popeabbot

[popeabbot]

Posted this on my Instagram and LOOK WHO SHOWED UP (I hope his chronically online ass thought it was just as funny as I did I’m still cackling)

Same pic different fonts (I thought he looked like a guinea pig until @ebodebo pulled up this meme and I havent stopped thinking about it since)

[popeabbot]

Jokes on him id go willingly AND help🤭

Andrew "Pope" Cody x Bank Heist Hostage! Reader Drabble

A/N: Took me a while but I finally got the drabble done. I'm hoping to flesh it into a full fic that I'll post on ao3 but we'll see what kind of feedback I get/how motivated my creative drive is.

Pope hadn’t mean to take her, he really hadn’t. Kidnapping hadn’t been apart of the plan, but there hadn't really been much of a plan in the first place. From the second that banker told him he needed more money for Lena’s college fund, it was all he could think about. Securing his niece’s future—no matter the cost—was his only goal, his penance for what he’d done to her mother and for failing to save her father. The first few banks had gone fine. Get in, neutralize security guards, threaten patrons as crowd control, intimidate tellers into giving him as much cash as quickly as possible, and get out, all before anyone presses panic buttons or alerts police. Between each job he changed clothes, weapons and stole a new car to confuse the police. It was practically child’s play. But then he got to the fifth bank and things got complicated.

    Watching the door from his stolen car in the parking lot, he quickly realized that the only way he was getting in with his mask on was if the security guard at the front door couldn’t see him coming. And the only way he could do that was by using someone as a shield. Pope figured he could grab someone in the parking lot, take their car keys, use them as a human shield to get into the bank and then escape in their car after he was done getting the money. It was definitely a change in plans but nothing he couldn’t handle. Now he just needed the right hostage, and as if the heavens themselves had answered, the perfect one came driving up.

    An unassuming woman in an unassuming car pulling up into a parking space between a large van and a truck, the perfect location for no cameras or witnesses. For just a moment, he had the fleeting thought that she looked vaguely familiar but he couldn’t place her. Ignoring it, he pulled his mask up and grabbed his duffle bag before slipping out of the car and heading towards hers.

    Acting quickly, Pope snuck up behind her as she got out of her car, dropping the duffle bag before grabbing the woman from behind. He clamped one hand over her mouth just as she gasped in surprise, his other arm snaked around her waist to pull her against his chest as she began to struggle, trying to buck him off to no avail.

    “Shhh, shh, shh.” He said quietly, ignoring her frantic clawing at his arms, helpless against a man much stronger than her. “Don’t fight me, I won’t hurt you.”

    He could tell she was panicking, her chest heaving wildly as he moved the arm from her waist to grab his gun from his pocket and hold it up in front of her. She froze immediately, going still in his arms and the whimper smothered behind his hand made a stab of guilt shoot right through him.

    “Just listen to me, I don’t want to have to shoot you but I will if you fight me. Do you understand?” He asked in a low voice, lips just ghosting over the shell of her ear through the fabric of his balaclava. She nodded. “Good. Now, I’m gonna remove my hand from your mouth, do not scream or you’ll be dead before anyone even looks this way.”

    It wasn’t true, Pope may have been the “fixer” for his family but he didn’t enjoy hurting people, especially those who didn’t deserve it. He wouldn’t hurt her, even if she did start screaming, but she didn’t know that and that was enough to keep her in line.

    “Do you understand?” She nodded once more as he slowly removed his hand from her mouth, ready to clamp it back down at the first sign of a scream. “What’s your name?”

    She gave it in a hoarse whisper and he hummed, ignoring a tickling in the back of his brain at the sound of it, like a memory trying to surface at the most inconvenient time. Her trembling form against his body brought him back to the present. He had to stay focused or he would be headed back to prison—and he’d die before that happened.

    “Just do exactly as I say and I'll let you go unharmed, I promise.” He said quietly, breath hot on her neck.

