Imagine Lying And Saying You Wouldn’t IMMEDIATELY Give Your Ass To Tank, Riot, Alpha, Or Athena If

Imagine lying and saying you wouldn’t IMMEDIATELY give your ass to Tank, Riot, Alpha, or Athena if they asked you for it.

The Red Thread Masterlist

🔥 = NSFW 🐧 = contains metaphorical penguin shenanigans 🌧️ = contains heavy angst

The Red Thread 🔥

Ship: Matt Murdock x F!Reader

Summary: It’s said that every soul is connected to another by a red thread, and that these two souls are destined to meet. The thread, though it may tangle or stretch, will never break. That’s not your experience, lucky or unlucky enough as you are to see the strings that bind people together. A red thread is developed and grown, not born, and you’ve worked hard to weed out any semblance of crimson that might cling to you. You pay your bills, you keep your head down, and you find whatever lost people or items you’re hired to sniff out.

Then the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen tags along on a job, and your plan falls apart.

Now the longest Daredevil x Reader fic on AO3, so remember to drink some water before starting! Updates every Tuesday.

Rating: Mostly M, occasional E. Chapters that are E will be marked at the beginning of the chapter. NSFW.

Current tags and warnings: friends-to-lovers, eventual smut, slow burn, canon-typical violence, blood, kidnapping and rescue, guns, angst, hurt/comfort, no use of ‘y/n’. More tags are listed on the fic itself!

For your added enjoyment: listen to the official accompanying playlist on Spotify!

Extras/Supplementary Goodies

Requested Matt POVs of major events:

✦The goodbye letter from Chapter 9. ✦Matt’s POV of that scene from Chapter 28. (NSFW🔥) ✦Matt’s POV/feelings on you wearing his mask in Chapter 32. (NSFW 🔥 ) ✦Letters from the Road (letters sent to Matt, post-chapter 34): Letter 1 | Letter 2 | Letter 3 (Also collected here) ✦Matt dreaming of you while you’re away during the Away Chapters. ✦Matt’s POV of the 10 day period in Chapter 41. 🌧️ ✦ Matt’s POV of the mind-whammy and grinding in Chapter 47 🔥

What-Ifs:

Based on an ask: what would happen if Reader lost her memory just before coming back from her three months away? 🌧️

Fan Creations Because Ya’ll Are Amazing:

✦ Art by @electricmongrel of Beagle!Reader and Doberman!Ciro! ✦ Art by @nerualian of Matt, including one of him with a red thread! ✦ Art by @acrabbybish of Matt in an adorable penguin onesie! ✦ A series of wonderful pieces by @phantomkindalikejaiden of Matt and Red Thread’s Reader: Art 1 | Art 2 | Art 3 | Art 4 | Art 5 | Art 6 | Art 7 | Art 8 | Art 9 | Art 10 | Art 11 | Art 12 ✦ Art by ViviEkhart on Insta of Matt and Reader holding hands! ✦ An awesome playlist by @moonyinthestars on spotify! ✦ Badass art by @melodicmel of Matt with a red thread! ✦ Art by @vx-vexedvixen, who made this awesome collage!

714 notes View Post

mackycat11

2 years ago

WE GOT A HUNTER & OMEGA HUG!!!!

bro i swear i’ve been living off Hunter&Omega SCRAPS i live for this

in S2E5 when the robot thing is ‘exploding’, Hunter says “grab onto something!” and proceeds to run Omega to safety.

then they sit together safely, until the robot starts going down, and it’s only for a split second

BUT THEY EMBRACE EACH OTHER IN A HUG AND KEEP EACH OTHER SAFE AND ITS JUST dhdkdjdhhs

can someone pls make a gif of it

idk how to do it

i’d give you all my love and appreciation

114 notes View Post

mackycat11

5 years ago

Wow

252K notes View Post

mackycat11

6 years ago

I’ll do it

For everyone’s information:

The plan for the 17th, when the adult content ban comes in, is to protest.

To do that, we are making as much noise either side of the 17th as possible, and using the site as normal.

On the 17th, dead silence.

People are saying log off but what they really mean is don’t open the site or the app.

But, on the 17th make as much noise as possible on every other platform. Tweet about it and post on facebook and instagram and everywhere else.

What this does is causes a massive dip in ad revenue for one single day. That does not make staff think ‘oh everyone’s gone let’s shut down.’ What it actually makes them think is ‘oh shit people aren’t happy and if people don’t keep using our site we’re out of money and out of jobs.’

A boycott reminds a company that the users (consumers) have the power to make their site (business) worthless with one single coordinated decision.

If you want to join in, here’s what to do:

Do:

Close all open instances of the app and site on all your devices before the 17th

Make posts before and after the 17th on tumblr and other platforms, talking about why this ban is bad

Make posts on other sites during the 17th. Flood the official tumblr staff twitter and facebook with your anger and your opinion

Come back on the 18th and check in

Don’t:

Delete the app from your phone (this doesn’t affect their revenue and since it’s off the store at the moment it’ll be hard to get back)

Delete your account. I mean you can if you want to, but if you keep your account and don’t use it you’re saying to staff that there’s still time to save it. If you delete it’s hard work to come back.

Open the app or website (including specific blogs)

Make any posts (turn down/off your queue and make sure nothing is scheduled)

Go quiet elsewhere. Make it clear that this is just about tumblr, not a mass move away from all social media.

Remember: the execs don’t care about anything but money. Shutting down the site means there’s $0 further income from it. That’s their last possible course of action. If we make it clear we’re not happy, they’ll have to do something or we can do more and more until it becomes too expensive.

Protests take commitment. They’re a defiant action against a business that is doing something wrong. They will try to scare you into not participating, because they’re scared. We hold all the power here, sometimes the execs just need to be reminded of that.

