance of commas

a/n: This is it, guyssss! I'm so excited to share this with you! Reblogs and comments mean a lot to me <3

The ceiling fan clicked like it was counting down to something. Another ten hour shift again, probably. You groan, tossing the blanket to the end of the bed and sit up, taking in your "apartment" (read: bed space) that's basically falling apart but asks more than half your salary for rent, leaving the rest for student debt. What's life for? Work, pay rent, pay debt, instant noodles, repeat? This is not even a nice place to live in! Hell, this isn’t even a place, this is a shoebox! You huff as you get up, back sore from that deep dent in your battered mattress. There was no point. The door unlocks and in walks your reason for living.

"Are you decent?" John had the gall to ask, already inside your room.

"Pervert," You roll your eyes, taking in his polished look, badge clipped on his scrubs, hair perfectly slicked back from his perfectly perfect face. John was a morning person but he acts otherwise just to sympathize with you. You know he's been up hours ago for his morning run.

"Call me whatever you want, I risk my life stepping in here!" He yaps about the "interior design" of your space, walking over piles of books clothes, and trinkets, while calling it an archaeological site. You're still sitting on the bed, waiting for a spirit or any entity to possess you to get dressed. When he finally makes it in front of you, he hands you a Dunkin paper bag.

"Chocolate glazed."

—-------------

"I just dont get it, if I'm going to give away 60 percent of my paycheck for rent, I should at least get decent plumbing and a stove that isnt an active health risk!" You grumble as you chew your donut, crumbs falling to your pink coat. John gently places his hand on your shoulder, guiding you to the inner side of the sidewalk and puts himself between you and traffic. He shakes off the thought of yesterday's MVA pileup involving three cars and seven pedestrians. You both take a bus to the hospital. 

"I know you can afford a better place by yourself. You're in neurology," he slurps his iced coffee through the orange straw. "I'm the one who'll be paying debt until I'm eighty."

"Oh-ho, you can't get rid of me like that, Johnny boy," you chuckle, balling up the donut liner and stuffing it into your coat pocket.

John is suddenly nervous with the thought he came up with. He talks before he could stop himself. "W-we could get married... you know, combine incomes. Tax. Financial stability. Haha!"

"Yeah sure, very romantic." You chuckle and snuggle into the uncomfortable seats, trying to catch a bit more sleep. John is both relieved and offended but gets his bearings back and pulls out his phone, letting you doze off.

"Oh... John-!" You grip his arm a few minutes later. John begs to whoever's listening that you aren't considering his proposal-not-proposal.

"What?" He turns to you before realizing what the problem was. You’ve just missed your stop. “Oh, shit!”

You and John sprint back to the hospital, costing you an extra seven minutes. And then something catches your eye.  John watches your eyes light up at an old Victorian house. Its recently been refurbished and repainted, although the grass and ivy overgrowth are yet to be taken care of. The house itself is a tall and narrow combination of brick and wood, its intricate design almost hypnotizing you to come closer. The iron gate holds a large "for sale" tarpaulin, and below that, a small stack of flyers weighed down by a brick.

John gently says your name, already reading your mind.

"Can you imagine? Mornings on that porch? Reading by that window seat? Living in a house where the ceiling doesn't leak when the upstairs neighbor uses the shower?" Your grip on his arm tightens as you spew out your ideas.

"I'll do you one better. Can you imagine being able to afford that?" He tries to be the responsible, level-headed one.

"You're no fun..." you frown.

"And we're gonna be late. Come on." John grabs a flyer and stuffs it into your coat pocket just to appease you.

—-----------------

At lunch, you try to ignore how sad and soggy your sandwich is when your hand feels the trash in your coat pocket. Wrappers, donut liners, a... flyer? Uncrumpling it open, your heart melts at its contents. Within are photos of the house's original wood interior and its specifications, all the details arranged neatly in a canva pro template and printed on an expensive, glossy paper. In the middle of all of it, the asking price printed in neat Quicksand bold font; $979,000. Your heart sinks. A tomato falls from your miserable sandwich. Greed continues to reign in the world. There is no way you and John, and probably all your ancestors combined could ever afford such a house! It isn’t even a mansion, Its just your average, humane house! your thoughts begin to spiral, and in no time, you were in your self-pity era.

John was kind enough to pick you up after a calm day shift at the E. R., sauntering his handsome self in the neurology department. He dazzles the front desk clerk with his smile and makes his way to your spot. 

“Wow, who pissed on your urine samples?” he chuckles.

"Shut up, John,” you huff. “The economy is bullying me.”

He notices the flyer, now straightened up on your desk.

"Ah,” he begins. “I'm just a doctor. I can't do much about the economy. However!-“ he pauses dramatically, "there is something I could do with that pout…” he smirks, offering you his hand, guiding you to clocking out and collecting your things from the locker.

"John, are you intentionally taking the long way home just to avoid the house?” you grumble as he rests your arm on his after he dragged you out of the hospital. As you keep walking, you notice he's been fiddling with something in his hands.

—--------

"Okay, we're here,” he pauses outside a fairly new patisserie. "But first…” he turns to you and takes your hand, sliding a ring on your finger. you get nervous. And then you notice the ring. Its shiny, silver in color, but then upon closer inspection, you see that it's made of braided paperclip wire, perfectly fitting into your ring finger.

“Do I get an explanation, or nah?” you ask John, raising an eyebrow.

"Okay, I know you love sweets even if its bad for you, but I couldn't help but feel like you need a pick-me-up…” he scratches the back of his neck, a typical John Shen quirk you've noticed ever since meeting him.

"Oh my god, are we posing as a couple to try free cake samples?!” You ask, getting excited.

"Shhh don't announce it, you muppet!” he steps closer to you.

"Okay, here's the gameplan. we won't act too coupley, or else they'll suspect. don't sell the story too hard, just act normal, okay?” John explains. You lost him at 'gameplan’ because you were mentally taking notes on which cake flavors you need right now.

John leads you into the quaint little cafe, giving his details to the receptionist. He must've called ahead.

The manager soon approaches and seats you both in a special booth and brings out trays of mini cakes in various flavors, all of them labelled in gold lettering.

“John, how much did you pay for this?” you whisper.

"Nada. Zero.” He grins proudly. "Their flawed business model allows couples looking for wedding cakes to enjoy a free taste on 17 of their best sellers and original flavors. Dana told me all about this and I figured that its worth the shot.” 

"Aww, John! My little criminal! I'm so proud of you!” 

“Hey, this isn't a crime! Just a flawed business model. Remember that.” He smirks, handing you a fork.

“You two are adorable. How long have you been engaged?” A pastry chef peeks out of the back kitchen to ask you a question. You answer without missing a beat: “Two years. Met at a cadaver lab. Super romantic. Right, baby?”

John smiles along and nods. Damn, you were good at pretending to be a couple.

—-------------

Seventeen mini-cakes later, John guides your sugar-intoxicated self out of the patisserie. He’s great with people, you note. He was nodding along and acting like there’s really going to be a wedding in a month. He was damn good at acting like you two were a couple. The chime by the door gives way to the peaceful hum of the evening.

“I can’t believe we just did that!” You laugh, taking his arm.

“Its not the weirdest thing we’ve done. Remember the time you faked a fainting spell to test the emergency department wait times?” He chuckles, stuffing his hands in his pockets, feeling all warm and giddy.

“Oh, that! Dana was so mad.” You laugh, fondly remembering your little experiment.

Cars pass lazily, their headlights diffused into soft halos by the wet ground as you bask in comfortable silence. A bus rumbles by, its windows glowing with pale, sleepy light. Across the street, a woman in a yellow raincoat walks her Golden Retriever, umbrella tilted just so. The whole street looks like it’s been dipped in nostalgia, like a still from an old film no one remembers the title of. Its a beautiful picture, and you’re living it right now.

“I love it here,” You sigh, snuggling John’s arm a little tighter. He smiles.

“Is this the cake talking?”

“No, I mean here. All of this. The walks. The night shift coffee runs. This stupid, damp sidewalk. I want to stay. I want to live near here. I… I want that house, John.” You look up to his face, romantically illuminated by the neon lights.

“Oh boy,” He huffs.

“Oh my god, I have an idea!” “Please, no-”

“if a cake tasting scam can get us free pastries-” “Please dont get our licenses revoked-” He interjects.

“Hey, the cake scam was your idea!” You pout.

“That was cake. This is a house!” John reasons. He’s dying to add the fact that you’re gonna marry each other soon anyway so it doesn’t count as a scam.

“Yes, a house! A haunted house.” Your eyes glimmer as the idea brews.

“It’s not haunted.” John squints at you.

“Not yet.” You smirk.

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[wackapedia]

Its got fake dating, fake ghost infestation, silly feelings, angst and two stupid doctors! Chapter 1 dropping this weekend!

I'm so excited to actually post this because this is my first serious series and i wrote it in a month (which is crazy to me)

The House In Fitzgerald Street

A John Shen X F!Reader fic Fluff, drama, romance, angst? medium slow-burn

Two overworked doctors. One Victorian home. Half a budget. aka; You and John Shen have been best buddies since med school. Now you're both struggling doctors, fed up with the economy and shitty housing. A house that's a walking distance from the hospital pops up at a listing, and you'll do anything to have it.

Chapter 1 - ▶️Everlasting Love - Albert Posis Chapter 2 - xxxxxx Chapter 3 - xxxxxx Chapter 4 - xxxxxx Chapter 5 - xxxxxx Chapter 6 - xxxxxx

©️WACKAPEDIA - Do not repost, feed to AI, modify or claim as yours.