[popeabbot]

Same pic different fonts (I thought he looked like a guinea pig until @ebodebo pulled up this meme and I havent stopped thinking about it since)

[popeabbot]

Frank Langdon goes through an entire ED shift with the MarioKart coconut mall song playing in his head

[popeabbot]

And ywk…he’s right no one ever thinks about Dr. pepper being a woman so rock on peepaw🤙🏼

I wish there was some kind of preview to the stories before I click on them, why is he such an old man

[popeabbot]

This is me rn😭💔

How it feels working a 9 to 5 and having too many WIPs of varying forms and genres alongside unrealistic expectations for myself as a writer yayyy xox

[popeabbot]

Me when those officers walked in (I literally suggested him getting arrested sorry chat💔)

FREE MY MAN HE DIDNT DO SHIT!! (He was just finishing the fight that asshole started)

Bruised Pt 3 | Jack Abbot x Reader

Summary: When you find yourself in an abusive relationship, you never thought your attending Jack Abbot would become your protector and saving grace.

TW: domestic violence, age gap relationship (reader is in late 20s & Jack is 49), hospital setting, surgery, medical inaccuracies, nudity, fluff, angst, eventual smut, Not beta read. Likely typos. Lmk if there is anything else!

Word Count: 3.2k

Authors Note: I’m so sorry it took so long to get this part up! I’ve been so busy with work, and my kids. Then it was my anniversary, my husband’s birthday and Father’s Day, so I’ve been running around like crazy. Whenever I get a minute to relax I’m just been sooo tired. This chapter isn’t my favorite at all, I didn’t want it to be too medical considering I have a history degree and have no medical background (aside from my hypochondria and time spent on webmd). So consider this to be a filler chapter I guess? Hope next chapter is good and perhaps a little smutty 🫦

Prev | Next

Feel

You felt the tether of all the wires connecting you to the countless monitors. The burn of the IVs embedded into your skin. Then the pain. The utter indescribable pain. Your head pounded, your body stiff. The slow trickle of cerebrospinal fluid from your nose was now coating your lips. You want to wipe it away, but your hands are too heavy, your fingers tingling. Your face feels cold despite the sweat that covered your body. The cold offering comfort in the chaos.

Taste

Your mouth was so incredibly dry that it was difficult to swallow. Your tongue almost sticking to the roof of your mouth, peeling it away giving the sensation of velcro. The only thing that offered temporary moisture was the salty spinal fluid that seeped into your mouth. All you could crave was water.

Smell

It all smelled so sterile. The metallic smell of dried blood, your dried blood, mixed with iodine. Had you had surgery? Why were you covered in iodine?

Sound

The beeps and clicks of the monitors were a constant, but words around you were muffled, as if you were drowning under water. As the words ebbed and flowed, you managed to make out some in all of the chaos.

“Basilar skull fracture”

“Post- traumatic seizures”

“Subdural hematoma”

“Craniotomy”

No. No. No. No. Please God no. This couldn’t be happening, this couldn’t possibly be happening; but the memories begin flooding back with each passing moment. You are back in the trauma room where can hear the sound of your skull cracking as Charlie’s hands gripped your throat and bashed your head against the wall. You can hear the sound of Jacks fist making contact with flesh, Robby’s screams, and Charlie’s groans.

Sight

Darkness. You only saw black. Your eyelids feeling as if they were being held shut by some unknown force. No matter how hard you tried, they wouldn’t budge. Jacks voice enters the room and you want so desperately to open your eyes, tell him you’re okay, you’re alive. He must know you’re trying because you feel his hand in yours in an instant, squeezing it lightly and assuring you it’s alright. That it’s just the swelling around your eyes. Was that the cold you felt on your face? Was that Jack holding a compress to your eyes?

————————————————————————

With an unknown lapse in time, your eyes began to flutter open. Your vision blurry, the bright lights making them immediately shut again. While you couldn't see him, you knew he was there.

"J-" you were taken aback by how hoarse your voice was, your mouth and throat so dry that little sound came out. Before you knew it, you felt the comfort and warmth of his hands. Hesitantly he traced his rough fingertips along your jaw and down your bruised neck.

"I'm here." he whispered.