222K notes View Post

mackycat11

3 years ago

I just realized something

John Mulaney and Matt Murdock are one in the same. Two catholic boys who are fucking done with everything and everyone.

Think about it:

Karen, in Defenders: are you done with the vigilante life?

Matt:

“Didn’t a building fall on you?

Matt:

“But you’re blind.”

Matt:

Just Matt in general:

Ur welcome

5K notes View Post

mackycat11

4 months ago

Imagine… The Bad Batch squishmallows…

930 notes View Post

mackycat11

4 years ago

Fic recs masterlist

* means smut :)

none of these belong to me, full credit goes to the writer

If you know any fics that are not on here please let me know :)

Let me know if any links are broken :)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

@fairysimp

The prettiest flower

If you’re a fairy, so am i

Corpse classic

You’re on!

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@ewritesthangs

Blurb

Q and a time

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@marvelandsuchstuff

Sleepness nights and Golden sunlight

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@corpsehusband-simp

Opposites attract

Lazy day

Oops

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@laysfics

Spell

Spell 2

Spell 3

Dinner

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

@bastillewolf

Shinigami eyes 1

Shinigami eyes 2

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

@deycespade

Your voice*

My little pet*

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

@artist-bby

Deadass 1

Prepare for trouble... Make it double 2

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

@fandomlit

Voice impressions

Destracted

Mad

Fangirling

Daddy (deleted)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

@skyeet-the-writer

Id never snitch on daddy 1

My mind is restless with the toughts of you 2

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

@ghostgamer

Calm nights

Comforting you

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

@iamsuchasimp

Simp

Instagram post

Simply simping

Making amends

Miss you

Meant to be?

Alibi

Headcanons 1

Headcanons 2

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

@introverted-mushroom-san

Just a human (series)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

@harleysarchive

Among you and me

Among you and me 2

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@storiesforallfandoms

Propostion

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@star-gaz3rs

Unspoken words and read messages

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@locallolli

Corpse head canon

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@corpsedaydream

Neon banter

Sore loser

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@randomafwritings

It’s 2 am dude...

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

@corpseglider

Soft!boy hours

Mute Your mic

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

@moonjelly-princesa

Next time

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

@bakubabes-hatake

Muted infatuation

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

3K notes View Post

mackycat11

1 month ago

Saviors & Healers- Robby X Oc Social Worker! Part One: The Healer. - Part Two. - Part Three.

saviors & healers- Robby x oc social worker! part one: the healer. - part two. - part three.

ꫂ ၴႅၴ slow enemies-ish to friends to possible lovers(?) trope- lol ꫂ age gap! ꫂ ၴႅၴ dr langdon certified hater. ꫂ ၴႅၴ warnings: swear count. panic attacks. violence. suicide ideation discussion. ꫂ ၴႅၴ word count: 4.9k.

masterlist:

Dr. Nina Wojicki was practically burning holes through Dr. Robby’s skull. No—scratch that. She was.

The tension in the Pitt was thick enough to scalpel, and it had been since the second she stepped foot inside. Her presence always stirred the air, but today it was sharper. Louder. Angrier.

And the number one name on her helllist—as the rest of the Pitt liked to call it—was Dr. Robby.

She never called him that, though. No, she made a point to call him Michael, every time, no matter how many times he corrected her. It wasn’t petty. It was strategic.

Her stubbornness had long become legendary in the Pitt—equal parts intriguing and exhausting. And today, Michael could feel it in his bones.

Fresh from the University of Chicago with a PhD in Social Work and newly thirty, Nina had wasted no time making the ER her personal battlefield. Charm when needed, daggers when not. She wasn’t here to be liked. She was here to do the damn job—and she was damn good at it.

Michael knew that. Maybe a little too well.

Currently, she was scrolling through the system at the nurses’ station, eyes narrowing at the patient logs. Her tongue clicked once. Then again. Then a third time, sharper now.

“Unbelievable,” she muttered, mostly to herself. “Of course he didn’t log him.”

Across the room, Michael didn’t need to look up. He heard the click. Felt the shift. He knew she was coming.

He braced himself.

Langdon, ever the observant one, caught the look in Michael’s eyes and turned just in time to see the ash-brunette stomping their way. Her hands were buried in the pockets of her coat, fingers twitching around a bundle of Flair pens.

Bad sign.

“Good afternoon, Dr. Wojicki,” Langdon greeted, arms folded and eyes dancing. “To what do we owe this… delightful appearance?”

She shot him a look, then turned to Michael without skipping a beat. “Your incompetent doctor here didn’t log in the psych patient from this morning.”

Michael didn’t flinch, eyes still on the chart in front of him. He was already preparing for the storm. “Oh no,” he said dryly. “The horror.”

Nina’s jaw tightened. Langdon chuckled.

“Don’t even start, Jumpy,” she warned, pointing a finger at him.

He smirked. “Relax, Miss Fidgety. What earth-shattering crime did I commit this time?”

She cocked an eyebrow, sarcasm sharpened like a scalpel. “You didn’t enter the 8 a.m. patient’s info. The one I evaluated. I don’t have access to his file, and now I can’t input my follow-up diagnosis.”

Langdon stepped in. “He’s not your patient, Nina.”

“Excuse me?” Her fire ignited. “He has schizophrenia, Franky. That makes him my patient.”

“It’s not confirmed schizophrenia. It’s a symptom cluster. We don’t slap labels on one visit.”

“Oh, please.” She scoffed. “You wouldn’t have paged me if you didn’t suspect it was psychological and not physical.”

“I didn’t make that call,” Langdon snapped. His eyes flicked to Michael.

Michael still hadn’t looked up.

But he was listening. Every word. Every heartbeat.

Nina pivoted again, now arms crossed. “Wanna speak up, Dr. Michael?” she asked, each word sugarcoated in attitude.