[wackapedia]

The House In Fitzgerald Street

A John Shen X F!Reader fic Fluff, drama, romance, angst? medium slow-burn

Two overworked doctors. One Victorian home. Half a budget. aka; You and John Shen have been best buddies since med school. Now you're both struggling doctors, fed up with the economy and shitty housing. A house that's a walking distance from the hospital pops up at a listing, and you'll do anything to have it.

Chapter 1 - ▶️Everlasting Love - Albert Posis Chapter 2 - xxxxxx Chapter 3 - xxxxxx Chapter 4 - xxxxxx Chapter 5 - xxxxxx Chapter 6 - xxxxxx

©️WACKAPEDIA - Do not repost, feed to AI, modify or claim as yours.

[wackapedia]

Dating John Shen snapchats part 2😊

Also excited to announce i'm making a John Shen x reader series! This is on top of the one shots i have drafted on my notes app too. Happy The Pitt S2 filming day! John Shen girlies keep winning❤️

[wackapedia]

Thank you for 600 followers!

[wackapedia]

The Brontosaurus Of Pittsburgh

Jack Abbot x resident reader

Life is tough and you've been a ghost of yourself. Your attending notices. And you notice him back.

Word count: 1,576. No warnings. Lots of commas and run-on sentences to terrify my grammar teacher. Sorry, I just needed to get this out of my chest bc i feel like i've been floating this week at work, I'm so glad its over. Please enjoy. Comments and reblogs are appreciated <3 I hope someone out there sees you too. You're not suffering alone.

You were the kind of resident who would shove the curtain aside, look at the sobbing child with an injured leg knee, and say, "You're not dying. Please sit still."

All while Doctor Jack Abbot strolls in behind you with a half-drunk coffee, nods to the parent and says, "What she means is: you're gonna be fine, buddy."

You roll your eyes. "That is what I said."

You're not cold. Just cool, and calibrated for crisis. A little lower on the John Shen chill scale. When a patient crashes, you're the first to move, and you never panic. But with that detachment comes blunt delivery, which terrifies families and patients alike.

Kids cry harder when you walk in. Grown-ups would have a higher pulse when they see you approach. 

Jack picks up on this. At first, he assumes you're just rude. But the more shifts you do together, the more he sees the cracks, how you'd avoid the waiting room after bad news, how you'd stiffen at the mention of incoming vehicular incident patients, how you'd rarely, if ever, celebrate when you save someone… you just walk away.

Jack, in his quiet, world-weary way, starts translating you for others.

One night, a kid cries when you tell them they need stitches. You walk out, feeling confused because this kid's parent still hasn't come in.

“You could try not sounding like a Bond villain.” Jack sighs, patting the boy's back.

“I said exactly what was needed. No sugarcoating.” You state plainly.

“Right. But maybe, next time, don’t start with ‘this’ll hurt like hell.’”

Every so often, a child comes into the ED with a serious injury. This one's a deep gash on the forehead, hitting it while climbing the kitchen counter, trying to watch his mom make dessert. You take the lead, fast, efficient, no sugarcoating. The kid is crying, the wound looks worse than it is. He doesn't stop squirming even after you gave him something for the pain.

"If you stop squirming, this’ll take five minutes. If not, I’ll need to stitch around the movement, and it’ll scar more.” You try to sound reassuring, but his mom picks up on it. She's quite young, sleep-deprived, panicked, and already on edge. She snaps.

“You think threatening my kid is medicine? What kind of monster are you?”

The shouting escalates, fast, getting in your face. And then Jack steps in. Not loud. Not violent. Just firm.

“Step back, or we're gonna need security here.” His firm voice cuts through the tension. The kind that’s been used in warzones, not classrooms. He steps between you and the parent, calm but unshakable.

“She’s the one who’s going to stitch your child up. You want the best, you let her do her job. You want a punching bag, I’ll call security and let them handle you.”

The parent, rattled by Jack’s presence, backs off. The kid’s still crying, but the room quiets.

Jack turns to you once it’s over.

“You okay?” He asks, gently touching your arm.

“Yeah. Thanks. I... I don’t need saving, by the way.” You keep your head down, peeling the gloves off your hands.

“Didn’t say you did.”

You kept replaying the moment throughout the night. Jack stepped in not because you needed help, but because it felt like someone chose to step in for you, not out of pity but out of respect. He, above all people know this.

The kid comes back for a follow-up, waddling in with their teddy bear bandaged too. He sees you and runs up to you to show his bandaged teddy bear.

“Doctor y/n! I told my class you’re the coolest doctor ever!"

Hmm. That's new. You look down at this tiny, wide-eyed, sticky-handed creature, looking at you like you're a magic rainbow glitter fairy, and you have no idea what to do. Your hands hover awkwardly, unsure if you should pat the kid on the head or on the back. Maybe pat his teddy. Okay. Pat pat. The boy giggles.

"Doctor y/n, I wanna be like you!" He blurts out after you check on his stitches, handing you a sticker. His mom smiles. "He insisted on buying it, said he'd give it to you today."

Jack chuckles, observing from the hub.

"You alright?" He asks the next time he catches you.

"A child said they want to be like me. That's... a design flaw in the universe."

"Nah. That's hope." He says. "That's admiration. You earned it."

You don't say anything. Just a nod like you're accepting  court summons. The sticker is lime green and sparkly. You clutch it awkwardly for the next hour, trying to figure out what to do with it. You pocket it. Take it out. Stare at it. Frown at it like it's a medical chart you can't read.

Eventually, during a lull in the chaos, you peel it and stick it right on your badge, next to your name. You don't make a fuss. You don't mention it. But Jack catches it.

"Hey! That a new credential?" He chuckles, mentioning it after handling an allergy case.

"Oh. Yeah. Certified Pediatric Scarecrow." You shrug.

John Shen chuckles. "Title suits you."

A couple of days later, Another pediatric patient came in. You and Jack take turns looking after her. You observe how gentle he is with children. He whispers: “Now, you’re gonna be just fine. But when you come back for your follow-up, I’m gonna need you to bring a sticker for Dr. Y/n. It’s part of the healing process.”

The little girl gasps. “What kind of sticker?”

“Dealer’s choice. But make it a good one. She’s a real collector.” He winks.

"She collects stickers too?!"

“Oh yeah. You’ll make her whole day.”

A month later, you figure someone's been telling patients about stickers because suddenly every kid who comes back is clutching some sparkly piece of nonsense and whispering to the nurse, “Is Dr. Y/N here? I brought her something.”

By the sixth one, you manage to corner Jack near the coffee machine.

“Doctor Abbot, What did you do?” You show him the pink My Little Pony sticker.

He barely looks up. “Built you a fanbase. You're welcome.”

Eventually, your ID badge is cluttered with rainbow frogs, stars, pokemon, and one aggressively patriotic bald eagle. Jack knows you act like it's a nuisance, but you never peel them off.

Jack stood near the edge of the rooftop one morning after a difficult shift. Not close enough to be reckless, but near enough that the wind tousled his scrubs and whistled past his ears like a breath too big for the world to hold. His hands were in his pockets. His stance was casual, his right side bearing more of his weight. His eyes were heavy, somewhere far away.

He didn’t hear the door creak open. Didn’t notice the click of your trainers on concrete until you were already beside him, just behind the railings, arms folded, eyes scanning the skyline as if you too had questions for it.

They stood in silence.

Minutes passed like hours.

“It’s not a cry for help,” Jack said eventually, his voice quiet, gruff around the edges.

“I know,” You replied, not looking at him.

He breathed through his nose. The air was colder than he expected. "I just...sometimes I need to see that the city is still there. That life didn’t just... stop."

You didn’t answer right away. Your fingers dug into your own sleeves. “Nah, it didn’t stop. It just got louder.”

He let out a short, humorless breath, sensing a similar suffering under your own sleeve. “You’re something else, you know that?” 

You reached into your pocket and pulled out a slightly crumpled sticker. A brontosaurus. Big-eyed, blue,and smiling like it had never known loss.

"Here. A brontosaurus. The brontosaurus doesn’t need the rooftop because it’s already tall enough to see above the wreckage."

You shrugged. “My badge is full of stickers, Figured maybe you would know what to do with it.”

His smile was slow, reluctant, real. He was also shaking his head in disbelief. There's going to be a sticker in his badge. Finally, he's earned one.

And then you sat, side by side, on the right side of the ledge. The sky was beginning to brighten up, The city stretched before them, all its pain and promise laid bare.

You gave head pats now. Light ones. Just a tap or two to a kid's hair when they'd been brave through a procedure. It made them giggle. Sometimes it made them cry. One kid hugged you once and refused to let go until his mom pried him off. You gave thumbs-ups to adults who looked like they'd been through something. "Good job not dying," You'd say, deadpan. Then smile, just a little, as they blinked at you in surprise

Jack noticed the way you spoke slower when explaining things. The way you asked the hard questions, but waited for the answers. He noticed the way you caught his eye across the trauma bay, the tiniest nod between you when something went well. Or when it didn't, and you both just have to carry on anyway.

Sometimes he'd find you on the rooftop, hands in your coat pockets, eves forward. You never stood near the edge. You didn't need to. The city was still there. So was the suffering. But so was the sky, and sometimes, that was enough.

