jacksabbotts

[jacksabbotts]

dripping springs series masterlist ( mdi 18+ )

( moodboard for aesthetic purposes only — reader physical appearance is not described )

pairings .' dbf!jake seresin ( topgun ) x fem!artist!reader summary .' in which you ( the reader ) return to your small hometown of dripping springs, texas after finishing four years of art school in austin. though not everything is the same as you left it. your mother is meaner, your father grayer but the biggest difference is your fathers new best friend, jake seresin, a retired fighter pilot for the navy. he is nearly fifteen years older than you, built like a goddamn cowboy wet dream and a texan drawl that shouldn't make you swoon the way it does. he is supposed to be off limits, for a number of reasons. but then he sees you, really sees you and once that line is crossed. its impossible to go back. tw .' lowercase intended!!! | age gap ( reader is late 23, jake is 38 ) | NO USE OF Y/N | dbf!jake | your mother is a literal piece work | disablities ( specifically hearing loss ) | verbal abuse from your mother | self isolation | very distorted self image | unintentional self harm ( not using your hearing aid when directed by a medical professional | smut ( more specific warning per part ) notes .' back in my topgun era, thats all i have to say. i am not responsible for your media consumption so read at your own discretion. ( mdi 18+ )

( * contains smut ) part one .' tbd part two .' tbd part three .' tbd

| total number of part is undetermined |

a collection of dbf!jake x artist!reader blurbs ⤷ golden ratio ( coming soon )

[jacksabbotts]

( * contains smut / mdi 18+ )

✧ dripping springs x fem!artist!reader * in which you ( the reader ) return to your small hometown of dripping springs, texas after finishing four years of art school in austin. though not everything is the same as you left it. your mother is meaner, your father grayer but the biggest difference is your fathers new best friend, jake seresin, a retired fighter pilot for the navy. he is nearly fifteen years older than you, built like a goddamn cowboy wet dream and a texan drawl that shouldn't make you swoon the way it does. he is supposed to be off limits, for a number of reasons. but then he sees you, really sees you and once that line is crossed. its impossible to go back. ⤷ series masterlist ( coming soon )

[jacksabbotts]

spencer reid x fem!bsf!reader

tw .' suggestive themes , nsfw ( mdi 18+ )

imagine being alone at the bau with spencer late at night

the bullpen is unusually quiet. pretty much vacant except for the two of you. you and spencer's desk were adjacent to one another. so everytime you moved, yawned, reached for you coffee, his eyes were on you.

you were very aware of this. it was precisely the reason you kept doing it.

he was trying. he was really trying. the paperwork in front of him had been on the same page for the last fifteen minutes and in those fifteen minutes you had done nothing but turn him on.

he doesn't understand how you do it.

you sigh and the stretch and the button on your blouse look like they are about to give way as you arch your chest and your cleavage threatens to spill free. and now he's hard.

you stand and lean over your desk and definition lean over his to ask him a dumb question about the files you were filling out. a question, mind you, that you already knew the answer to. you had done it purely because you knew your shirt would dip and your tits would be in full view, right in front of his eyes. and now he's straining against his slacks.

you toe off the high heels that were a few inches too high for your comfort. but you had worn them be they made you legs look ethereal. and spencer reid couldn't tear his eyes away from them if he wanted to. you'd taken to trailing your pantyhose clad foot up his leg until it is practically in his lap. and now he is twitching.

he wanted to ask you what you think your doing but he couldn't form a coherent thought let alone a whole sentence that he would then have to say out loud. he told himself that if just doubled down and didn't look at her again for the rest of the night that he would be home free. as if it would be that easy.

he told himself not to look at you. he should absolutely not look at you again.

and now he's looking.

you are stretching again. but this time your shirt is riding up your navel and your belly button is peaking out. his mouth dried but he still had enough saliva to lick his lips.

'hey spency?' god! even your voice was turning him on. he was swelling enough that the button of his slack was pressing uncomfortably into him. he's doesn't know if its even possible for him to get any harder.

‘can i ask you a silly question?’

he hums out a nonchalant response, no confident to speak but not wanting you to think he is ignoring you. even sitting down, spencer still has about a foot on you so you have to looks up at him. peering through your eyelashes.

oh and look at that, he just got harder. painfully.

'did you think of me when you touched yourself on the jet last week?' you asked. he stilled immediately. almost comically so.

he had no idea what you were gonna ask but that was certainly not in the top one hundred.