Finally, he shut the file with a satisfying snap and walked past Langdon, slapping the chart into his chest. “Follow me,” he muttered, not sparing either of them a glance.

Nina narrowed her eyes, growling under her breath as she stalked after him.

“So it was you,” she hissed. “You made the call. You looped me in.”

He didn’t answer. Didn’t need to. He knew she’d follow. He always knew.

They reached the on-call room. He pushed open the door and stepped inside.

She shut it behind her with a loud click.

“You gonna keep ignoring me, or are we going to have a grown-up conversation?” Nina asked, arms still crossed.

Michael turned, finally facing her. His shoulders tense, jaw tight.

“You stormed into the Pitt like a damn hurricane, Nina. You wanna talk about grown-up behavior?”

“Oh, I’m sorry, would you prefer I just let bad patient documentation slide? Want me to play nice while someone falls through the cracks?”

His jaw twitched. “No. But you could try not lighting the place on fire every time you find a mistake.”

She stepped closer. “Maybe if people around here actually did their jobs, I wouldn’t have to play fire marshal.”

He laughed, but it wasn’t mocking. It was tired. Honest. “You always this intense, or do I just bring out your best?”

Her lips parted slightly, caught off guard by the way he said it. Not mocking. Not amused. Just… low. Real.

“You bring out something, that’s for sure,” she muttered. Her voice wavered. Just enough for him to catch it.

They stood there—too long. The silence wasn’t awkward. It was dense. Like grief. Like something was about to be said and neither wanted to be the one to break it.

He took a step closer. So did she.

Close enough now that he could see the slight tremble in her fingertips. The crease between her brows. The way her breath hitched before she spoke.

“I paged you because I trust your gut,” he said finally. “Not because I needed a lecture.”

Her breath caught halfway in her throat. “Then next time, say that. Don’t leave me out in the Pitt to fight with Frank like I’m the problem.”

“You’re not the problem,” he said—quiet. Fast. Like it had been waiting to leave his mouth. “You’re just the only one brave enough to yell about it.”

That silenced her.

He studied her—every flicker of emotion she tried to smother.

“You act like everyone hates you here.”

“They don’t have to like me,” she muttered.

“No. But I think some of us do,” he said—and added, almost too quiet to hear—“a little too much.”

Her eyes darted to his.

The air cracked.

It wasn’t a kiss. Not even a touch. But his hand brushed the door handle like he needed to remind himself where the line was.

She didn’t move. Neither did he.

Finally, he spoke. Voice hoarse. “You should probably go document your follow-up. We’ll talk again—just… maybe not in front of the whole ER next time.”

Her lips twitched, somewhere between a smirk and a challenge. “Sure. If you grow a spine and back me up next time.”

He let out a dry laugh. “Deal.”

But as she brushed past him—shoulder to shoulder—neither of them said what they were really thinking.

Dr. Nina had just gotten in for the early evening and overnight shift, which she dreaded. But at least there was an upside: Dr. Abbot; who quite honestly felt like her dad in some ways.

Was her father a doctor? No, he was a lawyer. Was her dad a fisher? Also, no. Was he kind, empathetic, but also had a sarcastic side? Yes and yes. Was he also grey haired? Triple yes.

She hadn’t turned on her pinger when her phone rang at her desk, just as she sat down. Her nostrils flared as her mouth clenched, and she picked up the phone.

“Yes?” she spat a little too quickly—and quickly felt guilt seep into her abdomen.

Dr. Robby on the other side was taken back for a moment before speaking, “Dr. Nina? We need you down in the Pitt for a moment—”

She cut him off. “Dr. Michael, I can’t come down at this moment. Is Dr. Alfaro there? Or Dr. Murphy?” she questioned, pinching the bridge of her nose.

She thought of the other social workers who could’ve just arrived or were already there.

She heard Dr. Michael sigh. “Well, yes, but—”

She cut him off again. “I can’t come down, Dr. Robinavitch. You need to find someone else.”

She stated his full name, promptly ending the conversation.

Dr. Michael stood there for a brief few seconds before nodding. “Of course, Dr. Wojicki,” he declared before hanging up.

He stood with his hand finally retreating from the corded phone, his eyebrows crinkled. He didn’t think she’d ever called him by his last name besides the first day they met.

Even though that attitude was a regular occurrence, it was never first thing when she got here.

She slapped the phone back into the receiver and stared up at the ceiling, leaning back in her chair.

God, she hated it when this happened. And she cursed herself for not staying on top of herself.

After moving here from Chicago—five months ago now—she’d definitely let her health and wellbeing fall to the back burner.

Now, it was beginning to take a toll.

She thought she’d be okay moving to a new city. But no. She’d been wrong.

Again.

Twenty-five minutes later, there was a knock at Nina’s office door.

She froze.

Held her breath. Slowed it. Willed her pulse to calm as she silently begged whoever it was to just go away.

“I know you’re in there, Dr. Wojicki.”

Damn.

She recognized the voice immediately—familiar and frustratingly warm. Dr. Michael Robby.

With a loud, dramatic sigh, she pushed herself up from her chair and made her way to the door, dragging her feet more than she’d admit.

When she opened it, Michael stood there, eyes scanning her the way only someone trained in observation—and maybe something a little more personal—could.

She looked like hell. Pale, drawn, and tense. Purple bags hollowed out her under-eyes, and her pupils were blown, uneasy. She stood there in front of him, arms crossed too tightly and confidence nowhere in sight.

Very unlike her.

“Are you okay?” he asked immediately.

She rolled her eyes. “Isn’t that my line?”

He chuckled, and somehow it echoed in her chest—warm, unexpected. Her spine tingled. Her cheeks flushed.