[wackapedia]

📸Dating John Shen snaps :>

Do not repost, feed to AI, modify or claim as yours.

The Pitt Masterlist

[wackapedia]

The Pitt masterlist

All Yours - You request to transfer to night shift after meeting Jack Abbot during Pittfest

Hospital Barbie - John Shen is highly suspicious of you, the new representative from admin

Dating John Shen snapchats - Part 1 Part 2

The Brontosaurus Of Pittsburgh - Jack Abbot notices how you interact with pediatric patients and tries to help you with it.

[wackapedia]

Hospital Barbie 🧰

Dr. John Shen x F admin!reader Word count: 2.2k guess who didnt proofread yes me

When you were assigned to "oBsErVe OpErAtiOns" as part of a vaguely defined Strategic Initiatives role (read: nepotism), no one expects much, least of all, The Pitt's freshest attending, Dr. John Shen, who's too busy keeping patients alive and admins at bay.🥤

Night 1: The elevator takes its time taking you down the lower level floor. Gloria Underwood, the CMO and your direct supervisor, had asked you to observe the emergency department's night shift and take notes. "Don't interfere, don't distract anyone. Just observe, and take notes." Were Gloria's stern instructions. Notes on what? You forgot to ask her. Its too late now though. Admin has clocked out hours ago.

The elevator doors open and you are immediately greeted by the strong smell of saline and disinfectant. You try to stride confidently, staying out of the way as you straighten the "Strategic Initiatives Assistant" badge on your dark blazer, a contrast to your "I 💉 PTMC" shirt underneath. On one hand, you're clutching your notebook, a cold cup of matcha on the other. You approach the central hub to look for an attending.

"Oh my god, we're totally getting shut down." Doctor Parker Ellis notices you walking by. Next to her, Doctor John Shen looks up from the chart. "What?" "She's here! That's the owner's daughter!" Ellis subtly tilts her head to your direction as you introduce yourself to the charge nurse.

John was on the loop with Gloria nagging the day shift about the hospital's satisfaction scores. Robby keeps the groupchat updated as often as he can and Abbot would respond with a thumbs up as soon as he reads it. Looks like its his turn to deal with admin today.

"Actually, not today." John turns away and heads to south when he sees the charge nurse look around for him.

You are offered one of the comfier swivel chairs in the station as you take in the 10pm emergency department war zone of your family's hospital. You were in a good mood, feeling really fortunate to have something to do to help.

"My god, that nepo hire doesnt know what she's doing.." a nurse whispers to John. He chuckles, giving you a quick glance before turning away. "She's smiling like she's watching puppies in a shelter…" he adds, chucking his gloves in the trash.

"Hey. I'm not really sure what's going on, but… you're doing a really good job." You suddenly appear next to Doctor Shen, startling him. "Sorry, what?" He asks, looking confused. "You. All of you. It's kind of amazing. This place is nuts, and you're still here. That's cool." You smile, keeping your hands in your blazer pockets. John blinks. "Oh!" You apologize and introduce yourself. "I'm the Strategic Initiatives Assistant. Gloria sent me here to loiter and write reports about your vibes." You explain. That doesn't make anything clearer for John.

Later in the shift, you return to your perch at the hub. During a lull, a couple of doctors ask you about your suspicious presence. "What, are you gonna write us up for not labeling IV lines fast enough?" Someone asks. "Not at all! I think you guys are very efficient. Its amazing. Great job, thank you for your service." You say sincerely. The nurses side-eye each other.

A few hours past midnight, the entire ED is unsettled with your presence. "Is she still here?" "Maybe she's, like, undercover?" "Do you think she's HR?" "She told me I was doing great. Am I… in trouble?" John tries to calm everyone.

The shift finally wraps up. John did his best to ignore you, even with your odd comments like: "Ooh, nice intubation!" "That was a really smooth IV!" "Your handwriting's actually readable. Iconic." Oh boy. He has a lot to report to the PTMC attendings groupchat.

JACK: "Is that a one time thing or is she observing tonight as well" JACK: "Question"

John huffs. He doesnt want to talk to her but Abbot deserves a heads up since he's taking tonight's shift. So he approaches you.

"Hi, hey uh.. will I see you again tonight-?" John blinks, "That's not what I meant." "I can come back if you want me to!" You laugh, playing along. 'NO! No, I mean, well, my colleague was just checking if are you still observing tonight is all…" John suddenly feels jittery. Shouldn't have had that third cup. "Oh so you won't be here tonight. That's a shame. I guess I'll sit tonight out." You shrug. John pauses. And then asks: "were you flirting with me?" "Ha! You started it!" You laugh. "I- I didn't mean it like that-" He's deadpans, trying not to be flustered.

"Okay fine, I'm flirting because your shoulders are kind of unfair and I think your face is cute when you get annoyed." You answer. He wished you didn't because he might be going into a cardiac arrest right now and he's half-blaming the coffee.

You head back to the administrative floor to hand off the notes you've taken. A gleaming report that concluded in "possible error in data collection and computation of satisfaction ratings" because how can someone be unhappy if they leave the emergency department in one piece?! (Usually)

Emergency Department Night Shift Staff Report

Patient Interactions: Positive! ✨ Responsiveness: Amazing!🤩 Doctor Highlight: Dr. John Shen😍 - composed, efficient, nice hands Notes: • Everyone's doing their best! 👍 • I would trust these people with my life!! 🫰 • One nurse called me 'sweetie.'😘 Loved that. • Did not observe any disorganization.💪 • Maybe a dog mascot would help?🐶

Meanwhile, John also types up his Attendings groupchat report: "She was sitting there. Smiling and being all cute while drinking matcha like it’s a goddamn high school lunch break.”

ROBBY: “And that upset you?” JOHN: “It’s weird. It's unprofessional. It’s distracting. Like, why is she even there?” ROBBY: “Maybe she likes the show. We’re sexy when we’re stressed.” JACK: 👍 ROBBY: “You like her. She's pretty, she's your type." JOHN: ????? ROBBY: “You’ve been talking about her here for the entire duration of your shift. Last week you only said five words to me total. And three of them were ‘need more gauze.’” JOHN: "Would you just get your ass here so I can go home?" ROBBY: "Already rounding the corner, brother😂"

Night 4: You have long abandoned taking notes after your first observation. Gloria didnt have any input on the notes you submitted, probably because she didn't read it in the first place. Of course, no one wants to hear the nepo baby's opinion. You haven't submitted anything since and no one seems to notice. You decide to just enjoy the view, observe the night shift, and watch John Shen.

The doctor in question walks by, and you perk up like a sunflower tracking the sun. John is fast, precise, cool as a cucumber and undeniably good at what he does.

"She's been doodling hearts around your name today…" Doctor Parker walks with him. John sighs and tries to ignore her, until he sees you walking up to him. "Hi, Dr. John!" You smile, like sunshine warming him all over. "oh, hey hospital Barbie…" He tries to keep his neutral expression, making sure his deadpan voice isn't giving away any giddy feelings. You gasp. Oh no, he's ruined it. He's ruined his job and his shot. "Hospital Barbie?! So you think I'm pretty?" You grin, stepping closer. He tries not to panic, pulling a bay curtain between the two of you so John can pretend to look into a patient.

You huff and walk back to the hub, watching the charge nurse pick up the phone. Her expression changes before announcing "guys, MVA inbound, 18 passengers, four confirmed critical."

Yikes. You get up and watch the department buzz to life. Gurneys pulled out, trauma bays restocked, comms explode. "Is there anything I can do to help?" You ask. A nurse glances at you. "Stay out of the way, sweetie." You gulp, feeling like you need to apologize for existing. John sees your reaction and makes his way over to you while putting on fresh gloves. "Hey, you good? There's a social worker on shift. She'll be in the waiting room. Families of the patients are going to start pouring in. You'd be good there." He instructs, firm but calm. You nod, feeling a little lost in his eyes. He quickly makes his way by the entrance as the first of the ambulances roll in.

You split your time between the waiting room and the main floor of the ER. Nurses run here and there, stressed and exhausted, juggling current patients with the MVA patients, making do with the lack of staffing and upstairs beds. It takes hours before it finally calms down. Handing a tissue to one of the families of the victims, you decide to head back to see how things are going.

John's name is already on your lips before you realize you're whispering it. The fluorescent lights buzz overhead, but all you hear is the monitors beeping, tools clanking, nurses exchanging jargon. Then you see him: John Shen inside trauma bay 1, sweat lining his brows as he gives chest compressions to the teen laying motionless on the bed. Blood, sweat, and then silence. A nurse helps the attending down the gurney as he calls the time of death.

A gasp escapes your lips. Even when you're outside the bay, John seems to have heard you. He turns, pulls his gloves and gown off and squeezes some disinfectant before approaching you.

"Hey, you alright? Lets get you some air…" he ushers you out after noticing how you went pale.

It was quiet at the parking lot. John leans on one of the cars parked nearby and sighs. "You weren't supposed to see that." He says, suddenly feeling protective of you. "Why not?" You raise an eyebrow, watching him groan as he sits on the curb after being on his feet for hours. He shrugs. "This hospital has my last name on every wall. And I didn't even know what that meant until tonight. That kid… that kid died-" Your voice cracks. You try again. "There weren't enough nurses. There weren't enough beds. If the board had listened, if we actually fixed things instead of-" John takes your cold hand and gently pulls you to sit next to him. He doesn't say anything, and it makes you feel worse.