THE END | masterlist

[jacksabbotts]

* ( contains smut / mdi 18+ )

✧ *plan un-friend zone x bsf!fem!reader in which you ( the reader ) are spencers best friend and you are tired of being in the friend zone and thus come up with a series of plans to push spencer to finally confess his feelings for you | a collection of blurbs

⤷ *biological reactions ( wc 858 )

⤷ *the twitching hour ( wc 522 )

⤷ next time ( coming soon )

[jacksabbotts]

jacksabbotts masterlist

the pitt

jack abbot michael robinavitch ( coming soon ) frank langdon ( coming soon )

criminal minds

spencer reid aaron hotchner ( coming soon )

topgun maverick

jake seresin robert floyd ( coming soon )

marvel cinematic universe

matt murdock

[jacksabbotts]

* ( contains smut / mdi 18+ )

✧ broken bottles x f!robinavitch!reader * in which you ( the reader ) are robby's little sister and a new night shift resident at the pmtc, or more commonly known as the pitt. jack unaware the you are related to robby begins to develop feelings for you. your half his age and his direct subordinate so he would never act his feelings. right? ⤷ series masterlist

✧ good girl confessions x f!morguetech!reader * in which you ( the reader ) are shy, soft-spoken, and far too good for the world you work in—but dr. jack abbot wants you anyway. wants you especially because of it. he’s older, bigger, rough around the edges, and completely undone by the way you squirms in his lap and stumbles over your words. you never had anyone take their time with you—never been praised, teased, or touched the way he plans to. and when he finds out just how untouched you really are? he makes it his mission to teach you everything you didn’t know you needed. ⤷ series masterlist ( coming soon )

[jacksabbotts]

spencer reid x bsf!fem!reader

tw .' suggestive themes , nsfw ( mdi 18+ )

imagine spencer reid getting a boner after looking down your shirt at work

it would start with you sitting next to him on the jet during a normal briefing, tablet in hand. his brain would short circuit for a whole minute ( longer if he'd gotten a glimpse at the lacy blue bra you'd had on ) scratch that, of course he noticed and due to his eidetic memory, he would never forget it

you, however, you had gone and done it on purpose. you would lie and say that you just wanted to show him something in a crime scene photo but you had specifically been wearing his favorite color lingerie and a strategically chosen a white button up with the first two buttons undone in the hopes that he would notice

his whole face would probably turn redder than a tomato and he would have to physically tear his eyes away from your cleavage. it wouldn't even cross his mind that you had wanted him to see it, so he would spiral in to guilt for looking. he would label himself a creep and flush red for a whole other reason

the other reason being that he could feel the his slacks tightening in the area of his groin. his body had betrayed him in a monumental way. and what was even worse is that you were still sitting next to him. your thigh touching his ( dare you say innocently )

he'd apologize to you in his head seventeen different ways. each starting with 'im so sorry, its biological' and ending with 'please, don't stop being my friend'. not that he'd ever have the courage to even begin to broach this subject with you and even if he could, he'd couldn't lie to you

yes, his body was having an uncontrollable reaction to you but he couldn't lie to your face and that that was the only reason

he'd start trying to think of anything else, anything but the color of your bra and what it might look like on the floor of his bedroom. or what you might look like sans the white shirt and deep blue bralette—

no! reid, get yourself together. this is your best friend you are thinking about and she definitely doesn't deserve your perverse thoughts. think about schrödinger’s cat, the fibonacci sequence—

he couldn't even look at you right now. would he ever be able to look at you again? he couldn't last more than two minute without thinking about your face, how would he survive never seeing it again once you decided he was a pervert for looking down your shirt?

his slack were beginning to feel uncomfortable and it was still growing. he reached for his water bottle, bringing it to his lip. when did he get to thirsty? oh my god—

string theory, think of the periodic table, anything other than the curve of her—

'spence, are you ok?' you had interrupted his spiral when you placed your hand on his upper thigh, suspiciously close to his raging boner. the mere touch alone made him grow even more in size. it had also made him choke on his water

he coughed violently and you moved your hand to his back as he leaned forward. but the action, while in attempt to help him, only made him cough harder

'i’m—fine—i just… water went down the wrong pipe.'

you smirked and then returned your hand to his thigh. only this time you placed your hand higher, your thumb rubbed the inseam of his pants. and spencer reid never wanted to die and live at the same time

he stood abruptly. your hand fell from his leg and he fumbled his way around you, desperately trying not to touch you as he tried to get to the aisle. in hindsight he probably should have faced away from you while shimming past as you got a full view of his bulge he tried to so hard to hide