“I don’t think I’ve ever actually heard you say that before. Not to me, and definitely not in the Pitt,” he teased, leaning against the frame like he had all day.

Nina exhaled and rubbed the bridge of her nose, eyes squeezed shut. Michael’s gaze flicked downward, catching the faint bruises along her hands—half hidden, half colored by her naturally cool-toned skin.

“Is everything okay, Dr. Nina?” he asked again, this time softer.

Her eyes opened slowly, sharp and guarded. “Peachy,” she muttered before closing the door in his face.

She didn’t slam it. But she made sure he heard the click of the lock.

Michael stood there for a beat, replaying what he saw, what he sensed, and—more than anything—what he believed.

Then he walked away.

Inside, Nina sagged against the front of her desk like someone had pulled the plug. A sob broke through before she could stop it, followed by another, and another, until silent tears carved rivers down her face.

Her body was exhausted. Her mind—shattered. And emotionally? She was drowning. Dried out and waterlogged all at once.

Sleep was a fantasy. Functioning was becoming one too. And if something didn’t give soon, she would break.

No. She was breaking.

She laid a trembling hand flat against her chest, trying to still the panicked beat beneath. It felt like her heart was either going to burst or give out entirely—and she wasn’t sure which terrified her more.

She was running on fumes. And even those were poisoned with depression, anxiety, unresolved trauma—emotions she had battled her whole life, but now, without medication or support, they were winning.

She’d thought the move would bring her peace. A new city. A new chapter. A reset.

But it hadn’t.

It amplified everything.

And somewhere along the way, she’d started to feel abandoned, even though no one had technically left her. She had chosen this. Chosen alone.

But it still stung like rejection.

She felt unloved. Unlovable. Like no one would care if she just… disappeared.

Head tilted back, eyes locked on the dimmed ceiling light, she whispered into the silence—not really expecting an answer:

Why me?

What did I do to deserve this?

How could someone so empathetic, so hardworking, someone who tried so damn hard to care for everyone else… be left to carry this much?

Her only answer was the weight in her chest.

And the silence. Always, the silence.

6:42 AM; the next morning.

She had exactly 18 minutes left before she could leave this hellhole—also known as the Pitt. She’d been stuck down here with Dr. Abbott for the better part of her shift, dealing with one psychological patient after another as they rolled in throughout the night. Dr. Nina was now checking in on her last patient of the shift, and immediately, she sensed something was off. Call it spidey senses, call it intuition—whatever it was, the energy of the room shifted, and the hair on the back of her neck stood up.

"Good morning, Mr. Callahan—what brings you in today?" she asked as she approached the computer next to his bed. He didn’t respond, only stared at her. She offered a soft smile. "It’s early, I know. That’s alright."

She was about to speak again when his file loaded, but before she could, he snapped.

"You! You’re the one who fucking poisoned me!" His voice screamed out, and Nina froze.

Me?

She’d never met this man in her life.

"I understand that you’re agitated, and the meds should be working soon, but I don’t think we’ve ever met before. Have you been here—"

He cut her off, suddenly lunging off the bed, his movements frantic. In an instant, he knocked her back into the wall, the sharp edge of a scalpel gleaming in his hand. His IV tore from his arm, blood spilling out and splattering all over her. Nina’s gaze locked onto the scalpel, and her body tensed. Fear crawled down her spine as his face came dangerously close to hers. She turned her head, trying to escape his proximity, but he screamed in her ear.

"You’re going to regret ever giving me meds, Matilda! I’m gonna fucking kill you!" His words were full of rage, and before she could react, the scalpel pressed to her throat.

He didn’t get far before he was suddenly yanked backward. Dr. Abbott, appearing from nowhere, put himself between Nina and the patient. He glared at the man, fury flashing in his eyes. "Don't you move another step," Abbott warned, his voice low but deadly. "I will gladly lose my license today if that means you don't touch her."

Nina coughed, the blood from her neck trickling down her skin. Her eyes dilated, her body still locked in fight-or-flight mode. But underneath it all, she felt like a little girl again, alone and helpless—berated by her parents with no one to protect her.

As soon as Dr. Abbott saw that the patient was restrained by other nurses, he turned back toward Nina. His concern grew when he realized she was nowhere to be found. He looked down.

She was curled into a ball on the floor, her body rocking back and forth, her head hitting the wall behind her with each movement. Uncontrollable tears streamed down her grey-blue eyes, her heart sinking as if it had fallen straight through her chest. She was in a daze, unsure if what had just happened was real or just a hallucination. Was she so dissociated that her mind had fabricated the whole thing?

Dr. Abbott kneeled in front of her, his hand gently resting on her shoulder. "Nina," he said softly, his voice full of concern.

Her eyes snapped up to meet his, and she flinched, pulling away. "Don’t touch me," she hissed, her voice shaky.

"Nina, please, let me help—"

She shook her head violently, standing up in a rush. Her eyes were wide with terror as she scanned the room, desperate to escape the suffocating walls closing in around her.

Before Dr. Abbott could say another word, she bolted. Her footsteps echoed down the hallway as she ran past the nurse's station, where the Pitt crew was just arriving for their shift. They watched her, confused, as she sprinted toward the stairwell. Dr. Michael had just arrived for the day and caught a fleeting glimpse of her ash-brown hair disappearing into the stairwell in mere seconds.

Nina didn’t stop to think. She just ran. She ran up six flights of stairs, her breath growing shallow, her vision clouded by the rush of blood and panic. All that could be heard were the heavy, ragged sobs and shallow breaths as she pushed herself onward.

When she reached the sixth floor, she staggered out of the stairwell. She was met with curious eyes, but they quickly dropped to the blood soaking through her white coat—her neck still bleeding from where the scalpel had grazed her skin. Fuck. She would need a new one. She groaned inwardly.