"I'm sorry. He was your patient. You lost him. And I'm here spiraling like it happened to me." John gives you a tired smile. "It did happen to you. Just differently." "I'm really sorry. How are you holding up?" You find yourself wanting to run your hands through his soft hair. So you do. John almost moans at the sensation. A few quiet beats almost lulls him to sleep as you continue massaging his scalp. "How do you even come back after this?" You whisper. "Sometimes… we win. We save someone who was never supposed to walk out. And it makes nights like this hurt a little less." He sighs, eyes closed. You take in his beautiful features in the low light. His eyelashes over tired eyes, his skin, his whole being. You spend a minute more in the quiet, just breathing, being next to each other, and being each other's support.

Back inside the emergency department, John slips right back to finish the last leg of his shift. Writing notes. Checking in with the residents. Staying naturally sharp and calm. But now he glances at you more often. He chuckles as he sees you nodding off at the hub, your messy bun lopsided, notebook long forgotten.

You are woken up by the man of your dreams about an hour later. John says your name as he gently shakes you awake. "Hey, come on. Let's get you home."

"You done?" You groan, your sore neck complaining as you sit up. "We both are. Come on, I'll drive you home."

You doesn't say a word. Just follow him to the car, and when he opens the door, you sink into the seat like it's where you're meant to be. You take in the smell of his car, his perfume, his coffee, and something rich and fragrant your brain can't name right now.

"Horizons Tower…" you murmur when he buckles up on the driver's seat. John glances over, brows lifting before he schools his expression into something neutral, polite, and professional. 'Of course she lives there.' He chuckles to himself.

You vaguely remember arriving. Maybe you offered him the pull-out couch. Maybe he was too tired to argue. Maybe you handed him a towel after he asked if he could shower first. Maybe he smiled and rolled his eyes at those cow-print pajamas you meant as a joke before disappearing into the shower.

It’s all a blur.

Hours later, you blink awake. Light is blocked out by your thick curtains. John is next to you, peacefully asleep, one arm tossed across your waist, absolutely hogging the blanket.

You don't move.

"I could get used to this." John mumbles. “Me too.”

You both fall quiet again, wrapped in the hush of the afternoon, the kind of silence that feels earned. Sunlight leaks through the gaps of your blackout curtains in lazy streaks, catching the rise and fall of his chest, warming the space between.

Your eyes flutter closed again. You think about snuggling closer. Maybe saying something stupid. Maybe meaning it. Maybe he feels that way too, after tonight. Your hand begins to drag closer to his when you hear a sudden knock on your door.

Your heart skips. Your eyes snap open.

Your phone had been buzzing on the coffee table. Three missed calls. From your dad.

You slowly glance at the door like it might bite and mutter under your breath: “…Please don’t be him.”

------------

I loooove John Shen he's my gummybear

I might come up with a part 2 of this where he meets the dad uwu

[wackapedia]

All Yours

Jack Abbot x doctor reader Word count: 1,700 :) You request to transfer to night shift after meeting Jack Abbot during Pittfest

Warnings: None i think, just flirty reader and closed off Jack. Not proofread, just something i giggled to while watching The Pitt :)

Day 1 - 7:00 am Dr. Robby picks up clipboard to get up to speed with the whole department. Patient charts, admin notes, shift change requests- He pauses when he sees it. Neatly written in a pink glitter pen, smelling like flowers, is a transfer request letter. He sees your name and already knows its nonsense.

Robby turns to you, leaning an elbow on the counter of the hub. "Morning!" You grin, a new sticker on your badge. Robby looks down on the paper and reads aloud: "Requesting transfer to night shift for better lunar rhythm alignment and decreased daytime allergies." He deadpans. You nod.

"Are you allergic to sunshine or just looking for Dr. Jack Abbot’s schedule?" He accuses playfully, grabbing Dana's attention. "How dare you! Keep your voice down! I’m simply trying to broaden my experience!" You look around, grateful that no one else heard him. "Uh-huh, by rearranging your circadian rhythm?" Robby grins teasingly, clicking his pen and signing your request form. "I did read an article that its effective-" "You've been winking on Jack every morning during turnover." Robby files your request form in one of Dana's organizers. "Well, I have eyes. And he's single!" "That man is married to the trauma charts." "I'll seduce him out of his charts, then." You smirk. Robby stares at you for a second. "You scare me sometimes." "Do I get the shift?" You ask as he walks away. "Yeah, you're starting tonight. Come back in eleven hours. Don't overdo it." Robby heads off to check on his patients. "Good luck, kid." Dana chuckles.

6:00pm You walk in, well rested and ready for your first night shift, carrying a small box of donuts for the night crew. You spot Robby and Jack exchanging notes and typing up on the computer. "Good evening, night shift nation!" You grin, setting the box on the hub. Robby groans and leans into you, "I told you not to overdo it," "I'm not! I got these fresh from the bakery for everyone…" You open the box, nurses and doctors flocking in like pigeons. "I also asked them to put extra glaze on the Boston cream because you look like a creamy guy…" You pick up a glazed donut, offering it to Jack. His brain almost takes it the wrong way- "She's talking about the donuts, Jack. Right, y/n?" Robby chuckles, praying for Jack's blood pressure.

Robby gives the both of you a formal introduction despite having met each other during the pitfest fiasco. He hands him your transfer request letter. "This is a scrapbook." Dr. Abbot notes. "I like to leave a little razzle-dazzle in my wake. Keeps people from flatlining too early." Jack pulls Robby aside. "Is she serious?" "No. That’s the point. Good luck." Robby picks up his backpack and leaves. "Love you, Robby! Dream of normal EKGs!" You say goodbye. He walks away and waves without a second glance. When you turn your attention to the hub, Jack is still there typing up on the computer, the donut still resting on its liner on the counter. You gently nudge it towards him. He looks up, his beautiful golden eyes catching the harsh fluorescent of the emergency department. "Are you bribing your attending?" "No, I’m making sure you're happy and comfy and ready for the shift!"

As the shift continues, each minding their own business, Jack can't help but feel he is being watched. Robby did warn him that Gloria's breathing down their necks about patient satisfaction ratings but this is different. He's being observed and- oh, there she is. He catches you pretending to look at something else behind him, your expression suddenly changing from a smile to a nonchalant "hmm, I'm thinking" look. Jack chuckles and shakes his head to himself.

Your first week came and went easy. With your eye candy inspiration just around the corner, you really can't complain. Jack would chuckle at your puns and jokes but he doesn't get some internet lingo, which entertains the interns greatly. At least he's aware what crashing out means now. Some nights when its less insane, you take selfies with him in the background, slightly turned away or face just out of frame. In one of your instagram posts, you asked Jack to hold his coffee cup out right next to yours.

Day 6 - 6:00 am Instead of reviewing patient notes, Robby slides next to Jack and shows him your instagram post. "Congrats on getting soft-launched" He smirks. "I… don't know what that means. Is that me?" He squints on Robby's screen before grabbing his phone, swapping it with the charts iPad. Jack scrolls through your instagram feed, smiling at your selfies, photos of animals, glimpses of your daily life he finds himself thinking about when he's trying to sleep. "Hi, Robby! You're early today!" You catch the two of them. Jack almost drops the phone. "Yeah, I had to show Doctor Abbot here something… important"

he shows her "did you post this?" "um, y-yeah, its not that serious, really.." "You told people we're dating?" "W-what? no! They just… assumed…" you shrug, your voice fading. "I can make it official-launch next shift if you want." Jack looks utterly at a loss, hands the phone back to Robby and marches off, acting like his ears aren't turning pink.

"o-oh. is he mad?" You nervously ask Robby. "If he's mad, you'll know. Trust me."

The shift ends. You don't talk to him except for patient related concerns and handoffs. You couldn't help but wonder if you've overstepped. The entire walk home, your mind replays the conversations you had with Jack. You admit, you did say a lot of dumb words this past week, but you didn't mean to be disrespectful. You were just overjoyed to share a shift with him, to finally get to know him, and to soak in his stares that's enough to shock you back to life.

You come home and take a quick shower before diving into bed. Your socials has gotten quite the attention with the comments always flooded with teasing from your friends and relatives. Your follower count also increased, not recognizing any of those accounts. Yeah, you probably did go overboard with the fake soft-launching thing.

You went to bed after archiving the photos of yourself and Dr. Abbot.

Week 2 ‐ 2:00am You didn't talk to Dr. Abbot unless it was absolutely necessary, urgent, and with no intern in sight to bother. It wasn't ideal but it felt necessary, considering how uncomfortable it must've felt to Jack- Dr. Abbot. Its as if he heard your thoughts, he sets his eyes on you and approaches you at the hub.

You look up, pretending to just notice him him, and give a small smile. But it’s polite now. Distant. "Need anything?"

"No. I just—" Jack hesitates, then asks, "Did… something happen?"

You want to play dumb but you feel like you've wasted enough of his time. "Just thought I crossed a line and… you didn’t like it," you add calmly with slight resignation. "I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. So I fixed it."

Jack was a man who can handle cardiac arrests but not this. He just stands there uselessly as you answer him so nonchalantly, like nothing’s broken.

Was it a game? Were you just playing with him? Jack had just made an instagram account to follow you! The pictures were gone after he screenshotted two of five and he's just confused with the app and now he's confused with how you're acting. Jack paces inside the break room. He opens and closes a drawer like that’ll give him answers but only finds some packets of sugar, creamer, biscuits, and your pink sticker packs.