'restroom!' he squeaked and gave you no time to protest

he'd stare at himself in the mirror, bead of sweat beginning to form in his hair line, his glasses slightly fogging

this is fine, just gotta wait it out, spence. five to seven minutes. blood redistribution. standard physiological response. this is science, not—

buzzzzz

he froze and slowly but robotically ( praying it wasn't morgan texting him to say he'd seen spence's little huge problem ) after seeing who it was from, he took back his praying

he'd wished it was morgan, or hotch telling him he was fired for borderline sexual harassment. but he would never be so lucky. no, the text was from you. with bated breath he opened the message

lmk if you need any help with your little problem, spencey

wait, what?!

he swore his heart stopped right then and there. not only had you known about . . . but you were offering to help. his first instinct was to hurl the phone, as if it burned him. the second was to drop dead and hope that if there was some kind of afterlife that it would be kind to him. neither sounded very productive to him.

he leaned against the door and mumbled, 'i'm gonna die in this bathroom.'

THE END | masterlist

[jacksabbotts]

✧ off the clock — ❪ part one ❫

jack abbot ( the pitt ) x fem!robinavitch!reader

summary - in which you ( the reader ) have the roughest shift of your career and in your attempt to numb the guilt, you get drunk in the hospital parking garage. jack finds you and patches you up after you cut your hand on a piece of broken glass. trigger warnings - lowercase intended!!! | fluff | angst | eventual smut but NONE in this part ( srry not srry ) | a little suggestive | language | alcohol misuse | driving under the influence of drugs ( small mention ) | blood/cut from broken glass ( on the reader ) | motor vehicle accident ( small mention ) | elder abuse/neglect ( small mention ) | death of a child ( small mentions ) | child abuse ( shaken baby syndrome/small mention ) | death | probably some incorrect medical jargon ( i am not a medical profession so i did my best ) | a lot of guilt over losing patients ( no fault on the reader by anyone except herself ) | self destructive tendencies | pet names ( sweetheart, darling, angel ) | NO USE OF Y/N | reader goes by dr. robin and or dr. robinavitch notes - the literal brain rot this old man gives me, shoulda seen the disappointment on my face when i realized after episode one that i would have to wait until episode twelve to see my husband again. i am not responsible for your media consumption so read at your own discretion. ( mdi 18+ ) this is unbeta’d bc i dont have any beta readers :,(

masterlist | series masterlist

5:57am

the parking garage was quiet, especially considering that the sun was barely rising and most of the rotating shift was already clocked in or finally leaving. you were part of the latter. although in the past twenty three minutes the only move you had made was to reach into the glove box of your 2011 toyota corolla for the unopened bottle of tequila.

tonight has been one of the hardest shifts you've encountered since transferring to the pittsburg medical trauma center, informally known as the pitt to the staff, to be closer to your older brother.

the tire of your corolla was digging uncomfortably into your back through the thin scrubs that adorned your body. though you made no move to aleve yourself of the pain. it was your sick and twisted way of punishing yourself for the events that transpired during your shift.

no one in the pitt had blamed you for the patients that you had lost today and in the beginning, you hadn't blamed yourself. but the more the deaths had piled up on your roster the more you began to ask yourself, 'could i have done more'.

yesterday, or more accurately last night, you had lost a record number of five patients in one shift. your first was an elderly woman from a group home, who had arrived after experiencing cerebrovascular accident, most commonly known as a stroke. she had been helping another resident of her group home with a crossword when she just slumped over in her chair.

it was hours before they had called emergency services and the blood clot in her brain damaged her brainstem before she entered the ed doors. she was dead for hours before you ever even got your hands on her. but still you blamed yourself. it was a habit you knew better than to indulge.

the next three patients were from a motor vehicle accident. it was three teenagers. a midsize sedan had run a red light at seventy miles per hour and was t-boned by a semi-truck. you hadn't found out until later that all three of the teenager had been under the influence of drugs but by the time you did find out they had all already died, one on your trauma table, one in the or, and one in the ambulance.

the last one, and the more recent reason for your drunken stupor in the parking lot of you employment, was a child. a little boy not even a year old. it hadn't been until you'd seen the the brain scans and seen the subdural and retinal hemorrhaging. the baby had been shaken so hard and for so long that his brain had swelled inside his own head.