"Hurts" was all you could muster, god you needed some water.

"I know it hurts, we can get you some more morphine in about an hour."

You shook your head, reaching out with trembling hands to find his. You opened his palm and slowly traced each letter:

L - I - G - H -T

You heard Jack scurry to turn the light off, and only when the world felt less harsh your eyes opened slowly. He looked exhausted, he hadn't shaved, hair disheveled, cheeks sunken, but he smiled at you softly. Bringing his your hand up to his mouth, he shut his eyes and placed a tender kiss on the back of it, the ring on your finger still taunting you. He helped bring a glass of water to your lips, trickling down your throat, washing away the salty and metallic taste.

"Jack..." you finally whispered, tears welling up in your eyes. "Wh-wh-- h-ha " for some reason the words didnt come. You shut your eyes tightly again, trying to focus on what you wanted to say, what you needed to say. Its as if your mine and body were no longer working in sync.

"Hey, hey, slow down, it's normal to have a bit of aphasia after a brain injury. It'll come back to you soon enough." Jack assured you as the panic began to fill your eyes. "You can squeeze my hands once for yes, two for no. Okay?"

One Squeeze.

"Good..." Jack smiled a toothy grin, "Let's figure out what you remember... okay?"

One Squeeze

"Do you remember what happened at Pittfest?"

One Squeeze

"Do you remember Charlie? What he did to you?"

One Squeeze

"Do you remember going up for CT?"

Two Squeezes

Jack looked down, trying to figure out how to tell you all that happened when your eyes fluttered shut in his arms. He wanted to block the memory from his mind. The way your body grew rigid and clonic before you even made it to radiology.

"Charlie caused a basilar skull fracture, which caused you to have the CSF rhinorrhea. It's getting better, you just gotta stay flat for a while." You hadn't even noticed the trickle from your nose had almost gone to a standstill.

"Taking you up to CT, you started having a seizure, you had one last night too. Imagining found a subdural hematoma. Walsh had to do a craniotomy to relieve the pressure..."

Your hand immediately reached for the back of your head, feeling for the incision. You felt the bald patch, the stubble pricking your fingers and they traced along the staples. You stopped counting after 10 staples.

"She left as much as she could... it'll grow back. Come on don't look like that." Jack whispered, wiped a tear from your cheek with his thumb.

"See?" you asked, pointing to your face.

Jack pulled his phone from his pocket and turned on the front facing camera. Holding the phone in front of your face, you gasped loudly. Your eyes were black and swollen, your neck bruised, tacky spinal fluid crusted on your lips and chin. A sob stuck in your throat and you shut your eyes, not wanting to look at your reflection any longer.

"Hey, hey, none of that. You're still my pretty girl, right?" he cupped your face in his hands, forcing you to face him. "Open your eyes. Look at me. The cuts will heal, the hair will grow back, and the bruising with fade. You are still the most beautiful woman I've ever seen." His hazel eyes were glassy and exhausted, but he looked genuine; like he meant every word that was coming out of his mouth.

Your chest ached at his words, the world standing still. His pretty girl. The woman that looked back at you in the mirror was far from that. You saw a battered woman, a lost woman, a broken woman. Yet Jack looked at you like you were the most beautiful woman in the world. Behind those tired eyes of his, he looked at you with nothing but complete adoration. How? Why?

“Charlie?” The words seemed to come easier to you now, like Jack had promised. It took everything for him not to explode at the mere mention of that man’s name. The man who hurt the woman he loved.

“He’s here. In the ICU.”

“I want to see him.” You whispered firmly, throat still hoarse.

“I dont think th-“

“Jack, please.”

Jack pressed his back against his chair, his shoulders slumping forward a bit, almost in defeat. He rubbed his hand across the stubble on his chin, and you heard the scratch of the hair on his rough skin. With some hesitation, he stood and fetched a wheelchair.

"I'm gonna sit you up slowly, okay?" he said softly, looping his arms under your armpits to slowly guide you up. It felt like the room was spinning, all the blood rushing to your head. You let out a small cry from the pain, resting your head into the crook of his neck as you adjusted. When you were ready, he lifted you into the chair and began to push you down the hallway. Stopping outside his room Jack sighed.