After the shift, Robby finds Jack in the rooftop."You’re moping." He begins. "I’m not moping." Jack rubs his face, groans, and mutters, "She’s not talking to me." "You mean, she’s finally treating you like everyone else?" Robby chuckles, leaning on the guard rail with him. "…yes." Jack sighs. "Well, congrats, you’re now everyone else. How’s that feel, genius?" Robby laughs, offering nothing useful.

Jack stares at him, then finally straightens up. "Where are you going?" "To be an idiot with a plan."

You were already feeling fragile from missing your favorite doctor. You haven't had your favorite hallway banter, haven't had a real laugh, and now here comes this big, serious, perfect-haired doctor with the sexiest arms you've ever seen, casually peeling off a sparkly pink heart sticker and just. Boop. Right on your forehead.

"Ow-!" You say out of surprise rather than pain. And Jack smiles, like everything’s fine. Like he didn’t crush your heart last weekend when he pulled away and stopped smiling back.

You blink fast, hand coming up to trace the heart shaped sticker on your forehead. You blink faster. Until you can’t keep them in anymore and those big glassy tears just spill out and you whisper: "You can’t just do that."

Jack’s smile falters. "Do what?"

"This. You can’t flirt with me again. Not when you hated it before. I’m not-" your voice wobbles, "I’m not a game."

Jack's face drops. "What-, no. No, that’s not-!”

You try to be a big brave girl and own up to your mistakes. "I get it. You didn’t like being on my instagram. I made people believe we were a thing. I was stupid. I'm sorry. I made everything awkward. So I archived everything and I shut it off and now I’m just-I’m just trying to stay out of your way, and you-"

"I miss you." He interrupts.

Silence. Heavy, thick, pin-drop silence.

You look up, lips trembling. "Then why did you-?"

"I got scared." He sighs in relief that you're talking to him.

You laugh, wet and bitter. "Scared of me?"

"Scared of liking you so much, I won't know what to do."

He reaches out, gently plucks the sticker off your forehead, and instead places it on the left side of his scrubs, right over his heart. You see the word "All yours" printed in an exaggerated cursive font.

"I didn’t hate your posts," he says. “I checked every day. I have an account now, although I cant remember the password," he chuckles, feeling a bit sheepish. "And I don’t hate you, or anything you did. I don't hate the pictures, I just, didn’t know how to be that guy yet."

"And uh…" You pause, wondering if this is really real. "…Are you that guy now?”

Jack just looks at you, and answers you confidently with his whole chest, pointing at the glittery sticker on his chest. "Yeah. If you’ll let me try again."

[wackapedia]

The Kingmaker's Daughter

Lucius Verus x reader

Lucius finds himself becoming emperor when all he wanted to do was liberate Rome into a free republic. Things get in the way and become more complicated when you get involved.

I intended this to be a two parter but I didnt feel like i want to lose the momentum so here's 6k words not proofread, we die like Macrinus. Also this is quite dialogue-driven, I'm still crawling back to writing after being gone for a year uwu

Warnings: Arranged marriage, drinking, cheating allegations, mild brat behavior from you, allusions to sex but not explicit, people (not Lucius) being an ass to you, childbirth, mention of rot, mention of an angry mob eating the rich, a sick child, ANGST WITH HAPPY ENDING

The sun is high over Rome. The imperial building gleams proudly as the gods grace another day for its citizens. Inside, Lucius Verus Aurelius finds himself among the senators all yelling over each other, some agreeing to his proposition of turning Rome into a republic, the other faction wanting to crown him as emperor and remain as an empire, mostly for personal gain.

Agrippa, your father and one of the senators, assumes the position of first consul as soon as the people of Rome cheer Lucius's name. You watch him from the window of the grand palace as he passionately urges the senate to remain as an empire while the former gladiator sits on his humble seat, quietly observing each one of them.

"Your majesty, if I may propose an offer..." Agrippa addresses the gladiator, effectively silencing the rest of the senate. He continues.

"We can agree to a republic..." a faction of the senate groans. "If you will become an emperor first, guide us on how it should be, in order to serve Rome and its people." The consul's eyes gleam with hope as the former gladiator considers this offer.

"A year or two. We may be old men but we can be taught..." He continues, jesting at his own expense. You wonder what he is planning. "After so, we'll send you off peacefully. Did you want a farm villa? We can give you that. We can bring peace not only to you but to all of Rome, once and for all."

This seems to appease the senate, waiting for Lucius' answer.

"One year. We will liberate the cities, reduce the tax, and focus our efforts on infrastructure, rather than the militia." The former gladiator declares. You watch him agree to your father's deal and hope he is smart enough to escape whatever your father was planning.

And hence the gladiator is crowned Emperor. His distaste for lavish parties and revelries dampen the celebration. You watched him in his robes, and the golden crown of laurels upon his head. He seemed uneasy.

"Congratulations, Caesar. The gods have blessed Rome with you." You approached him after your father had urged you to say something. His eyes shift to you briefly, oceans and specks of gold within them, dancing under the firelight.

"Agrippina." He addresses you with the name derived from your father's. "Is it fortune or desperation?" He sighs, putting his cup down, seemingly disinterested with you.

"Perhaps both?" You smile and move closer, quietly wanting more of his attention. He chuckles and finishes his drink before standing up, leaving for his quarters. This stuns you. Men usually throw themselves at your feet, stumbling on their words, trying to give a compliment. This man, this new Caesar however, is itching to get to work, having no time for celebrations or women or drinking. You have heard from your father that he is preparing to leave for the southern territories, crossing the sea to liberate what General Acacius worked so hard for to please the previous emperors.

The night the emperor left, you were summoned late at night in your father's chamber. He explains he plans to marry you off to Lucius.

"A gladiator, father?" You stand there, hands on your hips.

The consul pours himself some wine, calmly answers "An emperor."

You scoff at his idea and correct him. "A temporary emperor."

Agrippa raises an eyebrow and sips his drink. "Only if he remains foolish enough to think he can leave."

You exhale, trying to calm your breathing as you realize the truth. They won't let him go. "You have spent my entire life turning me into the perfect pawn. And now, I am to be thrown at a man who despises the very world I was raised for?"

Agrippa, finally looking at you directly, his voice smooth and measured. "You misunderstand, my dear. This is not your endgame. This is only your first move."

You stiffen. Your father steps forward, resting a hand on your shoulder.

Agrippa, softly, almost indulgently speaks to the pawn he raised. "Lucius wants a republic. That makes him predictable. And predictability makes him easy to control."

You swallow hard, staring at the floor.

The wise and scheming consul tilts your chin up with a finger and smiles like a wolf. "You will be his wife. You will be his empress. And in time, when he tires of politics—when he sees how ungrateful Rome is—you will ensure he remains exactly where he belongs."

You whisper, realizing what is being asked of you. "On the throne." 

The consul squeezes your shoulder, pleased with you for the first time in years.

"That’s my girl."

When Lucius returns, he scoffs when he is summoned by the consul.

"Hail Caesar! The gods bless you with wisdom and courage. The people speak of your strength! And the senate praises you for your discipline."

Agrippa pours him a drink, acting like they are equals. Lucius is exasperated at this ass-kissing.

"Get to the point, Agrippa. Why have you summoned me?"

Ah, yes! Well you see, there are rumours..." He begins.

"There are always rumours."

"B-but this is grave, your highness! They speak of us being weak and unstable. Rome needs stability, not just a warrior on the throne." The consul offers a friendly smile. Lucius was about to say something but Agrippa continued in a tone filled with mock-lamentation.

"A warrior without a family is a dangerous thing... The people talk, the foreign envoys note the absence of a wife. Why does Rome have an emperor without an empress? With no heir? If you do not do something-"

Lucius' jaw tightens. They dare give the emperor an ultimatum? "They can say whatever they want, Consul. I have no interest in ruling beyond my term. Consider your words carefully. You are speaking to Rome."

The consul hides his fear well, his smile unwavering. "And yet Rome is not ready to be abandoned." He slides a cup towards Lucius.

"Caesar, if you do not secure your position, others will. You are the best we have towards a republic, we can not afford to lose you."

Lucius' face remains impassive. Agrippa doubles down. "Do you truly think a year will end peacefully? That you can just walk away? No. You will need your allies. You need the image of permanence. A wife. A noblewoman, trained, prepared to carry out her duty to Rome to silence those who doubt."

Lucius smirks at this man's audacity, knowing exactly who he will put forward. "You're talking about your daughter, I see. What if I refuse?"

Agrippa's smile morphs into a dangerous smirk. "Then you will rule alone without the support of the senate. Without the nobility. Without legitimacy. And when the senate decides that your time is up, who will protect you then? Your friends from the arena? You've sent them all home, Hanno."

Lucius stews in anger, deciding whether slashing this man's throat will do any good. The consul continues, knowing he's won. "She is intelligent, well-bred, loyal to Rome. She has the blood of Caesar from her mother's side, you will find no better match."

The stress of the wedding preparations catches up on you. The dress was not how you wanted it, sending it back to the seamstresses for the third time. Lucius wanted no part in the preparations, leaving the decision-making all to yourself, with the pressures of your family. A servant brings you your cup as you go over the flower arrangements. When the liquid touches your tongue, you hurl the goblet aside, clanging against the marble floor and startling the florists.

"Are you simple?! I said the wine must be from my father's private reserve, not this rubbish!" You yell. The servant trembles and apologizes profusely.