the mother had been sad enough but the boyfriend acted like he had a million other places to be. after declaring the ten month little boy officially braindead, you had left it to the oncoming shift to inform the family and the police.

you had never clocked out so fast, skipping the 'goodbyes' and 'good nights' from your favorite nurses and fellow residents in favor of sitting on the dirty ground in the hospital staff parking garage downing your guilt into a now half empty tequila bottle.

said tequila bottle clinked against the pavement as you set it down, tiny splashes spilling out and on to your dark scrubs, scrubs you'd wished were dark enough to hide the blood stains on the cuff of your pants.

the tequila mixed with the blood as you tried to scrub it out. you stopped after the blood stain widened in size and opted for another large swig of the aforementioned alcohol before placing it once again in between your stretched out legs. the label had begun to peel at your habitual picking and turned sticky from the contents running down the side.

you lifted your right hands and drug it across your mouth catching the drops spilling out of the corners of your mouth with your jacket. for a moment you had mistaken the drop for tears, but it had hit you that you hadn't shed a single tear through this whole ordeal. and that only made you feel like more of a monster. we're you so good at compartmentalizing that you had lost all the feelings that had made you a real person?

you didn't have an answer for yourself, so instead, for what felt like the hundredth time in the last half hour, the tequlia bottle was back on your lips, pouring so much into your mouth you almost gagged at the burning sensation. but that is what you had deserved right?

after telling upward of four different family members that their loved ones, the ones that had come to her for healing, wouldn't ever open their eyes again. that they would never eat their favorite food again. or listen to their favorite music. you had throughly convinced yourself that you deserved every burning drop that slid down your throat and poisoned your liver.

if your patient couldn't count on you to save their organs, why did you get to keep yours healthy and functioning? it was backwards logic but you were far to wasted to argue with the darker part of your subconscious.

you sputtered out a cough and the bottle clanked against the concrete ground but that wasn't the sound that had completely over taken your nervous system. footsteps echoed across the parking garage and you almost felt guilty for losing your composure here instead of the confines of your own apartment.

the key word being almost, as the cruel part of your brain reminded you of the morbid tally of deaths you had wracked up today had far outweighed the lives you had been able to save.

you wanted to scream. if you had been alone, you might have. and if you were a least a little more sober you might have commended drunk for having enough sense to hold it in. you squeezed your eyes closed, tight enough you began to see stars dancing on your lids, although that might have been all the tequila talking.

'you planning to sleep it off on the pavement?'

you opened you eyes, albeit taking your time. the rising sun shined bright behind him, making him look almost ethereal. not that you need it to. in your eyes jack abbot was a angel sent form heaven. as much as he tried to portray himself as the gruff war veteran without a soft bone in his body, you had seen right though him.

perhaps that is why he had been trying to hard to avoid you, despite being your boss. if it hadn't been for his familiar voice, a voice that you had spent the last three weeks practically memorizing, you might not have realized it was him for the sun blinded your drunken eyes.

you tried not to be embarrassed that even drunken you held the same candle that sober you held for him. you hoped that he wrote off the flush in your cheeks to your inebriated state.

his voice was dry and flat, a voice he used with most everyone, but you especially. as if he was always trying extra hard to hide the uptick in his voice anytime you started talking to him. and he'd thought to himself, how foolish he felt. like a damn teenage, feeling things he was far too old and far too emotionally complicated to indulge in.

she squints at him from her position on the ground. he stood a few feet away, leaned on his dark black truck with an indifference he would swear was natural. as if he didn't have to practice at least once a day when he knew he'd be seeing you.

he still wore is black scrub top and dark wash cargo pants. you wondered if he usually came to work ready or changed in the locker rooms. not that you needed to know the inner workings of his routines. but a part of you felt yourself wanting to know.

you laugh bitterly. even your silly little school girl crush on your much older boss didn't lift your spirits. you stand, although you don't think what you did counts as standing as you nearly face plant into the concrete. the fact that your car is still so close to you is the only reason you were still on your own two feet, slouched agains your corolla. you hold on to the backseat door handle and you stumble and lean down to snatch the tequila bottle into your hand once again.

even those his arms are crossed over his chest, you clock the small twitch in his hands as you stumbled. if you weren't plastered beyond the point of no return you might have thought he wanted to steady you. once in your hand, you raise the bottle to your lips in attempt to curve the silence and maybe spare yourself any more embarrassing moments. though you know that he alcohol will not help in those terms.