"Dr. Nina—" Kiara began, but before she could say anything else, Nina bolted past her, heading straight for her office.

She slammed the door behind her, too frantic to lock it. Her eyes scanned the room, searching for somewhere to hide. Her gaze fell on the wooden desk in front of her. She yanked out the chair and collapsed beneath it, curling up into a ball, pressing herself against the solid wood.

Her sobs grew louder as she rocked back and forth, trying to calm herself, but finding no relief. She felt completely undone, trapped in a nightmare she couldn’t escape.

No one would help her. No one would ask if she's ok.

Yet. She didn't want anyone to. She didn't want to seem like a problem. A child.

It was a mere few minutes later, Robby going into saving mode, when she heard a soft knock on the door, followed by the gentle click of it opening. Footsteps padded softly into the room, and she immediately froze, her body tensing with unease.

Who was it?

"Dr. Nina?" came the familiar voice of Dr. Michael.

A sob escaped her before she could stop it, and she quickly clapped a hand over her mouth. His eyes darted to the desk—he knew. He knew she was under there. Quietly, he shut the door behind him, walked around the desk, and pulled out the chair.

He looked down at the fragile woman who suddenly felt like a scared child. She couldn’t meet his gaze, too afraid he’d be angry with her—for being a burden, a problem, a mess. She curled deeper into herself, although there was no more space left to retreat.

He knelt down, gently setting the supplies Dana had brought him: gauze, saline solution, stitches, bandages.

"Did that really just happen?" she whispered, the question stopping Robby in his tracks.

"Did they really just attack me?" she asked again, her voice barely audible. She wasn’t even sure her mind was telling the truth—it had lied to her before.

His brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”

She finally lifted her head, and what he saw confirmed his worst suspicion.

“Did that patient really attack me? Did he really hurt me?” Her voice cracked. She didn’t feel it—her neck, her shoulder, her head. There was no pain.

She was simply numb.

“I think you may be concussed,” Robby said, studying her face. Her pupils were dilated. Her skin was pale—though, with her, that was always the case. Then he saw the cut on her neck, and the blood staining her white coat and black work clothes.

“May I check you? I want to rule out a concussion, Nina.”

Something about the way he said her name—soft, careful—made her heart ache. She nodded, inching just out from under the desk. He checked her eyes with a small light, guiding her vision with his finger. No concussion. Good.

He motioned toward her neck. She sighed and tilted her head.

“It’s beginning to clot. That’s good,” he said, cleaning the area with gauze and saline. Next, he examined the bruises already forming around her neck. She nodded, allowing him to lift her shirt slightly to peek at her shoulders.

Gods, she bruised so easily.

“Already bruised?” she teased weakly.

He glanced at her, then back at the dark marks. A small chuckle slipped out as he reached for a bandage.

“Something tells me you’re not surprised?”

She shook her head. “Unfortunately, with this ghostly complexion? I bruise if the wind breathes on me too hard.”

After securing the bandage, his gaze fell to her hands, marked with smaller bruises.

“May I ask why your hands are bruised, then?” he asked gently.

She immediately tucked them behind her.

“No, no. We’re not doing that,” he said softly, reaching for them again. She didn’t resist as he brought them forward.

She wouldn’t lie—she felt lightheaded. And she couldn’t deny that her breathing faltered slightly when his hands wrapped around hers.

Another confirmation, he thought.

“Is there anyone at home, Nina, who—”

She shook her head quickly. “No. No, It’s just me.”

He nodded, carefully checking her fingers. No breaks. No sprains. Just bruises.

“May I ask why you show up with more bruises every time I see you?” he asked again, voice soft but sincere.

She met his eyes, didn’t pull away. Her hands were still in his, even though he didn’t need to hold them anymore.

She cleared her throat. “My hands… are kind of my go-to when I get really stressed. Or angry.”

She looked down at them. “They’re my personal fidget spinner. I flex them, pull at them, hit them against things just to... feel something. To make my mind shut up for once. I don't know.”

She stopped, realizing what she had just confessed.

His chest tightened.

“Are you taking anything, Nina? Or speaking to someone?”

She shook her head. “Well—not anymore. I used to. Back at the hospital before I moved, I had weekly sessions, meds... but since the move, it’s all taken a backseat and—”

“We have to change that, Dr. Nina,” he said, gently rubbing his thumb across hers. The smallest gesture, yet it made her feel... safe.

“I—I don’t know, Dr. Mic—”

“Robby,” he corrected gently. “Call me Robby.”

She looked up, her grey-blue eyes locking onto his warm brown ones. There were laugh lines around his eyes, but in this moment, they just made him look kind. Steady.

“Robby,” she said, almost tasting the unfamiliar softness of it. “I just... I don’t want to be a burden.”

“An inconvenience?” he asked knowingly. “No. Nina, we as doctors can only do our best when we’re taking care of everything behind the scenes. Our mental and emotional health? Non-negotiable. We can't ignore it. Not in this field.”

She nodded.

“Let’s talk to Kiara. I’m sure she can help,” he offered.

Before she could respond, a knock broke the moment. Both turned their heads toward the door.

Robby quickly pulled back, standing up and tidying the used supplies. Dr. Abbott walked in as Nina stood, straightening her clothes—and that’s when she saw it.

The blood.

Her stomach turned.

Without hesitation, Robby held the trash can out in front of her. A reflex. She threw up. Abbott glanced between the two of them—he knew he’d just walked in on something private. You could feel it in the air.

When she finally stopped, Robby handed her gauze to wipe her mouth.

“Thanks,” she murmured.

Abbott cleared his throat. Nina turned to him, nervously.

“Hi.”

“I brought you some clean scrubs so you don’t have to drive home in those,” he said kindly. “Just wanted to check on you, kid.”

She smiled. “Thanks, Abbott.”