"I dont know if its a good idea if I go in there." he wanted nothing more than to finish the job, break every bone in that mans body.

"Please, Jack. I need you."

With a nod, Jack used his back to push the door open and wheel you inside, trying not to jostle you around too much. Seeing him there in bed was a shock. His jaw was wired shut, an NG tube down his nose, his face nearly unrecognizable. Your breath caught in your throat at the sight of him, and you stared at Jack in awe of the damage he had done, for you.

Charlies head turned, eyes widening and heart rate increasing at the presence of Jack Abbot. For a moment, you almost pitied the man, your heart somehow still ached for him. With a nod, Jack wheeled you to the edge of the bed, him gripping the handles so firmly his knuckled were now white. His jaw was clenched shut, he said nothing, but his eyes said everything.

In one fluid motion you took off your engagement ring, twiddling it in you hands. Your finger felt naked, the ring that has been there for 2 years was now gone.

"Give me your hand Charlie." you demanded, before firmly grabbing it yourself, pressing the ring firmly into the palm of his hand. Your jaw was tight, you spoke through gritted teeth. "I stayed because I hoped things would change. I told myself it wasn’t that bad. That I could fix it. Fix you. But you hurt me. Over and over and over again. With your words, with your fists, with how small you made me feel." tears began to soak your cheeks as the words spilled into the air.

"Every day I tried to survive it. Every time you grabbed me, shoved me, screamed in my face—every time you told me no one else would want me—I believed you. But thats not true, Charlie." you looked back at Jack who was studying your every movement and every expression. Through the anger, through the tears, through the heartbreak, you smiled softly at Jack who looked at you with pain in his eyes.

"You hurt me for the last time." finally letting go, the ring you pressed into his hand left an indent in your palm, and you watched it slowly fade away. You knew that Charlie would leave a permanent mark on you. The scars that would remain, the trauma that would persist, those wouldnt go away. But watching the outline of your once promise slowly dissipate made this real.

"I feel sick Jack." you choked, and he swiftly pushed you out of the room into the hall. You were pale, diaphoretic, and trying to catch your breath.

"Tell me what hurts." Jack switching from protector to doctor in a matter of seconds.

"I cant breathe." you gasped, grabbing onto his shirt, looking for something to hold onto, to ground yourself.

What Jack first dismissed as another panic attack after your encounter with Charlie vanished the moment he saw the bluish tint creeping across your lips. Barreling down the hallway, he immediately called a rapid response.

"Honey, we gotta get you on the monitor to check your pulse ox, now."

With a reading of 85% he was now in combat mode.

"I need high flow oxygen mask, now!" he barked, "where the fuck is respiratory?"

"Infection?" you gasped, breathing growing more and more shallow.

"Maybe. I dont know."

"Please... dont intubate." you begged, grabbing his hand with all the strength you had left.

"Not if I can help it." Jack smiled assuringly and slipped the oxygen mask over your nose. It brought him relief to see your levels improving on just room air. Your airways felt assaulted by force of the oxygen mask, the pressure making it feel like your head was about to explode more than I already was, your chest feeling as if it were on fire. Jack reached out to grab your trembling hands are you began to pull and paw at the mask.

“I know it feels uncomfortable. Just focus on my voice—breathe with me, okay? In and out, slow and steady. We gotta figure out what's going on."

"M-Me-Meningitis?" you were a doctor, you knew the risks, and the infection risks were high. Jack simply nodded at the possibility and as he prepped you for a spinal tap. You winced and called out as the needle pierced your back.

As you waited for your results Jack sat at the edge of the bed rubbing your legs to avoid blood pooling and clots from forming. Your body was sore, and his hands felt heavenly. You moaned involuntarily as he hit a particularly tender spot, causing you both to blush.

You felt disgusting. Your hair was matted, bloody and greasy. Your skin still stained with iodine and a layer grime. You just wanted to get clean but had no means of doing so. You couldn’t stand unassisted, your breathing was labored, and your body was too weak. The thought of getting a sponge bath was humiliating.