'come on, lets not do that. i think you've had enough.'

'your not . . . my - my boss right now, dr. abbot,' you slurred, stretching out the syllables of his last name, 'im oooofff the clock.'

tequila bottle still in hand, you begin patting down your pockets for the keys to your corolla, huffing out triumphantly upon hearing the telltale jingle in your scrub pant pocket. you pull out the object and immediately he grunts in disapproval.

'you're not driving.'

he steps forwards a millimeter, intent on taking the keys from your hand but never actually making the move to do so. you scoff as your giddy feeling from his mere presence turns sour.

'i don't need a babysitter . . . and you can-can't tell me what to do.'

'you're right, but you're still not driving."

he takes another step forward and holds out his hand. 'give me the keys.'

you step back, defiantly, tugging both your car keys and the alcohol bottle close to your chest. and he doesn't miss the way the action pushes your breasts up. even in the most unsexy piece of clothing you own the action was creating the illusion that they were bigger than they actually were.

he thanks the heavens that your probably too drunk to notice the way he was ogling your chest. he should have known that you noticed everything about him, drunk or not. you feel your lips tugging into a slight smirk but then remember that your mad at him, however foolish the reason may be.

'or what?'

your statement must have surprised him, the shock written on his face was evidence of that.

'you gonna take them from me, dr. abbot?'

'if i have to.'

you laugh at that. this man, who makes it his priority to avoid you at all cost, he's gonna take them from you. now that is something you'd pay to see. he grunts at your defiance, because of course you were calling his bluff.

'if you think i'm just gonna walk away and let you drive like this, you are a lot drunker than i thought.'

his face is unreadable. but his stance isn't confrontational. there’s no righteousness. no judgment. just observation. cold, clinical, and just maybe a little tired, not that he'd ever admit that to you or anyone else for that matter.

but what ticks you off the most is the way he's looking at you. like you were a child. like you were a delinquent he's just caught stealing from their parents liquor. it pisses you off more than you'd like to admit because you weren't a child, no matter how much your older brother insists you still are.

and jack abbot is the one person you didn't want to see you like that.

'don't pretend you care.' you snarled, though it didn't sound as threatening as you had wished it did, as much as you had intended. he doesn't take your bait. he just tilts his head, the barest hints of annoyance in his eyes.

'don't paint me the asshole for doing the bare minimum, sweetheart.'

your breath hitched at the pet name. you were never 'sweetheart' to him. it was always 'dr. robin' and if you were lucky just 'robin'. the pet name was a slip up on his part, but he didn't feel too worried about as he knew you probably wouldn't remember any of this tomorrow morning anyway.

but for you , no pet name in this moment could curve your anger, your guilt. you glared at him as your breath hiccups. too sharp to be a laugh. too shallow to be a sob.

'you think this is the worst thing i've done tonight?"

you hadn't actually meant to ask that. and jack seems to of understood that because he didn't respond, at least not in words. his shoulder sag just a little as he remember to grueling shift the both of you just endured. you more so than him.

there was another long silence, fulled with nothing but your guilt and his bare look of sympathy that your refused to acknowledge. you next actions were purely in attempt to get him to stop looking at you in the way you had looked at yourself in the mirror just an hour prior.

despite your rash action of throwing your keys square at his chest, he still caught them. 'fine!' your yell echoed through the parking garage, 'you win! are you happy?'

though you refused to give up your tequila bottle even when he reached for it. you stumbled forward, probably in attempt to reach his truck, you weren't actually sure. your own feet tangle with themselves and you flailed around helplessly as you fell forward. the bottle fell to the ground and shattered with a sickening crack.

'woah there! come on.'

and if not for jack, you'd probably of hit the concrete with the same sickening crack. his hands gripped your waist as he pulled you into his chest. the grip was anything but professional. his fingers dug into her top as he tried to steady you. his touch made your head spin more than the alcohol did.

you, in turn, gripped his scrub top as if he was the only thing holding you up. and to be far that was probably true. he was warmer than you thought he'd be. the cold and nonchalant attending that you had come to know what acting like he was anything but. like nothing you'd experience from him.

you rested your cheek to his clothed shoulder and hummed as your eyes fell closed. if his face were half an inch closer to your head, it'd be resting against it. you could feel his steady breath on your ear, lightly swaying the fallen strands of your hair. for a second, you swore you heard his breath hitch much like yours did.

but your bliss was cruelly short lived. when you opened your eyes, you eye sight landed directly on the broken glass bottle to your right. you were upset for a number of reasons, rational and irrational. but the first one that came to your mind was that you would no longer be able to drown your sorrows from the inside out.

you mumbled out a quiet, almost to quiet to hear, 'no,' into his shirt. you pulled out of his grasp, despite his verbal and physical protests. you fall to your knees in front of the broken bottle. there was nothing to salvage but still you reached for the broken glass.