Robby took that as his cue to leave. As he reached the door, she called after him.

“Thank you, Dr. Robby,” she said warmly.

He met her eyes and smiled before stepping out.

When she turned back around, Abbott was already settled in her chair.

“SO. How can I help you, Mr. Abbott?” she teased, and he chuckled as she sat down.

The next morning, she was back.

Sharing a shift with Robby and the rest of the Pitt crew. Anxiety had followed her all night and clung to her as she walked in. Would he pretend nothing happened? Would everything go back to normal? She stepped into her office and saw a letter on her desk—no, two. And next to them, a Dunkin Donuts vanilla latte. She opened the first letter, from Kiara. It promised privacy. Off-the-books sessions. No insurance. The line made her laugh softly.

Then, her eyes landed on the other envelope—pure chicken scratch. Robby. The letter was full of warmth, empathy, and gentle wit. He offered himself as a mentor, a sounding board, or even a brick wall for her sarcasm, should she need one. But most of all, the letter offered friendship. A knock sounded. Robby’s head popped in. “Hi,” she said, slightly flustered. She sat back in her chair as he entered, shutting the door behind him without looking away. She looked rested. For once.

“What do I owe this pleasure?” she teased, sipping the latte. He smiled at the floor, then sat in the chair across from her. “Morning, Nina. How was the rest of your day yesterday?” She smirked. “You know I abhor small talk, Dr. Robby,” she teased. “But wouldn’t you like to know?” He chuckled lightly.

“Abbott got me some medical-grade melatonin before I left yesterday. Told me to take three and call it a night once I got home. My cat was very concerned when she woke me up screaming, because I forgot to give her her lunch,” she mused, sipping her coffee.

“A cat?” His eyebrow flicked up, curiosity growing.

“Yes, a kitty. You’d know that if you stopped trying to small talk me every day,” she hummed. “But yeah, I have a six-year-old tabby named Kilo, which—yes—you can already guess why he’s named that. I just say it’s Australian when people ask.”

Robby smiled. “Well, good to know there’s more to you than that wall you keep up,” he said warmly.

She tilted her cup toward him. “Glad to hear some not-so-rude humor from you today, Dr. Nina,” he added boldly.

Her mouth popped open in surprise. “You asshole,” she muttered—but she knew exactly what he meant. She had been a bitch the past few months, after missing her medication refill.

“Dr. Kiara already called UChicago, got your meds refilled—they’re sitting in your desk drawer,” he explained.

She sighed. “I’m gonna kill you all. Starting with Franky downstairs,” she chuckled.

“Oh, wait now, I need him in the clinic today. Maybe after our shift ends,” he replied, sipping his coffee.

“I guess I can hold off,” she playfully sighed.

The two of them sat in a comfortable quiet for a moment, studying one another.

“I don’t want you—or Kiara, or Abbott—to think I’m some kind of weak child who can’t handle this job,” she said gently.

Robby shifted in his seat. She continued, voice steady but low.

“I don’t want you to think I’m incapable of doing good work. My fuel and passion are what keep me going. The reasons behind what I do—they’re at the forefront of my work, every single day.”

He nodded slowly. “We’ve all got our reasons in this profession.”

“Well…” She hesitated. “My childhood wasn’t exactly the greatest. I think I spent more time alone in my room than anywhere else, scared of which parent was going to scream at me next. The only time I felt seen by my family was when I was on my deathbed—figuratively speaking.”

She stared out the window, her features softer than usual. Vulnerable.

“The reason I am who I am—and why I do this work—is because I became the person I longed for as a child. The one I begged for. Screamed for. Until I lost my voice,” she said quietly. “Even then, no one came. No one helped. No one saved me.”

Her gaze dropped to her hands.

“So when I get the chance to save someone else—or just be there for them—it heals me. Little by little. Heals me without me needing to beg for assistance or worry if someone’s going to care. So I don’t have to ask for help or make someone worry about me.”

Robby watched the guilt start creeping back into her eyes. She was bracing herself for rejection.

But he leaned forward instead, his voice warm.

“Well… thank you, Nina. For opening up to me. I want you to never feel like you’re a burden—because you’re not. Your reasons, your passion for this work—it’s admirable. You haven’t let your trauma, your insecurities, or even your setbacks hold you back. I’m incredibly glad to have you here.”

He held her gaze. Those words and his gaze, held something a bit more.

“And I want you to know—everyone else, even when you’re a complete bitch—”

She giggled, softly. A smile crept up on his face.

“—to everyone. Especially me. We’re grateful you’re here. Today and every day. You’re a damn good doctor, Nina. And you’re irreplaceable.”

She felt something warm and unfamiliar creep up her chest—but all she could manage was a nod.

“Thank you, Robby. I appreciate that,” she murmured.

He nodded and stood. “Now meet us downstairs when you’re sure you won’t tear Franky’s head off.”

She giggled again, just a little.

“Tell Franky to put me in the system,” she quipped.

He nodded. “Will do.”

She smiled a little wider, a little brighter than she had in weeks.

Robby left with a heart full—and a smile that didn’t leave his face the rest of the day.

Nina looked back down at the letter Robby had written, her eyes lingering on the number scribbled at the bottom.

But they flitted back to the line just above it—the one that struck her the most:

You don’t have to carry the weight of others or feel like you’re a burden. First, it’s not your weight to carry. And second, you will never be a burden—to the hospital, to the crew, and especially not to me.

eeeeeek! hope you all enjoyed!!!

please like and reblog, if you enjoyed!