Lucius walks in, secretly watching the scene.

"Pick it up." He commands. Shame and humiliation take over her expression. Lucius repeats. "Pick. Up. The cup."

You hesitantly bend down, picking up the cup as Lucius dismisses everyone out of the hall.

"I have seen the treasury report. You are spending too much." He begins, his tone unreadable.

"It is an emperor's wedding-" You begin.

"I am reminding you that you are to be my wife. try to act like you are more than a spoiled girl playing empress." He remains calm and leaves you alone in the hall, letting you wallow in shame.

The wedding was a grand affair. Your aunts had spun a romantic tale of how you two had secretly met during his arena battles, how you had been his inspiration in making Rome a better place. And a better place it has been in the past eight months. The rich are taxed more, the poor are provided for. No more wars, no more slave trade, no more gladiator fights. Instead, the arts have flourished, making way for these outlandish tales, making you sound extremely likeable as an empress.

The wedding night was uneventful. Lucius had to leave at first light to finish some tasks and preferred to have a full night's sleep rather than do anything else, much to your relief.

While the emperor is away, your father reminds you of your duty, to make sure the idea of the republic never arises again. In exchange, you are showered with exquisite silks from the east, perfumes from Egypt, and pearls enough to drown a grown man. Your father hands you a parchment, a script of what you should say when you make appearances, further solidifying the empire and setting back your husband's mission.

When Lucius returns, he sees there are beggars on the streets again. He sees some of the militia coming home with pillaged goods from various cities while he is liberating another.

"You made an oath, you swore you would stand with me. That was a lie." Lucius marches in the study where you were going over the speeches your father had made. You didn't know he'd be back today.

"I am only doing what's best for Rome!" You defend, your voice matching his.

"Your Rome. Your father's Rome. What is this?" He grabs the documents on your desk, reading the imperialist speeches.

"I... I do not have the luxury of ignoring him..." You refuse to meet his gaze.

Lucius drops the papers and harshly pulls out a chair to sit on. This causes you to flinch and step back, fearing this man could have your father's temper, or worse. Lucius notices. He has always been observant.

"I... I would never-" He begins, keeping his voice soft.

"I know that!" you lie and keep your defensive stance, not believing his words.

Your husband stews on it for a while. "Your father, has he hit you?"

You stay silent, collecting the papers.

Lucius realizes that you are not his enemy, but a victim and a prisoner.

You and your husband make an entrance at the senate hall. Lucius pulls out a seat for you next to him. The consul begins his praise but is interrupted.

"I have heard you were moving the militia without my approval."

"R-Rome needs stability, not hesitation." Your father grins.

"This is not stability, this is control." Lucius shuts him down. Your husband's intellect never fails to amaze you.

"Then let us speak of stability. Rome needs an heir." Agrippa smiles, never glancing at you. Your stomach drops when you comprehend his words.

"Indeed! A proof of consummation must be public knowledge. The people demand assurance." Another senator adds. You try to keep your eyes straight, staring a hole into the pillar. You were scared at what Lucius would say. He is also just a man after all, having his needs, wanting pleasure from the woman who's expected to provide it. You may have shared a few nights in the same quarters, and he has been completely respectful so far. If he wanted to force an heir upon you, who would stop him? Was he showing patience? Restraint? Or was it just a matter of time?

The senate continues to make crude remarks about you, as if you weren't a person.

"Any man who speaks of my wife like this again will answer to me." Lucius declares, silencing them. You exhale, slightly out of relief. Lucius may not be an enemy, but he is yet to prove himself to be your ally.

The emperor is called up here and there later in the day, various meetings with various people, leaving you to run the household. Your father confidently marches inside your house, grabbing you by the back of your head.

"Tonight, you lay with him, do you understand?" The consul hisses, gripping her like how he normally would ever since you were a child.

You don't flinch but your stomach churns. You dare to ask, just to be difficult. "And if he doesn't want me?"

Your father's fingers tighten painfully. "Then make him want you. I'm sure that won't be difficult."

Later that night, your maids scrub your skin raw, painting you in expensive perfume and lace you in scandalous fabrics meant to entice. You attempt to fight back your panic attack when you hear your husband open the door.

Lucius stops when he sees you. Your gaze was locked into your hands, folded neatly on your lap where the edge of your dress ends.

"What is this?" He asks, more tired than angry. You couldn't find your voice.

Lucius sighs. You fear you have angered him.

"I won't touch you if you don't want me to. You don't owe them proof of anything." He picks up a robe of his and puts it within your reach, averting his gaze from your scandalous attire.

Somehow, your last shred of dignity finds insult in his disinterest. Nonetheless, you were grateful.

"I've never known anything that was mine." you hold the robe over yourself, thankful for the warmth.

"The world is yours, my empress. Take your time. You don't have to decide tonight." His voice comforts you like warm milk before bedtime. The dim candles cast shadows on his face, making you unsure if he smiled at you or was it a trick of your imagination. Also, what did he just call you?

"Do you want me to leave?" He asks.

"Please stay..." Your emotions break like the first rain after a long summer.

Lucius remains respectful as he moves closer, eventually sitting on his side of the bed. You couldn't help but be thankful, but at the same time wonder what would've happened if...

"Would it hurt?" You ask before you could stop yourself.

Your husband answers you with gentleness, patience, and honesty. "It might. But it could also be like how the poets say."

"W-what do they say?" You ask, getting comfortable on your side of the bed.

Lucius keeps a playful smile as he recites some of the poems, making you blush with their imagery that's both vulgar yet romantic. He tells you of intertwining vines and dewy flower petals, and sweet juicy fruits-

"A fruit? How so?" You make him pause. He chuckles nervously, almost boyish.

"Ah well when it's... a man... pleasures a woman... he uses his tongue and..eats her... fruit..." He explains, hoping you don't notice how hot his face is.

You stare at him, completely blanked out.

"Her... fruit?"

Lucius raises his eyebrows and moves his eyes down, trying to communicate the word without terrorizing you.

"But would that be pleasurable?"

"I-I would hope-"

"For a man??"

"Oh, Indeed!" He chuckles, "Well for me, that is.."

The night continues as the ice breaks between you, laughing and explaining poetic euphemisms, gradually getting comfortable with each other. You find yourself gravitating towards him, brushing your fingers against his skin. You don't miss how his breath hitches and he doesn't miss your jaw tensing as he continues his poetry. You suspect some of these are his own.

As the sky begins to brighten, you scoot closer, resting your hand on his arm.

"Lucius..." You whisper, silently communicating what you want.

"You don't have to." He whispers your name, giving you the freedom to say no. To not do it out of duty.

"I want to. Do you want to?" you ask nervously.

"Yes." He whispers, tracing his fingers over your jaw. You move closer to kiss him and he gladly reciprocates.

The sun is now high up in the sky when you wake up, feeling blissfully sore. Lucius lays half on top of you, his hair tickling your chin. He stirs and rolls off of you, not wanting to make you uncomfortable.

"Good morning..." You begin, pulling the sheets over your bare body.

Your husband groans and smiles like he's drunk, resting his arm over his eyes while the other pulls you closer.

"Did you... like eating my fruit?" You jest, making him laugh.

"I regret explaining that to you. You're gonna keep saying that, aren't you?" He teases.

The bliss is short-lived when someone knocks on your shared bedroom door. Lucius groans and doesn't bother covering up when he opens the door to find his own father-in-law, pushing himself in their room and tries to grab the bedsheets for proof of consummation. Before he makes it, Lucius grabs him and presses a blade against his neck.

"G-good morning, Caesar. I only wish to see the proof, the public demands it, you see-"

"Try asking again and see what I give you." Lucius presses the blade tighter, making him bleed.

Lucius throws him out of the room. You stare, keeping the blanket over you. You feel humiliated, trying not to cry.

Lucius drops his dagger and turns to you.

"Are you hurt?"

"N-not physically,"

A few days after the incident, you overhear your husband refusing his commander's suggestion to travel to the east to ensure the loyalty of some rich lord.

"I can not leave my wife. There are snakes everywhere, especially in the senate." Lucius explains to his commander.

This makes you feel both happy and guilty for holding him back.

Your father pulls you aside a few months later. He rarely sees you nowadays, Lucius must've banned him from the imperial residence.

"Are you pregnant?" He asks directly.

"W-what? No, I mean I don't think so-" You return to your nervous demeanour whenever you're alone with him.

"Are you daft, girl? You ought to find out. If you are not, keep trying. And make sure its a son." He scowls.

Your monthly courses arrived that week. Lucius rarely, if ever, initiates with how he is too tired or too busy from the day's work. Your household duties also kept you occupied during the day, only seeing him briefly when he comes to bed when you are asleep.

One day, one of the new serving girls linger by your door after dressing you for the day.

"What is it, Milena?" You ask, glancing at her through your polished silver mirror.

Milena glances around before stepping closer. This alarms you a bit, but she whispers: "Your husband has taken on a lover,"

You blink, not really believing it. Lucius? Your Lucius?! Your chuckle fades into doubt. What if? He has been coming home late in the evenings…

The serving girl leaves you alone to think about it. He is an emperor, after all. You’ve seen how power corrupts men, expanding their ego and their appetite.

Later that night, Lucius enters your shared bedroom and joins you in bed, going straight to sleep. You feel the mattress dip behind you, the covers shifting as he covers himself. He gently reaches out for you, briefly brushing his fingers against your skin before he’s out cold.