'hey, no, your gonna-' 'fuck!'

you groan as the sharp glass slices through the skin of your palm. its not deep enough to require stitched but it bled like it did. dripping blood on to the dirty concrete below.

'- cut yourself. christ, do you ever listen?' his jaw clenches. he's angry but not at you. its almost like he is angry at the cut itself, at the glass for harming you, even if it was you fault. because how dare anything cause you harm and get away with it.

he pulls his back pack off his back, not surprisingly fast or easy because it was only hanging off one shoulder to begin with. the back pack was green with a camo pattern and if you were so focused on the blood dripping down your wrist, you'd have probably noticed the personalization he had done to the front of it. in medium sized black bold lettering was his name. 'abbot'.

and of course he carried a first aid kit in it. he didn't say a word as he leaned down, groaning as he settled on his knees in front of you. he wasted no time at all reaching forwards and grabbing her wrist.

the reservations he had about getting too close flew right out the window the moment blood was drawn. she mumbled a drunken 'ow' as he applied the damp alcohol wipe to her already red skin, wiping the blood away.

'not gonna lecture me?'

'said it yourself, not your boss right now.' he tossed the now dark pink alcohol wipe in favor of grabbing a piece of gauze and medical tape. he wrapped the tape and you winced again. he glanced at you briefly.

'it's too tight.' you mumbled, reaching to loosen some of the tape, but jack grabbed your other hand in his, stopping you from doing anything. 'yeah, well, i'd rather you didn't bleed to death in my truck.'

you snorted, it was involuntary but you flushed with embarrassment anyway. it wasn't like he had just confessed his undying love for you but he had admitted that he didn't want you to bleed to death. that was an improvement, at least in you book.

'didn't know you cared, dr. abbot.'

'your my best resident, dr. robin. need you in tip top shape.'

and you were back to the professionalism. you weren't going to lie and say you didn't appreciate his sentiment. but was that all you wanted to be to him? his resident?

he must have noticed your shift in demeanor because not longer after and his touch left yours all together. his thumb that had been rubbing small circles on the inside of your wrist in an attempt to soothe, now left the space cold. the butterflies, no matter how cliche is sounded, that had taken up resident inside your stomach and under your ribcage had settled the moment his skin left yours.

you wanted to reach out and put his hand back in yours and to be honest, you almost did. you had the ultimate excuse and your drunken state gave you the perfect alibi.

THE END | PART TWO

[jacksabbotts]

broken bottles series masterlist ( MDI 18+ )

( moodboard for aesthetic purposes only — reader physical appearance is not described )

pairings - jack abbot ( the pitt ) x fem!robinavitch!reader summary - in which you ( the reader ) are robby's little sister and a new night shift resident at the pmtc, or more commonly known as the pitt. jack unaware the you are related to robby begins to develop feelings for you. your half his age and his direct subordinate so he would never act his feelings. right? trigger warnings - lowercase intended!!! | age gap ( reader is late 20s to early 30s, jack is late 40s early 50s ) | power imbalance ( attending x resident ) | brothers best friends | smut ( more specific trigger warning per part ) | alcohol misuse | driving under the influence of drugs ( small mention ) | motor vehicle accident ( small mention ) | elder abuse/neglect ( small mention ) | death of a child ( small mentions ) | child abuse ( shaken baby syndrome/small mention ) | death | blood | probably some incorrect medical jargon | a lot of guilt over losing patients ( no fault on the reader ) | self destructive tendencies | NO USE OF Y/N | reader goes by dr. robin and or dr. robinavitch notes - like so many others i have fallen down the literally pitt that is jack abbot so i am here to preform my civic duty and give out fics like their candy lmao. i am not responsible for your media consumption so read at your own discretion. ( mdi 18+ )

* ( contains smut ) part one — off the clock ( wc 3117 ) part two — tbd part three — tbd | total number of parts is undetermined |