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mackycat11

1 month ago

like the star? brighter.

dr. jack abbott x f!resident!reader "vega" aka "wildcard"

wc: 2,205 synopsis: just another normal day at the pitt—except it's not. for the first time in a long time, jack might have found an equal in every sense. tl;dr: dr. abbott meets a new resident for the first time.

contents: 20-year age gap (vega is 26, jack is 46), usual pitt dynamics. probably lots of medical inaccuracies that im not gonna apologize for. very quick mentions of mental health issues. this is totally self-inserted and vega is totally based in lots of aspects of myself. gonna probably update this list when i have more creativity.

gigi's note: this man and the pitt have been consuming my every waking thought so of course it culminated in the fastest fic i've ever written. i have a whole little series planned for these two, but im gonna try to write at least some of them in a manner where you dont necessarily need to read the others. read the end notes for more info!!! enjoy!!!!

PLAYLIST HERE

It had already become a habit—more often than not, Jack’s days off ended up being spent at the Pitt. Not that he minded; the Pitt’s chaos was better than the chaos inside his head that ran free when he was alone at home. At home, the silence was suffocating—he had too much time to think. Here, every beep and shout gave him a reason not to listen to the thoughts clawing at the inside of his skull. Here, he knew exactly what he was doing. And he was damn good at it.

To Vega, being in the Pitt made her feel more alive than she’d ever felt. She didn’t mind the chaos—she thrived in it. Being surrounded by it sharpened her focus, made everything else—the endless voice in her head, the black monster inside her chest threatening day by day to swallow her whole—fade into nothing but background static.

Today was no different. The Pitt was, like usual, a chaotic hellscape; machines humming, monitors beeping, medical staff shouting orders, the scent of antiseptic filling everyone’s nostrils. The kind of place that felt both alive and dead at the same time. Jack had just arrived after a few hours of sleep after his night shift, clutching a cup of coffee in his hand, when he first spotted her across the ER in trauma two—a woman who didn’t seem to belong here, but did. Jack had barely any time to take a proper look at her before she was on the move again.

She moved fast, braid whipping against her back as she called for suction, adjusting doses, her hands slick with blood. The Pitt demanded everything and she gladly gave it. Without hesitation, without pause. It was what she lived for.

“Push another 20 of epi. I need suction—no, hold it, go with 50 cc,” she called out, her voice cutting through the chaos as she worked. Controlled. Sharp. The team moved, almost grateful for the authority in her voice. She didn’t miss the way Santos’ hands trembled, or how Whitaker clung to her words like a lifeline.

Jack hadn’t seen her before—not that he was keeping track; new faces came and went. But something about this one made him look twice. He caught sight of her again—tall, dark hair, sharp, moving fast between patients. She was a calm center, a fixed point in the storm. She worked with precision, her hands a blur as she gave orders, her focus unwavering as she moved around and directed the team with an ease that made it look effortless, a mixture of experienced residents and interns following her every instruction without hesitation. She moved around the room like she owned it. She was focused.

“Who’s that?” Jack asked, voice neutral.

“That is my star resident,” Robby said with a hint of amusement in his voice, noticing his curious gaze. “Wildcard.”

Then, still working on the patient, she felt it. His stare. She was used to people’s eyes on her all the time in this place—curious glances, usually directed at her tattoos whenever they poked out; interns sizing her up, sometimes with grudging respect, sometimes openly doubting her abilities to handle the weight of the Pitt. But this wasn’t that. This wasn’t the usual ER gawkers or old surgeons with smug superiority. This was different. Something else.

Jack raised an eyebrow. He had seen his fair share of capable residents, but something about the way she moved—almost like she was born for this—caught his attention. She was completely in her element, cutting through the chaos with a level of focus that suggested she’d been there before. Not that Jack expected anything less, but there was something about her that piqued his interest.

She felt the weight of his gaze, analyzing, unapologetic. She recognized that old, instinctive prickle at the back of her neck—the kind of awareness she only felt around people who could do damage. Not the loud, blustering types, no. The quiet ones. The wolves pretending to be men.

But she was no sheep.

Vega didn’t look up, focused solely on the person in front of her. She let him look. Let him think he was unnoticed, but she felt the scrape of it against her nerves.

“Wildcard?” Jack asked, nodding toward the scene, his tone cool but intrigued.

Robby grinned, stepping back slightly to give Jack a better view. “Yeah. Earned it on her first shift. Handled a mass casualty like it was nothing. Nerves of steel.”

Jack didn’t reply. Instead, he just watched her as she worked. There was a quiet intensity to the way she moved. She wasn’t loud or flashy, didn’t seek attention; instead, she commanded the room with a quiet authority, in a way that spoke volumes about her ability to take charge when things went south. It was a quality Jack respected, even if he wasn’t willing to admit it out loud. She wasn’t just surviving in the chaos—she was thriving in it. Something he did, too.

When the patient was finally stable, able to wait for the OR, Robby called her name. She peeled the paper gown off and turned towards them, tugging off the gloves with a sharp pull, and met Jack’s gaze head-on.

“Wildcard,” Robby said, “this is Dr. Jack Abbott. Jack, this is Dr. Vega, also known as Wildcard.”

She barely heard his voice—she already knew who he was.

Dr. Jack Abbott. The ER’s storm cloud, a man with a reputation for being as sharp as he was reckless. She’d heard plenty—everyone had. Stories traded in break rooms, warnings half-uttered with a mixture of respect and almost fear. A doctor built out of sharp things and bad habits, all jagged edges and rough temper. A man people either followed or avoided. And now here he was, giving her that look like he was trying to decide if she was worth his time.

Their gazes locked—not an awkward glance. She didn’t look away as most people did when meeting him for the first time, usually too nervous to look him in the eye. No. There was a beat of silence, a brief exchange of recognition, as if both of them could feel something shift in the air between them. Subtle, but undeniable. She sized him up in a fraction of a second, eyes sharp and unreadable, but he knew what that look was. For the first time in months, Jack felt something in his chest unclench, some flicker of recognition that made the blood in his veins hum with something dangerously close to life.