You face him quietly. Could he really? You’re not so sure anymore.

This goes on for a few nights more. Lucius begins to notice how you don’t joke around with him anymore, how you’re always in deep thought, eyes watery or swollen especially in the morning.

He catches you one night when he feels you leave the bed. He immediately calls out to you when he hears your sobbing.

“Is it true?” You begin.

“Is what true?” Lucius reaches out for you but you pull away.

“That you’ve taken another woman-”

His jaw tenses. Caught. “Who told you that?”

“You think I would betray you?” His voice breaks. You hate how tender and hurt he sounds.

“I don’t know what to think anymore,” You whisper. “Everyone always wanted us to fail. Maybe… maybe you finally realized you don’t want me.”

Lucius' heart shatters. Without a word, he pulls you into his arms. You fight it at first, weakly pushing at his chest, but he just holds on tighter. “I love you.” He murmurs against your hair. “Only you. Only ever you.”

And that’s when you break. You sob into his shoulder, clutching at him, all the doubt, all the fear pouring out. Lucius rocks you gently, pressing kisses to your temple, murmuring promises against your skin, reminding you of the oath he took when he married you. Reminding you that he is a man of honor, and he is not one to break oaths. And when you finally calm down, he pulls back just enough to look at the mess of your face with dried tears.

“Tell me who poisoned your mind with these lies,” he whispers. “Tell me, and I will deal with them.”

“Its not important, Lucius, its just the new serving girl…” You sigh, feeling tired and weak from your emotional outburst. Lucius remains ever patient and lets you lay back on the bed, tucking you in before joining you.

“A new serving girl? I don’t remember approving a new serving girl?” He wonders and decides not to bother you further. Lucius kisses you to sleep, letting you snuggle into his warmth. 

“You’ve sunk low, old man.” Lucius barges into the consul’s office, first thing in the morning. His voice is cold. Dangerous. “You sent a spy into my home? Into my wife’s private chambers?”

The consul just smirks. “She is my daughter.” 

Lucius clenches his fists. “She is my wife.”

Agrippa waves a hand dismissively. “And yet, it was so easy to make her doubt you.” 

Lucius steps closer, lowering his voice to a deadly whisper. “If you ever,ever plant another lie in her head again, I will not be so merciful.”

You don’t see Milena anymore. Lucius made sure she is situated away from Agrippa’s influence and is making a decent living in the city. Your father, despite Lucius’ efforts to stop him from seeing you, still makes a way to make a quick surprise visit, dropping a mild hint of a worst case scenario if things don’t go his way. You know what your father is capable of, and you tremble at the thought of it.

Later that night, you find Lucius in a good mood as he joins you for supper. You pour him some wine, the special ones you’ve asked the servants for. Lucius smiles as he takes his cup, enjoying the flavor. You continue refilling his cup, your touch lingering on his arm or his thigh.

“You’re in a mood tonight..” He says in a teasing tone.

“D-do you like it?” You ask, trying to calm your nerves. He pulls you closer, seating you on his lap.

“You know I do.” He leans in, his smile a little playful. He is a little bit tipsy, but sober enough to carry you to the bed.

You pull him into a kiss, a little forceful on your end. He kisses you back, until he feels your tears. Almost immediately, Lucius pulls away, blinking rapidly to shake off the haze of wine and lust. “Did I hurt you?”

You shake your head quickly, your emotions pouring out. “No, no Lucius, I-”

“Please talk to me,” He keeps a respectful distance, hoping you’d tell him something. And you do. You reveal to him the conversation you had with your father. That he had threatened to have Lucius assassinated if he remained uncooperative. The cooperation he expects right now is for you to conceive an heir to cement their places in the empire.

“I’m sorry, Lucius-” You couldn’t look him straight in the eye. He very carefully touches your face, making you face him.

“You don’t owe your father anything.” He begins and adds just before you could say something. “And you don’t owe me anything. You don’t owe Rome anything.”

You sigh, taking in his words. No one has ever said that to you before. You touch him this time, full of affection and gratefulness.

“I don’t want a child for my father. I want one for us.” You reveal, feeling the weight off your chest.

Lucius searches your eyes, looking for any hesitation. He finds none. He kisses you gently at first, then deeper, like he’s making a promise. This time, when you come together, it’s not as an emperor and empress. Its real.

Agrippa’s pride skyrockets when he hears the news. He is going to be a grandfather. His grandchild, whom he expects is a son, will be a prince of Rome. Lucius never wanted to tell him, but you thought he was going to find out anyway at some point. Lucius decides that time would be during the imperial announcement when you were about four moons along. “He finds out when everyone else finds out. Keeps him humble.” Your husband chuckles. He’s been doting on you ever since you both found out. He makes sure you don’t stay under the sun for too long, makes you eat more fruits, and doesn't let you do heavy work when handling household matters.

Lucius also filters out the news that is reported to you. That is why you missed the update of your father doing a grand celebration tour, visiting cities to accept congratulations and well-wishes from the friends of the empire. These friends are the noble folk benefiting the most from keeping Rome from becoming a republic. He has been labelled as the kingmaker, having the power to depose and install whoever serves his purpose best.

This news comes to you three months late when one afternoon, Gaius, one of your husband’s most trusted men, comes running, bringing urgent news.

“Emperor, empress, the consul had an incident-!”

Lucius tries to stop Gaius but it is too late. 

“What happened? Where is he?” You stand up, clutching your pregnant belly, due only a few weeks from now. Lucius nods to his loyal general, silently asking him to be sensitive with his words for her.

The consul’s tour had gone awry when his small entourage took a wrong route, passing through an impoverished village. His gold-trimmed carriage was robbed, his robes dragged out. Agrippa was dragged out and mobbed by the villagers, stoned, beaten, and eventually left for dead. When the dust had settled, the consul was no more.

“We’ve arranged for the body to be brought back here, your imperial majesties. It will take a week at most.” Gaius had put it in the simplest way, but your ears started ringing as he continued. You feel yourself being guided by Lucius into a chair, as your knees have given out.

That night, you could barely sleep. You can’t imagine what he went through in the last moments of his life, how afraid he must’ve been. You can’t recall ever seeing your father scared. He was always the feared one. Servants trembled before him, your mother was always nervous around him, you never got over being on edge around him, even when Lucius was around. You wanted to think he tried to fight for his life, but he was more of an intellectual than a fighter. He was mobbed, stoned, he had screamed for his life-

A sharp pain on your lower abdomen interrupts your thoughts. It doesn’t go away.

“Lucius-” You reach for him, sleeping soundly next to you.

He turns to you and finds you gripping the sheets, breath ragged. And then, the horrible, cold realization— the dark stain spreading beneath her. Blood and water soaks the sheets.

The emperor wastes no time and springs up so fast he nearly falls out of bed. His mind, foggy with sleep, snaps into clarity at the sight of you panting, clutching your belly, eyes filled with sheer panic.

And then he sees the blood.

"No! no, no, no-" His voice cracks as he lunges for the door.

The next few moments are a blur of chaos. Doors slam open. He is yelling, bellowing, waking the entire household. Torches flare. Servants stumble from their beds, eyes wide in alarm.

"Fetch the midwife! Now!" His voice shakes the walls. "Get hot water, clean linens! MOVE!"

The guards, usually composed, look startled. They've seen him command armies, but never like this. Never with this much fear in his voice.

He rushes back to you, pressing a hand to your clammy forehead. You grip his wrist like a vice, her breath ragged, pained.

"It’s too soon, Lucius-" your voice is so small and fragile, pain and fear all mixing together in a terrifying feat for the emperor.

"I know," he whispers, pressing a trembling kiss to her damp hair. But gods help him, he cannot lose you and the child.

Lucius has fought in arenas, has seen men gutted, has heard the dying wails of warriors. Nothing—nothing—compares to this.

Your screams shake the walls. They echo down the corridors, curling in the dark like some ancient curse. Servants flinch. The guards outside shift uncomfortably. The midwife is murmuring reassurances, but Lucius can barely hear her over the sound of your agony.

You claw at the sheets, face contorted in pain. Sweat and tears streak down your cheeks. He has never seen you so helpless, so afraid. And there is nothing he can do.

“Lucius!” you wail, gripping his arm with surprising strength.

"I’m here, I’m here-" His voice is hoarse, useless. He presses his forehead to yours, his own hands trembling as he holds you down, praying to the gods to do something.

Hours pass. The sun begins to rise. You continue wailing in pain until your strength gives out.

By the time the midwife gives a final command to push, Lucius is pale. He sees you drained, pale, barely responding, body wracked.

And then, A small, thin wail.

The boy is so tiny. Too small, too fragile. The midwife moves quickly, wrapping him up, but Lucius sees the look on her face. She is worried.

You pick up on the sound, like a kitten cooing in the distance. You try to lift your head. "Let me see-" 

Lucius watches the boy, so small, so fragile, too light in his arms. He swallows, feeling his throat close up on him. He has never been more afraid in his life.

You take your son in your arms for the first time. He is so innocent. You feel guilty for not looking after yourself well enough, that he’s suffering the consequences of your actions. Your lips tremble as you lean in just a little, whispering to the baby. "You must fight.." you tell him. "You must be strong, my love. Be brave... like your father.”

Lucius watches the scene, feeling utterly useless as his boy takes shallow breaths, looking so frail in his mother’s arms.