“You don’t have to do this, Jack. I’m filthy.” You pulled your mask down briefly. Jack simply shook his head and chuckle.

“Try grown men in the middle of desert combat going 3 weeks without a shower. This is nothing, kid.”

Still— you recoiled a bit, pulling your legs away from him, causing him to frown.

“Alright, let’s get you cleaned up then.”

“What?”

“I said let’s get you cleaned up, I can help you shower.”

"Jack... I-I-I dont--"

"Or if you aren't comfortable, I can grab a nurse to help?"

You looked at him, contemplating the offer. It was strictly clinical, right? He was a doctor, he's seen hundreds, maybe thousands of naked bodies. Clinical, strictly clinical.

With a nod, Jack took a few slow steps towards you, removing your oxygen mask to see how vitals held before moving forward. When he was satisfied with what he saw, he helped you up and into the wheelchair.

"I'm gonna take off your gown now, that okay?"

Not answering, you let out a small squeak as you stifled a sob. He immediately knelt down next to you, standing at your eye level. His brow was tense as he looked at you with a painful expression. Your body was trembling, jaw chattering, eyes looking shellshocked. The bathroom grew hotter as the shower steam began to billow around the bathroom. Your reflection beginning to fade as condensation clung to the mirror.

Jack began to search for comforting words, his back leaning against the bathroom door.

"I've been in this exact situation myself, you know? When I got hurt, I was unable to bathe myself. It was a sponge bath, talk about mortifying. I'm a grown man and I had some hot nurse in a German military hospital flipping me over to scrub my ass..."

You couldn't help but chuckle, appreciating not only the imagery but his vulnerability.

"So I get it... trust me."

"Okay...yeah."

Jack untied the back of your hospital gown, slipping it off you. Instinctually, you covered your exposed body.

He lifts you into the shower, placing you on the shower stool. The hot water began to cascade over your bruised and scarred body, washing away the dirt, grime and blood. Jack began to work his hands along your body, starting with your hair. You shut your eyes as Jack began to gently massage shampoo into your scalp, taking extra care to avoid your craniotomy staples.

Then your bruised neck and down to your stiff shoulders.

He worked away at the knots from laying in the hospital bed, your head hung forward, breath quickening again. Not because you couldn't breathe, but from the sensation of his hands on your skin. The crook of your neck was now exposed to him, almost inviting him to press his lips against you. He shook his head, trying to get back to the task at hand. He was standing in front of you now, kneeling down at eye level. With more precision his hands moved lower, the washcloth brushing against your breasts, your breath hitching. His eyes met yours, checking in to see you were okay.

With more assurance his hand traveled lower, brushing against your stomach. Lower and lower, until you grabbed his wrist, stopping him before he reached your most sensitive part.

"Jack..." you whispered.

"I-I'm sorry." he whispered, handing you the washcloth. "I'll go wait outside so you can finish up, call me when you're ready, yeah?"

He left the bathroom in a hurry, rubbing his hand along the back of his neck.

"Fuck..." he whispered to himself. He felt so guilty, for wanting more when you were in your most vulnerable. Felt disgusted he felt for how good it felt to have your hands on your body, even in your condition.

When he heard your faint callings from the bathroom he went back in with a smile.

"Ready?" he helped you stand, you pressed your back against his chest as he wrapped a scratchy hospital around your frail frame. "Feel better?" he asked, helping you back into a fresh gown and into your bed with fresh sheets.

"Much, thank you Jack."

"Let me fix your hair so it doesn't get tangled again, alright?" he sat you up and started to braid your hair.

"You know how to braid hair?"

"Not my choice. I have 4 sisters." he chuckled before finishing up and admiring his work. "I'm a little rusty, but I think it'll do."

"Thank you." you smiled.

"Listen, abou-" he began before you promptly cut him off.

"Dont, Jack." you grabbed his hand, shaking your head, "Its okay. I promise. It's okay." Despite your assurance, Jack kept pushing.