None of the stories she’d heard did him justice. He wasn’t the washed-up, better-than-everyone asshole she expected. For a second, the ER didn’t exist; the screaming monitors, the sharp tang of blood and bleach—gone. It was just him. Dark eyes, sharp jaw, slight tilt of his head, the heavy kind of presence you could feel in your teeth. The way he looked at her—not polite, not exactly curious. He looked at her like a man who was curious to see what would happen if he pushed. Good. She was tired of polite. She was tired of fake pleasantries.

She looked younger than he expected. But there was something else in her eyes that made her feel older than she probably was. Experienced.

Her lips twitched—barely a smile, but the kind that dared him to make the first move.

“Dr. Vega.” His voice was low, neutral, but her stomach did a dangerous twist.

There was a familiarity in the way he looked at her—not exactly recognition, but that kind of animal instinct of like recognizes like. The people who knew what it was to thrive in the places others avoided. The people who thrived in the chaos.

She couldn’t help the slight curve of her mouth, barely there, but enough to be noticed by him.

“Heard things about you, Dr. Abbott,” she said, her voice even, threading a fine line between professional and personal. “Thought you’d be scarier.”

Her words were like a soft challenge, the ghost of a smile on her lips, and it was Jack’s time to quirk an eyebrow, his eyes darkening, a flicker of something dangerous and amused sliding into place. Was she mocking him? Or was she just testing the waters? He couldn’t quite decide.

Jack tilted his head slightly, a slow, crooked smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth. She met his eyes head-on, unblinking. No one held her gaze for long—too sharp, too cold—but he didn’t flinch. Didn’t even try to hide the way his gaze dropped, assessing. Not leering. Calculating. Like a predator working out if she was worth the risk.

“Stick around, Doc,” he replied. “You’ll get there.”

Oh, she fucking liked that.

Robby snorted, glancing between them with an amused look in his eyes. Jack wasn’t the type to be rattled easily, but there was a palpable tension now between the two of them, something that felt familiar yet almost… uncomfortable. Different. Jack didn’t show it, of course, but Robby knew him better than everyone.

Vega had had a lot of first meetings since walking into this ER not more than four weeks ago. Most were forgettable, most faded by the next shift. But there was weight to this one. The air around them felt tight, stretched thin in a way she recognized from old fights and late-night emergencies. The kind of moment where you either stepped up or stepped aside, where you either fought the wave headfirst or let it wash over you, carry you with it.

“How’s day shift treating you?” Abbott asked, and Robby’s eyebrow went up, already seeing where Jack’s head was going.

Vega realized—these two men knew each other better than everyone else.

“The coffee could be better,” she replied, finishing what she was typing on the computer.

Jack’s lips quirked, a flicker of dry amusement in his otherwise unreadable expression. “Night shift coffee’s better,” he replied smoothly, taking a sip from his cup, the steam rising from it like he was making a point of something, just for her.

Robby’s eyes gleamed with amusement as he watched the interaction with newfound interest, like a new TV show that was starting to catch his attention. He shook his head. “Don’t you even think about stealing her from me, Abbott.”

Jack’s eyes found hers again, and neither looked away. “Yeah, yeah. Wouldn’t dream of it.”

But the way he said it—quiet, edged—suggested otherwise.

Robby drifted off to take care of another matter, and she half-expected him to do the same, say something smug or look away. He didn’t. Neither did she. She raised her eyebrows and smirked at him, almost as if she was daring him to do something about it.

“You’re welcome to try, Dr. Abbott,” Vega said, her voice smooth, low, carrying a spark of challenge that showed itself in the way his jaw tightened slightly.

It was brief, but it was there. The smallest tell that he was just a little thrown by her, caught off guard. She liked that. She liked that a lot. Probably more than she should’ve.

He wasn’t used to being challenged quite like that. There was something about her—something too familiar in the way she carried herself that made him pause, that made him stop in his tracks.

“Noted,” he replied, five simple letters carrying more weight than normal. It felt like a promise. Or a threat—she couldn’t tell.

Both excited her, both made her heart skip a beat and made her skin prickle with something she couldn’t decipher yet. The air between them tightened, thickened. That kind of electric stillness you only get before a bad decision—the kind you’d make twice just to feel something. The kind she was built for.

He held her gaze, and she held his, never once faltering, up until she turned her back to see another patient. Jack was rattled—it’d been a while since someone managed to do that. She pulled a chart off the rack and moved on to the next patient with effortless grace. As he stared at her back, he felt an inexplicable pull, one he’d be lying if he said he didn’t feel. For the first time in a long time, something in Jack’s chest pulled tight. Not enough to show, but enough for him to feel it.

Even as she walked away, she still felt it—a tug in her chest, his gaze burning between her shoulder blades, the awareness of his eyes on her as she crossed the room.

Jack didn’t move. Not yet. As she was about to disappear behind a curtain, his voice called after her.

“Vega,” he said.

Not Wildcard. Not yet. He said her name like a question. Or a challenge—she couldn’t decide. She paused. A beat. Half a heartbeat. Let the silence hang there, heavy and thick and hungry. Then she turned her head, one eyebrow raised in silent question.

“Like the star?” he asked, voice low, rough, unreadable, his eyes full of things she couldn’t decipher.

For the first time since clocking in that morning, a real smile spread across her face.

“Brighter,” she said softly and went back on her way.

She didn’t need to look back to know he was still watching her.

Good.

gigi's note: PLEASE tell me your opinions on this and what you think of the series!!!! the future pieces are gonna dive deep into vega's mental issues (which are my own). not gonna be exactly a slow burn because i hate slow burns, i just prefer the burning head-on lol comments and reblogs are most welcome!!!

my inbox is always open and i would loooooooove to yap about this man. xoxo <3

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