For days, the child struggles to latch on to his mother. His cries continue to sound like a mewl, his lungs still underdeveloped. You barely get amy sleep, fearing the child would stop breathing in the night. Lucius feels helpless as all he could do was to gently remind you to eat and sleep. He sees you pale, your cheeks slowly losing flesh and your wrists thinning out.

At one point he’s gotten so worried that he basically forces you to stay in bed. In your weak state, you still fought him on it, taking up the last of your energy and giving out. He catches you before you hit the ground and takes you to bed, calling for the medicus and various healers.

“I need you to live, my love. The both of you.” He whispers as he tucks you to sleep, keeping the baby’s crib next to your bed.

When you wake, you still feel the exhaustion in your bones. You body doesn’t cooperate when you try to sit up. Lucius feels your movement and wakes up from being hunched next to you.

“Where is he, Lucius? Is he-?” Your voice was weak but panicked. 

“He is here. He is fighting. He’s strong, just like his mother.” Lucius places his finger in the boy’s tiny palm. The former gladiator feels the boy’s grip. Weak, but fighting.

That week, the consul’s body was brought back to the capital. You demanded your maid to tell you the news, forcing yourself out of bed to see the scene in the gates of your imperial residence. It was the stench that had hit you first. As you stand by the grand entrance, you see a  pitiful cart carrying his mangled body wrapped in sackcloth fabric, flies swarming about. 

Lucius sees you and immediately stops you from moving closer, protecting you in your weakened state.

“Get back inside, its not healthy for you to be here,” Lucius’ warning falls to deaf ears as you power through the smell of rot. He catches you just before you reach the cart. “Don’t. Don’t remember him this way.”

“I have to see him, Lucius!” You say, feeling obligated to honour the remains of your father, the man who made you empress, the statesman who helped build Rome to its current glory. You step closer and grab the cloth covering his face, revealing his rotting visage, smashed in, buzzing with flies, unrecognizable. Bile threatens to crawl up your throat as you feel your breath hitch. You don’t realize you’ve collapsed, screaming. Lucius holds on to you, preventing you from going any closer. He orders his men to prepare a pyre as he carries you back inside the house.

“A pyre?! He is a statesman, Lucius! We must honor him! You can’t just burn him-!”

“You don’t have to do this, love. He’s gone now.” Lucius comforts you, placing you gently on the bed.

“No! What will they say? His own daughter does not honour him even when he made her empress?!”

“I made you empress. I married you.” Lucius reminds calmly. His patience seems to know no bounds. You know he is exhausted, he too had spent sleepless nights worrying about you and your son. Your sobs begin to calm down when he strokes your hair gently, letting you focus on him.

“I don’t know how to feel. I think I’m an awful daughter for feeling relieved-” “Shh, no you’re not. What you feel is valid. He was your jailer. Now you are free.” Lucius whispers, letting you close your eyes.

“I don’t know what to do.” You mumble.

“You don’t have to do anything, love. Not today.”

You nod, letting yourself rest. Before you could sleep, you hear your boy coo from his cradle right next to you. 

You watch him wiggle, breaking free from his swaddle. His chest is rising and falling with short but steady and determined breaths. 

“Oh!” You sit up and watch him, kicking away his small blanket. Lucius watches, fitting his finger in his small hand. His grip is a lot stronger today. He fights for another day.

“He’s getting stronger..” Lucius smiles.

You nod. This little bundle of joy wants to keep fighting. Who are you to give up on yourself? He needs his mother. You feel yourself straighten up, pulling yourself together for this little human, needing a mother to raise him with love and warmth. No more scheming, no more politics. Just you, Lucius, and your little fighter.

A few months later, the boy grows up strong and steady. He’s been giggling a lot and is learning how to crawl. Just like him the republic begins to take shape. One day, Lucius decides that the senate will never be ready. So he just leaves.

He tells you one afternoon after putting little Maximus down for a nap.

“We should start packing.” He says, very calmly.

 “Oh? Is the senate finally ready?” You ask, tucking your boy in.

“They’ll never be ready. They’ll figure out. They’re all grown-ups anyway.” He chuckles. You look at him, wondering if he’s serious. He is.

“O-okay.. I’ll start packing.” You nod.

Lucius worries you’ll end up packing too much.

As the last bundle of clothes gets loaded up the cart, you take the time to say goodbye to your house staff. A few of them were your own personal maids from your childhood, enduring your tantrums, your selfish acts, even when you were treating them like furniture. You embrace each of them, thanking them for putting up with you all these years. They had technically raised you, became the parents that cared for you unconditionally when your own father was busy raising his gold reserves.

The elderly staff cries, unable to believe that this young woman was the same spoiled girl they used to tiptoe around.

You insist on paying them generously, using your father’s wealth. Some refuse, saying you’ve given them more than enough, witnessing how you’ve changed for the better. 

Cassia tearfully smiles, holding your hands. She was there when you were born, and she was there when you were giving birth. She had witnessed your journey, from a girl, to an empress, to a woman who learned to love and be loved. 

“You’ve grown up so well, my lady.”

For the first time in your life, you truly feel like you have grown up well.

The staff insisted on letting you take the carriage one last time but you had refused. Taking only your clothes and some items for the baby, you sit on the wooden cart drawn by a horse Lucius is riding. The house staff waves, watching the former imperial family head out to their new life.

As you reach beyond the city gates, you feel a weight being pulled from your shoulders. You have never been this far from home. You look back, seeing the city shrink.

“Oh no.. Regretting it already?” Lucius jokes.

“Not at all. Glad to be walking out of it alive. Glad to be going home.” You smile, knowing wherever Lucius is, that’s where home will be.

When you reach your humble farm villa, you help your former emperor unpack the bags. You spot the jewelry box you had intended on leaving.

“Hey, what’s this doing here?” You ask Lucius.

“Ah well, I… Its- Just in case, you know?” He chuckles, feeling ashamed.

“In case what?” You put your hands on your hips playfully interrogating him.

“Well, I’m not really a great farmer…” He scratches the back of his head.

“Oh, and you decide to tell me this now?!”

Lucius shrugs. “I thought it best to break the news after we left.”

“So, what now? We starve?” You gasp, feigning betreyal.

Lucius smirks, leaning against the doorway. “I was hoping you’d take pity on me and do the farming instead.” 

You groan dramatically, tossing the box aside. “Unbelievable. You should’ve just stayed emperor.”

Lucius grins, stepping closer, kissing her forehead. “Nah… I think I like this better.”

-- END --

[wackapedia]

so I stop writing for a year and then all of a sudden i'm making 2k words daily???? A Lucius Verus x reader two parter is about to drop your way this week fam

[wackapedia]

Jude Law as Crimson Jack/Jod Na Nawood in Star Wars: Skeleton Crew | 1.03

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#a mood SKELETON CREW | Episode 4, "Can't Say I Remember No At Attin"

[wackapedia]

Comeback-ish

Hi guys!

Its been exactly nine months since I last posted a story on this blog. I'm still here, trying (albeit struggling) to write for the fandoms we love. Over the past few months I've tried my hand with writing for OCs just for exercise but I still feel like I'm all rusty. But I know this space is full of love and consideration that you wouldn't really mind having a different flavor every now and then.

With that being said, I'll do my best to come back to writing for the fandoms very soon. I don't have a new obsession lately so I might come back to some fics that I left hanging. As an appetizer, I'm going to share with you my old fics from various fandoms posted on this blog with a little bit of background as to what was going on with my life, and how it served as a prompt for me to come up with the said story. I'll try to keep it lighthearted, I promise!

Wackapedia Diaries

Fandom: The Last Kingdom | The Lady Of Devon Sihtric x Reader x Finan

I wrote this as an escape. I know a lot of us always craved that 'i need to disappear right now' vibe at some point. When things blew over during this period in my life, I realized that a lot of people would be sad if I did disappear. It didn't stop me from thinking that way but somehow this felt like blowing off the steam that was building at during this time.

Fandom: Top Gun Maverick | Until I Found You (Bob Floyd x reader)

This was based on a real experience I used to get with my crush. Whenever I'm around them, it feels like a lovesong is playing inside my head. It always makes me hum or sing along and I've daydreamed a few times that they'd hear me singing or humming and maybe start a conversation.

Fandom: Swann Arlaud | Remnant (Vincent Renzi x reader)

Again, themes of isolation and solitude. When I watched the movie, I thought I could just live in that lovely cabin and then Sandra's husband just had to ruin it Maybe its some sort of a call for help whenever I'm wanting to be alone, hoping someone would distract me from the internal noise and worries of being an adult.

Fandom: House Of The Dragon | Stay (Aemond X reader)

This is based on my real actual father issues and abandonment. I don't want to trauma dump too much but the most heartbreaking scene in the flashback of this fic was a legit real experience I had. The end also somehow is a projection of my anxiety that no one really stays for another person- (I'll save you the rest of this tangent, this was an entire 2 pages in my journal btw)

So there you have it! I don't know where I was going with this massive text, maybe i'm just talking to the void, maybe i had too much free time, maybe i'm trying to escape reality again but I hope you'll enjoy re-reading my old stuff because new stuff is coming real soon! Please inbox me if you want me to prioritize something from any fandoms you and I stan. Actually, maybe I'll soon start taking requests!

I hope you guys are taking care of yourselves! 🤍🩷

[wackapedia]

Mateo Cerezo, Magdalena, 17th century

[wackapedia]

I really want to write about Gwayne but he has less than five minutes screentime, I can't come up with a proper characterization 😭