"No...it’s not. Because I didnt just... I told you... you were in such a-- I wanted..." he began to stutter, fumbling over his words.

"Wanted what?"

"YOU!" he yelled before lowering his voice to almost a whisper... "I wanted you.”

He tried to get up, but you held onto him firmly. Your grip getting tighter and tighter as he spoke. “Even though I’ve been in your position and know how helpless you felt in that moment… I still wanted to touch you. And I just feel like some animal. That I’m no better than the sick fuck who hurt you in the first place.” Jacks voice cracked and in that moment you thought he was going to cry.

“Jack…” you whispered, cupping his face in your hands.

“You trusted me…” He whispered back, his eyes welling up with tears.

“I still do, Jack.” You rested your forehead against his. The tips of your noses brushing, your lips hovering mere inches apart. Both you were breathing quickly as his hands found your body again, rubbing his fingers down your bare spine through the opening of the hospital gown. You could feel each other’s breath panting against your lips. Your eyes beginning to flutter shut.

“Jack Abbot?” And unfamiliar voice pulled your attention away from each other in almost an instant. Two officers stood in the doorway, both resting their hands on their tactical vests.

“Yes officer, how can I help you?” Jack responded.

“Stand up for me and put your hands behind your back.” One stepped forward, pulling the handcuffs from his belt.

“What?” You yelled, not wanting to let go of Jack. “No, please!”

“Dr. Abbot you’re under arrest for the aggravated assault and battery of Charlie Truett.”

————————————————————————

Tag list //

@michasia24 @emma8895eb @nosebeers @runawaybaby3 @antisocialfiore @xxxkat3xxx @livingavilaloca @popeabbot @catmomstyles3 @bxxbxy @meowmeowyoongles @midnight-dixon @nerdgirljen @aj3684 @screechingenemy18 @profoundlynerdywolf @rogersbarnesxx @sebastianstangirl01 @princesssunderworld @looneylooomis @shadowhuntyi @drlangdonsbabydaddy @celiacallsitcausal @sjester42-blog @geekgirl1996 @ksyn-faith @peggyofoz @trustme3-13 @foolishseven @floofmc @anxiousfuckupon @silas-aeiou @pinkdrinkwithraspberry

(I think I got everyone! Sorry if I missed you!!!! Lmk if you wanna be added)

[popeabbot]

Propaganda I won’t fall for:

Eating at the fuckass Rudy’s BBQ in Del Rio

[popeabbot]

This just confirms to me that all of his characters listen to Radiohead….the prophecy has come true🙌

you’re telling me this is one of shawn hatosy’s favorite songs??? yeah i’m going crazy.

[popeabbot]

TEXTS from THE PITT - dr. jack abbot and dr. michael "robby" robinavitch (probably)

[popeabbot]

i think love is stored in nighttime conversations and “did you eat yet” and books left outside your door and “i waited to watch this with you” and splitting something in half to share and “im proud of you” and folded towels and “you can pick” and heads on shoulders and “you’re right, that was shitty. im sorry” and knocks on doors and “DINNER!” and stupid jokes and “hey i got this for you” and coffee made just right and… there are so many ways people say i love you silently every day over and over again if you only listen

[popeabbot]

nothing scarier than being a fan of a fic and then becoming mutuals with the author. like hi shakespeare. big fan of your fake dating au

[popeabbot]

the most fun a girl can have is finding parallels, noticing patterns, making connections, contemplating

[popeabbot]

@ebodebo we should be Robby and Jack for Halloween since we’re always fighting the allegations🤭

[popeabbot]

As much as I comment about us NOT being friends on this hellsite, that’s my old man fr🫶🏼

old man 🫶🏼

[popeabbot]

+ @autumnsparrow

[popeabbot]

The limp wrist is actually killing me like instead of blatantly showing everyone your a fruitcake put that shit in your pocket!! Naoh really said bi rights for Robby Robinavitch

season 2 filming preview is so funny because it looks like dr robby came back bisexual with his limp wrist and instead of going to therapy he bought a motorcycle